#dimmed the brightness real low after that

[shaiyasstuff]

red | zayne | prologue to through the fire

synopsis : Fate chose another, but his heart never stopped choosing you.

content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide)

writer’s note : read through the fire heree. Guys I stayed up all night writing this because I’m flying to europe today and I don’t know if I’ll have time to write😭 so have fun reading this guyss

Shaiya

Zayne stared at the name etched into his skin, barely brushing his fingers over the letters as if touching it would somehow make it less real.

Silence crashed around him like a wave. The world dimmed.

No, he thought, chest tightening. It should’ve been her name.

Yours.

He wanted to claw at it, to tear it off and rewrite the universe.

But all he did was stare—still, quiet, unreadable. His face gave nothing away, though his heart was screaming.

You didn’t cry when he told you.

He had expected the silence. Maybe even anger.

But not the way you reached for him, pulling him into a soft embrace as if you were the one offering comfort.

As if you were the one letting go.

You smiled.

And that broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He held you too tightly for a moment too long, afraid that if he let go, everything between you would unravel.

Then he forced a smile—calm, polite, practiced. Like he was happy. Like this wasn’t the end of something sacred.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t love Shaiya—not then. There was no spark, no fireworks when he first saw her in the park.

There was just you.

You, with your quiet steadiness, your silent understanding. You, who noticed every flicker of emotion on his face, even when no one else did. You, who knew how to wait through his silences.

But something kept pulling him back to Shaiya. A whisper in his gut. A gravitational force he couldn’t explain.

So he went.

And when she laughed, something in him stirred. When she smiled, he felt breathless. Her presence, soft and bright, wrapped around him like a tether he hadn’t asked for—but couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t like with you.

With you, it was slow, quiet, real.

With her, it was sudden—like being caught in a current he couldn’t swim against.

And yet, even as he sat beside Shaiya, laughing at something she said, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

Back to you.

Back to the way you smiled without expectation. Back to the warmth of your hug.

Back to everything he was afraid he’d just lost.

—•

“Zayne? You there?”

He jolted upright at the sound of Shaiya’s voice through the phone, pulled sharply from the spiral of thoughts he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Yeah. Sorry—I was signing some reports.”

A lie, smooth and effortless.

Shaiya laughed lightly, the sound soft through the speaker.

“It’s okay.”

Then, after a beat, her tone shifted, quieter. Concerned. “I’m a little worried about Y/N. She’s been… distant lately.”

That made him still. Completely.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

Shaiya hesitated. “She spaces out sometimes. When I talk to her, she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I caught her clutching her wrist the other day—I think she might be hurt, but she brushed it off.”

Zayne didn’t hear the rest. Her voice faded under the weight of his thoughts.

How hadn’t he noticed?

You, the one person he thought he always saw clearly. The one whose silences he understood. He’d been so caught in the chaos of his own confusion that he hadn’t seen you unraveling in the quiet.

He swallowed, guilt settling in like a stone. “I’ll talk to her,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Shaiya replied, her voice soft again. “I’m heading to bed now—early shift tomorrow. Don’t forget to eat after yours.”

The line disconnected, and silence bloomed in the space it left behind.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he stood.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his feet carried him across the corridor.

He stopped in front of your door. Raised his hand. Hesitated.

Did you have a mark yet?

The thought hit him like a wave.

And somewhere—deep and cruel and honest—a voice inside him whispered that he hoped you didn’t. That maybe, if fate had overlooked you too, you’d still stay.

That you’d still look at him the way you always had.

That he wouldn’t lose you completely.

But even he knew that was selfish.

So he knocked, softly.

No reply.

The door creaked open.

He stepped inside, meaning to call your name, to ask if you were alright—but the words never made it past his lips.

You were asleep, curled up at your desk, your breathing steady. Peaceful.

And then he saw it.

A flash of red ink on your wrist.

His name.

His breath caught.

Everything in him stilled.

This—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His name was on your skin. In red. And he hadn’t even known.

He stumbled back like the air had turned to fire, his legs moving before he could think.

The door slammed behind him as he pressed his back against it, chest rising and falling in erratic waves.

That’s why.

That’s why you’d been pulling away. Why you smiled like it hurt. Why you never said a word.

Because it did hurt.

And all this time, he’d been too blind to see it.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring the fluorescent lights of his office as he clenched his fists at his sides.

You had been burning alone. Crying alone.

And now that he knew—

There was still nothing he could do.

—•

He saw you.

It was late—close to midnight—when he stepped out of his car, bone-tired from another shift.

The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft yellow haze of flickering streetlamps.

And there you were.

Leaving your apartment, coat hastily thrown on, arms folded tightly around yourself like you were holding yourself together.

Zayne froze, half in the shadow of the trees lining the sidewalk.

He meant to call out. Your name was already on the tip of his tongue.

But then he saw your face.

Not just the weariness, but something sharper—something broken.

Sadness. Anger. Resignation.

And suddenly, he couldn’t speak.

Because he knew—

He knew it was because of him.

So he stayed silent.

Just watched.

He followed your steps with his eyes as you crossed the street, your pace slow, unsteady.

The city was quiet around you, but inside, you were a storm. He could see it. He felt it in the way your shoulders sank.

You disappeared into the dim glow of a small pub tucked between closed storefronts.

He didn’t go in.

He stood across the street, leaning against the hood of his car like a coward, watching through the window as you made your way to the bar.

Sluggish. Heavy.

He saw your hand signal the bartender. Saw the first drink vanish. Then the second. Then the third.

His chest tightened with every empty glass.

Because it was his fault.

He was the reason you were unraveling one drink at a time. The reason your mark burned red with his name while he bore someone else’s in black.

Then—

He saw him.

A stranger. Tall. Pale hair that glinted under the bar’s low lighting.

Zayne’s breath caught as he watched the man slide onto the stool beside you, say something with a smile, and slide across a piece of paper.

He saw your smile falter. Saw the pain flicker across your features like lightning.

Saw the way your body flinched, just barely, like a wound had been pressed too hard.

And Zayne saw it all.

Every agonizing detail.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t cross the street. Didn’t pull open the door.

He couldn’t.

Because what would he say?

What right did he have?

He stood there, paralyzed in the dark, watching you turn away from the man politely, watching you order another drink with trembling fingers.

And he hated himself more with every breath.

—•

Two days later, he stepped into your office.

The door clicked softly behind him, and for a moment, he simply stood there—watching you work, your shoulders tense, eyes tired in that way only he seemed to notice.

He cleared his throat gently. “Long day?”

His voice was calm, casual, as he placed a cup of coffee on your desk like it was just another routine between colleagues.

You looked up and offered him a smile—soft, warm, as if nothing had changed. As if nothing had shattered between you.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, fingers curling around the warmth of the cup.

It hurt.

Because he saw it now—what he’d missed before.

The subtle flinch when your skin brushed the sleeve of your sweater.

The split-second delay in your smile. The way you didn’t quite meet his eyes.

He swallowed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I saw you out. Two nights ago.”

The air shifted.

You stilled for a fraction of a second, but didn’t look away.

He wished he hadn’t said it, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t just worried. He was jealous.

His jaw tightened as he brought his coffee to his lips. “Were you drinking again?”

His voice cracked—just barely—but enough to betray him.

You blinked. Then turned your gaze to the window, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just needed some air. That’s all.”

And then, as if your body hadn’t yet caught up with your lie, your fingers drifted down, brushing against your wrist—so faintly it would’ve gone unnoticed.

But he saw it.

He always saw you.

He opened his mouth, something sharp and aching rising in his throat.

But he bit it back.

The truth. The apology. The longing.

None of it would fix what fate had done.

So he stepped back.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said, turning on his heel before the tremble in his voice could betray him again.

And he walked away.

Because what else could he say?

When it was his name on your wrist.

And someone else’s on his.

—•

A week later, he stood motionless in his office, staring blankly at the floor.

Shaiya’s voice still echoed in his ears.

“She found her soulmate.”

His heart didn’t sink—it clenched. Like something inside him had braced for a blow and still wasn’t ready for the impact.

He didn’t believe it.

Not for a second.

Because he knew you.

Knew the kind of lies people told when they were trying to protect themselves from pain.

Before reason could stop him, his body had already moved. He found himself standing in front of your office again, just like he had so many times before—only now there was something different clinging to the air.

A desperation he couldn’t admit.

He wanted to shake you. To ask why.

Why you were doing this to yourself. To him.

Why you were pretending this didn’t hurt when everything in your eyes told him otherwise.

But he said none of that.

Instead, he knocked gently and stepped in.

You looked up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Because you smiled. Small. Warm.

As if nothing had changed.

As if it didn’t ache.

And that only made it worse.

“I heard from Shaiya,” he said, voice low, too even. “You found him?”

You nodded, the gesture soft, almost apologetic. “Yeah.”

His mouth parted slightly, like there was something he needed to say—but the words caught halfway.

“That’s… good,” he said finally. But the pause before the word good was a wound all on its own.

It hung in the air. Heavy.

And it wasn’t joy that colored his tone. Not even relief.

There was something else.

You blinked, startled by the hollowness of it. “Is everything okay?”

Zayne looked at you, long and quiet, his gaze searching your face like it held an answer to something he couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, the mask returned.

A neutral expression. The kind he wore in operating rooms. In grief.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing the edges of his mouth to lift. “I’m just… glad for you.”

But even you could hear it.

The tremor beneath the stillness. The way glad didn’t quite land.

Silence stretched.

Zayne looked away for a moment, then back—eyes flickering with something raw, something not yet buried deep enough.

And still—he said nothing.

Because what could he say, when it was his name on your skin—

And someone else’s story you were trying to live?

When Zayne stepped out of your office, his chest tight and throat dry, he nearly walked past him—

The man from the bar.

Tall, silver-haired, with that same calm presence that had unsettled him days ago.

This time, he stood waiting. Expecting him.

“I’m Sylus,” the man said coolly, offering nothing more than his name—because he knew it was enough.

Zayne stopped mid-stride.

His eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing into something colder. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

He remembered that night.

The flash of your pain. The way Sylus had leaned in, close but careful, like he knew exactly how much space to take.

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

“Take care of her,” he said, voice sharp but restrained. Controlled. Like a blade held at the throat but never pressed in.

Then he turned without waiting for a reply, shoulders stiff, the weight of what he couldn’t say trailing behind him like a shadow.

But if he had stayed just a second longer—

He would’ve seen it.

The slow, knowing smirk tugging at Sylus’s lips.

Not arrogant, not mocking—just assured.

A look that said he would.

And maybe even more than that—

That he already was.

—•

The hospital hallway was quiet at this hour—just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of distant footsteps.

Zayne stood alone in the on-call room, the door shut behind him, the walls far too close.

He leaned against the locker, head tipped back, eyes closed.

But the silence wasn’t peace.

It was suffocating.

She found someone.

She said she found her soulmate.

The words circled in his mind like vultures, tearing into the edges of his restraint.

He clenched his fists, breathing slow—too slow, like he was trying to stay afloat in his own chest.

Sylus.

The name had weight now. It wasn’t just a stranger from the bar anymore—it was someone you had chosen. Someone who made you smile, even through the ache.

Someone who could stand beside you without carrying the guilt Zayne did.

His hand lifted without thinking, pressing to his chest like he could calm the sharp, twisting ache there.

He didn’t understand it.

Why did the mark choose Shaiya?

Why not her?

Why not you?

Because if the universe had any sense of justice, it would’ve branded your name into his skin.

Not someone else’s.

Not someone he had to learn to care about.

Not someone who wasn’t you.

Zayne sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

His shoulders hunched in on himself, like the weight of everything was finally catching up.

All the moments he’d brushed aside.

