#and the second one he asks her to come and reaches out his hand for her to grab

[feeder86]

Glorious

“Oh, here he comes,” nodded Anna towards the entrance door. “Quarter to eight every Friday night, without fail!”

Bobby turned his head to gaze excitedly towards their regular customer; his personal favorite since he had started working at this buffet place back in September. Although he didn’t know the guy’s name, he knew enough to recognise him as one of the college football players; eye-wateringly tall and incredibly muscular, despite only being nineteen. Underneath his large arm was yet another new girl, short and petite beside him. She’d dressed up well, clearly hoping to impress him, much like all the others. Yet Bobby had never seen this guy ever come here on a second date with the same person, and this girl was about to experience why that was.

It was often said that within the four walls of this all-you-can-eat restaurant, the staff would see the absolute worst traits of humanity. After seating them and serving the drinks, the workers watched from afar as the football player set to his mission of devouring plate after plate, hardly making any conversation at all. It was the same routine every week; the girls would always start off looking so smitten and then gradually become quite surprised at how much focus their date had in gorging himself like some sort of competitive eater. They would often go quiet during the middle part of the meal, merely watching in surprise at first, followed by a distinct glare of disgust at their date. One by one, folks from the surrounding tables would start to notice and nudge the others they were seated with to look across. Such disdain was shared by Bobby’s colleagues, hardly able to look as the guy stuffed and packed himself as hard as he could. Sure, there were plenty of older, fat folks who came in and tried to do this too, gaming the system by eating as much as they could. Yet, Bobby hadn’t witnessed anyone capable of eating as much as the handsome guy seated now. 

Bobby had always thought himself strange and quirky, with a somewhat alternative taste in guys. However, he had never considered himself so different to those around him than when he was watching the handsome guy eating. The indulgence, gluttony and greed, it seemed to him like the most masculine and arousing thing he had ever seen. So whilst others tutted and grumbled in disapproval, he was actually struggling to hide how incredibly turned on he was at the sight.

“Seven, eight, nine… that’s ten full plates this evening!” Bobby smirked, attending to their table. “One more and you’d have the house record!” he joked, stacking them all up on his forearm.

The guy grinned, leaning back and rubbing his bloated midsection. “Well, in that case…” he chuckled, beginning to get himself up for one final round.

“Matt, please don’t!” called out his date reaching across to his large hand. “You can’t go up again. It’s embarrassing!” She turned to Bobby instead. “Can we just have the check, please?”

Bobby looked a little confused, knowing the glutton’s routine by now. “But you’ve not had any of the desserts yet,” he reminded them.

“Exactly!” nodded Matt, smirking as he got up to fetch some more food for himself.

Huffing in annoyance, the girl dipped her hands into her purse and threw a few notes on the table before storming off. Bobby stood there awkwardly, wondering whether he should say something to make her stay. After taking the plates, he returned to the table just as Matt was making his way back with his eleventh plate of food.

“She’s really gone already?” he asked Bobby; surprised but not seeming overly offended.

“Her loss!” Bobby smiled consolingly, noticing that Matt had stacked this final plate higher than any of the others; his muscular stomach bloating up a treat. “Would you like another beer?”

Already chewing, the greedy man nodded and grunted in agreement, hunched over and eagerly spotting the cash that had been left on the table; more than enough to pay for his date’s meal, as well as a few drinks for himself. 

“You’re not getting tired, are you?” Bobby teased, returning to the table moments later with the beer, to see Matt holding his stretched-out stomach. “I’ve yet to see you not clear a plate.”

Matt wiped a little sweat off his brow and chuckled at his endeavor. “Oh, don’t you worry,” he grinned. “I’ll finish it. Then I’m going to hit the ice cream!”

“Would you like me to fetch you some?” Bobby asked, surprising even himself at his eagerness. 

Matt looked up at him and smiled. He knew just as well as any of the customers that the people who worked here didn’t collect food items for their patrons. “Sure!” he cried, delighted. “But don’t skimp on the…”

“Chocolate sauce and brownie pieces,” Bobby shot back, chuckling. “It’s not my first time serving your table,” he joked, setting straight off.

There was an excited ball of energy swirling inside Bobby’s lungs as he began dispensing the ice cream. All of this would soon be inside that beautiful, greedy guy’s body. He wanted to make it look the best that it could: enticing and indulgent.

“Ooo! I like the layering!” Matt marvelled as he handed over his now empty plate and exchanged it for the sundae that had been made for him.

“We get a lot of folks who like their ice cream in here. I’ve learned a thing or two,” Bobby smiled back, lingering to see the man take his first spoonful. His admiration seemed to shine through; being so short and slender himself, he couldn’t help looking up to these big, greedy guys with complete awe.

Despite being alone at his table now, Matt gorged himself happily, getting up again and again for multiple other desserts. Bobby felt elated that he had at last developed a rapport with the guy he had been crushing on for so long now. Continuing to clear plates and bowls, jokingly keep count with him.

“You’d better get him out of here or he’s going to throw up,” the manager, Jessica, suddenly whispered to Bobby.

“He’s fine,” Bobby shot back. He looked across at that perfect, gluttonous specimen, knowing that he could handle it. Even if the worst did happen and he threw up, what did it matter to him? Bobby was finishing in five minutes anyway.

“Get him the check and move him out,” Jessica growled uncompromisingly, rather concerned that Bobby didn’t share her justified worries. 

Sighing, Bobby did as he was told, apologising to Matt as he went over to him and gave him the usual line about the time allocated to the tables and the need for him to finish up. “Probably for the best,” Matt grunted, looking stretched out and stuffed. He paid up, huffing and groaning from the tightness. Then, in his own time, he stood up to leave, eyes watching him all the way to the exit as he clutched his now clearly distended stomach.

Bobby grabbed his jacket, happy to finish early and avoid the clean up, then headed out into the chilly night. He hadn’t made it out of the car park when a horn sounded and lights flashed from a truck that suddenly pulled up alongside him. “You heading back up to the campus?” asked Matt, sliding down his window to offer a lift.

It was a chilly night. Surprised, but nodding keenly, Bobby gratefully accepted the offer, hopping around to the passenger side. He’d seen this huge truck parked up on campus so many times, but he had always assumed it belonged to one of the guys in security. It didn’t seem like a reasonable vehicle for a nineteen year old second year student to be driving around in, yet it also appeared o suit Matt perfectly: big, bold and thirsty, just like him.

“Excuse the mess,” Matt chuckled as Bobby’s foot kicked a large pile of take out cartons and boxes filling up the footwell. “I meant to clean that out before.”

“It’s okay,” Bobby smiled back, buckling himself in and trying not to stare at the bloated stomach on the guy that was turning him on so much. There was an arousing, masculine musk inside the truck, with so many clear indications of Matt’s great appetite for food.

“So, how did I do?” Matt asked, starting to drive out onto the road. It was obvious what he was referring to, seeming pumped and proud of himself for how insanely he had attacked the buffet.

“My manager was getting pretty worried,” Bobby admitted, getting a sense that it was exactly the type of thing Matt wanted to hear.

Matt laughed heartily, clearly delighted. “I thought as much,” he nodded. “She kept on looking at me. And not in a good way!”

“We get a few folks like you who come in, clearly knowing how to play it. They avoid the breads and the pasta that they know will fill them up too fast, and they always eat so much that there is no hope of the restaurant turning a profit. You seem to have an instinctive knowledge of which items are the most expensive for us to serve up as well.”

Again, Matt laughed, his face a picture of delight. He appeared to like being told how clever he was, and asked Bobby to elaborate on several of his points. Even as they parked up on the campus a few minutes later, Matt was still questioning Bobby on the ins and outs of the buffet and how best to get way more than his money’s worth.

“Of course, that all depends on whether you could eat that much,” Bobby rambled on, having just listed the ten best things to consume if Matt wanted to ensure he made the most of his money. “Not many people can. But it’s always fun when there’s a big, greedy guy in and he’s properly going for it.”

There was a pumped energy to Matt as he listened, taking in every word like it was the most thrilling conversation of his life. “And what do those types of guys look like?” he asked excitedly. “Do you spot them as soon as they come in?”

Bobby hummed as he thought how best to answer the question. “You can usually identify them pretty easily. They’re generally pretty massive, carrying fairly enormous guts on them. We don’t often get the more athletic types, like you, who can eat that much. That’s partly why you stand out so clearly. Do you do some competitive eating contests or something? You’re actually the best I’ve ever seen.”

“The trick is to work on stretching out your stomach,” Matt replied enthusiastically, turning a little to face Bobby better. “I’ve been working on some exercises for weeks and I pop a couple of these before a meal,” he stated, passing Bobby a small bottle of what seemed to be appetite enhancers.

“I’ve seen this brand before,” Bobby nodded, obvioudly surprising Matt that he knew anything at all about appetite stimulants. “Do they work? I’ve heard conflicting things about them.”

Matt’s eyes were practically dancing now, his mouth wide in a smile as he nodded ecstatically. “Yeah, I read the same things!” he smiled in delight, turning even more to face Bobby better. “But I still had to give them a go. I’m a greedy guy anyway, so I’m not sure if the effect is purely psychological,” he chuckled, seemingly captivated by Bobby and everything that came out of his mouth.

“There’s another brand…” Bobby tried to think. “I know it only came out recently, but…”

All at once, Matt was upon him; his lips crashing into Bobby’s as he took him in a deep kiss, right there in the truck. They stayed that way for several moments, coming out for a brief pause, before heading straight back in. Upon the second wave of kisses, hands began to explore bodies and Matt grabbed one of Bobby’s wrists, placing his hand very directly on the bloated, swollen stomach that had been created that night. As Bobby began to rub, the guy moaned with pleasure; his kisses becoming even more manic. He hopped out of the truck, heading back into the halls and ushering for Bobby to follow him. Then off they went up the stairs to Matt’s bedroom, where they stripped and made each other climax until they were contentedly sleeping, side by side.

At some point in the early hours, Bobby began to feel a little insecure. He’d done this before; been caught up in a romantic session with a supposedly ‘straight’ guy and then ended up being ignored by them ever since. This whole thing with Matt would undoubtedly end the same way when the stud woke up and realised that he wasn’t sharing a bed with the hot girl he had taken out for dinner the night before, but rather some comparitively weedy, nerdy guy from across the campus. Bobby hadn’t realised just how much shorter than Matt he was until they had walked up to his room; his body slender and little more than slightly toned. Matt, on the other hand, was a gorgeous, large hunk; his long, hairy legs sticking out of the bed as he slept, without a need for the covers over his powerful body that pumped out a ridiculous amount of heat. Bobby couldn’t bear to see the look of regret on Matt’s face the next morning. Last night had been the best experience of his life so far, so why not bottle it and keep it safe, without the inevitably painful after-taste?

“Hey, Bobby! Can I have a word?” Matt called out a couple of days later, running to catch up as he saw him heading towards a class with a couple of his friends.

Bobby’s friends looked upwards at the towering hunk and then back to Bobby. How did this hunky guy know Bobby? In what possible circumstances could such opposing personalities have crossed paths? Yet, their curiosity would have to wait as Bobby looked at them both, sending them on and promising to catch them up.

“You snuck out without saying goodbye on Friday night,” Matt mumbled, sounding more than a little confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I just didn’t think you’d want me there in the morning,” Bobby replied. “I didn’t want you to have to stress, sneaking me out of your building.”

“Sneak you out?” Matt asked, getting closer to Bobby, his fingertips stroking Bobby’s arms. “I’ve never felt better connected to anyone in my entire life than I did on Friday night.”

Bobby’s heart skipped a beat. Was this giant, handsome stud really saying this to him? “I wasn’t sure that you would still feel the same way in the morning,” he replied; the legacy of being spurned by several guys resonating through his low tones. But as Matt’s large hand pulled up his chin, he stared hard into the eyes of the man he knew he could fall pathetically in love with. Then, as the towering man stooped and kissed him right there on the busy campus, Bobby did not resist.

“Come on,” Matt smiled sweetly, pulling Bobby’s hand. “I’ll drive you to your class.”

Bobby thought it best not to go empty-handed when he went over to Matt’s room that night. In a bag, he carried a pack of beers his cousin had bought him. Beer had always tasted disgusting to Bobby, which was why they had been sitting unused under his bed for months. He’d been told that they were watching a movie and, not knowing which snacks Matt would prefer, he’d brought a selection: popcorn, honey-glazed nuts, ice cream and cookies. After kissing him sweetly upon his arrival, Matt dug through the bag greedily, ripping the bag of nuts open immediately and inspecting the nutritional information on the back. “There’re almost six hundred calories in this bag alone!” he smiled excitedly.

Concentrating on the movie was not easy. Slurping on the beers, rummaging through the popcorn, cookies and nuts, Matt was more than a distraction. He’d poured the now runny ice cream into a vast novelty beer tankard that he had on his shelf and began sipping from it.

“Do you eat like this all the time?” Bobby asked, unable to hide the arousal in his voice as he watched the greedy boy in action.

Continuing to chomp, the handsome man grinned at him. “I try to,” he nodded.

“Are we still going to order in pizza afterwards as well?” Bobby asked, ignoring the movie now and shifting himself so that he was sitting on Matt’s lap, too aroused to ignore the man’s grotesque appetite anymore.

Smiling at the attention, Matt nodded. “Of course we are,” he replied, patting his muscular stomach which was already bloating from the finished ice cream. “I want to show you exactly how much I can eat.”

The pair kissed and fondled each other as the movie played on, ignored entirely. With the snacks depleted and two full beers down Matt’s throat, the guy was as hard as they came, moaning loudly with every slight movement of Bobby’s hand as it found its way into his underwear. Twice they came before the pizza arrived that night, and twice afterwards, as Matt gorged himself on slice after slice, until his stomach had blown up into a monstrous ball, packed to the max.

To say that people had been surprised by the new pairing would be a considerable understatement. To the eye, such a contrasting couple could never work. Matt was so tall, athletic, broad and muscular, yet Bobby was shorter than even the average guy; with a slight build, slender waist and considerably greater academic aspirations. It was almost frustrating how quickly they were written off by some people as being doomed to fail. With such stark hobbies and interests, they couldn’t possibly have enough in common to make it more than a few weeks. But, why? Was it because they were both guys? Did people assume that a gay couple needed to match on many more different levels, not least their appearance? No one batted an eyelid with straight couples when, like Matt and Bobby, one person was obsessed with watching sports and the other disliked it intensely.

A couple of months into their new relationship, the two lovers had booked themselves into a motel after travelling quite some distance for Matt to complete a food challenge at a restaurant he had long admired from afar. The insane portions of the food challenge had both frightened and thrilled them, wondering whether Matt had it in him to defeat it all and get his picture up on the ‘Wall of Fame’. It had sparked conversations that had aroused them both for weeks, thinking of ways to develop Matt’s appetite even further and increase his already startling capacity.

When the day had finally arrived, Matt had barely been able to shake off his erection, fueled by both nerves and anticipation. Bobby had been dutifully sitting at the table the entire time, sometimes rubbing his knee supportively. And, whilst Matt didn’t get the record time, he did complete the task with surprising efficiency, smiling proudly as he posed, bloated belly out, alongside the restaurant owner for his picture to go up on the wall. Bobby had provided him the big, sloppy blow job he had promised him and the pair talked excitedly about the next challenges well into the night.

The next morning, Matt had woken up feeling incredibly turned on still. Bobby had smiled contentedly as the large man fondled him to wake up and take it for him, agreeing without any hesitation to roll over and let the big man have some fun with him. He watched as Matt stood up at the side of the bed, ready to feed his substantial erection into his eager butt, when a curious sight caught his attention in the mirror positioned to the side of the bed.

“Are you still bloated?” Bobby asked, staring hard at Matt’s shape.

“No, I feel fine,” Matt replied, excitedly lubricating his hardness up.

“Well then, you’ve definitely gained a few pounds,” Bobby replied, smirking. “Your sides look pretty puffy. You could almost call them love handles!” he laughed.

Matt immediately turned his attention to the mirror, lifting his arms up and feeling the skin with a solitary finger. “Fuck!” he cried out in surprise; his abs barely holding on as an undeniable softness began to invade his core. He pressed himself into his boyfriend, gyrating his hips as he continued to study his reflection in the mirror. “I’m actually looking fucking doughy!” he observed, watching the faint flutter in his middle.

“My big, greedy boy!” Bobby moaned back, pushing his small butt into his lover’s groin.

“Mmm! Yeah!” Matt moaned back, pounding him harder, fascinated by the reflection in the mirror. “Greedy boys shouldn’t have abs, should they?” he asked, clearly turning himself on. “This is all that full-fat milk you’ve been getting me to drink to stretch out my stomach for the challenge, isn’t it?”

Bobby moaned with pleasure. “Maybe,” he replied coyly back. Matt had always been a big-eater, but he had never been consistently overdoing it every single day until they had been training him up for the food challenge. The man pounded harder, holding his arm back like a porn star so that he could still get a good view of his body in the mirror, climaxing with a satisfied sigh in remarkable speed, studying his own reflection.

“So, what’s this?” asked Pete, Matt’s cousin, poking him in the stomach that summer. “All that eating finally catching up to you?” he teased the strapping guy.

Matt grinned back and Bobby’s eyes flashed with delight. Despite the subtle paunch that was slowly emerging on Matt, not a single person had commented on it until now. For the whole two weeks that Matt had stayed with Bobby’s family, the guy’s insane eating went unchallenged. Even Matt’s own wholesome, polite family seemed unwilling to pull up their boy on how much he was overdoing it.

“You think so?” Matt asked, pulling up his t-shirt to give his similarly aged cousin a look at the swollen midsection, where his abs had recently been obliterated and replaced by a distinctly pudgy stomach. He leaned heavily forward, letting the new chub form two distinct fat rolls, one of which draped gently over his waistband.

“Jeez!” Pete exclaimed, watching the display with fascination until Matt stood back upright again and covered himself up. “I’ve gotta say though, it’s about time!” he smirked, looking at Bobby as he was about to recall a story from their past. “Matty always used to follow me home after school and have dinner with my folks. Then he’d go back to his own house and have dinner there as well. His parents had no idea!” he laughed.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Bobby chuckled back, looking adoringly up at his lover.

“How long did you get away with that for?” Pete asked Matt now. “Two years?”

“Almost three!” Matt shot back proudly. “I think it’s the reason why I grew so tall.”

Pete rolled his eyes at his cousin’s complete lack of shame. “Well, these days, you won’t be growing upwards with too much food… only outwards!! You’ll need to watch this one, Bobby,” Pete joked. “Give him an inch and he takes a mile.”

“Oh, I think I’ve got the measure of him!” Bobby smiled up at his large lover.

Pete looked from one to the other, seeming to sense how intense their affection for one another was. Within a month, Matt had dropped the L-bomb. Without a hint of embarrassment, Matt never worried about holding his hand in public, nor being openly affectionate in front of anyone.

Inviting Pete along for lunch with them had been a genius move. He’d been startled by Matt’s even more extreme appetite and hadn’t held back in saying so. By the end of the meal, he’d poked and prodded his cousin’s extremely distended gut, hardly believing that he was the same man. Such comments never failed to thrill Bobby and Matt, neither of them truly able to contemplate how lucky they were to have found someone who got such a buzz from something so outwardly unusual.

“Oh my goodness!” Bobby proclaimed, heading back into his dorm room after a shift at the restaurant a few weeks later. He kissed Matt, who was sitting up in his bed and then stepped back to take off his jacket. “We had such a pig in tonight!”

