#could have been worse it’s just annoying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

et6rnalsun · 3 days ago

Text

SO THIS IS LOOVE, ( OR SEX? ) 3 / 3

your friendship with rafe has never been just a friendship. it’s always been on the verge of being so much more, with tension choking your thoughts every time you found yourself in close contact, something that should have been innocent—completely platonic.

you never expected him to make a first move, something to change things between you. but then, on valentine's day, he surprised you with something magical organized on his yacht. just the two of you, in the prosperous need to let go.

rafe was leaning casually against the yacht’s railing, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, showing that usual and annoying confidence. “i thought this was supposed to be a simple date, not a kidnappin’.” your voice holds a teasing edge, but the tremble beneath it was so obvious. your words were directed at the fact that he had decided to keep you all to himself, away from everyone.

he looked at you with eyes filled with something you couldn’t put your finger on, his head tilted as he adjusted the sleeves of his soft shirt. his scent wrapped around you as he moved a little bit closer. “what if it’s both?” his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of your dress lightly, barely touching, yet enough to set your skin on fucking fire.

“rafe—” you whispered, not even sure what you were about to say. but, thankfully, he didn’t even give you the chance to finish.

in one swift motion, he closed the remaining distance, his body pressing slightly against yours as the railing behind you prevented any escape. “before we reach the point of no return, ” his lips ghosted over your ear as he talked, his breath warm against your skin. “tell me to stop”

his fingers trail down your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as you struggled to even get a breath out. then, with a firm grip, he pulled at the fabric of your dress, lifting it just enough for him to see the lace undies you chose for the occasion. his gaze dropped, following the path of his hands, and something shifted in his expression. “you do this shit on purpose?”

and after you didn’t show any sign of wanting to stop, his lips found yours. there was no hesitation, only a burning feeling you both felt. the taste of champagne you drank before lingered on your tongue, mixing with the heat of his kiss. you feel his hand sliding up as he barely graced the lace, fingers moving achingly slow, too slow.

a sharp gasp left your lips as his fingers traced the delicate fabric, barely pressing down. the heat pooling between your thighs only grew worse with every agonizing second, every touch that left you aching for more. “don’t tease,” you begged against his lips, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“ain’t teasin’ baby” he hummed, the sound low and full of amusement. he was enjoying the way you were already falling apart under his touch, how your body arched into him without hesitation just to feel more and more again. “so desperate already?” he murmured as his fingers pressed down just enough to make you whimper.

you gave up answering when he dipped his head, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck. his teeth grazed your pulse point before he sucked deeply. the sting mixed with pleasure, completely drowning what should hurt.

his fingers pushed aside the lace only when he was satisfied with himself, skin meeting skin. he dragged two fingers along your slick folds, gathering the evidence of just how badly you wanted him. he let out a low groan, like he was barely keeping himself together, his breathing uneven as he traced lazy circles around your puffy clit. “so fuckin’ wet f’me. who could know that you were this slutty?”

he pushed a finger inside you, and your grip on his shoulders tightened. “i’m—i’m not slutty” you tried to protest, but the petulant sound of your voice died down when he purposely pushed another finger in, the quickness of his action contrasting the slow pace of moments before. the two fingers were already stretching you out good, filling your increasing needs. “you are, dollface. jus’ look at you”

his fingers worked you open so perfectly, and when his thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves again, he rubbed in slow, deliberate circles, making your body jerk against him. the tension coiled tighter, hotter, every flick of his wrist sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

but just when you started to move against his hand, just when you were about to explode, he stopped. your eyes snapped open, your breath uneven. “oh?”

his smirk was pure arrogance. “what?”

you moved your hips again, desperate for friction, but he tightened his grip on your thigh, holding you still. “what, baby? you need more?” you swallowed hard, your pride killing your need as you looked at him with wide eyes. his fingers dragged out of you at that, leaving you empty. then he brought them to his lips, tasting you, groaning like he actually enjoyed torturing you like this. “so sweet”

his words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, but before you could even think of a reply, he was lifting you in his arms, gripping your thighs tight as he carried you inside.

the second your back hit the bed, he was on you—pressing you down, caging you beneath him. his hands slid under your dress, pushing it up, exposing more and more of you until the fabric was gone completely, leaving you in nothing but the lace he had already ruined with his teasing. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered against your skin, his lips dragging down your neck and lower. his fingers hooked around your panties, pulling them down.

you could feel him—hard, throbbing under his pants, pressing right on your pussy as he lowered the last thing that covered you. you moved against him at that, desperate for more. “you want it?” he asked again, quickly unzipping his jeans as well. along with his boxers.

“so bad”

he groaned, low and deep, lining himself up, teasing you with the head of him, barely pushing in, just enough to make your body tense with anticipation. “beg for it. c’mon, do it, angel”

your pride was long gone. “please, rafe,” you gasped, arching into him. “i need you.” and that was all he needed to give you everything.

he thrust into you, slow but deep, filling you inch by inch, stretching you until there was nothing but the feel of him. a strangled moan left your lips, your fingers gripping his back as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust. “so fucking tight.” he pulled back, almost all the way, before snapping his hips forward again, harder this time, forcing a gasp from your lips.

the way you clenched around him, the way your nails dragged down his back, the way his name fell from your lips over and over—he was losing his control. his grip on your hips tightened, and then he was moving faster and harder, his breath ragged, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress with every thrust. “this what you wanted, baby?” he gritted out. “this what you’ve been begging for?”

all you could do was moan, nodding helplessly, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even closer, to take him even deeper.

“you feel so good, so perfect for me.”

the pressure built, tighter with every deep thrust. your nails dragged down his back, leaving red marks in their wake, and he only seemed to like it. you were close—so close you could barely think, your body trembling beneath him, every nerve on fire. rafe knew it, could feel it, and instead of slowing down like before, this time, he chased it, his pace turning even more desperate. “let go, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs as he drove you over the edge. “come for me.”

and you did. the pleasure hit you hard, crashing over you in waves, your body arching into him as his name fell from your lips in a breathless cry. the way you tightened around him sent him right after you, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, his movements growing sloppy, frantic, before finally stilling against you.

the only sound left was your heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling against yours as let his lips brush over your jaw in something almost tender. “fuck,” he muttered, a lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

his words made you smile, the heat still lingering between you both, but now softened. rafe didn’t pull away, didn’t move to create any space between you. instead, he tightened his grip around your waist, his fingers trailing lazy circles on your bare skin, like he had no intention of letting you go.

you sighed against his chest, letting your fingers brush over his face softly. he leaned into your touch, his eyes half-lidded, calmer than you’d ever seen them. “you okay?” he asked, quietly and almost hesitantly.

you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze, and the warmth in his blue eyes made your heart skip a beat. “more than okay.” he huffed a small laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. “good,” he muttered. “don’t want you regrettin’ this.”

“never.”

“you were my valentine all along,” he then whispered, as if it was a secret between the two of you. “you just didn’t know it.”

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #fem reader #obx x reader #rafe x reader smut #smut mdni #drew starkey

253 notes · View notes

vibelladonna · 3 days ago

Text

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Where the TKATB men ache for you with an intensity that borders on obsession, while the men remain oblivious to the fact that you’ve been 'the one' all along.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

I wanted to share something sweet for Valentine's Day—a little glimpse into love and longing to celebrate the occasion.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

For over two years and counting, Crowe has been haunted by the memory of your touch.

Crowe would never deny that he enjoys having you around. But if you don’t see him that way—if you never do—he’ll live with it. He’ll push it down, bury it deep, because losing you entirely is something he refuses to accept. If friendship is all you can offer, then he’ll take it, no matter how much it eats at him.

After all, it was him that day. The day those bullies cornered you, their words sharp and cruel, their intentions worse. He was the one who stepped in without hesitation, who made it clear that they’d have to go through him first. He didn’t do it for gratitude or recognition. He did it because it was you.

It’s always been about you.

He doesn’t just want you in his life—he needs you there. He wants you around his friends, wants you to feel safe, to feel at home wherever he is. He wants to see you smile, wants to be the reason for it, even if you never look at him the way he looks at you. It doesn’t matter. Because Crowe loves everything about you.

The way your laughter sounds—effortless, bright, like something he could get addicted to. The way you wsolkle your nose when you’re annoyed, the way your eyes soften when you talk about something you love. The way your presence alone makes everything feel a little less heavy.

And it scares him.

The way he aches for you.

The way he yearns for more.

But if being close to you means keeping his feelings locked away, then he’ll do it. He’ll endure it. He’ll hold himself back, bite his tongue, force himself to be content with whatever piece of you he’s allowed to have. Because even if it’s not everything he wants, at least it’s something. At least it’s you.

Crowe lets out a slow breath, stasolg at the pile of papers in front of him, but his mind is elsewhere.

You’re sprawled across the floor, cross-legged among scattered documents, your back against a pile of pillows as you skim through a paper in your hands. The soft glow of the evening light filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over you, making you look almost unreal. He should be focused—should be sorting through the paperwork like he said he would. Instead, all he can focus on is you.

You—who insisted on helping despite him telling you he could handle it.

You—who sits there with that small, content smile, completely unaware of how you consume him.

“Crowe, you need to file these by date,” you murmur, tapping a few papers into a neat stack. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

He huffs, running a hand through his loose braid. “I never asked for help.”

“You never ask for help, period,” you counter easily, throwing him a glance before looking back at the papers. “Besides, I don’t mind. This way, you won’t end up buried under a mess of your own making.”

He watches as you shift, your knee bumping against his, and his whole body tenses. It’s nothing. Just a touch. But his mind lingers on it, the warmth spreading, sinking into his skin like ink on paper. He clenches his jaw, flipping through the stack in his hands without really reading anything.

“Crowe?”

Your voice snaps him back, and he blinks at you.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

He exhales through his nose, forcing a smirk. “Yeah. Just wondering why you’re still here when you could be doing something better with your time.”

You roll your eyes, shifting again—brushing against him again. “And miss watching you suffer through basic organization? Never.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, but his grip on the papers tightens. It’s not fair. How easily you get under his skin, how effortlessly you settle into his space, into his life. He wonders if you even realize it—how much of him you consume, how much he aches for you in ways he has no right to.

Crowe doesn’t know when it started, this need, this craving that’s carved itself into his ribs. But he knows it’s always been you. The realization sits heavy in his chest, like a secret too dangerous to let slip.