The quiet hurt in your eyes.

The way you smiled like you were trying to protect him.

He remembered the night he saw you drinking, the way you flinched when Sylus got too close, the pain you thought no one saw.

And he had done nothing.

He had stood there, watching.

Helpless.

His name was on your wrist. In red.

And it didn’t matter.

Because fate had already played its cruel joke—and he had laughed along with it, pretending he could live with it. Pretending he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

He had spent so long mastering silence, mastering stillness—he didn’t know how to fight for something that wasn’t supposed to be his.

His breath trembled, a rare crack in the mask he wore even when no one was watching.

He wanted to scream.

To demand answers from whatever force had decided this was how the story would end.

But all he could do was sit there.

In a quiet room.

With your name echoing like a phantom in his chest.

And nothing he could do to make you stay.

[hugmekenobi]

The absolute fear of writing spice in public before work and then someone appears from behind you to ask a question but all your thinking about is how you really hope he didn’t clock any of the words in your screen 😅

[bakuhve]

in which pro hero reader puts an interviewer in their place after asking a disrespectful question about her boyfriend, pro hero dynamight.

you hated interviews.

the blinding lights, the stiff chairs, the overwhelming stench of hairspray clinging to the air- every second under the cameras made your skin itch. the suffocating outfit you were sitting in wasn’t helping either, digging into your ribs with every breath.

you weren’t even halfway through the interview yet, but the migraine pressing behind your temples told you you’d had enough.

technically, this was supposed to be a lighthearted talk show. what a joke. you knew better- just an interview wrapped in a prettier bow. the host sitting across from you in her pristine blue chair hadn’t shut up in over an hour, bouncing between surface-level questions about your daily routine and your hero work.

you’d been playing along, forcing that polite little smile on your face. but this second his name left her mouth, your stomach twisted.

“pro hero galaxia, we all know as his girlfriend, you’re the closest person to the one and only explosion hero, dynamight. i’d like to ask some questions about that.”

her voice was sugary sweet- too sweet. the kind of tone that made your teeth grind.

you returned her plastic smile, masking the irritation crawling up your spine. they always did this. always trying to pry into things that weren’t their business. heroes had a right to privacy too, didn’t they?

but for the sake of appearances, you nodded.

“alright.”

her eyes glinted like a shark sensing blood. “it’s no secret that dynamight is a… harsh person.” she paused, letting the word hang in the air. “many young children and even adults could be frightened by this nature, and i wonder-” she tilted her head, fake curiosity dripping from every syllable- “how do you think this affects him as a hero? could it be that he’s not cut out to be one?”

…what?

at first, you didn’t even register the question.

the air seemed to still, the bright studio lights dimming into a blurry haze around you. the murmuring crowd, the cameras clicking- everything faded into static. all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.

she did not just say that.

“excuse me?” your voice came out low, sharper than you’d intended. maybe you’d heard her wrong.

but the smug little tilt of her smile told you you hadn’t.

“yes,” she repeated, slow and deliberate. “what are your thoughts?”

you leaned forward, locking eyes with her. the smile fell from your face like a guillotine blade.

“let me tell you something.”

the words came out steady, and there was no mistaking the edge behind them.

“dynamight wakes up every single day, straps on his gear, and walks out that door with no guarantee of returning home.” your voice rose slightly, echoing through the silent studio. “he risks his life- his entire goddamn life- to protect people who wouldn’t think twice about spitting on his name.”

you wouldn’t use dynamight’s real name now. you weren’t answering this question as his girlfriend, you were answering it as a fellow pro hero who knew the constant battles of every day hero life. and for him to be disrespected like this was beyond sickening to you.

“he worked his ass of to get to where he is today- harder than anyone i’ve ever seen. and you’re sitting here questioning if he’s cut out to be a hero? what the hell are you doing every day? sitting on your ass in front of a camera, profiting off other people’s lives?”

the host’s eyes widened, her sickly sweet smile finally cracking.

good.

you stood abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. the woman flinched back, the entire room holding its breath.

“i better not ever see you in front of my face again.”

the moment you stormed off the set, the tension in your muscles refused to ease. your hands were still curled into fists at your sides, nails pressing half-moons into your palms. the air backstage was cooler, quieter, but the frustration still burned beneath your skin.

that woman had no idea what the hell she was talking about. no clue what it meant to be a hero.

you made your way to the dressing room, barely acknowledging the wide-eyed crew members who scurried out of your way. you didn’t care. let them whisper about the way you stood up for dynamight on live television.

you swung open the door to your dressing room, already reaching for the zipper of your suffocating outfit-

and then you froze.

because sitting on the couch in the corner, arms crossed and one leg kicked over the other, was a very familiar blonde.

katsuki.

his crimson eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in, sharp and unreadable.

for a second, neither of you spoke. the adrenaline from the interview was still thrumming in your veins, but under his gaze, something in you settled. he was here. he had seen everything.

you swallowed, shifting your weight slightly. “katsuki-”

before you could finish, he was already pushing himself off the couch, walking toward you with slow and deliberate steps. his hands, rough from years of battle, came up to your shoulders, thumbs brushing against your collarbones.

“turn around,” he murmured, voice softer than you’d expected.

you blinked at him, and his gaze flickered to the zipper at the back of your outfit. “i know this shit’s been botherin’ you all night.”

there was no teasing in his voice, no smirk. just quiet understanding.

your chest tightened, warmth flooding beneath your ribs. without a word, you turned, letting out a breath as his fingers gently tugged at the zipper.

the fabric loosened around you, and you hadn’t realized how tense you were until the cool air kissed your skin.

“you didn’t have to do that,” katsuki muttered as he worked the zipper down, his knuckles grazing your spine. “didn’t need to lose your shit on live tv for me.”

you scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. “of course i did.”

the zipper reached the small of your back, and his hands smoothed over your shoulders, pushing the fabric down with a tenderness that sent shivers through you.

“you’re a hero, katsuki,” you continued, voice quieter now. “you save lives every single day. no one gets to question that.”

his hands stilled. you felt his breath against the nape of your neck, warm and steady.

then, he pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

“you’re too good to me, y’know that?” he muttered against your skin.

you turned to face him, arms slipping around his waist as he finished peeling the tight fabric from your arms. his hands didn’t leave you, tracing slow, comforting circles against your back.

“i just love you,” you admitted, his forehead resting against yours.

he huffed, but the way his arms tightened around you betrayed him.

“yeah, yeah. love you too, dumbass.”

and as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss far gentler than anyone would expect from dynamight, you let yourself melt into him- into his safety and love reserved just for you.

the fire from the interview still burned in your veins, but now, it was for an entirely different reason.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Woke up from the sweetest dream of eating ice cream with Jason in the middle of the night, both in our jammies hunched over a pint in opposite sides of the kitchen island and its just so special to not be doing this exact thing alone.

"There's something so sweet about loving and being loved. Knowing and being known. Especially by a man who makes every past moment of suffering so worth it if it's lead us to this." 🥺🥺

Late Night Desserts 

Pure Fluff ~1k words

It's late, the kind of late that's so far into the night that you can start to call it early. Your kitchen is dark, lit only by the dim street lights and the occasional stray beams of moonlight that break the clouds hanging low over Gotham's sky. There's the sounds of cars driving by, the faint whirl of a helicopter flying overhead, but it's all drowned out by the quiet giggles bouncing off the walls of your apartment. 

"Why are you even whispering," you stumble out between hushed laughs, voice barely above a breath as you point your spoon at Jason, eyes narrowing in accusation.

He grins, mock offense dripping into his quiet tone, "I could ask you the same question, sweetheart." 

"I'm whispering because you're whispering," you bite back, gaze leaving him so you can dip your spoon into the pint of your favorite ice cream resting between you on the counter. 

Jason scoffs, all teasing and playing as he reaches over to knock his spoon against yours, digging into the frozen dessert for another taste, "I'm whispering because it's still dark outside, and the walls of your apartment are thinner than paper."

"That's not my fault," You pout, taking your own bite of the ice cream. Your eyes narrow, but there's no heat to the action, not when the moment feels as sweet as the dessert you're sharing.

"Didn't say it was, doll," he hums, catching you entirely off guard when he reaches over the kitchen island to swipe his thumb over the corner of your lip, collecting what remains of the ice cream on his finger. His gaze never leaves yours as he licks his thumb clean, smile never fading.

He seems intent on knocking your world off center for a second time, because he speaks again, an easy grin on his face, like his words have no consequence either way, "You could always move in with me. Then it wouldn't matter how loud we were at night. Opens all kinds of doors, ya know?"

You think you manage to keep the surprise off your face when you answer (you don't), "It would?"

"Sure," he hums, jabbing his spoon back into the cartoon, it's the only sign that he feels even slightly nervous over the question he poised, "We could cook after eight pm without your neighbors complaining, blast music in the morning, and, ya know, if we ever get the dog you've talked about, it would be nice to have thicker walls."

His words sweep you right off your feet, his easy answer, the slight tension in his shoulders, all point to one thing. He's thought about this. He's planned a future with you, even if it's just coming up with small, mundane reasons on why you should move to his apartment. 

The realization steals your breath away, and it's only when his face furrows and his eyes start to dart over your face, searching for any clues of how you feel, that you remember you have to respond. 

"That sounds nice. I'd like that, " You say, voice melting into a different kind of soft from your previous whispers. It's a soft that's fond, almost reverent in the face of his feelings for you, the cusp of something more you want to build with him. 

The tension drains from his body, and his smile returns to something bright, something real, "Good." Jason lifts his spoon back to his mouth, face thoughtful like he's mulling over his next words, "You could move in anytime, you know. If you wanted. Half your stuff is already there anyway."

The ice cream melting onto the counter doesn't matter anymore, and you drop your spoon, letting it clatter loudly to the granite surface. Jason only has enough time to look confused and vaguely alarmed by the noise before you round the island to get to his side.

He tries to play off his eagerness with a nonchalant shrug, but you see right through your boyfriend. And suddenly, the moment feels so big.

The feeling nearly bursts from your chest. The warm, fluttery love that's so pure and right in your soul that it's nearly overwhelming. The idea that every path you've ever walked has led you to him, and him to you. 

He opens his mouth to talk, and you steal whatever words he means to say with your tongue. The kiss is sweet, so, so sweet. Sweeter than the dessert you were sharing, sweeter than anything you could tell him, sweeter than all the emotions fluttering in your stomach over just how much he means to you. 

Jason kisses you back with a softness that speaks to all the adoration he feels for you, dropping his own spoon to cup your face, to wrap an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

You only pull away first so you can watch the way his eyes flutter open slowly, lingering in the ghost of your lips against his.

"What was that for," he asks, voice so breathless and dreamy it nearly brings you to your knees.

"Just wanted to," you hum out, pressing a kiss to his jaw, to his chin, to his cheek. It's not a lie, it just doesn't encompass all the warmth you feel in your heart, the goofy smile you can't wipe from your face.

His dumbstruck smile matches your own as he squeezes your waist, saying everything he needs to say back with a simple touch. You melt into arms, ice cream, and quiet whispers long forgotten.

But you don't need to explain, don't have to elaborate. Jason knows what you mean when you press another gentle kiss to his lips, he knows what you're trying to say when you tangle your finger in his hair and memorize the feel of his body pressing against yours.

He always seems to know what you can't find the words to say. 

It's just a moment, just a stolen minute of peace as dark creeps towards day, but it's yours. Yours and his. Another warm memory to write into your story, another step towards something that feels like forever. 

The moon lights up your kitchen as it breaks the clouds once again, and Jason chases your mouth for another head-spinning kiss, sealing the promise of words unsaid, emotions that are far bigger than can be spoken into the calm, quiet air of the night.

