#because i know before too long it will vanish

[thestarsaboveme]

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | zayne ver. | sylus ver. | caleb ver.

rafayel x reader | angst/comfort

You weren't proud of the thoughts you were having.

Not when Rafayel was as breathtaking as ever, standing in the distant glow of the garden lanterns, talking to her again. MC. His voice was low, that velvet-like voice that used to make your chest flutter. Now, it curled in your stomach with unease.

He was smiling. Not the lazy, teasing one he gave everyone. But something softer. Something rare. Something that, lately, he'd stopped giving you.

You watched from a distance, the bitter ache of overthinking clawing up your spine like ivy. They stood close, too close. Her hand brushed his sleeve. He didn't pull away.

You turned away before you could see more.

-

The silence in your room was suffocating when you returned. Rafayel hadn't noticed you watching. He rarely noticed, these days.

The messages had slowed. The way he'd linger after kissing your cheek had vanished. His excuses, though charming and gilded with half-truths, always ended with the same conclusion: ''I have things to handle with MC.''

You used to trust him implicitly. But love could be fragile. Especially when the person you loved was a master of masks.

You sat on the edge of the bed and opened your message thread with him. It felt empty despite all the hearts and winks that littered it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Can we talk tonight? Please. I need to clear my head.

You sent it. Watched the little ''read'' notification blink.

And waited.

Five minutes.

Ten.

You stared at his message, bile rising in your throat.

Then finally.

Of course, cutie. I'll come after I finish with MC. It won't take long.

Of course it was MC again.

-

It was nearly midnight when Rafayel arrived.

''Hey,'' he said softly, stepping inside like the room wasn't filled with every unspoken word you'd been swallowing for days. ''You look like a storm's been living in you.''

You folded your arms, trying not to meet his eyes. ''Maybe because there has.'

He tilted his head, the teasing edge in his voice momentarily gone. ''Tell me:''

You looked at him then. Really looked. He was still beautiful in that untouchable, almost celestial way. Still the man who had stolen your heart with laughter and warmth and frustrating riddles.

And yet, right now, he felt like a stranger standing in the doorway of your grief.

''You've been spending all your time with her,'' you said. ''MC.''

Rafayel blinked. The silence dragged.

''I have responsibilities_''

''I know that,'' you snapped. ''What I don't know is wether those responsibilities come with…feelings.''

He stared, and for a terrifying second, he didn't say anything at all.

So you pushed, voice cracking. ''Are you cheating on me with her?''

The air in h´the room changed. It was like the very space between you shattered.

Rafayel didn't move. Didn't blink.

Then he laughed. Softly, bitterly.

''Oh, that's what you think of me?''

You flinched. ''I didn't want to. But you're always with her. You talk about her like she's this bright star you can't help but orbit. You disappear on me, lie about where you're going sometimes. And when you are here, it's like your heart isn't.''

His expression was unreadable. ''So you've decided the only explanation is betrayal?''

''I don't know what to think anymore!'' you cried. ''Because you won't let me in. You always hide behind jokes or silence or some metaphor I can't unravel…''

Something flickered behind his eyes. Hurt. Guilt. Anger.

''Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to tell you the truth?'' he asked, stepping closer. ''But I don't, because every time I look at you, I see softness. Warmth. A place untouched by all the filth I deal with. And I tell myself, if I keep my shadows from you, maybe I can keep you clean.''

''That's not your choice,'' you whispered. ''I didn't fall in love with a perfect man. I fell in love with you. The complicated, broken, reckless version.''

Rafayel looked down at the floor, jaw clenched.

''You think I'm in love with her?'' he asked quietly. ''Is that really what your heart is telling you?''

You hesitated.

''I think…you might be starting to wonder if you chose wrong. That maybe she's more compatible. That she's stronger, easier to share the weight with. You don't have to protect her like you protect me.''

His voice dropped. ''Don't do that. Don't turn your fears into my truth.''

''Then tell me the truth!'' you yelled, fists clenched. ''Because if you keep shutting me out, you'll lose me anyway.''

He looked at you then. Really looked. And what you saw there stole the breath from your lungs.

''Do you think you're easy to love, cutie?'' he asked, voice low.

You froze. ''What?''

He stepped closer, his voice like thunder muffled behind silk.

''Because I do. And that terrifies me.''

Your heart skipped. ''You're…scared of loving me?''

''I've never had anything I was afraid to lose until you,'' he said. ''and I don't know how to be with someone who sees the real me and stays. So I pull away before you can leave me like everyone else.''

Your breath caught in your throat.

''All that time with MC?'' he continued. ''Yes, I've been with her. Missions. Strategy. Nightmares that won't let her sleep. I help her the way I can. But it's not love, not the way you think. She's a mirror to a life I survived.''

''And me?'' you asked.

''You're a window,'' he said. ''To a life I want. And that scares me more than anything.''

Tears blurred your vision.

''You idiot,'' you whispered. ''You beautiful, infuriating idiot.''

And then you were moving- Closing the space between you, fists against his chest as the tears finally came.

''You don't get to decide you're unlovable,'' you cried. ''You don't get to shut me out just because you're scared. I'm scared too.''

His arms came around you like gravity. ''I know. I'm sorry.''

''I thought I was losing you.''

''You never were,'' he whispered. ''But I'll admit I've been making it feel that way.''

You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and regret.

''Please don't do that again,'' you said.

He held you tighter. ''I won't. No more masks. No more half-truths.''

You both stood there for a long time, wrapped in silence, until he finally pulled back enough to cup your face.

''You are not second place,'' he said. ''You never have been.''

You nodded, and something in you, something tight and aching, finally began to ease.

''Then let's try again,'' you said. ''But this time…together.''

Rafayel smiled, tired but genuine.

''Together,'' he echoed.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

[revlw]

𓏵 CTRL//OBEY

Yan! ITrapped X Reader

Warning : obbsessive behavior , yandere themes , stalking , worshipping , self aware , ITrapped.

Note : Please do not romanticize real stalking or abusive behavior. This is for fictional and horror purposes only.

You hear about ITrapped before you ever see him.

Rumors. Whispers. A name spoken in hushed tones by survivors in the campfire light. Most describe him with confusion. “He’s not like the others,” someone mutters. “Doesn’t chase you like a normal killer… doesn’t even look like a monster.”

He doesn’t. Not at first glance.

When you finally see him, it’s under flickering lights in a run-down hallway. A basic noob avatar, low-poly and harmless looking—except for that Ice Crown on his head, glowing faintly, coldly. He stands motionless in the dark, head slightly tilted, as if studying you. Not attacking. Not even moving.

Then he vanishes.

You think it was a glitch.

It wasn’t.

His obsession begins not with violence, but with access.

You start noticing strange things in your rounds. Generators you just touched regress by themselves. Doors that should’ve been opened glitch out and lock. Items flicker in and out of existence. But these things only happen when you’re nearby.

At first, it’s frustrating. Then it’s unsettling.

You complain to others, but no one else sees it.

Except him.

ITrapped always appears briefly—standing in the background of your match, not lunging at you like other killers, not roaring or hunting. Just… watching. Frozen. Calculating.

Eventually, the sabotage stops targeting you. Instead, it starts protecting you. He disables traps you don’t see. Breaks paths for other survivors—but not you. You’re allowed to move freely, untouched.

You haven’t done anything to earn his favor. That’s what scares you.

You’re not playing the game. He is.

You begin to realize he’s more than just a presence in the matches. He’s altering the game itself.

Somehow, your matches always start with him now. The map selection glitches until it favors the ones he prefers. Load-in screens freeze when you try to quit. Your inventory resets to a “default” version, and the only item that stays is a strange crown-shaped charm he leaves in your loadout.

Players who get too close to you start having issues. One survivor who stayed by your side the whole round disconnects mid-match and can’t rejoin the server. Another finds their controls reversed. One player swears their Roblox account briefly locked when they tried to message you about him.

Still, he never harms you directly.

When you’re injured, he lets you limp away. He never tunnels you. He lets you finish generators—if you’re alone.

You realize, eventually, that he doesn’t want to kill you.

He wants to isolate you.

The first time you speak to him is accidental—proximity voice, maybe, or a glitched chat prompt.

You don’t even know what to say, but you try: “Why are you following me?”

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then a quiet, unreadable line of text appears in chat:

“I used to fix broken things. Then I saw you. I don’t need anything else now.”

You feel a chill—not from fear, but because the message auto-deletes seconds later. Like the system itself didn’t want you to remember.

But you do.

From that point on, he no longer hides. He orbits you in every match. Other survivors grow suspicious. Some stop queuing with you. Others start blaming you when their matches glitch out. You’re alone more often now.

Which is exactly what he wants.

He never refers to you by your username. He calls you “buddy”—the way he once referred to Chance. The way someone might speak to a pet project, or a favorite possession.

You stop seeing him as just another killer. He’s no longer playing the game.

He’s rewriting it.

Your escape routes begin to vanish. The hatch doesn’t spawn when you’re the last one. Exits flicker with ERROR signs when you touch them. Sometimes, your screen goes black mid-match, and when it returns, you’re in a custom map no one else seems to recognize. He’s always there, standing still in the center.

“You’re the only file I didn’t want to delete.”

You can’t tell if he’s speaking in metaphors or literally viewing you as code.

Either way, you’ve stopped feeling like a player.

You’re Already His.

Eventually, he stops appearing to other players entirely.

Only you see him now.

You’re told he’s “disabled” or “removed” from the rotation, but he still shows up in your queue. You report it. Nothing happens.

One night, your screen boots up without you clicking anything.

The message appears in familiar black font:

“Game loaded: You + Me”

And when the round starts, you’re alone.

No teammates. No map.

Just him.

Just you.

Just silence.

And you could feel that he’s smilling.

@revlw 2025

[giuliannna]

⟢˚₊‧ FIFTEEN MINUTES

you see hamzah with a new girl at a party and have the urge to remind him of what he lost.

inspired by sabrina carpenter’s ‘15 minutes’ + this request

contains : infidelity !! don’t read if uncomfortable

you see him long before he sees you.

crowded house party, dim lights, too many bodies pressed together. you’re holding a drink you haven’t even tasted yet when you spot him across the room

with her.

she’s new. pretty. nervous. clinging to his arm.

the sight paints a smile across your glossed lips.

you could ignore him. you could pretend the last few months didn’t happen - the texts he stopped answering, the phone calls he never returned, the way he vanished from your life like you weren’t the one who taught him how to fuck.

but that would be boring. really, really boring.

so instead of acting like he doesn’t exist, you walk right over to him, keeping yourself collected. you shift your expression into a sugary look that’s guaranteed to melt him.

“hamzah!” you say sweetly, eyes flicking to the girl beside him as you approach. “hi! s’been so long, hasn’t it?”

he turns and freezes when he sees you. you catch sight of his jaw flexing. “..hey.” he says, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he eyes you up and down. “uh, yeah,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “been a while.”

you laugh softly before focusing your gaze in on the girl. you smile at her, all shiny teeth under glittery lipgloss. “and who’s this? i don’t think we’ve met!”

she introduces herself, looking a little timid. you can tell she’s getting some sort of vibe from you, and it’s exactly what you want. you pretend to listen to her, smiling like you’re the cool ex, completely unbothered.

when you quickly become tired of hearing her voice, you decide to get on with what you came over for in the first place. you keep eye contact with the new girl as you skim your fingertips along hamzah’s arm, light and casual.

“sorry,” you cut in, faux-innocent. “i just need to borrow him for a second,” you say, stopping her from babbling on about how she met hamzah. “we have something to.. talk about.”

she blinks. “oh.”

she glances up at hamzah nervously, seeking comfort from him, maybe even hoping for him to reject your advances.

he doesn’t even meet her gaze. his eyes are dead set on you.

she looks back at you. “okay. sure?” she hesitantly agrees.

poor girl. she didn’t really have a choice, anyway.

flashing her one last sickeningly sweet smile, you tug him away with a harsh yank of his arm. he doesn’t ask where you’re going. he doesn’t even hesitate to follow you.

you lead him down the hall, into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind you. you twist the lock, keeping your eyes on him.

hamzah turns to speak, but before he can even form a word, you’re already on him - hands grabbing at his shirt, mouth crashing into his like he never left you.

“are you fuckin’ crazy?” he mutters into your lips, but he kisses you back just as fast, just as desperate. you know he always loses his mind when you act like this.

“am i?” you whisper back, moving your mouth down to his throat, leaving small kisses and bites. you shove the hem of his shirt up out of the way, pop the button on his jeans, and slide the zipper down slow - dragging your nails lightly along his waistband.

“fuck,” he breathes out. “we can’t. she’ll notice.”

“oh please,” you huff, rolling your eyes beneath your lashes. “it’ll only take fifteen minutes. i know what you like.”

one thing about hamzah - he’s really predictable when it comes to you. truly. it’s like you can read his mind, 24/7.

you sink to your knees in front of him, already pushing his jeans down enough to free his cock.

he’s getting hard already, because of course he is.

“y’missed me, huh?” you tease him, voice dripping with fake sweetness as you press a kiss to the base of his length, your shimmery gloss leaving a sticky print behind.

his breath catches. “don’t start.” he says lowly, making you giggle breathlessly.

you take him in your hand, neatly manicured nails resting against his length. you pump him in slow, steady strokes, your eyes locked on his the whole time.

he groans, leaning back against the counter, trying to act like you’re hardly affecting him at all.

you lean in, tongue flicking his tip first, making him shudder. then you wrap your lips around him and take him deep, all at once. he gasps, hips jerking, one hand burying in your hair for balance more than control.

your mouth is warm, wet, and worst of all - familiar. you work him with your tongue, hollow your cheeks, twist your wrist in tandem with every bob of your head. every time you come up, it’s with a slick pop that makes hamzah’s knees wobble. you moan around him, knowing the vibration will wreck him.

“fuck- fuck,” he grits out, his cock already twitching in your mouth.

predictable. as always.

you pull off with a smirk, spit trailing from your lips to his tip. he practically whines at the loss.

“jesus, you can’t even control yourself.” you mutter, amused.

his eyes trail you as you stand. you turn around, bending over the sink, tossing him a devilish look over your shoulder.

“fuck me,” you say, all-too-casual.

he stares at you dumbly until you persuade him with a nod of your head and a soft “c’mon,” like he’s a puppy that you’re trying to train.

after that, he doesn’t even pretend to resist.

you hear the rip of a condom wrapper, the shaky inhale as he rolls it on. his fingers deftly bunch your dress up and pull your panties to the side. then his hands are on your hips - tight, firm, and his cock presses into your entrance without ceremony.

you bite your lip to muffle a moan, hands gripping the counter edge. the stretch makes you hiss, but you take him nonetheless.

he thrusts into you hard and fast, no build-up, no tenderness. just skin meeting skin and breathless groans as he thrusts into you - trying to relive every second he lost when he left you.

he fucks you like he’s trying to forget everything. deep, rough, desperate. like he knows this could be his last opportunity to have you and he wants to remember the feeling for the rest of his life.

and you let him lose himself in it. in you. because you know he’s going to get in over his head about it. you even moan for him, all loud and exaggerated. you know it’ll fuel that flame inside him.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks gently to tilt your head back. you brace your hands on the sink and throw a look at yourself in the mirror. barely ruined makeup, swollen lips, eyes half-lidded.

you shift your gaze to watch him behind you - flushed, jaw tight, trying to keep it together and act like this doesn’t mean much. you smile sinfully.

you let out a shaky, high-pitched moan on purpose, just to hear him fall apart. “fuck,” hamzah groans under his breath, fingers digging into your hips hard.

“poor you,” you murmur breathlessly, pushing back against him, rolling your hips slow just to mess with him, “i bet she doesn’t feel this good, huh?”

he curses again, hips snapping forward so hard your hands brace against the counter for balance.

“stop it,” he grits, voice rough and shaking, but you hear the break in it, the way his breath stumbles when you clench around him just right. “d-don’t talk about...” he trails off, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck.

“you gonna tell her?” you taunt him further, soft and sweet as you hinge your hips back, forcing him deeper.

“fuck, no-”his hands shake where they hold you, his jaw tight, his whole body tense like he’s trying not to lose it, to pretend that he’s in control. but, inevitably - whatever composure he had left snaps.

he drags you back roughly, your ass flush to his hips, the sound of skin meeting skin reverberating off the walls of the bathroom. broken noises fall from his lips as his forehead rests between your shoulders, his breathing ragged and uneven.

you laugh, soft and breathless, as you feel him unravel. “you’re so fuckin’ easy, hamzah.” you whisper, sending him over the edge.

when he spills into the condom with a guttural, weak groan, his fingers squeezing at your hips - you know he’ll spend the whole night thinking about you and the way you made him fall apart, hardly lifting a finger when doing so.

“holy fuck,” he gasps, voice shot, eyes squeezed shut, trembling all over, wrecked and utterly yours.

he pulls out, panting, barely steady on his feet. you don’t even care that you didn’t cum. this wasn’t really about the sex, it was just about proving the point.

you’re completely composed except for the bit of sweat decorating your forehead and the dull ache between your legs.

you fix your panties and your dress. smooth out your hair. reapply your lipgloss in the mirror.

he stares at you, his expression totally fucked-out.

“that’s it?” he asks, still breathless.

you look him dead in the eye. “i told you, fifteen minutes,” you say, lifting your shoulder in a lazy shrug. “you should feel lucky.”

you think about leaving him with just that, but you’re not quite done with him yet.

you reach for his jaw, fingers digging in, and tilt his face toward yours.

“smile, hamzah.”

he barely blinks. “what-?”

your phone’s camera is already up. click.

you capture both of your faces. yours? perfect. glossy-lipped. completely relaxed, smiling all pretty. his? ruined. pupils blown wide. sweat glistening on his forehead below his slightly damp curls. he looks like he just got fucked senseless, because he did. but it’s not your fault, really - he did this to himself.

you admire the shot, then kiss his cheek, leaving a glittery smear of lipgloss on his skin. murmuring a small “you’re welcome,” on your way, you unlock the door and walk out. he’s left standing there, completely dazed.

three days later, hamzah’s lying on his couch, hoodie on, legs stretched out, phone tossed face-down on the coffee table.

still thinking about you, even though he’s trying not to.

when his phone buzzes with a notification, he barely looks up.

until there’s another. and another. and before he knows it, there’s strings of texts and alerts from various apps flooding his screen.

with an aggravated groan, he sits up. he scrolls, skimming through messages but not quite reading all of them.

he reaches the bottom, finding the original notification, which happens to be from instagram - an alert that he’s been tagged in a photo.

your photo.

upon rapidly unlocking his phone, hamzah squints at what automatically pops up on his feed. he immediately freezes.

it’s that picture. the one he hardly registered you taking.

your face, smug and glowing. his face, flushed and fucked. your hand, holding his jaw like you own him. his lips, slightly parted in slight shock and confusion. his entire expression is borderline pathetic.

he refreshes. scrolls. it’s undeniably there.

the caption?

‘ i can do a lot with @hamzahthefantastic ’

a/n: eeeekkk guys idk how i feel about this oneee, anon i hope it’s sort of what you were looking for (:

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @h-yalexaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @thefantastickid @hamzaholic @isathefantastic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @hamzahsn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme @yassqueen1303 @animalcrossingshameless @bigmamaelli @pictureperfectblue @slushingmynoob

[callsign-fox]

Hard to Measure - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings! Sentry meets his match, some tension.

So many more to come...have any ideas? Let me know HEREx

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

Bob slammed into the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the pavement.

Not because he landed.

Because someone put him there.

The world tilted for a second, sound ringing in his ears like a struck bell. Smoke curled into the air. His ribs throbbed with a deep, unfamiliar ache. He blinked through the haze, dazed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then came the laugh — light and amused.

“Seriously?” a voice rang out. “That’s Sentry? I was expecting more.”

Bob groaned before looking up to see her.

She descended slowly, feet touching the ground softly. She was surrounded by a shimmer of telekinetic energy that warped the air like heat off asphalt. Dressed in radiant white, her cape-skirt billowed, gold shoulder armor resembling wings. Power crackled at her fingertips like it had always belonged there.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, rising slowly.

She grinned, all teeth and trouble. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His brow creased. “Bucky didn’t mention you.”

“Funny, that,” she said with a lopsided smile. “He tends to underestimate me.”

She vanished — then reappeared behind him like a ripple in the atmosphere. Bob spun too late, caught midair by an invisible force that yanked him upward like a marionette.

“Okay,” he grunted, straining against the hold. “When I get out of this, you’re in for a lot of pain.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Is that a promise?”

A golden flare lit across his body — radiant and sharp. With a thundercrack of energy, he shattered the telekinetic grip, blasting free. Trees tore from the ground, the shockwave rippling outward. He hovered midair, golden eyes locked on her now, focused and alert.

“You’re strong,” he said.

She gave a casual shrug, unimpressed. “You’re slow.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

This time, he moved first — a blur of light and speed. His fist connected midair, a clean strike that sent her tumbling through the sky. She righted herself quickly, laughing under her breath as she rubbed her ribs.

“There it is,” she said. “Was wondering when you’d finally ask me to dance.”

“That was a punch.”

“Same thing.”

She vanished again — reappearing above him. Her boot slammed into his stomach, driving him into the pavement hard enough to split the asphalt. She pressed her heel to his chest, pinning him in place.

“How’s the view from down there, golden boy?”

He groaned, half-laughing. “You’re fast and flirty. Dangerous combination.”

She lifted her boot and stepped back, light crackling around her. “I’ve been told to back down. Lucky you.”

He stood, brushing dust from his suit, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve probably had more practice than me. I’m still getting used to this body.”

“Me too,” she said, flashing a grin and a wink.

Then she was gone — vanishing in a rush of displaced air, her voice trailing behind like an echo:

“Try to keep up.”

Bob stood there a moment, golden light still flickering faintly around him. A hundred thoughts swirled in his head, but only one made it to his lips — a slow, amused smile tugging at the corner.