His fingers twitch as he watches you. He wants to touch you, to reach out, to thread his fingers through your hair and trace the curve of your jaw. To pull you closer, to feel the warmth of you against him.

But you’re his friend. Closest Friend.

And if that’s all you’ll ever be—if that’s all you can give—then he’ll endure it.

Even if it kills him.

The silence between you stretches, filled only with the occasional rustle of paper and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. Crowe exhales, a slow and controlled breath, as if that alone will steady the wildfire spreading in his chest. It doesn’t.

You’re still here, still close enough that he can feel the faint heat radiating off your skin, and he can’t focus—not on the papers, not on anything other than the phantom sensation of your touch line side on his jaw. His resolve is slipping, unraveling thread by thread, and it’s all your fault.

He tells himself to let it go.

To push it down, bury it deep where it belongs.

But then you shift, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet sigh, before letting yourself fall back against the pillows behind you. “I think we deserve a break,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. “Your filing system is a disaster, by the way.”

Crowe lets out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t have a system.”

“Exactly.”

You turn your head to look at him, that lazy, contented smile still playing on your lips, and something inside him caves.

Without thinking, he moves, shifting onto his side until he’s lying next to you. The papers don’t matter. The mess on the floor doesn’t matter. Nothing does—except this moment.

You don’t react, at least not in the way he expects. There’s no teasing remark, no raised brow questioning why he’s suddenly this close. Instead, you just glance at him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I thought you didn’t take breaks,” you murmur.

“Maybe you’re a bad influence.” His voice is quieter now, softer.

You gsol, amused. “Maybe.”

Crowe watches as your fingers absently play with the hem of your sleeve, and he wants to reach out. Wants to take your hand in his, wants to thread his fingers between yours just to see how it feels. The temptation is maddening.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, tilting your head. “Tired of what?”

His throat is dry. He swallows, pretending that the words aren’t sticking in his chest. “Of… being around me all the time.”

It’s a stupid question. He doesn’t know why he asked it. Maybe he just needs reassurance—something to hold onto before he completely loses himself to this feeling that he refuses to name.

Your expression softens. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

The answer should be enough. It should satisfy him and quiet the restlessness inside him.

It doesn’t.

Because there’s something about the way you say it—so effortlessly, like it’s obvious. Like, it’s simple. And for you, maybe it is. Maybe you don’t see the weight behind it, the way your words settle into his bones, warm and suffocating all at once, like they were always meant to be there.

Crowe barely has a second to react before you move—quick, decisive, and utterly reckless with his personal space. His body tenses, muscles coiled tight, but he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t even try.

One moment, you’re standing beside him, your usual teasing lilt laced in your voice. The next, he’s flat on his back, breath knocked from his lungs as you press him into the floor. His pulse jumps, sharp and immediate, but it has nothing to do with the impact.

Your legs cage around his waist, your hands planted firmly against his chest, pinning him in place. And worst of all? You look amused. Like this isn’t something that should have him gripping at the last shreds of his self-control.

His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to do something—grab your hips, push you off, pull you closer—but he forces himself to stay still. His chest rises and falls beneath your touch, each breath shallower than the last as his mind races to catch up with what the hell just happened.

Crowe narrows his eyes, lips parting like he’s about to throw out some sharp remark, something cool and dismissive, to mask the way his body reacts to you. But when he meets your gaze—playful, expectant, entirely unbothered—his words die before they even form.

And that’s when it hits him.

You know.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

And worse?

You’re enjoying this.

“What the—?!” He instinctively tries to push himself up, but you’re already pressing your palms into his shoulders, effectively trapping him.

“Oh, relax,” you huff, gazing down at him. “You looked like you were spiraling. I had to do something before you started brooding so hard you set the house on fire.”

Crowe glares. “I don’t brood.”

“You totally brood.”

“I don’t.”

You raise a brow. “You’re literally doing it right now.”

Crowe opens his mouth, then closes it, then just scowls. He hates that you might be right. He hates even more that you’re looking at him like this, all smug and unbothered, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you’re causing in his head.

This is normal to you, isn’t it? Sitting on top of him like it’s no big deal, pinning him down like you aren’t single-handedly wrecking his sanity.

Crowe groans, throwing his head back against the pillows. “You’re actually gonna kill me one day.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” His voice is dry, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath it—something dangerously close to unsteady. His hands slide onto your hips, firm yet hesitant, like he’s caught between pushing you away and pulling you closer. His fingers press just enough to make you aware of his grip, of the fact that you could move away if you wanted to.

Not that you would.

“Because last I checked, you’re literally on top of me right now,” he continues, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, “and I’m pretty sure I’m experiencing cardiac arrest.”

You snort, unfazed. “Please. If I wanted to kill you, I’d at least make it more interesting.”

His deep blue eyes flick up to yours, something flickering behind them—amusement and frustration—but before he can bite back with some witty retort, you lean in closer.

Your weight shifts slightly, pressing down in a way that makes his fingers tighten on your hips, his knuckles paling for just a second. The movement knocks a few strands of his long brown hair over his forehead, but he doesn’t dare lift a hand to fix it. Not when you’re this close.

“Y’know…” Your voice is softer now, teasing, thoughtful, like you’re genuinely contemplating something. “You’re weirdly warm.”

Crowe stiffens when your hands leave his shoulders, fingers trailing up the column of his neck, slow and deliberate. His pulse betrays him, hammering beneath your touch.

Then your palms frame his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and he knows he’s done for.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing beneath your fingers. His breath stutters, his mind screaming at him to say something—anything—before you realizes the effect you have on him. But his mouth refuses to work, completely useless as you study him like you’ve just uncovered something interesting.

Your grin barely has a second to register in Crowe’s mind before he moves.

With a swift, effortless motion, your world flips—air rushing past you as your back meets the ground, cool earth pressing against your skin. A startled gasp barely escapes your lips before you feel it—him.

Crowe’s body cages yours, his knees planted firmly between your legs, his hands pinning yours above your head. His long brown hair falls forward, strands grazing your face like a ghost of a touch, teasing and torturous all at once. His deep blue eyes lock onto yours; the corner of his lips twitches. “Not so funny now, is it?”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. “Oh? Did I strike a nerve?”

His grip on your wrists tightens—not painful, just *commanding.* Enough to remind you of the sudden shift in power between you.

Then, without warning, he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice drops to something low, almost *gravelly.*

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

A shiver bolts down your spine, but you refuse to react, refuse to let him see how much his proximity affects you. *Two can play this game.*

“Oh, I know when to quit,” you whisper back, tilting your head ever so slightly, your lips just inches from his. “I just don’t want to.”

And then it happens—so fast, so unexpected—you barely have time to process.

Crowe’s lips crash against yours, hot and unrelenting, stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s not slow, not gentle—it’s every bit as competitive as the both of you, as if he’s trying to prove something.

Your fingers twitch in his grasp, the need to grab him, to pull him even closer overwhelming every thought in your head. But he keeps you pinned, controlling the moment, teasing you with the maddening way his lips move against yours.

Then, just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls back, hovering above you, his breath warm against your swollen lips. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—they’re gleaming with something smug, something victorious.

“Still think this is fun?”

You blink, still reeling, heart hammering so hard it might burst out of your chest.

And then, in the most infuriatingly casual voice, you breathe out, “...Kinda,”

Crowe groans, head dropping to your shoulder as he mutters, “You’re actually going to kill me.” he mutters, barely audible.

And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol says three months. Honestly, it’s like one week. Every moment of it, you’re there.

Understand that Sol has always been the quiet one, the guy who blends into the background until he doesn’t. He’s the type that hardly stands out, sitting at the back of the room, hidden behind his own little world. It’s easy for people to forget he’s even there, especially when he doesn’t really give them a reason to look. He’s cold, distant, and usually wrapped up in the space between the pages of a book or the strokes of a paintbrush. A lone figure in the corner, always studying, always creating, always alone.

But then… you came along.

He remembers the first time he saw you, your laugh like a melody that somehow cut through the haze of his own isolation. You didn’t ask him anything, didn’t try to crack his shell like everyone else did. You didn’t even seem to notice the way his eyes followed you, the way his heart skipped a beat every time you came near. Instead, you just *were*—existing in the same space, offering him something different: peace.

And, slowly, things began to change.

Sol became more aware of the way your smile lit up the room. The way your laughter stuck with him long after it had faded. He started paying attention to you in a way he never did anyone else. Your presence seemed to be magnetic, drawing him in like a force he couldn’t resist. And with every passing day, the intensity of his thoughts about you only grew.

It wasn’t just your smile, though—no. It was the way you interacted with him. The way your eyes lingered on his work, the way you’d ask him about his day as if it mattered. And when you spoke to him, there was a warmth in your voice, an unspoken invitation to be more than the quiet kid at the back of the room. It made him feel something, something deep in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.

That’s when the obsession started.

Every time Sol closed his eyes, you were there. His mind wouldn’t let him rest, and no matter how hard he tried to push you away, you kept slipping in. You were there in the sketches he couldn’t stop drawing, the paintings that came to life in ways he didn’t intend. You were the muse behind every piece, every stroke, every line. He found himself lost in the idea of you, consumed by the thought of you.

And then, it hit him like a wave.

You had become his art. You were the subject that filled his pages, the image he couldn’t get enough of. The way you moved, the way you smiled, the way you lingered in his thoughts long after he’d seen you. Every brushstroke he made in his art book brought you to life, even if just for a moment. He painted you in every way—your hands, your eyes, the soft curve of your smile—all the details that stayed with him, making his heart race and his hands tremble as he worked.

You were in every sketch. He couldn’t escape you, not even on paper. You had taken over his mind completely, and now, you were becoming a part of his creations. The more he drew you, the more real you felt. The more your presence seeped into his soul, until there was nothing else that mattered.

And as he sat there, pencil in hand, gaze focused intently on the page in front of him, he found himself lost again. He wasn’t just sketching anymore. He was memorizing every little detail of you—every little thing he hadn’t quite captured yet, like the way your hair would fall when you tilted your head or the way your fingers would idly trace along the edges of the paper when you were distracted. It wasn’t just art now—it was obsession.

The thought of you lingered even as he set his pencil down, staring at the half-finished drawing of you, and he could hear your voice in his mind. A voice, soft and warm, saying, “I knew you could do it.”

And just like that, it didn’t matter how tired he was, how much he wanted to just collapse from exhaustion. The only thing that made his heart race now was the idea of you—you in his world.

You in his art. And even though he couldn’t quite reach you yet, he was determined to make you his, on paper if nowhere else.

