#because this just means they will always come running back to him....

[aquaticmercy]

Sleeper

Summary : When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts*.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x antihero!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, sex (a prominent theme but not graphic), cursing. Borderline obsessive behaviour. Congressman Barnes as per the Thunderbolts teaser. Batman/Catwoman-like dynamic. (Let me know if I miss anything.)

Word count : 6.5k

Note : This fic was genuinely written because of the van scene in the Thunderbolts trailer. That’s it. That’s how down bad I am for Thunderbolts Bucky. Reader is an antihero called ‘Sleeper.’ The Thunderbolts are referred to as ‘the team.’ The reader and Bucky first met a little bit before FATWS. I also have a cap! Sam fic coming out soon because my god. I am drooling over these two. Enjoy!

Bucky first heard of your existence in whispers.

He had heard your codename in hushed tones when he got off the ice in Wakanda, after Shuri helped rid his brain of the trigger words that haunted him.

Several of the Dora Milaje had crossed paths with you in Ivory Coast, and they had told everyone in the palace about how terrifyingly efficient—and violent— you had been. They said you finished the job before they even got there.

Your codename was nothing but silent rumours by those on the fringes of the intelligence community. They called you ‘Sleeper’— it wasn't a name you chose for yourself, but you have chosen to embrace the fear that people associated with it. 

You were an antihero, a vigilante who left rivers of blood in your wake.

Four years ago, you started tracking down the same corrupt officials and Hydra remnants that Bucky was trying to arrest.

The difference: Bucky set out to turn them in, you had your heart set on killing them, fast and efficient, as you always have been.

The first time you crossed paths with the former Winter Soldier, it was in a crumbling KGB safehouse in Eastern Europe. Bucky had taken down most of the guards, ready to haul the high-ranking operative to a jail cell in DC where he can await his trial. He was tired, the strain of therapy and sleepless nights holding him down, but this mission kept him focused.

But when he reached the operative’s office, the target was already slumped over his desk, cold and lifeless. 

"Guess I beat you to it, soldier," you said, voice laced with a confidence that made his stomach twist. You let him process the sight of you—fitted black suit, gloved hands, and a smirk that told him you were not only dangerous, but damn well aware of it. A mask obscured your eyes, but even with half of your face covered, he could see how smug you looked.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said, voice low.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking for you permission.” You tilted your head, the ghost of a laugh in your voice. You were watching him, sizing him up with those sharp eyes that felt like they could through see every part of him he tried to keep hidden. 

“Sergeant James Barnes, right?” You said his name with a familiarity that sent a jolt through him. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Never thought I’d actually run into you, though. Lucky night for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, not trusting this mysterious stranger, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. “And you are…?”

“I have no name to claim for myself,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall, “but people call me Sleeper.” You let the name linger, knowing he’d recognize it. 

His memory reeled back to Ayo and the Dora Milaje, who had warned him of you: ruthless, volatile. A ghost who disappeared without a trace, always a step ahead. He’d just never expected Sleeper to be… so easy on the eyes.

“I didn’t ask for your help.” He repeated with no conviction. He narrowed his eyes at the body. “Especially not like this.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall and strolling over. “Relax, soldier,” your gaze met his, “I only go after the ones who deserve it. Just because I do it my way doesn’t mean I’m the villain here.”

“Still doesn’t make it right,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity underneath his stormy blue eyes.

“Then stop me,” you challenged softly, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “If you can.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

You grinned, a spark of intrigue lighting up in your gaze. “I’ll be waiting, James.”

And before he could respond, you were gone.

He knew he should’ve stopped you— but some part of him was glad he hadn’t. 

As you disappeared, he felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time: excitement.

—

From that day on, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. 

At first, it was frustrating. You were hard to track, ruthless—and yet there was a sickening righteous principle to your actions that he couldn’t deny.

As the weeks went by, something else rooted in his brain when he thought of you. Fascination. 

His mind often wandered about you during his quiet, sleepless nights, wondering who you were beneath the mask, beneath the mystery and the whispers.

Sam noticed, of course. He'd raise an eyebrow whenever Bucky lingered too long over case files where you'd been mentioned. He’d nudge if he seemed overly eager to volunteer for missions that involved your typical targets.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll show,” Sam teased once, nudging Bucky. “She’s dangerous, though. Is that your type?”

Bucky scoffed, but he knew Sam was right. And maybe that danger was part of what kept him intrigued.

—

The next time you crossed paths, it was in a dark alleyway, both of you dripping with sweat and breathing heavily after taking down an underground fighting ring. 

“You know,” he’d said, “killing them doesn’t make it justice.”

“You think turning them in is enough?” Your voice had cut through the air like a knife, but there was no malice behind it. You wanted him to understand your line of thinking, wanted him to know. “People like them are everywhere. They’ll get out. They’ll come back.”

“So you think you get to decide whether they live or die?” he challenged, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, readjusting your mask. “But I do it anyway.��� There was a flicker of sadness in your gaze that he noticed, even if you tried to hide it.

What had happened to you? He thought to himself. What have you been through?

In that moment, he noticed the pain behind your eyes, the kind of pain he knew intimately. You weren’t just someone who killed for vengeance; you must have had your reasons. You must have carried scars that ran deep, maybe deeper than his.

—

From that point on, Bucky made it a habit to look for you on every mission. It was like an unspoken game, this cat-and-mouse chase. Every time he saw you, the tension between you grew. 

Sometimes, he’d get there first, managing to intercept before you could execute the target. Other times, you’d arrive at the same time. He’d try to talk you out of it, to make you see things his way, but you’d laugh him off, the kind of laugh that hinted at more than your fair share of heartache. 

And sometimes, you’d tease him, push boundaries he wasn’t sure he should cross.

“You like this, don’t you, James?” You’d whisper it low, close enough for him to catch your scent, a faint hint of gunpowder and vanilla perfume. “The chase. Getting to play the hero while I get my hands dirty.”

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. 

—

Bucky grew obsessed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Every encounter left him more and more drawn to you. He’d search for files on you for days on end without sleep, but all he found were reports with no concrete evidence. He found himself looking for excuses to track your movements, hoping he’d be there to stop you but not quite sure he wanted to succeed.

One night, after another close call, you leaned into him as he pushed you up against the wall. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the electricity charged in the space between you. You looked up at him, the smallest hint of vulnerability peeking through your mask.

“Why do you keep doing this, James?” you asked, voice softer this time. “You can’t save me.”

“Maybe not,” he replied, frowning as his eyes looked down to the edge of your lips, “but I can try.”

That night, he wondered just how long he could keep up this dance before one of you finally gave in.

—

One night, while you were on a caper in Prague, everything changed for the two of you. 

The mission had been bloody, chaotic, and a little too close to mayhem for Bucky’s liking. You had taken down an entire network of arms dealers, setting fire to one of their last remaining munitions blocks and leaving it to burn. 

Bucky had arrived too late, frantically trying to contain the chaos you’d left in your wake, alerting local authorities, making sure the flames didn’t spread to a nearby market.

When he caught up to you, adrenaline ran hot through his veins. 

He'd followed you through winding streets and up dark staircases, up to the hotel you were holed up in. He followed you into your room, locking you both in.

His voice was tight, anger simmering beneath. “You’re careless.” His blue eyes were striking underneath the european moonlight, “you could’ve taken out half the neighbourhood, and for what?”

“I got the job done, James.” You shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “It’s not pretty, but it works.”

He stepped closer, and you held his gaze, “You know, I’d turn you in if you weren’t so…” he paused, his voice faltering, as if the words were lodged in his throat, “Weren’t so…”

Your pulse quickened. “If I weren’t so what?” You snapped, daring him to finish, to admit what had been hanging between you two since the day you met.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into a fierce, bruising kiss.

You didn’t hesitate—you kissed him back with just as much fire, your hands tangling in his hair.

Bucky’s hands found your waist, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave marks. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall, lips moving down your jaw, then hot against your neck. His breaths were ragged, matching your own, and he was holding you as if letting go would mean losing control entirely. 

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as his mouth found a sensitive spot on the dip in your collarbone, his hands roaming possessively over your back, down your sides.

You pulled him back to your mouth, desperately needing that connection. 

When you finally broke apart for air, his forehead rested against yours. You untied your mask and threw it across the room.

Fuck. he thought as his eyes widened, taking in your full facial features for the first time. You were even more beautiful than I imagined you to be. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself, I’m done for.

He was ready to throw you in jail cell. Instead, he ended up in your bed.

That night, in the dim light of your cheap hotel room, clothes were shed in hurried, frustrated movements, and all that pent-up tension finally found its release.

That first time had been desperate, raw. Both of you were driven by the need to let go, to feel something other than the weight of the cold blooded kills and the darkness you both carried.

Ever since then, every time you crossed paths, it was the same: adrenaline-fueled clashes and heated conversations about morality turned into hotel room rendezvous, hands grasping, lips colliding, both of you seeking the kind of solace you could only ever find in each other. 

—

You’d never admitted it out loud, but Bucky had an effect on you. When he was around, you found yourself hesitating just that split second longer before slicing your target’s arteries and leaving them to bleed.

You didn’t feel the need to wipe out every enemy anymore, and his disapproval of your methods had started haunting you in ways you’d never expected. Maybe that was why you’d started allowing him to find you more often, taking on jobs you knew he’d be there for. 

It was a dangerous game, but you kept playing it. He was obsessed with finding you, and you weren’t about to stop him.

He’d learned to read you better, your patterns, the places you tended to show up. By the time you landed in some city on the opposite end of the globe, he’d be there like clockwork, showing up right before you finished a job, confronting you before you could disappear into the night.

But the nights you spent together were… different. 

You never asked about each other’s pasts; you kept it in the here and now, keeping him at a safe distance even as you let him pull you under the covers time and again.

Every time he asked your real name, you’d smile and brush him off, deflecting his curiosity with a kiss or a teasing answer. He didn’t press, but you could see the questions in the way his brow furrowed, could feel the affection in the way he lingered in the mornings after, with a soft smile in his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

Each time, he told himself it was just catharsis, just a release of frustration for both of you, nothing more. But that excuse had worn thin over the years, and Bucky knew it as well as you did. 

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d look at him as he drifted to sleep next to you. Once, he caught a flicker of something vulnerable in your eyes before you put the walls back up. 

And God, was he drawn to you, to the side of you that fought so fiercely, that showed just enough vulnerability to keep him coming back. He was so fucking desperate to understand you better, to see more of the person underneath the mask.

—

One night, after a mission in Manila, you’d both ended up in a small, worn-down cheap hotel room overlooking the city lights. You were leaning against the headrest of the bed, a hint of sweat clinging to your skin, breathing still unsteady as you came down from the high you gave each other.

He watched you, his gaze lingering on the barely-perceptible rise and fall of your chest. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. There was a tremor in your tone, a flicker of something vulnerable that he wasn’t sure you meant for him to hear.

“Like what?” he asked, nuzzling closer to you. His now long hair was tied back in a low bun, your hair tie holding it together because he didn't have one of his own.

“Like you want something from me that I’m too broken to give,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes. But he reached for you, tipping your chin up until you had no choice but to look at him, and there it was—that flicker of affection he knew ran just as deep in you as it did in him.

“Maybe I want it anyway,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “You ever think of that?”

“This is just a release, James.” Your gaze softened for just a second, long enough for him to catch it before you shook your head, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s just something we both need.”

Even as you said it, you weren't convinced. He reached for you again, pulling you close, and kissed you because that was the only thing you’d let him do.

You melted into him once more, you found yourself wondering just how much longer you could keep him at arm’s length.

—

The shift in Bucky’s life had been as dramatic as it was unexpected. You’d never pegged him for politics—neither had he, to be fair—but here he was, representing his district, looking sharp in a suit that cost more than the last few hotels you’d met in combined. 

He’s upgraded. Freshly elected, polished up, all suited and respectable as a congressman, fighting for reform from a marble office by day and for justice in dark alleys by night. 

But tonight, with that half-smile he only gets with you, he’s still the same— still carrying that simmering tension in his lips, his hair tousled from a long night of pursuing you through the shadows. 

After a mission that had you both knee-deep in an abandoned bunker hunting a rogue assassin, you found yourself together once again. Only this time, the hotel he’d booked was far from cheap. 

He brought you to a five-star suite. The bed was massive, the sheets soft, and the view from the window sprawled out over the city skyline, a stark contrast to the dingy rooms you’d gotten used to. 

Now, lying beside him in the rumpled silk sheets, you watched him catch his breath. You moved off of his lap to lay next to him, euphoric from the guilty pleasure you both indulged in. 

“You know, the second someone finds out Congressman Barnes has a relationship with a violent vigilante, you’re out of office.”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Relationship?”

Fuck. He caught you slipping up. He caught you thinking about a relationship with him.

“Casual sex is still a relationship, James.” You shrugged, trying to save face. You turned to him, with a lazy, unconvinced smile, “Strings attached or not, it counts.”

He shifted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched your wall break, even if only one brick at a time. “Casual,” His fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Unless you’re pretending you don’t want it anymore.” You paused, leaning closer, “Or maybe you just like that I could ruin everything. That I could say one word to the press, post one picture online and your reputation is finished. You’d be back to square one.”

He chuckled, his fingers grazing down your arm. It was terrifying, how comfortable he’d become with you. “I trust that you wouldn’t,” he said softly, voice laced with that steady confidence, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

His declaration hung in the air, and you felt guilt striking in your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of this arrangement. Trust was for partners, for couples, for people who wanted things that lasted. 

You shook it off, leaning back, a little smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted a brow. “You’re right. I do have a soft spot for you, Congressman Barnes,” you added, the title rolling off your tongue with a touch of sarcasm, “Consider it my gift to democracy.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His hand drifted down to catch yours, holding it in a way that felt too natural, too comfortable for what you were supposed to be. 

You both knew, despite the banter and the invisible boundaries, this thing between you was already past casual. It was the reason he keeps showing up where you showed up, the reason you’re letting him into your life in ways you never let anyone before. You were both just too stubborn to say it.

He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a way that feels almost… affectionate. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, forgetting the consequences, the danger, the fact that this man might just unravel you completely and you would have no say in it whatsoever.

When you pulled back, his fingers trailed over your bare waist. “Maybe it’s more than just a soft spot,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, heart beating out of your chest. “Let’s not get sentimental, James,” you brushed, letting your fingers graze his jaw as you murmured, “You’ve got an image to protect, after all.”

He lets out a sigh that’s part laughter, part frustration. He knew you were deflecting. “Right,” he said, brushing his lips against yours again. 

“You and your image,” you chuckled, “Out there, shaking hands and making speeches about justice while you sneak off to hotel rooms with someone like me.”

He grinned, not a trace of shame in his expression as he turned his gaze back to you. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line. Even if it takes…” His voice lowered, dropping into that deep, teasing tone that made your stomach knot. “…a hands-on approach.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the last person who’d ever get me in line, James.” You leaned closer, though you didn't believe a single word you said. 

There was a long silence for a while. He eventually reached out, brushing a lock of hair back from your face, his thumb tracing over your cheek.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”

As the city lights cast a faint glow over the room, you lay there in silence, limbs tangled together in a way that felt a little less no strings attached every time.

—

The next time you meet, you were on a late-night operation on the dark outskirts of the city. You’ve tracked down a group of mercenaries. They’re as ruthless as they were careless, leaving a trail of devastation across the criminal underworld. But tonight, their recklessness will end with you. 

You moved through in silence, precise, methodical. One by one, you took them down, not killing, but incapacitating them. Your fists were quick, your strikes precise. It’s what you’ve done for years, a grim pattern of efficiency that never required a second blow. Just as you reached the man who hired them with your knife drawn—a local crime lord—you felt his presence before you saw him.

“Think twice, Sleeper,” Bucky said from behind you.

You froze, heart pounding as you stood over the crime lord begging for mercy. It would be so easy to end this now, but with Bucky watching, you hesitated.

You lowered the knife.

Instead of killing him, you tied him up alongside the other mercenaries, ignoring the questions in their fearful eyes. Bucky made a call, alerting local authorities to pick up the mess you’ve left behind.

“What now?” you asked, walking away from the carnage. You were expecting the usual pattern: another hotel room, a brief reprieve from the violence, nothing more. 

But he surprised you, lacing his hand in between your fingers, warm and secure. 

He had never, ever, showed affection outside closed doors.

“Come with me.” 

—

You didn’t expect Bucky to take you back to his place, but soon you were standing outside a sleek high-rise in the heart of the city. You followed him up to his penthouse apartment. It’s almost disorienting— the polished floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You found yourself standing in the quiet entryway of his home. The walls were painted in light, earthy tones, and the furniture was clean, modern, yet warm.

You glanced around, taking in the small details that hinted at Bucky's life beyond the missions. There were bookshelves lined with novels and memoirs, some old and looked like first editions, others barely touched. A few black-and-white photographs decorated the walls—New York City at dusk, a forest path, a beach sunset. It was an oddly peaceful place for a man like him. Certainly too peaceful for someone as broken as you.

“This is risky, James,” you said, looking up at him as he closed the door behind him, “Showing me where you live.”

“No, it's not,” he replied, his conviction absolute. “I trust you.”

There it was again. That word. Trust. The thing you never quite knew what to do with, especially coming from him.

You studied the way his favourite leather jacket was tossed on a chair, a half-read book by the couch. It felt like stepping across an invisible line. You set your mask down on the table before he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

“This feels like crossing a boundary, James,” you admitted. You knew he should pull back, give you a chance to retreat. But you didn't want him to.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he cupped your face as he tilted your chin up gently. “What boundary?” he asked.

He knew that there were nothing separating you two. Not anymore.

The space between you vanished as his lips met yours. You kissed him back, losing yourself in the process of tasting him. His hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Kissing him felt like falling— like surrender.

You made your way to his bedroom, bodies tangled together, a blur of heated whispers and gasping breaths. Clothes fell away, discarded like old skin. The way he looked at you, it was like he was memorising every inch of you.

In that moment, you realised: the boundary had never been there. Not for him. Maybe not for you either.

—

The room was quiet as you lay tangled up in Bucky’s sheets. The duvet smelled like him, unlike the neutral, sterile scent of the usual hotel sheets. 

You’d never admit it, but it was intoxicating. 

The satisfied pulsing in your body had put a hazy filter over everything. 

Bucky smiled softly, kissing your forehead before reaching to his bedside drawer, pulling out a small glass box, placing it gently on your palm.

"Here," he murmured, almost shyly. He opened the box to reveal a hair tie inside. 

Oh. You recognised it. The ends were a bit frayed, the colour faded.

It was the hair tie you’d given him in Manila, a lifetime ago, a little piece of you that he’d tucked away in a corner of his home

You blinked, caught off guard. "You still have that?"

He shrugged, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. Was he… embarrassed? "I thought it was... worth keeping."

"Careful, James,” you couldn't help but tease him, nuzzling closer into his arms. “Keep this up and you might just start falling in love with me."

You felt his breath hitch.

He looked up, finally. Nervously.

Instead of denying it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, warm whisper. "Would that be so bad?"

His fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver through your spine. Your heart fluttered irregularly, your head spinning in a daze as you tried to keep your thoughts down.

No.

You couldn’t let him see that he was getting to you like this, so you did what you always did: you deflected, grinning forcefully and rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, right," you said, brushing off the moment. As much as it broke your heart to deny the truth, you were doing it for his sake and yours. "I'm not that easy to love, James."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin as he pulled you closer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Maybe that's why I do." 

You shifted away from him, wrapping yourself in the sheets as if they could shield you from what he was offering — and from the ache in his gaze. 

"We can’t���" you said, voice barely above a whisper. "We can’t do this."

Bucky's eyes darkened, but he would be alright. He expected this from you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his desire for you and something else… there was something bigger. 

