#anything is better than nothing i suppose

[vunblr]

Plump & Ripe

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Some fluff. Slight Angst. A Pinch of Body Insecurity. Size kink. Use of pet names.

Summary: On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

Word Count: 7.4k.

note: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Plums". It was supposed to be a cute and fluffy fic, but it turned into pure filth instead. I'm sorry -not-

She looked up from the counter, and a welcoming smile instantly spread across her lips when she saw who had made the doorbell chime.

“You’re late. You’re lucky I set this bag aside when the distributor came this morning because they’re all sold out now.” She lifted a small paper bag from the shelf behind her, placing it on the counter between them. The deep violet of the plums peeked through the crinkled opening, and their smooth skins caught the golden light that filtered through the shop’s front windows.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, a little tense as his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “Sorry. Something came up and... couldn’t make it earlier.” He mumbled.

That ‘something’ had been him forcing himself out of bed after three days of avoiding the world. Everything felt heavier these days, his body, his thoughts, even some goddamn things that weren’t so before. But he was here now, and that was better than nothing.

She leaned her elbows on the counter. “No worries. I know you’d never miss plum day on purpose.” She tried to tease warmly.

Right. One of the rare occasions he’d missed plum day was when he went on that stupid mission, the so-called ‘walk in the park’ that turned into a bloodbath of agents and ended with him being taken again by the same people who’d tormented him for nearly 80 years. Only this time, they didn’t just want their precious pet back, they wanted it better.

In five days of captivity, they not only just strapped him to a modernized version of that damned chair. Oh no, they’d injected him with a cocktail of drugs that messed up his body in ways he was still discovering, even a year later. Like his fucked-up metabolism.

His eyes flicked to the bag, and his mouth twitched just slightly. “You know me too well on that aspect,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the bag.

She watched him carefully. “Do you need anything else?”

He hesitated, shifting his gaze to the baskets of apples lined up near the wall. “Yeah… green apples.”

She nodded, moving around the counter to grab a paper bag. As she started picking the crisp, bright green apples, she spoke over her shoulder. “I got a new kind in this week. They’re a mix of green and red, still sour but with a sweet twist. Figured you might like them, so I’m throwing one in for you to try.” She dropped a smaller, two-toned apple into the bag, the colors blending in a swirl of muted red and pale green. “No charge.”

His lips quirked, just for a moment, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him in weeks. “Thanks.” He said gruffly.

She twisted the top of the bag, folding it neatly before placing it on the counter beside the plums. But she didn’t step back, and her fingers lingered on the edge as if debating something. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying the skin.

Always perceptive, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

Her head jerked up, eyes widening. “Huh?”

“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to say something or not.” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight on one leg. “Tell me.”

She huffed a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s... not very appropriate.”

One eyebrow shot up. “I’ve heard worse.”

She bit her lip again before glancing toward the back room. “I was just wondering if you could help me with a couple of crates. The distributor was in a hurry, and he just tossed the merchandise back there. It’s kind of a mess... hard to move around.” She gave a half-shrug, sheepish. I’d do it myself, but they’re actually pretty heavy.”

He followed her gaze, and his expression softened. “That all?”

“Well... yeah,” she admitted, heat creeping up her neck. “You already helped with the shelves last week... and the cooler the week before. I just... I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or something.”

His features softened even more, as he huffed, twitching his lips in a half-smile. “I wouldn’t help if I didn’t want to. Show the way.”

She gestured to the door behind the counter -the only door, really- and he shot her a look. She shrugged, grinning. “I know, I know. Real hard to find.”

He followed her through the doorway, ducking his head slightly as they entered the cramped back room. His steps faltered as his eyes took in the scene. Stacks of boxes and wooden crates were scattered haphazardly across the floor, some leaning precariously against each other. It was like the distributor had been in a damn race to get out of there.

His mouth pulled into a deep scowl. How the hell did that asshole expect her to move this on her own? Where were the manners nowadays? He grumbled under his breath, weaving between the clutter as he started rearranging the crates into a more orderly stack. He made sure to place the heavier boxes at the bottom, the lighter ones on top, within easy reach for her.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching as the chaos turned into something more manageable. “God, I’ll kidnap you and put you on my bedside table.”

His head snapped up, brows drawing together. “Uh?”

She blinked, a faint heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, it’s just... a saying we have. You know, to cherish something.” She waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment. “Forget it. Thank you, really for always helping.”

He chuckled. “Pretty sure your poor bedside table can’t handle me anyway.” His tone was dry, self-deprecating, like he was almost daring her to argue.

But her brain had short-circuited somewhere around ‘bedside,’ and before she could think better of it, the words just tumbled out: “But my bed sure can.”

He froze, fingers clenching around the edge of a crate. For a second, he didn’t even breathe. “What?”

She cursed inwardly. Did she… did she actually say that aloud? Oh my god. She could feel her soul leaving her body, and her eyes darted down as her brain scrambled for something -anything- that could sound similar. She fumbled, words tripping over themselves. “I- I said... I wondered if... if you can open a can.”

Bucky blinked, his expression shifting from shock to confusion. “A can?”

She nodded furiously, feeling her face burn. “Yeah. A big one. I have... with peaches. And I don’t have an opener, so I thought maybe...” Her eyes flicked to his metal hand, then back to his face.

They stared at each other, the silence was thick and heavy. “You want me to open... a can of peaches.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, even as her face burned. “Yes. A big one.”

He looked at her, then tilted his head, and his lips twitched slightly. “That so?”

“Yup. I figured you’re more than capable and I... really wanted to try them.” Her voice was firmer now, though her face was still in flames.

Bucky watched her for another moment, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to figure her out. Finally, he huffed, low and almost amused. “Alright then. Bring it over.”

She nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his piercing gaze. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, and her hands trembled as she rummaged through a cluttered shelf. Eventually, she found the can half-buried behind a jar of jam, with its bright label slightly faded. Two forks were grabbed from a drawer without much thought, and her fingers clenched around them as she tried to calm herself. When she turned back, Bucky was stacking the last of the boxes, his back to her.

Her eyes lingered on his body for a beat too long, and her mind flashed back to her stupid, impulsive words. But my bed sure can. She almost groaned out loud, the embarrassment creeping over her anew. She was never going to live this down.

Clearing her throat, she approached him, holding out the can. “Here. I... uh... figured we could share. Since you’re helping me out and all.”

He turned, and his gaze dropped to the can before lifting to meet hers. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Peaches, huh?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. They should be good. Sweet. Soft, too... uh, juicy” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her face burned all over again. God, why did she have to say it like that?

Bucky just stared at her for a second, flicking his eyes to her lips before his mouth twitched. “Alright.” His voice was a little rougher, a little lower. He took the can from her, popping a metal finger through the lid and curling it, crumpling the metal until it popped off.

He handed it back, licking his finger for a brief moment and she could swear she could have a stroke. “There you go. Good thing at least I’m good as a can opener.”

She furrowed her brow, and the playful glint in her eyes faded. “Don’t do that.”

His shoulders went rigid. What did he do to upset her? “Do what?”

“That,” she said, “Sell yourself short. That... self-deprecation thing you always pull.”

His jaw clenched, and his eyes drifted away from hers. “Just saying the truth.” Almost unconsciously, his gaze dropped to his midsection, to the slight curve that hadn’t been there before. To the proof that his body was failing him, that even with all the enhancements, he was broken.

“Bucky,” she said, with a softer tone but no less resolute. “You’re a damn Avenger. Half the days you come in here, you’re bruised and battered because you fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. You protect them. That’s incredible.” Her hand gestured to the neatly stacked crates behind him. “You’re kind... and good. Don’t diminish yourself.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm but hard expression. He wanted to deflect, to brush it off with a sarcastic remark. It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the weight of her words. But the way she looked at him, made the words stick in his throat. His fingers tightened around the can, and the metal creaked under his grip. “Yeah, well... sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”

She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. “Our own perceptions sometimes lie. Doesn’t make it less true.”

He stared at her, and his defenses faltered. The familiar cynicism was there, clawing at him, but her words were louder. His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always this stubborn?”

She crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Only when someone I care about is being stupid.”

The air grew still. She seemed to realize what she’d said a second too late, eyes widening before she looked away. “I mean... you know... as a customer. And a... friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly as if he was trying to get a better read on her. “A friend to put on your nightstand.”

Her eyes snapped to his, caught off guard by the teasing lilt in his voice. “Sure.”

He leaned against the stacked crates, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw worked, like he was chewing over his next words. For a heartbeat, he thought about letting it slide, about keeping his mouth shut and pretending he hadn’t heard. But the thought of not knowing twisted his gut in a way that made him reckless. “Did you mean it?”

Her heart skipped, the peach suddenly feeling too heavy on her tongue. She forced herself to chew slowly, buying time. “What?”

“The... bed.” His gaze pierced in that way that made her feel stripped bare. “Did you mean it?”

Oh. So he had heard her.

Her mind raced, instincts screaming at her to laugh it off, to deflect with a joke or change the subject. But he just stood there, watching her, waiting. It was infuriating how still he could be, how his silence demanded more than words ever could. His eyes didn’t waver, his face was impassive, but there was something tight in his stance, something almost vulnerable in the way his fingers tapped once against his arm before he caught himself, stilling the movement.

She paused mid-chew, the peach now a lump in her throat. The hell with all. “What if I did?”

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did: his shoulders straightened, and his arms uncrossed just slightly. He took a step closer, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Then I’d say... you’d better be sure.”

She swallowed, heat blooming up her neck. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile as he closed the space between them. “I figured.”

His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, like he was giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t move as his fingers brushed her cheek, rough callouses skimming her skin. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, never breaking the eye contact.

His thumb traced her cheekbone, and his gaze softened as his fingers curled on the back of her neck. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her heartbeats echoing in her ears, but she didn’t dare look away. Not when his eyes were so impossibly blue, locked on hers with a focus that stole her breath.

She parted her lips, in a silent invitation, while her hand found its way to his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his face so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes darkened, “Tell me to stop if this is not what you want.” he murmured, but his hand didn’t move.

She shook her head, tightening her fingers on his jacket. “Not a chance.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his lips crashed into hers, firm and demanding, as he fisted her hair and pulled her closer.

She responded instinctively, pressing her body into his as her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck. He groaned against her mouth, circling his vibranium arm on her waist.

The world around her faded, the cluttered storeroom, the lingering scent of the peaches, everything disappeared until there was only him. His warmth, his strength, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak.

She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair, and he responded by deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she ran a hand along his slightly rounded cheek, tracing its curve with her thumb with a tenderness that made something clench on his chest.

“You are so damn handsome.”

His gaze widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features before something else settled in. Cocky 40s Sergeant Barnes wouldn’t have agreed. In fact, he wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing himself like this, heavier, slower, tired.

He swallowed, as the weight of her words pressed against years of ingrained self-doubt. She exhaled, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. “I can see the gears turning inside your head, you know?” Her fingers lingered against his skin, warm and sure. “And, in a courageous and embarrassing -but it seems necessary-confession, I must say that I like this version of you. A lot.”

His body tensed beneath her touch. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t one of them. People -some- admired him for what he could do. No one ever said they liked him like this.

He searched her face, looking for doubt, for anything that suggested she was just saying it to make him feel better. His throat felt tight. “You don’t have to say that.”

Her brows furrowed, and her fingers pressed just slightly into his skin. “I told you earlier that I mean what I say. You’re a soft wall of muscle.” She bit her lip, as her eyes drifted over his shoulders, his chest, lingering just long enough to make his pulse quicken. “And I like big men, so...”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly at a loss. That... wasn’t what he expected. Not at all.

She felt the heat on her face but didn’t look away, just kept caressing his cheek. “In my eyes, you’re better than when I first knew you.”

His heart skipped, the words settling heavy and warm somewhere behind his ribs. “Better?” His voice was low, rough, like he was forcing the word out. “How?”

Her thumb traced his cheekbone, and she felt all the heat in her body rush to her face again. She looked away, sensing her bravado faltering. “God, you’re going to make me say it. This is so embarrassing.” She took a breath, meeting his gaze again. “Sexier, Bucky. You look better to me because I find your bigger body more than appealing. Manlier. Is that enough clarification for y-”

She didn’t get to finish. His mouth crashed again against hers, more heated and demanding than before, as his fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against his body.

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his lips moving hungrily over hers, and she barely had time to gasp before his tongue slid past her lips, tasting, claiming. Her back hit the wall as his body crowded hers, and she didn’t care, didn’t want space, didn’t want air, didn’t want anything that wasn’t him.

His heart pounded in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. Her words echoed in his mind, looping over and over again. Sexier. Manlier. More than appealing.

A rush of masculine pride coursed his body, fierce and hot, like lightning in his veins. She wanted him like this, wanted him bigger, broader. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that, how deeply her praise soothed the bruised ego he hadn’t even admitted having.

She felt his growing erection pressing against her hip, and she gripped his shoulders, feeling him beneath. There was nothing soft about him, not in the way he kissed her, fierce and unrelenting, not in the way his body surrounded hers, hard and unyielding.

He tore his mouth from hers, with ragged breathing, eyes dark and wild as they bore into hers. “You like this?” His voice was rough, deeper than before, and his words dripped with hunger. “You like me like this?”

She swallowed, her pulse fluttering wildly. “Yes. God, yes.”

His lips curved into a grin, that old cocky sergeant slipping through the cracks of his armor. “Good,” he growled, as his mouth descended on hers again, sliding down his hand to grip her thigh with bruising force as he hitched her leg up around his waist, pressing himself against her. His mouth was at her ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down her spine. “Because I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about fucking you raw under this slutty green apron every damn time you hand me my plums.”

Her brain stuttered, eyes widening as she processed his words.

His hips rolled, grinding his hardon against her tummy, and she felt every inch of his cock, hard and wanting, and god, she couldn’t help it, she whined. A desperate, needy sound that escaped her throat before she could bite it back.

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide as his lips curled again into that smirk. “Always with a little extra product, always checking on me.” His teeth scraped her jaw, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. “Thought you were just sweet, just nice. Turns out you were trying to fatten me up for yourself, huh?” His words were teasing, but his tone was rough and possessive.

He rocked his hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had her gasping, her fingers digging into his shoulders as heat coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

“Bucky-” Her voice was a breathless plea, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to find words, tried to get a grip on herself, but his mouth was on her neck, sucking a hot, wet mark just above her collarbone, and she was gone, utterly, completely gone.

“You like that, huh?” His teeth grazed her skin again, his metal fingers tightening on her thigh, holding her in place as he ground against her. “Like knowing you drive me crazy? That every time I leave, all I can think about is coming back here, bending you over that counter, and fuck you right there, maybe squishing a fucking orange just to watch the juice dripping down your ass?”

Another whine slipped out, her body arching into his as her hips rolled instinctively to meet his. His words wrapped around her, filthy and raw, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.

His lips trailed up to her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “So tell me, sweetheart... how long have you been thinking about me ruining you right here in your little shop?”

“If... if we’re about to speak on hard numbers...” She tried to tease, but the words came out ragged, crumbling under the hard suck he planted just behind her ear. Her body shuddered, another whimper escaping before she could stop it. “I’d say... the first time you came here. You’d just moved in and didn’t... didn’t even have pans to cook. Remember?”

His mouth paused on her skin, lips curved against her neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Came looking for fruit and you ended up selling me that tray of already cut vegetables to make soup. Lent me that steel jar to boil ’em in.” His tongue flicked over the mark he’d made, soothing the sting before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “I thought you were too damn trusting. What if I didn’t come back?”

She let out a breathless laugh, curling her fingers on his biceps. “I saw your hand. You forgot the gloves that day... and I figured... the Winter Soldier wouldn’t steal a steel jar.” Her lips twitched, and a spark of mischief lit her eyes. “If you did, well, the loss was on me. But if you didn’t...” She trailed off.

His eyes darkened, and his grip tightened on her thigh as he pressed her harder against the wall. “If I didn’t?”

She swallowed, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs. “Then... I would have set some points with a handsome man.”

“Sneaky,” he muttered, brushing her lips, a teasing, fleeting touch. “You were setting a trap for me from the start.”

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to earn her another low, hungry sound from him. “Can you blame me?” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his. “You were brooding and grumpy... and so damn gorgeous.”

His eyes flashed with something wild and primal sparking in them. “And now?” His voice was low and dangerous, his metal fingers flexing on her thigh, holding her in place. “Now that you’ve got me? This bigger, grumpier version?”

She didn’t hesitate, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “Now?” She leaned in, grazing his bottom lip with her teeth before she pulled back. “I’d say It was a pretty good investment.”

His lips were into hers again, swallowing her gasp as his body pressed into hers, heavy and hard and perfect. He kissed her hard, his mouth rough and hungry while rocking his hips against hers, and she moaned, digging her nails into his scalp as she arched into him. He tore his mouth away, with ragged breathing, his eyes pinning her in place as they locked with hers. “Last chance, sugarplum” His voice felt vulnerable beneath the heat. “You want this?”

She held his gaze and pressed herself against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest enticingly. "I want you to ruin me, papa bear"

He froze. Every muscle in his body went taut. His eyes widened, and his pupils blew wide as her words penetrated his fogged brain. “...What did you just call me?”

Her heart plummeted. Oh god. Why? Why did she have to let that slip out now, of all times? She could feel her face heating up, a wave of mortification crashing over her. “Um... uh...” She looked away, curling her fingers nervously into his shoulders. “Too soon?”

For a heartbeat, he was silent, his jaw tight and his chest heaving as he processed it. But then a low, guttural sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a growl. His head dropped to her shoulder, pressing his forehead into her as his body shuddered against hers. “Fuck,”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding so hard she swore he could feel it. “S-sorry. I don’t... I don’t even know where that came from, I-”

He lifted his head, eyes dark, pupils blown. “Don’t.” His voice was rough, firm. “Don’t take it back.”

Her mouth went dry, and her body arched instinctively into him as his grip on her tightened. “You- uh... liked it?”

His lips curled into a feral grin, grazing her earlobe with his teeth before he growled, “You have no idea.” His nose brushed her cheek, his lips a breath away from hers. “Say it again.”

Her heart skipped a beat, face flaming. “I-” She hesitated, but the way his body trembled, the raw need in his eyes, the way he was holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish... it shattered any scruple she had. She leaned in, brushing his lips with hers as she whispered, “Ruin me, Papa Bear.”

He swore under his breath, crashing his mouth into hers again with bruising force. His hands gripped her tighter, possessive, desperate, and she moaned, opening up to him, letting him in. His tongue swept over hers, hungry and demanding, and she melted, her body molding to his as he consumed her.

He broke away just long enough to start tugging at her apron. “Take it off, or I’ll-”

The faint chime of the bell at the front door echoed through the storage room, hitting them like a bucket of cold water. Her eyes widened, and he stilled, with his fingers curled around the knot of her apron. The door to the storage room was wide open, and the front door? Neither of them had bothered to close it since none of this was supposed to happen.

His jaw clenched, and he lifted a finger, pointing at her with a look that could melt steel. “Don’t move.”

She barely had time to blink before he was striding out of the storage room, with his hair slightly mussed and crumpled clothing. He rounded the corner to find an elderly woman standing uncertainly by the counter, clutching her purse tightly in her hands.

His expression softened -just a bit- as he forced a strained smile. “It’s closed.”

The woman’s brows knitted together. “Oh, but I just wanted to-”

“Lemme accompany you out, yes?” He cut in, his voice dripping with forced politeness. “An emergency came up, and she’s... not here. I just stopped by to lock up.” His words were rushed, his body practically blocking the doorway.

“Oh, I see...” The woman glanced around, clearly confused but too polite to question him. “I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, already guiding her toward the door, hovering his hand protectively behind her back as she shuffled out. The door shut with more force than necessary, as the chime echoed sharply in the now-empty store. He twisted the lock, and stood there for a moment, with a rigid back, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.

In a flash, he was back in the storage room, locking his eyes on her with a hunger that made her knees weak. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between them, and his fingers went immediately to the buttons of her blouse, his mouth trailing kisses over every newly exposed inch of skin.

He almost groaned when he saw her bra clasp at the front. “You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before popping the clasp with an impatient flick of his fingers. The fabric fell away, and his mouth and hands were on her before he could think: Palms warm against her bare skin, squeezing just hard enough to make her arch into him, a breathy moan escaping her lips. He latched his mouth to the delicate skin just above her collarbone, swirling his tongue, teeth scraping, tasting the salt of her skin.

She was driving him insane. Every little sound, every shiver, every way her fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer.

