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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 3 months ago

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Are There Still Beautiful Things? | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This is a part two! I finally got around to writing a sequel to The Ultimatum! So do me a favor and read that one first. Thanks!

Word count: 16.7k

Trigger warnings: emotional abuse, manipulative boyfriend, anxiety / depression

The following morning, Bucky floated through the apartment with silent steps. He moved with the utmost caution, sidestepping the creaky floorboard in the hall. Closing the kitchen cabinets as gently as possible. Anything to avoid waking you. After the night you’d had- the fight, the long walk in freezing rain, the tears, the panic attacks- you needed all the sleep you could get. Knowing you, he figured you’d rise around ten. You always said that anything later was a waste of the day.

But morning came and went without an appearance from you. He listened at his bedroom door for any sign of life and found only silence. He leaned against the kitchen counter, eating the omelet he’d intended for you. It wasn’t going to be good cold, anyway.

He wondered what your year under Alex’s thumb had been like. Suffocating, he decided. Claustrophobic. Were you ever happy? In the last year, did you experience even one instance of genuine joy? Or were you miserable around the clock? Were you constantly aching, without anyone to turn to?

Bucky folded the blankets he’d used to turn the couch into a makeshift bed. When he offered you- implored you- to take his bed, he knew you’d refuse. He knew that you’d feel guilty, that you’d say it was too kind a gesture. But it wasn’t a gesture at all. He really wanted you to take it. You’d sleep better in his bed than on the couch. And he wanted you to feel comfortable. To feel safe.

He even changed the sheets, so you’d have a fresh set to curl up in.

But you still refused. How could you accept an offer like that? Bucky had already done enough for you for one night; and you didn’t deserve any of it. You told him, time and time again, that the couch was just fine. That you’d survive sleeping in the living room. That he didn’t have to give up his bed for you- but he did it, anyway.

Around 3am, you couldn’t refuse anymore. You waved a white flag; there was no fight left. On your shoulders rested the weight of Alex’s emotional abuse. And for the last year, you did your best to pretend it didn’t exist. To carry on. You put on a brave face and muscle through it, because complaining would only mean more pain. More punishment. More weight. But as you leaned against the door of Bucky’s bedroom, you couldn’t fight the heft anymore. It split your spine and crushed your lungs. Finally, it broke you.

You were too tired to argue with Bucky about who should sleep where. Too tired to put yourself back together. But Bucky was there to pick up the pieces.

He carried you to his bed and secured the blankets around you. And for a while, no one spoke. He simply sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand. His thumb stroked your knuckles every once and a while. His free hands adjusted your blankets where he deemed necessary. It was the most peace- the most care- you’d experienced since the last time you saw him.

After a while, he figured he should leave you alone; he didn’t want to keep you awake any longer. And so, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, gave your hand a squeeze, and headed for the door. He told you to get some rest. To wake him if you needed anything- and he meant anything. And then he was gone.

You didn’t have it in you to call after him and beg him to stay with you. He’d done enough. So, you toughed it out. Alone.

Everything in you just wanted to slip into unconsciousness, to sleep for eight or twenty hours. And you should’ve. You should’ve fallen asleep no problem. After everything that happened that evening- everything that happened over the last year- you were empty. Drained. And your body and mind needed rest.

But sleep didn’t come.

With each closing of your eyes, you were haunted by fears of Alex’s wrath. Of his consequences and punishments. Of the venom in his voice when he spoke to Bucky about you. Of returning home to him.

The waking nightmare rooted itself in your mind- or maybe it was always there. Surely, you’d had these uneasy feelings about him before. But this was the first time you really let them sink in. The first time you’d given them any attention.

Over the past year, you’d simply swatted these kinds of thoughts away, treating them like a bothersome gnat. But deep down, you knew they weren’t there to bother you- they were there as a warning.

With sleep out of the question, you opted to stare at the ceiling. In the scant light that weaved through the blinds, you took stock of its appearance. It was old. Textured. Yellowed in places from water damage. Cracks veined their way across the expanse of the room, starting in one corner and ending in another. Part of you wondered how stable it was. Wondered if it the whole thing might fall in the middle of the night and crush you. You’d be okay with it if it did.

When staring at the ceiling grew boring, you turned on your side and observed the wall instead. It had scuff marks and indents. Chipping paint. But it was Bucky’s wall. And you were just lucky to be here- in his bed, staring at his bedroom wall. A long scrape across the paint rescued a long-banished memory from your most secretive vault. A vault Alex could never know about.

It was the day that Bucky tried to put in new blinds. He’d fallen from his rickety step ladder and braced himself against the nearest wall, marring the already chipping paint with his vibranium elbow. The two of you laughed at his clumsy attempt, at his claims to be a “handyman”.

The scene played out inside your mind and managed to bring a weak smile to the surface. But it wasn’t strong enough to keep the dread at bay.

After a while, the wall no longer held your attention. And the ceiling called your name once again.

On and on the staring-cycle went: ceiling, wall, ceiling wall. Of course, you could’ve gone to see Bucky in the living room. Or even called his name; surely, he would’ve come running. But who were you to wake him? Who were you to bother him in the middle of the night? He struggled enough with sleep as it was, and you’d kept him up late. Very late. He didn’t need you further hurting his chances for a restful night.

Eventually, the sun peeked through the blinds, and you rolled onto your back for your ceiling-staring shift. Throughout the night, you lamented your insomnia. Cursed the buzzing anxiety that kept you awake. But as you laid there, tracing the border of the room with your eyes, a change in perspective struck you. And suddenly, the crushing weight of exhaustion didn’t bother you anymore. Because you were in Bucky’s apartment, in Bucky’s bed. This was the one place you never thought you’d see again. The one place that Alex strictly forbade. The one place that felt like home.

And though you were so tired that you swore your organs would soon fail, you didn’t care. You’d choose a lifetime of sleepless nights in this bed over a restful eight hours in Alex’s any day.

Around noon, the sharp squeak of an old hinge woke you- and you realized that you must’ve actually fallen asleep. That your body must’ve finally given out. After blinking a few times and giving your eyes a moment to adjust, you discovered the source of the sound.

There stood Bucky, still as stone, watching you.

“Hey… sorry about the-” he pointed to the door. “The hinges are kinda old.”

“No, it’s…” you let loose a long yawn. “It’s okay.”

Bucky took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though testing the waters. Over the past year, you’d been emotionally gutted. The wounds Alex inflicted were still flayed open, bleeding. Throbbing. Bucky could practically see them spilling crimson all over the bed. Maybe you wanted him close by. Or maybe you wanted your space.

Either way, he still wanted to check on you. He took another slow step toward you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing, see if you need anything,” he said.

Of course, he did. Because that’s who Bucky was- that’s who he always was. Kind and caring and thoughtful. Even when you overstepped your bounds. Even when you overstayed your welcome. Even after you pulled the plug on your friendship. He was there for you.

You couldn’t fight the smile that stretched across your lips. “Oh, thanks- thank you. Yeah, I’m alright, I don’t need anything,” you shrugged. “You’ve done enough. What time is it?”

Bucky checked his phone, “noon.”

“Jesus Christ,” you ran a hand down the side of your face. Two hours. You’d gotten only two hours of sleep. And as you took a quick inventory of your body, you realized your estimate was probably a little generous. A dull ache pounded inside your skull. A heaviness sat on your shoulders. And a dense fog coated your mind. Every fiber of your being needed more rest. But now was not the time.

You’d already ruined Bucky’s Saturday night and stolen his bed, now you’d eaten up half of his Sunday. A jolt of alarm force you into an upright position. The room spun a little as a result.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” you pushed Bucky’s bedspread from your body. “I didn’t actually fall asleep till about ten this morning, so I guess I was just-”

Bucky couldn’t stop the ache that pierced his chest. He knew all too well what it was like to spend the night tossing and turning. The need for sleep and the simultaneous fear of the nightmares that followed. The soul crushing exhaustion. He wished he would’ve known that you were struggling to sleep. And he kicked himself for not checking on you periodically throughout the night.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wish you would’ve come and got me,” he sighed. “I could’ve kept you company. We could’ve watched movies or talked or-”

It was sweet. It really was. But even the thought of waking him made you feel guilty.

“Nah, I didn’t wanna bother you. And I…” Your eyes took on a far away, hollow quality. “I had a lot to think about.”

A long silence followed.

A hurricane of emotions tore through you, drowning you in their downpour. The pain, the loneliness, the devastation, the anger, the self-hatred, the feeling of worthlessness. The last year showed you just how toxic, how isolating a relationship could be. And you grieved the life you could’ve had. The time you’d never get back. The people-the person- you lost.

But a sharp pain sunk its fangs into your soul, filling you with venomous questions. How dare you mourn? How dare you pity yourself? How could you let Alex manipulate you? How could you go along with his ultimatum? And how could you abandon Bucky? Did you ever care about Bucky at all? What kind of person puts their boyfriend before their best friend? Why did you show up at Bucky’s door? And why did you let him take care of you? Are you really that selfish?

Who do you think you are?

You gave your head a small shake, freeing yourself from the sharp, deadly thoughts. “Anyway, I’m gonna grab my clothes and get out of your hair.” A quiet groan escaped your lips and you pulled yourself from Bucky’s bed. “I don’t wanna take up your entire Sunday.”

Bucky held a hand up, stopping you. “Woah, what? But you only slept two hours.”

“I’m okay! Really,” you lied. “And I don’t want to impose any more than I already have.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. Oh, how you’d missed this look. It was the same look he used to give you every time you called yourself ‘an imposition.’ Every time you swore you’d worn out your welcome. Because he never, ever saw you that way. How anyone could see you as an imposition, as a bother, made no sense to him. But he knew of one person who thought of you like that.

“Don’t look at me like that, Barnes,” you gave a breathy, tired laugh.

“I want you to stay for as long as you like. Honestly. I’m just happy to have you around,” he said. “So, if you wanna go back to sleep for a while, go for it. You’re more than welcome here.”

The words were too kind, the sentiment too genuine. And somewhere, deep down, something inside you broke. To know that there was, indeed, still kindness in the world shattered your remaining resolve. The entire time Alex had you locked away in his tower, you wondered if anyone else’s life had drained of all warmth and color, too. If there were still beautiful things. Or if it was only you who existed in a monochromatic hellscape.

And as Bucky wrapped an arm around you and helped you sit down on the bed, you got your answer. There were still beautiful things- and he was the most beautiful of all.

The tears flowed freely over your newly destroyed emotional dam. And silent sobs robbed the oxygen from your chest. Hot tears dampened your cheeks, your neck, the collar of Bucky’s sweatshirt. Over the course of the year, you forbade yourself from crying like this. Every once and a while, you allowed a tear or two- but that was it. You knew that if you ever let these emotions free, forcing them back inside their cage would be impossible. But this was a true catharsis. True release. And Bucky helped you through the whole thing.

He rubbed your back, wiped your face, stroked your hair. He spoke soft, reassuring words. And he never tried to stop you. Not once did he tell you to calm down or to get yourself together. He simply let you feel what you needed to feel, what you prohibited yourself from feeling for the last twelve months.

And when you finally cried yourself out, he wrapped your limp body in a blanket and helped you lay down.

“Uh, I feel like you’re probably pretty dehydrated now,” he said as he got you situated. “So, I’m gonna go get you some water.”

It pulled the smallest, most fragile laugh from you. He was right. You’d depleted your body completely, and you could already feel the dehydration headache blossoming between your eyes. But you didn’t care. Bucky took a step toward the door, only to feel your limp hand hook into his. He knew you well enough to know what it meant: you didn’t want him to leave. And he returned the feeling. Now that you finally found your way back into his life, he didn’t want to spend a second away from you. But the top priority was your well-being.

“I’m gonna be right back, I promise,” Bucky knelt by the bed, meeting your eyeline. “It’ll only take a second.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, to your cheek, to your forehead, and then slipped out of the room.

He was gone only a few minutes- five at the most. But for you, it was too long. After spending a year without so much as speaking to Bucky, you were desperate to make up for lost time. Hungry to spend every moment with him. And even a five-minute absence was enough to make your heart ache.

“Okay, okay. I’m back. Sorry,” Bucky swept through the bedroom door, an apologetic look on his face. “I figured you should probably eat something.” He offered you a plate of toast and placed two bottles of water on the nightstand. “Toast was the quickest option, but if you want something else, I can just-”

But the way you dove into the food was all the answer he needed. He sat on the edge of the bed,

watching you wolf down the substitute breakfast, and wished he could’ve remade the omelet he prepared for you hours earlier. But you needed him. And he didn’t want you to wait.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you were hungry. You’d swallowed so much grief, so much pain- you didn’t notice your empty stomach. But Alex made you miss dinner. Your exhaustion made you skip breakfast. And your meager lunch from the previous day disintegrated long ago.

But the smell of the toast brought your hunger into crisp focus. It gnawed on the inside of your abdomen and clawed up your throat. It echoed through the void. Sharp pains needled at your insides between waves of nausea. But the peanut butter toast quelled your discomfort.

“Thank you,” you took a long swig of water. “I needed that.”

“Anytime.”

“So, you… you don’t mind if I try to go back to sleep for a while?” Trepidation rendered your voice almost imperceptible. Had bucky not received the serum all those years ago, he wouldn’t have heard you at all.

He encircled your hand with one of his, “I don’t mind at all.”

“Are you sure?” you said, louder this time. “Cause if you have plans or things you need to do, I totally get it. I can just-”

Bucky pulled your body into his, quieting your rambling. “This is all I’m doing today.” He held you there for a long moment. His hand smoothed up and down your back. His breath fanned the skin on your neck. And when your anxious heartrate returned to its normal pace, he released you.

“What plans do you think I had for today, sweetheart? Do you know who you’re talking to here?” Bucky laughed. “I’m not exactly Mr. Social Life.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe you were gonna to go a movie today. Or the farmer’s market, or something.”

“Nope. I don’t have any plans to speak of,” he said as he helped you get comfortable in his bed once again. “And I went to the farmer’s market last Sunday. So, I don’t need to go again.” He shot you a wink and brushed a kiss against your cheek. “You go back to sleep. I’ll be right outside if you need me. Okay?”

You nodded against the pillow that smelled like him and gave his hand one last squeeze. Everything in you screamed, begged, howled for him to stay. But you couldn’t ask. You couldn’t ask for another favor after all he’d done for you. Could you? No. It wasn’t right. He didn’t owe you shit. Everything he did to help you came simply from the endless well of goodness within him. And you were not about to ask for more. You couldn’t.

But you did.

“Buck?”

He stopped in his tracks just as he reached the door. “Yeah?”

“Would you…” you rolled your eyes at yourself. Your neediness. Your greed. “Would you stay with me for a while?”

And just like that, he crawled into bed. No hesitation. No question.

He sat next to you, his back resting against the headboard. “This alright?”

You nodded up at him. “Is it okay if I…” You lifted your head from his pillow and opted to rest it in his lap instead. And of course, he nodded in return.

Before things fell apart, before Alex’s ultimatum- this was a standard position for the two of you. When Bucky had a nightmare, or a panic attack, or a particularly bad flashback, he’d rest his head in your lap. When things got bad for him, it was the only way to remind him that he was real. That he was here. And that he wasn’t alone. Your fingers tangled gently in his hair. Your voice quietly called him away from the edge. And after a while, he’d return to himself.

It felt almost blasphemous to co-opt his practice. To rest your head in his lap this way- especially after the way you abandoned him. There were, without a doubt, many instances over the last year when he’d needed this, when he’d needed you. And you weren’t there. Just thinking about it sent a lightning strike through your chest. What did he do in those moments? How had his soul broken through the haze and rejoined his body? Did he sit in this very apartment, all alone, waiting for the pain and terror to ebb on their own?

These thoughts tried to pull your head from Bucky’s lap. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair; not to you, not to him. You couldn’t commit sacrilege in this way. Couldn’t desecrate something that was once so sacred. But just as you attempted to move away, Bucky’s gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

“You okay? Comfortable?” He smiled down at you, awaiting your response. And you couldn’t find it in you to pull away from someone so beautiful and warm and kind.

The rest of Sunday melted by without your participation. A dreamless sleep got its hooks in you and pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. Bucky noticed you wake only a handful of times. And though he was sure you had to be hungry again when you woke in the evening, he didn’t push the issue. He let you sleep peacefully in his lap, with his hand smoothing gently over your hair. And when it was time for him to finally get some shut eye, he repositioned your head on his chest.

That night, he slept better than he had in a year.

In the morning, you woke to a cold, empty bed. And just as you wondered where Bucky could’ve gone, the smell of bacon answered your question. The aggressive hunger pangs poking at your stomach grew sharper as you took a deep inhale. Bacon, eggs, toast, coffee. Coffee. You scrambled out of bed and found Bucky in the kitchen, leaning over the stove.

“Morning!” He dragged his gaze away from the food to steal a look at you. Messy morning hair. Tired smile. Beautiful. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

But his words didn’t register right away. Your mind was too fixated on the stove full of food. And it dawned on you: this was the first time you’d ever seen him cook. Sure enough, a cutting board with the remnants of chopped tomatoes, green onions, and bell pepper sat next to the stove. And he was expertly presiding over bacon and two perfectly constructed omelets.

“Um, what? Oh, no, you didn’t wake me,” you said. “Buck, you’re… cooking? You have groceries?”

He nodded. “I cook now,” he said with pride. “And yeah, I have groceries. I go shopping now, too.”

It was something so small, so normal to everyone else. But to Bucky- to you- it was a big deal. A huge deal. You crossed to the fridge and gave the door a pull, only to find it fully stocked. The back of your throat tightened a bit, a warm rush of tears blurred your vision.

He’d always needed help with that kind of thing, with taking care of himself. When he was still trying to get acclimated to this world, to this time- he found himself in a hole. He’d fallen deep, deep down into a pit of depression and anxiety and existential dread. And menial tasks like grocery shopping were too daunting. Too overwhelming. So, you picked up the slack. You brought him groceries at least once a week, sometimes twice. You cooked for him a few days out of the week. And you did it with a smile. It wasn’t a hassle or a bother. It was something you did because you cared. Because you loved him. And if he needed help, you’d be the first to volunteer for the cause.

He always swore he could handle it, swore that you didn’t need to stock his pantry. But without you, he would’ve gone hungry. Would’ve withered away to nothing.

Over the course of the last year, you wondered how Bucky was getting his groceries. How he was getting his meals. If he was eating enough. Was he surviving on takeout? Or was he hungry? Picturing him alone in the apartment, his stomach and fridge empty, brought you to tears on more than one occasion.

“This is…” You cleared your throat and forbade your voice from shaking. “This is great, Buck. I was worried that you’d been living off take out this whole time.”

“Well, I would’ve been,” he laughed. “But I didn’t have to. Remember that list you made me?”

You wiped your eyes on the sleeve of Bucky’s sweatshirt and shut the fridge door. “What list?”

“A few weeks before Alex gave you his ultimatum, he got on you for being over here so much.” Bucky rolled his eyes at the memory. “Do you remember that?”

You grimaced and eventually nodded.

“And you told me what he said. You told me you might not get to spend as much time here. And you wanted me to be prepared. So you made me a list- a grocery list- just in case.” He turned to face you and pointed at a drawer next to the fridge, “look in there.”

Sure enough, inside the drawer, you found a list. It was pristine, save for one slightly folded corner and a small water stain. Scrawled in your handwriting on a piece of notebook paper was everything Bucky would need from the store. It detailed everything- produce, dry goods, frozen ingredients. Everything you always used to buy for him. Everything he liked.

“I still use it every time I go to shopping,” he said. “Even though I have it memorized by now.”

The list trembled like a leaf in your shaking hands. Maybe you hadn’t left Bucky completely destitute. Just knowing he’d had this life preserver to hold onto, knowing he’d been able to get himself groceries- to feed himself- because of you made your chest tighten.

“In all honesty, I had kind of a hard time over the last year,” Bucky admitted. He spoke with his back to you, keeping his focus on the food. He didn’t want to look you in the eye. “I missed you. I hated not having you around. But that list was… I don’t know. It made me feel like even though we weren’t friends anymore, you still cared. You know?”

Words didn’t come. And even if they did, you wouldn’t have been able to speak. The sobs you tried so hard to corral sat trapped in your throat, struggling to break free. You tucked the list carefully back in the drawer and leaned against the counter. Bucky deserved better. He’d already been through so much in his life. And yet, you’d given him yet another hard year. A year of heartache and loneliness. A year of emptiness. Of silent dinners. A year of self-soothing.

Bucky peeked over his shoulder and found you with your head in your hands. Your shoulders shook ever so slightly. A riptide of guilt instantly pulled him under.

“Oh, sweetheart, no-” he made his way to your side and wrapped you in a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Your arms snaked up his chest and wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer to him. He had nothing to apologize for, nothing to feel guilty about. He’d simply told the truth: he had a hard year. And that was nothing to apologize for. Especially after what you’d done to him.

But there he was, apologizing. Consoling you when you didn’t deserve it.

“You deserved better, Buck,” you whispered against his neck. “You deserved better from me.”

Urgently, you recoiled from his embrace and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never ever wanted to hurt you. It wasn’t fair to you. I-”

“Hey,” he took your face in his hands. “It’s all water under the bridge. Okay?”

He slipped his hand into yours before you could protest and pulled you toward the stove. “Come on, breakfast is ready.”

The two of you got comfortable on the couch with your plates; Bucky watched as you devoured your breakfast of bacon, toast, and the beautiful omelet he crafted. And he couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips. This was a total role reversal for the two of you. For once, he got to take care of you. He got to be your rock, your support system. He got to cook for you, feed you. And he meant what he said earlier. Everything that happened prior really was water under the bridge. He just wanted to be there for you. To make you feel comfortable and safe and cared for. To show you the love you deserved.

“Oh, hey, I don’t know if you need this,” Bucky grabbed your phone off the arm of the couch and placed it next to you. “It’s been sitting out here since Saturday night.”

After a few taps to the black screen, you got the confirmation you needed. “It’s dead,” you said.

“Okay, I have a charger in the kitchen. I can-”

“No, that’s okay. It’s probably for the best,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m gonna have like, four hundred texts and ninety mean voicemails from Alex.

Bucky grimaced. “Oh. Well, if you change your mind-”

“It’s probably a sign, right? Like, if I’m dreading turning on my phone because I don’t even want to see his messages…” You took a swig of your coffee, wishing it was something stronger. “It probably means that I shouldn’t be with him anymore. Right?”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. You were absolutely right; it was a sign. A sign that you needed to evacuate your relationship. But he didn’t want to weigh in and push you to make a decision. This needed to be something you decided on your own. And so, he simply listened and let you work it out yourself.

