#and you put so much love into everything around you and everything you do

[dollbrbie]

thinking about sanemi who has a massive size kink, always taking pride in being the stronger one in your relationship, that his pretty girlfriend can just let her big, strong boyfriend take care of everything.

he’s very proud of his physique, wearing shirts that show off his muscular chest, or walking around your shared home completely shirtless - his sculpted abs and mesmerising scars on full display for you. you can’t help but drool.

sanemi loves it, he thrives off the attention you give him. he loves even more your difference in size, how his broad figure completely doubles yours, or how his hands and arms make yours look so ridiculously small, even if they aren’t.

he wouldn’t want it any other way, that’s just the kind of man he is. he likes being able to pick you up with ease, smiling at your giggles or whines to put you down. he’s the one you go to whenever you need furniture building, the domestic scene making you a little hot and heavy.

he especially loves how easy it is to manhandle you during sex, throwing you into any position he likes, or even holding you up as he forces you to take his huge cock - your pussy squeezing around his shaft and your eyes turning glossy with tears of pleasure.

and sanemi is big everywhere. the first time you two even had sex was a struggle, your pussy barely able to stretch around his cock with his choked groans and hisses sending your stomach fluttering with butterflies. he knew you were smaller, that it wouldn’t be the smoothest job - but he didn’t expect that his tip alone would make you a moaning mess.

he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him the fuck on, watching you struggle to take his cock and the way your pussy slowly stretched around him while tightening over and over again. and don’t even get him started on the way his cock looked lined up on your stomach. he looked huge compared to you. he felt his adam’s apple bobble just from that.

sanemi is pretty shameless about this kink of his, defending it by going on about how he just likes being your big, strong boyfriend - that he wants to feel like the man of the relationship. and while that is true, he’d also do pretty much anything you’d say when your pussy is that good.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[wooyngz]

sylus has a long day and he needs to eat you out. simply because he's a giver, and he wants nothing more than to please you. that's his stress relief.

like, you're at home relaxing when you get a text from him, simply saying ‘need to see you’

so you unlock your front door for him and wait for him to arrive.

when he gets there you're on the couch in your comfiest sweatpants and your head perks up when he the door opens. you notice immediately the tension in his shoulders and the tired look on his face.

“how was your day?” you ask, your voice is curious. he meets your eyes as he walks towards where you're at on the couch, and he doesn't say anything he just drops to his knees in front of you.

“sylus?” you question as his fingers pull at the waistband of your pants. you let him take your sweats off, leaving you in just your underwear. he tosses the sweats somewhere in the living room and starts to leave a lazy trail of kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“long day,” he says between kisses, “just need this,” he mumbles into your leg.

who are you to deny him what he needs?

“whatever you need,” you say, running your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes flutter shut at the touch.

he pulls your underwear off, leaving you naked from the waist down. he spreads your legs, admires the sight for a moment and then he's diving in

your back arches off the couch, your jaw going slack. he normally likes to tease you, take his time, but right now he's not wasting any time.

“aahh, sylus,” you say, it comes out almost like a whimper. the pleasure hitting you so suddenly you feel like you can't breath properly.

he's just as vocal as you are, too. he's moaning as soon as he tastes you on his tongue, he's whispering, “fuck,” to himself before diving back in. he’s gripping your thighs to keep them open so he can devour you.

he knows what you like, he knows exactly how to move his tongue to get those noises he loves so much. he knows that if he sucks your clit in just the right way, your hips will buck and you’ll let out a breathy moan. that's what he does; he’s in heaven.

you're flooding his senses, the stress of the day melts away instantly. he doesn't even remember why he was so pissed, why he was so stressed before because he's in his favorite place.

he gets messier with it as he loses himself to the action. not caring that saliva and arousal are dropping down his chin, probably onto the couch—he’ll buy you a new one. “need you to cum for me, on my tongue, i need it,” he says, only breaking contact with your pussy to ramble out what he wants. he's drunk on it. slurping and licking at everything you have to offer him.

when you're close, you have tells and he knows them like the back of his hand. your breathing gets shallower, your moans grow in pitch and frequency, your fingers grip his hair tighter. he inserts two fingers because he wants to feel you clench around them when you cum.

ultimately that's what pushes you over the edge, too. the way he curls his fingers has you seeing stars and you come hard.

he cleans you up, though it's more for his enjoyment. he takes his time doing it, still relishing in the taste of you, the feeling of you on his tongue. he stays down there until you're pulling at his head.

he’s rock hard in his pants, but he doesn't ask you to return the favor because honestly, he got what he wanted. maybe later he’ll fuck you, or he’s going to touch himself to the image of eating you out but right now he's helping you put your clothes back on and ordering take out.

[crescenthistory]

starry-eyed fear

pairing: remus lupin x black!sister!reader

synopsis: being raised in the noble and most ancient house of black meant that you were still looking at shadows like ghosts, even in a healthy and loving relationship with remus lupin, the best boy you had met. when his bad day triggers your fawn response, he sees through you and tries to help you calm down. in the end, you wind up wanting needing your older brother.

wc: 5.1k

cw: fem!reader, no use of y/n, complex ptsd symptoms written by someone with ptsd, childhood abuse, panic attack, fawn response, trying to use sex to avoid anger, conversations around consent, reader's self-neglect, eventual healthy communication, breakdown, hurt/comfort, changing povs, remus' self-hatred, big brother sirius centric for parts of it, background prongsfoot, found family, fluff

You would never tell Remus that you could tell he was in a bad mood before he even entered the dorm – though, on better days, he already knew.

His feet hitting harder against the corridor outside, dragging as if his body was simply too much to bear, gave it away. Not to mention his contradictingly quick gait; one that would surely cause his hip pain to flare, pain he only ever welcomed when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself or angry at the world.

This close to the full moon, he was usually feeling both.

Perhaps part of it was on you, too. Perhaps your overt awareness of the moon cycles in an effort to care for him best, backlashed and made you anticipate the drops in his mood that could come with it, despite him not giving you an explicit reason to do so. Despite him never proving that he would be a danger to you on his bad days. You still needed to help, to make it all better, or you would remain uneasy. 

Sometimes in your desire to care for him, you were actually carrying out injustices against yourself that consequently hurt you both. A lesson you would come to learn today.

Upon hearing his footsteps in the hallway, upon feeling the deferred chill penetrate your spine, you sat up straighter in your bed. Smoothing out the blanket, you dragged your textbooks into your lap in favour of the novel you had been reading, to seem more collected and productive. A bright smile already coated your lips when his hand hit the handle, in a hope to quench any turmoil in his heart before he could even voice it.

Had his walk not given it away, his face would; Remus opened the door and slumped his entire body against the doorway as he stared at you with exhaustion etched into every beautiful crevice of his face.

“Heya, dove.” The words were raspy, as if they hurt clawing their way out of his throat.

“Hi, my love,” you whispered in turn. You put your textbooks that you had not been reading aside, making space for him on the bed. Open arms, guarded heart.

Remus was limping a little as he closed the door behind him – the slam making you flinch while his back was turned. He had forgone his cane today, and was evidently paying the consequences. 

Maybe it was because Regulus got a black letter from home earlier this week that he still refuses to show you. Maybe it was the fact that he showed Sirius who also refuses to tell you what it said, meaning that it had to be bad. Maybe it was caused by you barely seeing either of them – and thus not being grounded by them – this past month with how hard they had been training for the end of quidditch season.

Or maybe it was because once your brain is convinced there is something to protect itself from, it will continue to do so even long after the threat is gone and all you’re surrounded by is your sweet boyfriend and his kind brown eyes. 

Either way, you could not help but instinctively fawn over him as he slumped down beside you on your bed.

As soon as he dropped his bookbag by the end of the bed, he beelined for your side. You propped up the pillows, making everything ready for him, but the lanky boy chose instead to crawl up on top of you and collapse with his head on your chest. The weight usually helped ground you, but with your body already dysregulated, you found it stifling and hard to breathe. 

All of this was pushed aside in favour of your hand going up to scratch at his hair while your free arm caressed his back, soothing.

“You’re alright, sweet boy.” You willed it to be true, both for him and for you. “I’ve got you. Do you need any pain potions? A massage?”

Remus made a slight tsking noise that made it even harder to breathe. “Just need you, dovey.”

You loved him. Gods, how you loved him. And you knew he loved you. Why was the panic still rising in your chest, tingling in your fingertips?

You kissed the top of his head in response, tightening your hold on him and trying to force your body to soften. “Well, you’ve got me. All of me. Whatever you want, love.”

Remus buried his face further against your chest, tipping his nose up to brush it against the side of your neck. Tender. Sweet. Suffocating. He pressed slight kisses to the skin there, breathing you in. “All of you?” he asked, voice again growing hoarser, but this time with another intention.

You knew how to make everything okay. 

The smile you plastered on widened, just for him, just to make him feel alright, to ward off any irritation remaining in his bones. With gentle fingers, you moved your hand to his chin and lifted his head at the same time as you slid further down your bed, so that you would come face to face. It shifted his weight off of you, which helped you focus on your mission. Wordlessly, you brought him in for a greeting kiss, lips pressed against each other and then opening one another, diving in.

Remus’ breath hitched that way it always did when you kissed for the first time in a while, like he couldn’t believe it, then promptly melted. His strong arms came to wrap around your waist, pulling you further against him; and just like that, you were suffocating again, but you kept shoving it down. 

You led inquisitive, kind fingers to the hem of his ruffled shirt, sliding up beneath it and exploring the expanse of skin. Your lips moved together, Remus deepening the kiss further and you gifted him a soft moan for his efforts that saw him doubling down on them. You pressed your body against his, giving your all, as your hands only escaped to begin unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. Trembling.

“Need you,” Remus mumbled against your lips before he began trailing his kisses down the side of your neck. You pushed his shirt off, successfully leaving him half naked, and quickly moved onto your next mission, which was unbuckling his trousers. “Gods, I need you. You’re so lovely, so good.”

You kept keening at his attention, making soft sounds you knew he liked. You couldn't say anything, though, too focussed on breathing. His tongue kissed down your neck, lapping at your pulsepoint.

It was then that Remus’ movements froze for a second. Lips pressed against your rapidly beating pulse. “Dovey?” he asked, tone still coated with desire, but checking in. You kept his face buried in your neck with a hand on the back of his head, so that he wouldn’t try to look you in the eyes. “You alright?”

You hummed in the affirmative, going back to exploring his body with your free hand. “Let me make you feel good,” you murmured, ducking your face down to his own neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses there as you slid your hand down his unzipped trousers, cupping him. He groaned.

Your movements were instinctual, habitual, but you didn’t realise how robotic they were. Even with his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, hips bucking, Remus was beginning to pick up on it. “Mm, dove, w-wait a second.” It was all breathless mumbles.

You doubled down, grinding your palm against Remus’ length straining through his boxers, kissing down his neck and slowly trying to lower yourself with kisses down his chest. Kissing away his ire, his upset. His breath stuttered, but he managed to say your name, not as a moan but in an attempt to reach you.

What he did next made sense to Remus as a way to get you grounded again; it terrified you.

With a swift, kind movement, Remus grabbed your wrist and rolled the two of you from laying on your side to him laying on top of you. Your hand was removed from his trousers, and your face was drawn out from its hiding place, finally revealing your eyes to Remus’.

They flashed with fear for the one second you looked into each other’s irises, before you quickly averted your gaze. The unexpected movement, the sudden weight of him on top of you, the caging position you were in – it brought forth the hyperventilation you had been trying to fight back.

“Hey, dove,” Remus tried, voice unsure. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You’re looking everywhere but Remus, breathing hard. This was not how you wanted this to go, not how you needed it to go. Your mind is suddenly yanked backwards, 2 years, 5 years, 12 years, through dark corridors and dark eyes zeroed in on you, shadows over your face, bruises on your body, pure and utter misery. He's angry, everything is wrong, you've done something wrong.

It was all you could do not to cry; because you knew crying only made it worse.

Though you didn’t see him, you could tell Remus had caught onto this sudden switch because his voice suddenly changed from uncertain to slightly panic as he said, “Hey, hey, my love, hey, you’re alright.”

He scrambled off of you, sitting awkwardly beside you instead, trousers still unzipped, the moment frozen in time. His hands hovering above you, wanting to comfort but not knowing how. Instinctively, you rolled your body to the other side, hiding away, as one arm wrapped around you securely and the other covered your face.

Hiding. What you always did best.

It broke Remus’ heart.

He whispered your name twice, voice breaking slightly. As he grew more determined, piecing together what was happening as best he could, he settled properly beside you. Your chest was heaving more and more violently, never quite catching your breath. “Dove, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong. But I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart. Please, breathe for me. Copy my breath if you need to.”

Remus didn’t touch you. He sat still beside you, all movements slow and measured, as he desperately tried to conjure up memories of conversations he had had with you or your bothers about how to help you through episodes. Going back to the first years of his friendship with Sirius where he held his hands through moments like this – well, maybe not exactly like this, but close enough. It was hard to think when he was this freaked out on your behalf but he had to try.

He breathed in and out loudly, slow movements, hoping to get you to copy him. You remained in your curled up position, struggling to catch on, but he wouldn’t give up. 

Grounding. You had told him about grounding, he had seen James do it for Sirius countless times after you all left. “You’re safe, my love. So safe. We’re in your dorm, it’s just you and me here. No one is angry, nothing is wrong. You’re okay.” He kept breathing for the both of you.

When he heard the violent sob that tore its way out of your throat, he thought for a second that he had said something terrible, that he had made the situation so much worse somehow.

Then, your voice rang through your head, confiding in him about how difficult it is to cry when you feel unsafe, how it only really happens when you’re with someone you trust.

He let out a sigh in relief – but it didn’t make the sound any less heartbreaking.

“That’s it, love, you’re all right. Let it out, do whatever you need. I’m here for you, okay? You’re safe.” Remus felt like he was reading off a list of what to say when someone is having a panic attack, which meant he felt like an utter buffoon, but you kept crying and you kept breathing, so he was at least not making it worse. 

“Oh, my girl, you’re okay.” He was fighting tears in his own eyes as he looked at you, ached to hug you but knew he couldn’t. “Can I come around to the other side of the bed, dove?”

He was expecting a no if not silence, but you emphatically nodded your head, another sob tearing from your throat.

Slowly, careful not to startle you, Remus eased his way off the bed and walked around to the other side, so that he could see your face without you emerging from your near-fetal position. He fully ignored his screaming knees and hips as he kneeled on the side of the bed, keeping his fingers interlocked on the mattress so they wouldn’t reach for you. Your eyes were squeezed shut behind your hand and his heart hurt more than his joints when he thought about what you must be seeing behind your eyelids.

He whispered your name softly. “My love, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay, you haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever you’re seeing in your head isn’t real, not anymore, you're with me.” His voice broke on the end, but he willed it back to its soft, sweet nature to calm you. “Can you open your eyes for me, dove? It’s not real, I am. I am. It’s alright.”

Tears were still streaming freely down your scrunched up face, but tentatively, with no shortage of hesitation or fear, you began to peel open your eyes. The second you could see Remus’ concerned, loving face through your veil of tears, you broke further, hand shooting free to clasp over his.

“Oh, Remus, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The feeling of your hand over his was a balm that empowered Remus to take further care of you, the stinging fear that you would be better if he left the room easing in his chest. He slowly turned his hands over, inviting you to clasp your hands together – sighing audibly when you did.

“What are you apologising for, sweet thing? You haven’t done anything wrong, nothing. There is nothing to apologise for. Just breathe for me.”

But you were shaking your head, cries intensifying. It looked like you wanted to say more, but couldn’t bring yourself to. Breath continuing to hitch.

“You’re safe, my love,” Remus murmured yet again, trying to catch your eye so you wouldn’t disappear into your mind. “I’ve got you, you’re always safe with me. I’ll leave if you want me to, but–”

“No!” you cried instantly, shaking your head. “No, please, please don’t.” Remus had already begun shushing you, promised he wouldn’t, but you continued. “Please stay. Remus, would you hold me?”