Her hands were just as eager, fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. She hesitated for a heartbeat when her fingers grazed his belly, flicking her eyes up to his. But there was no discomfort there, only hunger. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted, her breathing ragged. Her fingers splayed over his stomach, and the warmth of her touch sank into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

He kissed her harder, deeper, pressing her back against the wall as his body settled heavily against hers, his bigger form pinning her in place. She gasped, hitching her leg around his waist again, pulling him closer, grinding, her hips against his, and he nearly lost it.

His lips trailed lower, over the swell of her breast, and his stubble grazed her sensitive skin as his tongue flicked over an already pert nipple. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as her body arched beneath him, desperate, needing more. He was only too happy to oblige, closing his mouth around her, suckling greedily as his hand moved to the other, kneading, teasing.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was a broken whisper, as her nails dug into his shoulders and scalp, and her body writhed against his.

He dragged his mouth back up to hers, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, teasing the edge of her panties. “Want papa bear to touch you, sugarplum?” he growled, rough and low, “Want me to prep you open nice and deep and then ruin this little pussy?”

His words made her shiver, and her whole body tensed at the need in his voice. She could barely breathe, could barely think, as her mind spun while his fingers danced along the delicate lace of her panties, teasing, taunting.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yes, please.”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, “That’s my good girl.” His fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging her panties down slowly, deliberately,  grazing his knuckles on the sensitive skin of her thighs. He wanted to savor this, to watch her come apart for him.

He lifted her easily, her back hitting the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist. The feeling of her pussy against his stomach made him swear under his breath, his head dropping to her shoulder again as he struggled to hold on to the last shreds of his self-control.

His metal fingers pressed her hips into the wall, to accompany his body, pinning her in place as his flesh hand slipped between her thighs. She was already soaked, and he groaned, feeling his cock throbbing painfully against his jeans. “So fucking wet for me... all that from just a little talk?”

Her head tipped back, hitting the wall, lips parting in a breathless gasp as his fingers found her clit, circling lazily, teasing only to dip them lower, slipping them inside her, stretching her, pressing his thumb down on her clit.

He watched her face as he started to move his hand, pumping slowly, deliberately, curling just enough to make her shudder. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her hips rocked against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Such a greedy pussy, taking everything I give you.” His teeth grazed her earlobe. “You’re mine now.”

Her body clenched around his fingers, a whimper escaping her lips, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she held on, tightening her muscles as he pushed her closer to the edge.

“Gonna come for me, sugarplum?” His fingers started to move faster, harder, while his thumb circled her clit mercilessly. “Gonna fall apart on my fingers before I even get to ruin you properly?”

Her whole body tensed and her head snapped forward, pressing her forehead into his as she shattered with a force that stole her breath.

“That’s it... that’s my girl,” he whispered, slowing his fingers, easing her down from the high, brushing his lips against hers in a surprisingly tender kiss.

He adjusted his grip on her body, grinding his clothed erection against her, letting her feel how hard he was, how ready. “And now, I gonna give you what you wanted,” he growled.

He slid his fingers out of her and fumbled with the zipper of his pants "look at the mess you did here, all this cream on my zipper." she just moaned and grind herself against the back of his hand, thrilled by being pinned to the wall by his weight alone and his vibranium hand on her asscheek.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was breathy, broken, and her body trembled as his metal hand squeezed her ass, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

He hummed, while his fingers continued to play with the wetness she’d left on his pants, dragging her up his length, letting her feel every ridge, every pulse under his denim. “You’re so needy for me, sugarplum,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “So wet, so… ready.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, her mind was blank with need as he finally spread his thick thighs squatting a little, and sat her on them, tugging down his zipper, and freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He wrapped his hand around himself, and his eyes never left hers as he stroked once, spreading her slickness all over his length. “You see this?” he growled. “This is what you do to me.”

She bit her lip, her eyes locked down, watching him slowly pump himself, zeroed on the pornographic sight of his cock glistening with a mix of their arousal.

Seeing his heated gaze he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You made this mess... now you’re gonna take responsibility for it”. It was all the warning he did before hooking the back of her knees on his forearms, and pressing his hands on the wall, surging forward, burying the fat head of his cock in her entrance, pushing himself inside her in one slow, stretching thrust.

Her mouth fell open, and a choked moan escaped her lips as he filled her, inch by agonizing inch. Her back arched against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on his arms, nails digging in as her body stretched to accommodate him.

He was relentless, his eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every shudder as he sank into her, slow and merciless. “You feel that?” His voice was a rough whisper, his breath hot against her ear.

She could only nod, as he pressed his hips in even deeper, against hers, burying his cock to the hilt. “Bucky... oh God...” Her legs trembled, thighs spread wide over his forearms, helpless to do anything but take everything he gave her.

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, grazing her skin with his teeth as he fought to keep himself in check, to keep from losing himself in the incredible heat of her body. “Fuck... you feel so damn good... driving me crazy, sugarplum.” His words were rough, and breathless, his control slipping with every second he stayed buried inside her.

Her walls quivered around him, tightening instinctively, pulling him in, holding him close. “Bucky... move... please...” she pleaded, trying to roll her hips to create some friction, to ease the maddening stretch.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His fingers almost dug into the bricks, and he began to move in slow, heavy thrusts that made her whole body rock against the wall. Each time he withdrew, she felt the loss, felt the emptiness, and each time he filled her again, her world shattered a little more as she felt his cock stretching her, filling her, owning her. “Oh God...”

He could feel himself losing control, as his thrusts grew harder and faster, pinning her like a ragdoll against the wall, relishing the needy moans and whimpers escaping her lips.

A hand flew to his head tugging his locks as he wrecked her.  “Fuck Papa Bear… you feel so good, so heavy, so… fucking… big, you turn me on so much.” 

Her praise wrapped around him, squeezing him just as tight as her body did, and his head spun with primal satisfaction. He groaned, as his cock throbbed and pulsed inside her flooding her with precum, and growing even harder inside her. “Yeah? You like this thick Bear covering you, pinning you, breeding you full?”

Her head thudded back against the wall, as she tried to tighten her legs against his forearms, to arch her body to join his thrusts, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Yes, yes, god, yes... love feeling you like this, love how big you are...”

“Fuck, sugar” his bruised ego drank her words like a man dying of thirst. Each confession went straight to his cock. He could feel her body yielding to him, taking everything he gave, and it made him lose his rhythm, made him rut into her like an animal, making her back slide up and down the wall with every hard thrust.

He lifted his arms to spread her wide to take him deeper. Her cries only grew louder, more desperate, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “You’re mine now, sugar plum. Fuck, ‘m gonna fuck you so good you’ll never look at another man again... gonna make sure you remember this every time you close your eyes.”

She whimpered as he buried his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Bucky... Papa... please... don’t stop...” she pleaded, curling her fingers into his hair.

His mouth curved into a half smile against her throat. “Not planning to, sugarplum.” He rolled his hips, grinding deep, making her back arch and her legs quiver. “Not until you’re dripping with me... not until you’re so full of my cum you can’t stand.”

Her body convulsed, one hand remained fisting his hair and the other dragged her nails on his broad back, “Fuck! Yes, I want it so bad...”

He lost whatever thread of control he had left. His thrusts grew brutal, punishing as his cock stretched her, pounding into her with a force that bordered on savage. He watched her face contort with pleasure, as the base of his cock ground deliciously against her swollen clit. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her eyes rolled back as he drove into her, harder, faster. “You’re gonna take it all... every drop... you understand?”

She could only nod, her words were lost to the raw, consuming pleasure.

He was so close, muscles tensed to the point of aching, his breath ragged as his cock throbbed, his balls tightened, ready to spill. But he held on, watching her, waiting, needing to see her fall apart first.

“Come on, doll... give it to me... come all over my cock... let me feel it...” he growled, as his wide shoulders caged her in. “Bet you’ve never been this full before. Never had someone this big ruin you like this.”

Her nails raked down his back, desperate, her eyes rolling back as she tried to meet his rhythm but was utterly at his mercy. “F-Fuck, Bucky... so... so big...”

“That’s right,” he rasped, a savage grin flashing across his face. “Too big for this pretty little pussy, huh?” he lifted her higher and marked every word with a harder thrust.

Her entire body seized up before she felt herself shatter, arching against his body and squeezing him, milking him so tight he finally let himself go.

“That’s it... make a mess... make a fucking mess for me, doll... fuck!” his cock jerked, pulsing, as his release came hot and violent, spilling thick ropes of cum inside her. He kept grinding his hips, pressing himself as deep as he could, stirring his load inside her until it was too much to contain. The excess bubbled out around his shaft obscenely, warm and sticky, dripping down her thighs and landing on the floor.

He nipped at her collarbone, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he gently withdrew them from the wall. He eased her thighs down just enough to let her hook them around his waist, and his eyes flicked to an old chair in the corner of the room. Without a word, he began to move with steady steps despite the lingering tremors in his muscles. As he walked them over, each stride pressed him deeper inside her, drawing soft whimpers from her swollen lips.

Reaching the chair, he sank down heavily, the wood creaking beneath their weight. She straddled him, still nesting him deep inside her pussy, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, tangling her fingers on his hair. His hands settled on her hips, keeping her pressed close, unwilling to break their connection just yet.

His head fell back against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let himself breathe. “You feel... too damn good. Could stay like this all day...”

Her fingers started to brush his hair gently. “Then don’t move... Just stay. You made sure that no other clients visited today." She slightly pinched his stubbled full cheek. "And... is not fair you didn’t remove any of your clothes besides your jacket in all this ordeal."

He huffed out a low laugh, that rumbled against her chest. “Yeah? That bother you, sugarplum?” His hands slid up her back, splaying wide as he pressed her tighter against him. “You wanna see all of me?”

Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I think it’s only fair,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I wanna see what I’ve been getting my hands on... what I’ve been wanting.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to his still-clothed body, darting her tongue out to wet her lips.

His eyes flicked away for a beat, and his shoulders tensed a little. There was a moment, a fleeting second where his hands stilled on her body, where his fingers dug just a little too hard into her waist. Old doubts echoed in his mind, flashing to his reflection in the mirror, the soft curve of his belly, the heft in his chest that wasn’t just only muscle.

But then she moved, running her hands up his chest, her eyes wide, pupils blown as she whispered. “I want to see you, Bucky.”

His heart thudded hard, but he felt himself relax, the tension ebbing away as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Alright, sugarplum,” he murmured. “You asked for it.”

In one swift motion, he gripped the hem of his shirt, muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He forced himself to sit there, exposed, waiting for the flicker of judgment, for her gaze to catch on his soft middle, or the faint stretch marks on his hips.

But her eyes were wide with interest as she took him in. Her hands roamed over him, tracing her fingers on his skin, lingering on the scars, the old wounds. She palmed his chest, brushing her thumbs over his hardened nipples, and his muscles jumped under her touch.

“Better?” his voice rough, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her explore him.

She bit her lip, as she kept worshipping him. “Better... but I’m not done yet.” She added as she trailed softly the scarred flesh where his prosthesis joined his body with her tongue.

His cock twitched with interest inside her, still hard, still nestled so deep. His hands gripped hard on her waist and his eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with fire, sugarplum.”

She smirked, rolling her hips slowly and deliberately. “Then burn me up, Papa Bear.”

Taglist: @civilbucky @blythesarchives

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[bambisnc]

        . . . we can't be friends.

° ˖ ➴ how enhypen would ( un/intentionally ) fuck up a friendship

### . STARRING ⌢ OT7 ⋆ suggestive + 1.2k // best friend!enha + hcs + swearing + kissing + being drunk + unedited ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ i kinda went AWF here... hoon's is kinda short :( + [m.list]

౨ৎ ˖ 이희승 — ❪ LEE HEESEUNG ❫  

after receiving a series of confusing texts with more than half the words misspelled, your confusion is finally quelled by a call from your best friend at around 1 am. only to hear a bunch of mumbled out words, slurred and somewhere along the lines of where are you.. i miss you :( … jungwon finally has to intervene and ask you to come pick up heeseung’s very, very drunk self from the bar they were all at.

you go there to do the same and while trying to support his weak figure and helping him walk out, you nag at him, as one does. nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual “he should be taking better care of himself” rant, before he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours.

and for a moment, you freeze. the slightly bitter sweet taste of alcohol so intoxicating that you find yourself unable to actually react. he pulls away after a short kiss, string of saliva stretching to complete the distance, which he promptly dives back in to lick away, before passing out on top of you. and from then on, you just can’t bring yourself to act normal around him. oops…

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

౨ৎ ˖ 박종성 — ❪ JAY PARK ❫  

when one of the most notorious fuckboys of your university campus asked him about you, jay was mildly annoyed to say the least. the boy pretty much yapped his ear off about you, making a very poor attempt to be nonchalant about the whole thing because he was clearly desperate to get a chance to be with you.

your best friend couldn’t help but be pissed at your insane ability to attract creeps. on a whim, majorly only because he wanted to see the reaction on earlier mentioned fuckboy’s face, he announced that the two of you were actually dating. so, if jaehyun or whatever his name was didn’t mind, could he kindly fuck off and never make the mistake of even wandering near a 5 metre radius of you? many thanks.

jay conveniently forgets to mention this event to you, though, meaning you only find out much later from one of jaehyun's friends and by then it's too late to do anything because now, the whole campus is convinced you're dating...

౨ৎ ˖ 심재윤 — ❪ JAKE SIM ❫  

ah, yes. the ol' "can you teach me how to kiss?" he would tell you all about this girl he's into, she's his soulmate, he swears. an absolute angel, the most perfect individual he's ever seen.

the only problem is .. he's scared he's not experienced enough. what if she goes to kiss him and he's super, super awkward about it? god, he'd be mortified! jake really has no other choice than to ask you for help. you get where he's coming from right? so you'll help him?

... and you do, because it couldn't hurt right? it's your moral duty to help your best friend get bitches, after all. just don't question why what was supposed to be only one kiss has long extended into a full drawn, make out session. and definitely don't question why he's pulled you into his lap, and is leaving small bites on your neck that will definitely bloom into hickies soon — all this is just for practice!

౨ৎ ˖ 박성훈 — ❪ PARK SUNGHOON ❫  

this mf will have it all planned. if he wants to have you he'll do anything within his ability to get you to fall for him just as much as he's fallen for you - friendship be damned. sunghoon would be subtle about it though, while also simultaneously being such a little shit with the whole thing... like he would definitely not be above straight up using thirst traps and sending you slightly ... risqué texts. a few pictures here and there, with his pretty muscles fully on display for you. if you happen confront him about it, he'll just use the excuse of not being so good with his new phone... you understand right? :/

౨ৎ ˖ 김선우 — ❪ KIM SUNWOO ❫  

first dates are always exciting. you especially adore the getting ready part because your best friend sunoo just happens to have really good taste in fashion. there's no way you'd embark on a single shopping trip without him and his expert opinions. it's the cherry on top that he's extremely supportive and hypes you up like he's literally being paid to.

conversations circling somewhat around "... and you're sure this looks fine, right sunoo?" "yes. trust me, you look fine as hell..." have become a norm to an almost shocking extent. which is perfectly fine, friends are meant to be supportive. this is totally normal! <3

... that is, until the same best friend has you pinned up against the mirror top where you'd been doing your make up, a finger on your chin angling your face towards his own, mumbling out a quiet "hey. don't go on that date."

౨ৎ ˖ 양정원 — ❪ YANG JUNGWON ❫  

okay no one question me on this. don’t even perceive my thoughts on this, really. but think about having a horrible break up. just the absolute worst, "dumped via a text" break up.

it’s for the best, you know that. your ex was an absolute piece of shit. more than enough people had told you how much better you could do, exchanged not so subtle whispers wondering why someone like you was with someone like... him.. the biggest advocate against your relationship was none other than jungwon. which makes sense, considering he, as your best friend, would only want the absolute best for you. nothing more, nothing less. 

armed with cheesy romcoms and comfy blankets, jungwon had done whatever he could to get your mind off of the asshole behind the cause of your sadness. but ... when nothing works, he can only sigh. desperate times call for desperate measure, right? as your friend, it's only natural he'd be willing to do ... certain favors for you.

he takes your face in both of his hands, wiping off the tears gently. “there’s other ways, you know? of distraction.” a soft brush of his lips to the corner of your mouth, “other ways to make you forget all about him…” 

౨ৎ ˖ 西村 力 — ❪ NISHIMURA RIKI ❫  

playing silly games like truth or dare always gets him way too competitive for some reason. but, being dared to play the pocky game with his own best friend was the place where niki drew a line. for once, he wouldn’t have minded letting it go, wouldn’t have minded being the bigger person and accepting defeat – he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable for any reason, after all.

but when jake and the others started teasing him about it? saying that niki was just a wuss, being oh so scared of just a tiny little kiss, wasn’t he? my guy all but lost complete reasoning. he snatched a strawberry pocky stick, placing it in his mouth with such speed that it was almost shocking that the fragile biscuit didn’t break from it. 

but it's fine, you don't mind helping him prove a point. so you're more than willing to comply. only... the way his eyes stare into yours as the distance between your lips lessens and lessens makes a strange (but definitely not unwelcome) warmth spread through your entire being. you finally end up breaking the pocky in favor of looking away, completely ignoring the questioning look in your best friend's eye.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[v00do-d0ll]

I want a heartbreaking fic with the trope of

"Alfred Pennyworth is Bruce Wayne's Father"

It's in Alfred's POV starting with Martha and Thomas giving birth, and Alfred being handed Bruce and thinking "I think l'd die if anything happened to him." And it goes through all the aspects of Bruce's life through Alfred's eyes, with his internal thoughts.

Him being terrified that Bruce is going to take is life after his parents death. How Bruce no longer smiles or laughs. How he's just a shell of the boy he once was.

Finding out the Bruce has disappeared without a trace or a word to Alfred. Him being scared that something has happened to Bruce, and terrified over the thought that Bruce may never come home, and heartbroken that he may never see him again.

Bruce finally coming back to Gotham and Alfred realizing that this is not the same boy who left home, but a man who has gone through more things than he could imagine. Him realizing that Bruce is taller than he is now, larger to.

Bruce telling him that he's going to go out at night dressed as a bat to save Gotham, and the argument that ensues. Because he's scared that his boy is going to die on the streets of Gotham like his parents. But helping him anyway because his son has always been stubborn.

The nervousness when Bruce brings home a traumatized child from what was supposed to be a venture to get out of the house and do something normal for a change. Him not being sure if his son could look after a child.

Him seeing that Dick is actually doing some good for Bruce and watching as his son get's a little better each day taking care of Dick. Watching him become a father in his own right. Even if Dick doesn't see him that way yet.

Watching the devastation that the arguments between Dick and Bruce ensues. Knowing that Bruce is only scared of letting Dick go, but not being able to put that into words. Watching as each argument gets worse, the more Dick pulls away until it finally brakes and Dick leaves. Seeing the hurt that brings Bruce even though he unfortunately did it to himself.

Realizing that he picked up another child off the street.

Watching Dick come back just to scream at Bruce that he’s replaced him and gave the Robin mantle away when it wasn’t something for him to give. Seeing Bruce not form the right words to reassure Dick that he was not replaced, and making their bond break more.

Seeing Jason come out of his shell more and more, and watching the same effect Dick had on Bruce happen again with Jason. Watching as Dick comes back home more and more, and watching as Bruce and Dicks relationship starts to mend.

And then Jason dies, and nothing is the same.

The devastation of Bruce telling him that Jason was murdered. Bruce putting the funeral together quickly. Realizing that Bruce never told Dick about Jason until after the funeral. Their relationship snapping in two once again. The downward spiral that Bruce takes. Thinking, “He’s going to get himself killed, or he might do it himself.” And stopping him multiple times. Hearing his cries in the night, or him waking up screaming from another nightmare, and getting up to go into the kitchen so Bruce can “catch him there” and just sit with his boy for a long while. Knowing that nothing he can do or say will help his son.

Watching as he becomes more and more violent when he goes out at night, and not knowing what to do for his boy. Then seeing a small child come along and force his way into Bruce’s life. Watching Bruce try so hard to turn this boy away. Telling him to go back home. But the boy not listening. Tim is the child’s name, and seeing this boy do more for Bruce than he ever could. So even though it’s not a child’s place to fix a grown man, he is grateful. Because without Tim, Bruce would be dead by now.

Seeing Bruce get better but never the same as he once was, because he lost a child. His son. And Alfred has never been through that. But he’s grateful that his own son has not been taken from him yet…

Obviously there would be more but I can’t write all that down in a formate like this and I can’t write actual stories to save my life. But I hope you see my vision. In this fic it would also end up Superbat because they’re in love and you can’t tell me otherwise.

