#barely comes up for air but that’s okay | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lmvari · 3 days ago

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⟳ 27. BLUEPRINT

Love terrified Kuni.

It was why it’s easier to pretend he didn’t care than to deal with the mess of actually feeling emotions. Because the truth was, he knew what came after.

He learned too early that love doesn’t mean staying. It left him shattered and alone.

He'd lived it twice too many times.

It started with his mother.

Sharp, elegant, composed. Always with one hand on her tea and the other on her schedule. She was the type of woman people admired from afar. Untouchable. Unshakable.

But to Kuni, she was simply his mom.

Though distant, she taught him everything he needed to, reminded him to be independent and never show weakness. A kind of tough love that you’d feel cared for.

She wasn’t perfect, but she was his entire world. She made a silent promise to be there. To guide him. To raise him right.

By fourteen, she was gone.

No explanation. No goodbye.

Just a letter and a cold set of instructions.

Kuni later found out her whereabouts through his mother’s friend. Apparently, she left the country. Started over with her life. A life that didn’t include him.

She left him the apartment. A trust fund with enough to cover school, food, a quiet kind of living. She left instructions, contacts, legal arrangements, everything a responsible parent should leave behind.

But she didn’t leave herself.

And that was the part Kuni never forgave. He felt rejected. How could someone who taught him everything just walk away? How could someone who gave life to him disappear like he wasn’t enough to stay for? She made sure he’d live. But she never once asked if he’d be okay.

But no matter how much he tried to harden himself, no matter how often he repeated her lessons in his head—

Don’t feel. Don’t break.

He still loved her.

And the thing is, the more someone taught you not to feel, the more devastating it was when you still did.

Since then, Kuni learned:

Love doesn’t mean permanence. Love is something people say until they decide they’re tired. Since then, he built a wall no one could scale, no one could touch. He never let anyone try.

But Kuni’s defenses were paper-thin.

Just before his senior year, Mona came into his life.

Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, ambitious and brilliant in ways that scared him. He didn’t mean to let her in. He told himself not to.

But she made it so goddamn easy.

She made him feel seen, like he wasn’t just someone people tolerated but someone they actually wanted. For a while, she made him believe he could be enough. To be loved. To be chosen.

But dreams don’t wait for love. And Mona had big ones. She was always chasing something—her career, the stars, a future that didn’t leave much space for someone like him.

There were days she didn’t answer his calls, weeks when she barely looked up from her screen. At first, he understood. People get busy. He could wait.

But then weeks turned into months, and Kuni slowly got tired of waiting for someone who no longer remembered to wait for him.

Still, he clung to her.

Even when the silence between them was louder than any words. Even when she drifted so far he could barely hear her voice anymore. Even when it got to the point where even he pitied himself.

He told himself she was just busy. That she’d come back.

That people could stay.

He was wrong.

Mona sits at the edge of Kuni’s bed, hands folded, back too straight. She’s already dressed, coat draped over her lap. The air between them is thick. Final.

“I got the offer in Berlin,” Mona had said, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t smiling.

Kuni didn’t ask what offer. He already knew.

“You’re leaving,” he said, even though it wasn’t a question.

She nodded.

He stared at the coffee table between them. The untouched tea. The silence.

“When?” he asked.

“Next month. It’s… it’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s my dream.”

Right. Her dream. What is he, then? Just something she happened to like along the way?

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His chest ached, but he didn’t let it show. Just leaned back against the couch and looked at her. Really looked. Memorized the way her brows furrowed when she was nervous, the way her fingers tapped her knee when she was holding something back.

“You’re not coming back,” he said as if it’s a statement.

It took her a moment to respond. She gave a small, hesitant shrug. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. Her voice was composed, but not cold—just honest. “This is something I have to do, Kuni. For myself.”

He nodded slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah.”

He knew. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. He knew from the start who she was. Knew she had dreams bigger than this city, than him. It was his fault for being weak and indulging in something he knew was a risk.

He wanted to come with. Drop out, leave everything behind and live a quiet life with her in another country while she pursues her dream. But he knows she would never agree to that. And staying with her while she’s away would only be a distraction and hold her back from the things that she wanted to accomplish. And he knows he would go crazy worrying about her whereabouts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He gave her a tired, bitter smile. “Don’t be. I already expected this.”

And he did. He just hadn’t realized how much of him she’d take when she left.

Kuni never hated Mona. He couldn’t.

She was doing what she had to do—what Ei had done, too.

They were both selfish, yes. Except Mona had a valid reason. And he thinks maybe that’s why he didn’t react out of anger.

He didn’t cry that night. Didn’t beg. He just sat there, eyes wide and empty, letting her go. Because he knew better than to fight for someone who’d already made up their mind.

The next morning, she was gone. And in her place was silence.

Kuni knew, deep down, that he was fragile.He let someone in, even when every part of him screamed not to. Naive. Stupid. Too soft where it mattered most.

So this time, instead of just walls, he built thorns around himself. Weapons. Barbed words, sharp silence, cold detachment. Anything to keep people at a distance. He started hooking up, messing around, destroying his reputation, losing himself in the temporary comfort of bodies that didn’t ask questions.

Because love, he decided, was just a longer word for loss.

And he was tired of losing.

But then you happened.

And Kuni wanted you.

He didn’t know it then.

The start of fourth-year.

He didn’t realize the girl at the bar, the one that suddenly sat beside him, was about to become the most emotionally confusing part of his life since the people he loved walked out and took parts of him with them.

Back then, you were just a stranger. A friend of a friend’s. A blur in the crowd. Another girl to satisfy his needs. You weren’t supposed to matter. Weren’t supposed to be more than just a one-night stand.

But you did. Somehow.

Somewhere between the stolen glances and clumsy laughter over shared drinks, between the way you didn’t flinch at his sarcasm or walk away when he got harsh and quiet—you started becoming unforgettable.

And Kuni didn’t remember people. Not like that. Not after just one night.

But that was the thing about you.

Even then, when you were both pretending, both half-lost in your own ways, you had this way of slipping under his skin like you belonged there.

He just didn’t know it yet.

“You look depressed.”

He turned to see a face he was sure he’d seen multiple times before.

Who were you again?

Oh, right.

[Surname].

The girl he usually saw with Ajax’s girlfriend in photos and parties. Usually somewhere across the room, half-laughing at something your friends said. He didn’t think you’d ever spoken directly to him before. Maybe in passing. Maybe not at all.

“And you look like someone who should mind their own fucking business,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of whatever was left in his glass.

Kuni wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit. Today was already bad enough. It was their anniversary. And he wanted to mourn it alone. So either you leave him alone or deal with his asshole attitude.

Except you didn’t go away.

Just slid onto the couch next to him like you were old friends, slouching on the backrest.

“Just saying. You’ve been sitting here for like thirty minutes, scowling into your drink like it said something rude.”

He gave you a side glance. Your lips were smirking, but your eyes were something else. Curious. Too perceptive for someone who had probably been drinking all night.

“What do you want?”

“A less boring night,” you said plainly. “You seemed like a good place to start.”

That made him laugh, just barely. People often don’t approach him first like that.

“Why are you here alone?” he asked.

“My friends bailed on me. Had a rough week,” you answered.

He simply looked at you with a side look, mulling over whether he should entertain you or not.

Well, maybe small company is okay. He decided.

The both of you talked. Nothing deep. Just enough to fill the space between glances and refills.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

Your sarcasm met his in the middle. Your eyes lingered just a little too long. You leaned in when you laughed, nudged his shoulders when you disagreed. And the longer you stayed like that, the more the air between you shifted.

Warmer. Tighter.

Every brush of your knee against his felt more intentional. Every look a little heavier. You stared at him just a second too long.

Kuni found himself drawn in, caught in the way your gaze lingered. There was something disarming about you. Not in-your-face attractive like most of the girls scattered around the bar, but effortlessly magnetic. Your outfit was modest by comparison, yet the bare line of your shoulders and the way your top hugged your figure left just enough to wonder about.

Teasing, intentional, but not trying too hard.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about what you looked like underneath it.

And yet—

Yeah. Something stirred.

Shit.

He hadn’t come there to take anyone home. That wasn’t the plan that night.

He licked his lips, feeling them dry.

You looked at him again, head slightly tilted, a silent invitation hanging in the air, like you were waiting for him to say something.

Fuck it.

He mirrored your tilt, voice dropping low and lustful. “My place?”

There was no hesitation. Just a nod.

A small, knowing smile.

Kuni thought you were odd.

Not in a loud, obvious way. Just odd enough to make him notice.

Most people who came to bars like that, looking for a warm body and a night of distraction, understood the unspoken rule:

Leave in the morning.

No lingering. No breakfast. No awkward small talk pretending that what happened meant something.

One-night stands came with that silent agreement. Hit and run, no strings. It was safer that way. No messy emotions, no confusion. Either he slipped out first, or the girl did. Always.

He usually brought them back to his place, so he was used to waking up alone. On the rarer occasions when he woke up first, he’d lie in bed longer than necessary, sometimes even missing a morning class, just to avoid making it uncomfortable for the girl to make her quiet exit. It was routine. Predictable.

So when he woke up that morning after the bar, bare mattress on his back, the hangover still settling behind his eyes, he assumed it was the same as always.

You were gone. Of course you were.

He sat up, dragging a hand down his face.

But something felt off.

Kuni woke abruptly from his sleep, sweaty and heaving.

He stared at the wall, in a trance. Head throbbing from the hangover.

Fucking nightmare.

He shook the dreaded feelings away and scanned his surroundings.

The room was quiet, too quiet. But not in the empty kind of way. There was a presence still hanging in the air. The subtle sound of movement outside the room.

And that was when it hit him. He walked out of his room and into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

You glanced over your shoulder casually, flipping something in the pan. “Cooking breakfast.”

His eyebrows twitched. He blinked.

“Right,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “‘That’s not necessary.”

“I want to.”

There was no hesitation in your voice. Just calm certainty, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be in a sort-of-stranger’s kitchen making breakfast after a one-night stand.

He leaned against the counter, eyeing you like you’d just sprouted a second head. “Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Do you always cook breakfast for them?”

That time, you did glance at him, smirking a little. “No.”

“The hell—”

“You looked lonely last night,” you said simply. “And depressed. You looked like shit. Still kinda do, honestly.”

Kuni opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, unfazed.

“Also, your apartment’s a disaster. I had the overwhelming urge to clean it. Cooking seemed like a good start.”

Kuni looks around his place, seeing all of his belonging scattered. Laundry. Trash.

Oh.

He didn’t have a strong desire to clean much ever since he started fooling around. Keeps most of the girls away.

You slid a plate with food onto the counter in front of him with practiced ease. “It’s not that deep. I just thought you could use a small win today.”

He stared at the plate, then at you, silent for a long moment.

You just smiled, turning back to the stove. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t completely, utterly confusing.

He takes in the sight of you cooking in his kitchen. You were standing there, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair messily tied back, completely at home in a place you’d only stepped into for the first time a few hours ago.

And something about that made his chest tighten. Not with warmth, but panic. It was too much. Too close. Too dangerous.

So he looked away. Swallowed hard. He walked back into his room, grabbed his phone, and when he went back out, he didn’t bother hiding the edge in his voice.

“This was a one-time thing,” he said flatly. “Don’t get comfortable.”

You froze, spatula mid-air.

He didn’t look at you.

“I’ve got shit to do,” he added, colder now. “You should head out after you eat.”

A beat passed. Silence stretching like a knife.

Still, he didn’t look.

Because if he did, he might’ve apologized. Might’ve said he didn’t mean it. Might’ve let you stay.

And he couldn’t afford that. So he hardened his voice one last time.

“Lock the door behind you. And leave my shirt.”

Then he walked out of his own apartment.

Ironically, Kuni let it happen a second time.

The one thing he swore he wouldn’t do.

Never repeat a girl. Never fall into the same pair of arms twice. Never give anyone the power to make him crave them more than once. He made that rule for a reason. To keep things clean, forgettable, and detached. It wasn’t even about morality, it was survival. Once was already too much for someone like him, someone who’d learned the hard way what happened when you let someone past the surface.

The plan was simple: drink, fuck, forget. Find a new face, a temporary escape, rinse, repeat. He didn’t even bother to learn the names of most of them.

You were supposed to be just like every other. A face he’d forget by morning.

But you weren’t.

Kuni wondered about you.

Not just in passing, not just in the shallow, fleeting way he did with others.

Unlike the others, he was already acquainted with you. He’d seen you around campus, around his friends, knew your name before he ever touched you. Got to talk to you before he even touched you.

Back then, you didn’t even cross his mind. But that night and the morning after, something shifted.

You were different, not because you tried to be, but because you didn’t. You were sarcastic, annoyingly perceptive, and knew how to keep up with him in the short time he got to talk to you.

And maybe that was the problem.

That was what scared him.

The way you deflected all of his attacks. The way you lingered in his head long after you were gone. And that was dangerous.

So when he opened his door and saw you again, three days later, he was already on edge.

Kuni opened the door halfway, eyes slightly bloodshot, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

He stared at you in disbelief.

“Didn’t I say it was a one-time thing?”

Cold. Defensive. Because if he let it get soft, even for a second, someone would crawl past the walls again.

You didn’t flinch. “Relax. I just need my ring.”

He took a sip before answering. “What ring?” he says, tone bored.

“The gold one. I left it by your stove.”

He blinked, recalling it, then remembered exactly what you were talking about. It was the ring he saw when he got back to his apartment.

He figured it was yours, obviously, since you’re the only girl that had the audacity to cook in his kitchen. But he didn’t really think you’d go back for it.

“You left it on purpose.” He stares at you.

“You wish. It’s a ring with sentimental value, unlike you. I just forgot about it.”

“If it’s really important, you wouldn’t’ve forgotten it,” he accuses.

“Would you just give it to me?” you glare at him.

He sighs in defeat. He walked back to his messy couch and gestured lazily. “Go get it yourself.”

He hears you mutter a frustrated ‘finally,’ before focusing back to drinking.

You walked past his living room and headed straight for the kitchen. His eyes follow you, watching with half-interest, half-irritation, nursing his drink in silence.

You found it easily, sitting there like it never moved. You stared at it for a second longer than you needed to before sliding it back onto your finger.

Then thunder cracked loud outside.

The rain had come fast and hard, lightning flickering in the windows.

“Shit,” you muttered, glancing out. “You got an umbrella?” you called over your shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Wow. Responsible.” Sarcasm. “I’m out,” he heard you say.

He didn’t respond. But he noticed how your steps slowed. How you lingered by the door, fiddling with your ring, eyes darting toward the storm. You didn’t want to go out in the pouring rain. You didn’t say it, but he could tell.

He let out a sigh and muttered without looking at you, “Stay until it stops. I’m not driving you.”

Simple. Emotionless. But you stayed.

You ended up on his couch while he poured himself another drink. He didn’t offer conversation. Not wanting the night to steer differently.

The silence stretched for minutes, but then, you surprised him again. You walked over and grabbed the bottle. Poured yourself a glass. Sat beside him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a brow.

You took a sip and shrugged. “What, you don’t share?”

He didn’t reply. Just let you do whatever you wanted.

Just what is it with you and being too comfortable around him.

He tried so hard not to interact, tried hard not to linger his eyes for too long. But he had a few shots already and the liquor is starting to take effect.

He took a subtle glance at you.

Then your eyes unexpectedly met his, and he was caught—just looking.

At the curve of your lips, the slope of your neck, the way your legs crossed under your oversized hoodie.

“You’re staring,” you said, lips twitching into a smirk.

He snapped his gaze away, regretting his actions.

Something was growing on him. Hard.

He shouldn’t’ve let you inside. He should’ve just gave you back the ring himself.

“I thought this was supposed to be a one-time thing,” you added, voice laced with laughter and teasing.

It hit a nerve. He didn’t reply.

You leaned in closer. The air shifted. He clenched his jaw, still silent. Still pretending it didn’t affect him.

Your fingers grazed his knee. And that was it.

He was tipsy. Tense. Tired of pretending.

And just like that, everything he’d tried to bury lit up like fire under his skin.

The rules broke. Again.

You didn’t stay that night. You left quietly early in the morning while he was still asleep. But when he woke up, the apartment was clean. The dishes were washed. The clutter was gone.

A plate of food sat on the counter. Next to it was a folded napkin with a note in what he assumed was your handwriting:

‘Just fucking eat it.’

It made him chuckle.

And that’s what pissed him off most.

That you left no trace of yourself, except for something so human it stuck with him the whole day.

So Kuni let it happen. Again.

If the second time was unexpected, the third was deliberate.

You showed up at his door a week later, around midnight, cheeks pink from the cold. Or maybe from the fact that you were reeking of alcohol. Your hair was messy, jacket half-zipped, and your lips pulled into a crooked line that told him this wasn’t planned.

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Can I come in?”

He blinked. “What are you doing here?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t wanna be home. Fought with Lumi. Needed a distraction.”

And he was the first person you thought to come to?

“You’re drunk.”

“Sober enough to walk here.”

He almost shut the door in your face. But something in your face, tired, but still sharp with defiance, made him pause.

You didn’t wait for him to invite you. You pushed past him like it was your place, like you belonged there.

And when he tried to say something, you kissed him.

Fast. Desperate. Familiar.

He almost lost his balance. But he didn’t push you away. Maybe that was his mistake.

The two of you didn’t fall asleep this time. Both of you just lay there, skin warm, breaths uneven from whatever that just was.

Kuni stared at the ceiling blankly. “I swear, this is the last time,” he mutters.

You turned to him with a questioning gaze.

“I don’t do repeats. You already crossed that line.”

You stared at him, half amused, half insulted. “Right. I forgot, you’re the infamous campus heartbreaker.”

He didn’t respond.

You waited. Then asked, “Why do you do it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

You sat up a little, tugging the blanket higher. “It’’s about commitment, isn’t it? Doesn’t it get tiring? Having to find someone new every time?” you tried to pry more.

He didn’t answer. You studied him for a beat. He looked calm, but you knew better. You didn’t press further.

“Never mind. It means nothing to me. I don’t like commitment, either. So you don’t have to worry about reusing me,” you laugh. “Rather than worrying about your sex life, I should worry about my health. You probably have STDs, or something,” you hug yourself and shiver dramatically.

He rolls his eyes. “I always use a condo–”

“Relax, I was joking,” you snort.

This irked him.

“Get out of my apartment.”

And you did. With an annoying giggle at that, too.

Kuni mulled it over long after you were gone.

This meant nothing to you. You said it yourself. Maybe that’s when everything took a turn. Because to him, this never meant anything, not really. But he was scared that he’d start to consider giving it meaning.

You were a risk.

But then again… so was everything else.

The exhausting nights of downing drinks to build the courage to flirt. The meaningless hookups. The silence in his room afterward. The emptiness that clung to him even when the bed wasn’t. He kept running from commitment, kept choosing chaos, but in the end, it still left him tired. Worn and bitter and bored of it all.

And then there was you. Bold. Audacious. The kind of fun Kuni didn’t have for a while.

He didn’t trust himself. Not to stay cold. Not to keep the distance. Because, again, he knew he was fragile despite everything. But when you said it didn’t mean anything to you, something in him relaxed.