Remus didn’t point out that he had been until you began to hyperventilate, didn’t show you anything except an endless sea of understanding. He nodded and whispered, “Of course, my love. You’re sure I can touch you? I’ll hold you.”

You kept nodding through tears, shuffling back to make space for him.

Remus carefully slid in next to you, opening his arms so that you could position yourself how you wanted, scared to make you feel uncomfortable again. You attached yourself tightly to his side, mimicking the inverse of how you laid earlier, this time your head resting on his chest as you held him closely. He placed one hand on the middle of your back, a spot he knew made you feel protected, while the other wrapped your hand in his.

“Shhh, I’ve got you dovey.” Remus kissed the top of your head, slightly swaying you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head as you cried, but even then you managed to bite out a few words. “I’m sorry. I knew you were upset and I wanted to make it better, I–”

When your sentence broke off with a sob, Remus tightened his hold on you, eyebrows furrowing in heartache for his sweet dove. “Oh, my love, you have nothing to apologise for. Nothing. You’re perfect, so sweet. But you never have to make me feel better, especially not like that.”

You made a hollow sound at that, and Remus continued. “Love, I would never want you to do something you don’t want to do. And I would never take my bad day out on you, you know that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The tone of your voice told him he shouldn’t have insisted that you knew as much; you were drenched in guilt and shame.

“No, no, my lovely lovely girl. You don’t get to be sorry, alright? This is not your fault. I’m not angry with you. I’ve never been angry with you.”

Vaguely, Remus was aware that stating absolutes like that weren’t healthy for you in the long run, that he shouldn’t reinforce that anger is inherently a bad thing. In this very moment, though, he could not care less about the long run and only wanted to bring his partner back down to him. He kept kissing your head, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he emphasised again in a whisper, so quiet with his lips brushing against your hair. “You’re perfect. Just breathe for me, dovey, breathe. I want you to feel alright.”

You remained like that for quite some time, with Remus doing his best to ground you as your breathing finally picked up on his and slowed down, but your heart kept up its rapid speed, like it wanted to run away to where no one could see it. He hummed quietly, the way you would hum for him when he couldn’t sleep before a full moon.

“Can I ask you something absolutely awful?” You whispered at last, voice still choked.

Remus’ lips twitched where they were pressed against your hairline. “I highly doubt anything you could ask me would be horrible, my love; please ask me anything. I want to help you.”

You shook your head violently against him, making him tighten his grip on your back to steady you and protect you from yourself as shuddering heaves escaped from your chest. “No, it is. It is awful.”

“I will love you anyway. I will answer anything.”

Another sob escaped you as you opened your mouth but failed to speak. Remus kept humming against you, cradling you as he waited in patience. “Can you please–” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Can you please– can you get Sirius?”

Get Sirius.

Remus almost wanted to laugh through the tears shining in his eyes at the sight of your torment. You were painfully endearing, even now.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmured, peppering kisses against your forehead. “That is far from awful; that is lovely. You’re lovely. Of course I’ll get Sirius.”

You hiccuped. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough,” you whispered through your continuing sobs. “I– no bloke wants his girlfriend to ask for his best friend when she’s upset, but I just– I need my brother.”

“Of course you do.” Remus squeezed you tighter, getting ready to release you. “Of course you do, my love. Luckily I’m not some bloke, okay? I’m yours. Yours. I want to help you.” Careful not to startle you, he starts untangling himself from your grasp, kissing every piece of skin near him that he knew you would be comfortable with.

“It’s just– he’s changed so much. Since. So when I see him, I know it’s over.”

Remus’ heart positively shattered for you – all three of you.

He pulled back enough to see your face, gently cupping your cheek. “I’ll run and get him, alright? Then I can leave you alone with him, or sit in the corner, whatever you’d like. It will just be a minute, are you alright to stay here alone?”

You nodded, but tightened your grip on his collar. When he looked at you in question you slowly leaned forward to kiss him goodbye – giving him time to pull away should he want to. As if he would ever want to. Remus waited patiently for your soft lips to meet his, the perfect gel for his wound.

“Just a minute, sweetheart.”

No later than he was out of your arms was Remus out the door, hastily pulling a jumper on and unzipping his trousers – his situation having calmed down somewhere between the tears. He made sure to close the door gently behind him, and then he was speeding down the corridor, heading for the boys’ dormitory.

A snowy layer of guilt and self-hatred began to fall down in his mind – how could you pick up on it so late, how do you always do the wrong thing – but Remus swallowed his pride and squeezed his eyes shut as he hurried. He would make it right by doing what you asked, by getting you your brother. That was the one thing Remus had zero qualms about; he would happily fourth wheel your pack of codependent siblings for eternity if it meant your smiles would continue to be more frequent.

For each step he took between your dorms, Remus made a new silent prayer that his mates had not stayed late at quidditch practice.

His prayers were quickly answered in the form of the unmistaken boisterous laughter of his three mates sounding down the hallway. Part of Remus, the one that still felt achingly guilty from the whole ordeal, felt a pang of fear of Sirius’ reaction. That his best mate would agree with his most cruel thoughts and claim that Remus had caused the heartbreak that was your current predicament. Though Sirius had made no threats towards him about dating his little sister, choosing instead to love and trust Remus, there was still an unmistakable weariness whenever your heart was on the line, in whatever way.

Remus hoped he had not deemed himself unworthy of that trust today.

Even if he had, he knew he would still hurry to get Sirius a thousand times over, if that would help you.

Out of habit, Remus knocked on the door twice before quickly pushing it open, not waiting for a response; it was his dorm too, after all. His eyes immediately landed on Sirius leaned back against James’ chest on his bed, cheeks rosy from practise and laughter. Meanwhile, Peter was sprawled out like a starfish on the carpet, in the middle of some deranged story that had the others in stitches.

All heads flew up with a smile when Remus entered, but Sirius’ brows were the first to furrow.

“Sorry, can I–”

“Everything alright?” Sirius interrupted, not to be mean but because he could not help himself. He sat up, detangling himself from James, whose hand automatically went to stroke his back soothingly.

“Yes, but could you come for a minute? She needs you.” Remus didn’t want to say too much here and now, both to avoid wasting time and because he didn’t want to expose your vulnerable plea to the other boys. He knows you view James like an additional older brother and Peter like a best friend, but this feels like a blood-kin kind of situation. A raised-by-Walburga-Black kind of situation.

Sirius elegantly shot up from the bed, squeezing James’ hand in parting without looking back as he sidestepped Peter’s messy limbs. It was an excellent choreography of movements, owed to ballet classes you both had told horror stories of, as Sirius swiped up one of his jumpers on the way to the door and squeezed out past Remus. A man on a mission.

Remus gave a tight-lipped smile to the two remaining boys as he closed the door, speeding after Sirius. The other boy cast a brief look over his shoulder, brows furrowed in concern. “Where is she? What happened?”

“In her dorm. She caught on that I had a bad day and it triggered her.” Remus struggled to keep up with Sirius, but he refused to slow down just on account of himself.

He was half expecting Sirius to ask him what he had done, to join the symphony of voices in the back of his head telling him that he did this to her. Instead, Sirius’ shoulders merely deflated a little as he picked up his pace.

By the time the two of them had made it to your dormitory door, Remus was out of breath while Sirius seemed to be holding his. The part of Remus that was just Sirius’ best friend was concerned about how watching his little sister, whom he adored above all else, having an episode might trigger him in turn. The part of Remus that was in love with you, though – which was all of him – was just grateful to be able to do something for you, anything.

Sirius gently pushed down the doorhandle, announcing himself immediately as he slipped into the room. “Babygirl? It’s me.”

Over Sirius’ head, Remus instantly spotted you, sitting upright on the bed but curled in on yourself. Arms wrapped around your knees that were pulled to your chest, forehead on your knees and shoulders shaking with tears and uneven breaths.

Your head picked up at the sound of Sirius’ voice, glistening eyes and deep-seated frown on display. You made a small sobbing noise that sounded like your older brother’s name.

In an instant, Sirius was by your side.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius whispered, in a voice so uncharacteristically soft it sounded foreign in his mouth, yet perfectly at home when directed at you. “Hey bébé étoile, what’s going on, hm?”

He climbed onto the bed, carefully dragging your body into his lap, so that he could cradle your head against his chest. You put up no fight, disappearing into Sirius’ embrace the moment he invited you in. The choreography from earlier continued, it was like you were born to be in each other’s arms, knowledgeable and comforting.

Remus stood in the doorway, mesmerised by the sight but unsure where to go. He could hear Sirius’ soft shushing, but not quite make out what he was saying, a mix of English and the French he usually refuses to speak.

With his hand on the doorknob, Remus was about to leave you two alone when he heard his name being called. 

“Rem? Could you stay, please?” Your eyes peered around Sirius’ comforting hand on the back of your head, an insecurity creeping into your beautiful irises that Remus thought had no business living there.

“Of course, dove,” he whispered, hurriedly closing the door – careful not to make it slam this time – and coming up to sit at the edge of the bed. He made himself comfortable as you disappeared into Sirius’ neck, whose attention had remained on you.

It was strange to watch you two like this. Independence was so important to you, going to unfair extremes to prove yourself stoic and strong and untouchable. And though you are the softest soul Remus knows when you are alone, he knows how much it means for you to stand your own ground.

While he didn’t think this lessened your independence in any way, it still felt out of place to see you looking so young. Curled up against Sirius, your hand cupping his ear and tracing every single piece of silver jewellery that was placed there, each a loud fuck you to the house you both survived, evidence of your departure. Watching you ground yourself with the cool metal and matching your breathing to Sirius’, your eyes closed as he whispered against your hairline, occasionally kissing it with a featherlight touch. 

It was beautiful. Remus felt a simmering pride within him for you both, for finding safety and unity in one another still, for, after every rough spot, to still be on each other’s team. His smile turned watery.

“You’re safe, bébé étoile,” Sirius whispered as your breathing evened out. “Remus isn’t like that. He would never be like that.” He looked up at Remus over your head, with an expression of gratitude and love. He didn’t even know how you were triggered or what Remus had done, yet he still felt those words to be true. 

Remus could feel himself being stitched into the fabric that was your new family.

You heaved a deep breath and sat up a little, still between Sirius’ sprawled out legs, but no longer leaning on him. With still slightly shaking fingers, you wiped beneath your eyes – and began to laugh. A soft, twinkling laugh that Remus couldn’t hold himself back from joining in on, at least not when he saw Sirius do the same.

“Phew,” you said in a quiet, yet exaggerated tone. “Almost overreacted to that one. Glad I didn’t.”

Remus chuckled more at your irony, but shook his head. He had the audacity to bump his knee against yours on the small bed. “No such thing, my love.”

“I for one think you should overreact more. Have you tried hexing him when you think he’s upset with you? That one always works for me.” Sirius made a clicking noise and winked at you.

Nevermind the fact that if Sirius ever had instinctively raised his wand at James, Remus knew he would have broken it in self-disgust.

You just laughed a bit more, falling backwards on the bed, arched over Sirius’ thigh in a way that surely couldn’t be comfortable but that he didn’t have the heart to comment on just yet.

Sirius seemed to agree as he smoothed his hand up and down your shin. “You landing yet, ma puce?”

You groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

He instantly grinned, looking over at Remus. “She’s landed alright.” He clamped down on your knee and jostled it a little for good measure, making you sit up, leaning back on your hands.

Just before he thought it himself, you declared, “I’m exhausted.” 

The endeared smile that spread on Remus’ face must have been sickening. “I can imagine, dovey. Feeling your feelings like that is no easy feat.”

“Yeah, well, you’re next,” you teased, but the gratitude still shone through your smile.

“Am I now? How will you enforce that?”

“I’ll give you something to cry about.” You transferred your weight to one hand as the other reached out to grab Remus by the collar and – gently, despite what it may seem – pulled him down to pile on top of you and Sirius. The latter faux shirked, as if the barely-there weight on his legs would crush him while you and Remus giggled.

It would be a while before Sirius went back to the dorm, well after you told him he could, a simmering concerned ache swimming in his eyes even as you teased one another. And even when Sirius did, Remus had a hard time agreeing to come with, despite the fact that your dormmates would be returning any minute and neither of them fancied detention for overstaying their welcome in the girls' dorm.

It was solved in true Black siblings fashion; yet another night of you crashing over at the Marauders’ dormitory. Unlike in your first years at Hogwarts when you would sleep in Sirius' bed, you stayed in Remus' this time. Though, Sirius still made his case clear. “No snogging in front of me – panic attacks I can put up with, but that is where I draw the line.”

If Remus stole a conciliatory, apologetic, lovestruck kiss or two behind the curtains at night, well, Sirius was none the wiser.

[dailykrusie]

how do you get the strength to persist at krusie in such a suselle world? (aka what are your thoughts on krusie)

First of all I want to say that I understand the appeal & popularity of Suselle & I'm looking forward to seeing how it develops in canon.

But it's pretty obvious that Noelle has... a specific thing she wants from Susie, if I can put it that way. They don't know each other that well. Noelle's crush has all the intensity & sweatiness that a gay teen crush deserves, and Susie's obliviousness to this is played for laughs (for now). I can see a lot of ways it could develop which would get me more invested but right now it feels one-sided. I do think this is a great storytelling move for Noelle as a character overall! It immediately makes her more complex before we know that much else about her, and it fits with everything we find out after. I have faith it will lead somewhere interesting, even if that isn't necessarily "romantic."

Meanwhile... Kris steps in front of Susie to save her at the end of Ch 1 with no input on our part, Susie returns the favor, and then they're friends.

They're so silly. They're eating moss together. They care about each other in such a straightforward and immediate way. I love how Susie plays off Kris despite us not getting to see a lot of their dialogue, you still get a great sense of their chemistry. Kris has comical underreactions and Susie has comical overreactions but they're somehow matching each other's energy??? The feeling of egging on your best friend to do something stupid... It's truly unparalleled....

Kris lets Susie push and pull them around a lot and doesn't seem to mind. She does "whatever she wants", which is also why Noelle likes her. She's a social outcast, just like Kris. This is the core of their friendship to me. Being a teenager can be so awful, and if your home life is bad and/or you have brain problems it's genuinely like being in hell. And finding another person your age who's weird and unpopular and has their own problems, who won't judge you, who you can just hang out with and crack stupid jokes, who makes you actually want to show up at school... That's real, and that's special.

[drill-bits]

Everybody keeps calling your AU Ratchet a deadbeat but. like.

His husband died.

Most likely very traumatically, especially considering Ratchet is a medic and probably feels like it's his fault regardless of how much he could have realistically done to prevent it. But it was definitely bad enough to make him flee his original universe. And when you add in the chance his Drift was carrying when he died? The guy went from happily married and expecting a kid to having nothing all at once.

That has to feel awful.

And then he escapes to another universe to try and get away from the grief of it, and well now he's faced with another sparked Drift. But it's not his Drift, and that's not his sparkling. They belong to another Ratchet, a Ratchet who isn't him because his family is gone.

And he can't run again because what if something goes wrong here too? He's gotta stay to make sure everything goes smoothly. Goes right this time. But also now he's both constantly faced with reminders of his original Drift. And the constant worry that something bad will happen to this Drift and sparklet too. And to make it worse this Drift is dealing with the loss of his Ratchet. And maybe they can connect from the shared understanding of grief or maybe they both can't get over the worry that by spending time together they're somehow replacing the versions of their husbands that they lost.

Maybe it's especially worse for Ratchet because he feels like he doesn't deserve a chance at another family when he failed his first family so badly.

And then you've got single dad Drift, just trying to keep whatever piece of his Ratchet as close to chest as possible. But he's got a do it mostly alone, and yeah- there's another Ratchet around. But that's not his Ratchet. And that Ratchet is going through just as much grief as Drift is, (maybe more because he doesn't have anything left of his original Drift, on top of the death being sudden and unexpected) and it's not really fair to ask him to put all the feelings he's got to his original family aside just because the sparklet is having trouble, is it?