Bruce, visibly overwhelmed by Emotions as he watches a ten-year-old Dick goofing around in the batcave: Alfred. Alfred I think I'd die if something happened to him

Alfred: *carefully doesn't say that he thought the same thing when Martha and Thomas placed a newborn Bruce in his arms for the first time because he knows that'll completely destroy the little emotional bandwidth Bruce has*

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

elegiac lamenting - r. itoshi

the clicking of rain outside carved through the silence of the apartment like art.

itoshi rin never considered himself as someone who particularly enjoyed loud noises or talkative people, but right now, he wanted anything but your quietness. you stood in front of him, your head down and your the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears.

“continue what you said from before.” you whispered, finally breaking your silence. “what you were about to say at the bar before i stopped you and we left.” you shuddered at the memory; rin had just lost a game today, so maybe it would have been better for you to have shut up. but no, little old you just had to try to comfort him by acting stupid.

you acted out-of-place, but rin’s words were just as unforgivable.

rin’s eyes narrowed before his fists clenched. “you’re so damn annoying.” he hissed out. “it was a mistake dating you. you came into my life promising that you would help me recover from those shitty words that my older brother spoke to me from all those years ago, and yet you only made my life worse. distracting me from soccer, making me do stupid things with you, clinging onto me and expecting me to treat you like some god, you ruined my life. i can’t believe i ever dated you.”

for a few moments, silence once again leapt around the room, excluding the taps of the rain. “you never complained. never said a word. never told me that you didn’t like what i did. and for the record, i never promised to help you recover. i only told you that if you needed me to help, then i would have tried. i never expected you to treat me like some queen, and treating me decently was fine. that’s why i never complained about our relationship. but if you’re unsatisfied with this and you’re going to do nothing but point out my flaws that im more aware of than anyone else, then we can’t don’t this.”

a clap of thunder came right after your words. “well, clearly i am.” rin snapped back. “i can’t believe i spent five years calling you my lover.” and you can’t help but realize that’s right. that it’s been five years since you were both sixteen. that you were both twenty-one now. who knew that you would end up like this with him?

you looked up at him, burning tears finally stinging your eyes. you bit down on your lip harshly, holding your tears back, although the tears that glazed your eyes blurred your vision. but it pained you, it pained you that the only thing that you could clearly make out through your blurred vision was the teal color of sea glass. rin’s eyes, the ones that you fell for.

“alright then.” you choked out. “got it. i just…never mind.” you picked up your jacket from the couch, shoving it on. “you can mail me my things back.” and right before exiting the door, your grip on the door shaky, you finally released your final words to him.

“goodbye, rin. i love you.”

you turned the doorknob and left.

and the moment the door slammed shut, the rain began pouring heavier by tenfold. rin stood there, alone in his humid apartment, his eyes fixated on the mahogany door. he crashed onto the couch, a hand going up to run through and grab his hair harshly. he bit down on his lip, nearly drawing blood. he knew that he shouldn’t have said that; it wasn’t even the truth, why did those words escape his lips?

and now he’s lost you.

thunder once again clapped outside, and perhaps it was the world mocking him. perhaps it was the gods finding it funny. perhaps it was just mother nature’s cruelty. but this rain would change rin’s life forever.

————

rin woke up with a sharp ache in his lower back. he groaned, rubbing his eyes and stretching. shit, he let himself go off schedule. he checked his watch; 8:21 AM. He was supposed to be at practice right now, dammit. He pushed himself out of the couch, rapidly brushed his teeth and changed clothes, and got ready to go out before he saw something on the table.

your phone.

you must have left it here yesterday, although rin didn’t realize why you didn’t just come back to retrieve it. you had spare keys, after all. but he just sighed; another thing that he needed to give you. he opened your phone through your password—the day you both met—and checked the location of you through your watch.

he expected to see the familiar details of your address, but what met his eyes was practically the opposite.

KAMAKURA GENERAL HOSPITAL

what.

screw practice, he had just won a match yesterday. he shoved the front door open and ran down the apartment building’s stairs. hands gripping the steering wheel, he ran through the events of last night before sighing.

please, you better be okay.

you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.

please.

i didn’t mean what i said last night. any of it.

please.

im sorry.

please.

i love you.

finally, he rushed into the hospital, reaching the front desk in no time and his eyebrows knit together. he stayed quiet for a few moments to catch his breath before speaking. “y/n. are they here? where are they? are they okay?”

the two nurses at the front desk exchanged glances. “and your relationship to the patient?” one of them piped up.

rin’s lips dried up. he wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, but he would have no chance of seeing you if he said that he was your ex-boyfriend.

“…friend. im their friend.”

the two nurses exchanged glances again before one of them nodded and shot rin a pitying look. she walked out of the front desk area and led rin upstairs before opening a door.

inside, you sat up on the hospital bed. rin sprinted over to you and kneeled down next to the bed, his hand squeezing yours. he panted, his eyebrows furrowing. “are you okay? what the hell happened?” you ignored him completely. in fact, rin didn’t even know if you realized he were here. your eyes are fixated on the wall in front of you, irises unmoving and only blinking every now and then.

your eyes didn’t have it’s usual brightness. the one that brought light into itoshi rin’s cold, dark life.

“they are currently in a vegetative state. they can’t respond to stimuli.” the nurse began, sighing. “it was an especially rainy night yesterday, and they got into a car accident on the road. they suffered irreversible brain damage.”

nonononononononononono—

rin’s eyes widened, his breath hitching and his heart stopping. the nurse looked down in sadness. “i apologize, but this is usually fatal. even if they do survive, they’ll never be able to live regularly ever again.”

rin’s hands began to tremble, and slowly, warm tears began to brim at his long eyelashes. “no…” he whispered.

the love of his life. the one who lit up his life like no one else. the one who he knew and knew him better than anyone else. his soulmate.

you would never be the same again.

rin’s head dropped, sobbing into the hospital bed. he knew that if any one of his fans saw him like this, he would never be able to go outside in peace again. but he couldn’t give two shits, not when the love of his life is like this.

rin then went on a break for one year and six whole months.

no one knew where the hell he was. he didn’t pick up any calls. he didn’t play in any of pxg’s games. he didn’t even go to practice, for fuck’s sake. his pr team had made up the excuse that he wasn’t in a good physical condition, but that was just pure bullshit, and everyone knew it.

on february 14th of 2024, your heart rate monitor went still.

everything went by in a blur for rin.

black outfits and a picture frame of you. marigolds and chrysanthemums. prayers and blessings. but rin couldn’t help but notice the biggest change in his life.

the world was just so dull and colorless without you.

pallid and gray. the color of rain, the very rain that took you away from him.

after one more year of grieving, on february 14 of 2025, itoshi rin finally continued his soccer career. but this time, with a change. he always wore a heart shaped locket everywhere, even to matches. his hardcore fans recognized it as his lover’s favorite necklace, but they haven’t been seen in over a year and a half, so everyone had just assumed that they had broken up.

ITOSHI RIN’S RETURN MATCH: FLOP OR FORGIVEN?

PXG VS BASTARD MÜNCHEN - THE FAMOUS ITOSHI RIN’S RETURN

everyone in the stadium could see the difference in rin’s play style.

his moves were so beautifully passionate, so full of emotion. so full of love and yet, so full of sorrow.

his style of playing was almost like a confession of love.

“AND ITOSHI RIN MAKES A COMEBACK AND SCORES THE FINISHING GOAL! PXG WINS, 4 TO 3!”

everything was a blur to rin as he held up the heart locker. usually, this would be embarrassing and absolutely humiliating for him to do.

but not this time.

he pressed a kiss to the cold, heart shaped metal, and he looked up at the sun with such incredibly soft and loving eyes.

“this is for you.”

@levihanmyotp 😈😈😈

[lilghostiequinni]

Rude

Main Masterlist Charles Masterlist

Pairing: Verstappen!Girlfriend!female reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Fluffy, None

Summary: Don't you just hate when your girlfriend loves your dogs more than you or when they take your spot in bed? Well, Charles does.

Requested: NO / yes

You met Charles through your twin brother when you were about 15 years old.

You didn't like going to your brother's kart races, but at the same time, you did like going to them, because when Max won races, it was like the world was right, nothing bad happened.

You didn't like it when Max lost because it meant something bad had happened.

It was conditioned into you from watching your brother for years that if Max failed, it was best to stay away from your dad for a few days to weeks or until Max won next, but sometimes even that wasn't good enough.

When you met Charles and you seen how his family and how family was supposed to work, you grew close to Charles.

For years, you avoided your feelings because you knew that your brother had become friends with the Monegasque and was close rivals on track.

You were afraid to say anything about how you felt because you were afraid of what your brother might say, who cares about everyone else, all you had in your life for the longest time was your brother.

You didn't want to disappoint him.

It wasn't until your brother literally locked you and Charles in a room within his apartment and refused to let you out that is until you confessed your feelings for each other.

It took all of an hour for the confession to happen and result in kissing, then turning into a full-on make-out until Max opened the door and interrupted but also saw one of his friends sucking face with his little sister.

About a year into your relationship with Charles, he asked you to move in, but you were hesitant because of the puppy you impulsively bought while Max and Charles were away for a race weekend.

Well, it was like three puppies, they were siblings, and the last three, you couldn't just leave them there.

They were Doberman, German Shepherd, and Husky mixes, and they were so cute.

When you told Max of your three little darlings, he laughed at you, then realized you weren't joking then he started laughing again, thinking of the reaction Charles would have.

Which, when you told him wasn't as bad as you thought it would be, but it could've been better.

But even after learning of your hellions, as Max started to call them after knowing them for an hour, Charles still insisted on moving in together.

Every time that Charles left for a race and you didn't go with him, the dogs took over his spot on the bed, laying with you as you slept, making sure that nothing happened to you.

When Charles had come home, for the first two nights he would have to fight off the dogs just to sleep.

So when he bought Leo, he thought that he would gain an ally against the other three, even if the two were still outnumbered, but no, that didn't happen.

The other three like to gain up on him, and Leo just joined in on the fun. It was not what Leo would just follow them he would actually help them.

Charles just gave up after a few months of trying to teach Leo to not help the other three dogs but he wasn't used to trying to, so he just gave up trying and let it happen most days.

Playing with the dogs most other times, it was actually really sweet what Charles did, playing with the hellions that you adopted without his knowledge, but even if he complains, he loves every minute of it because he's with you during them all.

A/N: Second in the 300 Follower Cele Driver poll

Tags: @llando4norris @mcmuppet @issi-loves-dannyric @ellen3101 @barcelonaloverf1life @charli123456789 @amz824 @taetae-armyyyyy @diaryofarandomkid @hadids-world

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

[melanchoire]

G!p Yujin fucking reader while Wonyoung watches on the side, enjoying the show before joining the two of you and sitting on your face as Yujin continues

WHAT IF I PROPOSE mean girl wonyoung and loser yujin 👀

wonyoung wasn’t exactly a bully, actually, she was more of a typical pretty and popular girl who has fun talking about other people’s personal lives and spreading gossip. and like all this kind of person, she always had someone in her sights and victim of her mockery; the biggest losers of the university, yujin and her girlfriend

she doesn’t understand how you two don’t have a bad reputation. i mean, losers who are the star students of their classes are supposed to be seen as idiots, not the school’s sweetheart couple that everyone loves and finds adorable 😤

and she always has a comment to make when she sees you two together. wonyoung doesn’t care if it’t a simple comment as she passes by you two or if she even dares to stop next to you just for this, she loves this

"when will be the day you can have the balls to fuck your girlfriend, ahn? still being a virgin even with a girlfriend must hurt. sometimes you make me wonder if you two have even had your first kiss.”

and it’s really exhausting! she is always there. you’re having lunch with yujin in the cafeteria and she is looking in your direction. you’re walking hand in hand with yujin down the hall and she is just there. you’re alone with yujin in the classroom and she shows up there because coincidentally she just forgot something in the classroom.

then one day you don’t know how but wonyoung manages to go to your shared dorm with yujin just to watch her fuck you because she doesn’t believe that two losers can do it? WELL

wonyoung tries hard to hide her surprise when she sees that you two were serious when you told her that you’ve done this before 😭 of course someone with a reputation and social status like hers wouldn’t think two bookworms could fuck or even have a love life, much less when two of that weirdo were dating!

she was in awe at the sight of you lying on the bed, with your shirt unbuttoned and your tits bouncing beneath the confines of your bra due to how hard yujin was ramming her cock into you 😔 breathy and whiny moans escaping your lips every time yujin’s hips slammed against your ass in a speed that you're sure makes the head of the bed hit against the wall of the room

and she is also impressed because she never saw this side of yujin 😳 always looking so charming and charismatic, a sweet and friendly girl with everyone and a complete gentlemanly sweetheart with her girlfriend 🥺💕 but right now, there was nothing sweet about the way yujin was growling against your shoulder and fucking you like she hated you 🥰

but even here you can’t save yourself from wonyoung’s bad luck! she is here, kneeling next to you on the bed

“play with your tits while yujin fucks you, (y/n)–ah. you know how to do it, right? or has your girlfriend never given you anything more than awkward vanilla sex?”

and you obey her order like the good girl you always are 🥺 you would have just pulled down your bra to expose your breasts if it weren’t for yujin directing her hands to your back for a moment, unhooking your bra and helping you take it off along with your shirt, giving you better comfort because even in this humiliating moment she is a sweet girlfriend who wants to provide you with the best comfort and experience possible 🥹💕

and the way you cup your tits in your hands and pinch and twist your nipples between your fingers makes wonyoung understand that this is clearly not the first time you’ve done this…

wonyoung doesn’t let the stern look that yujin gives her pass, being aware of the way wonyoung’s eyes were shamelessly scanning your body, but yujin looks so attractive and so dorky at the same time with those thick frame glasses that wonyoung can’t help but tease her too 🥰

“yujin–ah, you should move your hips like this. otherwise, you will never give your girlfriend an orgasm.” moving her hands to yujin’s hips and beginning to guide her movements, forcing yujin to give you harder and deeper thrusts that make you both moan at the same time

yujin looking so attractive as she runs a hand through her messy hair, taking a moment to adjust the glasses that threatened to fall off the bridge of her nose as she bit her lip and drops of sweat slowly ran down her neck. “don’t listen to her, princess. you’re doing a good job, being such a good girl for me. now just lie there and take what daddy gives you.” yujin says as she lifts your legs up onto her thighs, sliding a hand between your legs and beginning to play with your clit the way she knows you like it 😵‍💫

wonyoung would have made a comment and dirty joke about whether yujin knew where the clitoris was located, but she was so shocked because she never thought you two would have this kind of dynamic 😳 always thinking that you two were the kind of idiots who don’t know how to fuck properly and make everything awkward and weird, making her swallow her words and start to get frustrated for witnessing such a good fuck and not being able to be part of it 💔

when she knows that the orgasm of both of you is close she knows that it is her moment to tease! or so she thinks…

“c’mon yujin, are you going to take your cock out and jerk off to cum on her—? oh…” and she is surprised when she sees, that on the contrary, yujin does not withdraw inside you when she cums, shooting her heavy load into your womb, filling you with her warm cum while at the same time you squirt all over her cock, keeping her length inside you to make sure her cum stays in there until your pussy swallows it whole 😍

wonyoung is so focused on the way the combined fluids of both of you are oozing out from your pussy that she doesn’t notice when yujin gets up from the bed and approaches her, realizing this when she feels a hand grab a handful of her hair and give it a sharp tug that makes her wince in pain.

“now, i want you to sit on my girlfriend’s face and look me straight in the eyes while she does it. let’s see if she is also a virgin loser like you always say.” and wonyoung knows she is screwed when she sees how you’re now lying on your side, eyes half–closed and a lazy grin as you wiggle your index finger for her to come closer…

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, a Little Cute

Jason Todd had learned to live with ghosts.

They followed him everywhere.

In the roar of his motorcycle’s engine.

In the smell of gunpowder clinging to his gloves.

In the cold weight of his helmet, pressing against his skull like a second skin.

They whispered to him in the silence.

In the alleyways.

In the spaces between shadows.

In the stillness of the nights where he sat alone, wondering why he even came back.

He had learned to live with them.

But then you came along.

And suddenly, Jason didn’t know how to live with you.

You weren’t supposed to stay.

Jason had made sure of that.

He had tried everything—brushing you off, keeping you at a distance, scowling at you until his face hurt. He even threw in a few “I’m no good for you” speeches, just to be safe.

But you didn’t care.

You stuck around.

You smiled at him like he wasn’t broken.

You laughed at his jokes like he was someone worth laughing with.

You treated him like he was Jason—not Red Hood, not Robin, not a cautionary tale—just him.

And Jason didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

So, he did what he always did.

He pushed you away.

And you, stubborn as ever, refused to go.

The first time Jason realized he couldn’t keep you at arm’s length forever was when you found him bleeding in his apartment.

He hadn’t meant for you to see him like that.

He had been careful.

The fight had been messy, but he had made it home, made it to his shitty excuse for a first-aid kit, and was fine.

Or, he would have been—if you hadn’t let yourself in with the spare key he forgot you had.

The moment your eyes landed on him—shirt torn, bruises darkening along his ribs, blood staining his gloves—you had frozen.

Then your expression shifted into something unreadable.

And Jason?

Jason panicked.

“Don’t,” he warned before you could say anything. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t listen.

You never listened.

“Fine?” you echoed, marching toward him. “Jason, you’re bleeding all over your couch.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Your glare could have set the whole damn apartment on fire. “You’re literally trying to hold yourself together with duct tape right now.”

“…It’s quality duct tape.”

Your hands landed on your hips. “Sit down.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I don’t take orders.”

“Then sit down or I’ll make you.”

For a second, he considered arguing.

But you looked mad.

And Jason had taken on Gotham’s worst criminals, but even he knew better than to mess with you when you were pissed.

So, with a dramatic sigh, he sat.

You wordlessly grabbed the first-aid kit, crouching in front of him.

Jason tensed. He hated being this close, being seen like this. But your hands were careful, gentle as you reached for his injured arm.

And then, so softly he almost didn’t catch it—

“You scared me.”

Jason blinked.

Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

Like you weren’t just mad.

Like you were hurt.

And Jason—Jason hated that.

“…Didn’t mean to,” he mumbled.

You sighed, dabbing antiseptic over his wound. “Then stop trying to die every other night, and maybe we’ll be even.”

Jason swallowed.

He had no idea what to say to that.

So, he sat there, letting you clean his wounds, letting your touch ease some of the ache in his body.

Letting himself wonder—just for a moment—why the hell you were still here.

Jason wasn’t an idiot.

He knew who he was.

He knew what he had done.

And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t someone people stayed for.

But you did.

And it terrified him.

Another night.

Another fight.

Another set of bruises Jason didn’t have the energy to deal with.

He sat on the fire escape outside your apartment, the cool night air stinging against his busted lip.

He hadn’t meant to come here.

But somehow, he had.

Because after a night like this—after feeling like he had nothing left to give, after Gotham had chewed him up and spit him back out—he didn’t want to be alone.

And when he saw your light flicker on, when you stepped outside and spotted him sitting there like some stray cat, you didn’t even hesitate.

You just sighed, held out your hand, and said—

“Come inside, dumbass.”

Jason almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, he let you pull him inside, let you fuss over him, let you care.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself stay.

Weeks passed.

Jason still didn’t get it.

Didn’t get you.

Didn’t get why you weren’t afraid of him, why you didn’t run the first time you saw how deep his scars really went.

He didn’t get why you smiled at him like he wasn’t some walking tragedy.

Didn’t get why, when he was with you, the ghosts in his head got quiet.

So, one night, after you had patched him up again, after you had fallen asleep with your head against his shoulder, he whispered—

“…Why me?”

You stirred but didn’t wake.

Jason exhaled, staring at the ceiling, at the way the city lights flickered through your window.

Of all people—why him?

Why would you care?

Why would you stay?

Then, as if you could hear his thoughts, you mumbled—

“Because you’re worth it.”

Jason went still.

His chest ached, something warm pressing behind his ribs, something he couldn’t name.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He let himself believe it.

[b3ach-bunn7]

SWEET BOY

Shinsou Hitoshi gets the practise room on odd days, and you the even ones. You’ve never met him, but the notes he leaves on the music stand keeps you interested.

Noquirk!au, band au, guitarist Shinsou

—————————————————————————-

There’s only two practice rooms in UA.