[etherealrin]

⋆˙⟡ he's a 10!

you call highschool!rin past midnight, accidentally confessing your attraction towards a certain number 10 that plays soccer.

warnings: slight ooc rin, mentions of cat unalivement (don't worry about it...) rin's a dry texter, pretty much just pure fluff // wc: 1.2k

note: i hope this makes sense the idea just came to me randomly heh & reader is a girl

you don't know why you're up at 2 am on a friday night. no, you guess it was technically saturday morning now. you should've been exhausted from school and sleeping, so why do you find yourself sitting inbetween the fuzzy blankets on your bed, whispering intently towards your phone as you facetimed your seatmate itoshi rin?

so maybe, you harbored a tiny crush on the jaw-droppingly attractive raven haired boy who sat next to you during class. maybe, you had fallen for his stoic yet somehow sweet demeanor (you swear he was friendlier around you and he had never called you lukewarm yet, but perhaps you were just delusional.) heck, you weren't even close enough friends with him to warrant such a midnight call, yet here you were. you had to keep your voice low, as to not disturb your family, who were all dozing off somewhere in dreamland by now. your windows are open, just a crack, and you're keenly aware that it's pitch blackness outside, save for the streetlight illuminating the front of your house.

"i mean, i was kind of in the middle of playing a horror game before you called," rin's voice echoed through your airpods.

"shoot, i don't mean to bother you!" you reply, voice hushed. "you can hang up right now, sorry!"

"it's fine, i don't think you're a bother." you peer at your phone, catching how rin's face is illuminated by the bright light coming out from his pc's monitor. you hope that on his side, he can't see much of you in the dimness of your room. you'd die if he caught the hot pink blush creeping across your face at his words.

"itoshi, you're actually a really nice person," you find yourself telling him. "i don't get why everyone labels you as standoffish and cold." you're absentmindedly fiddling with an avocado plushie on the edge of your bed, unaware that it was showing on camera.

"maybe it's because i threatened to unalive the cat of the last girl who asked me out?" rin offered, a hint of a smile in his voice.

"rin, what? please don't come after mine!" you exclaim. oops, had you spoken a bit too loud? well, it didn't seem like you had woken anyone up, so you continued. "i swear floof doesn't bite!" floof was the name of your very fluffy and very adorable kitten.

"well it's not like i'd say that to every girl who confesses to me," he notes. you wonder how his attitude could do a 360 so fast, he truly was an enigma to you.

"say, rin, do you like anyone?" you don't know what you're thinking, but the words spill out of your mouth anyway. you blush even harder, mentally screaming. did you really just ask the boy you liked that question? maybe you were asleep and dreaming, because there was no way you would have the guts to ask him so directly. an apology follows immediately from your end. "i didn't mean to ask such a personal question, i don't know what i was thinking!" you hurriedly stammer, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. you doubted that rin loved anything other than soccer, at any rate. actually, scratch that, did he even like soccer? sometimes you thought the boy with the number 10 on his jersey played like he loathed the game, and wanted to murder it or destroy someone's legacy.

"uhm," rin sounded like he was unsure. it was a contrast to his usual assured self and confident tone. "i'll tell you if you tell me?"

huh? you were at the verge of screaming for real this time. how could you answer rin, met with a question like that? you suppose you had brought it onto yourself, but you really were unprepared for the situation.

"i- uh," you hesitiate, unable to meet the piercing teal gaze on your phone right now. screw it, should you just tell him? "i like guys who are a 10," you whisper. oh god, you wanted to jump out your window and end it right there. of all the stupid indirect answers you could have given itoshi rin, you managed to choose what you think was likely the worst of them all. your voice was barely audible, but evidently rin had heard you loud and clear from the way he took a sharp breath.

"meaning?" rin prods, as if he were actually invested in who you liked.

"i don't know, like" you think you're starting to ramble now. "kinda like if they wear number 10 on their soccer jersey and stuff?" you prayed that maybe rin would think you weren't thinking straight due to lack of sleep and pretend that this conversation had never transpired once you went back to school next monday.

you don't know that on the other end of the line, itoshi rin was grinning like an idiot.

"i'll text you a picture of who i like," rin said suddenly, cutting your call before you could react (before he could change his mind about what he was going to do.) and you truly wish you could evaporate, turn into water vapor or something, and become nothing. he probably hates you now. floof was likely next on his hit list of felines to dismember.

you sigh into your hands, burying yourself under the warmth of your covers, when your phone lights up.

ping! you have one message and one attachment from rin! the display informs you.

your fingers ghost over the notification, scared to open it. but you steel your nerves, brace for the worst, and push down, squeezing your eyes shut. it takes about 30 seconds before you crack them open.

"i like her." he had sent. a picture of a...black screen followed? you press on it and the darkness engulfs your screen. you could see nothing in it, except for your own reflection staring quizzically back at you. your eyes widen with realization. there's no way, you think.

"is this a joke?" you type with trembling fingers and nervously hit the send button, trying your hardest to ignore the pounding in your chest. your heart was going haywire, and it only got worse as the bubble appeared in the chat, indicating that rin was typing.

"well, i didn't have any pictures of you." his reply reads. you want to explode into a thousand pieces, but to your credit you don't and start typing again. to your surprise, your phone buzzes once more. rin had double texted you.

"don't you see yourself in it?" he had sent. your heart now threatens to run away from your body and join the circus or something, as you stare at your crush's confession. you're aware of the stupidly wide grin tugging at your lips right now.

and because you're an idiot, you send:

"i've actually had a crush on you since we moved seats to sit together."

to which he replies:

"...same."

when you plop down into your seat beside him that next monday, he offers you a half smile and a "hey."

"morning, rin," you greet him. he knows, you think. you wonder how awkward it'll be now.

"do you want to come to my game later? heard you liked the number 10 jersey, it just so happens i have a spare i can lend you," rin offers, eyes sparkling with anticipation you've never seen before.

"of course," you answer, immediately understanding what he wanted. "maybe i should cheer loudly for that number 10 as well? rin raises an eyebrow, feigning confusion, but he's profusely grinning and fails to hide it.

you're vaguely aware of your classmates staring at your desks, wondering why itoshi rin was having a seemingly friendly conversation with the girl next to him, and why both of your cheeks were dusted a faint pink.

[shotmrmiller]

1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

[roseandxanderfics]

“Stay With Me” — Tim Bradford x Single Mom Reader

Summary: A routine call turns personal when Tim responds to a terrified 4-year-old reporting their mom collapsed. He finds you barely conscious—and realizes you’ve been fighting alone far too long.

————————

The 911 call came in just after seven. Late enough that most emergencies were winding down, but not so late that anyone relaxed. Tim Bradford had been running paperwork, thinking about grabbing dinner, when the dispatcher’s voice clipped through the radio.

“Child caller. Four years old. Mother unresponsive. Possible medical.”

That was all it took. One word—“four”—and Tim’s blood turned cold. He barely heard the rest before snatching up his radio.

“1-Adam-07, patch me through. I’m on it.”

⸻

The kid’s voice was barely a whisper when it crackled through.

“H-hello?”

Tim inhaled sharply. “Hey, buddy… This is Officer Tim. Can you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.”

That tiny sound hit him harder than it should’ve. “Good job, Eli. I’m coming to help you and your mom right now, okay? Real fast. Can you tell me… is she breathing?”

“I dunno… I scared.”

Tim forced his voice steady. “It’s okay to be scared, kid. You’re really brave. Can you touch her? Tell me if she feels warm or cold?”

Rustling. Sniffles. Then a small, broken sound. “Cold… Tim, s’cold.”

Tim’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he flipped the sirens on. God, please…

“I’m almost there, Eli. Can you unlock the door for me?”

“I try.”

⸻

By the time he screeched to the curb, his heart was hammering. The neighborhood was quiet—too quiet. Dim porch lights. Empty driveways.

The front door creaked open a sliver. A tiny face peeked out—tears streaked, cheeks blotchy.

“There you are, buddy,” Tim murmured, crouching low. “You did so good. Where’s Mom?”

Eli didn’t answer. Just… pointed.

Tim pushed the door wide and stepped inside—one hand instinctively hovering over his holster, the other reaching back for the kid. “Stay close, okay?”

The house was small. Lived-in. Crayon drawings taped to the fridge, a stuffed bunny abandoned on the couch. And there—on the kitchen tile—was you.

You were pale. Too still.

“Shit,” Tim breathed, rushing forward. He pressed two fingers to your neck, searching—there—a faint, thready pulse.

He grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, I’ve got the subject. Female, early thirties. Pulse is weak. Roll EMS, now.”

“Copy, 1-Adam-07. EMS en route.”

Eli whimpered behind him. “Mommy?”

Tim glanced back, softening. “Hey, buddy. She’s okay. She’s breathing. I need you to be my big helper now, alright?”

The kid nodded, lip trembling.

“Can you grab me that blanket?” Tim pointed. Eli scrambled, dragging it over with tiny hands. Tim tucked it around you, jaw tight.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured—half to you, half to the kid. “Just stay with me.”

⸻

Minutes felt like hours. Tim didn’t leave your side, one hand checking your pulse over and over, the other resting protectively over Eli’s shoulder.

EMS burst through the door—young, efficient. They worked fast, lifting you onto the stretcher. Tim stayed kneeling until they moved past.

Eli’s eyes filled again. “I come?”

Tim didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, kid. You’re with me.”

⸻

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Eli sat curled in Tim’s lap, face buried in his chest, fists gripping the dark fabric of his uniform.

“She okay?” the little voice finally asked.

Tim swallowed hard. “She’s gonna be. You did good, Eli. You saved your mom.”

⸻

The ER was bright. Too bright. Tim hated hospitals. Hated the smell, the noise. But he stayed. Watched as nurses buzzed around you, checked monitors, whispered words like “dehydration” and “exhaustion” like they were medical diagnoses and not just proof that life had beaten you down.

⸻

You woke slowly. Blinking against the light, brow furrowing.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured. “You’re okay.”

You turned your head—and saw him.

The cop. Tall. Broad. Blue eyes way too gentle for a man who probably carried a gun for a living.

“Your son’s right here,” he added, voice soft. “He’s… he’s been really brave.”

Eli popped his head up, face blotchy. “Mommy!”

Your eyes welled instantly. “Eli… oh god…”

Tim helped him onto the bed, watching as tiny arms wrapped around your neck.

“I… I’m sorry,” you rasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tim cut in. “You’ve been running on empty. Doc says exhaustion, dehydration… You’ve been doing too much on your own.”

You blinked at him. “I don’t… even know your name.”

“Tim.” He smiled faintly. “Tim Bradford.”

A beat of silence.

“You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Didn’t feel right to leave.”

⸻

They discharged you hours later. Tim was still there—Eli wouldn’t let go of him.

“I’ll drive you,” he said gruffly, like it wasn’t a question. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

⸻

Your house felt colder when you returned. Tim helped you in, set Eli on the couch, and knelt in front of you one last time.

“I meant what I said. You’ve been doing too much alone.”

You stared at him, exhausted tears threatening. “That’s… just how it is.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he muttered. “I’ll… check in tomorrow. Groceries. Whatever you need.”

You tried to argue—but Eli’s head flopped onto Tim’s shoulder mid-yawn.

Tim smiled, slow and soft. “You good if I hang around until he’s out?”

You nodded, too tired to fight it.

⸻

And just like that… Tim Bradford became the first safe thing you’d known in a long, long time

[bunnyinvanilla]

getting stood up -or ditched- by ur stupid boyfriend and desperate for a way home cause a lil bunny can’t walk home alone at night so as a last resort, you call dads bsf price, who is more than happy to pick up his best friends little girl xx and he can’t drop her off without showing her what a real man is

ps: i absolutely adore your writing x keep it up bby

a defeated little sigh slips from your glossed lips as you stare at the text message, received fifty minutes after you’d sent the first one.