Matt, who usually liked to hang out in Bobby’s room because of the large container of snacks Bobby kept in for him, sat up more with interest; his hand still half inside the giant bag of potato chips he was feeding himself. “Oh, yeah?” he smirked. “Tell me more!”

“He hit the meats as soon as he came in, just like you do,” Bobby began to explain. “But he just kept going at it, again and again. His girlfriend was with him and she did not approve at all! It was so funny!”

“Same technique as me, huh?” Matt smiled, swinging his long legs out of the bed to sit upright. He reached out and grabbed Bobby’s slender hips, pulling him in. Then, with one large hand, he rubbed Bobby’s groin until a distinct hardness burst into life. “Was he big too?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Bobby sighed, enjoying being touched. He felt his belt being upstrapped and Matt’s hand reaching in to pull his shaft out and stroke it with more purpose.

Gluttony had always been a turn on of Matt’s, and the man took exceptional pleasure in trying to draw out such kinks from Bobby too. “Tell me what he looked like,” Matt requested, stimulating his lover slowly and purposefully.

“About 400lbs,” Bobby replied, delighted to have such attention thrust upon him.

Matt smiled excitedly. “A very big, greedy boy then!” he nodded encouragingly, knowing how aroused such talk could get his boyfriend. “Was his belly nice and round and full?”

Bobby moaned. He wasn’t going to take long to climax tonight. He was already trying to breathe and slow things down. However, with his free hand, Matt was already grabbing a thick wedge of the new belly fat that had destroyed the jock’s previous abs, looking up to Bobby in the hope that was going to get off to it.

“A beautiful belly,” Bobby agreed, no longer sure whether he was talking about the guy in the restaurant, or his own boyfriend. Either way, he came not long afterwards, shooting straight over Matt’s naked torso, where the guy pushed out his stomach as far as it would go, smiling proudly.

Despite Matt’s extreme eating, he still remained a fierce force on the football team. The extra weight had broadened his handsome glutes out and developed a nicely overstuffed look to his paunchy stomach. However, despite the initial hesitations, Matt’s coach had been simply delighted by the impact it was having on the games they played. Matt hit harder, charged through the lines and easily threw off the other guys. After a game, Matt was grinning proudly for days as his status around the campus only seemed to increase. Sure, he wasn’t built for speed like he used to be, and he wasn’t as much of a pretty-boy as some of the new guys in first year; but he was an absolute beast on the field, quickly turning into a legend.

The lovestruck couple shared many presents with each other that holiday period, but none stuck out quite so much as Bobby’s tongue-in-cheek gift of 5XL underwear to Matt. The guy had laughed when he saw them and his eyes widened as he pulled them out of the box and unfolded them. “So this is what the real greedy boys are wearing these days?” he asked, sitting across from his petite lover and imagining being large enough to one day fill them. The pair kissed, both of them inexplicably aroused. Matt moaned and rubbed the back of Bobby’s head as the guy went down between his legs and began to suck him off; a full day of gorging, burping and snide remarks from family ahead.

Slowly but surely, Matt continued to quietly pack on a considerable amount of pure fat. The tight waistband of his underwear and sweatshorts dug unflatteringly into his flesh, carving up his huge glutes and the significant back fat created from his love handles. After the final summer break before fourth year, Matt’s coach had at last tried to reel him back in, proclaiming that Matt would be cut from the team if he didn’t lose at least fifteen pounds before the end of November. However, by the time that deadline arrived, Matt had gone out of his way to ensure that he’d packed on at least another thirty pounds instead.

“Too fat and greedy to play football!” Matt had declared proudly, stripping his shirt from his body, just as he always did when he made it into Bobby’s room.

“Your coach actually did it?” Bobby asked; his eyes twinkling with the same mischief as could be seen in Matt’s eyes.

“He sure did!” Matt grinned as his boyfriend launched into a sideways hug that fully emphasised the huge width of his body. “No more football for this guy! It’s official: you’re no longer dating one of the jocks!”

“No more training sessions, no more games!” Bobby added, guiding his huge boy into the mirror so that he could better appreciate the vast contrast between their extraordinary bodies: Bobby’s short and slender 125lb physique pressing up against the vast, broad and bloated frame of a 370lb Matt.

Matt chuckled and kissed his kinky lover appreciatively. “You’re finally going to get the greedy, overfed and under-exercised lover of your dreams!” he declared proudly.

Bobby nodded back excitedly, pulling his fat boyfriend into the creaking bed. They both knew then that this was the start of something very enticing indeed.

After graduating, the two boys soon settled into a nice apartment in the city, deciding that they could make a good go of things, even on the meagre salaries of their entry-level jobs. It had been a focus of theirs for years, picking up as many different types of experience that would make them immediately employable, above and beyond the hundreds of other graduates that were pumped out of the college each year. Simply maintaining Matt’s 410lb weight had been a struggle in those early days, and the fantasies they had both had about Matt outgrowing his work pants within a few short weeks had failed to materialise for over an entire year. However, even without the gains, the guy’s body still seemed to be going through a transitional period, becoming softer and more plush with every passing month. They’d save up and hit the buffet, or drive out to somewhere with a disgustingly massive eating challenge, where Matt could have his increasingly chubby face plastered across yet another ‘Wall of Fame’ in the restaurant. 

Once Matt did begin growing consistantly again, he did so with relish. Pure, fresh blubber spread itself across a rounded, jiggling stomach, swelling and sagging the nipples, as well as creating the most extraordinary double chin that Bobby had ever seen. His face had swollen up with large, puffy cheeks, with Matt refusing to quit shaving, nor attempt to hide any of it from view. Like a final surrender, his body was at last gaining in a way that it had simply refused to do in the past. New, exciting considerations needed to be made: stronger chairs, double plane seats, larger showers, seatbelt extensions.

“Heh! Look at these!” Matt chuckled, picking up a pair of Bobby’s underwear as the guy briefly rested a pile of fresh laundry on the couch whilst he attended to something else. The large, spherical man draped them over his large gut, hardly believing the tiny size. “Are these really what you wear?” he laughed again. “I don’t think I could even fit my arm in these!” he stated with complete pride; taking for granted the extreme size of the clothing that he now needed to purchase in order to cover up his gigantic body.

“That’s because you’re the one with such a good appetite!” Bobby smiled back, always enjoying the striking contrast between them both. He went over to his lover, perching himself on the very end of Matt’s knee and leaned into the large stomach so that he could kiss Matt sweetly on his lips, whilst simultaneously rubbing that giant stomach of his. Even after all these years, he really couldn’t believe that such a gluttonous specimen was all his; the epitome of the type of guys he lusted after all those years ago when he had worked in the all-you-can-eat restaurant.

Matt moaned in appreciation of being worshipped like this, knowing full well that his lover would never hold him back from his determination to consume all the food that he would ever want. “Let’s get married!” he declared, not for the first time.

Bobby sat up a little and rolled his eyes. They had so many things they were saving up for; getting their deposit together for the house they now owned had taken them months of pure financial pain. Then there was the inevitably long list of repairs and maintenance that came along with house ownership. “We can’t afford it,” he sighed unhappily.

“Sure we can,” Matt shrugged. “We just hold back on some of the other things we wanted to do for a little while.” He pulled Bobby in to kiss him sweetly once more. “I’m so unbelievably happy. I just want to show the entire world.”

Bobby smiled back, returning the sentiment, despite his unrelentingly practical head that couldn’t commit to the idea of paying out for a wedding anytime soon.

“Back when I realised all this eating was a thing for me,” Matt began, rubbing the vast, gigantic stomach on himself, “I always thought that it was going to be the biggest problem I would ever face in life.” He looked deeply in Bobby’s eyes. “Once I realised how extreme my appetite was and how much I got off to overindulging, I thought the only thing I could ever hope for was to find someone who would just put up with me; anyone at all! I never imagined, in my wildest dreams, that I would find someone who would love me like you do; someone who would let my great appetite show in the way that you do. I’m absolutely the man I’m supposed to be,” he smiled, holding a plentiful wedge of stomach fat in his large hand, “and it’s all because I found you!”

Accepting another kiss, Bobby sighed with contentment. Matt had always been the sweetest guy he had ever met. He expressed his own adoration and gratitude at finding the love of his life whilst serving a table at work, of all places! Everything they both felt was absolutely true: they were completely made for each other.

“Okay,” Bobby nodded. “Let’s do it,” he smiled excitedly, allowing himself to picture a wedding day for the first time. “Let’s get married!”

“You mean it?” Matt beamed back, holding Bobby tightly as he realised that he was serious. “This is incredible!” he blasted. “If only we had some champagne that we could pop right now,” he chuckled, overwhelmed with delight.

“How about I fetch you a tub of ice cream instead?” Bobby joked back, patting his fiance's humongous stomach.

Matt grinned, nodding with approval. “Sure,” he smiled. “I guess that will do instead,” he chuckled, sitting back once more and sighing with complete contentment: the life he had always dreamed of. The perfect life for both of them.

[bloomseishiro]

THAT’S MY GIRL — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — dating a famous soccer star can be scary, especially with all the crazy fans and online gossip. so you and rin decide to keep your relationship a secret. a misunderstanding occurs when you hang out with your friend (another famous soccer player) and now the internet thinks you’re dating karasu?! 

itoshi rin x fem!reader. fluff, established relationship, secret relationships, pro soccer player!rin, possessive!rin everybody cheers, karasu is one of reader’s besties, reader wears a dress ; i had so much fun writing this i will never shut up about it pls enjoy

word count. 2.2k 

You didn’t intend to keep your relationship with Rin a secret. 

At least, not for this long. 

You thought you would quickly warm up to the idea of being a famous soccer player’s girlfriend, but recent events had you thinking otherwise. Not too long ago, one of Rin’s former Blue Lock contestants revealed that he had a girlfriend, and his fans on the internet completely tore her to shreds. They were mainly complaining about how she broke ‘NagiReo’ apart and how she was heartless for stealing Nagi from his real soulmate. Some even went so far as to threaten her!

You shudder as you recall the social media posts and tabloid titles. 

If the public reacted so badly to that, what’s to say they would welcome you?

So you decide to prolong your secret relationship and, thankfully, Rin doesn’t mind. 

He doesn’t care too much about public opinion. As long as he knows you are happy with him, and you give him the reassurance you know he loves (though he doesn’t want to admit it), he’s content with keeping this between the two of you for a little while longer. 

Still, keeping your relationship a secret from the press also meant you couldn’t go out to dinners together, being forced to order takeout or get food delivered inside. Even going to his games was a rare treat, and even then you had to wear a full disguise and sit in an obscure nosebleed seat. 

It frustrates you, really. Why can’t people just be normal? 

You sigh.

“Are you still moping?” asks Karasu as he returns with your drinks. 

For the past thirty minutes, you’ve been telling your friend, who happens to be another one of Rin’s former Blue Lock acquaintances, about all your secret dating woes. 

You nod, taking a spice of your ice cold water. “Yeah, yeah. No more of me crying over not even being able to eat at a fast food place like this with Rin. Instead, let’s hear all about your most recent failed dating stories.”

“They’re not all fails,” he drawls, shoving a bundle of fries into his mouth. “I might be going on a second date with one of them.”

“And she’s not scared of the backlash?” you ask, a hint of resignation in your voice. 

Karasu shrugs. “Most people just ignore the hate. Those delusional fans aren’t real fans, but at least they make us more money, right? It’s part of the industry. Comes with dating a famous athlete. Don’t take it to heart, Y/N. I’m sure your lover boy Rinnie will shield you from whatever backlash occurs anyway.”

Frowning, you dip a fry into some ketchup over and over.

“You look a little menacing stabbing your ketchup like that,” jests Karasu, putting his arms up in surrender. “It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to reveal anything you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to!” you cry exasperatedly. “I want Rin to be able to hold my hand in public, and make eye contact with me! I don’t want to wear a stupid disguise when I go to his games. I want to kiss him right in front of the paparazzi and then throw my middle finger at their face!” 

“Then do it.” He pauses, a grin forming in his face as the scene plays in his head. “No, wait, for real, do it. Do you know how badass that’d be?”

“No!” You place your head into your hands and pout. “I’m nervous.” 

“Who cares what those less than mediocre losers think anyway?” Karasu scoffs, finishing the rest of his burger. “They’re not significant enough for you to worry about. Just do what you want.” He reaches over to steal some fries off your tray. “I bet Rin would like it if you came to support him during his games. As yourself. And not you with a mustache and clown wig or whatever atrocity it is you put on.”

“I do not wear a clown wig as a disguise,” you say, shooting him a glare. 

“Don’t need a disguise to be one.”

“Okay, our catch up session is over,” you deadpan, grabbing your purse and standing up from the table haughtily. 

Karasu laughs, taking no offense to you leaving. “Can I have the rest of your food?”

“Go ahead, you crow.”

He rolls his eyes but happily takes your leftovers. As you leave, he calls out, “Hey, Y/N.”

You glance back at him. 

“Remember what we talked about. Who gives a fuck what others think? Just do what will make you and Rin happy, okay?”

Reluctantly, you nod, knowing full well he’s right. The main focus on your relationship with Rin should be doing what makes you both happy and fulfilled. The main focus shouldn’t be avoiding the press and his fans. 

Karasu said it best. 

Who gives a fuck? 

“Hey, have you seen what’s trending yet?”

Rin blinks, considering hanging up the phone. Isagi rarely calls him, and it’s even more rare for Rin to actually pick up. So why the hell were the first words out of Isagi’s mouth about what’s trending? Since when did Isagi even care? 

“No. Don’t care. Bye.”

“Wait, wait!” Isagi butts in before Rin can press the red button. “It’s about Karasu and Y/N…dating.”

Rin frowns at the reveal. He knew you were going to get lunch with Karasu yesterday, but there was no way it was a date. He puts Isagi on speaker and opens up Twitter. Of course, the top trending topics are, “karasu’s girlfriend” and “WHO IS SHE?” to name a few. 

At Rin’s silence, Isagi continues, “Not that there’s any way it’s true, of course. She would never cheat on you! And Karasu isn’t that kind of guy, either.”

Rin knows all that. But he doesn’t care. He’s too busy being annoyed that your first introduction to the public is as Karasu’s girlfriend and not Rin’s girl. 

He grits his teeth, seconds away from throwing his phone onto the floor. 

You’re his girlfriend. Not anyone else’s. He didn’t care what the public thought…until it came to something so ridiculously incorrect like this. 

“Rin,” says Isagi. “Everything good?”

“No,” he barks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’ll clear this bullshit up. Bye.”

“Huh? Oh, okay, bye—!”

Rin hangs up and pockets his phone, immediately dropping everything to head over to your place. He has to see you. Now. 

You go through your day blissfully unaware of all the drama going on online (and with your own boyfriend).

You take Karasu’s advice from yesterday to heart. Perhaps you are just too chronically online and need to stop being so worried about the opinions random strangers might have about you.

It’s time for a digital detox.

Earlier, you deleted any and all social media apps off your phone, bar text messages if that even counted, and so far, it feels pretty freeing.

You’re so busy coloring and embroidering—both random hobbies you picked up but never had much time for since you would doom scroll instead—you hardly notice the sound of your door opening.

“Y/N?” inquires a frustrated-looking Rin.

“Rin!” you greet in excitement, dropping your activities and rushing over to give him a big hug. “I didn’t know you were coming over right now! Did I miss your call?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just came over. Are you busy right now?” 

“Never too busy for you,” you say with a cheesy wink.

Rin snorts, ruffling the top of your head. “Good. Let me take you on a date, then. I bought you a new dress to wear, if you want.” 

Your ears perk up at the sound of that. You absolutely love when Rin spoils you with surprise gifts! It also helps that he has a shockingly keen eye for the types of dresses that best suit your figure.

“Let me shower and get ready. Then we can go,” you say as you begin to head over to the bathroom. “What do you have planned for us?”

“Kioicho Fukudaya,” Rin states as if he’s saying something as ordinary and common as McDonald’s and not a two Michelin-starred restaurant. 

Your jaw drops. “How did you get a reservation so last minute?!”

He shrugs, lip quirking upward as you bounce in excitement. “Just made a few calls.”

“Just a few calls?” you repeat sarcastically. As nonchalant as Rin pretends to be, you’re fairly certain he had to fight tooth-and-nail for a table at a place like that. 

The two of you haven’t really gone to public places like restaurants, no matter how exclusive and high-end they were. Even with all the secrecy in the world, it would never be truly private. Paparazzi were still bound to be there lurking.

Realization dawns on you and you blink. “Wait…Won’t people see us together?”

“Possibly.” Rin hesitates for a moment. “Is that okay?” 

You weigh the consequences in your mind but remind yourself what’s really important. You want to let everyone know you’re with Rin. And judging from today, it seems he wants the same.

“I don’t mind,” you promise softly. “I think I’m ready to stop keeping this a secret relationship. But…what brought this on?

Rin’s eyes narrow as he grits out, “Karasu.”

Your head tilts in confusion. “You talked to him too?” 

“What? No.” His brows crinkle together. “I just saw you guys trending online.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He returns your look of equal confusion. “Have you not checked Twitter?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I deleted all my socials off my phone. Just so I’m not tempted to check it.” 

Rin raises his brow in question. 

“I’m tired of keeping our relationship a secret… I was hoping if I stopped checking the online gossip and what’s trending, I could ignore all the outside noise and just focus on us,” you explain. 

At your words, a smile forms on his face. Not a smirk, or a half-grin, but a full-fledged smile. Just seeing his expression makes you happy. 

This is definitely the right choice, you tell yourself. 

“Well, fans saw you and Karasu getting food together and now the media is calling you ‘Karasu’s girl’,” mutters Rin in annoyance. “Obviously, it’s false. But it still bothers me to see that.” 

You visibly gag at the news. “Ew! What? Karasu and me? Are they blind?!” 

He snorts at your face filled with disgust. “Blind and stupid. I want to show them just how wrong they are.”

It begins to dawn on you why Rin wants to dress you up all nice and take you to a fancy restaurant. You giggle at his possessiveness, finding it rather cute. You know he trusts you fully, but there’s no harm in him wanting to stake his claim. 

“We’ll definitely show them.”

“Get ready then,” he says after planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “I have to freshen up, too. It will be our grand reveal, after all.”

He makes it sound like some sort of mission. You giggle to yourself. 

“Join me in the shower?” you ask with a grin.

“Do you even have to ask?”

After the two of you get yourselves clean and dressed to the nines, Rin pulls you flush against his body as he examines you in the mirror. 

The dress he chose is soft and silky, hugging your curves perfectly. It’s floor-length, but the high slit rises to your upper thigh, exposing just enough skin to leave people curious. 

Rin stands behind you in his dark brown suit, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he kisses the side of your neck. 

“You look gorgeous,” he compliments.

“You do too,” you say with a smile. “Very handsome.”

Rin meets your gaze through the mirror and smirks. “I wasn’t planning on doing it this way, but you look too good to let this opportunity go to waste.”

“Opportunity? What do you mean?”

He doesn’t reply, instead taking his phone out his pocket and opening up the camera. Rin points it at the mirror and adjusts his arm so it slightly covers your face. Realizing he’s taking a photo of you two, you smile shyly, pressing yourself closer to his chest. 

“Beautiful as always,” says Rin after he captures the picture. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you jest, peeking over at his screen. 

When you see the photo, you almost blush. With the way his hand is gripping your body, and given how close you two are, it seems like you’re intruding on an intimate moment—and you lived it yourself!

You watch as Rin opens a social media app and posts the photo with a simple caption.

@RinItoshi: my girl. get it right.