It’s no surprise. UA is a sports school. That means about ninety percent of their extracurricular funding goes to new basketballs and volleyball nets, and not to the suffering music department. You're not too fussed by it. You suppose two rooms are better than nothing. The only reason you use them is because you and your slightly overzealous friend, Hana, are both auditioning for some prestigious music school in the summer. You need as much practice as you can get, and luckily being a senior means that you can kick out the younger students if you need to use them.

Only this year, there's a new stupid sign up sheet. Apparently now, instead of the usual first come first serve system, you have to sign up for a room and get allocated them in advance. Your friend Hana grumbles beside you, and you adjust the violin case that’s wearing heavy on your shoulder. 

“This is so stupid. These should be first come first serve. Why do I need to sign up?” Hana snaps.

You smile slightly, quickly scribbling in your name under hers. “Look, nobody has even signed up apart from us. And… Shinsou? Who’s that?”

Hana peers at the sheet over your shoulder. She shrugs. “God knows. Probably some loser first year who thinks he can play piano.”

“Hana.”

“What?”

You nudge her shoulder. “Don’t be rude. If we’re lucky we’ll only have him to share rooms with.”

“Whatever. Let’s go get food, I'm hungry.”

.

You try not to cringe at Hana’s very over dramatic reaction to the schedule two days later. She doesn’t really have any shame in yelling in the middle of the corridor, and you tap her shoulder impatiently at the looks you start receiving from around you.

“Hana. Please, chill out! It’s not that serious.” You urge, trying to push her away from the notice board she is very angrily staring at.

“No! He put us on seperate days!”

You look back at the sheet, in the scrawny handwriting of Mr Hamada.

UA Practise room timetables:

Odd days of the month: Hana Ushijima in 3A and Shinsou Hitoshi in 3B

Even days of the month: Sato Akiro in 3A and Y/N L/N in 3B

“It’s not so bad. You're sharing a room with Sato, he’s nice!” You try to smile encouragingly but Hana is not impressed.

She grips your shoulders and shakes a little. “Let’s ask Hamada if we can move days. So we can practise together.”

As horrible as it sounds, you don’t really want to move days. Hana is your best friend but she’s also a lot, especially when it comes to your music. You can only practise with complete and utter calm and silence, and she prefers to chat the whole time and comment on every piece you play.

“I’ll talk to him later.”

You’re not actually going to do that. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

.

Your first day in the music room is spent considerably annoyed. 

You said your goodbyes to Hana, after assuring her you were definitely going to talk to Hamada today, and welcome the silence as you click the door to room 3B shut. You can hear the distant sound of chatter and commotion pouring in from the open windows, and you make quick work of shutting them all. You only have half an hour before you have to get to English, and the sound of prepubescent teens fighting over a football outside is not going to make that time any slower. 

The room isn’t anything special. It’s not that big and only consists of an old piano that’s always out of tune, and a guitar hidden in a fabric black case that’s falling apart a little. The furthest wall from the door is covered in drawing and notes from students, and you won’t sit and lie that a thirteen year old you hadn’t scribbled her own messages on the wall.

And then you see it.

The wrapper of what you recognise as the schools way too overpriced sandwiches thrown on the stand for sheet music, and a tissue. Irritation immediately spikes in you, and you frown.

You know it’s that Shinsou kid. Who else? The teachers never come in these rooms, and clearly the cleaners don’t either. It’s just rude, frankly. It’s common courtesy to not litter, especially in a room shared by top people. It’s literally one of the rules in these rooms. You think about throwing it away for a second, because there is a trash can literally outside the door, but you decide against it. This Shinsou kid can clean his own mess.

But you can’t stop thinking about it.

When you take your violin out of its case and pick off the hair that’s sticking to the top. When you wax your bow, place the cool wood on your shoulder. You have to balance your sheet music on the windowsill because of your righteous decision to leave his rubbish on the stand. The piece is one of Bruch’s, and you try your hardest to run over it as best as you can, but you just can’t. His stupid mess rings in the back of your mind like an incessant fly. You’re annoyed he left his stuff there and you’re even more annoyed you’re so annoyed about it. A vicious cycle.

After twenty pretty unproductive minutes, you pull out your own lunch. You sit in the rickety chair in the corner of the room and stew as you eat the bento your mother made you. It’s then you decide that you can be petty too. You rip a paper out of your maths notebook and leave a note, balancing it against the stand alongside his rubbish.

Dear Odd day musician,

It’d be nice if you didn’t leave your rubbish on the music stands. You’re not the only one using the music rooms, and you can clean up after yourself.

Sincerely, Even day musician

.

Dear Even day musician,

Thank you so much for the little note, but that was not rubbish. I had a riff written down on that tissue. Also, please kindly do not leave your negative Even day vibes all over this room. You’re not the only one using the music rooms, and you can clean up after yourself.

Sincerely, Odd day musician.

You have half a mind to go and find this Shinsou guy and shove this note up his ass. He’s thrown the wrapper away, but you see now that the tissue, that he still hasn’t moved, has messy scribbles on it he’s considering notation.

You decide that after you practise your violin you’ll write a reply. It feels stupid and a little childish passing notes back and forth like this but you don’t think you’ll be finding yourself coming back on odd days to yell at him for his mess. The sound of your music leaks out under the door and vibrates in your chest. It’s loud and grating and you put your violin down faster than you should’ve.

You love music. And the violin. You just don’t think you see yourself dedicating your whole life to it, contrary to the beliefs of just about everyone you know. It just feels like you have to do it. You get perfect grades, and the teachers love you, and you’re known around school. You don’t really know how or why, but it’s just who you are. And the next step is some prestigious music school that your mother can brag about to all your aunties.

It’s fine. You like the violin. It will be fun.

You grab a pen and more paper from your bag. You sit in the same rickety chair and scribble another note.

Dear Odd day musician,

Apologies for my mistake. Did the wrapper of your panini also have a riff on it, or was that in fact just your trash? I think my even day vibes are quite positive, and I don’t see how I can stop leaving them all over the room.

P.S: If you clean up after yourself, you won’t have to read any more of my ‘little notes’.

Sincerely, Even day musician.

.

“We’ll be in there in like, ten.”

Hana’s voice sounds tinny out of your phone speaker. You’re laying down on your bed, violin and school bag beside you. The collar of your shirt itches your neck and you tug at it.

“Did you braid your hair like I told you to?” Hana asks and you hum in reply.

“Yes. Took forever.” You mumbled, hands twirling around one of them.

“Yes, well. It’s worth it. You look cute.” 

You don’t want to look cute, you want to look sophisticated. You tell Hana that and she laughs. 

“Sophisticated is overrated. And TestsuTestsu will like it. He’s got a crush on you, you know.”

You frown. You sit up, fixing the back of your hair. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He so does. He’s always looking at you in chem.”

You stand up as you hear the rev of an engine outside. You hoist the violin case on your shoulder and the hard case digs into your back. Your brain thinks of a tissue on a music stand and angry notes.

“I don’t care. He’s too loud.”

“Whatever. We’re outside.”

.

You wait anxiously for the lunch bell to ring. Today you’ve got a egg sandwich that sits heavily in the back of your backpack. You’ve got about an hour until lunch and until your small peace in the practise room. You have orchestra first, though, and everyone waves hello when you walk in, and Mr Hamada grins loud and bright.

“Y/N! I’ve been meaning to ask you. We’re having a school open evening, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to perform a piece?” He asks, bounding over to stand in front of you.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” You smile brightly and you hope he believes it.

It’s the last thing you need to have another performance to practise for. Your mind flits to your audition, the English essay you haven’t completed and the notes on the music stand.

“Great! It’s this Friday. Is that enough time for you to practise?”

This Friday is three days away, you want to yell. But you just nod, hands itching around the neck of your violin. “Yes. That should be good.”

Mr Hamada gives you two thumbs up and makes his way to the front of the room. Hana pokes your shoulder.

“Lucky. You always get the performances.”

You sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “I don’t even want it. I just can’t say no to people.”

Hana rolls her eyes. “Sure, sure. You know you love the attention.”

You wish you could tell her you really really don’t but Hamada’s voice rings across the room to silence you all and you raise your violin.

Orchestra can’t end quickly enough. You wave your goodbyes and rush your way over to the practise room. You place your stuff on the floor and you sit, sighing. You look down at your violin and curse. You can’t be bothered today. Especially not after the hour you just spent with Hana whispering too-mean jokes in your ear every time the girl on clarinet messed up. You pull out your phone and find a recording of you playing and let it ring across the room. At least this way anybody walking past will think you’re actually using this room for good.

You breathe a little lighter. Your eyes dart to the guitar in the corner and then your latest note to Shinsou. This is weird, but you stopped caring a while ago. It’s sort of fun, if you’re being entirely honest with yourself.

Dear Mrs Even,

I’m struggling to understand why you are so bugged by my wrapper. Surely the time it would’ve taken to throw it away would have been much shorter than writing me another angry note? I know you are well known at UA for your perfect grades and perfect attitude and perfect violin plucking, but instead of being mad, get inspired! Maybe write a violin number called “Mr Odd Day’s trash.”

Sincerely, Mr Odd.

You read the note twice to make sure you're not seeing things. You ball it up in your hands and lunge it at the wall. You watch it skid across the tiled floor and, after a few choice words, pick it up and throw it in the bin. You take it back. This isn’t very fun. What does Shinsou know about anything? You’ve never even heard of him before this whole music room problem. You whip out your own notebook and start furiously writing.

Dear Mr Odd,

I apologise that my annoying and perfect vibes have ruined the serenity of your music room. Please enjoy the remains of my egg sandwich. Maybe write a song about that.

Sincerely, Mrs Even

You feel better when you drop the crusts of your sandwich on the music stand. A little voice in the back of your head warns you that Hamada might see them and you’ll get in trouble, but your revenge feels more important than that.

Your leg jogs up and down and the chair creaks below you. Your eyes flit to the guitar in the corner of the room. Without thinking, you reach over and grab it. The case is worn out and old, the fabric peeling, and you unzip the case. The guitar is used and worn out. The strings are not cut at the top and it’s heavier than your violin. It sits across your lap, and you strum. 

You mess around with the strings until you find the E major scale and you pluck the notes gingerly. The sound is deeper and louder than your violin, and you waste away the rest of your lunch break playing the guitar instead.

.

Dear Mrs Even,

Have you been playing the guitar?

Sincerely, Mr Odd

.

Dear Mr Odd,

No. I play violin, not guitar.

Sincerely, Mrs Even.

.

Dear Mrs Even,

This is sad. The guitar is crushed and so am I. My band could’ve used another.

Sincerely, Mr Odd

.

The next day you and Hana check out Shinsou’s instagram page.

You’re not interested in him. If anything he’s annoying, with his stupid notes and surprising intuition that you’d been playing the guitar. You’re just… curious. You feel like you know him, even though you’ve never seen his face before. Until now, of course.

You’re both laying down on Hana’s bed, stomachs down on the mattress. Her covers are soft and there’s a lavender candle burning on her bedside table. You tug her laptop closer so you can see properly. 

“Do you have a crush on him?” She asks.

“No! I’m just. I’m just curious who he is.”

Hana hums suspiciously. You watch her click around on different profiles, searching for his. You lean your head on her shoulder. 

“I spoke to him, you know. I saw him walking into 3B and I asked him if you could swap days and he said no. That he liked the ‘odd days of the week’.” She rolled her eyes but you smiled slightly.

“Yeah. Sounds like him.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t know him.” 

“Shut up and open his profile.”

She clicks it, shin_sou.h04, and you both lean in. 

He’s cute. He’s got that rugged, nerdy sort of look you find unfairly attractive. He also looks sleep-deprived and a little emo, so it’s a perfect combination. The fact this is the guy you’ve been leaving notes to leaves a little tingle in your stomach. Hana hums beside you as she scrolls through his page.

“Hm. He’s okay. He’s in a band. He plays-”

“Guitar, yeah.”

Hana looks at you suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

You falter, face heating. “You know. His guitar, he always leaves it in the music room.”

She doesn’t say anything. The silence makes your skin hot, so you snatch the laptop out of her grasp. “He’s in a band. That’s cool. I want to be in a band.”

“No, you want to be in an orchestra. Our auditions are literally so soon.”

“They are in three months.”

“That’s very soon.”

You pause on one post in particular. He’s standing next to a boy with bright blonde hair, teeth shining as he grins widely into the camera. It’s clearly been shot on an old camera and the quality faded the edges, but they still look good. He looks good.

Hana drags her laptop back. “You so have a crush on him.”

“I do not!”

.

Dear Mrs Even,

I’m no fool, you know. Once again I sense your even day vibes lingering all over my guitar. So I may or may not have done the stalkery thing of coming to room 3B on your day, and there I hear it. Under the sound of your (recorded?) violin playing, the up and down scales of my guitar. So that begs the question: has my influence made you turn from a life of violing? That band position offer still stands, you know.

Sincerely, Mr Odd.

.

Dear Mr Odd,

Fine. I am playing the guitar. It’s a nice breath of fresh air after all this sucky violin playing. Don’t get me wrong, I love it and all, but. I’m sort of sick of it. I’ve been playing ever since I was four, and even though I have no idea how to play it, the guitar is fun. Just don’t mention it to anyone. I’m supposed to be performing tomorrow at the open evening assembly and I should be practising for that but. That’s neither here nor there.

Also, thank you for the band position offer. However, I am in the school’s orchestra and I already have my work cut out for me as is.

Sincerely, Mrs Even.

.

The auditorium is noisy with the sound of a few dozen people chattering. Your eyes scan over the new prospective students and their parents, your violin sitting heavy on your lap.

You don’t mind performing. Contrary to your recent aversion to violin, you love music. You love everything about it, especially the complicated melody of the song you’d picked for tonight. It felt like your responsibility, as someone who played music, to share it with the world, and you were glad you could at least do that much. 

You listen as Principal Nezu rambles about the upcoming tours and whatever else principals talk about, before he turns to you.

“And now, a piece played by our own Y/N L/N.”

You smile. The audience breaks out into applause and you swallow. You know Hana is sitting there somewhere, promising to wait for you after so you can get boba, still a little jealous she didn’t get the part. Your eyes flit to the audience for just one more second to look for a purple-haired guitarist. You don’t see one, though, so you raise your violin. Your eyes shut. You lift your bow and begin.

.

The next note is not left on the music stand. Instead, it slips out of the bottom of your locker, and you scramble to hide it before Hana can see. Unfortunately though, the world is quite against you, and she sees it just before you slip it into your backpack.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” You say, quickly zipping up your bag.

Hana reaches forward and tries to grab it. “Come on, show me!”

“No, Hana-“

“Just give! Is it a love letter? From your big fat lover Shi-“

You shove her and she laughs. Your little back and forth is catching the eyes of a few people nearby and you think you’d die if this somehow got back to Shinsou. You shush her, quickly shutting the door to your locker.

“Okay! Shut up, people are going to hear!” You hiss, shoving her shoulder again.

“Alright, alright! What is it, though? Another performance offer?” She drawls and you roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

You slip the note out of your bag. You open it, and just like you suspected, it’s from Shinsou.

Dear Mrs Even,

Your letter makes me sad. Nobody should ever hate their instrument. Music is beautiful, and it should always be played and loved. Which is why I was wondering... if you’re sick of violin, I could teach you how to play guitar? You can come to the music room on one of my days and I’d be glad to show you the ropes. If you think that isn’t weird or anything. I’ll leave my number at the bottom, so just text me if you’re interested.

Sincerely, Mr Odd. 

Your face heats as you read the note. He wants to teach you guitar? He wants to meet you in the music rooms? He gave you his number? 

You don’t care. You don’t. It’s not like you have a crush on him, regardless of what Hana seems to think. You just think he’s kind of annoying. But in a funny way. And he’s attractive, but that’s pretty much it. You don’t care.

Hana gasps at the look in your face. “Wait, is it actually a love letter?”

“Not a love letter. Just a letter.” You shove it into your pocket before she can read it.

Hana huns under her breath. “From who?”

“Nobody.”

“You lie. Just tell me!” You start walking towards class and she dashes after you, linking your arm in hers. “I promise I won’t make fun. As long as he’s not ugly.”

You huff. “Shinsou isn’t ugly, he-“ 

You curse under your breath. Hana gasps for what might be the hundredth time today. 

“I knew it!”

“It’s not like that!” You whine and she laughs.

“Sure, sure. Did all our instagram stalking make you fall in love?”

“I hate you.” 

.

The note burns a hole in your pocket as you sit in maths class. You think about what to text him. If you even should text him, instead of working out the difficult looking quadratic formulas on the board in front of you. Your teacher drones on, his voice low and monotone. Your legs jogs under your table, and against your better judgement, you’re pulling your phone out of your bag and hiding it behind your water bottle.

You feel a little rebellious. You're not really supposed to be on your phone in class, and the thought rings in your head as you copy the number from the letter. It takes you another two minutes of convincing to send a message.

You: Hello

You: Is this Shinsou?

Was that too much? The grammar probably is. Hana always says that your texting is too formal. Maybe you should’ve mixed in an emoji.

Shinsou: gasp

Shinsou: y/n texting in class???

Shinsou: is my favourite goody-two shoes rebelling once again??

You: Unfortunately 

You: This is your bad influence

Shinsou: aw shucks x

Shinsou: im flattered im so influential

You: Don’t get too ahead of yourself

Shinsou: you always text this fancy?

You: Yes

You: Is that a problem?

Shinsou: nah its cute

Shinsou: does this mean u want a guitar lesson

You: Yes

Shinsou: YIPPEE

Shinsou: today is my day so u can come on down

Shinsou: and ill teach you a lesson

You: It sounds like you're going to beat me up

Shinsou: LMAO

Shinsou: i never hit women…

You: Wow… U are so woke

Shinsou: thank u I LOVE WOMEN!

.

You end up telling Hana, because you're not really sure how you’ll explain yourself if she sees you walking into the practice rooms with Shinsou. She drinks thoughtfully out of her apple juice as you both walk slowly to the music rooms. The corridors are basically empty, and you smile at a teacher who catches your eyes as she enters her classroom. Nobody questions why you and Hana are inside during lunch. You’re not supposed to be, but you guess it’s one of the perks of being a ‘goody two shoes’, as Shinsou calls it. The thought of him fills your stomach with another bout of nerves, and you swallow.

“I’m nervous. Should I be nervous?” You ask, and Hana shrugs.

“No.” She pauses. “Well, maybe. I think he likes you, so. This could be considered a first date.” She ponders and you groan.

“I look like shit! This can’t be a first date.” You say, gesturing down at your clothes.

Hana rolls her eyes. You arrive sooner than you’d like and Hana pulls you back before the two of you can walk in. She fixes your jumper, wipes off the mascara from beneath your eyes. She fishes around in her pocket and holds out her lipgloss and you dutifully put it on.

“Just chillax. You overthink too much. And you look cute.” She raises her eyebrows. “And I’m sure Shinsou will think so, too.”

You sigh. “Thanks, Hana.”

She gives you a reassuring smile. “Remember I’m next door.”

“Aw, thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need anything.”

She takes the lipgloss out your hand. “No, not for help. I mean if you two start fucking in there, don’t get too loud. I need to practise.” Your face burns red and Hana laughs, walking off. 

“You- Shut up.” You hiss, shoving her as she walks into her own practise room.

You look at room 3B. It’s on the end of the corridor and luckily far away enough that not only does Hamada never come check on them, but also nobody would see the fact there were two people in the one-person-only rooms. 

You take a deep breath and walk up to the door. Should you knock? Or maybe just walk in. That could be rude, though. Technically, this is someone else’s room, considering the fact today is Shinsou’s day. But he invited you so that probably means he doesn’t care if you walk in. Knocking feels too formal, anyway.

Luckily, your questions are answered for you when the door swings open, and Shinsou is there. 

He’s tall. Taller than he looks on Instagram, at least. He looks a little more sleep deprived in person, but the way he grins down at you makes his whole face look wholly more attractive than you feel is fair. He’s wearing an old band shirt and your eyes dart down to the chain that sits against his collarbones.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs Even in the flesh.” 

You smile slightly and walk in. The room feels smaller with the two of you in it, and the door clicks shut.

You hum. “I’m only here to make sure you aren’t littering again.”

Shinsou’s voice is deep, and he runs a hand through his hair. “You wound me, Even. And here I thought you were here to learn.” His fingers drum against the neck of the guitar.

You drop your back on the floor and lean against the wall. Shinsou sits on the chair. The guitar looks better in his hands then it does yours, like it belongs. He strums it once.