“i don’t think i’ll be able to make it tonight, i forgot about it and now i am busy, sorry!”

you weren’t sad he couldn’t make it, of course, you would’ve appreciated it if he’d at least warned you about his little slip of memory, but if anything, that little mistake only sealed your mind even more — it’s not like you were a couple, you’d only been on a date once, and this was supposed to be the second one. clearly, he wasn’t interested, and you weren’t either, but you’d been left alone waiting for him for more than a hour, like an abandoned little bunny. you didn’t deserve this, you deserved a princess treatment.

nibbling on your bottom lip, you stood outside the building, the night breeze cold against your bare thighs as you considered your options — you couldn’t possibly call your father, he’d be livid with both the guy for living you alone at night, and you for ending up in this reckless situation. also, you didn’t want to make him worry too much.

so, your baby pink nails clipped against the screen as you recklessly quickly typed the number of the only person you trusted the most, the only one you could think about that could come and save you. only tree ringings passed by, before you heard his deep, gruff and rough voice from the other side of the phone.

“hello?”

your heartbeat immediately increased, effected by his low tone, beating faster and nervously. he sounded rougher, huskier.

“sir?” you tried to swallow down your heart, poor thing trying to flutter outside of your chest — your cheeks were painted red, covered by a warm and bright blush.

“doll?” you caught the slight urgency in his voice, though it sounded controlled and steady as always. a few seconds of silence passed after his reply, and you imagined him glancing down at his wrist watch, before muttering out “what’s wrong?”

“i’m fine, im really sorry to bother you at this hour—“

“you never bother me, sweetheart. what happened?”

you hesitated, looking down towards your mary jane white heels “can you please come pick me up? im alone and i didn’t wanna call my father cause he’d get angry, pretty please?”

you bit your lip, torn between relief and regret for deciding to call him without even thinking twice. maybe he’d been sleeping, tired after work—?

“where are you, princess?”

“outside of a restaurant, i’ll text you the address, okay?”

the sudden rustling of fabric and the light jingle of keys echoed from the phone, and you could picture him standing up, his broad, muscular body walking towards his door “wait for me, doll, be there in a few”

less than ten minutes went by when you recognized his old fashioned car, driving up to a halt right in front of your place on the sidewalk. you mentally prayed and thanked God for sending you your personal knight, the rumble of the car’s engine the only sound around the otherwise peaceful and too silent air.

you quickly opened the passenger’s door and got inside of the car, immediately filled with the familiar scent of cigars, tobacco and expensive cologne that swirled around you.

“thank you for coming, sir,” you were nervous, you felt embarrassed, and he could see that, under the dim light surrounding the car, his sharp and intense eyes never left you, taking in the way your fingers fidgeted together, hands resting on your lap like a squirming bunny that couldn’t handle being too close to him.

even in the dark your blushing cheeks were so bright, he could see them, red and flushed — with one large hand gripping the steering wheel, he leisurely admired your short dress, before starting the engine and driving away.

“who do i have to kill, mmh?”

you almost gave out a smile, but only shook your head at him. “no one, sir, im okay”

“date stood you up, bunny?”

you loved his nickname for you. it made you blush and heart flutter.

there was no point in telling him a white lie. with a soft sigh, you leaned your head back on the seat. “it wasn’t a date..he’s not even my boyfriend. we’ve gone out once and today we were supposed to have dinner together. but he clearly wasn’t interested since he texted me that he’d forgotten and was apparently too busy to tell me instead of ditching me and leaving me all alone”

john kept driving, and you dared a shy glance towards him. he always radiated confidence and strong masculinity — he was so handsome, so respectful and manly, the manliest man that existed. he was a real man, the one you truly wanted, and no one could ever take his place in your heart, your poor heart was aware of that. a little, sweet and too young girl falling for a man too old for you, old enough to be your father.

only then, a glimpse of an amused lazy grin appeared beneath his thick, dark beard, littered with gray on the right spots. he shook his head once, focused on the road, “stupid kid, he was. he’s merely a boy, love, boys his age don’t know shit about how to treat a sweet bunny like you, sweetheart. dumb dog”

you blushed more at his words, clenching your bare knees until they touched, your thighs exposed and filled with goosebumps provoked by the chill night air and his deep voice.

“doesn’t matter, it can happen. im not sad or anything, just…it feels mortifying. he could’ve at least texted me, you know? could’ve just told me he didn’t want to go out anymore. makes me feel like im insignificant. that’s why i’ve never liked guys my age.”

you couldn’t even stop that last line from slipping out of your glossed lips, at that point, you’d just been rumbling to him. he remained quiet, listening to you as he drove, and you recognized the familiar ice cream place, the trees and local church that were close to your neighborhood.

“bunny, that kid was an asshole, ‘s not your fault. an angel like you deserves a real man who knows what he wants and what you want. not some idiot” he punctuated the last word with a gruff chuckle, the sound vibrating around the tiny space between you. “don’t waste time with people like him. could pay him a visit, if you want”

“please don’t sir” you quickly said, your lips already curving in an entertained smile, “we’re never gonna see each other anymore, anyway”

“made my bunny stay outside all alone at night, could send him to jail. gonna make him be real busy behind bars,” you knew he was being playful just to make you smile, but his voice sounded even lower, deep and rough, with a hint of threatening to it. “why didn’t you call your dad?”

you hesitated, blinking at him from under your long lashes, puppy dog eyes shy and timid as you shrugged “he would’ve gotten man at him for leaving me alone and at me for ending up in this situation, always finds a way to blame the victim.”

you saw him shifting gear, and without even realizing it, you were already on your main street. tilting your head towards the darkened mirror, you recognized your front porch, standing in the dark with no lights on. your dad must’ve been asleep, or maybe was waiting for you to come back in his room. but from the windows, you saw that all the lights were off.

“im glad i called you, sir, thank you for coming and helping me. i really don’t know how to thank you” you turned towards him again, giving him another smile.

“was a pleasure, bunny, no need to pay me back. just seeing you in this short dress is enough.” he turned off his car, smirking lazily at you with a look that made you shiver and turn into flames, flushing red and warm. you wanted him so bad, you felt bad for how much you wanted him.

you swallowed, fluttering your lashes at him, grabbing your purse and pushing your heels down, as if reminding yourself that you had to say goodbye and go. “w-well, then, thank you again, sir,” blushing like shooting stars, like the bright rays of the sun, you leaned closer to him, wanting to give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

as soon as you leaned over, you felt his hands grab your waist, tugging you by your hips and pushing you against his lap. you almost squeaked, and your lips found his mouth, instead of his cheek. he waisted no time throwing your legs on his sides, making you sink against him, practically straddling him. the sudden contact made you press your mouth more firmly against his, muffling a little sound as a rush of warmth spread between your legs.

he trailed his hand over your neck, until it tangled in your long hair and grabbed a fistful of it to tilt your face against his. he kissed you hard, almost violently, like a starving, animalistic man. you whined against him, throwing your hands around his neck, the pain in your scalp from how much he was pulling your head mingling with pleasure.

you parted your lips slightly as he pushed his tongue inside of your mouth, licking every free inch until it pressed against yours. his free hand trailed under the hem of your sundress making you whimper and cling closer to him. you felt the cold metal of his rings against your bare thigh as he gripped your flesh, brushing his hand up and down until it reaches the hem of your panties.

you skipped a breath, tilting your head to give him more access as he devoured your lips, crashing against them in a feverish kiss full of bites, tongue and teeth.

“sir, sir—“ your words were muffled by the kisses, but you didn’t want to stop, you only wanted him, to feel him and to be with him.

he parted only for a second, looking down at you with a hungry, dark gaze “shhh, shhh doll, don’t wan’ anyone to wake up, huh bunny?”

he grabbed your chin, pressing his mouth heavy against yours. “you know how hard it is to see you going out like this, how badly daddy wants to have you all to himself, mh?

your breath grew heavier, and you could only nod at him, breathlessly, doe eyes glimmering, big and innocent and so needy.

“look at you…so fucking innocent, such a good girl, no one deserves you, angel. gonna be the death of me, looking at me so innocently, when I know how much you want daddy to have his way with you, don’t you, bunny? a needy bunny on my lap, fuck,”

you nodded again, whining and hiding your head against his neck when his hand lowered between your legs, tracing your inner thigh with a steady movement, like he wanted to savor it, take his time, but couldn’t wait any longer. “yes sir, wan’— wanna be with you, I—“

“know you do, bunny, i know sweet thing. only this old man knows how to treat you like the princess that you are, made of sugar. shit, having to talk to your dad when you’re around, acting like i don’t wanna throw his little girl over my shoulder and have my way with her, having to hold myself back. you on your little skirts that make me go mad, your fucking ribbons…”

you bit your lip and shuddered against him, blushing shyly at his words, that made your heartbeat quicken, go faster. he always treated you so well, like he was your bodyguard, like you were his little princess. a little helpless mewl left your lips, as you sought for his lips again, pressing another kiss on his mouth, that he quickly deepened — the kiss filled the car with lewd sounds, his tongue heavy and wet against yours, but you wanted more.

“please sir, please, anything,” you whimpered, and he cooed at you, letting out another deep chuckle that vibrated against your chest. your lips were puffy and red from his mustache and salt and pepper beard that scratched your skin.

”what do you want, doll? mmh? come on love, use your words, know you can.”

you were too shy to ask him or to address what you wanted, hoped the way you fluttered your lashes innocently could speak for you. “just you, daddy..and, and…”

he softened his hungry gaze when you trailed off, and caressed your thigh. “daddy can’t give you that now, love. you deserve more than a stolen moment in the midst of chaos. and definitely not here” with a gentle tug, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing soft kissed on your knuckles. “wanna get off on daddy’s thigh? like a good bunny? mmh?”

you nodded again, shyly yet eagerly this time. lifting the skirt of your sundress to shift your position, he sat you on his thigh, coming in contact with the denim of his jeans, and you shivered when you felt the muscle of his leg against your clothed clit. john leaned back, playfully patting your lower back.

“alright bunny, hands on my shoulders, like this; good girl. now, just move your hips, back and forth, like this— yeah. good girl, like this, fuck, can feel you, see? ‘s not hard, angel” his hands were heavy and secure on your waist, steadying your movements as he guided your hips to buck against his thigh.

you were new to the sensation, didn’t know how to move, but the friction made you whine slowly, almost inaudibly. not to his ears.

“feels good, bunny?”

“mmmhh” you nodded, rolling your hips against his thigh, searching more of that strange feeling. you lowered your head, your cheeks growing red, a bright blush that he could almost taste on his own lips. you were shy, inexperienced, a virgin, and john was the only one who could teach you everything you needed to learn.

“that’s it baby, make yourself feel good. take your time,”

“don’t know how—“ you whined, desperate for his help. his hands ached on your waist, wanting to hold you, to undress you, to grasp every inch of your soft skin with his rough hands. and it was torture, seeing you like that, whining and needy for your daddy’s help, having to physically stop himself from touching you freely :(

“you’re doing so well f’me, bunny, good girl, find out how you like it, yeah, sweetheart, you should see yourself right now. pure sunshine,” he squeezed your hips and you yelped, letting out a soft whimper, your thighs clenching against his, as you tried to steady your movements, your clit brushing against the denim and making your panties grow damp.

the familiar sound of your ringtone startled you, and you almost screamed when it echoed through the dark space of the car. you stopped your movements, catching your breath. blinking as if you’d just woken up from a dream, you crouched yourself towards the passenger seat and hastily grabbed your phone, taking it out of your pink purse.

dad. his name sparkled on the screen, and you felt john physically tense against you, the muscle of his jaw thickening when he saw his name. begrudgingly, you picked up, holding your phone against your ear with a loud heart thundering in your chest.