Because of this feeling?

This feeling of wanting you, craving you?

He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

Sol likes to think of himself as someone who takes his time—someone slow and deliberate when it comes to relationships. He’s not the type to let someone in easily, to open up to someone so quickly. After all, he’s spent years building up a wall around his heart, carefully maintaining a distance to protect himself from the potential sting of rejection or loss. It’s worked for him. He’s always been cautious, weighing every connection with a cool, measured approach.

You, who had slipped past his defenses in ways he never expected. You, who made everything feel real. And despite his doubts—his constant questioning of whether this would last, whether you’d want to stick around—Sol found himself unable to ignore the way you made him feel. The way you looked at him, the way you cared so easily, so genuinely. He couldn't deny that he’d been falling for you for months now.

It had been three months since you’d entered his life, but it felt like a lifetime in all the best ways. You were always there—patient, kind, steady in a way that soothed the nervous parts of him that he’d hidden for so long. But still, he told himself it was too soon. He couldn’t be this vulnerable.

Until that one moment.

The words slipped out so casually, so innocently.

“You’re so good at this; I’m so proud of you, Sol.”

It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted. The world suddenly tilted off its axis. Those words—those words, coming from you—sent a shockwave through him, rattling something deep inside him he hadn’t realized was there. The way you said it, with such sincerity, the way your eyes held his, soft and full of admiration—it changed everything.

He tried to brush it off. He told himself it was nothing. He’d been complimented before, praised by others countless times. It was just a simple phrase. Nothing special.

But it was different. It was you.

You made it feel special. Your words were like a thread that wove into the very fabric of his being, pulling him closer to you, to this feeling that he couldn’t name but knew was consuming him.

Now, nothing else felt as important. Those praises from others? They didn’t matter. They were just words, empty and shallow. They didn’t stir something in him the way your words did.

He wanted more of it. He needed more of it.

He had spent months convincing himself that he was just inspired by you—yeah, that was it. You were his muse, his favorite subject, the reason his sketchbooks were filled to the brim with your face. It wasn’t that deep.

And then, one day, as he stood in his studio apartment, paint staining his fingers, a half-finished portrait of you staring back at him from the canvas, he realized something terrifying.

He wasn’t just painting you. He was worshiping you.

The way your lips curled when you teased him, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him like he was worth something—it was all captured in every brushstroke, every tiny detail. He wasn’t just an artist anymore. He was a man possessed.

And before he could stop himself, he was standing in front of you.

Before you could process what was happening, Sol was already moving. His strong hands found your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. The half-dried paint on his fingers smeared against your skin, marking you as his, but he didn’t seem to care.

His grip was firm, almost possessive, keeping you locked in place as he gazed up at you, eyes dark and unreadable. His chest rose and fell heavily, the intensity in his expression making your breath hitch.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, voice rough, like he was holding himself back from something reckless. His fingers flexed against your hips, grounding himself—or maybe keeping you from getting away.

Sol’s fingers dug into your waist, his grip firm but not enough to hurt—just enough to make sure you weren’t going anywhere. His chest rose and fell against yours, breaths uneven, like he was trying to hold himself back—Trying, but failing miserably.

Your hands pressed into his shoulders instinctively, steadying yourself, but that only made it worse—made him want you *closer*, made him crave the feeling of you melting against him. His fingers flexed, sliding up your back, slow and deliberate, his warmth seeping through your clothes, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice rough, dangerously low, his lips hovering just beneath your ear. “Say it again.”

It wasn’t a request.

You shivered, your heartbeat hammering, knowing exactly what you were doing when you leaned in just a little, your breath teasing against his skin, close enough that your lips nearly brushed his.

“…You’re so good, Sol.”

His breath hitched, a sharp inhale like your words had physically hit him. His jaw tensed, his fingers tightening their hold as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d slip right through his grasp.

And then—he broke.

His mouth was on your throat in an instant, teeth grazing your skin before he bit down—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you gasp, enough to leave his mark. His other hand tangled into your hair, tilting your head just so, giving him more access, more you.

A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest when he felt you shudder against him, your fingers clutching at his shirt. He soothed the bite with a slow, open-mouthed kiss, his lips lingering, savoring.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice strained, almost helpless. His nose brushed along your jaw as he exhaled, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

His hands tightened around you, possessive, like he was trying to pull you into him, like *having you* in his lap wasn’t enough.

“Again,” he whispered, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Please.”

And this time, it wasn’t a plea.

It was a demand.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Lastly, for Geo, it took about a year and some months; he doesn’t really all that time, starting at you.

Geo was never meant for this to happen. He didn’t plan on it, didn’t think it was even possible. He wasn’t the type to fall for people—let alone someone like you.

His life had always been straightforward, filled with precision, discipline, and control. Best in archery with enough wealth to make people respect him without having to ask. That’s how things worked for him. No one dared to challenge him. No one dared to get too close.

Except, somehow, you.

You were Crowe's friend. It had started innocently enough—nothing more than tolerating your presence because Crowe trusted you and because you seemed to enjoy spending time with him. But the more time passed, the harder it was for Geo to ignore you.

Your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke. It wasn’t anything spectacular—he tried to convince himself—but it was... enough to make him curious.

He liked to think of it as curiosity.

But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more it became something else entirely. It wasn’t just curiosity, and it wasn’t just the way you seemed to blend seamlessly into his life, leaving an imprint without even trying. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t explain, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

It was the way you wore that soft lip with that shiny gloss. That was the first thing he noticed. You probably never realized how you applied it, but to Geo, it became the only thing he could focus on whenever you were nearby. How it caught the light, the way the gloss made your lips look fuller, more inviting.

He hated how distracted he got by it, but he couldn't help himself. He'd watch as you smiled and delicately applied the gloss, not realizing that each time you did, his eyes would flicker to your lips, unable to look away.

It wasn’t just about the gloss—he hated to admit it, but it was the way your lips moved, the way they curved up when you spoke to him. Every smile felt like an invitation, and it made his heart race every time he saw it.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

His mind ran wild, imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to taste that gloss. Would it be sweet? Fruity? Would it be like strawberry or maybe something more decadent, like cake? Geo didn’t know, but the mere thought drove him crazy.

Yet, every time you caught him staring, you would smile, the same playful glint in your eyes, and then push away from him. It was maddening.

“It was nice talking to you,” you’d say, and just like that, you were gone, leaving him standing there with the weight of his thoughts.

It wasn’t the way you left that bothered him—it was how you left him wanting more.

He couldn’t help but wonder, when you left, if you knew how much power you had over him. Did you know how much he craved the taste of you, how much he longed to be the one you smiled at like that? And every time you walked away, it felt like you were pulling something from him, something he couldn't get back.

Geo wasn’t used to feeling like this—unsure, obsessed, craving something that was just out of reach. He never thought he’d be the type of person to feel like this, but here he was, and it made him desperate.

He couldn't keep pretending he didn't want you, even though he knew better. He couldn’t deny how much he wanted to be the one to kiss you, to taste the sweetness you wore on your lips. But you’d never give him that satisfaction.

And that, more than anything, pulled him in even deeper.

Even during one of his archery competitions, it was all background noise. His eyes, always sharp and calculating, found you almost immediately—despite the sea of people around, despite the chaos of the competition unfolding before him. There you were, standing off to the side, caught up in the frenzy, but somehow, your presence always felt like it anchored him.

Geo’s focus sharpened, his usual stone-cold expression becoming intense, almost feral, the moment he locked eyes with you. His heart skipped in a way he couldn't explain, and for the briefest second, the noise of the crowd, the frantic cheers, the tension in the air—all of it seemed to fade into nothing.

There was something in the way you looked at him, that same fire in your eyes. It sent a shock of electricity through his veins, tightening his chest. It wasn’t just admiration. No, it was something deeper. Something possessive. Geo didn't want to admit it, but the way you looked at him, unwavering, made his ego swell in a way he had never known.

The satisfaction of knowing you were watching him, that you were his to look at, made his body hum with need.

It was this feeling that had him doing something uncharacteristic for him: walking over to you before the competition even started, pushing through the crowd as if he had a claim on you. His movements were deliberate, as though the world had momentarily paused just for him to take that step toward you.

And as the competition wore on, Geo found his gaze kept darting to where you stood at the edge, just beyond their reach. When he wasn’t actively participating, his attention would always wander back to you.

It was like an anchor, something he couldn’t shake off.

Geo had never been one to linger—at least, not without reason. He was efficient, calculated, and never one to waste time where it wasn’t necessary. And yet, here he was, standing just a little behind his group, hovering just enough to be near them but not quite *with* them.

And then you appeared.

“What are you doing here, all by your lonesome?”

Your voice was light, teasing, and when he turned his gaze downward, there you were, standing just slightly apart from the others—just like him.

Geo had always found idle conversation tedious, a waste of time. But with you? It never felt like that. Even when you were talking his ear off, rambling about things he barely understood or had no real interest in, he listened.

Normally, he would’ve found it grating. Normally, he would have shut it down with a deadpan stare and a clipped response.

But with you…

His ever-present frown softened, the tension in his shoulders easing in a way he didn’t quite notice. He wasn’t even irritated that you were talking. If anything, he found himself waiting for the next thing you’d say, some stupid remark or observation that would somehow make him want to keep this—whatever this was—going.

“They’re loud,” he muttered, nodding toward his friends.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with exaggerated flair. “And you’ve decided to, what? Hide in the shadows, all broody and mysterious? Go, girl, give us nothing.”

A breath of a laugh—not quite full, not quite deliberate—escaped his lips before he could stop it. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious, but it was there.

When his gaze flicked back to yours, you were already smiling, your eyes alight with something effortless. Effervescent.

Geo’s stomach twisted, but not unpleasantly. It was unfamiliar, unsettling in its quiet intensity. He didn’t yearn for people—he never had. He never needed anyone. But then why did his pulse kick up when you tilted your head at him like that? Why did his body seem to lean ever so slightly toward you, like some invisible force was tugging him closer?

He swallowed, barely aware of the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

It was ridiculous.

You were ridiculous.

Geo wasn’t one for impulse—he was sharp, calculated, always in control. But with you? That control slipped too easily, unraveling before he even realized what was happening.

Your teasing words hung in the air between you, your smile playful, taunting. “You know I can see you always looking at me, right?”

His jaw tightened, his mind already preparing a sarcastic reply—something to keep the moment light, to keep his defenses up. But before he could think twice, his body moved on instinct.