“No, I’m here for that, too. Can’t turn down free lessons.”

He huffs a laugh. “You gold digger. You’re just using me for my incredible guitar skills.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’m literally in a band. That’s like all the proof you need.”

“So show me.”

Shinsou sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. “So bossy. Didn’t expect this from timid Mrs Even.”

You frown. “I’m not timid.”

Shinsou tilts his head. “You’re a little timid.”

“No. I- Okay, just play.”

And he does. It’s nothing long but it’s also nothing simple. You learn quickly enough that he’s a rhythm guitarist, and the practised way his hands fly across the guitar is incredible. And he loves it. You can tell by the way he plays, the ease on his face. It fills you with a little jealousy, but. You love the music too much to focus on that.

He finishes and you clap. “Alright. I’ll admit it. You’re good.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m here all night.” He holds up his hands and you glance at his hands. There’s way too many bracelets that clink against the guitar.

“I like your bracelets.”

“Thanks. You want one?”

You laugh slightly. “What? No I wasn’t-“

“Have one. I’ve got hundreds of these.” He shrugs and tosses you a beaded bracelet you just about catch.

You pull it onto your wrist, and pull up the sleeves of your jumper. It’s dark green and streaky and cool against your skin. “Thank you.”

He stands, holding out the guitar to you. “You ready?”

You nod. You walk forward and when you grab the guitar your fingers brush against his.

“Should I be nervous?”

“Nah. Your fancy violin fingers should be trained enough to play guitar easily.” 

You sit down in the chair, and place the guitar in your lap. Shinsou pulls over the cajon drum in the corner of the room and sits across from you. He’s close enough that you can smell a woodsy cologne and the smell of fresh laundry on him. 

“Alright. Lesson one: lighten up.”

You give him a pointed glare and he laughs. “See? So much tension in those shoulders. Relax, sweetheart.”

You swallow roughly. “I thought I was timid. Not tense.”

He grins, all white teeth and dimples. “You can be both. Cute, too.”

Your cheeks flush. “Shut up and teach me. You’re so unprofessional.”

“Apologies, apologies. Okay, so you look less tense. I can work with this.” 

He taps the long end of the guitar. “This is called the neck. And these lines separate different frets.”

You nod. It’s kind of like a violin, except your instrument isn’t separated by frets and lines. You just have to remember where the notes are. You tell Shinsou and he nods.

“Us guitar players aren’t as clever.”

“That I can agree with.”

“Shut it. Okay, so chords are simple. You press your fingers on the right strings really hard and you strum.”

You nod again. He nods too, hair bouncing.

“Okay, so. Press your middle finger here, pointer there and index at the bottom string.” 

You follow his instructions. “Like this?”

“Kind of. Just.” His hands inch forward but he stops. He look up from your hands to your eyes. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” 

His hands are long and slender and soft when he pulls your thumb lower on the neck of the guitar. You feel the rough edges of his callouses as he presses over your own fingers, his other hand strumming the guitar once.

“Look at you. Fast learner.”

You smile. “Thanks.” He strums it again, other hand leaving yours.

“That’s a G chord.” You say, and he hums.

“Impressive.”

“Hm. I’m much more musically inclined than you, I bet.” You tease and he huffs.

“Show off. Come on, let’s keep going.”

You play three more chords, and with all four in total, Shinsou tells you you’ve learnt a song. It’s only after three runthroughs and his humming that you realise what he’s taught you.

“Is this Creep by Radiohead, you emo?”

“Bingo!” He cheers. “You know good music.”

“Everyone knows that song. Though I do like Radiohead.” You say, balancing the guitar against the wall.

You aren’t playing and Shinsou isn’t teaching anymore, but he doesn’t move any further away. Your knees brush against his and you smooth your skirt over your thighs. 

“You do? I assumed you only listened to classical music.”

“No. Well, I do. But I listen to other stuff, too.” 

The mention of classical music has you glancing at your violin. You’ve started just leaving it in the music room. You wonder if Shinsou has ever picked it up. His eyes follow the trail of your own.

“Ah. The dreaded violin.”

“Stop. I like it. I do.” 

Shinsou looks at you curiously. You feel a little watched. Like he’s looking right inside of you.

“I don’t know. I love music. Really. I live and breathe it, but recently violin just feels like a job. I don’t get to love it anymore. It’s play this, learn that. Whatever to impress the people at the audition, the parents at open evening.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ramble.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I get it. Well, not completely. My mum doesn’t love my passion for music so I think that makes me love it a little more.” 

You huff a laugh and Shinsou smiles a little. 

“But you’re very good. At violin playing.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “When have you seen me play?”

“At the open evening.”

You think back to the night, the quick piece you’d played and the fact you’d looked for him and found nothing.

“Really? I didn’t see you there.”

He leans forward closer. “Aw. Were you looking for me, sweetheart?”

“No. Though I’m sure the bright purple hair would’ve been hard to miss.”

Shinsou cracks his knuckles and you wince at the sound. “I messed up the times, but I caught you at the end. You’re amazing. Really.”

You stir a little at the compliments. With the most grace possible, you get them a lot. But it sounds a little better coming from Shinsou, especially when he’s looking at you so intently.

“Yeah, well. I have been playing since I was four.”

“Stop doing that. Making excuses. You’re good because you’re good. Even if it’s getting annoying it’s obvious you love to play.”

You flick his leg. “Alright. Fine. I’m good. At violin and guitar.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”

Your finger lingers on his knee a little. You’re about to say something, and so is he by the way he sits up a little. But the door to the music room opens suddenly, and Hana pops her head in.

You stand up suddenly. Shinsou waves at Hana while you try to look like you’re not doing something you shouldn’t be.

“If you two are done.. whatever you’re doing in here, me and Y/N have got Math.” 

“Hey, neighbour.” Shinsou says and she nods curtly, stepping out to wait for you.

“She’s a pleasure.” Shinsou raises his brows and you smile.

You pick up your backpack and pull it over one shoulder. “She just needs to warm up to you a little. She’ll like you if I like you.” You walk over to the door.

Shinsou stands too. “So. Do you like me then?”

You look back at him, hand still on the doorknob. “Hm. Still deciding. Might need a few more guitar lessons before I can know.”

He grins. “Good. I’m free every odd day of the week.”

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

This fic was very confusing to write.. lots of different media forms.. I was trying something new and I hope u like it!

I was tryna go for nerdy ochestra girl x emo band guy cause Shinsou is lowkey giving that if I’m being really honest with myself and I want SHINSOU if I’m being honest with myself

I hope u all enjoyed.. I will deffo be writing a part two, but it’s currently Ramadan so my posting schedule will probably be very sporadic..

LOVE U ALLL

[finchyclarkemd]

Between Us

~Angst/Smut~

You had known George since university. He had been your anchor—your best friend through years of exams, late-night study sessions, and questionable life choices. You had been through everything together, no one knew you better than he did. When he introduced you to his friend group after graduation, you didn’t think much of it at first. But then you met Chris.

Chris was the kind of guy who walked into a room and made it feel smaller, like gravity bent toward him. He was confident, always teasing, always flashing that easy smile. You liked him immediately—which was exactly why you had spent the last few months doing everything possible to bury those feelings. There was no way he’d ever feel the same. George, on the other hand, had always been by your side. He was warm, steady, dependable. It never once crossed your mind that he might look at you differently than you looked at him—until lately.  

Lately, there had been a shift. A weight in his glances, a hesitation in his words. You couldn’t quite place it, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Not when every time Chris so much as brushed past you, your heart went into cardiac arrest.  

It was supposed to be a casual night out—a group hangout at a bar, nothing unusual. But something in the air felt off. George was quieter than usual, and Chris… well, Chris had been watching you. Not in an obvious way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness.  

At some point, you slipped away from the group, stepping outside for fresh air. The cool night breeze helped steady your heartbeat. That was, until you heard footsteps behind you.  

Chris.  

"You okay?" His voice was softer than usual, lacking the teasing edge he so often carried.  

You swallowed. "Yeah. Just needed some air."  

He nodded, but he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets, his body close.  

"You’ve been quiet tonight," he observed.  

You laughed nervously. "So have you."  

"Yeah, well…" He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe I was waiting for you to say something first."  

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"  

Chris studied you for a long moment. It was the kind of look that made you feel like he could read everything—every hidden thought, every unspoken feeling. And maybe he could. Before he could say anything else, the door swung open behind you.  

George.  

His eyes flicked between the two of you, and suddenly, the tension thickened into something unbearable.  

"Hey," George said, voice carefully even. "You okay?"  

You nodded quickly, stepping back from Chris. You weren’t sure why.  

Chris let out a low chuckle. "You sent George to come check on me?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.  

George’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I sent myself."  

Chris’s jaw twitched, something unreadable passing between them. Oh.

You weren’t imagining it, were you? The way George was standing, the way Chris’s shoulders squared ever so slightly—like two opponents stepping into a ring.  

"You should come back inside," George said, but his gaze wasn’t on you. It was on Chris.

And that’s when it hit you. George wasn’t just being protective. Chris wasn’t just acting strange.  

They both—  

Oh, God.

You felt your stomach drop, realisation slamming into you like a freight train. They both had feelings for you. And you… you only had feelings for one of them.  

Chris.  

But you had never imagined it would be this complicated.  

Chris let out a breath, pushing off the wall. "Yeah, we should go back," he said, but his voice was tight.

George lingered for a second before he reached for your hand—just a small touch on your wrist, the kind that might have gone unnoticed if you weren’t already drowning in the weight of everything unsaid. When you looked at him, there was something in his eyes. Please choose me.

But when you glanced back at Chris, his gaze burned just as fiercely. Please tell me you feel the same. And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe at all. You could still feel George’s touch on your wrist. Gentle, hesitant. A silent plea. But your heart wasn’t hesitating. It was already pulling in one direction.  

Chris.  

It always had been. The moment stretched between the three of you, unbearably tense. The unspoken words, the lingering looks, the unacknowledged feelings that had been brewing for months—it was all coming to a head now, whether you were ready for it or not.  Chris’s jaw was clenched, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless. His eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.  

George exhaled sharply. "Let’s go back inside," he repeated, but his voice had lost its steadiness. It was raw now. Vulnerable.   

Your chest tightened. You knew what he wasn’t saying. Please don’t do this. Chris must have sensed it too, because he took a step forward—closer to you. Close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that the air between you felt electric.

"Or," Chris said, voice low, dangerous, "she doesn’t have to."  

You swallowed hard.  

George stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?"  

Chris’s gaze never left yours. "It means if she wants to stay, she stays."  

The weight of the moment crushed down on you. This was it. The moment you had to choose. And maybe, deep down, you had already made your decision a long time ago. You took a slow breath, gathering every ounce of courage you had. Then, with your heart pounding, you stepped toward Chris. Not George.  

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t actually expected you to choose him. And George—oh God, George—his breath hitched, pain flickering across his face for the briefest moment before he masked it. But you saw it. You felt it. Chris must have felt it too, because his jaw clenched, his body tensed. But then you reached for his hand. And that was all it took. Chris’s hand tightened around yours—possessive, certain. Like he had been waiting for this. For you.

George let out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Right," he murmured. "Got it." His voice was calm, but his eyes—his eyes—were full of something that made your stomach twist.  

He nodded, once, then turned and walked away. You almost called out to him. Almost. But then Chris pulled you back to reality. He tugged you closer, until you were right there—his forehead nearly resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips.  

"You sure about this?" he murmured. His voice was different now. No teasing. No playfulness. Just real.

You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."  

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t slow, or careful, or hesitant. It was intense. Like he had been holding back for months and just couldn’t anymore. Like he didn’t care that you were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp outside the bar, or that anyone could walk out and see. Like he was claiming you. And when you kissed him back, you poured every ounce of feeling you had into it. Because finally, finally, you had stopped running from what you wanted. And Chris wasn’t about to let you go.  

It wasn’t regret. No, you knew deep down you had made the right choice. But the moment George walked away that night, something inside you fractured. And it hadn’t healed since.  

For the next few days, George didn’t answer your texts. Calls went straight to voicemail. It was as if he had vanished. Avoiding you. Avoiding this. Chris, on the other hand, was different.  He didn’t talk about what happened. He didn’t say George’s name. But he was there—calling, texting, making sure you were okay. And when you were together, he kissed you like he wanted to erase everything else. Like he wanted you to focus on him, not the pieces of your friendship that were shattering.  

But it didn’t work. Because every time you kissed him, you thought of George. Not because you wanted him instead, but because you had hurt him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even fought for you. He had just… walked away.  

You finally saw him again two weeks later. It wasn’t planned. You had just left Chris’s place—his scent still lingering on your skin, your lips still swollen from his kiss—when you ran into George at the coffee shop near your apartment. The moment your eyes met, he froze. For a second, you thought he might turn and walk out. But then, with a sigh, he stepped forward and pulled out the chair across from you, sitting down like it was a chore.

You swallowed hard. "George—"  

"Don’t." His voice was flat.  

The barista set a coffee down in front of him. He didn’t touch it. He just stared at you, eyes unreadable.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said softly.  

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Yeah. Funny how that happens."  

You winced. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."  

"You didn’t mean to choose him either?" He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, wait—don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it."  

Your stomach twisted. "George…"  

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I get it. It was never me. It was always Chris."  

You flinched. Not because he was wrong, but because hearing it like that, so definite, made it feel worse.  

"And you know what?" He exhaled sharply, finally meeting your eyes. "That’s fine. I can deal with that. But you could’ve at least told me."  

Your breath caught. "What?"  

"You knew," he said bitterly. "You had to have known. Maybe not at first, but eventually. You felt it, right?" His voice was quieter now. "You felt the way I looked at you, the way I…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "And if you didn’t, then I was a fucking idiot."  

Your throat tightened. "George, I—"  

He let out another sharp laugh. "God, I must’ve looked so stupid standing there that night, watching you pick him. Watching you look at him the way I wanted you to look at me."  

The words hit like a slap. You had spent so long drowning in your own feelings that you had never stopped to think about what it must have been like for him. Watching you choose someone else. Watching you slip away. You reached out, fingers brushing his hand. He pulled away. That hurt more than anything.  

"I don’t hate you," George said after a moment. "I just… I can’t be around you right now." His voice cracked slightly. "Not when you’re with him."  

Your stomach dropped. "George, please—"  

"Don’t," he said again, shaking his head. "You made your choice. And I’m making mine."  

He stood up, coffee untouched, hands shoved deep in his pockets. And then, with one last glance—one final, unreadable look—he walked away.  Again. And this time. You weren’t sure if he was ever coming back.  You should’ve been happy. You were happy, right?

Chris was everything you had wanted—everything you had spent months trying to deny. And now that he was yours, he made sure you knew it. Every kiss, every touch, every look—he didn’t hold back anymore. But no matter how many times he kissed you breathless, no matter how tightly he held you at night, there was a weight pressing against your chest.  

George. 

The last time you saw him replayed in your mind like a broken record. The sharpness in his voice. The way he pulled his hand away. The way he left. And the worst part? You hadn’t heard from him since. Until now.  

Chris was asleep, his arm slung over your waist, his breaths slow and steady against your neck. The warmth of his body wrapped around you, grounding you. And yet, when your phone buzzed in the darkness, a shiver ran down your spine.  

George.

You stared at the screen, your heart hammering. For a second, you thought about ignoring it. But then—you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Chris, and stepped into the hallway before answering.  

“…George?”  

A long silence. Then, his voice—low, rough, like he hadn’t slept.  

“I need to see you.”  

Your stomach twisted. “George, I—”  

“Please.”  

You closed your eyes. The way he said it—like he was breaking.

“…Where?”  

You found him at the park, sitting on the same bench where you used to meet after long days. But this time, there was distance. He barely looked at you when you sat down, staring ahead like he was afraid to face you.  

“I wasn’t going to call,” he admitted.  

You swallowed. “So why did you?”  

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought I could let you go.” His voice was raw. “I tried. I really fucking tried.”  

Your breath hitched.  

He turned to you then, eyes dark with something unreadable. “But every time I see you with him, it feels like I’m suffocating.”  

You looked away, guilt creeping in. “George—”  

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad,” he interrupted. “I just… I need you to know”  

Silence stretched between you.  And then—softly, brokenly—  

“I love you.”  

Your heart stopped. You had known. Of course you had known. But hearing him say it out loud? It was different.  Dangerous.  

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”  

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “George, I—”  

But before you could say anything, a voice cut through the air like a blade. Chris. Standing just a few feet away. Watching. His expression was unreadable, but his fists were clenched. And in that moment, you realised— this wasn’t over. Not even close.  

Chris didn’t say a word. Not when his eyes locked onto yours. Not when his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. Not even when George stood up, ready for a fight. But Chris didn’t fight. He didn’t need to. Instead, he looked at you—just you. His expression unreadable, his shoulders tense, like he was waiting to see if you’d follow. And you did.  

The silence in the car was thick. Charged. Chris gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, his jaw locked, his eyes dark. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t know what. Because the way he was acting? The way his whole body radiated tension? You had never seen him like this before. 

The second you walked into his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you. Before you could react, Chris was on you. His hands found your waist, his body pressing you back against the door, his breath hot against your skin.  

“You went to him.” His voice was low, rough—dangerous.

Your breath hitched. “Chris, I—”  

“Tell me,” he demanded, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Tell me you don’t still think about him.”  

Your stomach twisted. “Chris, I chose you.”  

He let out a sharp breath—half a laugh, half frustration. “Yeah? Then say it.”  

Your heart pounded. “Say what?”  

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “That you’re mine.”  

Your breath stalled. Because it wasn’t just a question. It was a challenge. The air between you was electric, charged with everything unsaid. And then—before you could even think—your lips crashed together. It was nothing like the first time. It was raw. Desperate. Possessive.  

Chris kissed you like he was trying to erase any trace of George from your mind. Like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. And you let him.  You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing against him like you’d never get enough. Chris groaned, deep and low, as he lifted you—effortlessly—and carried you straight to his bedroom.  

And when he laid you down, his lips never left yours. Because this wasn’t just about desire. This was about claiming. And tonight, Chris was going to make sure you knew exactly who you had chosen. Chris wasn’t gentle.  

He wasn’t soft, or slow, or careful. Because this wasn’t about romance. This was about possession. About claiming you. About making damn sure that every thought of George was burned from your body, your mind—until the only name you could say, the only person you could think about, was him. And God, you let him. You let him devour you.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, demanding, sliding over your skin like he had something to prove. Like he needed to mark you, brand you, ruin you for anyone else. Your back arched under him as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping, biting—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who was in control.  

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with need. “Say it.”  

Your breath hitched. “Chris—”  

But that wasn’t enough.  

His hand tightened around your waist, pinning you in place. “Say it.”  

A shiver ran through you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gasped, “I’m yours.”  

Chris cursed under his breath, his lips crashing back against yours. And from that moment on, there was no going back. No restraint. No hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered want.  

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the sharp edge of his name falling from your lips, the deep, guttural sounds he made when you pulled him closer, closer— and when it was over, when you were left wrecked beneath him, he didn’t let you go. He stayed. His arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still wasn’t done.  Like he never would be.  

Chris brushed his lips against your ear, voice low and dangerous.  

“If he ever tries to take you from me again…”  

A pause. A slow, dark chuckle.  

“He won’t.”  

You swallowed hard. Because it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Without hesitation, Chris takes your hand, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. 

Chris breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nuzzling and biting gently. His hands tug at your clothing, desperately trying to remove them. He removes your hoodie and joggers before he eagerly removes his jeans and t-shirt, leaving you both in your underwear. He lifts you up and wraps your legs around your waist. 

“Chris…please.” You plead, as desire runs through your veins. 

Chris can feel your begging whisper and it drives him mad with desire. “Shh… Shh…” He murmurs as he carries you to the bed and tossing you onto it. He crawls between your legs, looking up at you with lust-glazed eyes.

Chris spreads your legs wider, moving the side of your panties and revealing your wetness. He groans at the sight, and he leans down- burying his face between your legs. His tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your juices and savouring the flavour. He sucks on your clit gently, which makes you arch your back and groan in pleasure. 

“Chris…” You moan, as you grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling it tight.

He hears his name leave your lips in a breathy plea, and it sends him over the edge. He pulls back, wiping the wetness from his face as he sits up and stares at you with a fierce desire. “You want my dick inside of you, huh?” He says cockily. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply. He immediately removes your panties and his boxers then aligns himself with your entrance. With one swift thrust, he enters you- earning a loud moan from both of you. He starts moving slowly at first, savouring the feeling of finally being inside you. His best friend. His lover. “Fuck.” He groans.