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. “I have… a team.”

That caught you off guard. 

Bucky? On a team? He’d always seemed like a lone wolf, just like you. 

“There’s a couple of former Widows, who you’d get along with. Two other super soldiers. And someone who can… phase. Quantum experiment gone wrong.” He paused, “We’re trying to make something real here. And it’s missing someone.” His fingers trailed down your forearm, eventually clasping your palm in his, “It’s missing you.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears, trailing your jawline delicately with his metal hand, “I need you.”

The invitation went unanswered for a moment. You swallowed, caught off-guard by how badly he seemed to want this, how he wanted you to be part of it.

“I work alone, James,” you said, brushing off the offer with a small, bitter smile. “You know that.”

“But why not?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Why won’t you let someone else in for once?”

The frustration in his tone was raw, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of pain flash across his face from this rejection.

“This is your chance to do something good the right way,” he pressed, and there was a quiet urgency in his voice. “No more hunting down bad guys with no direction. No more living like you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

His words sank in, and your walls felt shakier than ever. The idea of leaving the past behind, of actually building something… you hadn’t let yourself imagine it in years.

“Just think about it,” he said softly, placing his forehead on yours. “You don't have to decide now. Just… consider it.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug, but the truth was that his offer echoed in your mind, louder than you wanted to admit. He smiled at your dismissiveness, recognizing the crack in your armour. He didn’t push further. 

You realised that for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to say no.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was in the middle of a mission neither of you had wanted. 

Just a week had passed since you’d spent the night in his apartment. Since then, you had told yourself you shouldn’t return. You couldn’t. You were getting too close, feeling too much.

It was getting dangerous.

But then Bucky had reached out to you, voice tight and desperate, the kind of desperation that stripped away all his pride. It was a vulnerability even you hadn't seen from him before. His team was in over their heads, he’d said. He needed you. 

You’d agreed to help, but you’d been careful to remind him that this was a one-time thing. One mission, and that was it.

But then everything went wrong.

It happened so fast, you barely understood how everything had gone wrong. 

You were with Bucky, fighting side-by-side, the two of you moving as if connected by some invisible thread. 

You had taken a blow, separating you from everyone else. You tried standing up but fuck! The impact had shattered your ankle, sending a searing pain through your leg. Your nerves were on fire in a way they had never been before.

You couldn't move. 

You couldn't get up. Couldn’t run.

And then the ground shifted, an explosion roared from behind, and the next thing you knew, a van was thrown across the road, hurtling straight toward you.

For a single, frozen heartbeat, you realised this was it. 

It was over.

You saw the faces of bystanders staring from the sidewalk, their eyes wide, too horrified to look away. You let go of the cold steel of your knife still gripped in your hand. The acrid taste of smoke on your tongue intensified. And the truck—a wall of twisted metal hurtling closer, closer, impossibly fast.

You’d spent so many years brushing so close to death that you always thought you’d be ready.

But now, all you felt was regret.

Regret that this was how you’d die: in the middle of a cold, empty street, surrounded by strangers who would never remember you, never know who you were or what you’d done. 

Alone. 

You thought of Bucky in those last seconds—his quiet smiles, the way he’d look at you like he could see through every wall you put up, the silent crutch he’d offered without expecting anything in return. Bucky, who’d trusted you, who’d somehow cared for you even after everything you’d done. 

For the first time, you felt regret for every life you’d taken, every person you’d left to die in your wake.

Your life had been nothing but survival and bloodshed. You had told yourself it was necessary, that it was the only way. But here, now, with your own death inches away, it all felt hollow.

You’d given up hope, abandoned the idea of redemption long ago—because you were too broken.

And yet, with Bucky, something had changed. He had looked at you and somehow seen past it all. He’d made you feel as if maybe, just maybe, you were something more than the ghost you’d become. Maybe, instead of running, you could have found a way to fight for something real, something that mattered. 

Maybe you could have been someone better. 

You would never know now.

The world narrowed, and you braced yourself for the inevitable, hoping it would be quick and painless. Your fingers tightened, clinging to the memory of him in those last, precious seconds as you waited to feel the impact—

But it never came.

Instead, there was a rush of air, a deafening crash, and then—silence. You blinked, dazed, your heart still hammering, and when you looked up, Bucky was standing there, his metal arm outstretched, braced against the van that he’d deflected away.

He turned to face you, his expression raw, worry carved deep into his features as he scanned you, checking for injuries. For a moment, he just stared, his breathing uneven, as if he’d been the one facing certain death.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked.

You tried to answer, but the words tangled, caught in your throat. You managed a nod, barely able to process what had just happened. 

“Shit,” he kneeled next to you, “Is your ankle broken, can you walk?”

You stared at him, trembling as he tore a part of his shirt and wrapped it around your injury for support.

Bucky had saved you. He had thrown himself in front of a hurtling vehicle without a moment of hesitation, as if your life were worth that sacrifice. 

He had saved you.

You were alive because of him.

Alive, when you’d already accepted that you were going to die alone.

No one had ever done that for you. No one had ever saved you—not like this, not without asking anything in return. Hell, you never thought that you deserved to be saved.

“You’re okay, Sleeper,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was reassuring himself as much as you. “I’m here.”

His words settled into the cracks that had broken open inside you, filling them in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t realised how empty you’d felt until now, how long you’d carried the weight of loneliness, of believing that this life—this endless, solitary fight—was all you deserved. 

Bucky made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be alone. That maybe, even after all you’d done, there was a place for you outside the shadows.

“Don’t call me that,” your voice trembled, “I don’t want you to call me Sleeper anymore.”

Bucky stopped for a second, confused. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Something inside you broke, raw and vulnerable, and the name you’d hidden for years slipped from your lips before you even realised it. Your real name—your last, fragile piece of self you’d kept locked away, hoping one day you’d be able to reclaim it. 

It felt right with Bucky, like you could trust him with it, like you could let yourself be seen.

Bucky’s eyes widened, his face softening as he repeated it, almost reverent, like he wanted to remember how it felt to say it. 

Hearing him say your name, like a prayer, like it was sacred, like it mattered— tore down whatever walls you had left. He’d given you something you didn’t know you could have: the feeling of belonging to yourself again. The feeling of belonging to the world again.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers shaking. He moved, pulling you closer. His touch was grounding, steady—a lifeline that anchored you to the moment, to this fragile reality where you didn’t have to be alone anymore. 

You pressed your lips to his, but this kiss was different— it wasn't casual or sexual as it has always been. This time, it was gentle, carrying something other than desire, something precious and fragile. 

Something worth nurturing.

When you finally pulled away, he looked at you lovingly. 

“I’ll join you,” you said, the words coming from some deep part of you that had been waiting for someone to give you this chance, this choice.

Now you realised that this choice was yours all along. All you had to do was take it.

And you did, because maybe, instead of running from yourself, you could find a way to make things right. Maybe you could fight for something greater than yourself.

For the first time, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, you believed that maybe you could be someone worth saving.

—

A month later, you were all gathered around a small campfire, tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere. 

The night was cool, the fire warm, and laughter bubbled up from the group as you shared bits and pieces of each other's lives. 

“Team bonding,” John had said.

John passed around a nearly empty bag of marshmallows, Alexei poked at the fire, and Yelena and Ava exchanged eye rolls at everyone else’s antics, though they leaned closer together under the same blanket.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, as it often did, to you and Bucky. 

“So… how did the Winter Soldier and Sleeper even meet?” Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow as she threw another marshmallow into her mouth. 

The moniker you had adopted still twisted in your stomach every time you heard it, but it had lost its edge. This time, you felt in control. Like you owned it.

"I have theories,” Alexei nodded, crossing his arms, “but I have to know."

You shared a look with Bucky, a small smile creeping on both your faces. “There was a Hydra agent we were both after.” you began, biting back a frown. “And… well, I was angrier back then.” 

He placed his arm on yours, a comforting gesture.

“You wanted him alive,” you said. “I had… different ideas.”

“After that—” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “—She was all I could think about. I kept showing up wherever she was, trying to figure her out.” 

“So basically,” John said, trying to hold back a laugh, “Bucky is a bit of a stalker.”

“A stalker?” Bucky echoed incredulously, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dedicated.’” 

“No, no,” Ava interjected, “you followed her everywhere did you not? ‘Stalker’ is the right word, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he admitted jokingly, “But what can I say? It was love at first sight.” 

Yelena gagged theatrically and John clutched his stomach in a fit of laughter.

Alexei just chuckled and muttered something about “American romance.” Ava made a face, disgusted but secretly amused.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you with a quiet smile.

In some way, this still felt too good to be real.

For the first time, you realized you’d found exactly what you’d been missing all along. A home. Maybe even the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

A place where you belonged.

And you knew, looking at all of them—especially at Bucky—that this was just the beginning.

-end

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look. 

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer. 

You still did it, though. Both times. 

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something. 

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag. 

God you’re literally already about to break. 

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction. 

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea. 

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on… 

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi. 

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude. 

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect. 

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him. 

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets. 

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities. 

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul. 

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen. 

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg  Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it? 

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious. 

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers. 

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service… 

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth: 

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake @flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia

Sorry if I'm unable to tag you. Did my best to include everyone who commented and asked!

[jobean12-blog]

My Lady

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 572

Summary: Being the General requires much of Marcus' time and although you understand that it doesn't mean you don't miss him always- not as much as he misses you of course

Author's Note: Every new little snippet we get of this man basically ends me so I just was feeling something small and cuddly and soft because I really just want to curl up on his lap and in his arms forever. Please and thank you! 😁Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovey @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: it's soft and sweet and warm

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

He leans in, mouth hovering just over yours.

“They will be expecting me soon.”

He whispers this against your lips before his kisses trail along your jaw and down to the hollow of your throat.

Crowding your space a little more, he brushes his nose against yours, his soft lips and warm hands moving everywhere.

His face falls to the crook of your neck, and he groans. The sound vibrates all the way down your body and between your legs.

Your hands slide over the wide expanse of his back, the broad width of his shoulders and then ghost across his lips when his eyes meet yours.

“You are not making this very easy my love.”

“Hmm?” you hum with feigned innocence and rock your hips over him.

You’re seated in his lap at the edge of the bed, your thighs straddling his. You dip your head, and he meets you halfway, lips moving with yours, familiar and warm, through smiles and quiet sounds as his hands trace along the curve of your spine and then down to your ass to pull you tighter against him.

His kiss turns soft, the faintest, slowest, most feather light kiss imaginable, and you want a hundred more.

“I suspect Lucious will come looking for me any moment.”

“Then you should go General…before he does.”

Your kiss swollen lips turn up into a coquettish smile and his large hands flex on the softness of your ass.

You brush the fallen curls of hair from his forehead and then run your fingertips along the strong column of his neck.

He catches your hand, brushing his calloused thumb across your wrist, your pulse hammering beneath. He lifts it to his lips, kissing first the inside of your wrist, then your palm and finally brushing his mouth along your knuckles before pressing it to the back of your hand.

You start to push yourself off him, but he reaches out to grab your hips, sliding his hands up until they settle at your waist. He stands and drags you against his chest, one large hand smoothing along the curve of your body and up your arm until he can grasp the back of your neck and bring your lips to his.

He lets out a helpless sound and then a quiet groan, his kiss slow and warm. With effort he pulls back, running his fingertips down your shoulder and arm to your hand. He takes it in his and brings it to his lips again.

“My lady,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as he relishes the feel of your skin.

“General.”

He backs away, his eyes always on yours until he can no longer watch you and has to turn, grabbing his cloak and throwing it over his broad shoulders. He disappears in a flurry of fabric and heavy footsteps, and you fall back onto the bed with a sigh, counting the minutes until he returns to you.

When he does return, you’re waiting, and he takes a few purposeful strides toward you and you move quickly into his arms, pressing into him for more when he squeezes tight. His mouth is on your temple, your cheek, covering your lips in small bursts of kisses, lips opening, his tongue sliding to taste you.

His hands impatiently move over your waist, your hips, his words sliding across your lips as he tells me he missed you, missed you, missed you.

[ashomodeus]

Hi all, it's been a minute... Work has been really rough. I promise I haven't disappeared again. Here's this.

Where is each brother + Dateables favorite place to... connect with Mc.

Gn!Mc, Smut warning, bad grammar, take a shot every time breeding is mentioned, food porn for Beel.

Why am I at work for 12 hours???

Thank you, Beyonce, for providing me with this phone to write. She's my ghost writer if anyone asks. If her lawyers ask, this is a joke.

Lucifer 》 His study

●With under the desk support from Mc all his stress is magically gone.

●No one bothers him when he's in his study, meaning hours... and I mean hours could go past and no one would question why he's in there so long.

●Would test Mc's limits, having them cock warm him as he finishes his last bit of work. Don't think that Mc is the only one being teased. Lucifer has always been able to focus on one thing at a time but with Mc there? Forget it. 'How would Mc look bent over there, How about on my desk, or right in front of the door for his brother's to hear MC is all his for the night'

●Mc giving him head while he's trying to have an important conference call.

●Having Mc lay on the couch exposing their filled holes threatening to drip out while he finishes his work.

●He has some things in his office for Mc like a designated drawer for Mc that only Mc and Lucifer can access like rope, towels, a change of underwear, some toys for Mc to use while Lucifer is busy.

Mammon 》His car

●Two things that he loves.

●His favorite thing is to recieve head while driving. He enjoys edging and pushing himself as far as possible until he has to pull over. He wants to pull over because he wants to be milked until he's weak.

● He would want to drive while pounding into Mc.He would never be able to drive without Mc again without having to pull over and masturbate to the idea of Mc being there.

●Mammon likes to convince Mc to go run an errand with him just for them to both to come back disheveled. Mammon doesn't want anyone to see Mc in that way and doesn't want anyone to hear them so he'll find a few places.

●Once Mc did a nude photo shoot in Mammons car and those photos will always remain in his empty wallet.

●Mammon hates messes in his car but he so his seats have waterproof covers for certain reasons...

Levi 》Anywhere with water

●Listen water can make you feel weightless. Since water is his strong suit he knows how to control water and make sure Mc doesn't drown.

●Beach trips normally involve Mc and Levi leaving for a swim and not coming back for hours. Mc would think the sand would get everywhere but devildoms sand is so much different.

●Levi loves sneaking into the shower while Mc is showering. Sometimes, he just loves to watch Mc. He especially gets turned on if Mc doesn't notice he's there watching. He slowly strips as he walks into the shower with Mc, only startling them for a second. He loves taking the shower head and putting it on sensitive places of Mc's increasing water pressure the more sensitive Mc got.

● He loves "accidentally" spilling water on Mc while gaming together.

Satan 》 Library

●Knowledge is power and just when he think he's read every book. There's a new series he can read. Once he met Mc it was a bit difficult to focus on both reading and Mc. He soon realized he can have it both.

●Having Mc read to him while he fucks them. He would stop everytime Mc would stop. He just loved felling Mc tense as he stopped.

●Another fun thing to him is that Mc would have to keep quiet since they were in a public place. The rush he got thinking of someone walking in on him having his cock rammed into the beloved Mc.

●He keeps a list of books to the said that he thinks would sound a lot better with Mc's breathy moans. He also finds it as great stress relief. They would sneak into the library after hours so Mc could make as much noise as possible.

●Sometimes when they're reading together Satan makes Mc wear a vibrating toy and silently turns it on and off when he pleases.

Asmo 》His bedroom

●Asmo is an expert when it comes to connecting. His room has all the necessities. Sound proofing, toys, ropes, leashes, wax, towels, everything. He could give Mc a facial mask after giving them facial.

●Theres a mirror on the ceiling that is right above the bed, mirrors everywhere. If Mc was having a low confidence day he would cover up the mirrors or fuck Mc in front of them in every position to show them how hot they truly are.

●Asmo room also has a camera that follows sound so he can record whenever they are fucking but of course that involves being loud enough.

●Sometimes Asmo will indulge in black coffee because he doesn't want to loose energy or stamina. He wants Mc to do so many things and make sure that Mc's mind is just full of how good they feel and how horny they are.

Beel 》 Kitchen or bedroom

●Duh

●Food play. He loves nyotaimori/ namtaimori; Body sushi, Human tray. He loves to layout his favorite foods on Mc, keeping them as protected as possible. He also would love to fuck Mc with a certain things then eat them. Ie: Cucumber. He wants to see how much of the thick cucumber Mc could take, licking the cucumber in-between tries. Then proceeding to eat it after.

●His fantasy would involve him coming down for a midnight snack and Mc is there surrounded by his favorite food. Mc being just as hungry for Beel as he is for them.

●Ever since the few nights Mc slept on Beels bed. He's been hungry. Their smell is permanently embedded into the bed. He would want to fuck Mc in that bed. He would give Mc a lot of oral. Making sure to taste every drop of them.

●He would to fill up Mc with his load to make sure Mc is as full as he is.Though he's very considerate Mc should expect a bit of soreness next day.

Belphie 》 Attic

●A place to be by himself in a cozy bed Mc riding him as he's slowly woken up.

●The attic is a quiet place. He normally dreams the most about Mc in this room. If anyone tries to interrupt their time together Belphie will quickly cum inside Mc and plug their hole with their underwear. He likes to see them squirm around at the discomfort of the underwear getting soaked with Belphie's juices.

●He likes waking up Mc with him about to cum on their face. He also loves sleepy horny sex where they can't even tell what's where.

●Belphie is extremely possessive so everything is on his stuff. It's not because he's lazy It's because their sent keeps him calm and makes him want- actually NEED them.

●He once used bedsheets to tie up Mc to the bed to overstimulate and exhaust them.

Solomon 》 Anywhere and everywhere

●Mc's room, his room, over here, over there, everywhere. Solomon is proud he scored the hottest human out there. He will fuck Mc when he wants wherever he wants. The idea of someone walking in on them makes him fuck Mc’s throat harder.

●One of his favorite places is the empty classroom right next to an active classroom.

●He admits to watching Mc change in their bedroom from an enchanted mirror he gifted them.

●He loves to tease Mc while they are out. Together they can make a single trip turn into an 8 hour errands day. Once he had Mc pinned in an alleyway while feeling them up and giving them aggressive hickies. He walked away as if nothing happened and Mc weak knees would struggle to carry themselves.Mc would get so desprate that they would drag Solomon to another alleyway and they would be at it for at least an hour.

Diavolo》 The balcony of the Castle or even hidden rooms

●He loves to show what he can offer Mc besides he massive cock. Of course he's anxious to rule devildom but he will do what needs to be done. Mc grounds him. What he doesn't tell Mc is that it's practically impossible to see that balcony. He would never jeopardize Mc or anyone's respect. The balcony gives him time to think a time to feel and reflect. Making Mc feels good makes him feel good.

●He loves exposing Mc's gaping hole towards the balcony. It shows everyone that only he can fill that hole.

●Diavolo is constantly hiding from Barbatos and he loves to drag Mc with him. Sometimes Diavolo forgets what rooms are in this huge castle so it's an adventure with Mc. Small rooms where Mc can barely move due to being pinned by Diavolo. He loves the rush of hiding and trying to be as quickly as possible. He wants to please every part of Mc.

●He loves when Barbatos finds themsawsee and he awkwardly leaves while Diavolo continues.

Barbatos 》 Mc's room

●He wants Mc to be as comfortable as they can be. He enjoys giving Mc massages. Waiting on Mc hand and foot. He wants Mc as comfortable as possible.

●He's more of a pleasure dom than anything. He gets off by just seeing Mc sprawled out on the bed shaking from pleasure. He could simply cum to the thought of it. It's private and quiet. He doesn't have to worry about anyone else except Mc. After he Mc into mush he'll be in the kitchen cooking them their favorite meal. Just to give them enough energy for a round two. He would snap photos of the exhausted Mc to keep for later just to stare.