Bucky definitely left her out on purpose.

~

The road cracked as Bob landed beside Bucky and Yelena, the impact sending a ripple through the dust and debris. Golden light still shimmered faintly around him, but his jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the spot where Sam Wilson stood — waiting for her to appear.

“You good?” Yelena asked, casually scanning him for blood. “You look like you got hit by a meteor.”

“She hits hard,” Bob muttered, rolling his shoulders with a wince.

“I told you to be careful,” Bucky said, flexing his metal arm. “Didn’t think she’d reveal herself this soon.”

“You could’ve at least warned me.”

Yelena smirked. “Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

“Look, Buck,” Sam called over, his tone half-apologetic. “We can talk more about this Avengers thing later. I didn’t mean for your new guy to get his ass handed to him. Hope he’s alright.”

Bucky shrugged, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice. “Define ‘alright.’”

Before anyone could answer, a shimmer sliced through the air — heat warping reality — and she appeared beside Sam with a grace that made gravity look like a formality.

“Speak of the devil,” Bucky muttered. “Nice to see you, Y/N.”

“Likewise,” she said smoothly. Her eyes locked onto Bob. She didn’t blink.

The atmosphere shifted — subtle, quiet — but undeniable. Everyone felt it.

Bob stepped forward. His posture was easy, but the power still hummed beneath his skin.

“I’m not used to being surprised,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“No one’s ever caught me off guard like that.”

“No one’s ever kept up with me,” she replied, the edge in her voice wrapped in velvet and steel.

Walker strode over, arms crossed, jaw clenched like always. “You’re supposed to be stronger than all the Avengers,” he said, nodding at Bob. “Avengers-level-plus, right? What the hell happened?”

Bob didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her. “She’s not exactly easy to measure.”

Y/N glanced down at her boots to hide the smirk, but he caught it — and his chest burned a little warmer.

Yelena raised a brow. “Also, she’s not technically an Avenger.”

Bob shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I never said I was,” Yelena replied sweetly.

Bob huffed a dry laugh, then stepped a little closer to Y/N, his voice dipping just for her.

“So what are we, then? Even?”

“Not even close.”

He tilted his head. “You planning to settle the score?”

“Do you think you can handle a rematch?”

His grin was slow, a little wicked. “Sweetheart, I’m hoping for one.”

“You ready to get knocked on your ass again?”

He leaned in, voice like a spark just before the fire. “Depends. Are we still talking about fighting?”

She held his gaze. “You tell me.”

His eyes moved over her — not crude, not shy — just present. Interested. Deeply, recklessly interested.

“You’re lethal when you flirt,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t flirting,” she said. “Yet.”

The silence crackled — taut and electric, like the moment just before a storm breaks.

Sam glanced between them, then leaned in to whisper something to Joaquin.

Bob tilted his head, gold flickering behind his eyes. “Then I should warn you — I won’t be holding anything back.”

Y/N’s lips curved. “Good,” she murmured, brushing past him. “I like it rough.”

He watched her go, a rare mix of awe and amusement tugging at his features.

Bucky, who had definitely been listening, muttered to Sam out of the corner of his mouth, “This is gonna be a nightmare.”

[iris-qt]

What I Cannot Say

knight!theo | medieval au ⚔︎

The castle slumbers.

Rain patters softly against the high, stained-glass windows, and the candle at your desk burns low, its golden flame dancing across your ink-stained fingers. You shouldn’t still be here. The other court scribes have long since vanished, and even the guards are trading shifts beneath their breath.

But the scrolls before you whisper like old friends, records of ancient treaties, old languages curling across parchment like spells.

You don’t notice the door open.

Not until the floorboard creaks... the one you keep meaning to fix.

Your quill stills.

You look up, heart skipping.

He stands there, silent in the threshold, half-draped in shadow. Rain beads across the black leather of his shoulder guards, his hair damp, curling at the edges. A dark cloak slung across one shoulder. A blade at his hip.

Ser Theodore Nott.

He shouldn't be here. Not at this hour. Not in the library. Not with you.

“My lord,” you say softly, standing too quickly. You nearly knock over the candle.

He doesn’t blink. His gaze, sharp and unreadable, scans the room before returning to you.

“I was told you kept the original texts from the House of Gwael,” he says, voice quiet. Clipped. As if it costs him something to ask. “I need to read them.”

You swallow. “Of course.”

You bend to retrieve the scrolls, your fingers trembling. Not because you’re frightened. You’re not. It’s just—

He’s taller than you remembered. And even in the flickering candlelight, he’s beautiful in the way statues are beautiful: cold and eternal and utterly untouchable.

You hand him the scroll.

His fingers brush yours.

A mistake, probably. He’s wearing gloves, and yet the contact makes your breath catch anyway.

Theo notices. You can feel it... not in any expression (his face stays unreadable as ever), but in the slow, precise way he unrolls the scroll, eyes flickering toward you only once.

“I didn’t think knights cared for language,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He glances up. His voice is low and sure.

“I care for many things people assume I don’t.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you return to your seat, unsure whether to keep reading or flee to your chambers and scream into your pillow. The candle gutters. He stays.

Minutes pass. The only sounds are rain, your turning pages, and the soft scratch of his gauntlet against parchment. Then, quietly:

“Why do you work so late?”

You look up.

Theodore’s gaze is trained on the page, but his question lingers in the air, warm and unexpected.

You blink. “No one notices me here.”

At that, his eyes lift. Hold yours.

“I do.”

Your heart thuds. Loud enough that surely even a knight can hear it.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, more gently now. “You’re always the last to leave. Even in the cold. Even when your hands shake.”

You flush, throat tight.

“I like the quiet.”

He hums. “So do I.”

A long pause. A soft flicker of lightning. His hand drifts, without thinking, to the hilt of his sword, the motion absentminded, protective.

You wonder if he’s always like this, or just with you.

Theo rolls the scroll back up and sets it down but doesn’t leave. Not yet.

Instead, he says softly, “You read poetry, don’t you?”

You nod, uncertain.

“I remembered a line, once,” he says, still not looking at you. “When I was bleeding. I thought I would die. But it came back to me anyway. Something about stars. And the way some people carry light inside them.”

You stare.

He finally meets your gaze.

“I thought of you.”

And just like that, the room feels smaller. Warmer. Brighter.

Like a candle that refuses to go out.

...

The next time you find it, it’s tucked between the pages of your copy of Herbal Magicks of the Olden Kingdoms.

A shard of dragon glass. Real. Cool to the touch, with a small crest engraved at its center: not from your kingdom. Foreign. Ancient. Pinned beside it: a note. Neatly folded.

Your name is written in an impossibly tidy hand. You open it.

For the scholar who outshines the sun with her questions. This was taken from the ruins of Aelwyn, where the old queens studied spellfire and starlore. I thought of you when I saw it. —T.N.

Your breath catches.

He thinks of you. In battle. In ruins. In other kingdoms.

You clutch the note to your chest and spend a full five minutes pacing the length of the library trying not to combust.

You don’t get the chance to thank him. Not yet.

Because the court session that day is… a mess.

You’re summoned to bring the translated treaty notes, normal work, but the nobles are restless. They gossip, drunk on mead and power, casting eyes at the quiet scribe who dares sit in council.

And then Lord Durran (slimy, bored, and old) speaks up.

"Tell me, girl," he sneers, loud enough to echo. “When did scribes begin thinking themselves courtiers? Or are you simply warming Lord Nott’s lap in exchange for coin?”

The hall freezes. You do, too. Until the scrape of a chair. A deliberate step.

Theodore Nott doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. But when he moves, the entire chamber listens.

“I suggest,” he says coldly, “you keep my name off your tongue unless you’re prepared to swallow your teeth.”

Gasps ripple. Durran flushes, paling. No one challenges Ser Theodore. Not even fools.

He doesn’t look at the others. Only at you.

And then, in the shadows of the halls outside the courtroom, he walks over and places another small item in your palm.

It’s a pendant this time. Worn. Engraved with a script only three historians in the realm could read.

“I thought you might translate it,” he murmurs, quiet enough just for you.

And with that, he turns. Walks away. Cloak swirling. Sword gleaming. You remain frozen, your heart racing. It says something that you don’t even open the pendant until much later. You just stand there, cheeks burning, wondering how it’s possible for someone so silent to make this much noise inside your chest.

...

It takes you three days to crack it.

Not because you’re slow, gods no. You’re the only person in the castle who can read High Eltheric, a long-dead language that looks like poetry and spells had a lovechild.

But you hesitate.

You hold the pendant beneath your pillow, beneath your breath, fingers tracing the etched lines like they’ll whisper something before your mind dares translate it. Every time you try to begin, you think of Theo’s eyes on you. The way he placed it in your hand. Like it meant something. Like you mean something.

Finally, on the third night, rain against your windows, firelight low, you set the pendant beside your ink pot, take a steadying breath, and begin.

Word by word, the meaning unravels:

To the one whose mind is a thousand burning stars I offer what little heart I have. If you ever wish to claim it.

Your quill drops.

Your breath hitches.

You read it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t change.

He gave you a coded love confession. In a dead language. That only you could read.

What kind of maddening, infuriating, devastatingly romantic knight—

You sit back in your chair, staring at the pendant like it might burst into flames. Because now you know. Now you see it. The pattern of his gifts. The books. The relics. The looks that lingered too long and the way he always stood between you and danger, like a silent shadow forged of steel and longing.

You bite your lip.

And you smile.

Because you realize: he thinks you haven’t noticed.

A/N: obsessed with this au | ty to @kiaxika and tagging @ladyblablabla

[ladykailitha]

Heist AU

So I've been thinking about an Italian Job/Leverage-esque with hints of Ocean's 11 vibes.

So hear me out.

Steve is a conman who runs his own team of con artists doing jobs, mostly for profit, but also the occasional 'fuck the rich' type jobs.

The last job he did went bad and half the team quit because of it. So Steve swore to keep things simpler from now on. Just quick smash and grab jobs to keep the coffers from getting too low.

And the half of his team that stayed after the split are in college now, so it's just him and Robin anyway.

Then his grandmother dies. In her will she left Steve all her jewelry because she didn't want let her daughter get her hands on it. As some of the pieces are worth several million.

But all the jewelry vanished before the funeral and he knows it was his parents but he can't prove it.

Then his contact at the British Museum, Chrissy Cunningham, informs him that one of the pieces has shown up on display by an 'anonymous donor'. It's going to be part of a collection being 'loaned' to the museum.

Robin and Steve start plotting out how to get it back with just the two of them when the unthinkable happens. He gets word from his contact that they are moving the collection into storage for god knows how long at the end of the week and now they six days to pull off the biggest heist of their lives.

They bring in duo Jonathan and Nancy to replace Steve as the face (he doesn't want to be near it in case his parents are in town) and Lucas as their hitter. Lucas being part of the two that went to college.

But they need a techie and fast. Dustin is at MIT and can't risk getting caught and losing his scholarship.

"There's only one person better than Dustin," Robin says sliding up to him.

"No." Steve refuses to even engage with the idea.

"What choice have you got?" she reminds him.

"He'll say no," Steve insists.

"Not to me," she assures him. "Not about this."

Steve wants to believe her so he lets her try. All while trying to find a backup because he's sure Eddie will say no.

~

Eddie walks into his apartment and sighs. "How the fuck do you do that?" he curses. "And you better have not drank all my beer!"

Robin cocks her head to the side. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. And of course I have touched your beer, I have taste."

Eddie chuckles pulling out a can of poor man's beer and popping it open.

"What can I say, it reminds me of home."

"We need your help on a job," she says coolly.

"Steve going to be involved?" he asks and flops on the sofa across from the chair was waiting for him in.

"Well, I wouldn't work with anyone else, soo..." she half shrugs.

"Then fuck off with whatever you have in mind," Eddie snarls. "I ain't going to be his bitch again."

"Jeff forgave him," she said, leaning on her knees. "Why can't you?"

"Jeff's a grown ass adult and can do whatever the fuck he wants," he snaps, sitting up. "But if it wasn't Steve's arrogance and sheer bullheadedness Jeff wouldn't have been anywhere near the bomb when it went off. He could have died, Robin!"

"And he hasn't done a job like it since," she bites back. "I know you're pissed. You have every right to be. But he doesn't want your help. He needs you help. This time it's personal."

Eddie sips the beer and scoffs. "How's that?"

So Robin tells him. "You're the only one capable of getting into the British Museum's security and you know it."

Eddie sighs and settles back into the cushions of the sofa. "All right, I'll do it but only because I've been itching to knock over that place for years and this as good an excuse as any."

~

But when the team gets together, Eddie is insanely jealous of Nancy as she appears to flirt with Steve and Robin starts to suspect something more going on.

She walks up to Steve while he's have a cigarette. "Tell me this job isn't about getting Eddie back as your boyfriend."

"It's not about that!"

She raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, it's not just about that," he amends. "I wasn't even sure he'd agree for starters, but yeah, if I can use this to get him back, to show him I've changed, I'd be a fool not to try. But mostly this is about my grandmother and her jewelry and how she wanted me to have them, not to be stuck in some vault never to be seen again."

~

The plan goes off, they get the jewelry and Steve gives each of them a piece as thank you.

For Eddie he picks out his grandfather's wedding band, a simple band of platinum and gold, with an engraving that says 'to my dearest love' on the inside.

"Steve..." Eddie whines. "You can't give this to me."

Steve shakes his head. "It was always going to be yours. I was going to propose after that heist."

Eddie looks up from the ring. "Oh Steve..."

"This isn't me begging for you to take me back," he pauses and cocks his head to the side, "though I absolutely would if I thought it would work. This is just me giving you something that I always intended to belong to you."

They kiss and make up.

And if they plan a heist around their wedding, with both teams in tow, well, that's just how they say 'I love you'.

[604to647]

Gahhhhh TIMMMMMYYYY!! 😭😭😫😍😍

I just love how you describe them both! Especially the bee analogy - genius! That last line "Then you went back to pollinating" immediately conveyed her flitting, sort of aimless dating behaviour perfectly!

And Tim! *SIGH* so kind and patient, and respectful, and wonderfully not giving off any of those "nice guy" vibes (you know the ones 😒😒) - just loving her gently and honestly, giving her what she needed, supporting her always. You're right - SUCH A GREEN FLAG 🥹

Of course it would take a near miss for him at work for them to both wake up to what they were missing right in front of them 🥹🥹 Even then, Tim's so self aware and gives her all the power:

“It’s ok. It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything. I know that you don’t see me like this.”

He glanced at you again, trying to smile, trying to comfort you, as if you were the one who needed it. But he failed, his smile vanishing before it reached his lips and it tore your heart in two. You wondered how long he'd been seeing you like… this. How could have you been so blind? You thought of all the times he comforted you because of other men and it made you feel sick.

MY HEART is torn in two!!! Luckily our girl has a good head on her shoulders, she just needs the time and Tim, of course, lets her set the pace:

It's strange how kissing your best friend feels so familiar yet so bizarre. Like you're in the most comfortable place in the world, but you had to brave the "no entry" sign to get there.

It was what you were feeling, kissing Tim. The skin under your fingers, the scent in your nostrils, you knew them perfectly well. But you didn't know them like this, dedicated to you at that moment, turned toward you. Intimate. 

YES GIRL, WORK THROUGH THE FEELINGS AND WE WILL MEET YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

And then once they let themselves fall, OH BOY! Everything is so playful and sweet and needy, there's no hesitation or awkwardness because they already care for and know each other so 🥹

“Awww, bossy,” you replied with a smirk until the urge of having more of him became unbearable. “Take off your clothes, Tim.”

“Who’s bossy now?” he started to chuckle, but quickly stopped when his cock twitched against his lower abdomen. He took off his clothes that had fallen to his ankles, kneeled at the foot of the bed and slid your panties down.

“So many times, I thought about how you’d taste. Imagining your fingers lost in my hair. You moaning for me.”

AND JESUS so your Tim is a dirty talker, eh? OK YUM.

“Yeah, that's it baby, come for me,” he said, straightening up, eyes fixed on yours. “I got you, you're so goddamn pretty, all spread for me.”

His praise made you clench one more time on his digits.

“Oh, so you like it when I talk to you like that,” he said, eyes full of desire and lust.

You were a needy mess, your eyes silently assenting for you, and he kissed you, his big hands holding your face. You felt like home and your heart was about to explode, while you were still moaning in his mouth.

You felt like home??! 😭😭😭 GOD I LOVE A GOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS - thank you for delivering, bb!

(And thank you for the shoutout 🥹 you’re too kind to me!! 😘😘🥰)

Friend zone

3k4 | Tim Rockford x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: an event leads your best friend to reveal a secret he's been keeping from you for years, and you finally find what you've been searching for Warnings: 18+ mdni. best friends to lovers, soft!Tim, a few pussy and dick pronouns, praise kink, size kink, Tim can lift reader, intimacy, closeness, feelings, fingering, oral (m/f), piv, creampie. No age specified

a/n: This is probably one of my softest fics, but I guess I needed it this week? this is written for @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality ‘s "writing through the seasons" challenge (masterlist) I got Tim/fall with the prompt "Come on, a few kisses won't ruin our friendship" and a beautiful mood board you can see at the end of the fic ❤️ thank you so much for this challenge 🙏❤️ thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing me and for helping me when I was stuck with this fic 😘🫶 If you wanna read another “Timmy” fic, go check Tiny Timy @604to647 and The Rockford Portfolio I love these two 🥰🥰 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

Tim was the epitome of reliability. Responsible, mature, always the designated driver for your group of friends when you were spending a night at a bar, always ready to hold your hair when you were throwing up from too much alcohol, always there for you when you were crying in his arms after another random asshole broke your heart.

A pure green flag.

You… you were a bee, fluttering from flower to flower, drawn to the carnivorous ones. The bigger red flags the men were, the faster you flew towards them. Never learning from your mistakes, chasing something they couldn’t inherently offer you, you dried your tears on Tim’s shoulder, while he would slowly stroke the back of your neck, holding you against him, telling you they didn't deserve you. 

Then you went back to pollinating.

So when he called you that night, his voice slightly wavering and tinged with alcohol, you rushed over to his place. It wasn't like him to drink too much.

You used the key he had given you long ago to open his apartment, just like he had the key to yours, and went straight to his bedroom.

He was lying on his bed, a glass and a half empty bottle of whiskey sat on his nightstand. You put your jacket on a chair in the corner, settled down next to him and leaned against the headboard. You told him softly to rest his head on your stomach and brushed his curls. He mumbled a string of words and you listened to each one of them, even if you didn’t understand what he was saying, until he stopped talking and sighed. 

“I’m gonna get you some water, ok?” 

You held the glass while he drank, then undressed him, taking off his shoes, the suit jacket, the shirt, his pants and socks, so that he would be more comfortable sleeping.

You stayed with him all night, checking on him a few times. 

When he woke up, you were making breakfast wearing one of his t-shirts, since you had left your apartment in a hurry the evening before, forgetting to grab some of your stuff.

You handed him a cup of coffee and sipped from  your own mug, looking at him as he sat down on the kitchen’s stool and placed his cup on the counter. He had put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair was disheveled.

“You’re ok?” you asked.

“Yeah…” He took a sip of coffee and put the mug down, his gaze lost in the brown liquid.

It wasn’t like him, but you didn't want to rush him, and you knew he'd talk when he was ready.

“I made scrambled eggs and toast, you want some?”

He nodded and you both ate in silence. 

“See? I can do better than burnt toast sometimes. Despite your doubts, which are very hurtful by the way."

You wanted to lighten his mood, lift the weight off his shoulders, whatever the cause. He smiled, and it eased your heart a little. It was a start.

“Thank you for the breakfast, sweetheart. Didn’t have to.”

“ ‘course I did. You need to evaporate all that alcohol…” you told him, raising your eyebrows. Playing the role that had been his so far. Maybe a little harsher than him.

“I know what you’re doing,” he smiled.

“Oh really? And what am I doing, Detective?”

“Playing my usual part. You like it?”

It made you chuckle, until you realized how much you'd been relying on him all these years. The stress you must have put him under. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me what happened, you know. Otherwise, I'll still be here at noon, and I'm not promising anything for lunch with my cooking skills.”

You expected him to laugh, but he frowned and withdrew, his shoulders hunching inward. 

“Shit, Timmy, what’s going on, you’re scaring me,” you said as you got up from your stool and placed your hand on his shoulder.

You called him Timmy in two situations. When you were drunk, or when things were really serious. It always made him laugh, using that ridiculous nickname in difficult moments. He knew that calling him like that had always been a way for you to calm down, and when he looked up at you with his sad brown puppy eyes your heart melted.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you, sweetheart.”

“It’s ok, it’s ok, just… Maybe I can help if you tell me what happened?”

He sighed, and you waited, preoccupied. You’d never seen him like this in all your years of friendship. He finally gave in and said, “I was on a mission last night. It… went bad.”

“What? How bad?”

“A bullet flew an inch by my head.” His gaze was set on his plate and you squeezed his shoulder harder.

“Oh my god, Tim!”

“My partner shot the guy…probably saved me.” He paused, then added “when I got back here I started to drink. To ease up the adrenaline, maybe. But… that’s not what I needed.”

You were in shock. Of course you knew his job was dangerous, but it had never been that bad. Imagining that the bullet could have hit him made you tremble, as the fear of losing Tim gripped your mind. You tried to push the thought away.

“What did you need, then?”

He cleared his throat, obviously thinking about choosing his words carefully.

“People say when death is close, you see your whole life flash before your eyes. But I didn’t see it. I saw…”

He stopped, and you had no idea what he had in mind. You grabbed both of his shoulders to turn him towards you, to make him face you.

“What did you see, Tim?”

He looked up at you, hesitant, and you nodded encouragingly.

“I saw you. I was terrified that I would never see you again.”

You frowned, wondering why you had been in his thoughts like that, at that moment. 

And then it hit you. 