“I mean, just thinking about going back to the apartment makes me-” you gave strong shudder. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to live there.” The words came lightning fast, falling from your mouth before you could process or edit them. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to live with him- I don’t want to be around him. I don’t want to be with him. I don’t- I don’t want any of it.”

Bucky clocked the slight shaking in your hands, the tremor in your voice. He moved closer and enveloped you in his arms. “Okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. Alright?” He pulled away only slightly, searching for your eyeline. “You don’t have to be with him. If you’re done, then you’re done. And that’s that. Alright?”

The weight of the world suddenly vanished from its longtime perch on your shoulders. The pressure sitting on your chest evaporated. And you breathed a deep sigh of relief. The logical side of you knew that you didn’t have to be with Alex anymore. That you could pull the rip cord and free yourself at any moment. But somehow, doing so felt impossible. This whole time, the relationship felt like a jail cell. Like you’d been trapped inside puzzle box from which you couldn’t escape. But the second Bucky said it out loud, the walls of your cell disintegrated. He solved the puzzle box and let you out.

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Um…” The smile brought on by your newfound freedom lasted only a few seconds. “But I- I do have to go back. I have to go get my stuff. I mean, my clothes, my work stuff – it’s all there.”

“So I’ll go,” Bucky said. “I don’t mind. I’ll go over there right now and get everything.”

Of course, he would. Of course, he’d drop everything and go get your stuff. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed- he’d do it. No questions asked.

“Buck, that’s really- that’s so sweet. You’re really sweet,” You leaned into him once again, basking in his warmth. “But I- I need to be there, you know? You don’t know where everything is. And I need to make sure nothing gets left behind.” Dread filled your chest and crept up the back of your throat. If you never saw the inside of that apartment again, it would be too soon.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t go with you,” Bucky shrugged. “Let me help. It’s gonna be way too much stuff for you to carry alone, anyway.” His expression darkened a few shades, his tone grew gravely serious. “And I don’t want you there by yourself, just in case Alex is home. I don’t think you should be alone with him.”

It was a morbid thought, but you knew Bucky was right. And no part of you wanted to be alone in the apartment. Not when the ghosts of your heartache freely roamed the halls. And if Alex was there, or if he came home early, you thought it best to have a friend. A witness.

After changing into your now dry clothes, you plugged your phone into Bucky’s charger and abandoned it on the couch. Surely, it was about to blow up with a barrage of texts and missed calls from Alex. And you weren’t going to be there when it did.

Together, you and Bucky boarded the subway and headed in the direction of the apartment you shared with Alex. Anxiety sparked in your chest and set you alight from the inside. A pit opened in your stomach. There was no getting around this; it was a necessary evil. But with Bucky by your side, it wasn’t so bad. The looming darkness parted each time you looked at him, each time he gave your hand a squeeze. He was going to get you through this if it was the last thing he ever did.

But heartrate jumped once you disembarked the train. And it skyrocketed as you and Bucky turned onto your street. Only a few blocks away sat your nightmare, your personal hell.

As the apartment building came into focus, your feet turned to cinderblocks.

“It’ Monday, so he’s definitely at work by now,” Bucky reassured you. “You don’t have to worry about seeing him. Okay?”

You nodded. But your feet didn’t move.

“It won’t take long. We’re gonna grab your stuff and get out as quickly as we can. And then you never have to come back.”

He was right. This was the last time you’d ever have to return to this godforsaken place- and Alex wasn’t even home. The unpleasant memories hanging in the air couldn’t hurt you. And you were more than entitled to retrieve your things. Alex took a lot from you, and you weren’t going to let him take any more.

The doorman greeted you with a friendly smile and a familiar “welcome home” as he opened the door for you and Bucky and waved you inside. The gilded lobby never brought you much comfort. It didn’t have a homey feel, it wasn’t warm or inviting. To you, it always seemed a little obnoxious. A little full of itself. It was fancier than you ever cared to be. Alex thought it gave him status. Stature. An air of importance. The whole thing made you gag.

“Jesus, I forgot how swanky this place is,” Bucky laughed as the two of you got into the elevator. “You sure you don’t wanna live here anymore?” He let out a dramatic huff as your shoulder gently nudged against his chest.

“I’m more than sure.”

Sweat beaded on your palms as you approached the front door of the apartment. All you had to do was go inside, grab your stuff, and get out. It wasn’t a large task. It wasn’t even going to be that difficult. But your stomach turned at the thought of passing through that door. And just as you teetered on the edge of a spiral, Bucky piped up, saving you.

He stood in front of your door and leaned against the frame. “So, how are we getting in, exactly? You don’t have your keys, and-” But he stopped when he saw you crouching near an air vent. “What are you doing?”

“I’m retrieving my back up plan.”

He watched as you loosened the screws holding the vent shut and reached your arm inside.

“A couple months ago, Alex and I got into a big fight. I know, shocking,” you rolled your eyes. “I came out here to cool off and have a moment to myself, and he locked me out for… hours. So, after that, ” You removed your arm from the vent and brandished a key in Bucky’s direction. “I taped this on the inside of the vent, just in case. I never had to use it until now.”

Bucky gave you quiet round of applause, “Brilliant.”

But it wasn’t brilliant. Because when you tried to slide the key into the lock, it refused to budge. You tried once, twice, three times. Nothing.

“He had the locks changed…” you muttered.

“What? Already? There’s no way…” Bucky tried the key- just to be sure- and met the same end.

The plan came crashing down around you. And your dream of never seeing Alex again shattered into tiny pieces.

“I’m gonna have to…” You ran a hand down the side of your face. Your breaths grew sharp and shallow. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “I’m gonna have to text him. I’m gonna have to ask him to let me in. And he’s gonna have to be here. And he’s gonna-”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky took your face in his hands, calming the panic rising in your chest. “Did you forget that I’m a supersoldier?’

“No. Buck, You can’t-”

“And why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to get in trouble,” You pulled him away from the door, worried he could break it down at any moment. “Because of your pardon. I don’t want you to risk it.”

Bucky scoffed. “It’s my pardon, doll, so, I’ll decide who I risk it for.”

He resumed his position in front of the door and wrapped his metal hand around the knob. With one last glance over his shoulder, he ensured the hallway was empty. And when he found the coast clear, he gave the handle a sharp twist and forced his weight against the door with his metal shoulder. The wood gave a loud groan, and the new lock gave out a sharp metallic whine. But it worked.

“Alright, let’s get inside, someone will have heard that.” Bucky ushered you inside and gave a cursory look down the hall- but found no one.

A sharp shiver crept up your spine. Goosebumps rose over your skin. The air inside seemed colder, more sinister than you remembered. But the clock was ticking, and you wanted to spend the shortest possible amount of time here. With a deep breath, you righted your mind and forced yourself to focus. When all was said and done and you successfully escaped with your things, you could fall apart. But not yet. Not now.

“Okay, I’m gonna go grab my work stuff first. Can you…” You took Bucky by the hand and lead him into the kitchen. Under the sink, you found a box of trash bags. You freed them from the cabinet and thrust them into Bucky’s hands. “Can you go into the bedroom and just start putting my clothes in these bags? My closet and dresser are on the far side of the room.”

Bucky nodded and headed off for his mission- only to stop in his tracks. He’d only been here once, and it was far too long ago for him to remember his way around. “Um, sweetheart?” he called.

“Down the hall, fourth door on your left!”

“God, this place is huge…” he said. His voice echoed down the hall and found you in the kitchen.

And he was right. As far as apartments go, Alex’s was massive. High ceilings, several spare rooms, a gigantic kitchen- it wasn’t anything like the shoebox apartments you’d lived in over the years. Alex insisted that you move into his cavernous home, and you obliged. But this space never felt like home to you. It was more like a museum- cold, quiet. And you always got in trouble for touching things.

In the living room, you searched for your work laptop. It always sat on the end table next to your side of the couch, but you didn’t find it there. It was unlike you to leave it anywhere else, but still, you weren’t perfect. Maybe you left it in the study, or the bedroom. Maybe it was-

Just then, something caught your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the shiny silver surface of your laptop. It lay haphazardly next the armchair, still half open. A pit formed in your stomach. And though you knew in that moment that this was Alex’s doing, what you found still knocked the wind from your chest.

Several keys were missing. The screen was cracked beyond repair. And pressing the power button brought no life. The charger sat next to your computer, having been severed right in the middle. Alex was never the destructive type- or so you thought. He never punched walls or broke things out of anger. No, he expressed his wrath through biting words that pierced your skin and made you bleed. This was a new low for him.

Just as you’d begun to wrap your mind around the destruction, Bucky’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Hey, doll. I think… um, you should come here.” The trepidation in his voice activated alarms inside your mind.

And though you did your best to steel yourself against what you might find in the bedroom, the reality was worse than you imagined.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky draped an arm across your shoulders and pulled you into his side. “You don’t deserve this.”

Before you lay a sea of your belongings, scattered and strewn across the floor. Pages were torn from books and crumpled into balls. Large rips and tears frayed the fabric of your clothes. Feathers leaked from a hole in your pillow. Every single page of your journal had been shredded into the tiniest possible pieces. An overwhelming sense of grief punched you in the stomach. The small stuffed cat you’re your childhood had its head severed. The jewelry box your grandmother gave you in high school lay in pieces. It was all so disturbing, so demented. So purposefully and pointedly cruel.

You didn’t think it could possibly get any worse- until you decided to pop your head into the bathroom. All of your make up sat piled in the garbage. Broken bottles. Shattered compacts. Destroyed brushes. The rest of your beauty products- your skincare, your haircare, your perfume- rested on top of your make up. Every bottle had been opened and dumped out, creating a sticky, disgusting mess. There was no salvaging any of it, no saving even one item. And sprinkled on top of the entire muddied disaster was your anxiety medication- the medication you sought because of Alex’s reign of terror. He always mocked you for needing medicine, for struggling with your anxiety. Ironically, his torments made you up your dosage.

A sense of weakness crept up the back of your legs, and your knees began to buckle. If Bucky hadn’t reached you in time, you would’ve collapsed against the cold tile floor. But he saved you- again. He held you against his body as endless waves of pain washed over you. He told you time and time again that everything was replaceable, that these things were just things- and your safety was more important than any earthly possession. But his heart broke for you. These were still your belongings. They still mattered to you. And even though your life was more important, he recognized just how violating this was. How dehumanizing.

A special kind of rage smoldered in his chest. Alex didn’t deserve you- he never did. And you didn’t deserve to be treated with such callousness.

“We’re gonna get this taken care of. I promise,” Bucky whispered against your hair. “It’s all replaceable. And we can-”

A sudden bolt of concern hit you like a ton of bricks. You yanked your head from Bucky’s chest and met his eyes with your panic-blown pupils. And then you were gone.

Bucky watched as you sprinted toward your nightstand, tripping over your destroyed belongings in the process. You knelt in front of your nightstand and pulled it from the wall, searching desperately for something- but Bucky wasn’t sure what.

Relief flooded your face as you pulled a small manila envelope from behind your nightstand and held it to your chest. The two pieces of duct tape that had held it in place got stuck to your skin for just a moment, but you didn’t seem to care. Just to be sure, you opened the envelope and looked inside, breathing a deep sigh of relief upon learning that Alex didn’t touch whatever it was that you held so precious.

After that, the destruction didn’t seem to bother you as much.

The two of you stuffed all your belongings into trash bags, opting to go through them later at Bucky’s place. Surely, there was something to be saved. Something worth keeping. But determining that could take time, and you didn’t want to spend an extra second in this hellhole.

Ripped clothes, broken shoes, and cracked picture frames- among other things- filled three large bags. And when you cleared the room, a sense of peace wrapped you in a hug.

“Okay, what else?” Bucky asked expectantly. “Is there anything of yours in the kitchen, or the living room, or anything?”

You shook your head. “Nope, this is…” You eyed the trash bags. “This is it. This is all my stuff.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and thought about the prized possessions from your old apartment. “Really? What about your stand mixer? Or your grandma’s quilt?”

Again, you shook your head. “All that kind of stuff is at my parents’ house. When I moved in here, Alex didn’t want me to bring any of my décor or my kitchen supplies- my stuff wasn’t fancy enough for him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Alex seemed to be the personification of a red flag. How someone could treat another human being so poorly baffled him. And how anyone could treat you this way was beyond his comprehension.

“Okay, well, at least we know that stuff is okay,” Bucky offered.

And he was right. When Alex first told you he didn’t want your “tacky” décor and “outdated” kitchen appliances in his home, it hurt. It made you feel small, less than. And from that day on you always felt that you needed to prove yourself to him, to show him that you were, in fact, good enough. But being good enough for him meant never curling up with the quilt your grandmother made you. Never making cookies using your mom’s hand-me-down mixer. Never feeling a sense of home.

Bucky double-checked the ties of the last trash bag, ensuring they were nice and tight. “Hey, what was all that about?” Bucky pointed to the manila envelope tucked under your arm. “Or is it a secret?’

“Technically, it’s not a secret, I guess- well, it’s not a secret from you. But it was a secret from Alex.” You freed the envelope from under your arm, “It’s not juicy or scandalous or anything, but it’s important to me. And-”

The sound of footsteps in the kitchen halted your words. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. A cold sweat appeared across the surface of your skin. And you feared the beautiful breakfast Bucky worked so hard to make you would make a reappearance.

“Hello? Hey, sweetheart…” Bucky waved a hand in front of your face. He’d been trying to get your attention for a few moments now to no avail. You were still as stone, completely frozen with fear. He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave you a soft shake. “Doll.”

“Buck…” Only your eyes moved. Finally, you met his gaze with your massive, terror-dilated pupils. “He’s here. I can’t- I can’t do this. I’m not-”

“Hey, hey- it’s okay.” His palms rested on your cheeks, “You’re fine. You’re okay. You don’t have to talk to him – you don’t even have to make eye contact with the guy, okay?” He waited, allowing your panic-struck brain to process his words. And finally, you granted him a small nod.

He swept his thumbs over your cheeks one final time before pulling his hands from your face. He lifted a garbage bag from the floor and handed it to you.

“Here, you take this. And I’ll-” He picked up the other bags and tucked one under each arm, “I’ll take these. And we’re out of here. Okay? We’re just gonna walk right out.”

With another nod, you agreed to his plan.

But walking past Alex without speaking, without making eye contact seemed easier said than done. After being with him for so long, you knew he wasn’t going to just let you breeze past him. He wasn’t going to let you go without a fight- not because he loved you, but because his pride wouldn’t allow it.

The anxiety made your head swim and left you weak in the knees. Your vision blurred; your chest tightened. You knew Alex was waiting for you, smug and impatient. You knew he was going to tear into you the second he laid eyes on you. But there was only one way out of the apartment. And if you could just make it out the door, you’d be free. And so, with Bucky gently encouraging you, the two of you headed for the exit.

Bucky went first, hoping to take the brunt of the verbal assault. Putting himself between you and Alex and providing you with a shield seemed like the best possible plan to Bucky. He wasn’t going to allow you to go first, not when Alex could so easily lunge at you or throw something in your direction. And after witnessing Alex’s destruction of your personal belongings, Bucky knew there was a chance that Alex would try something. That he might be violent.

Finally, the two of you made it to the kitchen. Bucky locked eyes with Alex first, eliciting a loud guffaw from your soon-to-be-ex’s lips.

“Wow. How’d I know you’d be with him?” Alex let out a sharp laugh as you entered the kitchen. “How’d I know?”

But you didn’t answer. You kept your eyes down, just as Bucky instructed, and allowed the sound of your best friend’s quiet reassurances guide you forward. Shuffling through the kitchen with a garbage bag full of your broken belongings, avoiding your tormentor’s eye contact- it all felt so pathetic. You’d never felt so low, so small.

“You look so surprised to see me, baby!” Alex teased. Your skin crawled. “Guess you didn’t realize that the neighbors like me better than you. And that they’d call me when the saw you break the lock.”

You refused to take the bait. Refused to let him get a reaction out of you. All he wanted was the satisfaction of upsetting you. The gratification of hurting you and twisting he knife. And you weren’t going to give it to him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Alex took only one step in your direction, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. “You’re not gonna- Hey! You look at me when I’m talking to you!” He dropped his teasing, taunting tone and adopted the sharp, volatile way of speaking he often used around you.

Instantly, your gaze snapped in Alex’s direction. Muscle memory did its best to protect you, to remind you that obeying was always yielded better results than the alternative. He locked eyes with you, fury burning behind his stare. He took another step toward you, prompting Bucky to block your body with his.

“You’re not gonna break into my house, steal a bunch of shit, and get off scot-free,” Alex scolded.

Bucky stepped closer to Alex, allowing you to make a path toward the front door. Seeing Bucky stand up to the man who’d made your life a living hell brought the smallest of smiles to your face. He really cared about you. Wanted to defend you. It was a new experience for you. On one occasion, a handsy, shitfaced man at a bar downtown felt you up as you waited for a drink. You looked to Alex for help, for defense, for something- but he didn’t care. He bought the offender a drink and apologized for your antics.

But anyone who hurt you hurt Bucky, too.

A debate sparked inside of you at the site of Bucky taking such a confrontational stance toward Alex. Half of you wanted Bucky to back off, to stay away from Alex, to protect his pardon. But the other half wanted nothing more than to watch Bucky tear Alex to shreds. To see Alex’s blood stain the brilliant marble floors.

Once you’d gotten out of Alex’s reach, Bucky turned his back on the man and headed in your direction. Freedom was so close- you could almost taste it. But just as you reached for the door, Alex said something that stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Okay, sure! Have fun with the psychotic murderer!”

Something inside you snapped.

Slowly, deliberately, you turned in his direction. The trash bag tucked under your arm fell to the floor, and all fear Alex previously elicited within you vanished. That anxiety, that panic vacated its spot, making room for a white-hot rage.

Bucky’s hand encircled your wrist, “Sweetheart, don’t. He’s not worth it.”

But it was too late. No one- especially not Alex- was allowed to speak about Bucky that way. No one was allowed to disparage the kindest person you’d ever met. Over the course of your painful relationship with Alex, you stood up for yourself once. Maybe twice. It never seemed like it was worth the effort or the fight, but Alex speaking about Bucky with such blind hatred ignited a fire within you. Bucky was worth the fight.

“First of all,” you said, “You don’t get to talk about him. You don’t know him- you’re not good enough to know him. He’s a better person that you could ever dream of being. Because Bucky actually has a soul. He actually knows how to care for people.”

Adrenaline rushed to your head. Speaking to Alex this way felt good- amazing, even. And without fear of consequences or retaliation, you let loose.

“And second, I didn’t break into your house if this is my house too- and you changed the locks!” You spat at him. His eyes widened a bit as your unexpected ferocity boiled over. “And this stuff-” you pointed to the garbage bags, “is mine! It’s my stuff that you broke because you had a fucking tantrum! I’m not stealing anything from you… you stole from me! You stole over a year of my life that I will never get back.”

You took a few more steps in Alex’s direction, much to Bucky’s dismay.

“You did everything you could to tear me down and fucking destroy my self-worth. You pulled me away from my family and my friends- and for what? Just so you could feel special? So, you could feel superior? Are you that insecure? Is your manhood that fragile?”

Alex’s bravado faltered every so slightly. His smug grin faded. His jaw tensed. But he did his best to recover. To seem aloof, bored. He rolled his eyes, “Well, I-”

“I’m speaking,” you hissed.

Alex quieted. Fear flickered in his eyes.

“You controlled every fucking aspect of my life!” you yelled. “You made me believe I wasn’t good enough- that you were the only one who would ever love me. And you gave me a goddamn ultimatum that almost ruined my friendship the person who loves me most- with the person I love most.”

Bucky couldn’t help the blush that warmed his cheeks.

“Most of the things you did to me can be fixed. I’ll rebuild my self-worth. I can fix my relationships with my friends. But the one thing I will never get back is the time that I could’ve spent with Bucky,” your voice wavered ever so slightly, but the wrath burning inside you immediately fortified it again. “And for that, I wish you nothing but pain and suffering.”

Satisfied, you turned on your heel and headed for the door. But Alex wasn’t done.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy cause I didn’t want you spending all your time with another man?” Alex scoffed. ”You were always sleeping over at his house- in his fucking bed. When you weren’t talking to him, you were talking about him. You always put him first- you’re IN LOVE with the guy!”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke. And you didn’t dare look at him. An intense warmth rushed into your cheeks. Your heart raced. And though you wanted to throw a rebuttal in Alex’s face, no words came. You hated to admit it, but he was right.

You were, of course, in love with Bucky. You always had been- it wasn’t even a question. How anyone met him and didn’t fall in love with him was a mystery to you. He was so sweet, so thoughtful, so endlessly and overwhelmingly kind. He made you laugh harder than anyone you’d ever known. Loving him came instantly. Naturally.

Bucky’s mouth ran dry at Alex’s accusation. And his heart stopped when you didn’t refute it. Never before had he ever rooted for Alex, of all people, to be right. But there’s a first time for everything.

“But, yeah,” Alex continued, “I’m the bad guy cause I didn’t want my girlfriend whoring herself out to some other guy…”

A past version of you would’ve teared up at a comment like that. Alex’s words would’ve broken your heart and left you bleeding all over the place. But this new you- the version that Bucky helped coax into the world- didn’t care. Alex didn’t have power of you, not anymore.

With a chuckle, you turned your back on Alex and strutted toward the door. He hollered insults at you- calling you a slut, a whore, a good-for-nothing bitch. But the words rolled off of you like water off a duck’s back.

“Good luck with her, man!” Alex called after Bucky, “You can have her! Please, take her off my hands! She’s all yours.”

Bucky followed you into the hallway, beaming with pride. He’d wanted to speak up, to tell Alex off, to tear him apart for speaking badly of you. But this was your fight, not his. And he knew you didn’t need anyone defending your honor. Didn’t need him stealing your moment. After everything Alex did to you, you deserved to scream at him. To get everything off your chest. To give Alex a small taste of his own medicine. Bucky was only there for moral support. For protection.

He placed your things gently on the floor and wrapped you in a bear hug. This was the version of you he’d known so well all those months ago. Before Alex stripped you of your confidence and whittled you down to nothing.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered against your neck. “That’s my girl.”

“Thank you…” You breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. Finally, it was over. But it still felt too early to celebrate, to revel in the victory. You were still in the hallway outside the apartment. Still in the building. Still, technically, in Alex’s clutches. “Let’s get out of here.”