“dad?” you tried to breath normally, your cheeks felt burning hot, and your voice was shaky. “im…im almost home, yes, it went…”

you dared a shy look at John, whose jaw was clenched, and whose hand still hadn’t gotten off your bare thigh. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, I have the keys yes. You can go to sleep, im fine”

when he hung up, you loudly swallowed. you couldn’t believe what you’d been doing. straddling your dad’s best friend’s thigh, in his car. there was no way you could look at him in the eyes after that. your face blushed like it was on fire, and your eyes looked down at your ruffled skirt,

“I—I— thank you, sir Price, I’ll be going now—“ you stammered, your heart pounding like it never had before. you tried to reach out for your purse, but john quickly grabbed you by your chin, keeping your face in front of his — his think fingers sprawled over your jaw, and his voice was almost animalistic, a bare growl when he spoke against your lips. he was pissed, he felt like a dog who’d just been teased with a bone, just to have it taken away from him right before his eyes.

“when i do finally get my hands on you, doll, nothing and no one will take you from me, understand?”

you nodded, breathless.

“understand, doll?” he repeated, again, making you flinch with pleasure.

“yessir”

“good girl,” he rasped the word against your lips, before pressing a soft kiss on them. “now, goodnight, bunny, hop back to your pen.”

[thewulf]

Loving You is Easy || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - What about a jake seresin x reader. Of course jake has a reputation but he truly is in love with bartender reader, so finally he wears her down to a date. They go to a nice restaurant and reader still has has her gates up but she’s slowly realizing who Jake truly is WHEN not one but two of the girls jake hooked up... Read Rest Here

A/N: Another one for my fav cocky pilot. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.2k +

T/W : None just fluff

The clink of glasses and the low hum of the late-night chatter fills the air at The Hard Deck, a place that's become your nightly retreat amidst the demands of school and work. As you finish up your shift behind the bar, wiping down surfaces and stacking glasses, you're acutely aware of Jake Seresin's presence. He's become a regular when you worked. His charm was well-known and his flirtations a constant undercurrent whenever he's around.

"Another evening of mixing drinks and dodging offers, Y/N?" Jake teases while watching you with an amused smirk as he plays with his empty glass sitting in front of him.

Playfully, you roll your eyes at the man who had become a constant in your life. "Just counting down to graduation," you reply. Keeping your tone light even as you avoid meeting his gaze too directly. You've heard stories about Jake, enough to keep a polite distance.

"How about celebrating a bit early? Let me take you out. A real date, not just bar banter that I know you love so much," he proposes while leaning over the bar slightly trying to catch your eye.

You hesitate but you had your response ready. "Jake, I really don't think mixing work with... whatever this is... would be a good idea."

"Just dinner," he presses. But his tone was sincere. "No expectations, no strings. Just two people enjoying good food. Come on, what do you say darling?"

Despite your reservations there's a part of you that's curious. The persistent part that wonders if there might be more to Jake than the rumors and his reputation. After a moment of internal debate, you find yourself nodding, slightly surprised by your own decision.

"Okay, one dinner. Only If it’ll get you to shut up about it" you say with a small smirk adorning your face finally meeting his gaze. "But, Jake, it's just dinner. That's it."

His face lights up with that well-known charming smile. "Just dinner," he agrees while raising his hands in a mock surrender. "You won't regret it."

As he leaves you can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and apprehension. You've maintained your boundaries yet you're stepping into new territory. It's just dinner you have to remind yourself. But as you turn the sign to 'closed' and lock up for the night you can't shake the feeling that it might just be the start of something unexpected. But you tried not to get your hopes up. It’s just dinner.

You step into the upscale restaurant. The ambiance immediately wraps around you. It’s intimate and inviting with its dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. Jake stands from a secluded table as soon as he sees you his smile bright and welcoming. "You look absolutely beautiful," he says sincerely before pulling out your chair and taking his own seat.

"Thank you," you reply feeling a faint flutter of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. The effort you put into choosing your outfit seems to have paid off and his notice of it warms you.

Once seated, Jake’s attention is all on you. He turns his phone off and places it face down on the table. A clear sign that this evening is about the two of you. "I remember you mentioned once you loved champagne, particularly the one from that small vineyard in France," he says, signaling the waiter. With a knowing smile he orders a bottle of your favorite champagne, not missing the surprised and pleased look on your face.

"How did you remember that?" you ask as you were both impressed and a bit bewildered. No guy had ever taken the time to remember the small details about you. And here Jake was wooing you already, five minutes in.

"I pay attention," he replies with a shrug that seems both casual and a bit shy. "Especially when it comes to things you like."

The champagne arrives and as Jake pours you a glass his demeanor is gentle, his movements deliberate. You clink glasses with a grin on your face. The first sip is just as you remembered—crisp, with a hint of sweetness, perfect.

"So, tell me about school," Jake prompts you seemingly genuinely interested. "What’s been keeping you busy?"

You share details about your latest projects and the challenges of balancing school with work. Jake listens intently, nodding and asking questions that show he's truly engaged in what you're saying. It's easy to talk to him and you find yourself relaxing more than you expected. The initial walls you had up slowly dissolving in the warmth of the conversation.

Turning the focus to him you recall the pieces of conversation you've picked up at the bar. "I’ve always been curious, Jake. What’s it like being a pilot in the Navy? It must be quite different from anything I can imagine."

Jake's eyes light up with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "It's intense and challenging, but flying is incredible. There’s nothing like the feeling of being up there… the freedom of it, but also the responsibility. Every decision matters. Not just for me but for my crew and everyone we support."

"It sounds amazing," you say with a hint of awe in your voice. "I’ve actually never been on a plane before. Can you believe that?"

Jake looks at you with an incredulous gaze. "What? You've never been on a plane? I’m changing that, darling," he declares with a playful but determined grin. "We’ll have to fix that soon. There’s a whole sky up there waiting for you."

As the evening progresses you laugh together over shared anecdotes and discover common interests. The connection feels real, unforced, and for a moment, the outside world with all its complications seems to fade away.

The evening had been progressing beautifully with laughter and shared stories flowing as freely as the champagne. You were beginning to see a side of Jake that was earnest and deeply attentive. A stark contrast to the playful banter at the bar. It was easy to forget the outside world in moments like this.

However, just as you're settling into a comfortable ease the first ripple of discomfort appears. A waitress approaches your table with a familiarity that instantly feels intrusive. She's all smiles, especially towards Jake.

"Jake, I didn't know you were here tonight!" she exclaims. Her voice a notch too loud for the intimate setting. She's overly friendly, touching his shoulder briefly as she speaks. Her eyes never leaving his acting as if you weren’t even there.

Jake's response is measured. His smile polite but restrained. "Hey, Sarah. Good to see you," he says, his tone neutral. He quickly turns his attention back to you trying to minimize the interaction. "Sarah used to work with me on base," he explains briefly hoping to dispel any rising concerns you might have.

You nod trying to smile, but the unease settles in your stomach like a stone. The moment is fleeting yet it lingers uncomfortably as Sarah finally moves away, her eyes lingering on Jake a moment too long.

Before the atmosphere can fully recover another beautiful woman approaches your table. This time, it's someone who's dining at the restaurant. Her approach deliberate as she locks eyes with Jake. Her presence is poised when she speaks. Her voice is tinged with a nostalgia that makes you shift in your seat.

"Jake, it's been too long," she says, reminiscing about a shared memory that clearly meant something to both of them. "Remember that weekend at the lake?"

Jake nods. His expression tightening slightly. "Yeah, that was a good time. Hope you're doing well, Rachel," he responds keeping his reply short and devoid of any warmth that could be misinterpreted. He glances at you with a flicker of concern crossing his features as he sees your discomfort.

"I'm sorry about this," he murmurs to you under his breath. His hand finding yours on the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Let’s focus on our night."

Despite his attempts to steer the evening back on course the interruptions have sown seeds of doubt. You appreciate Jake's efforts to reassure you, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes—he genuinely wants the night to be about the two of you. Yet, the encounters with his past make it increasingly difficult to ignore the reputation that preceded him. You find yourself wrestling with the warmth of his present attention and the shadow of his history.

As Jake continues to engage you in conversation, attempting to salvage the remaining warmth of the evening, you're left to ponder whether the burgeoning trust between you can withstand the challenges of his complicated past.

The mood at the table shifts palpably following the interruptions. Jake, noting your discomfort, adopts a more subdued tone. His usual easygoing demeanor tempered by the situation. “I can tell this isn’t easy for you, and I’m really sorry about that,” he says, his voice earnest, his gaze meeting yours with a steady sincerity. “I’ve had my fair share of casual things in the past. That’s not something I can undo, nor would I expect you to just overlook it.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing. Clearly choosing his words with care. “But I want you to know ever since you started at the bar, something was different. I haven’t felt this kind of way about anyone else in a long time. If ever. Honestly, I haven't pursued anyone else since you came around. You’ve sort of... monopolized my interest.”

His admission is frank, devoid of any veneer. It's just him being open and hopeful, sitting across from you. “I hate that my history might be making this awkward. I really like you, Y/N. I’m here tonight because I want to be here with you. All I’m asking for is a chance to show you who I am at this moment in my life.”

The words linger between you straightforward and clear. It’s a lot to take in. His past is a part of him but the man before you now seems earnest, seeking something genuine with you.

You pause letting the weight of his words sink in. His hand reaches across the table, not to impose but to offer a gesture of connection. In response you extend your own hand, sliding your fingers between his, locking them together as a silent acknowledgment of your willingness to see where this path might lead.

“Thank you for being upfront with me,” you respond. Your voice calm and thoughtful. “I appreciate your honesty. Let’s just see what happens, no pressure.”

Jake’s face softens, a gentle smile forming as he senses the tension easing. “No pressure. Sounds perfect,” he agrees with hope in his voice matched by the warmth in his eyes.

As the evening ends with the complexity of real-life weaving through your initial impressions you find yourself intrigued by the possibility of discovering more about Jake, beyond this first, eventful meeting. The evening with all its ups and downs, winds down as the restaurant begins to empty. You and Jake exit into the cool night air. The city lights casting a soft glow on the street. The tension that had built up inside seems to dissipate slightly with the openness around you.

As you walk together Jake's demeanor is reflective and he keeps a respectful distance that speaks to his understanding of the evening's emotional rollercoaster. Yet, his presence is reassuring, a quiet strength in the uncertain night.

"You know," Jake starts, breaking the silence as you both stroll towards a quieter part of the street, "tonight didn't go exactly as I planned. I wanted it to be perfect for you. To show you that I'm not the guy people might say I am."

You glance at him noticing the earnest furrow in his brow. His next words come slowly, measured but clear. "But maybe it's good that it happened this way. You saw everything—the good and the not-so-good. I don't want to hide anything from you."

You stop walking instead looking at him directly. His green eyes are sincere, reflecting the streetlight's soft luminescence. It's in this moment with his gaze unwavering and his stance open that you feel a shift inside you. The doubts linger but there's something about his honesty tonight that tugs at your willingness to explore what might be between you.

"I need things to go slow, Jake. Really slow," you say. Your voice firm yet not without warmth. "Can you do that? Can we take this one moment at a time?"

Jake's response is immediate. His nod accompanied by a gentle smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're worth waiting for and I’m not going anywhere. I want to prove to you that I’m in this, really in this, for you."

There's a promise in his words, not just spoken but felt. You both resume walking and as you do, his hand finds yours, a simple touch but filled with intent. You interlace your fingers with his as a silent agreement to his proposal of taking things slow allowing yourself to feel the potential of what could be a new beginning.