And then you've got a little sparklet. Who probably remembers, very vaguely in his spark, a sire who showered him with a much love and affection as possible because he knew he didn't have much time left, and wouldn't see them growing up. And then just. Nothing. Nothing at all from his sire for years, and Drift was feeling devastated and it didn't make any sense- but then. There's his sire, right there. And he's just a baby, he doesn't understand alternative universes or death or anything like that- all he knows is is sire isn't giving him the same care he was getting as a tiny spark and his carrier is so sad about it and he doesn't know why.

It's obvious both Ratchet and Drift know the sparklet is having trouble with the situation. And it's obvious they want to comfort each other somehow. But you've got two mechs who either feel guilty asking for help, or guilty offering it.

And maybe Ratchet wants really, really badly to help and connect and be there. Maybe he feels terrible that the sparklet is suffering so much from the situation. Maybe he hates to see that Drift is struggling to cope with this mess alone. Maybe he already cares very deeply about this universes Drift and bitty, just because they're so similar to the ones he lost.

But that's terrifying isn't it? Because he lost them.

AT LONG LAST. THIS ABSOLUTE MAMMOTH OF AN ASK IS POSTED.

MY FRIEND. SWEET NYX-FEY....

YOU HAVE NEARLY GOTTEN THE CRUX OF THE CONFLICT IN ONE..... THERE IS ONLY ONE. SMALL. TINY DETAIL.

OF WHICH WILL BE REVEALED SOON.

[ellewritesx]

breach of contract

(part six of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: You give him silence. He gives you the truth.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, mentions of past sex, lots of feels, that's it really

A/N: hi lovelies! a lot of you had a lot of different opinions on how this part should go. i wrote it in a way that feels natural to harry and y/n, and to me as the author. i hope you guys love it as much as i do!!! a song that really helped me while writing is ''back to december (taylor's version)'' by taylor swift which captures this part perfectly imo, definitely recommend listening to it as you read this x

Word Count: 3,531

...

The gallery is bathed in a soft light, the kind that glazes over skin and oil paint alike, smearing everything in gold. The room is warm with conversation, the low chatter of art lovers sipping cheap wine and throwing around words like ''contrast'' and ''intent''.

You stand somewhere near the center, smiling softly for the camera, one arm thrown around your friend's shoulder as she beams proudly in front of the exhibit wall.

You're in one of the photos. Well, you are the photo. Printed large, mounted on white canvas, your silhouette lit with honeyed shadows and smoke. You helped out with the shoot weeks ago, before everything fell apart. Before Harry stopped asking you to come over. Before you stopped waiting for him to ask.

Your friend had begged to take your photo when one of her models canceled last-minute. Something about an accident on the highway causing ''an impossible traffic jam, Y/N''. Despite your initial reluctance, you agreed. It was mortifying, being in front of the camera. You had felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you recalled the events to Harry later that same night.

He'd said he would come. Said it so casually, in passing, fingers brushing your hip absentmindedly in bed. You didn't really believe him then, and you definitely don't now.

You wear something new tonight. Bought with your own money. A slip dress in a color that makes your skin glow and your eyes sharper than usual. You didn't put on much makeup, didn't fuss with your hair, prioritizing your own comfort. It'll be a long night, after all.

You don't see him at first.

But he sees you.

Harry walks in through the side entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark wool coat. His hair is pushed back haphazardly, his jaw unshaven, like he hasn't really slept in a few days. He hasn't. Not properly, not since you walked out. The air in the gallery is cooler than he expected, but the moment he sees you there, speaking animately to a cluster of strangers, lit softly by gallery lights like the portrait of you on the wall, his skin heats from the inside.

He had worried he would never see your face again. He was sure you wouldn't hear him out if he asked, and he wouldn't know what to say to you even if you did. But then he remembered you mentioning it, offhandedly, weeks ago. Laying in his bed, bare-legged and sleepy, lips sticky from wine and your marshmellow lip balm. You had laughed bashfully, said something like, "She's showing her exhibition next month. I think she's using one of the shots I'm in. Can you believe it, Harry? Me? Hanging in an art gallery?"

He'd told you he would come. He wasn't sure if he would. Hadn't cared at the time. Or pretended not to.

But now he's here.

And there you are. Fucking radiant.

You're laughing, head tipped back, a glass of wine dangling from your fingers. There's a group of people around you, friends of your friend, probably. One of the guys leans in a bit too close when he talks, not quite flirting, but not just being friendly either.

Harry doesn't blink. Just watches.

Jealousy washes over his body like a current, but he doesn't move. Doesn't stomp over and drag you by the wrist like that night at the bar. He stays near the back, one hand clenched around a drink that's too weak for he's liking. He's not even sure how he got here. It's like he's been sleepwalking for weeks, just going through the motions, only snapping out of it when he saw you just now.

He doesn't belong here. Not in this state, wrinkled blouse, hair curled messily over his ears, a tiredness under his eyes that's deeper than just insomnia. It's regret. Resignation. But he's not leaving either.

And then you feel it.

That prickle at the base of your neck. The weight of his gaze.

You don't turn immediately, don't give in to the urge to search the room for that presence, looming in a dark corner like a storm cloud. But something in you stills. Anchors. When you finally glance over your shoulder, when your eyes land on the tall figure standing at the far edge of the gallery, spine straight against a wall, you know.

He came.

His eyes meet yours across the room. He doesn't look away.

Your stomach drops.

He looks out of place, like he didn't mean to be here but couldn't stay away. Dark trousers, open collar, silver rings glinting as he tugs his hand through his hair. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Like he's been unraveling by the hour.

His jaw is set. You know that look. That rigid line of his jaw, clenched so tightly it could shatter teeth. You've seen it in bars and on planes, in arguments that left you breathless and silent treatments that lasted days. It's his tell, his dead giveaway. That he's spiraling. That he's seconds from doing something he'll regret.

And yet tonight, he stays rooted. One hand loose at his side, the other clutching his drink. Breathing through it. Usually he would have stalked over immediately, pulled you by the wrist, caused a scene. But he's not approaching, and that's the strangest part.

Harry Styles doesn't do restraint. Or at least, he didn't. Especially not when it came to you, when it came to his belongings. Every emotion he felt was something he let devour him, let spill onto you like a heavy rainfall: jealousy, fury, lust.

But now, standing across the gallery floor, you see the restraint in every inch of his body. The way he doesn't interrupt. Doesn't insert himself. Doesn't act like he owns you. And that quiet refusal to unravel says more than any apology ever could.

You're not sure why it matters so much, this one, subtle thing. The way he just stands there and watches. The way he lets you laugh and drink and exist without immediately laying claim. But it does matter. It matters because for once, you don't feel like a possession being policed. You feel like a person. Like someone he sees as separate from him. And God, that shouldn't feel revolutionary… but it does.

Your heart kicks up, but you don't let it show. Instead, you lift your chin and hold your ground as you approach him, deliberately, taking your time. And you're surprised he lets you. Doesn't try to assert dominance by beating you to it. Doesn't move to meet you halfway. For once, he just... watches you come to him on your own terms.

''Didn't think you'd come,'' you say, voice light.

His eyes flick toward the man not far behind you, the one who's already engaged in another conversation but keeps shooting you discreet glances, checking you out. He doesn't comment on it.

''You look good,'' he says instead, eyeing you up and down. His face is indifferent, but his voice is soft, vulnerable. You wouldn't have been able to tell if you didn't know him as well as you do.

You nod once. ''Thanks. I bought the dress myself.''

The words land like a knife. A silence stretches between you, taut and sparkling with tension. You don't offer him comfort. He doesn't reach for you. It's the first time you feel like you're equals.

''Well, it looks beautiful on you. You're beautiful,'' he tells you sincerely, offering you a small nod.

You quirk a brow in suspicion and meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Why are you really here, Harry?"

He swallows, hesitating. You don't say ''You weren't supposed to come''. Because he knows that. You don't say ''I didn't want to see you''. Because it would be a lie.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, "I said I'd come."

You stare at him. ''That was before.''

He nods. ''Still meant it.''

You don't know what to say to that. You blink.

Your mouth opens, then closes. He watches you carefully, as if memorizing your reaction. You can tell he wants to say more, it's clear in the way his lips part, the way his hands fidget subtly at his sides, but he stops himself. You notice it.

You glance back at your friends, who are entertaining a group of visitors that has just arrived while sending you looks that scream ''help!''. You're the one who's supposed to be showing people around the gallery, a task you didn't sign up for, but surprisingly haven't minded doing as much as you thought you would.

''They're waiting for me,'' you say quietly.

''I can wait too.''

That makes you pause.

Harry Styles. Waiting. He's been doing a lot of that today. Waiting for you to come to him, for you to speak. Let's see how long he's willing to wait before he loses his patience.

You nod slowly. ''Okay. Then wait.''

You walk away.

...

Harry doesn't know what he expected, showing up like this. All he knows is that when he opened that last box and saw the necklace, the one he'd put so much thought into, just imagining about how it would rest beneath your collarbone, something cracked. And the silence since then has been loud in a way money can't fix.

You had sent everything back. And yet, he still smells you in his apartment. Still hears your soft laughter in the way the air feels at night. Still wakes up reaching for something that isn't there.

He hadn't planned on coming. Not really. But his car pulled up to the gallery anyway, and he was already halfway through the doors before he realized what he was doing. Something about that damn necklace. The cold finality of it. The way it curled around itself in the box like it understood the weight of the gesture.

And now he's here. And he can't stop looking at you.

You're alive in a way he hasn't seen in days. Weeks, maybe. Your lips shine under the gallery lights, and your dress fits you like a glove, accentuating all your features.

Every second you don't look at him slices clean through the center of his chest.

He tells himself this is fine. You're allowed to live your own life. To have your own space. That's what he's supposed to do, right? Give you space? That's what a better man would do. And after that night, after the way he had let himself take out his anger on you, then discarded you like he couldn't even stand to be around you, he knows he doesn't get to decide anything anymore.

Still, his hands curl into fists every time someone leans in too close to whisper something in your ear.

Especially the guy in the grey blazer, who's had his hand on your waist for a beat too long. Harry swears the floor tilts beneath him.

He wants you to know he's here. Wants you to feel his presence, even if you won't touch him.

He wouldn't blame you if this was what you wanted. If that dress, that laugh, that softness you're wrapping the room in isn't meant for him anymore. Because maybe he really did ruin it. Maybe all the years of being wanted for what he could give, not who he was, have made it impossible for him to understand when someone chooses to stay. Maybe he wouldn't believe you ever would.

But he can't stop thinking about the way you curled into his side after he fucked you. The way your fingertips would brush his wrist when you were trying to say something you weren't sure he was ready to hear. The way you always bite the inside of your cheek when you try to stifle a giggle at one of his dumb jokes.

He can't stop thinking about that night in Paris. Not about the sex. Not about the view. Just the way you both stayed up talking long after the room went quiet, wine glasses half-full on the nightstand, your eyes sparkling in the dim light when you told him he wasn't as unreadable as he liked to think. That you saw through him. And that maybe that didn't have to be such a bad thing.

That was the moment he started to lose.

No, started to fall.

He doesn't want to admit it, not even now. He's not sure he's ready. But he's never been able to forget it.

And that necklace? He doesn't want it in a box. He wants it where it belongs, around your neck, where everybody can see it. Not to claim you. But to remind himself that not everything has to be bought to be cherished. That you chose him.

You glance in his direction, your eyes meeting across the room. You've been waiting. Not out of cruelty or revenge. Well, revenge is definitely a bonus. But mainly because you want to know what he'll do if you don't come running to him for once.

The look in your eyes does something to him. Because when you finally look at him, it's not cold. It's not kind, either. It's something in between. Something that tells him you're still deciding.

He straightens.

Because if you're still deciding… he still has a chance.

He takes a step forward. Your facial expression doesn't change. You don't stop him, but you don't turn toward him either.

So he waits. Just one more second. One more breath. If you want him to come to you, you'll make it clear. And if not… he'll stay here. He'll wait all night.

But if you give him the signal, any signal, he'll cross the fucking floor like he's reaching for salvation. He's not sure when it happened, but somewhere between the first payment and the last goodbye, he stopped wanting to own you.

And started wanting to deserve you.

You nod.

A small, almost imperceptible movement, but he catches it like a bullet to the chest. That tiny gesture is all the permission he's been holding out for. His limbs uncoil, and he moves, slow, cautious, like you're a flame he's afraid to smother. Or be burned by.

You excuse yourself from your group, ignoring the teasing grin your friend throws over her shoulder. Your heels click softly against the gallery's marble floors, the sound steady despite the unstable pounding in your chest. You don't wait to see if he follows.

You already know he will.

The elevator ride is silent. You press the button for the rooftop, never turning to look at him. You can feel his presence like a pull on your skin, taut and tense, straining between want and hesitance. The metal doors close and it's just you two now, caught in that strange in-between where anything could happen and nothing might.

When the doors slide open, you're the first to step out into the cool air. The rooftop is empty, just like you hoped. Everyone else is still inside, drinking, mingling, discussing art. The afterparty isn't for a few hours, so it's quiet here, the hum of the bustling city below you like a soft lullaby. String lights cast a faint golden glow overhead, softening the edges of everything.

But not him.

He's all sharp lines and shadows when he steps up beside you. Hands tucked into his coat pockets, jaw clenched, curls ruffled from the wind and repeatedly running his hand through them.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest, pretending to admire the skyline while your pulse thunders under your skin. He lingers a few feet behind, just close enough for you to feel him. The heat of his body. The heaviness of his stare.

You can tell he's working something out in his head, because he's quiet, but you don't speak right away. Let the silence stretch, let it test him. Because the last time he opened his mouth, you walked out of his apartment with shaking hands and mascara-stained cheeks.

He breaks first.

''I didn't know if I'd ever see you again.''

You inhale slowly. ''And yet you came.''

His eyes flicker to yours. ''Said I would.''

''You said a lot of things, Harry.''

You hear the shift in his breath, a sharp inhale like he's bracing himself. ''You're angry.''

''No,'' you say. ''I'm tired.''

The words hit heavier than they should. He takes a tentative step closer, like he's afraid of startling you over the edge. ''Look, I didn't come here to fight—''

''Then why are you here?” You face him fully now, arms still folded as if to shield yourself from the upcoming conflict. ''Because if you're looking for a reason to punish me again, I'm fresh out.''

He flinches. ''I'm not. I'm not... Fuck. That night, I wasn't trying to—''

''You were angry,'' you cut in. ''And I was convenient. That's the whole point of the arrangement, isn't it?''

''No. It's not.'' His voice sharpens. ''It wasn't supposed to go like this.''

''But it did.''

He looks at you then, and you know he sees it, the shift in you. How this version of you doesn't cry, doesn't beg. You're not trying to change his mind or shrink yourself down just to fit into whatever space he was willing to make for you.

He runs a hand through his hair. ''You think I don't know I fucked up? That night... I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at myself. For letting it get that far. For wanting more. I lashed out. Because that's what I do, isn't it? I ruin things before they can ruin me.''

You look at him then, really look at him. And what you see isn't the controlled, calculated man who drew up contracts and handed you credit cards like they were shackles physically bounding you to him.

What you see is a man who's unraveling in front of you, who's scared, who's hurting, who doesn't know how to ask to be loved without bleeding out.

''You didn't just ruin things,'' you say softly. ''You ruined me, Harry.''

He looks like he might fall apart.

Your voice is steadier than you feel when you continue. ''I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong. What I could've said, or done, to make you want to keep me around. When I didn't hear from you after that night, I told myself that was it. That I needed to be strong. That if this was going to end, I'd end it with dignity.''

That shuts him up.

For a moment, all you can hear is the faint thump of music through the floor, the whistle of the wind around the rooftop. You glance over and find him staring at you like he's never seen you before. Or maybe like he's finally seeing you clearly.

''I got the boxes,'' he says suddenly.

Your stomach tightens. You look away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the concrete beneath your feet. ''Good.''

Something cracks in his chest then. You see it, the way his jaw clenches, how he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek like he's trying not to say something stupid.

''You returned everything,'' he says softly. ''Your dresses. Your perfume. That fucking necklace.''

Your fingers instinctively curl around the necklace you're wearing now. It doesn't mean nearly as much to you as that fucking daisy does. You miss it. The comfort of it, the reminder of Harry.