●Mc's room is also good for Barbatos because Diavolo won't bother him as much. Barbatos only uses his demon form when he wants to fill all of Mcs holes.

●Any messes made in the room he'll clean it up. Since he knows he'll be cleaning anything that happens to get dirty. He's into a lot of WAM (wet and messy) Mainly with saliva, cum, sweat. The more the better it shows him he's doing a good job at pleasing Mc.

Simeon 》 Mc’s bedroom

●He wants Mc to be comfortable. He's never really felt as calm and confident ever since meeting Mc. When Mc looks like they are calm it calms him. Simeon feels safe to sort of lose control. He's a tease outside of the bedroom but now he can actually act out everything he wants to do. By everything, he means everything. Everyday he thinks of a new way He could fuck Mc or even have Mc fuck him.

●Mc's room feels familiar enough for the both of them. Of course it's a bit difficult when the brothers are home but that's when Simeon implements the quiet game. He slams himself into Mc and see how long it takes for Mc to almost give out.

●He loves texting Mc to meet him in their room. He's just so excited to be able to show Mc he's not just an Angel. He can make Mc feel things that they have yet to feel.

●They barely use the bed. Simeon likes to make sure there's a different position everytime. His mind is corrupted by how many positions or how many times can he make Mc cum that night.

[livelaughloveluffy]

comfort - trafalgar water d. law

a/n: listen... i was always a law simp pre-wano..... but wano law 😭😭😭 you will always be famous. and the brain rot is just so intense for him that i had to write this fic

a/n: i'm still adjusting to my antidepressants and literally have 9 labs due this week so forgive me for not being insanely active; i'm mainly just trying to survive 💀

nothing but fluff here! 💗

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

when he comforts you:

-the captain goes above and beyond to silently help you out. chores you were supposed to do around the polar tang are miraculously already done, a cold glass of water and a small snack left on your nightstand when you wake up, your laundry folded and put away.

-and it doesn't stop at that. law wants to make sure you can relax and destress, so this sweet man will run you a bath, dimly lit with candles and a glass of wine, and he'll stay to gently wash your hair and give back massages. fully allowing you to just enjoy the warmth of the soapy water and his touch.

-he'll always make time in his schedule for cuddles, even if that means the two of you are crammed into his desk chair, he'll hold you tight to him, gently stroke your hair, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

-while advice isn't law's strongest area of expertise (he's much too pessimistic and blunt for that 💀) he is a fantastic listener. once he knows you aren't looking for a solution to your problems but just someone to support you while you rant, he'll sit through hours and hours of ranting and rambling, attentive eyes on you, his hand on the smalls of your back rubbing soft circles into you, even when he's busy he'll always lend an ear to your problems and a shoulder to cry on.

-he's a lot more affectionate than usual when he notices you haven't been yourself. pda suddenly doesn't bother him anymore, and he won't leave a room before giving you some kisses, his arm will be around your waist as he address the crew, or he'll grab your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours.

-when you're sick, injured, or on your period: law will provide literally the best cuddles you could ever ask for, his silk sheets against your body, the smell of his cologne filling the room, his warm body next to yours, your head on his chest, he'll let your fingers trace over the lines of his tattoos with absolutely no protesting. he's going to do the most for you, and if you didn't know him as well as you do, you'd truly have no idea who was leaving little chocolates and love notes on your pillow, a new book on your bed, your favorite drink stocked up in the fridge, and the fresh flowers on your nightstand everyday. he'll never address it or come out to take credit for it, he'd just do it. the captain will shower you in kisses much more than usual, on your cheek, the top of your head, a small peck on your lips, he's much more affectionate as its the subtle way he expresses his love and worry for you.

when he needs comforting:

-law is not the kind of guy to talk about his problems. a lot of this is because he struggles with verbalizing his feelings, worries, and stresses, but also because he doesn't find any relief in it. you instantly know when the captain needs you by the way he asked for you to meet him in his office. the second the door closes, he's picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding you so close to him, the faint scent of bourbon vanilla fills your nose as you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

-there's nothing the captain loves more than the feeling of your fingers tangled up in his soft dark raven locks, with your face resting against his chest you can hear the way his heart beat slightly slows fully enjoying the sensation of your touch.

-law finds lots of solace in hearing your voice, it's simply music to his ears. he'll listen to stories about your past or adventures you've been on, rambles about your hobbies, what you did today, anything and everything. he loves the distraction it provides him as well as the comforting ambient noise it provides while he works.

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a/n: soft law my beloved 😭😭😭😭😭 i totally forgot the whole "when you're sick" section of this fic when i first posted it, so i panic wrote that shit so damn fast 💀 it's been a minute since i wrote one of these 😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

a/n: if you are interested in being added to my taglist: here's a google form!!!

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | November 4th-10th 2024

I think we can all agree that last week was a bit of a rollercoaster? 🙃 At least we still have our emotional support gay firefighter show ❤️

(as always, if you know someone who's not tagged, please tag them in the comments!)

Complete

Good Luck Babe by jesuisici33/ @jesuisici33 (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda | 1K | Teen): Buck nods. His own face still has that kicked puppy look. But he manages a smile. Even sad, Buck’s smiles light his face up. Eddie thinks he could never get tired of Buck���s smiles. “Why did you shave it off? I need a distraction. A happy one.” “I’m working on no longer denying myself fruit juice.” It’s Buck’s turn to open and close his mouth in confusion. “O…kay? I don’t know what that means.”

watch you win, watch you cry by wenttoafortuneteller (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda, Pre-Buddie | 1K | Teen): Buck lets out a long, tired sigh and admits: “Tommy broke up with me.” “Oh,” Eddie says. He makes a conscious effort not to smile.

your shoulders brush (no proof, one touch) by farfromthstars/ @doeeyeseddie (S8E6: Confessions Coda, Pre-Buddie | 1K | General): “It’s not funny,” Buck whines. “I just thought– we have– were having a good time together. And he’s been so great through the whole figuring myself out, he made me feel so, um, so secure in my sexuality, you know?” “Well, you’re not any less bisexual if you’re not dating him,” Eddie shrugs. “So I guess he didn’t feel the same way, then?” “Kind of?” Buck turns on the couch and pulls one of his legs up. His knee nudges Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie is suddenly very aware that he’s not wearing pants.

ode to a conversation by markofalover/ @markofalover (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda, Getting Together 3K | Explicit): “He was right to break it off, because—Josh asked if I thought about him when he wasn’t around, and if his concerns and happiness were important to me, if I saw a future, and, Eddie, I—” “Buck,” Eddie cuts through again, and this time Buck listens. Closes his mouth and stares at him with big blue eyes, and Eddie. Eddie’s heart is in his mouth. It’s right in front of him. “Come here.”

It’s Always Been You by scarmaddiewrites (S8, Getting Together, PWP | 3K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie travel to Texas to pick up Chris and run into some issues, all leading to them finally getting together.

ode to joy by signetsealed/ @gayeddieagenda (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda, PWP | 3K | Explicit): “Okay,” Buck says. "Let's do that.” Eddie frowns. “Do what? Dance?” “Sure,” Buck says. “That, or whatever else you were thinking of doing. We can…be joyful.”

i must confess, i’m in love with my own sins by inbetweenthestacks/ @organizedstardust (S8E6: Confessions Spec | 3K | Teen): “I just want it to be easy, you know? I don’t want to have to think about if I’m acting the right way or saying the right thing. I just want to have a-a person. I want someone that wants to stand next to me. I want to know someone is always gonna pick me, no matter what, they’ll have my back. Like how it is with—“ he stops short. Buck, he almost says. Like how it is with Buck. — Eddie goes to confession and has a few revelations.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (PWP, Getting Together | 4K | Explicit): Buck grabs the bathroom door, but freezes before he can open it more than an inch. Because Eddie is in the shower, but he’s not crying. Eddie is standing with one arm braced against the tiled wall, turned away from the door. The shower spray cascades over his muscled back and the curve of his ass. His other hand is wrapped around his cock.

"What the fuck, make your move." by dylaesthetics (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda, PWP | 4K | Explicit): When Buck smashes their mouths together, Eddie forgets how to breathe. Then, he isn’t all that interested in basic human necessities such as that. He thinks, at the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy of needs instead lie Kissing Buck, Making Buck moan, and Trying not to come in my briefs. ~ OR Eddie is Buck's last.

Thankful for You by scarmaddiewrites (S8, BT Break-Up, Pre-Buddie): The one where Buck plans Thanksgiving dinner at his place and then breaks up with his boyfriend.

Take The Bitter With The Sweet by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Ravi POV, Gettign Together | 5K | Teen): No one thought to brief Ravi on the Buckley-Diaz situation when he finally joins the 118. Spoiler, it goes about as well as a car crash.

first and last by hispolestar (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda | 6K | Explicit): And suddenly, like Eddie summoned him, Buck is standing in front of his door. Eddie’s not sure if this indicates that God is real, because He saw Eddie’s quest for joy, or if it’s just Evan Buckley. It’s probably the latter.

The Only Truth by phdmama/ @phdmama (Magic AU, Getting Together | 6K | Explicit): Eddie says, “I fucking hate you.” At least, that’s what Eddie intends to say, because he means it, in that moment he absolutely means it, having just watched Buck rappel four stories down a burning building and hit the ground eight seconds ahead of the roof caving in. What comes out instead is, “I fucking love you.” Luckily, just as he had opened his mouth, the roof had, in fact, collapsed, which caused a lot of commotion and noise and whatnot, and Eddie’s words, his very strange and unintended words, get lost in the mayhem. Huh, Eddie thinks as his body moves on autopilot, racing across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. That was weird.

a night in early october by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Post-S5, Getting Together | 6K | Mature): Buck comes home from an extra shift, and Eddie makes him dinner.

sweet talk with a hint of sin by justhockey (Post-S8E6: Confessions Coda, Getting Together, PWP | 7K | Explicit): He doesn’t want to stop; he doesn’t even want to slow down. He wants this, here, for the rest of his life. And he’s past wondering if he deserves it, past thinking he isn’t good enough for a man like Buck, past being scared of the love that lives inside of him. He wants Buck selfishly, wants him greedily, and if he’s willing to give himself over to Eddie, then Eddie isn’t a selfless enough man to say no. He isn’t strong enough to deny himself such joy. “Need you,” Eddie begs. “Please, Buck. Please.”

said that i was fine, said it from my coffin by justhockey (Post-S7, BT Break-Up, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Buck leans in so close that Eddie can feel his breath on his cheek when he asks, “Hey, are you sure you’re alright?” “I’m fine,” Eddie lies. And it doesn’t matter that he feels like he’s dying. Like the version of himself that he’s always been is suddenly a stranger to him - just a mask he’d spent his entire life hiding behind, without ever even realising he was wearing it. It doesn’t matter that Eddie is…that he’s gay. Because he knows - as surely as he knows that the sun will rise again tomorrow - that the only person he has ever, and will ever, truly love is Buck. And Buck isn’t his to love.

don’t mention any other name (that doesn’t sound like mine) by bandshirts (Post-S7, Getting Together | 9K | Mature): Or, Eddie flirts with a man at a gay bar. Buck is totally normal about it. (Spoiler: he’s not.)

so only say my name (it will be held against you) by bandshirts (Post-7x04, Getting Together | 10K | Explicit): Or, Buck accidentally says Eddie’s name during sex, figures out some things about himself, and finally gets the right guy this time.

WIP

wicked dreams by hispolestar (Post-S7, BT Break-Up, Eddie Sexuality Crisis, Getting Together | 3/9 | 14K | Explicit): Eddie’s trouble starts with a dream. Well, it actually starts much earlier, when he runs into a woman who is the literal carbon copy of his dead wife. Or, alternatively it starts with a lightning bolt. Or a sniper. Or a firetruck. Or a car crash. Or, realistically, a grenade embedded in a seventh-grade teacher’s leg. It starts with blue eyes, broad shoulders and a tenacity that shocks Eddie to his very core. But right now, Eddie’s trouble starts with a dream. ~ Eddie, alone and confused, is navigating Christopher's extended stay in Texas, while also grappling with feelings he's been repressing for seven years. Buck, who misses Chris dearly, is struggling under Gerrard and his boyfriend's dismissive attitude. In the wreckage of their lives, they find each other.

I guess your mama didn't know the gift she got when she got you by disasterbuck/ @disasterbuck (Post-S7, Fake Relationship | 5/? | 10K | Teen): "He has someone else he can go to," Eddie said automatically, Buck's smiling face flashing into his mind. "Your friend Buck doesn't count," she said dismissively, and Eddie felt his hackles rising defensively. "I'm talking about a partner, Eddie. Someone who will commit to being with you and Christopher for the rest of your lives." "Buck is committed," Eddie said before he could think about what he was saying. "He's not going anywhere." There was a pause on the other end of the line. "When you say committed…" she asked hesitantly, voice trailing off. - Tired of his mom's nagging, Eddie tells a lie that spirals wildly out of control.

Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 7/? | 44K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

& such by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (81K | Teen): prompts and spec fics and codas and all the works jumbled mumbled into one place.

Chapter 20: GAY EDDIE REAL (1K)

Podfic

🔥[podfic] a night in early october by half_bakedboy/ @half-bakedboy // fic by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Post-S5, Getting Together | 30-45min | Mature): Buck comes home from an extra shift, and Eddie makes him dinner.

Re-read

woke up the girl who looked just like you, i almost said your name by rarakiplin (gmontys)/ @hoediaz (S5, Out Eddie, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): Or, five times Eddie dates a guy a little too similar to Buck, and one time he dates the real deal.

[soapssuds]

Gojo x Fem!Pregnant!Reader pt. 3

He comes back, but at what price?

pt.2

@awthem @just-lilita @aesztik @yozora7154

You fretted with your hands, your body all curled up on the couch as you waited for Nanami to bring Gojo back here, back home. You needed time to gather yourself, but both Shoko and Nanami were insistent that you get this over with. That Gojo needs to know the truth.

You were nervous and it could only worsen when you heard the front door open.

“And here I thought I would be living in a flat by myself, but no I got myself a whole house!”

His voice echoed in that excited manner he always seemed to have, it made you smile.

“I wouldn’t say by yourself, Gojo,” Nanami’s voice rings out.

“You mean…?’

You didn’t hear Nanami say anything else, but he probably nodded towards the living room where you were at (where you promised to stay and not run off somewhere). And all too quickly did you see a flash of white pop right through the entryway of the living room. His eyes directly on you, his blindfold haphazardly pulled off and hanging around his neck as he looked at you.

“Y/n-?”

His voice sort of choked out your name.

“But I thought- you- someone else-“

His mind was seemingly at work as Nanami decided to leave you both alone.

“I’m sorry, Gojo…”

His nose crinkled at his name as he walked up to you, his form seemingly towering over you as he stood in front of you. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“We’re married?”

“yes,” you managed to say, your voice small.

“You’re pregnant with my kid.”

You nodded this time, not once trusting your voice.

“And you…weren’t going to tell me…”

“We… got into a fight. You said how it was probably best that we never got together, and when you said you didn’t remember anything I just- I just thought that maybe this was a way of you not wanting this.”

You knew how Gojo was. He was quick to anger. Always lashing out. Especially when he was younger. You saw it when he was arguing with Geto, the higher ups, sometimes with you when you both were too stubborn to admit to being wrong.

Something like this… how could he not get angry?

So you prepared for it. Both mentally and physically.

You were ready for him to yell at you. Ready to be told that “you were really going to walk away because of a single fight.” But it wasn’t just a fight. At least, that’s what you thought.

And instead of being yelled at, Gojo merely fell to the couch beside you. The action made you jump as he captured you into his arms, “fuck…”

His arms pulled you close so his face could fit into the crook of your neck.

“G- gojo?”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, his breath fanning your skin, “call me Satoru or Toru like you did back in school.”

“A- alright, Toru.”

Your voice was still shaky but you could feel Gojo smile against your neck.

“Have we sat like this before?”

You looked down at him, the urge to run your fingers through his hair becoming strong, “yeah… though, lately, before the fight, you have been laying your head on my stomach.”

The moment you said those words, Gojo was already moving causing you to gasp when you felt him lay his head onto your stomach, his body slightly adjusting so he was more comfortable.

“Toru?!”

He looked up at you then, that same charming smile that you fell in love with adorning his lips, “what? I’m only doing what I used to.”

His voice was teasing, his charming smile soon turning cheeky and all too quickly it felt like you both were young and in love teenagers instead of two married adults about to have a baby.

What broke you out of your thoughts was his hands reaching up to caress your cheek.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

You leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry for what I said, all of it. The fight, I mean. It’s hazy and I don’t really remember it, but…I know I was wrong. I mean, how could I ever not want this life with you?”

[pinklemonslices]

little tiny fic, a missing scene of sorts? just after niko outsmarts the night nurse near the end of episode 7 🫶

—

“Oh, did you guys know, zombies are real,” Niko says, and Charles is sure he would be more intrigued by that if she had said it at any other time, after any other event. He’ll have to ask her about that later. For now, he settles for a little sound of astonishment.

His mind is more occupied with what she did just before that, having managed to buy him and Edwin more time on earth — together — via outsmarting a literal transdimensional being.

“Thanks,” he breathes out, shock still bouncing around inside him like a pinball. Niko might really be an angel, he thinks. There should really be a halo floating above her head, to match her inhuman kindness.

Edwin shifts beside him, “Yes, thank you, Niko.” His voice is shaky. Charles looks over, and Edwin meets his gaze. The sight alone could kill Charles a second time, if that were possible. Despite being back in his nice, unbloodied clothing, Edwin looks just as broken as he did on the stairs, with watery eyes and an expression of clear exhaustion.

He makes a face, which Charles realizes is a sorry attempt at a smile, and his heart aches. “And thank you, Charles. For coming to get me.”

Without saying anything, Charles makes a move toward Edwin, pulling him into the tightest hug he can manage. Edwin tenses for only a second, before he wraps his arms around Charles in return.

“Always, mate.”

Charles feels Edwin melt into him, like butter in a saucepan. His head finds a place to rest on Charles’s shoulder, as he releases an unsteady sigh.

And god, Charles means it when he says ‘always.’ He couldn’t live (figuratively speaking, anyway) without Edwin beside him, Edwin sighing in his arms, Edwin rolling his eyes fondly when he cracks a bad joke, Edwin solving cases with that clever brain of his. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. Maybe he would just dematerialize, or something.

He would go to Hell a million times, if he had to. He’d run up and down that staircase a million times and throw however many molotov cocktails it took to get Edwin out safe.

There’s not one thing he wouldn’t do to stay with Edwin.

Charles holds him a little tighter. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to let go. Hopefully Edwin won’t mind; it might be a little hard to solve cases this way, but they could make due.

They will have to, because Edwin is solid and real against him, and they are not in Hell anymore, and it’s all Charles ever needs. Since he died, he has not wanted Death or The Night Nurse’s Heaven. He found his thirty-four years ago, and it is greater than anything they could offer.

With mild difficulty, Charles manages to pull back just far enough to make good eye contact. Edwin’s eyes are gray and green and they hold the whole world in them; Earth, Heaven, and Hell displayed in hues fit for an angel, a holier trinity than anything the bible could ever fathom.

Edwin takes a shuddering breath, and Charles wants to cry — wants to go back in time and take Edwin’s place.

“I’m glad you guys are okay,” Crystal says, after what feels like years. Charles tears his attention away from Edwin in his arms, to look at her. He thinks he should probably feel bad for not allowing her to go to Hell with him, but it was no place for her.

No place for Edwin, either.

“Me too.”

Niko nods, “Me three.”

Charles cracks a smile. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

Edwin squeezes Charles’s arm tightly before letting go of him and taking a small, singular step backward, and Charles mourns the loss instantly.