As you walk further the city noise fades into the background, and a comfortable silence settles between you. It's not the fairy tale whirlwind. It’s real, it’s tentative, and it’s new. But it's a start. And for the first time in a long time, you feel a cautious optimism about the path ahead. The night ends not with grand gestures but with a quiet acknowledgment of something that might grow given time and mutual effort.

In the weeks following your first date your relationship with Jake blossomed beautifully against the backdrop of everyday life. Each shared moment from spontaneous coffee dates that extended into long or unplanned conversations to leisurely evening walks under a starlit sky, deepened your connection. The ease of laughter and the depth of discussions revealed layers of each other’s personalities and dreams, drawing you closer in ways both profound and delightful.

As the days turned into weeks, your phone became a constant companion, buzzing with Jake's texts that often stretched into late-night calls. These weren't just brief exchanges; they were rich, lengthy conversations where you found yourselves diving into everything from your favorite books to your deepest fears and aspirations. Jake remembered the little things you mentioned—like your love for mint chocolate chip ice cream or your dreams of visiting Greece—and surprised you with thoughtful gestures that showed just how much he cared. It wasn’t just what he said but how he listened and responded that made you feel truly seen and appreciated.

With each passing day, the shadows cast by Jake's past seemed to fade, overshadowed by the genuine warmth and steadfastness he brought into your life. His consistent effort and the undeniable sincerity in his actions slowly dismantled the walls you had built around your heart instead allowing trust to seep in and fill the spaces between your doubts.

So, by the time you found yourselves laughing together on his couch, enveloped in the comfort of a lazy Sunday afternoon the words that had been quietly taking shape in your heart felt ready to surface. The day unfolded effortlessly, each moment layered with shared smiles and unspoken promises, steering you gently toward a revelation that seemed both thrilling and inevitable. This wasn’t just another pleasant day. It was poised to become a defining moment in your relationship where feelings long simmered might finally find their voice.

The afternoon sun casts a warm, golden light through the windows of Jake’s living room, bathing the cozy space in a tranquil glow. You’re both nestled comfortably on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs with a lighthearted romantic comedy playing in the background. It serves more as a backdrop to your own laughter-filled conversation than as entertainment.

Jake is in the middle of recounting yet another of his infamous escapades at the base. This time involving an unintentionally hilarious mix-up during a training exercise. His storytelling is animated, his hands gesturing wildly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and joy.

"And then, I accidentally broadcasted the prank over the PA system, not just to the squad, but the whole base!" he exclaims, bursting into laughter at the memory.

You can't help but laugh along his delight was terribly infectious, his joy utterly palpable. "Jake, you're unbelievable. You always find a way to make everything so fun," you say. Your voice tinged with affection and amusement. The warmth of the moment, the closeness you felt with him, it all feels so natural. So right.

As the laughter subside you look at him with a big grin on your face. And without thinking much more the words on the tip of your tongue just slip out, "You crack me up, Jake, I love you so much." The moment the words escape your heart skips a beat as you realize what you’ve said, your eyes widening in surprise.

Jake's laughter stops abruptly. His expression shifting as he processes your words. There’s a beat of silence, heavy with significance, before his face breaks into a tender, wide smile. He looks at you. His eyes were shining with a mixture of happiness and something deeper, more earnest. "Wait, say that again," he says. His voice low and husky, filled with emotion.

Feeling a rush of courage by his encouraging gaze you repeat your words, "I love you, Jake." It feels even more right the second time. The words resonating between you, filling the space with their profound simplicity.

Jake's response is immediate. He leans in, closing the distance between you with his hand cupping your face gently. "I love you, too. I’ve been hoping to hear that. Was wondering when it would be right to tell you how I feel," he confesses. His thumb softly stroking your cheek. "I’ve been holding onto these words, afraid to say them too soon, but feeling them every day."

"Really?" you whisper. Touched by his sincerity and the depth of his feelings.

"Absolutely," Jake replies with his gaze locked on yours, intense and full of affection. "From the way you laugh to how passionate you are about your studies, from your kindness to others to your strength in handling everything life throws at you. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done."

He draws you closer and you find yourself wrapped in his embrace, his warmth enveloping you. "I wanted to tell you on our third date," he admits. His voice muffled as he speaks into your hair, "but I thought it might scare you off. Now, I just want to make up for lost time." He chuckled squeezing you tighter.

The room feels charged with a new energy. A new understanding as you both bask in the glow of shared love. The movie continues to play, unnoticed now, as you and Jake talk and laugh. The conversation meandering through dreams, hopes, and plans for the future. Each word strengthens your ever-growing relationship. Each moment deepens the love that now openly defines the two of you.

And as the sun sets, casting long shadows through the room, you feel a profound sense of contentment. This isn’t just a fleeting romance. It’s the beginning of something lasting, grounded in mutual respect and deep affection. You lean against him with your head on his shoulder, heart full, as you both enjoy the quiet comfort of knowing you're exactly where you're meant to be.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka

[cowboylikemac]

BLANK SPACE | H.P

“ screaming crying perfect storm .”

harry potter x fem!reader

includes: fluff, angst

The first time Harry kissed you, it was a mistake.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

The Gryffindor common room was too hot, too loud, thick with the aftershock of a Quidditch victory. Someone had pushed a glass of firewhisky into his hand, someone else had dared him to do something reckless, and before he could think too hard about it—

There you were.

Watching. Waiting.

It had been your voice that cut through the haze, amused and sharp. “What’s wrong, Potter? Scared?”

And Harry had been drunk on adrenaline, on victory, on the unbearable temptation of you.

So he kissed you.

Hard, fast, reckless.

It was supposed to be a joke, something to laugh about later.

But then you kissed him back, fingers curling into his collar, pulling him closer.

And just like that, the game began.

The next time it happened, there was no excuse.

No party, no dare, no convenient push into something careless.

Just you and him, alone in a shadowed corridor after curfew, whispering insults that sounded too much like foreplay.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” you mused, tilting your head, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Harry swallowed, jaw tight. “I don’t think I want to.”

And just like that, you kissed him first this time.

Because Harry Potter never backed down from a challenge.

And neither did you.

Loving you was like holding fire.

You burned bright, fast, all-consuming.

Harry found himself looking for you when he shouldn’t. He told himself it was just curiosity. Just habit.

Then why did it feel like something else?

Why did he feel like he was losing every time you walked away?

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just about sneaking around anymore.

It was the way you knew him too well.

The way you saw past the Boy Who Lived, past the Golden Boy, straight into the part of him that ached to be understood.

The way he let you in before he realized he had.

And that was the problem.

Because Harry Potter wasn’t supposed to fall for people like you.

People who were dangerous, sharp, ambitious, untouchable.

People who made love feel like a battlefield.

But he had. God help him, he had.

It was fun, until it wasn’t.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

You didn’t even bother looking up from your book. “What?”

Harry stood stiffly in front of you, arms crossed, looking at you like he wanted to shake you. “McLaggen.”

Now you looked up, unimpressed. “And?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You’re playing games.”

You smiled then, slow and sharp. “That’s the fun part, isn’t it?”

His fingers curled into fists. “Not when I don’t know what’s real.”

Your heart stumbled. Just for a second.

Then you exhaled, feigning indifference. “What does it matter, Potter? You’ll get bored eventually.”

He took a step closer, voice low, dangerous. “Is that what you think?”

You shrugged. “Isn’t that what always happens?”

Something in his expression cracked. And for the first time, you saw it.

The hurt. The anger. The way he had let himself believe, even for a moment, that you were something real.

You had been winning—until you realized it never should have been a game in the first place.

The final fight was the worst one.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You let out a quiet, hollow laugh. “That’s what you said last time.”

Harry shook his head, pacing, hands in his hair like he was trying to keep himself together. “Yeah, well. I meant it this time.”

You forced your voice to stay light, unaffected. “Alright, then. See you around, Potter.”

His head snapped up. “That’s it?”

You shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, frustrated. “I don’t know what I expected.”

You smiled then, slow and lovely and cruel. “That’s your problem, isn’t it? You always expect too much.”

And maybe—just maybe—you said it because you wanted him to prove you wrong.

But he didn’t.

He just exhaled sharply, turned on his heel, and walked away.

And for the first time, you let him.

The war hadn’t started yet.

But it was coming.

And Harry still looked for you.

He told himself he was done. That he didn’t need the chaos, the push-and-pull, the mess of it all.

But then he walked into the Great Hall, and your eyes met across the room, and suddenly—nothing had changed.

He still wanted you.

And maybe, just maybe, you still wanted him too.

The difference this time?

You weren’t going to run.

So you found him first, slipping into the Gryffindor common room like you belonged there.

Harry was by the fire, looking up as soon as you stepped inside.

He let out a breath of disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

You hesitated. Then, softer, honest for once—

“Starting over.”

Something shifted in his expression.

You took a breath, steadier now. More real.

“I’m a nightmare,” you said, lips quirking, a little self-deprecating now. “You said it yourself.”

Harry exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well.” He glanced at you, something softer in his gaze now. “I think I like nightmares.”

Your chest tightened, something warm creeping in beneath the mess of it all.

You leaned in, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin.

“Then let’s make a new game, Potter,” you murmured.

Harry smirked, shaking his head, but his hand found yours anyway.

And this time—neither of you let go.

masterlist!

a/n: remember my inbox is always open for suggestions

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[stursweet]

PLAY

pairing : matt sturniolo x f!reader

warnings : sexual content - the usual 😊 fuck off if u ain’t fuckin!!! (subish matt?)

an: hi sexies💖 take this as my apology for taking so long of a break. i’m back and y’all bout to be real sick of me and my dumb ass ALL OVER AGAIN!🤗🤗🤗 i love you guys! send me some new reqs!! also PLEASE recognize i fist fought my fuckin demons and wrote some matt instead of babygirlchris because all y’all fuckin matt girls.. IM PUTTIN YALL FIRST!😔

his room is dim, though bright enough to illuminate him perfectly - hair wild and messy beneath his headset, hips sunk low in his chair, fingers fidgeting wildly with his controller.

it’s been two hours since he’d sat down and begun to play - your patience dwindling rapidly. from your spot on his bed, he looked sinful : so focused, so tantalizing..

his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. the veins that danced throughout his arms and hands. his lips and their taunting tone of pink. the small pepper of color across his cheeks-

temptation wins and you’re padding over to him without much thought. his eyes don’t leave the screen, though, even with your new sudden placement - standing alongside his chair, clad in his shirt and a thong.

“you okay?” he questions without looking at you, his voice dripping with rasp and honey. you don’t respond - only lowering onto your knees in front of him, in between his legs. he looks down at that- eyes widening, blood traveling to rest in his cheeks.

“i- what are y-?” he stammers, hands fidgeting against the controller aimlessly with sudden nerve. you look up, meeting his gaze, taking note of the intense pink of his cheeks.

“nothing. keep playing,” you reply blandly, peering up from your spot below him. he swallows, evidently flustered. reluctantly, he nods- hesitantly tearing his eyes away from you to look back at the screen.

watching in amusement as his hands shake slightly with his controller, you bring a slow hand up and place it on his thigh : dragging your palm up the surface of his sweatpants slowly.

his eyes shoot down to you once again, focused on your hand inching farther up his thigh. he attempts to put his controller down; intending to direct his full attention to you, but- he’s interrupted by your voice below him :

“keep playing or i’ll stop.” you spit, voice unrelenting. he shudders, scanning your features for a moment, inhaling shakily before nodding.

he forces his eyes to dart to the screen in front of him, the light emanating a soft blue light onto his features. he swallows, adams apple bopping beneath the skin in his throat.

you continue the slow hike of your hand, suddenly reaching to palm him over his sweats. you watch as his face contorts in pleasure - eyes fluttering closed, eyebrows gently crinkling. he does his best to recover quickly, thumbing at a few buttons on his controller.

sliding your hand up some more, you play your fingertips at the waistband of his boxers, dipping a finger beneath the fabric and tracing a single, slow line against his skin. his breathing has become more erratic, his fingers fumbling against the controller.