Maybe, just maybe, if you could control yourself, he could too.

The next time it happened, it was Kuni who approached you first.

Then it was you. Then him again.

A quiet back-and-forth, a rhythm born from stressful weeks and late nights, each of you seeking the same kind of escape in the other.

It was unspoken, effortless. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. A fling. Whatever label people might throw on it, neither of you bothered to define it.

It was easier that way. Easier to pretend it was simple. And for a while, it was.

Because Kuni was careful. Always.

He set his own rules. His own boundaries. After every night, he made sure to be the one who woke up and left first, even when it was in his own apartment.

Sometimes, you beat him to it. And he took it as a sign that maybe you got it, too. Maybe you were just as good at keeping things distant.

When both of your friend groups found out what’s happening between you two, despite all the teasing and doubts about the nature of your relationship, you both kept denying it.

We’re just friends.

A short sentence that he repeated a hundred times. And you followed.

The two of you never hung out outside of bed. Never spent quality time. Never got to know each other beyond the surface level. Most of the time, when life was going fine for the both of you, weeks would pass in silence. No check-ins. No texts. Just distance until the next bad day came, and one of you reached out, needing relief.

So it continued. Wordless. Measured. A mutual understanding held together by silence and restraint.

For months, you both clung to the comfort of routine, anything to stop whatever complicated feelings were quietly growing in the spaces you refused to look at.

He appreciated you for it. How you never crossed the line he silently drew. You never asked the wrong questions. Never prodded at the past he kept buried. You never tried to peel back the layers he guarded like armor.

You were content with what little he gave. Fragments of deep conversation, fleeting touches, the kind of closeness and banter that never demanded more.

And somehow, that made it easier. Safer. It was comforting to him, in a way. Knowing someone could be there even when he offered next to nothing except his body. Even when the two of you barely qualified as friends.

But over time, something shifted. Because the more times it happened, the more curious he became. He became restless. He found himself wondering:

If you were willing to stay through the bare minimum—no promises, no answers, no depth—

what would happen if he gave you more?

Four months in, things began to change.

It was subtle at first. So subtle that it went past Kuni.

Maybe it was when you started ranting before getting intimate. Stating your reasons for calling him. You’d drop onto his couch with a sigh, words spilling out like a routine. And he just listened. Something he didn’t even realize was way past his boundaries.

“I swear this prof. hates me.”

“I keep getting migraines lately, it fucking sucks.”

“My thesis partner thinks ‘editing’ means changing the font.”

Then there were other things. You started checking if he had eaten, always in the form of an insult.

“Don’t tell me you’re surviving on caffeine and alcohol again.” And he’d roll his eyes, but the next time, you’d still ask. Even urged him to buy food that he can cook.

He started keeping snacks you liked. The ones you always brought when you were hungry, stating, “I want to eat before we do anything.”

He later went on a grocery run and mindlessly stocked up on them. Kept them in a drawer in his kitchen. Along with headache meds. “Emergency stash,” he claimed when you noticed. Didn’t say whose emergency he meant.

Or maybe it was the time when nothing happened.

You showed up, visibly stressed, visibly shaken, and instead of touching him like he initially thought you’d need, you asked if you could just stay.

No ulterior motive. No need to touch.

So you sat beside him. On the floor. In silence. Shoulder to shoulder. And you didn’t even say a word. But somehow, it made all the noise in his head quiet.

That was when it started to really terrify him.

Because in all the flings he had, no one ever reached that far. They got his body. Never his quiet. But you? You found your way into both. Without even realizing.

Suddenly, Kuni wasn’t sure if this was just physical for him anymore.

Because for the first time in a long while, he started to wonder to himself how your day was. If you were sleeping okay. If you went out with your friends today. He started to replay the way you laughed when he humors your playful banter and insults. The way you looked proud when you beat him at a dumb card game one night after leaving the bed in a storm.

And worst of all, he started calling you up more often even when he didn’t really need to. Granted, it always ended in sex, but a part of him simply did it to hold you.

That’s when it changed.

The lines between you didn’t blur with the heated touches or the nights tangled in each other’s arms. No, those were expected. Part of the deal. What truly blurred them were the quiet, gentle moments that had no place in whatever this was.

It was never the passion that confused him. It was the tenderness. The kind that shouldn’t exist between two people who swore they were nothing. Because despite everything he tried to avoid, he started to silently care.

And caring was the one thing he swore he’d never do again. Not after what happened before. Not after everything he’d buried just to survive.

But he found himself forgetting what it felt like to be left behind—ironically, in something destined to end that way.

Because with you, it didn’t feel like survival anymore.

It was something dangerously close to living.

So much so that for a while, Kuni thought about ending it.

Not because he was tired of you. It was the opposite. It was because his feelings were changing, and that was never part of the plan.

He believed that it meant nothing to you. That it was all him making something up in his head. That the quiet care, the shared silences, the way you both stayed longer than necessary were just convenience. It simply stemmed from your personality.

After all, neither of you ever defined what this was. In those rare, intimate moments, where one of you would do something only people who cared would do, there was always a wordless agreement to never speak of it. To pretend it didn’t mean anything. There was always awkwardness hanging in the air.

So he convinced himself that if it continued, you’d leave. That one day, you’d see him for what he was—someone wrecked and weak—and you’d reject him for it.

But then the what-ifs started to creep in.

What if you felt it too? What if the small things mattered to you just as much? What if you weren’t staying because it was easy, but because, like him, you hoped?

And if he pushed you away first, he’d be losing you. Not because you left, but because he didn’t let you stay.

So Kuni continued.

He continued to keep you around.

Continued to dance back and forth between acceptance and denial.

When Kuni woke up before you, he didn’t leave.

He used to always leave before dawn. Always.

But lately, every morning, he stayed longer than necessary. Half-asleep on the edge of your bed, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, arm lazily draped around your waist. Close. Closer than he ever let himself be while conscious.

Shit.

He wanted to avoid cuddling, as much as possible. But it happened sometimes, blamed it on the cold or on reflexes. He’d usually slip away before you stirred. No trace. No warmth left behind.

But this time, when you shifted in your sleep, back brushing against his chest, he didn’t move.

You were turned away from him. Breathing slow. Completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He let himself look. He took it all in. The calmness of your features, the way your hair fell across the pillow, the slight twitch of your fingers like you were dreaming. The kind of softness he’d convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to want.

He could’ve left. Should’ve, probably. But instead, his eyes fell to your hand, resting loosely on the blanket.

That ring. The stupid ring that started it all. If you hadn’t left it that night, maybe none of this would’ve spiraled into whatever you were now. Maybe he wouldn’t be here wrapped up in warmth he told himself he didn’t need.

But he was.

And without thinking too hard about it, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. Quiet. Careful.

He didn’t point the camera at your face. Just the way your back curled slightly toward him, the way the early morning light traced soft outlines across the sheets, the stillness of it all.

A snapshot. One he’d keep for himself. Just to remember. He observed the photo, thinking that it didn’t give justice to the real thing.

Pretty.

He never said it aloud. Not to you. But maybe someday, you’d see it.

And maybe you’d understand.

Kuni hadn’t been subtle.

Not lately.

And maybe that was the point. He knew he was slipping. Letting things show. Letting you see. The in-between, too heavy.

He started leaving hints on purpose. Not loud gestures that would risk scaring you away, but little things. Quiet gestures. Nothing he expected anything back for.

He just wanted to show you the change. Wanted you to know without him having to say it, and to see if you felt the same too.

He thought about everything—about how easy it would be to pull away again. How easy it would be to just keep things as it was.

But a part of him didn’t want easy anymore.

Kuni didn’t reply to your message, in a hurry.

He didn’t think. He just moved. Grabbed the snacks he knew you liked and stopped for coffee, even though it was already late and the café near his dorm was closing soon.

He didn’t have a plan. He just… didn’t want you to feel alone tonight.

When he spotted you hunched over a table in the library, looking one breath away from falling apart, something sharp tugged in his chest. So he walked over and dropped the coffee and snacks in front of you. Didn’t say anything grand. Just eased into the seat across from you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the table, then up at him.

“What is this?” you asked, wary.

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “You look like you’re two pages away from losing your mind.”

That was it. No ulterior motive. Just… worry. Quiet, uninvited worry.

He saw the way you hesitated before touching the cup. Like you were trying to figure out what he wanted. Like you were weirded about him just showing up.

You stared at the coffee like it might bite. Like it meant more than it did—or maybe exactly what it did.

“Seriously,” you murmured, not meeting his eyes. “Why are you here?”

He leaned back, tried to keep it light. “Dunno.” Then softer, “Just figured you’d need a recharge.”

He watched your fingers curl around the cup. That was enough. He didn’t need a thank you. He just needed to know you were taking care of yourself, even if it was through him.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were dull. He could tell your head hurt.

“You sure you don’t wanna take a break?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

“You look like you need one.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that luxury.”

He bit back the urge to argue. You were always so stubborn. Always acted like you had to do everything on your own.

So instead, he offered what little help he could. “It’s late. Continue studying at home.” He hesitated. Then, quietly, “Or at my place. It’s closer.”

And just like that, your expression changed. He saw the way your hands stilled. How you immediately shut down.

Why?

You laughed, cold and hollow. “Right. And I’m sure we’d get so much studying done there.”

He blinked, confused. The edge in your voice was sharper than usual. “What do you mean?”

Oh.

You thought this was about that. Of course.

He felt a heavy feeling he couldn’t describe.

You didn’t answer. Just brushed him off. Told him you still had a lot to do. And maybe he should’ve argued. Explained himself. But what would’ve been the point? You’d already made up your mind. So he let the silence sit. Then stood up quietly.

“Fine,” he muttered, trying not to let the sting show. “Don’t overwork yourself, moron.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Wasn’t what he wanted to do.

But it was too late, and all he could do was walk away.

Kuni didn’t plan to call.

He read your message that you planned to do an all-nighter, and his thumb was already tapping the call icon.

He told himself it was to check on you. To keep you company while you worked. Not because he missed you. Not because the silence of his room felt louder without you in it.

When you answered, the image of you lit up his screen, half-tired, eyes ringed with stress, but still managing that soft ‘Hey’ that landed somewhere uncomfortably near his chest.

“Hey,” he answered. He kept it easy. Familiar.

You asked why, and he gave the first excuse that came to mind:

“You aren’t here and I didn’t have anything else to do.”

A lie, kind of.

There were things he could be doing. He just didn’t feel like doing them knowing you’d be staying up all night.

You asked about studying, and he brushed it off like it was nothing. Said he already did. Said he doesn’t pull all-nighters like you losers.

Made you laugh. That was the point.

He didn’t say he’d been thinking about you since earlier. Didn’t say he regretted how that went. How you looked at him like he was just another interruption. Like all he ever wanted was you in pieces, never whole.

So he stayed quiet now. Watched you twirl your pen. Half-listened as you thanked him for the coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Truth, laid bare without thinking. He waited for the blowback, for you to read into it and pull away again. But you didn’t. Not really. You changed the subject like you always do.

You didn’t know that he stayed on the call for your voice. Watching you frown at your notes and bite your lip grounded him more than sleep ever could.

That he was trying, really trying, to just be there without asking for anything.

Even when your eyes started to flutter shut. Even when your voice got quieter and softer until it was barely there.

He teased. Called you an idiot when you couldn’t remember what he last said. Then watched you drift off, your figure slackening in the frame.

He didn’t end the call right away. Didn’t hang up like he should’ve.

He just stared. You looked peaceful. Safe.

And under his breath—too quiet for you to hear, but loud enough to mean something—he whispered,

“Goodnight, pretty.”

Then he hung up.

And stared at the empty screen a while longer.

Kuni knew he was being too careful.

Why you couldn’t see what he was trying to show you. Why you assumed things that weren’t pure.

He wanted to make it more obvious. Not by saying something, but by doing something. Asking you out.

He remembered Ajax once casually mentioning how he gets his girlfriend little gifts when she does well. Sometimes for absolutely no reason. Something small. Something thoughtful.

Kuni had rolled his eyes at the time, but the idea stuck.

So when he saw the charm, delicate glass petals with a little space for initials, he didn’t even hesitate. He bought it without overthinking.

Well, maybe he did. A little.

Because it wasn’t just a gift. It served as a starting point. A declaration.

He stood outside the lecture hall, leaning against the wall, pretending to scroll through his phone. He heard your laugh before he saw you, that breathless, giddy kind that only came when you were running on adrenaline.

And then there you were.

You looked light.

Freer than you had in days. Weeks.

And the way your eyes found him—like you were surprised by him being there—it settled something restless in his chest.

“Hey, genius,” he said, tone flat, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t waited ten whole minutes rehearsing, nothing to say.

You lit up. You tried to play it off, made a joke about maybe not passing, and he scoffed.

Please.

He knew you passed.

He saw it in the way you carried yourself, like you finally remembered you were brilliant.

You laughed, and he felt it more than heard it.

So he pulled the charm from his pocket. Held it out to you with no ceremony. No big speech. Just a quiet offering.

“I figured you deserved something,” he muttered. “Should’ve gotten a bigger one, since you aced it and all.”

He watched you freeze. Watched the way your fingers curled around it carefully, like it might break. Like it meant more than you were ready to say.

And maybe that was the point.

This wasn’t like the coffee, or the food, or the study calls.

This wasn’t fleeting. It was something you could hold on to. He didn’t need you to give it back, or throw it away, or overthink it.

He just needed you to keep it. To know he was proud of you.

When your voice faltered, he looked away. Shrugged. Stuffed his hands into his pockets like it was nothing. Like his pulse wasn’t racing.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he said, already walking ahead.

Then, over his shoulder, with more ease than he felt: “C’mon. I just finished my own practicals. We need a proper celebration. Nothing big, just us. You in?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Didn’t look back. But a big part of him hoped you’d see it for what it really was.

The hair thing.

He hadn’t meant to do it. It surprised him, as well. Like it was instinct, like your presence was already stitched into the rhythm of his hands. But the moment his fingers grazed your skin, he felt it. Too soft. Too familiar. Something that felt less like impulse and more like yearning.

You looked at him like you felt it too. That made him hope. Made him more confident.

He could feel that you wanted more.

So when you reached your dorm and he opened his mouth—finally, he thought.

Just fucking say it.

That he wanted more than what you had now. That this thing between you wasn’t just about satisfying cravings anymore. That he was starting to look forward to the in-betweens more than the aftermaths.

That he was falling—fast, hard, and quietly—for the only person who might or might not catch him.

But then his breath caught.

His courage flickered.

What if saying it ruined this? What he got the wrong signals?

So he smiled, bitter and tired, and said, “Never mind.”

And you looked at him like you knew. Like you were waiting for something, too. Like you were hoping.

“Kuni…” you trail off. Your brows furrowed and your lips frowned, clear disappointment.

Seeing that almost made him cave. Almost. But instead he flicked your forehead, the safest affection he could manage. Told you to get some rest, and turned away before he changed his mind.

Maybe next time, he thought.

When he walked off, he didn’t feel lighter. He felt everything all at once. Tight in his chest, sharp in his ribs.

Kuni was still a coward.

And he continued being a coward.

For days, he said nothing. Did nothing. Just existed on the edge of every what if.

He kept thinking about that night. Your laugh echoing in his chest, the way your eyes softened when you thought he wasn’t looking, the warmth of your skin when he tucked your hair behind your ear. Stupid. It was so stupid. But it stuck with him like a song he couldn’t turn off.

He should’ve said something. That night. When he hesitated. When he looked at you and wanted—really wanted—for the first time, something more than what you were.

But he hadn’t. Because hope is dangerous, and he wasn’t brave enough.

A part of him started to regret his actions. Started to regret stepping over his own boundaries. Because he realized again that it really was easier to pretend it was nothing.

At some point he hoped you’d do something instead—reach out, push the line, call him out. Anything that would make the leap easier. Something that would let him off the hook.

And still, he couldn't do it.

Because he knew it was his responsibility.

Instead, he buried it under silence. Let the days stretch on with only a few texts, safe and distant. Played it cool like he wasn’t checking his phone every few hours, like he wasn’t searching for your face in the halls more than usual.

It drove his friends insane.

“You’re being a dick,” Ajax told him flat out one afternoon. “You start treating her like she’s special, then keep denying to everyone else that you feel something. Do you know how that looks like to others?”

"There really is nothing to it,” Kuni spat. Denied.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re sure acting like a guy in love.”

He had no answer to that.

Vague denials, dismissive shrugs to his friends. He clung to them like they were lifelines. But the cracks were starting to show. Even he could feel it.

And Kuni had always been good at many things—sarcasm, pushing people away, hiding behind sharp words and sharper silence.

But love?

It was something he swore to never feel again.

And you? You were becoming too important to risk on a maybe.

So he stayed quiet. A coward still.

But even he knew—

He couldn’t keep hiding much longer.

Kuni was genuinely curious.

He was looking forward to hearing your request after winning the bet.

What would you ask of him? It seemed like something you’d been dying to say. Maybe it was dumb, but he was already prepared to give in to whatever you asked.

But he didn’t expect to get blindsided.

She was back.

He found out just not through whispers, but straight from her—texting him out of nowhere.

Hey. I’m back. Can we talk?

She told him months ago that she wouldn’t return. That she needed to do this for herself. And he accepted it. Quietly. Painfully.

And now?

He stared at his phone too long. Didn’t answer. Thought ignoring it would make it go away. But fate had other plans, because next thing he knew, she was there, in the hallway, walking toward him like time hadn’t passed at all.

Same familiar perfume. Same old eyes that once made him lose himself. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Déjà vu didn’t come gently. It came like a wave, dragging everything he buried right back to the surface.

He agreed to meet her. Maybe for closure. Maybe out of reflex.

The world felt muted.

“You look good,” Mona said softly. “Tired. But good.”

He didn’t return the compliment. Just looked at her, quiet.

“What happened to Berlin?” he asked, his voice low, guarded.

“I finished what I had to do there,” she said, smiling. “They let me come back. I’m gonna graduate here. Take some time to figure things out.”

Kuni nodded. Nothing inside him moved the way it used to. There was no ache. Just… a distant memory.

“Did it go well?” he asked out of courtesy.

“It did! I learned so much and had countless opportunities.” She smiled proudly, remembering the things she did and experienced.

After a pause, “I’m glad it went well. You did good,” he said, to his own surprise. And he meant it. She laughed at the sudden compliment, nudged his arm playfully. He didn’t mind.

And that’s when it happened.

He smiled. Soft. Brief. Real.

But it wasn’t for her. Not anymore. It was for who she had become. For who she fought to be.

Because even as he looked at her, it wasn’t Mona’s face in his mind.

It was yours.

He remembered the way you clenched your pen when you were focused. The way your eyes sparkled when you got fired up talking about something. The way your voice shifted when you were nervous but pretending not to be.

God.

He wanted to see you like this too.

Thriving. Smiling. Accomplished.

And he wanted to be there beside you when you did. To be someone who stood still beside you while the world changed.

That’s when the guilt hit. That’s when the confusion clawed its way back in.

Mona being here—she complicated things. She was a symbol of everything he let go of. And now she was back. It’s the last thing he needed right now.