They have time, thanks to Niko, he reminds himself. Literally forever.

He hugs Niko next.

[miaoua3]

Aa you asked me to say it here, can you make a “husband svt reactions to their wives fighting with them” pls☺️☺️ tysm

hii! sure i can, sorry i made you wait for so long, it's been a few hectic days :((

Seventeen And How They Would React To You Two Fighting

scoups: he will try his best to remain calm and collected, but sometimes even he loses his self control and ends up yelling back at you, which results in a screaming match between you two. he isn’t yelling so much because he’s mad, but rather because he feels like you aren’t hearing him out and because he feels like the fight isn’t going anywhere. in the heat of the moment he might unintentionally say something very hurtful to you. but the moment he sees tears falling down your cheeks, he’s hugging you closely to his chest, so tight that you can only breathe in his smell. will probably tear up himself, all while apologising to you. in his deep voice you will hear him say in your ear “i’m so sorry baby, i didn’t mean it, i’m an idiot, don’t cry because of me, i’m not worth your tears, sweetheart”

jeonghan: i can see him either trying to calmly talk it out or getting so defensive that he becomes emotionally unavailable for that moment, scoffing and rolling his eyes at almost anything you say to him. it’s just frustrating how you both can see what he means and how you aren’t to just let it go, even after he went in detail explaining how he was right and you were wrong. will probably respond only with sarcasm, scoffing he will say “yeah you would know a thing or two about that wouldn’t you”. he doesn’t mean to turn that cruel, but the whole situation is just so frustrating to him that he doesn’t know what to do anymore, plus you putting the blame on him makes him become so defensive that naturally he starts responding with cruel and mean words. but the moment he sees your shoulders shaking, he’s abandoning both his pride and anger, and is instead running to you, your face immediately being developed in his big and warm hands. will mumble something like “didn’t mean to make you cry pretty girl, i’m sorry, i don’t even know what the fight is about anymore. forgive me?”

joshua: i honest to god can’t see this man getting so angry at you to the point that it would make you cry, he’s always so gentle with you and your heart i just can’t realistically see it happening. he would try to make his point come across, if a bit forcefully but it wouldn’t escalate (at least not from his side) beyond that. if he sees that the fight is leading nowhere, he would suggest taking a few minutes for yourselves, before making you both sit down on a couch and talking it out, speaking in turns. you would still end up crying but not because of him yelling at you, but because at some point his own eyes would well up with tears, making you realise just how stupid both of you are. the moment he sees you crying, he’s pulling you onto his lap, hugging you so tightly to his chest, his own tears hitting the skin of your neck where he’s hiding his face. eventually, you two would end up falling asleep like that, the fight forgiven and forgotten from both sides

jun: oh this sweet baby would actually be the one to end up crying please never raise your voice at him. the fight would start as normal as fights can be, but the moment he sees you losing it and you raising your voice at him, it’s done. he will try to respond in a trembling voice, his hands shaking next to his body out of fear. the fear wouldn’t be because he’s afraid of you, like that you would do something to him, because he knows you would never. no, his voice would shake out of fear that this is it for the two of you, that he has officially fucked it all up and that you will break up with him. he would stress himself out so much he will eventually just break down, soft cries escaping his plush lips. the moment you see it, you’re running to him, hugging him close to you and repeating your apology like a mantra. the most heartbreaking thing, the thing that will make you cry too, will be hearing his broken voice whisper “please don’t leave me” in your ear🥺 protect jun at all costs my baby i miss him sm

hoshi: oh fighting with this man would give me a headache, genuinely, i would just leave and/or apologise just to end it lmao. not only would he respond kind of rudely, scoffing at every remark he doesn’t agree with, he would also yell over you, trying to make his reasons be heard loud and clear. what he doesn’t realise is just how much this hurts you, how unheard and silenced you feel, with him just yelling and yelling. his words wouldn’t be necessarily cruel, but he might slip in some truth that cut deeper than he thinks it would. the moment that he sees you running to the bathroom, tears staining your cheeks, he would feel his mouth dry up. after giving you a few minutes, he would just sit in front of the bathroom door, softly apologising and asking if he can give you a hug. just hearing your soft cries echo off the tiled walls of the bathroom would break his heart so much, he himself would let a few tears slip out.

wonwoo: i genuinely can’t really tell how he would react in a fight with his significant other. he definitely doesn’t seem like the type to yell at you, not would he be a wild one like hoshi is. i think the most realistic scenario is him just repeating his point over and over again, slowly getting more and more frustrated, sighing and massaging his temples in an effort not to lose it. at one point he would be so fed up with it, he would either say “im not talking to you anymore”, ignoring everything you say after that and also you in general, just sitting down and either staring at something or being on his phone, or he would just get his keys and walk out while saying “i can’t do this anymore now, im going for a walk, we will talk more later”. the walk would give him the space to think about your fight again with a calm mind, he would end up understanding your points and what your thought process is. this would help him out so when he gets back, he would talk it out gently with you, holding your hands on his lap, softly brushing his thumbs against the back of your hand. after coming to a mutual agreement, he would hug you close to him, kissing your forehead softly as an apology

woozi: i think it would take jihoon genuinely a lot to get him truly pissed off, and if it gets to that point, expect his words to cut so deep, you two might never come back to the point you once were. he would try to be reasonable in the beginning, talking as calmly as he possibly can, trying really hard to make you see his point of you. but eventually, as you start losing it, so will he. he won’t ever raise his voice at you, there’s no need for something like that- especially because his words will be venomous enough that it will hurt much more than him raising his voice at you ever would. he would say such horrible things because it’s his defensive mechanism, he wouldn’t realise just how hurtful they truly are until he sees you running out of the house, crying so much, you don’t even think about taking your coat. he will stay behind for a minute, thinking about what he said before he’s running after you too. after the most stressful 20 minutes, when he finds you on a bench in a park, he will be getting on his knees to beg for your forgiveness, the rarity that are his tears would make their appearance. his voice would tremble while saying “you have no reason to but please forgive me. i can’t live without you, you are everything i have ever dreamed of and im taking it for granted. please forgive me so i can make up to you and treat you like you should be treated”

minghao: the most rational one out of all of them, so soft spoken and kind to you even during a stressful situation like a fight. he wouldn’t even get it to the point where you might completely lose it, the moment he sees that your anger is about to boil over, he takes your hands in his and puts one of your hands on his chest, where his heart is. while gently holding the eye contact, he would say “my love. i understand where you’re coming from, and although i don’t really agree with what you are saying, i understand where you are coming from. but i feel like this fight isn’t going anywhere. can we sit down and talk it out? find a middle ground that both of us can stand on? i just think otherwise we won’t stop fighting for a while-we need to agree on this one way or another.” 30 minutes later, the fight is over, the middle ground has been found, the tea has been brewed, and cuddles have been shared. i just can’t imagine him reacting any differently in this type of situation- the most extreme scenario would be him going to a room alone to calm down for a few minutes before coming back to you to make up.

mingyu: i feel like this one would try to play victim big time every time and it would personally piss me off lmao. he genuinely doesn’t understand how you think that this is his fault and why you’re still fighting him. like it genuinely baffles him that you aren’t seeing your own faults in this situation. would definitely scoff at every other sentence that lives your mouth, saying things like “oh so this is my fault too? so it’s everything that isn’t according to your standards my fault now? if im so bad, why are you even with me?” at some point you will start crying out of frustration for being with such a dumbass lmao. the moment he sees your tears however, every word dies before it gets the chance to leave his mouth. when you turn away from him, he will gently tug on the hem of your shirt before mumbling “im sorry. i wasn’t thinking clearly and was very rude to you by not responding to you properly.” after a few seconds he will shyly ask “can i hug you? please? im so exhausted because of this fight and… i miss you”. after a few millions of kisses all is well

dk: oh this baby, he would NEVER let the fight get so far as for you to end up crying because of him. you two will go back and forth for a while, but the moment he sees you getting annoyed, he’s rushing to you, your hands teleporting themselves into his, his gentle eyes looking at you while saying “my love please don’t get mad. im sorry, i didn’t mean to push you this far, please forgive me.” and just like that it would be over. this is of course in case that you two just misunderstood each other. if you did something very hurtful to him however, expect him to yell at you in the heat of a moment, before ignoring you for the next two to three days. he would avoid you at all cost, although you will still find your morning coffee ready for you and the dinner heated up for you, but he won’t talk to you, still mad at you for what you did. that is, until one night you corner him in the kitchen and hug him from behind, your soft voice breaking as you utter the words “im sorry”. the feeling of longing and hurt and anger will finally subdue enough for him to return your hug, saying “ im sorry too.” after a few second he would add “im still mad though. i want cuddles and kisses tomorrow, all day, the whole day, as an apology” because he wouldn’t be our seokminnie if he didn’t add something like that.

seungkwan: oh god may god help you if your fight with seungkwan ever turns very serious, it will be so loud and painful and illogical it will drive you mad. we all know that our diva is a bit sassy, but once the sassiness turns to annoyance and anger oh you will get it in the neck. at some point the initial cause for the fight would be forgotten by both of you, just throwing insults at each other, trying to hurt the other more than it hurts you. the fight would get so messy you would just walk out, slamming the door behind you. after an hour or two, you will be welcomed with seungkwan jumping off the couch, his eyes bloodshot, yet again yelling at you “where the hell have you been?!” before speed walking to you. the moment he’s within the arms reach, he’s pulling you to his chest, so tightly it feels like he’s tying you to himself. in a most broken whisper, he will shakily exhale “i was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again…please…i thought- i-i thought that you left me…” cue more tears from the both of you

vernon: i know that a lot of people deem vernon to be clueless and stoic and somewhat emotionless, but i really don’t think that’s the case. vernon is one of the most mature ones out of all the other boys, he’s so emotionally intelligent and careful with his words. and he can definitely get angry if something rubs him the wrong way. although he wouldn’t yell at you, his frustration would be very visible due to the frown caressing his face and also with how animatedly he’s moving his hands. and because he’s a bit thick headed, i feel like he would repeat his points over and over again in an effort to make you understand what he means, even when they aren’t making any sense or aren’t really that relevant to the argument. eventually he will just walk into the other room to calm down, saying “i can’t do this anymore right now, we will talk later”. once he’s calmed down, he will go over both your pointe, finally hearing you out, but also making you understand what he meant more clearly. over all, arguments with vernon would never last that long because he wouldn’t let them last that long. once the movie is turned on and you are all cuddled up into his side, all so forgiven and forgotten

dino: see, dino is one of the only ones who i can’t really tell how he would act during an argument. while generally more on the quieter side, i can see him lashing out a bit once he has reached his limit, but i feel like he would immediately feel guilty about it and would apologise to you for saying it that way. he would probably feel a bit repressed, thinking you don’t care about what he thinks, which would make him yell out “you never hear out what i have to say! is that hard for you to just listen to what i say?” the further it escalates, the worse he’s going to feel, until eventually he inevitably starts crying. feeling a bit embarrassed, he will just walk out and lock himself in the bathroom for the next few hours. channie is so sensitive, that your words always get to him, making him overthink about everything-is he a bad boyfriend? does he even deserve to be with someone as amazing as you? were you maybe right, was he in the wrong after all? he would spiral so much that you will have to talk him into joining you outside to talk about the fight and to make up. cue more tears from him, he would feel so ashamed and embarrassed, he would be looking down at his lap the entire time until you put a finger under his chin and raise his face so you can kiss his cheek as an apology. after the apologies are said, he will need you to hug him for the next several hours, just holding him like a little child until he feels better about both the situation and himself.

[asgardianechoes]

Spilled Secrets

Loki x Reader Fluff

Summary: You secretly like Loki, but you’re kind of upset he doesn’t know… until he finds out.  

Word Count: 3.2k

It wasn’t hard to fall for him. Humor, charm, high cheekbones… he has it all. From his silver tongue to his raven hair, you adored every aspect. Despite his misdeeds, he was undeniably hot. He held himself royally, always maintaining an air of nobility. One meeting with him had you hooked on him, unable to let go or think of anything else.

‘He lives free rent in my mind’, you told Natasha one day in the living room of the Avengers Headquarters. Apart from Pepper, she and Wanda were the only ones you could do Girl Talk with. ‘I don’t know how to tell him.’

She looked at you sympathetically, taking your hand in her own. She had known of your crush since the day you started liking him. The radio played in the background, informing of some good weather, but neither of you noticed, both too concentrated on your current dilemma. Lovesickness had never been a significant issue to you before… until he came along.

‘He stole my heart… and yet he acts oblivious,’ you ranted on. Natasha looked up, smiling softly. She stroked your hand with one finger absent-mindedly as she listened intently.

‘He’ll get there. Or maybe,’ a small smirk tugged at her lips as she looked back up at you, ‘he already knows; he might just be toying with you just to see how long you’d last.’

You nudged her with your hand, a faint red hue coming over your face. He wouldn’t… right?

‘I mean-’, she pressed on, ‘it’s a very typical thing of him to do, don’t you think?’ She scooted closer to you, putting a hand on your back soothingly. ‘Playing with others�� feelings… I honestly don’t think it would take him that long to figure out that you like him. It’s really obvious.’

‘You’re not helping,’ you replied, looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to locate him through the walls. Nevertheless, you smiled softly at her teasing. She was always there for your small talks. After a while, you lowered your gaze back to your lap, reality sinking in and you felt the joy leaving you.

‘But what if he doesn’t? What if he genuinely doesn’t know?’ you mumbled in front of you, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. Once again, tears threatened to fall as you buried your face in them, softly mumbling to yourself. The fabric of your pants absorbed the salty droplets, leaving a dark spot there. You were audibly sniffing now. You felt her hand move up and down your back again, her words only muffled sounds. At some point she led you back to your room, leaving you to yourself for the rest of the night.

The next day you went over to the library. The Avengers had quite a big one, it filled the entire floor. Rows upon rows of shelves lined the walls and the spaces in between, the scent of paper floating in the air. You stopped at the sign that indicated where the romance-fiction stories were. If only my life was as nice as one of those, you thought, pulling a roman out of the shelf and reading the back of it intently. If only I could live in a life like that.

Sitting down at the table, you put down the book you’d taken out. Not gonna lie, you were in no interest in reading it. There was no need for you to get jealous over another made-up story. To pass time, you grabbed a scrap piece of paper and started doodling. Only the lines that the lead left only spelled one word, over and over again: Loki. You wrote his name all over the place, sideways, in cursive, in bold letters. Maybe it was because you were so concentrated that you didn’t hear the library door opening.

‘Oh, I see that I’m not the only one in need of something to do,’ a voice said, startling you. You quickly covered the scribbled paper with another blank sheet, looking over your shoulder. Thor was standing there with a load of books in his arms.

‘My dear brother decided to make me run errands,’ he explained cheerfully, certainly not getting the nervousness etched in your face. You nodded, looking down. What you would do to make Loki make you run his errands. ‘You alright?’ His voice brought you back to reality.

‘What? Oh. Yeah, I’m alright. Just… in need of something to do, like you said,’ you managed a small smile that was somewhat realistic. He just smiled and continued putting books back on shelves. Your eyes followed every single book as he put them back. Loki held these maybe even moments ago, you thought. If only I were a book he’d like to read.

Sometime later, he looked over to you again and asked: ‘Are you working on anything? Because that paper tells me you aren’t doing what you want to do.’ You picked up the two pieces of paper and replied a little too fast: ‘Oh, yeah, I just have to write something for Stark, nothing big.’ You held the papers a little more firmly in your hand. When he asked to proofread it, you declined immediately. Mumbling something about not being done, you put them back down, bending over it and pretending you were thinking about what to write. Shrugging, Thor left, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. But your relief didn’t last long; a few moments later, another person came in, and this time it was none other than the god of mischief himself. Strutting through the rows, you heard him pulling books out and putting them back in, as if none of the ones he found were worth his attention. Eventually he spoke up.

‘Why the tenseness? Is it your time of the month?’ he asked coyly. He turned the corner and looked at you. Your gaze dropped almost instantly to the ground. ‘No, I’m just…,’ you said, picking your papers up again, ‘just a little tired. Couldn’t sleep.’

His eyebrows raised as he looked away to the opposite bookshelf. ‘Is that so…?’ he mumbled, more to himself than to you, ‘hmm.’ You couldn’t tell if he knew you were lying or not but he sure seemed to deem you amusing. After a small pause he continued. ‘I would’ve thought someone like you would know that lying to me is futile.’

You froze. Of course you knew that, but how could you ever tell him the truth of your stiffness? He’s the prince of Asgard, rightful king of Jotunheim, a regal character, not some random guy you can just find on the streets. ‘Yes, of course. How could I not know that?’

He narrowed his eyes, his signature smirk widening. He walks up to you, his eyes boring into yours. His gaze fell upon the papers you held in your arms, a questioning look crossing his face.

‘Just… just a report I’m supposed to write,’ you lied for the second time, and he didn’t let that go unnoticed. He tilts his head, his eyes asking are you really going to do this? Because there won’t be a nice ending if this continues. He doesn’t say anything about it though, just nods slyly and walks away.

He pulls a further book of the shelf, inspecting it. Seemingly satisfied, he scanned it and left the library, letting the emptiness envelop you. You uncovered the paper filled with his name, unshed tears threatening to fall. Will he ever know…? Will he ever acknowledge my feelings for him?

You return to your room afterwards, attempting to bury your feelings down a deep grave. You sulked until night fell upon the busy city. Deciding to take a shower, you went to get some fresh clothes for the night. Soon enough, warm water was splattering down your body, warming your sore and mentally broken body.

When you came back out of the shower and entered your living room again, you found an unexpected guest. Loki was sitting in your armchair, reading a magazine. His eyes darted to you the moment you stepped into the chamber. You fumbled with your nightshirt pockets, unsure of what to do.

‘What, uh, brings you to my place at this hour?’ you tried, testing the waters. He doesn’t reply, instead he slowly puts the magazine down, his eyes never leaving yours. He shortens the distance between you, every step making your heart beat faster. When he finally stopped around a foot away from you, you looked down, unable to look at him properly. He was too much, too dazzling for your poor, tragic eyes.

‘I think we both know why I’m here,’ he says, tilting his head, eyes boring into yours. You couldn’t breathe, your breath running short. His aura surrounded you like a cage, keeping you trapped in his gaze. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ you replied quietly to the floor. He lifted your chin and forced you to look him in the eye, his face inches from yours. ‘Do not lie, little minx. I know what your problem is. You suffer from lovesickness. There’s a man you love so dearly that you can’t stop thinking about him.’

You shoved him away the moment these words left his mouth. You couldn’t, couldn’t stand his breath on your face, couldn’t stand how close he was to you. ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ you said, using indifference to cover up your shaking voice, ‘I do suffer from that. What has that got to do with you coming over?’

He scoffed softly, ‘Oh, darling, that has everything to do about me coming over. I imagine I can relieve you of your… dilemma.’ Your heart skipped a beat, hoping he didn’t mean what you thought he meant. You just shook your head, looking away. ‘You wouldn’t understand…’ you said, hoping he’d stop clawing at your secrets. But he smiled, nodding slightly and does the utter opposite of what you hoped. ‘Oh really? Because I have a very different opinion about that.’

Please leave, you thought as he said this, praying to the gods, please stop killing me like this… another minute with you will break me. But his next words proved that your prayers were ignored.

‘I’m the lucky guy.’

I’m the lucky guy.

These words seemed to echo in your head. So he knew. He knew about your helpless case. And he knew he was at the center of it. All this time. Or maybe just since today. But who cares. He knows. And your secret’s spilled. In a terrifying way.   

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You closed it again, looking anywhere but at him. In the end you settled with staring at his knees, which are pretty much where your eyes land when you look down. You were freaking out, your heart hammering in your chest. You needed to be alone. Right. Freaking. Now.