Once finished, he tosses his phone aside carelessly and looks at you with a smile. “Ready for our date?” 

“Always!”

Placing your hand in his, you excitedly follow him out the door and to his car. The two of you are so happy in your own little bubble, neither one of you notice how the internet is absolutely blowing up over Rin’s reveal of your relationship. 

But that’s okay. You like it better that way. 

@KarasuTabito: DAMN IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH

@isagiofficial: congrats you guys! :)  

@iluvrinxoxo: holy shit she’s hot

@iluvrinxoxo: ahahahah rin who???? 

@iluvrinxoxo: changing my username bye

[lives-in-midgard]

Can't lose you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader including Sam Wilson and Joaquin Torres

Summary: After Bucky found out that you had a car accident and are now in the hospital. He rushes to the hospital and is scared to lose you.

Warnings: slight mention of a car accident, sad and scared Bucky 🥺

Word Count: 1266

A/N: Hey! It's been a while since I wrote a Bucky fanfic. I hope you enjoy it. 🥰

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Bucky was at Sam and Joaquin’s base, talking about a mission when he suddenly got a call from an unknown number.

“Hello, am I talking to James Buchanan Barnes?” The woman said on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, that’s me.” Bucky said and looked over to Sam. Suddenly he began to get nervous. What if something happed to you?

“Did something happen to my wife?” Bucky asked and was scared what she would say.

“She had a car accident and is in the hospital. Your wife is currently getting operated.” She said and Bucky’s heart began to race. The woman explained some more things to Bucky, but he was too nervous to listen to everything.

“Thank you, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Bucky said and as the call ended, he took a deep breath. He looked at the ground for a second and his eyes began to get blurry. Sam and Joaquin who could hear the conversation looked at each other with a worried expression. Sam walked over to Bucky and laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to give him some comfort. Bucky looked at Sam with a worried expression.

“I have to go to her.” Bucky mumbled and Sam nodded.

“We’ll drive you.” Sam said and looked at Joaquin who was already grabbing his car keys.

“Thanks, Sam.” They made their way to the car. Bucky didn’t pay much attention to the drive. He looked down at his wedding ring and softly touched it with his thumb and thought about this morning. The morning started so good. The day always starts good when you’re in his arms. A light smile appaired on his face as he thought back to today’s morning conversation. You had to get up and go to work but Bucky didn’t want to let go of you. So, you stayed a few more minutes and cuddled.

“Bucky we’re here.” Sam softly said and interrupted Bucky’s thoughts. Bucky looked up at him and then they walked to the hospital. As they walked into the hospital a nurse told Bucky where they could wait for a doctor. The three of them sat down on the chairs and Bucky looked at his ring again and started to play with his hands.

“I can’t lose her too.” Bucky suddenly whispered while a tear ran down his cheek. He thought about his sister, his parents and about Steve. You were the only family he has and he loved you so much.

“Buck, you won’t. She is a fighter.” Sam said and a light smile appeared on Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, you’re right. She is.”

“Thanks for being here with me.” Bucky said.

“Of course.” Sam said and Joaquin nodded. You are also important to them. They are one of your closest friends.

A few more minutes passed until a doctor came to them. Bucky, Sam and Joaquin all looked to her.

“Mr. Barnes?” She said and Bucky stood up.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asked.

“Your wife is stable. She is still asleep, but you can go to her, I’ll come and check on her in a bit.” The doctor said and Bucky felt relieved knowing that you were stable and that he could see you. Before walking away Bucky looked at Sam and Joaquin who both also looked very glad that you were okay.

“We’ll wait here.” Sam said and Bucky nodded. Then he followed the doctor to your room. Bucky opened the door and quietly walked over to your bed. He sat down next to your bed and reached for your hand, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand. A couple of minutes passed until you woke up. A soft smile appeared on his face as he noticed that you started to wake up.

When you woke up you looked into Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Bucky.” You mumbled and looked around.

“You’re at the hospital my love.” Bucky said and you could remember what happened.

“I had an accident.” You whispered and Bucky nodded.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, doll.” Bucky admitted as he softly held your hand and gave it a gently squeeze. You gave him a small smile.

“Sam and Joaquin are also here.” Bucky said after a moment, and you were relieved that he wasn’t alone. A while later there was a knock on the door and a doctor walked in.

“Mrs Barnes, how are you feeling?” She asked and looked at you.

“I feel tired and exhausted.” I admitted.

“That’s understandable, you have been though quite a bit. The surgery went well but you have to stay here for a few days.“

“So, she is okay?” Bucky asked to make sure.

“Yes, they both seem to be in perfect health.” The doctor said. You looked at Bucky with a confused look. Bucky was as confused as you and looked back to the doctor.

“You said they both?”

“I did. Mrs. Barnes. You’re pregnant.” She said and you couldn’t believe it. You began to smile and looked over to Bucky who also had a huge smile on his face.

“We’re gonna be parents.” Bucky said with a smile.

“I’ll let you two alone.” The doctor said with a smile and left the room.

“I can’t believe it, doll.” Bucky said and moved closer to you. He gently placed his hand on your cheek and gave you a passionate kiss.

“I love you.” You whispered as you broke the kiss.

“I love you too.” Bucky said with so much love.

“Can I see Sam and Joaquin?” You asked Bucky after a while.

“I think you should get some rest, doll.”

“Just for a bit.”

“Okay, just for a bit. I’ll be right back.” He said and kissed your cheek before going out of the room. It didn’t take long until Bucky returned with them.

“We are so glad that you’re okay.” Joaquin said with a smile as he entered the room.

“Thanks for being there for Bucky.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Sam said and you smiled back at him and then looked over to Bucky. Bucky nodded at you answering your silent question.

“I bet you will be great uncles.” You suddenly said with a grin.

“What?” Joaquin said confused but Sam started to smile.

“My beautiful wife is pregnant.” Bucky announced with a smile.

“Wow, congrats you two, that’s amazing.” Joaquin said with full excitement and Sam also congratulated you and Bucky. They stayed for a few minutes until you decided that it’s better to rest now.

“If you need anything, just call me.” Sam said before leaving. When they left you tried to move a bit to the other side of the bed.

“Woah, take it easy doll.” Bucky said and quickly stood up to help you.

“Just wanted to make some space for you.” You mumbled and could see how he began to smile.

“You want to cuddle?” Bucky asked in a soft voice, and you nodded. Bucky laid down beside you and gently put his arm around you. You laid your head on his chest, and he gently kissed your forehead. Bucky held you close and began to slowly draw circles on your arm, knowing that it always brings you comfort when he does that.

“I’m gonna be a dad.” Bucky suddenly whispered.

“I already know you’re going to be a great dad.” You whispered and slowly began to fall asleep.

“And you’re going to be the best mom.” Bucky whispered even though you were already asleep. Having you close and knowing that you were okay, finally brought Bucky some peace.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @buck-star | @nicoline1998enilocin | @kandis-mom | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @noellez-best-life23 | @beaubbdoll | @sgtgarricks | @ratchildspartan | @scott-loki-barnes |  @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 |

@mrsbuckybarnes1917 | @brnesblogposts | @rogersbarber

[em1i2a3]

All The Small Things

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Serum Enhanced!Fem!Reader!

Warnings: No warnings, just pure fluff, we have an established relationship already going between Bucky and Reader, there’s also an age gap (it’s referenced kind of but it’s not specified)

Author's Note: As I’m finishing up all my big bois (my 20,000+ word posts) I thought I’d continue contributing to the fluffiness of Bucky Barnes. I got to see Thunderbolts last night and I’m literally going again today. Such a freakin banger of a movie, loved it and I’m excited to keep writing with all the ideas I got!! Hope y'all enjoy this one tho :)

The second you stepped into the apartment you knew that Bucky hadn’t left his office all day.

It was easy to connect the dots.

The place was quiet, not just from the absence of sound but from the absence of life. It was as if you were home alone, even though you knew that wasn’t the case at all. There wasn’t any soft music playing from the Bluetooth speaker Bucky always forgot to turn off, no low humming of the kettle, not even the smell of a fresh pot of coffee, it was just pure stillness.

Sam had messaged you an hour and a half ago to tell you he would be out for the night and that he fed Alpine, and that had told you everything you needed as he would never do that unless Bucky was too tied up to do it himself.

You slowly closed the door behind you and dropped your bag to the ground with a soft thump, and like clockwork, you heard the little taps of nails against the wooden floor.

Alpine bolted down the hallway like a snow-dusted rocket, skittering towards you like she had a fire lit under her tail. You smiled, opening up your arms to her so she could jump up into the space with a quick hop. Her heavy purr immediately clouded your senses, as her paws pressed into your chest.

“Hi baby girl…” You laughed, scratching behind her ears, “Sam told me you’ve been wreaking havoc around the place but it sure doesn’t seem like that to me hmm?” She chirped proudly, nudging her face against yours, her little pink nose wetting your skin. You kissed the top of her head proudly.

”Did you miss me, or are you bribing me with love so I will give you a second dinner?” You asked jokingly, running your hand down her spine, until Alpine meowed again.

”That’s what I thought.” You lowered her gently to the floor and gave a final affectionate pat, “No second dinner, but I’m going to need you to make sure your father hasn’t turned into furniture, please, cause I don’t hear that stupid keyboard.” She trotted away from you, with her tail flicking behind her, taking your orders loud and clear.

You let out a small sigh and straightened up, cracking your back in the process before brushing off some of the stark white fur Alpine left clinging to your jacket. You padded quietly toward the kitchen, your fingers already tugging at your sleeves before shrugging the fabric off your shoulders.

The kitchen was your area of solitude after arriving home from work, it was where you found peace, and it eased your mind after stressing all day. Of course, it wasn’t just because one of your hobbies was cooking, it was also the thing that brought you and Bucky together after living your own lives for the day, and it always made you look forward to coming home.

You draped your jacket over the back of one of the island stools, smoothing it down absentmindedly before heading towards the large fridge. The big stainless steel doors still gleamed like they were new, even though they were riddled with fridge magnets, grocery lists, and little nose prints from Alpine. There were word magnets spelling out obscure messages, some of them reading like broken up haiku’s, mostly from Bucky rearranging them mindlessly while waiting for coffee. Your brows furrowed at the latest one.

“I married a traffic cone–our kids are just wet noodles.” You whispered under your breath, before smirking and shaking your head. You reached out and opened the door slowly, a soft chill spilling out onto your face as the ice cold light flickered on, nearly blinding you.

Your eyes scanned the semi-organized shelves, trying to get ideas on what to make for dinner.

Top Shelf: Oat, Almond, and Regular milk because everyone in the house had their own preferences, an aggressively large bottle of sriracha that had somehow survived three moves, and two glass meal prep containers Sam left–each with exactly one bite left inside of them.

Middle Shelf: Three eggs, a quarter block of sharp cheddar, a large block of mozzarella, an open jar of sweet pickles, half a lemon wrapped in wax paper, and a head of lettuce that had seen better days.

You let out a soft sigh, tapping idly against the door, scanning lower.

Bottom Drawer: A sealed pack of tortillas, a loaf of sourdough bread, one lonely stick of butter, and two green apples–crisp, bright, and firm to the touch when you reached in and picked one up.

“Guess we’re gonna do something simple tonight.” You murmured.

Grilled cheese, apple slices, and maybe a bowl of kettle chips that you stashed away in the back of the pantry, if they weren’t gone at least. Bucky rarely admitted to late-night snacking, but with the loud crunch of those chips it was pretty easy to know when he was sneaking around.

You placed the apples gently on the counter, before grabbing the cheese from the middle shelf and collecting the loaf of bread and butter from the bottom drawer, heading back to the counter with full arms, nudging the fridge closed with your hip.

You laid everything out in front of you, and commenced your routine. You sliced, arranged and layered cheese between the sourdough bread, buttering both sides of the sandwich before prepping the frying pan, letting it slowly heat up as you washed both apples in the sink beside the stove–surprised that Sam actually washed his dishes.

You let the apples rest on a clean towel and turned your attention back to the pan, letting your hands move on pure instinct. You threw a piece of butter in, hearing the loud sizzling, as you reached for one of the prepared sandwiches and pressed it into the heat. The familiar scent of butter and crisping bread instantly curled through the kitchen, while you reached for a spatula in one of the drawers to make the toasting even.

You moved with ease, but your thoughts, as always when cooking for Bucky, were heavier, like a thick drip of molasses. The memories always arrived when it came to this ritual, and it always gave you a pang in your heart.

Bucky never talked about his relationship with food much, not directly at least, but over time you were able to piece most things together. He had his tells. The way his fork sometimes hovered over a plate for too long, like he was waiting for permission to eat it even though he didn’t. Or the way he picked apart meals that were unfamiliar to him, dismantling them until they were mush. Or the way he never said no, even when you knew something didn’t sit right with him–because he had a fear of disappointing you.

The first year with him was difficult. He’d spent so long eating only what HYDRA allowed–processed, bland, gloop as you liked to call it–that he completely forgot how real nutrition tasted. To them it was enough to fuel the machine but never the man. He once told you, in the dead of night with your legs tangled and his breath warm against your bare shoulder that everything tasted like glue, or pencil shavings, or just static, and it stayed with you.

Once you got him over the hurdle of simple variety it opened plenty of doors. You made him every version of a sandwich you could think of. Ham and cheese, turkey and greens, BLTs with crisped bacon and soft tomato. Some days he could handle a little mayonnaise, a hint of onion, maybe pickles, others just butter, and some days he’d surprise you and ask for a little hot mustard and then pretend he hadn’t the next day.

You also made sure to change the sides too; apples, strawberries, grapes, sliced cucumber with a little salt. He favored plums when they were in season, or clementines when they weren’t on the sour side. When peaches were ripe and available, you would slice them thin and watch him savor every moment in having them, because you didn’t just cook for him.

You learned him, and that was something nobody really did, or at least the ones that did had left by this point. Maybe that’s why it meant so much–even now– to make him things he’d actually eat.

You flipped the sandwich, and were greeted by the perfect shade of gold–edges crip, center soft, cheese pooling at the corners. The sound of sizzling was almost soothing now, a him of comfort beneath the heavy weight of your thoughts. You pushed on through the routine though, toasting both sandwiches perfectly and placing them onto separate plates after slicing them diagonally, moving on to the apples soon after. Bucky took his plain, you took yours with a light drizzle of honey, and you arranged them accordingly in fanned out half moons.

The tea was the last step out of all this, which was supposed to be the easiest, or so you thought. You did your usual approach, fill the pot, and wait, then you collected the tea bags, and added whatever fix-ins were required. Bucky took a bit of lemon and nothing else. You on the other hand took honey, milk, and sugar, which always perplexed Bucky because he couldn’t imagine how it tasted with the food. It only took a minute and a half for the kettle to start whirring, but right when you reached out to take it off the burner, the steam hit your wrist, scalding and sharp.

”Shit!” You hissed, jerking your hand back, going to clutch the area out of pure instinct, but with how quick the pain came, it was gone even quicker. You tilted your forearm toward you, watching the redness fade before your eyes like it always did. The skin washed itself clean on its own. No burn. No mark. No evidence of an unwanted steam incident. You let out a shaky sigh, closing your eyes for a moment to ground yourself before returning to what you were doing, only this time with more caution in your actions.

You were used to the little miracles your body performed; the healing, the reflexes, the slowing down of aging, and you were appreciative of it, even though you didn’t use it outside of that. Not since you met Bucky, and not since life became close to normal.

You never dwelled on it. Not when your mornings were spent in shared silence with Bucky, curled up in bed whispering to one another and giggling, and certainly not when your nights ended with his arms around your waist and Alpine draped like royalty over the both of you.

You were living the life you wanted, or trying anyway.

But for all the forgetting you did, Bucky thought about it any time he saw the effect of the serum course through you, because he knew the one thing you never said aloud anymore.

You had a choice, and he didn’t, and it gutted you every time the conversation came up, or when someone referenced it in general.

It wasn’t that you regretted taking it, but when you learned what they had done to him–what they had stolen, and warped, and ripped out–it made everything curdle inside you. You remember crying in the quiet of his room, trying not to wake him because your transition to super soldier had come so easy but his came with such pain and anguish.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and began to stir the tea gently, tapping it off the lip before setting everything onto a tray and rushing over to the pantry to throw a snack bag of the kettle chips on there too for good measure, then you began your descent down the hallway.

The door to his office was cracked open already, probably from Alpine’s invasion, and as you got closer you could hear the clicking of his keyboard, it was quick and steady, with no stops in between, like he wasn’t contemplating his next words. You saw the soft steady glow of his desk lamp beckoning you to come closer as you nudged open the door with your foot.

”Congressman Barnes,” You said, your voice light and teasing, “Your legislative aide is here to make sure you don’t starve yourself to death while rewriting Section Four.” His typing stopped in an instant, as he looked up from his computer. The second his eyes found yours the tension in his jaw softened and a crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

His hair was slicked back neatly–though a few strands had started to fall loose near his temple–and his striped tie was draped over the back of his chair like a white flag of surrender. He wore a dark blue button up shirt which had become crinkled from the way he was slouched over his desk, but he still looked godly. He was done for the night, and you could see it in the way his shoulder dropped the second you entered into his line of sight.

“Well,” Bucky started, clearing his throat from the hours of silence, “For a second I thought I was having a stroke when I started to smell toast, but I’m happy to realize that’s not happening.” You shook your head, stepping further inside the book filled office, your feet dragging across the thick rug that lined the floor.

”Lucky you I’m not the harbinger of death,” You replied “Just the bringer of carbohydrates.” You added, placing the tray on his desk, watching as he pushed himself out from under it so he could wrap his soft arms around you, tugging you gently into the narrow space between his legs. You moved without protest, your hands automatically wrapping around his shoulders, while he tilted his head up to find your face.

“Hi,” He murmured, like he was telling you a secret. His eyes crinkled with affection, the kind that reached deep into the corners, where his laughter lines had started to live. You reached for him in those moments, smoothing his hair back, seeing the soft silver threads along his temples, the signs that he was slowly aging. It was beautiful to see it, and you didn’t say a word to him about it.

”Hi,” You whispered back, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth–just enough to melt into. His hands flexed gently at your waist as he brought you closer to him so he could give you a longer one, like he’d been waiting for it all day and you were quenching his desire for it. You pulled back from the kiss just enough to see his face again, your nose brushing his while your thumb traced the line of his jaw. He opened his eyes, looking up at you with the soft, warm, glassy blue irises, closing them when you kissed his nose.

”Quit trying to distract me from my mission. You need to eat.” Bucky sighed. a gentle sound of surrender.

”Alright, alright,” He said, his mouth curving into a wry smile, glancing toward the tray behind you, “Bring the carbs over here before I vanish into dust. You know I can’t resist your meals.” You huffed a laugh and reached behind you, carefully balancing the platter in your arms as you shifted it from the corner of his desk right to the spot in front of him. He made room quickly, pushing a few documents around, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food in front of him.

You slipped up onto the desk, crossing one ankle over the other, watching as he reached for the sandwich first, looking at the way the crust on it glistened in the light. He hummed for a moment before taking a large bite, which was almost half the sandwich. You smirked, watching him chew, then pause. His eyes shut slowly, as if the taste short-circuited something inside his nervous system.

”My god,” He groaned softly, leaning back in his chair, “Did I tell you I love you today?” He asked, almost in a pained way, like he doesn’t tell it to you enough, which he does.