“Yeah.”

The single word left his lips smoother than he expected, like it belonged there. But then he took it a step further, voice dropping just slightly—just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I love it.”

Your expression shifted instantly, amusement flickering into something softer, something unsure. Your lips parted, a small, stunned noise escaping before you stumbled over your words. “What—huh?”

Geo smirked, watching the blush creep up your neck, your wide eyes blinking up at him in disbelief. And damn it, the sight sent a rush of satisfaction straight through him, settling deep in his chest.

Before you could think of backing away, before he could second-guess himself, he reached out. His fingers wrapped around your wrist—gentle, firm—as he tugged you toward him in one smooth pull.

The space between you disappeared in an instant, your breath mixing with his as you steadied yourself against his chest. His other hand ghosted along your waist, his touch featherlight but possessive, like he wasn’t willing to let go just yet.

“Wha—?” The protest barely left your lips before he leaned in, lowering his head, his breath hot against your skin as his lips brushed against your forehead—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

You froze.

He felt it—the way your breath caught, the way your fingers curled ever so slightly against his shirt like you were trying to ground yourself.

Geo smirked against your skin before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again. His aquamarine eyes burned into yours, filled with something unreadable, something dangerous.

“You were saying?” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it—the quiet claim, the unspoken you’re mine.

And just like that, he let his fingers slip away, leaving you standing there, flushed and breathless.

His smirk deepened.

Yeah.

He definitely loved it.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back sol #tkatb crowe #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #crowe ichabod #tkatb geo #sol brugmansia #sol x reader #jericho crowe ichabod #crowe x reader

288 notes · View notes

lieslab · 10 hours ago

Text

Soon you'll get better

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend tries to help you with your headaches, but when a doctor diagnoses you with something far worse than you ever expected, your world shatters.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2.6K

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, nausea, a seizure, doctors, surgery, and hospitals.

_ _ _

How do you tell the love of your life that you’re sick? What do you say when it all falls apart? When someone rips out the happy ending and throws the pages, leaving them scattered, and thrown across the floor? Minho is your entire life. He’s supposed to be and yet, you’re not sure how to break the news.

It started with headaches. The dull ache annoyed you endlessly, but they were manageable. Life took a stumble when they morphed into mind-bending migraines. The sharp pain behind your eyes, the nausea, and the sensitivity to every bright light and loud sound.

Dull aches turned into piercing needles. It felt like being jabbed over and over again, the needles pressed against the back of your eyes. No matter what you tried, they grew impossible to manage. The painkillers stopped working.

It grew normal to come home from work, bury yourself in the darkness of your bedroom, and sleep for hours. When you could catch sleep, it became the only thing to relieve the pain in your head. Exhaustion clung to you, but you thought it would be temporary.

Perhaps it was too much caffeine or maybe you were pulling away from it with your caffeine withdrawals. If not that, you were certainly struggling with not drinking enough water. Maybe that was the reason why your brain screamed against you and tormented you in the worst way possible.

Minho called your name when he came home from the doctor. He searched the house and froze in the doorway of your shared bedroom. Curled into a ball on your side, you didn’t respond. Even talking caused the pain in your head to drill harder against your skull.

The nausea and dizziness wiped you out entirely. Soft footsteps padded over to you. He clicked on the lamp behind you, trying not to make your head feel worse. He called your name in a whisper, wondering if you were awake or not.

The bags under your eyes grew from brown to purple. You blinked rapidly as his eyes met yours. He frowned at your paleness. All he wanted to do was make you feel better, but he didn’t know how.

The warm baths didn’t help. He tried to massage the side of your head, but it led to you pushing him away. He picked up one of those compression bands that vowed to help, but the packaging lied. The immediate relief never came.

“How is it today?” He whispered.

“Worse. It’s so much worse.”

He reached over, pushed a piece of hair from your face, and gently cupped your cheek. “I know you don’t want to, but you should consider going to the doctor. You can’t keep dealing with this. I know how exhausting it is, I feel like you’re withering away from me.”

“I have an appointment tomorrow. Until then, I’ll be here suffering.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t meet your eyes.

He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the middle of your forehead. No matter what happened, he just wanted you to be back to normal. This destroyed your normal personality. You didn’t have the energy to talk back to him anymore. Your usual go-getter attitude disappeared entirely. You were becoming the ghost of who you once were.

He just wanted to see you smile again.

_ _ _

When you came back from the doctor the next day, you left your bag and keys on the small table, beside the door. You didn’t have the energy to put everything where it needed to go. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes and drag yourself to the living room.

Test after test after test.

A bruise bloomed where a nurse drew blood with gentle hands. You described the experiences you’d been having. Everything from the headaches, the migraines, to the lack of energy. You assumed you fell victim to chronic migraines, but your reality was so much worse.

When the doctor diagnosed you with a brain tumor, you didn’t understand. How could you? Nobody in your genetic mapping had anything like this. Sure, you’ve heard of cancer before, but you? No way.

You did what you could to avoid it. You drank your water, ate a balanced diet, and you were active. Still young, you lived with the silent assumption that something like this wouldn’t happen to you. If you had cancer, it wouldn’t grip onto you until you were older. Maybe your sixties or seventies, but this young?

Silence engulfed you on the couch. The scent of hospital disinfectant made you feel sick. You were no longer there, but you still felt sick to your stomach. Your doctor pulled out the scan they took of your head.

The small white anomaly stuck out in the usual contours of your brain folds. Alone on the hospital bed, you tried to swallow the heavy reality alone. Staring at the image, you felt disconnected from your body. How could this be your brain? Wasn’t your body supposed to protect you?

You laid with your head pressed against the floral arm of the couch. This couch that you begged Minho to get, despite him not being a fan of the pattern. Because two years ago, you thought the two of you would be a forever thing. Now you were navigating the heart shattering realization that your version of forever might not be as long as you wanted it to be.

“Babe?” Minho’s voice called out from the hallway. He headed towards you with outstretched arms. How long had he been here? “Are you crying? What’d you find out?”

You wouldn’t do that to him. Minho with his slightly messy hair and the personality you joked that he adopted from his cats. Minho that screwed around and made you smile, no matter how hard of a day he had. The Minho that surprised you with seaweed soup in bed on your birthday.

“They’re not sure,” you finally uttered after a few conflicting moments. “They think it might be chronic migraines, but they still want to run some tests.”

“Really?” He frowned. “I thought they were going to do a ton of tests and-”

“They did some, but I wasn’t feeling too great. I’ll go back when I feel better. The last thing they want to do is have to admit me, you know?”

“Their job is to help you get better.”

“And they will, when I’m better, I promise.”

You should never make a promise that you can’t keep.

_ _ _

Two weeks later, Minho screamed your name with tears in his eyes. You appeared at the JYP building to have lunch. The two of you just entered the canteen area to find food.

Circular tables scattered around the area. Other idols took breaks here and there. Laughter filled the air. You tried to keep it together, but you didn't feel great. Your head ached and your stomach was queasy. You tried to act like you were normal, but things continued to spiral out of control.

The doctor left you voicemails, but you ignored them. Ignoring them was easier. You tried to find the courage to tell Minho the truth, but every time you stared at those bright brown eyes, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t find the courage to destroy his life, so you kept quiet.

“What are you thinking? They have really good fresh sushi. On a day like today, nothing sounds better.”

“Sushi?”

“Mhm.”

“Sounds great.” You dropped your head and blinked rapidly. Over the past few days, you had episodes where your vision acted up. Black spots took over and you could usually blink it away. Today’s episode felt different.

When they finally stopped, you hurried after him. A black tray sat in his hands. Unaware that anything was wrong, he headed in the direction of the cold sushi. You grabbed your own tray and rushed to catch up.

He grabbed a small white plate, the tongs, and began to pile up the sushi. “This morning, I spent so long dancing with the guys. I think I could eat an entire horse if they offered it.”

You hummed, set your tray down on the metal railing, and rubbed your eyes again. You blinked harder. The spots resisted your futile attempts and you sighed. He glanced over your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired.”

“When are you going back to the doctor?”

“Probably sometime this week.”

He pulled away from the sushi and moved his tray further down the line. A variety of sides sat everywhere. He began to load up his tray with another small plate. You grabbed your own porcelain plate to grab sushi and that’s when your vision cut out and your body went tense.

He whipped around at the sound of a plate shattering. Worried for you, he dropped beside your limp form on the floor. He didn’t expect your limbs to curl inward. Your legs pushed your torso up and your back contorted. Your wrists curled inward and that’s when the seizing began.

He called your name in a panic, trying to get you to respond, but you couldn’t. Your muscles tensed, your body bucked, and you shifted in such a way, you nearly hit the sharp shards of porcelain.

“Help! Someone help!”

A few idols and trainees rushed over. He grabbed your arms desperately, but your body didn’t stop moving. Someone pulled him away and a younger trainee stepped in. He pushed your body away from the glass and held you on your side, so you didn’t choke on your tongue.

No sign of fear in his eyes, he glanced up at the nearest person. “Call for an ambulance, send them to the JYP building, and tell them someone is seizing.”

Things turned to chaos. Someone pulled out a phone. You didn’t stop bucking beneath the man’s hands. Minho’s eyes watered. The familiar hue of your eyes disappeared. In its place, the milky white of your eyes stared back at him.

He never cried in public, but when it came to your pain, he was a fountain that couldn’t stop leaking. _ _ _

“There’s fluid building up around the brain.”

“The tumor is pressing against-”

“There’s no time to waste. It’s either surgery or they die! Clear an operating room! Give me a surgical team and tell them to scrub in now!”

Time turned to jelly in the waiting room. Minho waited with his arms crossed over his chest. His leg bounced and he chewed on his lower lip. News of the incident reached the rest of his idol group.

Beside him, Han and Chan sat nearly just as worried. They showed up after figuring out where the ambulance took you. When Minho came rushing into the emergency room beside the gurney, your doctor from two weeks ago had been passing through the emergency room.

He couldn’t believe it. You never told him about your brain tumor. He never knew and this entire time, you’d been acting like everything was fine on the outside. Upset with himself, he grew frustrated at not knowing the mental torment you were internally dealing with. He wished he would have picked up on it sooner.

And now he sat in the crowded waiting room with two of his brothers. He couldn’t speak to them, even if he wanted to. If he spoke, he was sure he’d fall apart and burst into sobs that’d never stop.