“I’m happy for you,” he said coldly, slowly walking away. “Really. But I’ve got to go.” He waved her goodbye, turning his back on her.

“Wait, Kuni…” she called out.

He stopped.

“Um.. There’s more,” she said. “Please hear me out.”

He turned, facing her again.

“My parents. They’re trying to arrange a marriage with someone in Germany. Says it was for a partnership. Pay back for accepting me in Berlin.” she said. “That’s… also partly why I came back here.”

She continued, “I told them I’d go along with it after graduating here for a year but… I don’t want to. I don’t love him.”

He stared at her, silent.

“I want to try again. With us,” she said, stepping forward. “Maybe if I show them I’m in love with someone else, they’ll back off. If we can rekindle what we had…”

His heart dropped.

“No,” he said, voice cold. Sharper than before. “You want to pick up where we left off like it was nothing?” he said quietly. Kuni really couldn’t blame her for leaving. Couldn’t get angry. But asking this of him?

“I—” Mona looked taken aback.

“You left. You said Berlin was your dream, and I respected that. I let you go without begging you to stay.”

A pause. The wind rattled through the open halls.

“You don’t get to come back now that I’ve found reasons to move forward. You don’t get to do this to me.”

Her expression faltered. “But—”

“Goodbye,” he said. Then he left. No second glance.

He didn’t touch his phone that afternoon. Forgot to.

Not with everything in his head.

Kuni noticed your silence immediately.

You always replied. Sometimes late, sometimes short, but you always said something. But now, days have passed. No “lol.” No reactions. No dry sarcasm.

Just… nothing.

He told himself maybe you were busy. Research, projects, a nap that turned into three days of recovery.

But when the silence stretched longer, a dull throb of worry settled in his chest.

Had he messed up?

Was it the late reply?

The bet?

He hated how his first instinct was to spiral. And he hated how the thought that maybe you’re done with him made his throat tighten.

Still, he swallowed his pride and looked for you. In your usual hallway. Outside the library where you liked to sit. Even tried knocking on your dorm and waited for you to come out.

But you didn’t.

So he kept texting you. Even asked Ajax to ask your best friend if she’d seen you.

None of the things he did resulted in a response from you.

He knew something felt off.

And it didn’t help that Mona was everywhere now.

She waited for him after class. Sat beside him during lunch like they were still something. Talked to him like nothing had changed.

Maybe to her, nothing had. But everything had changed for him.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want her here. Didn’t want the past making itself comfortable beside him when all he could think about was you.

But when he tried to distance himself, when he gave her cold shoulders, short answers, quiet indifference, she just smiled and brushed it off.

“I’m an irregular student. You’re the only friend I have right now,” she said once. “It’s not like I’m trying to get back together. I just… feel safe around you.”

And he had nothing to say to that. So he let her stay. Even when it felt wrong. Even when it made him look like someone he wasn’t anymore.

Because what could he have done? Mona leeched on him.

What he didn’t realize was that you saw it. Everyone did.

Saw her sitting beside him. Saw her waiting for him.

It looked exactly like what he swore he didn’t want anymore.

He was blind.

Kuni didn’t expect your reason.

Didn’t expect you to disappear because of him.

For days now, Kuni’s been turning that silence over in his mind, retracing every interaction, every message he sent that went unanswered. But then he noticed, how you were replying to others since they started mentioning you again. How you posted that one tweet.

You weren’t offline. Just off with him.

That’s when it hit him.

Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe you were pulling away because he stepped too close to a line you never agreed on crossing.

He hadn’t even asked to sleep with you again lately. Neither of you had.

No excuses this time. No impulse to hide behind.

Just him, choosing not to make a move. Because lately, every time he looked at you, he didn’t want something casual. He wanted to stay. Stay even when it wasn’t convenient. And he thought you were somewhat on the same page.

And maybe that was the problem.

You didn’t ask for that. You never said you wanted more.

Maybe he got the wrong impression.

So he stopped messaging. Not to punish you. Not to give up. But because he thought maybe he’s the reason you’re backing away. Maybe you're trying to breathe and he kept hovering too close.

He didn’t want to make it worse. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He noticed how fast you distanced yourself the moment things felt real. Something he thought he’d be doing. Though it ached him, because he was hoping otherwise, he thought maybe you’d call him up again when you needed relief. That things would go back to how it used to.

How it should be.

That rainy Sunday night confirmed it.

He didn’t expect to see you. He didn’t expect to feel the ache surge back up like it never left when he spotted your figure across the store. Hoodie. Hair damp from drizzle. Your eyes darting away like he was a stranger and brushing past him.

An unforgiving storm poured down, as reflecting his heavy feelings.

You didn’t dare run through the storm, staying outside the convenience store, stuck. Thinking about it, it was similar to when you went to retrieve your ring and ended up staying at his place because it was raining.

Except this time was different.

He watched you. Watched your silence from inside. He waited for you to go back. To talk to him. He waited for the words. But you didn’t make a move, just hugging yourself from the cold, waiting out the storm.

Feeling discarded again, he confronted you. Not wanting to face the same hurt he experienced in the past once more.

He came off strong at first, but he wasn’t angry when he asked. Just tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of acting like he didn’t care, when he did.

And the way you answered—empty, vague, careful—it only confirmed what he feared: you were never going to tell him the truth unless he forced it out of you.

But he didn’t expect what you said next.

“I want to claim my bet.”

Then his heart sank the second you said you wanted to stop.

No more late nights. No more whatever-this-is. No more excuses to see each other. Essentially, it was the only thing that held your relationship together.

He was wrong. It was never anything deeper.

Not to you, evidently.

He thought about saying something. Thought about asking why now, why like this, in the middle of a storm that sounded like the world was falling apart around you.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to reach for your hand and tell you that he wasn’t ready to let go.

That it wasn’t a fling anymore. Not for him. But he didn’t. He just accepted the hurt once more. Because it was what he’s used to. His first instinct.

“Alright.”

Because, again, what else was there to say to someone who already made up their mind?

So he pulled his hood up. Took one last glance at you—quiet, expressionless, unreadable. And walked out into the storm. Not because he didn’t care, but because staying felt more humiliating than being soaked to the bone.

Each drop felt like punishment.

Every step away from you a reminder:

You were never his to begin with.

And still, as the rain drenched him and blurred the streetlights ahead, all he could think about was the sound of your voice, flat and final—

“Let’s just leave each other alone.”

And maybe, in the end, that’s what he’ll do. Not because he wants to. But because you asked him to. Even when it felt like a punch in the gut when someone he cared for left him again. Even if it means walking away with the one thing he never admitted out loud:

You were more than just something to satisfy his needs. You were the risk he wished he took earlier. Something real that he wished he had established earlier.

Maybe your view of him would’ve changed. Maybe you would have opened up to him. Maybe it could’ve been easier than easy.

If he only had the courage back then.

Kuni regretted that stormy night.

The silence that followed. The words he didn’t say. The look on your face. He told himself it was better this way, easier for you both. But every day since, the hollow ache in his chest reminded him otherwise.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call.

He couldn’t. Because what would he even say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? That the space between you felt like it was swallowing him whole?

So instead, he waited. By the gates, where he knew it was around this time if the day when you left the campus that day.

He didn’t tell you he’d be there. He couldn’t handle being ignored again, or worse, watching you walk away with that same look in your eyes.

He knew you’d refuse to talk to him.

He waited.

Hours passed. His legs ached. But he kept looking. For your silhouette. Your steps. The familiar weight of your presence in a crowd.

And then—

He thought he saw you.

Or maybe just the shape of you. He blinked, unsure, stomach tightening with something bitter and hopeful all at once.

But Mona appeared.

Her voice broke through his thoughts, casual and teasing. She said something about him being distracted again. He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes in that direction, heart pounding.

He didn’t even realize Mona had reached for his arm until he felt her hand. He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t lean in, either. Not really. Just stood there, letting her talk, letting the moment slip.

And then—he saw you.

Clear this time.

Your eyes met his across the campus distance, and the world went still for a breath. You looked at him with an unreadable expression, but it was evident that you didn’t want to talk to him.

His chest ached. He wanted to move. To say something. Anything.

He noticed Lumi beside you, giving him a cold glare. He sighs, giving up, and turns to Mona, “Let’s go.”

As he walked away, he kept thinking about that split second. The look on your face. He didn’t know if you’d ever talk to him again. But he hoped that you’d seen it.

That you’d seen him waiting.

That you’d understand he hadn’t stopped.

Not really.

Not ever.

Kuni considered entertaining Mona’s offer.

She made it easy. Familiar smiles, old jokes, the kind of comfort that used to mean something. Maybe if he let himself fall back into that rhythm, he could use it as a distraction. Maybe he could pretend her presence filled the space you left behind.

Maybe he could trick himself into believing he still had it in him to feel that kind of fondness for her again.

Though, it seemed unlikely. Because even as Mona laughed beside him, even as her hand lingered on his arm like it used to, his mind kept drifting.

His mind kept drifting to you.

He knew it was pathetic.

Going back to the past that caused him pain. Maybe it’s because the pain he felt with you hurt more.

Unlike Mona, you didn’t climb over his walls, didn’t tear them down. You never pushed, never crossed the lines he set.

He let you in on his own terms. He wanted you. A conscious decision. One he made willingly, recklessly, because it felt right at the time.

And now, he regrets it.

But because in doing so, he cost you.

But at this point, he just wanted the ache to stop. Wanted the nights to pass without your name sitting on the edge of every thought. Wanted to stop remembering the exact way you looked when you said goodbye.

So he let Mona talk. Let Mona hang around, fooling both of them in the idea that she had him again.

And his friends didn’t take it well.

Lies. All fucking lies.

Truthfully, he agreed with his friends. But he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe it was mostly his pride talking.

They didn’t know the whole story to judge and reprimand him.

He knew that was one of his many faults too.

Kuni tried to reach out to you again.

He wanted a final attempt. Even knowing you probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Still, he found himself driving, on impulse, on hope, to your street late at night, at a time he was sure you’d be home.

He parked nearby, lights off, waiting in silence.

But your dorm windows were still dark. No signs of life. He knew you weren’t asleep this early, so he waited.

Ten minutes. Twenty. An hour.

And then he saw it. Headlights cutting through the street. A car pulled up to the curb right in front of your building. A car he recognized immediately.

Kaz’s.

The tinted windows were light enough to make out the face in the driver’s seat.

Tall. Relaxed. Familiar.

And then his breath caught.

You were in the passenger seat. With Kaz. At night. Alone.

What the hell were you doing with him?

A pit opened in his stomach, heavy and bitter. He watched as you smiled at Kaz. Soft, warm. A smile he hadn’t seen in weeks. A smile he could recognize anywhere even through tinted windows.

You opened the door, stepped out. Kaz stayed in the car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

Kuni’s hands clenched the steering wheel. Jealousy and betrayal burned through him, sharp and ugly. He didn’t have the right to be angry. But that didn’t stop him from seething.

Is that why Kaz was so angry at him? He thought it was weird how he seemed personally affected by what he’d done. And you. How could you replace him so fast? Flash someone a smile so soft, so easy, just like that?

He considered stepping out the car, knocking on your door, and confronting you. But he knew better than that.

Kuni banged his head on the steering wheel, feeling his head throb from the pain of all these thoughts.

Was he really just nothing to you?

For the first time in a while, Kuni genuinely considered crying.

As pathetic as it sounded.

Not out of anger. Not even heartbreak. Just… exhaustion. The kind that creeps in after weeks of pained emotions.

He started seeing it everywhere. His friends’ tweets, their replies, their subtle jabs that weren’t so subtle at all. Mentions of you. Mentions of Kaz.

He ignored the provocations, pretended they didn’t get under his skin. But it all chipped away at him.

And the one time—the only time—he finally gathered the nerve to text you again, he found out he was blocked. Everywhere. Every account.

You were done.

His anger toward Kaz? It fizzled into something colder. Not hatred. Not even bitterness.

Resignation.

Because he saw the photo he posted.

You looked happy. At peace.

And if someone else could give you that, what right did he have to hate them for it? To ruin it for you? To demand something?

So he never confronted Kaz. Didn’t call him out. Didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t do anything.

Instead, he focused on Mona, as much as he didn’t want to. She was persistent. That night, she texted him out of nowhere.

‘Let’s get ice cream’

He didn’t even think about it much before replying.

He needed a distraction. Anything to quiet the thoughts screaming in his head.

Kuni didn’t bother opening any of his phone that night.

Despite his circumstances, Kuni knew he could trust Ajax.

He was the constant in his life. His childhood friend.

The only one who knew everything. What Kuni had been through. What shaped him. Why he shut people out. Why he was so goddamn difficult and confusing.

When things got too heavy, too loud in his own head, Ajax was the one person he could run to, whether he wanted to or not.

So he told him everything. How it started between the two of you. How somewhere along the way, it stopped being casual for him. How terrified he was to lose you, to lose someone again, that it paralyzed him.

Made him act weak. Act like a coward.

And Ajax… understood. Almost as if he knew it all along.

Of course he did.

Even with that annoying, too-loud personality that always got on Kuni’s nerves, Ajax had never been the type to judge a person for baring their soul.

He listened. Really listened. Because that’s the kind of person Ajax was.

Ajax simply expressed his disappointment in how Kuni handled it. How he made it worse by letting Mona back in his orbit.

"You set so many boundaries between everyone, even [Name], and yet didn't bother with Mona? That's stupid, dude."

What Ajax revealed to him after made things more complicated. More confusing.

Ajax told him that it was a misunderstanding on both sides. That he should talk to you properly. He didn’t elaborate further, even when Kuni insisted and even threatened him.

“Sorry, it’s not my story to tell.”

He said before leaving Kuni confused.

Kuni didn’t know what the hell possessed him to say yes to Ajax’s invitation to Ven’s birthday party.

He knew you’d be there. He knew Kaz probably would be too. He knew damn well you’d want to stay as far away from him as possible. And worst of all? The party was being held at the same bar where he first met you.

Just the thought of that night—, ow everything started, threatened to pull him under.

But still… he went.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was some desperate, silent hope that you’d talk to him. That what Ajax said was true. That it was all a misunderstanding. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to drink and see you again. One last time.

And he did see you again.

…Wrapped around Kaz like it was second nature, that is.

Close. Too close.

He told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he was past this. He respected your happiness and that the ache just needed more time to fade.

But watching it unfold right in front of him, you and Kaz, set something off in him. Bitterness. A fire he thought he’d already drowned.

And maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the week-long frustration burning at the back of his throat. But when he saw Kaz leaning in to kiss you, something in Kuni snapped.

He didn’t mean to grab you on the dance floor. Didn’t mean for it to spiral the way it did. But he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him. Couldn’t stand seeing your lips on someone else.

So when your eyes met his—startled, angry, confused—he acted on impulse.

His body moved before his mind could stop it. Tomorrow, he might drown in the regret. Maybe this was the moment he finally destroyed whatever was left of you both.

But god, did you taste good.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE yeah, i got frustrated with kuni too lol. there was a point where i got confused with what i was writing but honestly? that reflects kuni’s turmoil lmfao. sorry it took too long i’ve been busy and part of me was avoiding proofreading this chapter bcoz it’s so fucking longgg. anw, thoughts? i’m scaredddd. also feel free to correct any typos, plot holes, whtv u see fit bcoz honestly the cho is so long i couldve missed a lot of things

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia @ssetsuka @strwbrrybbpop @sesamemin @blvdmrcnry @aspinny @jiminscarmex @sammybeefangirls @lxkeeeeee @yu-yumii @linasxoxo @quiet-place-for-thoughts @randomhumans-blog @aaudreys @lesbi-snail @jayzioxx @meowpmzai @s-f-rants @cosmic-rainestorm @honey-and-sweetdreams @vincelikestomince @mono-dontidae @simeonmybabygirlicious @gugumioooo [50/50]

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smau #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smau #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin texts #smau #wanderer #scaramouche

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elliesbabygirl · 1 day ago

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Synopsis: In a far away modern au...where ellie's a piece of shit to y/n. The girl doesn't know what she wants and she keeps making mistakes on how to figure it out while dragging y/n down.

warnings: Ellie being a piece of shit, emotional & physical cheating, swearing, arguing, mentions of Cat, + Dina being your best friend plus activating mama bear mode on Ellie and cat. Angst with little to no comfort because we like trying new things here. S/O to an anon for the idea at the end.

Part one <- part two

“Dina!”

Ellie’s voice echoed as she flew down the corridor towards the elevators, her chest heaving.

She saw the familiar dark hair disappearing around the corner — the bag slung over Dina’s shoulder, the flash of her boot just before the elevator doors started to close.

“Dina, wait—!”

Dina turned her head just enough to shout back. Her voice hard, controlled.

“I’m not letting you hurt her more, Ellie!”

She smacked the elevator button like it owed her money, and the doors closed before Ellie could reach them.

Ellie slammed a hand on the metal. “Fuck!”

The next elevator was too slow.

Ellie took them three at a time.

The cold concrete steps blurred beneath her boots as she sprinted down, hand gripping the rail, body barely keeping up with her speed.

Her lungs burned, and her chest ached, but she didn’t stop.

You were right there.

She had to reach you, even if it was too late. Even if you never wanted to see her again.

She just—she couldn’t let it end like this. Not with you thinking Ellie didn’t love you, that she’d chosen Cat, out of all people.

She hit the bottom landing hard, shoving the door open and bursting into the freezing night air.

Eyes scanning.

There—

Dina’s car, halfway down the lot, with the engine on.

“WAIT!” Ellie screamed, legs pumping, sprinting across the pavement like her life depended on it.

Because it fucking did.

Her palms slammed onto the back bumper of Dina’s car — the cold metal biting into her skin as the car jolted slightly from the impact.

you flinched.

Your head whipped around, eyes wide, body tensing — and then they locked on Ellie through the back windshield.

Winded, pale, and there.

Your expression soured, almost instantly.

No words — just that sharp, heartbreaking shift in your face, like If seeing Ellie hurt, like you’d almost been okay for one second and now everything was bleeding again.

The tears welled so fast that it was like your body had just been waiting to cry.

Dina slammed the car into park, half out of the parking spot. She threw open her door and got out fast, slamming it shut behind her.

“What the fuck, Ellie!?” she shouted. “Get away from my car!”

Ellie stumbled towards the window on your side, her breathing a mess — ragged, and shallow, like every step had costed her something.

She raised her hand to the window, not even knocking. Just pressing her palm flat to the glass. Her lips barely working around the words.

“Please—” gasp. “Just—” gasp. “Just let me—” gasp. “Explain—”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t roll the window down.

Your arms were locked across your chest, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like a shield.

Your eyes were glassy again, swimming with tears, your face tense with rage and disbelief and exhaustion.

Ellie didn’t wait.

She didn’t need permission — Ellie couldn’t afford to wait.

“I didn’t—” she choked, voice coming in sharp fragments, “I didn’t plan it. I—I texted her after you left. I was—fuck, I was spiraling, and I didn’t know what to do—”

Dina stepped in, grabbing Ellie by the shoulder. “You don’t get to do this,” she hissed. “You chose Cat. You don’t get to chase after her like this now. Back off, Ellie.”