“Yes Bucky.” You said, smiling down at him, as he devoured another bite of the sandwich like it was his first meal in days. There was something boyish about the way he ate your food, the satisfaction, the way he voiced how pleased he was, the look of him closing his eyes and sighing. It was the best compliment you could get from someone you loved so much.

”You know,” He muttered around one of the bites of apple that he had picked up, “We should really consider opening a sandwich shop. You’re good at making all kinds of them, and I’m good at managing…We could call it Bread and Bucky,” You rolled your eyes at him, laughing at his proposal.

”Absolutely not.”

“Come on!” He exclaimed, moving his chair towards you, “It’s catchy! Bread and Bucky–bread being you, obviously, because you're soft and warm and comforting, and me…Because…Well I’d be your best customer and the manager.” You shook your head, taking a bite of a slice of your own apple.

”You flatter me, but you know pharmacy is my life.” He let out a small laugh, leaning back in his chair again, keeping himself close to where you were perched.

”Yeah…I know…I know…How was work anyways?” You shrugged, taking another bite of the apple.

”Busy, and burning. Same as always. That teenager came in again, the one with a new prescription every other day. He told me the government is watching him this time around.” Bucky raised his brow.

”Is this the same one who thought he was poisoned by that fast food mascot?” You nodded.

”Yep, same kid.” Bucky shook his head.

”I’m really admiring the creativity of that kid, it’s a new thing every week.” You smirked.

”Well, when the doctor will write any prescription for you, I guess that’s what he needs to do to spice things up.” Bucky snorted and picked up another slice of apple, chewing slowly as he watched you. The corners of his mouth were still twitching with the remains of a grin, but his eyes were softened again, less amused now–just full of the admiration he had for you.

You reached for the mug of tea you made for yourself and blew on it gently, taking a small sip, letting the sweet, nectar-like flavour swim down your throat, keeping your eyes on Bucky’s, catching him leaning back in his chair again, glancing at your knees, like he was thinking for a moment, contemplating his next moves, calculating if it was the right time or not.

“What’re you thinking about?” You asked, squinting at him with a devious look in your eye. Bucky set his apple slice down on the edge of his plate and brushed the crumbs off his button up shirt, coming closer to you.

”I’m thinking…I want to spend every day of my life with you.” You blinked down at him, not because the words surprised you, but because of how he consistently said these things with such softness in his voice that it never failed to make your heart seize. He reached for a slice of your apple, twirling it once between his fingers before glancing back at you, holding it up in front of your face.

”Marry me,” He said, the words low and steady. No grin this time. Just pure sincerity, “For real.” You let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking your head.

”Bucky, that’s the fourth time this week you’ve asked me…”

”I know.”

”And you’ve been asking me every other day for the past three months.”

“I know.” He responded again, his pupils dilating, almost like he was being serious this time around.

“You already know what my answer is.” You said gently, setting your tea down on the desk.

”Still,” He said, his voice a touch raspier now, “I need to keep hearing it. I like hearing you say it.” You sighed, leaning toward him, reaching out to brush your fingers along his jaw, watching as he smiled and closed his eyes.

”I’ve said yes a billion times over.” You whispered, “And it’s always going to be a yes no matter how many times you ask.” He wet his lips, before looking up at you, like he was memorizing every inch of you, and then with a slow inhale, he shifted his hand to the top drawer of his desk. Your brow furrowed the second he slid it open.

”What’re you doing?” You asked, voice soft. He didn’t answer right away, which made you lean forward slightly, unsure of what he was grabbing, until you saw what was resting inside.

A small, black velvet box.

Your breath caught in your throat and your jaw went slack, your lips parting as your eyes flicked from the box to his face, and then back again. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears, and the blood rushing to your cheeks and chest. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

He picked up the box with such tenderness that it made your throat tighten, like he was handling something precious, something out of this world. He held it in his palm, while his vibranium hand opened it slowly, revealing a delicate ring perched right in the center of it.

It was a hazy greyish blue sapphire stone, something that you had always wanted, something that Sam had asked you about exactly three months ago. You had rifled it off to him, a sapphire stone with a little halo of tiny tiny diamonds around it with a silver band, and that was what was in the box.

You were stunned into silence, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, as tears began to cloud your vision. Bucky glanced up at you, smiling gently.

”I was going to actually propose on our trip last week,” He said, thumbing the corner of the box with his nail scratching against the velvet, “Had it all planned; hike in the morning, breakfast by the lake…But then…” He chuckled softly before continuing, “You got the flu,” He glanced back down at the ring, then back up to you, “Then I realized, I didn’t even need to plan this, I didn’t need to find a moment…I already had one and I had it every time I was with you.” You stared at him, your fingers curling slightly against the edge of the desk to steady yourself.

“This is our life and I want it every single day, until we go grey…If you’ll let me-“ You were already reaching, as you practically crawled off his desk and into his lap, his arm instinctively opening to catch you. The box was still in one hand between the both of you while you cupped his face with and kissed him breathless. He smiled into it, a little stunned himself now by how quick you moved.

“I take it that’s another yes?” He mumbled against your lips, as you tried to continue to mesh your mouth on his.

”Yes,” You whispered, pecking his lips again, “Yes, that’s another yes.” He laughed at your excitement, pulling back a little so he could adjust and grab the ring from the box.

”Then give me your hand,” He said, his voice drawing low. You held your left hand out, seeing it tremble a little as he slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, like he had taken a sizer and measured your hands during your sleep or something. Bucky looked at you with glassy eyes.

”Jesus Christ you’re my fiancée.” He let out a small laugh as you leaned back into him to kiss him again. It was short, and calming to him.

”I love you so much Bucky.” He smiled.

”I love you too…Jesus I love you too.”

[steveseddie]

rush

written for the @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event & the round one main card | prompts: start & store | rating: g | wc: 2,4k | tags: different first meeting, post season 3, coworkers steve and eddie, pre relationship, fluff

read on ao3

“So, when does the new guy start?” Steve asks, spinning away on the chair behind the counter while Robin restocks the candy display.

“Friday,” she says, nearly dropping a Snickers bar.

Steve stops spinning abruptly, going a little dizzy. “We have the closing shift on Fridays,” he says and Robin makes a vague noise of assent. “Does that mean I’m stuck on closing duty with the new guy?”

“Yes.”

Slumping back on the chair, Steve groans. “Robin!”

“What? It’s not my fault my dad is dragging us out of town to visit his family, dingus!” She snaps, throwing her hands up in the air. The Snickers bar lands on the carpet. “You know I hate my dad’s side of the family, I will be miserable too.”

Steve sighs. He’s heard enough stories about Grandma Buckley to know that Robin is telling the truth. “It’s just that the thought of working an entire week without you is–”

Robin cuts him off with a strangled, “Uh.”

“What?”

“Did I say one week?” She asks sheepishly. Steve narrows his eyes at her. “More like, two.”

“Robin!”

**

Friday comes much too soon.

It’s not that Steve has ever been excited to go to work, but knowing that Robin won’t be there makes this shift seem ten times worse. Especially when he knows he has to show the ropes to some high school kid who wants to be there probably even less than Steve does.

As he drags himself through his morning routine, he weighs the pros and cons of quitting but ultimately decides against it– he enjoys free movies and working with his best friend far too much.

Eventually he makes it to Family Video, ten minutes before opening time and finds that Keith left behind a mess like he always does. There are empty Cheez Balls bags behind the counter and half finished soda cans, one of which got knocked over at some point, spilling soda on the carpet.

Grumbling, Steve crouches down to pick up the other ones before they end up spilled over too. While ducked down behind the counter, the door to Family Video opens and the bell chimes.

“Greetings!” A vaguely familiar voice says.

Steve checks his watch. Five minutes till ten. “Sorry, man, we’re not open yet.”

“Actually, I work here,” that same voice says. Right, Robin’s replacement. Steve totally forgot about him for a second. The voice sounds deeper than he expected, not that of a high school kid and it definitely sounds familiar.

Standing up, he realizes why when he sees–

“Eddie Munson, reporting for duty,” the guy says, offering Steve a dorky soldier salute.

Steve blinks. Eddie Munson isn’t who he expected at all. He doesn’t know him personally but he knows of him. Still in highschool, despite being older than Steve. A nerd. A metalhead. Can be found selling drugs in the woods behind the school. Likes to stand up on tables and complain loudly about The Man. Not necessarily the poster child for a stellar employee.

Steve’s nose scrunches up. “I thought you sold weed, not movies.”

Eddie snorts but Steve’s bitchy tone doesn’t seem to affect him. “I’m branching out,” he says with a shrug. Then he leans his elbows on the counter. “So what’s first, boss?”

“First,” he starts, grabbing a spare vest from behind the counter. “You put this on.”

Now it’s Eddie’s face that scrunches up. “Do I have to?” He asks, eyeing the green piece of clothing like it personally offended him.

Steve’s lips tug up at the corners. He shrugs. “Company policy, Munson.”

With a sigh, he reaches for the vest and shrugs it on. It definitely doesn’t go with the metalhead look he’s got going on but it doesn’t look bad either, in fact–

“Green looks good on you,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Jesus Christ, why did he say that?

Luckily, Eddie takes it as a joke, glaring half-heartedly at Steve. “Fuck off, Harrington,” he says, shaking his curls out. “Okay, what now?”

Steve ignores the sudden urge to reach out and smooth down Eddie’s curls and gestures at him to follow him to the return bin. “Now we start by processing overnight returns.”

“Fun!” Eddie says with feigned cheerfulness, trailing behind Steve.

“You gotta make sure the right tape is in the case and separate those that are rewound from the ones that aren’t. Think you can do that?”

“Piece of cake, Your Majesty,” Eddie says, throwing a wink over his shoulder that makes Steve’s stomach flutter a little.

He brushes it off and leaves Eddie to it, focusing on cleaning Keith’s mess and doing his best to ignore his new coworker’s humming.

**

Steve walks Eddie through the rest of their morning routine– logging the returns into the system, restocking the candy display, facing tapes. He teaches him how to use the rewinding machine and the cash register. All of that before a single customer comes in.

“Is it always this dead?” Eddie asks, sticking another tape into the rewinding machine. He got the hang of it pretty quickly and Steve was happy to let him take over, even if he’s determined to be annoying about it and make weird noises with his mouth while the tape is being rewound.

“Mornings usually are,” Steve says, looking away from Eddie’s mouth and back to the computer where he’s supposed to be logging tapes in. “We’ll probably get a small rush around lunch.”

“How do you pass the time then?”

“Uh, by working?”

“Bo-ring!” Eddie loudly says, making Steve jump. “You work at a video rental, Harrington, don’t you guys watch movies?”

“Well, most of the time Robin and I can’t agree on one.”

Eddie leans back against the counter and looks Steve up and down. He tries not to squirm under his gaze. “Mm yeah, you look like you have bad taste.”

Steve scoffs. “How do you know it isn’t Robin’s movies that are bad?”

Shrugging, Eddie turns his attention back to the rewinding machine. “I just do, Stevie.”

Stevie.

The name has Steve blurting out some lie about being out of plastic bags and heading to the backroom, his cheeks pinking up.

He stays there for at least five minutes trying to make his blush go away.

**

Steve’s gotta hand it to Eddie– he handles the lunch rush pretty well.

It’s not the same as working with Robin but it definitely beats working with Keith, who disappears into his office for most of their shift, even during the busiest hours.

Despite doing his job well, Eddie still insists on being annoying about everything he does. He starts arguments with customers over which movie they pick, steals candy from the display when he thinks Steve isn’t looking–

“Steve! Help, the cash register is stuck!”

Excusing himself to the elderly couple he’d been helping, Steve steps behind the counter where he smacks his hand against the cash register, making it work again.

Eddie huffs out a snort. “Thanks, big boy,” he says, and a shudder travels down Steve’s spine.

That’s another annoying thing. The names.

Stevie. Big boy. They make his face flush, his stomach flip flop and his tongue trip over its words.

“Uh, sure, yeah. It’s– uh, no problem.”

Jesus Christ, he used to be smooth. Then again, he used to be the one doing the flirting.

Not that Eddie is flirting with him.

For some reason, that thought makes Steve’s stomach twist again, this time with disappointment.

**

“I saw that,” Steve says when Eddie grabs a Snickers bar from the candy display in what he thinks is a subtle way. It’s not.

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You keep stealing candy.”

Shrugging, Eddie pulls back the wrapping and takes a bite. “I’m just making use of my employee discount,” he says through a mouthful of chocolate.

Steve snorts, leaning on the broom he’s using to clean the mess a kid left behind when he opened a bag of chips and they exploded. “That’s not a thing.”

“Well,” Eddie says, waving his chocolate bar. “It should be.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Keith,” Steve says sarcastically before going back to sweeping.

Eddie goes back to cleaning the sticky counter where another kid spilled his soda. “What about movies?”

“Mm?”

“Do I get a discount for renting movies?” He asks, scrubbing away at a particular stubborn stain, his tongue peeking out in concentration. Steve’s eyes get stuck on it and he forgets he’s supposed to be sweeping and that Eddie just asked him a question.

“Oh, well, technically no, but no one will know if you take it with you and return it the next day,” Steve says with a shrug.

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. “Didn’t take you for a rule breaker, sweetheart.”

Steve’s fingers tighten around the broom handle so hard he worries it might snap, his stomach filling with what feels like a swarm of butterflies.

God damnit, he thinks. He can’t get a crush on a coworker again.

Especially when things wouldn’t go any differently with Eddie from how they did with Robin.

**

“So what’s the deal with you and Buckley?” Eddie asks when they’re alone again after the afternoon rush. He’s shamelessly munching on a string of licorice since Steve has long since given up on stopping him from stealing candy. He’ll just tweak the inventory later, it’s fine.

What’s not fine is that Eddie’s lips are tinted red from sucking on the candy, which makes them incredibly distracting for Steve.

“What?” He asks, having completely missed Eddie’s question.

“I said– what’s the deal with you and Buckley? Are you guys together or something? You talk about her a lot, dude.”

“Oh, no. No, man. No way.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “She’s not cool enough for you?”

“Actually she might be cooler than me,” Steve says with a fond smile. “Just don’t tell her I said that. She’s– she’s my best friend but she’ll still be insufferable about it.”

“So you don’t like her?” Eddie asks curiously. “Like like her?”

Steve can’t help but snort. “I know you’re still in high school, Munson, but really? Like like?”

Eddie simply rolls his eyes.

“I don’t, not like that,” Steve says, shrugging. “I kinda did when we worked together last summer, but she didn’t like me back.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “She wasn’t interested in you?” He asks and when Steve shakes his head, he adds, “Damn. Maybe Buckley’s the one with bad taste, after all.”

Steve cocks his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie quickly says, taking a bite from the candy before holding it out to Steve. “Want some?”

Steve’s eyes follow Eddie’s tongue as he licks over his red lips, leaving them wet and shiny.

Boy, does he ever, he thinks, the words dangerously balancing at the tip of his tongue.

Luckily, a customer comes in and Eddie’s attention drifts elsewhere but it takes a little longer for Steve to snap out of his thoughts of tasting the candy straight from Eddie’s lips.

**

A girl walks up to the counter but Steve doesn’t notice her until she waves her hand in front of his face and says, “Hi.”

He was too busy watching Eddie as he gestured wildly at a group of nerdy teens that asked for a movie recommendation.

“Hi, welcome to Family Video,” Steve says sheepishly, turning his attention to her. “What can I help you with?”

The girl asks for a recommendation too but it’s clear that she’s just using it as an excuse to talk to Steve, probably hoping that he’ll ask her out. She’s pretty and nice, and Steve would probably enjoy taking her out, but as of seven hours ago, he’s had his eyes set on someone else.

Someone who, once the girl and the teens leave the store, walks up to Steve, ruefully shaking his head.

“Damn, Harrington, no wonder you’re single,” Eddie says, leaning his elbows on the counter.

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“That chick was obviously interested in you!”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking over Eddie’s shoulder at the girl as she gets into her car. “I guess.”

“Why didn’t you ask her out?”

Steve simply shrugs. He can’t exactly admit that he doesn’t feel like asking anyone out unless it’s him.

Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs. “Unbelievable.”

“You can go and ask her out yourself if you’re so offended,” Steve says bitchily, though the words come out sounding a little more bitter than he’d like.

With a sarcastic laugh, Eddie says, “First of all, she wouldn’t want to go out with a guy like me. Second of all, I wouldn’t want her to.”

“Not nerdy enough for you?” Steve asks, resting his elbows on the counter too, their faces only a couple of inches apart.

It gives him a good view of Eddie nervously biting on his bottom lip before he says, “Not guy enough for me.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

He sees Eddie almost imperceptibly gear up for whatever Steve is going to do next. He remembers Robin doing the same thing once, and can’t help but think about what this means. That he might have a chance with Eddie after all.

“Well, I’m sure a– a hot guy will come around that you can ask out,” he stammers out, feeling his cheeks warming up– from the proximity, the anticipation, the way Eddie’s eyes dart down to his lips and back up again, his mouth ticking up at the corners–

“You might be right, pretty boy.”

**

Closing time comes faster than Steve expected.

Eddie actually proves very helpful, and in no time, the two of them are done and walking out of the store.

Eddie hovers as Steve locks the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, shoving his hands into his jacket.

“You better,” Steve says, bumping their shoulders together. “Don’t leave me hanging, Munson, weekends are busy.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here. I actually had fun working with you, Harrington.”

Steve’s stomach flutters. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

Eddie laughs as they reach the parking lot. Steve can see Eddie’s van parked in the opposite direction of his Beemer, but instead of heading that way, Eddie scruffs his feet against the pavement. “You know maybe we, uh, we could take a movie home sometime and watch it together?”

Oh. Now Steve’s stomach fills with a million butterflies, at least. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Eddie bites his lip around a smile. “Alright, pretty boy. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

With a two fingered salute, Eddie whirls around and starts walking towards his van. Steve walks over to his car with a smile.

He’s actually excited for the next two weeks. Who would’ve thought?

[gohyemi]

"Is It Love or a Scent?"

teaser

"Get out," Joshua snapped, pulling over to the side of a deserted road. The street was mostly empty, save for a few dimly lit shops casting eerie glows into the night. The silence felt heavy—too heavy.

"I’m sorry—please, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t pour the drink on her, she—"

"Oh, what? You're going to say she did it to herself now?" he cut her off sharply, his eyes glinting red with fury in the glow of the dashboard lights.

Without another word, he reached into the backseat, grabbed her phone and purse, and threw them onto her lap. The gesture wasn’t just dismissive—it was cold.

"You really pissed me off today. Get out."

She froze, too stunned to speak. Her chest tightened, her heart aching in a way that felt deeper than usual. Joshua’s temper was something she had grown used to—fleeting, like a passing storm. But tonight felt different. It's making her eyes sting, but she refuses to let it out.

Silently, she opened the door. Her heels, which had already left blisters on her feet, scraped against the rough pavement as she stepped out. The purse in her arms felt heavier than usual—maybe because it carried more than just her belongings. It carried the weight of realization.

She was already emotionally drained, and now, standing alone in the cold, she felt stripped of every last bit of energy. As she closed the door behind her, Joshua sped off without a second glance, the roar of the engine disappearing into the night.

She stood there under the dim streetlight, shivering—not just from the wind, but from the sudden emptiness Joshua left behind. Then, a rumble of thunder cut through the silence, low and ominous.

“Well… shit,” she muttered, slipping off her heels. Better to walk barefoot than make the blisters worse. The pavement was rough and cold, but it was still better than the sharp sting in her feet. She hurried toward the closest shop, feeling the first drops of rain tap against her bare shoulders like a warning.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the sky opened up.