‘You know what?’ you said, your voice quivering, ‘I’m going to bed.’ You turn around and began marching with determination towards your bedroom door. Loki seemed slightly stunned, catching your shoulder just in time and called after you with worry in his tone: ‘Where are you going? You shouldn’t just leave me hanging, we should – need – to talk about this-‘

‘No, we won’t,’ you said, refusing to turn around and face him. Gods, if you stayed any longer tears would fall. ‘We shouldn’t, because we’re not-‘ she broke off, the words lost in her throat. Going to work out well was what she wanted to say, but she just couldn’t – wouldn’t – bring these words over her lips. Instead, she shook her head again and marched further away. Your sanctuary was so close… so close… But his next words brought you to a halt again.

‘Jumping to conclusions won’t help, Y/n,’ he said with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Due to her lack of response, he pressed further, ‘Is that why you never tried to communicate with me? Why you so desperately avoided my presence? Because you feared that no matter what you did, the worse-case scenario would always happen? Talk to me, Y/n.’ His words hung in the air, thickening it. Tears welled up in her eyes, her mind reflecting on all the break-up and mocking scenarios her imagination had come up with. She whipped around, trying to keep her tears from falling.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea what it feels like. You have-‘ she broke off again, a shuddering breath replacing the words she was about to say. You have no reason to love me. Not a single one. Tears began to fall as this thought formed in your head. The same one that brought you to tears every time. Every. Damn. Time.

He stayed silent, staring at the thin streams flowing down your face. Unable to bear the silence, you ran back to your room, slamming the door behind you. The moment it fell into place, the streams on your cheeks became rivers, and soon enough you were a sobbing mess on the floor. You were sure Loki could hear them through the door, but at that moment you didn’t care. He had no reason to love you, to care about you, or to even be here, in your living room, standing, stunned, in front of your bedroom door.

Loki felt a sudden pang of sadness when he heard your sobs. Looking down and deciding that it’s a bad time, he leaves, shutting your door quietly.

You didn’t remember how long you’d sat there, crying, on the floor. The only thing you do remember that is that at some point, you dragged yourself into bed and cried yourself to sleep. The next morning came in the blink of an eye, the bright sunlight waking you up. For a split second everything was fine. No worries, no problems, no nothing. But then it all came back to you and the feeling of eternal bliss was stripped from you faster than you wanted it to be.

As you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, you saw something that certainly wasn’t there the night before. A small folded card was propped up against your brush on your nightstand, and your heart skipped a beat when you recognised Loki’s smooth handwriting. There was only one word on the cover: your name. Picking it up like a grenade, you opened it, expecting to see something that went along the lines of ‘I’m sorry, that’ll never happen again,’ but only found one line of words inside it.

‘Come over to my room.’

You blinked.

Come over to my room.

You read through that line a good five times before the meaning got into your brain, although the cogs in your head were still trying to sort this out. Loki – like, God of mischief and destroyer of New York Loki – was inviting you to enter his private chambers? Was this a joke? Was he trying to hype you up just to break you back down?

As much as you’d like to deny it, that order was a lot more appealing than it should be. You desperately wanted to see him again, even if it meant you could be broken. So after a moment of internal debating, you concluded that you will go pay him a visit, and will see what the hell he wants. Putting on some clothes, you set off to his room.

You half expected him to swing the door open and yank you inside when you knocked, but instead some green light shimmered and formed the words: Door is unlocked. Starting to get creepy now, you thought, gathering up your courage and pushing the door open.

The moment you stepped a foot into his room, a hand grabbed your waist and spun you around. Next moment you felt soft lips pressed against yours. Your breath hitched when you figured it was Loki’s. You didn’t have time to register what was going on, everything was happening so fast. So you did the one thing you could do: melt into his touch.

Once the shock has subsided, it felt a lot better than what you expected in your fantasies. His lips were so soft, so loving as they kissed you, sweetly asking for you to open your mouth. His tongue delved into it, tangling itself with yours, licking and flicking and who knows what tricks.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away, his blue eyes gazing into yours. You blushed, looking at the floor, suddenly realising what you two just did. Stumbling over your own words, you said: ‘That was… umm…’

He hummed in response, his hands never leaving your waistline. Your face must’ve been as red as a tomato when you spoke up again. ‘Nice of you…’

He put on a mock hurt look. Pulling you closer, he nuzzled in the crook of your neck. ‘Is that all? After this wonderous surprise I’ve prepared that bested all other ones?’

You shrugged, unable to speak. He was killing you, like before… but this time in a sweet way. You mumbled something about being ‘sorry for last night’, but he shushed you almost immediately.

‘There’s no need for that,’ he said, patting your head, ‘No need to be sorry. I know I went a little to sudden.’

He pulled back to look at you. His eyes searched your body, as if trying to print it into his head. Your arms creeped up his neck, wrapping themselves securely around it. You stared as he breathed heavily into your face, a scent of mint filling your nose.

‘Did you like, eat a mint this morning?’ you asked shyly. He chuckled, swinging you into his arms, causing you to instinctively cling onto him. You gave him an angry look, burying your face in his neck. ‘Just for you, my love.’ You were suddenly happy he couldn’t see your face. He could probably feel the heat radiating off it, though.

‘So… are we a thing now?’ he asked, walking towards the couch and sitting down, you now in his lap. ‘Or what do you Midgardians call it… a couple?’ You nodded in agreement, making yourself comfortable in his arms. He absent-mindedly stroked your hair, admiring the way it shimmers slightly in the dim light.

‘For how long did you know?’ you asked him, grabbing his free hand and playing with it like a toddler. He thought for a moment, then said: ‘Most likely since a month ago. I was originally waiting for you to make the first move, but… you seemed too nervous to. That’s why I decided to come to your room last night.’

You gaped as he said that. A freaking month. No, we’re not talking about a week or two, he’s known for a MONTH. You’ve only crushed on him for like what, two months? He smirked as he saw your expression. ‘You kept looking at me now and then. And you always freaked out when you were within three meters of me.’

You shoved him playfully, pulling his hand up so it was right over your heart. You leaned into his touch, and for the first time since hours, you were glad he made the first move.

Hope y'all enjoyed it!!!

(Guys it's my first official tumblr storyyyyyy)

Tagging: @vbecker10 @mischiefmaker615 @simplyholl

Tell me if you want to be part of my taglist!

[matchadobo]

Hi! Can I request "you act like a brat all day and you expect me to do nothing about it?" but with the entire Kid Pirates 🥵🥵🥵

Thank you so much! I love how you write Kid 💝

KIDD, KILLER, HEAT, WIRE; brat

🌷matchadobo's 500 followers event🌷

wc: 3161

dialogue: "you act like a brat all day and you expect us to do nothing about it?"

warning/s: sooo nsfw🔞 this is the filthiest thing i've ever written up to this day! 🥵, fem reader, 5some (kidd, killer, heat, wire, reader), idk if this is considered dubcon?, implied established, no plot really just p0rn, rough seggs, fingering, cunnilingus, flame/fire play?, voyeurism

note: hi anon! i hope you mean just the main gang of kidd pirates? i CANNOT for the life of me construct a smut with an entire pirate group omg 😳, this is my first time creating smut for more than three people i hope i did it justice >__<

if there's one thing that pushes kidd to his limits, especially when it comes to you, it's his jealousy. it's not that he's not secured enough about your loyalty with him, it's the way you act like nothing is going on between the both of you. frankly, the five of you.

killer, heat, and wire were no strangers to this feeling either. they felt indignant as you sat with a couple of dudes, blatantly mingling and flirting with them. although there was nothing further than a friendly interaction with the foreign batch of men in the pub, laughing at their jokes and brushing arms and hands with them from time to time pissed off your crewmates. most of all kidd, who's gone down way more than a couple of barrels of rum for someone who says he'll just have a drink.

"oi, slow down, captain. thought we'll resupply today." heat nudged kidd, a dry laugh as he looked at his unfazed friend. his eyes boring holes through you.

"bout that, think we have to postpone that. let's stay in 'ere for another day for tomorrow." he finally placed the mug down, wiping off the remnants of liquid on his lips with the back of his palm.

"postpone? have we got other plans?" killer asked, turning to kidd who turned stood up and padded off his pants.

"her." wire immediately caught up, following after kidd who walked undeterred towards your table. they were from the bar and you were sat on some table across somewhere. they think it's almost intentional at this point that they have a full view of this. if you're trying to rile them up, you've suceeded.

though you're not sure if it ends good for you, with the way each of them are glaring at you when they stood before your table. their eyes raising goosebumps on your skin making your throat run dry.

"we got any problems, gentlemen?" the foreign men around you initiated, referring to kidd and his men looming over you.

"they're my crewmates." you introduced with distinterest, pissed that they're gonna ruin a moment for you because you know what those looks mean. "you know what? i think i should get going, thanks for the drinks." you smiled and bid goodbye to them, expression faltering as you met kidd's eyes.

"hey," one of them had a hold of your arm and kidd and the others almost whipped out their weapons to slash that guy's arm because of his motherfucking audacity. "you sure you're all good?"

you nodded with a smile, a pained one now that it got cut short. you later asked kidd and the others to come with you outside.

"what is it? do we have to go now?" you crossed your arms, sighing and looking at each of these hulking men.

"still don't get it do you?" kidd shifted in his foot, chuckling soullessly.

"guess we oughta remind it to 'er again, captain." wire butted in, putting an arm around you. you glared at him as you looked up, face contorted as you knitted your eyebrows in cofusion.

"what? guys? am i missing somethi- hey! kidd! put me down!" kidd swept you off your feet, he carried you on his shoulder like you weigh nothing. you drummed on his back while muttering out curses on his way back to the ship.

there was always this tension around the five of you, particularly on your end and it's towards theirs. it's begging to be addressed. it's so precarious and it stifles you to your very core. so much so that the mere sight of them looming around you right now drives you nuts and the fear shudders down your thighs. you're wet as hell.

he placed you down the couch on his room, wire sat on one side while heat on the other. killer stood not far from where you were, leaning his bum on the furniture with his arms crossed on kidd's dresser beside the couch; keen on observing. while kidd paced before you in a slow manner, he did it in a way that instigated fear in you for what might be in store for you.

"strip."

it was an order. eyes right at you as he stopped to face you with his arms crossed. kidd's gaze was dark amidsts his bright yellow irises, it was demeaning and you felt your chest tighten.

"what? kidd, what the hell?"

"you heard him, name." killer spoke and it somewhat made the air thicker because he's usually quiet. when it came out of him, it feels more stern that the acid in your stomach starts crawling up your throat. "you've been a brat all day and you expect us to do nothing about it?"

killer's blue eyes felt deadly behind his mask. despite being covered, you can feel the holes boring through you as he kept his voice in the same tone yet with a foreboding volume.

but shit. you wanted to have some fun and meet new people, and if things work see how things will go from there. but you didn't realize that it'd be a problem with them. after all, no strings attached right? but it's attention you really wanted and they couldn't give it to you because they were too into their guy shit. so you got annoyed at them and opted to find some other people to satisfy your needs. apparently they're too busy talking about how one metal differs from the other to spare you some sort of affection.

"y'all weren't even batting me an eye, for fuck's sake." you crossed your arms, gazing to the window with crashing waves. avoiding eye contact at all costs, but you know damn well they had all their eyes on you. "didn't think the lot of you would care if i mess around a little bit. and now you're asking me to fuck you guys? hah."

"so you missed us, that it?" kidd raised a brow, grinning at the realization that you wanted them again.

"aaaw, that stings, name. you're cruel." heat mumbled, his inked hands precarious on your thigh. "think you can be a doll and make it up to us?"

heat and killer were always the sweet ones, wire and kidd are the most vicious; during sex and well, your relationship. the former would always be some sort of your best friend and would be kind enough to think about you than their own pleasures during sex. but the latter will always be on their mission to fuck you up in the most demeaning way possible, they're never fucking kind. they always teased and fucked with you, be a little shit around you and annoy you in the worst ways possible. and during sex, their benevolence isn't to be expected. they'd always finish with you in the filthiest way possible that you wouldn't even remember your name right.

which explains why wire was the first to catch your lips and bury his tongue down your throat. he initally had his arm around you but when you wouldn't stop bitching about them letting you go, he'd had enough and ought to just shut you up in the best way he thinks he can. you squrimed under his lips, eyes shut tight. he held your wrist with one hand while the other settled in pushing the back of your neck to his. you pulled away by force, staring up at him as he donned a pompous smirk and eager eyes.

"oh? what's wrong, name? thought you wanted attention?"

"fuck off, wire. fucking get off."

"and hey, for the third time, you heard the captain. otherwise we'd rip off your favorite dress."

you rolled your eyes with a deep blush on your cheeks. whatever, this'll be quick. you struggled to reach behind you the zipper that goes way down the bottom of your spine. heat chuckled, placing his hand over yours so he could take over. he gave your shoulder a dry peck before helping you out of your dress.

killer took matters into his own hands and sauntered towards you, holding your jaw with one arm as he discarded his helmet with the other. he ran his thumb across your cheek, smiling as he looked into your eyes down to your naked frame. like a kitten, you nuzzled your face deep on his calloused palms. he unzipped his pants while keeping his grip on you, he soon held of one of your hands and guide it down his groin where his painfully hard boner is begging to be released.

"handle it for me, yeah?" he rubbed circles on your cheekbones, soon brushing your hair out of your face as he combed through your locks. "i'll let it slide this time if you do well, dove."

and it shocked you to your very core when killer was quick to push himself so far down your throat when you had just put his length in your mouth. your tears fell as his head touched the back of your throat forcefully. you had to grab a hold of his hips, nails digging by the sides of his pelvis. you whined with your mouth full, he was too kind to pull away and give you a break.

you panted, drool and bubbles on your mouth dripping as it coated your chin. killer grimaced, rubbed his length on your cheeks and teased his head on your numbing lips.

"'s wrong? can't fuckin' take killer when he's not bein' nice?!" kidd grinned behind him, wrapping his hand around your throat to spit in your mouth. "you know damn well you're not gettin' off this easy. now, suck it." kidd fisted your hair, letting killer fuck your mouth the way he pleases with kidd in control.

heat and wire were palming themselves in their pants, the feel of your bare body next to them is enough to render their cocks hard. they yearned to touch you, explore your body and pleasure you the way you're pleasuring killer.

there was a good while where killer's grunts and the gurgles and gags of your throat filled the room. you were crying not from pain but from the blond's intense pace. you had never seen him this eager and rough, maybe you really did piss him off that's why he had to take it out on you. but soon enough, killer came down your throat, taking a long while to keep his cock inside you while you drink up every bit of his release.

your chest heaved as you sat on the couch, head hanging loosely from the backrest. dizzy as you try and recover from a mouthful of killer's load.

you turned to wire who touched you a little to precariously down to your soaked panties. you hear a lowly chuckle vibrate from his chest, amused at your state. he palmed you through your panties, while the other had wrapped around your throat. you placed a hand over his arm, as if begging to give you a break and recover. but he just grinned and his fingers became faster. the grip around your throat became tighter.

heat was just reveling in the feel of your skin and rubbed circles back and forth close to your inner thigh. he placed your thigh above his so you can open up more for the brunette.

kidd got behind you, pressing your cheek to his crotch, his head peeking out of his underwear. you looked up at him with glassy eyes, but of course he wouldn't care. you fucked up that bad.

killer was still at high from earlier, but he stroked his cock at the sight of his friends fucking you up. it got him off as you try and take all of kidd in behind you while quirming as wire got his fingers buried deep in you.

"so overstimulated already and we haven't even gotten to the best part?" wire taunted you as he stared down at your half-lidded eyes, his thumb teasing your clit.

they all laughed a little when you tried your best to curse out a muffled 'fuck you' as you struggled with kidd abusing your mouth. the redhead had a hand around your throat to keep your head bent backwards, cum spilling down your cheeks mixed with the tears in your eyes from gagging to much. he really doesn't know when to stop, this man.

and when kidd was finally done with you, killer held your head delicately on his toned stomach, supporting it as you fell weak. he fetched a towel and wiped off the filth on your face, placing a kiss down your ear afterward.

but wire wasn't done with you yet, he was so keen on curling his long fingers in you that you continue to lose all sense with your eyes rolling at the back of your head. "f-fuck, wire. please..!" you whined, gripping his arm and trying to stop him. but really it felt good.

"please what? let you cum? go faster? stop? what is it, angel?" he raised a brow, cunning as he acted coy. and you honestly didn't know what to answer, so you just threw your head back and scratched at his arm so hard it left a scar.

"ah you're way too mean to name, wire. come on, i still haven't gotten my turn yet." heat jumped in, stroking your hair as he brushed the hairs sticking on your forehead out of your face.

"well, you heard him, name. what do you say we finish up, hm?" his pace went so fast you thought you were going to die, you felt your saliva caught in your throat and you couldn't mumble your words right. it was all slurring from here on out.

but your throbbing cunt wasn't even spared by heat, who was starving the moment he helped you out of your clothes. your thighs rested on his shoulder while kidd took the mint-haired's former place beside you, snaking an arm around your waist as he played with your tits from behind while his mechanical arm had a firm grip around your throat.

kidd always had a penchant in choking you, along with the filthy little praises he's whispering at you. he adored how you looked at him with so much indignance, almost wanting to kill him but you can't. cuz what he's doing feels good. the constriction around your throat as he degrades you and tells you how much of a little whore you are.

"seems you're enjoyin' your punishment a little too much, huh? matter of fact this ain't even punishin', aye? it feels so good being treated like the slut you are, doesn't it?" he growled in your ear, his guttural whispers sends shivers down your spine and it doesn't help that heat's way too busy devouring you down there.

by this time, you were feeling so drunk and you're incapable of any sound other than sinful slurs and moans. you whined against kidd's frame, crying as he peppered your face with his crimson-stained lips.

heat had this habit to use 10% of his firepower to warm up his mouth for you, it tickles and it feels amazing. he first teased a tiny bit of flame between your chest, his lips precarious on your skin, so close yet he doesn't touch it. he took a peak at you through his dark eyes, his pants growing tight as he saw you squirming at his actions, looking down at him with begging eyes.

he trailed his flames down your belly button, tickling a giggle out of you as your stomach heaved. soon and it reached your cunt, which was gaping and clenching at the eagerness of heat's stimulation. he wasted no time sucking you up, interspersing his warmth in your soaking folds. it was ecstatic and you didn't know what to do with yourself.

you couldn't even reach down to fist his mint locks because kidd and wire had you restrained. all you could do was drool from moaning too much, the overstimulation driving you nuts.

you grunted, writhing in pain and pleasure as that same warmth pooled in your stomach once more. you had lost track of the number of times you came. it was starting to feel numb and you had lost all sanity to even think about how filthy you look right now, sitting down the damp fabric of kidd's couch soaked with your juices.

it tickles when heat eats you out, so you were wriggling in your seat as he refused to breathe out and continued suffocating himself with your cunt. you mumbled curses and insults, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you choked out a moan when you finally came. your thighs shook and you panted like hell. heat gave you one last kiss on your inner thigh before wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand.

kidd carried your limp body towards his bed, you hadn't notice he was completely naked now if not for his cock poking your back when he carried you bridal style. you were so clearly out of it, eyes half lidded and hazy.

"oi, oi." kidd had a grip on your jaw, kissing your nose afterward. "think you can do more than have a couple of orgasms, aye? come on, that all you got? let's enjoy ourselves, hm?" kidd really does his best rile you up in any fucking situation and it irritated you.