But Ellie didn’t even look at Dina.

She was locked in on you, only you.

“She doesn't matter,” Ellie breathed. “Not like you. Not ever. I was just—I was fucking scared, okay? I didn’t know how to fix it and I thought maybe—maybe if I just numbed it for a second—”

You finally spoke, your voice cracking even through the glass.

“You thought screwing her would help you feel less like the bad guy?”

Ellie shut her eyes.

She slid to her knees beside the car, one hand still on the window. Hair stuck to her face. Shoulders heaving.

“I fucked up,” she rasped. “I fucked up so bad.”

Dina reached for the door handle.

“Don’t—” Ellie said quickly, eyes flicking to her. “Don’t take her yet. Please. Just give me—please—two minutes. Just two.”

You just stared at her through the glass, jaw trembling, arms wrapped around yourself so tight it looked like you were holding your own ribs in place.

Ellie was still kneeling there, one hand braced on the cold glass, her chest heaving, hair a mess.

Her voice cracked every time she tried to push it out.

“I don't want her,” she said, desperate. “Not like that. Not since we broke up, not since I met you.”

Your face didn’t change. If anything, you looked even more shattered by her trying to say that now.

“I panicked when you left,” Ellie gasped. “I didn’t know what to do—I’ve never seen you that angry, and when the door closed it just—fuck, I spiraled, I thought maybe I’d already lost you, and I just needed something to… stop it.”

Ellie wiped at her face with her sleeve, her eyes glassy. “It wasn’t about her. It never was. I swear to god I never meant to—”

“You invited her,” you said through the glass, voice raw and thin and poisoned with disbelief.

Ellie shut her eyes.

You shook your head slowly, lips trembling. “You texted her, and then you let cat touch you like that. You were sitring there letting her take off your hoodie while I was crying in Dina’s car.”

“I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t know she was gonna—”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Ellie” you snapped, the tears falling now, hot and steady.

Ellie’s mouth opened, and then closed.

No words.

Behind her, Dina crossed her arms.

“Alright,” she said. “That’s enough.”

Ellie didn’t move.

And Dina stepped forward again, eyes hard, and voice cold. “Back the fuck off, Ellie.”

“She—she deserves to hear it—”

“She did hear it,” Dina snapped. “And what y/n heard was a weak excuse dressed up like an apology.”

Ellie looked stricken, helpless.

Dina didn’t let up, though.

“You should’ve stopped Cat at the door. You should’ve deleted the draft before you hit send. You don’t get to spiral and then expect y/n to clean it up after you.”

Ellie dropped her head, her forehead pressed to the glass.

“She loved you,” Dina said, quieter now. “She fought for you even when she shouldn’t have had to. And the second she stopped? You crumbled, you didn’t even hesitate.”

Ellie didn’t lift her head.

Dina moved to the driver’s side, and opened the door.

“Go back to your dorm,” she said, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Finish playing house with Catherine.”

Then a beat.

“And for what it’s worth?” Dina added, sliding into her seat. “I really thought you were better than this.”

Dina's door shut and the engine came on.

Ellie stayed frozen as Dina's car rolled away, the red taillights shrinking down the street.

Ellie didn’t chase this time.

Didn’t move, just stood there, alone in the cold, at the edge of the dorm building.

With nothing left to run after.

Three months had melted away like candle wax in heat — slow, sweet, and irreversible.

The bed was a wreck, all twisted sheets and sticky warmth, the kind that clung to bare skin and spoke without a word.

The lamp hadn’t been touched, the only glow in the dark came from your phone screen buzzing again and again on the nightstand, a pulse of pale blue light slicing through the shadows.

Ellie.

Her name flickered across it for the third time this week — desperate, persistent, and haunting.

You didn’t move, couldn't.

Your breath still hadn’t evened out, still shivering faintly in your throat.

Abby moved instead.

She shifted against you, her thigh sliding up between yours with casual, possessive friction, her skin damp against yours, hair wild, and breath still coming in slow, confident exhales against the back of your neck.

One arm looped tighter around your waist as she leaned over and grabbed the phone with the other, her movement unhurried, her fingers firm.

The light glinted off her knuckles as she brought the screen closer to her face — a smirk already curling at the edge of her lips.

Her voice came low and gritty, saturated with satisfaction. “Yeah?”

Abby put it on speaker before the voice could plead for privacy. Ellie’s words trembled into the room, raw and cracked.

“I just… I just need to say I’m sorry. I know it’s late, I know I’ve said it a billion times, but I miss y—”

Abby let out a short, sharp breath through her nose — half-laugh, half-dismissal. “Yeah, she’s a little busy right now.”

You shivered, not from the words.

But from Abby's hand sliding across your pelvis, down, lazy and certain, her fingers grazing where you were still slick, still tender, still open from what she’d already done.

She wanted to remind you that you were here, that she was still inside this moment, inside you.

“Mmmf…” The moan slipped out, involuntary, and heat rising again, fast.

Ellie heard it.

Abby grinned, not looking at the phone anymore. Her mouth was on your shoulder now, tongue tracing the curve of your bone, her fingers slipped lower.

“She moved on,” Abby said, voice hard and flat but tinged with something richer — triumph, possession, hunger. “You should try it sometime.”

She ended the call without another word, not even a goodbye and tossed your phone back to the nightstand where it landed with a soft thud, vibrating once more before going still.

TAGLIST FOR PART TWO: @youfoundheavenn @bready101 @nattakasuperlesbian @sewithinsouls @elliefckngw @gianni7867 @elliewilliamsluvrr @sturniluvr @iadorefineshyt @abigaillovestoread @isaah-s @hsangel64 @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliewilliamscutofffingers @snooopyinspace @fatbootymuncher @lvlymicha @sultryvixen @robinphobia @vahnilla @chwekriz00 @lovelaymedown @the-sick-habit @dollyfawn22

Author's note: some of y'all need to have your tags turned on😭but regardless, I hope part two was okay and lived up to the first part.... cause it's kinda crazy how y'all liked the first part.!! But thank you so much. I have a new series coming out soon so...

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arixella · 3 days ago

Note

Hello! First of all– I love your writings sm and how everything is so beautifully written no matter what genre, And second– if you're free and alright with it, may I request an luffy x reader, where the reader ate a devil fruit that made them immortal but luffy had no clue about this and only knew when reader died, then miraculously woke up a few minutes later. Still badly injured, but is alive and not well. Due to the fact that they can still feel pain.

Only if you're fine with this kind of stuff, and thank you for your hard work!

You Died, But You Didn’t

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x gn!reader

a/n: sorry I feel like this is bad but I hope you enjoy😭 <3

summary: After watching you die in battle, Luffy is devastated—until you miraculously revive, revealing your immortality from a Devil Fruit, and leaving him reeling with love, anger, and the fear of losing you again.

wc: 1.8k

contains: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, romance,

The world was spinning.

Your vision blurred, pain painting your every nerve raw. You were barely holding on, barely breathing. And then—

Darkness.

“(Y/N)!”

Luffy’s voice tore through the chaos, hoarse and frantic, louder than the crashing waves and the screams of battle. He didn’t hear the others calling after him, didn’t care about the blood soaking into his sandals, didn’t care that the enemy still stood behind him.

All he saw was you, crumpled and broken on the ground.

His hands trembled as he dropped to his knees beside you, arms wrapping around your body. You were still. Too still.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Come on. Get up.”

You didn’t move.

He shook you gently, then harder. “Hey! Don’t mess around—get up! You’re okay, right?! You always get up!”

There was no response. Blood ran from your mouth, your side, your chest. Too much blood. His hands were stained with it. His voice started to break.

“No, no, no. Not you. Not like this.”

Zoro yelled something from behind him. Chopper was sprinting over, but he already knew—this was beyond even Chopper’s miracle medicine.

You were gone.

He felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs. Something inside him cracked, splitting wide open, raw and screaming.

Luffy didn’t cry easily. Not in front of people. But now he held your body to his chest and sobbed, fingers digging into your clothes, desperate to keep you close. The crew watched in stunned silence—none of them had seen him like this. Not even when Ace died.

“I was gonna tell you something,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was gonna tell you I love you. I waited too long.”

And then— Your fingers twitched.

Luffy didn’t notice it at first. Too lost in grief.

Then your chest rose.

A breath. Shallow. Struggling.

“Chopper!” he screamed so loud his throat tore. “They’re breathing! THEY’RE BREATHING!”

Chopper nearly fell over himself trying to get to you. “What?! That’s not possible! Their pulse was gone! They weren’t breathing!”

But you were.

Your body shuddered, a broken, gasping breath rasping through your throat. Your eyes cracked open. “Lu…ffy?”

He stared at you like you were a ghost. “You—you died.”

Your lips barely moved. “I… I always come back.”

Your voice was hoarse, weak, but real. Alive.

Luffy grabbed your hand, wide-eyed and stunned. “What? What do you mean?”

Chopper was already digging through his bag, frantic. “Don’t talk! You’re still really messed up—we need to stabilize you now!”

You whimpered as Chopper pressed bandages to your side, and your entire body flinched from the pain.

Luffy leaned in close, holding your other hand, thumb brushing over your bruised knuckles. “What’s going on, (Y/N)? You died. You died. I—” His voice broke again. “I thought I lost you.”

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, full of guilt. “I ate a Devil Fruit… years ago. Before I met you. The Fukkatsu Fukkatsu no Mi.” You coughed, blood staining your lips again. “It makes me… immortal. I can’t die. Not completely.”

“What?!” Luffy’s voice cracked like a whip.

You nodded weakly. “My body shuts down sometimes. When it’s too much. I… I die. But not forever. I always come back. But it still hurts. Everything hurts.”

Luffy looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. “You’ve been through that before?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Chopper was still working, still trying to stop the bleeding, his hooves shaking. “Their vitals are improving. Somehow. They’ll live, but they’re going to be in pain for days.”

Luffy sat there in silence, gripping your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

When Chopper finished and stepped back, Luffy shifted, pulling your battered body gently into his arms. You groaned, but you didn’t resist.

“I should’ve told you,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You should’ve.”

You flinched. “I didn’t want you to look at me different. Or worry all the time. I just wanted to be with you.”

Luffy stared ahead, jaw tight. “I watched you die.”

“I know.”

He looked down at you, eyes wet but hard. “I don’t care if you can’t die. That doesn’t make it better. I still felt like I lost you. You were cold. You weren’t breathing.”

Your lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”

He exhaled sharply, forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I… can’t promise that.”

He barked out a humorless laugh, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Right. You’re impossible.”

You managed a faint smile. “You still love me?”

Luffy pulled back to look you dead in the eye, fierce and unshaken now. “Yeah. I do. I love you, (Y/N). Whether you die a hundred times or never at all. I love you.”

Your throat closed with emotion. “I love you too.”

He kissed your forehead gently, like you were made of glass. “Next time you die,” he murmured, “I’m punching you when you wake up.”

You chuckled weakly. “Deal.”

The night passed slowly. The crew settled down, the battle won but the emotional toll lingering.

Luffy didn’t leave your side.

He sat beside your cot, one hand in yours, the other resting on the hilt of his hat pulled low over his eyes. Every so often, your breath would hitch, or your fingers would twitch, and he’d sit up instantly—just to make sure.

You were alive. Not okay, not yet. But alive.

You’d told him the truth now. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

You were his. Even if death tried to take you, Luffy would always be the one to pull you back.

♡♡♡

#anime #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you

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loneworldgazer · 2 days ago

Text

Hentai tropes that makes you go Incognito type shit

cont: jjk men as weird hentai tropes but I get a little creative instead of them being corny and noncon

pairings: Toji x reader, Choso x reader, Gojo x reader

a/n: this isnt depressed reader x anybody guys I was bored so this is what came out. Minors, be careful what you read online. I am NOT responsible if you fucked yourself over because whatever you read from me. Also I don't condone any bad actions okay, I'm a weirdo with morals guys

Writing has gotten tiring tbh because I can't sit up for many hours because of college so I'll take my sweet ass time making fics this sem break

tags: pervy, cheating in toji's (on the reader's side), onahole use for Choso, Choso and Gojo's are low-key pervy, small descriptions of smut or just nsfw drabbles and just like hentai, all scenarios end after three minutes

Toji: the debt collector/NTR

Your poor, stupid s/o had gambled away their money in secret and Toji was the man they sent out for these types of things. Threatening life, torture was too overrated anyways to make clients cough up cash so loan sharks get a little more creative when collecting pocket money.

"'Scuse me, are you Shinji's?"

A broad man who wore a hoodie had approached you unceremoniously but you knew was sleazy from the way he held that letter in his hand. You had your fair share of odd people coming to you whether it was to serenade or some freak you didn't know that sits at the back at your work.

Crunching down on the candy you were eating, it slowly turned bitter with the zeros you were seeing on the paper. The cold autumn air swept through your face and that cold eyes of yours glaze over but you barely reacted.

"Again?"

Who knew he would be sitting with the spouse of his client over hot tea and little cakes you can pop into your mouth. The ring on your finger does not hold any meaning anymore with what you've heard.

He seen countless of tired eyes staring at him but yours burnt through his skull. It wasn't just a challenge, it was like you were trying to eat him alive; the eyebags added onto that look. It was urging him to spill over quickly.

He explained the details, money and whatnot that you had to earn by the end of the month which made your eyes begin to linger anywhere else but the letter he placed down. You were obviously disconnected from his words that he kept quiet to make sure you were listening but alas, you were lost in the clouds. He reached out for the cake you were currently eating and you poke at his fingers with your fork.

"You know what I should do for revenge, Fushiguro?"

He blinks, reaching over for a different pastry. The flaky crust crumbles under his rough fingers.

"You."

He crushes the puff pastry, white cream dripping down his thumb as he looked at your fiery gaze and lick up the sweetness with a teasing grin.

---

Your partner should be worried that you weren't home and they get more worried when a file is sent to them by you at the crack of dawn. It was unnamed and the cold side of your bed gets colder, clicking on it with a gulp.

What they didn't expect was you covering the camera while this strange man.. wait, it can't be. Toji had you bent over, clasping the camera and letting your fingers brush over it so Shinji could get confused as to what was being shown. That diamond ring of yours shone bright in this specific angle and once your hand was peeled back by Toji, Shinji had this bad headache immediately.

Your slutty face was on camera, tongue out and sweaty like this wasn't the first round you were on. Reaching a high fever pitch scream, the man from behind had pressed your face down on the table so that shit eating grin could be seen when you had creamed all over the man they thought they wouldn't have to worry about ever.

Little huffs of "..faster, faster" were burnt into that tiny brain of his when Toji pounded you to hell and focused on deepening his thrusts into your wetness. He pulled off the rubber that was filled with semen, showing Shinji the multiple used up ones tied salaciously around your thighs. The ravenette reach for god knows what number condom he ripped off to put around that mushroom tip of his.

His thick cock kept on abusing your hole, picking up your head from the wood so you could say a few words to Shinji.

However, there was no words exchanged instead a text that made their face go pale and the expression of pure pleasure had fucked them up.

"Watch from the very top of the file."

Choso: Magical onahole

All Choso had was five bucks and a dream ever since attending college, all because of his extracurricular activities but nonetheless, this sketchy website was one of the things where he (half) shamelessly filled in.

"What's their last name?" "Picture?" "What colour is their pubic hair?"

These questions get uncomfortable to answer and even if he doesn't know he used his common sense but that only made him blush even harder. He hadn't done much pervy things in the past and now anyways but this might be the most horrid thing he's ever done. He assumed his friend must be pranking him because this was too good to be true but what made it worst was the review pictures.

They look so authentic and erotic, there's no way this would be edited to the max with 72 reviews for this type of website. Hell, he shouldn't get so hard when his mouse hovered over the Finish option and groaning when the website informs him that his order will arrive in three days.

You were his longtime crush and he was a tad shy to approach you properly. It's just so hard to socialize without popping a boner when you speak to him. He has auralism just because of you and he was deep into asmrs but he'd never find a voice like yours ever. He'd lose his mind more if this supposed onahole could speak, he'd cum from that alone.

---

After three days, he had gotten a heart attack. You had approached him when he was about to open his locker. He can't help but stare at you, fixing you with a steely look when he's nervous. Thankfully, you don't take notice and held out his pencil case, He left it in the lecture hall and you came rushing to give it to him. It was so caring of you that it didn't register to him that as he opened the locker, a blatant box of the onahole that he ordered was winking up at him.

He quickly slammed his locker, sweat slipping down his forehead.

"Are you okay?"

No, he might bust if you get worried about him and he shakes his head. He assures you he's okay, with that he also convinced himself that he was okay and swallowed. You giggle, pointing to the library and saying you had to go to your friends now.

In a daze, he nods and you hurry away for your session.

He was so gonna kill his friend.

---

He sat in his usual spot in the library, obscured by the shadows and out of the range of the camera. Around this time, couples would be here to hook up but luckily none decided to fuck here and he sits. With his luck, you were directly sitting in front of him miles away but he could clearly see your smiling face.

Now, this was the next craziest thing he's going to do and he undo his trousers and peeled open the box.

The onahole he was looking at was your exact body type and was this how you look like underneath? He brushed his thumb over your tummy and you flinched. He gulps, that was a coincidence, right? The girl you were with was probably playing footsies and his thumb trails lower. Boldly, he rubs at your hole. This was you but it wasn't you but it was you, his cock twitches. He looks up and you were covering your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater and he couldn't mess around anymore.

Gently, he preps the onahole since the website did explain its terms and conditions but it's not like he read everything; his brain short circuited when it mentioned some sort of transmission waves in the toy. He lewdly slid his tongue in, rubbing it in the toy's walls and was surprised when it starts slicking up. He ate this toy out even though it looked ridiculous that he was suckling off silicone in the library at 2p.m. in the afternoon.

Your friends slipped away to buy pop and when you're all alone, you shakily rested yourself against the table.

What he didn't know was how you were in bliss. What was this mystery sensation you were feeling, some slithery mystery tongue deep in your hole? Did you picked a good spot in the library? You didn't move from this specific spot at all and this phantom thing playing with you gets bolder. Tears form at your eyes when you felt two fingers deep in, resisting the urge to moan out in the library and you were soaked.

When something bigger starts to poke at your hole, you knew this seat was the luckiest place you planted your ass on.

Gojo: Invisible Man

The powers of nerdery had blessed him because of his infatuation with hentai he picked up after a rough day of work. He found some odd object on the way home and he was suddenly invisible. He tested a lottttt of freaky stuff when he puts this power on but this time he's going to test it on you.

Fridays were dinner dates he self proclaimed between you and him and his place was next. He felt so fidgety and excited, he was gonna suprise you with this and freak you out. That mischief of his made him rub his hands together.

He puts the trinket in his pocket and watches himself vanish to the environment. Proudly staring into the mirror, he sits on the couch and waits for you to come home. On time, you had made it unlocking the door to his place and calling out for him.

He wanted to giggle like a little Japanese schoolgirl (get the ref) when you were searching for him throughout the house and he slowly stood up from the couch when you stood in front of the TV. He licked his lips, seeing that relaxed face of yours when you stare into nothing. He gets up in front of you, holding his breath. Gojo didn't know that being invisible comes with staring at your pretty face as it blinked away at the sleepiness that dared cross your expression the more he didn't appear right around the corner.