''You returned everything but the memories.''

You blink. ''What?''

''I've been going insane, Y/N,'' he chokes out, tugging on his hair in frustration. No, desperation. ''I've been moving through my apartment like a fucking zombie. I can't walk into my kitchen without seeing your coffee mug. I can't open my closet without thinking of you in my hoodie. You're not there, but it's like you never left.''

You watch him struggle. Watch him grip the railing before him like it's the only thing holding him upright, before continuing.

''Everything still smells like you. Your shampoo's in the shower. I find your hair ties everywhere. I can't throw out that fucking flower. And those boxes... Those boxes gutted me. Because you didn't just return my money. You returned everything that connected us. Every single thing I used to not lose the privilege of calling you mine.''

You swallow thickly, caught between wanting to scream and wanting to kiss him. ''It was in the contract,'' you say evenly.

''To hell with the contract,'' he spits, voice cracking. ''I'm fucking in love with you.''

The rooftop goes still.

Your heart slams into your ribs like it's trying to claw out of your chest. His eyes widen, terrified of what he just admitted, but there's a strange sense of relief in his expression too, like he just came up for a deep breath after nearly drowning.

You stare at him, lips parted, frozen in place. You don't move. Don't blink. The words hang between you like a match, suspended and burning. Harry stares at you, chest rising and falling heavily, like confessing the truth is the hardest thing he's ever done.

And maybe it is.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan @hoolabalooba @hisparentsgallerryy @txmhxllqnd @harringtonhundreds @freddyselmstreet @caynonmoondreams @matildasatellite @ilovezaynmalik08 @looney-goose @call1800coochie @nostalgiainmybones @billweasleyswife @hailiex @lichi-dunkera @tchlamqtsgf @kiszkas-canvas

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices

...

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@d3arapril@lovegalor333@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omg-imtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

[povbarnes]

Stay.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to stay, he never does.

Word Count: +3K

Warnings: Angst, Heavy angst, Smut, Angsty smut, Hurt no comfort, Bucky Barnes is TERRIBLE at feelings, Reader is a little desperate, but so is Bucky, bear with me for this one, No use of Y/N, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed or forgot anything!

A/N: alrighty! first of all, thank you so much for the love on my first fic, it means the world to me. this took way longer than i thought it would but it’s finally done, hopefully i won’t disappoint. pictures are only for the vibes, no description of reader in this one other than that she has hair. hope you like it! :)

P.S. i couldn’t really decide which bucky this was, you can decide for yourself but the closest to me was tfatws!bucky i think.

He won’t stay, you know it. He never stays.

You wait for it every time. You spend all the little time that you have together waiting for it, dreading it, never being able to fully enjoy a single second. You dread the moment that eventually comes every single time, that moment when you feel the instant shame surrounding his entire frame right before he gets out of your bed, gets dressed and leaves you while you watch him with tear-filled eyes.

As time passed, you got better at not crying. At least not in front of him.

You know he hates seeing you cry, more so when it’s him who is making you. Not enough to make him stay, but enough to hurt him too. So you simply try not to. You never want to make him feel bad, even though he holds your delicate heart in his strong hands and crashes it over and over again.

He tries talking to you, you’ll give him that. He tries to make you understand. You can’t. Or rather, you won’t. You don’t want to understand him, you want him, all of him. Not just the parts he thinks is worthy of you, which are very little, but anything and everything that makes him who he is. You want it all. And for the months that you have been sleeping together, he could never accept that.

You shouldn’t let him in. Every time he leaves, you make a promise to yourself. To not let him in, to not let him make you feel more miserable than he already has.

Then, you hear his voice. “Please, doll. Open the door.”

All your resolve crumbles in an instant, and you never succeed.

You open the door, lay your pride in front of him like a red carpet and watch him walk all over it to get to you. You don’t even think there’s any pride left in you to protect anymore. It sickens you.

One last time, you say to yourself, every time.

Your breath catches when you see him, all tired blue eyes and hunched shoulders. It takes everything in you not to throw yourself into his arms and hold him until your limbs melt into one. Instead, you stare at him, and he stares at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says after what feels like a lifetime. The first thing he said to you after not seeing him for a week.

You huff. “For what?”

His lips press together, head hanging low to look at his shoes instead of you.

You put him out of his misery, just as you always do, and take a step back so he could come inside.

He doesn’t lift his head while he steps in.

It goes the same way it always does. He waits a moment, maybe as long as he feels enough that you would feel somewhat respected by him, because he knows you’re upset, and that you know why he’s in your house, and how even if you are upset, you still want him because that’s just the way it goes, something that just is and something you can’t help, and how none of it will change anything for him.

He will still leave you at the end of the night.

After the short pause, he is on you, his lips crashing onto yours filled with the amount of desperation that almost matches yours.

You want to push him away, smack him, scream at him to stop doing this to both of you. You wrap your arms around his neck instead. You’ve missed him so much.

His vibranium arm sneaks around your waist to cage you to him, flesh hand holding your chin, covering your entire lower face. It’s so possessive, and you feel so safe, and you hate yourself.

He lifts you just a bit, starting to move towards your bedroom through the familiar path. His mouth is relentless on yours, not even giving you a time to take a breath, not that you want to.

He doesn’t turn on the lights when he reaches your room, he never really does. He doesn’t like you to see his scars.

You gasp as soon as his mouth travels from yours to your cheek, nuzzling his face to yours, leaving kisses to your eyes, nose, all the way to your neck. When he reaches the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder and takes a deep breath, a sob you so desperately try to keep in wrecks through you. He tries to look at you when he hears it, but you hug him tighter to keep him there. You don’t want to talk, not when you know it won’t make a goddamn difference, but the words that come out of your mouth are not planned, they claw their way out of your throat in order to be freed. “You make me hate myself.”

He pauses, this time doesn’t let you stop him from looking at you. He sees your damp eyes, and you think he might be sick. You don’t want it to be a relief, but there’s not much you can take from him. So, it is a relief that he looks as guilty and as in pain as he does. Because you are hurting more than him. You must be, with the way your heart feels like it’s torn off by the seams and stitched together by shaky hands for a thousand times.

“Don’t stop,” you murmur when he doesn’t say anything. A tear rolls down your cheek. “Don’t stop.”

When he still doesn’t move, you do instead. With his eyes still on yours, you withdraw one of your hands from the back of his neck, slowly moving it south to his jeans. After a short fumble with the button and the zipper, your hand quickly reaches inside the soft material of his boxers, pressing your palm against his dick. His expression he tried to maintain so hard crumbles in an instant, eyes fluttering shut as his hips jerks forward against your hand.

He curses lowly as you move your hand up and down before freeing him and starting to properly move around him.

His blues find your eyes again, watching you for a second while you slowly move up and down. His breathing gets frantic quickly, and it doesn’t take long for him to grab your wrist to stop you, lifting you with comical ease and laying you down on your bed in mere seconds.

His hands do quick work of your sleep shirt and shorts, vibranium hand going straight to where you ache for him to rub you over your underwear.

Your moan makes his eyes flutter, his jaw ticking as his flesh hand coming to massage your breast.

He keeps the perfect pressure, at the perfect speed, shows you once again how he knows your body better than you do. His eyes never leave yours, and he watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw as your first orgasm hits you hard and fast, his hand never slipping inside the thin material, torturing you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I need to be inside you.” He doesn’t give you a minute to recover. You can barely blink before your underwear is thrown away somewhere around the room, and he is already moving between your legs.

He is too desperate, too fast. Everything’s going to be over way too soon. And you need more time. This night of all nights, you need more time with him. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He is about to push in when you place your hand on his chest over his shirt. “Wait.”

He freezes. And when he looks at you this time, maybe for the first time, he looks panicked. Disheveled. You don’t know what exactly he is thinking, but you lift your hand to his face to soothe him immediately. You smile at the feeling his stubble leaves inside your hand.

“Can you go slow?” You see relief rushing through him like it’s something solid. His hands that are on either side of your legs move up and down as he looks at you with a softness in his eyes that make tears form behind your eyes.

When he speaks, it’s worse. It’s like the first time, when you weren’t this glass half version of yourself, when he didn’t break you just yet. “You okay?”

You nod, smile faltering but not leaving your face. “Yeah, just…” You don’t know what to say. Just what? Just I can’t stand the thought of you leaving so soon? Just I want you to stay a little longer?

“Just a little sensitive today.”

He smiles then, first time since he walked through your door, flesh hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “My girl’s sensitive.”

You whimper at his words, and his smile grows a little, still soft as silk. “Of course I’ll go slow, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever you want me to.” Except stay.

He does go slow.

He opens up your legs to make room for himself, but doesn’t lay on top of you yet. His hands, one warm and one cold, roam around your body, making you shiver. “How do you want me?”

You pause even though you’re not moving, and he senses it. Edge of his mouth ticks up a little. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He never asked you that before except for the first time you had sex, when you’d met just a couple of days ago.

Most of the time it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself.

You don’t know what to say for a good minute, but he is patient, he’s going slow, he waits for you.

Your mouth opens and closes for once or twice, but no words come out. Eventually, your fingers find his shirt, dragging it up and off. Your hands close around his shoulders, and he tenses when he feels your warmth around the scarred tissue of his left shoulder.

You pull him over your body in response, your legs caging him onto you by wrapping around his torso. You hold him to your neck, your mouth dancing over his ear, a small shudder leaves him as his forearms rest on either side of your head. “Like this,” you whisper. “Close, and slow.”

“Close and slow.”

You nod, and he copies you.

When he pushes in, it’s both heaven and hell.

Heaven because he’s here, he’s so close, as close as he can be. And he feels so good, filling you so well that makes you think he was made for you.

Hell because he’ll leave, he may be close but he’s always so far. He is breathing into your neck, inhaling your scent, grunting with every powerful thrust of his hips, and it feels like he thinks you are made for him as well.

After five or ten or twenty thrusts, you can’t even tell, you are gone again. You try to warn him while also holding onto him impossibly tighter before softly crying out. “Bucky- I’m-“

He nods, because he already knows. He always knows. “Go on baby,” he says without lifting his head, voice muffled. “I got you.”

You come with tears gathering in your eyes, burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.

His hips never lose their rhythm, instead gaining strength and speed. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Squeezin’ me so tight.”

He keeps going until the you come around him once again, the force of it catching you by surprise. You don’t even realize you are chanting his name until he starts caressing your hair and murmuring next to your ear. “I know baby, I know.”

He is losing control, you can tell. He still tries to go slow like you asked but his rhythm falters, his hips speeding up and slowing down like he’s at war with himself. You can tell he is close when he starts grinding into you every other thrust, almost making you climb that high again.

“You feel so good,” he says suddenly, voice higher than before. “Best thing in my goddamn life.”

Faster.

“Baby, my baby.”

You can’t breathe.

Faster.

“I love you, I love you, fuck. My baby.”

Your whole world narrows down to the sound of his voice, hands freezing where they were traveling around his shoulders.

You don’t even breathe when he collapses on top of you, and even though you can’t see anything in the now pitch black room, you can feel him. He’s so warm, his face still hidden in the crook of your neck, heavy breaths mixing with yours. He stays like that for a couple of seconds.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, not knowing what to do, how to react. You are terrified.

You try savoring the feeling of his strong frame enveloping yours, even though you almost choke under his weight.

You are afraid to move. You are afraid the second you move an inch, he will come to himself and realize what just happened. And you so desperately want this to last, for it to be real. But after a minute or two, you can’t stop yourself from slowly bringing your fingers to his hair and starting to play with the damp strands that curls a little around his neck. He lets out a soft breath and you can swear that for a moment, he relaxes into you even more.

It takes a while for him to raise his head from your neck and look at you, his eyes filled with so many emotions that you can’t quite name.

“Please, James.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, because he averts his gaze from yours, shame, again, winning over any other emotion on his face. You watch it happen like it’s a movie you’ve seen a hundred times.

You wince when he pulls out of you, and he steals a glance to make sure you are okay, but that’s it. He is on his feet, putting on his clothes again.

“J- Bucky,” you try one more time, your voice wavering. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s in a rush. “It was- I-“ He shakes his head, pulls on his pants.

“It was the heat of the moment, I- I got carried away. It wasn’t-“

He might as well struck you.

“It’s okay,” you manage to say, interrupting his rambling. You take the blanket hanging off the bed and cover yourself, feeling too exposed now that he wasn’t in the bed with you. “I know.”

You feel like you are about to throw up.

He pauses for a moment at your words, but doesn’t take it back.

And for the first time ever, you want him to leave. Because now, you are about to lose control. You feel on the verge of some kind of an anger attack, because of him, or yourself, you don’t know. You just want him to get the hell out of your house as soon as possible so you can cry until your body runs out of tears.

“Take care of yourself,” he says when he is dressed seconds later. You almost laugh. He rushes towards your door, lingering there for a second too long that causes your stupid heart to skip a bit and straighten up a little bit.

But then he is gone.

The low sound of the apartment’s door getting shut making you flinch like someone slammed it, and you find yourself where you always were. Crying, with his cum dripping between your legs, trying with every fiber of your being to not feel used.

IloveyouIloveyouMybaby

—

Bucky knows what it means to hate oneself. He’s hated himself for the better part of his life. He knows what it’s like to not be able to live with himself. Which is precisely why he cannot have you. Not in the way you and him both want. You don’t deserve this broken version of him. He did things in his life, terrible things, killed and tortured people, did things he can never forget or forgive himself for. But after meeting you? After leaving you over and over and over again? He didn’t know he could hate himself to the degree he does now.

Each time he leaves you with tears in your eyes, it feels like it’s the worst thing he has ever done.

And he knows it’s not fair, how he keeps coming back. He knows he isn’t letting you breathe, let alone move on. Yet he can’t stop.

Standing outside your apartment now, trying to stop himself from knocking on the door, knowing he will hurt you again, is a unique kind of torture.

A battle he always loses.

Because he needs you. He always needs you.

And he knows it’s selfish, so selfish that it makes his stomach turn, makes him unable to look in the mirror in the morning. But he needs you, and he can’t help it.

He knocks.

He hates himself.

The second his hand meets your door, he knows something’s wrong. He doesn’t know why, but it’s wrong. The sound of his knuckles against your door is wrong, the eerie silence of the building is wrong, and he can’t hear your footsteps coming towards the door. It’s just wrong.

His brows furrow. His heartbeat picks up.

He knocks again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing.

A rational part of him inside his head tries to reassure him, maybe you were out with your friends, maybe you just went to get some fucking milk. But no, he knows. Something’s not right. He can feel it in his bones.

He is panting now, staring at your door, eyes wide, trying to not let panic consume his whole being.

“Doll?” he tries desperately, heart pounding.

The door behind him opens, and it makes him flinch so hard that he needs to take a second to look behind him. An old lady, probably younger than he is, stands behind the threshold, looking at him with squinted eyes. “Are you James Barnes?”

Bucky’s heart drops. He doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to know how she knows who he is or hear what she has to say. His mouth feels like he spent the last three days chewing concrete.

He nods.

“She’s gone.”

No.

“What?”

“She left,” the lady repeats. “She’d say you’d come by. Kindly asked me to let you know.”

Just like that, the earth is swiped away under his feet, his whole world is crumbled, crushed down upon him. Two words, and he feels like he’s dying.

“What- uh…” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, flesh hand coming up to rest on his forehead for a second. “What do you mean she left?”

The lady looks at him with sympathetic eyes. Bucky wants to cry. “She moved away, it’s a shame. Such a nice girl. Told me to tell you.” When Bucky just stares at her, she gives her a tight smile like she knows. “Sorry, Kid. Have a nice evening.”

Then her door is shut.

He flinches again at the sound of it.

And Bucky is left in the hallway, your door not opening for the first time in seven months.

WELL! wasn’t that something? thinking about doing a second part for this with a more detailed smut section, but i think i’ll just see whether you guys want one or not.👀

comments & reblogs fuel me, love you!

[envy-of-the-apple]

pt 2 cuz so many ppl asked!