“One sec. I forgot something.” Bucky turned for the door, but you caught his arm.

“Don’t,” you pled. “Just don’t. I know what you’re thinking, and he’s not worth it.” You just knew Alex would take such unbridled joy in Bucky physically attacking him. Knew he’d love nothing more than to have Bucky arrested and charged with assault. The thought made you nauseous. “He’s not worth your pardon.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt nim,” he promised. “I just wanna talk to the guy.”

For a long moment, you searched his face for any sign that he was lying. The twitch of a brow. The hint of a smile. But you came up empty. And so, you released him.

“Wait for me downstairs, okay?” He brushed a kiss against your cheek and disappeared inside the apartment once again.

Bucky found Alex leaning against the counter, whiskey in hand. He barely looked up at the sound of Bucky’s boots, but Bucky clocked the eye roll Alex threw his way.

“Let me guess, you’re back to teach me a lesson?” Alex mocked. “Oh, I’m so scared of the depressed, PTSD- riddled, lame-ass version of the Winter Soldier.” He feigned a fearful expression and made himself laugh before taking a swig of his drink. “What are you gonna do, therapize me to death?”

But Bucky maintained a calm aura- almost too calm. His hands didn’t shake with fury. His heartrate didn’t spike. He kept his breathing even. He approached Alex with a thin, tense smile, and even maintained the expression as his metal hand wound around the man’s throat. Before Alex knew what hit him, his body was pressed against the nearest wall. His feet dangled a few inches above the floor as he fought for his freedom, but it was useless.

Bucky’s tone was composed, measured, even. It sent a chill down Alex’s spine.

“You know how much pain you inflicted on her,” Bucky said. “But you didn’t actually experience it yourself. You didn’t feelit. And as much as I would love to give you a first-hand recreation…” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “I promised her I wouldn’t hurt you. So, I’m just gonna tell you what will happen if you ever bother her again. You listening?”

Alex struggled to nod. A breathy “yes” was all he could manage.

“Good.”

Bucky’s voice grew lower, sharper, vicious. “I’ll break every single one of your ribs. One at a time. I’ll crush your chest so painfully slowly that you will feel the shards of your bones pierce your heart and lungs. And I’ll watch with a smile as you drown in your own blood,” Bucky said. “You will never speak to her or about her ever again- you won’t even think about her. And if you so much as mention her name- if you say anything less than gracious about her in your little douchey finance bro group text, I will make your life a living hell.” He paused a moment, relishing in Alex’s terrified expression. “You keeping up so far?”

Again, Alex struggled to speak. The lack of air and sudden influx of fear left him almost unable to think. But he managed a quiet “yes.”

“Excellent,” Bucky smiled. “You won’t call her. You won’t text her. You won’t harass her. You won’t stalk her social media or drunkenly call her at two in the morning. You’re going to leave her alone- forever. And if you ever- ever- contact her again, I’ll know. And I’ll be here. I’ve broken that door down once, I’ll be happy to do it again.”

With that, he released his grip on Alex’s neck and sent him crashing to the floor. Watching the man who hurt you sputter and struggle for breath filled Bucky with a sick, twisted kind of joy. Finally, it was Alex who was scared. Alex who was uncomfortable. Alex who felt pain.

“The only contact you’re going to have with her,” Bucky continued, “is the Venmo payment you’re gonna send her for all of the things of hers you destroyed. Her clothes, her make up, her jewelry- all of it. And it’s going to be a very generousamount to make up for all of the sentimental stuff you destroyed, since you know damn well that she won’t be able to replace any of it.” He knelt next to Alex, getting extra close to the terrified man shaking on the floor. “And I know you’ve got the money. So, if it’s not enough, I’ll be back.”

He flashed a winning smile Alex’s way, “Have a nice day.”

Finally, he stood and stalked for the door, a satisfied smile stretching across his face.

The minutes dragged by without Bucky. You sat perched on one of the sofas in the apartment lobby, waiting for him to meet you. Every time the elevator doors opened, you hoped to see his tall frame and your other two bags of stuff. And every time, you were disappointed. It was nice of him to put his pardon on the line for you, to risk his freedom in order to get you the justice you deserved. But it was the last thing you wanted. After spending so much time away from him, your greatest desire was to simply be with him. To spend every minute with him. And you couldn’t do that if he landed himself in prison on assault charges.

When he finally made his way to the lobby, you scanned him for any signs of a struggle. But his clothes weren’t out of place. And you didn’t find blood crusted over his knuckles. Nothing was amiss. He had the two remaining bags of your belongings tucked under his arms, and a calm, cool demeanor. But even though he didn’t seem riled up, you eyed him with suspicion. Surely, he hadn’t spent all that time upstairs just talking to Alex.

“Hey, I’m gonna call us an Uber,” Bucky said as he met you at the couch. “That way we don’t have to bring all of your stuff of the train. Are you-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What did you do?”

Bucky shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to talk to him-”

“Buck…”

“What?” He shot you a mischievous grin. “I just wanted to give him a piece of my mind. He’s still alive, still breathing, and all of his blood is inside of his body where it belongs.” A sudden seriousness eclipsed his expression. He dropped the playful attitude, placed your things on the couch, and pulled out his phone. “Anyway,” he tapped away at his phone, calling the two of you a ride. “Let’s get you the hell out of here. Sound good?”

He got his answer in the form of a long, nearly asphyxiating hug. The sheer force of your body launching into his knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him reeling backward. A deep laugh bellowed from his chest as he righted his footing and wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you so much…” you whispered against his neck. “For everything.”

Bucky’s lighthearted laughter vanished. “Of course, sweetheart.” He doubled down on the hug, pulling you tighter. “You know I always have your back.”

He refused to break the hug. Instead, he allowed you to rest there in his arms, with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Passersby threw strange looks your way, but Bucky paid them no mind. Only when his phone chimed, signaling the arrival of your car, did you finally force yourself to withdraw from his embrace.

The ride back to Bucky’s was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of your garbage bags. And though you didn’t say a word over the course of the drive, you didn’t dare let go of Bucky’s hand. Your fingers remained so tightly intertwined with his that your knuckles ached- but you held firm. You knew better than to release your grip on a life preserver.

“Alright, um, is there someplace you want me to set all this stuff?” you asked once you’d returned to Bucky’s. You eyed your overstuffed trash bags sitting in the middle of the living room floor. “I don’t want them to be in the way.”

Bucky just shrugged; he really didn’t seem to mind that your belongings completely encroached on his space. “I’m not worried about it, doll,” he shot you a reassuring smile, “You put ‘em wherever you like.”

But you couldn’t let your things take up the entirety of Bucky’s living room. After everything he’d done for you, you refused to be a less than perfect houseguest. With the toe of your shoe, you pushed the bags into a corner to keep them out of Bucky’s way. You sunk your weight into the large, overstuffed bags, hoping to make them as small as you possibly could. It was the very least you could do.

“Alright, I’m-” You grabbed your phone off the charger and cleared Alex’s old notifications from the screen with a roll of your eyes. “I’m gonna go call my boss and let her know that a petulant man-child destroyed my work laptop.”

Bucky loved hearing you talk this way. Only a few hours ago, speaking about Alex made you shudder. It turned into a shaking, fragile shell of yourself that Bucky almost didn’t recognize. But you’d stood up to him. You finally fought back. And now, you were casually shit-talking him in Bucky’s living room.

“And then I’m gonna start looking for a new place to live so I can get out of your hair as soon as possible,” you said as you scrolled through your contacts in search of your boss’s number. “I’m gonna borrow your room for a minute so I can talk with my boss. I’ll be right back.”

The stress of your current situation poked at the back of your mind. You did your best to shut it out and keep moving forward, but pangs of anxiety shocked you every few moments. Yes, you’d freed yourself from Alex’s shackles. And yes, you finally had Bucky back. But your work computer was a goner. You’d missed two meetings today already. And you were now without a place to live.

Bucky listened to your footsteps growing further and further down the hall as your words buzzed inside his brain. You were going to look for a new place to live. You were going to leave. He didn’t mean to blurt it out, didn’t mean to make his offer in such a strange fashion- but he couldn’t help it.

“You could always live here,” he called after you. And it was too late to force the words back into his mouth.

Once again, you joined him in the kitchen, a look of bewilderment on your face. “What?”

A nervous smile stretched across Bucky’s face. “I just mean, you’re more than welcome to live here. With me,” he shrugged. “I know this place isn’t nearly as nice as Alex’s, and it’s only a one bedroom- but if you wanted to live here, we could make it work. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

The absurdity of Bucky’s words made you shake your head. “Buck, I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own home-”

“It’s really okay,” he insisted. “We both know I don’t sleep much, anyway. And if you moved in here, I’d want you to take the bedroom.”

His kindness gave you whiplash. After being with someone so callous, so cruel for so long, Bucky’s warmth was shocking. Unexpected. And though you wanted nothing more than to make a home with him, you couldn’t accept his offer.

“I can’t do that to you…”

“Yes, you can. I want you to.” Bucky was resolute in his words. His voice didn’t waver, he didn’t break eye contact. He meant what he said.

A long silence filled the room. Of course, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to move in with him and start the next chapter of your life with your best friend by your side. But just as your ‘yes’ tried to slip out of your mouth, you stopped it. You couldn’t accept his offer. At least, not with the proposed conditions.

“Counteroffer,” you said. “I move in here, and we share the bedroom.”

Your proposal threw Bucky for a loop- but he’d do anything you wanted. All you had to do was ask.

“Okay, yeah,” he conceded. “The room’s kinda small but we could fit two small beds in there. It might be a little cramped, but-”

“That’s not what I meant,” you laughed. “We would share the bed. I mean, we’ve slept in that bed together more times than I could count. This wouldn’t be any different.”

Bucky’s heart soared. Not only did he have his best friend back- but you wanted to share a bed like the old days. The good days. It was all he could’ve hoped for.

“And, that way, I’ll be right there in case you have a nightmare or a panic attack,” you said, satisfied. “I can wake you up and make sure you’re alright.” The smile on your face was warm, genuine. You looked forward to helping Bucky, to comforting him. “It’s a win-win in my book.”

It made Bucky melt. He extended a hand in your direction, “Works for me, doll. Deal?”

You extended your hand and almost met his- but an anxious thought made you recoil.

“And you’re sure that you’re okay with me being here all the time? You’re not gonna get tired of me?”

Alex always made you feel like a bother. He’d asked- practically begged- you to move into his apartment. But once you finally fulfilled his request, he looked at your presence with contempt. He made it known that he was frustrated, that he felt like you were always around. And regardless of your newfound freedom, that wound hadn’t healed.

“Cause I work from home, you know. So, I’m gonna be here a lot,” you told him. “I mean, pretty much all day, every day. And if that’s too much, I-”

“I want you to be here- all the time,” Bucky promised.

And he meant it.

Finally, your hand found his and delivered a firm shake. “Deal.”

With your housing arrangements taken care of, you once again headed down the hall to call your boss. Everything felt lighter, easier, less overwhelming. Only moments ago, you didn’t know where you’d be sleeping a few days from now. But Bucky swept in- again- and saved the day. He offered you the homelife you’d dreamt of every night since meeting him. He made your dream a reality.

Bucky remained in the kitchen, silently processing what just happened. Did he really ask you to move in? And did you actually say yes? His heart pounded in his chest. This was the best possible outcome. The fantasy he’d envisioned for years. To have you so close by, to see you every day, to live under the same roof as you- it was all he’d ever wanted. His eyes drifted to the garbage bags that you shoved into a corner of his living room. When he said that he didn’t mind you putting them there, he meant it. He was just happy- elated, really- to have your things in his home. To know that this was their permanent residence. To know that this was your permanent residence.

And though everything in those bags was mostly destroyed, you were okay. You were safe and comfortable. You were home now.

When you finally finished your call, you found Bucky in the kitchen. He stood over a swath of sandwich ingredients, assembling a much-needed meal for the two of you.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “You in the mood for lunch?”

“I’m starving,” you told him. Truthfully, you hadn’t even realized you were hungry. The stress of the day muted your body’s hunger signals completely. But somehow, Bucky knew. He always knew what you needed.

The two of you sat on the living room floor, going through your possessions and eating your sandwiches. Bucky helped you comb through each bag of stuff as you determined what, if anything, could be salvaged. His heart broke as the ‘trash’ pile grew, and grew, and grew. It severely outweighed the ‘save’ pile- and you’d only been through one bag. Alex reduced your belongings by at least seventy percent. But you didn’t seem to mind much.

As you were made well aware, there were worse things in life than torn clothes and destroyed make-up. A volatile, loveless relationship, a partner who hated you, a year without the person you loved most; your broken laptop paled in comparison.

Only one possession really mattered to you- and it survived the rampage. But as you glanced over at the kitchen counter in search of your manila envelope, your heart stopped. Every function within your body came to a screeching halt. It was nowhere to be seen.

Did you drop it in the apartment lobby? Forget it in the Uber? Was your most beloved personal item sitting on the sidewalk outside Alex’s building?

Bucky clocked the anxiety in your expression, the way your eyes searched every inch of the kitchen. He could always sense even the smallest of changes in your demeanor- sometimes before you sensed them yourself.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

“I’m just looking for my-” A sigh of relief left your chest as your gaze landed on your envelope. It was tucked under a worn cookbook, with only one of its manila corners poking out. “Never mind, I found it.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and scanned the kitchen until he realized what had you so panicked. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to get anything on it while I was making us lunch,” Bucky said. “So, I just put it under my cookbook to be safe. Is that okay?”

With a breathless nod, you assured him it was just fine. But your heart still boomed inside your chest, and the sweat on your palms still left your skin slick.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal with that envelope?” Bucky asked, testing the waters. “If it’s none of my business, I completely understand. But I could’ve sworn you were about to tell me back at the apartment.”

“And someone just had to interrupt us,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not too personal, I just had to hide it from Alex. I want you to see, though.”

Bucky was right about one thing. You’d tried to show him the contents of the envelope back at Alex’s. But he had the rest wrong; it was his business just as much as it was yours. He just had no idea how personal the contents of that envelope were to him.

You ditched the pile of damaged clothes sitting in your lap and stood, offering your hand to Bucky. “Come on, let me show you.”

Bucky gladly accepted your hand and laced his fingers with yours on the walk to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what to expect from your special, secret envelope. But he didn’t care. Whether it was a child’s messy crayon drawing or the nuclear codes- it didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was that the contents of this envelope were important to you. And if they were important to you, they were important to him.

“Okay, so, a little backstory…” You slid the envelope out from underneath the book and held it to your chest. “After Alex told me to stop spending so much time with you but before he issued the ultimatum, we got into this big fight,” you rolled your eyes, “I know that comes as a surprise to no one.”

Bucky chuckled at your joke, but the words made his chest ache. To him, your time with Alex sounded more like active combat than love. More like a battlefield than a relationship.

“And during that fight,” you continued, “he told me I had way too many pictures of me and you on my phone. He thought that at least three-quarters of my phone’s storage was just pictures of us, and he said it was disrespectful to my relationship with him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “of course, he did.”

“So, he told me I needed to go through my camera roll and delete every picture of you and me. He said it needed to be done by the time he got home from work the next day, and they actually had to be gone for real. Not saved to the cloud. Not hidden in a private album. Deleted forever.”

Bucky grimaced, “That’s fucking vile.”

It made Bucky sick to his stomach. He cherished his photos of the two of you. Over the course of the last year, he found himself scrolling through those pictures every day. Several times a day. It was a coping mechanism, a respite from the void you left behind. When his chest ached with the pain of missing you, he’d dive headfirst into the hundreds of photos of the two of you. The selfies from the zoo. The pictures from Sam’s wedding. The blurry snapshot of you braiding his long hair. And for a while, he felt like himself again. The pain would ebb, the soul-crushing grief would let up. It was his saving grace.

If he suddenly had to rid his phone of those images, he’d never know peace again.

“I know. I thought so, too,” a disgusted look pulled at your features. “But I didn’t wanna cause any more problems between he and I, you know? I didn’t want to give him more reasons to be pissed at me…”

Bucky nodded.

“But there was no way I was ever going to delete our pictures,” you swore. “So, when he was at work the next day, I transferred every photo and video of you and me onto an external hard drive and took it to my sister’s place for safekeeping.”

Bucky’s heart swelled. You didn’t delete the pictures- you couldn’t. They were just as important to you as they were to him. He, of course, never doubted that you valued his friendship. But knowing that you couldn’t bear to part with the pictures of the two of you made him blush. He almost wished you hadn’t risked Alex’s wrath just to save those pictures. Hadn’t put yourself in such a dangerous position. But you did. And it filled him with an all-encompassing warmth.

“There was one picture- my favorite picture in the world- that didn’t have a digital copy, though. It only exists as an actual, physical print. So, I couldn’t just put it on the hard drive and call it a day. And I didn’t have it in me to hand it over to my sister. I just- I love it too much.” It was a little embarrassing to admit just how much you needed this polaroid picture. But Bucky didn’t make a judgmental comment or laugh at you. He simply listened, happily awaiting the next part of your story.

“So, I put it in this envelope and taped it to the back of my nightstand so Alex would never find it. And when things with him were really awful- which was all the time- and I just needed an escape… I’d go into our room, lock the door, and just stare at this picture for a while.” You blinked away the tears forming along your lash line and swallowed the lump in your throat.

Carefully, you opened the envelope and freed the polaroid from its hiding place. Revealing it to another person almost felt like stripping naked. This picture was your everything, your most prized possession. Sharing it felt like exposing the deepest, most secretive part of your soul.

“It might sound kinda stupid, but this thing saved my life during the last year.”

And finally, you presented Bucky with the photo. He took in a small gasp at the sight of this relic of your friendship. Cautiously, he accepted the polaroid and held it with the utmost care. He hadn’t seen this photo in ages; part of him assumed it was long-lost by now. But you’d had it this whole time, cherishing it every single day.

“Oh, I love this one…” He carefully drank in each detail of the photo, examining it one piece at a time.

It was a snapshot of a perfect moment, frozen in time. Confetti littered the floor, empty solo cups laid abandoned on the coffee table. And there you stood next to Bucky, with one of his arms wrapped lovingly around your shoulders. You were laughing at something; Bucky couldn’t remember what. But he remembered the feeling it gave him- the feeling of warmth. The feeling of home. His lips were pulled into a wide smile as he beamed down at you, drowning in adoration. Sure, it was slightly out of focus and tad bit blurry. But it perfectly illustrated the way you and Bucky felt about each other. The way you cared for each other. Cherished each other.

Bucky traced the corners of the photo with his fingers, “I never knew where this thing ended up. I’m so glad you kept it.”

“Yeah…” A hurricane of memories hit you all at once, reminding you of all the times you sought solace in that photo. It gave you the comfort Alex withheld. The strength to carry on. The hope that, one day, you’d see Bucky again. “Me too. I just hate that I had to hide it, you know?”

“Hey, how about we do this…” Bucky took your hand in his and walked you over to the fridge. He freed his hand for a moment, only long enough secure the photo to his fridge with a magnet. His hand found yours once again, and the two of you admired your polaroid’s new home.

“I can go get you a frame for it tomorrow, that way you can display it properly. And you can see it every day. But I thought this would be good for now,” he said. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

And for a long while, the two of you just stood there in front of the fridge. No one spoke- no one needed to. Bucky freed his hand from yours and opted instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders, just as he’d done in the photo.

The weight of this moment would’ve shocked a stranger. To anyone else, a blurry photo on a fridge wouldn’t require this much admiration. This much reverence. But to you, this was everything. Six months ago- even a week ago- you never would’ve thought this was possible. You never would’ve thought you’d be here, in Bucky’s apartment, with your favorite photo proudly displayed for all to see. A familiar stinging sensation warned you of the oncoming tears, but you didn’t make an effort to stop them.

If a genie offered you one wish, you’d wish to go back in time. You’d want to warn your past-self of the slippery slope of Alex’s manipulation. Of the pain and suffering and heartache he caused. Of the way you lost out on a year with your most cherished friend. But with no genie in sight, you opted to simply live better. Love better. And be honest with people- with Bucky.

“Hey, by the way,” you broke the silence. “I wanted to talk to you about something Alex said to me earlier…” It was a miracle the words even came; you were too nervous to even breath. “I just think I should set the record straight and-”

Bucky held up a hand, silencing you. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky assured you. “I know he’s just an insecure guy who was feeling threatened, or whatever. I’m not gonna hold you to anything he said.”

You took a step back, freeing yourself from Bucky’s embrace. You needed the space, the distance. If you were going to be honest with him, you needed a clear head. And being so close to him was enough to make you drunk.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.” You paced back and forth a little before almost shouting, “I was gonna say that he was right- I am in love with you. And I have been for a long time.”

A loaded silence sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. No one spoke, no one even moved.

Bucky felt his skin burst into flames. He feared his heart might explode. For so long, the only feeling he’d known was sorrow. Grief. Missing you became his constant state of being. But now, here you were. And you were saying things- things he’d always wanted to hear. Part of him wondered if this was some kind of very long, very detailed dream. But no, this was real. You were right there in from of him, baring your soul and confessing your love.

“That’s…” he took a deep breath, “that’s not at all what I expected you to say.”

The seconds crept by until they became a minute. Two minutes. Three. But Bucky didn’t say anything else. He let his simple response hang in the air without elaboration. And just like that, your hope imploded. Four minutes of quiet past. And just when the fifth grew close, Bucky finally spoke.

“I bet you don’t know the backstory of that picture.”

A quizzical look pulled at your features. Frustrated hardened your voice. “Buck, I just told you that I’m in love with you, this is not the time to talk about backstory.”

Bucky just shook his head, “come on, humor me, doll.” He shrugged, waiting for you to tell him the story.

“Okay, I mean, I was literally there, so I do know the back story,” you huffed. “It was after Sam’s birthday party. Everyone else had left except for us, Sam, and Nat. We were all goofing around at like, three in the morning or something. And Nat took the picture.” You gave him an expectant look, “there you go. Backstory.”

Bucky made a dissatisfied sound but couldn’t fight the shit-eating grin creeping through his serious exterior. “Hmm, not Quite.”

“What? That is the story, what are you-”

“Technically, yes, that is the story,” the conceded. “But it’s not the full story.”

An irritated sigh left your chest, “okay, fine. What’s the ‘full story’?” You’d never been this frustrated with Bucky before. Never felt this much annoyance toward him; you didn’t like it. He was being difficult on purpose, and clearly enjoying it.