Chris picks up the pace, diving into you harder with each thrust, his hips slapping against yours. He leans down to capture your lips, kissing you messily as he continues to fill you- his thick cock hitting depths no one else ever has. 

His hands grip your ass, squeezing and spreading you. His kiss becomes more urgent, more passionate as you both continue to move in sync. Your bodies press together in a desperate need for contact. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with love and desire. “I love you.” He groans out. 

“I love you too.” You reply between moans. He swallows your reply with another deep kiss, his body covering yours possessively. His movements become uncoordinated and sloppy with love and lust. He pushes your legs higher up, going even deeper and hitting that magical spot inside you that makes you cry out. 

You moan loudly as your high washes over you, moaning Chris’ name repeatedly as if it was a prayer. Your legs shake as Chris continues to thrust into you, riding out your high. He growls in satisfaction at your cries, his own release also building. He pushes into you one last time, holding himself deep inside you as he comes hard, filling you with his hot seed. “Mine.” He pants, collapsing on top of you. “Mine, fucking mine.” 

The room was silent, except for the sound of your still-unsteady breathing.  Chris was lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you. But there was no mistaking it—something had shifted. Because even though he had kissed you breathless, even though he had left you wrecked and marked and his, there was something in the air that felt unfinished. Like a storm waiting to break.  

You swallowed hard, fingers tracing along the sheets. "Chris…"  

His grip on you tightened.  

"Don’t," he muttered, his voice rough, still thick with the last remnants of heat.  

Your heart clenched. "Don’t what?"  

"Don’t say his name."  

You froze.  

Chris exhaled sharply, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, unreadable. But his jaw was clenched, his fingers still gripping your skin like he was afraid to let go.  

"You went to him," he said, voice low. "You met up with him, you sat with him, and you listened to him."  

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. Because he wasn’t wrong.  

Chris’s jaw tightened. "What did he say?"  

Your throat was dry. "Chris, it doesn’t—"  

"What did he say?" His voice was sharp now. Demanding.  

You hesitated. And that hesitation was enough. Chris cursed under his breath, sitting up, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He was pissed. And not just because of George. Because of you.  

"He told you he loves you, didn’t he?" Chris scoffed, shaking his head. "And let me guess—you didn’t tell him to fuck off. You just sat there, feeling sorry for him."  

Your chest tightened. "Chris, it’s not that simple—"  

"It is that simple," he snapped, turning to you. His eyes were burning. "You chose me, didn’t you?"  

"Of course I did."  

"Then why the hell are you still thinking about him?"  

Your breath hitched. "I’m not—"  

Chris let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t lie to me."  

The room suffocated with silence. Because he was right. You had chosen Chris. You had let him pull you under, let him claim you in every possible way. And yet, George’s voice still echoed in your mind. I love you.

Chris sighed, his frustration visible, but then—he did something unexpected. He softened. His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb tracing over your lips, his touch gentler than it had been all night.  

"You’re mine," he murmured. But this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.  

A raw, vulnerable thing. And that’s when you realised— Chris was afraid. Afraid that no matter how much he had taken from you tonight, there were still pieces of you that weren’t his. And you had to decide if you were going to fix that, or let the cracks grow wider.  

Chris’s fingers were still against your jaw, his touch softer now—but his eyes? His eyes were dark, burning with something between frustration and fear. You had never seen him like this before. Chris never doubted himself. Never second-guessed. He was cocky, confident, the kind of guy who never let anything shake him. But right now? He was afraid he was losing you. And you couldn’t let him think that.  So you reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the edge of his jaw. He stilled under your touch, his breath uneven, his muscles still tense.

"It’s you," you murmured, voice softer now. "It’s always been you."  

Chris swallowed hard, his lips parting like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to remind you of the other man’s words. But you didn’t let him. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, forcing him to focus on you.

"I chose you," you whispered. "Not him."  

Chris’s breath hitched. But you weren’t done.  

"I don’t want him," you murmured, each word slow, deliberate. "I want you."  

That’s when he finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders melted just a little, his fingers tightening against your skin—but not like before. Not with anger. With need. Chris shifted, moving so quickly you barely had time to react before he was on top of you again, his lips crashing against yours, his grip desperate, almost fragile.

"Say it again," he demanded against your lips.  

You gasped. "I want you.”  

His hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorise every inch of you.  

"Only me," he rasped.  

You nodded, breathless. "Only you."  

Chris groaned, his grip tightening, his lips trailing down your neck, claiming you all over again. And this time? It wasn’t about possession. It wasn’t about proving something. It was about you and him. Nothing else. No one else. And for once, there was no doubt left between you.  

For a little while, things felt… right. Chris wasn’t holding back anymore—not his touches, not his words, not the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. And for the first time since everything started, you let yourself believe it was over.  That George had finally let go.  

You should’ve known better.  

It was late when it happened. Chris was in the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, the glow of the fridge light illuminating his sharp features as he poured himself a drink. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the scent of him, wearing his hoodie, content in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. And then—  

BANG. BANG. BANG.  

A sharp, relentless pounding against the door. Chris froze. You sat up, the sudden weight in your chest making it hard to breathe. You knew who it was before you even heard his voice.  

"Open the fucking door, Chris."  

Chris set his glass down slowly. Deliberately. His entire body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly it looked painful.  

You swallowed hard. "Chris, maybe we shouldn’t—"  

But he was already moving. And when he yanked the door open, George was standing there, rage simmering beneath the surface. His eyes flicked past Chris—to you. And that’s when you knew. This wasn’t just anger. This was a man on the edge. A man who wasn’t done fighting for you.

"You’re fucking kidding me," George laughed bitterly, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling too quickly.  

Chris didn’t react. Not at first. He just stood there, body tense, solid, like he was waiting for George to make a move. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you.

"You just ran straight to him, huh?" George’s voice was sharp, cutting, but you could hear the hurt beneath it. "No hesitation. No second thoughts."  

Your stomach twisted. "George—"  

"Do you even fucking care?" His voice cracked, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "Do you even care what this is doing to me?"  

You stood up. "Of course I do—"  

"Then why are you here?" He stepped forward. Chris immediately blocked his path.

"Back up." Chris’s voice was dangerously low.  

George ignored him. His eyes were locked onto you. "Say it."  

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"  

"That you don’t love me."  

Your chest tightened.  

George let out a shaky breath, his voice dropping. "Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."  

Chris stiffened. You felt the weight of both of them in the room—George, desperate and breaking, and Chris, tense and waiting. And suddenly, you realised— this was the moment. The final line. Whatever you said next would change everything. The room was suffocating. Chris stood between you and George, his entire body coiled like a predator, ready to snap the second George stepped out of line. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. And he was waiting.

“Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."

You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself. Because there was no room left for hesitation. No room for second-guessing. So you looked George in the eyes, voice firm—unshakable.

"I don’t love you."  

The words cut through the air like a blade. George’s breath stilled. His jaw clenched. His entire body locked up. But you weren’t done.  

"I never did."  

Chris exhaled. George? George just… froze. Like his brain refused to process what you had just said. Like some part of him had still been holding onto the hope that you’d change your mind. But now? Now, there was nothing left. You watched it happen—the exact moment his hope died. The exact second he realised that no matter how hard he fought, he had already lost. George took a slow step back. Then another. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Hollow.

"...Right."  

He swallowed hard, nodding to himself, eyes flicking between you and Chris one last time. Then—without another word—he turned around and walked away. And this time? He didn’t look back. The door clicked shut. Silence. Chris’s shoulders stayed tense for a long moment, like he was still waiting for the fight to continue.  

But when nothing happened—when George was really, truly gone—Chris let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair before turning to face you.  

"...You okay?"  

Your throat felt dry. "Yeah."  

Chris studied you for a second, searching your face.  

Then, his hand reached out, his fingers curling around your wrist, his grip steady. Like he was still afraid you might disappear, too.  

"You’re mine now," he murmured. Not a question. Not a demand. Just a fact.

Your chest tightened—but not with fear. With certainty. You leaned in, pressing your lips softly against his, letting your fingers tangle in his hair as you whispered against his skin—  

"I always was."

And for the first time in a long time, there were no doubts left between you. No ghosts of the past. No unfinished business. Just you and Chris. Exactly how it was always meant to be.

——————————————————————————————————

This took me so long to write but I LOVED it! Also feeding you all with another Chris and George fic. This also feeds one of my friends requests for a Chris smut 👀

I am aiming to get a George one out at some point next week too so look out for that!

Tags-

@themdera

[dangerpronebuddie]

Eddie doesn't say a word as they step into the Diaz home, for all the four days it's going to remain so. Buck bunches his shoulders around his ears, sticks his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling Eddie close and demanding he just talk to him.

But Eddie doesn't say anything. Won't even look at Buck. Buck debates staying out on the porch. He doesn't think he's allowed inside after tonight.

One look from Eddie has him padding inside though. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs.

Buck can't keep this up. Can't spend the last days he'll ever have Eddie not speaking to him.

"Why are you so pissed at me?" Buck scowls. There's no venom in his voice like the time he questioned it in a grocery store. There's nothing but resignation, accompanied by a helpless shrug.

"Because you're-" Eddie stops himself as he whirls around there in the living room, takes a step closer.

"Exhausting?" Buck scoffs. "Yeah, I know."

"No, Buck," Eddie growls. "You're acting like you don't matter. Like you don't give a damn if you get hurt!"

"I wasn't going to let that poor dog die in there," Buck fires back, "all alone. I just couldn't. And you wouldn't either, you can't tell me otherwise, Eddie!"

"Of course I wouldn't," Eddie huffs.

"Then what's your problem, man?" Buck demands, taking a step closer himself. He wants to grab Eddie by the collar, shake the answer from him, or claw it from his skin or... Something.

"You," Eddie says, his voice lower than Buck has maybe ever heard. He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. Buck wishes he didn't. Because what he does say threatens to shake Buck apart. "You didn't wait for me to go with you."

Buck shakes his head. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Why not?" Eddie demands, pleas. "We're a team, Buck. I'm supposed to have your back!"

And that is what breaks him. He's been hanging on by his fingertips since he flipped over Eddie's tablet, and now? He lets go. Lets himself plummet, off a lightning rod of a ladder, or a crane. There's no ground beneath his feet. He just falls, and falls, and drags Eddie down with him.

"You're not going to be here to have my back!" Buck cries.

Eddie flinches like Buck struck him.

Regardless, Buck keeps talking. "You're leaving, Eddie. Leaving me behind just like everyone else does. And I- I know, it's selfish as hell to even think it because you- you need to go, and I can't stop you. I wouldn't ever stop you, you need your kid, but I need..."

He has the good sense to stop there, but he thinks it's too late anyway.

Eddie stares at him, a little like Buck just informed him of a death. And yeah. If that death was whatever Buck had with Eddie, the comparison would be an accurate one.

Eddie nods and ducks his head. Sniffs and looks anywhere but at Buck. Buck wants to keep talking. At least then, Eddie's eyes would be on him.

Then, in a voice too small for the space Eddie's supposed to occupy, he asks "why won't you stop me?"

Buck's tense shoulders drop in defeat. "Why would you want me to?"

Eddie shakes his head. Rolls his lips. Lets out a bitter laugh that, for all it's anger, still makes Buck's heart jump. "You know, I thought..."

Buck steps closer again, and it's probably the most dangerous step he's ever taken in his life. He's run into burning buildings, up ladders in lightning storms, through flooded streets, gunfire. And still, this one step is the most terrifying he's ever made.

Because they're close. Closer than they should be for the fight they're not really having. But still not close enough. There's maybe six inches between the toe of Buck's sneakers and Eddie's boots. But he doesn't dare close that gap.

"Eddie..." He doesn't know what to follow that up with. He hopes Eddie has some idea. Hopes, probably derangedly, that the words he wants to say are ones Eddie understands already.

"I'm going to get my kid back," Eddie says, looking somewhere over Buck's shoulder.

"I know you are."

"Why won't you stop me?" Eddie asks, finally meeting his eyes. There's something desperate there, something Buck hasn't seen since Christopher wouldn't look his father in the eye.

"The same reason I couldn't let you follow me into that building... I can't ask you to put your happiness aside for me," Buck admits, a desperation of his own forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

"Evan," Eddie says, and it makes Buck want to fall to his knees. He takes that last perilous step closer to Buck. Buck doesn't dare breathe. "You are my happiness."

Buck shakes his head, that isn't right. He's been bad, for so long, he doesn't make people happy. Eddie reaches up, cups his face in his hands to stop his movement. "Yes," Eddie continues. "Buck, I have spent... probably my whole life denying myself joy. And I'm finally learning that I don't have to. I found my joy, Buck. It's you."

"Eddie," Buck says, reverent like a vow. He had endless things he wanted to say to Eddie, but it all pales in comparison now.

"I'm coming home, Buck," Eddie promises. He swipes his thumbs across Buck's cheekbones, wiping away the tears Buck didn't even notice he'd started crying. "If you'll be here for us to come home to."

Buck pounces on him like a dog offered a treat. Better still, a place to stay. Someone's feet to curl up by.

He throws his arms around Eddie, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Yes," he whispers against Eddie's skin. "I'll be here for you to come home to."

[moonzzip]

my song for you | chap. 1

a/n — hii! first chapter of the mini-series, as I said, I've been very busy, but I tried to do my best, I swear the next one will be better than this one!

summary: you think about everything happening, a lot of information and it overwhelms you, but it can also free you, even momentarily.

pairing: jiyong x pianist!gn!reader

!warnings: mention of blood, toxic family, jiyong distressed, reader expresses many thoughts.

lowercase letters, w.c: 2k

with no thoughts in mind, you play the music. your mind seems to shine, your fingers move on their own. with your eyes closed and a smile on your face, you savor the notes melting into your ears, and then the music ends.

only you and silence remain, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. you turn to your mother, waiting for something.

she’s not there anymore.

_

your heel taps repeatedly on the floor, your furious gaze not leaving jonghoon for even a second. if it weren’t a crime, you would shut him up with a punch.

he looks at you, his gaze hardening. the man simply ignores it and keeps talking.

"so, i think that would be the proposal for your participation. what do you think?" jonghoon turns to you, flashing a big, bright smile. you sigh, standing up.

"jonghoon, jiyong-nim, i’m sorry," you bow at a 90-degree angle, avoiding eye contact with either of them, staring only at the floor. "i don’t even know exactly what the project is, and to be honest, i didn’t pay attention to anything my friend said, kwon-nim. but i have no intention of joining the song." your gaze lifts, finally looking at the man with colorful hair. "i haven’t played in three years, and i have no intention of going back to it either. jonghoon knew that, but..." you bow again. "thank you for the opportunity."

grabbing your things— your bag and phone—you sling the bag over your shoulder and head for the door. looking back, you nod a small goodbye, then open the door and leave the room.

_

the stage in front of you shone, your hands were sweating, but not from anxiety—rather, from anticipation. this was one of your first performances in front of a crowd. you wanted to have fun, to finally play for someone other than your family, and that excited you.

wiping your sweaty palms on your clothes, you adjusted your hair, but something caught your eye from the corner.

huh? people were leaving!

peeking through the curtain, you helplessly watched everyone rise from their seats until the place was empty.

an adult hand grabbed your shoulder, pushing you toward the piano at the center, leaving you alone.

again, no one would see you play.

this wasn’t the first time you played alone in such a large place, but it had never occurred to you that everything would slip through your fingers like this—the audience you wanted to show your love for the piano to, walking away as if it had all been an illusion.

you sat on the piano bench, your chest tightening, tears rolling down your face. your white gloves hid the marks of your journey, the piano keys blurred in your vision, your ears hearing nothing but the loud beating of your heart.

and you played.

jiyong walked, ruffling his hair with his white beanie in the other hand, along with a bouquet of small white flowers. his heart was tight, shattered, filled with anger at himself and at her. his feet moved aimlessly, without any idea where to go.

how could she do this to him? he had given her his whole heart, his soul, his time, his care. he had given his life to her. today was supposed to be one of their dates after a small argument they had.

"you never have time for me, jiyong! i don’t want to beg for your time!"

"when you met me, you knew i was busy! i spend all my time training for this idol thing! i’m the leader! i have to be there too!"

after that, the argument only escalated, ending with jiyong storming out of her house, slamming the door.

all this time, he had been drowning in guilt and worry that her love for him was fading. but he had discovered in the worst way that there had never been a place for him in her heart.

his green jacket was the only thing shielding him from the cold wind.

anger clouded his senses, and he walked toward a trash can nearby, ready to throw away the flowers, until he saw a poster at the bottom, covered in dirt. his first instinct was to ignore it, but his eyes and mind read the words anyway.

maybe it was the need to escape the weight of the pain in his chest.

curiosity won him over. confused, he picked up the paper from the trash, dusting off the dirt with his fingertips. he unfolded it completely.

'8th piano festival at xxxx theater, 8:00 pm. free admission.'

a two-minute walk. maybe it would be good to clear his head. unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the now slightly crushed flowers in his hand—better than standing still, wallowing in pain alone.

arriving at the venue with one hand in his pocket, his beanie back on his head, and the flowers still in his hand, he entered through the slightly open door, continuing inside.as he reached the auditorium, it was large and dimly lit, only increasing his curiosity.

suddenly, people started getting up and leaving. confused, he dodged a few, looking around until the place was empty.he looked toward the exit, puzzled. maybe it was over

checking his watch, it was only 8:27 pm. he sighed, ready to leave.

then, out of nowhere, catching a glimpse of movement on stage, jiyong froze and turned his head.

silently, he watched as someone was pushed toward the center and left alone there.

a few seconds later, the person sat at the piano, deepening the boy’s confusion—until the instrument played its first note.

your heart burned with loneliness and frustration, each note played was like your tears streaming down your face, your pain pouring out onto that brightly lit stage. your feet pressed the pedals forcefully, but not enough to break them.

your fingers moved across the keys with such delicacy and speed that if someone blinked, they would completely lose track of your rhythm.

why do these unfortunate things only happen to you?

didn't you try hard enough?

didn't you play enough?

all these thoughts ran through your mind.

did you deserve what happened to you?as the music ended, your fists hit your thighs while you sat in the chair, breathing heavily and crying silently.

clap, clap, clap.

what is that sound?

maybe it's just in your head and—

"wow... my heart really started racing..."

your head snapped up so fast that you could almost hear a crack.

you turned toward the voice, letting out a surprised breath, blinking rapidly to clear your blurred vision.

a boy, maybe 19 years old? (you guessed), wearing a white tank top, a long dark green denim jacket, jeans, expensive white sneakers, and a white beanie, stood below the stage, looking at you with admiration. he rested his arms on the edge of the stage, which was only slightly lower than him, holding a small bouquet of flowers in one hand.

he smiled at you until he noticed your tears. the boy blinked in surprise, unsure of what to do, until he remembered the flowers. he smiled again.

"i didn't know what to do with these, but..."

he bent his knees slightly and jumped up onto the stage effortlessly, sitting on the floor first before standing and walking toward you. he extended his hand, offering the flowers.

"now i think i do."

_

man, where was jonghoon really thinking? is he crazy?

walking angrily, your feet hit the ground harshly as you reached the closed elevator, pressing the button with force. you were on the top floor of this building, and the elevator was apparently on the ground floor— about five minutes to come up. your patience was wearing thin.

you shouldn't have even come, honestly. your breathing started to quicken. closing your eyes, the top of your hand began to itch. your fingers scratched over the fabric of your other glove. good thing you wore them— you knew yourself well enough to know you would scratch until it bled.

"___-ssi?"

a gentle voice called you, and you turned around, your breathing still uneven. the man smiled.

it was g-dragon.

"g-dragon-nim..." you whispered.

"i'm sorry for leaving like that, it's just..." you averted your gaze. "it was getting too stressful."

the man stood silently beside you.

"you know, this isn’t how i wanted to meet you." jiyong looked at you, "i didn’t want my favorite singer to see me like this. at my worst." you bit your lip slightly, holding back more words.

"forgive jonghoon, sometimes he talks too much. don’t be mad at him for bringing someone who didn’t accept your project. i’m sure you'll find someone better—"

"i want it to be you."

your heart skips a beat unintentionally, but your face doesn’t show embarrassment, only surprise. you point at yourself, your head spinning, "me?"

the man nods and gives a small smile.