Gojo holds your face and you freak out, lurching back to whatever sensation holds you. It snapped you out of your daze when his hand tickles at your chest.

Oddly silent at this ghost who was feeling up on you, he took it as a sign and brushes down your body. Man if you ever did face a ghost with him around, he wouldn't even let that ghost touch your skin this close but thankfully, it's him being the ghost.

His warm hands go down into your shirt and rubs at your skin, he couldn't resist hugging you and lifting you up to try to make you panic. Surprisingly, a giggle fell from your lips.

"Being invisible doesn't make your shadow go away... Satoru?"

He stopped, plopping you down and looking at the wall behind him and his lanky self was plastered into the wall and he covered his lips almost dramatically.

"Oh my, who would know I'd be caught so early?"

He wasn't even shameful in the very least, disappointed that a pervy phantom groping you after work wasn't a tale you would tell him at dinner. A small grin curves your mouth and you fell back on the couch and his dick jumped when you spread those legs of yours.

You urge him to continue his ghost activities with your feet trailing his invisible leg, wanting the adventurous feel of not knowing where he's touching you once you look away from the wall.

He was given the biggest opportunity of fun.

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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⋆˙⟡ in front of fire,

summary. it is yet another night where john winchester comes stumbling in--sorrows burried in another bottle of jack, bitter because his kids are the constant reminder that the love of his life is gone.

pairing. dean winchester x little sister!reader ft. john winchester genre. angst

wordcount. 472

notes / warnings. emotional and verbal abuse, drunk and angry john winchester, implied childhood trauma, dean being a protective sibling, swearing. no physical abuse.

You can smell the whiskey before the door even opens.

It always hits like a storm—cheap motel air thick with heat and silence, the TV flickering in some late-night rerun glow—and then bam, John Winchester slams in like a hurricane, breath sour, boots loud, rage ready.

Dean tenses from across the room, instantly alert. You watch him rise from the bed like a soldier summoned. You’re frozen on the carpet, knees tucked to your chest, half-covered by your hoodie and fear.

John’s eyes scan the room. Red-rimmed. Hollowed.

“Where the hell were you two?” he slurs.

“Hunt’s over,” Dean says, calm. Too calm. “You told us to head back. We did.”

“Don’t talk back to me, boy.”

Dean doesn’t flinch. But you do.

John notices.

And that’s when he looks at you.

His eyes sharpen, and you shrink instinctively. It's not that he’s ever hit you—not exactly—but drunk John is unpredictable. His words cut just as deep, and the weight of his mood crushes whatever courage you ever dared to carry.

“What’s she lookin’ at me like that for?” he growls. “You scared of me, girl?”

You don’t answer. Your throat closes up.

Dean steps between you.

Just like always.

“She’s tired. We all are.”

“She better not be givin’ me attitude.”

Dean doesn’t blink. “She’s not.”

John takes a swaying step forward. “You think you’re a man now, huh? Steppin’ up?”

Another step.

Dean holds his ground.

You barely breathe.

“She’s a kid, Dad,” Dean bites, voice low but sharp. “You want to yell at someone, yell at me. But you leave her out of it.”

The air crackles.

There’s a long, long moment where no one moves.

Then John grunts. Shakes his head like he’s swatting away bees. Mutters something under his breath. The bottle in his hand hits the table hard—too hard—but doesn’t break. Just rolls with a thud before tipping over.

And then he stumbles into the other room and slams the door behind him.

Just like that.

Gone.

The silence afterward rings louder than the yelling.

Dean exhales slow. Shoulders drop. Then he turns back to you.

“Hey,” he says, crouching down, voice soft now. “You okay?”

You nod before you even know if it’s true.

He studies your face for a second longer, then pulls you into a hug.

And for a moment, you’re six again. He smells like motor oil and motel soap, like safety in the middle of chaos. His arms wrap tight, and your fingers fist into the back of his shirt like you’re scared he’ll let go.

He doesn’t.

“Not gonna let him touch you,” he whispers. “Not ever.”

You believe him.

Because even when John’s shadow fills the room, even when fear makes it hard to breathe—Dean stands in front of the fire and takes the burn for you.

Every time.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx

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fic-girlie · 14 hours ago

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Hiiiii. I want to request a fic where oldman!Joel is sometimes struggling to get it up and keep it up with his younger gf so one day he manages to get his hands on some smuggled blue pills and take them. He doesn't tell reader but she notices later when he's rock hard and ready and even after he cums he's still up for more. She asks what happened and he insists "he's just craving her tonight". Multiple orgasms later he embarrassedly confesses to taking them magic pills 😏 reader is boneless and thinks that's nothing to be embarrassed about

Craving you

Pairing: oldman!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: He takes a blue pill to impress you — you notice, love him anyway, and the next morning, he’s sore and all yours. Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), age gap (reader is in her 30's, Joel is in his early 60's), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, p in v sex, aftercare, cuddling, soft morning

You notice it the moment he walks into the bedroom, the way his hand rests low on his stomach, thumb brushing over his belt like he’s nervous, restless. Joel always has a weight to him, that quiet gravity that makes everything he does feel deliberate — but tonight there’s something wound up tight under his skin. Something buzzing beneath the stillness. You’re curled up on the bed in one of his old flannel shirts, legs bare and warm under the throw blanket, and when he looks at you like that — like he’s starving — the pages of the book in your lap stop mattering.

He’s looking at you like he needs something more than he’s letting on. His eyes track up your legs, linger on where the shirt hangs open at your thighs. You smile slow, lazy, the kind of smile you give him when you're already thinking about what comes next, but there’s an intensity in his gaze tonight that’s different.

“Joel?” you ask, setting the book aside, shifting onto your knees with the blanket sliding off your legs. “You okay?”

His jaw works as he steps closer. “M’fine,” he mutters, voice thick with something you can’t quite name. His hands move to his belt again, not unbuckling yet — just toying with the leather like it’s anchoring him. Then, after a long pause, he says it low, under his breath, “Just...cravin’ you tonight.”

That line would be charming enough if his voice weren’t so gruff, almost tense. Your eyes narrow slightly as he finally undoes the belt, hands moving quicker than usual, urgency tightening his movements. He’s already hard when he pushes his jeans down, thick and flushed, bobbing up against his stomach in a way that makes you blink.

Usually Joel takes his time. Usually you have to touch him, warm him up slow, coax the arousal into something steady. He’s been open with you about how age has changed things — how sometimes it takes longer to get hard, how sometimes he doesn’t stay that way without help. You’ve never minded. You love him, not his dick. But tonight he’s standing there already full and heavy and rock-fucking-hard, like he’s been worked up for hours without touching you once. Your eyes flick down again, curiosity blooming.

You crawl closer on the bed, reaching between his legs with gentle fingers. “Jesus, Joel…”

He hisses in air when your hand wraps around him, thick and pulsing. His cock jumps a little in your grip, and he grabs your wrist without meaning to, thumb pressing hard into your skin like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I—” His voice cracks around the edges.

You stroke him slowly, just to feel how ready he is, how he doesn’t even twitch from sensitivity. “You sure you’re okay?” you murmur again. “You’re…already this hard?”

He looks down at you like he’s weighing something — not fear, but something close. Shame? Guilt? But then he leans forward, catching your mouth in a rough kiss, and when he speaks again, it’s against your lips.

“Told you,” he says, “I’m just cravin’ you.”

You’re too distracted to press him further. Especially once he pulls you beneath him and kisses his way down your body like a man on a mission. You’re bare for him in moments, thighs pushed open, and he doesn’t tease this time. Doesn’t take his time with lazy fingers or soft praise. His tongue is on you in seconds, and when he licks you — slow, deep, deliberate — it hits so hard your back arches off the bed.

He devours you with single-minded focus, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. And when you come — crying out, thighs trembling around his face — he doesn’t stop. Not for a second. He keeps going until you’re writhing, too sensitive, shivering, and only then does he move up to kiss you, mouth slick with you.

When he presses into you, he groans like he’s finally home. Like this is what he’s been waiting for all fucking day.

And God, he feels different. Not just harder. He lasts. He moves with that same slow, grinding rhythm that always makes you feel full, but this time he doesn’t falter. No pauses. No struggle to stay hard. He holds your hips and fucks you through every wave like it’s easy — like he’s twenty years younger and desperate to wear you out.

You come again before he does. He doesn’t even slow down.

And when he finally groans low in your ear, thrusts deep and comes inside you, his breath hitching and body shaking, you wait for him to soften — for the usual gentle winding-down. But his cock stays thick and twitching inside you, still pressing into your walls like it’s hungry for more.

You blink.

Joel is panting above you, sweat clinging to his hairline. His body is trembling just slightly, like it took a lot out of him. But his cock is still hard, hot and heavy and leaking inside you, and his hands are moving again. Up your thighs. Over your hips.

You touch his cheek gently. “Joel.”

He swallows hard. Doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Joel…baby. What’s going on?”

He brushes the hair back from your face, kisses your forehead like nothing’s off. “Just…told you. Cravin’ you.”

“Bullshit.”

That makes him smile. That crooked, sheepish grin that always betrays him.

“Joel,” you say again, soft but firm.

He sighs. Then mutters, barely audible: “Got a hold of some…pills.”

You blink, heart thudding. “Like…blue ones?”

He nods. “Someone was tradin’ ‘em in town. Kept ‘em for a while. Just thought…maybe it’d help.”

You pause. Then laugh — not cruelly, not mockingly. Just soft and breathless and utterly charmed. “Baby,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close again. “You think I’d be upset about this?”

He shifts above you, clearly unsure. “Didn’t wanna make a thing outta it. Didn’t wanna admit I needed—”

You shut him up with a kiss. Long and slow. Then you grind up against him, feeling how he’s still thick inside you.

“You don’t need them,” you whisper, pressing kisses to his jaw. “But damn, I’m not complaining.”

He groans low, mouth dragging over your neck. “Still want you. Still need you.”

“Then take it,” you murmur, your hands clutching at his back. “Take all you want, Joel. I’m yours.”

And he does.

He fucks you again like he’s been waiting a lifetime for it. Fucks you until you’re crying out his name, until your voice is hoarse and your legs are shaking and your body is too wrung out to move. You don’t know how many times you come. At least once more with his mouth. Twice more on his cock. Every time you think he’s spent, he keeps going — slow and firm, whispering how good you feel, how much he needed this, needed you.

When he finally, finally softens and rolls over beside you, you’re both drenched in sweat, trembling, breathing like you just ran through the mountains. You drape yourself across his chest, boneless, utterly ruined.

Joel strokes your back gently. “You okay?”

You hum. “I’m perfect. You?”

He lets out a sheepish chuckle. “Think I’m gonna need a week to recover.”

You grin, nuzzling closer. “Worth it.”

And when he murmurs “yeah” against your temple, pulling you in tight, you know this wasn’t about pills. Not really.

It was about you — the way you still make him feel alive.

——

The light creeps in slow through the half-open blinds, casting pale grey stripes across the bed, across your skin, across the soft rise and fall of Joel’s chest where it lies half-covered by the crumpled edge of the sheet. It’s early, too early — the kind of stillness that only exists before the birds stir, before the neighborhood creaks awake. The silence is almost sacred, muffled and tender like the inside of a held breath. And beside you, Joel lies in a state of half-conscious ruin, body sprawled, mouth slightly parted, brow furrowed like even in his sleep he’s feeling the weight of what the two of you did to each other last night. The smell of sweat and sex still clings to the sheets, a warm, earthy imprint of all the places he touched you, claimed you, gave you more of himself than you thought one man possibly could.

You’re the first to stir, but even the simple act of moving your leg sends a sharp little reminder zipping through your thighs — a deep, warm ache that makes your breath hitch. You feel like you’ve been wrung out, squeezed dry, your entire body humming with a kind of sleepy soreness that’s more intoxicating than painful. It’s not just the sex — though that alone was enough to leave your bones like jelly — it’s the way he loved you last night. Relentless and reverent. Like he couldn’t get enough of you. Like you were the answer to something he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching for all his life.

And now, the man himself lies still and limp beside you, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach like it’s the only place he can manage to put it. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, the slow wrinkle of his nose as he shifts in his sleep and lets out a deep, gravelly grunt that sounds like the very definition of regret.

“Joel?” you murmur softly, leaning in close, brushing your lips just below the sharp edge of his jaw. “You awake?”

“Mmgh,” he groans, the sound rough like he hasn’t used his voice in years. He blinks one bleary eye open, squinting toward the light. “Barely.”

You laugh, burying your face in his shoulder for a moment before pulling back to look at him. “You sound like someone ran you over with a horse.”

“Feel like it too,” he mutters, voice so dry and low it’s practically sandpaper. “Christ almighty, what the hell did you do to me?”

You grin. “Me? You’re the one who went full damn stallion. Four rounds, Joel. And that fifth one… I think I saw the light.”

His hand lifts weakly to cover his face again as he groans, this time with the weight of his embarrassment. “Don’t remind me. I ain’t got the strength to be humbled right now.”

You push yourself up onto one elbow, looking down at him with warm amusement. He’s flushed beneath the scruff of his beard, faint little stress lines bracketing his mouth, and despite everything — the sore muscles, the overspent body — there’s still something so deeply satisfied in the way he’s laid out, like a man who won the war but has absolutely nothing left to give. You let your hand drift down his chest, brushing softly over the worn muscle.

“I mean… you could’ve told me,” you say gently, tracing a small circle over his stomach. “That you’d taken something.”

He exhales through his nose, eyes still closed. “Didn’t wanna make a thing of it.”

You smile, pressing your lips to his shoulder. “It was never about the pill, Joel. It was about you. The way you looked at me, the way you touched me, how you couldn’t get enough even when you were shaking. That didn’t come from a little blue capsule.”

His eyes open again, just barely, and he shifts to glance at you with a soft, wrecked expression. You see the honesty in it, the tender vulnerability he’s never quite been able to hide from you when you’re like this — when everything’s quiet, and raw, and real.

“I just wanted to give you more,” he says after a beat, voice low, words slow like he’s thinking through every one of them before speaking. “Sometimes I look at you and I wanna do everything. But my body’s…” He grimaces, gives a soft, bitter chuckle. “Well. She don’t always listen like she used to.”

Your chest aches for him, for the quiet truth in that confession. You curl your fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at the back of his scalp as you lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth, slow and lingering.

“You gave me everything,” you whisper. “Every time. Doesn’t matter how many times or how long or how hard. It’s always you. I always want you.”

He makes a sound then — something half between a breath and a sigh — and you feel him melt a little under your touch, his body surrendering to the softness, to the comfort, even through the soreness. And when you pull back and nudge his arm off his face, he lets you, his hand falling limply to the bed beside you.

“I think I fucked myself stupid,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded.

You grin, hand brushing over his hip. “You did. And now you can’t move. Congratulations.”

He snorts weakly. “You’re real smug for someone who could barely stand after.”

“Yeah, well, I’m younger. I bounce back.”

His groan is long and dramatic, and it makes your heart bloom with affection. You watch him shift, wincing as he tries to stretch his legs. “Even my fuckin’ toes hurt.”

You laugh and kiss him again, this time slower, longer, your fingers slipping through his silver-threaded hair. “Stay here. I’ll make you coffee. Breakfast. Whatever your poor broken body needs.”

He reaches up, barely, and tucks a hand around your waist. “Just need you, darlin’.”

And that — the rasp in his voice, the softness behind it — that’s what gets you. You press your forehead to his, eyes closed, your body still aching in places only he knows how to reach.

“You’ve got me, Joel,” you whisper. “Always.”

And when you slide out of bed, wearing his wrinkled shirt and nothing else, he watches you go with a lazy smile that says he might not be able to move — but his heart is still full, still hungry, still completely and totally yours.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #joelmiller #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #old man!joel miller #jackson!joel #pedro pascal fandom

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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 1 day ago

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Can you write a Bucky x reader fic where Reader doesn’t know she’s pregnant but Bucky and Steve hear a second heart beat before going on a mission? You could also have it that maybe Steve notices first and congratulates Bucky by pulling him aside and Bucky is slightly confused because he didn’t hear it right away since he’s always with reader.

Two Heartbeats||Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary — During a mission prep on the quinjet, Steve notices something strange he can hear two heartbeats coming from Y/N.

Word count—672

There was a quiet rhythm to missions—pack, prep, wait.

The hum of the quinjet filled the air, vibrating through the floor beneath your boots. You sat on the bench seat, flipping through the contents of your med pouch with habitual precision. Bucky was next to you, always next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. His fingers worked the straps of your tac vest without you even asking. It was a quiet intimacy you’d built over months of being partners, teammates… more.

Across the cabin, Steve stood by the rear control panel, eyes flicking from the mission data to something—someone. You.

You didn’t notice it at first, too focused on your checklist. But Bucky did. He arched an eyebrow.

“Steve,” he called casually, “You got something to say, or are you just admiring my girl?”

Steve’s head tilted, a flicker of concentration on his face. Not amused, not teasing. Listening.

“There’s something weird,” he muttered, then stepped closer. “I’m hearing two heartbeats.”

You glanced around, confused. “There’s six of us. That’s not exactly—”

“No,” Steve said, cutting you off gently. “I mean… from you.”

Your brow furrowed, halfway between confusion and unease. “That doesn’t make sense. I feel fine.”

Steve looked over at Bucky then, something shifting behind his eyes. Like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he said to Bucky, nodding toward the back corner of the jet.

Bucky gave you a quick look—you okay?—and you nodded, if a little bewildered.

They stepped aside. Steve’s voice dropped low. “I think she’s pregnant.”

Bucky’s face blanked for a second. “You think she—what?”

“I hear another heartbeat. It’s smaller, but it’s there. Consistent. Strong.”

Bucky shook his head, stunned. “But I’m with her all the time. I didn’t—how could I not hear that?”

Steve smiled. “That’s why. You’re used to her. Tuned to her. You weren’t listening for it.”

Bucky’s breath caught, realization dawning slow and wide in his chest. He turned back to look at you—sitting unaware, glancing through your pack like nothing in the world had shifted—and his heart tripped.

Because now that he was listening, really listening…

There it was. Just beneath yours.

A second heartbeat. Softer. Quieter. But real.

A life.

His legs carried him back to you before he even realized he was moving.

You looked up, puzzled. “What’s going on?”

He crouched in front of you, metal hand bracing against your knee. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “has anything felt… different lately?”

You blinked. “You mean aside from this weird tension and Steve acting like he’s about to drop a bomb?”

Bucky laughed, but it was breathless. His hand rose to your stomach, hovering, hesitant. “I think you’re pregnant.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I didn’t hear it before. But I do now. Another heartbeat.” His eyes searched yours. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” you said slowly, barely above a whisper. “I mean, I’ve been tired. I thought it was stress or the missions, or just… life.”

His palm settled gently over your stomach. You both just sat there for a second—silent, still, wrapped in the hum of the quinjet and the weight of something enormous.

“You okay?” he asked softly, almost afraid to break the moment.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’m… surprised. And kind of terrified.”