The gentle drizzle turned into a downpour, sheets of rain hammering the street as if the sky itself was angry. She stood under the awning of the nearest shop, hugging herself tightly, trembling. The cold crept into her bones.

Just as she was wondering what to do next, the door behind her clicked and creaked open.

“Come in, young lady,” a gentle voice called.

She turned to see an elderly man standing in the doorway, a folded blanket in his arms, his smile warm despite the chill in the air. His eyes crinkled kindly at the corners, like someone who’d seen many storms—both outside and within.

She hesitated. “I’m fine, really,” she tried to say, her voice shaky.

But the thunder roared again, and the rain showed no signs of mercy. And Joshua—her so-called husband—surely wasn’t coming back.  ‘asshole’

Realizing she had no choice, she gave a small nod and stepped inside.

The shop was filled with vintage treasures, each item seemingly telling its own story. A row of watches caught her eye—old, yet timeless. Nearby, a delicate vase stood beside bottles in different shapes, some worn with age. But what drew her in most were the small bottle with flowers carved around it. They sat on a wooden shelf, their contents faintly visible—just a little water left inside.

"You like it?" The old man’s voice broke through her thoughts.

She nodded absentmindedly, still mesmerised by the bottles.

"What is this, ajusshi?" she asked, lifting one of the bottles in her hand. She studied the flower pattern—once white, but now its paint had faded to a dusty yellow, as if time had not been kind to them.

The old man smiled softly. "It’s perfume, if you want to know."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Isn’t it expired? Doesn’t it smell bad?" she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

The old man chuckled, a warm, knowing sound. He turned away, heading toward the back of the counter "Come, take a seat," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I’ll tell you a story."

As she stood there, still holding the bottle, the old man reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of fluffy slippers, handing them to her. "Here," he said, offering them with a knowing grin. "Put those heels aside. I can see your date’s an asshole for making you wear that."

She blinked in surprise at his bluntness, but there was something about his words that made her laugh, despite everything. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and for the first time that night, she felt a hint of comfort. Without hesitation, she slipped off her heels and put on the soft slippers, grateful for the warmth they provided.

The soft slippers muffling her steps. She took a seat on the cushioned stool in front of the old man, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, ready to listen.

The old man settled opposite her with a sigh, his fingers gently tapping the wooden surface “This bottle of perfume,” he began, gesturing to the one still in her hand, “was once crafted by a woman who lived in a house surrounded by the most beautiful flowers you could ever imagine.”

His voice lowered, almost reverent, as if the memory of that woman still lingered in the scent trapped inside the dusty bottle. The rain outside continued to pour, but in that moment, the only world that existed was the one the old man began to unfold.

---------------------------------

Once i'm done with Jeonghan's story then I will publish this one I'm back with another mystery vintage shop series. should I stop until Joshua or continue the story with other members as well🧐 Once i'm done with Jeonghan's story then I will publish this one Check out my other creations on the seventeen list. for sure you guys love it too~

[sturnswiftie]

if dealer!chris ever hurt crybaby (burnt her with a cigarette on accident) what would his initial reaction be

-★

you're in chris's room, everything dim and warm and quiet as you curl into his side, picking at a thread on the hem of your sweater while he flicks his lighter open and shut. the cherry of the cigarette glows soft between his fingers as he talks, voice low and lazy.

you lean forward to grab your lip balm off the nightstand, and that's when it happens: a small movement, a sharp hiss, and the cigarette brushing the soft skin of your upper arm.

you jerk back with a startled gasp, eyes already glassing over as the sting blooms. chris freezes at the same time, almost as startled as you. and then everything happens fast.

"oh—fuck. baby."

the cigarette falls forgotten into the ashtray with a quiet hiss before he's reaching for you, but it feels like his hands are suddenly too big, too rough, fumbling to grab your arm as gently as he can. his thumb ghosts over the tiny red spot like he's scared touching it will make it worse.

"you okay? did i—shit, i didn't see you movin'—" his voice is strained, shaky, already cracking with guilt.

you're just too quiet, staring at the burn with trembling lips as you blink quickly, your boyfriend recognizing that as your way of trying to keep tears at bay.

"aw, sweetheart, no, no, no—don't cry, baby, please—shit, c'mere." he tugs you into his lap, cradling you like you're made of glass. one hand comes down to rest on your waist, the other carefully cupping the injured arm like it's the most delicate thing he's ever held.

he kisses your temple, cheek, and your shoulder over and over like he can kiss the pain away.

"m'sorry, i'm so sorry. didn't mean it, baby.. my baby, my pretty girl. i wasn't payin' attention—goddamn cigarette shoulda never been near you—"

you don't say anything in response, but a sniffle leaves you as he takes in your wide, watery eyes, and the way you cling to his hoodie like he's somehow still your safe place.

chris shushes you quietly, pressing his mouth to your hair. "shh, shh, i got you. gonna take care of it, okay? gonna fix it. lemme see it, honey. just for a sec," he insists when you initially shake your head, lower lip pouted out in a way that breaks his heart.

he grabs a water bottle from the mini fridge in his room before pressing the cold plastic gently against the mark on your arm, nodding his head like he understands when you immediately begin to whine and squirm.

"i know it stings, 'm right here," he murmurs softly, noting the way his quiet coos begin to make you settle. "there y'go, that's my girl.."

he knows you need some sort of ointment on the burn, but at the sight of your current state, he decides against it for now. instead, he wraps you up in a blanket before setting you in his lap like you can't possibly sit anywhere else. every couple of seconds, he checks the mark again like it might've gotten worse while he wasn't looking.

"does it still hurt, baby?" he asks quietly. "wanna ice it more? want me to kiss it again?"

he watches as you nod, pouty and sniffling, and he can't help but melt, the fact that you still need him drawing out some of the tension in his chest.

"i'd never hurt you on purpose," he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face. "y'know that, right? you're my girl. s'posed to protect you."

he holds you tighter when you hiccup a tiny "i know," into his chest.

©sturnswiftie

[fluentmoviequoter]

Father's Faults

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Tim is distracted by his memories of his father, so you find an unprecedented way to keep him focused. After he lashes out at you for overstepping, he realizes that you understand and have your own memories to battle. Rather than bonding over that, you accept what's been between you since you first met.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, domestic violence, Tim and r have a lot of childhood and job-related trauma, angst to fluff, confessions and kisses

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

A/N: @nevereclipse inspired this with magnificent ideas about Tim and a traumatized reader. I hope you like it!!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

There’s a scuff in the dashboard of Tim’s shop. It’s been there for as long as you can remember, but there’s something different about it today. Tracing the ragged scrape marks with your eyes, you try to come up with a story about how it got there or an explanation for its appearance. Anything other than acknowledging the tense silence in the car or your partner's tight grip on the steering wheel.

“7-Adam-100,” dispatch radios, “there’s an active home invasion in your area.”

“7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies, dropping the radio after he finishes.

You don’t speak, opting to look out the window as Tim drives to the address with the blue lights spinning. Part of you feels like you should know what’s bothering Tim, but he’s not exactly easy to read, nor is he willing to admit that something is going on. So, until - or if - you can deduce what’s making him so distant and easily angered this week, you’ll give him the room and the quiet he clearly desires.

“Side gate is open,” Tim says as he parks beside the neighbor’s house. “We’ll use it for entry, split up and clear the house. I’ll go right.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, opening your door.

As you follow Tim through the gate and duck under windows lining the side of the house, you focus on the job. Tim’s back muscles are tense beneath his uniform, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll think about him and let your guard down. Entering the broken back door, you tap Tim’s shoulder before you turn left into a small dining area. With your gun raised, you move quickly but carefully through the room. A crash sounds down the hall, so you press your back to the wall and move toward the noise, keeping your steps light and breathing quiet.

Tim exits a door behind you, and you drop your gun as soon as you realize it’s him. Moving together, you prepare to enter the room where the intruder is shouting demands.

“On three,” Tim whispers, covering the door so you can enter. “One. Two. Three.”

He pushes the door open, stepping into the doorway as you move inside. 

“LAPD!” you announce. “Put your hands up!”

The large man - whose boot likely matches the shoe print on the back door - bares his teeth at you before he turns to the woman guarding her son. They’re both sporting bruises and a wound at the woman’s hairline drips blood down her cheek.

“Let me see your hands!” you demand, stepping toward the man.

Tim doesn’t move, his eyes bouncing between the suspect and the young boy cowering behind his mother.

“It’s my house,” the man says.

“Not anymore,” the woman interjects. “We have a restraining order.”

With his jaw clenched, Tim lowers his gun and steps forward. “Last chance. You walk out with us or you can keep being a coward and we’ll drag you out.”

The man sneers, turning toward Tim as he prepares to lunge. You holster your weapon quickly, pulling your taser out instead. Pointing it at the larger man’s chest, you shake your head.

“Is that your son?” you ask. “Do you really want him to remember you like this?”

He hesitates, then swings. Tim ducks out of his reach at the last second, and you depress the trigger on the taser, sending 1,500-volt pulses through his body as he folds in on himself and collapses.

Tim steps over the man’s leg to cuff him, and you set your taser down to approach the man’s son and his ex-wife. The boy clings to his mother but looks up at your shield with a small smile.

“We’re Code 4, need an RA at this location,” Tim alerts. “One in custody.”

“This card has my number on it,” you say, offering a large cardstock square to the woman before you. “There’s also a list of numbers on the back that can help support you during this time. The domestic violence hotline can give you information about keeping your address private and hopefully preventing something like this in the future.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “He just showed up out of nowhere.”

You pull a tissue off a nearby table and offer it to her, watching her son as she presses it to her bleeding forehead. The ambulance is only a few minutes away, but you kneel to check on the boy.

“Let’s go,” Tim murmurs, hauling the abusive father to his feet.

“I need an ambulance!” he moans. “She tased me.”

“You will be seen, but you’re trespassing.”

“I can’t walk,” he argues.

“Then I’ll drag you,” Tim snaps.

The man stands then, his head hanging toward his chest as he pulls his feet rather than taking normal steps. You notice that Tim has his hand on the handcuffs rather than the suspect’s arm. Tim's past, you remember. Tim has been in this situation before, he knows precisely what this mother and child are thinking, and that’s why he reacted like he did. There has to be more to it, though.

Tim is thinking about something and he endangers himself every time the thought surfaces.

“Bradford is all yours,” Angela says, shaking her head as she exits Wade’s office. “I know he’s going through some stuff, but how do you deal with him when he’s like this?”

“What’s he going through?” you ask, looking through the glass door.

“It’s almost the anniversary of his dad’s death,” she explains. “I understand being a little touchy, but-”

“We took a domestic call this morning,” you complain, pressing your thumb and forefingers against your eyes. “I didn’t realize the date. I should have told him to let someone else handle it.”

“He’s a cop, he can handle the job,” Angela assures you. She looks at Tim and sighs. “I just… none of us can get through to him. It’s like he’s holding himself hostage in his own memories.”

“I- I’ll see what I can do,” you offer.

“Don’t beat yourself up if he won’t talk. And don’t take anything he says this week personally.”

“You ready?” Tim asks, exiting Wade’s office.

“Yeah,” you answer, nodding to Angela as you follow Tim back to the shop. If he’s thinking about his dad too much, maybe you can give him something else to consider.

The corner store is silent as you walk down the center aisle. At midnight, the building is empty, the radio is off, and the cashier sits silently at the register, earbuds in as she stares at her phone. You should find the silence enjoyable after being yelled at by Tim four times in one night. Instead, it makes you uncomfortable, desperate for something to happen.

“Aha,” you murmur when you find the small selection of cleaning products.

It’s probably a bad idea, you think while you fill the small, handheld shopping basket with various items. You tried to get Tim’s mind off his dad, and their strained past, but none of your attempts were successful. He thought about you long enough to yell, accuse you of overstepping, and make vague threats to discourage you from attempting to make small talk with him. But even then, he retreated into his mind as soon as you agreed and fell quiet again.

“Uh,” the cashier mumbles when you place the basket on the counter. “Is this… you good?”

You look at the odd collection of items ranging from candy and a Dodgers sweatshirt to twine and a spray bottle, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tim glances at your bag as you place it on the floorboard of the shop but doesn’t say anything. You’ll let him reach his own conclusions about its contents for now. After double-checking with Angela this morning, you learned that there are two days until the actual anniversary of Tom Bradford’s death, and you plan to help Tim through the next forty-eight hours, no matter what it takes.

Now that you've been reminded of the date, it’s clear that Tim is thinking about his father. His tight jaw, distant stare, defiant act of threatening an abusive father, and how he stands at least a foot away from everyone, even if it’s someone he knows and trusts, it's all indicative of his trauma response. Thinking back to yesterday, you remember that he stiffened when you touched his back during calls, and it all begins to make sense.

Tim has a tell, you discover. When he’s thinking about his past, his nostrils flare. You will never admit to watching him that closely, especially not to someone like Angela or Nell, who are convinced you’re in love with him. Yet, you observed him enough yesterday afternoon and during roll call to confirm your suspicion. Even as you watch him now, his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his nostrils flare quickly.

“What’s your opinion on stop and frisk?” you inquire.

His hand relaxes as he furrows his brows and asks, “As a policing technique or in general?”

“Policing.”

“So, Terry stops. I think that if there’s reasonable suspicion and no bias it is a useful and protective tactic.”

“Interesting. How can you tell if there’s bias, though? And what makes suspicion reasonable?”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“I’m making conversation, getting opinions, learning,” you list dramatically. “Is that so bad?”

“When we’re in this shop, we’re partners. I’m not your personal podcast.”

“That would actually be really nice,” you reply. “Anyone ever told you your voice is soothing?”

“Stop.”

“It’s just a question!”

“Stop.”

You lift your hands in surrender and turn into your seat properly again. Tim drives through a green light, sees a father walking his son into a playground, and the look returns. You sigh and pull your bag open.

“What was that?!” Tim exclaims, swerving slightly as his right hand raises to his face.

“It’s water,” you answer, shaking the spray bottle. “I need you focused. I can’t worry about you or we’ll both get killed.”

“Focused? I am your superior!” Tim argues as he wipes his hand on his pants.

“Then work with me,” you plead.

“What makes you think I’m unfocused?” he inquires.

“You’re thinking about other things. Just… keep your mind in this shop today, and I won’t spray you again.”

“If you like this job you won’t spray me again,” Tim amends.

“If that’s what you need to hear.”

“She bought Wesley a tie with lobsters on it,” Angela tells Nyla.

“My dad has a tie with fish,” Lucy says. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You called?” you interrupt as you follow Tim to the detectives' desks.

“Yeah, we need you to run down a lead,” Nyla answers. “Unless you’d rather hear about Lucy’s dad’s ugly ties.”

“Hey, I chose some of those ties! Father’s Day is coming up if you want to know where I got them,” she offers.

“Oh, I already bought James a gift,” Nyla answers with faux disappointment.

“What lead?” Tim asks.

Standing behind Tim with one hand behind your back, you spray him without anyone noticing. He turns his head toward you, his eyes warning you to stop. You smile, nodding along with Nyla’s explanation.

“I am not a cat,” Tim whispers as you exit the station.

“Then take the hint,” you reply softly.

Nyla’s lead was indeed helpful, and you deliver a new suspect to the station before you return to patrol. In the shop, you hold the spray bottle in your lap as Tim drives. When you move your fingers toward the top, Tim slams on the brakes and snatches it out of your hand.

“You don’t get to decide what I think about!” he exclaims. “If you’re so worried that I can’t do this job right now, then get out and go back to the station.”

“Tim, that’s not what-”

“It is not your business,” he continues. Loudly. You flinch, but he's too mad to notice. “It is not your place to be my therapist and tell me to only think about good things or to stay in the moment. Whatever it is you think is on my mind is not worth this!”

You take several breaths, watching Tim’s chest heave.

“I know it’s almost the anniversary,” you say, forcing your voice to stay level as you press your palms against your thighs. “Your dad… he clearly got to you, your childhood affects you. And that’s okay. I’m not saying to forget everything or let those experiences become meaningless.”

“Then let it go.”

You look down at your hands as Tim drops the spray bottle beside your feet and begins driving again.

“I’m sorry,” you offer after several minutes. “It was affecting you, and I thought giving you something else to think about would help.”

“Not your call,” Tim grumbles.

Nodding, you locate the scuff on the dashboard, staring at it until your vision blurs. 

“How’d that mark get there?” you whisper.

“What?” Tim asks, glancing toward you. “I don’t know.”

“There were marks on my mom’s dash, too,” you say. “Nobody knew how they got there. Nothing we would admit while my dad was around, anyway.”

Tim’s eyes find you again, his gaze different. But you’re still looking at the scratched plastic.

“It was like a switch was flipped,” you confess. “One day, he was at a recital, cheering on his baby. And the next… there were marks on the dashboards and new scars that- that I didn’t ask for. So, I have an idea of how painful the memories can be, how far and how fast they can drag you under until it feels like you’re drowning. I went about it wrong, and I can see that now, so I’m sorry. But my intentions are still the same. I don’t want to sit by while a memory of being hurt keeps hurting you.”

Tim doesn’t reply as he shifts his eyes back to the road. You don’t watch him during the remainder of your shift to know if his nostrils flare or if his breathing returns to normal after his outburst. What you do know is that if Tim is willing to let himself be controlled by memories, you can’t stay close enough to watch it happen.

Scrolling through your notifications as you exit the station, you let your body run on autopilot as you make your way home. You’re nearly across the parking lot when someone says your name. You stop and look up, surprised to see Tim’s full attention on you.

“Lopez thinks you were flirting with me,” Tim says, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“When?” you ask. There are several feet between you, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Well, she says it pretty often, but the spray bottle. She noticed that my back was wet, saw it in the shop, put it together.”

You nod, holding your phone with both hands so you don’t fidget and expose how uncomfortable you are.

“Could we talk?” Tim asks.

“Not if it’s about me flirting with you,” you reply lightly.

Tim’s lips quirk up. “No. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you flirt, and that wasn’t it.”

“Then, what do you want to talk about?”

“What I’m not supposed to think about.” Tim slides his hands into his front pockets and shrugs. “I should talk to someone, not just retreat into who I used to be, dissect what could have been different. I just thought… If I’m going to talk, I need to tell someone I trust. Someone who understands.”

“And that’s me? Last I heard, I was overstepping and needed to let it go.”

Tim nods, stepping back toward his driver’s door.

“But,” you call after him, “if you’ve changed your mind, we can talk.”

Tim’s house is warm, comfortable, manly, and everything you expected. Yet, it’s awkward as you lower onto his couch and watch him move in his kitchen. It’s oddly domestic, but the connection between you and Tim is hanging on by a thread. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says suddenly. With his hands spread on the counter, he watches you. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I… my mind feels like my archenemy some days, and I fight that battle alone. You tried to help, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“No one knows the mess we’re in,” you agree. “The voices in my head say I’m being paranoid, but I know it will pull me under someday if I let it. You don’t have to apologize, Tim. I get it.”

“I don’t know what hurts worse, letting go or remembering,” Tim adds, walking to the couch with two glasses. He sets one in front of you, then sits beside you. There’s not as much distance between you now, but the vulnerability makes it feel like you’re exposed face-to-face.

“You were right,” Tim admits. “I’ve been thinking about what happened when I was a kid, wondering where everything went wrong, trying to identify something I could have done differently. Now that he’s gone, I guess I’ll never know.”

“Tim,” you breathe out, your heart breaking for him. “That was not your fault. None of it was because of you.”

“You’ve never wondered?”