“please- don’t tease- ” he whispers, eyes trained onto your hand at his waistband. his voice is small and raspy, laced with need.

“doesn’t look like you’re playing, baby..” you reply, retracting your hand from its spot, “i’m gonna have to stop.” you pout, voice teasing and low. you watch amused as he begins to frantically shake his head “no” -

“no-no, i’ll play, i-i’m playing, swear, i’m playing. keep going, please?” he chokes, small cracks in his tone. after a few seconds of no touch or reaction from you, he speaks again -

“please, i’ll b-be so good, so good for you. promise-“

he’s cut off by your hand returning to its previous spot, only now reaching further underneath the fabric, swiping your thumb against his tip and collecting his precum. a shaky exhale escapes his lips. you take note of his eyes staying attached to the screen - he’s listening.

“gonna stay quiet?” you question, watching as he nods his head in desperation. stroking him slowly, you tug off his boxers and sweats in a swift motion.

he looks down at you, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed, his breathing sporadic and wild. your eyes flicker to the screen, cocking your head towards it, signaling for him to focus.

“sorry, sorr-“ he whines, a whimper catching in his throat. he directs his attention to the screen again, pleasure etched into his features. you watch his hands struggle with the controller, pressing your tongue flat against him and licking a long stripe up his length.

he swallows, closing his eyes. you watch him fight to keep his composure, trying his hardest to concentrate on the screen, to listen to you- struggling wildly.

his eyes open again and on the screen, you slip his tip into your mouth - pushing yourself farther to take him the whole way down your throat, and back up. quiet whines whines escape his lips, fighting to stay quiet. you repeat the slow action a few times, pulling off with a pop.

“fuck-“ he stutters, mouth falling agape and eyes closing when you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

his fingertips are suddenly in your hair, grabbing a fistful - in need of something to grab on to. pulling off, you’re quick to remind him -

“play,” you whisper, a trail of saliva connected from his tip to your lips. he throws his head back in frustration, a sinful whine escaping his throat.

“can’t,” he whispers, voice cracking. he retracts his hand from your hair and rests it aimlessly on the controller - only to not entirely disobey your wishes. his game has already been lost, though - his eyes tightly shut and head rested on the back of his chair.

“thought you were going to be good?” you question, but only to hear him plead his case - the game has been pushed from your mind. you want his hands in your hair, his begs and cries to release into your mouth.

“look at me,” you coo, tongue swirling around his tip, stroking him quickly with your hand. he’s slick with your saliva. his eyes dart down to you, quickly tossing the controller onto the desk in front of him.

his eyes are dark, his pupils blown out - lips a dark, wet pink. blood dances underneath his cheeks, his breathing heavy and erratic. he looks perfect- deliciously desperate and absolutely ruined.

“want it all over my face,” you tell him, sliding your tongue over his slit. a sinful moan slips from his throat, his eyes falling shut.

“i’m- im so close, so cl-“ he fights to speak, cut off by you taking him entirely into your mouth again, bopping your head at quickly.

his fingertips tangle into your hair once again, a large handful beneath his palm - he tightens his grip, a few more whimpers and cries escaping his lips before letting go:

“i’m cumming, i’m-“

the words spill from his mouth so sweet, tone quiet and cracking, entirely at your mercy. you pull off of him quickly, stroking him with your hand as his release shoots out in hot, white spurts : covering your cheeks, lips, and chin.

you watch as he catches his breath, chest heaving and mouth agape. after a few moments, he gains a bit of composure, and looks down at you.

you smile at him, wiping your face clean with your fingers and popping them into your mouth. he watches with his lip between his teeth, cheeks impossibly redder.

you stand up, giving him a few small, soft kisses on the lips.

“come to bed?”

[yuahoeaiknow]

Wet and Wild Part 1

♦♦♦ read on Wattpad ♦♦♦ Pairing: F!Reader x Silco || F!Reader x Vander ||

Summary: You walked into the Last Drop after a weird dream. Your lover and Vander are there to brighten things up. (Good Timeline) Tags: Flirting now reading || Part 2

_____________________________________________________

The moment you stepped through the door, bright lights blinded you for a moment, and the hum of music and snippets of conversation flooded your senses, sharp and overwhelming.

You moved forward without thought, the world around you blending into a blur. Your hand gripped the first chair you found, knuckles white, as if the simple action could anchor you. "Everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," a low, rough voice chuckled in the dim light. Your gaze shot up. There, standing before you, was Vander—your dear friend. 

He was wiping down a glass, casually draping a towel over his shoulder, and his warm, familiar gaze locked onto yours. But before you could speak, another voice sliced through the air like a blade, sending a chill straight to your bones.

"He's right," Silco's voice slithered out, each word dripping with his usual venomous amusement. "You don't look so good, sweetheart."

His eyes—the unsettling combination of blue and gold—grazed you with a worried intensity.

"I... I need a drink.", you mumbled while touching your forehead.

The world kept spinning. It was as if time was both moving too fast and too slow as you desperately tried to take it all in. Vander and Silco exchanged a glance that held a myriad of unspoken words.

With a nod, Vander poured a shot of something strong and placed it in your trembling hand. Silco, still watching you intently, tilted his head. His voice was a deep, velvety rumble. "I think we need to talk."

"About what?", you murmured while downing the shot.

The liquor stung as it trailed down your throat, briefly jolting your senses, but it did little to dispel the haze.

Silco stepped closer, his eyes never leaving you, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the bar. "Perhaps we could start with why you look like you've been dragged through hell."

"I had the strangest dream ever... it was so real...but when I woke up I was like: what the hell is going on..?! And here we are.", you held yourself short.

Vander chuckled, clearly amused, his eyes flicking between you and Silco. Silco, on the other hand, showed no trace of humor, his gaze sharpening as he studied you intently.

"A dream, hm?", he drawled, his voice edged with skepticism. "Care to elaborate?"

"No. Not really.... I just wanna forget!", you whined and rest your head on the counter.

Vander patted your shoulder in a reassuring gesture, his concern palpable. Silco, however, wasn't so easily convinced: "Oh, no. You can't just show up here, looking like you've seen a ghost, and then expect us to not pry", he said, his tone laced with a touch of irritation. "Dreams often aren't just dreams."

"But sometimes dreams are exactly what they are - dreams! Silco, I don't wanna talk about it, really. Can we talk about something else please.", you said with an annoyed tone. You really don't wanna tell him that you dreamed that he was a cruel druglord making Zaun addicted to some weird shimmery stuff, basically killing Vander and starting almost war with Piltover.

Silco narrowed his eyes, not particularly happy with your reluctance. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a lower octave.

"Fine, we'll change the subject... for now. But—" Silco's words were cut off by the sudden sound of the front door slamming open. Both he and Vander snapped their gazes towards the source of the noise.

Powder walks in and greets the woman at the bar. "Wow, if that's not my favourite foster mum. You okay?" Powder asked while hugging you from behind.

You blinked startled as Powder appears, her cheerful greeting catching you off-guard. But before you could respond, or even process what's going on, she's already wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you in a tight hug.

Vander chuckled warmly, watching the scene, while Silco's eyes never left you, his expression now unreadable.

"You're suffocating me, Pow Pow!", you groaned a bit more dramatic than necessary.

Powder laughed heartily, her grip slackening a bit but still holding on to you. "Oh, you're as dramatic as ever," she giggled with a grin.

Vander couldn't help but chuckle, his hearty laugh filling the bar. Even Silco's mask of indifference cracked for a split second at your antics, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Am I the drama? I don't think I'm the drama but if I would be, you guys would be hella entertained by me! Zaun's best entertainer!", you grinned.

Vander laughed again, louder than before, clearly amused by your theatrics.

"Now, that's the spirit.", he teased.

Silco, unable to hold back any longer, joined in with a low chuckle, the sound smooth and velvety.

"You certainly have a way of capturing attention," Silco said, his smirk widening.

"Yeah, it runs in the family otherwise you would have never met such a delight as me." you replied with a hand on your chest.

Vander chuckled heartily, while Silco rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small smile on his face.

"Ah, there's no denying your charm," the barman said, pointing at you with the last glass to polish.

Silco leaned on the bar, crossing his arms. "And a healthy dose of sass," he quiped, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

"Sweet talking won't get you anywhere!", you mused with a pouty expression.

Silco raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening.

"Is that a challenge, sunshine?", he asked, his voice dripping with smooth humor, a teasing glimmer in his good eye.

"Not in front of Pow Pow, pervert. I'm sorry you had to witness that, sweety!", you told Powder in an apologetic manner.

Powder giggled, she never gets tired of your dynamic with everyone.

"Ah, she's got you there, Sil!", Vander teased.

Silco just rolls his eyes, the smirk on his face not disappearing. "Oh, I'm the pervert now?" he retorted, leaning in a bit closer with a sly smile.

"What are you implying with that, Mister?", you asked with clenched eyes.

Silco grinned wider, loving the back and forth.

"Hmm, I'm just making an observation, love," he purred, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "You're the one who brought up perversion, after all. I think you accuse me of things you are."

"Oh please. I'm innocence in person. Nobody would ever believe you.", you answered with a sassy smile.

Vander and Powder burst into laughter at your words while Silco feigns shock, his hand dramatically to his chest.

"Innocence, you say? Well, my dear, you may have everyone else fooled, but I know better," he teases, the smirk never leaving his face.

"We both know that we-", he was cut off.

You stood up and put a hand to his mouth to shut him up. "Oh by Janna! You won't overshare here with Powder in attendance!"

Silco's eyes flickered with surprise at your sudden move, silenced by your hand on his lips.

Vander put away the glasses, clearly enjoying the situation. Powder looked slightly confused, watching the interaction between you all.

Silco, his smirk returned from under your hand, raised an eyebrow in an amused challenge, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Powder, I think it's time to leave. Go out and have fun.", you told her, still looking at your lover with a suspicious glare.

Powder rolled her eyes, but grinned, now sensing the subtext beneath the banter.

Vander waved her goodbye, watching her leave.

Once the blue haired girl is out of the Last Drop, Silco waited a beat, then licked your hand resting on his mouth.

ou abruptly took away your hand."Ew!"

Silco laughed, finding your reaction funny. "Hm.. you usually love it with tongue, darling.", he teased, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You flushed bright Red. "Don't say that in front of Vander...", you whined. That's so embarassing...

The Eye of Zaun laughed quietly, clearly enjoying the flustered look on your face, while Vander chuckled in the background.

"Oh, come on," Silco teased, "No need to be embarrassed. I think Vander already knows that we both have ... loving history."

"That's not helping, Silco!", you groaned.

He leaned in closer, his smirk widening. "What's the matter, love? Can't handle a little teasing?", he purrs. "You used to love it when I did that."

Vander just watched quietly, a mixture of amusement and curiosity in his gaze.

"'Used to' is exactly the phrasing, sir!", you made a face at him and gestured to Vander for another shot.

Silco's smirk only grew at your reaction.

Vander poured a new shot, his eyes flickering between you two in amusement.

Silco leaned against the bar, drumming his fingers on the wood. "Oh, I think you're bluffing, darling," he taunted, watching you closely. "I remember quite differently.."