“Me too.” His voice cracked. “But also kind of amazed.”

You stared at him, heart pounding—not from panic, but from something far more fragile. He looked at you like you were precious. Like you’d just given him something he never thought he could have.

Then you gave a breathless, stunned little laugh. “Well. Guess we’re not just packing a med kit this mission.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, then your temple. “I’ve got you. Both of you.”

You leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you like a shield, like a vow.

Two heartbeats.

And suddenly, everything had changed.

#faiths inbox #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #marvel fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader

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beanarie · 1 day ago

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@bucktommywhumpweek day 1: oxygen

It's barely an injury. This is definitely the most minor reason he has ever been stuck in an ER cubicle. Buck should be annoyed it's taking so long to send his hairline fracture to radiology, but the moment the nurse ordered him onto the gurney, he remembered how long it's been since he slept more than a couple of hours at a time. Every cell in his body sank and then seemed to make an audible click. He's never felt so much like a phone in a docking station. With only a little regret for the fire his team is still fighting, he drifts.

He resurfaces to a heart monitor going absolutely insane.

It's not his; he's not hooked up. But it's so close it must be in the next cubicle.

"Hi," says the nurse who smiled in response to Buck's thumbs up earlier, before he took his snooze. "You're at First Presbyterian Medical Center. You have a head injury, so you might be a little confused. It's okay. We're going to take care of you."

There's grumbling and a distressed wheeze. Someone shouts in alarm. Buck is now fully awake.

"What's his name?" a man asks. "Where's Greg? And Mathias? We need all hands here."

"Thomas, they said," the nurse says, and Buck's pulse speeds up.

"Thomas?" the man says with another grunt. "Please work with us."

"Hey," another woman says in surprise. The wheezing is almost unbearable, like a teakettle the instant before his mom would take it off the burner. His head swimming, Buck takes down the guard rail on one side of his bed. "I know him. He's a medevac pilot."

Buck inhales deeply and launches himself to his feet.

"Shit," someone says, as they all cry out in protest. And then Tommy is in his cubicle.

Blood is trailing down from his temple, covering one sharp cheekbone.

"Tommy?" Buck says. "Tommy." Wild eyes swing in his direction. They narrow slightly before going soft. Okay, good. He recognizes him. He does not say a word because he doesn't have the air to speak. One arm is wrapped around what must be a sucking chest wound. The veins in his neck are sticking out. He's trying so hard.

Buck lifts his hands to show he's safe. "Hey. Hey. You okay?"

Tommy stares, uncomprehending. His pupils are different sizes. Buck gestures at his bed. "Y-You look tired. Do you wanna sit?"

"Evan," he says soundlessly, forming the name with lips gone faintly blue.

"Yeah, it's me, Tommy. Come take a load off. It's okay. You look like you're gonna fall over."

Hopping on one foot, Buck takes Tommy's free hand and guides him onto the gurney, the medical team hissing at each other and vibrating behind his back. Tommy's chest is heaving, his fingers digging into Buck's wrist.

"Look at me," Buck says calmly, beckoning them as Tommy falls back. "You'll let them help, all right?"

Tommy spies their approach in his periphery and clutches at Buck, trying to lever himself off the bed. "It's okay. It's okay. Stay put."

Several things happen in rapid succession.

The nurse starts a new IV.

Tommy goes limp and boneless, his eyes falling shut, his chest unmoving.

Someone shoves Buck out of the way and his broken foot seems to disintegrate underneath him, causing the room to shift and then go black.

#bucktommy #tevan fic #bucktommy whump week #my writing #things by beanarie

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demie90s · 15 hours ago

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just something with paige’s concussion like teammate!r and just like how coach did not gaf abt her hitting her head and r throws a tantrum for it when she’s usually calm 😭

Paige Bueckers x Protective!Fem!Reader

Clear as Day

MASTERLIST | MORE (goes to UConn. Making a Dallas one)

Summary:Paige hits her head, says she has a headache, and Coach doesn’t blink. You’ve always been calm—quiet, focused, dependable. But now? You’re pissed. Loud about it.

Genre: Angst, sports realism, protective teammate dynamic

Warnings: Head injury/concussion, medical neglect, coach disregard, emotional outburst, protective behavior, tension

Word Count: ~ 0.8k

Vibe: Slow-burning anger, “normally calm until you mess with her” energy, quiet love turned loud defense, real emotion over real risk

It wasn’t a brutal hit. Not loud. Not scary. Just one of those awkward, jarring moments—two players going for the same rebound, foreheads clipping hard enough to echo. You flinched when it happened. Everyone did. Paige went down, hands at her head, just a little while. Long enough.

Then she got up.

You watched her blink too hard. Saw her try to shake it off like she always does. She’s tough like that. Paige could probably snap her own ankle and try to finish the quarter. But this was different. You’ve seen her take hits. This one didn’t sit right.

She stayed in. No whistle. No sub. Coach didn’t even glance at her.

Next possession, she was late on help. Off-balance. Second-guessing her footing. She missed a closeout that she never misses. You watched her rub the back of her head twice during the play.

You stood up.

She passed by near half-court and you heard it, just barely—“I got a headache” (I don’t know what she said I’m trying here)

That was it. That was the moment. She said it. Out loud. Clearly. But nobody moved.

Timeout came. Finally. She walked over, slower than usual. Sat down at the end of the bench, shoulders low, breathing off. You saw her put her elbow on her knee, head in her hand, eyes squeezed shut.

“I have a headache,” she said again. Not loud. Just… honest.

Coach kept talking like she didn’t hear a thing. “We’re not switching off-ball—if they screen, you fight through. Don’t give them the mismatch.”

You turned. “She just said she has a headache.”

Coach didn’t blink. “She’s fine.”

You stepped forward. “She’s not though..she has a headache”

“She’s not bleeding. She’s not dizzy. She can play.”

“She hit her head. I mean it look like they finna take this rookie out. She’s literally a human shield…which is crazy cause-”

“She said she’s fine.”

You looked at Paige. She didn’t say anything. Just stared at the ground like she knew this was going nowhere.

“She said she has a headache,” you repeated, louder now. “That’s not fine. That’s a check her out and sit her down until she’s cleared. That’s not ‘run another play.’”

“She’s not coming out unless she says she needs to.”

“Or unless you care enough to pull her before it gets worse.”

That got the bench quiet.

Coach finally looked up. “You need to watch your tone.”

You were already standing straight. Calm. Clenched jaw. But steady.

“And you need to watch your players. You didn’t even look at her.”

“She’s a competitor. She knows her limits.”

“She’s a player. Not a doctor. She’s not supposed to make that call mid-game with a concussion. That’s your job.”

The word hung in the air. Concussion.

No one said it, but you did.

Paige still didn’t speak. But her shoulders shifted, barely. Like relief. Like someone finally said what she couldn’t.

Coach crossed her arms. “You gonna tell me how to do my job now?”

“No,” you said, voice low. “I’m telling you I’m not gonna sit here and watch you ignore someone clearly not okay. I don’t care who’s playing or what the score is. If it were anyone else, you’d have pulled them already.”

“And what, you walking off now?”

“I’m standing up for her. And if that’s a problem, maybe check your priorities.”

Silence.

The trainer finally came over. Asked Paige something. She nodded slowly. That was enough. They walked her to the back. Quiet. No drama. Just… gone.

You sat back down, arms still crossed, heart still pounding.

After the game, the staff avoided eye contact. The team walked on eggshells. No one said your name, but they all knew. Paige didn’t play the rest of the night.

Later, in the locker room, she found you sitting on the floor near your locker. She stood over you, hoodie half-on, eyes softer than they’d been all night.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly.

You looked up. “Yes I did.”

She lowered herself beside you, leaned against the wall. “I was trying to push through.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to be the reason we lost.”

You shook your head. “Paige, you could’ve lost way more than a game.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she nodded once. “Thanks.”

You nodded back. Just once.

You didn’t have to say it out loud—you protect her because no one else did when it mattered most.

And now? You always will.

-CAUSE FUCK THEY COACH. I DONT CARE I DONT CARE I DONT CARE.

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motthe · 2 days ago

Text

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 4]

masterlist | ao3

warnings: anxiety attack, depressive episode and working through really low days, self-loathing/feelings of uselessness

With the Void incident having occurred Saturday, you had one day to settle back into a normal routine before returning to the tower Monday afternoon.

The thing was, Yelena knew when to expect Bob’s low periods, and this resulted in her taking you aside as soon as you arrived.

“It’s better when he doesn't know,” she admitted somewhat guilty as the both of you talked on the ground floor of the Watchtower. You hadn't expected to be ambushed on your way in, the two cups of steaming tea now settling into room temperature. “Things come back to him sometimes, but it's usually only with bigger accidents. When they do, he spirals.”

She toyed with her gloves, steel knuckles glinting in the little sunlight seeping through the windows behind you. You weren't sure if it was some unspoken rule with Nat and her sister, but they were all about bodysuits and hard edges. And they always managed to look effortlessly beautiful.

You glanced down at your high waisted jeans and knitted jumper before her sigh brought you back to the moment at hand.

“Most of the time he’s oblivious. It's easier.”

You don't particularly enjoy the way her eyes flit up to yours. It's a look of asking, of settling.

“I promised I would tell him,” you said. “I won't break that promise.”

“I don't know what you saw in there. I don't know you.” She drew her shoulders back, power in her stance. “I know Bob. He will blame himself for whatever you went through and it will throw him into his bad days much quicker because he likes you.”

The way she narrowed her eyes had your heart twisting. Nat did the same thing when she was trying to talk you out of something.

“He's done a great job so far.” You tell her this not to cushion your reasoning but because it's true. “He's been very open about his past with all of you. Less with his childhood, but I expected that.”

You glanced down at your hands, frowning as the lack of heat passed through the cups’ sleeves. While your favorite shop brewed the best, their to-go cups didn't hold up well. The time on your watch showed you were about to be late to your meeting with Bob.

“I don't want to trigger a low period,” you continued, “but I have to understand him for me to figure out how to help him with Void. Me understanding him comes with building trust.”

“Don't let him see it.” Yelena wasn't asking as she remained between you and the elevator. “If you want to be honest with him, fine, but don't let him relive it. Keep those memories to yourself.”

The words stung. You’d been taught by the strongest to hold your ground, but against the storm of Yelena’s stare you felt small.

What if Bucky was wrong? What if I’m not helping?

You wanted to be nothing but open to Bob, but that didn't mean you'd let him see things that were going to hurt him all over again. That's why you muted the shame rooms, why you assessed what memory of yours he was about to see and made sure you both warned earth other about anything that might've slipped your mind. Things that neither of you wanted to see let alone be seen.

The first time, you couldn't very well list everything you'd been through. Now you knew better

“Was never planning on it,” you murmured, raising your chin as Yelena looked you up and down. She didn't move from where you needed to go. “It's okay not to trust me, Yelena. It's not okay to make me late. Can I go, please?”

She blew out a short stream of air, her lips barely parting as she stepped aside, arm waving towards the elevator as she looked the other way.

“Thank you. Good luck on the mission.”

As the elevator doors closed, your throat felt tight.

You sipped your lukewarm tea.

Stepping off on Bob’s floor, you found him with his back against the living room windows, head turned to stare down at the streets below. He seemed lost in thought, not noticing your presence as you went to the kitchen to reheat your teas in the microwave.

You let your mind skirt his. It was a deadly quiet thing, tucked into itself. While not unusual, it was a sign he was falling a bit too deep into the wrong train of thoughts. He'd been like this the few times you'd visited only to have Bucky shake his head at you, murmuring some excuse.

You knew about his bad days, you just hadn't been around them. The relationship was still new then and besides checking in mind-wise there wasn’t much you could do.

After Void’s attack, you knew things would change, but you wouldn’t let anything change at the expense of Bob’s comfort. Whatever was happening inside of him, you hadn't missed how easily you'd been swept into his mindscape unlike the others.

Void had wanted you there and he'd gotten you. What that meant, you hadn't figured out yet.

Opening the microwave caught Bob’ attention. You couldn't help but smile as his psyche unfurled into the space, leaving you to draw back into your own little corner.

“Hey.” It was a soft word, barely making it across the room into the kitchen. “I didn't hear you come in.”

Bob's hair was getting close to reaching his shoulders. He’d mentioned how Yelena trimmed it from time to time, sometimes Ava if she wasn't around and he desperately needed it done. If how he kept fiddling with it was any indication, you would bet he was getting to that point.

“You okay?”

You’re not sure why it surprised you that he noticed. Maybe the mask you’d practised all these years was wearing down.

“I thought you hated heights,” you said instead of answering, nodding to the windows.

“I'm getting better with them, living up here. Facing my fears.” He tried to lift his voice up on the last sentence, but he sounded like he was making fun of himself more than anything.

You took his steaming cup out to cool. “You should be proud of yourself.”

He was tired. You could tell by his smile as he got to his feet and shuffled over. He was barefoot today, dressed in some corduroy pants and the first sweater you'd ever seen on him. As he grew closer, you noticed the bags under his eyes.

“Sorry, I let our tea get cold.” It was warm and inviting in its cup again as you held it out for him, popping the lid back on. Yours was half full and barely needed ten seconds to be drinkable again. “Bad dreams?” you asked as the numbers ticked down.

He sipped his drink, chocolate strands sweeping across his cheeks with the movement. “I couldn't sleep. I was trying to remember what happened.”

“I promised I'd tell you today.”

“I know, I just…” His hand went to rub his eye, but you grabbed it, carefully bringing it back down. You held his gaze as the microwave beeped.

“You rub it when you're anxious,” you told him, turning to pop the door open and set your drink aside with your free hand. “Skin turned pink last time.”

He doesn't pull away but he doesn't try to hold your hand back. You swallow and let go.

“Couch?” you asked.

“Sure,” he mumbled, following a beat behind you.

There was a throw pillow between you. Bob took to messing with the edges of it as you crossed your legs underneath each other, finishing off your drink with slow sips.

“I know it was bad,” he began, voice wobbling in a way that made your heart clench, “I just can't remember what I did.”

“I'm going to tell you. Look at me first, though,” you asked him. He did, head tilted down and everything weighed with guilt, even those long, dark eyelashes. “I'm not upset with you. I don't hold you accountable for anything that happened the other day, okay?”

He nodded, jaw moving in a way that let you know he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I'm telling you because I promised,” you continued. “And because I didn't mention something that I should've warned you about when it came to my past.”

Telling him about your interaction with the Void and the shame room that had surfaced from it had been the hardest thing yet. But you did it. You sat there and laid the trauma out in the open, hands clasped in the space between your legs.

“I knew we'd run into it, but I should've told you. Seeing that would… It'd make anyone feel like shit. I should've been more open about it.”

“Please, please don't apologize for that,” Bob whispered, rubbing his face harsh enough to worry you. His fingers shook as he pulled away. “I forced you to relive that and you're apologizing to me. That's not how this should be—you should be—”

You watched his chest shudder and uncrossed your legs, leaning into the cushion between you.

“Bob,” you called softly, “I’m alright.”

“This is fucked up. You should be angry at me,” he kept on, hands going for his hair. “I make everything so much worse and you don't—you're not—fuck!”

The curse was a vehement whisper. You could feel his psyche closing in on itself, wrinkling with pressure like a vacuum sealed bag.

For all of a second, you could see those piercing eyes in your mind and a shadow hand around your throat.

“Bob, listen to me.” You were on your knees on the couch now. They brushed his thigh as you grabbed his wrists, squeezing and guiding them from his hair. “Breathe. Take some deep breaths.”

He took a long, shaky inhale as you kept a solid pressure on his hands. With his eyes screwed shut, his chest shuddered.

“I-I can’t,” he wheezed.

“You can.”

It took some time before he found the air he needed. His tea was long since forgotten on the table nearby, but you watched him focus on it, following the outline with his eyes.

When the tension eased from his shoulders, you felt confident enough to speak up again.

“If there was ever a reason for me to be angry at you, trust me, you would know. I can't hide things from you, remember?”

He slowly nodded, zeroing in on your joined hands as he blinked.

“Everything we're doing together is to keep incidents like that from happening again. We're working to a point where you feel in control and until then, I'm here to help.” You nudged his chin up with the curve of your finger, aching at how watery they'd become. “None of this is your fault.”

Something softened the distance between you and Bob at that moment. There was this raw look—one of pure, shaking relief.

You'd gone through that dark tunnel in him and come out with your arms opened wide, no different from his team. That changed things for him, you understood that much.

The rest of the day, you resumed your latest lesson, keeping things easy and allowing him some space to think.

Inspired by his love of the library, you had explained a very important part of your mental fortitude when it came to meditation. You were well aware the concept wasn't new to him—having heard about the quietest place in his maze of shame rooms. This one would be better.

You helped guide him through his happier memories like the one with the library, crushed by how few there were before meeting the New Avengers.

“What's yours like?” he asked as you watched another bookshelf pop out of existence. You were beginning to learn how particular he was when it came to them.

The room’s outline was still hazy, but it was smaller than you would've expected. The entire team would barely fit and Bob was trying to find the right amount of shelves and books to fill it before even imagining wallpaper or flooring.

I modeled it after my first apartment. It was twice the size and filled with things you'd only dreamed of buying at the time but never did out of fear of up and running again. The windows were the best thing about that place. One had a place to sit and just stare out at the city. I was able to keep one measly mint plant alive.

There was plenty more in your safe space, ones that didn't make sense being in a hanging pot. You even had a childhood stray cat wandering around the place from time to time. The real Whisk had long since passed and would never be caught dead inside. You'd tempted her with snacks forever and had never gotten her further than your porch.

“Can I see it?”

Both of you felt the hesitation bubble up. For the first time since you'd introduced yourself to Bob, you felt shy and clumsy in the connection between your mind and his.

Sorry, you hurried to say.

“No, I'm sorry!”

It's not that I don't want to show you it's just…private. And it was in the deepest part of your subconscious where nothing was filtered or neat or made for prying eyes. Which yours should be too. This is just practice. The real one you'll need to meditate on your own time. Put it somewhere deeper. You waved a hand at the murkiness surrounding you both in the small room. That's why this is tricky and not really wanting to stay put. We're not that far in.

“No, I think that's just me.” The trembling smile in his thoughts was infectious. “My imagination is lacking.”

Says the bookworm. You're shocked at the nudge he gives you and laugh into his head. How did you get good at this so fast?

“What do you mean?”

You already can mimic body movement here and pinpoint me enough to touch me. Wanda had teased you constantly for how slow you were when it came to physically finding yourself within your own mind. You're more aware. I’m jealous.

“You make it easy to follow. I feel everything you do so I just mirror it—”

Both of you jolted back into your bodies as a snap reverberated. You watched Yelena step back, clearly shocked by how strongly you reacted to the sound as Bob grabbed the back of the couch, his eyes practically rolling around his head

“Bob? You good?” she asked, her hand landing on his shoulder.

He nodded, eyes shut as he gripped the couch cushion. “Dizzy,” he mumbled.

“Maybe we were in a little too deep,” you chucked, standing to grab him some water.

“I called your names like three times,” Yelena huffed, apologetic. “We're going out to dinner.”