“Well, it was after Sam’s birthday party. And it was only the four of us there, like you said. But…” he began, “After Nat took the picture, she dragged you into the kitchen so you two could take shots. And once you were out of earshot, Sam kinda shoved my shoulder.”

“Okay…”

“And he said I just needed to marry you already.”

Your heart stopped. “I told him- I swore we were just friends,” Bucky laughed at the preposterous lie. “I told him things with us were strictly platonic. And Sam laughed in my face. He said- and this is a direct quote- ‘platonic my ass. You’re in love with her. If you two aren’t together one year from now, I’ll give you five hundred bucks.’”

He paused, trapping you in suspense.

“And he was right,” Bucky said. “I was in love you- I am in love with you. I always have been.”

Thousands of thoughts crowded your already overwhelmed mind. Words refuse to string themselves together properly. Thoughts collided with each other and turned into messy, jumbled piles. Somewhere within you, a sense of urgency erupted. Something told you to act- act right now. Don’t give Bucky the time to take it back. Don’t give him the opportunity to say, “never mind”.

But what were you supposed to say to that? It wasn’t what you’d expected- you hadn’t even let yourself hope for something like this. And now that your ideal scenario was playing out of front of you, you were completely and utterly unprepared.

A few clunky sounds fell out of your mouth; they didn’t even resemble an actual word. You thought it was maybe a combination of “wow” and “cool”- mixed with a healthy dose of unintelligible mumbling. It wasn’t like the smooth, well-crafted delivery that Bucky displayed. Your cheeks burned with humiliation as Bucky stared at you, awaiting your response.

Everything in you wished you were cooler. Smoother. Less embarrassing. On rare occasions, you let yourself imagine what this moment might be like. And in your head, you always handled it with poise. With grace. In your daydreams, there wasn’t any awkward mumbling or charged silence. Instead, you and Bucky would fall together seamlessly after confessing your love in perfect, poetic sonnets.

This was not that.

But this was better. Because it was real. Because the Bucky Barnes was standing in front of you, telling you that he loved you.

Finally, you found your words.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.”

Bucky’s chest deflated with a deep sigh of relief. Because even though you’d professed your love for him only moments ago, your long silence forced his anxiety into overdrive. What if you were just making a weird joke? What if he’d taken it too seriously?

But the way you wrapped your body around his confirmed that, yes, you did mean it. You did love him.

“And hey,” Bucky wriggled free of your arms and took your face in his hands. He needed to make direct eye contact, needed you to know he was serious. “I know what you- I know some of what you went through over the last year. I know you have a lot to process. So, there’s no rush.”

And while it was sweet and thoughtful and kind of Bucky to say such a thing, you weren’t sure if it was true. Because there was a rush, wasn’t there? There was a time limit. A ticking clock. You couldn’t make him table his feelings for you even longer. Couldn’t make him wait. And if you did tell him to press pause, weren’t his feelings going to expire? Weren’t they going to run out? You needed to capitalize on his affections for you now before it was too late.

But before you could lie through your teeth and tell Bucky you didn’t need to wait, he spoke.

“If you ever want to pursue things with me, I’ll be here,” he promised. “My feelings for you aren’t going anywhere. I’ve waited years for this, I can wait as long as you need.”

But that was just it. He’d waited years- making him wait any longer would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it be unfair, especially now that he’d rescued you from your volatile relationship?

It wasn’t that you wanted to delay a romantic relationship with Bucky. No, you wanted it now. The only issue was the heavy toll your ex took on you. You were littered with emotional wounds that were barely beginning to heal. Your anxiety was at an all-time high. And your trust issues reared their ugly heads. This wasn’t the version of you that Bucky deserved. He didn’t deserve the broken-down, mentally unwell shell of a woman that stood before him. And you owed it to yourself to rebuild.

The long silence brought on by your introspection set Bucky on edge. Maybe he really did misread the situation. Maybe you loved him but didn’t want to actually be with him. Maybe he overstepped.

“And if you never want to pursue anything romantic with me, I’ll understand,” he said. “There won’t be any hard feelings. I’ll always be here for you, whether it’s as a friend or-”

“Shut up.”

Your lips melted against his. Your fingers weaved into his hair and pulled him close. His hands gripped you at the waist and pulled you flush against his body. Everything quieted. the noise from the city, your residual anxiety- it all faded. All that remained was Bucky. His hands, his lips, his stubble scratching against your skin.

It was odd, getting everything you’d ever wanted. Never did you think this was possible- you didn’t even consider it. You resigned yourself to a life of unhappiness and heartache and longing. You assumed you’d die without ever truly knowing what true love felt like. But you felt it now; it felt like Bucky.

No part of you wanted to pull away, but you had to. You had to set the record straight. Suddenly, your lips vanished from Bucky’s. He instantly frowned.

“You didn’t seriously think that I was gonna tell you I’m in love with you and then not pursue a relationship with you, did you?” You threw a dramatic scoff his way, “Are you crazy?”

“Hey, I don’t know!” Bucky laughed. “I guess what I meant is… I understand. And I just wanted you to know that there’s no pressure. I don’t ever want you to be uncomfortable.”

Once again, your lips found Bucky’s. This was his preferred way of existing now. Any moment spent without your lips on his seemed like a waste.

“I just need some time,” you said, breaking the kiss again. “I promise it won’t be long- I swear. I want to be with you more than anything. I just have some stuff to work through first.”

Bucky ran a hand over your hair. Your shoulder. Your forearm. Finally, he laced his fingers with yours like he had a million times before. But it felt different now. More permanent.

“Of course, sweetheart. You take as long as you need. I’m not worried about the time.”

An exaggerated grimace pulled at your features, and a joking air spilled into your speech. “Oh, good. Cause if I’m remembering correctly, Sam’s birthday party was September twenty-fourth of last year. And today is September twenty-ninth. So, I made you miss the one-year mark by five days, which means he’s not gonna pay up.”

Bucky’s laugh boomed through the small apartment. It bounced off every all, surrounding you with your favorite sound.

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Bucky finally said when he caught his breath. “But I’m not worried about it.” His bright smile and joking tone fell away, stripping his words bare. He grew gravely serious. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he said. The authenticity almost scared you. “I’m so happy to have you back where you belong.”

He enveloped you in a long, deep kiss that stole your breath. Only two days ago, you were a rain-soaked, broken-hearted mess. The world was bleak. Cold. Empty. You swore you didn’t see the sun the entire time you were with Alex. But now, the warmth of Bucky’s kindness and warmth perfused everything with bright, vibrant colors. The storm clouds finally parted, revealing the most beautiful, golden daylight.

And after everything, Bucky was finally yours.

But he always was.

Everything you’d been through, all the pain and suffering and misery, brought you to this moment. And you couldn’t think of anything that could ever pull your attention from the way Bucky’s lips felt against hers.

But something stole your focus.

A strange sound came from your phone- you swore it sound like a ‘cha-ching’. The two of you parted for a moment, allowing you to investigate.

“Was that- I think that was a Venmo notification…” you said. “But I didn’t-” You pulled your phone from your back pocket and glanced at your screen, only to find the one name you never wanted to see again. Alongside that name, though, was a number- a large number.

“Alex just sent me three thousand dollars.” You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, “Did you do this?”

Bucky’s head fell back in a devious, almost maniacal laugh. “Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

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

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @onewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @purpleshallot @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

(I don't know what the fuck is going on with my tags, they dont work apparently)

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remlionheart · 14 days ago

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Hello beautiful

Can I put in a request where Megumi and reader both have a partner but are fully attracted to each other and Megumi of course plays it stoic, indifferent etc. but then something happens( I haven’t figured out what event exactly, maybe they get drunk at a party?I’ll leave it up to you 🤍) and they succumb to their needs( a little coercion from Megumi oops) and Megumi is just so pussy drunk, whiny, non sensical blabbing mess and reader baby traps him 🥴🥴

I just need Megumi so bad, he plagues my mind every second of the day… I need therapy and Jesus. Thank you if u decide to go with it, love everything you do 🤍🤍🤍

Hi pretty ♡ Sorry to say - no Jesus here, but maybe this can be therapy for both of us bc I’ve been thinking about this ask heavily since I got it. And what better time to start a depraved lil drabble than at midnight on the night of a full moon? 🌙✨

((as always, all characters are aged up to 21+, if u don’t enjoy that feel free to scroll along ♡ all trigger warnings are in the request itself, lemme know whatcha think, luv u ✩࿐࿔ ))

⋆˙⟡MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Megumi’s new girlfriend was sweet, kind, cute. Always by his side no matter what and tonight was no exception.

She was smiling at you with her hand wrapped delicately over his arm, asking you how you’d met your date… who was also, at your side and wrapped around your arm. He was cluelessly bantering back and forth with her while you and Megumi exchanged the same pointed look.

It was subtle, the way his blue eyes lingered on your boyfriend’s hand placement, watching him gently squeeze your hip as he laughed at a joke that two of you had missed entirely.

You'd only been been dating this most recent fling for a few weeks - it was hardly anything to be jealous of, but the fact Megumi had noticed at all gave a sick part of you satisfaction. It was an unspoken rivalry you had with him, one that you typically found yourself on the losing end of. He’d fuck someone, so you would too. He’d date someone, so you would too. He’d show up to this stupid fucking party with a date, so you would too.

It was the same pitiful dance that you'd been doing for the last year and a half, your feelings for him always right on the tip of your tongue but never at the right time.

Watching his girlfriend rest her head on his shoulder as the four of you continued on with your mindless banter was your own personal hell and yet, you said nothing. Instead, mirroring them, clinging onto your own date harder as you pretended to care about whatever work story was being tossed around.

The night carried on like this for the next hour or so as the once small house party started to evolve into something rowdier. The music getting louder and the living room getting more and more crowded as you knocked back three more drinks.

You were dizzy, trying not to lose your balance while you excused yourself from your group to go venture upstairs in search of a bathroom. Your boyfriend had offered to come with you, but you insisted that you were alright, shooing him away with a smile as you told him to go get another drink.

He seemed to be enjoying himself and you didn’t want that to end just because of your pathetic urge to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want you back.

Your footsteps came to a clumsy pause, a small, drunken laugh escaping you as you entered the bathroom and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your red dress was shorter than you remembered it being when you left, your hair just as perfectly disheveled as your thoughts. You steadied yourself before taking a seat, letting the music from downstairs provide you with a comfortable sense of privacy.

You had just washed your hands and were in the middle of throwing your hair into a bun when the door opened unexpectedly. Your ankle almost sprained from how quickly you’d whipped around, your heart stalling in your chest as Megumi looked back at you with the sound of the lock latching behind him.

“The hell are you doing, Fushiguro?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his arms folding over his chest as he rested his back against the door. “Since when do you date coworkers?”

You almost laughed you were so stunned, your posture straightening a bit as you continued to keep your attention focused on your reflection and not on him. “Since when do you care who I date?”

“I don’t,” he shrugged, “just don’t want to hear you complain about it later when things don’t work out.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a stupid smile at how annoyingly apathetic he had to be at all times. “And you felt it was necessary to follow me into a bathroom to let me know that?” You countered, finally turning to face him.

It was the first time all night that you’d seen his stoic demeanor start to waver.

His eyes narrowed as he raised his brow at you, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “You’re drunk.” He quipped, taking a slow step towards you. “Just because your boyfriend’s careless enough to let you go running around by yourself doesn’t mean I am.”

Your throat was suddenly dry at how close he was to you, his tidal wave eyes flooding your senses as they dragged down to your lips.

“Your girlfriend’s downstairs.” You reminded him, desperately trying to ignore the heat that was gathering at your center.

“I know,” he breathed, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck as he held you in place. “But you’re right here.”

“Megumi…” Your voice nearly trembled, your insides catching fire at the feeling of his lips grazing yours. “We can’t…”

Your protest was hardly convincing though - not with the way your body was having its own private conversation with his. Practically begging to be touched as he wedged his knee between your thighs just to see how much temptation you could withstand.

He knew you wanted this. Knew that you thought about it just as much as he did, if not more. You’d always followed him around like a lost puppy. Always mirrored whatever he did like your intentions weren’t glaringly obvious. He’d been fighting to restrain himself for the last year and a half. Did everything he could to not succumb to the carnal urges that plagued him every time you showed up to his house in the shortest sundress he’d ever seen. He kept himself busy with other girls - lied to himself and pretended that it wasn’t you he was thinking about when he closed his eyes and thrusted into them. But you were everywhere, not just tonight and not just right now, but always. A constant thought in the back of his mind. A task he couldn’t ever mark as complete. A gnawing, agonizing, need that he couldn’t fight for one more fucking second.

“I’m so tired of it always being someone else,” he said against your lips, letting out a heady little exhale at how submissively you were staring back at him. “I want it to be you.”

The coiling tension in your lower abdomen felt like it was going to snap as the firmness of his knee pushed at just the right angle, giving your clit a much-needed brush of friction while his words swirled lazily through your mind.

He was right- you must’ve been drunk because there was no way he was prompting you to grind on him. No way that he was parting your lips with his tongue. No way that his grip was tangling into your hair as your hips began to rock rhythmically against him. No way that he was helping lift your bra over your head all while a mere staircase separated the two of you from your partners.

There was simply no way any of this was real.

His mouth was warm against your skin, kissing and nipping across your collarbone while his hand palmed at your chest. “S’fucking pretty,” he praised, his gaze pointed at the way your dress had nearly hiked all the way up your hips as you kept riding his leg.

“Show me what you do when you’re alone thinking about me,” he panted, “just like that, don't fucking stop.” His voice was sinful bliss trailing back up your neck, your dress now only covering your midsection as he pulled the straps of it down over your arms so that the top half met where the bottom half had ridden up.

You were dangerously - pathetically, close to cumming, not caring at all who heard you as your nails dug into his shoulder blade. Your needy little clit still pushing and pleading into his leg. “More,” you begged, “please - this isn’t - fair.”

“It’s not fair?” You hated the moan that slipped out at the sickeningly sweet way he mocked you. “Poor thing." His mouth was warm and torturous in the shell of your ear. "You know what I don't think is fair?"

The whimper you let out was all the answer he needed though.

His fingers wrapped delicately around your neck - an odd sense of security laced into them despite the way they were cutting off your oxygen. “I don’t think it’s fair that I have to want you this bad.” His other hand suddenly roaming along the curve of your hip. “I don’t think it’s fair that I have to pretend not to care when you do dumb shit like dangle new men in front of me.” His lips returned to yours, catching all the little whines that were escaping you. “And I really don’t think it’s fair how hard I’m about to fuck you while he’s downstairs waiting for you.”

It definitely wasn't the sentence that should've brought you to your breaking point, but it did. His grip tightened on you, fingertips digging perfectly into each side of your neck making your vision blur and your center ache. Your moans were every bit as broken as your thoughts, your eyes not leaving his while he nodded back at you.

"That's it." His grasp slowly began to release, loosening up with each whine you let out for him. "Cummin’ so easily for me.”

The room was still hazy, electricity dancing along your skin as he gently helped bring you to your feet before turning you around. You watched him from the reflection in the mirror, a dizzy smile cutting across your face while you watched him slip your dress all the way off and bend you over the counter.

"Fuck," he groaned, admiring the slick glistening off of you as he undid his belt. He ran two fingers between your folds, his mouth slightly dropping open at how sensitive you were to his touch - the cute little noises he could coax out of you by barely doing anything and the way your back arched so perfectly for him.

"Look at me," he breathed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder as he lined himself up with you.

His eyes trailed back up to yours, his tip carefully prodding at your entrance while he watched the desperate little expression that had taken over your features. "God damn," he hissed, his breath hitching in his throat at how faithfully your walls were swallowing him.

You were so wet, your brain and body both completely enamored with the sight and feeling of him sinking into you. The waiting game you'd been playing was well worth reward and you were enjoying every inch of your prize.

He was stretching you so tenderly, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. Though he'd told you to look at him, he seemed to be the one having a hard time maintaining your stare. His pretty blue eyes were glazed over, his composure starting to leave him the longer he looked at you.

"Oh my god," he groaned, "why do you feel so fucking good?"

His rhythm became harsher, both his hands grabbing onto your hips as he used you to his liking. “You know how many times I've thought about doing this, huh?" You weren't sure where your moans ended and his began, the rest of the world slipping away as he continued to blissfully bully his way into you. "Look at you, so pouty and pretty. Taking me like such a good girl."

His words made you clench, your cunt nearly suffocating him as he kept letting out more incoherent praises. He was just as lost as you were, just as dazed-out and unaware of his surroundings. The only thing keeping him grounding was the sound of you whimpering his name and how it kept getting needier and louder.

He wanted people to hear. Wanted everyone in the entire house knew that he had you bent over with your tits pressed against the counter and your ass flushed firmly against him. Wanted them to know that it was his name you sang out when you came.

“Megumi -” you whined, “right there, ohmygod, right.. the - re.”

Your walls spasmed around him, little hearts and stars suddenly filling your vision as your eyes rolled back. “Please,” you begged, chasing the blinding white light of your release as far as it would go, “cum inside me, please - fuck, don’t stop.”

He knew he shouldn’t. Knew you weren’t on birth control. Knew you well enough to know how desperate you were to keep him around. He knew all the risks. Knew what a terrible fucking idea it was and yet,

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he grunted, his movements just as needy and out of control as yours. “For me to fill you up,” he was losing himself to the thought, “to go back downstairs with me dripping down your leg? Yeah, I bet you fucking would.”

It was the worst idea. Every reasonable part of him screaming at for him to stop.

“Y - es! Please, please - ah~!”

But the sound of you begging made that reasonable part of him disappear entirely, replaced by an absolutely unhinged part of him that he didn’t even know existed until that very moment.

He wanted your belly to swell, wanted everyone to look at you and know that it was him who had bred you and that it was him who would do it again and again. He was going to make the whole world know you were his and it made him fucking feral.

He groaned, chest heaving as he gave you one last punishing thrust, burying himself as deep as he could as he twitched inside you. His breath hitching in his throat, his mind only filled with you and your body only filled with him.

A beautifully damning warmth coated your walls while you shot him the prettiest, haziest smile he’d ever seen. Both of you slowly returning back to reality.

He carefully pulled out of you, watching the mess the two of you had made spill out of you as he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face him.

His hands were warm against the sides of your neck, thumb placed firmly under your chin to tilt your head up towards his, “Next time you decide to shove another guy in my face,” he said, “you better make sure they’re not dumb enough to leave you alone with me.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

#thots and prayers ── .✦#rem writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #megumi smut

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after-witch · 8 days ago

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Yandere Overhaul x Reader on their period headcanon + drabble

Synopsis: The title sums it up!!!

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader gets their period, misogyny, humiliation, period-based shaming and punishment

“Oh, you dear thing–you dear, sullied thing.”

Predictably, he is not the nicest about the nature of your period. Although there is an inherent oozing, cooing condescension in regards to anything medical which causes you pain or discomfort, your period is a little… trickier.

It is, objectively in his mind, so very dirty, after all.

Of course, there is the mess involved. His germophobia makes him feel ill in regards to most bodily functions, and that does include menstruation. It is something of a conflict for him, because he does feel he should take ownership of your medical needs, but he has zero desire to be involved in anything related to bodily function.

But don’t think that means he gives up control during that time of the month. Barring a medical reason, he chooses your method of menstrual hygiene: pads, and pads only. Why? Because tampons can cause toxic-shock syndrome, and because he’s a freak who doesn’t want to imagine you putting anything inside but perhaps, down the line, with careful planning and utmost cleaning, his dick.

You will be solely responsible for the disposal of your pads, however, and he takes it seriously. He’ll instruct you–distaste obvious on his face–to wrap them first in the provided plastic liner, then in several rounds of unused toilet paper, and then into special biohazard bags. Yes. Biohazard bags. Punishment will be swift if you disobey him on this–he’d find any straying from this necessary “hazard” treatment abhorrent.

He’ll instruct you to clean yourself exceptionally well during your period, too. He has a tendency to instruct you while you bathe–gaze to the side, if you’ve been good–and he would want you to take special care to wash your privates during that time of the month. It’s humiliating. Patronizing. But if you don’t do it, he’ll force himself to take the reins and do it for you–something you definitely don’t want.

On the other side of things, he gets a twisted satisfaction from treating your other symptoms. Feeling weak or lightheaded? Cramps? Backaches? Wanting to simply curl up and sleep it off? Those trigger something thickly patronizing in him–and he’d want to take care of you.

It’s a very strange sort of pampering, in which he is both hands-on and, due to his distaste for menstruation, hands-off.

He’d forbid you from engaging in anything too strenuous. You should be in bed, dear. Resting. You’d get a pillow to shove between your legs. He would provide you with a heating pad, and supervise you the whole time, lest you misuse it and burn your skin.

If you behave, you can have medication to ease your pains. If you don’t, well, biology has seen fit to suitably punish you, hasn’t it?

He will absolutely line your bed with incontinence pads in case of any “spillage” in the night. Anything that gets stained goes into a biohazard bag.

Overall, it’s not a great time. You’ll start dreading your period because while he doesn’t exactly mistreat you during that time of the month (withholding medication when you aren’t “good” notwithstanding)-- he treats you like you’re some sort of mildly dirty thing that needs to be carefully handled.

Your skin burns fire-hot and you keep your legs pressed together, hands covering the fold of your nightgown over what you know is a blood-damp patch. There hadn’t been any signs of your period coming this month–but considering the amount of stress you were under on a daily basis, it was no wonder that your body was a bit out of sorts.

“There’s no use lying to me,” he says, voice low behind the mask. There’s displeasure in it, yes, but something else, too. Something that makes your stomach curl up, slimy and humiliated.

Disgust.

“I didn’t–I’m not–” You cross your legs again, and feel the cool damp patch in your underwear move. An unpleasant sensation made worse by the man standing in front of you, acting like you’d done something awful by merely getting your period in the middle of the night.

If only you’d woken up before he came into the room. You might have been able to rush into the bathroom and hide the underwear, maybe, or–your mind whirs for ways you might have gotten out of this situation, but everything ends up being a dead end.

You’re not supposed to open the dresser by yourself, so he’d know if you got a fresh pair of underwear and a new nightgown. And where could you hide the soiled clothes, exactly? Nowhere. Maybe you could have set them in cold water in the sink to soak, but no doubt he’d make you scrub the sink with disinfectant if you’d tried that option.

You’re left with nothing to do but move your hands and stand up and stare at your bare feet as an awful, sludgy mixture of humiliation and anger courses through you. It makes your stomach clench and roil–or maybe that’s just a lovely effect of the time of the month.