Chan texted updates to the rest of the guys. Han held Minho’s hand, but it wasn’t enough this time. Rapping was easy when he held Han’s hand. Holding his hand and realizing the love of his life sat on the verge of death, it became much harder to accept.

When the doctor showed up in scrubs hours later, Minho was the first one on his feet. The doctor sucked in a deep breath and he assumed the worst. His stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t breathe.

“The tumor is entirely out. We won’t know if it’s cancerous until we do a biopsy on it. Recovery is going to be hard no matter what, but they’re recovering and out of surgery.”

“If it’s cancer?” Minho whispered, trying to keep himself held together.

“Then we’ll do whatever we can to prevent it from coming back. The fluid build-up caused migraines and the seizure. Taking it weighed other risks, but those are risks I was willing to take.”

“Can I see them?”

“Of course.”

Minho gave a final look to Han and Chan. Han squeezed his hand a final time and Chan nodded. He wiped his eyes and followed the doctor to your room. Seeing you in your state, it broke his heart.

Your hair had to be shaved for the surgery. A line of stitches sat along your scalp. The doctor led him closer and gestured to a chair beside your bed. “If you need anything at all, press the call button and a nurse will be here immediately.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor reached out, gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and disappeared from the room. Hooked to a variety of medical equipment, you turned into a stranger. Beneath IVs of medicine and the tangled cords of a heart rate monitor, he felt like a stranger in your room.

Flashes of your seizure shot through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands in his face. He just wished you would have told him about everything. Maybe, he would have felt less guilty about the state you were in.

“Minho?” You croaked five minutes later.

He sniffled and jerked upright. “Hey,” he forced himself to smile. “I see you’re still kicking.”

“I’m invincible.”

“You think so?”

“I’m trying to be.”

Even in the middle of everything, you were still trying to be upbeat. Swaddled in the warmth of sedation, your head didn’t hurt anymore. Your eyes met his and then you shut them. “They’ve got me on the good shit.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Rude.”

“But you’re my idiot.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the center of your forehead. “Don’t scare me like that ever again. I thought you were dying.” His own eyes shut and he kept his forehead pressed against yours.

“Not dying, just keeping you on your toes. Reminding you of what you’ve got. Don’t take me for granted ever again.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass when you’re sedated.”

“I always am.”

He pulled away with a sigh. “You should get some rest.”

“Did the doctor fix everything?”

“For now. They’re going to biopsy your tumor to see if it was cancerous or not.”

“It wasn’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I feel good.”

“You’re still drugged up.”

“I feel like myself again. I know me and I know my body. I think if it was cancer, I’d still feel like shit.”

He stared at you, trying not to cry again. He blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You should get some sleep again. You’re foolish when you’re on drugs.”

“Your worst nightmare.”

“Good night.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, dork.” _ _ _

And you were right. You knew your body pretty well. A week later, your tumor was diagnosed as a benign tumor. Not cancerous, you were issued a few follow up scans and blood tests. You’d probably have scans every year, just to keep an eye on things, but that was manageable.

You’d do whatever it took to keep your forever with Minho for a long, long time.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #lee know #lee minho #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee know angst #lee minho angst

88 notes · View notes

chariaki · 3 days ago

Text

The classic meet cute!

Kento Nanami x reader

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Kento Nanami's first time meeting you was when he went to his usual park, only to find it crowded, but in the midst of it all, he saw you, lovely under the sun's shine.

He had grown accustomed to spending his weekends in quiet solitude, usually nestled in a corner of the park, away from the chaos of the world. But today was different—today, the park was brimming with life, filled with kids running around, families having picnics, and pets playfully darting between the crowds. Apparently, there was a school event going on.

His eyes scanned the scene, but they paused when they landed on you. There you were, sitting in a beautiful sundress, your attention completely absorbed by a cat you were delightfully feeding. He couldn’t help but watch you for a moment— it's as if you sat in perfect placement under the sun's warm light—but the moment was short-lived.

The feline, a curious one, suddenly saw him and, before he could react, wrapped her tail around his leg.

Kento Nanami who froze, didn't know what to feel. It was a mix of emotions, the weird warm feeling from the cat on his leg—or was it because of you who sat sunkissed, and is now looking straight at him!?

Did he have something on his face? Or worse, a stain on his shirt from the sandwich he had just eaten?

You looked at him, and for a moment, as cliché as he disliked it to say, he felt like the world went in slow motion.

Kento Nanami whose heart skipped. Why were you staring at him for so long? He awkwardly looked down at his shirt and wiped his hands as if to check if there was something wrong with him.

"Hello!" he blurted, the pitch of his voice higher than usual.

Ugh, that was smooth.

You smiled, a soft gleam in your eyes. "Hi!"

You returned the same energy, easy and light.

Kento Nanami whose face flushed in embarrassment, and he turned away in a hasty retreat, hoping his awkwardness wouldn’t be the highlight of your day.

But as he turned, the universe had other plans.

The cat, apparently struck by Kento’s exit, decided your jacket was far more interesting than the crumbs you had been feeding her. She dragged it across the concrete floor, claws and teeth tugging at the fabric.

Kento didn’t even think. Before you could react, he was already moving—his body moved faster than his thoughts.

Perhaps it was the instinct to protect his peace. Perhaps it was the nagging thought that you’d be annoyed if your jacket got damaged...or perhaps it was simply because you were beautiful, and he wanted to see you smile at him again, and maybe... even talk to you.

"Hey—wait!" he called out, chasing after the cat with a surprising burst of speed, looking a little... ridiculous. He reached down and snatched your jacket from the cat’s persistent teeth.

With a little tug, Kento managed to get your jacket back—but it was slightly torn from the feline’s chewing.

He cleared his throat, trying to act cool. "Please excuse me about that... um, the jacket, I mean. I—"

"You’re not really a cat person, are you?" you said, laughing lightly.

"It seems so..," He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But... I would like to make it up to you. Let me buy you a new one?"

You paused for a second, then grinned. "Well, if you insist, I guess I could lend you my time, and let you treat me to a new jacket."

And just like that!

Kento Nanami found himself wanting to spend the rest of his afternoon with you, helping pick out jackets at a nearby store. He didn't expected to enjoy himself, but he did. You were easy to talk to, and the more time he spent with you, the more his heart felt lighter.

By the end of the day, he found himself walking home with his thoughts occupied by you.

He reached into his pocket and found a pink note folded inside. Unfolding it, he smiled when he saw your number written on it, with a little happy face.

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

The universe, it seemed, had a funny way of making him step out his shell and see more of the world—and for once, he wasn’t complaining.

111 notes · View notes

lily-jaxk · 14 hours ago

Text

MC TWIN AU - CALEB's Spitfire.

It took a lot of begging, a lot of pouting, and a lot of bribery, but eventually you agreed to follow MC to her grandma's house.

"My friend Caleb will be there with us today!" She said excitedly as you drove, following the instructions of the GPS and MC's memory.

You hands clenched on the steering wheel, but you force a grin to form on your lips. "Oh? Caleb hm? That's the uhh the pilot guy right?'

MC nods, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Yep, that's him. I don't see him often since he lives in Skyhaven now, so I really want you two to meet! I'm sure you'll love him."

Oh, you had no doubt in your mind that you'll love him. After all, he was the love interest you went after back on Earth!

Hours of grinding, hours of listening to secret times, hours of kitty cards and claw machines. Even when the whole fandom hated him for being MC's 'brother', you were his biggest fan.

Maybe it was because out of all the other love interests who saw their first love in MC, this MC was Caleb's first and only MC. That was what made him win among all the others.

So you gave your sister a gentle smile and reached over to ruffle her hair. "Hmm, I'm sure he's a great guy with all the stories you tell me." You hummed, laughing as she tried to hit you for messing with her hair. "Hey hey hey! Don't disturb the driver ok! Watch it!"

When the two of you arrived, MC bounced over to the door as you slowly trailed behind her, nervously fiddling with your hands. It's ok, it will be ok. You've been through worse! You've been through an entire pandemic! You shouldn't be this scared.

You watched as the door opened and a familiar boy, well, man would be the best word no? stepped out and pulled MC into a hug, and you quickly stomped on the green monster called jealousy that threatened to claw itself out, and continued to merely watch as the two childhood friends reunited. MC finally pushed him away and turned to look back at you. "Come on!" She gestured, making you let out a small sigh, steel your nerves, and walk up towards the house, ignoring the stare he placed on you. She grabbed your hands and smiled up at him. "Caleb, this is the girl I told you about. My twin! We did blood tests and everything! [Name], this annoying piece of sh-"

"Whoah now pipsqueak. Is that how you introduce me to your friends?" He interrupted, raising a brow and crossing his arms over his chest. He let out a sigh and tutted. "I'm hurt!"

MC poked her tongue out at him. "Bleh!'

'Bleh!"

You could only watch with a sweatdrop. "Um, hi?'

Purple eyes snapped towards you, and a gentle smile formed on his lips. "Hey there. The name's Caleb." He outstretched his hand for a handshake, and as you accepted it, it took every restraint you could muster up to not squeal with joy as you felt his tight grip. MC was one lucky girl! "It's nice to meet the infamous twin."

You raise a brow, and turn your gaze to stare at MC. "Infamous? You talking shit about me?"

MC huffed. "Of course I don- Ow ow OWW!" She yelped as you reach over to smack her head. "Nothing bad nothing bad honestly!"

You smack her again for good measure. With a huff, you focus on Caleb. "Everything negative she might have told you about me, it's all wrong."

A small chuckle leaves his lips. "So you don't threaten to stab someone whenever you're losing at Kitty Cards?"

You innocently bat your eyes up at him. "Little ole me? Threaten someone? I would never!"

"Liar! You threatened to push me into incoming traffic just last week!"

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did!"

"Nuh uh."

"Yah uh!"

Laughter interrupts you two, and you both turn your heads to see Caleb doubling over with laughter. "Oh! You two are a couple of riots!" He wheezes, wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes. "Oh my God! But you two should come inside now. Grandma has been dying to meet you."

MC's eyes lit up and she drags you in by your arm. "Come come! Let's go meet Grandma!"

The dinner was nice, and you realized that just like in game, Caleb could cook really well in reality as well. You tried your best to answer any questions sent your way or just simply talk, but your mind was mainly on the dishes before you as you gobbled them up. "Woah slow down, slow down spitfire!" The nickname makes you blink, and laughter makes you raise your head to stare at purple eyes. "The food isn't going anywhere. And if you like, I could pack some extras for you?"