“How’d the mission go?” he asked, thanking you as you held out a cold bottle fresh from the fridge.

“Great. That's why we're eating out,” she chuckled, glancing up at you as you grabbed your jacket off the couch to slip on. “You're invited too.”

“No, it's okay.” You struggled to get the sleeves from being inside out. “I don't wanna intrude on team bonding time.”

“No, come,” she insisted and you froze, eyes widening as she stepped towards you. “I was being a bitch earlier. Let me buy you dinner with Valentine's money.”

“What?” Bob murmured, looking between you both.

“You were not,” you breathed. “You're just cautious—it’s fine. I'd be the same way.”

“No, I totally was and you've been helping a bunch and I don't want you to think I don't trust you because I do.” This was quite possibly the most open you had seen her since officially meeting her over a month ago. “Like, I know how cool you are. Nat talked about you and I've made no effort to get to know you.”

“I mean, I haven't really either and she did the exact same,” you assured her.

“She talked about me?” she mumbled, eyes round.

“Is this a good time for me to change?”

Both of you looked down at Bob who was trapped on the couch with either of you standing over him.

“Yes! Go change. Wear some of your new clothes we got, it's cold out tonight.”

“Okay, mom,” he teased with a wisp of a smile, scooching off the couch as you backed up to give him room. You brushed his elbow with your hand as he stood.

“You really are learning fast,” you told him and he ducked his head, coughing out a quick thanks before shuffling off. You watched him go, eyes drawn to the length of his back as his hand went up to run through his hair.

“Did everything go okay?”

You blinked, looking back at Yelena and nodding. “I think so. I'm trying to show him how to meditate in his own safe space when he's feeling overwhelmed.”

“And Void?” she questioned, whispering.

You crossed your arms loosely, glancing towards the hall.

He has super hearing, you told her. She jerked her head back at your voice in her head. Sorry. I just know he has super hearing with the thoughts that pass through his head. I don't want to worry him.

“It's getting better. I help keep him at bay when he gets too loud,” you explained, but your eyes told the rest of the story.

She nodded. “Did anything else happen with Void?”

No, but I can tell Bob’s retreating into himself a lot more. You thought it might be a sign of those bad days coming around the corner. Can you tell me more about how he is during his depressive episodes?

“He wants to stay in bed. Barely eats. We try to keep him in the main room so he isn't as shut off from everything since we all pass through there for stuff, but sometimes leaving him be and checking in around the clock is the only thing we can do.” You sensed how hopeless she felt as she explained. “He doesn't want to be treated like a child, so we try to give him his space.”

You're doing the best you can. Hopefully, Dr. Arlington will be able to help him with it. Once he knew how to spot these low periods coming, he'd be one step ahead.

“He has been a little better,” Yelena offered, picking up your to-go cups to throw away. You thanked her. “The first month, the episodes were worse than they are now.”

You've given him a home. There's lots of stress being on the streets. It made everything worse.

She nodded, turning and pursing her lips into a smile as Bob appeared from his room. You bit your lip as he fumbled with a beanie, his overcoat a nice mellow brown like his pants.

“You coming?” he asked, sunken eyes a bit lighter as they landed on you.

“Yes,” answered Yelena before you had the chance, “she is.”

It was a cold night as you all piled into a limo, Alexei begging someone to drink with him as Ava swiped through the menu of the restaurant on her phone.

“So you just live with us now, or…?”

You quirked a smile at Walker, shrugging. “Everyday but the weekends.”

“You were here Sunday.”

Bob sank lower in his seat next to you, now aware of everything that had gone down early that morning. You brushed your leg against his.

“Would've been a boring weekend if I hadn't been,” you said, holding Walker’s eye.

“What exactly is your deal though?” His hands opened where they were resting on either of his thighs, gesturing. “Just petty little mind tricks? What color am I thinking of?”

“Cool it, Walker,” Bucky warned from the head seat, eyes slim and unshaking.

You smiled as you looked down at Walker's arm, watching his smug face follow your gaze. He made a choked grunt as he swatted at his sleeve and you scoffed, letting the illusion of the spider vanish from his mind’s eye.

The car pulled to a stop outside the restaurant as he scowled at you.

“It was blue,” you said, leaning over to open the door.

Bob was smiling into his shoulder as he stepped out behind you.

You knew how quickly a depressive episode could hit, but you were still blindsided when Bob refused to see you the following day.

Yelena didn't bother with an “I told you so.” She did drag you along to the newly finished gym floor, wanting to see what you remembered from your training. This was her way of wanting to spend time with you and to really get to know you and you couldn't have been more ecstatic.

Since you stayed around the tower, you made a point to make your presence known to Bob’s mind before being thrown into the ring with the infamous assassin. He didn't say anything as you brushed by him, but it wasn't long before you were dodging fists and getting your ass handed to you on the mat.

It took a few rounds for you to get back into the swing of things. Yelena fought with a familiar style, heavier with her kicks and more likely to block than dodge. The best you got was swiping her feet out from beneath her. Everything else ended in a new bruise.

By late afternoon, you had taken to reading a book on the top floor in Bob’s alcove. Bucky and Ava were there doing research on some rising crime ring, but you weren't in the mood to stick your nose in that mess.

A text from Yelena revealed she'd gotten Bob to eat something and that he was doing better with Cucumber to keep him company.

Confused, you typed out the question before you felt Bob wavering near your psyche. You reached out to ask him instead.

Who’s Cucumber? He didn't say anything, but you got a quick flash of an orange and white guinea pig scuttling over a comforter. He seemed amused by your jealousy before you returned to your book, allowing him to trickle into your thoughts and listen as you read.

You left the tower a while after without a single word from him.

The next day, his bedroom door was open. Everyone was out and he was still in bed when you arrived, hair tangled and eyes distant.

He started to apologize when he noticed you. Shaking your head to silence him, you sat on the floor next to his bed, setting the tea you'd brought on the bedside table.

“He's so loud today,” he mumbled, old tear streaks drying in the corners of his eyes.

“Want some help?”

He sniffed and nodded minutely.

You kept your guard up when you found the writhing dark mass in his head, sweeping it up into a ball and sectioning it off for a while. The weight wasn't easy but seeing the relief on Bob’s face as you took hold of it was enough for you to bury the discomfort.

You could carry it for an hour or two. For him.

“What keeps you going?” he'd asked Wednesday. He had gotten as far as the couch, munching on a piece of toast but not really eating it. You'd brought some of your favorite broth from a place nearby in hopes he might try some. If not, more for you.

“I want to make old friends proud.” You flipped through some files from your other job, refreshing yourself on your next ‘client’ coming up. You had already made sure to leave out anything that might trigger wandering eyes. “Use what skills I have to help people.”

“Why do you care?”

It was an empty question, but you answered.

“I was in a bad spot for a long time. There wasn't room for me to stop and think about what I wanted to do.” You turned to smile at him, happy to find his head resting against a cushion and those eyes blinking at you. “I'm better now and I like helping people however I can.”

“Don't you get tired of it?” he sighed. You couldn't see auras but he felt overwhelmingly blue today—the hue that you saw when a sun glinted off a glacier. “Your job is the same thing, over and over.”

“It was,” you agreed, flipping to another page, “then I got to meet you. You're much more fun to hang around.”

“Even like this?”

You reached out to him in his head, making sure he felt your words as well as heard them. “Even like this,” you promised.

It was the first smile you'd gotten out of him in days.

Thursday had its challenges. Yelena had to drag Bob to get ready for therapy and into your car, a firm hand where you couldn't be.

At the office, you were on the other side of the wall when you felt Void flare up. Dr. Arlington has touched something sore in Bob, enough for that darkness to writhe.

By the time the session was finished, you were sweating under your clothes with a headache getting worse by the minute. Holding Void back wasn't usually so physically draining, but you'd been having an off week.

“This is pointless.”

“No, it's not,” you murmured, parking the car. You had just gotten back to the Watchtower and Bob was brooding.

“I haven't made any progress against Void. He keeps—” his hands were tense as he held them in front of him, gripping at something you couldn't see. “He's everywhere.”

“You've kept it under control.”

“Because of you!” His voice rose, leaving you to wince from the pounding in your head. “Its not me. I can't do anything against him.”

“You're the one holding him back constantly.” You kept your tone neutral as you opened the car door and walked around to get his. He scowled up at you. “If you weren't doing anything, all of New York would be caught in shame rooms. Now come on, I need some aspirin.”

As you gulped water in the kitchen, Bob paced by the window. He muttered to himself, psyche twinging and growing more and more compact. He was tugging at his hair again.

Leaning back against the sink, you eased your mind against his. He paused his muttering to glance at you but continued his back and forth. At least he had energy today.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, pushing out a heavy breath as his hair went in his eyes.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you said.

“I'm tired of washing it.”

“Want me to cut it?” You felt him rippling, holding too much in. “It's okay, Bob.”

“Nothing feels okay,” he admitted. “I'm tired but I don't want to lay down. I'm angry but I don't know what I'm angry at.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

You gasped as his mind expanded, nuzzling into yours like a cat into your palm. An onslaught of thoughts and emotions blindsided you.

Hold me. Help me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking her for help. She's done too much already. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of me. Nothing matters. She matters. I don't want to be here but I don't want her to leave.

The first thing you thought to do was envelope his psyche with your own, holding him in a different sense, something you weren't used to. His feet finally slowed to a stop, muscles unclenching.

You let him get used to your presence around him before you slowly stepped towards him and offered your hand. When he took it, his grip shook with an intensity you'd never felt but he refused to put any pressure against your skin.

It's okay, you told him, I'm here.

He nodded, sniffing but there were no tears. He refused to let himself cry. He felt less for it and it felt like a knife to your gut.

“Do you know how to?” You hummed, squeezing his hand for an explanation. “Cut hair?”

Yeah. Well, men's hair. You tugged him towards the hall. I wouldn't trust myself with anything fancy, but I can trim it.

You had him wait in the bathroom as you grabbed a chair from the dining room and a pillow from the couch. You ran a brush through greasy tangles and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, getting him as comfortable as possible before leaning him back into the sink to wash his hair.

His eyes followed your face with every action. You pretended it didn't send your heart somewhere high in your throat as a soft playlist echoed from your phone.

You were able to breathe when he closed them, relaxing into the sensation of your fingers against his scalp. Somewhere between the suds and the rinsing, his hand found your leg and stayed there, anchoring himself.

You should move it. There should be a line there, but you knew through the connection that there hadn't been any forethought to it. He had done it unintentionally.

And a small part of you didn't want him to move his hand.

What am I doing?

It was hard. Hard because you knew what you came here to do and you were doing it—you were helping him and training him just as you said you would. You had become a pillar you'd sought to be.

Bob knew he could trust you and despite the chaos pooling under his skin, you trusted him. You couldn't find any part of you that was afraid even in the passing nightmares of Void wanting nothing more than your pain. You'd felt everything for a blink of an eye when your psyche had sunk into him.

You understood why Bob could never find the right words to describe Void. It wasn't this separate thing and it wasn't him, except somehow at the cure of everything Void was Bob.

This entire time with Bob during the week all you've felt were reflections of Void when all you sensed was the sweet man fighting, but that darkness was still in a corner. Still on that horizon, watching and waiting.

And it was desperate. It clawed at your barrier, searched for way in at every chance when you were forced to take over and hold it for Bob’s sake.

But now Void whispered. He knocked. There was a game afoot and whatever he was—a piece of Bob or not—he was patient.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you had to face him again.

“Did it feel like this?”

You blinked, pausing your snipping to glance up at the mirror and meet Bob's rounded gaze. There was light in them again and you're not sure what changed or when.

“You said you were close with Yelena’s sister and Wanda because you were in their heads a lot,” he explained. “Did it feel like this?”

“Like what?” you murmured, swiping some fallen hair off his neck and feeling a shudder work up his spine.

“Like you can only breathe when they're in the room.”

You tried to swallow but there was something stuck in your throat. You focused on the scissors, on evening out the hairs around his ears and your eyes watered because he had curly hair and you were only able to notice it now with all that weight gone.

You found your strength as you finished combing the strands into place and shook the towel around his shoulders clean of debris.

“The way we dive into each other’s subconscious,” you began carefully, “it can be overwhelming.”

He nodded, staring down at his hands as he picked around his nails. “Yeah, I-I've talked to Dr. Arlington about it a bit.”

“That's good. I'm glad you're able to be open with her.” You threw the towel into a fancy hamper nearby, almost sure of the fact it had not been Bob’s choice to have it included in the bathroom. Then again, most of it was undecorated unlike his bedroom. “That's another reason why I wanted you to see her. I want to be able to help you, but I don't want you to believe I'm the only thing that can help. Does that make sense?”

He hummed, nodding. “Sorry. It was a weird question to ask—”

“None of this normal,” you chuckled dryly. “I think a few weird questions are warranted. And you and I have to have our boundaries, especially in our heads.”

“Right.” He blew out a breath and raised his gaze to meet yours in the mirror once more. “I don't want to make you feel like you have to take care of me, you know?”

“I know.” You wrinkled your nose. “You did need a haircut, though. It was getting rough.”

The laugh that escaped him sounded like it took him by surprise. It was only then he paid mind to your handy work, tilting his head every which way to check the length.

“This is really good,” he said and you shrugged, amazed by your average skillset as well but too shy to admit it.

“You have curly hair,” you told him instead.

“It's a lot healthier now,” he explained, running a hand through the tufts. “Maybe my super powers healed my hair genetics or something.”

You snorted at that. “Okay, sure. Where's a broom?”

Bob turned in the chair, a flat look on his face. “They don't have one.”

“What?”

“Alexei made Val buy a Roomba for every floor,” he sighed.

“What?” you laughed.

By the end of the week, Bob was back in a middle ground state. He'd been working on his meditating, building that safe room of his brick by brick. You refused to see it when he offered, wanting him to have that space all to himself just as you had yours.

He'd already allowed you into his bedroom and that had felt a bit too intimate when you stopped and thought about it. But the need for comfort in Bob was high, and his room reflected that in the sweetest ways. He was doing everything he could to fill his designated space slowly but surely, large bookshelves against one wall that were in desperate need of more novels, a fluffy rug beneath a king-sized bed, and a couple of movie posters surrounding a corner dedicated to watching TV on a cozy looking couch that Tony would have burned for even being brought through the door.

Now after another week of easing back into training, you spent your time together by poking and prodding him. Bob wasn’t thrilled, but he wasn't going to question your methods. The point was to defend himself.

Now it was time for you to pull out all the stops.

“We'll make a competition out of it,” you said, sitting cross-legged ahead of him on the floor, “it'll make things interesting.”

“Is having a mind battle not interesting enough?” he mumbled, only a bit amused while picking at the rug beneath you both. It was almost the same shade of brown as his button up. “You’re gonna beat me.”

“We've practiced all week and you've been able to block me out in our lessons.” Those blue eyes shied away at the slightest hint of praise, but unfortunately for him you were full of it. “You're a fast learner, years ahead of me, okay?”

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile as he used his shoulder to scratch an itch on his nose. “I'm not very competitive.”

“Or you don't have the right incentives.” You leaned back onto your hands, pondering. “What's something you want more than anything else?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth wobbling as you glared.

“There has to be something,” you pushed, squinting atthe man as if ideas would pop up over his face.

“I have a roof over my head,” he said, tone more than grateful. “Friends, food, books—I have everything I could ever want. Minus complete control over my powers.”

“Okay, pivot.” Your hands came together, fingers fanned out as you motioned to him. “We make each other do something we don't want to do but, like, stupid fun.”

He blinked owlishly at you. “Uh, can I have an example?”

“Like if I won, I could dare you to prank Walker.”

A bubble of laughter broke from his throat. “What?!”

“First thing to come to mind.”

“I wouldn't be able to come up with a good prank.” He shook his head. “And I'm a terrible actor. He'd know something was up.”

“It was an example,” you reminded him.

“What's the last thing you would wanna do?”

You sighed, searching for something that would get both of you out of your comfort zones. There was plenty you weren't willing to do, but you had to work with Bob. Something challenging, something that wouldn't be that bad in retrospect but a bit embarrassing. He needed to expand out.

And one thing about the two of you—you hated to be perceived by a group.

“I've got it,” you said in triumph.

Bob's eyes trailed away from the window to meet yours. The smirk you sent him had him swallowing. “Okay, you've got me nervous now.”

“Loser has to sing karaoke in front of the entire team.” Bob's jaw fully dropped. You purred out, an evil mastermind in the making, “And the winner gets to choose the song.”

“Wait, can you sing?” He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “That wouldn't be fair.”

“Oh, God no. I can't hold a note to save my life,” you swore. “Can you?”

“My voice breaks when I yell.”

“Perfect.”

“Wait, no, you've had way more experience with this. You're totally gonna win!” he argued through a smile.

“You don't even know that— Okay, fine. How long do you think you can hold out against me?”

He pursed his lips, forehead wrinkling. “Is two seconds to low?” he whispered.

“You are severely doubting your capabilities, Bob.”

“Okay,” he nodded attempting a serious look, “Five seconds.”

You swallowed your laugh and rolled your eyes. “Fine. If I can needle my way past your defenses in less than five seconds, I win.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the stopwatch. “Close your eyes.”

He did, eyelids drooping shut as he took a breath.

“Throw up your defenses,” you told him. “There are no entrances, no exits. Your mind is only as powerful as you make it.”

“When do I know you're gonna hit me?”

“You won't get warnings in real life,” you murmured.

He nodded, a sharp breath escaping his nose as he rolled his neck and focused in. You watched the skin around his eyes crease, his fingers dig into the fibers of his pants.

Stretching your mind, you hovered ahead of him, just on the outskirts. A shark circling. You attempted a push on one side, felt his attention move. There was only a crumb of regret as you started the clock and rammed into his shield somewhere else entirely.

“Whoa! Shit!”

You drilled, energy sharpening to splinter into the barrier he'd built. Bob grunted, holding his ground well as you pooled all your strength and drove inward.

Stone. Brick. Cement. Your last push had glass shattering as you tore into his mind, hit with his shock as you tapped your phone screen.

Bob was panting as you opened your eyes to check the time.

“That was dirty,” he huffed, raising a hand and circling his head. “I didn't think there was a way for you to get behind me? What was that?”

“Its called strategy,” you grumbled, sliding your phone across the rug for him, “and I told you you were underestimating yourself.”

The timer read 15 seconds.

“Keep it PG 13,” you said, standing and stretching. His gaze followed you up.

“You don't have to—”

“Bob,” you sighed, playfully scowling down at him, “its harmless fun. Walker won't let me live it down, but it's harmless fun.”

“We need a karaoke machine.”

You hummed, shrugging. “I've already got that covered.”

He squinted, shaking his head and breathing out a simple, “Why?”

“You get lonely as a CSI agent so you pick up unusual hobbies or get drunk and make questionable orders. Next question.”

“What's up with the boxes? You movin’ in finally?”

Walker was questioning you as soon as you stepped off the elevator that night with Bucky in tow with an even bigger box. The ex-Captain America was settled into the couch, arms crossed as the TV played on in the background.

In the shared kitchen of the floor, Yelena was helping Bob with the food for the night. They both looked over at your entrance.