“I didn’t mean to,” is what you finally manage to say, eyes burning a hole in the soft carpet at your feet. Apologizing for what used to be an eye-roll and irritated sigh moment in the mornings where your pad had shifted or when you’d started while you slept. Apologizing for daring to have a biological function that–like most biological functions–made him comfortable.

He hums, softly.

“Of course you are, dearest.” You still can’t look up at him. It’s enough to hear the low ripple of discomfort in his voice; enough to know that he finds you dirty.

And maybe that’s part of the shame. That someone who has no trouble going on about your purity, about the need to keep you away from the dirtiness of the outside world, sees that dirt in you once a month between your legs.

“No need to delay it any further, hmm? We’ll get you disinfected and properly dispose of those clothes.” You wonder if he’s looking at the stain on your gown, now; is he imagining the way the stain must look underneath, still damp on the plain white cotton underwear he gives you each day?

You keep your eyes trained to the floor. It’s better not to know.

#yandere overhaul #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere #afterwitch writes #nasty man #love writing for him tho

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solarmorrigan · 19 days ago

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Nothing Could Be More Important

For the @steddie-spooktober day 27 prompt: Scary Movies Rated: T | Words: 1812 | CW: some internalized ableism | Tags: established relationship, Steve Harrington has chronic pain, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, hurt/comfort Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

This is shit.

This is utter shit.

Yes, fine, Steve gets that you can’t put your body through as much shit as he’s done without some kind of consequences. You can’t rack up that many injuries without later having to deal with things like migraines or, apparently, chronic pain.

And he gets that the weather tends to negatively affect him. He gets that the temperature oscillating between warm and cold like it often does in the fall is probably going to trigger an episode (something about shifts in atmospheric pressure; Dustin had explained it once, but he’d used a lot of jargon and, to be honest, Steve hadn’t retained most of it).

He gets all of that.

But today? Today of all days, when Eddie has planned something for them, when he needs Steve to be up and about and able-bodied?

Fucking bullshit.

Turning a groan into his pillow, Steve tries to stretch out, tries to work some of the tension out of his aching body, but it’s no use; his muscles pull and his joints creak in protest, and Steve deflates against the mattress with a sigh. His head is swimming, and his limbs are heavy, and the thought of having to get up already makes him want to cry out of sheer exhaustion, and – today just really isn’t going to happen, is it?

It's about the time this realization hits that Eddie chooses appear in the bedroom doorway. He’s already dressed and looking far more awake than he usually does in the mornings, and Steve wonders how late he’s slept in.

“Hey, there you are.” Eddie grins, crossing the room towards the bed. “Thought I was going to have to wake you up so we didn’t get a late start.”

Steve’s stomach sinks even further in the face of Eddie’s excitement, and something of his own dismay must show in his expression, because now Eddie is frowning and settling himself on the edge of the mattress.

“Everything okay?” he asks, reaching out and running a hand down the length of Steve’s back.

And Steve can’t help it – everything hurts, his skin hurts, and he lets out a noise of pure discomfort, flinching under Eddie’s touch.

Eddie snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned. “Steve?”

Guilt creeps up Steve’s throat, doing as much to twist his nerves as the pain itself, and he reaches out to take Eddie’s hand, threading their fingers together. His wrists and knuckles twinge, but it’s manageable.

“I don’t… think I’m going to be able to do today,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Disappointment drops immediately onto Eddie, pulling his face into frown and stooping his shoulders, and fuck if that doesn’t hurt, too.

Eddie’s been planning today since the beginning of October. They’d meant to start out in the early afternoon and make a circuit, hitting all the haunted houses, corn mazes, hayrides, and whatever else they could find in the area, making a whole day of it. This would, unfortunately, involve a ton of driving and even more walking around, two things Steve really doesn’t think he’s up for today.

It’s taken him a long time to get to the point where he can admit that he might not be able to do things, that he just needs to rest, but he hasn’t quite been able to shake the feeling of frustration and guilt that often comes with it.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “Today is a really bad day, I just– I don’t think I can be up that much.”

Eddie bites his lip. “Maybe we could just, like, take a lot of breaks? Or– no,” he backpedals, shaking his head. “Sorry, no, that’s stupid, I’m being stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Steve sighs (though he genuinely doubts the accessibility of most of the haunted attractions they’d been planning to visit, now that he thinks on it). “I’m really sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head again, visibly packing away his disappointment. “No apologies, it’s not your fault.” He squeezes Steve’s hand, so gentle that Steve feels like he might crack. “Do you need anything?”

“Maybe some ibuprofen?” Steve asks.

“Consider it done,” Eddie swears, melodramatic and serious as he places his free hand over his heart.

Steve offers him a wan smile and watches him go.

It takes a little more effort than he’d care to admit to get himself upright against the pillows, slow and achy as he’s feeling, and he drifts for a bit until Eddie comes back, announcing himself with the thunk of a water glass on the bedside table.

Eddie’s not only brought ibuprofen and water, but a plate of toast. When Steve inspects it more closely after taking the pills, he sees that Eddie’s spread the slices over with peanut butter—an easy way to get a little protein in when Steve may not be feeling up to eating much—and he feels a little like crying for reasons entirely unrelated to exhaustion.

He swallows back the desire to apologize again; making Eddie spend the day comforting him isn’t going to make things better. Instead, he asks, “Do you think maybe Dustin and the guys would want to go with you?”

“Nah, they’re spending the day working on their costumes,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Oh.” Steve chews thoughtfully on a piece of toast. “Maybe you could go do that, instead? I know you still have work to do on yours, so–”

“Steve, I’m not going to abandon you when you’re feeling like shit,” Eddie cuts in, apparently a little baffled by Steve’s attempts to find him a new activity for the day.

“I’m probably just going to sleep. Not very exciting.” Steve shakes his head. “I just don’t want to completely wreck your day, you know?”

Eddie frowns. “My day isn’t wrecked. Am I a little disappointed we can’t go out like we planned? Sure.” He shrugs. “But I’m not, like, upset with you over it. Shit happens, baby.” Gently, Eddie brushes Steve’s messy bangs back and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Eat your toast, let the meds kick in, take a nap, and don’t worry about it. Hopefully, you’ll feel a little better after that.”

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, isn’t sure how to express that he wouldn’t blame Eddie for being upset, even though he’s glad he’s not, and so he decides to just do as he’s told. He eats his toast, insists on taking his own plate to the kitchen so he can at least say he’d gotten up that morning, and then finds himself back in bed shortly after that, already dozing off.

When he wakes a few hours later, he can’t quite say he feels better, but he doesn’t feel worse, and sometimes that’s a win in itself. He can hear Eddie puttering around in the kitchen when he gets up to use the bathroom, and when he pokes his head in on the way back to the bedroom, Eddie seems more animated than he had when Steve had laid down again that morning.

“Hey.” Eddie grins when he looks up from their tiny dining table—which appears be strewn with… snacks?—to see Steve in the doorway. “How’re you feeling?”

“Eh.” Steve tilts his head to the side a bit in a sort of shrug. “What’s all this?”

“While you were napping, I had an idea,” Eddie says. “You feel up to moving to the couch?”

“Sure. You gonna tell me why?” Steve asks, craning his neck to try to see around Eddie.

Eddie shoos him out of the doorway and back down the hall. “You’ll see in a minute. Get your shit and get comfy, I’ll meet you out there.”

Uncertain about what he’s meant to be getting comfy for, Steve settles on changing into a fresh set of pajamas (it’s hardly as good as a shower, but it makes him feel a little cleaner, all the same) and bringing out a blanket and extra pillow.

The smell of popcorn hits him the moment he exits the bedroom, and he finds Eddie in the living room, busying himself with something on the coffee table. There is, in fact, a bowl of popcorn, accompanied by a few bags of candy and a stack of movies.

“Tada!” Eddie turns and throws his arms up like a showman when Steve shuffles into the room.

“Movie night?” Steve asks, then glances at the clock. “Uh– movie day?”

“Yeah! I figured if we weren’t going out, we’d have to get our cheap scares some other way, so I ran out and got a few things. Check it out.” Eddie holds up the movie cases for Steve’s inspection.

There’s a whole slew of selections: Fright Night, Dawn of the Dead, The Evil Dead, Psycho, Nightmare on Elm Street – Eddie had gone all out.

“You pick,” Steve insists, turning the cases back at Eddie. “This was your idea, after all.”

Eddie spends a long few moments humming in indecision before popping Psycho into the player (“We should start with a classic”) and then ushers Steve towards the couch.

“Go ahead and stretch out, if you want,” he says, and Steve shoots him a skeptical look.

“Where are you going to sit?”

Eddie pulls a throw pillow from the stack on the couch and tosses it on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. “Boom.”

Steve maintains his skepticism. He isn’t the only one with chronic pain, after all; maybe Eddie’s never announces itself quite as dramatically, but his scars give him trouble sometimes, and his back, if nothing else, won’t thank him for spending an entire afternoon on the floor.

“I’ll be fine for, like, one movie,” Eddie insists. “Lie down already.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve does as he’s told, arranging himself on the couch until he’s about as comfortable as he’s going to get, and waits for Eddie to do the same.

“Your Raisinets, you weirdo,” Eddie says as he passes the box of Steve’s preferred movie-going candy back over his shoulder.

“I don’t have to defend my life choices to a man currently combining popcorn and candy corn,” Steve retorts.

Eddie doesn’t even pause his snack crimes, shaking the bowl of popcorn a little to get the candy corn to mix in. “As a mutual friend would say: try before you deny,” Eddie replies sagely. “Besides, it’s festive.”

“Uh huh,” Steve hums, watching as the opening scene plays out. When Eddie finally settles, leaning back against the couch, Steve lays a hand over his shoulder, stroking a thumb against his chest. “Hey.” He waits for Eddie to turn, then takes a moment to defy the screaming of his muscles and bends to press a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips. “Thank you.”

Eddie’s answering smile is immediate. “Anytime.”

And Steve doesn’t doubt that he means it.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #steve harrington has chronic pain #but Eddie's there to help #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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sugurizz · 7 months ago

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𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓/𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 +𝟏𝟖 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈!!

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ── Bby Boo Joo is a M E N A C E but I know a lot of us noticed him being all soft and tender (like 1% of the time) but oh well, I can work with that 💪🏼. So here’s some of the ways Jaekyung expresses his…feelings? Ig. kinda his love language.. in a way 💕…

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐒𝐊.

Also thanks for the inspo and sorry ik this ask was sent long ago 🤧. U can call me Hana but I’ve been thinking about Yuna as a new alias…idk.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: established relationship, Physiotherapist F! Reader, shared house, implied power dynamics, hints at sex/ SEXUAL content.

Living in Jaekyung’s penthouse sure made life easier for both of you. It slowly aquainted you to each other, bodies and minds. You slowly got used to his mannerisms, little habits and his little pet-peeves. The sense of pride it gave you to feel like you knew him more than anybody else sure gave you a tiny ego boost. especially him desiring you whenever his body needs it…

♥︎──♥︎ He checks on you randomly. Casually pretending to walk by your room and just making sure you’re there. He does it almost whenever he’s home with you. Sometimes getting a bit sly with it so you don’t really notice him. But you slowly learned it was his way of checking up on you, making sure you’re around him -you know- just in case…

♥︎──♥︎ He hates you not being home, especially when he’s back from overtime training. Whenever he’s feeling stressed, uneasy or just in a sour mood, he’d rather you be around him or at least somewhere he knows.

He made it obvious the one day you were away til a late hour at night. He came home from his evening workout, didn’t find you there and instantly texted you.

‘I’m home. need you to check on my shoulder.’

♥︎──♥︎ He always complains about his feather-light sleep, but snoozes like a baby whenever you’re in his bed. The nights before his matches are surprisingly best for him. He gets the best sleeping quality after he pounds the juices out your poor pussy. He wakes up before you for sure, but his cute disheveled morning hairs are sure proof of a healthy healthy nap.

♥︎──♥︎ He likes it better when you make the food. His cocky ass always claims he’s fine making it himself but eats twice the amount whenever it’s you cooking his meals. He’d pretend he’s tired and not in the mood whenever he craves your cooking cause…his ass can’t simply ask for something lol. Yet he gets all giddy and blushy when his fav smoked eel dish is ready.

♥︎──♥︎ He hates to see you in any pain. Always saying it’s just for himself though…You know, just because he wants you always safe and ready to keep him in peak condition. and NOT because he actually cares or anything.

Yet why does he still gets annoyed at you getting the slightest scratch? He frowns when he notices you wearing band-aids, having a bruise or even some random shallow cuts on your hands and he’d instantly grab your arm, staring into your eyes and asking you how’d you get the injury.

♥︎──♥︎ He likes randomly noticing you…*ahem* underclothed. booty shorts definitely trigger his inner perv. He stares at your ass when you’re standing in the bathroom, doing your skincare freshly out of a quick nighty shower. So damn shameless when he stares. Almost undressing you with the raven eyes and thick lashes. So annoying…

You usually end up taking another shower that same night, only with his thick cum flowing down your thigh the second time :3

♥︎──♥︎ He can sense whenever you’re feeling down…IRONICALLY? Sounds like a joke with Jaekyung being the dick he is LOL but trust me on this one.

He almost has a sixth sense whenever you’re sad, scared, stressed out or just if something inconvenient happens to you in general. He’d never admit it -obviously- but it bugs him if he ever caught you teary-eyed. It gets him uneasy and you can tell when his mood sometimes matches yours..

Uhhh smells like love in here *insert Jaekyung stuffing his nose with toilet paper scraps*

♥︎──♥︎ He hates when you struggle to do something by yourself instead of asking him for help. (paying bills, dealing with packages, paperwork etc…) Says they’re just ‘bs problems’ and he can solve them for you much quicker and better than you could. He’d do it himself or even pays someone to do it instead.

Besides, he’s not kidding when he says he wants all your focus on him so he’d rather everything around you gets taken care of just so you can be there for him at all times.

♥︎──♥︎ He doesn’t mind your outside life but would definitely notice when you’re all cute and dolled-up for some reason.

It’s not only about the dolly looks to be fair. He’d bend you over the kitchen counter in your stained apron and fuck you dumb or suck your tits in your goofy pattern pjs on one of his long sleepless nights…

But the time he notices you spraying your cherry fragance in the bathroom, your perky breasts sticking shyly through your dress and a shiny jewel dangling from your ankle bracelet always gets him tight in his boxers.

He walks in with his glossy eyes, same naugthy grin you see when he’s in that mood..

‘Tomorrow’s my back check-up. Better not be late.’ He steps behind you, arms lazily crossed above his chest.

You nodded and made your way through the entrance, catching a honeyed voice behind you.

‘Hey Doc. I’ll drop you by'...

…His white McLaren got you there way ahead of time. so ahead that you ended up clawing at the door close to you, the little ankle bracelet jiggling over Jaekyung’s back and your shaky arms wrapped shut around his shoulders. Begging him to let you cum in fear of missing on your little night out...

#joo jaekyung smut #joo jaekyung x reader #joo jaekyung #jinx bl #jinx manhwa #jjk smut #jinx mingwa #jinx #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk imagines

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lanabuckybarnes · 7 months ago

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💳💳💳 take all my money but pleeeeease write more about dirty big boy Lee who wants to give you his son because that small drabble had me sweatin already😮‍💨

Ask and thee shall receive!

Breeding Bitch

18+ MINORS DNI

(I do not own any photos, Credits to original owners)

Uhhh so this is fucking….maybe the warnings would describe this a bit better hehe 👀.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Reader

Warnings: Dark Lee!, LEE BODECKER!!, Dub/Non-Con Themes, Unestablished Age Gap but there is definitely one (Reader 20s, Lee late 30s/40s), Cheating (it's Lee), Teeny Size Kink if you squint, Names: Darlin, Good Girl, Baby, Slut, Bitch, Whore, Heifer, Girl. Handcuffing, Good ole Gaslighting, Degradation, Gagging, Dirty Talk, Cervix Abuse, Voyeurism? (Your father is in the next room), He uses the fact that your Pa is so close to his advantage, Mentions of Breeding, actually Breeding, Alcohol (Again, It’s Lee), Marking, Biting, Slapping, Bleeding (from yer cooch), Spitting, Daddy Kink, Rough P in V, Threats (Lee threatens your teeth), Dacryphilia, Panty Stuffing, Absolutely zero aftercare— if I’ve missed anymore, especially in a story like this one, please lemme know!!

DO NOT PROGRESS IF ANY WARNING(s) TRIGGER YOU PLEASE!!

Word Count: 1.2k

This is a doozy. I’ll put a lil palette cleanse at the end for you my loves ♥️

“Augh shit you’re fucking tight” Lee growls above you, cock head pushed uncomfortably against your cervix, your hands cuffed above your head and your panties in your mouth.

You would never admit this to anyone. The almost nightly occurrences of Lee ending up in your little cottage on the hill, his pants round his ankles and his cock wherever he so chose.

It was his wife’s fault, he’d told you; she was sick, old and unable to give him what he wanted. That’s why when you moved into town, bright-eyed and innocent, he had to have you.

His head rolled with his eyes, a strained groan flowing from his lips as his tummy jiggled softly at the tightening of his core.

“Never get over a tight little pussy like this” You whined as he pushed further, sheathing his dick fully inside you.

What would your daddy say if he saw you like this, legs spread akimbo for a married man, the Sheriff no less? Your hands pulled against the cuffs attached to the headboard, the rhythmic clanging had Lee’s eyes shooting open.

“Hey now! Darlin” a huge hand smoothed over your metal clasped wrists before running down your arm to your left breast, he squeezed firmly.

“You wouldn’t want your daddy waking up now would you?” that fucking smirk, the dark look in his eyes— he had you, right where he wanted— the reminder of your feeble old Pa in the next room keeping you tamed, Lee didn’t care about him finding out about your little secret, he’d fuck you right in front of him, but he knew it would keep you pliant for him.

You stopped, hands hanging painfully from the cuffs.

“Good girl, knew you’d come around…now you let me breed this little cunt, loosen up a bit, enjoy it” The brandy on his breath had you queasy as it mixed with his residual cologne. His thick lips peppered marks all over your breast, tongue licking the flesh before biting down with a force that had your toes curling and you crying out into the cotton of your panties.

“Oh don’t be dramatic” he chuckled, slapping the reddened mark lightly. He groaned as he pulled his length out slowly, letting you feel each inch run over the stretched flesh of your heat until his cock head fell from you in a sickly squelch, his precum mixed with your blood.

“God baby, you’re fucking soaked…you like me doing this to you? Course you do you fucking slut” Lee gleams wickedly before launching a huge glob of spit over your clit and his head, his thick fingers circling your clit once, twice and then rubbing the saliva over himself.

He keeps your head still, forcing you to look at him as he pushes in again, making you watch as his dark eyes swim with amusement at your pathetic little whimpers.

“Mmmn…you know, if I didn’t have to do this, I’d feel bad for your stupid little face” Lee laughs, slapping his fingers against your cheek mockingly.

His patience had worn thin, you were lucky enough to get this much prep from him but he was over it now— the growing itch to fill your fertile little hole with his cum becoming too overwhelming.

He slams in, hitting your already abused cervix painfully. His pace is brutal, the only thing stopping the headboard from clattering off the wall being the pillow he’d so ‘generously’ placed between them.

“Oh shit! you fucking little breeding bitch, ahh I ain’t ever had a pussy this tight… fucking made for me, wasn’t it? Yeah, it fucking was” Lee rambles, as he usually does. You could do nothing but take whatever he was giving you, you wouldn’t dare fight back— did you even want to at this point? He had you all cock drunk, stupid little baby so you were.

“Mmm, baby you like this” Lee spoke assertively, punctuating each word with a hard thrust “Push me away as much as you want but at the end of the day you’re still gonna take my load happily… I mean look” he laughs as he pushes your legs from his wide shoulders, they fall open on their own. “You fucking hold yourself open for my spunk, you fucking want this, you need it… you want my son ya little slut”

The quick yank of your panties from your mouth made you gag slightly, the drool that had gathered falling from the corner of your mouth and into your tresses of hair. It amused Lee, watching you stare off into that little space you ran to, unable to control your body— you let him fuck you however he wante— no, however you needed.

Lee’s hand clasped around your face painfully, his thumb hooking behind your teeth “fucking answer me whore, or I’ll pull these out” a firm tug to your lower jaw warned you before he spat again, the hot liquid falling right on your tongue.

“I want this… wan you! Want your baby! Please Lee gimme your baby” you wailed, no longer caring about your volume.

“Good little slut, always begging for daddy ain’t you? You take this fucking baby, you take everything I give you” Lee’s pace stuttered, only for a second, but it told you everything you needed to know and you were disgusted at the way your body pled for it. The way your back arched, your pussy squeezing and frantic cries fell from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you like a train.

“Oh shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Lee practically screamed as he sank himself into one last time, releasing spurt after spurt of his thick, hot, cream against your bruised womb entrance. You don’t know how long his dick sat in your throbbing canal, only falling from you once he was fully soft.

“God, who’d I fucking bless to get a little heifer like you hmm?” He spoke eventually, kissing your cheek, allowing his tongue to poke out and lap at the salty tears falling freely from your big sad eyes.

“Don’t look so fucking upset at this, it’s a good thing, you’re being used for something great…I know girls that would have their panties round their ankles in no time if I let them” He chuckled while standing, fingers gripping your discarded undergarments to wipe along his cock, gathering his cum, and your slick; which had a tinge of red from the tear in your fragile skin he caused by stretching you out.

Once he deemed himself clean enough, he ran the panties through the mess pouring from your core.

“This won’t do, you’re supposed to keep it in” He tutted before pushing the soaked material into your stretched hole, his fingers stuffing the scratchy fabric into you carelessly. He made quick work of the cuffs digging painfully into your wrists, placing a quick peck over each dark mark around them.

“Tomorrow, I don’t want none of this fighting bullcrap you hear? No panties, no bra, no attitude— just you, alright girl?” He pushed your cheeks together, puckering your lips in the process.

You knew that what you said to him wouldn’t matter, he’d take you all the same so you just nodded like you would every single time his cerulean stare flickered over your much smaller structure.

“Atta girl” His lips grazed over your own, and then like a ghost, he was gone, leaving you to sob in a pile of your own mess.