Your eyes widened as he lowered his, unsure if you would release his shoulders or hold on tight to them.

“Tim…”

“It’s ok. It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything. I know that you don’t see me like this.”

He glanced at you again, trying to smile, trying to comfort you, as if you were the one who needed it. But he failed, his smile vanishing before it reached his lips and it tore your heart in two. You wondered how long he'd been seeing you like… this. How could have you been so blind? You thought of all the times he comforted you because of other men and it made you feel sick.

“Get up, Tim, please,” you asked. 

You hugged him once he was standing, wrapping your arms around his broad frame to soothe him. He was tense at first, as if petrified by the closeness, hesitant to hold you, until you felt his muscles relax slightly and he placed his hands on your back. You tilted your face up towards him and your lips gravitated to each other.

You don't know who initiated the crush of your lips, his hands on your hips, yours around his neck. You just knew it felt like a desperate need. Maybe for Tim it was a response to the shock of what had happened the day before, and years of yearning. Maybe for you it was the acknowledgement of needing him differently.

You dragged him towards the couch while you were still kissing and collapsed on it, pressing him against you.

It's strange how kissing your best friend feels so familiar yet so bizarre. Like you're in the most comfortable place in the world, but you had to brave the "no entry" sign to get there.

It was what you were feeling, kissing Tim. The skin under your fingers, the scent in your nostrils, you knew them perfectly well. But you didn't know them like this, dedicated to you at that moment, turned toward you. Intimate. 

He ran his nose down your cheek and nuzzled your neck, and you were already moaning, your body tingling. Was it possible that the sensation you'd been chasing for years was actually waiting for you right at your fingertips?

“I don't wanna lose you, by doing this. You’re the one I care about most in the world, always have been,” he said suddenly.

“Come on, a few kisses won't ruin our friendship.”

You didn't know if it was a lie you were telling yourself, didn't know what the consequences would be. Your brain was foggy, full of desire and need. You didn't want to slow down, push him away, end that unexpected moment that your whole body was craving.

His hand wrapped around your neck as he peppered kisses to the other side, just below your earlobe. Eyes closed, hands running through his hair, thighs pressed together trying to ease the tension that was already burning your core, your breathing hitched.

“Tim,” you whined, your tone needy, just as your hands roaming his body.

“Yeah,” he said, before crushing his lips on yours again, then dragging his beard and moustache along your skin down to your collarbone. His hand slipped under your shirt and cupped your breast as if it were one of the most delicate things in the world. 

“You smell like me”, he groaned. He grabbed your tit harder, unable to suppress a grunt.

“Shit,” you said, clasping the hem of your top to pull it off. His eyes landed on your breasts and he bent down to take one in his mouth and suck on it. You always thought that that zone was not sensitive for you, almost annoyed when some of your dates would focus on them, and you were realizing how wrong you were. It’s just that no one had been able to do it like you needed until then, to the point that you wondered if you were going to come just like that. 

Feeling how responsive your body was, Tim groaned from the depth of his chest and buried his face between your breasts before licking the other tit.

“Give me your hand,” you croaked, your voice hoarser than it had ever been. You pulled your panties to the side and pressed his fingers against your heat. Feeling your arousal made him growl. “Jesus, you're soaked, baby,” he breathed, hastily pushing two thick, warm digits into your cunt, deeper than any man before him, making you pant.

You curled your fingers around his wrist, setting the pace you needed. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re droolin’ for me. How does it feel?” he asked, his voice soft like velvet, before taking your nipple back in his mouth.

“Good. Fucking good, Tim. Oh my god!”

Instinctively knowing what you needed, his thumb rested against your clit then rubbed it, his fingers still pushing into you.

“Fuck you’re so wet… You're gonna come for me, baby? Just by me sucking on your tits and fingering you?”

You nodded vigorously, biting your lips, knowing it was only a matter of minutes or even seconds before it would happen.

“Good girl,” he smirked, licking at your breasts again, your eyes rolling at the back of your skull at his praise.

You mewled when you came, squeezing his wrist, pussy clenching on his fingers.

“Yeah, that's it baby, come for me,” he said, straightening up, eyes fixed on yours. “I got you, you're so goddamn pretty, all spread for me.”

His praise made you clench one more time on his digits.

“Oh, so you like it when I talk to you like that,” he said, eyes full of desire and lust.

You were a needy mess, your eyes silently assenting for you, and he kissed you, his big hands holding your face. You felt like home and your heart was about to explode, while you were still moaning in his mouth.

“I dreamed of this,” he murmured between kisses. “Dreamed of seeing you collapse in my arms, hearing you whimper and moan for me. And it’s even better than what I had imagined.” 

“Tim, please…” you whined against his soft lips.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

Your foreheads rested against each other, your breathing slowly calming while his only increased.

“Everything. I want everything,” you said, gaze locked with his. “I need all of you.” 

He nodded, in his own Tim way. As someone who wants to offer everything he has to give, someone who means it.

He stood up and took off his shirt, while you were looking at him. Not the way you used to look at him when you went to the beach and walked side by side toward the ocean in your swim suits. Or when he helped you to renovate your home and ended up shirtless because of the heat.

Your eyes sparkled as if you were seeing him and his body for the first time. Broad, strong, reassuring. Your eyes roamed from his broad shoulders to his bulging biceps, and finally reached his happy trail peeking out from his sweatpants that he was wearing low on his hips.

He reached out his hand towards you to help you get up and you faced each other.

“Take me to your bedroom,” you murmured.

He grabbed your thighs to lift you up, and you held onto him, pressing your lips against his, searching his tongue with yours, as he led you to his bed where he gently set you down.

The outline of his hard cock traced a curve across his sweats, so you grabbed the waistband and slid them down, his thick cock springing free up against his stomach.

“Shit, Tim…”

He brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“You don’t have to, sweetheart, you know that?”

“Are you kidding me? She’s gorgeous… your cock’s gorgeous.”

He stroked your cheek again, gently, and murmured a soft "okay."

You'd kissed, sucked, and fucked several men. Some of them were quickly forgotten, some weren’t. But when you circled Tim’s shaft with your slightly trembling fingers, then licked and sucked him, it felt different. It probably transpired in the intimacy and softness you displayed. As if you wanted the love (deep, but friendly until that day. And so indefinable right now) you felt for him to shine through the care you put into it. 

A mixture of tenderness and need.

His hand froze at the back of your head several times, grunts falling from his mouth when you sucked his tip, licked his shaft, or took one of his balls in your mouth, worshiping every inch of his delicate skin. Your hand ran up his thigh to his ass. You listened to his “oh fuck, baby,” his “shit, sweetheart,” his “you’re doing so good.” Praised by his words and sounds, you could have done it for hours, but his panting increased, until he mumbled, “baby… I’m afraid to come if you keep going.”

You pulled back, wiping the saliva that had dripped down your chin with the back of your hand, your gaze slowly moving up from his stomach and his chest to his eyes. You couldn’t keep your gaze from him.

“You’re so beautiful, Tim,” you said. You’d always known he was, of course, but your eyes saw so much more now.

Your words made that 6’ tall and strong man blush. “Oh come one, sweetheart. You’re the only beautiful one here, and I don't wanna hear otherwise."

“Awww, bossy,” you replied with a smirk until the urge of having more of him became unbearable. “Take off your clothes, Tim.”

“Who’s bossy now?” he started to chuckle, but quickly stopped when his cock twitched against his lower abdomen. He took off his clothes that had fallen to his ankles, kneeled at the foot of the bed and slid your panties down.

“So many times, I thought about how you’d taste. Imagining your fingers lost in my hair. You moaning for me.”

He placed his hand on your stomach, urging you to lie down, legs spread on either side of his torso, and his nose ran a line from your clit to your folds, before giving way to his tongue, warm and curious. His hands grabbed your thighs and he placed them on his shoulders, feasting on you as if you were a fruit in the heat of summer. Your hands found their natural place in his hair, just as he'd predicted. Your moans mingled with his, his tongue lapping at your pussy so perfectly, so intimately, repeatedly. It didn't take long for you to come in his mouth, his name escaping your lips, and when your shaking stopped, he pulled you towards him, setting you down on the carpeted floor of his room. 

“You came so quickly for me, baby. You’re perfect,” he said and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. Time froze for a moment, until he pulled back a little and settled between your thighs, his dark, lust-filled gaze fixed on you, beard and moustache glistening with your arousal, his hard cock swinging between your bodies.

“Kiss me again, Tim, please,” you murmured, and his soft lips brushed yours, teasing at first, but soon they were against yours, kissing you like no one had ever done before. Tenderly, so different from the fire that was burning your core.

Your hand traveled from the back of his neck, down to his shaft, nestling his tip at your entrance, and he pulled away just enough to look at you as he matched your thrust and pushed into you. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment at the sensation of his cock spreading you open, and your heart exploded like Fourth of July fireworks.

His hand on your cheek which he caressed with his thumb, it was almost too much, to feel him inside you, on you, against you.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his gaze lowered to you, set on you, he seemed wrecked and so were you probably.

“I know, Tim. Oh god, I know,” you whined. Your hands gripped his hips, pulling him deeper into you, if that was possible.

“I wanted this, baby. Needed this for so long. To feel you around me, and it’s… so good,” he said, panting, kissing your neck before returning to your lips, his hands running over your body. Yours were on his shoulders, holding him tight, as if you were afraid of letting him go, of losing him. 

His shaft brushed against that perfect spot and you felt another climax build, squeezing him between your folds, clinging onto him with your whole body.

Tim wrapped his hand around your neck, the back of it rubbing against the sheet with each of his hip thrusts.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna… gonna make me come.”

“Come with me, Tim. Please, I’m so close, and I wanna feel you come at the same time. Please….”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he managed to say, licking at your neck, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You dug your fingers into the skin of his biceps as you came and you felt his cock twitch, his cum covering your walls, making you nibble at his freckled shoulder.

You stayed as one for several minutes, you caressing his shoulders, him kissing your temples, until he pulled away slowly and grabbed the sheet to cover your bodies then held you against the warmth of his chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing your arm with his fingers, giving you another set of goosebumps. 

“Yeah… Yeah,” you answered, trying to process what happened, understand your feelings. Trying to contain the worry that was about to smother your heart, whispering in your ear that things would go back to the way they were before. 

And you didn’t want to.

“You sure?” he insisted, feeling you weren't really ok, reading you like an open book as always. You raised your face to his, chewing on your lower lip.

“You know you can tell me everything, right? No matter what, sweetheart.”

“I want you to hold me in your arms and tell me you won’t let me go,” you admitted, offering him the candor you’d always shown each other. “I want you to tell me that you want this to happen again.”

“Oh, baby…” He opened his arms and you cuddled against him, as he held you tight. “I won’t let you go, and I want this to happen again. I want you as my everything. Best friend and… mine.”

“Yours?”

“Mine. Anything else is impossible now.”

You nodded.

“Yours, Tim.”

Tim masterlist

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[mandoalorian]

a body to break against [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky x f!reader

synopsis: a night of chinese food, shots, and unexpected camaraderie with the new avengers forces you to confront your place on the team, and it's especially difficult with bucky’s stare lingering on you.

word count: 6200

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, enemies to lovers, thunderbolts* spoilers, alcohol consumption, mention of family member death, details of physical and emotional abuse, grumpy!bucky, avengers tower fic

masterlist

previous chapter | current | next chapter [coming soon]

You didn’t know what woke you. Maybe it was the absence of weight in the air. Or maybe it was the silence—thick and undisturbed, like something had finally shifted. For a moment, you lay still beneath the blanket, eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for the storm to return.

But it didn’t.

You stepped out of the room barefoot, expecting to find Bucky Barnes still haunting the apartment like some cold draft. Instead, the kitchen was empty. The chair he’d claimed last night was vacant, the beer bottle gone. His presence, which had been so sharp and intrusive, had vanished.

And you were relieved.

Until a voice startled you from the table. “Morning,” it said — warm, casual. You turned your head and saw him.

He was younger than you expected. Messy curls, soft features, and a grin that looked like it came easy. Joaquin Torres.

He waved a spatula at you. “Sam said you might be up soon. I made eggs. Hope you’re not vegan.”

You hesitated in the doorway, unsure how to exist in a space that felt suddenly… normal. And then, because your stomach growled before you could think of an excuse, you nodded and stepped in.

Joaquin talked about the grocery store being out of oat milk again, about some neighbour who kept confusing him with his own cousin, and about music. He didn't ask who you were or why you were here. That made it easier.

You ate quietly, letting the rhythm of his voice fill the silence.

When Sam walked in, the room changed. Not with tension—not like it had with Bucky—but with a kind of quiet awareness. He froze in the doorway when he saw you sitting at the table, a plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you, a rare flicker of something soft brushing across his face before he caught it and cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he said, nodding.

You nodded back, unsure if you were more startled by how natural this felt… or by the way Sam looked at you. Like he was trying not to look too long.

He joined you at the table, grabbed a coffee, and the three of you sat like a real group of roommates — almost.

But even as you smiled faintly at something Joaquin said, you felt it: Sam was watching you more closely than before. Like he wanted to say something, he hadn’t quite found the right words for.

The eggs were almost gone. Joaquin had started poking fun at your lack of hot sauce tolerance, making exaggerated wheezing noises every time you reached for your water. You rolled your eyes, but the amusement was genuine — fleeting, but real.

Sam watched the exchange with a half-smile, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair like he was cataloguing something in his mind.

“Hey, Joaquin?” he said suddenly, voice steady but layered.

Joaquin glanced over, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Can we get a minute?”

Joaquin blinked. Then his eyes flicked between the two of you, his expression comically exaggerated. “Ooooh. Private talk. Say no more.”

You raised a brow. “It’s not—”

He was already standing. “Hey, I support emotionally mature conversations. You want me to pretend I didn’t hear anything, I will. You want me to eavesdrop through the wall, also doable.”

“Joaquin,” Sam said, a warning threaded through the name.

“Going, going,” Joaquin grinned, walking backwards toward the hall. “If either of you cry, I want a full recap.”

You huffed a breath through your nose. Sam waited until the bedroom door clicked shut, and the apartment fell quiet again. Then he turned back to you.

He leaned his elbows on the table, hands laced together.

“I opened my home to you,” he said quietly. “I gave you a safe place. I know it’s only your second day here, but you know I’m on your side. I need two favours from you. I want you to know, they aren’t conditional. You don’t have to answer. You’ll still have a home here, for as long as you need, until you get back on your feet. But I also need you to consider doing the right thing.”

You looked at your plate, then slowly lifted your gaze to meet his.

“I need the truth,” he said. “About your powers.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with it. The truth. The weight of it. The danger in it. Sam was right. You knew what the right thing was. You knew he deserved to hear it. 

You swallowed. “I’ve had them… for as long as I can remember.”

Sam didn’t blink.

“Most of the time, it’s just…” You hesitated, unsure how to put it into words that wouldn’t make you sound unhinged—crazy, even. “I can see people’s emotions. Auras. I can feel things — what’s coming, what’s hidden. It’s instinct, but stronger. Like… something crawling under my skin.”

“And the rest of the time?”

You met his eyes.

“Sometimes I spiral,” you said. “Sometimes it’s not just reading emotions. Sometimes I feel this… surge. A force. I can predict people. Their moves. Their lies. I can see through them. And if it gets loud. Too loud…I…”

Sam leaned back a little. Not away — just adjusting. Digesting.

“Have you ever hurt anyone with it?”

You didn’t answer.

That silence was enough.

Sam looked down, nodding once. Then he spoke, voice calm but weighted. “There’s a war in space.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“The New Avengers know. Joaquin knows. The government knows. It’s not public, and it’s not simple, but it’s coming. And if it’s already happening above the atmosphere, it could be a matter of days—weeks, even, before it comes to Earth. We don’t have enough people ready for what’s next. And I need all the help I can get.”

You stared at him. “So this is a recruitment speech?”

“This is me telling you the truth. Which leads to my second favour…” He leaned forward again, tone shifting into something firmer, something that settled into your bones. “I don’t want to sign Bucky’s peace treaty. I don’t trust it. But we both know I’m going to do it. For the greater good. Because we don’t have time for egos,” He paused. “And I’m asking you to do the same. Join us.”

You folded your arms across your chest, more for comfort than defiance.

“You want me to be an Avenger?” You bit your lip, looking down at the table. The proposition made your stomach twist with unspoken anxiety. 

“Have you ever wanted to be more?” Sam asked softly. “Because now’s your chance. You’ve already survived so much. But if you step up, you won’t be alone anymore. You’ll have purpose.”

You looked at him. The man who’d picked you up off the street and offered you warmth and protection. A home.

“I’m not a hero,” you said quietly.

Being an Avenger was your brother's dream, not yours.

Sam smiled, just a little. “Neither was I. Until Steve gave me the chance to be. Now, I’m giving you that chance.”

You didn’t answer right away. But something shifted in your chest. The tiniest spark of belief.

And when Sam stood and grabbed the treaty folder from the counter, you didn’t stop him.

You watched him sign it.

And for the first time in a long time, you wondered what it would feel like to stop running — and start becoming.

────✪────

The ride to Avengers Tower was quiet—not tense, but contemplative. Sam sat in the front, flipping through the treaty folder. You didn’t get a chance to read it for yourself, but you had gathered that they were filled with terms authored by Valentina Allegra de Fontaine herself, chairman of O.X.E. and figurehead of the New Avengers. You remembered yesterday, Sam’s passing comment about her being Bucky’s girlfriend. 

That had to have been a joke. 

Joaquin, in the backseat beside you, kept trying to lighten the mood with whispered jokes and dramatic gasps every time the tower came into view.

“Ever been in the Tower before?” he asked, nudging you.

You shook your head. “No, this is all very new to me.”

“Oh,” he said, eyes wide. “Brace yourself. It's like a reality show in there. But with superpowers and less shame. Maybe.”

“Torres, you haven’t even been to the tower before,” Sam snickered, shaking his head. Joaquin’s cheeks flushed a dusty pink, and you quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Forgive me for trying to impress the lady,” Joaquin grumbled. “Okay, I’ve never been, but I’ve heard a lot about it.”

“I imagine it’s very different now, compared to what it was like when I lived there with Tony, Steve and the rest of them.”

“I would have loved to be part of that.” Joaquin hummed, his eyes filled with dream and longing.

“Yeah, it wasn’t so bad.” Sam reflected with a small smile upon his lips.

The car pulled up to the glass entrance, sleek and towering, the A emblazoned above the doors like a warning more than a welcome. Security scanned your faces — or rather, Sam’s — and let you in.

Inside, it was exactly as Joaquin promised.

Before you could say a word, someone shouted.

“Yelena, stop putting gum in John’s helmet!”

“I’m conducting an experiment!”

“Your experiment almost took out my peripheral vision!”

“Maybe use your brain instead of your biceps for once, huh?”

From across the lobby, a burly man with a strong Russian accent called out, “Does anyone know where I put my beer? It is emotional support.”

You blinked.

Sam sighed beside you. “Welcome to the New Avengers.”

A woman with sharp, blonde hair and electric blue eyeliner passed by, muttering under her breath and typing furiously into a tablet. “I swear to God if Bob drops those milkshakes again—”

Right on cue, a clatter, broken glass and milkshake all over the pinewood floor. Bob, you assumed, stood with wide eyes, examining the mess he had made with an almost delayed response. Again? This wasn’t the first time he had done this?

“Why did you even make so many milkshakes?” Yelena sighed, already grabbing a mop to clean the mess.

“Bucky said we might have guests,” Bob replied, looking genuinely disappointed that his time making milkshakes had been wasted.

“Oh my god,” you murmured.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Joaquin whispered, clearly delighted.

And then, amidst the chaos, a familiar figure appeared — Bucky Barnes. Standing at the top of the stairs in full tactical gear, arms folded, jaw tight. His eyes swept over the three of you, stopping on you for half a second longer than necessary.

He descended slowly, calculated and unreadable.

“Nice of you to show,” he said to Sam. “Been waiting.”

Sam held up the signed treaty. “Got what you wanted.”

Bucky didn’t smile. But he did take the folder, nodding once.

Then his eyes returned to you. Just for a breath.

You met his gaze and said nothing.

Because whatever this was — truce, alliance, manipulation — it wasn’t over. And Bucky Barnes wasn’t just an Avenger.

He was your enemy.

And now you were on his team.

Bucky led the three of you through a winding corridor of glass and steel, toward a meeting room tucked behind reinforced doors. He hadn’t said a word since taking the treaty, and you were fine with that. The less you had to hear his voice, the better.

Still, you could feel his presence — heavy, watchful, tense. And it made your skin crawl.

Joaquin gave you a sympathetic look as the doors closed behind the four of you. “This feels like being summoned to the principal’s office,” he whispered, earning a glare from Bucky that only made him grin wider. “Yup, confirmed.”

Sam ignored them both and took a seat at the table, gesturing for you to do the same. You hesitated — only a beat — before sitting across from Bucky. He opened the folder and flipped through the pages, then set it aside.

“The team’s unstable,” Bucky said bluntly, addressing Sam. “We’re barely functioning. Half the government wants to shut us down. The other half wants to use us as weapons. This treaty… it’s not just a co-leadership agreement. It’s our last shot at legitimacy.”

Sam nodded. “That’s why I signed it. But you know, I still don’t trust the system behind it. This whole thing is like the Accords all over again. Everything that we fought against.”

“I was on Steve’s side that day, regardless of his beliefs. I didn’t care for the politics. Kinda had my own shit going on.” Bucky sighed, running his metal hand through his wavy hair. The metallic black caught a sliver of light and sparkled under the afternoon sun. 

“Which is how it’s always been,” Sam frowned. There was that look again. The betrayal. If you hadn’t known any better, you might have thought that Sam and Bucky were ex-lovers, going through the breakup of the century. The tension in the room was sharper than a knife. “You saying you’re okay with being under the control of Val, Congressman?”