Part one

ok fine so maybe he isnt adverse to lavender BUT you still have a demon problem on your hands! sure he hasn't hurt you, yet, but all demons are waiting for their chance and you needed to strike back first!

you happen to see her outside. maybe you were doing yardwork or something when you see a blur of red stumbling about in the bushes. Naturally, you help the woman out, along with getting out that weird jagged contraption she insists on carrying around with her. she thanks you happily and is more than happy to tell you that her name is Grell and she was currently on her way to see 'bassy' but these days he had been hiding from her.

"Hiding?" You repeat. "wait...you’re saying he's scared of you?"

"Yes!" She strikes a pose. "He's terrified that my dashing looks might charm him."

you're not sure if thats the reason...but it is very odd that he hasn't turned up yet. the demon hates intruders, you know what he's done to the last guy who tried to get into the estate. Yet, grell is just fine waltzing around.

No way...he was avoiding of her.

She was your charm!

You take her hands in your own and passionately declare how touched you were by her commitment to winning ("...bassy" ugh it was so hard to say it without gagging) over, and you want to help her. Absolutely delighted, she agrees and you two instantly become 'best friends'.

You invite grell over all the time. she's your friend after all. you two do everything together, practically connected at the hip. You two even have sleepovers together (you're not a big fan of those, considering all what she does is go on and on about how much she loves that terrifying demon).

Your master does agree for Grell to keep visiting when you ask him. He's up for anything that might piss Sebastian off.

"Though, I'm elated this vexes sebastian...are you sure about this? that women is insane." He tells you after you tell him about your 'new bestie'.

And yeah, he's right. its clear that Grell isn't human, but she isn't a demon. and you'd prefer that over Hell.

Much to your delight, Sebastian does stay away. he is no longer lingering around when you're cleaning rooms cuz Grell is right next to you, blabbering about the hot men she saw on the way over here. You dont feel his presence right by your door at night anymore because Grell is in bed beside you...hogging all the blankets that bitch. still! it's working! you feel peace.

until....things go wrong.

eventually Grell starts to slowly put some pieces together. If she's being completely honest...she's not too sure what she ever saw in sebastian. he's hot but...he's also a bastard who has tried to kill her numerous times. and the thrill of lusting after him was starting to get a little old...but you're new.

You care about her. When she's rambling about things, you're humming and nodding along. You laugh at some of the jokes she makes. You tell her how pretty she is...you're just a thousand times better than that nasty demon who nearly got her canned.

"We should get married!" Grell declares.

"Ah," you say, not really listening. "You and Sebastian?"

"No, silly. Me and you!"

...what?

Suddenly your charm becomes yet another supernatural entity that's obsessed with you.

She chases follows you around the manor, telling you the flower decor she wants and what kinds of music she wants to be played. You try to dissuade her with multiple excuses: she's a paranormal entity ("thats alright! i love you for who you are<3"), you're too young to be getting married ("we can wait!"), but each one is just chopped down.

Eventually, you're forced to hide in a broom closet to get away from her. When you glance over, Sebastian is right next to you.

Oh...he was hiding too.

when you ask for a truce…he agrees. You two were in the same boat after all.

"Can't you just...get rid of her?" You plead.

He smiles, but it looks pained.

"Unfortunately, the young master declared that unless that woman specifically bothers him...she is not to be harmed."

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

You should've stuck with the demon butler.

[tojisteddy]

Your first Mother’s Day with Soap and chicky.

Well, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Chicky (your baby) only goes to day care twice a week. They’re designated days for you to not only actually get things done around the house and take a breather from being a mom. You could just be, you. And it was fine and dandy, up until your baby got sick on Wednesday. Fully developed symptoms by Thursday.

Your baby was supposed to be get the flu shot next month at their 6 month check up— chicky was 5 months. Internally you were freaking out, but one of you had to keep a steady head. This would all blow over soon enough— at least, that’s what yours and Johnny’s moms said.

Chicky was crying up a storm, his fever high, nose stuffed. You were rocking them in your arms, getting a bottle ready, trying to keep the babe hydrated. Soap was circling the front door like a dog, debating to stay or go.

“Baby, just go, we’re fine!” You sigh.

He huffed, sliding off his boots for the third time and darting straight to you, frowning, “Dinnae want to leave ya like this Dove. Babes given ya hell.”

You scuff, “But when haven’t they? Had George Best in my stomach for nine months, can handle a bit of cryin.”

His blue eyes soften, god he loves you, but Johnny worries about you even more since you’ve given birth. That you push yourself too much, trying to be the best mother on the planet and make everyone proud instead of focusing on yourself. And he knows if he hovers it’ll just make you feel worse, so he has to let you do what you feel is best. The brute gently caresses your nape, kissing your cheek and then chicky’s head of dark curls.

“Call if anythin ‘appens. I’ll be over before ye can say—“

“—Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. Just go Johnny!” You chuckle, waving him off. He gives you a nod, blows a kiss that you catch and put right on your baby’s head and finally he’s out the door.

You tried to be mom of the year, Johnny already saw you as that even on the days you felt your worst, but maybe you were trying to prove it to your parents— to everyone that you could do it right.

The universe has a funny way of proving you wrong though. Chicky’s fever went up one degree, and you had to debate going to the hospital. You ended up calling a midwife, who told you your baby was just fine. And that you were doing everything correctly, house wasn’t too cool or too hot, not overheating or making them cold, unclogging their nose when they needed it. Chicky was just sick and there was nothing you could do but wait it out.

You didn’t even realize Mothers Day had rolled around, Chicky was still sick, improving little by little but still crying, waking up in the middle of the night because they were uncomfortable. You and Soap would take turns soothing the baby. You ended up moving you and chicky to the guest room downstairs because you didn’t want to disturb Soap’s sleep Saturday at the crack of dawn. Maybe it was an excuse to not have Johnny read through you, maybe you were scared he’d look at you with disappointment.

The day to celebrate mothers, all their accomplishments and what they did, came and went. Soaps plans for you to have a day for you to be pampered and a wonderful dinner with Chicky was put on the back burner. Four am hit and you were sitting in the living room, waiting for the next round loud of laundry to finish, itching for your babe that slept soundly for the past two hours in the rocker to wail. Tired eyes staring blankly at your child.

Were you not trying hard enough? Or or maybe you shouldn’t have put Chicky in daycare so soon. Maybe if you waited till he was year, none of this would have happened. Your aunts warned you about this, mumbles of ‘givin your baby up too soon’ fell from their lips. It made you want to curl up into a ball and hide— no, sob.

And one fell out, your trembling hands clasped together and putting them against your lips.

“Oh Darlin,” Soap had come right on time to check on you. He took you in his warm embrace, quiet sobs escaping your lips. You clutched onto him like a life line.

“I just feel hopeless, why can’t I do anything right?” You cried, tears staining his t-shirt.

“No, ye been doin everythin right bonnie. It’ll pass. Things like this ‘appen, my ma’s said so.”

“But I don’t want things like this to happen to Chicky!” You whisper yelled. You wipes your nose, “I’ve been bein selfish with my time, when I should’ve been a better mom to ‘em-“

“—Look at me [+].” His voice is stern, just like he’s at work, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your big brown eyes look into his blue ones, your lip trembles. “Yer a fantastic mother, an amazing wife, even more incredible human being. Been stayin up with the wee babe this whole time, workin yerself into the ground. ‘Nd ‘m sure Chicky’s more than thankful to have you as their mamma. No one could do it better than ya baby.”

“So cannae ‘ave ya talkin down on ma pretty girl like this. It’s hurts ma heart.” He fains pain, clutching at his heart.

You want to giggle, but a pout forms, “But-“

“-But nothin. Chicky’s fast asleep, think it’s time we do the same for ya. Okay dove?”

You sniffle, complying with his words. Your husband lifts you like you weigh nothing. As soon as you get to your beds your out like a light. Exhausted from all the stress. You don’t even notice the kiss Johnny leaves on your cheek before bundling you in the comforters.

When you wake up, the sun is out and the birds are tweeting and music is playing down downstairs. It’s Monday, Johnny should be at work and— you gasp, quickly climbing out of bed and bee line downstairs. The living room is spotless, and two loads of clothes you didn’t finish are sat at the bottom of the staircase. You follow the amazing scent that enters your nose, right in the kitchen. Where the table is all set up with perfectly cut fruit, french toast, waffles— all your favorites like a buffet.

And there’s Johnny, stood in a purple dress shirt, rolled up sleeves and buttoned enough to see his chest hair, and black slacks, hair perfectly slicked back and pinned to one side. Chicky sat on the island in a white onesie reading, ‘I ❤️ Mommy’ and jeans, curls defined with moisturizer, yellow binkie in their mouth, sat next to a drawing that had their handprints on it. Your heart melts, you’re the one clutching your heart this time.

“Looks like yer magic worked, Babes better ‘nd slept through the night thanks to ya Dovie,” and he lifts chicky, waltzing over to you with a smirk on his lips, “Course we’re celebratin, ‘nd celebratin’ you. Ye deserve it sweetheart.”

You huff, “It’s not Mother’s Day anymore!” And scoops you up in his arms, spinning you around squeezing just enough that you giggle. “ ‘Nd let your gifts go to waste? Think not! Tha’d be rude. Chicky ‘nd I’ve been plannin this out for weeks!” You puts you down, kissing your plump lips, once, twice.

“I look like shit though!”

“You look well rested,” Johnny corrects, his large hand finding the small of your back, and guiding you to the table. “This is just the beginnin too. Soooo much tuh do for ya today. All for the amazin human who gets to be in ‘er humble servants graces.” He teases, sitting you down.

He puts Chicky in the high chair and then back to you, bending on one knee and taking a hand in yours. Kissing your fingers.

“Love ye more than ya’d ever know. Thank you for exisitin Dove.”

“Thank you Johnny.”

a/n: I wanted to do it right and not rushed so I posted today. Kinda shit at writing Soaps accent. Lmk what you think. This was supposed to be short but fuck it, we ball.

most recent masterlist

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

bouncer!simon was so good! will there be more of him 👀 I can imagine a customer breaking the no touching rule and before she can even call simon over, he’s already there ready to drag the guy out lol

I love bouncer!simon tooo!!!!! Oh he fur surreeeee is not putting up with it!

The customer’s hand barely grazes her thigh before she feels it — that shift in the air.

She doesn’t even get the chance to plaster on her fake smile and call for Simon like she usually would. No, because Simon’s already there. Fast. Too fast, like he’d been watching the whole time from the floor, waiting for someone to cross the line.

His fist knots in the guy’s collar before the man can even blink.

"You fucking deaf or just stupid?" Simon growls, voice low and dangerous. The music pounds, but his words cut through it sharp and clear. "No touching. That’s the rule."

Her heart kicks hard in her chest — not from fear, but from the way Simon’s jaw is clenched so tight, his eyes locked on the customer like he’s already picturing how hard he’s about to throw him out the door.

The guy sputters, trying to backpedal. "Hey, man, I didn’t mean—"

Simon doesn’t care. He yanks the man off the couch so fast the drink on the table topples, ice skittering across the floor.

She opens her mouth to say something — maybe to calm him down, maybe to tell him she’s fine — but Simon cuts her a look over his shoulder. Dark. Hot. Possessive in that way that always makes her knees feel weak.

"You good?" he asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s a claim. You’re mine. He touched what’s mine.

She swallows hard and nods, breathless.

Simon doesn’t wait for more. He drags the guy out, muscles bunched, rage barely leashed. And even though her pulse is still racing, she knows exactly what’s coming later — the lecture, the way he’ll back her into the wall in the back hallway after his shift, mouth hot against her ear as he reminds her in no uncertain terms who she belongs to.

She barely makes it halfway to the staff hallway before Simon’s hand closes around her wrist — firm, unyielding.

"Come here," he grits out, dragging her with him before anyone on the floor can catch a glimpse. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s tight enough that it makes her pulse stutter.

The door to the hallway swings shut behind them with a heavy thud, muffling the bass from the club. And then he’s on her — not touching yet, but there, crowding into her space, big and angry and burning.

"You just gonna let him put his hands on you like that?" His voice is low, dangerous. There’s that heat again, the same kind that had made her weak the first night he snapped and confessed everything.

She glares up at him, chest heaving. "I didn’t let him. You saw—"

"Don’t care." Simon’s hand slams against the wall beside her head, making her flinch. Not from fear — no, never from him — but from the sheer force of him, all coiled muscle and barely contained fury. "You know the rule. No one touches you. No one even thinks about it."

Her breath hitches. She hates how much she loves this side of him — the one that gets possessive, raw, territorial. The one that acts first and thinks later.

"I had it handled," she mutters, but it’s weak even to her own ears. She’s already pressing back into the wall, eyes flicking down to his mouth because she knows exactly where this is going.

Simon’s jaw ticks. He leans in, voice rough against her ear. "You’re mine. They look, fine. They flirt, fine. Part of the job. But the second they lay a hand on you—"

His other hand finally grabs her waist, fingers digging in like he needs to remind himself she’s real. She’s his.

"—I lose my fucking mind."

Her hands fist in his shirt without thinking. "So do something about it then."

That’s all it takes. His mouth crashes against hers, all teeth and heat, like he’s trying to brand the claim into her bones. It’s messy, desperate — the kind of kiss that leaves no room for doubt about who she belongs to.

And when he pulls back, breath ragged, eyes dark and blown wide, he mutters, "Later. After your shift. I’m not done with you yet."

[xiaberryy]

“Pip-squeak..” Caleb cooed softly, warm large hand sneaking quietly to rest atop of her thigh. his calloused palm sent shivers down her spine, rushing blood to her soft cheeks.

steady, observant gaze relentlessly conveyed fondness and understanding. meanwhile, the object of his attention was stubbornly looking away with jutted out lips.

Caleb let out a soft chuckle before he gently wrapped his arm around her waist. in a swift movement, she found herself sat on his lap.

“Caleb, you—!” her protests died down in front of Caleb’s teasing and satisfied grin.

with easy familiarity, he ruffled the crown of her head, “finally feeling like talking to me, princess?”

her eyebrows twitched. creases formed on her forehead owing to how hard she was frowning, “don’t think you can princess me and get away with everything, Caleb.”

the rapid thumping inside her ribs betrayed her words. she absolutely knew how embarrassingly easy she crumbles at mere crumbs of his affection.

Caleb smiled apologetically. his hand which still has receptors sensitive enough to feel her skin, rubbed her arm.

“i’m all yours now, princess. i promise no more impromptu fleet businesses that takes me away from my sweet girl,”

she stayed silent, lips jutted out further as she fidgeted with the hands she rested on her lap. a few seconds passed by and she hasn’t made an effort to move the muscles of her mouth to speak.

Caleb began to worry. he worried that this time he might’ve done an irreparable damage to the fragile little heart of this girl he’s coddled since childhood.

“Pip—“ his words got caught in his throat when fat blobs of tears trickled down her reddened cheeks.

“hic..stupid Caleb..” choked sobs escaped her. those sounds formed into arrows that shot him right in the heart. guilt consumed him. however, the pain of guilt wasn’t the only cause of his erratic heartbeat.

he swallowed his saliva. his hands trembled slightly before pulling her into his arms.

“you’re right, i’m stupid. i’m a big dummy that left my princess all alone. you were lonely, weren’t you, pretty girl?“ he cooed softly as he tightened the embrace he had her in.

his head was spinning. the girl sobbing in his arms was too adorable with those watery eyes, tear stricken face, and wet eyelashes. he knows it’s fucked up to make his beloved cry and enjoy it so much, but who could blame him when she’s such a pretty crier?

“Caleb is so sorry, hm? you can hit him if you want, princess,” he guided her hand to his chest.

however, instead of hitting him, she cried harder. “don’t wanna! why would i hurt you? you’re so annoying!!” screamed her while she snatched her hand away from his momentarily loose grip.

he forcefully tucked his lips in to stop himself from grinning like a maniac. she loves him enough to refuse hurting him even after the pain and loneliness he put her through? what a sweetheart.

abruptly, he stood up and carried her in his arms. a loud yelp left her as she immediately latched onto his neck for support.

“what the hell are you doing?!” she tried her best to glare at him despite the tears clouding her vision.