I’m so sorry for him, he’s not usually like this, I promise he’s a nice guy 😔 🚩

Here’s your payment~

#lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker fanfiction #lee bodecker x y/n #sheriff Bodecker #Lee bodecker smut #the devil all the time #sebastian stan characters #asks

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dimicul · 8 months ago

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jealous smug ex bf ghost 🫡

this is not edited and i wrote this at 4am 😭

thinking about the silent smouldering confidence radiating off of ghost when he knows he’s better in every way compared to your new boyfriend.

he doesn’t understand you the same way. sure, maybe your relationship with him wasn’t the most perfect, but it’s gotta be better than this arsewipe you picked up from the streets. he just doesn’t get you; your little tics, what makes you smile, laugh, cry, snort — cum.

you see it in every subtle jerk of Ghost’s body, every glance he passes you. pure smugness when your new boy toy drops the weighted gun several times, snaps at you when you try to help him; you can’t even point it out or go berserk if Ghost breathes in your direction, because nobody else sees it - just you. he reckons that’s why you’re perfect for him. nah, he knows it.

you suppose it’s a curse of some sort - it’s not like your boyfriend is a complete dickhead, but he messes up once and you find yourself wondering if Ghost would have done the same. if he’d allow it all.

“You’re pointin’ south.”

Ghost rolls his shoulders back, head cocked to the side as he watches your boyfriend turn in LT’s direction, lips pressed in a thin line. You keep reminding him it’s the other fucking way, that he had to practice the day before, because he knew how important this was to you—

“Yeah, got it L.T.” He says through clenched teeth. Ghost says nothing, but the mask shifts a little and you want nothing more than to wipe the smirk off of his face.

It doesn’t help when he releases the trigger and misses.

“Just keep trying.” You urge your boyfriend through clenched teeth, offering a smile. Ghost watches it all, how quickly your mood plummeted, how you’re sparing him worried glances. he’s not gonna pity your sod of a boyfriend, but since you’re so worried, he’d consider it. well, he tries to, when that boyfriend of yours moves harshly out of your way and readjusts his pose. It’s humiliating and it doesn’t go by unnoticed.

“There you go,” Your boyfriend simmers to himself when the bullet pierces straight into the makeshift dummy opposite him.

“Good job.” You sigh out, weights rolling off of your shoulders.

“Didn’t need a compass either.” Ghost remarks, void of any emotion as he turns to saunter off.

Despite your mental efforts, you can’t deny the sex is… awful.

You feel terrible as you roll onto your side, a layer of sweat on your skin, looking all tossed up. You should feel… good, right? Yet it doesn’t. It wasn’t the same; no familiar ache between your legs, the immediate sleep after, the same large hands that knew every inch of your body.

“Fuck sake,” You shove your face into the small cushion next to you, voice muffled. Here you were, laying beside your boyfriend, thinking about how much you’d rather be sleeping on the cheap issue of Ghost’s mattress.

You were royally fucked up.

Everyone notices your bad mood the day after; you’re slamming doors, sighing irritably, cricking your neck to the side, knees jittery. Ghost drinks it in, God he fucking revels it. Poor girl.

“Needed this, didn’t ya?” He’s rasping in your ear later that night, your head buried into the pillow deep somewhere in the barracks, ass up in the air for him. Ghost hisses, hips snapping against you. He can tell you needed this — course that pretty boy’s not been takin’ care of you, he doesn’t know you. Doesn’t care to.

“Fussy thing,” Ghost grunts, large hand moving to fist your hair, earning a whimper in response. You’re clawing at the sheets beneath you, breathless, unable to conjure up some lame jab because he’s so deep in you you swear you’re seeing stars.

“Greedy too. Yeah, you fuckin’ like that,” Thrust after thrust, you clench around him, taking him so well, because after all; you’re his. His girl. You moan into the pillow, earning a chuckle from the man as he stills, gloved hands on your hips. God, you know he’s making you late to training but you can’t seem to care.

“Doesn’t fuck you right, does he, love?”

“Si —” You’re panting, lolling against the pillow, jaw slack when large hands spread your legs wider, tattooed skin against soft flesh.

“You got a fussy little pussy,” He groans, base of his cock stilling again, right at that spot you love. “Need’a be fucked proper.”

#straight up smut #cod modern warfare #simon riley #jealous simon #angst #ex boyfriend #cod x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #blurb #waffling tbh #call of duty #toxic #soap #alejandro #🥲

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starkeygirlposts · 2 months ago

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Goosebumps in my Sleeve V

This chapter has been a labor of love. I feel so lacking in creativity, but yet writing is all I can think about! Once I sit down to write, my mind goes blank. Anyway, this chapter is a little all over the place but I wanted to delve into some other topics/scenes from the timeline. I hope you enjoy this one! Please beware that this is NOT proof read and most likely contains several errors. I will eventually get around to proof reading it. Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader Trigger warnings: angst, stepcest, drugs, swearing, pregnancy, smut(a whole drawer of warnings), discussion of suicide, swearing, domestic violence, mama and daddy kink, breeding kink, mention of abortion, talk of death and killing, idk what else lol 18+ mdni

SERIES MASTERLIST

THEN

To say that Rafe got possessive once you found out you were pregnant would be an understatement. Nothing you did was okay with him if he didn’t know about it first. No schedule change or unpredictable plans were allowed to be made without an argument ensuing and a slew of angry texts and missed calls.

You’d try telling him that you needed to keep everything normal and the same as it was before so to not draw any unnecessary attention to the two of you and your situation. But he’d tell you he "didn’t give a fuck”, and “that’s my kid you’ve got in there so you tell me this kind of shit.”

More times than not you’d wonder if you’d only become an incubator for his precious cargo. Whether or not he cared solely about the baby under your heart or also about its mother. So when you go grab tacos with two of your closest friends, you finally lose it when Rafe blows up your phone wondering where you are and why you didn’t tell him you wouldn’t be home. You’d left the house at 6:30, not knowing where Rafe was or when he would be home. Maybe it’s the sinking feeling in his gut when he silently opens your door to find your bedroom empty, his mind racing to the worse case scenario, or maybe it’s the demon buried deep inside of him needing to control your every move.

Your sat at the table at your favorite Mexican restaurant not even five minutes from tanneyhill, chip half dipped into the bowl of guacamole when your phone chimes. The conversation between the three of you halts, and you wave your hand, telling them to continue as you flip your phone over, already knowing who the alert was from. You try to keep a straight face as you read the message.

7:02PM Rafe: Where are you?

You look it over, re reading it three times before debating sending a simple reply, instead deciding to push the power button and set it back down on the table, flipping the silent switch before you do so.

You don’t exactly know why you don’t want to answer, as if the reply takes too much energy. But the two things that come to your mind first is that you not only feel suffocated, but you want to forget for just a moment.

Then at 7:08 he calls you. You obviously don’t answer.

7:08PM Rafe: This again?

2 more missed calls.

7:12PM Rafe: Am I really that shitty of a boyfriend that you don't even want to answer me?

7:15PM Rafe: You’re testing me aren’t you? Why?

7:19PM Rafe: You know I can see where you are right? You’re sharing your location with me.

You stopped sharing your location with Rafe.

7:21PM Rafe: Are you fucking kidding me? I swear to god I will show up there in 5 minutes and drag your ass out of there. Turn your location back on. I’m putting my shoes on right now.

You started sharing your location with Rafe.

7:22PM Rafe: So you can read all my messages and turn your location off and on but you can’t reply?

7:23PM You: I’m with my friends. Girl friends. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.

7:24PM Rafe: Yeah but that doesn’t work for me. I want you here now so wrap it up. If you need me to get you let me know.

You can’t help but scoff, raising your eyebrows which elicits a question from one of your friends asking you who’s texting you. You put your phone in your purse and try to forget about Rafe’s overbearing for an hour with your friends. Casually, you tell her it’s your mom going off about you not telling her you wouldn’t be home for dinner like you’re 14 years old. But when not even fifteen minutes go by and your friends are sat across from you looking over your head at what’s behind you, you ball your fists and finish the last sip of your drink before relaxing in your seat. You almost wish you would’ve just told them the truth. You can see the confusion on their faces as they blink from above you to eye level with you.

You can feel him next to you, but you pretend you don’t. Your friends mutter a confused “Hey Rafe…” before he’s bending down to your level to look at you. Reluctantly, you turn your head to look back at him and his brows shoot up. He silently places a $100 bill on the table and calmly tells you “Let’s go, we’re leaving."

You make the mistake of rolling your eyes, looking back to your friends.

“My friends said hello, Rafe. Why don’t you say hi?” You briefly look to both of your friends, hoping your gaze offers a silent apology.

He straightens back up, pulling your chair out for you. You finally look up at him, his eyes still locked on you as you now meet them with yours. “We haven’t even ordered dinner. I’ll be home in an hour.” You try to tell him, but he’s got your bag in his hand and his hand wraps around your upper arm, pulling you to your feet. His lips are next to your ear, hot breath casting a wind across your neck.

“Do not make a scene here. We’re leaving. Say goodbye.” He tells you, and you look back at him once more before looking down at your friends and telling them that your mom made your favorite and you’d rather avoid a blowout. The girls nod skeptically, looking at you and then at each other and then back to you.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll text you.” You tell them simply, before Rafe is tugging you to walk in front of him. His hand finds your lower back to guide you out of the restaurant and your phone vibrates in your hand. You glance down at it to see the name of you and your friends group chat pop up in your notifications. It reads a simple question.

“Are you okay?”

You take a deep breath, as deep as you can as you walk to Rafe’s truck before you type out a quick reply.

“Totally fine, so sorry. My mom’s been a maniac she Rafe’s just trying to avoid another explosion. I’m actually grateful lol"

Both girls love the message, and you quickly slip it into the pocket of your jeans as his arm leaves your back to open the door of the truck for you. You look back at him and he raises his brows, thrusting his hand forward for you to get in. You huff and relent, grabbing the inside handle and climb in.

You scoff and shake your head, pissed and upset as he climbs into the drivers side. He starts the engine and pulls into the street, not saying a word to you so you take the silence as an opportunity.

You don’t think before you speak, and you regret it instantly.

“Maybe I should’ve had an abortion."

The words fly out faster than you mean for them to, your tone dripping venom as you look ahead at the lit up road, totally vacant. He doesn’t respond, and you look next to you to him, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. His brows are furrowed and his lip is curled in disgust. You know he heard you when he cocks his head and swerves the truck violently into the shoulder.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His tone drips with hatred, his head cocked but keeps his gaze straight ahead. You’re watching him, turning your body fully in your seat. You wonder for a brief moment if you should grovel, mumble out a quick “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” But for the briefest moment you wonder if you actually did…

“No…no, no. Say that again. Say it, I dare you.” He says darkly, finally turning his head to look at you. Your eyes connect and he’s staring at you so deeply you wonder if he can see the turning of your insides.

You’re silent, and his eyes squint like he’s trying to see better.

“Come on baby say it. Say it again. I want to hear you say that shit to me again.” You flinch when his hand jets out to grip the back of your neck harshly, and you cry out in surprise, muttering a “Rafe, stop.” before he’s dragging you closer to him, your belly jutting into the console. His nose presses against yours and he shakes your head as if to wake you up.

“Did you actually fucking say that? About my baby? Wish you would’ve done it, huh? You hate me that much?” He’s seething, seeing nothing but red, glitter sparkling his vision as he tries to focus on you. You try your best to pull your head back, but it’s no use as his grip is strong on your neck keeping you pressed to him. The bow breaks and you can’t help but shout;

“I don’t know, do you hate me that much?! It’s so fucking hard to tell!” Before you continue, his head cocks, his cheek meeting you nose as he takes a deep breath and laughs humorlessly.

“What the fuck? What are you talking about? Are you okay? I mean shit I know hor-"

You cut him off, pushing him back with your hands on his chest to be able to look at him.

“No Rafe! I’m not fucking okay! Thank you for finally asking! Why did you have to ruin tonight for me? Why wasn’t I allowed to get dinner with my friends? Five fucking minutes away from our house? Did you see any guys there? Any drugs on the table? Any alcohol? I didn’t even get to eat dinner! But because I’m having your baby it doesn’t matter right?"

He scoffs and furrows his brows in confusion, trying to get a word in but you slap him instead. His cheek burns, his lips parted in shock as he looks at you and rubs the mark. He shuts his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at you with intent. Your chest heaves and your hand goes to cover his on his cheek and you can’t help but mumble a “sorry…I -"

He cuts you off, hand leaving his face to grip yours.

“I am fucking terrified, okay? Aren’t you? You’re not — you don't get it! Baby you don’t fucking get it. Listen to me…no, listen to me!” You try to wrangle your head out of his grip, but both hands reach over to grab both of your cheeks between his hands, forcing you to look at him. His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and his nostrils flared.

“Look at me, you remember that night don’t you? I know you do. Look at me and tell me. Do you mean it? You wish you aborted the baby?” He asks you this rhetorically, but maybe you really do wish you’d just done what Ward told you to. You take a deep breath and fight the tears that threaten to spill over, and they do when you clench your lids closed in regret. Your hand subconsciously drifts to your middle and you shake your head in Rafe’s hands.

“Say it, I need to hear you say it.” His voice is soft now, coaxing you to open your eyes and when you do, he’s ducked his head to look as close at you as he can and you quietly say “No.” He silently nods his head once, and you can’t help the tears that fall down your cheeks and over his fingers.

You’re still shaking your head and you tell him again. “No, no I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean it. I want her.” You tell him honestly and you see him smile for the first time in so long and he leans down to kiss you, pecking your lips deeply. Your body is rigid against his, sobs shaking your form as you say again “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, I know you didn’t baby, it’s okay, I know.” He tells you like he’s comforting a child. “I need you to hear me right now, okay?” He asks, serious, pulling away from you to bring your head up to meet his gaze.

“I paid people so you’d get to keep the baby. My father will pay people so that we can’t. Whether that’s right back where we were, or ripping her from your arms. Tell me you understand that. You are not safe. We are not safe.” He says, shaking his head.

You look at him, silent for a moment, and your mind betrays you. You allow yourself to imagine the moment your baby comes out of you and instead of Rafe there, it’s Ward. And instead of your slimy baby being placed on your bare chest, they’re whisked away from you without any words exchanged.

Your hands absentmindedly find Rafe’s forearms that are still holding your face in his hands and you mutter a small “I understand."

“Yeah?” He asks you, and you nod and tell him again that you understand.

“Don’t bring me back there tonight, I - I can’t go back there right now.” You softly say, your mind mushy and your emotions ruined.

You see him nodding, and he calls Topper, asking him if you can use his pool house.

Next thing you know you’re pulling into Top’s driveway, his parents away on vacation and it’s probably the only reason Rafe came here rather than paying for a hotel room.

When you get inside, and the blinds are drawn, you settle on the edge of the made bed having kicked off your shoes and unhooked your bra. You’re watching him pace around to make sure the windows are locked and covered well enough, and when you assume he’s satisfied with the barricade, he finally looks at you. You and all your messy glory. But you’ve shed your pullover and now you’re just in a thin tank top, your bra removed and he looks down to your bump. It’s more prominent, unable to be hidden in regular clothes, and he laughs when he sees the makeshift hair tie closure on your jeans.

You can’t remember the last time you heard him actually laugh. Not laugh without humor, not scoff, but actually laugh with genuine joy. You can’t help but smile with him as he closes the space between you, brushing your hair back from your face and tipping it back so you can meet his eyes.

“Getting bigger, huh?” He asks, still smiling and you nod, hand resting on the biggest part of your belly. At 14 weeks, you were unable to wear most of your clothes, save for 2 pairs of jeans that still closed with a makeshift tie, and some oversized tops and sweaters. You were afraid that you were approaching the point where wearing sweaters in the heat of summer would raise suspicions. You mumble a quiet “mhm”. Your other hand drifts down to said makeshift tie to undo it, freeing your lower belly from the restriction. You shift so you can wiggle them down and over your hips, Rafe watching your movements. You move to stand in front of him and tug the denim all the way down to your knees, allowing them to slide the rest of the way off and kick them off with your feet. His hands drift down your neck, over your arms, to your hands and he grips them, bringing each up to his mouth to kiss each palm while watching you.

You’re watching him back, eyes glued to his as he presses slow, open mouthes kisses up your arm until he drops them and palms your lower back with one hand while the other cups your neck to tilt your head up so that he can crane his neck and press his lips to yours. It feels like too long since you’ve been kissed like this by him, your shoulders slumping in relief as his tongue slips past your lips to flick against yours.

You’re putty in his hands, kissing him back as eagerly as you can while your hormones rage and your emotions are tangled. Your hands rub up his back and around to his biceps, falling down to his elbows where your hands cup, trying to pull him closer to you.

As he takes a breath, you pull your head back to speak.

“You’re gonna love her more than me, aren’t you?” You ask shyly, unable to look at him when you ask, your hands falling away from his body to find the edge of the mattress, lowering your body down to sit.

You don’t see the furrow in his brow as he looks at you confused, his fingers reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear as he cradles your chin in his palm. He moves to his knees before you, and you allow yourself to look at him as he does, looking at you with worry.

“Why would you say that? Gonna love ‘em just as much as I love you.” He tells you, trying to say the right thing. Truth be told, he did love the baby inside of you more deeply than he understood. But wasn’t that normal? Wasn’t he supposed to? Did he love the baby more than he loved you? How was that even possible?

“There wouldn’t be any baby in there if I didn’t love you as much as I do.” He tells you softly, and you nod in acceptance.

“Not just a way for you to continue your legacy?” You ask quietly and now he’s truly confused. He tells you to look at him, and you do.

“I’m gonna tell you this because I don’t want to hear any stupid shit like this again. M’kay?” He asks you, and you nod.

“If we didn’t make her, I don’t think I’d still be here right now.” Now its your brow furrowing, and your hands move to grip his, cautiously asking him what he means. He takes a deep breath and flutters his eyes closed like he’s ashamed.

“You know what I mean, baby. Don’t make me say it. Can’t live without you...you know that.” He tells you honestly and the tear that falls from his eye as he looks at you through saggy lids tell you everything you need to know.

You gasp without meaning to, and you can’t help the guilt brewing in your gut. The idea of a world without Rafe in it makes you want to throw up, your hands gripping his like a vice, and you beg him to never say that again.

“I can’t…I couldn’t do this without you.” You tell him, tears threatening to fall and he pulls you to him to cradle your head under his.

“You don’t have to. I’m here.” He says simply, pulling back just enough to lower his head and kiss you again, his lips soft and hesitant against yours like he’s asking permission, and you lean back on the bed in approval, relenting and his hands snake up to your bottom, fingers squeezing to drag you further up the bed, settling on his knees in between yours.

Your lips find a pace against his, allowing him to find clarity in your movements. Your hips mindlessly buck up against his and he breaks away from your lips to run a hand down the valley of your breasts down below your belly to the hem of your tank, pulling it up and over your head to leave you bare except for your panties that remain the only barrier he can’t see past.

Your chest is heaving, watching him hover above you, and your hands find their way to the hem of his own shirt, tugging on it trying to lift it but needing his help and he chuckles, pulling the shirt off from behind his head, throwing it to the growing pile of your clothing on the floor.

He watches your face as he drags his fingers past the top of your panties to use the tip of his pointer finger to brush down the middle of your panties, the pressure against your clit making you arch up off the bed to gain friction. You moan his name and look down at him. He’s leaning back on his calves, shirtless and watching you squirm in need of more.

“What is it baby?” He teases, cocking his head while he watches you in fascination, his fingers ghosting over your clothed slit, and you nearly cry in frustration. “Please don’t tease me, Rafe.” You groan, using your feet to try to tug him closer to you. But he tuts and tells you to “Relax”.

“Mama’s needy huh?” He croons, watching your expressions with lust, finally using his fingers to tug the crotch of your panties to the side so he can rub your cunt properly.

You throw your head back with a “yes!” falling from your lips. He uses his pointer finger to push inside of your gummy walls, his thumb coming to rub firm circles on your clit, the pressure tightening the knot inside of your gut. He adds his middle finger inside of you, curling his fingers upward to push at the spongey spot inside of you, knowing your body so well.

His other hand comes up to rest on the swell of your belly, your hand instinctively covering his and lacing your fingers through his. His fingers thrust in and out of you at a rapid speed, your hips bucking up off the bed when you’re about to snap. “Gonna make me cum Rafe!” You squeal, pushing out to feel yourself gush around his fingers, pushing up on your elbows to watch him. He’s watching his fingers fuck in and out of you, the wet squelch of you taking him in over and over. You collapse back against the soft mattress again after your chest stops heaving.

Rafe’s fingers leave your core and you can’t help the frustrated grunt that leaves your lips without intent. He climbs off the bed to unbuckle his jeans and push them down his hips to the floor, his boxers going with them. You lean up on your elbows again, watching him with hooded lids, heavy with bliss as he climbs back between your legs, using his palms to trail up your calves and behind your knees to press them into your chest, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead.

“Such a pretty mama, doing so good for me baby. You ready for my cock?” He asks sweetly, trailing kisses down your cheek to your jaw and finally locks his lips with yours and pulls back to look at you. You nod at him meekly, looking up into his eyes and he tell you to “Use your words, pretty girl."

“Yes, yes please, need your cock. Please fuck me Rafe.” You ask with confidence, chasing his lips with your own, craving the contact. His hands tighten on the backs of your knees, almost folding you too tight. He’s careful not to rest himself on your belly, though. He locks his lips on yours as he lines himself up with your cunt, but collects your wetness on his mushroom tip as he lets go of one knee to guide himself up and down your slit before guiding himself inside you in one smooth thrust. He stills when he’s buried all the way inside and your mouth falls open in a sharp cry.

“Oh, fuck…so fucking deep. Oh my godddd”. You whine, craning your neck up to press your forehead to his, his bangs hanging in your eyes. He pulls back to rest on the backs of his calves, using both hands to once again press your knees beside you in a mating press and tells you to look down at yourself.

“Look how good your pretty pussy swallows me baby. She takes me so well. Shiitttt” You whine in defeat, trying to drift your eyes downward, but at this angle flat on your back, you realize your belly is too large to see past. You huff in defeat and tell him “can’t see, rafe…tummy's too big.”

Something snaps inside of him and he hastily brings a hand behind your neck to grab a fistful of hair from the back of your neck to crane your neck up at an uncomfy angle, and you try thrusting your head back, but he stuffs a pillow behind you instead, tugging your head up farther. “Look down baby. Look at yourself dirty girl. Watch daddy fuck you.” You whine a moan at the name he gives himself and you look down again with the pillow behind you, watching as his cock drags slowly out of you, shiny with your slick before disappearing again. It’s painfully slow and you groan out.