You stare at Caleb, then turn your gaze to MC and point at him with your chopsticks. "See, it's not that hard to be nice."

"Why you little -"

Spitfire huh? Well, you could work with that.

I might do more on Caleb before doing anymore on the others tbh. I love Caleb sm

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

#love and deepspace #caleb lads #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb #lnds #lads #caleb lnds

56 notes · View notes

riovidql · 2 days ago

Text

i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me — AGATHARIO

“Honey, I’m home!” Rio said as she walked through the door, getting out of her shoes and losing her coat. “God, you will not believe the day I had. I swear, one of these days it will be proven that stupidity can kill. Then I will finally have pea- Agatha…?” She stops, because Agatha is nowhere to be seen, or felt, for that matter. What the fuck?

“Uhm, Agatha? Scratchy?” She shouts. No answer. Fuck. “Fuck, did I walk into the wrong apartment again?” But then a little ball of fur comes running down the hall, stopping precisely in front of her. She kneels down. “Hey, bunny. Where’s your mama?” She, funny enough, scratches behind Scratchy’s ear as she picks him up. He looks like he knows, but won’t tell. Well, of course he won’t tell me where she is, he can’t talk.

“Okay… Scavenger hunt it is then. And you,” she looks directly into his eyes. “Are coming with me. Agatha won’t murder, burn, bite or whatever she’s… We’re… Uhm. She behaves when you’re around! You’re my shield, is what I’m saying. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Agathaaa! Where the fuck are you?”

She looked everywhere. Even under the rugs. A woman could never be too safe. And honestly, it’s Agatha. And Rio could, obviously, try her phone. But one thing about Agatha Harkness is she absolutely, completely, despises phones. And technology over all; (some will say it’s because she doesn’t know how to use it, she will deny profusely, she just is above it).

Rio was tired. She had a long ass day at work, and she needed sleep, and no one could argue she did not look for her wife, Señor Scratchy was witness. Though that rabbit always chose her wife’s side anyway. Useless, traitor bunny. But she did send her a text, though.

As she laid down on the couch, with the little pet comfortably under her chin and the low, background noise of the TV, she dozed off. She wouldn’t know what time that actually happened or how long she was napping for… People were taking longer to get to the fucking point, traffic was ass, the elevator was broken so she had to take the stairs, and this nosy neighbor stopped her for unsolicited advice, boring gossip. And she still had to go look for Agatha. If you asked Rio, she would say that day had approximately 87 hours. And counting.

And as if it couldn’t get worse, she woke up from her sleep with a killer headache. National Fuck Rio Vidal Day, fuck me. ‘Did Agatha at least get home?’ was her second thought, but as she was regaining her consciousness and taking in her surroundings, the smell caught her senses. “What the fuck?” It smelled like…? Chicken? And bechamel sauce? And was that Agatha moving a spoon on a pan? Wait. Was Agatha cooking? Just for how long, exactly, had she been out for and did she or did she not mistakenly alternate realities? “What the fuck.” She says a little more loud this time, making Agatha look over her shoulder with a smirk.

“I thought you were dead.”

“And then you decided to cook? Aren’t you just the most romantic thing in the world.” Rio scoffs.

“Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

“Charmer.” Then Rio remembers. “Where the fuck were you? And why didn’t you call, or text? Or left a fucking note stuck on Scratchy?”

“Out.”

“Out? That’s all you have to say after disappearing for hours and making me turn and toss and destroy this apartment looking for you?” Rio crosses her arms, mildly annoyed by her wife’s nonchalant responses.

“It didn’t look like you were turning and tossing and destroying this apartment when I got here.” Agatha was smiling big now and oh, Rio fucking despised her. Fuck Agatha, was what she was going to do later.

“Fine!” She rolls her eyes, lying down on the couch again. “Just be quiet. Someone decided it was a good idea to play drums inside my head.” And just like that, she dozed off again.

When she rose, it was to a glass of water and two ibuprofens placed on the coffee table in front of her, which she gratefully took. Maybe she didn’t really despise Agatha. Or maybe the water was poisoned. Either way, she looked around and she saw that her wife was on a stool leaning over their countertop, her back facing Rio as her body looked like it was focused. Was Agatha writing hate letters to Jen, again? Standing quietly, she made her way to her wife, not wanting to startle her. Fine, she didn’t want to make Agatha aware she was snooping around her business.

That was when she saw it. Agatha was drawing. Drawing plants, elaborate ones. The pages on display had four different kind of greens, each one with their own description and functionality, all painted and shadowed, except for the one she was just starting to work on. Rio was actually, maybe for the first time in her life, stunned. Well, except for when Agatha climbed on top of her in bed and-

What was even weirder was that Agatha was so focused on her task that she didn’t even notice Rio lurking behind her. Or that Rio was actually shedding real, big ass tears. Cry baby. “What is that?” She finally spoke, which she wished she didn’t ‘cause now there was a hand coming to slap her and Rio was caught off guard and there was no way she could react fast enough to dodge a very loud, and painful, slap on her face. “Are you fucking crazy?” She shouted after a few moments.

“If you didn’t stand there like a freak for God knows how long and scared the shit out of me, all of this could’ve been avoided.” Agatha continued to draw.

“And somehow it’s my fault.” Rio wasn’t finding the situation cute anymore.

“Yeah, it is. Good girl.” You could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Oh, fuck off.” She continued lurking. “What are you doing.”

Agatha actually blushed. “What I was doing was dinner, but somebody decided to sleep. Again.”

“Quit stalling, Agatha. What is this?”

“I’ve found a hobby.” She said simply.

“You’ve found a hobby? And it has something to do with plants? The very same thing you tease me about every single day and call me a nerd for?”

“Just wanted to know what the hype was all about. So I’ve been taking a few classes, going to some lectures, you know how it is.” Rio has no idea how it is.

“About plants?” She deadpans.

“Obviously.”

“Right.”

Agatha turns to look at Rio and says, “Dinner is ready.”

Rio is speechless, dumbfounded, stunned (again), blabla. What the fuck was wrong with her wife? Maybe she shouldn’t have got up today.

“Wait a minute.” She grabs Agatha’s arm as she stands. “You? Made dinner? And it smelled good? And we’re still alive?” Rio wasn’t so sure about the last part.

“Sue me for wanting to make something nice for my wife?”

Huh. “Am I missing something here?”

“God, Rio. You’re so annoying. I fucking made you dinner ‘cause class ran late and traffic was awful and I got here after you and felt bad. And your ass was sleeping so infuriatingly cutely with Scratchy, and you looked so tired. I am taking botany classes and going to approximately a million lectures a week about plants because you do so much for me and I just wanted to show you that I care too. Was that what you wanted to hear?” Agatha made her best to look annoyed, but Rio knew her and could see just the tiniest spark of insecurity in her eyes. She pretended she didn’t see. Or she would be feet deep buried.

“My love.” Rio said weakly. God, she loved, hated, her wife. Agatha eyes softened at the two words.

“Can I go back to my drawing now?” Leave it to Agatha to run from any type of emotional moment. Even after years married. This bitch.

“Ah yes, and you’re gonna tell me all about those classes of yours. How long have you been keeping this from me? And what is up with that draw game. I did not know you had it in you.”

“I have very skilled hands, I think you of all people would know that.” Agatha winked at her. Show off.

“Debatable.” Then Rio started running for her life. This time she had a good reaction time.

HEY! i just love these witches so much it really got me back to writing after YEARS. if anyone see this, i hope u enjoy it :)

#agathario #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha x rio #agatha all along #f/f #fluff #alternate universe #canon divergence #señor scratchy #domestic fluff #agatha is insufferable #rio secretly loves it #marvel mcu #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #mother hahn #evil hag

65 notes · View notes

pumpkinowl13 · 12 hours ago

Text

My opinion (& honest critique) of Poppy Playtime Chapter 4

Okay hi. First things first, I have been a fan of Poppy Playtime since Chapter 1 came out. I was hooked from Chapter 1, thought Chapter 2 was just fantastic, and was absolutely blown away by how good Chapter 3 was.

And then ... Chapter 4 happened.

I'm not gonna act like it was completely irredeemable, because it had parts that I really really liked- I thought Doey was awesome & the puzzles were by far the most innovative yet. I think the issue for me is that it just didn't feel like a Poppy Playtime game, for multiple different reasons.

My overall summary if you CBA to read everything is that I wish they had just committed to one plot line, one antagonist, one setting and one plot twist: Quality over Quantity. Because of this, it just didn't feel like a proper chapter, and instead like a mishmash of concepts.

Read on for my criticism, & if you have any opinions on it or corrections I'd be happy to read them :))

The first big thing for me

is that it didn't feel like it had an antagonist.

Or rather, it felt like it had three potential antagonists (Doey, The Doctor and Yarnaby) that they couldn't decide between and just shoved all three together, at the expense of the quality of each character.

The first three games it felt clear who the antagonist was- giving each chapter it's own unique story. However, the inclusion of the prototype also added to a larger, cohesive plot which each chapter followed, giving each of them a purpose. However, in Chapter 4... who was the antagonist?

Let's talk potential antagonists for Chapter 4 (& why none of them worked...)

I know what you're gonna say. Doey. And Doey was certainly the main character of this chapter, but if he's the antagonist, then he falls flat.

Part of the charm of the games was the feeling of not knowing what was going on. The isolation in the huge factory, knowing that there was someone after us, but not knowing where they were or what they were doing - like when Huggy dissapears in Ch1, or the occasional limb from Mommy or Catnap's tail snaking down from the ceiling. This makes our imagination run wild - being left alone with the knowledge that we are not alone is such a divine way of building tension.

But if Doey was meant to be the antagonist, then like ... none of this beautiful tension building can happen at all. He's pretty consistently by our side after we meet him, and we immediately learn his entire backstory from the tapes. This feels like the establishment of a new friend, rather than an antag. So then like ... why did they make him start attacking us and have him be the big boss fight? Why didn't he just stay a friend for the rest of the series, or save that boss fight for later games? Instead he randomly turns on us, which just felt so forced. Why did he need to be the big disney villain plot twist? I feel like Doey should have stayed a friend to us, along with Kissy & Poppy. While his Boss fight was cool for lore I guess, we also could have just seen the transformation in another context (like fighting an actual antagonist with us) or just hearing it on a VHS tape (like we did when he met his parents). And then to make matters worse, they just kill him off.