Caleb grinned, “you used to love being carried around. you’d always calm down when i rock you in my arms like this,” said him as he began rocking her like a baby and spinning her around.

a loud, high-pitched squeal left her when he began spinning around faster, “Caleb, put me down!”

her yells and his laughter blended together that evening. the windows of his current house is larger than the ones in their old house. the orange sun rays which casted its warm glow across the house interior was brighter, being on a floating island nearer to the sky and all. the person in his arms has now matured, only the familiar warmth in his chest remained unchanged. so, he’ll bask in the feeling of being 12, holding 10 year old her in his embrace again.

[deakyjoe]

Crave

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Category: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, idiots in love

Summary: An unknown problem causes tension between you and Bucky. He’s desperate to know what.

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers, angst, but a happy ending, past parental death, the winter soldier committed atrocities, Bucky did nothing wrong, allusions to past smut, kissing, idiots in love, nickname "doll"

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Throwback to the Bucky Barnes fics I was writing on Wattpad when I was 14.

You hadn't looked Bucky in the eye for four days, six hours, twenty three minutes and fifty six seconds.

And it was starting to frustrate him.

Bucky was short on people he trusted, even shorter on people he considered friends. And now, with Steve gone and a rift between him and Sam, you were pretty much all he had left. He couldn't bare the thought of losing you, and something was clearly bothering you. Just what, he didn't know. So it was his mission to find out. 

Cornering you in the kitchen was a bad idea. He realised that as soon as he did it.

The apartment you and Bucky had shared for the past couple of years had been a genius idea at first. You'd both been outcasts, understood each other to a certain degree, and enjoyed your solitude. The apartment stayed quiet the majority of the time, the both of you finding comfort in no company other than your own. You'd pass each other briefly sometimes, but would rarely linger. An occasional conversation would happen, but nothing too serious. 

It was prime for what you both needed.

Until Bucky noticed that you were avoiding him. You were still talking to him when necessary but ever since the whole thing had happened with Val and Bob and the rest of the New Avengers, as they were now being referred to, you hadn't looked him in the eyes. 

Trying to get you to hang around to tell him what was wrong was more difficult than he'd anticipated. He should've known, the apartment was home to two of the best trained assassins in the world. Evading him was easy when you would simply dip under his arm and slip out of the room whenever he walked in.

So, he cornered you in the kitchen.

You were in the middle of cooking dinner for yourself, head down as you hummed along to whatever was playing on the radio. Peaceful. You looked peaceful, Bucky noted. That changed as soon as you sensed his presence.

You tensed but didn't leave the room, just continued chopping vegetables. "Hey, do you want me to cook you something?"

One of the many things Bucky appreciated about you was your ability to try to pretend like everything was okay. Something was clearly wrong and yet you were still offering to make him dinner. It was almost admirable.

He stood firmly in the doorway, blocking it in case you decided to make a speedy escape. "No, no. I, uh... I wanted to talk to you about something."

The movement of the knife in your hand paused momentarily before you kept going. "Oh?"

Bucky scratched the back of his neck with nerves. How was he supposed to ask? So, he avoided the real topic for a moment and strayed to something else that he'd also been meaning to talk to you about as well. "Valentina mentioned us moving into the old Stark Tower."

This time you stopped, putting the knife down on the cutting board. But you still didn't look at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Yelena, Alexei and Bob have already moved in. Ava's in the process and Walker's planning on it in the next couple of weeks." Bucky watched as you took that in, he could practically hear the cogs turning in your head. "We don't have to."

You shrugged, turning to the pan that was sizzling next to you and turning down the heat. The room smelled strongly of garlic and onion and Bucky was starting to regret the offer of you cooking him dinner as his stomach started growling.

"Maybe we should." You replied finally.

Bucky's heart started racing. 

"Some more space, y'know? Might be good." You added on.

His heart stopped altogether. 

"Space?" He repeated and you nodded. "You want space?"

You sighed and sprinkled some salt in the pan. "I didn't say that. But this is a small apartment for one person, let alone two. Tower's got more room." 

He could only watch as you continued to refuse to look at him, feeling his world crumbling. You wanted more space, away from him. He was losing the closest person in his life. The one thing he didn't think he'd be able to survive. So all filters in his brain disappeared.

"Is that really the reason? Or does it have something to do with why you haven't been able to look at me the past few days?"

Your hands clenched into fists, nails scraping against the granite counter top. "What- what are you talking about?"

"It's times like these that I appreciate the fact that I'm the only person you can't seem to lie to." Bucky rolled his shoulders back, trying to gain the confidence to ask you, to hear the answer that could change everything between you. "I'm not stupid either, doll. I notice when you don't look me in the eye. Especially for days on end."

You covered your eyes with your hands, massaging your temples with your fingers and thumb. "I- I don't know what to say."

There was no point denying it, he'd caught on and there was no way out now. You had hoped that you'd been more subtle about it but nothing got by him it seemed. And now you felt bad. But how were you supposed to tell him?

"Just tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it." Bucky was desperate. The loneliness he'd experienced for years was slowly creeping back in and he hadn't even lost you yet. He was just predicting it. 

"It's not something that can be fixed."

The onions were burning, the smell of it filling the kitchen. Both of you were unaware as you battled the emotions you were both feeling.

"Then what is it?"

You dropped your hand from your face, looking at Bucky for a split second before averting your gaze away. Guilt washed through you but you couldn't help it. Looking at him made you feel sick.

Inhaling deeply, you decided to just drop the bomb. "What I saw."

That statement only confused Bucky even more. "What you saw?"

"When... when we were in there." Nothing more needed to be said. The implication was clear based on your emphasis on the word there. You both knew where you were referring to.

He stayed silent, he had his suspicions and he didn't want them to be true. What you saw in the void was something he feared because, deep down, he knew exactly what you'd seen.

You didn't stop. "I saw my parents dying."

An ache rippled through his chest as he felt his heart crack in two. It wasn't something the two of you ever spoke about, your parents' death. It has been brushed aside years ago when the two of you had properly met for the first time. But Bucky had always had the sense it had been an underlying tension between the two of you. After all, how couldn't it be? The Winter Solider had killed your parents.

"Oh." It was all he could offer. What else was he supposed to say? He was the cause of your pain.

"And I know- I know that it technically wasn't you who did it. But he had your face. So it's been a little difficult looking at you. I'm sorry." You suddenly seemed to remember the onions, taking a spoon and stirring them to prevent them sticking to the pan. It was only a momentary distraction.

"Why are you-" He swallowed the lump in his throat, staring you down as you still refused to look at him. "Why are you apologising?"

"Because I'm treating you like shit even though it's not your fault." Your voice cracked, running a distressed hand down your face. 

"It- it techni-"

"No." You cut him off sharply, picking up the knife again. "It's not. So don't you dare say it."

He said it anyway. "I killed them."

The knife was slammed back onto the counter, the clatter echoing around the room. Bucky watched the inner turmoil you were going through, trying to argue against him when maybe, inside you somewhere, you actually believed it. 

"It's okay. I understand." He whispered and then he left the kitchen, disappearing through the door and retreating to his bedroom for the night. 

It was too early to go to bed but, not knowing what else to do, Bucky did it anyway. After changing into his pyjamas, he crawled under the covers and switched the light off. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sounds being of you distantly moving around in the kitchen. He was left with nothing but his own thoughts, spiralling for hours as he contemplated what would happen next. Would you leave him? Would you move into the old Avengers Tower and solidify the separation between you? He couldn't stand the idea of that. What would he do without you?

Eventually, the apartment went silent. Bucky had assumed you'd gone to bed yourself after hearing the muffled sound of your voice on the phone to someone for the last thirty minutes. You were probably arranging your moving plans, looking forward to the quick escape.

But then his door creaked open, light footsteps making their way towards his bed. Then the blankets were thrown back, the mattress dipped and you were suddenly curling yourself into Bucky's side, resting your head on his metal shoulder.

"Hi."

Your voice was tender, breathy, and Bucky felt the rigidity of his muscles melting from his body. 

"Hi." He responded, wrapping his metal arm around you and letting his hand rest on your hip. His body called to you, needing it near, and having you in his bed was heaven for him.

It had happened once, the two of you. Pretty soon after the whole deal with Thanos and Steve leaving. You'd just tumbled into bed together one night, the both of you needing the intimacy and comfort of someone you trusted. You hadn't spoken of it since, too scared to address whatever it had been. But Bucky often found himself craving that closeness with you again. 

"I'm sorry about the last few days." You sighed, turning your face into his neck and skating an arm over his chest to hold him closer.

Your breath fanned over his skin, making it prickle and he suppressed a shiver. 

"It's okay. I do understand." He did, he really did. Honestly, what he didn't understand was how it seemed so easy for you to live with the man who had murdered your parents. It just didn't make it hurt any less when it did seem to bother you.

The topic lingered between you for a few seconds, neither of you knowing where else to take it. You were just going to keep going in circles. You were sorry. He understood. But you were still sorry. It wasn't going to get you anywhere. So you broached the other subject that was causing tension.

"I spoke to Yelena. About the logistics of us moving in. She said that me and you can have our own floor to ourselves. So it'd still be like us living in an apartment together. If you'd like." Your voice was shy, uncertain of what he'd say.

"Is that something you'd like?" His metal fingers flexed against your hip, flesh hand clenching on his other side. 

"Of course. You're my..." You trailed off, letting it hang in the air. There was no appropriate term to accurately describe what you and Bucky were. More than friends but not quite the next level. You just hovered somewhere in between. "You're the most important person in my life."

Sweat prickled at the surface of his skin, creating a slick sheen that he was worried you could feel. If you did, you didn't seem to care. Pressing your nose into his jawline, he could feel your eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

Your voice was shaky as you kept talking. "I don't care where we are. Here, the tower, wherever. As long as we're together. I can't survive without you."

He turned to face you, lips brushing against yours with the ghost of a touch. So close to colliding, but so far from actually happening. All it would take would be the slightest tilt of his head and Bucky would be kissing you. It was all he wanted to do. But he needed confirmation first. "Really?"

You smiled against his mouth. "Yes, really."

There was a moment of silence, a second where Bucky convinced himself to just do it, to kiss you. But then you spoke again.

"You don't need to worry about losing me. I'm never going to leave your side."

That one simple statement meant more to him than you could ever possibly understand. He didn't necessarily blame Steve for what he'd done but he did hate him for it sometimes. And Sam... his relationship with Sam was more complex than he'd like to admit so he wasn't entirely surprised that they were clashing at the moment. That didn't mean he was anymore okay with it. So you simply telling him that you never planned to leave his side was all the reassurance he needed from you. 

So he kissed you.

It was soft, cautious. Bucky wasn't entirely sure if it was what you wanted. But then you made a satisfied hum against his mouth, as if you'd been waiting for him to make the move. The kiss heated a little, moving away from being careful but stayed gentle. 

Bucky didn't dare move, worried about scaring you off. Maybe he was imagining this, what if he wasn't really kissing you and it was just the desires of his mind torturing him. But then your hand moved from his chest to cup his cheek, keeping him in place as you pushed your lips against him harder.

There was a purity to it, neither of you pushing for the next step. Open mouthed kisses were exchanged but nothing more.

Something was plaguing him still, so he asked when the two of you broke away for air.

"What if you still can't look at me in the morning?"

"That's not an issue anymore." You assured him, thumb stroking along the scruff of his jaw. There was no hesitation in your voice, no matter how much it ached hearing him ask that question. "The knowledge of your pain hurts more than my own. Besides, you're Bucky. My Bucky. Not the man who killed my parents."

"It doesn't bother you? I always thought that maybe..." He didn't know how to word it exactly. Maybe you secretly hated him for what he'd done. Maybe you wanted him dead. Maybe you were plotting against him. Maybe you only stayed with him out of obligation to Steve.

"It's never bothered me. Steve was clear before he introduced us. And he clearly trusted you more than anyone else in the world." You planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "And it didn't take long for me to feel the same."

His eyes fluttered shut. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I know better than anyone the power of HYDRA's brainwashing. And when we met... I knew you weren't the same man who killed them. The detached look in your eyes was gone and filled with something else. Something warmer, but also tinged with guilt and regret." You nudged your nose against his. "And then I saw how far you went to protect the ones you loved and what they did to keep you safe. It was inevitable that I'd eventually love you too."

The use of the word love tipped him over the edge. So he kissed you again, this time pushing for the next step. You were all too happy to comply.

A month later, when the two of you had moved into the tower with the rest of your new team, Yelena had asked you how your new bedroom was.

"It's bigger than your old one in that tiny little apartment, isn't it?" She'd been very proud when she'd shown it to you. She was convinced it was the reason you had decided to move in.

You shrugged. "Haven't been using it."

"Wha-?" Yelena cut herself off when she saw the way you glanced at Bucky next to you, a smirk on both of your mouths. "Ohh..."

She got it then. You'd been staying in the same room. She had been curious why the two of you didn't share a room beforehand, having assumed you were a couple. Apparently she was wrong and it was only a new development. As much as she was happy for her two new friends, she was pissed that she'd agreed to let the two of you have a whole floor to yourselves when you were only using one room.

When she brought that up, you and Bucky both agreed that you didn't care where you were living. As long as you were together, nothing else mattered.

[itsnesss]

Hey babe, I have a little request if you’re open to it !!

Could you maybe write something Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader where she’s still in high school and doesn’t come from money at all? Like she feels super out of place in his world — all the hotels, race weekends, the fancy people, and she kind of feels like she’s not “enough.”

But he’s just… soft. Gentle. The kind of guy who makes her feel safe, like she does belong, even when everything feels overwhelming.

I’d love something comforting, maybe with a tiny bit of angst because… identity crisis hits hard sometimes.I just feel like we don’t get enough of that dynamic. Golden boy driver and the girl who still takes the bus to school. No pressure at all! But if it ever inspires you… I will cry. In the best way.

Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | feeling out of place in his world is constant, the stares, the luxury, the silent judgment. still, his hand finds yours, his presence steady and soft

warnings | angst (insecurity, identity crisis), emotional vulnerability, a sense of feeling out of place, soft romance

word count | 1.2 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

Sometimes it feels like Kimi’s world shines too brightly.

And not in a romantic way, not like “his smile lights up the room.” No. It’s real shine.

Lights, cameras, watches that cost more than your house, impossible cars, and people who walk like the ground belongs to them.

You don’t come from that.

You come from broken alarms, crowded public transport, running not to be late. From counting coins, from saying “no, thanks” when invited to things you can’t afford. From that kind of life.

And yet… here you are.

In a hospitality lounge full of people who look like they walked out of magazines, with their designer sunglasses and conversations that revolve around sponsorships, race strategies, and private jets. And you, sitting in a corner, staring at your phone like you’ve got something going on.

The screen is black. No signal. No messages. No escape.

You pretend you’re fine.

You say it’s all cool. That you’re used to it. That you’re enjoying the experience. But inside… inside you feel tiny. Invisible. Like you snuck into a party you were never invited to.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft. Calm. Like him.

You look up. There he is. Kimi. Standing in front of you with that unshakeable calm. He looks at you like he actually wants to know the truth. Like he really cares.

“Yes,” you reply quietly. “Just… checking if my sister messaged me.”

A lie. You have no data. But you’re not about to tell him you’re on the verge of crying in front of all these people. That you feel so out of place it’s hard to breathe.

Kimi doesn’t say anything. He just sits beside you, without invading, without pressing. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just is.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

Before you can say anything, he slips off his team jacket and puts it over your shoulders. It’s big, soft, with that scent that’s so him it makes you dizzy. You want to tell him it’s okay, that you’re fine… but you’re not.

So you let yourself sink into it.

And for a second, everything else fades. The noise, the stares, the world.

It’s just you, Kimi’s jacket, and the warmth of someone who doesn’t ask you to fit in, just to be there.

He doesn’t talk. You don’t either.

Eventually, the hospitality is quieter. The loud laughs fade, and the expensive suits vanish down the halls. Most people have gone off to team dinners or events you’d never be invited to directly. Kimi offered to go, of course. But you could tell by his tone he wasn’t obligated. And you just wanted silence.