“Fuck, Rafe…so deep, hurts so goooood.” You whine out, hands finding his forearms to steady yourself. The pressure he’s building inside of you is becoming too much and you can’t help but clench around him. He feels it and chuckles, leaning down to breathe against your lips. “Noooooo baby, don’t do that. You can take it, you’re doing so good baby girl don’t push me out.” He’s speaking to you in a higher pitch like he’s coaching you through it, continuing "Just…fucking…take it” punctuating with each thrust his long cock makes inside you, bruising your cervix over and over. You whimper at his words, your nails digging half moons into his skin and you can’t help the mewls and whines that pour out of your mouth.

He starts to fuck into you at a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with lewd wet sounds, white cream forming around the base of his shaft as his sock leaks seed into you. “Fuck baby, m’gonna cum…need you to cum too. Can you cum for me?” He asks, lightly tapping your cheek with his hand, too fucked out to hold his stare. You look back down to where he’s disappearing inside your body, his thumb now rubbing your pearl and you clench around him before letting go, pushing out again and gushing around him. He groans and paints the inside of you with his seed, mouth agape with curses and moans pouring out like music to your ears. Hearing Rafe cum was one of your favorite moments together. Getting to hear how blissed out he was to be with you. How you were the one who made him fall over the edge.

He’s breathing heavily, hot breath fanning over your face as he all but collapses on top of you, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck and up to your ear lobe where he nibbles and whispers; “I love you so god damn much baby. Don’t ever wanna hear you question it again, kay?” His voice is lazy and groggy, but you nod eagerly and crane your neck so he’ll look at you.

You’re searching his eyes, finally telling him that “I love you…and I love her too.”

----

NOW

Rafe’s hand on your belly moves to leave your skin but the hand resting atop his keeps it where it is. You break your stare with Sarah to look over to him, his eyes trained on the road but you see the clench in his jaw and cringe on his face, his nose scrunched in revolt at having to listen to you describe that night to his sister.

Your other hand snakes around the back of his neck to cradle the cheek that faces the truck window and you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder to press a gentle kiss his neck. You know how hard it is for him to relive one of the worst nights of his life, knowing that somewhere inside of him almost believes that it was real.

“I’m sorry.” You mouth against his neck and bring your cheek back down to rest on his shoulder.

Your eyes flutter closed before quietly saying “I think I’ve shared enough.” Before opening your eyes again and locking them with Sarah’s, her head nodding briefly and you can see the tears brimming her bottom lids.

It’s a sick thing to talk about, you know you’ve overshared, but it’s reality for you, Rafe and the little girl underneath your hands. It was the only way to really allow her to understand any of this. It’s hard to still give a shit about other people, but you think salvaging an aunt for your daughter isn’t beyond reach. So you’re trying. Whether that’s okay with Rafe or not.

His voice jolts you suddenly. annoyed and tired. “How much longer am I driving here, Sarah?” He asks while keeping his gaze ahead. She nervously fumbles her phone, stuttering with nerves, you watch her hands tremble as she turns her phone upside down and tap it back open. “U-Uhhh, it’s just straight ahead for another mile and then you’re turning left.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her answer, instead following John B’s tail closer, clearly antsy. He huffs out a breath, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Y/N and I are going to the Bahamas after your friends load the cross into that piece of shit. I need you to keep dad occupied until tomorrow.” He’s curt and to the point, looking over at her briefly, Sarah nodding once and saying “Yeah, yeah, okay. I can do that.”

You wonder if you’ve traumatized her, dragged her into your fucked up reality. How could you not have? It was not an easy pill to swallow knowing her father truly was a monster. You think that up until now she thought that family was above all else to him and that he’d prioritize herself and her siblings above all else. You’re a little bit sorry you had to be the one to crush that idealization.

Sarah’s telling him to turn left and as he does, suddenly questioning “Hey Sarah?” almost innocently. You look up at him in wonder. You couldn’t have guessed what came from him next.

Sarah hums as he asks almost petulantly; “You think dad would ever make you kill your kid?” He turns his head to look at her and she looks back at him sharply, sucking a breath between her teeth, taken aback. Your own head flies to look at him and you can’t help but rush his name out of your lips in a scold, and you tense, stomach clenching in unease, shocked tears forming in her eyes and she finally shakes her head. It’s a trap question - that you’re smart enough to know and you know she is too. He doesn’t expect an answer. Because he knows that she knows the answer and that he knows it all the same.

No. Ward would never. And that’s why he wrapped his hands around her neck that night and shoved her underwater. Ward seemingly took away his little girl, so he’d take his away, too.

You wince and it hits you hard that your daughter will not be having a relationship with her aunt. Not if her dad can help it. The hatred he feels for his own sister stems so deep inside of him that allowing the idea of his child to grow to love someone he so deeply hates makes him sick. He will not allow his own flesh and blood the chance to be rejected by her like he had been his entire life.

It was his way of telling you without telling you that no - Sarah would not remain in your life and more importantly, your daughters.

For the first time, you have no rebuttal. Because you finally understand how deep the betrayal and loyalties lie, and there was no way to explain it away or reason differently. And for the first time, you're okay with the outcome.

Please leave a comment, and reblog! I’d love to hear from you guys what you’d like to see in this story via ask box/requests. I will answer any and all submissions! NOTE that I will NOT add you to the tag list if you are only commenting to add to the list.

See y’all soon!

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron pregnant #dark!rafe cameron #obx rafe #drew starkey x reader #toxic!rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fan fiction #rafe cameron smut

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consciouscarrot · 1 month ago

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flufftober day 4 - holding hands [ b.hargrove ]

billy hargrove x fem!reader

content warnings; physical fighting (not between billy and reader), angst to fluff, brief mentions of trauma, misogynistic comments (not from billy), seemingly toxic relationships but it’s not actually

notes; all my flufftober fics are turning into angst/hurt comfort, i’m very sorry if that’s not your vibe but i promise it wasn’t intentional

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

the sun was blaring down on you as you sat on the bleachers, heat almost too much as the sound of students’ chatter surrounded you. you were sat with billy and his friends, you didn’t like them very much, you thought they were mean and judgmental, cruel and selfish, only caring about their social status and looking better than everyone else. you hated sitting with them, especially as they were making loud comments at a group of shy freshman girls, causing them to go red in the face and teary-eyed.

you hated it, but billy wanted to sit with them. he’d make the odd comment, just enough to fit in with the group, to seem like he thought the same way as them.

you and billy had been dating for almost 7 months, you loved each other, and you were constantly around one another, not able to bear being apart for too long, but no one knew about the two of you. you’d both decided in the beginning that it was the best decision, not wanting a public fallout if something went wrong, and wanting to keep all things new and exciting to yourselves.

at first, it had been perfect, you’d found sneaking around thrilling, loving that only the two of you knew about your relationship, only you knew about the love you shared. but slowly, you began to tire of it, and around the five month mark, you only felt guilty about lying to your close friends and family, and you hated the attention billy was getting from girls. you saw other couples in public and wanted to be like them, you wanted to be able to say that billy was yours and be able to go on public dates, kiss him in front of people and hold hands in the school hallways.

but, billy wasn’t quite there yet, he wanted those things too, of course he did, but his was holding himself back. he’d worked himself up over the months, mind whirring with self-critical thoughts until his breaths quickened and his palms slicked.

he wasn’t sure how you’d take meeting his father, not wanting you to be disrespected, as misogynistic comments were a common occurrence from the old man.

he was also worried about people saying things about him not being good enough for you, that he was just trying to get in your pants when that was not the case, at all.

and then of course, his familial situation was obviously not the best, and he was terrified of being publicly humiliated like he had been before, scared that once everyone knew about the two of you, that you’d leave him, just like his mom did.

he’s never had anything real and good, like how the two of you are, nothing pure and just for him. nothing so filled with love and kindness and respect. he’s so scared to lose you, scared that you’ll come to your senses and finally leave him. you’re his everything and he knows that things have been going too well for him lately, so now he’s just waiting for what’s going to go wrong.

you tried your best to support him, always listening to his rants or even just holding him if that’s what he needed, but it was getting exhausting for you. you couldn’t go on in this situation for much longer, feeling like you weren’t enough for him to take that next step, anxiety clouding your brain and making you worry whether he’s enjoying the female attention too much, scared that he might be out with someone else on nights where he’s supposedly staying in.

you’d eventually given up on hiding how you felt about billy, now being labelled the obsessed high school girl with a pathetic little crush. it was embarrassing, and you’d hoped it would trigger billy into defending you, into finally revealing his love for you, but he’d just given you a sympathetic look and made some comment about being a one and done kinda guy.

you’d almost broken up with him for that, heartbroken that he could say that to you, that he could let them say those things about you. he’d begged and cried for you to forgive him, promising that he would try and make things public between you.

that had been over a week ago, and you were becoming more and more disappointed, feeling silly for ever believing his empty promises.

carols voice broke you out of your melancholy, shouting some dirty joke to the boys as she shrieked and giggled obnoxiously. you adjusted your legs, uncomfortable on the cool metal, and tried to focus on getting through the last five minutes of lunch.

billy glanced over at you, you smiled softly, not wanting him to worry. you desperately wanted to lay your head on his shoulder, but you don’t think you’d be able to deal with the rejection of him pulling away or making a comment like he usually does, whatever it takes to keep you his dirty little secret.

you broke eye contact first, turning your head away and looking over at a group of your classmates down on the field. you could feel his eyes burning on the back of your head, and hoped that he won’t be too mad at you later. you love him but you really can’t keep things up like this.

you were about to make an excuse so that you could leave when you felt a heavy weight on your knee. nearly giving yourself whiplash, you snapped your head back towards him, seeing his hand on the bare skin of your leg. you lifted your widened eyes to his, mouth slightly agape.

he refused to take his focus away from you, not even when the others started to notice his show of affection.

“don’t be so mean hargrove, you know she’d whore herself out to you if you asked,” tommy h jeered, smacking his friend in the stomach and howling at his own words. billy didn’t find that very amusing, though.

before you could try and diffuse things, billy stood up, enraged, and made his way over to the shorter brunet, “the fuck did you just say?”

tommy sobered up pretty quickly when he realised that he’d overstepped, stumbling back a little, clambering down the bleachers.

“c’mon man, it was just a joke! everyone knows how she feels about you, maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing,” tommy scrambled to try and rectify the situation, but only fuelling the fire. no one had any chance to react before billy twisted his arm back and punched him in the face.

your classmates swarmed around the pair, shouting encouragement at whoever they thought would win. you gasped as tommy almost landed a fist in billy’s face, and urged the other boys to break them up. someone finally managed to separate the two, both panting and tommy was holding a hand to his now bruising jaw.

“don’t you ever disrespect my girl again, y’hear me hagan?” he spat, fists clenched and ready to jump back on the boy.

he turns away from the group, gently grabbing at your hand and guiding you towards the parking lot, apparently deciding to skip school before any of the teachers could come out and hound at him for his actions.

you grasped onto his bicep with your free hand, leaning your weight into him and unable to keep yourself from beaming up at your boyfriend.

you could see the corners of his mouth twitching, trying to maintain his pissed off expression. after a moment, he relented, smiling widely and returning your gaze.

“thank you, billy,” you smushed the side of your face into his shoulder, so relieved and overjoyed that he’d taken that step, even though he’d gotten hurt in the process.

he shook his head, smile dimming slightly, “should’ve done it a long time ago.”

he kissed the top of your head, before opening the passenger door to his camaro for you. you giggle to yourself as he walked around the bonnet, giddy and excited to go home with him.

and if you gave him an appreciating blowie on the way home, then that’s your business.

—————

any constructive criticism would be massively appreciated:) i really wanna get better at writing <3

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove drabble #kinktober 24 #kinktober #flufftober #flufftober 2024 #kinktober 2024 #flufftober 24 #angst to fluff #hurt/comfort #?#my work #my works

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lieslab · 6 months ago

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Daddy issues

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: A simple phone call from your father and Chan's added anger makes you mentally crumble.

Genre: Angst & comfort/hurt

Word Count: 7.3K

Trigger warning: Parental issues, (specifically daddy issues) emotional abuse and neglect, physical abuse, a bit of an unhealthy romantic relationship, anger, self-hatred, blood, self-harm, mentions and attempt of suicide via razor blade, and a panic attack.

A/N: Even without the request, I feel like this has been a long time coming. Please heed the trigger warnings. Please. Shout out to all the baddies out there with parental issues. Shout out to all the Chan stans with daddy issues. You're so strong, keep going, I believe in all of you <3

Requestee, I hope this leaves you satisfied. I don't think you ever said you were struggling, but just by this, it seems you are. I hope this helps you cope with whatever struggles you either have had or currently are facing in life.

I did change a few things around to fit the story more, but most of it's the same. I think I got everything you wanted in there, besides those few minor changes. I also experimented with time jumps which is new, but I think they were needed for this one. This is a long one, so buckle up and please enjoy!! <3

_ _ _

The words are thrown around without much thought. Daddy issues this and mommy issues that. People wear them like a badge of honor. Always seeking out other people that can fill the gaps that their parents left behind. Searching for temporary band-aids to cover wounds that need stitches to heal.

Everyone wants to be perfect. Nobody wants to admit that the people who were supposed to love them the most fucked them up the worst. Nobody ever wants to admit that their nurture was ripped away before they ever got it. Cruelty swaddled them instead of sweetness. Neglect and despair instead of encouragement and understanding. Some people were doomed from the start.

At twenty-two years old, you understood that your daddy issues were a noose around your neck, they were always there. A poking twine that pressed against your windpipe and jugular. All it took was a few words and the noose tightened. It was suffocating, it was restricting, and it was paralyzing.

There was a devil and an angel on each shoulder. One was angry and smoldering. Smoke bellowed out of its ears and it was always ready to snap. The other was an angel, sweet and soft-spoken, constantly reassuring you that you had it better than most. Of course you did because, at least, you had a dad, right?

Any dysfunctional relationship could cause a rocky conscience. You swore you were doomed from the start. You’d never fall in love. Nobody would be able to care about you in the way you wanted them to. At least, it was like that until Bang Chan.

When Chan came into your life, you fell hard. You didn’t get a chance to stand before your knees were jerked out beneath you. He was strong, he was charming, he was dominating, and he was everything you wanted him to be.

Being older meant he had more wisdom and more life experience. He was soaked with the knowledge that you craved. He understood you, he got you, and heading towards his later twenties, he was hesitant when you showed up. While you turned twenty-five, he’d be thirty.

You didn’t let that stop you from wowing him. From caring about him with every fiber of your being, you would have given up everything to appease him and more. Hell, if he experienced organ failure, you’d cut yourself open without a second thought and rip it from your insides with a smile on your face. You were down bad, but your issues were still there.

You were aware of them when you seeked out his validation. When you kept asking if he was sure he still loved you. You couldn’t shake everything that your father had ingrained in you, but you were still so desperate to fill that void.

Some would say it’s weird, but you would say that you needed him to survive. You needed him. He was the air in your lungs and the familiar thump of your heart. You needed him as much as plants needed the sun. Like the Earth needed the moon and like bees needed pollen. You called it destiny whereas a few of your family members called it desperation, but they didn’t understand it. They just…didn’t get it. They had no idea what you had been through. They didn’t understand the gaping wounds that had yet to be stapled, but Chan got it instantly.

He realized it after you swayed the conversation in another direction at the mention of your family. He knew it when fathers were brought up and the hurt flashed across your eyes. He knew it when you clung to him like a koala with fear and asked for clarification on his thoughts about you.

You were damaged and he knew that. He didn’t mind because everyone had their issues and besides, at the end of the day, he still loved you as you were. He was thrilled to wrap his arms around you when you curled around him and point out everything he loves about you.

From the squish of your soft cheeks, the curve of your nose, the shade of your eyes, and the way you dress, he loved it all. The good, the bad, and the ugly, he gave the relationship his all; you both did. No matter how much the guys joked that he was a silver fox, he always rolled his eyes and shook off their comments. They were just joking and he knew that deep down, the guys cared about you too.

He knew a lot about you, but he didn’t realize just how much these issues bothered you. He didn’t realize that you were nearly suffocating yourself. Out of all the things he knew, he had no idea how much you silently suffered until you snapped.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The day started a lot like any other day. You went to work and by the time you finished, you found a text message from Chan announcing that he’d be at the studio later tonight. It was one of those days where the creative juices were overflowing and he wanted to get everything worked out before he forgot.

You didn’t mind it and started to head home, but then you thought about the dimpled smile and sparkly eyes of Chan. God, you were utterly smitten. With a quick change of direction, you found yourself heading towards the JYP studio instead of your apartment.

Give or take twenty minutes and you were walking into your second home. The JYP building truly has become your home away from home. You came here a lot to support Chan and the guys. It was strange having an extra person along, but eventually, they grew used to your antics.

The guys accepted you with open arms and when you came around, they got excited. Sometimes you brought presents, like cookies. Other times, just your brief distraction sidetracked them from their ongoing issues. That temporary change of direction helped them sort out their issues quicker.

You checked in at the front desk and pulled on your guest badge. It was a new system that the company had been doing after a sasaeng had managed to gain access to the building. If you were found roaming the halls without a pass or a security badge, you were instantly booted unless you could properly explain yourself.

You tugged the lanyard over your head and practically skipped to the studio room. Upon knocking, the door opened to reveal Changbin. A grin pressed his cheeks up into points. “Hi!”

“Hey,” you returned the smile, “is Ch-”

He jerked the door open wider to reveal Chan in the background. Chan was directing whoever was in the booth. You picked up Felix’s deep voice in the background. Chan was sitting in a hoodie and a pair of navy blue basketball shorts. He bobbed his head along to the voice.

“You can come in, just try to keep it down because we’re rec-”

“You’ve got it.”

He opened the wooden door wider and you stepped inside. In the booth, headphones were over Felix’s ears. His messy blonde hair had been pushed around by the band connecting the ear covers.

His eyes focused on the lyrics as he sang. You slung your bag to the side and smiled as you saw Jeongin sitting on the opposite side of the couch. The two of you exchanged a wave and you quietly came to sit beside him on the opposite side.

Changbin snuck back into the chair beside Chan and Felix continued to sing. After a few more seconds, Felix’s voice cracked and he stopped singing. “Fuck!” He cried out.

“I don’t ever recall that being part of the song,” Jeongin mumbled.

“Yeah, what Innie said,” Changbin agreed.

Chan stopped the recording with a sigh. He pressed a button, so Felix could hear him in the booth. “Felix, is something wrong today? This is the fourth time your voice has cracked. Do you need us to change the lyrics or-”

“No! No! No! Of course, I don’t need you to change the lyrics! It’s just the pitch of the song. It’s so high and I’m really trying my best here, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get it or not and oh-” His eyes brightened when he saw you. “When did you get here?”

Chan shifted in his seat and blinked when he saw you behind him. You smiled softly at him. “Hi, baby.”

“What are you doing here? I told you that I’d be home late.”

“I know, but I just wanted to see you.”

“I’m busy.”

“I’m fully aware. I have no intention of stopping you from working. I’ll sit here silently without a peep. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

Felix and Changbin both shot him a glare. Changbin’s fingers jabbed into Chan’s side. Chan was worked up and stressed because Felix wasn’t getting this part of the song. It wasn’t just Felix that had struggled, everyone was struggling.

Chan had created the instrumentals of this song and thought it’d be a home run, but he hadn’t considered how much the pitch would be a struggle for some of the guys. He was frustrated because if they couldn’t reach the right note, the song would have to be scrapped and he was distracted by other songs he wanted to work on.

Seungmin’s silky and strong vocals weren’t the same as Felix’s deeper tone. Han’s wide range of vocals wasn’t the exact same as what Minho was comfortable with. Songs could be challenging and this seemed to be the biggest challenge yet.

Luckily for you, you hadn’t heard Chan’s mumble because your phone vibrated in your hands. You swiped the screen before thinking and held the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

When Chan rolled his eyes, Changbin slapped him in the back of the head. “What is your issue today?” He whispered. “Knock it off and stop being an asshole.”

“We’re busy and-”

“So tell them to leave and don’t be an asshole about it.”

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have a significant other always up your ass.”

“You're the world’s biggest asshole right now and unless you want to lose them, I’d drop the attitude. Just because you’re frustrated, it doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk. Use your words, you’re supposed to be the oldest in the room, so act like it.”

“Oh, so you’re finally picking up the phone this time?”

Your father’s voice in your ear caused your heart to sink to your stomach. The blood in your veins turned to ice. You shut your eyes before responding. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been busy recently and I-”

“Busy my ass. You can text your mother, but not me? I was the one who created you and you still can’t be grateful for that. Without me, you’d be nothing.”

“I’ve been texting the family group chat and I-”

“You know damn well that I don’t give a shit about no family group chat!”

You winced and pushed yourself up. Jeongin stared at you with a raised eyebrow. When you noticed, you flashed him a smile and held up a finger to let him know that you’d only be a minute. Before anyone could say anything, you disappeared outside the room and into the empty hallway.

“What do you want?”

“Is it a crime to want to know how my child is doing?”

Your stomach twisted into thoughts as your father scoffed. A frown appeared on your face and, even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head.

“I’m sorry, but it’s difficult to find time to talk when we’re on different time zones and-”

“Bullshit! You’re an ungrateful piece of shit! I gave you this goddamn life and you can’t even come visit! I have to find out from Google that you’re dating an idol! What have you told him? Why won’t he come visit?”

“Nothing!” Your voice squeaked in shock. “I haven’t told him anything, he’s just so busy. He’s in a band and we-”

“Then bring him down here, so your mother and I can meet him! What happened to respecting your parents? I didn’t even give you permission to date him!”

As his voice raised louder, you tugged the phone away from your ear. A lump began to form in your throat as curse words were thrown your way. You shut your eyes and waited for him to calm down. Your hands were shaking as you mumbled into the phone.

“I think I’m losing reception, I’ll call you back in a while.”

“Don’t you fucking hang up on m-”

The click ended his words before he got out the sentence. All at once, the weight of everything fell on top of you. Insult after insult wormed deeper and deeper into your brain. You wanted, you needed, to speak to Chan. You weren’t strong enough to deal with this on your own yet.

You shoved your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and pushed the door open. Felix was singing again and your fingers curled into your palms. “Chan?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Can we talk for a moment?”

The sound of your voice caused Jeongin to look up with a face full of worry. Even Changbin glanced behind his shoulder to check on you. When Felix caught Changbin’s head turning, he looked up to find you rapidly blinking back tears. His singing stopped and Chan’s fist flew into the desk.