"fuck, this really is a punishment." you covered your face, still blushing from the previous encounters. "will you go easy on me, kidd?" you peeked between your fingers but he just laughed at you.

instead, he flipped your frame the other way where your ass is facing him and you were facing the guys. his favorite position always. you were on your fours, he bent down to whisper in your ear. "never." he bit on your ear before pushing your head down the bed and sliding his cock so mercilessly in you. it helped that you were so wet that he was able to push right through.

you groaned in the sheets, fisting it so hard it ripped a little. your muffled screams were soon turned into cacophonous moans that said a lot about how good you felt when he pinned your arms behind you and held your neck up from behind.

"see them? they're just as hungry for you, waiting for me to be finished with you." kidd whispered in your ear, his pace unforgiving as he continued to kept pulsing on your cervix, holding your jaw so you could take a good look at the others pleasuring themselves at the sight of you. "you see, we wouldn't have to go this rough if you had just told us you missed us. didn't have to go an extra mile and mess around with some damn nobodies, hm? so take it like a fuckin' brat that you are."

girl 😳😳😳😳 when i tell you i FLIPPED when i got the request i 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️ thank you so much for the request anon! 🥰🌷 i hope you liked this :)

this was so good omfg 😩 idk why i think wire is a fucking baddie AHAHJZSGHSHS think i saw a hot fanart of him 🥺

if you guys are interested in requesting a fic for my 500 followers event, my askbox is open! click here for the main event post for more info :DD i have open slots for forced proximity, hurt to comfort, fantasy, he puts you in your place (smut), and modern aus!

[mialikeshockey]

Kiss Me - Jack Hughes

Being with Jack was always like a fresh breath of air. Never was there a moment where we weren’t giggling and laughing over the most ridiculous things. Everything was always so smiley, it’s kinda why being with Jack was always so special to me; until I remember he’s my twin brothers best friend. Jack would never be anything more to me than my brothers best friend. Case would never allow it for sure.

So I thought…

“Hey lil mac, how’s it going?” Jack says walking into my room. “Case is out back with Trev.” Jack chuckles, “I wasn’t gonna ask about him, but great to know.” I set my book down on my blanket, “What were you gonna ask about then? You never just come in my room to talk unless Case isn’t home, and well, Case is home.”

“Who said i didn’t wanna talk to you even while Mac is home?” Jack picks my book up and starts looking over at the back. “Since when do you enjoy reading, give me my book back.” I say, taking my book out of his hands. “Ouch. I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me Lex.” I put my bookmark in my book and close it, gently setting it down on my nightstand.

Before I could get a word out, Case runs in my room giggling,Trevor following behind him. Case jumps on my bed, landing right on top of me. “Ew! You stink! Get off my bed Case!” Case just chuckles. “It’s not funny, I will push you off. You have five seconds to get up.”

Case gets up, “Come on Hughesy, we gotta head out soon. Marshall and Danny are waiting for us at the rink.” Case walks out of my room, Trevor following him like a lost puppy. “I guess I gotta go.” I lay back on my pillows, “yeah, I guess so.”

“I’ll call you later lil mac, and ps, maybe this time, answer the phone.” He pats my head and walks out. I grab my book and try to finish what I was reading before, but all I could think about is why he wanted to talk.

—

Later that night, I finished up some last minute homework before I could head to bed. I finish packing my bag for school tomorrow and my phone lights up, with Jacks name on the screen. I sit there thinking if I should answer or not, why would he even wanna talk to me anyways. I mean he does call and text a lot but I’m always dry with him and I don’t try to keep a conversation.

I let myself just have the win of my feelings take over and I answer the call. “I feel like I just won the lottery.” Jack says, very tiredly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack chuckles, “lil mac finally answers one of my calls.”

“Well, make this quick, I wanna go to sleep.” Jack goes quiet for a moment, “Jack, I really gotta head to bed. I have an ap history test tomorrow.”

“okay, goodnight beautiful.” Jack hangs up before I could say anything. My heart drops to my stomach and all I could think about was his voice repeating that over and over again in my head.

I lay down in bed and try everything to get it off my mind, but nothing sounded as good as hearing him call me that. I close my eyes and relax and I was out.

—

My alarm is one of the worst things to wake up to. I hate the noise of it. I turn it off and give myself time to wake up, I sit up and check my phone. Nothing much to really check because I hate having social media but got it to see my families posts.

I turn on some music and I start to get ready. I get one of my jeans out with a sweater to go with it. I put my hair in a low messy bun. I was never big on makeup, I did put on mascara on every now and then but I have gotten used to not putting it on at all. I put some lip gloss on and headed downstairs.

All my brothers were sitting at the table eating breakfast. “Morning boys, morning Gav.” I say, giving Gavin a kiss on the head. “How come Gavin gets a special good morning and Case and I get a lame one?” Aiden gets up from the table, I take his spot. “I actually like Gavin.” Gavin smiles in response.

“Come on Lexi! We gotta go, I gotta pick up Jack!” Case yells to me, walking out of the door. My heart drops at Jacks name. I grab my bag and put my shoes on, “I’ll make cookies with you guys after school if you ask mom go get the stuff.” I tell Aiden and Gavin, they both nod.

—

We get to Jacks house and he walks out. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and an ntdp hoodie, his hair being a bit messy, but I always found that adorable. He gets in the front seat and looks back at me. “Morning lil mac.”

“Morning.” I say quietly, putting my face back down in my phone. Thank gosh the school isn’t far from Jacks house.

—

We get to school and i quickly get my stuff out of the car and walk to the building. I head to my locker and get my history books out and my notes to help study for the test. As I’m shutting my locker, I see a familiar face standing right next to me. “Can I help you?”

Jack rubs the back of his neck, “I wanted to apologize for last night.” I look over at him, “what is there to apologize for?” He gives me a confused look.

“Jack, your my brothers best friend, he’d kill me if I ever once said anything about having a crush on you.” I state, walking away. Jack walks with me, “so you admit it, you do like me?”

“Never said that.” I put my book to the side. “Well then, do you?” I stop and turn and look at him. “It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t Jack. Like I said, you’re my brothers best friend. I can’t do that to him. He’s my twin brother.” Before I could walk away, Jack grabs my arm.

“It does matter Lex, I already talked to Case. He trusts me. Why do you think he lets me come over so much and be around you?” I start thinking of all the times Case never got mad at Jack for hanging out with me and not him.

“I like you a lot Lexi. I wouldn’t be trying to do anything about it if I didn’t.” He grabs my hand. “So kiss me.” I say walking closer to him. “What?” Jack says softly.

“If you like me and Case is okay with it, kiss me to prove it because I don’t believe you.” Jack stands there and looks around. “Exactly.” I say, letting go of his hand and walking away. “Wait! Lex come here.”

Jack pulls me in and kisses me. “I don’t wanna mess up okay. I call you every night because you are my last thought before I go to bed. You’re the last person I want to talk to before I go to bed. I got scared last night and hung up because I didn’t mean to call you beautiful out loud. It just slipped out.”

Before I could reply to Jack, Case and Marshall appear out of the corner. “About damn time!” Case yells. “I’ve been waiting for this for months. Only took a couple pep talks!” Case pats Jack on his back. “Yeah yeah whatever Mac.”

The bell rings, Case and Marshall head the opposite way of Jack and I. Jack holds my hand, “you’ll do good on your test. You’re really smart.” I try to hold back my smile but being called smart is one of my favorite things.

He walks me to my class and before I go to walk in, he kisses the side of my cheek. “Good luck beautiful.”

I walk in class looking like a tomato with how red my face is from smiling.

—

Sorry I haven’t posted in so long, I was visiting family back home and haven’t really been on any social media. I wanna write more for Jack but I have like no ideas but I’m gonna try to post a lot more with holiday themed stuff so if you have requests feel free to send them in!

Credit to gif maker!!

(Also for the people that don’t know, Cases nickname is Mac so that’s why Lexi is named lil mac 😭)

[unhingedangstaddict]

Currently working on my own fix-it fic but man this shit is harder than I thought it'd be- I keep crying and then getting distracted reading other fix-it fics. Thought I'd share this snippet to hopefully motivate myself to keep going???

Hen was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy was out for a run when she heard a faint ‘oh shit’ from inside the house. She banged on the door again. “Come on Kinard! I know you’re in there!” She called out. If Tommy’s neighbors thought she was crazy, oh well, too bad. Hen really didn’t care.

Finally the door was opened by Tommy. His hair was a mess- sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it far too much-, he had deep dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes were puffy from crying, and frankly, he looked like shit. “What do you want, Hen?” Tommy rasped. Whether his voice was hoarse due to dehydration or yelling and/or crying was unclear.

“To talk about what happened last night.” Hen crossed her arms.

“You mean you’re here to yell at me for what I did?" Tommy guessed. He hadn't forgotten the thinly veiled shovel talk from Hen and Karen months back at the medal ceremony- he wasn't surprised Hen was here now. “Trust me I hate myself for it enough. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought about myself.”

“No. I’m here to try and understand what even happened. According to Eddie, Buck wasn’t making very much sense last night. Eddie would’ve come himself to check on you but he’s got Buck right now. Eddie’s worried about you and frankly, I am too.”

Tommy sighed deeply and stepped aside to let Hen into the house.

Soon they were sitting at Tommy’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee in hand.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or are you just gonna keep having that staring contest with your coffee?” Hen questioned.

“He asked me to move in with him.” Tommy admitted quietly.

“Okay,” Hen said slowly, waiting for Tommy to explain further why he was upset by it. Beyond the obvious matter of Buck leasing his loft apartment and Tommy owning his house, Hen wasn’t sure what the issue was.

“For a split second, I thought about saying yes.” Tommy confessed. “Then I returned to reality and realized I had to end it.”

“But why?” Hen questioned.

“Even if it was only for a second, Hen, I was ready to, what? Sell my house and more than half my stuff to move in with him? I’m not even mad about that part- I’m upset with myself for considering it. I’ve been in Evan’s position before, first gay relationship, lovesick, you think it’s gonna last forever. And I’ve been the first for guys before too. Like I told Evan last night, I know how it ends. And I guess I’d rather break my own heart than wait around for Evan to do it.”

“If you’ve been so sure all this time that it could never work, why did it take until now for you to call things off?” Hen questioned.

“I think from the start I knew I was playing with fire. After the last guy I was a first for, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. Then I met Evan, and he was just so magnetic, I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to. I couldn't say no to him. I think I always knew my heart would get broken, and I guess I was okay with that all this time, until last night when I realized I love him, and I knew I had to cut myself off before I reached a point of no return.” Tommy explained. “I mean, I’m a fucking a mess right now and I was the one who called it off. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive him ending it.”

“Did you really just figure out last night that you love him?” Hen asked.

“I guess I sorta loved him from the start but last night was different, Hen. I’m in love with him, like well and truly love him, in a way I’ve never felt before, about anyone.” Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. “And I’m just his first. And as badly as I want it, I know I don’t get to be his last.”

“What makes you so sure you can’t be his last?” Hen wondered.

“Because I’m not the forever guy." Tommy shrugged slightly as a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek. "At best I’m the close-to-but-never-quite-enough guy."

[flowery-mess]

Sorry haven’t been on tumblr for a while and idk if you still want this haha

Not really an opinion per se but what do you think the Bad Omens Boys (plus Matt) love languages are? I headcanon Matt as physical touch and maybe subtle acts of service?? For some reason

Would love to hear your thoughts💕

Okay I love this! More under the cut

So the five love languages:

words of affirmation

quality time

acts of services

gifts

physical touch

Jolly

So I see Jolly as the mature one of the group, he has this calm aura around him, so I see him as a words of affirmation kinda guy, mainly because I think he's good at communication so maybe he doesn't have problems with talking about his feelings. And quality time also fits for him I think.

Noah

So the first that came to my kind was gifts. Maybe because he feels bad for being away on tour he would try to make it up with gifts. Then also physical touch fits him in my opinion. He seems like the guy who always has his hand on your knee, around your shoulder or mindlessly plays with your fingers. Not heavy PDA, even sitting next to you shoulder by shoulder is enough. And I know Noah is kinda often perceived as someone who doesn't know how to talk about his feelings on here, but I think Noah is very well spoken person with rich vocabulary, so I think words of affirmation too.

Folio

Gifts and acts of services, but in a Folio way. Meaning - not expensive gifts and big gestures, but he sees something funny that reminds him of you and he gets it for you. Could be funny keychain or the most useless thing. Acts of services - I can see him helping you clean or cook, again in a Folio way. He keeps singing and dancing around the room, making you do it with him and have a laugh together.

Nick

He seems like a laid back guy, kinda shy and just be happy back home and spend some quality time with you. Could be just watching tv and cuddling together or going on walks or going to see a movie. Also acts of services, buys you your favorite coffee or your favorite shampoo when he sees you're running out.

Matt

I agree with you on physical touch, but in a different way than Noah. I think Matts touches are more intimate, he likes to hug you from behind and squeeze your waist, or puts his hand around your waist and rest his hand on top of your ass, or when he's working at home and you come to bring him food, he puts his head on your tummy and rests his hands on your ass with light pats. Also Matt gives me big yapper vibe, so I think he wouldn't have problem with words of affirmation.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts...

Love at first sight, it was. But hell, love wasn’t enough, was it?  What did he know about raising a little girl?  What did he know of walking that tricky line between being overprotective and being too blasé, of giving you space but making you feel safe?

 just that he is questions this, shows how much he cares about her 🫶🏻

Cecilia had stopped over a lot in the beginning, had soothed his fears.  Had reassured him that love was enough, that he was doing a good job.  He was kind and well-meaning, and you had been a smart kid who became a smart woman, and on the balance, he would have agreed with Cecilia and said he did alright.

Awesome job right there👏🏻

For the first time in his life, Rhett truly considers his future.  What his life may look like in five, ten, twenty years.  Will he always wake to grey mornings that sit on his chest like a stone?  Will he become bitter and mean, the way his father has despite having a wife and sons and a granddaughter? 

Uff he truly doesn't have the best role model..

Then, on top of the annoyance, another layer of shame.  Of course you run.  The death of your parents left you with that wound, the inability to handle hurt in a healthy way.  You flee and tuck yourself in a corner, tend your wounds alone.  It’s a flaw, but it’s understandable why you do it.

Very understandable reaction especiallywith that backstory..

Rhett had been your best friend, and for the briefest summer, he was your lover too.  He should have been the one person to help you work through that fear.  Instead, he only cemented it further.

💔💔💔

It’s easy to blame Rhett when Wyatt eats dinner alone each night.  When he runs a vacuum over the floor of your bedroom, keeps it dust free like you may turn up any day and take your place back on the family ranch.  When he studies the row of family photos on the mantle, sees his sister’s face and feels like he’s failed her in the care of her daughter.

He misses her so much 🥺

But Wyatt doesn’t confront Rhett at the Double Deuces.  He doesn’t seek him out at all. Rhett comes to him.

👀

“You never fucking think, do you?  Jesus fucking Christ, my sister…her husband…they were killed by a fucking drunk driver, and you have the fucking balls to…you asshole…you fucking piece of shit.  You—” The kid seems to track Wyatt’s meaning.  His bleary eyes clear a fraction and fix on where Wyatt’s fists wait, eager to offer some payback for his sins.  Rhett nods, as if to himself, and he takes a deep breath.  Closes his eyes, opens them.  He struggles to stand, staggers a little, but eventually finds his feet.

Wyatts anger is very understandable and valid, but it seem to penetrate even Rhett’s drunken state

“Make it her.”  It comes out one slurred word, makeither, and Wyatt’s anger cools by the barest degree.  He unclenches his fists, holds them looser. “What the fuck you trying to say?” Rhett coughs, sways.  Coughs again, then enunciates, clarifies. “Make it hurt.  Make sh…sure.  Make sure it hurts.” Wyatt’s fists uncurl more.  “Now what are you—” “Am.  Piece of shit.  I am.”  The kid sways more but takes a wide step, braces his legs wide to keep himself upright.  “Y’right.  Imma piece a’shit.” He wants to be hurt because it’s the only thing he knows, he thinks.  Like I used to.

💔😭💔😭💔

Maybe Wyatt only fell into fatherhood because of a tragedy, but he gets more of it right than he will ever give himself credit for.  He faces the kid, and when the kid comes swinging at him again, spoiling for a beat-down Wyatt will never deliver after all, Wyatt only opens his arms and lets Rhett step into them.  The kid struggles for a beat but he’s drunk, and he seems tired down to his soul. It only takes a moment for the kid to stop struggling in Wyatt’s bear-hug, then sag against him in exhaustion, then weep in dry, barking sobs that feel like they’ve been building up for his entire life.  And Wyatt knows exactly what sort of pain the kid is bleeding out because it was his pain, and his sister’s too, until they both fled their unhappy childhood home and made a happier one here on this ranch.

Wyatt gives Rhett the hug he himself needed years ago 😭🥺

Wyatt is never sure the right way to tell you that Rhett Abbott is currently crashing with him.  A month passes and then another, and he starts to feel guilty that the kid who broke your heart has been living down the hall from your childhood bedroom, sitting at your kitchen table.  That he parks his truck beside yours, and that he’s caught the kid—more than once—lingering by your bedroom door, lingering by your truck, like your ghost might manifest if he stands still enough.

That's a tough spot..

I can’t be mad about it, you write back.  How many times did you look the other way when I brought a stray home? 

I guess you deserve a stray of your own.  Might want to take him in for his shots though. :-) 

You got a heart of gold, kiddo, Wyatt texts you, and your response is immediate.

That's so cute, they have such a beautiful relationship 🥰

Wyatt grins when he reads your email, then glances over at where Rhett is sitting on the couch, watching TV.  The kid does act like a stray; he cringes the barest bit if Wyatt moves too suddenly or too close to him, but like a stray, he relishes the comfort of a warm home, food in his belly, and even the tamest praise.

He really is a stray 🤭

Got it from my uncle.

🥹🥹🥹

Wyatt won’t know it until years from now, when he’s an old man and Rhett has grey in his own hair, but this stretch of time—the two men working and living together—is when Rhett starts to learn how to be a man.  That Wyatt is the gruff but kind, slightly awkward father-figure Rhett always needed.

I'm so glad Rhett gets the chance to experience this kind of relationship and space to grow 🥹

Heart of gold, indeed.  It makes Wyatt tear up, first from so much pride it feels like his chest might burst, then from that knife edge of grief that his sister isn’t here to see what a force for good her daughter turned into.

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“Nah.  I don’t know if hate is something she can even feel.  Dislike, maybe.  Disappointment.  Not hate.”  “She should hate me.  I deserve it.”

He is so hard on himself 🥺

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, you know.  Sounds fucking stupid, but at the time, I didn’t even realize what I was doing to her.”  Rhett glances over at the man, fixes his eyes back on the floor.  “Looking back, it felt like I was sleepwalking through that summer, and now I’m awake and see all the damage I did.” “Damned if I know.  But take it from me, kid.  I had a girl when I was your age, and I fucked it up completely.  Even once I realized how badly I fucked up, I was too proud to try and set it right.  Now it’s been years and it’s far too late.  So you gotta try, so even if she never forgives you, it’ll set right in your chest that you did everything you could.”

I love their honest and open conversations 🥰

Your uncle glances over at Rhett, nods in his direction.  “We’re doing okay for a couple of guys.”

They truly are 🫶🏻🥹

You laugh, and the sound makes Rhett smile – when was the last time he heard it?  It draws another laugh, which makes Rhett laugh, which makes you stop and ask your uncle if Rhett is there too. “He is,” Wyatt admits.  “We’re watching the football game.” There’s a beat of silence from you that seems to stretch out forever but is probably only a second or two. “Merry Christmas, Rhett,” you say, and Wyatt hesitates, then tilts the screen so Rhett can see you and you can see him.  He almost doesn’t want to look but he can’t help himself.