"i've seen you play before, ___-ssi, and—"

you interrupt him, "seriously??? when???" you cover your mouth immediately. you hate remembering your past performances—if you could, you’d bury them in a hole so deep it would reach the earth’s core. "impossible, jiyong-nim. if it was online, i might understand. was it some video on youtube?"

the man just smiles and doesn’t answer your question. he continues speaking instead. "your way of playing is very special, ___-ssi. that’s what i can say."

special? what’s special about what you did? you were and still are the worst pianist in your family. you never brought them the pride they expected from you. that’s why they left, disappeared from your life, abandoned you.they despised you your whole life.

they left you alone, just like every other time. but this time, it was forever.

so why… why did those words—words you had always considered lies—suddenly ignite something in your heart?

your fingertips tingled, your eyelashes trembled, your breath hitched for a moment.a feeling you couldn’t name struck your soul, your spirit.

everything became warm and pleasant, yet confusing.

that empty, miserable feeling disappeared from your poor body, even if just for a fleeting moment.no. don't go.

you want to feel this again.

you want to feel alive again.you want this flame to never go out again.

you want a reason to get up every morning again.

you don’t want to drown in your past sorrows, in the pain you’ve carried until just a few seconds ago.

you don’t want to be alone—you want something to hold on to, to keep you standing again.

don't go.

the dark fog in your mind had cleared for mere seconds.

your gray world had burst into warm, welcoming colors.

you want to hold onto it—but what’s keeping you back? what’s keeping you trapped in this misery that is your life?

is it the fear of being alone forever?

of never being able to love anything again?

of not being able to share what you feel and drowning in the anguish forced upon you?

is it the way you keep clinging to a distant, unhappy past that shaped who you are now, only to finally realize you’re terrified of staying in the same place forever?

this fear has eaten away at you for so long that it blinded you to everything that once brought you joy and the will to live.

you don’t want this feeling anymore.

you don’t want it. never again.

this feeling that lasted less than a millisecond—you want to feel it forever.

"i will play for you, jiyong-nim."

a/n — i honestly don't know if I liked this chapter very much, but like I said, i'll improve! i hope you liked it! feel free to correct any mistakes!

[winters-on-the-wing]

i have a really weird idea for a marauders au

i want to write an au where james is a victim of wizarding human trafficking. and in this au, human trafficking is pretty normalized in the rich pureblood inner circles, whatever.

sirius and regulus live alone together as adults because regulus is a useless spoiled loser who can’t do anything on his own so sirius basically provides for both of them. regulus becomes a depressed shut-in who has no friends and does nothing with his life and sirius is fed up with regulus constantly moping around and following him around, so for regulus’ birthday, sirius buys him a person who’s supposed to be his friend.

and the boy that sirius ends up buying is none other than james potter. by complete chance.

james is obviously roughed up from his time being passed from person to person, but he’s had it pretty good compared to other victims. he seems chill, he does as he’s told, he acts happy and exciteable, and he seems to be doing a good job of entertaining regulus and being a friend to him. but sirius is disgusted with the industry and reassures james that now he was bought for regulus, but he’s not a slave anymore. he’s free.

regulus, though?

he resists this.

secretly, regulus breaks james down, so excited to have a person he can control and play with any way he wants. his bitterness of his own life manifests through the cruelty he subjects james to and hides from sirius. and every time sirius tries to resist, regulus shows him the contract that binds james to regulus. not sirius.

james is a pretty strong person. he lasts a long time without being broken, and he genuinely seeks to make regulus happy. james is the kind of person who doesn’t agree with how he’s being treated, but he’s endured it for so long that he’s used to it and he’s learned how to find joy from such a deprived life. he figures the best form of rebellion is living on, unbroken.

but regulus doesn’t allow that for long. he torments and tortures james, subjects him to a long and complicated set of rules, basically treats james like worse than dirt. and as sirius grows more busy and forgets to keep a closer eye on james, regulus goes farther and farther, making sure to hide it from his good samaritan big brother.

but when sirius finds out, and james is at an all time low, his dignity stripped away, his telltale optimism utterly shattered, sirius is FURIOUS. he risks breaking the contract, he risks everything. he can’t stand this, allowing slavery in his house, allowing an innocent to be treated like shit by his own brother.

but when james is rescued and starting to be rejuvenated by sirius, regulus realizes something odd.

his life is better with james gone. and that’s when it’s revealed: for the entirety of james’ enslavement, even when he was at his lowest, james was secretly pranking and tricking and deceiving regulus, making his life an unlucky, living hell of constant misfortunes that regulus could never find the culprit for.

james never fully broke under regulus.

also james and sirius move away together and fall in love and live in a big house together and it’s a happy ending.

[akhillaous]

I feel like the need to make Patroclus a demigod stems from a lot of tsoa fans ( & haters ) needing a reason to make Patroclus and Achilles equal and they think making Patroclus a demigod will accomplish that.

But Patroclus and Achilles already are equals. They have strengths where the other has weaknesses. They may not be physically on the same level but that’s kind of the whole point. Achilles was always going to be stronger and a better fighter than everyone else. That was always going to happen. But when we look at the way Patroclus and Achilles interact in the Iliad it is clear that Achilles holds Patroclus to a high regard, continually mentioning how much Patroclus not only means to him but just how much respect Patroclus receives from everyone in general. They’re literally the Greatest of the Greeks and the Best of the Myrmidons because of how good they are. Theres no need to make Patroclus a demigod. It changes too much of his character and kind of mutes what made him so good. He spoke to Achilles as an equal when they argued. He wasn’t as strong as Achilles but he still went out with achilles armor. He wasn’t untouchable and god like but he was kind and genuine. He was an exile, with no birthright, no claim to anything, and yet the entire army mourned hen he died. Patroclus was so very utterly humane in both good and bad ways throughout the war. He was stubborn and bloodthirsty when he fought, riding some high from the war that many other soldiers probably got. He got cocky, and paid for it. But he was also a voice of reason. He didn’t want to see his men dying, not when they did not have to. He was a mortal man through and through, the good and the bad, until the end. I don’t see why you would want to take that away from him to add some meaningless power up.

And on the flip side, Achilles being a demigod is also integral to his story because he’s supposed to represent the divide between human and god. It’s such an important moment when Patroclus is killed because it’s as if Achilles’ mortal side had been killed with him, leaving only rage typically reserved for gods. Achilles during he beginning of the war is untouchable, but he is also respectful. He sacks the cities but he honors the fallen. He takes the war prizes but he calls out Agamemnon for not giving back chryseis even though men ( HIS men too ) are dying. When Achilles refuses the embassy he also essentially rejecting his mortality. He doesn’t WANT to fight in this war in which he will die for a man that dishonored him. And he’s technically not wrong to do so. But when he starts wishing for his comrades to die so that they will beg him to come back, appeasing his lost pride, he has begun to slip over into his divinity, embracing it shamelessly and disregarding the lives of others as long as he gets what he wants. As gods tend to do. And even if he doesn’t get that, he didn’t care about his comrades dying as long as he and his men could sail home. Achilles’ mortality slowly trickles out of him until it is violently lurched out and killed when Patroclus died. Patroclus who so badly wanted to keep their men from dying and needed Achilles to understand that by selfishly holding his pride to higher standard than the lives of others he was dooming them all. Their stories are such integral parts to each other and the main narrative I don’t see how you could change such a detail and still make their dynamic as interesting as it is.

Patroclus and Achilles both were good men. Patroclus and Achilles both were fighters that slaughtered others. Patroclus and Achilles both fall because of mortal flaws. Achilles bridges an impossible gap between man and god and Patroclus prevails when no one else will despite his mortality. That’s what makes them so interesting. That’s why their dynamic works the way that it does. Making Patroclus a demigod adds nothing of substance to his story it only takes away from it.

Anyways. This was not supposed to be that long. Apologies if I made any mistakes regarding the original text and pls correct me if I did!! But yeah anyways that’s my long explanation on why I hate the demigod Patroclus trope. It rly just. Doesn’t work.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐺𝐼𝑅𝐿 || 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐭 || Austin! Elvis

PREVIOUS PART <- -> NEXT PART COMING SOON

• Summary: Living with Elvis has made your life so much better. But it has visible effect on your school results. But that doesn’t stop you. At least that’s what you thought…

• Pairing: Austin! Elvis x female reader

• Warnings: slight angst, Elvis being possessive, arguing, kissing, maybe typos,…

• Note: NEW ELVIS PART IS HEREEEEE! Enjoy! + NOTE!! My acknowledge of Elvis is not so big, all things I know are from movie, documents, webs etc! So I deeply apologize for any mistakes/typos/misunderstanding that have nothing to do with reality. All of this is fic and has nothing to do with no one or anything. Based just on Austin's role of Elvis!Thank you for understanding! 🫶🏼

From the moment you moved to Graceland, Elvis spoiled you the best he could. He wanted to make you feel the love you deserve. He buys you all the clothes, from dresses to night gowns, all the makeup you never had because your father never allowed you to wear it. He gifted you jewelry on random days just to show his love for you.

Since the first day you moved in you sleep in Elvis’ bed with him. He wants to make sure you feel safe. And his bed now doesn’t feel empty like it always had. With you in it he feels more than happy. More than happy that he has you in his life. And his family? Gosh, they adore you.

Now you are sitting curled up on the couch in the quietest corner of Graceland, books and papers spread out in front of you. Warm glow of the lights over your notes, but the lights did not help to reduce the exhaustion that you feel.

You sigh, rubbing your temples, trying to make sense of the essay that you are writing. You are finishing last semester of university and it’s more than demanding. It is late today… too late. You should probably be in the bed next to Elvis now but you have a deadline, and you can’t afford to fall behind.

A deep familiar voice cuts through the silence. “Darlin’, you still workin’?” You glance up to see Elvis standing in the doorway, in his navy blue pajamas, arms crossed on his chest, looking at you with something between amusement and concern.

“I have to finish this essay,” you murmur, blinking tiredly. “It has a deadline and I can’t miss it…” Elvis smirks, approaching you. “You’ve been starin’ at that essay for hours, Satnin. I know ‘cause I’ve been standin’ here watchin’ you.”

You groan, flopping back against the couch. “I can’t think straight. It’s due tomorrow...” Elvis perches on the arm of the couch, leaning over to skim the page. “Ain’t nothin’ on here but a bunch of big words meant to make folks feel important.” He shoots you a teasing grin.

“C’mon, tell me what it’s supposed to be about. In simple English.” he adds, sitting down beside you, before pulling you on his lap.

You huff as you sit straight in his lap. “It’s about Southern literature… How writers use nostalgia to explore their ideas of home.” Elvis tilts his head, considering. “So, like, how people remember things better than they were?”

“Exactly.”

Elvis nods, clenching his jaw while thinking for a moment. “Well, take you for example. Your daddy. You know about how strict he was, how you felt like you couldnt’ breathe in that house. But I bet there’s somethin’ you miss about it, even if you don’t wanna admit it.”

You hesitate, your thoughts going back to your house. “I guess. I miss my mama’s cooking...” Elvis smiles, stroking your thigh. “That’s nostalgia, Satnin. Ain’t that what you’re writin’ about?” You stare at him, the weight of realization hitting in. “You just explained my entire essay in few seconds.”

He chuckles, his hand trailing to your hip. “Ain’t my fault you make things more complicated than they gotta be.” You mock offense and can’t help but smile. “I should make you write it for me, then.”

“Ah. Now, don’t go gettin’ any ideas, darlin’.”he teases you, but then his expression softness. “I mean it, though. You gotta finish school, Y/n. You ain’t givin’ up on it, not for me, not for nothin’.”

You nod and start finishing the essay. The minutes pass by as Elvis sits beside you, rubbing your back and watching you and after you finish scribbling down your thoughts, your mind is now clearer than it had been in hours. You lay down on the couch, your head in his lap.

“Finally…” you murmur, playful smile on your lips. “I think I actually made something that could make sense.” Elvis smirks, glancing down at you in his lap as he caresses your cheek. “Told ya you would, sweetheart.”

You smile at him, loving him so much words can’t even explain. “Thank you.” You say and he shrugs, but there is something thoughtful in his expression. A quiet kind of seriousness that isn’t usually there. “What?” you ask, narrowing your eyebrows playfully. “You look like you got something on your mind…”

Elvis lets out a slow breath, reaching for your hand, gripping it. He doesn’t play with your hair no more. This time, he just holds your hand, his grip tight.

“I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ for a while,” he says, his voice possessive. “And seein’ ya like this – so damn smart, so determined – it just makin’ me want it more.”

Your expression changes into concern. “Want what, El?” He glances down for a second, then back at you, his blue eyes roaming your face. “About you… About us. After you graduate… I wanna marry you, Satnin. I wanna have a family. Little ones runnin’ ‘round.”

Your breath caught. You feel your pulse in throat, her hands, everywhere if that’s even possible. “Y-you do?” you let a out shakily.

“I do,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Ain’t never wanted anythin’ more.” Your chest feels heavier at his words.

Elvis cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over your soft skin. “Hell, I don’t even gotta close my eyes to picture it. I see it. You, me, sittin’ on a porch, kids laughin’ in the yard, while you sit there with my another baby in your belly... I see you happy. And if you’ll have me… I wanna be the one to give you that all.”

Your breath hitches in your throat just by picturing it. You never wanted anything more. A love full husband and kids. And now Elvis is promising to give it to you. He kisses you hungrily, his grip on your hips. “I love you, darlin’. And I wanna spend my life showin’ you just how much.”

And that’s what you want the most right now To graduate, and have him all for yourself. Marry him, give him babies. Be his wife.

Weeks passed and you were getting closer to graduating every day. Your academic results were poor, definitely not the same as when you lived with your parents. But not bad enough to fail.

You are just to finish your last class when your head master stops you. “Miss Y/l/n, do you have a moment?”

“Yes, ma’am.” you nod and your stomach does a flip. You follow her to her office and the moment you sit down you know something is off. “I’ve been reviewing your academic results lately,” Mrs. O’Conell starts. “Miss Y/l/n, your results are tripping. Your attendance, works and grades,”

“Ma’am I am trying, really, I—”

“Trying is not enough, Miss Y/l/n.” she cuts off your words. “You have been our best student. And I know you are bright and wise young lady. I fear you are letting distractions pull you away from your career.”

You take a deep breath. Sooner or later this had to happen. Mrs. O’Conell takes a breath. “I understand that life outside of these walls can be… more enjoyable, you name it. But you must understand that education is a foundation. I hope you take this seriously, Miss Y/l/n.”

“I do, Mrs. I promise I will do better.” you reply, fidgeting with the hem of your uniform’s skirt. Mrs. O’Conell nod and sighs. “Well, I hope so. You used to be the too student of our school. Don't let this ruin your graduation.”

With a nod you look down at your lap. All you can think of is Elvis. You wish more than anything for this all to be over so that you can be with him and him only. “You are now dismissed. And remember what we talked about.”

You leave the office feeling tense but relieved. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But that feeling changes the moment you step outside — your breath catches. Your father is standing at the school gates, arms crossed, his expression stormy. The school must have let him know.

You feel your blood freeze. Your pulse pounds as you walk towards him, gripping the books so tight against your chest, knuckles turning white. The moment you stop in front of him, a low and deep growl leaves from him. “So this is what you left us for? Throwin’ away your education for some damn fool?!”

Your jaw clenches. “I am not throwing anything away. I am graduating.”

“Barely!” he shouts out. People around the campus look at you with wide eyes and he lowers his tone. “You are nearly failin’, Y/n! What did you thought is gonna happen once you leave us, huh?! What happened to you? You were supposed to be better than this!”

“I am better! I am finally living the life where I can breathe freely!” You can almost sense how blood is boiling in your father’s body. “That man—“

“Don’t!” you warn, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to talk about him like that. Never again. He has been treating me better in those few months than you during those 22 years of mine!”

As if summoned by the mention, the low rumble of an engine cuts through the tension. Pink Cadillac pulls up beside the school gates and the driver’s door opens and Elvis steps out. The girls all around the campus freeze, seeing Elvis.

Little do they know he is here to pick you up. His jaw tightens as he notices you, the way you clutch your books like they are armor to protect you. Then his gaze settles on your father. You can see his hands shape into fists. Elvis slowly approaches you and takes your hand. “Somethin’ wrong here?”

“This ain’t your business.” your father barks out. “The hell it ain’t,” Elvis says smoothly, his Southern accent thickening with something sharper. “Y/n is my business. Mine.” he pulls you closer.

“You think you can just swoop in, take my daughter, and turn her into—” your father scoffs in. “Turn her into what?” Elvis’ voice is dangerously calm, making you even more tense. “A woman who makes her own choices? A woman who ain’t afraid to live her life?”

Your father’s face turns red. “You’re gonna ruin her.” Elvis shakes his hand in amusement, he laughs under his breath. “Sir, I’d ruin myself before I ever let anything happen to her.” his voice is dropping lower. “Besides, Y/n already knows what she wants.”

Your father exhales sharply, his control slipping for the first time. For a second, he looks less like the overbearing man you have always feared and more like someone lost—someone who knows he is losing you.

“Y/n,” he says, being quieter now, “you still have a chance to fix this.” You shake your head. “No, Daddy. I’m not the one who is broken.” At that, Elvis squeezes your hand, proud of your statement.

Your father watches you with speechless expression. Know he knows he has lost. “This ain’t over,” he says, his voice low. Your father turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you and Elvis standing there.

“You okay, darlin’?” Elvis immediately checks on you, pulling you in his arms. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I think so…” He studies you for a moment before nodding. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”As soon as he pulls away he takes your hand in his , leading you away. Now you know—no matter what your father thinks, this is where you belong.

To him. To Elvis. You are his girl.

[a-smol-storm-gt-nomfs-blog]

What lies beneath

An au Roman started, I got interested, so here's something I wrote, might not be au cannon to what they imagine though so don't take my story as true. as per usual nomfs, thoughts of death, hard vore mentions? (Dunno he just thinks he's gonna die) Thalasaphobia

Grian sat at the edge of the tank, his hands shaky, He was between feeding the leviathan and not. On one hand, if he fed him Grian might not be eaten, and maybe it would show goodwill, but on the other hand. It might put the leviathan into a food response. It’s more of a reptilian thing: with gators and snakes expressing it the most. Grian knew nothing about the leviathan, besides he was often fed things Grian’s size and larger, no wonder he ate people. He decided to throw the container of chum in, he hoped the poor leviathan wasn’t being starved, it would explain the people eating too. The vet looked down, watching the shiny fish slowly fall farther into the water. He almost lost sight of the fish parts before he saw a shadow move, swallowing the fish down. It was large, orca-sized at minimum, but Gem, if to believed, said he was larger. Maybe whale-sized, but this didn't feel like a healthy whale-sized tank. That could also explain its aggression. “Do you have more for him?” “What? Why would I do that?’ “Do you want me to be eaten?” “Why would he do that, he's been fed.” “This thing isn’t Mumbo-sized; it's larger. Do you think that's going to fill its stomach? Besides you fed it human hybrids, and it's well, eaten people? Doc sighed. “Yeah fine, give me a bit.” Grian nodded and looked down, the fish disappearing into the dark void below. Lights had been there in the beginning. It's possible it bit the cords due to hunger, or maybe it just didn’t like the light, either one made sense. “Hey- hey, buddy?” Grian said softly into the water with, unsurprisingly, no response. “I- uh, I’m Grian, I’m here to check up on you, and- uh, I know you’ve eaten people before so- I hope you won’t with me? I- I’m sorry if you’ve been treated poorly.” No response. “I’m getting you more food, if you didn’t hear, I hope it's enough, I uh- i-if you want to come up and talk it might make it easier.” Grian thinks he saw the shadow down there, maybe waiting for more food. Grian could or thought he saw him, he could see the shadows giving enough of a color difference, but his outline wasn’t visible. The leviathan was supposably eel-like, Grian couldn’t see any of that. All he could tell was that it was a different shade from the background. “I—Can you not eat me, please? I just want to make sure you feel good, feel happy, and make your body feel happy.” He tried, but maybe the leviathan didn’t know English well. There was some movement. “Uhh, but yeah food in a bit, then I’ll go in okay?’ A bit more movement. “Does anything hurt?” There was no movement at that. “Any wounds? Injuries?” No movement. “Uhhh, guessing that's a no.” He paused for a bit. “Are you hungry?” Movement. “Are you going to eat me?” Grian couldn’t make out if the leviathan was moving in response or not, he hoped it wasn’t The next tub of fish showed up and so Grian got down, taking the tub in his arms he then started back up. It was full of whole fish, which was likely better than sending something bloody down. So Grian dumped the fish in—only two tuna, a cod, and a salmon. This was not what Grian was expecting; he was hoping for more, but the mers weren’t necessarily taken good care of in the first place. The fish disappeared, swallowed by the shadow, literally. Grian watched, getting his suit on to prepare for his journey down. “I’ll get Skizz, he has the arm strength and the ability to help you, don’t go in till he’s here.” “I won't!” Grian shouted back. Grian checked his air canisters, they were back up, if the air tube he had attached to him got bitten, or it was too short he’d be able to switch to his mask.