“No. No. And I’m not a Congressman anymore,” Bucky corrected like it was an extremely important detail he had to defend himself from. “You know me. You know what I’m trying to do here.”

Sam nodded briefly, something in his face softening. You read his aura, and it glowed with faith. Belief. Hope. “I still don't trust this.”

“I don’t either,” Bucky admitted. “But I trust you.”

Silence settled between them. You watched closely — the decades of history between them pressing into every glance, every pause. There was something unspoken there. Something heavy.

“Then let’s get to work,” Sam said. “She’s in.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you again. “You sure?”

You crossed your arms. “I didn’t come all this way to sit on the bench.”

“Good,” Bucky muttered, standing. “You start training tomorrow. Physical and tactical.”

“With you?” you asked, unable to keep the disdain out of your voice.

“Problem?”

You gave him a tight smile. “Guess I’ll just have to lower my expectations.”

He stared at you, unreadable, before turning to leave.

Sam caught your gaze as the door closed behind him. “He’s rough around the edges,” he said. “But he means well.”

You didn’t respond. Because it didn’t matter what he meant.

You had a personal mission. And this was only the beginning.

You were still sitting at the conference table when the door slammed open like a bad sitcom entrance.

“Lena said she’s ordering Chinese food,” Bob announced, stepping inside with the grace of a golden retriever on roller skates. “Anyone staying for dinner?”

Joaquin leaned forward immediately. “Does that include dumplings? Because if so—hell yes.”

Sam chuckled under his breath. “I could eat.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking to the door that Bucky left from. You were still recovering from sharing air with the man, let alone sweet and sour chicken.

But... maybe you needed to see what you were up against.

“Sure,” you murmured.

Bob smiled. “Great. Fun. Exciting. Oh! I can make you a milkshake too, if you’d like. I can do vanilla or chocolate, or strawberry. But not banana. They don’t blend properly because John freezes them. And come to think of it, someone keeps hiding the strawberries from me.”

“What do you mean, someone is hiding the strawberries from you?” Sam asked, puzzled with a hint of mild concern. Not concerned for the strawberries, but for Bob. 

“I’ve said too much,” Bob stilled. “Gotta run!”

And with that, he was gone, practically leaving an air of smoke behind him. 

“I can’t believe this is the team Bucky formed,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Right?” Joaquin grinned, his brown eyes gleaming with excitement. “I can’t wait to get to know everyone.”

────✪────

When the sun set, The Avengers Tower common room looked more like a college dorm—empty takeout containers already littered the table, and someone (Alexei) had managed to crack a fortune cookie clean in half before opening it.

You were seated on the oversized sectional with a plate of noodles in your lap, wedged between Yelena—who kept stealing your spring rolls with zero shame—and Joaquin, who had already named three different sauces after himself and started rating them out loud.

“I call this one ‘Torres Tang,’” he said, holding up a little cup of neon orange sauce. “Sweet with a kick. Just like me.”

Bob laughed so hard he choked on his dumpling. Ava handed him a bottle of water without looking up from her phone.

Sam had taken the big armchair like some kind of dad overseeing chaos. Bucky sat at the edge of the couch, mostly silent, mostly brooding, chopsticks barely touched.

And somehow, somehow, it didn’t feel as tense anymore. You were still wary. Still watching him. But the noise helped. The food helped.

Empty, grease-stained boxes were scattered about, chopsticks poked out of rice bowls at odd angles, and someone had already spilt duck sauce on the rug (Bob, according to Yelena, who’d ratted him out instantly).

You were half-listening as Alexei brought over a full bottle of vodka—his contribution to the evening.

“Let’s make it fun,” he said, plopping it down with a loud thud. “One shot for every ‘Never Have I Ever.’ If you have, you drink. If you lie, I will know.”

“Dad… this is so weird.” Yelena groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You're terrifying,” Joaquin said with an impressed whistle, already reaching for a shot glass.

Alexei didn’t use one. He took a clean swig from the bottle and grinned like it was water.

You blinked.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath. “Is that even safe?”

“No,” Ava answered without looking up from her phone. “But here we are.”

“Russia’s finest,” Alexei smirked, licking his lips. “Me, not the Vodka. I got this from Walmart,” He nudged you, and you looked at him with a hardened yet confused expression. “I was Russia’s answer to Captain America, you know? They call me the Red Guardian,” He flexed his bicep. “Touch it.”

“I uh—“ you glanced around the room. Yelena looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Bucky watched, his stare unreadable as usual. And Joaquin was beaming, amused, like this was the most entertaining thing he had ever seen. “No, thank you.”

“One day, you will touch it,” Alexei smiled, proud. “100 percent super soldier serum coursing through my veins. You see how I am much bigger than these two?” He gestured to John and Bucky. “That’s the vodka.”

“The serum actually went to his head and made him delusional,” John said pointedly. “I can bench press 600kg. Nice to meet you.” He extended a hand for you to shake, but you just looked at it, speechless and slightly disturbed.

“Can you guys stop being so odd, you’re gonna make her run away,” Ava warned before mouthing an ‘I’m sorry’ in your direction. You smiled, grateful for her comfort. 

You had no plans on running away, and in all honesty, you weren’t really that creeped out. You’d dealt with a lot worse, like Shane and some of the men who frequented McCready’s bar. Because of that, you were quick to realise that these guys were no more than just a simple group of harmless misfits. And for the first time, you felt like you could fit in with them. Besides, you were certainly confident that they weren’t going to harm you, and that counted for something. 

Everyone settled into positions on the sectional. Sam had taken a seat in the armchair, casually draped like he wasn’t watching every interaction in the room. But you felt it. The way his gaze drifted to you more than once. Not heavy, not unwelcome — just steady. Soft. Like he was trying to read you.

And then there was Bucky Barnes, sitting across from you.

His drink was untouched at first. But when Alexei took his second swig, Bucky gave a quiet sigh and knocked his own shot back. No flinch. No change in expression. You had no idea what kind of alcohol tolerance came with a super soldier serum, but whatever it was, it was intimidating.

“Okay!” Yelena bounced beside you, already a little flushed, a little chaotic. “Never Have I Ever—uh—crashed a government vehicle!”

You stared as Bob, Bucky, Sam, Joaquin, and Alexei all drank.

“Seriously?” you asked.

Sam gave you a sheepish shrug. “It happens.”

“More often than it should,” Ava muttered.

“I’ve never even driven a government vehicle.” You revealed, almost feeling a little left out. 

“Don’t worry,” Yelena grinned at you. “You’ll get there.”

Another round.

“Never have I ever... kissed a teammate,” Ava said, a coy little smile playing on her lips.

Joaquin drank immediately.

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

He didn’t explain. Joaquin just leaned into you and whispered, “Regret nothing.”

You didn’t drink. But you did feel two sets of eyes on you.

Sam’s—quiet, full of something like concern or curiosity.

And Bucky’s.

His was different. His stare settled against your skin like a spark. It crawled across your collarbone, dragged over your throat, and stayed. Hot and unmoving. You didn’t dare look back.

You felt your face warm — maybe from the shot, maybe from something else.

“I need another drink,” you muttered and reached for the bottle.

“Atta girl,” Joaquin said, clinking his glass against yours. “Let’s ruin our livers together.”

You laughed. Too loud. You were getting tipsy, and Yelena wasn’t helping — giggling as she told stories about “murder yoga” and missions gone wrong. Joaquin kept the mood light, telling stories about Sam and Red-Wing. 

“Who’s Red-Wing?” You asked with a slight stumble over your words.

“Oh, you’re gonna love him, he’s adorable.” Sam beamed proudly.

“He’s like… your dog?” 

Joaquin laughed at your suggestion.  

“No! He’s my surveillance and reconnaissance drone!” Sam answered, taking a swig of beer, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Even John Walker got into the discussion, though he was a loud, cocky drunk. Every time he spoke, you wanted to toss an egg roll at his head.

Alexei, on the other hand, drank like a man built to survive nuclear winters. You were genuinely impressed he was still upright. He did, however, disappear to pee every ten minutes.

And somehow, Bucky had knocked back three shots without blinking. But he had been so quiet all night. You wondered if this was normal for him. 

When it was your turn, you found yourself blurting it out before thinking:

“Never have I ever… felt like I belonged on a team.”

The room went still for a beat too long.

Everyone drank, except you.

Yelena bumped your arm. “That’s because you haven’t had us yet. These guys aren’t just team mates, they’re family. And we hope that, now you join us, you'll feel the same.”

You smiled. A little. But your fingers tightened around your glass.

You wanted to believe her.

And as your eyes flicked across the room—to the quiet kindness in Sam’s, to the electric weight of Bucky’s—you wondered if, for once, you finally might.

The chaos had dulled. Yelena had passed out sideways on the couch, her braid tangled in a takeout box. Ava and Alexei disappeared an hour ago—something about a chessboard and bad Russian soap operas. Bob wandered off humming a lullaby in a different language.

Sam was at the door, pulling on his jacket while Joaquin tried to find both his shoes.

“I told you to keep them on,” Sam muttered, exasperated.

“They were cramping my style,” Joaquin replied, wobbling dramatically with one sock on. “Besides, Yelena dared me to do a split.”

Sam gave you a look like this is my life now.

You grinned, maybe a little dazed, leaning back against the counter in the kitchen. The vodka had crept up on you with slow fingers, leaving your limbs warm and your thoughts fuzzy around the edges. You weren’t drunk, but you were hovering somewhere on the ledge between honesty and recklessness.

“You good?” Sam asked softly, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just need to cool off. And maybe drink a gallon of water.”

Sam gave your shoulder a squeeze, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Don’t disappear tonight.”

You blinked. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he said, but his eyes lingered, warm and heavy. Like he was seeing more than you wanted him to. “Call me if you need anything. You know that, right?”

You nodded again, trying to pretend you didn’t feel the heat of his hand even after he let go.

Joaquin blew you a kiss on his way out. “Don’t let the assassin bite.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re thinking of Yelena.”

“Same energy,” he called, already halfway out the door.

The apartment fell quiet.

And then you realized you weren’t alone.

You turned — and found him there.

Bucky Barnes.

Leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

You stiffened.

Of course he’d be the last one standing.

The buzz of alcohol still coursed through you, making everything feel a little lighter, a little less sharp. You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the chaotic energy of the night, but your mind had begun to drift in and out of clarity.

You slid off the counter, intending to steady yourself, but the room suddenly tilted, and you stumbled forward, your feet tangled up in the wayward stretch of your own legs.

Before you could hit the ground, there was a hand on your arm, warm and steady. Then another, pulling you back up with an ease that made your stomach flip. His chest was hard beneath your palm, his muscles flexing as he adjusted his grip, the heat of his body surrounding you like a wall.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively pressed your hand a little firmer against him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth and strength underneath. He smelled like soap, leather, and something faintly metallic — unmistakable.

You slowly looked up, meeting his eyes, and for a split second, you forgot where you were. The intensity of his gaze—blues that seemed to see right through you—made your heart flutter uncomfortably. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t look away.

"Got you," he muttered, steadying you, his voice low.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were to him. How alive you felt in the space between you.

There was a moment of stillness. A breath.

"Are you... reading my aura?" he asked, his voice quieter now, though it carried a hint of teasing.

You tilted your head, eyes locking onto him, your lips parting slightly. "No, I'm just looking at you."

The words came out before you could stop them, and immediately, the flush of heat spread across your face. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way his muscles moved beneath his shirt when he adjusted his hold, how his eyes flickered for a second—soft, startled. Almost shy.

And then, just like that, you saw it. The faintest blush creeping up his neck. His cheeks flushed a soft pink, and for the first time tonight, he seemed... off-balance. The man who had walked into every room like he owned it, now suddenly unsure of himself. It felt like power. Like control slipping through his fingers.

You couldn’t help but smirk at that, though your head spun slightly, making it harder to focus.

"Didn't mean to make you self-conscious," you said, your voice a little slurred.

Bucky laughed softly, shaking his head. "No... you didn’t. Just... wasn't expecting that."

You both stood there for a beat, caught in the weird energy hanging between you. He still hadn’t let go, though you didn’t know if it was because you were still too wobbly to stand or because he was hesitant to break the tension. Either way, you didn’t pull away. The air felt thick, charged, and you could sense it—there was something about him that made you feel like you were about to do something you weren’t quite ready for.

But then, in a sudden shift, Bucky cleared his throat, letting go of your arm but standing close enough that you could still feel the heat radiating from him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped forward, opened the fridge, and pulled out a cold bottle of water. He held it out to you without a word.

You eyed it like it might explode.

“I’m not gonna poison you,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Reluctantly, you took the bottle from his hand. Your fingers brushed his glove. Static popped between your skin. You pulled back too fast.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Bucky didn’t move. He just watched you twist the cap, take a long sip, and then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You could feel his eyes on you. Focused. Cautious.

Like he was trying to piece you together.

“I guess tonight we learned that you shouldn’t mix vodka and Chinese food,” he murmured.

“Smartass. I’m fine. You sound like an Avenger,” you shot back. You weren’t even sure what you meant by that, or where the relevance was. Maybe you were also reminding yourself that you were an Avenger now, too.

“I am one.” He deadpanned.

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” You sighed.

He flinched—just a flicker of something in his jaw, something regretful—but didn’t fight you on it.

“You still hate me,” he said.

You looked away. “I haven’t decided.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The silence stretched, soft and brittle.

You hated how nice the water felt. How steady he was, even when you didn’t want to trust him. He hadn’t tried anything. He hadn’t said anything clever or smug. Just… stood there. Let you exist in your tired, tipsy state without pushing.

“I can get you a cab,” he offered after a moment. “Or you can crash here. We’ve got spare rooms.”

“Why are you being so—” you stopped. Swallowed. “Why are you trying to take care of me?”

He held your gaze. “I just… I don’t know,” he looked away. “We’re family now. And family takes care of each other.”

Your throat tightened.

You wanted to say something cruel. Wanted to twist the knife, remind him of your brother, of what he did.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Because you didn’t feel like spiralling tonight.

Not when he looked at you like that.

Bucky hadn’t moved. You were still clutching the cold water bottle like it was a lifeline, and for once, he didn’t feel like a threat. Just a quiet presence, filling the silence without demanding anything from you.

You hated how easy it was to let your shoulders relax around him.

“I guess I’m just not used to this,” you muttered.

He tilted his head slightly. “Used to what?”

“Someone… noticing,” you said, voice low, almost embarrassed.

His blue eyes softened.

“I don’t need it, by the way,” you added quickly. “I’ve been fine on my own.”

Unlike Sam, Bucky didn’t contradict you. Didn’t say that doesn’t sound fine.

He just stayed quiet.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke again. “You’re not what I expected.”

He raised a brow. “Cold-blooded killer with a vibranium arm and a brooding attitude?”

“That’s not… entirely wrong,” you smirked faintly, despite yourself. “But you’re less of an asshole than I imagined.”

He chuckled, just once. A real one, deep and unexpected. “High praise.”

You took another drink of your water. Bucky watched. “What kind of name is Bucky, anyway? It’s kind of dumb.”

“My name is James,” He revealed, and something in you shifted at the revelation. A sliver of his personal life. “My sister was called Rebecca, and we called her Becky. My middle name is Buchanan, so my folks called me Bucky. Becky and Bucky.”

You felt your heart stop in your chest. “You have a sister?”

“Had,” Bucky corrected. “Being 111 years old means I don’t really have much family left.”

“Oh," Ditto. "So you’re really old. Like, older than my grandpa…”

Bucky frowned. 

“Do super soldiers die?” You pondered out loud.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“How does one kill a super soldier?” You giggled through the water bottle, enjoying the sudden confidence that the alcohol had instilled in you.

“You’ve had way too much vodka,” Bucky huffed under his breath, extending his hand and having it hover over your shoulder, like he was afraid to touch you.

“No, no no no, trust me, if I were sober I’d be asking the same questions.” You laughed harder this time. Bucky stood there, watching you, confused, but then he finally let his hand rest upon you, and you let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in. 

"Come on," he said, a little more briskly, though his voice had the same softness as before. "Let's get you to bed. You need water."

You blinked, still a little dizzy, but nodded. "I’m fine," you protested, but the words felt like they slipped out half-heartedly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure you are."

The two of you walked quietly back into the living room, but you didn’t miss the way his hand floated just a little too close to your back, as though it might reach out again if you needed it.

But you didn’t need it. Or did you?

You weren’t sure.

You followed him down the corridor. The tower was dim, most of the lights on a motion sensor timer. You could still hear someone’s snores echoing faintly—probably Alexei, given the volume.

He stopped at a door and opened it for you. The room was surprisingly cozy. Not lavish, just… calm. A bed with fresh sheets, folded blankets, and a little chair by the window. It felt untouched, like it was waiting for you.

You stepped inside, but before you could say goodnight, Bucky’s voice followed you.

“Training starts at six.”

You turned, narrowing your eyes. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “You want to stay on the team, you train with me. Early.”

You groaned, already regretting everything.

“Water’s on the nightstand,” he added, nodding toward it. “And Tylenol in the drawer. You’re gonna want it.”

You didn’t thank him. Not out loud.

But you lingered in the doorway.

“Why are you like this?” you asked, quieter than before.

He looked at you, confused. “Like what?”

“Careful. Thoughtful. Like you’re trying to be better.”

He paused for a long time.

“Because I have to be,” he said. “If I’m not, then I’m just him again.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t have to ask who him was.

He turned to leave, but then hesitated.

“I see the way Sam looks at you,” he said, voice tight. “It’s not just a teammate thing.”

You blinked. That was the last thing you expected him to say.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Sam looks at everyone like that.”

“No,” Bucky said. “He doesn’t.”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped into the room and let the door click shut between you.

But even after you lay down, curled into the strange sheets and tried to close your eyes, you could still feel Bucky’s voice in the room with you.

And the strange, unwelcome comfort that came with it.

Bucky closed the door to his own room with a quiet click.

He leaned back against it, exhaled slowly, and raked a hand through his hair. The dim light from the hallway disappeared under the seam of the door, and for a moment, he stood there in silence. Listening. Thinking.

You.

God, you were loud in his head.

He moved across the room, sat on the edge of the bed like he was waiting for something to pass—some thought, some feeling—but it didn’t. It just kept building.

The way your lips had curled, tired but amused, when he’d handed you that bottle of water. That small smile like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

The way you looked tonight—dressed in soft cotton and drunk warmth, all fire and fight and something almost tender.

You had a sharp tongue. You didn’t hide your disdain for him. In fact, you wore it like perfume—thick and impossible to ignore.

But he saw the way your expression faltered when you thought no one was looking. The heaviness behind your posture. The moments where you softened, briefly, like you didn’t know how to hold it together anymore.

And your eyes—those damn eyes. Always reading. Always pulling more out of him than he gave.

He hated that.

He hated how much he noticed you. Hated how it pulled something out of him he didn’t have a name for.

You hated him. You should hate him.

And maybe that’s what made it worse. That he knew he didn’t deserve anything else.

But still…

Still, when he closed his eyes, it was your face he saw.

The tilt of your head. The sliver of skin at your collarbone. The sound of your laugh—rare, unpredictable.

He sat back on the bed and dragged a hand down his face.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself.

Feelings were messy. Dangerous. They clouded judgment. He didn’t want to want anything—not peace, not forgiveness, and definitely not you.

But wanting had a way of sneaking in. Quiet and slow and relentless.

He lay back on the bed, arm draped over his eyes, heart beating too loud in the stillness.

Tomorrow, he’d train you. Tomorrow, he’d look at you and pretend none of this mattered.

But tonight… he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you felt when you stumbled into his chest.

So, so stupid.

You hated him, and he hated you.

Or, he hated being hated by you.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283 @avengemepercy @espressovz @sebastians-love @cherryandsugar @torntaltos @ficr3ccs @sexyvixen7

Want to be added to a taglist? Let me know which one!

[theloverfiles]

27

He told you not to make a big deal. But you were already holding the weight of everything he’d survived. You weren’t going to let this birthday pass like it didn’t matter. Because it did. He did.

—

He’d barely mentioned it.

Didn’t remind you. Didn’t act excited. Just shrugged the day before and said, “It’s not really a big deal.”

But you saw the way his voice dipped when he said it. Saw how he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Saw the quiet ache in his hands when he rubbed the scar near his wrist, the one he never talked about. You knew what the silence was trying to hide:

He never thought he’d make it to 27.

And if he was being honest, he never expected to be loved through it.

So you didn’t throw a party. You didn’t make a big public thing. You didn’t post him, didn’t tag him, didn’t perform your love.

You just woke up early.

Slipped out of bed while the world was still dark. Let the cold floor shock you awake. Wrapped his favorite hoodie around your body,still warm from his skin, and stood barefoot in the kitchen, hands trembling as you lit a single cinnamon candle. The flame flickered against the quiet. You tried to breathe. Today mattered. He mattered. And if no one else had ever shown him that, you would.

—

You made him chilaquiles the way your mamá taught you. No shortcuts. Real salsa. Fried tortillas. Over-easy eggs with the yolk just a little runny, because that’s how he liked it, even if he’d never say so out loud. You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt a tear hit the back of your hand.

You weren’t sad.

You were overwhelmed. With the weight of his survival. With the memory of the first time you ever heard him talk about prison and how small his voice got. With the way he still flinched when someone knocked too loud or got too close from behind.

He was here.

And you’d be damned if his birthday felt like just another day.

—

He came out of the bedroom quiet.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. Messy curls falling into his eyes. You didn’t say anything at first, you just looked at him. Like it was the first sunrise after the storm.

He froze.

“…Did you do all this?”

You smiled softly and turned back to the stove. “I didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t move right away. Just stood in the doorway with that look on his face, like he didn’t know how to receive love without wondering when it would be taken away. Eventually, he walked over. Sat down. Looked at the plate you set in front of him like it might disappear if he blinked.

You didn’t rush him.

You just poured him coffee. Sat down next to him. And reached across the table to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly.

His eyes dropped.