So then, maybe the Doctor is the antagonist. But again, this annoys me. The Doctor is an awesome character, don't get me wrong, but as a main antagonist... hmm. I'm not so sure. Firstly, he just doesn't visually fit with the style of the other antagonists. He's not a toy - he's literally just a computer. Visually, I feel like he just didn't really fit Chapter 4 just yet. I really wish they had just saved him for Chapter 5 (when presumably we meet the prototype & the tone will be much darker) Another issue with him as an antagonist is he didn't really build up any tension either, constantly yapping to us through the security cameras - i get that he's always watching us, but it could have been much more subtle (like how they did it with Catnap).

So I think that the strongest candidate is probably Yarnaby. I mean firstly, visually, Yarnaby fits with the other antagonists. I saw Yarnaby's design and actually got excited about it. he's awesome and that mouth opening thing!!! I mean, Wow! Literally the best designed character in this Chapter.

But then why why why did they not even bother to make him the main antagonist!!!!! He constantly stalks us throughout the whole game, he builds up enough tension... I mean like, they could have done so much with Yarnaby. But no, they just kill him off. Right after introducing him. I wish we had just focused on Yarnaby, and not all these other characters.

I mean, reading these files, there is such a missed opportunity here. I personally think they should have made the main antagonist Yarnaby, he stalks us the entire game. And then, they could have played into this “domesticated dog or cat” thing and maybe had us domesticate Yarnaby? And that could have been the big chapter plot twist- the player then going in to defeat the prototype with Yarnaby and Doey on our side...? Or if they didn't want to do that, why make his death so lame?? Why not cut him in half or something, it feels so obvious!! and then to have the twist be that The Doctor actually owns Yarnaby and he's pissed and that's the cliff hanger we leave Chapter 4 on!!!? Like SO MUCH POTENTIAL!!!!

But no, instead of just committing to one character, they decided to waste three. Justice for all three semi antags in this chapter:(

Up next, why I think the setting could have been much better. Stay tuneddd

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime 4 #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime character #poppy playtime theory #poppy playtime rant #yarnaby #the doctor #doey the doughman #poppy playtime doey

34 notes · View notes

m4rv3l-girl · 2 days ago

Text

I’ve Got Your Back - {Part 1}

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky meets you, a student making ends meet at an over-priced convenience store. Despite being afraid of entering the world of romance again, you just seem to …understand each other. Maybe there’s more to them both than they originally thought.

Warnings: age-gap. Angst. Workplace bullying. Language.

Bucky Barnes stepped inside the convenience store. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, illuminating aisles stacked with overpriced snacks, crappy. The smell of mop-water sat in the air.

He hadn’t really planned on stopping by. But a craving for something sweet had led him here, the tiny corner store tucked between a laundromat and a liquor shop. A couple of kids loitered by the slushie machine, arguing over which flavor was superior, while a man in a wrinkled suit debated over cigarettes behind the counter.

And then, there was you.

You stood at the register, expression caught somewhere between tired and vaguely annoyed—not outright rude, just carrying the weight of someone who’d had a long day. Bucky knew the look well; he saw it in the mirror more often than not.

He didn’t expect much interaction beyond the necessary exchange of goods and payment. But as he approached, a voice from the back interrupted the quiet monotony.

“Y/N! Are you fucking serious? I told you to restock aisle four, not stand there like a damn statue!”

Your spine stiffened at the harsh words. From the back room, a squat man in an ill-fitted polo stomped out, glaring at you with the disdain of someone who’d long since lost any patience for basic human decency.

Bucky noticed the way your eyes momentarily glossed over, how your fingers curled slightly against the counter before you took a steadying breath.

“I did restock it, Mr. Carl,” you replied, voice even but quiet. Bucky swore he saw a glassy sheen in your eyes. “I was just about to—”

“Don’t give me the excuses, girl. If I have to tell you one more time—”

“That’s enough.”

The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them.

Both you and your boss turned to look at him. Your eyes widened slightly, surprised, while Carl just narrowed his, sizing up the stranger who had the audacity to interrupt his evening tirade.

“And you are?” Carl scoffed, crossing his arms.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “A paying customer who doesn’t appreciate seeing people get treated like dirt for doing their job.”

Carl let out an incredulous huff but, perhaps noticing the sheer muscle and steel beneath Bucky’s jacket, decided not to push it. With a dismissive wave, he muttered something about ‘lazy employees’ and retreated to the back.

You let out a slow breath and glanced at Bucky, something between gratitude and embarrassment flickering across your face.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, ringing up his purchase. There was a twang in your voice, an accent that seemed a mix-match.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, shaking his head. “You okay?”

You hesitated. Bucky recognized that too—the reluctance to admit that things weren’t fine, even when they clearly weren’t.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Been through worse.”

Bucky nodded, respecting the boundary but not quite believing you. He tapped his fingers against the counter, considering his next words carefully.

“You need me to rough him up a little?” he asked, only half-joking.

A surprised laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it. It wasn’t much, but it was genuine, and for some reason, that made Bucky feel lighter.

“Nah,” you said, shaking your head. “As tempting as it is to see Carl get launched into a snack display, I don’t think that would help my employment status.”

Bucky smirked. “Fair point.”

He took his bag, but instead of leaving, he lingered for a second. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “Seriously though… if you ever need help, I’m around.”

There was something in his tone—something solid, reassuring. A promise.

You met his eyes, seeing not just the war hero or the former assassin, but someone who understood. Someone who didn’t just say things to sound good, but meant them.

“Thank you,” you said, and the sincerity in your voice made him realize that maybe, you were telling the truth when you said you’d been through worse.

He gave you a single nod, the kind that said more than a hundred words ever could. Then, with a quiet goodbye, Bucky turned to leave, his heavy boots echoing against the linoleum floor. As the door chimed shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth spread through your chest. It had been a long time since someone had stood up for you like that—if ever.

The rest of the shift dragged on, the weight of your boss’s words lessened slightly by the brief encounter with the mysterious customer. You found your thoughts drifting back to Bucky’s face—his concerned eyes and the gentle curve of his mouth when he’d offered to help. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person.

When your shift finally ended, you stepped outside into the cool night air, letting it wash over you like a wave of relief. The neon lights of the store sign cast a garish glow on the empty sidewalk, but it didn’t feel as lonely as it usually did.

As you began the short walk home, you noticed a figure leaning against the wall of the adjacent laundromat. It was Bucky, arms folded over his chest, watching the world pass by. He pushed off the wall when he saw you, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You okay to walk home?”

You nodded, surprised by his concern. “I’m fine. I live just a few blocks away.”

“Okay,” he said, falling into step beside you. “I’m in no rush, and I don’t like the thought of you walking out here by yourself after what I heard in there.”

The gesture was unexpected, but somehow comforting.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of emotions. “Did you wait here this whole time just to check I got home okay…?”

Bucky shrugged, his shoulders shifting beneath the leather jacket. “Call it a gut feeling. Besides, it’s the least I could do after that show back there. No one should have to deal with that kind of crap at work.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you walked side by side, the silence stretched comfortably between you, filled only by the distant sound of passing cars and the occasional chuckle of a couple leaving the liquor store.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, his gaze scanning the street as if expecting trouble. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I get the feeling you’ve got a bit of a history with that guy.”

You sighed, looking down at your worn-out sneakers. “It’s nothing special. Just a dead-end job, trying to make ends meet while I figure out what I want to do with my life. Carl’s always been a bit of a… character, but he pays the bills. Or at least, he did before tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to you. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, a hint of sadness in the movement. “I think that might’ve been the last straw. I’ve been looking for something better for a while now, but it’s hard to find something that fits with my school schedule. Plus, I can’t exactly quit without another job lined up, you know? But I feel like shit there.”

Bucky nodded, his expression empathetic. He’d been in tough situations himself, had to make choices that weren’t ideal.

“Well, if you ever need a reference or anything, you’ve got my number now.” He fished out a piece of paper and scribbled down a string of digits. “And if he ever gives you grief again, just remember, you’ve got backup.”

You took the paper, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The thought of having someone like Bucky on your side was oddly comforting. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

As you approached the turn that led to your apartment complex, you felt a twinge of sadness. You didn’t know much about him, but there was something about his presence that made you feel less alone in the world. But you knew that this was the part where you said goodbye and went your separate ways.

“This is me,” you said, pointing to the dimly lit building. “Thanks for walking me home, Bucky.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the worn-out stairs leading up to the entrance. “No problem. Stay safe, okay? Wait…how did you-”

You smirked, holding up the receipt from the store. “It’s my job to remember faces and numbers, even if it’s just for the night. Plus, yours is pretty hard to forget. War hero, and all”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile. “Well, I guess that makes me pretty memorable.”

You nodded, tucking the paper into your pocket. “It does. Thanks again, really.”

“Take care, Y/N,” Bucky said, giving you a small salute before he turned and melted back into the shadows of the alley.

The night felt eerily quiet once he was gone, the echo of his footsteps fading away into the distance. You climbed the stairs, the chill of the evening seeping into your bones and unlocked the door to your apartment. Inside, the warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the outside world. You threw your bag onto the couch and kicked off your shoes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. As you padded over to the fridge, the cold floor tiles biting at your socks, you pulled out the leftover pizza from the night before, the cheese congealed into a sad, greasy mess. But it was food, and that was all that mattered right now. All that you could budget for.

As you heated up your dinner in the microwave, the glow of the screen casting a soft light across the kitchen, you couldn’t shake the image of Bucky’s face from your mind. The way he looked at you - like he truly saw you - was something you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The microwave beeped, snapping you out of your thoughts. You took a bite of the lukewarm pizza, the cheese pulling away from the bread. But somehow, it tasted a little less disappointing given that your night was accompanied by a nice guy… and a small spark you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You sat at the small table by the window, looking out into the quiet street. Sometimes a car passed by, their headlights painting streaks of light on the pavement. You found yourself wondering about Bucky’s life. What led him to be so kind? What made him want to protect someone like you from a simple act of workplace bullying? The curiosity grew, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you should be grateful for the brief respite from your reality and not overthink it.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. You glanced down at the screen, expecting a notification from a class group chat or a text from a friend complaining about their day. But instead, you found a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Y/N, it’s Bucky. Just checking in. How are you holding up?

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like Bucky Barnes. You know, handsome. Sweet. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Just the thought of answering gave you a flutter in your chest.

You: Hey, I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. It’s been a long night.

Bucky: No problem at all. Just wanted to make sure you’re not letting that asshole get to you. You deserve better.