“I didn’t say that.” You lift your glass, holding it between your hands to look down at it. “I used to lay awake at night trying to figure out what part of me was so broken that someone would do that to me. Especially someone I loved and who was supposed to love me.”

“But it’s not our fault,” Tim repeats. “It’s theirs.”

“And we can’t save everyone.”

“We shouldn’t have had to save anyone. Not even ourselves. I think back now, and I don’t remember my dad ever hitting my mom. He was verbally abusive, threatened to go farther, exhausted her emotionally and mentally. I tried to stay between him and Genny.”

“From what I’ve heard, you protected Genny from more than the bruises,” you offer. “You’re an incredible person, Tim.”

Tim smiles, turning his head toward you as his elbows rest on his thighs. “Was that flirting?”

“You’ll know when I’m flirting, Bradford,” you answer with a smile.

“When I was deployed, there were a couple guys whose wives divorced them,” Tim begins. “I found myself wondering why my mom didn’t do that. My dad would disappear for a week or so here and there. She could have left, but she didn’t.”

“I think moms try to fix everything in the only way they know how. If my mom even knew, she never showed it. But, I wondered the same thing. 20/20 hindsight, I guess.”

Tim empties his glass, then says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you inquire, setting your cup beside his.

“The stuff in my locker? No one else would have put it there.”

You duck your chin to hide your smile. “It’s what I wanted when I was stuck in this cycle as a kid. I had panic attacks for a while. Music, something comfortable to wear, something rough to hold and ground myself with, and snacks I wouldn’t get otherwise felt like an escape to a world where I was safe, different.”

“I saw a therapist who told me to find ‘a portal to a better world’ when my PTSD was at its worst,” Tim says, leaning back against the couch, his hand falling toward you. “I was reliving memories that were killing me, and couldn’t figure out how to stop the bloodshed long enough to discover Narnia.”

“Narnia?” you repeat. “I didn’t realize you were a man of taste.”

“Next time, you won’t try to distract me with sports.”

“No. Although, I’d prefer a world where there isn’t a next time.”

“That’s a world we’d have to make.”

You lock eyes with Tim, shifting closer to him as the soft hum of his air conditioner fills the room.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, brushing your fingers against Tim’s.

“Would it sound like I was flirting if I said I am now?” he questions, leaning toward you as he smiles.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But would that be such a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. After all, you trust me and I understand.”

Tim rolls his eyes at your teasing, and when you inhale, preparing to continue, he raises his right hand to your face, holding your jaw. You silence, watching Tim’s eyes.

“I don’t…” he begins. “I don’t want to be crutches.”

“Tim,” you breathe. “We’re not showing each other our scars to learn how to support each other. I’m telling you who I am because you make me better. You help me see who I am now, not who I force myself to see in the mirror. You aren’t my salvation, but I think you could be something.”

“I’ve lived in fear for most of my adult life that I couldn’t love someone, that I could tell them the truth about everything, about me. With you… telling the truth is as easy as breathing.”

“Breathing before, after, or during a panic attack?” you clarify.

“Why are we even having this conversation?” Tim jokes, shrugging. “You’ve been flirting with me for years, you clearly want me.”

“Then I guess it’s up to you,” you reply. “We’re at the edge, Tim. It’s your call. Are we going over the edge or running back to safety?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” Tim requests, pushing your hair over your shoulder.

You hum, dragging your fingers along his forearm. “I thought I was undesirable until I was, like, mid-20s.”

“What changed?” 

You shrug. “Put on the uniform, met a few badge bunnies, I don’t know. I still feel it sometimes.”

“With me?”

“No,” you whisper. “But I think you see more than my face. Your turn.”

Tim licks his lips as he thinks. “You know all my secrets now.”

“Then tell me something that isn’t a secret.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to fall in love after Isabel. Not until a few years ago.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

Tim laughs. “What else changed a few years ago?”

You trace your own life back one year, then two, then… “Oh. Me?”

“Oh. You,” Tim repeats. “I was also called Reaper in the Army.”

“That’s so much cooler than falling in love with me. How’d you get that name?”

Tim’s lips are mere inches from you as he asks, “Is that really what you want to focus on right now?”

“Promise you know we’re not crutches?” you request.

Tim takes your hand and says, “I know. You’re clearly more of a walker.”

You huff, but Tim closes the distance - finally - and kisses you slowly. With his hand on your face, your hands joined, and your knees against his thigh, you forget everything except Tim Bradford and the future you want with him.

He pulls back first, searching your eyes before you drop your chin and kiss a scar on his neck. Tim takes a shaky breath as you sit back on your socked feet. You’d felt so out of place when you first arrived, and now you’re not sure you want to leave the comfort and seclusion of Tim’s home and his arms.

“You know we’re not going to be allowed to ride together anymore, right?” Tim asks.

“Yeah. Now we can do so much more,” you reply.

“Such a flirt,” Tim murmurs.

“I’m here for you,” you remind him. “No matter when, no matter what.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. “Prove it.”

[moondustbaby]

Just Friends?

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader

Summary: karaoke night at the bar. you and rafe are glued at the hip—laughing, drinking, flirting without even realizing it. their friends definitely notice though.

⸻

The bar’s loud. It smells like beer and cheap perfume and the strawberry lip gloss that’s clinging to your drink rim. There’s a soft layer of sweat on your neck, your cheeks are warm, and Rafe’s knee is pressed against yours like it’s always been there.

You’re halfway through your third vodka cranberry, and Rafe is poking at the lemon wedge in his whiskey sour like it personally offended him.

“Ray,” you nudge him with your elbow, grinning when he turns with that lazy, crooked smile that only deepens when he sees your flushed face. “If you’re gonna be weird about the lemon, give it to me.”

“Didn’t know you were so passionate about citrus,” he teases, dropping it into your glass anyway.

Topper’s already two songs into his impromptu karaoke set. He’s screaming Mr. Brightside like it’s still 2007 and he’s not wildly off-key. Everyone’s cheering him on, but Rafe’s attention is laser-focused on you.

“You gonna sing?” he asks, nudging your knee back.

You laugh into your drink. “Not unless you do.”

“Babe,” he drawls, leaning in just enough to make your heart stutter. “You know I’d embarrass myself for you.”

The nickname doesn’t register at first—not with how often he tosses out “baby” and “pretty girl” like he’s got a personal stockpile of terms just for you—but this one lands differently tonight. You feel it in your chest.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way his hand settles on your thigh under the table like it’s second nature, but your voice comes out softer when you say, “Then get up there, Cameron.”

The rest of the group notices. Kie’s raising her brows. Sarah shoots you a look that very clearly says do you hear yourselves right now? but you don’t care. You’re too busy watching Rafe put your name down for a duet.

“Rafe,” you hiss, grabbing his arm as he comes back. “What did you do?”

“You said you’d sing if I did. I picked Shallow. Don’t make me do Gaga by myself.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

He just smirks. “You love it.”

You do.

When your names are called, he tugs you up with no hesitation. Your hands are clammy, your cheeks are on fire, but he doesn’t let go. Not once. Not even when the music starts and the crowd starts cheering.

Somewhere in the middle of the song—probably during the chorus when he puts a dramatic hand over his heart and belts it like he’s on Broadway—you’re laughing so hard you almost miss your cue. He grins at you like you’re his favorite thing in the world, and suddenly, everything feels louder. Brighter.

When the song ends, there’s more clapping than you expect, but maybe it’s because of the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that he’s still holding your hand as you walk back to your table.

Back at the booth, Kelce whistles low. “You two done pretending?”

“Pretending what?” you say, reaching for your drink.

“That you’re not disgustingly in love with each other,” Sarah deadpans, pointing between the two of you.

Rafe doesn’t even blink. He just shrugs and drops his arm across your shoulders like it belongs there. You lean into him instinctively.

“She’s not denying it,” Topper says.

“She’s drunk,” Rafe replies, eyes still on you. “And cute. And probably gonna need someone to make sure she gets home okay.”

You shoot him a look. “You offering?”

“Always.”

The rest of the night blurs into more drinks, more dancing, and a round of “is this flirting or are they just like that?” from your friends. You’re not sure where the line is anymore. Maybe there never was one.

But when you stumble into the parking lot hours later, giggling as Rafe catches your arm and steadies you, you don’t question it.

Because drunk or not, flirty or not—you want him. And from the way his hand stays at the small of your back, from the way he helps you into his truck and cranks the AC so you won’t overheat, you think maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this one’s for the girls who definitely aren’t in love with their best friend but also… won’t stop sitting in his lap and sharing their drinks. be honest—what song would you make rafe sing at karaoke?

♥️ lani

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[b1eedthefreak]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Blue Hair

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: you loved daryl, he loved you, but he couldn’t let himself feel.

⌇warnings: angst angst angst

⌇word count: ~4.6k

a/n the request i got was if i could write based on the lyrics of blue hair “i guess ill just miss her, even though she isn’t really gone. things are just different.” <3 (notice how i made the title blue instead of pink? haha get it blue hair— ok ill stop..)

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It was supposed to be a simple run. A trip outside the gates for medicine, maybe some canned peaches, and whatever else they could find for the pantry. You and Daryl had done this countless times. He scouted, you kept track, made sure nothing got missed. You loved it. You loved any excuse to be near him, in the woods, on the road, or even driving back in silence with the sun warming his cheek. It was simple with him. Or maybe it used to be.

The day turned on its head somewhere between the old gas station and the back lot of a feed store. You weren’t paying attention, you saw a box of vitamins in a tipped-over cart and bent to grab it. You didn’t even hear them coming. Daryl did.

One guy had a knife pressed to your throat. Another was patting your pockets. It all ended in seconds… blood on the pavement, Daryl breathing hard, crossbow still aimed.

You looked at him with wide eyes, whispering, “I’m okay.”

But he didn’t take your hand. Didn’t ask if you were sure.

Instead, he exploded.

“What the hell were ya thinkin’?!” His voice was sharp, louder than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t ever look around, do ya? Always trailin’ after me like some damn dog. You even know how to protect yourself?”

You stood there, frozen.

“I ain’t always gonna be there, y’know!” he growled. “One day— one day I ain’t gonna make it in time. Then what?”

You said nothing.

And that was the last word between you both until you made it back to Alexandria.

The gates opened with a low groan and Aaron greeted you with a wave. “Hey! You two find anything good?”

You nodded faintly, holding a box of fruit. Daryl said nothing.

As you walked toward the pantry, Aaron clapped Daryl on the shoulder. “Man, I swear. You’re lucky. She’s sunshine.”

Daryl didn’t answer. Just turned and walked off toward the infirmary, needing space, needing anything but the echo of his own anger in his ears.

An hour passed. The sun was lower. And when he made his way back to the house you shared, the silence was deafening.

He climbed the stairs, expecting the quiet hum of your voice, maybe you brushing your hair or folding laundry like you always did when you were trying to settle your nerves.

Instead, he found you packing.

Your dresser drawers were open. Your bag half zipped. Your small stack of books was already tied together with string.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, voice low, heart thudding in his ears.

You looked at him. Calm. Tired. Empty.

“I’m leavin’,” you said simply.

He frowned. “Leavin’? Where the hell you gonna go?”

“I’m staying in Alexandria,” you clarified softly. “Just not here.”

You picked up a blouse and folded it carefully. “Daryl… I love you. But I’ve spent every day trying to reach a version of you that won’t let me in.”

He shook his head, confused, defensive. “I let you in.”

“No,” you said, gently. “You didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, eyes glassy but strong.

“You won’t let yourself feel anything, not really. You carry the whole world on your shoulders and forget that maybe I want to carry some of it too. But every time you push me out. Every time you explode or shut down or pretend I’m not someone you can lean on.”

He tried to step toward you, but you stepped back.

“I understand why you are the way you are. I do. You’ve lost people. You think if you stay hard, you’ll survive. But love isn’t weakness, Daryl. And I can’t keep being a stone next to someone who’s scared to feel.”

His jaw clenched. “I have to be strong.”

“I never asked you not to be.”

“I ain’t the boyfriend you want.”

Tears were slipping down your cheeks now.

“You’re the man I want,” you whispered. “But I can’t beg you to want me the same way back.”

He raised his voice then. “I do! I just— I can’t— You want me to sit here feelin’ everything all the time? People die, alright? Everyone we know — they could be gone tomorrow! So yeah, I shut it off. I have to.”

You stepped toward him, placing your hand on his cheek.

“Then I hope one day, you realize that loving someone doesn’t kill you, Daryl. It saves you.”

You kissed his cheek and walked toward the stairs.

He followed. “Where the hell are ya goin’?!”

“I told you.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your elbow.

“Leave then,” he snapped, more out of fear than anger. “I never needed anyone! Been fine by myself!”

You paused at the door, looking back one last time. “I know.”

Then you left.

The door shut behind you.

And everything fell silent.

Daryl stood there for a long moment. Then something cracked. He stumbled back, hand in his hair, chest heaving, and knocked the side table clean over. A glass shattered. A lamp hit the floor.

He sank to his knees and cried. For the first time in years, he cried.

—

Three months later,

You still lived in Alexandria. You had your own little cottage now near the gardens. You opened a bakery with Carol’s help. Cookies, breads, muffins, it was the coziest thing in the whole community.

People smiled when they saw you. You smiled back. You were okay.

Daryl watched from afar.

He never left Alexandria, but he never tried to talk to you again either. He wasn’t sure you’d want him to. He wasn’t sure he’d even know what to say.

He passed you sometimes. Once you were helping Judith decorate cupcakes. Another time you were sweeping your porch, music playing low from a small solar radio.

You looked happy.

He tried to be happy too.

And then one day, he went on a run again. Alone.

While sitting around a fire with a few good people they’d met, someone asked, “You ever lose someone?”

He stared at the flames for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I did. I miss her.”

“What happened?”

He paused. Picked at the label of a water bottle.

“She ain’t really gone,” he said, voice rough. “But things’re just… different now.”

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to.

The fire cracked, and Daryl sat back.

And somewhere, deep down, he wished he’d just let himself feel.

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[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . mentions/use of weapons, slight violence.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE KEY TO FREEDOM

read other parts here!

they arrive just as the sun disappears, four of them, dressed in mismatched gear. not quite soldiers, not quite raiders. something in between. something worse. because they’re organized. you and the others lie flat on the tower floor, peering through the broken slats. the horde’s still at the base, moaning, reaching. the new arrivals don’t even flinch at the sight of them. “what are they doing?” lana whispers.

nick squints. “scouting. calculating. they’re not here by accident.”

“maybe they saw lana,” matt murmurs. “maybe they’ve been following her this whole time.” your stomach knots. you glance at matt. the line of his jaw. the way he keeps his body angled between you and the edge, like he’s already preparing to shield you from whatever’s coming. he catches you looking. his voice is low. careful. “if things go bad, i need you to run.”

“no.”

“don’t argue with me—”

“then don’t say something stupid,” you hiss. he exhales through his nose. frustrated. scared. not for himself…for you. “i’m not losing you,” he says, voice strained. “not now. not after everything.” you stare at him, heart pounding. “then stop, just trust me.” it’s quiet for a second, just your breathing, just his. then he mutters, “you’re impossible.” you lean closer. “you like that about me.” and for a moment…just a breath, it feels normal. it feels like there isn’t a whole hoard of zombies below you for just a moment. but reality always comes back. one of the men shouts. “up there! we see you!” silence. “come down. hands first. we’re not here to hurt you, unless you make us.” nick lets out a slow, shaky breath. “anyone buying that?”

“not even a little,” chris says. “also, side note, how are they so clean? seriously, who’s their apocalypse stylist?” matt looks to you. “they want something,” he says. “and we’ve got it.”

“what? lana?” you whisper, heart sinking. matt nods. she tenses at the mention. curls up smaller. “no way,” you say firmly. “we’re not handing her over.”

“wasn’t suggesting it,” matt replies, eyes still locked on the people below. “but we should know what kind of fight we’re in for.”

“so we make a choice,” matt says, looking at all of you. “do we hide? fight? run? or try to talk?”

“talking got people killed last time,” nick says bitterly. you meet matt’s eyes. “we hold. until we know more.” he nods. trusts you. doesn’t hesitate. the group below circles tighter.

and then…

they start killing the zombies. one by one. clean shots. organized. quick, making space beneath the tower. a clearing. and something about it is worse than anything else. because it means they’re not afraid, they’re ready. one of them cups his hands and shouts again. “we know you have the girl. she took something. we just want it back. give her up, and we walk away.”

“what did you take?” you ask her gently. her voice is barely there. “a key. from my dad. they killed him. they were looking for it…”

you blink. “a key to what?”

she just shakes her head. “they said it could get them into a place. a bunker. i didn’t believe them.”matt curses under his breath. “they’re hunting her. and if that key is real—”

“then they won’t let us walk away,” you finish.

the world slows.

matt takes your face in his hands. there’s blood on his fingers. dirt on his cheek. but his eyes…god, his eyes are the only thing that feels right anymore. “if this goes south,” he says, “i need you to know i meant every word. i love you. not just in this. not just because of this.” your breath stutters. you reach up and press your forehead to his. “i love you too,” you whisper. “even when you’re bossy.” he huffs a laugh. “especially then.” nick cocks his rifle. “okay. sappy moment over. we’ve got company.” the strangers form a loose semi-circle below. “you have ten seconds,” their leader shouts. “then we come up.” you look at your friends. this weird, broken little family.

nick, eyes sharp, always a comment loaded. chris, trembling but unshakable when it matters. matt, beside you, always beside you. and lana. silent. terrified. strong in ways you can’t begin to understand. you all nod at once. no one runs. no one breaks. and when the ten seconds are up…you stand together at the edge of the tower and stare down at the people below. “you want her?” you shout. “come and try.”

© delilahsturniolo

[chaos-in-shibuya]

An appointment at 4 18+

Toji x afab/fem reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Toji Fushiguro walks into your doctor's office with a minor injury, but it’s clear he’s got other intentions. What begins as a simple check up quickly turns into a dangerous game of attraction and teasing, leaving you both caught in a tense, irresistible pull.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: nsfw, teasing, doctor/ kinda mafia au, descriptions of an injury, mild gore, playful banter, sexual tension, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), intense chemistry, power dynamics, slow burn (with quick escalation)

𝐖.𝐂: 4.8K

Tokyo’s underground scene was a mess of blood, crime, and desperate men who needed someone to stitch them back together.

That’s where you came in.

A faceless helper, no real name on record, just a reputation that spread from mouth to mouth in quiet whispers.

The best of the best.

You didn’t ask questions, didn’t flinch at the sight of mangled bodies, and didn’t bite the hands that fed you.

In return, you were untouchable.

Protected by the very criminals who ran the city, the ones who needed you most.

The Yakuza, mercenaries, mafia families.

Your patient list was like a police officer’s worst nightmare.

They paid well.

And they made sure no one dared to come after you.

For that, you kept their blood off the streets and inside their bodies.

Right now, though, your world was a lot quieter.

Your office smelled like antiseptic and cigarette smoke from the last idiot who thought he could sneak a quick puff before you told him to put it out.

You sat behind your desk, notebook open, absentmindedly scribbling down notes between bites of a crisp apple.

The sweet crunch filled the silence, the only sound aside from the faint hum of the city outside.

A rare break.

Then, you heard three knocks at the door.

Firm, professional.

Your assistant, Megan.

"Doctor?" Her muffled voice called out from outside, cautious.

“There’s a man outside,” she said as she opened the door to your office, her voice careful. “He says he wants to be seen. Quickly.”

You don’t bother looking up from your notebook. “I’m on break.”