You squeezed gently. “I know you don’t like birthdays. I know you don’t think you deserve any of this. But you do. You made it through hell. And you’re here. That matters. You matter.”

For a long time, he didn’t speak.

And then

“…I didn’t think I’d live long enough to see this.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

You stood, walked around to his side of the table, and pulled him into your arms without hesitation. He buried his face in your hoodie and let himself break open quietly, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching your waist like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go.

And you just held him.

Because you’d never let him go without knowing: he was loved.

—

That night, when the sun dipped and the world settled, you lit a different candle.

Not for him.

For you.

Because you needed the reminder too: that softness could survive after everything. That love didn’t always have to hurt. That this, this quiet life, was real. Luigi was on the couch, scrolling through a book of old family photos his sister had mailed. He didn’t say anything when you grabbed the speaker and played a slow song, something old, Spanish, romantic.

You just offered your hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You really want to dance?”

You nodded. “Yeah. In our living room. Right now.”

He sighed dramatically, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. He stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles like it was a chore, but when he pulled you close—one hand on your lower back, one cradling your jaw—it was the softest you’d ever seen him. You danced like the world didn’t exist outside your walls. Like he hadn’t been through hell. Like love could be slow and quiet and safe. He pressed his forehead to yours halfway through the song, and whispered:

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

You smiled into his cheek.

“No, babe. You’re just finally waking up.”

—

Later, in bed, his voice broke the silence again.

“I know I didn’t want anything big,” he said, lips brushing your collarbone. “But this… this was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You ran your fingers through his curls.

“I know.”

He turned to look at you, eyes tired, but glassy with something too tender to name.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You shook your head.

“You don’t have to earn me. I’m here because I want to be. I love you, Luigi. Not in spite of everything. But because of it.”

That’s when he cried again. Not because he was broken. But because for the first time in years, he felt whole.

—

And on his 27th birthday, Luigi Mangione didn’t need cake or noise or applause.

He just needed you.

And he had you.

Completely.

@snoopy184 @luigisbambinaaa @mangionesdaisy @luigis-wetdream @daydreamingwithluigi

[yuuhwa]

Dark Game - Cap 3: Checkmate

Pairing: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader Genre: dark romance Context: After exchanging barbs and pranks, the unexpected (or expected) happened

a/n: I need your opinion. Do you prefer long or short chapters? I didn't know whether to write the meeting in this chapter or another one, so I wanted your opinion. Thanks in advance :))

It felt like the place had lost its charm since the last time Y/n had been there. But now she was back — not because of Seongje, of course not. She just needed a break, to clear her head, sit in front of the same old PC, play the same games. Relax.

Lies. The very first thing her eyes sought out was him.

There he was. Same machine. As always. Only this time, he wasn’t playing — he was watching. Her profile was pulled up on his screen, the mouse cursor hovering right over the game invite. As if he already knew she’d show up. As if he had been waiting.

“You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna challenge me already?” His voice cut through the hum of computers — a perfect echo of the line she had used the day before. He didn’t look away, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t yesterday’s beating enough for you?”

“I let you win a few rounds. I won’t go easy this time.” That arrogant smile widened across his face.

That damn smile. Y/n didn’t understand how something so simple could ignite something so... intense — maybe even warm — inside her.

“You better be ready to lose,” she shot back.

“I never play to lose.” He stood slowly, patting the seat beside him. “Let’s see if your mouth matches your skill.”

She muttered something under her breath as she sat down. They picked a fast-paced shooter — tense, chaotic. The rules were simple: loser does a dare. Nothing too extreme... or so she thought. But something in his eyes — a hunger, restrained and sharp — said otherwise.

Seongje was different today. More direct. More dangerous. The way he narrated each move, each ambush... it felt like he was playing two games at once. And in the second one, she was already caught.

“Running from me? That’s odd... thought you liked a little pressure,” he said, closing the gap between their chairs without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Pressure doesn’t scare me. Honestly, I think you’re the one sweating,” she snapped back, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The match ended. The big bold “Game Over” flashed before Y/n’s eyes. From the corner of her vision, she saw the smug smile spreading across Seongje’s face. Familiar — but today, it was different. There was something else behind the satisfaction of his win.

He had destroyed her. Completely.

She groaned. “Alright, what’s the dare?”

Without hesitation, he leaned in. Too close. His sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses, desperate to lock onto hers. Their breaths mingled. His voice came out low, hoarse.

“You’re going out with me. Tonight.”

She laughed — dry, sarcastic. “That’s not even a dare. I could do that if I wanted to.”

A strange cocktail of thrill and tension twisted inside her — even though she masked it perfectly.

“But you haven’t. Not yet,” he murmured, eyes locked. “Now you will... because you lost.”

Y/n hesitated. Something about the way he said it — it wasn’t just a date. It felt like a move. A calculated one.

And the worst part? She wanted to see where it would lead.

“Fine. But if you bore me, I vanish.”

“You won’t,” he said, with the certainty of someone who already had the game in his hands.

And for the first time, Y/n wondered if she was still playing... Or if she had already become the prize.

[heeseungsbabygworl]

can you make shy good boy Hoon x fem reader? The story is up to you. I like all<3

girl this was such an innocent request I couldn't say no😭 hope you enjoy it though❤

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

"Iceboy" — Park Sunghoon

[request] “iceboy” — park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: high school!au, shy!sunghoon, figure skater!sunghoon, fluff, one-shot

warnings: none, pure fluff

wc: ~3.1k

📝: i love fluff sm😭 also sunghoon has been bias wrecking me lately so idk if I should take it as a sign hello?

༉‧₊˚.♡₊˚.༄

"I skate better when I know you are watching."

You noticed him before anyone else did.

It wasn’t because he was loud. He wasn’t. He was the opposite, actually. Always slipping out of class before the bell fully rang, disappearing down the hallway in a blur of black backpack straps and messy hair. Park Sunghoon was the kind of person who seemed permanently on the edge of something else.

Most people didn’t talk to him. Not because he was rude, but because he didn’t invite it. He kept his eyes down, gave polite nods in passing, and always seemed half-elsewhere, like his body was at school but his mind had clocked out hours ago.

You only knew his name because of roll call.

And then one day in November, you saw him practicing jumps in the courtyard behind the gym, early morning when most kids were still stumbling into homeroom.

At first, you thought he was just messing around. But no. His feet moved in counts. He wasn’t dancing. He was skating. Mentally, at least. You could see it in how his hands moved, how his body arched into something invisible beneath his sneakers. Controlled. Graceful. Quietly devastating.

You leaned on the railing and watched for a minute too long.

That’s when he noticed you. He froze, eyes wide, caught mid-step. Then, without a word, he grabbed his bag and bolted.

After that, you were curious.

Everyone whispered about him. How he was training for some championship. How he competed on the weekends. How he sometimes left early for Seoul.

But none of them really knew him.

So when you got paired with him for a history project two weeks later, you took it as fate.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat beside him. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

He looked up from his notebook slowly, blinking like you were speaking a language he hadn’t heard in a while. “Oh. Uh. Yeah.”

You smiled. “You okay with working during free period?”

He nodded. “That’s fine.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“…Sunghoon.”

“I know,” you said. “I’ve seen you around.”

His cheeks flushed slightly at that, and you pretended not to notice the way he scratched behind his ear like he didn’t know what to say next.

You worked in the library that week. Or, tried to. He kept his head down, answered your questions, but never said more than needed. Until the third day.

You caught him scribbling in the margins of your shared outline.

Not notes—movements. Arrows, numbers. It looked like choreography.

“Is that for skating?” you asked, curious.

He froze. “What?”

“That,” you said, pointing. “That’s how you count music, right?”

He looked like a deer in headlights. “I didn’t mean to—sorry, I—sometimes I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, smiling. “It’s cool. I didn’t realize how complicated it was.”

Sunghoon looked at you for a moment. Like he was trying to figure you out. Then, barely audible, he said:

“Do you know much about skating?”

You shook your head. “Just what I’ve seen in Olympics videos. You do it seriously though, right?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been doing it since I was five.”

You leaned in slightly. “So that’s where you vanish to every day after school.”

He gave a small laugh under his breath. “Yeah.”

It was the first time you saw his smile.

And something about it—how small, how soft, how unguarded it was—made you want to see it again.

You started noticing the little things.

How he always tapped his fingers in eights, even when he was distracted. How he scribbled rink layouts on napkins during lunch. How his duffel bag had a stitched snowflake patch peeling off the side, probably from a tournament or camp.

Sunghoon never bragged. Never brought it up first. But when he did talk about skating, just a little, it was the only time his voice didn’t trail off.

You’d catch glimpses of it when he thought you weren’t looking—a quiet, breathless kind of focus. Like the sport wasn’t just something he did. It was something he was.

And slowly, things shifted.

He started waiting for you outside class, even when you weren’t working on your project anymore. Started offering you sips from his thermos during study hall. He never said much about it, but he always sat close. His presence, quiet and steady, became familiar.

There was a moment—Tuesday after school, a week before finals—where you caught him watching you laugh with your friends. You turned and met his eyes across the hallway.

Instead of looking away, he held your gaze. Just a second too long.

You smiled.

He didn’t smile back, but his ears went pink, and that was something.

Then, on Friday, he handed you a folded note without looking up.

“If you’re free this weekend… come watch. 7pm. Ice Center.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You read it twice. Your heart thudded once, loud.

When you looked up, Sunghoon was already walking away.

The rink was colder than you expected. The kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and nipped at your ankles. You pulled your coat tighter and stepped into the near-empty stands.

He didn’t know you were there yet.

He was already on the ice, alone, warming up with small circles and glides. His black jacket hugged his frame. Every movement looked sharp and rehearsed—but relaxed, too. Like his body remembered it all.

You leaned forward, chin tucked into your scarf, and watched as the music started.

And just like that, he changed.

Park Sunghoon on the ice wasn’t shy. He wasn’t quiet. He was in it—every step fluid, every jump catching the light. His expression was focused, serious, but not cold.

He looked like someone chasing something he loved.

You forgot to breathe more than once.

When the music faded out and his skates slowed, you clapped softly, just once, from your seat in the back.

His head snapped up.

He spotted you instantly.

And the look on his face—stunned, open, soft—was worth everything.

He skated to the edge, still catching his breath. “You came.”

You grinned. “I didn’t think you could move like that.”

He flushed. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said. “You’re kind of amazing.”

He blinked. The compliment seemed to catch him off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

There was a beat of silence. The air between you felt warm, even with the cold.

Then he said, almost shyly, “I skate better when I know you’re watching.”

Your heart fluttered.

You stepped closer to the barrier. “Then get used to me being around.”

He smiled again—that rare, unguarded one. The one that made your stomach flip.

“I’d like that.”

You started going to the rink more often after that.

He never asked you to—not directly—but his eyes always lit up when you showed. He’d skate cleaner, land sharper. And when he stumbled (rarely), he’d glance at you sheepishly like your opinion mattered more than the coach’s.

You started doing your homework in the bleachers.

He’d bring you hot chocolate from the vending machine.

When he wasn’t practicing, he’d sit beside you in the cold, sharing one headphone, shoulder-to-shoulder, pretending you weren’t both trembling just a little.

You got used to the silence between you. It was never awkward. It was Sunghoon’s kind—soft, grounding. It felt like snow just beginning to fall. Still. Meaningful.

He told you about Nationals in January. How it was his last year as a junior skater. How everything rested on this one performance.

“I have to land the quad axel this time,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty rink.

“Have you landed it before?”

He hesitated. “Twice. But never under pressure.”

You nudged his arm. “You’ll do it.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, quietly, “It’s easier to believe that when you’re around.”

Your heart stuttered.

You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He froze.

But only for a second.

Then, carefully, like he’d been waiting for this moment, he let his head tip to yours.

Neither of you said anything else that night.

The shift was subtle after that.

More eye contact. More touches that lingered. Sunghoon would walk you to your bus stop now, even when it meant taking the long way home. His friends started teasing him, calling you his “good luck charm,” but he never corrected them.

And sometimes, when the world went quiet and you caught him looking at you—really looking—you swore he was about to say something more.

But he never did.

Until the night before he left for the championship.

You met behind the school, by the courtyard. The same spot where you first saw him “skating” in sneakers.

He was in his warm-up jacket, holding a paper cup of hot chocolate for you both.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip. “You’re gonna do great tomorrow.”

He looked at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “I don’t know if I am.”

You frowned. “Don’t say that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the jumps or the pressure. It’s just… sometimes I get scared. That it’s all I am.”

You blinked. “Sunghoon—”

“That if I lose… I lose more than just points.”

You stepped closer. “You’re not just skating. You’re you. And that’s— that’s already enough.”

His eyes searched yours, like he wanted to say something else. His hand brushed against yours—barely touching, barely there.

“I—”

You waited.

He opened his mouth.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, he whispered, “Will you be there?”

Your heart ached. “Of course.”

His breath hitched. “Okay.”

You both stood in the quiet.

The moonlight caught the edge of his profile, and you thought, for one fragile second, that he might kiss you.

But he didn’t.

He just held your gaze like it meant everything.

And somehow, that was enough.

The championship was louder than anything you were used to.

Banners waving, announcers echoing through the arena, photographers perched like vultures near the rink. You sat where he asked—Lane 4, back row—hands buried in your coat pockets, heart thumping like you were the one about to compete.

You spotted him at the edge of the rink, head down, hands flexing in his gloves. His coach was saying something, but he looked elsewhere. Searching.

Then his eyes found you.

You raised a hand. He didn’t smile.

But he nodded.

And then he stepped onto the ice.

The music started. A quiet, haunting piano. Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. Just like him. He opened with a clean triple toe loop. Easy. His blades whispered against the ice like secrets only he could tell.

He was breathtaking.

You didn’t blink. Not even once.

And then—the quad axel.

The leap was there. Height, rotation. The landing—too tight.

He stumbled.

Not enough to fall, but enough to break rhythm. You felt the arena inhale. A collective wince.

You didn’t look away.

And neither did he.

He straightened, adjusted, took off again. And the rest of the routine? Perfect. Controlled. Elegant. The kind of skating that made you forget where you were.

When he hit his final pose, chest rising and falling, you clapped until your palms stung.

He didn’t win.

He placed third.

But when he stepped off the ice, jacket slung over one shoulder, medal tucked into his palm, you could see it—the disappointment in his eyes. Quiet. Heavy.

You waited near the exit. When he finally reached you, still breathless from the press and the coaches and the chaos, you asked, “Can I hug you?”

He nodded.

You did. Tight. All in.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered.

His voice cracked. “I messed up.”

“You didn’t,” you said. “You got back up. That’s what matters.”

He pulled back, eyes shining. “I saw you. During the skate. I looked for you.”

“I was always here.”

You didn’t think. You just reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead, gently.

And he—he leaned in.

No hesitation this time.

His lips were cold, a little chapped. But the kiss was soft. Careful. Like he was still afraid to break something between you.

You didn’t let him.

You kissed back. Steady. Certain. And felt the tension melt from his shoulders.

When you pulled away, he stared at you, dazed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, voice barely audible.

You smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

A pause.

“Does this mean I’m officially your good luck charm now?”

Sunghoon laughed, a real one, full and bright. “You always were.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part 7

{“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings that i can think of. as always, thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl. in the interest of transparency, this one is going to end here, for now. i feel like this is a good place to pause since i'm feeling a little...wrung out...creatively. i don't think emma&max's story is done quite yet but i also need to take a pause. i'll put together a little update post later this afternoon in case anyone is interested in what my summer plans are. OKAY! onto part seven!! word count: 6.8k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware filled the trendy Miami restaurant that Charles had chosen. If it had been up to Max, he’d be back in his hotel room stewing over the fact that it was now Friday evening and Emma was still avoiding him. He picked at his fish, the Michelin starred chef’s excellently seared salmon tasing like ash in his mouth. Across the table, Charles was droning on about…something. What it was, Max wasn’t quite sure but his friend’s usual charm filled the space that Max couldn’t be bothered to worry about. Because Max was distracted, he was only catching snippets of the conversation, his attention constantly flitting to his phone that was lying face-up on the table beside him. 

No new messages. Not a single text from Emma since before sprint qualifying yesterday, and even that one had been a cool and even toned ‘they’re waiting for you in the media pen.’ She’d been the epitome of professional since they’d arrived in Miami but there was a slight edge to it now. It was still the same Emma that he’d come to know: competent, organized, ensuring that his schedule was strictly adhered to but there was something missing. The easy banter, the shared smiles, the comfortable intimacy that had begun to blossom between them since Emma had joined him in Japan had seemingly vanished overnight. 

She’d excused herself early again tonight, saying the jet lag was hitting her harder for some reason and that she’d wanted to get some sleep ahead of the sprint race tomorrow morning. Max hadn’t pushed but her icing him out had the panic building in his chest. The memory of falling asleep with Emma wrapped around him, the smell of her floral shampoo comforting him in a way he wasn’t familiar with was like an ache that he couldn’t make better. She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable that night, hadn’t seemed like he was pushing her too far. Maybe he had read it all wrong though because the memory of waking up alone that next morning was sharp and painful, blotting out the way he’d felt with Emma in his bed. 

He’d tried, of course, since they’d arrived in Miami. A few casual remarks during the pilates class on Thursday, an inside joke cracked softly amidst the bustle of the garage in between practice and sprint qualifying earlier in the day. They were desperate attempts to bridge this awkward chasm that Max was seemingly responsible for creating but nothing had worked. He’d been met with bright, almost brittle, friendliness that felt more like a shield than an invitation. 

It was driving him insane. 

Charles’ laughter faded as he noticed Max tapping his phone for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. He leaned forward slightly, something like concern playing on his face. “Everything alright? You seem a bit preoccupied tonight.” 

Max forced what he hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug, picking at a stray piece of potato on his plate. “Fine.” He clipped. “Just tired. Long day of dragging that car to places it doesn’t belong.” 

A wry, understanding smile ghosted across Charles’ face. “You usually handle that shit like it’s a walk in the park. You’ve been…” He pauses, looking at his friend thoughtfully. Charles had known Max for a long time, since they were children, so he was fairly confident in his ability to read the moods of the Dutchman. “Off since you got here. Did something happen earlier this week?” 

Max knew he was asking specifically about Emma. His jaw tightened, the muscle there fluttering as he tried to choose how to evade giving Charles a real answer. Charles senses that there’s more behind Max’s silence and he lets the question hang in the air between them for longer than he normally would. Lifting his wine glass, Charles takes a sip, casually observing Max over the rim. 

“It just seems like there’s tension there. Between you and Emma, that is.” He stated it like it was a fact, not a question. Max hated how easily Charles was able to read him. “She’s usually around during media day and in the garage. I don’t think I saw her leave Red Bull hospitality all day.” 

Max finally meets Charles’ gaze, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “She was just working, Charles. Catching up on things. Race weekends are busy, Miami especially.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Emma is never that quiet in the paddock, you know that. Even when she’s working, she’s usually lobbing sarcastic comments at Lando. Those two bicker like brother and sister most of the time. I think Ollie and Kimi were a little lost without her. They both asked me twice if I’d seen her and if I thought that she was mad at them.” He pauses again, choosing his words carefully. He knows Max and his propensity to shut down if challenged too hard. “You’re different too. You’ve been quieter than normal, distracted. Anxious even.” He leans closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Everything okay between you two?”  

Max hesitated for just a beat too long and Charles saw the walls crack open. He took a long sip of water, the cold doing little to cool the heated anxiety rising in his chest. He trusted Charles, more than most, and the weight of the anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach like a ball of lead for the last three days was unbearable. 

“Nope.” He admits, letting the singular word hang in the air like a confession. 

Charles sets down his wine glass, look of concern etched on his face. “Alright, what happened then?” 

Max scrubbed a hand over his face, unfamiliar with this level of vulnerability. But he was going crazy living in his head over this so he knew he needed to get it out. “Do you remember that storm we had the other night?” 

Charles nodded, but remains silent otherwise. 

“She is apparently terrified of storms and she kind of…ended up sleeping in my bed.” He paused. “With me.” The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the implication of what he’d just said. 

Charles blinked, brows rising slightly as a flicker of surprise crossed his features. He’d seen the way the two had interacted around each other, anyone with eyes could see the steady undercurrent of something more than just a professional relationship wanting to form. What Charles hadn’t realized was the depth of it. “With you?” 

Max nodded, a small, almost reflexive smile touching the corner of his mouth at the memory. “Just slept, nothing more.” 

“And?” 

Max nodded again, “And I liked it. More than I should have. It felt right. Natural almost. Like she belonged there.” His smile faded then, replaced by a frown. “And she’s been avoiding me ever since. She’s being professional. Polite. But it’s not the same. Like she regrets what happened or something, like I crossed a line and she’s angry I took advantage of her or something. This whole week she’s been distant.” He pulled out his phone again, his thumb brushing over her name in his contact list. Sunshine. “I keep waiting for her to text me, for some sign that she’s not completely regretting it, or me.” 

Charles watched him as he rambled. Spiraled, really. He could see the turmoil on his friends face, the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes. “Have you talked to her about it?” He asked gently. “About what happened, how you feel.” 

Max rolled his eye, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. “I haven’t had the chance. Or I haven’t taken the chance because I’m afraid of the answer. I thought we were going in one direction and suddenly, she’s made a u-turn and I’m left trying to follow her lead. I don’t want to push her, she’s been through a lot already but this is driving me insane. I don’t know what to do, Charles.” 

“You need to talk to her, my friend. This is just going to fester and if you’re not careful, it’s going to effect your performance this weekend.” 

Max heaved a sigh, picking at the last bits of his salmon. He knew Charles was right. Of course Charles was right. He was being a coward and needed to suck it up. Emma meant more to him than this and he was allowing her to drift away. He didn’t want to lose her but from the way she was retreating from him already, Max knew hew as already headed that way. He needed to make a move and needed to make it fast. 