🥹🥹🥹

“In that case, Uncle Wyatt, work him into the ground,” you joke back, and Wyatt turns his phone back to him this time, and Rhett is left with perhaps a bit more than a sliver of hope.  He leans back on the couch and thinks that yes, maybe he can salvage this after all. Maybe trying his best will be enough.

I'm sure it will 🥹🫶🏻

I absolutely loved this story and the relationship Rhett and Wyatt built, truly beautiful 🥰

Kind of a Sh*thead

(Rhett Abbott x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst; family-type healing; allusions to and threat of violence; bit of fluff at the end.

Word Count: 5256

AN:  This was originally requested by @elegantmusicdragon from a long-ago Christmas prompt list: "trying to hide their sadness during the christmas celebration" from the sad christmas prompts? Definitely angst...maybe with a little hope at the end?"

AN: This is the next piece in the "Mending Fences" miniseries, found here.

It will shame Rhett in the future, how long it takes for him to realize what has happened. 

That night at the bar, he sat waiting for you:  nursing a beer, his eyes on the door, ready to get a little loose with you and maybe head out to the open range and fool around. 

Then Maria appeared in front of him.  Like magic.  Like an angel spirited back to Wabang and right in front of him.  It threw him off completely, his world tilting sideways  He found himself dazzled by the fact that the girl he pined over for years was suddenly in front of him, smiling, laughing, touching his arm and squeezing his bicep while he subtly flexed it under her fingers.

It wasn’t until last call that Rhett surfaced for a moment, the spell lifting for long enough to remember he was supposed to meet you, yet you were nowhere to be found.

She must have been held over late at work, he reasoned, and even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. 

It will shame Rhett in the future, but it will take months before he really feels that shame.  He’ll find out you left early for school, but by then, he will be entirely wrapped in the magic of Maria, dumb with lust and love that he thinks is finally reciprocated.  He'll send you a handful of texts, bland little things that you read but don’t respond to. 

Months later, when Wabang is sliding fast to a cold winter and Maria is gone again, disappeared as quickly as she appeared, Rhett will feel shame.

And you’ll be long gone.

*****

Wyatt wishes he knew what he was doing.  Hell, he’d be happy for an inkling.

When his sister and brother-in-law died, he didn’t even hesitate to step up and take his niece in.  No brainer.  Blood is blood, but Wyatt loved his sister something fierce, and taking you in was like holding on to a part of her even if she was gone. 

Didn’t hurt that Wyatt loved you for you.  That he had loved you from the first time his sister set you in his arms, a bundle only a few days old.  You’d set your wide eyes on him and blinked sleepily, then puked up a torrent of milk on him that reeked something fierce.

Love at first sight, it was.

But hell, love wasn’t enough, was it?  What did he know about raising a little girl?  What did he know of walking that tricky line between being overprotective and being too blasé, of giving you space but making you feel safe? 

Cecilia had stopped over a lot in the beginning, had soothed his fears.  Had reassured him that love was enough, that he was doing a good job.  He was kind and well-meaning, and you had been a smart kid who became a smart woman, and on the balance, he would have agreed with Cecilia and said he did alright.

Nothing about this feels alright, though.

Wyatt always guessed it was Rhett Abbott who left you stranded at that hotel when you were a senior in high school.  Little fucker skulked around that entire summer, scampered away like a cat with a lit tail when he saw Wyatt coming.  Something had happened between the two of you.

When you came back to Wabang finally, you took up with the little fucker again, and Wyatt thought maybe he had been unkind.  Ungenerous.  He tried to be nicer to Rhett, but the kid barely ever mets his eyeline.

What the hell, Wyatt thought.  The Abbotts can be a squirrelly bunch.  As long as he doesn’t hurt her.

All those years ago at the hotel, Wyatt was never sure who it was that left you stranded and tear-streaked.  This time, though?

You confirmed it that evening when you got home, eyes unseeing as you charged past him, thundered up the stairs, started packing.  When he confronted you, you burst into tears and spilled the entire sorry affair.

You and Rhett, hanging out all summer.  You in love, and Rhett…not.  Not with you, anyway. 

Wyatt wasn’t stupid.  When you said hanging out, he could guess what you meant.

Seeing his niece hurt like that made him see red, but he has a modicum of maturity, which means he bides his time in most things. 

*****

Maria’s been gone for months.

You’ve been gone for longer.

Winter in Wyoming is no joke.  Wabang gets less snow than other parts, but the wind cuts marrow-deep, and the days are short, grey affairs.  The holidays could be a break from the doldrums, but Royal has been on a tear lately, lighting into Rhett for every little thing, so Thanksgiving, then Christmas are tense and joyless.

For the first time in his life, Rhett truly considers his future.  What his life may look like in five, ten, twenty years.  Will he always wake to grey mornings that sit on his chest like a stone?  Will he become bitter and mean, the way his father has despite having a wife and sons and a granddaughter? 

He sends you texts.  Little one-liners, asking how you are, saying he misses you.  He tries to feel you out, but you leave him on read and never respond.

Once, he gets blisteringly drunk and tries to call.  You don’t pick up, and he doesn’t leave a message.

By now, the shame has settled into him and made itself at home. 

He can guess that you came by the bar that night.  He can guess that you saw him and Maria, and that’s what caused you to flee.  Layered on top of the shame is an annoyance with you and your knack for running.  He may be an asshole but you’re a child to run and hide when shit gets tough.

Then, on top of the annoyance, another layer of shame.  Of course you run.  The death of your parents left you with that wound, the inability to handle hurt in a healthy way.  You flee and tuck yourself in a corner, tend your wounds alone.  It’s a flaw, but it’s understandable why you do it.

Rhett had been your best friend, and for the briefest summer, he was your lover too.  He should have been the one person to help you work through that fear.  Instead, he only cemented it further.

*****

March.  The leaden skies start to take on some blue, high up in the atmosphere.  The sun burns a little warmer.  The barnyard thaws into a swamp, and Wyatt has to handle the anxious animals, pawing and snorting and half-mad from a winter of cabin fever.

March is a tough month, though, because you call and tell him you aren’t coming back to Wabang for the summer.  You got a coveted internship with a specialty vet hospital in the city, and while Wyatt knows it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, it’s far easier to blame that fucking asshole Abbott boy.

It’s easy to blame Rhett when Wyatt eats dinner alone each night.  When he runs a vacuum over the floor of your bedroom, keeps it dust free like you may turn up any day and take your place back on the family ranch.  When he studies the row of family photos on the mantle, sees his sister’s face and feels like he’s failed her in the care of her daughter.

He’s not irrational about it.  He knows he has to let you fly and trust you’ll return.  Vet training is a long process—it’s not like you went off to Cheyenne for a handful of bookkeeping courses.  He knows, deep-down, you would have always left for your schooling.

Still, that fucking Abbott boy has built up a tab, in Wyatt’s eyes.  March is when that tab comes due.

-----

He knows the boy drinks at the Double Deuces.  It’s common gossip how he overdoes it and either gets ornery with the Tillerson’s or pukes himself silly in the parking lot.  There’s whispers of the fights between Royal and the boy, how the elder Abbott is tired of bailing out his youngest son, though no one would ever accuse Royal of having any patience, especially where Rhett is concerned.

If it were anyone else—any other dickhead young buck—Wyatt would chuckle in sympathy.  He used to do the same when he was younger.  He knows what the Wabang drunk tank looks like.  Hell, maybe his name is still there—he scratched it into the pea-green paint of the wall decades back to commemorate his first overnight stay.

But Wyatt doesn’t confront Rhett at the Double Deuces.  He doesn’t seek him out at all.

Rhett comes to him.

It’s a Saturday night, and Wyatt is lazing in front of the TV, watching the recaps of the week’s basketball games.  He’s half-asleep when he hears the heavy, scuffing tread of boots on his porch, then a thumping fist at the door.

When he peeks out of the window to see who it is, it’s the fucking asshole.  Rhett sways unsteady on his feet.  Wyatt opens the door, and he can smell the reek of cheap beer and brown liquor.  When he peers out farther, he can see where the fucking asshole parked his truck, half in the driveway and half in the yard, the tires sunk deep in the soft spring turf.

“You drive here like that?” Wyatt asks, though it’s obvious.

The kid nods.

Wyatt sighs, scrubs his hand over his jaw.  “Tell me you came from next door.  Tell me you were drinking at home and not out on the roads fucking loaded.”

Rhett stares at him, his eyes bleary and blood-shot, his blinks slow and deliberate.  “Came from t’bar,” he slurs.

“Fucking prick.”  Wyatt breathes it out. 

His vision wavers for a moment, the rage that courses through him is so hot and sudden.  He moves towards the kid just as Rhett sways towards him, and in a blink, Wyatt finds his hands on him, his sweat-dampened t-shirt twisted in his fists.  This close, the beer fumes make his eyes water, and when Wyatt studies the kid’s face, he sees blank stupefaction. 

“You fucking little prick.”  He pivots, turns, hauls Rhett away from the front door, down off the porch.  He half-drags, half-carries him, and once they are on the soft grass of the front yard, Wyatt shoves him away.

“Stupid, selfish.  So fucking selfish.”  The rage feels good, like a narcotic in his veins.  “You could have killed someone, driving like this.”

“I didn’t…”  Rhett sways on his feet, struggles to get his balance.  “Didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t t-think—”

Wyatt is on him again, his hands firm on Rhett’s chest as he shoves him in earnest, sends the kid stumbling back on his ass.  “You never fucking think, do you?  Jesus fucking Christ, my sister…her husband…they were killed by a fucking drunk driver, and you have the fucking balls to…you asshole…you fucking piece of shit.  You—”

But he can’t even finish.  His sister and brother-in-law, your parents.  Years ago now, but the pain is still fresh, a keen edge of a knife blade that takes his breath away.  It was after a rodeo, a random Saturday.  One stupid fucking decision and Wyatt lost his family, you lost your parents, and the rest of the world had the bad taste to keep on going. 

There’s a roadside memorial on the road out of Wabang that marks the site of the crash.  It makes that knife blade of grief twist in Wyatt’s gut every time he sees it.

Anger—rage—is such a close neighbor to grief.  Grief is something one has to feel, but anger?  That’s something to embrace, to lean into.  To do.

Wyatt advances on Rhett, his big fists opening and closing as the kid struggles to get back on his feet.  Wyatt wants to beat the shit out of him, wants to see him bruised and bloodied on the ground:  for hurting you years ago, for hurting you more recently, and now this.  For taking his life and the life of anyone else on the road into his own stupid, selfish hands.

Rhett manages to find his knees, and he kneels in the grass but can seem to get no further.  Wyatt towers over him.

“Get up,” he orders.  His voice is low, deadly, and his tone must penetrate the booze-fog because the kid tilts his head up and looks at him. 

“Get up,” he repeats.  “Get up and face it like a man.”

Rhett only manages a dumbfounded, “huh?”

“You wanna drive a big truck like a big man?  Drink at the Double D’s like a big fucking man?  You wanna fuck around with my niece and break her fucking heart like a big man?  So stand up and take what’s coming to you like a man.”

The kid seems to track Wyatt’s meaning.  His bleary eyes clear a fraction and fix on where Wyatt’s fists wait, eager to offer some payback for his sins.  Rhett nods, as if to himself, and he takes a deep breath.  Closes his eyes, opens them.  He struggles to stand, staggers a little, but eventually finds his feet.

“Make it her.”  It comes out one slurred word, makeither, and Wyatt’s anger cools by the barest degree.  He unclenches his fists, holds them looser.

“What the fuck you trying to say?”

Rhett coughs, sways.  Coughs again, then enunciates, clarifies.

“Make it hurt.  Make sh…sure.  Make sure it hurts.”

Wyatt’s fists uncurl more.  “Now what are you—”

“Am.  Piece of shit.  I am.”  The kid sways more but takes a wide step, braces his legs wide to keep himself upright.  “Y’right.  Imma piece a’shit.”

As quickly as Wyatt’s rage came on him, it flees him just as fast.  He sees it just as clear as day, how Rhett Abbott ain’t a man.  He’s just a boy playing at it, fucking up as he goes.  Wyatt knows as well as anyone the sort of father the kid has, Royal Abbott is no model of what a man should be. 

The kid standing in front of him is just a hurt animal:  hurt by his own father, hurt by his own behavior because he has no idea how to not take out his hurt on others.

He waves his hand at the kid, a dismissive gesture, and he starts to turn away.  He is halfway back to the house when he hears the kid coming for him, feels the weak glancing blow of the punch that has no aim or power because the kid is too drunk.

He wants to be punished, he thinks as he turns back around to face Rhett.  He knows Royal is hard on his youngest son, can guess that the kid’s been knocked around plenty.  His own father…well, he keeps that buried in the past, but sometimes it pops up like a bad penny.  Like now. 

He wants to be hurt because it’s the only thing he knows, he thinks.  Like I used to.

Maybe Wyatt only fell into fatherhood because of a tragedy, but he gets more of it right than he will ever give himself credit for.  He faces the kid, and when the kid comes swinging at him again, spoiling for a beat-down Wyatt will never deliver after all, Wyatt only opens his arms and lets Rhett step into them.  The kid struggles for a beat but he’s drunk, and he seems tired down to his soul.

It only takes a moment for the kid to stop struggling in Wyatt’s bear-hug, then sag against him in exhaustion, then weep in dry, barking sobs that feel like they’ve been building up for his entire life.  And Wyatt knows exactly what sort of pain the kid is bleeding out because it was his pain, and his sister’s too, until they both fled their unhappy childhood home and made a happier one here on this ranch.

“Christ almighty,” Wyatt says after the kid calms.  He doesn’t let him go—he only gets an arm around his shoulders, and he leads him inside. 

No sense sending him home to his father.  He’s here now, so he might as well sleep it off on the couch.

-----

It’s less than a month before Rhett returns.  Maybe a handful of weeks later, the kid turns up on Wyatt’s step, sheepish.  Looking small.

Wyatt will never be clear exactly why Rhett and Royal fall out so terrifically.  Who can say?  The Abbotts can be squirrelly fucking assholes, back to Royal’s father and probably even further back, but Rhett finds himself kicked out with nowhere to go.

He takes the couch for a night, but the next day, Wyatt thrusts some fresh sheets in the kid’s arms and directs him to the guest room down the hall.  Past your bedroom.

“Might sleep better in an actual bed,” he tells the kid, his voice gruff.

“I’ll be out as soon as I can.”  Rhett’s ears burn red in shame.  “Just gotta line up a place.”

“No rush.”

“Seriously, I’ll—”

“I got plenty of room.  You ain’t putting me out.”

-----

Wyatt is never sure the right way to tell you that Rhett Abbott is currently crashing with him.  A month passes and then another, and he starts to feel guilty that the kid who broke your heart has been living down the hall from your childhood bedroom, sitting at your kitchen table.  That he parks his truck beside yours, and that he’s caught the kid—more than once—lingering by your bedroom door, lingering by your truck, like your ghost might manifest if he stands still enough.

Every time you call.  Each Facetime.  Wyatt wants to say something and doesn’t.

Wyatt ends up taking the coward’s way out:  he sends you an email.  Keeps it short and sweet, apologizes for not saying anything sooner.  He alludes to the situation between father and son, but clarifies that Rhett is in no way forgiven for how he treated you.  It’s just that the kid needed a soft place to land, and he had the ability to help, so he felt it was his God-given duty to do so.

But I can ask him to leave, if you want, he writes.  If it makes you uncomfortable.  You’ll always be my first and top priority, kiddo.

It takes you two days to reply, but that means nothing.  You have a brutal schedule and often go radio silent for stretches of time.  When you do reply, it makes Wyatt smile.

I can’t be mad about it, you write back.  How many times did you look the other way when I brought a stray home?  I guess you deserve a stray of your own.  Might want to take him in for his shots though. :-) 

Wyatt grins when he reads your email, then glances over at where Rhett is sitting on the couch, watching TV.  The kid does act like a stray; he cringes the barest bit if Wyatt moves too suddenly or too close to him, but like a stray, he relishes the comfort of a warm home, food in his belly, and even the tamest praise.

You got a heart of gold, kiddo, Wyatt texts you, and your response is immediate.

Got it from my uncle.

-----

Through the summer and autumn, the two men fall into a rhythm.  It isn’t so bad living with the kid, once he starts to get his sea-legs under him.  Once he starts to feel like the bottom won’t drop out.  Rhett puts in an honest day’s work on the ranch, and Wyatt pays him.  The first time he presses money on the kid, he tries to push it away, embarrassed at what he thinks is more charity on top of the charity of room and board…

“You work for me, you work for me,” Wyatt said, blunt.  “Means you get paid by me.  Take it or leave.”

Wyatt won’t know it until years from now, when he’s an old man and Rhett has grey in his own hair, but this stretch of time—the two men working and living together—is when Rhett starts to learn how to be a man.  That Wyatt is the gruff but kind, slightly awkward father-figure Rhett always needed.

There are lessons embedded in their days working the ranch.  The lessons ease Rhett out of the fog of his life, the strange liminal space of being in his early twenties but still just a kid.

When Rhett royally fucks up a stretch of fencing, ruins a day of work.  Wyatt only grunts, shakes his head, then claps Rhett on the back.

“You can either take the time to plan out a job, or plan on doing the job twice,” is all he says, and he guesses that Royal would have belted his son into the dirt for such an error.

When Wyatt tasks Rhett with a simple rewiring job in the barn, replacing some light fixtures, and the kid has no idea where to even start.  He spends half the day sweating about it, a sick feeling churning in his stomach, until he decides to throw up the white flag and admit he has no experience working with electrical fixtures.

“Well, hell, kid.  Why didn’t you say something?”  Wyatt jerks his chin towards the barn.  “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

When at the rodeo, Rhett is tossed from the bull within seconds, a humiliating display.  Afterwards, his body bruised but his ego far worse off, Wyatt only chuckles at him, says life will throw you off like that sometimes and it’s the getting back up that shows character.

“You got back up,” he tells Rhett.  “That means something.”

“Means I didn’t want to get trampled,” he grumbles.

“Still means something.”

-----

Always, though, there’s the specter of you.

Wyatt catches the kid standing in the doorway of your bedroom sometimes still.  Peering in at the time capsule of your stuff:  the clothes you’ve left behind, the framed photos, the beat-to-shit stuffed bear on your bed. 

Wyatt mentions you in passing, but he never brings up that long-ago night at the hotel or your sudden flight from Wabang the summer before.  He guesses Rhett already feels terrible all the time, so why bother bringing it up and make it worse?

The kid eventually broaches the subject all on his own, just as winter descends on Wabang again.  It’s been over a year since either of them have seen you in person, though Wyatt Facetimes you at least once a week.

Rhett makes himself scarce during those calls, but Wyatt’s always had the impression he’s not far off, maybe straining to make out your voice through the wall.

In early December, you break the news that you aren’t coming home for the holiday break.  Wyatt would suspect that Rhett might be the reason, but your eyes practically glitter with excitement as you talk about a massive stray animal sweep you’ve helped plan, a Christmas-into-New Years take-to-the-streets movement to find and rescue as many street dogs and cats as you can.  You’ve been working with local Girl Scouts to build feral cat cold-weather shelters, and you’ve been raising money and donations, and you’ve built a strong foster network, and local clinics are ready to spay and neuter and administer vaccines—

Heart of gold, indeed.  It makes Wyatt tear up, first from so much pride it feels like his chest might burst, then from that knife edge of grief that his sister isn’t here to see what a force for good her daughter turned into.

When Wyatt breaks the news to Rhett later, though, the kid sorta deflates, and that’s when he brings it up himself.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbles.  “She’ll never come back if I’m here.”

“Not true.”  Wyatt goes to the refrigerator and snags two bottles of beer, then hands one off to Rhett.  He settles in his easy chair and studies the kid.  “You know she loves animals.  She’ll come back eventually.”

“She hates me.”