You take another bite of your apple, chewing slowly.

“I know,” she said, a little bit hesitant. “I told him to leave, but he’s not taking no for an answer.”

She paused.

Then resumed speaking, more carefully, “He mentioned something about being a part of the Zen’in Clan.”

That got your attention.

You exhaled through your nose, already regretting what you were about to say.

The Zen’in were powerful.

One of the last people you could afford to ignore.

“Fine. Send him in,” you reluctantly accepted.

The door opened again, and in walked a man you didn’t recognize.

Broad shouldered, extremely muscular, tall and moving like he owned the space despite the fact that he was the one bleeding, not you.

His dark hair was messy, strands falling into sharp dark eyes that flicked around your office before landing on you.

You glanced at his arm, and spotted a deep gash across his shoulder, still fresh.

Probably hurt like hell, though he didn’t seem bothered.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone.

You push your chair back and stand, straightening your doctor’s coat.

Your heels clicked against the tiled floor as you gestured toward the gurney in the corner.

“Sit,” you said, tone flat.

He did, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

You walked over, barely sparing him a glance as you reached for a pair of gloves.

Your fingers brushed the edge of his shirt, and he watched as you pulled it up and over his head, exposing the wound fully.

He kept his head lowered, jaw tight, hands resting at his sides.

When you pulled his shirt off, his muscles went stiff beneath your touch.

Just for a second, quick enough to be barely noticeable.

You didn’t react, just grabbed what you needed from the tray beside you.

"How’d this happen?" You asked dryly, pressing a sterile compress to the wound, absorbing the excess blood.

Your focus stayed on the injury, your grip steady, professional.

You didn’t care that much about the details, only that it got patched up.

He shrugged.

“Just another job gone wrong,” he muttered, voice low and dismissive.

You hummed dryly. “That happens.”

You had seen worse.

You had treated worse.

His wound wasn't special.

Just another gash on another man who thinks he’s untouchable until reality proves otherwise.

You removed the compress, peeling away the blood soaked material to get a closer look.

The cut was deep but clean, nothing you couldn’t handle.

You reached for the alcohol, pressing it against the raw skin without warning.

He didn’t even flinch.

Silent type, then.

You grabbed a needle and some surgical thread, pushing it through the hole.

A quick application of local anesthesia followed before you began stitching him up with practiced ease.

Your hands were steady, ypur movements precise.

Each stitch pulled the wound closed, sealing away the damage he refused to pay attention to.

Once you were done, you pressed a fresh bandage against the wound, wrapping gauze around his shoulder to protect it from anything that could tear it open again.

“You can put your shirt back on,” you said, grabbing the discarded fabric and handing it back to him without another look.

You turned away, walking back to your desk.

The chair creaked slightly as you sat, flipping open your notebook.

Pen in hand, you scribbled down some notes.

The supplies used, the treatment given, nothing more.

No details beyond what was necessary.

The job was done.

If he had nothing else to say, he was meant to see himself out.

The man took the shirt from your hand, putting it on with the ease of someone who was used to pushing through pain.

His motions were steady, controlled, but you noticed how his muscles were tensing, and how his gaze lingered on you like he was waiting for something.

He was quiet, but his eyes were somehow talking back to you.

You didn’t acknowledge it though.

You kept your focus on your notes, flipping to a fresh page and scribbling down the final details of his treatment.

“So, how much do I owe you?” he asked.

His voice was steady, but slightly fast paced.

Like he was already thinking about his next move, already planning how soon he could get back to whatever job left him in that condition.

You didn’t bother looking up at him.

“You can sort that out with my assistant,” you said dismissively, resting the pencil between your lips, your mind wandering for a second.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him nod, his features hard to decipher.

���Fine.”

Flat.

Unbothered.

As if the idea of owing you something was an inconvenience more than anything else.

The way he acted was intriguing, and you somehow found yourself wanting to learn more about him.

But how, when you didn’t even know his name?

You realised then, a strange curiosity was starting to creep up inside you.

He turned towards the door, reaching for the knob, but that’s when you spoke again.

“What’s your last name?”

He paused.

You finally met his gaze.

The room was silent except for the faint tapping of your pencil against the desk, rhythmic and steady.

You saw a faint furrow of his eyebrows but they quickly went back to normal before you could make any assumptions about his reaction.

“I need it for the patient file,” You added.

That was a lie.

You didn’t keep patient files.

His hand lingered on the doorknob, but he didn't turn it.

Instead, he glanced over at you, an eyebrow raising slightly.

“Patient files, huh?” His voice was smooth, laced with mild amusement.

His smirk was subtle, but it was there, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know illegal underground doctors kept records.”

You tapped your pencil against the desk again, unfazed. “I like to keep things organized.”

“Right.” He turned his body fully towards you, leaning slightly against the doorframe.

His gaze dragged over you. “Is that a new policy? Or just for me?”

You held his stare, unbothered by the suspicion in his tone. “You’re not special.”

His smirk deepeed, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “I asked you a question.”

You exhaled through your nose, unimpressed.“So did I. Your name?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he tilted his head, like he was debating whether or not to give it to you.

You could tell he didn’t trust people easily.

But neither did you.

“Toji,” he finally said.

A beat of silence.

“Fushiguro.”

You stored the name in the back of your mind, no actual need to write it down.

That last name carried a lot of weight, but you didn't react.

Instead, you just nodded once, dismissing him without another word, already turning your attention back to your notes.

Toji held his gaze on you for a moment longer, like he was expecting a reaction.

When you refuse to entertain him, he chuckled, low and smug, before finally stepping out the door.

You kept your eyes down towards your notes as he exited, not bothering to watch him leave.

But you felt his presence lingering even after he was gone.

Days passed, and Toji’s presence lingered in the back of your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

It was odd.

You weren’t the type to get distracted, especially not by someone like him.

Quiet, cold, and distant.

A man who had done nothing particularly remarkable, yet somehow left an impression you couldn’t shake.

There was something about him.

A pull you didn’t want to acknowledge.

He carried a presence that was impossible to ignore.

Effortless, magnetic, like gravity itself shifted when he was near.

Every now and then, you caught yourself hoping that when the door opened, it was him standing there.

Of course, you quickly pushed those irritating thoughts aside.

You didn’t have the luxury of being distracted.

You had work to do, people to patch up.

But no matter how many times you shoved the thought away, it always crept back in.

Unwelcome, persistent, and far too tempting to ignore.

Then, just as you were starting to forget about him, it happened.

Your assistant knocked at the door.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she announced, her voice light but with that tone of hesitation she always got when the patient was... interesting.

“His name is Toji. Said he’s got an appointment at 4.”

You stopped mid scribble, your pen hovering over the page.

Your mind froze to process the words for a moment before it finally clicked.

You didn’t take appointments.

You smirked, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed.

“Send him in.”

The door swung open a few moments later, and there he was.

Toji Fushiguro.

His presence filled the room before he even spoke, and you felt that familiar mix of irritation

and intrigue.

He stood there, relaxed and unbothered, as if he had all the time in the world and your indifference only amused him.

You kept your smirk, folding your arms over your chest as you glanced at the clock.

It was barely a minute past four.

“You’ve got an appointment?” You asked, voice dry.

He stepped in without answering, closing the door behind him, eyes scanning the room as if he was taking it all in for the first time.

The way his gaze lingered on the medical supplies, the equipment, the space was like he was trying to size you up all over again.

“I do,” he said, like it was nothing.

His voice carried a sense of authority, as if the concept of appointment scheduling was beneath him.

You raised an eyebrow. “Funny. I don’t take appointments.”

He tilted his head, giving you that same amused look from before.

"Well, I didn’t think a little formality would bother you when there’s a serious injury at stake." He pulled his hand out from his jacket pocket, extending his finger towards you.

You couldn’t hold in the chuckle that escaped your lips. “Serious injury?”

It was paper cut.

Barely even worth a second glance.

The tiny slice across his fingertip was almost comical, but he watched you closely, as if he expected you to approach it like it was a life or death situation.

"Yeah," he replied, his tone completely flat. "It’s terrible. I might die from it."

His expression remained perfectly straight, but you could see the tiniest sign of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You blinked slowly. “Are you serious?”

"Dead serious." He said, moving his finger closer to your face like it was a critical emergency. "Wouldn’t want to risk getting it infected. You know how it is."

You held back a laugh, suddenly realizing what that was all about.

The cut was nothing.

He was the problem.

“You’re just using this as an excuse to be here.”

Toji raised an eyebrow, his smirk fully formed now. “Maybe.”

He leaned casually against the gurney, crossing his arms, not a hint of guilt in his posture. "But I’d argue this is exactly where I need to be right now, don’t you think?"

You rolled your eyes, walking towards him with slow steps, already annoyed by the whole situation.

You picked up a small spray bottle of alcohol and sprayed it directly onto a gauze pad, not looking at him as you started cleaning his finger.

“You’re lucky I’m not charging you for wasting my time,” you muttered, pressing the gauze to the cut and watching him wince slightly at the sting.

The same man that was sitting in this gurney not even letting out something like a deep exhale as you stitched closed his open shoulder, was now complaining about the barely visible wound on his finger.

He hissed but didn't pull away, still watching you with that unreadable gaze. “What? You don’t like company?”

You flicked your eyes up to meet him, your hands steady as you prepared a fresh bandage. "You’re not exactly the kind of person I would call to keep me company."

He chuckled, low and amused. "I thought a little chaos might brighten your otherwise boring work day."

You finished cleaning the cut, wrapping it cleanly with the bandage.

His finger seemed too perfect now, the minuscule cut patched up in a way that made the effort seem almost unnecessary.

But you weren’t done.

You stepped back slightly, leaning against the desk and looking him up and down.

“You know, you could’ve just stayed away after our last encounter,” you remarked, arms crossed, your voice teasing yet sharp. “It would’ve saved us both the trouble… but then you wouldn’t get to see me again, would you?”

Toji chuckled, his eyes scanning you, lingering for a moment too long.

He stepped forward, closing the distance just enough that you could feel the heat from his body, the scent of his cologne filling up your nose.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

His words echoed in the silence, and the atmosphere thickened with intensity.

You held his gaze.

You couldn't decide if you were irritated or intrigued.

Maybe both.

“Fun, huh?” You replied, almost too quickly. "Is that what you think this is? Fun?"

“Of course." He grinned, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “You seem like someone who could use a little fun.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you turned your back towards him, walking over to the trash can to discard the used gauze.

You didn’t know why you were still playing this game.

Neither did you know why that spark of irritation between you was starting to feel like something else entirely.

“You’re all set,” You said, dropping the gauze into the trash without turning around. “No more excuses to stay. You’re free to leave.”

Toji didn’t leave.

He stepped closer again, his presence enveloping me. “What if I don’t want to leave?.”

You froze, acutely aware of how close he was.

For a brief moment, you debated whether he was trying to provoke a reaction or if he found amusement in your unease.

Either way, he was close enough now that you could almost feel the pulse of his heartbeat through the air.

You fought the urge to walk away, your body betraying you as it locked in place.

“Well,” you said, your voice softer now, “if you're going to stick around, you might as well put yourself to good use.”

You turned to face him, tilting your head up slightly, meeting his gaze with an edge of challenge. “Any ideas, Fushiguro? Another little 'injury' to keep me busy?”

His lips curved into a smirk, and the way he looked at you sent a thrill down your spine, like a hunter sizing up its prey.

It was too much.

Too close.

And yet you didn’t pull away.

“I bet you could come up with plenty of ways to keep me occupied,” he said, his voice low and suggestive, igniting a thrill of anticipation in you.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, half amused and half annoyed by how easily he navigated the conversation.

It felt like he was the one steering the ship while you were left struggling to stay afloat.

You tried to stay composed, reminding yourself it was just a lighthearted exchange, just harmless banter.

But the closer he got, the harder it was to keep up the act.

You sighed softly, a hint of sarcasm creeping into your tone. “You’d be surprised with how quickly I can get bored.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a chuckle leaving his lips.

He stood firm, taking in the way you tried to maintain your composure in the charged atmosphere.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that ‘I’m bored’ line. I can see right through it. You know, it’s funny. You act like you’re above all this. Like you’re too busy, too focused, too ‘professional’ for anything else. But I see how you’ve been looking at me when you think I’m not paying attention. You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you’re just as intrigued by me as I am by you. I can’t tell if you’re scared or just trying to keep control, but the harder you try to shut it down, the more obvious it becomes.”

That was it.

There was no more denying it.

His presence was overwhelming, and the way he looked at you, like he knew exactly what was going through your mind, made it impossible to stay detached.

Without thinking, you inched your face upwards, closing the distance between you until there was nothing but a breath separating you.

“You talk too much,” you murmured, your voice more hushed than you intended.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could think through the consequences, you kiss him.

It was sudden.

Urgent.

A release of everything that had been building up between the btwo of you in the span of minutes.

Or maybe longer than that.

You didn’t know.

You didn’t care.

His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, his breath quickening as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Toji's eyes darkened with lust as he pressed you up against the wall of your sterile office, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body against yours was enough to keep you warm.

His hands roamed your curves, squeezing your breasts through your thin shirt before slipping underneath to caress the bare skin.

He pressed both of your lips together, his tongue tangling with yours as he backed you towards the gurney in the corner.

He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

His hands slid down to grip your ass, lifting you up and setting you on the edge of the gurney.

“Just look at you,’’ he rasped, pushing your shirt up and exposing your breasts to the cool air, taking in the sight of your naked body.

He leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking the hardened bud with his tongue.

His hands slid down your thighs, pushing your panties aside.

Calloused fingers brushed against your clothed sex, feeling the dampness that had already gathered there.

“Already like this for me, Doc? Can’t say I’m surprised.’’ He teased, that damn smirk plastered over his lips.

You tried to roll your eyes, but before you could a gasp inadvertently exited your lips as his fingers slowly rubbed circles over your underwear.

Toji chuckled softly at your reaction, his fingers slipping under the fabric of your panties to rub against your core.

“Fuck, you're dripping wet,’’ he murmured, his finger teasing your entrance. “I bet you want me to slide my fingers inside this tight little pussy, don't you?’’

Without waiting for a response, he pushed a finger inside you, pumping it slowly.

Then a second finger joined the first, thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace.

All you could do was whimper softly, your hips bucking slightly to meet his thrusts.

You could feel every ridge and vein of his fingers as they pumped in and out of you.

Toji's eyes were dark and intense as he watched you, taking in every little reaction.

He loved seeing you like this.

Desperate and completely at his mercy.

“That's it, baby. Let me hear those pretty little moans,’’ he encouraged, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive spot.

His fingers never stopped their pace, sliding inside you again and again.

You could only moan in response, your head thrown back and your chest heaving with each breath.

“Please... please don't stop…’’ You begged, your voice high and needy.

You didn't care how pathetic you sounded.

All you knew was that you needed more.

More of him.

Toji smirked at your desperate plea, his eyes glinting with wicked intent.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered:

“Stop? I'm just getting started, Doc.’’

To prove his point, he withdrew his fingers from your heat, only to immediately replace them with his mouth.

He pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself as he buried his face between your legs.

His tongue delved into you, lapping up your arousal and moaning at the taste.

He focused on your clit, sucking and flicking the bundle of nerves with the skill of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he ate you out with fervor.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,’’ he murmured against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your body.

He felt you trembling.

Heard your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the room.

Felt your fingers tightening around his hair as he devoured you.

Your thighs clenched around his head, holding him in place as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breath hitched as Toji explored every inch of you with his tongue, fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you held him close.

“Oh god, Toji that feels so good…’’ you panted, your hips rocking against his face.

You could feel the pleasure building up tighter and tighter in your core.

He groaned against your sex, the sound sending delicious vibrations through you.

He sucked your clit hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

One hand released your thigh to slide a finger back inside you pumping in time with the strokes of his tongue.

“There you go baby. Come for me,’’ he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your flesh.

He could feel you getting close, your body trembling and tensing.

You couldn't hold back any longer.

With a sharp cry, you came undone, your walls clenching rhythmically around Toji's finger as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Your juices flooded his mouth and chin, but he didn't stop, continuing to lick you through your climax, helping you ride out the intense pleasure until you collapsed back onto the gurney, chest heaving and skin flushed.

Toji sat up, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk.

He took in the sight of you sprawled out before him, utterly wrecked and beautiful in your post-orgasmic bliss.

Toji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning like the smug bastard he was. He leaned in close again, his voice low and teasing.

“You look real professional now, Doc,” he murmured, eyes trailing down your wrecked form.

“Bet this wasn’t how you thought your shift would end.”

You let out a soft breath, chest still heaving, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shaken you still were.

He was too close, too cocky, and way too pleased with himself.

He tilted his head, that wolfish grin never fading. “Gonna be hard to keep pretending you’re not into me after this.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless but not broken. “You’re seriously still talking?”

Toji chuckled, brushing a thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “Yeah. And I’m not done.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow, maddening kiss to your mouth.

Just enough to make your stomach backflip again.

Then he pulled back with that same cocky look, already stepping away like he hadn’t just unraveled you.

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll let you pretend you’re in charge… next time.”

You sat up, still flushed but managing a wicked smirk of your own as you adjusted your shirt.

“Next time,” you echoed, your tone dry, “I’m locking the fucking door.”

He paused in the doorway, laughing under his breath. “Is that supposed to stop me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “No. It’s supposed to stop anyone else from witnessing your performance issues.”

That wiped the smirk off his face for a second.

He shot you a look, jaw ticking, eyebrow arching. “Careful, Doc. If you keep running your mouth like that, I’m not gonna wait for next time.”

You smirked, leaning back against the gurney and propping your upper body up with your elbows. “Maybe I want you to wait. Guess you’ll just have to work a little harder next time.”

His smirk faded and he gave you a slow, measured look before turning to leave.

"Don’t keep me waiting too long, Doc," he chuckled.

You watched him walk out, feeling the tension linger in the air.

Oh, he’d be back.

You were sure of it.

[sturniololuvz]

can you do a fluff fic where y/n and the triplets are best friends, but she’s the closest to chris? maybe one night she’s been broken up with in a horrible way and she’s crying and she asks the triplets if she can come over and spend the night? chris maybe relates to her the most and is extra caring and loving towards her? (i love your work sm🩷)

thank uuu

“You Can Always Come Here”

It was just after 11 when the group chat pinged.

Nick was mid-scroll on TikTok, Matt was half-asleep, and Chris was getting water in the kitchen when he heard it first — the ding that made him instinctively check his phone. One glance at the screen had him freezing.

Y/N:

“Can I come over? I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Three dots danced at the bottom like she wanted to say more, but they disappeared.

Then came another:

Y/N:

“He broke up with me. Over text. Said I’m too much.”

Chris stared at the message for a second, heart sinking into his stomach. He didn’t wait. He was already grabbing his keys.

Nick and Matt read it too, voices low.

“I’ll make the pullout,” Matt murmured, already moving toward the guest blanket stash.

“I’ll get the snacks she likes,” Nick added.

But Chris was already out the door, hoodie half-zipped, phone clutched in his hand as he sent her a quick text:

Chris:

“I’m coming to walk you over. Wait outside, yeah?”

He found her sitting on the curb outside her apartment building, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t even look up when he approached — she just felt him before she saw him. And when he dropped down next to her, she crumpled into him without hesitation.

Chris wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

“He didn’t even call,” she choked out, voice cracking. “Just… left. Said I care too much. That I’m exhausting.”

Chris’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say what he wanted to — about how cruel that was, how wrong, how someone who actually loved her would never make her feel like a burden for being soft, for feeling deeply. Instead, he held her tighter.