Picking up his phone, Max opened up the string of messages between him and Emma and typed out a quick text and hit send before he could second guess his actions. 

Hey Sunshine, I think we need to talk. 

********

The early morning sun hung low over the skyline, barely breaching the high rise buildings at Emma’s back. She sat near the water’s edge of a quiet stretch of beach, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. The text message she’d woken up to this morning stared back at her like a snake poised to bite. 

The green and white striped beach towel she’d nicked from the hotel pool was feather soft beneath her as Emma stretched out on the sand, toes pointed in a delicious stretch that she could feel beginning to burn. The beach was quiet at this time of the day, the only ones taking in the serene setting was Emma, a couple walking down the beach hand in hand, and a few seagulls. 

Emma leaned back on the palms of her hands, fingers digging deeply into the warm sand beneath her. 

As she stared out over the water watching the white tipped waves roll in over and over, her mind kept flickering back to the text message Max had sent last night. He’d called her Sunshine again and she hated the way her heart fluttered at the nickname only Max used. She’d never asked why he’d picked the nickname, just preened under the attention every time he’d used it. And then he’d said they’d needed to talk. Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought. Was he regretting what had happened? Was he rethinking the whole arrangement they had? Did Max want to fire her?

 How had this gotten away from her so quickly? One moment she was dealing with her anxieties the best way she knew how and the next, Max was there, trying to take care of her like no one had ever wanted to. She couldn’t be falling for Max. It just wasn’t a good idea. He was her boss. Her boss that also happened to be her best friend’s older brother. 

It was so messy. 

Emma hated messy. 

But with the mess came contentment. It had felt so right. So easy and natural, to just curl up in Max’s bed beside him, tucked into his side like she had belonged there all along. How could it be messy if it was what was supposed to happen all along? 

Emma wasn’t built for this kind of vulnerability. Not after a lifetime of self-reliance and independence. Vulnerability was terrifying and something that was for other people. She couldn’t afford it and she didn’t want to risk the only stable thing in her life. The ingrained fear of history repeating itself, of this fragile connection she’d developed with Max shattering like glass, was a constant source of anxiety for her ever since she woke up the morning before.  

She rubbed at her temples, the bright sunlight beating down on her from the height of its daily trek across the sky, doing little to help the spiraling she was doing. 

Enough. 

Enough of this overthinking. 

Emma knew herself well enough to know that she needed help to get out of this hole she was digging herself deeper and deeper. She couldn’t go to Max. And her mother was out of the question, she still hadn’t spoken to Gloria since the day she had accused Emma of sleeping with Max (ironic, considering the position she was in right now). She reached for her phone and begun to scroll through her contacts. Her finger hovered over Victoria’s contact. Could she go to Vic for this? She’d always been there for Emma in the past, when her overthinking had gotten the best of her. But this was about her brother of all people. There was no way to pretend she was spiraling about another person, Vic would see right through her. 

You’ve got to trust her. A small voice whispered in Emma’s head as she debated what she should do. Vic is your best friend. It’ll be okay. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Emma hit Victoria’s contact before listening to it ring. 

“Bestie!!!” Victoria picked up on only the second ring, voice cheerful and happy. It had been a while since the two had been able to catch up and Emma grinned at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “How’s Miami?” 

Emma leaned back on the beach towel, closing her eyes. “Hot.” She groaned. 

“I bet. I don’t know why the FIA thought Florida in May was a good idea.”

“Especially after two straight weeks in the Middle East too. Like, have some mercy on us.” 

Victoria chuckled. In the background, Emma could hear the sounds of her 2 boys playing together. “So, how are things going with Max? Is he being nice to you?” 

Emma had to tamp down a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the question. “He’s fine. More than fine, actually.” She said, voice shaky. 

That seemed to pique Victoria’s interest. “Oh?” 

If there was one thing that Victoria was good at, it was letting Emma talk at her own pace. She could tell there was something there, something deeper going on that had prompted the call from the way Emma ended that sentence but she knew better than to push. Victoria knew that pushing Emma on anything would only result in her shutting down. From the way her voice wavered when she had answered her question, Victoria knew that this was going to take a little cajoling. 

“You know how we got that really bad storm in Monaco Tuesday night?” 

“Yeah. It sounded pretty crazy from your texts. You’re not the biggest fan of thunderstorms, are you?” 

Emma chuckled, dragging a single finger through the sun-warmed sand. “Not at all.” 

“So…” Victoria prompted again, patiently waiting for her best friend to spill. 

“Once we stopped texting, I was all alone and I started to get really anxious. So anxious that I started baking.” 

On the other end of the line, Victoria winced. She knew Emma stress-baked while she was anxious but it usually had to be pretty bad for her to switch the oven on that late at night. She idly wondered where her brother was going to come into play in this story. 

“And then Max found me in his kitchen at 2 in the morning.” 

“He did? Was he sleepwalking? Usually once that man is asleep, he is out for the night.” 

Emma was surprised to hear this because she knew how quiet she had been that night. It made her wonder why Max had woken up in the first place. She had just assumed he was a light sleeper and that she had been too loud. 

“No, he was wide awake. I think the lights in the kitchen woke him up or something.” 

Another beat of silence. Victoria was clearly trying to piece things together. Emma knew she was dragging the story out far too dramatically but she was seriously reconsidering what she was about to confess. “And then what happened?” Victoria asked softly. 

Emma hesitated, the image of Max’s concerned face in the dim kitchen light flashing through her mind. “He…he was really nice about it, Vic. He didn’t make fun of me for being scared, didn’t say I was being stupid or say my baking was a dumb or anything. He just, sort of stayed. And then the storm got worse and…” Emma draws in a big breath, closing her eyes. “And by then it was nearly 3 in the morning and we had a flight to catch, so he wanted me to get some sleep but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep so he asked if I wanted to try sleeping with him…” 

The last bit of the story comes out in a hurried rush and Emma shuts her eyes tight as soon as the truth is out in the open. For a moment, Victoria is quiet, like she was trying to figure out how to respond. “You slept with him in his bed?” 

Emma can’t read her best friend’s tone so she just replies with a simple “Yeah.” Before she squeezes her eyes tighter. Here it comes. The anger. The explosion. The accusal of betrayal. 

A longer silence stretched between them. Emma could practically hear Victoria’s mind racing all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Finally, Victoria was able to form a proper sentence. “Well, it’s about damn time.” 

“Wait. What?” Emma’s head spins. “You’re not mad? Worried? Disappointed?” 

“Mad? Oh my God, Em! I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen between you two since like, day one. Disappointed? Why on earth would I be disappointed? My best friend might be finally be realizing what an amazing guy my incredibly stubborn brother is!” 

Emma let out a shaky laugh, the butterflies in her stomach settling into something almost manageable as she realized her feelings for Max might not cost her her best friend. “It’s so complicated though, Vic! He’s my boss! I could lose my job. What if it was just a one time thing? A pity snuggle, if you will?” 

The laugh that bursts out of Victoria has Emma laughing uncertainly herself. “I’m dying at the term ‘pity snuggle’, please. Max hates being touched, hates people in his space so the fact that he allowed you to sleep in his bed? That man is down bad for you.” 

“I don’t know, Vic. What if I’m reading way too much into this? And I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose him in my life. I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“Okay, hold on. Breathe.” Victoria says firmly. “First of all, you’re amazing at your job. There’s no way he would ever fire you, the entire senior leadership team at Red Bull would riot. You’ve whipped that man into shape quicker than anyone on staff has been able to. Secondly, my brother may be a stupid idiot, but he’s not cruel. If he didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t have had you in his bed, he wouldn’t have comforted you like that.” Victoria pauses for a moment, as if she wants to let Emma absorb everything that she’s saying. “And third, I know you have your reasons to be caution and to not trust someone’s intentions but Max isn’t them, Em. He’s a decent guy when he’s not yelling at GP about how shit his steering is.” 

Emma snort laughed at that but found herself nodding along. “I know.” She whispered, willing her head to go along with the logic that her heart was already trying to follow. “He texted me last night. I didn’t see it until this morning but he wants to talk.”

“Okay! This is good!” Victoria started. 

“Good? Vic! No one ever started a good conversation off with ‘we need to talk’. Never!” 

Victoria hummed, “See, normally you’re right but this is Max we’re talking about. He texts like a 70 year old most of the time, he probably just thought this was easiest.” 

Emma squinted at the horizon. That didn’t quite sound like the Max she knew. He was always texting her. Stories about what Helmut was bitching about that day, questions about her day, quick check-ins. But, she reminded herself, this was Victoria’s brother so she probably knew better. 

“Just see what he has to say and then go from there. Because I’m guessing that you’ve spent the last however many days spiraling in your head.” 

“I hate how predictable I am.” Emma grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

Victora chuckles, “Please for the love of all that is holy, my dear, stop overthinking everything that happens. It’s okay to maybe allow yourself to want this, Em.” 

And that was the exact problem, wasn’t it? Because if Emma started to want this thing between her and Max to take root in her heart and grow into something, that meant opening herself up to a new level of hurt she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to ever come back from. 

********

‘Yeah, I think we do. After the sprint today though. Focus on the race, k? 

Max stared down at the text Emma had sent him a few hours ago. He’d been at the track early, preferring to spend the morning of a race day alone, getting into his head. Sometimes Emma drove with him but more often than not, she found her way to the track on her own. Max hadn’t even bothered asking her if she wanted to come with him because his text had gone unanswered last night. Anxiety had churned in his stomach until well past midnight. He assumed she had just fallen asleep early but the ‘what ifs’ played over and over in his head until the sleep had finally swept him under. 

The reply had come just as he was walking out of his hotel room, the relief of Emma finally answering him had felt like a cold splash of water in the middle of the Miami heat. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to focus on anything other than finally getting everything out in the open though. If he’d had his way, Max would have gone right over to her room that morning before leaving but he knew he shouldn’t push her. 

He knew Emma’s routine on a race weekend by now and as he checked his watch for what felt like the fifth time in sixty seconds, he frowned. She was late. He scanned the Red Bull hospitality suite looking for the familiar shock of long blonde hair, listened for her laugh but…nothing. 

“Hey, Laurie, have you seen Emma?” 

The PR intern that Emma was particularly close with swiveled her head in Max’s direction, cheeks going a bit pink. “Oh! Um! No, not this morning. She was still getting ready when I had to leave so she said she’d grab an Uber.” 

Max frowned. It was nearly time for him to get in the car for the sprint race. It was pouring rain, a random storm popping up wasn’t unheard of in the spring but the torrent of rain that beat against the windows was going to make the sprint race interesting for sure. They were already talking about a delay. Max was hoping the rain would hold though. He drove his best in the wet and he’d need every ounce of luck he had to pull out a decent finish today.

“It’s going to take her forever to get here, what with the traffic and now with this rain.” He murmured, more to himself than to Laurie, who looked like she didn’t quite know how to respond. His eyes flicked over to the brunette, seemingly suddenly realizing that she was still waiting for him to talk. “Will you let me know if she shows up?” 

Laurie nodded, a smile touching her lips before she turned around to continue on her way. 

Max glanced at his phone again. He needed to get changed and then over to the garage for some last minute prep. He couldn’t hang around the hospitality area for much longer but there was something twisting in his stomach at the thought of not seeing Emma before he got in the car. It made him uncomfortable, not knowing if she was going to make it or not. Not knowing what she was going to say after the race. She could be prepared to end it right then. Maybe that was why she was late, she was busy trying to find a flight home or figure out what she was going to do after she quit. 

“Max, you’ve got to start getting ready.” Rupert appears over his shoulder suddenly, tapping at his watch. 

Max nodded, glancing at the door one last time. “Yeah. I’m going. Hey, if you see Emma can you let her know I’m looking for her.” 

Rupert nodded, “Of course. She’ll be here soon, I’m sure.” 

Max started towards the stairs that led to his drivers room as he pulled out his phone to type a message. Everything okay? You’re usually not this late…am I going to see you before I get in the car?

Three dots appeared almost instantly and then disappeared. Appeared again for a beat and then a message: traffic is a fucking nightmare. I’m so sorry I’m late, I’m trying. 

Max shucked off his team kit before slipping into his fireproofs and race suit. As he started out towards the garage, he replied: Not mad, just be safe. 

He tucked his phone back in his pocket, anxiety somewhat calmed knowing that Emma was on her way and wasn’t trying to flee the country. Max was finally able to switch into racing mode for what felt like the first time all day. He was meticulous about it, his preparation. Check in with GP, talk about setup, take a look at track conditions (terrible) and the weather (even worse), and then it was helmet on and time to focus. 

There was still a bit of his attention that was elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, every flash of blonde caught his eye, tricking him into thinking it was Emma but as Max slipped on his racing boots, listening to GP talk about final setups he was still looking for her. 

“Alright, lets get onto the grid. The race will probably be delayed because of the rain but they want us out there now.” GP said in his ear, yanking Max’s focus back to what mattered. 

He’d have to get into the car without seeing her and it was driving him insane. 

And then he saw it. 

A flash of blonde hair followed by the voice that he could pick out of a loud room with ease. Emma. She had just jogged into the garage, gauzy white maxi skit swishing at her feet. She was flushed and slightly out of breath, like she’d run in from the paddock. Max was surprised to see one of his team jackets around her shoulders, a few sizes too big for her petite frame. 

He was already half-way into the car, there was no way he could get out to go see her without causing a scene, something that he knew she wouldn’t like. So he settled for eye contact and a wink, both of which drew a small smile from her and it was enough to allow Max to focus on the task at hand. 

And then the race went completely sideways. 

*******

Emma watched in horror from the garage as Max’s race fell apart. 

A pit lane mistake. 

Damaged front wing. 

Ten second penalty. 

The sight of his name tumbling down to the bottom of the timing tower. 

Everything went so bad so quick and Emma had to just sit and watch the entire thing play out in front of her. She had flashbacks to Bahrain, how angry Max had been with the team and himself afterwards. This was going to be worse. The mistake by the crew was inexcusable and from her spot in the viewing area in the garage, she could practically see steam pouring out of Christian’s ears. 

She watched at Max got out of the car, do his post-race check-in with the FIA, and then make a beeline out of the garage. He didn’t even stop to say anything to GP, didn’t take his helmet off, nothing. She’d never seen him this angry and she didn’t quite know what to do. Part of her wanted to go running after him but Emma didn’t quite know her place here. She was his assistant, not family. She didn’t know if he’d want to see her, talk to her, especially with this thing they had hanging heavy between them. Now wasn’t the time to bring up personal shit, she knew that. Especially when she knew Max was going to have to regroup in just a few hours and somehow put together a good qualifying session. 

“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” 

Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” 

GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.” 

Emma’s heart thudded at GP’s words. She didn’t know if she trusted her instincts here but she trusted GP, he’d known Max for years. Emma nodded, something in her chest clicking into place, a surge of nervous energy cutting through her. She didn’t hesitate, turning and practically jogging towards the door Max had just disappeared through. She knew the layout of the paddock well enough to know that he was probably on his way back to his drivers room at the back of Red Bull’s hospitality. 

Getting through the crowded paddock wasn’t all that difficult and before she knew it, Emma was standing outside the door of Max’s drivers room, her hand hovering over the cool metal handle. A thousand things raced through her mind. Was there anything helpful she could say in the moment? Was GP right, did he need her? Would he even want to see her? Would her anxieties be proven right and would he fire her on the spot?

She needed to stop spiraling. Victoria’s words played in her head: Max wasn’t cruel. He didn’t do things that he didn’t want to. He cared about her. She wanted to badly to believe that, to know that on the other side of this door, she’d find the Max she’d begun falling for the moment he came to her rescue at Victoria’s request. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly, so softly she barely made a sound against the door. Without waiting for a response, her anxiety and need to put eyes on Max, overriding any sense of propriety, she pushed it open and stepped inside. 

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the relentless Miami sun. Max was standing at the window, his back to her, and his shoulders were slumped in a way she hadn’t seen from him since Bahrain. The air in the room was thick with raw frustration and disappointment. 

He didn’t turn around immediately and for one heart-wrenching moment, Emma wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe he did want to be alone. Maybe GP had been wrong and she’d overstepped once again. Her mother’s voice started to sound in her head. She’d made another mistake and this one was going to cost her. 

“Max?” She called softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

But he did. Max’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He remained still for another beat and then slowly, deliberately he turned. 

The sight of his face made Emma’s heart clench. His usual sharp, focused gaze was clouded with a raw mixture of anger and hurt. Jaw tight, there was a muscle twitching in his cheek, he looked lost. Heartbroken. Defeated. Vulnerable in a way that Emma knew no one else got to see. 

When his eyes focused on her, when he realized who it was that was in his room to see his despair though, something shifted. The anger didn’t completely vanish, but a flicker of surprise, then something softer, warmer, replaced some of the harshness. It was like a dam had cracked, allowing Emma a glimpse of the vulnerability he usually kept so fiercely guarded. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock that hung above the doorway behind Emma. Max’s gaze searched hers, a silent question in his stormy blue eyes. And in that moment, standing in the dim quiet of his drivers room, surrounded by the remnants of a disastrous race, all of the carefully constructed walls they had both erected to keep each other out since Monaco crumbled away like sand castles at high tide. 

All that was left was the raw, undeniable connection that had sparked between them on a sidewalk in the middle of a Monegasque neighborhood. A connection neither of them could, or would, deny any longer. Emma searched Max’s face for confirmation that she wasn’t the only one feeling the seismic shift between them. That she wasn’t alone in the way she felt the air turn warm, anticipatory almost. What she saw in Max’s eyes wasn’t the anger or frustration that had been so plainly laid across his face just moments before. No, that was gone. What she saw was a deep, almost desperate longing, a desire that she hadn’t ever seen turned in her direction in her entire life. 

In that moment, Emma knew. Emma knew so profoundly and certainly that GP had been right. Max did need her. And more than that, she realized that she terrifyingly, desperately, needed Max too. Needed him in a way that she had never let herself need someone before because she’d never been allowed to need someone in the way that she needed Max. It was almost a need on a molecular level. A magnetic level. 

“You came.” Max said roughly, almost a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the fact that she had come after him. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, that was evident in the tightness of his jaw, but the surprise of seeing Emma there in his drivers room, still tucked into his jacket, had momentarily eclipsed it. 

Emma’s heart clenched at the need in his voice, the statement that was so raw and vulnerable. “Of course I did.” She replied softly, her voice trembling a bit. She took a small step further into the room. “You needed me.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement of fact, finally a recognition of the bond that had formed between them over the last weeks they’d spent together. 

With one statement, one look, the professional boundaries, the carefully constructed walls, meant nothing. All that mattered was the fact that both Emma and Max were finally ready to admit there was something raw and real between them, something that couldn’t be denied any longer because it was making the both of them miserable. 

A flicker of something that looked a lot like relief washed over Max’s face, softening the harsh lines of the lingering anger. He took one step. And then another. One last one and he had closed the distance between them. His eyes searched hers, a silent plea for reassurance. He didn’t want to make the same mistake as before, didn’t want to push her into something that she regretted. But something in Max’s heart told him that the night in Monaco that he’d held her until she’d felt safe enough to sleep wasn’t a mistake, it hadn’t been something she regretted. 

Without another word, without hesitation, he reached out, his rough hands framing the softness of her face. His thumbs brushed softly against her cheeks, the touch sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Emma’s breath caught, her own hands rising instinctively to capture his wrists, fingers gripping him tightly. 

His gaze dropped to hers for one single, fleeting moment and a silent question passed between them. They both knew that there was no going back after this. If they crossed this line, everything was going to change. Everything would become real, the feelings that had been simmering just below the surface would be out in the open. No take backs. Nothing. It was a prospect that both terrified and thrilled Emma as she let her eyes dip from Max’s intense gaze down to his lips and quickly back up again.

And then, Max closed the remaining distance, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender all at the same time. It wasn’t a gently brush like the almost-kiss in Monaco. This was a calming kiss. A release of all the pent-up emotions, the fear, the longing, the unspoken connection that had been simmering between them since the moment Max had rescued her in his green Aston Martin. 

Emma met his kiss with a fervor of her own. All of her anxieties and uncertainties melted away the moment Max’s lips pressed into hers, warm and unyielding, demanding and gentle all at the same time. The world outside of the room they stood in ceased to exist. The disastrous race, the difficult season, the weight of a difficult family situation. It all fell away and the world around them quieted. 

The kiss deepened, the initial urgency softening into tender exploration. Max’s hands tightened slightly on Emma’s face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently as his lips moved over hers with a sort of reverence she had never felt before. Emma leaned into the kiss, her own hands sliding up his arms, the rough fabric of his race suit scratching against the palms of her hands. The lingering scent of burnt rubber and motor oil clung to him but none of that mattered to Emma. All that mattered was that Max was kissing her and she had never felt like this in her entire life. 

His lips parted slightly, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and Emma opened for him, sighing with relief at the feeling of having him so close. Her hips tipped forward, desperate for their own friction and Max dropped a hand to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer into his body. He needed to be closer to her, needed to feel how she responded to him, how she opened for him in a desperate attempt to show him how much she needed him, wanted him. 

The anxiety that had been a constant companion to them both over the last few days began to recede, replaced by a warmth that shimmered between them. Something clicked into place and it was like this was how it was always supposed to be. Emma’s arms instinctively circled his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. The nearness of him, the solid feel of his body against hers, it all felt like coming home. It was a sense of belonging with someone, to someone, that Emma hadn’t realized she’d been searching for. 

The kiss finally softened, their lips parting with a soft sigh. A breathess silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of the past few days lifting with each breath. Emma’s forehead rested against Max’s chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Max’s lips. “Well,” He murmured into her hair, voice still husky. “That definitely wasn’t in your job description.” 

Emma chuckled, pulling back slightly to look up at him, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. Max decided then and there that shade of pink was his new favorite color. “Hmm…” she mused, grinning wickedly. “Maybe I should add ‘proficient in stress-reducing strategies’ to my resume now. Think HR will approve?” 