“Nah.  I don’t know if hate is something she can even feel.  Dislike, maybe.  Disappointment.  Not hate.” 

“She should hate me.  I deserve it.”

And then it spills out, one clipped sentence at a time.  The entire history of you two, from best friends in childhood to passing acquaintances to an awkward moment in a hotel that Wyatt now knows was not actual sex but just some fooling around that ended in a cruel words.  When Rhett gets to the part of the story about your summer together, Wyatt holds up a palm, says, “yeah, don’t want the details at all,” and Rhett slouches against the couch and sighs.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, you know.  Sounds fucking stupid, but at the time, I didn’t even realize what I was doing to her.”  Rhett glances over at the man, fixes his eyes back on the floor.  “Looking back, it felt like I was sleepwalking through that summer, and now I’m awake and see all the damage I did.”

Wyatt chuckles sadly.  He knows the feeling.  He has his own hurt women in his past, experienced the same sort of heartless sleepwalking. 

The kid shakes his head and continues.  “Wasn’t worth it.  Maria, I mean.  I don’t even know what I saw in her. 

“You were thinking with the wrong brain,” he tells Rhett.  Wyatt may have no lost love for Maria Olivaries, but he’d admit she was a pretty gal.  He could see why the boys went a little stupid around her. 

“Wasn’t thinkin’ at all.”  He says your name, a sigh in his mouth, then adds, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Look.”  Wyatt sets his empty beer bottle aside, leans forward.  “You gotta try to make it right with her.  How you square it up is up to you.  Maybe she’ll forgive you, maybe she won’t, but you gotta make an honest try at it.”

“How?”

“Damned if I know.  But take it from me, kid.  I had a girl when I was your age, and I fucked it up completely.  Even once I realized how badly I fucked up, I was too proud to try and set it right.  Now it’s been years and it’s far too late.  So you gotta try, so even if she never forgives you, it’ll set right in your chest that you did everything you could.”

Rhett stares at him for a long beat, then nods.  Then there’s a beat of glassiness in his eyes, near-tears, that Rhett blinks away almost angrily before he turns and clears his throat.

“I don’t mean to, you know.  I don’t mean to be a piece of shit,” he says, his voice rough-edged.

“Aw hell, kid.”  Wyatt heaves himself out of his chair and starts to make his way back to the kitchen for another beer.  He stops in front of where Rhett sits, slouched over, and he lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit,” he tells him.  “I just think you’re kind of a shithead.”

Rhett snorts.  “What’s the difference?”

“First one is a lost cause,” Wyatt says.  “Second one is just an idiot trying to do his best.  Like most of us.”

*****

Christmas day at a bachelor’s ranch is not as sad as it might seem.

Wyatt brings in a tree but they only throw some lights on it to give it a bit of cheer.  They build a fire in the fireplace, exchange no gifts, settle in and watch the football games.

Christmas dinner is a pot of Wyatt’s ulcer-inducing chili and a pan of cornbread.  Cecelia drops by in the morning with a plate of cookies and a handful of gifts for Rhett, but it’s just the two guys for most of the day.

Until you call to Facetime your uncle.

You take Rhett unawares; you call off-schedule.  You usually call in the evening but this is the afternoon, and Wyatt mutes the football game and take the call from the couch.  Rhett starts to stand up, but the man waves him to sit back down.  No need to hide out like he usually does.

So Rhett gets a full accounting of your life from you directly.  He can hear your voice, and you sound like you have a sore throat.  You tell your uncle about your big rescue mission, how it’s bitterly cold in the city but how you’ve saved so many dogs, so many cats, and how you can’t wait to head back out after you warm up a bit.

“I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas,” you tell Wyatt.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Your uncle glances over at Rhett, nods in his direction.  “We’re doing okay for a couple of guys.”

“You decorate a tree?”

“Just string lights.”

“The prettiest part of a tree anyway.  What about dinner?”

“Chili.”

You laugh, and the sound makes Rhett smile – when was the last time he heard it? 

“Happy Birthday, Jesus.  Here’s some indigestion,” you joke.

“Good thing the kid went to Costco and got a gallon bucket of Pepto,” Wyatt jokes back.

It draws another laugh, which makes Rhett laugh, which makes you stop and ask your uncle if Rhett is there too.

“He is,” Wyatt admits.  “We’re watching the football game.”

There’s a beat of silence from you that seems to stretch out forever but is probably only a second or two. 

“Merry Christmas, Rhett,” you say, and Wyatt hesitates, then tilts the screen so Rhett can see you and you can see him.  He almost doesn’t want to look but he can’t help himself.

You’re smiling at him.  Not as broadly as you usually smile when you’re delighted in something or someone, but it’s a medium-sized one that touches the corners of your eyes. 

It’s genuine.

It’s a place to start.  It’s a sliver of hope.  It’s not a door slamming shut in his face but a door left ajar by a fraction, and maybe Rhett can toe it open if he can just find the right way to try and square things up with you.  It’s confirmation that he’s not a piece of shit, just kind of a shithead, and if he tries his best, maybe that will be enough.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies, and if you notice the gruffness in his voice, you don’t react.

“Thanks.” 

Wyatt holds his phone there a moment, starts to turn it back to him, but Rhett blurts out, “be careful out there, okay?” so Wyatt turns it back.

Your smile grows the barest bit.  “Will do.”  A pause.  “Don’t let my uncle work you too hard.”

A toe in the door.  A sliver of hope.  The fire snaps in the fireplace and the string lights twinkle on the tree, and Rhett may be an idiot just trying his best, but maybe that’s enough.

“I barely work at all,” he jokes.  “Gotta leave plenty of work for you when you come back.”

It makes you chuckle.  It’s not a laugh, but it’s something.

“In that case, Uncle Wyatt, work him into the ground,” you joke back, and Wyatt turns his phone back to him this time, and Rhett is left with perhaps a bit more than a sliver of hope.  He leans back on the couch and thinks that yes, maybe he can salvage this after all. 

Maybe trying his best will be enough.

[strangelysamantha]

leverage ☆

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

warnings: kidnapping, violence, mention of drugs, swearing, rude comments, guns, abuse, threats.

summary: when barry doesn’t get his money from rafe, he goes to the next best thing. you.

a/n: thought about this randomly haha. i hope you enjoy and if you do, please like and comment! :) requests are open and even if you don’t have a request, you can always ask a question or tell a funny joke instead. <3

master list is pinned.

——————————————————————————

“if you don’t give me the money, your ass is gonna be sorry.” barry stared at rafe while he ran his hands through his hair. “i promise. i’ll get you the money, man. i just need some time.” barry laughs, “you better or this won’t be pretty.” barry hesitated before continuing, “and, i mean you don’t have a lot of time. i'd say a week max.” rafe nodded, understanding. “alright. i’ll get it, don’t worry.” barry laughs, “i’m not worried, trust me on that.” he smirked before walking inside his trailer. rafe hopped on his motorcycle, speeding away. his mind running as he thought of ways to come up with twenty grand. he only had a week, and he was definitely stressing out.

rafe didn’t inform you about his entanglement with barry. perhaps if he had brought it up, you wouldn’t be where you were currently. you were working, just going on about your day. a customer had asked you to walk them to your car. it was an elderly woman; you couldn’t deny her some assistance. you smile, “of course! which car is yours?” you asked, heading towards the parking lot.

in retrospect you should have concluded how abnormal it was for an elderly woman to have parked so far away in such a dark car. she laughed once you approached the car, and that was when a rock was smashed against your skull. then a sack was thrown over your head. rope contained your hands, forcing them against your back, burning from the fiction of the rope rubbing together.

you stopped fighting, realizing it was useless, and whoever was kidnapping you would only become more agitated and aggressive. you were pushed into what felt like a backseat, a needle inserted into your arm, making you unconscious.

the next time you wake up, it’s in an unfamiliar room. it’s dark, and humid. you try and lift your arms but realize they were still held together firmly, with rope behind your back. as well as your wrists, your ankles were tied together too. you tried to speak, and surprisingly your voice, despite being hoarse, was able to make noise. “hello?” you called out.

barry walks in, a gun in his hand. “oh wakey wakey sunshine.” your face twists with confusion

. “i- what? why? why am i tied up? what’s going on?” you bombard him with questions he never answers. “that boyfriend of yours… he’s not going to be so happy now, is he? he’s short, 20 grant short, and because he can’t pay me, i’m gonna take the next valuable thing he has. that’s you.” you close your eyes, inhaling deeply. you didn’t want to freak out and spiral. “he’s not my boyfriend. i mean what the fuck barry?” you stared up at him. “oh, oh shit. you actually aren’t rafe's girlfriend?” you roll your eyes. “no. he doesnt want to date me.” you frown at your own confession. barry looks at you with sympathy. it didn’t last though, now he was overwhelmed because the leverage he thought he had wasn’t even leverage. “shit… man.”

rafe on the other hand, was terrified. while rafe wasn’t your boyfriend, he definitely liked you the most out of all of his friends. he concluded that he loves you, but he’s been too scared to make any moves. that wasn’t what terrified him though, what was currently nagging at rafe was the fact that you hadn’t met with him. the two of you had a daily schedule that included you stopping by his house after work.

with you not stopping by his house, on top of you not answering his texts. he began to feel worried. rafe's phone dinged indicating he got a message, and he practically sprinted to the phone. he saw a message from barry, it was a video. he hesitated before opening it. his eyes widened in horror as the video he was watching was of you. a gun pressed against your temple while you were tied up in a chair.

he tightened his grip around his phone, his jaw clenched, and chest heavy. he examines the video playing in front of him, inspecting it to see if he recognizes the background. rafe’s heart hurts as he has to rewatch you fear for your life due to his mistakes. he unfortunately didn't recognize the background.

he didn’t have time to play games, he immediately responded to barry. he shot back a text, asking why the fuck he had you, and where he was. barry immediately responded, do you have the money? rafe groaned, his hands on his head as he paced around his living room. his heart was stinging at the thought of the situation he had put you in. he should have saw this coming, should have noticed that you were the thing barry could ruin.

you stared at barry, tears welling in your eyes. he frowned at your condition, "poor girl, i'm sorry you're in the middle of this, but i'm not letting rafe get away with robbing me." you gasp for air, "please don't kill me." he sighed, bending down in front of your chair, he moved your hair out of your face. "i'm not going to hurt you sweetheart. i know its dramatic, but you won't be harmed," he smirks to himself, "how about you help me?" your face contorts into confusion, "how?" you look away. "how much does rafe care about you?" you sigh, unsure of how to respond. "tell me or there will be issues. i said i wouldn't kill you, but that's only if you cooperate with me."

"he said before that he loves me, he wants us to date, but when i asked him, he told me he had bigger stuff on his plate. he wouldn't have time for me. after that, it became weird..." your voice trails off, he hums in response. "i see, so he loves you, but he's worried he'll corrupt you." you nod slightly. "you're the only girl in his life, yeah?" you shrug, "yeah, but even then, he won't date me." this causes a smirk to hang on barry's lips. "what if we got back at him? he dragged you along, and he stole my money. what if we worked together?" the thought of backstabbing rafe made you nauseous. barry could tell you were reluctant. "do it or i will make sure he'll never be able to find you again, you'll be deep in the ocean with no chance of being discovered." his words terrified you, "okay, okay. just tell me what to do." he hands you your phone. "you're gonna call him. tell him you're okay. say that i let you go, out of the kindness of my heart." you nod sheepishly. dialing his number, rafe immediately picks up.

"are you okay? what's going on?" you sigh, "i'm okay, he let me go." your words shock rafe, he's silent. "i don't know, he just let me go out of the kindness of his heart. i'm okay." he's relieved, but he's aware that he still had a lot of cash he needed before he could make it right. "can we meet?" he asks. you look up at barry and he shakes his head no. "uh maybe in a bit. i'm a little shaken up. i want to shower and have some time y'know?" you explain. "i understand, just call me whenever you're ready, okay?" you smile softly, "of course, goodbye." you hang up, barry claps. "very good performance, i even believed it."

"what's your plan?" he grins happy you asked. "you're gonna be my girlfriend. you're gonna stay here with me, help me bag up the drugs, count cash, and when rafe decides to return the money, he'll see you here with me. we will kiss or whatever, and you're going to tell him that you saw the good in me. that you fell so hard at my words. rafe will realize he waited too long." while the idea of this was supposed to upset you, the thought of rafe seeing what he was missing out on, gave you a sort of edge. you thought that maybe you can come out of this with rafe announcing his love for you. "okay. will you drive me to mine? i want to change out of my greasy work clothes." he grins grabbing his keys, "of course baby." you narrowed your eyes at him, "just because were pretending to date doesn't mean you have to call me cute names." he chuckles, "we need to practice that way its convincing."

you sigh realizing how deep of a mess you were actually in. it made you feel better knowing that you weren't actually trying to do anything. you had to do this, barry had put your life on the line. if you didn't obey his every order, you could find yourself tied back up in a chair. "okay. how will we make this convincing?" he chuckles, "itll be easy. we're gonna get you cleaned up, then i'm going to have rafe meet me here. he'll see you working for me and man he'll get so angry."

you nod, and he unties you from the chair. he leads you to his motorcycle, speeding off to your house. upon arrival, he allows you to go inside to change. “i’m coming with. no time for any games.” you scoff but head inside. he follows you to your room, you hop into the shower. barry looks around your room. seeing your decor, jewelry; and photos of you and friends. he quirks a small smile, barry was very impressed by himself. he figured this was probably his best idea yet. once out of the shower you change into shorts and a shirt. you hesitate when you saw your reflection in the mirror. you were terrified of what might happen.

“so, we need to wait a few days, make it seem like it has time to naturally develop, yknow?” you nod, “yeah that makes sense.” he holds his hand out. “i’m gonna need your phone.” you roll your eyes, “why?” he tsks, coming into your personal space. “because i don’t trust you.” he snatches your phone from you, drafting out a text for rafe. going to need some time, today was a lot. i’m sorry. he smiles, satisfied with the text, he sends it. your heart swells again, fear crowding your senses. “pack a bag.” you nod following his instructions.

“okay good.” he picks up your bag, “we’re going back to mine, i need some help.” you cowardly follow him out of your own house, getting back onto his motorcycle. your head was swarming, but you tried to clear it as best as you could. you arrived back at barry’s trailer, heading inside, he sets you up with a scale to help him measure out his drugs. you sigh but start to fill the baggies. “good, you work on this for a bit and i’ll be back later.” he speeds away, and you continue the task.

shortly after, you hear a motorcycle approaching. assuming it’s barry you don’t move, continuing so he doesn’t yell at you. after four loud bangs, you can hear rafe on the other side of the door. you nervously glance around. unfortunately, barry had your phone. despite how badly you wanted to open the door, you knew barry would freak out on you. rafe looks around his hands on his head. “yo i got your money, c'mon man.” barry pulls up, seeing rafe.

“what was that?” rafe suddenly turns around. “i have your cash.” barry, impressed by how quickly rafe managed to get the money, eagerly smirked. “alright come in, we gotta count it.” rafe shakes his head but follows inside. at first, he doesn’t notice you, already used to barry having guest over. barry plops the heavy bag onto the floor, pulling out the stacks of cash. “ooh this shit is nice.” rafe chuckles, “i follow through on my deals, so we good?” he looked over, realizing who was actually messing with his drugs. “what the fuck is she doing here?” you struggle to make eye contact with rafe, your heart hurting. “you told me he let you go?” you look down, staying silent. barry intervenes, “well girls like men who are up front about how they feel…” he chuckles darkly, “wait too long to express it and then you’ll lose em’. ain’t that right pretty girl?” you look up at barry, his eyes locked on yours. “yes that’s right.” rafe could feel his anger boiling over him. he couldn’t believe it. “you really like this fucking loser?” you stop weighing the drugs, finally managing to meet his gaze.

“she’s perfectly content with me country club.” rafe's hands form into a fist. “nah this isn’t right.” he walks closer to you, bending down. he gets onto your level. he stares at barry. “i need to hear it from her.” you swallow a deep gulp, rafe being close to you now. “tell me,” you glance between the two men in front of you. fear settling over you, unsure of what to do. on one hand you weren’t sure if barry was still intent on doing the jealousy gig, but you knew rafe was vulnerable and you couldn’t hurt his feelings.

looking at barry, he mouths a “tell him.” you nod, “look i know it’s really sudden rafe. and i’m really sorry…” your words sting his heart, and his face falls. he doesn’t say anything. “he is just really funny. and he’s sweet to me.” rafe chuckles, unable to control his venomous anger. “yeah and i wasn’t fucking sweet to you? i did everything for you.” you roll your eyes, getting into character. “you LIE. you were the reason i got kidnapped. you don’t tell me how you feel, but i’m just supposed to wait around until YOU feel like the timing is right?” his eyes zoned in on you, he looked you up and down, noticing the powder on your fingers.

he was stuck, he knew something was off. you’d never willingly mess around with drugs, and you definitely wouldn’t be slumming it with barry of all people. “what’s he got you into?” disgust forms on his face, he looks between the two of you, scoffing. you have nothing else to say, so you look at barry. he nods in approval, and you have to hold in a sigh of relief. “see? i keep her tamed.” your face twisted in confusion in a slight second, and rafe caught on. “are you done counting yet? or do you need me to do it for you?” barry laughs, “it’s all here. your debt is paid.” barry places the money back into the bag, “are we done here?” rafe looks at you one more time, “yeah we’re done here.”

without a second of hesitation, he leaves the trailer. his hands cover his face, trying to steady his breathing. he couldn’t fight the anger that was creeping in.

back in barry’s trailer, he’s laughing mischievously. “that went perfect.” you frown, “am i done?” he sighs, “what, are you not having any fun?” you look around, “no, i just am tired. i worked all day and i just want to go to bed. in my bed.” he thinks for a moment. “fine, i’ll take you to yours. get some beauty sleep, but you’re stuck with me for awhile. rafe was on an ego trip regardless. he needs this.” you smile. “thank you.” you grab your bag, and head outside. you see rafe standing against his bike. you glance at him frowning. you wish he could drive you back home.

at your house, barry allows you to have your phone back on the one condition; you wouldn’t rat out the plan to rafe. you agreed, thankful to be able to rest alone. today had been so exhausting. you change into pajamas, hopping into bed. you look at your phone, seeing the numerous missed texts and calls from rafe. you frown, you felt so lost.

after a few minutes of lying in bed, you hear the doorbell ring. you didn’t want to answer it, but you were the only one home at the moment. you head downstairs, opening the door. rafe stands before you, “can we talk?” you move out of the way and invite him inside. “yeah, of course.” he follows you up to your room. you sit on your bed, and he’s pacing your room back and forth.

“do you actually like barry?” you stand up grabbing him, and he settles down. “no, not at all. he told me i had to do this to get back at you or he’d kill me.” rafe stares directly into your eyes, he grabs your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. he pulls away gently, “i really love you.” he squeezes you tightly; “when i thought he got you… i wanted to kill him.” you place your hand on his cheek. “it hurt me so bad but i didn’t know what else to do.” he frowns at you, “it’s not your fault, i don’t blame you at all.” you pull him into a hug, and he squeezes you firmly, worried to lose you.

“he said we have to keep it going for a week or so.” rafe nods understandingly, “okay. are you willing to do that?” you look down, but he places a hand on your chin to make you look up at him again. “are you comfortable with that?” you close your eyes taking a deep breath, “no, but i have to be.” he groans, “this is all my fault. i’m so sorry.” you sit on the bed, and he joins you. “we’ll get through this. one week and then i’m all yours.” he places his hand on your thigh, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “i’ll be here to protect you.” you kiss him again, “that’s the only motivation i need rafe.” he grins. “if it gets too bad, i’ll fuck some shit up for you.” you nod, “thank you rafe.”