He could hear the keys shifting as skizz ran over. “Hey G!” he waved up, he looked behind seeing Doc wasn’t there he asked. “You sure? I- uh- I can go down instead, just tell me what to do?”

Grian shook his head no. “I’d hate for you to be injured or worse because of me skizz, I don’t know if I’d be able to handle myself for that.”

“And I’d feel just as bad if you disappeared, not to mention poor Mumbo.”

Grian’s heart sank at the orca mer’s name.

“Oh Mumbo,” Grian said, voice shaking.

He took his goggles off for a bit.

“If… God. If anything happens to me, make sure Mumbo stays sane please?”

“Nothing gonna happen!” Skizz said trying to stay positive.

Grian stayed quiet, he wouldn’t consider himself a pessimist, but this was the most dangerous thing he had done in his life.

The vet fixed his mask back on, his body, his breaths shakier than his body.

Grian stood at the edge, his fingers barely touching the platform under him. He couldn’t get himself to move.

The adrenalin sent his heart and head off, running miles an hour while his body couldn’t move an inch. “G”? Skizz had made his way up the latter. The vet turned to meet his gaze, his terrified eyes shown through the goggles. Skizz’s heart dropping was visible on the security officer's face. “You don’t have to do this, no one would call you a coward for backing out.” “Yeah, but what- what if he's hurt? Malnourished? Starving? We can’t see that from up here, or down there.” Skizz sighed. “I get you’re a vet and all, but- it wouldn’t count as you or gems incompetence if that was the case it would be on Doc, he had a dangerous thing that had been known to kill humans, and sent a vet down that- I- ugh, It’s not sitting right with me.” Grian leaned on Skizz’s arm, it felt comforting being with the officer, his arms were large, but not enough to save him from this. Nothing was big enough to save him from this. If Grian let the leviathan die he’d blame himself for not going in, but if he died, he’d die thinking about his friends he’d be leaving behind. Jimmy, the small scared wyrm, and his giant wyrm ‘boyfriend’ Tango. The two separated were so nervous, but together they had this sense of calm, compassion, and a friendship that would be more. What if Grian wasn’t around to see it grow? Gem and Impulse were teasing. Those two were always trying to scare people with horror stories. Skizz tried to get in on it, but he was bad at it; his expressions gave him away. Speaking of Skizz, He was part mer, small amounts, it showed in his eyes, his teeth, and some small fins behind his ears and on his elbows, but beyond that, he was a normal guy, a caring one. And finally Mumbo, oh Mumbo. When Grian first met him he was on the brink of death, wounds, stress, and likely more had the mer in a terrible position. Grian helped him, spending hours with him, talking to him, he broke down the mers walls, watching him heal. Mumbo was one of the best things Grian had. Not that the others weren’t but the two were like siblings, a pod. Grian put a hand on his face, or well his goggles as his eyes shed his fears. Skizz wrapped an arm around the vet, pulling him into a gentle hug and letting him cry it out.  The guard stayed silent, Grian preferred it that way.

After a bit, Skizz rubbed his back and hummed something.

Grian listed, half there, half out of it, his mind preparing him for his possible death.

He took his goggles off to wipe his face once the waterworks stopped. He took some deep breaths in, calming himself some.

He pulled his head back, and Skizz’s arm released.

Grian looked up meeting Skizz’s worried gaze, he then looked down as he put his mask on, telling wordlessly his decision.

The vet caught the guard’s sad expression out of the corner of his eye.

Skizz came in for one last hug from behind. “You’ll make it,” Skizz said trying to stay positive. “You’re a smart guy.”

Grian let out a huff of appreciation. “Thanks skizz.” He said slipping the breathing tub over his mouth.

The guard backed off as Grian slid into the tank.

Skizz did a check with the current equipment, running some things over with Grian.

The vet gave a thumbs up, everything was okay on his end.

Skizz gave one back, but there was a nervous expression on his face.

Grian went under trying to avoid second-guessing himself now.

He let the weights do most of the work, helping him sink.

The vet, despite the situation, was slow in descending, after 5 minutes he could barely make out skizz, he was just a movement of different colors.

Grian decided it was a good time to turn on his headlamp.

The beam showed through the water, it was bright, but even then all he could make out was water, no walls, no ground, just dark deep water. He swallowed nervously but then let himself sink some, taking in usual breaths, he had to refrain from panicking, but he couldn’t breathe too deep, which would take more oxygen. After a bit Grian paused to to make sure the pressure wouldn't get to him, looking up he could barely make out the surface, he was passed the spot where the fish were grabbed, he supposed that was a positive. The vet glanced around, but couldn’t make out anything besides a possible rock ledge, nothing on it. Grian sank a bit more, he aimed the light down below him and could make out the sparkling of some shells and probably sand. He landed softly, lifting some sand, and he looked around. His light landed on some metal-wrapped cords, he could see scratches, and claws rather than teeth. None looked enough to kill the power till he saw an end of it, the other half wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The vet crouched down, it was likely teeth, and looking up he could make out lights. He wondered how bright they were. If Gem was right about their biology, and to be fair Grian trusted her far more than any other source, they liked it dark. He wondered if the leviathan had injured himself during that process. It wouldn’t be surprising. He hoped it wasn’t shocking, though if it was it didn’t kill it, but that could leave a nasty wound. Why would you even put lights in a tank? That could cause so many electrical problems. Not that the place was run well anyway, it was cheap, barely avoiding any laws. Grian was just counting the days where he could buy the business from Doc. The vet checked along the walls for anything possibly dangerous, the leviathan likely needed some UV, that, or some oranges, but he was not sure how much a giant eel would appreciate orange juice. Grian looked up and jumped back, but he managed to make out Gem, he put a hand on his heart and pressed his head to the tank. He could make out the shapeshifter laughing. Once she looked up Grian flipped her off making her crouch over, hands on her legs as she kept laughing. Grian eventually snickered. “Big fish?” Gem asked with her hands as best she could. Grian shrugged and signaled crossing over his eyes, their way of not seen.

Gem hummed and put a finger to her chin for a little. “How are you?” She asked The human vet gave his best nervous back. He got what he guessed was a “fair.” In response, from reading Gem’s lips. The two snapped-in-half cord. Gem looked at it and nodded at his discovery, before writing it down on her small notepad. Once looking back up, Grian did his best to mention the sun or vitamin D. It was a struggle. Grian at first tried to make a sun with his arms, but when that failed he pointed at himself. Gem was confused. He tried instead pointing at Gem, then her hair, she was called ‘redheaded’ but it was orange. Gem played with her hair, looked at it, then glanced with confusion up at Grian. He spelled out the color, and she clocked it. She hummed as she thought about oranges, then wrote something down on her pad, before showing it to Grian. “Vitamin D?” Grian gave a thumbs up and she nodded, scratching off the question mark. The human hummed, looking down and around him. He thought he heard something from the other vet, and after a bit, he looked up.

Gem started shouting, her arm pointing out behind Grian frantically.

The vet turned around and, as he did, saw the leviathan. It paused, eyes near shut as it adjusted to the bright light. 

After some blinking it opened them slowly. 

Grian locked eyes, but as far as he knew the creature didn't know he had done so.

Grian's chest sped up, thankfully he still had the tube near his face, so his increased heart rate wasn't using up the tanks on his back.

All were still, the leviathan's eyes locked on Grian, Grian still doing much the same.

The human started slowly moving downwards, trying to look small. 

Gem must have made some swift movements behind him. 

It was a poor decision. The leviathan taking it as a sign of aggression,dashing at Grian, mouth wide. It’s teeth slammed into the tank's side, and the beast moved sideways, likely misjudging the strike due to the blinding light coming from Grian's head. 

Thankfully the glass seemed fine, it just took more scratches. The breathing line somehow wedged between two teeth, resting against the upper tooth, close to being sliced. 

Grian's eyes were focused elsewhere though, as his light shown directly down the leviathan's mouth, into its throat. 

The human vet was stuck in shock, watching muscles move. The muscles were green and black colors, which reminded him of an orca with the pattern.

Some tapping from the tongue and pulling on the air tube forced Grian back into his senses. He looked towards the direction of the nozzle and made a mad dash through the open area of the leviathan's mouth, missing the teeth by less than half an inch. 

He also pulled a risky, but successful, move pulling the tube out from the leviathan's teeth as he escaped the jaws. 

He swam up as fast as he could. Behind him, he could hear the leviathan pulling back from the glass. It likely turned to chase him, but Grian kept going. 

There were 2 problems… 

Or… Well, 3. The Leviathan was built for the dark, for swimming in the depths while Grian wasn't. The large eel could also stand the pressure change better than him.

Regardless, Grian fought it, he'd rather take a couple of days off work with a scolding than a death. 

In his panic, though, Grian was late to notice another mistake: he hadn't stuck near to the glass. 

A second, for the fact he had left his weights on. 

For a third, he could feel the headache coming.

Grian looked to the side to see the wall, then up, he could make out the sounds of shouting, and what he likely imagined to be the silhouettes of skizz and gem before jaws came over him and snapped. 

separating the breathing cord from Grian. The vet stayed calm enough to pull off the old mask, letting bubbles out of his mouth while he changed to his air tanks. 

Almost as soon as he did he was splashed around, smacking against some teeth, thankfully his tanks held. Grian groaned looking around he saw something reflective stuck in the leviathan’s gums.

He took his chance, swimming down by the tooth he grabbed onto it, feeling the serrations on his fingertips, then wriggled the shiny piece of mettle side to side soon pulling it out.

He tossed it out through the small gap that appeared between the teeth. Then swam up to the roof of the mouth, before pushing up on the leviathan’s hard pallet.

He wasn’t sure if it worked, but the mouth opened to suck water in sending Grian back some.

He fell back onto his tongue. Grian could feel the bumps from the taste buds through his gloves. That’s gross.

Grian got back up again, not for long, as the tongue pressed him to the roof before a swallow.

The vet slid some, so he attempted to wrap his arms and legs around the muscle.

It was so slippery, the leviathan didn’t even swallow and Grian could feel himself sliding.

The human whimpered and tried to pull himself back up.

It was no use though, the leviathan lifted up and swallowed.

Grian tried desperately to grab onto anything, but it was nearly if not impossible to do such.

He let out panicked words through his mouthpiece and once stopped by the throat muscles shakily tried getting his gloves off.

The vet felt his head smashed up into the roof but no swallow.

Seeing as there was no water or at least a level he removed his mouthpiece.

“Wait, wait, don’t.” Grian panicked. “I—if you eat me, you won't be able to digest my suit, and you’ll get sick.” Grian put the mouth part back over. Almost all the leviathan’s movements halted at his words. The throat relaxed, and the walls came in on the vet, but it wasn't forceful, unlike before. He took the mouthpiece off again to beg. “Please let me up, I- I won’t bother you again.” He heard a deep rumble that echoed through the muscles around him. “Look I- I’m sorry I don’t know what people have done to you, but I- I don’t want to hurt you, please let me out.” Grian’s voice broke, a slightly higher pitch coming out at the end of the sentence. He put the mouthpiece back on after, just in case. There was a noise similar to a sigh.

Then a swallow.

The vet panicked, his hands reaching up and grabbing at the throat uselessly, his body was smushed and shuffled around a little due to the force of the muscles.

Grian’s movements have been stopped again, but his hands still reach up at the throat.

The leviathan seemed annoyed as the throat walls came in, his body waved around a little.

Grian’s eyes shut and he let out a scared “Mmmm.”

After a bit it stopped, the vet panted, possible tears in his eyes, his body shaking horrendously with adrenalin that wouldn’t be able to help.

The leviathan seemed happy with that as Grian felt himself moving down.

The human’s hand curled weakly on the throat, his face doing down behind his second arm.

Grian felt a couple of pauses, and how the throat moved with the breathing, he swore he could still feel air running over him but he didn’t think it possible.

The throat shook as a worried coo sounded.

The vet's eyes half closed at that, feeling a bit depressed now.

He took the mouthpiece off again “Please?” He begged again, his voice so broken.

Something pressed in on his side, Grian fought back a whimper, his hands clutching some of the muscle around him, but soon let go not wanting to pain the leviathan. There was a soft purr from the large beast, the rubbing seeming centered around him. Grian wasn’t confident he was in a stomach, but he supposed he could be. That was until he was pushed down, and another, a 3rd, and finally he slid into a more open area. Something in him snapped as he did, he ran to the sides pressing in on the walls trying to upset his stomach. There was a confused “rrrrrr.” that echoed around Grian then the walls came in and compressed him. Grian struggled more not wanting to be digested. After a bit, he was just dropped. A noise echoed, a bit confused and upset. The vet covered his ears not because it was loud, but because he didn’t exactly want to pity the leviathan. After seemingly no effect he looked around frantically with his light. There wasn’t much he could see that would help him out.

He did find where he fell in, but it was about another half of him higher. Grian wasn’t an athlete, and he knew climbing was impossible. But on the brink of death, you’ll try everything, even if it's stupid to try.

Grian stepped back, his feet in the puddle and he tried to run, but the slippery floor just sent him down.

And for a while Grian lay there, pulling a hand to his face as he looked at it. His mind raced with apologies that he’d never be able to say, especially to his co-workers who had all watched it happen.

He remembered the funny memories with them, just the day before how Gem and him got into a tickle match over Grian putting mac on his tuna sandwich.

The vet laughed, it turned to sniffles, then to cry.

Grian curled up and hugged his knees to his chest as he sobbed.

The leviathan must have heard it because after a while he felt rubbing again.

He wanted to yell at it, but he refrained. Grian sobbed for a while, the leviathan possibly purring at his distress. Once the vet stopped he reached up to grab his mouthpiece out, only to realize he hadn’t put it back in since his last begging. How was he still breathing? Grian looked around again, panicked breaths. There was no stinging, weight on his lungs, or other signs that could tell him he was struggling to breathe. The vet managed to calm down a little, was it possible the leviathan had a brood pouch like the mers? He realized now too that no fish were on the bottom, or well maybe a tail but he supposed it cou;d have gotten stuck. Grian moved over and picked it up. As he lifted his head he saw a black sleeve, which looked like a diving suit. The vet swallowed nervously and reached down, pulling at it. He watched a second throat area open. Grian gasped and fell back, letting go of the sleeve, there was no skeleton, except a finger. The vet swallowed his nerves, and went in, pulling out the bone in case it was irritating, throwing the fish’s tail down as well, then came back up tugging the suit part out, it took a bit but then he was flung back, panicking to get out of the puddle he landed in. Grian tasted some on accident, but it tasted like- salt water like was in the aquarium. There was a purr that shook the walls soon after Grian got up, then they moved in. He panicked as he got smushed, and moved. He was disorientated from stress and wasn’t sure what way he was going. He pushed around, stopping to put his mask on when the water hit his back. Thank god he did as he was thrown out the leviathan's mouth, his half the suit in hand. Grian held himself in the water, mostly in disbelief. Eventually, he looked up at the leviathan, it looked back for a little before turning and swimming away slowly. The vet took no time starting to swim up, he paused and looked down, to make sure his pressure change wasn’t too much. He checked his oxygen too, it looked pretty okay. So Grian slowly made his way up, letting out some startled gasps as he broke the surface. The group had gone, likely thinking Grian had died, to be fair he’d had thought the same for himself. The vet pulled himself up, his mind hazed, he was out of it, but he managed to take off his flippers, before heading down. Once on the ground, Grian removed his air canisters, and goggles, before moving and dragging his feet. He wasn’t sure where to but Grian ended up cleaning his head enough to recognize their grieving voices. Someone shouted his name, and the vet locked eyes with a couple of them. Doc himself was sitting on a table, looking shocked, like he’d seen a ghost. Grian felt something smack into, and hug him. It took him a while to look down, Gem had her arms strongly around him as if he’d disappear. It took a lot longer for Grian to raise his hand to put it against her head as she sobbed. “G what happened?” Scar asked. Grian couldn't find himself to answer, his mind still in that moment. He wasn’t even sure if he was alive himself. “Grian?” Skizz asked, a hand finding its way to the human vet’s shoulder. He blinked a couple of times. “I-.” He started but stopped not sure how to continue, but tears started falling from his eyes as his head fell into Skizz’s chest. Skizz hugged both of them, and Scar hugged Gem, Grian, and Skizz. After a little, their boss, Doc, spoke. “Alright soo, you look as pale as a ghost, and from what I’ve heard you at least were in its mouth.” Grian nodded, wiping his eyes. “I’ll give you 4 days, of paid time off, on me, if you need to extend it to a week, tell me.” Grian blinked in surprise. “I’d normally not do this, but, since you’ve come around the mers seem happy and healthier, so I’ll allow it. Besides, I have a feeling you’d call in sick tomorrow anyway.”

Gem bore her teeth behind Grian, he felt bad for the poor selkie. Doc only did this with Grian because he was human.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Grian said softly. “Would you guys be okay?”

Gem nodded slowly to Grian, Scar, and Skizz joining in soon.

He hugged them tightly. “Thanks.”

[basilbots]

Enough

A ficlet about Bard (Ruin) and Eclipse reflecting on their relationship, takes place after they've settled into the EAPS dimension | Words 629

“I do nothing for you.”

Eclipse paused from where he was typing away on a project, glancing to the side. Bard was lounging in a beanbag chair they had dragged over to be near Eclipse while he worked, staring blankly at the ceiling. They twitched feeling Eclipse’s questioning gaze but did not look up to meet it. 

Eclipse frowned and rolled back from the computer, “What are you talking about?” 

Bard sat up, fierce red and gold eyes now timidly darting away before they could linger on him long, “You do so much for me and for what? I’ve- I told you once before I don’t do friends anymore!”

His words quickened and raised into an incredulous pitch, betraying an anxiousness that was absent the first time Bard cheerfully told him this “fact”. Eclipse wished he could say this was new behavior, but Bard had been more nervous and downtrodden as of late. This was just the first time they’ve actually given words to what they were so bothered about. 

“You’re being an idiot,” Eclipse started, frown deepening when Bard only flinched rather than give an offended glare like usual. Rays slowly spinning in thought he continued with a softer voice, “You do plenty for me.” 

Bard’s rays twitched at that. He stubbornly kept his gaze away from Eclipse, claws now digging into the beanbag. Silence was his response. 

Eclipse kept looking at him, “You invite me to tea parties to take my mind away from work. You talked to this Sun and Moon to prevent me from fucking up yet another relationship. You choose to spend every day close to me to keep me company even though I’m a jackass.” 

Bard couldn’t help but let out a laugh, quick and sharp. “Selfish! It’s all selfish, I was only trying to benefit myself and make my life easier. That’s all I do. Shouldn’t you know this by now, dear? Everyone else has put it together.”

There was no masking the bitterness that laced that last sentence, and Eclipse couldn’t help the wave of anger that washed over him. He tried not to stand up too aggressively and failed as Bard flinched again. But they finally met his eyes with a weary look, giving way to bafflement as Eclipse knelt down in front of him. “Selfish huh? Then I’m selfish as well. How selfish of me to keep you, to want someone around that I can understand, who won’t judge me, where I know in another universe things work out between us. I’m just awful aren't I for wanting a friend.”

Eclipse’s gaze was intense, and Bard squirmed under the attention. He took their hands, which slid into his hold without resistance, and squeezed. Eclipse’s second pair of hands tore into the carpet. He knew the two of them were far from good individuals, but hearing those words from Bard still made him burn. Seeing that his image of himself was so poisoned that simply having a friend was proof of his own awfulness, because stars forbid they do anything that makes them happy without it being twisted as something terribly self-serving. The knowledge that other individuals contributed to- encouraged this mindset had Eclipse holding back a growl. How was Bard supposed to become a better person if every action that isn’t unrelenting self-loathing the wrong one? Closing their eyes, Bard squeezed his hands back, “You make it sound silly when you put it that way… I can’t see it like that, not when it’s me.”

But he will, one day, Eclipse will make sure of it.

“You don’t have to right now just… Believe me when I say that I think you do enough for me. That’s what matters. Okay?”

There was silence, then a resigned sigh.

“Okay.”