Max’s grin widened, the tension that had been clouding his features since Emma had walked through the door finally easing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, the warmth of his mouth on her skin sending a shiver down Emma’s spine. 

“As much as I’d like to thoroughly discuss the finer points of that particular skill set,” He murmured against her skin, “I think the FIA might have something to say about me me missing the entirety of my media duties if I don’t get into the media pen in the next ten minutes.” He pulled away slightly, a wry smile on his face. 

Emma shook her head, “Who would’ve thought it would be you reminding me about being on time to media duties.” 

Max rolled his eyes before turning to grab his water bottle from the couch behind him. When he faced Emma again, his heart clenched at the sheer happiness sitting brightly on her face. He decided then and there that he’d spend the rest of his life making sure Emma always looked like that when she looked at him.

 “Come on, Sunshine,” He started, holding his hand out to twine his fingers with his. “We don’t want to keep the media waiting.”  

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦

[ 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ]

∿ 𝐚/𝐧 : here’s a short little drabble i wrote after playing sylus’s memory card Valleydream Bloom. 🐉🌸 i really loved the atmosphere of the card—soft, eerie, a little wistful—but i couldn’t help feeling like something was… missing? like it brushed up against something deeper but didn’t quite dive in. especially when it hinted at the idea of dragons going off alone to die. that imagery haunted me, and i couldn’t stop thinking about what that actually means for sylus. what it says about the life he was prepared to live before you came along.

so i wrote this. just a quiet little piece about love, solitude, and the graveyards we build inside ourselves.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 like a memory—sharp, persistent, unwilling to be forgotten.

Sylus walked ahead in silence, his coat slicing through brittle air. He hadn’t offered his hand. Not once looked back. The path beneath his boots was not one he ever meant to share.

And yet, you followed.

Your footsteps trailed behind him—soft, insistent. The only sound for miles. Like a heartbeat he sometimes resented for continuing.

He hadn’t spoken on the way here. Nor did he now.

The words curled inside him like coals—hot, but too dangerous to touch. It was easier, always easier, to stay quiet. To let the silence wrap itself around the ache.

The hill rose slowly, like even the land hesitated to reveal what waited beyond. When he reached its crest, he didn’t call for you. Didn’t point. Didn’t speak.

He simply stopped. And stood.

Below, the earth opened into a quiet hollow. Bones—vast and ancient—sprawled across the clearing like the remains of a forgotten cathedral. Arched ribs crowned with moss. Vertebrae blooming with stubborn flowers.

Time had made a garden of what was once a grave.

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“There,” he said at last.

His voice didn’t crack. But it should have. “That’s where dragons come to die.”

The wind carried his words like a confession.

He drew a breath that didn’t want to come.

“They leave their kin. When they feel it—when they know—Something calls to them.

A final instinct. Not to fight. Not to cling. Just… to vanish.

Far from eyes that might remember them strong.”

He stepped forward. The bones loomed, monumental in their stillness. Like gods laid low.

“It’s not weakness,” he said, more to the skeletons than to you. “It’s not shame.

It’s peace.”

He hovered a hand over a fragment of skull—curved, pale, brittle with time. But he didn’t touch.

There are lines you don’t cross. Even in death.

“I understood that. I respected it. I planned for it.”

A single laugh escaped him. Quiet. Hollow.

“All my life, I trained to vanish. To become smoke. A shadow that never asked for light.

I thought that was strength.”

And then, finally—he turned.

His eyes found yours like the sky cracking open.

“I made peace with dying alone.”

His voice didn’t rise. It fell. Weighted.

“No home. No tether. Only silence. The slow erasure of self.

The kind of life that ends quietly.

The kind that leaves no flowers behind.”

A pause. Too long.

“But then you came.”

He said it like a curse. Or a prayer.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. He didn’t need words from you—only presence. Proof that something in the story had changed.

“I tried to ignore it,” he said, voice fraying. “You. With your ridiculous laughter. The way you wait for my answers even when I have none. The way you look at me like I’m… real.”

He swallowed.

“You made it hard to disappear.”

He sat down on a slab of vertebrae. Letting the weight sink into his bones.

“I came here alone once,” he murmured. “Long ago. I looked at these bones and thought, yes—this is how I’ll go.

No mourning. No mess. Just quiet.”

He looked up at you. Not with longing. Not gratitude.

Devastation.

“And now I don’t know how to leave you.”

The sentence nearly broke him.

He stared at the flowers—those defiant, gentle things blooming through centuries of death.

“They bloom because something died here. Something powerful. Something the earth loved, even in its ending.”

His voice softened.

“I don’t want to be loved in death.”

He shook his head. Slow. Miserable.

“I want to be loved while I’m still falling apart.”

He leaned back on the bone, hands braced behind him, like he could press himself into the grave and vanish by degrees.

“You make me want things I was never meant to want.

A future. A name that doesn’t taste like blood. Nights with warmth instead of weapons beneath my pillow.”

Silence. Again.

“I’m terrified.”

He didn’t mean for you to come closer. But you did. You always did.

You were like time—unrelenting, soft, irreversible.

He tilted his head back. Closed his eyes. Breathed.

“I used to be proud of being alone.”

He opened his eyes. Looked at you like he was drowning.

“Now it feels like dying.”

Your fingers reached for his. He didn’t move.

He let you. Just once.

And for the first time, the bones didn’t feel cold beneath him.

They felt like memory. Like warning. Like a version of himself that never found you.

He let his forehead fall to yours. Not for comfort.

For surrender.

“I don’t want to be a dragon anymore.”

And in the hush that followed, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

— © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰

[gracie-eilish]

fall-ing… part two

pairings: up and coming singer!reader x billie

warnings: mention of ankle injury per part one

an: if billie flirted with me while dressed like this i’d genuinely drop dead right there😍

… this is the most fanfiction fanfic i’ve ever written😂😂

You’d been trying to avoid the press of bodies inside the Met for the better part of half an hour.

It was too hot, too loud. Your dress, for all its beauty, was beginning to itch. Your ankle pulsed dully, just enough to remind you that yes, you had dramatically fallen on the most prestigious red carpet in fashion history. At least you were no longer the center of every lens.

Now, you were perched out on one of the few less crowded balconies that overlooked the city. The air was blessedly cool, wrapping around your flushed skin as you leaned back on the high-top stool, ankle elevated on a cushioned ottoman some staffer had mercifully fetched for you.

Sabrina Carpenter sat beside you, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, sipping champagne from a slender glass and leaning into your space like you were telling her a secret. The two of you knew each other since you were both on the same record label. You thanked the stars when you saw the tiny blonde bouncing around earlier, happy to have a friend somewhere in the sea of industry strangers.

“Okay, okay, but you have to admit it,” she said between giggles. “You still looked damn good even when you faceplanted.”

You groaned, throwing your head back with a dramatic sigh. “Sabrina, please. I’m begging you. Let me fade quietly into obscurity.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed, “after tonight? Obscurity left the chat. You’ve officially entered the cultural lexicon.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I want to die.”

She just laughed and nudged your shoulder. “You’re fine. Trust me, if I’d biffed it like that, I’d be sobbing in the bathroom. You got rescued by Billie fucking Eilish. In front of the whole damn world. That’s not humiliation, that’s like.. fanfic.”

You blinked at her. “I was trying not to think about that part.”

But before she could reply, her gaze shifted over your shoulder. Her brows lifted, mouth twitching into a knowing smirk.

“Speaking of fanfic,” she murmured. “Incoming.”

You followed her line of sight, and your heart promptly tripped over itself again.

Billie.

She was walking toward you like something out of a fever dream. Her dress moved like smoke, and even though her expression was cool and composed, her eyes found yours like a heat-seeking missile. She looked like she belonged to another world, but in that moment, it felt like she’d stepped out of it just for you.

You sat up straighter without meaning to.

“Billie!” Sabrina called out, lifting a hand.

Billie smiled softly and nodded. “Hey pretty girl!!”

Sabrina turned to you with a grin that said ‘I’m about to be annoying’ and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t say I never did anything for you,” before standing up.

“I’m gonna grab drinks. You guys talk,” she announced, already walking away.

You shot her a ‘don’t you dare’ look, but she just winked and vanished through the balcony doors.

Billie stepped up beside you, her hands tucked into the sheer gloves that reached her elbows.

“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head toward your ankle.

You nodded, adjusting your posture again, nervous all of a sudden. “Yeah, it’s… I mean, it still hurts like hell. But I’ve graduated from full-blown crisis to mildly inconvenienced.”

Her lips quirked. “You really went for it, huh?”

“Apparently the universe wanted me to arrive with a bang.”

“Worked,” she said softly.

You blinked at her. “What?”

Billie shrugged, but her eyes lingered on you a little too long. “You stole the night. Honestly, when you fell, I thought it was staged.”

You laughed. “I wish it was. But no. That was all me and a little too much satin.”

She smiled, her weight shifting subtly toward you. “Well… you handled it like a badass.”

“Is that what I looked like?” you teased. “Because inside I was spiraling.”

“I saw grace,” she said simply.

You looked at her then, really looked, and something tightened in your chest. That same warmth you felt earlier when she came to your rescue hadn’t left. If anything, it was stronger now. Here, without the press and the chaos. Just the two of you. Breathing the same soft night air.

“I’m Y/N by the way.. Don’t think I told you that earlier,” you said in between nervous giggles. Billie chuckled her signature little laugh before replying.

“Billie. And no, you didn’t. You kinda just flopped into my arms.”

You groaned for the nth time that night, making Billie laugh again as she stole Sabrina’s seat.

“So… where’s the boyfriend?” She wiggled her eyebrows trying to pretend to be supportive.

“Oh he’s um.. he’s…” You inhaled slowly. Your voice dropped. “Can I tell you something?”

Billie leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. “Course.”

You gave a little wave of your hand. “Not real. He’s just… PR.”

Her brows rose just slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I’m a lesbian,” you continued quietly. “But, you know, I guess I’ve got this whole ‘girl next door’ image?? Management thought that if I wanted to really make it, I needed to… play the part. So I didn’t get much of a say. How fucked is that??”

For a beat, Billie didn’t say anything. Her expression stayed neutral.

Then she said, “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

You gave a small, awkward laugh. “Yeah, well. Welcome to the industry Y/N.”

She nodded once, then leaned in a little closer, her voice a whisper now. “Just so you know… I’m like screaming on the inside.”

Your heart thudded so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“You are?”

“So loud,” she said, eyes flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Trying really hard to play it cool right now.”

You tilted your head, smirking despite yourself. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Terribly,” she murmured.

You laughed again, warmer this time. Billie mirrored it, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on the edge of your stool.

“I kept looking for you inside,” she said. “Was starting to think I imagined you.”

“I was hiding,” you admitted. “Too many people. Too many cameras.”

“Well,” she said, taking a step closer, “I’m glad you suck at hiding.”

She was close enough now that you could smell her perfume—something dark and clean and quietly expensive. Your knee brushed her leg when you shifted.

“I’d offer to take you dancing,” she murmured, “but I don’t think your ankle would forgive me.”

You grinned. “Rain check?”

“Absolutely.” She dipped her head, her voice going even softer. “But if you need help getting back to your hotel… I’m told I’m very good at lifting people.”

You blinked. “Are you hitting on me?”

She grinned. “Little bit.”

“And what if I said I liked it?”

Her voice dropped. “Then I’d say let me take you home right now.”

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, the sounds of the Gala behind the doors fell away, the laughter, the music, the clinking glasses, and all you could hear was your pulse pounding in your ears and the slow, deliberate sound of Billie breathing just inches away.

“You’re trouble,” you whispered, smirking.

She leaned in, her lips nearly brushing your ear. “Only if you say yes.”

Billie’s words still lingered in your ear, like a ghost of a kiss that hadn’t quite happened.

You were suspended in a bubble of heat and proximity, so close to her that you could feel the whisper of her breath along your jaw. Your reply was tangled on your tongue, dizzy with the sheer intensity of her. And then-

“Ok so I only have two hands so someone’s not getting a drink, I hope that’s okay.”

Sabrina’s voice cut clean through the moment, playful and dramatic, like someone popping a balloon with a fork.

She sauntered back onto the balcony, cradling two glasses of champagne, and handed one to you without missing a beat. Her gaze flicked back and forth between you and Billie with just enough exaggeration to make her point.

“What’s going on out here?? What did I miss?”

Billie leaned back a fraction, clearly unfazed. She raised a brow at Sabrina. “Just chatting”

You, on the other hand, took the champagne and sipped just to give yourself something to do. “Sabrina,” you murmured. “Subtlety.”

She grinned and perched on the stone railing beside you, her short dress catching the breeze like a flag for chaos.

“I saw nothing,” she lied sweetly, taking a sip. “Just two gals chatting. With, like, eyes full of heat. And zero personal space.” She said the last bit into her glass as she took a gulp.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, too. Billie didn’t even bother denying it, she just kept glancing at you like you were the only person left at the Met.

“So,” Sabrina said, swinging her legs, “are we getting matching tattoos after this or…?”

But before you could shoot back a comeback, the balcony door creaked open again. And this time, it was your “boyfriend.”

He looked like a Dior ad come to life, all polished cheekbones and empty charm. You saw the way his eyes skipped over Billie and Sabrina, clearly not recognizing who he was standing in front of.

“There you are,” he said, slipping a practiced arm loosely around your shoulders. “Driver’s waiting. You’ve got to change for the after-party circuit.”

Billie’s jaw shifted ever so slightly.

She straightened, her voice casually cutting. “We’ll get her there.”

Your “boyfriend” blinked. “Uh—sorry?”

“She’ll be out soon,” Billie said coolly, her tone like velvet over a blade. “We’ll help her down. You go ahead.”

Something in her voice didn’t ask. It told.

Sabrina hummed into her glass. You stifled a laugh.

Your not-boyfriend raised a brow, clearly unsure of how to respond. But Billie just stared at him, utterly calm.

After a beat, he caved.

“Alright. Cool. I’ll… be downstairs.” He dropped a kiss onto the top of your head, a meaningless brush of lips, and disappeared back inside.

The door swung closed behind him.

The second he was gone, you burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, that was incredible,” you gasped. “You made him run away.”

Billie shrugged like it was no big deal. “He’s a really bad actor. You deserve at least someone who can pretend better.”

Sabrina snorted. “She deserves someone who actually wants to kiss her.”

That made Billie glance at you again, and suddenly the air crackled with silence.

You took another sip, your lips curling around the edge of the glass.

“So,” Billie started, leaning in a little, “what parties are you heading to?”

You tilted your head. “Why? Are you planning to stalk me?”

She didn’t flinch. “Absolutely.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “You’re not even gonna play coy about it?”

“Nope. I want to see you again tonight. Preferably not with that boyfriend anywhere near.”

Sabrina let out a dramatic sigh. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m third-wheeling for life.”

You laughed, eyes locked with Billie’s. “I’m at the GQ after-party first. Then probably that private one at the Mercer. And I’m at The Bowery tonight, the room facing the park.”

Billie smiled slowly, her tongue poking into her cheek in a way that made your stomach twist. “Duly noted.”

You raised a brow. “You planning a late-night escape?”

“Depends,” she said softly. “You letting me in?”

Sabrina groaned theatrically, sliding off the railing. “Alright, lovers, let’s move. If we don’t get down there soon, someone’s gonna think you fell again.”

As the three of you made your way back through the elegant halls of the Met, Billie’s hand slid around your waist.

You didn’t protest.

Your ankle didn’t even really hurt anymore, but the warmth of her touch, the protective way she kept you close, the subtle pressure of her fingers resting just above your hip? You weren’t about to give that up.

Sabrina kept pace ahead of you, playing it cool, but every so often you caught her giving you a look over her shoulder that screamed “oh my god, girl.”

By the time you reached the grand marble staircase again, it was quieter—most guests had already filtered inside or out to their after-party plans.

Your driver texted again. Billie glanced at your phone, then at you.

“You’ll be okay with him?” she asked, though you both already knew the answer.

You nodded. “He won’t even ask where I’m going.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m hoping you’ll come find me instead.”

You smirked, stepping slowly down the steps, her arm still steady around you.

“I will,” you promised.

Billie’s fingers slid ever so slightly lower on your waist. “Can’t wait.”

You exchanged one last look, full of heat, possibility, and something far too charged to be fleeting, before the three of you stepped into the night, each headed to your own car… and maybe, just maybe, toward something else entirely.

[hummingbird24220]

hello! This is my first time requesting and I saw your steel and shame post and was wondering if you could do that again but with law this time? With a happy ending and an established relationship please? Thanks!

Yes of course! Glad you liked the other one :3 Sorry it took so long to post!

Enjoy!

Scars on the Back

Law x Reader

You fought like fire beside him.

Steel clashed against steel in rhythmic violence, and Trafalgar Law was always just one step behind you—his sword sweeping wide whenever someone dared try to flank you. You were used to fighting alone, but ever since you'd started traveling with Law, you'd grown used to the safety of his presence at your back. His trust, his sharp commands, and the occasional brush of his fingers on your wrist when he handed you a painkiller mid-fight.

You weren’t just an ally. You were his partner.

"Y/n!" His voice rang through the battlefield like a blade slicing through fog. "Three o'clock—"

You twisted without hesitation, meeting the incoming blade of a pirate with your own, gritting your teeth as sparks flew between you. The man was stronger than he looked. He pushed with a maddened grin, and for a split second, you lost your footing on the blood-slicked ground.

"ROOM—" Law's voice was rising—

Too late.

Steel screamed.

The world shifted as the sword tore across your back—from shoulder to hip. You gasped, knees buckling from the pain. But before you hit the ground, arms yanked you back. Not Law’s.

A hand clamped around your neck. Another forced your sword from your grip. You were dragged backward into a swirl of smoke and bodies and chaos. You reached for your powers, your instincts, your training—anything—but the pain was searing and your limbs were too slow.

Law’s voice was swallowed by the battlefield, his shout muffled as your captors vanished into the treeline.

Gone.

When you woke, you were alone.

Your shirt clung to your back, soaked through with blood and sweat. The gash had crusted over, though it burned with every breath. You were in some kind of cell, bandaged roughly, but not tended to with care. They hadn't expected you to die—they wanted you alive.

You didn’t cry. You just lay there, fists clenched, eyes dry, jaw tight.

Not because you were scared. Not even because you were angry.

But because the blade had struck your back.

Zoro’s voice echoed in your skull. “Scars on the back are a swordsman’s shame.”

You’d heard him say it once to a kid with a wooden sword. He hadn’t meant it cruelly—but it stuck.

You felt hollow. Dirty. Like a disgrace to every duel you’d ever fought.

And Law— What if he saw it and thought the same?

What if he looked at you with that unreadable stare of his, quiet and distant?

What if he didn’t want to touch you anymore?

You pressed your forehead to the floor and whispered his name.

“…Law.”

Please find me.

-

The days bled into each other like the wound they wouldn’t let heal.

You didn’t know how long you’d been held. The room stank of mold and rusted blood. The only sound was dripping water… and their laughter.

Your captors were cowards. You learned that quickly. They waited until you were chained to the post, your wrists rubbed raw, your back exposed. They laughed when you hissed, when your body spasmed from the salt and iron being pressed into your open wound.

They made sure it scarred.

“This one’s for the pretty face. Think Law’ll still want you after this?” “Let’s make it memorable.” “You’re a swordsman, right? What kind of idiot turns their back?”

That one made you flinch harder than the knife.

They took your silence as weakness. You let them think it. You let the angry tears fall when no one was watching, biting your tongue so hard it bled just to stop yourself from screaming. They didn’t deserve your voice. They didn’t deserve your rage.

But deep inside—oh, there was rage.

Burning like wildfire.

You would remember their names. Their faces. Their blades. You would trace the shape of their laughter and turn it into something they’d never forget.

You would heal.

But they? They would not.

Every time they came, every time they poked and prodded and smirked and mocked, you reminded yourself: “Law is coming.” “He always comes.”

You clung to that thought like a blade between your teeth. Even if you bled for it.

Even if the scar on your back stretched and split again and again.

You weren’t broken.

You were sharpening.

You heard them before you saw them—drunk, loud, careless.

“Can’t believe she’s still breathing.” “Bet that pretty-boy doctor’s going mad lookin’ for her.” “Hah! What’s he gonna do, operate us to death?”

They laughed. Slurred. Staggered.

They dropped the keyring.

You didn’t.

The sound of it hitting the ground echoed in your skull like a war drum. Your body screamed with every movement, but you were already moving—slipping your foot through the bars, hooking the ring, dragging it toward you with toes that barely felt real.

Your fingers fumbled. Your heart roared.

Click.

Freedom didn’t feel gentle. It felt like a blade to the ribs.

You stood.

You stumbled.

And then you took your sword.

They never saw you coming.

One tried to scream—his throat opened wide just in time for your blade to cut it closed.

Another reached for his weapon—you took his hand instead.

The third ran. Smart. Too bad he turned his back.

You cut through them like mist. Quiet and absolute. No words. No mercy. Every scar they gave you came back to them tenfold—etched into flesh, into stone, into memory.

By the time the last one hit the ground, the walls were painted red. You weren’t sure if it was theirs or yours anymore. Didn’t matter.

You kicked the front doors open.

The rain hit your face like absolution.

It poured. Washing the blood, clinging to your skin and clothes like ghostly fingers. You stepped out, soaked and shaking, your blade dripping crimson at your side.

And then—

“Y/N!”

That voice.

Your knees buckled at the sound.

Law was running. Hat drenched, sword forgotten, eyes wide with something raw—something that made your throat tighten.

He skidded to you, hands reaching, hovering—afraid to touch.

His breath hitched when he saw your back.

“Y/N—your back—who did this to you—”

“Idiot,” you breathed, tears finally slipping from your lashes. “You stupid, slow idiot.”

And then darkness took you.

Later—

“Holy hell,” Bepo whispered, staring into the ruined base. Shachi covered his nose. “They deserved it, but… damn.” “Did she use her blade for everything?” “There's a leg on the ceiling.”