“Its the entertainment for the night.” You smiled as you spotted your target refilling her glass of wine. “Ava you're techy, help me.”

“I'm techy,” replied Walker.

“No, you're not,” Yelena called as she opened the fridge.

“And she didn't ask you,” Ava scoffed, pushing off the counter to meet you by the large television on the wall. You waited until Bucky had dropped off the second half before shooing him away to open the goods. “What am I looking at?” You gestured her to squat down to whisper the answer in her ear. “Oh my God.”

“Secrets don't make teams!”

“Not on your team,” you replied to Walker, passing the bundle of wires to Ava and keeping the microphones inside the box and out of sight.

The elevator opened to Alexei. His loud greeting took the team's attention off you and Ava as she fiddled with plugs and you got to work setting up the mini TV screen.

Over in the kitchen, Bob glanced up from lowering the heat of the stove eye as Yelena poked his shoulder and gestured to the women in the living room.

“You know what that's about?”

He shrugged, smiling mischievously as he strained the pasta into the sink. “Can you check on the garlic bread?”

Yelena eyed him as she shoved a heat mitt on and yanked the oven door open.

“Where's the remote?” you asked Walker this as he was sitting next to the empty table.

He gave you a pointed stare before shrugging both arms spread along the back of the couch.

“Make yourself useful,” Ava ordered.

“Tell me what it is.”

“You'll find out in like two minutes!”

A whistle from the kitchen had everyone turning to Bucky who waved the remote in his vibranium hand. You caught it as it flew across the length of the room.

“Thank you,” you chirped, changing the source and smiling as the background of the program lit up the screen.

“Oh, no,” said Walker, shaking his head and wagging a finger as he leaned forward onto his knees. “No, absolutely not.”

“YES!” Alexei shouted, holding his hands up as his laughter filled the room. “American karaoke!”

“It was actually invented in Japan,” you corrected him, fighting not to shrink as all eyes roved to you. “Trivia questions. They can come in handy.”

“I am not singing,” Walker stated.

You shrugged. “Okay.”

“What's the occasion?” Bucky asked, sipping on a bottle of beer as he walked up. You waved him over to show him the mini screen and how it hooked up to your computer.

“I lost a bet,” you answered, chuckling as Ava hummed into a mic, checking the speakers. She gave you a wink and a thumbs up.

“I'm so into this,” she announced to the room. “You better have Rhianna.”

Alexei snapped as he waved an arm at you from the dinner table. “I want to sing the, eh, the Sabrina song!”

“What?!” You shouted it through a laugh. “Sabrina Carpenter? Which one?”

“Oh, God,” groaned Walker, his head in his hands.

Dinner was delicious. Yelena really enjoyed the wine you brought, which was apparently a very rare thing as she hated wine. Ava was all over it. You managed to get Bucky to sip it before he wrinkled his nose and turned away.

Alexei was already half drunk as he told stories over the food. Walker looked like he was nursing a headache as he finished his salad last.

Bob was quiet, sticking to water and listening as he sat a few chairs over from you between Yelena and Alexei. You imagined anyone stuck next to the Red Guardian wouldn't get a word in conversation wise.

As Bucky and Walker handled the dishes, you tugged Bob over to your computer to begin the queue. Ava had texted you her songs as well as Alexei and Yelena had one but she wanted to go last. You were still trying to get Bucky to join. There was already one sitting out and you needed to see the Winter Soldier sing before you died. It felt like a bucket list achievement, at least.

“What have you chosen, my liege? Pop? Rock? Dare I say disco?”

Bob eyed you. A close-lipped smile making his cheeks puffy and adorable. “How many glasses of wine did you drink?”

“Like one and a half. Ava stole the bottle,” you chuckled. “Trust me, I'm much better with some liquid courage in me.”

“I don't doubt that,” he muttered, lithe fingers tapping away at the keyboard. You were stuck somewhere between the way his hands moved and one of those sweet curls framed his forehead before you noticed the song he had queued up.

“Bob,” you muttered.

“What?” he whispered, boyish as he avoided your eyes, smiling at the damn screen.

“Bob, that's a duet,” you hissed, jabbing your finger into his arm. “I said no pity!”

“It's not pity if I'm joining you,” he laughed, pointing towards the wireless mics in the case. “We’ll both be horrible together.”

“But you won.”

“Harmless fun,” he quoted as you passed him a microphone begrudgingly. “Also I would not be able to sing otherwise. It's better with someone there.”

Your heart was dripping down your ribcage at this point, too buzzed and warmed by wine and slate blue eyes. You needed to get a grip.

The second microphone was cold in your hands as you switched it on and double checked Bob’s.

“Are you guys going first?” Yelena was grinning ear to ear. “A duet?”

“It wasn't supposed to be. He won't let me be a loser,” you complained.

“Wait, what was the bet?” Walker scoffed, getting comfy on the couch again as Bucky started the dishwasher in the back.

“Training practice.”

“And he won?”

“Says the guy with a taco as a shield,” Bob called out.

“Which you still haven't fixed.”

“Ugh, start singing already! I hear enough of this everyday,” Ava slurred.

You brought your lips to the microphone. “You're gonna wish I’d never started singing.”

“You won't be worse than Alexei,” Yelena huffed.

As the music started every single face in the room lit up in amusement. Alexei was yelling with his fist in the air and you were this close to jumping out a window.

“Okay, I'm blue and your pink,” Bob noted, voice shaky.

“How original,” you snorted as the eight bar opening crescendoed.

“Ugh, this is gonna be embarrassing,” he breathed. Yelena cheered and Ava looked like that one meme of Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby.

Lookin' in your eyes, I see a paradise

This world that I found is too good to be true.

Oh, fuck him, he wasn't even that bad. Maybe a little unstable on some notes but nothing like the pitchy chaos that was about to come out of you.

Shaking out your arms, you committed to the bit and let the wine do the singing.

“Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care 'bout that!” you belted. “Put your hand in my hand, baby, don't ever look back!”

Alexei was having the time of his life. Walker had a finger to one ear, eyes squinting with the same look of pain as Bucky. Yelena was dancing and pointing and singing along and Ava was busting a lung from laughing so hard.

All of a sudden, over a badly sung song of all things, it felt like a home again in the tower.

And we can build this dream together

Standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now.

Your voices did not pair well, but Bob was smiling and stumbling through his lyrics trying not to laugh and you were cursing when your voice broke on a high note.

It was horrible and it was everything.

By the end, Bob's face was red and his eyes wet from curling in on himself laughing. You went silent for a good part of the song because Alexei was up dancing and screaming over the both of you. Bucky, the fucker, was recording everything. Screw whoever taught him how to use a phone.

“Delete that!” you shouted as the music faded out. “Live in the moment, Buchanan!”

“I'm in the moment,” he chuckled. “You're awful.”

“Fuck you, I tried to warn you all!”

“You did fantastic! Don't listen to him,” boomed Alexei, clapping you on the back. “So much raw passion. Who's next?”

Ava raised her hand, finishing off her glass of your wine. The empty bottle sat on the table next to her. “Me!”

“You've got to sing guys, come on. This is team bonding time,” Yelena said to Walker, batting a hand towards Bucky behind the couch.

“No,” Walker ground out.

“Want some whiskey?” asked Bucky.

“God, after that? Yes.”

You turned to Bob who was putting his microphone back in the case. “You weren't even that bad.”

“No, I think you were just louder.” He smiled at your scowl before shuffling towards the couch as Ava bounced up, drunk and carefree.

Hey, you called after him, waiting until his eyes met yours. Thanks. It was fun.

He nodded, swallowing and laughing as Yelena clapped at his return, pulling him down next to her and praising him.

“Which Rhianna song do you want?” you asked Ava.

“Umbrella, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you agreed, scrolling the options. “You singing the rap part, too?”

She blinked. “I'd rather not.”

“Come on, Walker. One song!” Alexei crowed.

“I said no!”

Three turns later you're all clapping as Walker puts his entire heart into Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.”

Bonus (courtesy of @berryberryrad ):

106 notes · View notes

wildflowersandvibranium · 2 days ago

Text

A Morning Of Mending

Pairing: Endgame Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend Reader

Summary: Carrying the weight of his past and his desire to heal , Bucky visits the Starks with his girlfriend by his side to meet Tony Stark’s young daughter , Morgan. He bridges the gap between grief and hope , making ammeds.

Word Count: 2.3k ish

Warnings/Tags: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP Fluffy but some angst , buckys past mentioned , tony starks death mentions , kissing , and some angsty anxiety and regret from bucky

If i missed anything let me know!

A/N: haiii heres a little something for you!! im writing my epilouge and editing chapters for my series rn but through this in to keep ya fed till next chapter is out June 4th! also but a btw! i dont write during weekends but do almost everyday as i am at home on summer and work from home!! enjoy and see ya later bbys 💖

my masterlist ☁️ REQUESTS AND ASKS ALWAYS OPEN 🌷

The world outside the window of Bucky's car was quiet.

The bright early morning light was just beginning to melt the cool blue of dawn into the start of the day.

Bucky’s hand gripped the wheel , his knuckles turning white with this grip.

Beside him , you had your head propped up on your arm as you watched the houses and fields blur by , the soft hum of the engine the only sound for most of the drive.

You could feel the nerves radiating off him and into the car.

The way his shoulders tensed each time he shifted slightly in his seat.

He’d barely spoken since you left your guy's apartment , but you didn’t mind.

Words weren’t always needed.

You reached over and placed your hand on his thigh , your thumb slowly brushing over the seam of his dark washed jeans.

His breath caught.

He glanced at you , blue eyes flickering with something , silent gratitude, maybe.

He took one hand off the wheel and placed it in yours , so your fingers could thread together.

Metal and flesh , cool and warm. All together grounding

“You okay?” you murmured , your voice soft.

He swallowed , his gaze dropping to your joined hands , as his thumb now began to run over your knuckles.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

His voice was rough , the way it got when he was wrestling with too many thoughts and things all at the same time.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. But… actually being here and about to do it… it’s different.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’re here and moving forward with it. Thats all that matters.”

He didn’t say anything , but his jaw softened just a little.

You watched him take a deep breath , shoulders lifting and falling with a lengthy exhale.

Then he turned his gaze and attention fully back to the road.

The Stark house was exactly as you imagined it would be.

There was a wooden fence , a garden full of summer flowers , a neat stone path leading to a dark oak door.

Bucky parked the car and killed the engine , staring at the house for a long moment. Not moving from his seat in the car.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away.

You could see the war behind his eyes , the part of him that wanted to do this alone and the part that was terrified of what he’d find or be met with.

Finally, he gave a small nod looking at you.

“Yeah,” he said. “I… I don’t think I can do it alone.”

You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek.

“Then I’m with you,” you whispered.

Bucky took another final deep breath , then reached for the small bag in the backseat.

You’d seen him pack it that morning—careful , precise, full of a specific intention.

A few things he’d found and a few he made himself.

He’d been so focused , his brow furrowed in that way it did when he was trying to be sure he got something right because he had to do this right.

Now he held the brown paper bag like it was the most important thing in the world.

He opened the door , and you both stepped out into the crisp late morning air paired with a breeze.

The walk up to the door felt like it stretched forever.

Bucky’s steps slowed as he reached the porch.

He looked down at his hand on the doorknob , metal fingers glinting in the light.

You touched his arm gently. “It’s okay,” you said again, your voice like a balm. “She’s just a little girl. And you’re here to show her that you care.”

He nodded , though his lips were pressed into a thin line.

Then he knocked. Firm , but not harsh.

A moment later , the door swung open.

Pepper stood there , her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a high pony , eyes bright but guarded.

She took in Bucky’s face , then yours , and a small smile softened the lines around her mouth.

“James ,” she said.

He nodded. “Thank you for… for letting me come , oh and this is my girlfriend.” He began to stutter then gave her your name.

She stepped back , opening the door wider.

“Come in. She’s in the living room.”

Bucky hesitated for half a second before stepping inside.

You followed him , your hand brushing his lower back in quiet reassurance.

The house smelled of fresh bread and vanilla , warm and comforting.

You could hear the faint sound of a little girl singing to herself somewhere deeper in the house.

Pepper led the way , her steps light but controlled.

In the living room , Morgan was sitting cross-legged on a soft rug , her toys spread out around her.

She craned her neck and looked up as you entered , her bright brown eyes curious.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

Bucky took a small step forward. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Hi, Morgan.”

She tilted her head , studying him. “Who are you?”

Your heart clenched at the question.

Bucky’s shoulders straightened a little , and he knelt down so he wasn’t towering over her. Not wanting her intimated.

“I'm Bucky,” he said quietly. “I… I knew your dad.”

Morgan’s eyes widened a little more.

Instead, she reached for one of the toys at her side a worn pink teddy bear.

“You knew my Daddy?” she asked.

Bucky nodded.

His hand tightened on the small paper bag he held. “I did. And… I brought you something. If that’s okay.”

Morgan’s gaze flickered to the bag then to her mom , her curiosity piqued.

She gave a small , eager nod.

Bucky swallowed , then carefully set the bag down and opened it.

From it , he pulled out a small wooden deer he’d made himself, its petals smoothed and painted in soft neutral colors.

He held it out to her, his hand shaking just a little.

“I made this,” he said. “For you.”

Morgan’s eyes went wide.

She took the deliacte deer in both hands , turning it over , her fingers tracing the delicate shapes and lines.

“It’s pretty,” she said , her voice bright with wonder. “Did you make it run?”

Bucky smiled , a flicker of relief in his eyes. “No, but… I can show you how to make it look like it does.”

He reached out, his metal hand careful as he took the deer back and showed her how to gently move its legs.

Morgan watched , fascinated.

You stood back , your heart swelling at the sight of them.

You knew how much this meant to Bucky—how much he’d agonized over this meeting and the regret he had with Tony.

And here he was , kneeling on the carpet, showing Tony's little girl how to make a wooden deer “run.”

Pepper watched from the doorway , her eyes soft and a little wet.

She caught your gaze and gave you a small nod , like she knew.

Like she understood.

She knew of Bucky's story and his past , and was more understanding than her late husband. So when Bucky called after his funeral and told her of him making amends, she had thought this was good for him and his healing.

Morgan’s giggles floated through the warm air of the living room as Bucky showed her how to move the wooden animal , its tiny legs flexing and mimicking movement.

You watched his shoulders relax more and more , the way he leaned forward and let a small , genuine smile bloom across his face.

It was rare , that smile.

But it was there now, just for her.

Pepper stood beside you , her arms folded loosely over her chest.

She had that same small, relieved smile on her lips , though her eyes still looked a little tired—like she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in months.

You turned and reached out , your hand brushing her elbow gently.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice careful not to intrude. “How are you doing?”

Pepper blinked , as if the question had surprised her.

Then she let out a quiet breath , her shoulders dropping.

“I’m… okay,” she said after a moment , her voice low.

“It’s been a lot. There are days that feel like I'm drowning and will be forever. But Morgan and what he left behind it… she keeps me going.”

You nodded, understanding in your chest. “She’s a good kid,” you said. “Strong, like her parents.”

Pepper’s lips twitched , and she looked at you.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For coming with him today. I know this can’t be easy for either of you.”

You glanced over at Bucky and Morgan again.

She was showing him one of her drawings now—bright colors swirling across the page in the clumsy , wonderful way that only a child could manage.

Bucky listened intently , nodding and asking her questions about the rainbow , about the sun and the little scribbled stick figure in the corner.

“He’s been thinking about this for so long,” you said quietly.

“He wanted to come alone at first , but… I think he needed to see that it’s okay to share this part of himself , his healing.”

Pepper’s eyes softened , and she reached out to squeeze your arm.

“I’m glad he has you,” she said. “It’s even… healing, in a way for you, isn’t it? Watching him here.”

You nodded looking at your boyfriend. “Yeah it really is.”

You all fell into a comfortable silence , the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words.

You both watched as Bucky carefully reached for another small item in the paper bag—a little music box. He wound it up and set it on the floor beside Morgan.

A soft , tinkling tune filled the room , and Morgan’s eyes went wide with wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“I thought you might like it,” Bucky said , his voice low and almost shy.

“It used to belong to someone I cared about. I wanted you to have it, if you’d like it.”

Morgan looked up at him , her doe eyes wide. Then she nodded and hugged the little box to her chest.

“Thank you Bucky,” she said softly. “I love it.”

Bucky’s smile wobbled a little at the edges , but he reached out to pet her hair. “I’m glad kiddo,” he murmured.

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat , feeling the weight of the moment.

Pepper rested a hand on your shoulder , her quiet presence as steady as your own to his.

The soft melody of the music box still drifted through the living room , filling the quiet spaces between Morgan’s wonder and Bucky’s gentle tone.

Morgan had settled into an easy rhythm with Bucky , as if they’d always known each other.

She was now talking about her favorite colors , the tiny braids in her hair bobbing as she shifted from one foot to the other as she stood.

“Do you like red ?” she asked him , holding up a small crayon showing the color.

“I do,” Bucky said, his voice warm and a little husky. “It’s a good color. It’s brave.”

Morgan beamed at that. “I think it’s a hero color,” she said proudly.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh—low and a little unsure, but real. “I think you might be right.”

You could see the way his shoulders aren't tight at all anymore , the way his hands were relaxed on his knees.

He was here , truly here , in this soft , safe space with her. And you.

Pepper leaned in a little closer to you , her eyes still a bit glossy as she watched them now discuss how green is a silly color.

“She’s never been afraid of people,” she murmured. “She has this way of seeing the good in everyone. Even… even when they don’t see it in themselves.”

“She’s amazing,” you said softly, your own heart tightening.

Pepper looked at you, really looked, and nodded. “She is,” she said. “And… he’s good with her , with kids. Better than I thought he’d be when he first brought up the idea , if I’m honest.”

You smiled a little at that , watching as Morgan showed Bucky how she liked to arrange her crayons in a rainbow.

“He needed this ,” you said. “Not just for him , but for her too. He’s carried so much… it’s time he left some of it behind and filled others with hope and joy that was stolen from him.”

Pepper’s lips twitched into a soft , understanding smile. “I think you’re good for him,” she said.

You felt a small flush in your cheeks , but you didn’t look away. “I hope so,” you murmured.

There was a pause then , and Pepper gave your arm one more gentle squeeze before stepping back a little, giving you space as you watched , she retreated to the kitchen.

You took a quiet breath and walked a few steps into the living room, stopping beside Bucky and Morgan.

He looked up at you , his eyes soft , and you reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

Morgan noticed the small gesture and looked between the two of you with a curious expression. “Is she your friend?” she asked Bucky smiling up at you.

He blinked , a faint blush rising in his cheeks. “She’s… more than a friend,” he said carefully. “She’s someone I care about very much.”

Morgan considered that for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “She’s pretty,” she said matter-of-factly.

You laughed, your hand still resting on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you, Morgan,” you said warmly crouching down next to them.

Bucky’s smile was small but real , his eyes shining as he glanced up at you. “She’s right,” he murmured so only you could hear.

You squeezed his shoulder gently, your touch saying what you didn’t need to put into words.

You're doing great.

You’re healing.

You're moving forward.

I'm proud of you.

-end

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