“You’re not too much,” he said softly, forehead resting against hers. “He was too little.”

She let out a breath that was half a sob and half a laugh, shaking her head. “You always know what to say.”

“Only with you,” Chris murmured, helping her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

⸻

By the time they made it to the triplets’ apartment, the couch was made up, her favorite tea was steeping, and Nick was pretending not to hover while Matt tossed her a fuzzy blanket.

“You can take the couch,” Matt offered. “Or Chris’s bed. We’ll make him sleep in the bathtub.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “She’s taking my bed. And I’m not sleeping in the bathtub.”

Y/N looked at him through red, watery eyes. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

Chris shrugged like it was the easiest answer in the world. “Next to you. If that’s okay.”

Her bottom lip wobbled again, but this time it wasn’t just heartbreak — it was gratitude.

⸻

Later that night, with the lights off and Chris’s room filled only with the sound of rain and their slow, steady breathing, she turned to him in the dark.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris didn’t speak at first. He just reached for her hand under the blanket, interlacing their fingers like it was muscle memory.

“You’ll never have to find out.”

She blinked up at him, barely visible in the soft light from the hallway.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” he whispered. “And I mean that in the realest way. You break? I break. You hurt? I hurt. There’s no version of this world where I wouldn’t want to be the person you call when everything falls apart.”

A tear slid down her cheek — but this one wasn’t heavy. It was light. Releasing something she’d been holding too long.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chris gently wiped the tear from her face with the back of his hand.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time that night, she believed it — that she was safe, that she was loved, and that no one could ever make her feel like too much again.

Because with Chris… she was exactly enough.

⸻

[calebscrybaby]

the things I love about you in my mind

♡ ship: rafayel x reader

♡ about: professor rafayel helps sober up a drunk college mc after one too many drinks.

♡ warnings: possessive behavior, intoxication, implied stalker rafayel, kissing under the influence.

based on this cute fanart by kori

Rafayel is hardly paying attention.

Not to the Turkish coffee that’s going cold on his desk, nor to the texts his agent has been sending him and definitely not to the work he’s supposed to be grading.

Despite that, he doesn’t need to pay much attention to write down the critiques of what he’s seeing. It’s second nature at this point, for his eyes to see flaws. Shadow placement is illogical. He writes down halfheartedly, a hand on his cheek as his free one writes clipped sentence after sentence. Anatomy needs more work. Pose is too stiff. The lighting is all over the place.

He doesn’t mean to sound so dry and severe. The students this year are actually promising, for once. Bright and imaginative as they clumsily try and paint their way to the visions that exists in their young minds.

He sighed as he put the pen down, leaning back over the leather chair and rubbing his eyes under the frames of his glasses. Rafayel assumed he’d be fine enough to work on grading to get his mind off of what’s bothering him, but apparently not.

It was a simple comment that managed to ruin his mood for the long awaited break from classes.

“Any plans for the weekend?” He had asked you when you ‘accidentally’ ran into him after your last lecture. 

“Uh-huh. I was invited to an after school party today!” You said with an excited smile plastered on your face.

Oblivious to how the corners of his mouth froze.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. College students go to drinking parties all the time, some spend more time in them than their actual classes. He just—somehow wished his bride would be exempt. You were hardworking and tended to be extroverted, preferring to spend your free time away from rowdy places. The friends you had (decent people, or else they wouldn’t have been near you) did arrange a lot of activities together between classes, but hardly any that involved partying. Something that he was thankful for.

Until now.

Were you pressured? You didn’t seem to be, by the excited smile on your face. But you did seem nervous. Was it your first drinking party? He’s a bit pissed he never found out the type of drunk you are. He wouldn’t be as worried if he was sure you knew how to stay safe in those kinds of parties—

Rafayel huffed through his nose, reaching out to grab his phone. Ignoring the multiple pleading notifications from his agent.

No text. No call.

“Have fun. I’m going to be in my office grading and working on my next project. Once you’re done, call me and I’ll get you back home safe.”

“Oh! I don’t want to trouble you, Professor…”

“Cutie,” he gave her a hard smile as he leaned down in that way he knew made her flustered. The wall next to them shielding the scene from other students. “It’s no trouble. Call me, okay?”

He was debating doing something about it when his phone vibrated in his hand, getting him out of his reverie.

cutie ♥️: sjxjdbajskdnanws

…?

cutie ♥️: audybqnsdn?!?? 1622

🐟: hey, what’s wrong?

♥️: didi here here

(lhttps://tinyurl.com/dz8xhjj7)

🐟: …cutie are you trying to order a car?

♥️: i am?

🐟: You are

♥️:oh

♥️: don tell professor

His mouth twitched, finger moving through the screen to call. It was a few too long seconds before you picked up.

“H-hello?”

She was slurring so hard he was surprised he couldn’t smell the alcohol from the screen.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?” He asked calmly (or so he hoped).

He heard some rustling before you continued sheepishly, “I didn’ wanna bother you…”

He sighed, knowing you’d feel reprimanded even if he didn’t say anything. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“Y-you don’ have to—“

“Honey,” he interrupted in an overly sweet tone. “Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

He could hear her choke on the other side of the line before you meekly complied.

The drive to and fro was quiet. You seemed to be alright, thankfully, only stumbling a bit and not as drunk as he thought you’d be. He assumed you’d protest more or insist on calling a car again, but you were quiet as a mouse. Which was good.

Rafayel took you back to his office, much closer from the bar that was conveniently close to the campus. While he would have loved taking you back to his home, he was still mindful of your reputation. Keeping your relationship under wraps was the best way to continue the normalcy you seemed to enjoy. So instead, he took you to his office to rest before going to your dorm room.

You stumbled your way inside his office as he held you by the waist. Gently, he took off your jacket and sat you down on the leather couch.

Thankfully, his worries were somewhat allayed as he asked about the party in the car. You had fun, you didn’t get bothered by anyone nor drink enough to make yourself get sick. He nodded to himself proudly as he put your jacket on the hanger. His bride was a smart, competent woman. He didn’t need to be worried at all.

…it did concern him how quiet and flushed you were, but he would take care of that in a second.

Rafayel got a cool water bottle from the mini fridge and made his way back to the couch, when he sat next to you, he tugged your hand, pulling you closer until you were forced to move with a surprised yelp. With his other hand, he wrapped an arm around your waist and yanked you onto his lap, settling your soft curves against his thighs. 

Your face flushed harder, as if that was possible. He tried not to stare at the beautiful sight in front of him, your face a beautiful red up to the tips of your ears, mouth slightly open as your breathing got heavier. 

His hand unconsciously moved to touch your lower lip, unable to resist. “Drink some water, it’ll sober you up.” He murmured, acting like that was the only reason. You nodded in a haze, your hand shakily moving to grab the glass bottle from his hand, your fingers pausing as they touched his before you hastily pushed it to take a big swing.

“Careful,” he instructed as he started tugging his sleeves up, revealing his forearms. He only did it because with you so close, your close, heated body made him warmer. But it only caused you to choke on the water. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he rubbed your back. “Better?”

You nodded with your head bowed. You clearly had something on your mind, the alcohol making your emotions much clearer than usual. “Professor, I didn’t drink too much, even when they kept pouring. I was careful and safe. A-and I called you when you said you’d pick me up…”

You didn’t do the last part, actually. He tilted his head as he wiped your mouth and chin from the water you coughed. There seemed to be a point with the pause at the end. “Yes?”

You had a hard time making your brain work, apparently. He slyly noted. “S-so I must be a good girl, right?”

“Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

Oh. You must have been waiting to be praised since he called you. And I’m supposed to be the sober one here.

He smirked, normally he wouldn’t mind lavishing his cute bride in praise until you were a blushing mess, but he wanted to get himself a little payback for the worry you caused him.

He hummed nonchalantly as he nuzzled into your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair, now slightly mussed from the party. “Well, that depends on your performance today, cutie.”

Rafayel only meant it as a slight tease, he held a chuckle back as he saw the gears rapidly turn in your pretty little head.

He immediately regretted it as soon as tears sprang in your eyes. Making his eyes widen.

“I’m n-not a good girl? I’m not?” You cried out as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “Y-you don’t like me? You don’t l-like me!”

….How did your drunk mind reach that conclusion?

His hands were hovering helplessly, unsure of where to start comforting you. He must’ve underestimated how drunk you are. Rafayel finally settled on holding your cheeks and wiping them with his thumbs. “No no. I'm sorry,” he apologizes easily as you continued sobbing into the crook of his neck, his hand started petting her head gently, “you are my good girl, my best girl ever. I love you, really!”

When you kept hiccuping, Rafayel frowned. No matter how much he liked teasing his bride, a light punishment all things considered, he never wanted to upset her. His hand reached for her cheek and maneuvered her face, peppering it with soft kisses as her crying calmed to sniffles. “I even waited for 800 years for you. I love you. I'm sorry, baby…”

His tone turned from placating to vulnerable. None of what he’s saying is untrue, it’s the same mantra that repeats with every beat of his heart. Over and over across lifetimes.

“No. My bride, my only bride.”

You won’t remember it, like you don’t remember so many things. But still, he gives himself this.

Once you were calm enough, he smiled gently. Wiping the remnants of your tears from your reddened cheeks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He offered with an apologetic smile as he lifted your face to meet his.

You sniffled, eyes puffy. “…I wanna—want a kiss!” You whined your demand out loud, too buzzed and upset to feel self conscious.

“But I already gave you plenty,” he said with feigned confusion, unable to help himself.

You groaned petulantly, “not like that!”

He smiled, impossibly fond. “Well, I can’t kiss you with my glasses on, honey.”

“T-take—“ you slurred as you tried to do it yourself, growing more frustrated as your uncoordinated hands couldn’t get them off his ears. “Off!”

Rafayel tutted, not bothering to hide the grin on his face when you couldn’t focus on anything to recognize it. He couldn’t resist continuing to tease you. “Can’t? Maybe you just don’t want to. Maybe you actually don’t want your dear Professor’s kiss…”

His poor bride whined, trying harder. Even when you managed to get it off, it fell back on, askew on his grinning face. His hair was now mussed from his failed attempts, the tidy slick back he had since this morning gone with every try of your warm hands.

“See?” He tutted, the old familiar Disappointed Teacher Tone™️ slinked back into his voice. “You don’t really want one or you would have managed to get them off.”

“No—no no no.” You shook her head, immediately stopping when you clearly made yourself dizzy. God, you were adorable. “I want to!”

Rafayel laughed, light and easy as you huffed at him. His hand went up to grab his glasses and casually threw it on the other end of the couch. Your hazy mind registered it and brightened, leaning in and clumsily trying to kiss him before he laughed against your mouth, his hands reaching to cup your cheek as he took over and gave you one decent kiss. Your warm breaths mingled together as he broke it, the soft gaze of his ocean blues mixed with lemurian fire making your heart thump in your chest.

“Now, how about a nap to sober you up?”

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Too Precious | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Lando loves the party life. She prefers quiet nights in. When their differences start to build, so does the tension.

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This story is inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

'Cause according to you, I'm too precious You're wishin' that I was more reckless You're wishin' that I would smoke 'til I'm high And play with the guys, regret this You're wishin' that I was more trouble Sorry for being a struggle I do what I want and may not be your type Sorry I can't be a person you like

Lando had always been the type to take things too far.

He lived for the noise. Loud music, louder people, places where the drinks never stopped flowing and sleep was something you caught on a plane. It was easier that way. Fill every second, don’t let your mind slow down enough to catch up.

Since he was sixteen, life had been a blur of tracks and cameras and fake smiles at dinners with sponsors. So when the weekends came, when the pressure finally let up, he wanted to feel like he had some control. He wanted to drink, to laugh too hard, to forget.

And at first, she hadn’t minded. She was different from everyone else in his circle. Calm. Private. Comfortable in silence. Lando had thought it was refreshing. Being with Lando meant fast flights to Ibiza, impulsive parties, nights where the sunrise came too soon. But the novelty wore off. Now she just felt tired. Like she was always trying to catch up to a version of him that wouldn’t sit still. She’d thought maybe he’d slow down for her. He thought she’d go along with him.

They were both wrong.

"Just try it," he said, holding out the glass. "It’s literally one drink."

She didn’t even look at it. "I’m fine."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, the glass still in his hand. "You’re kind of allergic to fun, aren’t you?"

She glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip and shrugged. "Nothing. Just... you’re too precious sometimes."

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right. "Too precious?"

"Yeah." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Too good for all this. For drinks, for staying out past midnight, for letting loose like the rest of us."

She crossed her arms. "That’s not fair."

"It’s not an insult."

"It sounds like one."

Lando tossed the rest of his drink back, ignoring the way her face tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend I’m into something I’m not. That’s not fair to either of us."

He pulled back slightly. "Right. Of course. You're too precious."

"Stop saying that."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? If the label fits."

Another night, another party.

She sat in the corner of the room, watching him move through the crowd like he belonged to everyone. He was surrounded by friends, or at least people who laughed when he made a joke and handed him a joint without asking questions.

One of the guys passed it to her.

"I’m good," she said quickly, waving it away.

Lando saw from across the room and walked over, slightly buzzed and way too confident.

"Come on," he said, voice low against her ear. "One puff won't turn you into a delinquent."

"Can we not do this here?"

He straightened, irritated. "We’re just having fun."

"I know. It’s just... not my idea of fun."

His smile faded. "Right. I forgot. You don’t like anything messy."

"That’s not true."

"You say that, but every time things get a little wild, you check out. You sit on the couch and stare at your phone until it’s time to leave."

"Because I don’t want to pretend to enjoy something that makes me uncomfortable."

Lando’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back toward the crowd. She watched him go, heart sinking.

The fight came later that week.

He showed up late to dinner, still wearing a wristband from some club he never mentioned he was going to. She had cooked for once, tried to make something that wasn’t takeout.

Lando kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the table like nothing was wrong.

"You look nice," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You’re late."

He pulled back. "Traffic."

She just stared at him. The lie was too easy.

"You said we’d have a quiet night."

"And we are."

"You went to a party."

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "For like, an hour. Don’t make it a thing."

"You could’ve told me."

"I didn’t think I needed permission."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That’s not what I said."

Lando set the bottle down harder than necessary. "Is this really about me being late, or is this about how I live my life again?"

She met his gaze. "It’s about you never being fully present unless there’s a camera on or a drink in your hand."

He scoffed. "There it is."

"There’s what?"

"The judgment."

"It’s not judgment."

"You keep saying that, but every word out of your mouth is just a more polite way of saying you think I’m a screw-up."

"I just think your... lifestyle. It isn’t healthy."

He blinked, like she’d slapped him. "Wow. That’s what you think of me?"

"It’s just I think you’re constantly burning the candle at both ends and pretending it doesn’t affect you."

He laughed, but it wasn’t light. "So now I need saving?"

"That’s not what I said."

"You didn’t have to."

She stepped closer, trying to stay calm. "I’m not trying to change you, Lando. I just want you to see that this isn’t sustainable."

"You think I haven’t heard that before?" His voice was rising now. "From my team, my parents, everyone who wants a piece of me? I don’t need to hear it from you too."

"I’m not trying to pile on, Lando. I just—"

"What? Want me to grow up? Stay in? Light some candles and watch a movie like everything’s normal?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes I do."

He stared at her, something shifting in his face. "You want to fix me."

"No," she whispered. "I want to reach you. But you’re always somewhere else."

He laughed, bitter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to stop treating me like some broken kid who needs to be fixed."

"That’s not fair. I didn’t mean anything like that-"

"You know what’s not fair? You walking around acting like you’re better than all of it. Too perfect to ever mess up. Too perfect to actually live a little."

"I don’t think I’m perfect."

"You act like it. You sit there with your tea and your books and your damn moral compass, and every time I step out of line, you look at me like I’m some kind of disappointment. And now you’re trying to control how I live?"

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You told me my lifestyle isn’t healthy. You basically just said you’re embarrassed by the way I live."

"I said I’m worried."

"Yeah, sorry you can’t mold me into someone you like."

Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to mold you. I want to feel like I’m not losing you to a version of yourself you don’t even like."

"Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t get it."

"Partying every night isn’t healthy!"

He went still.

"There it is again!" His tone turned sharp, defensive.

"I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re swimming."

His jaw clenched. "And I think you’re a control freak who’s afraid of anything she can’t schedule two weeks in advance."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she spoke. "I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this."

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe you’re not the person I should be with."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I’m not."

The silence between them stretched out like a chasm.

He picked up his keys again.

"Let me know when you’re ready to stop looking at me like I’m a problem. I’ll leave you to your quiet night" he said, and walked out the door.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

Instead, she sat on the couch alone, staring at the plate of food that had gone cold hours ago.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel small. She just wanted him to slow down long enough to see that not everything good had to be loud and fleeting.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want quiet. And she couldn’t keep pretending to love the noise.

[syrecjh]

──★ ˙ ̟✧˖°🌷First Steps

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || husband katsuki bakugo x wife reader, pure fluff

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The house is quiet except for the soft sound of your daughter’s giggles as she stands unsteadily on her little feet. Her tiny hands grip the edge of the couch, and her eyes, wide with wonder and a touch of determination, are fixed on her father. Katsuki kneels in front of her, his intense gaze softened by affection, encouraging her with a quiet “You got this, princess.”

You watch from the other side of the room, your heart swelling as your daughter takes the first shaky steps. She stumbles, her little legs wobbly, and for a moment, you hold your breath, afraid she might fall. But then, just as she does, Katsuki is there, quick as lightning, arms open wide.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with that familiar, tender strength that only comes out when he’s with his family.

Your daughter reaches for him, her chubby hands outstretched as if she knows exactly who she wants to go to. She totters forward, barely catching her balance as she shuffles those first precious steps toward him. And then, with a proud grin breaking across his face, your husband catches her mid-stumble, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her around effortlessly.

“She did it,” he whispers under his breath, eyes glinting with pure pride, his chest puffing up like a lion showing off his cub. You see the moment his tough exterior cracks, just for a second, as he presses his lips to her soft cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he says, voice a little rough, but filled with warmth you know he rarely shows anyone else. “Told you she’d be tough.”

Your daughter, caught up in the moment, laughs, her baby giggles echoing through the room, and Bakugo holds her a little tighter. She’s so small in his arms, and yet, to him, she’s everything. His hand rests on her back as he sways gently, swiping away a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she gazes up at him with adoration.

You can’t help but smile, feeling a little teary-eyed as you watch your family in this beautiful, perfect moment. Katsuki, your husband notices you watching and glances at you over her head, his lips curling into a rare, soft smile. The intensity of his usual persona is nowhere to be found here. It’s just him, your daughter, and the quiet love he carries for the two of you.

“You saw that, right?” he asks, voice lowering but still full of excitement. “She’s gonna be a hell of a hero one day.”

You chuckle softly, walking over and sitting beside him. “You’re right. She’s got your fire, Katsuki.”

He doesn’t reply, just holds his daughter a little tighter, as if he wants to keep her in his arms forever. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s already imagining all the things she’ll do, all the ways she’ll grow and become even stronger. And as he presses a kiss to her head, you feel the weight of that future, one where the three of you face it together, every step of the way.

He looks at you once more, this time with a tenderness that’s hard to put into words, his gaze softening in the way it only does when he’s truly at peace.

“She’s perfect,” he says simply, but it’s enough. Because you know exactly what he means.

And just like that, with your daughter safely in his arms, he’s ready to face the world as a father—a protector, a guide, and above all, someone who will never let her fall without catching her first.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