So he stayed. With you.

Now you’re walking through the hotel hallways. He’s beside you, hands in his pockets, like nothing around him could touch him. But you… you’re a knot inside.

You don’t talk much. Neither does he. But somehow, it’s always been enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re about to step into the elevator when your eyes fill with tears. You don’t even know why now, why here, but something just breaks.

Kimi turns to look at you, but he says nothing. Just watches, attentively. Like he senses the storm even if the first drop hasn’t fallen.

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself. “Not in this hotel. Not in your races. Not in your life.”

You didn’t plan to say it. It just… came out.

“I still take the bus to school,” you go on, your voice shaking. “I’ve worn the same sneakers for three years. I have no idea how a VIP paddock works or how I’m supposed to act. Everyone here knows how to move, how to talk, how to dress. I’m just trying not to look like an idiot.”

Tears roll hot down your cheeks. You wish you could stop them, but at the same time… why bother?

“And I like being with you, Kimi. A lot. But sometimes I wonder if I’m just ruining something. If I’m just… a burden in the middle of all this.”

He listens in silence. Not a single interruption. No weird faces. No laughter. No trying to downplay what you feel. He just waits.

The elevator hasn’t even been called.

He takes a step toward you. Then another. And hugs you. Tightly. Wordlessly.

And in his arms, you feel something you didn’t realize you needed so badly: safety.

“You’re not a burden,” he says softly, against your hair. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like none of this matters so much.”

You hold on to him, not saying anything. Because you don’t know how to explain what it’s like to be you in this world. Because you don’t understand how someone like him can make all that hurt less.

But he does.

He does.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped in his arms by the elevator. Maybe seconds, maybe a lifetime. But when he finally pulls back just a bit, it’s only to really look at you.

“Do you want to go up?” he asks, in that soft tone that seems to calm everything.

You nod.

You don’t talk much on the way to the room, but he stays close. His hand brushes yours now and then, no rush. Like he knows you need that contact to stay together.

When you arrive, he opens the door with his key and steps aside so you can go in first. It’s one of those massive suites you only see in photos. Everything elegant, minimal, spotless. But what strikes you most is that it smells like *him*.

And that, somehow, makes you feel safe.

“Do you want anything? Water? A hot shower?” he asks, closing the door.

“I just want to… be here a while,” you whisper.

He nods and hands you one of his t-shirts, like he already knows you prefer something comfy. Then he sits at the edge of the bed and waits. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t stare at you like you’re weak. Just gives you space.

When you come out of the bathroom wearing his shirt, you feel lighter. Like the water and the silence gave a piece of yourself back.

Kimi’s already lying down, leaning against the headboard, TV on without sound. He’s not watching anything. He’s just waiting.

You crawl in next to him, and he lifts the blanket without a word. You slip under it, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you to his chest. Your head fits perfectly under his chin. His breathing is calm. Steady.

“You don’t have to be like them, you know?” he murmurs after a while. “I like who you are. Not because of what you have or don’t have. Because of how you see the world. How you see me.”

You bite your lip, eyes tight shut, as if that could stop more tears.

“But your world… it’s so different.”

“And that’s why I want you to stay you,” he answers right away. “Because my world sometimes needs someone like you to pull it out of the bubble. Someone real.”

You nestle closer. He holds you gently, as if silently promising to protect you from everything that makes you feel small.

“And if I never fit in?” you whisper.

“Then I’ll make room until you do.”

[heartyluv]

⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆꙳*̩̩͙ ❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Note: I know we’re in May, but I felt like it being Christmas works well in this little story and I’ve had this idea for a few days so I’m excited. I listened to Love Wins All by IU when I wrote this and would I be crazy if I got a littleeee emotional?

Creds to @/anitalenia for the dividers!

Warning: Nothing, honestly. I’m using Caleb becoming a Colonel as the reason you divorced. This is just angsty Caleb declaring his love to his ex-wife.

Word Count: 2,362

Summary: Letting your ex-husband come over for Christmas was bound to stir the pot.

Ex-Husband!Caleb/Reader

You loved your children with everything in your being. They were the most precious things to you in the world and you’d do anything to make them happy. It’s why when they begged you for days to let their father be here when they open their Christmas gifts tomorrow morning, you couldn’t tell them no.

Many people would look at you crazy for letting your ex-husband come into your home and play house, especially with the divorce being so fresh. It’s only been a year since everything was finalized and to this day, your heart still aches when you think about how everything transpired between you two.

When Caleb became a colonel, you thought it was the beginning of something monumental. And in hindsight, it was. It just led to the end of what you both thought would be forever. You found yourself home alone with your first born baby boy all the time, never getting to see your husband in the daylight because he was coming home so late. He missed so many of your son’s milestones and no amount of apologies and kisses made up for the fact that you felt like you were doing it all on your own.

You knew that the job was challenging and demanding, but it was changing him in a way you couldn’t understand. Caleb didn’t agree, telling you at the time that he had to be this dedicated, that he didn’t get to where he is by not giving it his all. He used the fact that he needed to take care of his family as a crutch as to why he was letting the job consume him, but you knew better. His position is something he’s always longed for and you’ve known that in all the years you’ve been together.

But even if you did know better, you still stayed because you swore it would get better.

It’s why you ended up pregnant again with your precious girl not long after your son turned two. But when you saw that the cycle only repeated itself, that it seemed like you lost your husband entirely, you knew what you had to do, even if it broke you.

There was too much fighting, too much back and forth, and it became all consuming in the way that you felt like you were losing him and yourself. It’s why you offered a proposition that nearly drove Caleb mad. But when he saw how unhappy you were, how drained you became, even in the end if it meant breaking his own heart and destroying himself, he’d always put you and the wellbeing of your children above himself. He wasn’t stupid, Caleb knew how he failed you as your husband and he’d always regret it because he wished that it didn’t happen and that he tried harder before it became too late.

You two went your separate ways and it took both you and the kids time to adjust, but you were making it. If it weren’t for them, you don’t know how’d you be. It was so hard telling them that their dad wouldn’t be around at all, that they’d be going to him without you from now on and vice versa.

Caleb was still taking care of you, even if you weren’t together. You told him over and over that it wasn’t necessary, that you’d find a job and handle your end. But he wouldn’t have it.

“You only need to be the mother and woman I fell in love with. There isn’t a thing that you could say or do that would make me stop being there for you and our children.”

In that moment, you felt like your resolve almost broke. But you stood your ground and reluctantly accepted his care, seeing as you really had no choice. He made sure you kept the house, paid for the bills, gave you extra money for yourself and the kids, always stocked up on food. He was treating it like you were still a unit, and you never knew how to feel about that.

Despite it all, you could never deny that Caleb has always been a phenomenal father. It was only being a husband that it seemed to not grasp the entirety of. He gave your babies the world and you couldn’t ask for a better man to have as the father of your children.

It’s Christmas Eve evening as your kids sit in front of the TV, watching classic holiday films you grew up, with when you hear the doorbell ring. You dry your hands, stepping away from the now empty sink and walk to the front door. As you open it, there stands Caleb with a slightly red nose from the frigid temperature. Some snow sticks to his jacket and hair, making him look like a scene out of a movie. He gently smiles at you and you reciprocate, and you step over as the kids come running at him full speed.

“Daddy!” they exclaim with joy as they wrap themselves around his legs.

He chuckles before he kneels down to take them into a tight hug. “My two favorite people in the world,” he hums as they giggle in his hold. “You excited for tomorrow?”

“Yeah!” your son says enthusiastically before he frowns. “Santa hasn’t come yet.”

“I want see Santa!” your daughter folds her arms dramatically. Caleb kisses her cheeks and she giggles. She’s always been a daddy’s girl.

Caleb looks behind them to see that under the tree is empty. He already knows the tradition. You guys always put the presents under when they fall asleep, and it’s no different now. He looks up at you while you watch the exchange, winking with a sly smirk. You shake your head, unable to stop the smile that decorates your face.

“You guys eat?” he asks as he stands to usher them inside the warm home.

Your kids talk his ear off as they tell them about their dinner, the breakfast you plan on cooking, what they asked Santa for, all while you sneak out the back to take the presents he bought and put them in the side closet so they can be added to the collection you have.

It’s not long until Caleb tires them out from all the playing and conversation, tucking them into bed with gentle kisses to their foreheads. After he leaves their bedroom, he walks in the living room to find you already stacking presents.

“Let me help,” he voices. After grabbing some gifts from the closet, he kneels beside you to start laying everything out, just how you like.

“How’ve you been?” he asks. You swallow, clearing your throat. You haven’t really uttered a word to him since he got here and now that you’re alone, for the first time since the divorce, it all feels so surreal.

“I’m okay,” you answer gently. “How are you?” He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Just,” he sighs. “Talking to you like it’s the first time we’ve ever spoken in our life feels…wrong? I don’t know.”

Your jaw tenses. “I get it.” You think of how to shift the conversation, not quite ready to delve into this. “Thank you for coming, by the way. The kids really—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, and this time you freeze.

“I miss you and the kids. I miss being home. I miss us.”

“Caleb, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Tell you that I never wanted this? That we’re supposed to be together? That not having you makes everything feel fucking impossible?”

“You should’ve throught about that before you put being colonel above being a husband.”

That stings him, slaps him in the face. Feels like it shot him in the stomach. He gulps, staring at you even if you won’t look at him.

He looks down at his hands, watching them turn to fists because of the anger he holds toward himself. “I messed up.”

“You did.”

“Let me fix it,” he begs. “It’s not too late for us, I know it isn’t. I know you still want me, still love me.”

“You’re being so unfair,” you shake your head, feeling the tears burn your eyes. “This isn’t what you came for.”

“I came for my family, and that has and will always, include you.”

You don’t answer and that frustrates him. The way you keep sliding festively wrapped boxes under the tree like he isn’t telling you that he wants a second chance, is enough to make his heart thump even faster in his chest.

“Look at me,” he commands shakily.

“You don’t get to see how much you hurt me, how lonely you made me, watch our marriage fall apart, then try to come in here for redemption after all this time, Caleb!” When you notice how raised your voice has become, you press your lips together to collect yourself. The last thing you want to do is wake up your kids. “Even though we signed the papers a year ago, there hasn’t been nothing family about us for even longer.”

“I was selfish, I know that. I needed to do better, I want to, I always have. Baby, I will. Every time I walk into my empty apartment without you to kiss, to love, to hold… Without my kids…I feel the weight of my stupidity suffocate me with every step I take.”

“I can’t do this,” you sniffle, getting ready to stand, but Caleb grabs your hand before you can. His silver necklace glimmers against the warm lamp light beside him and your eyes trail up his neck, past his perfect nose and into his.

Your lip quivers as he pulls you up. He grabs your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours as a tear falls down your cheek. You brace your hands on his wrists as he holds you, unable to open your eyes.

“I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your skin. “I was lost, and instead of leaning on you, I abandoned you. But know that there is no lifetime, no timeline in any universe, that could keep me from you. Every part of me will always belong to you.” His voice cracks at his admission.

“Caleb…” you say his name as if it was a stress reliever. Like voicing it could make all the ache in your chest dissipate.

“Don’t you remember? How good we used to feel? How good I made you feel? I know your body and soul better than anyone—not even you could take that privilege from me, baby. I was too late before. Let me do better now.”

With shaky breath, unbridled emotions, and conflicting thoughts, you tilt your head up. He looks down at you with pain that mirrors your own, desire that matches your being. And he doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t wait because even while he’s chipping away at your walls, he knows you’ll try and swiftly put them back up—and he kisses you.

His tongue mingles with yours as you hesitate to feel him.

“Touch me,” he begs. “Please, touch me.“

When you succumb to his request and your hands grip his hair for the first time in what feels like forever, he melts into your hold. He devours your mouth like you’ll slip away from him at any moment and based on the reality, it’s a strong possibility. So he relishes in your taste, memorizes you all over again because divorce and pain changes a whole person’s being. He knows this because it did it to him.

He’s not the same man he was. In fact, he believes he’s a better one. He just needs you to give him the chance to show you. It’s unfortunate that it took losing you to correct himself.

“Let me come home,” he bites your lip, groaning at how you whimper. “Let me come home to you and our babies.”

You just keep kissing him because you don’t know if you’re ready to give him what he wants, even if you want it to. It’s because he knows you so well that he doesn’t need you to say it. He just needs you both to stay right here for as long as you’ll allow it.

When you finally pull apart, he’s caressing your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Why now..?” you ask.

“I finally got the courage to face my mistakes. I wanted to fight the divorce the moment you asked for it, and with the little fight that I did give, I only hurt you more. I knew there was no winning side of it all for either of us. Being together hurt and being apart proved to do the same. But we’re here now,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let me be what I should’ve been, right now. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

Your eyes soften, one of your hands gently tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m scared, Caleb. I don’t… I can’t be hurt again.”

“You won’t be,” he promises. “I’d rather die than put you through anything like this again. You and the kids.”

“Will you give me time? To think?”

It’s not what he wanted to hear, but it’s not a no. So for now, it’ll have to do.

“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. Not if my family isn’t with me.”

It takes all your strength to separate yourself from him. He promises to finish putting the gifts beneath the tree because distance is needed right now. So when you retreat to your bedroom and shut the door behind you, your press your back against it and put your palm to your mouth.

You suppress the sounds of your weeping, feeling the emotions rack and shake your body. You’ve missed him so much, you knew the man you loved was never gone. And now that he’s seems to be back, you have to decide for you and your children if starting over is something you’re prepared for. If it’s something you should even consider doing.

If Caleb really wants this, if he’s truly ready, then you’re sure that the love you’ve always had for each other, will win above all.

[fyuyushia]

Capture Target: You!

Jinwoo has now obtained weekly tasks. Today follows Jinwoo completing one of said tasks. Namely: Making a cinematic film about his shadows(specifically bears) to send to you.

Link to Masterlist

It started out simple.

After you initiated the first conversation, it just somehow went on and on. Despite already sharing everything(well, not everything-but it was a lot.) and more, somehow someway you still had so much more to talk about.

He didn't complain.

On the contrary, one could even say he enjoyed it. Past feelings aside, you were always a delightful company. You knew just the words to make anyone laugh, and you were easy to talk to.

So when Jinwoo found himself indulging in conversations unwarranted(shocker. The system didn't convince him.) through text messages and occasional memes sent by you, he didn't even bother to stop. You can't blame him.

(Even so, he tries to reason himself.)

Putting aside the fact that you were his first love. Putting aside the fact that you're a capture target. Putting aside the fact that he feels the urge to talk to you more even outside of the system's wing.

You were a good friend. The ideal one, even. (What ideal was he basing on? He doesn't know, but he assumes it's someone like you who gets him chuckling unceremoniously)

You couldn't(and so no one should) blame him for having fun talking to you. You understood him-somewhat-even if he's changed into the convoluted man he is today with a chamber of secrets too much for one man to hold.

You gave him a sense of normalcy. Like he was back to the times where he didn't have to worry much about anything but if here wrote the right answer in his assignment. You were normal.

He wasn't-but he wanted to be.

You were normal. You gave him the feeling he was normal. You were far from the hunter business, you were a chance to be just a normal guy with a slightly weird wingman.(if he could even call the system that) He appreciates that, and so he lingers.

He doesn't admit that too easily, though. And his reasons for approach are also not as simple as just that-but it made him all the more motivated to pursue this quest-this relationship.

Perhaps a bit too much. Without even realizing it, he's incorporated you in his day to day life. He's chatting you regularly-awfully often for a man who's supposed to be busy clearing dungeons left and right.

He checks your messages more often than he should. Often it's you who starts it, and often it's him waiting for you to start it. Reading through past threads for no particular reason other than interest.

You appeared and delivered. He appreciates that.

Jinwoo hums mindlessly, watching with the nonchalance everyone recognized to be his. He didn't even have to do much, his shadow soldiers were doing all the work for him. From slaying monsters to gathering them, mining ores to dissecting and collecting the parts that could still be used and sold.

Jinwoo had absolutely nothing to do. In other words, he was bored.