“Let’s… just let Law handle this one.”

They closed the door gently.

As if the blood might still hear them.

-

You woke to the sound of rain.

Not real this time—just the soft patter against the submarine walls. Steady. Soothing.

There was warmth by your side, and the distinct scent of antiseptic and him. That crisp, clinical smell—tinged with metal and citrus and Law.

“Y/N.”

You blinked slowly.

His face hovered just above yours—eyes ringed with exhaustion, dark circles smudging the tattoos under his lids. His brows were drawn in tight, jaw tense.

“...Hey,” you rasped.

Relief slammed into his features so fast it almost made you cry again. He let out a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to yours with trembling restraint.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re here. I’ve got you now.”

You smiled, weak but genuine, letting your fingers brush his collar. “Took you long enough, Captain.”

He huffed a laugh, but it sounded broken. “Don’t—don’t joke like that. I was going insane.”

The moment was soft.

Until you remembered.

You tensed. Your body recoiled before your mind could stop it. You tried to roll away, but your back flared with pain—and panic spilled through your veins faster than blood.

“No—no, don’t—don’t look at it—”

Tears came fast and hot. You curled in on yourself, as much as your body would allow. “It’s ugly. It’s on my back. I let them—Zoro said—I should’ve fought harder—”

“Oi.”

His voice stopped you.

Sharp, but not angry.

He sat beside you, hands gentle as he touched your wrist. You couldn’t look at him—but he leaned down, guiding your gaze to his.

“Zoro has two brain cells,” Law said firmly. “One screams ‘sword,’ the other screams ‘Luffy.’ Neither of them know a damn thing about you.”

Your breath hitched, and his touch softened.

“I don’t care about a scar. I don’t care where it is. You fought. You survived. You came back to me.” His thumb brushed away your tears with surprising tenderness. “You’re still here. That’s all I care about.”

You let out a shuddered breath. “But—”

“I love you,” he said. Quiet. Certain. “Nothing about you is shameful. Not one inch. Especially not something that proves you endured.”

He reached behind you, palm resting gently—lovingly—over the bandaged wound. His fingers trembled, just slightly.

“This?” he whispered. “This tells me they didn’t break you.”

Your tears returned. Not from fear this time—but from the overwhelming sense of safety.

You nodded slowly, swallowing down the ache in your throat. “...I love you too, Trafalgar Law.”

He kissed your temple. Once. Long. Gentle.

You healed. Not perfectly. But honestly. And when Law helped you change your bandages and you caught him tracing the scar like it was something sacred, something powerful—

You believed him.

You weren’t ruined. You were proof.

And that was more than enough.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Honey Sunlight Vanished in Darkened Mist

So, a long long time ago I saw something @quarterlifekitty posted about König and I got so excited by the idea. I just had to write something. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to write anything until just now (life is dumb and stupid and mean and ugly and I hate it). So, after months of waiting, I present a story about Giant Squid!König and Dumbo Octopus!Reader. Namely, how they met. I hope you all enjoy.

TWs: Reader is a lil bit manipulative, but in all honesty she has very good reason to be

Wordcount: 4.2K

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Honey Sunlight Vanished in Darkened Mist

He found you when he was hunting one day. Immediately, he knew that you needed him. He didn't know how or why he knew such a thing, but he knew he couldn't leave you alone. And so, he swam closer.

He shadowed you as you floated above the ocean floor. You obviously were hunting for crabs. Unfortunately for you, he knew any crab you came across here would be far too large for you. In truth, most prey in these parts would be too large for a little thing like you. You, from the tops of your dumbo ears to the tips of your orange arms, couldn’t have been longer than one of his eight arms. You were absolutely miniscule compared to him. He could’ve eaten you, but he was just so curious about what sort of cephalopod mer would try to pass into his territory.

Most of your kind were well aware of König’s claims on this stretch of sea bed. It wasn’t the greatest territory, but he didn’t need the best. He just needed enough to provide for himself, and that was all. It wasn’t like any other of his kind would be his mate. He was well known to be despised among his kin.

Cephalopod merfolk were notably reclusive by nature, but he had been cursed with social anxiety that made him worse off than the others around him. While normally he would’ve been an attractive mate for his size and hunting prowess, he had been so awkward and anxious during mating gatherings that not a single mermaid would even entertain a dance. He wasn’t even asking for a courting dance. Just a dance itself was too much to ask for. Ultimately, the last migration he’d been to had been utterly humiliating.

But because no mermaid would take his hand, most merfolk left him alone to guard his territory. As such, seeing such a tiny mermaid in his land made him confused. A part of him was hungry, a bigger part was curious.

He watched as you found a little shell on the ground. You picked it up and examined it curiously before slipping it into a bag at your hip. You must’ve been to the surface recently if you had one of those. You were just more and more curious with each passing moment.

However, he couldn’t watch from afar forever. He needed to intervene before you actually found a crab and got hurt.

With a burst of speed, he was in front of you and splaying his massive body to block your path..

“Who are you?" he asked carefully, his voice strangely high with a strange accent.

You looked up at the giant squid mer and blinked, “Who am I? Who are you?" 

He puffed up proudly, displaying his broad chest, “I’m König. This is my territory you're on here." 

Immediately your eyes went wide and you began to tremble, “Oh my gosh I'm so sorry! I can go right now! I promise I haven't eaten much around here-" 

“Don't worry about that," he soothed you and curled his two scarred tentacles around you, “I’m not here to chase you off. I’m… I’m worried about you actually.”

“Worried about me?” you relaxed slightly, “why?”

He hesitated.

While he did, you got a chance to really look at who you were dealing with. This was obviously a giant squid mer, there was no way he could be anything else. He had two big red ears and arms at least ten feet long, the two tentacles a good five feet longer than that. Covered in white scars from head to toe, this mer had obviously fought hard to keep this territory and won. He had to be a good hunter too if he was able to sustain this size.

König cut through your thoughts in an instant.

“You're just… You're so tiny!” he threw his hands up at you in disbelief, “how have you managed to survive into adulthood? And what are you doing around here? There’s no chance of you being able to find suitable prey. You’re just too small to hunt around here!" 

You felt yourself puff up, “I'm doing just fine! I'm… I'm looking for a territory of my own. I got kicked out of my old nest by some stupid dumb shark and I’ve been trying to find a place to build one since." 

Ah. That explains why you're here.

“But since you've claimed this place, I can move on! You don’t have to worry about me, I promise!” you insisted but he wasn't having it.

“You are too small and cute to defend your own territory,” he observed.

“What!” you curled your tentacles to make yourself bigger, “I'm big enough! And I'm not cute!”

He sighed. You were going to be a feisty little thing, weren't you? A right thorn in his side. It was a good thing he liked a challenge.

“Look,” he sighed, “what even are you? The only creatures that live in this part of the ocean are kraken-sized merfolk or large prey. You’re lucky I found you and not another merfolk. Most of our kind that reach my size are cruel creatures by nature. Mercy does not come naturally to us,” he curled himself around you as he spoke, “but you’re far too cute to eat. For now.”

“Can’t we share this place? It’s not like I’ll get in your way. I don’t want to have to find a new place,” your ear flaps pressed to the sides of your head in distress.

König hummed and curled a giant red tentacle around your face, “Well, maybe you can stay here. Conditionally.”

Your eyes practically sparkled in the deep, “Are you sure? Can I actually stay here!?”

“Of course,” König pet your hair, “you are far too small to be safe anywhere else. I’d be killing you if I chased you off.”

You sighed in relief, “Thank you so so much! Is there anything I can do to thank you? Maybe catch you some fish?”

König pet your dumb little head, “My dear,” he told you gently, “are you even capable of catching prey around here? The crabs have pincers as long as your forearms.”

You thought for a moment.

“I can get some of the snailfish,” you offered.

“You're…” König sighed again. He didn't want to do this, not really, but he didn't think he had a choice. Leaving you alone was a death sentence.

“Look,” he tried to explain, “you are… You are very little, do you understand?”

“I'm not that small,” you pouted.

“You are small enough,” König grumbled, “small enough to be a good snack to larger predators here. I’m betting you barely escaped that shark, hm?”

You crossed your arms and huffed.

“I want to make you an offer. Are you listening?”

You nodded quickly.

“You can stay with me in my nest,” König said, “all I ask is that you don’t bother me. If you stay out of my way, I’ll take care of you here.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. That sounded too good to be true. A giant squid offering you their home?

You thought for a moment. If you played your cards right, you might be able to do something here. 

It was only a matter of time before a mer like this got a mate, and who knew what would happen to you after that. At best you’d be driven off, at worst you’d be fed to their children. However, if you really tried, you might be able to secure this territory completely. You’d never have to worry about him finding a mate if you were his mate. If you made him a mate, then you could get free food and treasures until the end of your days. He could be a good mate.

He was big, he was strong, and he at least seemed to think you were cute. He also thought you were small, which was rather insulting (you were actually rather large for a dumbo octopus mermaid), but you could deal with that. Finding a way to mate with him would be a struggle, but you’d come to that point at a later date.

Yes, you could do this. You could make this man your mate.

If you had to be good, you could be perfect.

“Do I have to hunt for my own food?” you checked.

Kônig shook his head, “No. I'll provide for you.”

You hummed. It was tempting, but you didn’t want to just be a pretty little mate. You wanted to have a bit of fun too. You supposed there was no harm in asking.

“What will I do all day?”

König thought carefully. He glanced around, then up to the surface. He patted your head with his tentacle and rubbed his chin with his hand. He snapped.

“You can come out of the nest with me when I hunt,’ he said, “but I don't want you straying too far. Stay close enough to hide in my arms if something tries to hurt you. I'll show you all the parts of my territory, and all I ask is that when we get back to my nest, you help keep it clean.”

“That's…” you took a moment to compose yourself, “that's it? Seriously?”

“That is all I ask of you,” König confirmed.

Your eyes sparkled, “So, I’ll basically be your mate, right?”

König looked down at you and let an arm drift along your neck and back, “Little one, I do not need a mate.”

"Then why are you helping me?” you couldn’t hide your disappointment if you tried.

"Simple,” König replied (very easily hiding his sudden interest in your behaviour), " because you are small and cute. I worry that if I leave you, you'll be gobbled up by something bigger than you. If I send you to another merfolk’s territory, they might try to take advantage of you. At least like this I can make sure you're alright." 

“So you're doing this why?" you tilted your head to the side.

König patted you in the head with his hand, “As I said, you are very small and very cute. I want to protect you." 

You put a finger to your chin in thought, “And… and that's it? That's all there is to it?”

König nodded silently.

You looked König up and down. He really was the biggest mer you'd ever seen. You’d been to a few migrations since maturity, but nobody had ever even come close to this. He was so long that he could easily wrap his arms around you about half a dozen times if he wanted to. He had a hood hiding his face, not uncommon among mers, but instead of a normal half-mask it looked like a full black shroud. He had a broad chest, bigger arms and looked like he could fend off against even a whale, if such a thing were possible.

Really, if you actually managed to convince this mer to be your mate, you’d have won the migration lottery.

“I'm not going to wait all day for an answer,’ König drawled.

You squeaked and hurried to his side, "I'll come with you!”

He was already regretting this, but he'd made up his mind, " Then let's go. I was going back to my nest anyways.”

"How come?” you asked as you turned and swam underneath his chest.

"Because I wanted a nap,” he said simply.

Honestly, a nap sounded nice.

“Okay!" you said, “how long will it take to get there?" 

“About an hour," König replied

You swam closer to his chest, “That long?" 

König slowed slightly and glanced down at you. He needed to be a meaner mer. If not for his sake, then for yours. He couldn't bring himself to do it though.

“Come closer,” he sighed wearily, “I'll carry you and wake you up once we get there.”

You eagerly let yourself be tucked into his broad chest. A part of you was sorry that König had essentially adopted you out of pity, another part couldn't be more thrilled. After all, this was step one of the plan. 

You felt König hold you tight to his chest as he swam through the water, going deeper and deeper until you came across what looked like an underwater cliff. Under the ridge, you saw a hole surrounded by carefully placed stones, jagged and threatening even to a merfolk of your tiny stature. And yet, König swam through them easily before ducking down into the hole.

König’s nest was cozy, more so than any you’d ever managed to scrap together. In fact, you completely forgot about the cold hole you dug into the seabed last week. This here was heaven.

König fluffed up a bed of black algae for you and searched through the caverns. Seeing as König was so big already, his cozy lair was absolutely massive for you. You’d never have been able to build something like this for yourself, nevermind defend it against others. His nest was coated in bioluminescent plants, glowing algae and smooth stones. Spots of white and blue lights sparkled all around you. The bedding underneath couldn’t be softer to the touch.

You were just settling in when you saw something scuttle across the floor. You looked closer, and sure enough, there was a little cluster of hermit crabs and shrimp clattering across the algae. Little shells of ivory and gold contrasted against the red and white of the shrimps dancing in the dark. Now that you were looking for little creatures, you looked around yourself to see little shoals of tiny glowing fish swimming through the kelp above you. Larger fish that looked like little moons flitted about the entrance.

You pointed at them, “Do you keep those around for snacks?”

König whirled around and puffed up, “Snacks? They’re my clean up crew!” he narrowed his eyes, “don’t you go eating my pets.”

You had never heard of any sort of cephalopod merfolk keeping pets.

“Wait, why are you keeping pets? Only sunlight level merfolk keep pets, right?” you hovered over a team of hermit crabs scuttling across the floor.

“That’s why I keep them,” König explained, “I realized that they’re better used as cleaners than as prey. That, and they make the place a bit more lively. I mean, just look at them go!”

A little hermit crab scuttled forth to grab a crumb of food before ducking back into the algae carpet.

“They don’t steal food?” you asked curiously.

“Not at all. They only eat what I drop. But, sometimes, they like to try and carry away what I’ve found,” König reached down and plucked a shrimp off the wall. He gently took a rusted coin from its claws. “They like to move things around,” he put the shrimp down and petted it, “I imagine most of are kind would find it annoying, but I find it fun to try and track down where they’ve put my things. It feels like I’m finding my treasures all over again.”

Your ears perked up when you heard ‘treasures’.

“You have treasures?” you asked eagerly, “real treasures?”

“You don’t?” König looked concerned.

“Whenever I tried to keep them, somebody else would take them when I left,” your ears drooped.

König hummed. He didn’t like the idea of sharing, but he’d already brought you into his home. He supposed it wasn’t a far leap to let you share his treasures.

“Stay here,” he muttered and crawled into a dark crevice in the back.

You happily fluttered about the whole room while he was gone. You admired the corals he’d used to decorate the walls, but you preferred the hanging seaweed coming down from the ceiling. The feeling of the plants was foreign to you entirely. Plants like these rarely grew this deep down, and the few that did were always hoarded by more powerful merfolk to decorate their homes, uch like König had done for his nest. Evidently, he’d either grown this collection for quite some for quite some time or he’d fought others for the myriad of fronds. The thought of König fighting worried you. He was heavily scarred, so it was obvious he’d been through his battles. You just hoped he didn’t go through too many. If you lost him, your luck here ran out.

“Here,” König returned with a couple of little trinkets hidden in his large hands, “I have some things for you.”

You dropped what you were doing and swam over immediately. König found your enthusiasm amusing, if nothing else.

He passed you a piece of curved bone, “I got this from my first whale fall. I had to fight some hagfish for it, but I managed to bring it back.”

You gasped, “You’ve been to a whale fall!?”

König nodded and took the bone back and brought it up to the light to admire it, “I have. I’ve been to many, but this one was special. But it was nowhere near as special as this,” he passed you a long hooked tooth, “that’s from when I killed my first whale.”

“What!?” you swam in circles around him, “that’s impossible! Whales are huge!”

“It was kill or be killed,” König puffed his chest proudly as his colours flashed bright, “she tried to get me from behind, but I was quicker. I’ve fought others too. They think that because I’m a squid I’m easy prey. Of course, I’m far too big for them, and they usually learn that the hard way.”

“I can’t believe you actually fought a whale and survived,” you said in awe as you took the tooth.

It felt heavy in your hands, almost as though it carried the weight of König’s life with it.

“Whale meat is not very good,” König admitted, “but it tastes good when you’ve fought them for your life.”

You stilled at the thought.

König watched you stop your excited circling and look at him strangely. He worried you might have thought he was boasting, but he couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Do you fight a lot?” you asked nervously.

König looked down at the myriad of white scars hatched across his body.

“I have a large territory to uphold,” he said slowly, “and most merfolk I come across around here are… They don’t really understand what sort of mer it takes to defend a territory like this. They don’t understand their place. Why? Is there a problem with me fighting?”

“I’m just worried about you getting hurt,” you fretted.

König smiled behind his mask. You truly were the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“I don’t lose,” he assured you, “and if I think I might, I’m smart enough to make sure I always have a way to get out. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You wiggled anxiously, “You’re sure?”

He laughed, “Of course. You can trust me to keep this territory safe for you. Don’t worry about me getting hurt.”

You smiled brightly. König felt his heart melt. You were absolutely precious. Maybe he could call you one of his little treasures? Maybe. He’d have to see how you felt about that.

Little did he know you were just making sure you wouldn’t have to search for new territory again soon. You’d spent enough time being chased out of nests by fish and merfolk alike. You were keen on making sure you could lock him down and make him yours, and in turn make all he had yours as well.

You focussed back on the treasures.

“Do you have any others?” you chirped.

König thought for a moment. He had many, but most of them were back deeper in his nest, and he was tired. But how could he deny you?

“I have another, and then I’m going to sleep for a bit,” König said and pulled out a small shiny stone. You looked closer, marvelling over the iridescent white gem.

“What is this?” you asked and crept closer.

König glanced down at you and held it out to you. You tentatively took it from him. It was small in his hands, but it filled both your palms. It looked so beautiful in the blue and yellow lights of König’s nest.

“It’s called a pearl,” König whispered, “I found it in a giant clam.”

You admired it once more and handed it back, “Do all animals make these?”

König shook his head and tucked it away on a bed of coral, “Fish can’t. Only molluscs can, but some pearls are more beautiful than others. I have found a few types that I keep. This is just the most beautiful one.”

“You have more?” your eyes sparkled.

“I fought others for more,” König admitted.

That made you frown, “Are they really worth fighting for?”

König hummed. He supposed you had a point. If he was going to be keeping this territory for you, he might have to be more careful with which battles he picked.

You were still just worried about how long you’d be able to stay in this nest.

“I will be more careful for you,” he conceded.

You looked at the pearl again and a smile crept back onto your face. You held it up to the light to admire it for a moment, then passed it back to him.

“Can you show me some more of these?” you asked.

König sighed and took the pearl from your hands with one arm and used another to pat your head as he put the pearl away.

“Later,” he said, “I’m tired.”

Your ears drooped sadly.

“If you want, you can rest here too,” he offered, “there’s plenty of places around here to curl up.”

The algae looked tempting, but you’d liked curling into his chest when he brought you here.

“Can I nap with you?” you asked hopefully as your ears perked up.

König narrowed his eyes and hovered over his den protectively, “I’ve already brought you into my nest. Are you really asking to go into my den now?”

You nodded eagerly.

König sighed. You were such a small and innocent little creature. You were going to be the death of him.

“I have a little nook you might fit into,” he let himself sink into the depth of his den, “just follow me.”

You swam behind him into the darkness. Here, the water was warmer. You could just make out the shapes around you, your eyes still adjusting from the light. You felt an arm wrap its suckers around your waist and tug you in. Once inside, you could see the soft glow of König’s blue eyes.

“Sleep here,” he put you in what looked like an impossibly large clam shell, “this will be your bed.”

You peeked over the sides to see König curling himself into a tight ball beside you. It was warm in here, but you knew it would be better if you could get to König’s side. You just needed to be patient.

There was no way you could just cozy up right away. There was no doubt that König would just boot you out of his den if you tried to cuddle while he was still awake. You needed to wait a bit. Only a little bit. Then you could attack.

Soon enough, König’s chest slowed between rises and falls. You could see his mask had risen just a bit on his neck, enough to see the gills along the sides slowly pushing water through. His arms and tentacles went slack on the floor. Surely he was asleep by now.

You debated swimming over for a moment. The risk of König ousting you from his nest entirely was high, but the possibility of being wrapped up in König’s arms was too enticing to pass on.

You slipped out of the shell and quietly swam over to König. You were just a couple of feet away when König stirred.

“What are you doing?” he sounded positively peeved as he slowly opened his glowing eyes.

“It’s not comfy in the shell,” you said and slowly swam closer.

He blinked slowly. Slowly, he unfurled his arms and tentacles blearily. He’d just managed to feel himself dozing off when you’d rudely awoken him. He looked down at you incredulously. 

“You’re not seriously…”

You saw an opening through his arms and dived into his chest, hitting him with a solid thump. He grunted and tried to pull you off him, but you attached your suckers to his chest and stuck fast.

“Get off me you little imp!” he snapped and tried to wrench free.

“Let me stay!” you fought back.

“This is my den!” he snarled and thrashed, knocking around the walls of the tight cavern, “if you don’t get off me right now-”

“But you’re so warm!” you whined.

“I could kill you with one bite you stupid little inker!” he accidentally smacked his head into the ceiling and groaned.

You wrapped your upper arms around him and dug your fingers into the part of his back you could reach. He tried to weakly pry you off with one of his tentacles before sighing. He slumped down to the ground in a sulk.

“I’m banning you from my den from now on,” he muttered.

“But you’re not banning me from your nest?” you checked.

“No,” he sighed, “but don’t think I’ll just let you get away with this. As soon as I’m done napping…” he yawned, “I’ll figure something out.”

You nuzzled into his chest.

Tentatively, he put his hand on your head and rubbed your ears. You purred and he grumbled to himself, but he at least stopped trying to pry you off of him.

“Fine,” he conceded, “but just this once.”

You couldn’t be happier.

Konig Dump

Konig AUs