The rattling of the desk shook your soul. It started everyone, but you the most. Suddenly, you were five years old again in the back of your father’s van. You were weak and vulnerable. Defenseless, there was nothing you could do as your father’s wrath expanded along the four locked doors.

You sucked it in and you couldn’t breathe. Your heart hammered in your chest, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could do. You were five and yet the anger of a thousand angry men was cast at you.

It vibrated the marrow in your bones. The strands of your heart strings curled inward. Your childlike curiosity shattered in the backseat. Stay quiet, don’t utter a word, just take the yelling. Like a deer in headlights, you were trapped.

It funneled down your throat and created a lump. Crocodile tears appeared in your eyes. You sniffled and your bottom lip shook, you were alone once more. Alone in the thunder and anguish; the swirl of one man’s anger.

A flower in the middle of a tornado. Thrown, chucked, depetaled. Ripped from the stem and crushed between the winds. At the end, you were ripped to shreds and utterly defeated. Not even the thorns of your own stem could save you.

“Goddammit! Why can’t you just go home? I’m trying to work here and you’re ruining it! I don’t have time for you right now! Go home and I’ll deal with your bullshit later. This is my career we’re talking about!”

The song’s soft instrumentals faded in the background as the song ended. You couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. It stung more than you ever would have imagined. The words were a sharp sting to your cheek. The noose of daddy issues choked you again and you couldn’t breathe.

“See you later,” you mumbled as you tipped your head down and rushed towards the door. You pawed at your tears and rushed into the hall and down the corridor to head home.

“What the fuck was that for?” Changbin snapped.

“We’re working!”

“And they were crying! If you would have taken five seconds to look behind you, you would have-”

“Don’t try to guilt trip me! It’s bullshit! I probably hurt their feelings. Whatever. We have work to do. I’ll apologize later.”

While the two bickered, Jeongin stepped up and disappeared out the door to try and find you. Whatever you were struggling with, it hadn’t been good. Chan’s outburst had only made it worse and he knew that. He saw the terror in your eyes when the other person responded on the opposite end of the phone.

Felix looked from Chan’s angry face to Changbin’s scowl. When he caught Jeongin rushing out the door after you, his confusion only grew. “What’s happening?” He asked into the microphone.

Chan slammed his hand down on the button, so Felix could hear him. “Don’t worry about it. Get out of the booth, we’re going to take five.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As you walked home in the whipping wind, your hair tangled around your head. It blocked your vision and the gray skies added to your warped reality. It felt like everyone and everything was against you.

That was the one fatal flaw with humans. When we enter a dark mindset, it’s the only thing we think about. The only thing we feel is the harsh and back-breaking weight of the world on our shoulders. The clouds close in and all feels lost as the rain pours down.

You walked quickly with your head down. Keeping to the sidewalks, you were nearly running. You were moving so fast that by the time Jeongin made his way outside the studio, you were already halfway down the road. He wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to frighten you. He kept his pace brisk, but he didn’t run.

He loved Chan for a wide variety of reasons, but he couldn’t believe he had just snapped at you like that. Of course, Chan was angry when he was mad, but this wasn’t okay. None of this was okay.

You sniffled and kept rushing as the wind cupped your ears. You were hollow on the inside. That faint flicker of light inside you had been kept going by Chan. It wasn’t the best idea to depend on one person to make you happy, but you didn’t know what else to do.

Your biggest fear has finally come true, everyone hates you. Maybe not to your face, but you can feel it. The bitter hatred that’s so vitriol, it’s rancid. A hatred that’s thicker than oil and stickier than jam.

You were looking at assumptions, not facts, but your brain was set in stone. No one would be able to save you now. You had fallen far from grace. Your issues had poisoned you from the start. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t meant for any of this life.

Perhaps, you would take a chance and try again in the next.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When Jeongin knocked, you didn’t respond. He shoved the hair out of his face and tried again. When you didn’t respond to the softer knocks, he knocked harder. When you didn’t respond to that, he held his breath and turned the knob to your apartment.

Breaking and entering wasn’t something he would have liked to go to jail for, but could you blame him? He knew you were hurting and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone and sobbing.

Chan’s words to you had been far too cruel. Sure he was angry, but anyone in the right state of mind would have realized that something was terribly wrong with you. It was a gut feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake.

His brain was screaming at him to leave as he silently ventured further into the apartment. One step into the hall and then another. He didn’t bother with the common courtesy of kicking off his shoes.

The place smelled like sweet citrus. It was a familiar scent that had belonged to you since he had known you. Once upon a time, Chan marveled at how much you adored citrus. If only he would have been here now.

The carpeted hall felt too silent. The living room was too empty as he stepped out into it. Bookshelves filled with books, a coffee table with the TV remote, photographs of Chan and the rest of the band on the back wall. Your friends were your everything and so was Chan.

Where were the photos of your family, he wondered. It was such a simple thought, but it flew by just as quick. Your presence was here, but yet you weren’t. Where were you at?

He softly called your name and stepped by the coffee table. The bar table in the kitchen had been left abandoned. The hum of the fridge caused his heart to strum faster. There was an eeriness that he just couldn’t shake.

Every fiber of his being was wound up. Loose floorboards creaked beneath his feet. He was sure that he had seen you enter your apartment. From a distance, he watched your figure fumble for house keys and stumble inside. Your hands brushed past your face and he was positive you were wiping away the tears that kept blurring your vision.

He called your name a little louder, but there was no response. His mouth dipped into a frown and he uttered your name again when a faint whimper caught him off guard. His spine stood erected as he waited for another sound, but it never came.

As he approached the room it came from, he was prepared for sobs. He was prepared for tears. He was prepared for the anguish that came with it, but he wasn’t expecting the bright red that began to seep beneath the bathroom door.

His heart stopped and for a brief moment, he couldn’t breathe. Nothing made sense. The circuit of his brain had stumbled across a trip. Something cut out and his brain whirled trying to reboot.

A scream ripped from his lungs as he rushed towards the bathroom and there you were. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even care or notice that he was there.

Full of self-hatred, you were cutting, no. You were sawing it out of you bit by bit. They don’t tell you that when you hate yourself, there is no pain in self-harm. It’s a dangerous sweet release. The stinging and burning sensation fills you with a sense of euphoric triumph. Self-mutilation feels like bliss and the cold blade in your hand feels like a friend. In some twisted way, it can be the best thing you ever feel.

There was blood everywhere. It dripped from the slices in your wrist. It saturated your clothes and it was all over the bathroom floor. Maybe you tripped and fell. Maybe you were set on killing yourself. Maybe you just snapped.

Human skin is so thin that it can easily be penetrated by a single piece of paper. So small, so little, and yet the fiery ache of pain is felt everywhere all at once. You couldn’t feel the fire in your arm. Gone into shock, your body had blocked you from feeling anything.

You weren’t even aware of Jeongin’s presence until he grabbed your arm. Your bloodshot eyes were watery as they met his concerned russet ones. “Please, stop,” he whispered.

With a snarl, you jerked your arm away from him. You started to scream and lash out. He grabbed your hand and pinned you down again.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You yelled.

“Please, please, please stop.” His voice wavered. He was terrified for you and he didn’t want to make it worse. He knew how much Chan’s yelling earlier upset you. He didn’t want to trigger you further.

“Leave me alone!” Your shrill voice cracked from desperation. “Get off! Let go!”

“No!”

You swiped the blade down with your hand, nearly cutting him in the process. Your head bucked as you tried to free yourself. He ducked his head with a yelp.

He shoved your bleeding body back onto the floor. Your free hand flew up, in an attempt to stop yourself, but it didn’t work. Your brain rattled around your skull as you were blinded by the sudden pain of it all.

Jeongin panicked as he desperately used the code word to activate the voice command on his phone. When you heard “call Bang Chan,” you lost it even more.

“Stop it!” He begged as you squirmed again. Your hands flailed and you yelled back.

Back and forth back and forth, you refused to let go of the blade. You gripped it so hard that you didn’t care that the sharpened blade cut into your opposite palm. You were fighting tooth and nail to keep a tight grip on it. You weren’t going to let go. Not even Jeongin, one of your closest friends, could save you from the demons in your head.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In the studio, Chan was ready to slam his head into the wall himself. Changbin was non-stop lecturing him and once Felix found out, Felix was also up his ass. Nobody seemed to understand that they had a job to do.

When his phone rang, he used it as an excuse to leave the pair angrily grumbling to themselves. He stepped out the studio door, just as you had. He let out a sigh before he swiped and answered the call. “What do you want, Innie?”

A thump responded along with a yell. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I.N? What are you-”

“Put it down! Put the blade down! Stop it!”

His heart suddenly turned to ice. “I.N?” He whispered. “What is hap-” The response that you gave nearly dropped him to his knees.

“No one cares! Just let me die!”

He suddenly felt like he was about to projectile vomit. His stomach churned and twisted and the world felt a little blurry. “What is happening?” He raised his voice and began to yell at the phone. “Jeongin?”

“Alexa, speaker phone!” Jeongin cried out. “Chan, I can’t stop them! Please! I need you! I don’t know what to do! They won’t stop hurting themselves!”

The world stopped tilting on its axis. The seconds froze in time. His breath caught in the echo-chamber of his lungs. “No,” he whispered. Tears pricked in his eyes and he suddenly rushed down the hall.

“Don’t let them die! Do you hear me, Innie? Don’t let them die!”

He flew out of the JYP building like a bat out of hell. He clutched his phone, now on its own speaker phone. This path that he used to practically skip after work because he was so excited to see you. Now it could potentially be the path to your corpse.

“Fuck!” He cried out as the struggle continued on the other end of the phone.

“C-Chan?” You croaked weakly. “I don’t wanna do it anymore. I-I can’t.”

Guilt swallowed him whole. He could barely breathe as he ran. “Baby? Baby, can you hear me? It’s okay. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

“You hate me.”

“I could never hate you. I took it out on you earlier and I’m sorry.” His head jerked as he made sure he was pursuing the correct street. His footsteps thudded on the pavement.

“Listen to me, I need you to drop the blade. Can you do that to me? Listen to Innie and drop the blade. I’m coming, okay? I’m nearly there, just listen to my voice.”

To Jeongin’s relief and Chan’s surprise, there was a soft clatter as you released the blade from your hand. You were exhausted after fighting with Jeongin and the blood was starting to become tacky against your skin.

You hated the murky feeling that it left behind. Every movement of your wounded palm oozed more blood. Jeongin panted over your body. Your arms were pinned to your sides as he straddled you.

His own body was painted in your blood. Bright red handprints smeared across his white shirt. His light pair of blue jeans seeped it up like a sponge. There were even fingerprints staining his cheek from where you had swiped your hand at him.

“I’m almost there, I’m coming to the house right now. Where are you? What room?”

“Bathroom!”

Chan burst through the door and into the bathroom. His heart dropped when he found you pinned and nearly half unconscious. Blood was all over the floor. It was smeared against the bathroom cabinets and the tub.

Jeongin never took his eyes off you. He was too afraid that you’d find the blade again and do something worse. Chan ended the call and stepped over the puddle of blood leading into the bathroom.

He softly called your name and stepped beside you. Your eyes weakly met his. He felt like he was going to burst into tears. His knees buckled and he sank down beside you. He didn’t waste time grabbing a wet rag and shifting beside Jeongin.

“Innie, I’ve got it from here, go call an ambulance.”

Jeongin hesitated, but finally nodded and stepped out of the bathroom. Before he left, he kicked off his shoes, so he didn’t trample blood into the rest of the house.

The realization of your situation sent shocks of electricity buzzing through your skull. “Fuck,” you muttered. Tears began to build up in your eyes and they trickled down your face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-”

“Shhh. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just try to save your strength, okay?”

“I didn’t mean to,” your voice came out shrill.

“I know, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

The lining of your lungs seemed to thicken as you struggled to breathe in. You squeezed your eyes shut, but it felt like breathing through a straw. Your brain had expanded with every wrong thought and now you were suffering.

“Baby?” Chan whispered. He leaned forward closer to you and placed his hand over the razor blade, so you couldn’t see it. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Can’t breathe.”

“Panic attack?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“M-my dad,” your voice wavered. “I can’t-”

“You don’t have to talk.”

“Not a good relationship.”

“Is that who called you earlier?” His eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I assumed, but I didn’t know for sure.” He reached down and pushed a bit of hair from your face.

“He’s not good. H-he yells a-and-” You hiccuped, “abusive.”

“Oh, honey…I didn’t know. I-I was just so frustrated earlier, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I didn’t mean to upset you and I-”

“I don’t feel good,” your eyes drooped further.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that. Baby? Baby, listen to me!” Not caring about the blood, Chan cupped your face. “Don’t you dare give up! Stay with me!”

The last thing you heard were his desperate pleas as your eyes rolled back into your head.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When you finally came back home from the hospital, Chan forbade you from going to your apartment alone. Instead, he was nice enough to open up his dorm for you to use temporarily. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it was a manageable one for now.

Ever since you regained consciousness, everything had been so foggy, but you remembered bits and pieces. You remembered the wine colored blood and the fear on Jeongin’s face. You remember being unable to breathe and the desperation of Chan’s voice.

Maybe some part of you was glad that you couldn’t remember the entire thing. You weren’t sure that you wanted to remember traumatizing your boyfriend and your friend, at least, not the specific details.

Your hospital stay had ended up turning into a week-long stay. It turns out the hospitals don’t play when it comes to suicide attempts. You didn’t even try to deny it. There was a tender hurt inside of you that you had no clue how to fix.

It was a surprise when things that the mandated therapists were saying made sense. Sure, you knew things were wrong, but to hear validation from people, it made you feel a tiny bit better.

When you left, you promised to come back. There were parts of you that really did want to heal from all of this. You never wanted to put anyone through this ever again. When clarity came through at the hospital, you realized you didn’t really want to die, you just wanted the self-hatred festered inside your being to stop.

You wanted the negative energy to cease and you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be healed in ways you didn’t know how to heal. You wanted a lot of things and the therapists had promised that if you came back, they could start to help you turn things around, but you had to consciously make that decision.

You yourself had to focus on your own healing. It was hard and it was difficult. Healing is one of the hardest things a person can do for themselves, but it can be so rewarding. You don’t have to let your demons win.

“Fight back. Raise hell. Don’t let them win.” It was something another patient had said during a mandated group therapy. “I’m tired of letting the negative thoughts in my brain win. I want to live. I don’t want to just survive, I want to live.”

The more the people talked, the more you realized that you had some of what they were missing. Sure, your parents weren’t the best, but you had friends. You had a significant other. You had little things that some people craved.

For most of your time spent at the hospital, you were lost in your thoughts. You had barely uttered a few words to Chan. When Jeongin came in, you nearly collapsed into tears apologizing over and over again for scaring him.

He insisted it was fine, but you knew it wasn’t. Nothing you could do could ever take back the damage that you had given him. The nightmares, the trauma, it’d be something he might have to live with forever. Sure, it’d fade, but for now, it stuck to the back of his head like glue.

“So…” Chan’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The two of you were standing in the dorm living room. He had sent the rest of the guys over to the other dorm, so you could settle in. “Welcome to your new temporary home.”

This place really was your home. You had been here time after time again. These walls just might have known you better than your own apartment did. You glanced around and nodded. “Thank you.”

“I cleared out my room, so you can have it.”

“We’re not sharing?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Your hands tugged at the sleeves of your long sleeve shirt. Your fingers curled into them. The damage to your arm was so bad that doctors had a hard time fixing all the damage. They had also been concerned about infection since the wounds were so deep and there were multiple of them.

You played with the hems trying to find words to say. “I’m sorry,” you finally got out, “for everything.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is entirely my fault. I don’t know how to deal with things in a healthy way. I’ve been handling a lot on my own and I broke down. I snapped in the worst way possible. The doctors called it a nervous breakdown.”

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?”

“Maybe you should be.”

He shook his head, “I could never be mad at you.”

You lowered yourself to the faux leather couch behind you and slowly took in a deep breath. “I have a lot of issues and I’ve always known they were there. I just…” You shrugged, “I didn’t think something like this would happen. I’ve struggled with self-harm before, but I snapped.”

He sat across from you and shifted his body to face you. “I’m really sorry I yelled at you that day. I shouldn’t have ye-”

“You were stressed and upset, it happens sometimes.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“The therapist says I have parental issues from my father and it has affected me in a variety of ways. In fact, she said it’s why I’m probably dating you.”

“What’s wrong with our relationship?”

“She said I need to stop leaning on you to fill the void that my dad left behind and I hate that she’s right.”

“Oh…” His face fell. “So does that mean we’re breaking up?”

“Do you want to?”

He shook his head. “I don’t, but what about you? What do you want to do?”

“I don’t wanna break up either.”

“So…”

“So I’ll attend therapy and work on my issues. I’ll attempt to stop relying on you to make me happy because it’s not healthy.”

“Yeah…”

There was an awkwardness between you. Neither knew what to say and nobody wanted to harm the other. Chan finally broke the silence. “Can I hold you?”

You shifted and crawled over towards him. He was careful of the stitches in your palm and in your opposite arm. You curled into his lap and he pulled you to his chest. Your head leaned against the familiar thump of his heartbeat. “I missed you,” you mumbled.

“I miss you too.” His lips kissed the top of your head. Your sweet scent engulfed him. He leaned his chin on your head and shut his eyes. The warmth of your body was enough to set his soul ablaze.

“My dad wasn’t a good man,” you finally mustered the courage to talk about it. “He called me at the studio and I didn’t read the caller ID. I just wanted to see you after a long day. When I left and went outside, he just started yelling and getting upset.”

“He’s verbally abusive and a hothead. Ever since I was a kid, he gets angry easily and he can’t control it. He throws things, he swings, and he’d destroy my things. I lived my life in so much fear because he’d threaten to disown me. My family never did anything about it, they just let it happen.”

Chan’s hand went to your back. He soothingly rubbed it while you spoke. “I had no idea.”

“I felt like I shouldn’t talk about it because some people don’t have fathers. I should be grateful that I even have a father and I-”

“You don’t have to be grateful to someone who frightens you and makes you hate yourself. That’s not what a father should be. I probably enhanced your fight or flight instinct when I yelled at you, I’m so sorry.”

“Every time I talk to him, I feel miserable. All of them, I’m so angry at all of them.”

“You don’t have to continue putting yourself through any of that. You don’t have to talk to the people that make you miserable. Please don’t keep putting yourself through all this distress, baby.”

“I just want to be happy.”

“And I have no doubt that you’ll get there soon, sweetheart. When you’re feeling at your worst, you don’t have to turn to self-harm. You can come find me, yeah? I’ll always be here for you. Now that I know what’s wrong, I’ll be sure to never act like I did that day. I don’t want to lose you.”

His arms tightened around your body and his lips found the top of your head again. “You mean so much to me. I can’t imagine a life without you. I’d be devastated if you weren’t here. If you ever feel like that, come find me and I’ll distract you.”

“But that’s such a burden for you to carry.”

“It’s not a burden if I love you.”

You finally picked your head up and looked at him with teary eyes. His own eyes were similar as they looked at you. Without asking, you leaned forward and your lips connected.

It was pure bliss…until it wasn’t. The front door to the dorm slammed open. The crack of it into the wall sent both of you pulling away from each other.

Hwang Hyunjin sashayed into the room with a pair of sunglasses, a towel around his neck, and a blue pool noodle over his shoulders. “Surprise, bitches!”

“Hyung, you have no manners,” Jeongin grumbled as he stepped in behind him. When his eyes found you, he beamed. “Hi!” He waved excitedly and rushed towards the two of you.

Minho stepped inside, grabbed the pool noodle from Hyunjin, and bonked him on the head with it. “You insensitive fuck! I told you they couldn’t swim due to stitches!”

“Ow!”

Minho bonked him again. “You’re lucky you’re getting a pool noodle to the head and not a fist to your pretty face.” He glanced over at you and grinned. “Sup?”

Chan sighed and kept his arms clamped around your back. “I’m so sorry about them. I didn’t have time to tell you that I invited all of them over to hang out for a game night and maybe some movies. We can order your favorite foods and w-”

“Hyung, look at all my snacks!”

“Mine too!”

Han and Felix walked inside with grocery bags full of snacks. They wasted zero time going to the coffee table and dumping them out. The pair beamed happily as they waited for your approval and you managed a soft smile.

“You two waste zero time making messes, don’t you? Hey,” Seungmin called out and he nodded towards you. “Glad you’re not dead. I can’t wait to-”

The sound of Changbin screaming your name at the top of his lungs caused your eyes to widen in shock. Thunderous footsteps sounded from the porch and rushed inside. Changbin rushed in grinning with his arms outstretched. He was getting closer and closer until a pool noodle slammed into his face.

He stumbled back dazed and Minho rolled his eyes. He handed the pool noodle back to Hyunjin and shook his head. “You are all unbelievable. You have zero manners.”

“Strike,” Seungmin mumbled beneath his breath.

You snorted which caused him to glance over and grin.

“This is okay with you, right?” Chan glanced down at you. “If it’s too much, I can ask them to go back and I-”

You shook your head, “it’s fine. I’m not sure about participating in games, because uh…” You gently shifted your bandaged arm hidden beneath your long sleeves. “Movie night and food sounds wonderful.”

“Ya-hoo!” Changbin cheered. “Let’s get this party started.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, snacks!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Minho ripped the pool noodle from Hyunjin’s hand and bonked him on the head again. A scowl filled Changbin’s face. “Let the guest pick first.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Hit him one more time and he’s going to lose the last brain cell he has,” Seungmin complained.

“Yeah!” Hyunjin agreed as he crossed his arms over his chest. Minho bonked Hyunjin over the head. He groaned and slumped into the recliner behind him. “Channie, hyung, he’s beating me up! He’s killing my brain cells too!”

“You idiot,” I.N huffed, “you don’t even have any to lose!”

“Hey!”

“So how have you been?” Felix asked as he got on his knees beside the couch. “Do you want a snack? Do you want to play Animal Crossing?”

“Or we could watch an anime?” Han offered with a cheeky smile. “Whatever you’re up for, we’re down with.”

“Exactly, whatever you want, babe.” Chan rubbed your back with some reassurance. “The guys and I got you.”

“Can I just observe you interacting with each other? There’s plenty of humor in that and I-”

“Oh, sure!” Minho beamed. He lifted up the pool noodle with a smirk. “Sit back and watch me play whack-a-mole.”

“Wait a minute!”

“Hey!”

“Don’t you dare!”

Without another word, Minho grinned as he started to take turns whacking the guys’ heads.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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