Now, normally, he would've relieved himself of this boredom by fighting as well. It was a logical option, and it helped prevent him from letting his skills rust and disappear. But today-surprisingly-he had other plans. Plans that didn't involve helping out in this entire charade.

No, instead, he whips out his phone. Opens it, and then scrolls through his contacts, he stops when he finds your name and presses it. Backreading on a few conversations he particularly enjoyed-enough to bother reading it again.

He's easy. Too easy. He doesn't even realize his own antics have made the people around him suspicious. He doesn't even notice he may have gotten too friendly with you that it makes him look like he's grown two heads.

He looks around, searching for inspiration regarding what he should do in the meantime. It would take quite a while before his shadow soldiers would finish up scourging this dungeon for all it's worth, might as well find something to do to clear time.

There's Beru grilling the soldiers for being too slow and demanding they go faster, there's Iron eagerly smashing the crystals with glee, there's Igris busying himself with taking out the cores of the now dead beasts, delicately scanning their insides, as if he was doing something domestic like sewing.

It was unsettling.

He looks away from the scene, searching for something more friendly. Eventually, his gaze lands on Tank.

The bear, busily taking care of his fellow kin eventually noticed the weight of his master's eyes on him. He turns around, finds Jinwoo staring, and gives him a small wave with his paw.

Jinwoo flinches slightly, not quite expecting that but gives the bear a small nod. Tank lets out a happy huff and reverts his attention to his fellow shadows.

Jinwoo follows Tank's gaze, mildly curious and finds two of the bears under his rule play fighting.

He watches with the faintest hint of amusement glinting within. A smile, and then a flash of recognition-akin to the way one would light up after remembering or getting a bright idea.

Right, come to think of it, he did have that quest-didn't he?

This seemed like a good material for that. You did mention you liked bears once. Well, specifically pandas-but they're a bear in general. They looked adorable he daresays. Enough to curry your favor. And you also mentioned being curious about his shadows-something you saw on tv once-and another time during the reunion party when he ran away all of a sudden.

A shadow soldier took his place then, and it just so happened to be a bear. Right, come to think of it you did mention they were cute back then-you might just really enjoy this picture.

He scrolls up for who knows how long, double checking to make sure if you really said it, and, sure enough, you did.

You:

By the way did you know when you suddenly left using whatever magic you had during the reunion party a bear took your place?

They were really cute.

They looked so confused

They were also colored darkly and had a weird texture

But they were cute

Hehe it left but not before letting me pet them

It was weird

I think it was a fever dream

Jinwoo:

Bear?

Did they glow blue?

You:

Well they were mostly dark but yes they did have this blue outline to them

It was weird

I thought it would kill me at first

But they're actually really nice

They seemed just as scared when they suddenly showed up

Do you think monsters can be nice too?

Jinwoo:

Oh

That might be my shadow

You:

You're a bear?

Jinwoo:

Huh

You:

Huh

Jinwoo:

I meant they're one of my summons

You:

Summon?

Jinwoo:

My ability.

As a hunter

You:

Oh. What?

But they seemed so

Idk

Aware!

Like they had their own sentience

Jinwoo:

They are sentient

You:

Oh

Oh what

Now I'm confused

Is this like

Pokemon

Digimon???

Jinwoo:

That's close enough

You like them?

You:

Oh

Woah wait

Hold on

That's rad

Are they aggressive...

Jinwoo:

They're tame unless provoked otherwise

You:

Oh

So

Can I

Hypothetically speaking

Pet them?

Jinwoo:

Sure-maybe.

You:

Hurraaah

Please let me I want toooo

He nods in approval. Sure enough, you did mention liking the bears of his shadow army. He looks at the pair of bears, this time they seemed to be sumo wrestling-except they kept violating rules one after another so it won't even be allowed to qualify as one either.

They were just duking it out.

But they're bears. They're cute. It's fine.

He looks at the shadows. Violent-but not enough to constantly bring tremor to the cave-like dungeon. Only sometimes. Pointing his phone at them, he takes a quick video-as per your request, as per his quest. He faintly remembers you asking him if he could send you a video of them being in their natural state. He delivers, of course he delivers-you're a friend.

And...

He looks in front of him. Specifically: the system window in front of him.

[Lvl 2. Friends (40% to reach the next stage)

♡ = 26%

Feeling: (Locked.)]

[You've reached 25%!

Romance Quest Interface Unlocked!]

[Quest: First love to maybe something more

Progress Path: Capture Target - (Name)

Current Stage: Level 2 - Friends (40% to reach the next stage)

♡ Affection Level: 26%

Feeling: [Locked]

Weekly Task:

1. Send {Capture Target} a photo/video of your shadow soldiers in "natural habitat"

Tip:  Make it cute! {Capture Target} enjoys cute bear related videos!

Status: Incomplete

Reward: +2 AP | +1000 XP | +1000 gold

2. Reply to {Capture Target}'s last message within 10 minutes

Tip: Showing they matter is always great!

Status: Incomplete

Reward: +0.5 AP | +100 XP

3. Pet shadow bear in front of {Capture Target}

Optional: Let {Capture Target} pet shadow bear

Tip: Showing them your delicate side will always result in a win!

Status: Locked | requires in-person interaction

Reward: +3 Affection Points | Unlock hidden dialogue branch.]

He wanted to move up his affinity too.

This system window was fairly new, only obtaining it once he reached 26%AP. He didn't even realize he was raising affection back then, all he knew was that you were an enjoyable person so he texted you frequently to the point he made it a habit. One could only imagine his surprise when the hologram suddenly showed up wearing a different skin and theme.

It was more cutesy than the usual one. Its sharp edges softened into curved ones, colored the color of love and decorated with all things lovely (flowers)

Jinwoo didn't understand why he had a customized window dedicated for romancing, but he decided to just roll with it—after all, did he have a choice?(He does—he can choose to back out of this quest. There's an option specifically for that. But he pretends it doesn't exist.)

Jinwoo had only obtained this new system fairly recently. He did get the chance to explore it yet, but its purpose seemed to work similarly with his normal system so he didn't have much trouble when it comes to understanding the its function. The only question he had was: why. But it's not like it could be answered by anyone so he's left to stir in his own curiosity.

Resigning to his fate, he looks at the weekly tasks and sees that the hint he gathered became officially embedded and out in the tip section of his task. With the system practically begging him to do this one act—he finally gave in to his whims.

He whips out his phone and opens his camera. Might as well get the job done quick while he had the chance, lest he risk getting the penalty for failing to do the weekly task.

Setting the camera, he points it towards Tank—who gave him what seemed like a thumbs up before moving it to the other shadows still trying to make the other topple in order to proclaim victory.

As Jinwoo films the video with the precision of a man who has spent more time fighting monsters than actually mastering modern technology. He zooms in on the bears, attempting to capture their chaotic wrestling.

His hands are steady, he's used to keeping his hand still and calm under worse situations, but the camera work, as he feared, leaves much to be desired.

The video shakes ever so slightly, and then suddenly a bear's paw unexpectedly smacks the screen as one of them rolls too close. He dodges with a sidestep, and the angle shifts in a way that only manages to show a blurry, overly dramatic shot of a bear's massive form in the background. Jinwoo blinks, trying to stabilize the phone.

Jinwoo finally ends the clip with a decisive press. He looks at the playback, and what he sees is nothing short of disappointing-it's messy and clearly not expertly choreographed. He deletes it immediately, there's no way he'd let you or anyone else see it for that matter.

He brings a hand up, carding his fingers through his hair. Breathing out a sigh, Jinwoo feels the smallest tinge of shame because of his own actions.

What is he even doing?

He pauses. Why is he putting so much effort into this again? It’s not like he needs to. But then again, you liked bears. And bears were easy. And you were a good friend—so he should return the favor you gave him(being a good company) and pay you back.

[Tip: Half hearted attempts to win {Capture Target}'s heart will result in AP being halved. Worse: reduced!]

Well now he's obligated to put some thought into it.

What the hell is with this plot convenient system forcing him to take action? (He clings to a chance to justify his own actions.)

He forms a glare(it's half hearted at best) as he stares at the pop up window with the kind that could make grown men quake in their boots.

With a half formed scowl and his phone in hand, he resumes his prior antics in the name of currying your favor.

Meanwhile, in the background, Jinho, having just finished strolling around the dungeon, finds Jinwoo doing(what he perceives)the unthinkable: take a video.

Jinho's mouth falls agape, question marks immediately occupying his thoughts as he watches his nonchalant, cool, unbothered, effortlessly intimidating with an air of mystery that makes him irresistible to the rest(especially for those looking for someone to fix) take a video.

Tank is growling, pointing to his bears and choreographing the shadow's movements like a director of a movie film.

With one big gulp of the nerves that bundled up in his throat, he forces it down and finally asks about the elephant in the room.

"Hyung?"

Jinwoo hums. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Jinho narrows his eyes, suspicious and mildly concerned. He didn't recognize Jinwoo to be an avid photo taker(he's not-he has less than 30 images on his camera roll)so seeing him suddenly seem interested in capturing candid moments seemed odd.

"Taking a video." A video because a simple picture wouldn't be enough-they were doing something much more complicated to attempt for him to even capture in just a single photo.

"Why?"

"For a friend."

"Who?"

He looks at Jinho, contemplates what answer to give, and promptly settles with:

"You wouldn't know even if I told you." He says, as if keeping you a secret.

Now to Jinho-this immediately raised flags. Not because he hid your identity-he already knew his Hyung was a private man who kept his life to himself-but because he was filming a video(even if said video was amateur at best) to send to someone.

Of course, for someone with an overactive imagination like Jinho, this sudden act had him thinking. Really thinking. This whole situation is reeking with love—and love was a rare find on Jinwoo. At least, he thinks it is.

Wait, not really. He recalls the previous times he's caught his Hyung with girls. There was that one E-rank hunter girl—okay, no, maybe him having someone isn't so rare, but still, this is still something.

Jinho's jaws are wide agape, paired with his equally wide eyes, and then followed along surprised and very loudly gasping as his thoughts ran with a hundred dozen ideas which all boiled down to one thought:

Does Jinwoo have a lover?!

"Hyung, You've filming bears. For thirty minutes. Like this is some National Geographic special—! And for what? For who?”

"I told you, for a friend."

Jinho scoffs. "What kind of friend asks for a video of shadow bears going at each other's throats?!"

"The kind that likes bears."

Jinho runs a hand through his hair, distressed and in disbelief. "Hyung, be honest! Is this really just a friend?" He pauses. "Or are they the" wink wink "kind of friend?" Wink wink

Jinwoo grimaces, almost disgusted by the wink. "What do you mean? They're just a friend. A normal one."

Then Jinwoo pauses. Jinho holds his breath.

"But you're right. They're a normal person, I doubt they'd appreciate this much violence—even in bears."

He stops his video taking. One glance from Jinwoo to Tank was enough for Tank to get the memo. As the bear stands up and waddles over to the other bears, they communicate what his master's needs and immediately nods and gets to work.

"That's not the problem!" Jinho exclaims, but he gets ignored.

Jinho, meanwhile, swallows thickly. Shifting his gaze to Jinwoo, his expression is one of terror as he watches him video again. Only this time, he was walking around, acting like a professional videographer and passively encouraging the bears to keep going with that blank expression—with that certain face he makes sometimes whenever he does something incredibly mundane or normal. That blank faced enthusiasm that makes anyone automatically think he's innocent.

Jinho watches with a mix of horror and amusement—he doesn't even realize he's been staring for a while until Jinwoo finally presses stop and turn his attention to where he stood.

"What's wrong? Why're you spacing out?" He asks, as if he hasn't just spent almost half an hour recording the bears in their "natural habitat"(they were not. Their natural habitat included duking things out and fighting—not rolling around and playing cute as if they weren't twice a human's width and height, as if their claws and teeth weren't just at a monster's throat and making them bleed. Their natural habitat does NOT include them purring like overgrown cats—but it does include roaring loudly to the point of deafening to scare off enemies.)

"No. Nothing." Came Jinho's reply, eyes dead as he processes everything.

Jinwoo gives him one final look before shrugging and brushing him off. Placing his attention on his phone. He scans through his contacts, searching for your name (It doesn't take him long, he only ever saved a few people on his phone.) 

Tapping your account, his fingers nimbly send the 30 minute video consisting only of the bears containing their instinctive urges and being tame, and Beru attempting to sneak in only to be urged out of the video because he looked far too intimidating.

Jinwoo:

Sending 1 attached file...

Faile to send.

He frowns. Why can't he send it? He tries again, and then the second attempt becomes three, and three becomes four and all of them results in a failed sent.

He stares at his like it's the problem. Very accusingly—and he doesn't even realize it. His brows twitch, and his lips curl into a frown.

He tries again. Presses send with the aggression of a man annoyed and waits.

It fails.

"Hyung."

Jinwoo turns. "What?"

"There's no signal inside gates."

"Oh."

His message fails to send again, and this time, he sees the reason why. Right, he forgot about that. It's been too long since he brought a phone inside a dungeon the fact that there would be no service slipped out of his mind.

"Should I go outside, then?"

"Huh?"

"What?"

Jinwoo looks at Jinho, puzzled. Jinho looks at Jinwoo as if he just told him that he's leaving him alone to fend for himself in a ditch full of monsters. To be fair, it was very much similar to that.

"Are you going to leave me alone here?"

Jinwoo blinks. "My soldiers will be inside. You'll be safe."

Jinho looks at his shadows. Sure enough, there was an abundance of them at work excavating the dungeon.

"I mean, sure, but, do you have to go? Can't you just wait until we're finished here?!"

He blinks again. Jinho was right, he could simply wait until they were finished with this dungeon before finally sending the video.

But also, it's been more than 10 hours since he last talked to you—that's five hours past the usual time. What if your AP lowers because he's taking too long before talking to you again?

[Tip: AP will only go down after 72 hours of no contact!]

He ignores the pop up.

"I won't be long, I just have to send this before I forget."

"Is the video really that important, hyung?!"

He doesn't answer, only walk through the exit and bid him goodbye after telling Beru to take care of Jinho.

He waits for signal outside. Waiting for his video to finally send, he takes a moment to think of what to text alongside the video.

Jinwoo:

1 attachment uploaded

Thought you'd like this. They're not exactly bears, but they try.

He taps on the side of his phone, waiting for a reply. It doesn't take him long, fortunately, as only a minute after he sent the video, you're already putting him on read and typing a reply.

You:

Oh?

You really sent me a whole documentary of the bears 😭😭

Hold on hold on let me watch.

[Task: Send {Capture Target} a photo/video of your shadow soldiers in "natural habitat"

Status: Complete

Reward: +2 AP | +1000 XP | +1000 gold

♡ = 28% ( + 2 ) ]

You:

AWWW

ONE OF THEM ROLLED OVER THE OTHER LIKE TUMBLWEEDDD

SO CUTEEE

ALSO THE BIG BEAR WITH THE SCARRR

HE WAVED?! HE WAVED !!

THATS SO CUTE EEEK

I WANT TO PET THEM

THE BIG BEAR LOOKS LIKE HES DELIRECTING THEM LIKE A MOVIE DIRECTOR LMAOO

He lets out a laugh-quiet, short-but nonetheless real. It's not one of those socially mandated smiles. This one slips out before he even notices, tugging the corner of his lips upward as he stares at your messages.

His fingers type out a reply before he can think.

Jinwoo:

He is their manager. I think he just promoted himself to coach, though.

Next time, I’ll let you pet them in person. Deal?

He freezes for a moment, turning rigid. Hold on, was that too forward?

You:

Wait

You'd let me?

Really?!!?

Yes

Yes.

YES

Let me know when you can!

Don't back out now hehe

Jinwoo stares at your stream of texts, all a varying response essentially meaning yes. His sighs fondly, a small smile etched on his lips.

[Achievement unlocked!]

[Rizz'o'meter off the charts: "smoothly" ask {Capture Target} out on another date.]

Jinwoo nearly chokes in his own spit.

Date?!

He covers his lips with his palm, resting his head against it as he reads through the pop up.

"It's not a date." He grumbles, but there's no hiding the dash of red coating his cheek subtly.

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