The bluntness of his message made you chuckle around a mouthful of pizza. It was refreshing, the way he didn’t mince words. You chewed thoughtfully, considering how much of your situation to share with him. After all, he was basically a stranger.

You: I’ve had worse days, but thanks for caring. I’ll be okay. Just trying to keep my chin up and move on.

The phone vibrated again, the screen lighting up with another text from him.

Bucky: That’s the spirit. Ever need someone to vent to, I’m here. Or, you know, to help you move some furniture. I’ve got strong arms and not a lot of plans.

The offer made you smile wider. It was almost a vague way of saying he wanted to see you again, despite being a blunt man he could bring himself to ask you out. It was laughable, in a way.

You: Haha, I’ll keep that in mind. I actually do have an old bookshelf that’s been giving me a hard time.

Bucky: Perfect. I’m your man. Whenever you need it moved, just let me know. No strings attached. Unless you want to grab some coffee first.

The suggestion was casual, but it hung in the air, charged with something more. You chewed on your lip, contemplating his offer. It wasn’t just about the bookshelf; you knew that. But the idea of seeing Bucky again, of sharing a moment that didn’t involve work or the stale air of the convenience store, was tempting. You hadn’t had a decent conversation with anyone in what felt like forever.

Coffee sounds good - you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check.

Bucky: Great! How’s tomorrow afternoon around 3? I can swing by with some muscle and a decent taste in caffeine.

You nodded to yourself, feeling a rush of blood to your face. It wasn’t a date, but it was something. Something outside the routine of your life. Something that had the potential to be more than just another forgettable encounter.

You: Tomorrow at 3 it is.

Bucky: Looking forward to it. Get some rest, and don’t let Carl ruin your night.

The conversation ended with a promise to meet, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe had just handed you a gift-wrapped opportunity for a new beginning. You spent the rest of the night scrolling through job listings, a renewed sense of determination burning in your chest. Maybe you didn’t need to settle for the same old crap anymore. Maybe there was more out there.

The next day dragged by with the excitement of a snail race. You found yourself checking the time on your phone every few minutes, counting down the hours until you could see Bucky again. It was ridiculous, really. You barely knew the guy, but he’d left an indelible mark on you with his kindness and protective nature.

Finally, the clock struck 3, and you felt your nerves begin to fray. You’d chosen your outfit with more care than usual, opting for a simple black dress that fell just above your knees and a light cardigan to ward off the chill of your ill-heated apartment. It was cleaner than it had been in weeks, the bookshelf sitting awkwardly in the middle of your living room, a clear indicator of the ruse you’d concocted.

When the buzzer rang, you took a deep breath and opened the door. Bucky stood in the hallway, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, looking every inch the hero from your childhood comics. He held up two steaming cups of coffee, the aroma wafting into the room.

“Peace offering,” he said with a wink, handing one to you.

You took it gratefully, feeling your nerves dissipate a little. The warmth of the cup felt good in your hands. “Thanks,” you murmured, taking a tentative sip.

He stepped inside, surveying the bookshelf with a nod of approval. “Looks like it’s seen better days.”

“It was my grandmother’s. I just can’t seem to part with it,” you said, feeling a twinge of nostalgia.

Bucky set his own coffee down and rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s get to work then.”

The process of moving the heavy, cumbersome piece of furniture was surprisingly easy with his help. You directed him where to push and pull, and together, you managed to maneuver it into the perfect spot. It was a small victory, but it felt significant, a symbol of progress in a life that often felt stagnant.

Once the bookshelf was in place, you sat down on the couch, breathless and laughing. Bucky followed, his smile reaching his eyes as he took in the now organized space. He handed you back your coffee, and you took a grateful sip, watching him as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“So, what’s the story behind the books?” he asked, gesturing to the eclectic mix of novels and textbooks that now lined the shelves.

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. “They’re just my escape. Sometimes school gets overwhelming, and I just need to lose myself in a good story.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the spines before meeting yours. “I get that. Sometimes, when I’ve had enough of my own head, I’ll read for hours. It’s like…going on an adventure without leaving your couch.”

You shared a knowing look. “Exactly. And my couch is pretty comfy for traveling the world.”

Bucky’s smile grew a little sad. “Or escaping it, huh?”

The air in the room changed, thick with unspoken understanding. You both knew what it was like to carry a past that weighed heavier than any book. You took a deep breath, deciding to let down your guard a little.

“Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with other people’s problems than my own. And the ones in books have a better chance of a happy ending than the ones in real life.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “But you can’t live in someone else’s story forever, Y/N. You gotta write your own sometimes too.”

You looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze. It was a gentle push, but it was a push nonetheless.

“I know,” you said softly. “I’m just…scared to mess it up, you know?”

Bucky’s hand found yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You won’t. And if you do, that’s what the backspace button’s for. Just keep going.”

The warmth of his hand was like a balm to your soul, a silent promise of support. You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the beginnings of something unfurling in your chest - hope, perhaps?

You both sat there in silence for a moment, sipping on your coffee, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound breaking the stillness.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, curiosity etched in his voice as he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

You took a deep breath, unsure how much of your life you wanted to unpack for a man you’d only just met. But there was something about him that made you feel safe, like he could handle whatever you threw at him. “It’s not much to tell, really. Just trying to get through school, work to pay the bills, the usual stuff. My parents aren’t around, so it’s all on me.”

The sadness in your voice was palpable, and Bucky’s expression softened. He knew what it was like to be adrift in the world, carrying the weight of responsibilities that were never meant for one person.

“What about your friends? They help you out?”

You shrugged. “They try, but everyone’s got their own lives. It’s hard to juggle it all. And Carl…” You trailed off, not wanting to dwell on the sour note he’d left you with the night before.

“He’s not worth another thought,” Bucky said firmly. “You’ve got more important things to focus on. Like what you’re gonna do after you graduate.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to be a counsellor. I’m studying psychology.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. You’ll be great at it. You’ve already got the patience and strength to deal with people at their worst.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “Thanks. It’s just what I’ve had to learn to do, I guess. Can I ask you something a bit stupid?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his grip on your hand not loosening. “You can ask me anything.”

“How did you become so…” You paused, searching for the right word. “So…good?”

He chuckled, a sound that was surprisingly warm and full of life. “It’s not something you just become, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff. Done a lot of bad stuff. It’s about making choices, every day. Choosing to do the right thing even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. And I’ve had a lot of people help me along the way. Like Steve… Captain America, I mean.”

The mention of his friend brought a wistful look to his eyes, and you felt a tingle of curiosity about the stories he must have, the adventures he’d been on.

“I just…I mean, I’m not gonna trauma dump on you or anything but sometimes I just feel like I…can’t make up for anything…” Your voice drew out.

Bucky’s thumb made small circles on the back of your hand, a gentle reassurance. “You fascinate me.”

You looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. “You look so sweet. I..obviously you are. But, I can tell there’s something else going on. That something happened….”

You felt your eyes well up, unsure if you wanted to let go of the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long. But the sincerity in Bucky’s voice, the way his thumb kept caressing your hand, made you feel like maybe, just this once, it was okay to be vulnerable in front of him.

“It’s just… I’ve made some mistakes,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big ones. Ones I’m not sure I can ever fix. It’s hard to…move on from that.”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them unwavering. “We all have regrets, Y/N. Hey, we all know I do. But that doesn’t define us. It’s what we do next that counts. And you, helping people, that’s a pretty noble next step, if you ask me.”

You took a shaky breath, his words resonating deep within you. “Sorry.” You giggle softly, “This is a bit dark for a first…whatever this is.”

“It’s okay to be real. Sometimes that’s all anyone can ask for.”

Bucky’s words surrounded you like a warm embrace, his grip on your hand a silent reminder that you weren’t alone. The room felt a size smaller, but not in a suffocating way - more like the comfort of a blanket on a cold night, wrapping you in a cocoon. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your secrets threatening to spill out.

He could see a look of guilt spilling over your features suddenly.

“Bucky, I’m a bad person.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but there it was, hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Bucky’s thumb stopped moving. He studied you, his gaze intense but not judgmental. “You can’t believe that, Y/N. You’re not. Everyone makes mis-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, Bucky. You don’t understand.”

The silence grew heavier, the air thick with the unspoken words. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for his judgment, his pity. But all you found was his hand tightening around yours, a silent declaration that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I was trained in the Red Room.”

It was a whisper, the weight of the confession making your voice tremble.

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them never fading. “The Red Room?” he repeated, his voice low and measured. You nodded, the words feeling like lead in your mouth. The Red Room was something you’d buried deep, a chapter of your life you’d hoped never to have to re-open. But here you were, in the dim light of your small apartment, sharing it with this stranger. He deserved to know. He deserved the option to walk away and never look back at the twisted world he’d barely escaped the first time.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still wrapped around yours. The tension grew, a symphony of unspoken questions and fears playing in the air. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the thumping rhythm echoing in your ears. Was he disgusted? Would he leave now?

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, looking for the truth in the shadows of your irises. “The Red Room,” he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark secret. You could see the recognition in his eyes, the understanding of what that meant. “You were a widow.”

It was less of a question than a statement.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your past pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The air grew colder, and you found yourself shrinking into your cardigan, as if it could offer some kind of protection from his judgment. But instead of recoiling, Bucky leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“How’d you get out?” His voice was gentle, the question not one of accusation, but of genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, feeling the walls of your chest constrict around the words you hadn’t spoken in years. “Natasha and Yelena…they found me. When they took the Red Room down. They…freed me.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand grew stronger, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the understanding dawn in his expression, the knowledge of what it meant to be plucked from the hell you’d been living in and thrust into a world that didn’t make sense anymore.

“Bucky, you….I think you should go.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, the tremble in it clear as day. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, the guilt and fear of what he’d think of you now that he knew the truth too much to bear. You didn’t expect him to stay, not after what you’d told him. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of empathy and something you couldn’t quite name, made you hope.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” Bucky said firmly, his thumb still caressing the back of your hand. “You’re safe here. With me.”

But the dam had already broken. Tears spilled from your eyes, a silent cascade that painted tracks down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear that, how much you’d needed someone to remind you that you weren’t the monster you felt like. You hadn’t expected to find that in the arms of a man who’d been through his own brand of hell.

But here you were, crying in front of him, letting the pain of your past spill out in a messy, human way.

——————————————————————————————————

I’m hoping this series will be intriguing for some of you fabulous readers! 🫶

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff #bucky angst #red room #widows #angst

28 notes · View notes