"And I drink to forget. Cheers!", you downed the shot again. "And nooow, I don't care anymore about you or you.", you pointed first at Silco's chest then at Vander. "Nevermind. I care about you Vander. You pour the drinks!"

Vander chuckles warmly, clearly not offended in any way.

"Glad to know I'm still in favor," he voiced, grabbing the bottle, putting it back in its place.

Silco watched you with a mixture of amusement and mock offense. "Oh, I'm hurt. My own love ignores my existence just a few shots in," he said, hand to his heart in mock hurt.

"Who is it? You should introduce me to her one day.", you joked.

Silco raised an eyebrow but took your joke in stride.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd love her. Strong-willed, sassy, can't really hold her liquor.." he told, shooting you a sly look.

"Sounds nothing like someone I know.", you answered.

Silco laughed. "Oh, really? I think you would love her as much as I do.", he said, still sporting that smirk of his.

You blushed again and couldn't hide your smile. "Oh really now?"

Silco's smirk widened at the sight of your blush. He leaned towards you, his voice dropping to a lower, more seductive tone.

"Oh absolutely, love. I know you'd adore her. She's witty, charming... and oh, so responsive when it comes to... certain things." He then kissed her on the neck and you squeaked at the sudden sensation.

Your squeak of surprise seemed to only encourage him further. He chuckled softly against your skin, his words a heated whisper. "There's the response I remember so well.." he murmured, his breath warm on your neck.

"Well, Vander. Guess I have to go now that I'm constantly molested here.", you stood up and pouted at Silco with red cheeks. You couldn't even look at the barman - too embarrassed.

Silco laughed again, clearly amused by your reactions.

"I prefer to call it 'affectionate teasing'," he retorted, that smirk still plastered on his face.

Vander grinned, watching the scene unfold. "Have fun you two," he said with a wink.

Your lover then took your hand and guided you upstairs to the rooms in the Last Drop.

_____________________ Part 2 here

[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part Three

Steve x reader, bucky x reader

AU

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: Loss, angst, grief

A/N: i'm just flying through these edits lol every fic i write i usually have a song i listen to with it and i cant seem to find one for this one.

Masterpost

---

The room smelled like cheap coffee and old paper and dust.

It was the kind of place that always felt too bright and too dim at the same time, fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting shadows in the corners. The folding chairs were arranged in a rough circle, some occupied by people who had been coming here for years, others by people like you, newcomers who didn’t know how to speak without choking on grief.

You had been coming for weeks, your therapist said it would help, it hasn’t but maybe that's because you had yet to say a single word but how could you? Just thinking about him stung you couldn't imagine talking about him.

You sat in the same chair every time, arms crossed, eyes down, listening but never participating. The others would share their stories, their regrets, their pain, their grief. They would talk about the people they lost, about how they were learning to move forward, about how they weren’t okay but trying to be. They would talk about the memories they were holding onto.

And you would sit there, feeling like a fraud. Because you weren’t trying to move forward. You weren’t trying at all. You had been drowning for years, and you weren’t sure you even wanted to come up for air.

Tonight was no different, it never was.

You had listened in silence as a woman spoke about losing her husband, how some mornings she still reached for him in bed before remembering he wasn’t there, how she decided to get a smaller bed to see if it would help. You had listened to an older man talk about the son he lost in a car accident, how he still swore he heard his voice in the house sometimes.

And then there was him.

Steve Rogers.

You didn’t know his name at first. You only knew his voice, low and, steady, careful, like he was trying to hold something fragile in his hands. He had been coming for a while, longer than you, but he didn’t speak often. When he did, it was always about her.

Natasha.

“She was fearless,” he had said once, a small, sad smile on his face. “Braver than me. Smarter than me, too.”

He never went into details. Never explained what happened, how he lost her. But you could see it in his eyes, the weight of it, the way grief lived in his bones.

You never spoke to him, not inside the group, not before and not after.

Until tonight.

The meeting had ended, people filtering out slowly, lingering near the coffee table, murmuring quiet goodbyes. You had stood, already reaching for your bag, ready to disappear into the night like you always did, to go back to barely getting by.

“Hey.”

You stopped, stunned because that voice was close, almost like it was talking to you. So you turned.

Steve was standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, looking like he wasn’t entirely sure why he had stopped you in the first place.

He hesitated before offering a small, almost shy smile. “I, uh—” He exhaled, glancing away for a second. “I know you don’t really like to talk much in there.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder.

“I just… figured maybe you could use a friend.” He cleared his throat, like he was out of his comfort zone but still pushing forward anyway. “And I know I could use one.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. No one had tried with you before, no one wanted to really be around you anymore. So it surprised you.

You had spent so long building walls, keeping people at arm’s length because it was easier than pretending you were fine, easier than admitting you weren’t.

But here was this guy, this stranger standing in front of you, offering something simple but real.

“Do you want to get some coffee? Or tea?” he asked, shifting on his feet. “No pressure, just… figured it might be nice to talk to someone who gets it.”

You should have said no. You wanted to say no, you almost did. But then, for some reason, you didn’t.

Instead, you nodded. “Okay.”

And just like that, everything changed.

The coffee shop was small and warm, the scent of roasted beans and vanilla filling the air. You sat by the window, the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Steve stirred his coffee absentmindedly, gaze flicking to you every so often, like he was waiting for you to say something.

You didn’t, not at first at least.

So he started. “Natasha she was uh my fiancée.”

Your eyes lifted to his, surprised at the bluntness of it.

His fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic mug. “She was… incredible. The kind of person who could walk into a room and just—” He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “She could hold the whole damn thing in the palm of her hand.” There was so much love in his voice, but so much grief, too. “She died during childbirth.”

You inhaled sharply.

“I didn’t know how to do it, you know?” he continued, his gaze distant. “Raising Lily alone. I thought, I thought I was going to break under it. But she saved me. My daughter. She… she saved me.” He paused. “But it's still been hard, the life we had together, the friends we shared, I just can’t seem to get through that part, my therapist suggested this group, making new friends.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say, unsure if you even could. And then, after a long moment “His name was Bucky.”

Steve’s eyes lifted.

It was the first time you had said his name out loud in years. It felt foreign. Like something you weren’t supposed to touch anymore. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your mug. “He was my best friend, my everything… I lost him too.”

Steve didn’t push. Didn’t ask for details.

He just nodded, offering you that same small, quiet understanding smile. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry too”

---

You don’t think about where you’re going at first.

You just walk.

The streets of your hometown are quieter than you remember. The houses, the storefronts, the familiar cracks in the sidewalks, they all feel smaller now, faded with time, like a dream you’re trying to hold onto but keeps slipping through your fingers.

The leaves crunch beneath your boots, brittle and dry, autumn curling in at the edges of summer. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow that almost makes it feel warm. Almost.

You don’t drive. You could, but something in you needs to do this on foot. Needs to take the long way.

Maybe because it feels wrong to drive past these places when every memory you have of them was made walking next to him.

Your breath is steady, but your heart isn’t.

The town looks the same.

It’s you that’s different.

The corner store is still there. The one where Bucky used to steal candy when he thought no one was looking, even though he was the worst liar in the world.

“You think Mr. Lee doesn’t know you’re stuffing your pockets?” you had whispered once, watching him slide a Snickers into his jacket like he was pulling off some elaborate heist.

“I’m stealthy,” he had shot back, grinning like a damn fool.

Seconds later, Mr. Lee had coughed loudly, shaking his head. “Barnes, just pay for the candy before I call your mother.”

Bucky had groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he slapped a crumpled dollar bill onto the counter. “You gotta stop ratting me out, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t say a word!”

“Yeah, but you gave me away with those big, guilty eyes.”

“Bucky, you literally tripped over the display stand.”

He had laughed, that carefree, beautiful kind of laugh that made everything feel lighter.

Now, as you pass by, the store window reflects back a face you barely recognize.

Your own eyes aren’t big and guilty anymore.

They’re just tired.

The library is still there, too. The one where he used to help you study, even though he hated school, hated math, hated anything that required him to sit still for more than five minutes.

“Why do I have to learn this?” he had groaned, slumping onto the table. “When am I ever gonna need to find x?”

“I don’t know, Bucky, maybe if you ever decide to have an actual plan for your life?”

“Rude,” he had muttered, but his lips had twitched like he was holding back a grin.

Still, he stayed. He always stayed..

Because even if he didn’t care about math, he cared about you.

You step past the entrance, the faint scent of old books drifting out as the doors open for someone else.

The diner is the worst.

You almost turn around before you get there, before the weight of it hits too hard, but your feet carry you forward anyway.

It looks exactly the same.

The red vinyl booths. The neon sign flickering slightly. The old jukebox in the corner that barely worked, but Bucky still kicked it every time, swearing he could get it to play without paying.

It’s where the two of you used to split a milkshake because neither of you ever had enough money for two.

“You always drink more than me,” you had complained once, shoving his arm playfully.

“I have a bigger stomach,” Bucky had grinned, completely unapologetic. “And besides, I’m doing you a favor. You don’t need all that sugar.”

“Excuse me?” you had scoffed, snatching the glass back.

He had only laughed, watching you with that stupid, lopsided smile, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“I mean, because if you drink it all, you’re gonna go off the charts and make me get you out of some stupid idea of yours.”

You had rolled your eyes, taking a long sip just to be petty. “None of my ideas are stupid, thank you very much.”

He had smirked, shaking his head.

“That’s because your mind is beautiful.”

A pause.

Then, softer.. “Just like you.”

Your breath catches. You blink, and the diner is nothing more than a blur as you pass.

The memories come faster now.

The sidewalk where he first held your hand.

“What are you doing?” you had whispered, staring at your intertwined fingers.

“It’s late,” he had said, so matter-of-factly it made your stomach turn. “I don’t need anyone kidnapping my best friend.”

You had rolled your eyes, even as heat crept up your neck.

But you hadn’t let go.

Neither had he.

The alley behind the school, where you and Bucky had hid from the cops after sneaking into the school pool at midnight.

“If we get caught, my mom is going to murder me,” you had hissed, pressing yourself against the wall, your pulse pounding.

“Relax,” Bucky had said, grinning like an idiot. “They won’t find us.”

Flashlights clicked on.

“Barnes, Y/L/N I swear to god you two get out here now.”

You had turned to him, wide-eyed. “I thought you said—”

“Let me do the talking, I got this,” he had whispered confidently.

Then, stepping forward, “Evening, officers—”

He did not have it.

You both got grounded for two weeks.

Your breath comes shorter now, your chest tight, aching, heavy. You try to push it down, push it away but the memories cling to you, dragging behind like a shadow you can’t shake.

The weight in your chest grows heavier as you turn down the familiar path that leads to the cemetery.

You haven’t been here in years. Not since the service. Not since they gave Winnie the folded flag and called it closure because there was never a body.

Not since you stood in front of that cold stone, staring at his name etched into it, unable to accept that someone could be gone without ever saying goodbye.

Your fingers curl into fists inside your coat pockets. You don’t know why you’re here now. Maybe because you feel like you owe him this.

Maybe because it’s the only place you can go where it feels like he might actually hear you. Because there are so many pieces of him here. So many pieces of the life you had with him, the plans you had made with him, the dreams you shared.

You step through the cemetery gates, the crunch of dead leaves beneath your feet the only sound in the stillness.

And then, suddenly, you’re standing in front of him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The name is carved into the marble, smooth and permanent, a name that once belonged to someone so alive that seeing it here feels like a cruel joke.

The lump in your throat thickens. You stare at the stone, the grass growing around the edges, the flowers left by someone else already beginning to wilt.

“Hey, Buck,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Your knees hit the damp earth before you even realize you’re sinking down.

The silence around you is deafening. For a long moment, you just sit there, staring at the name, tracing the letters in your mind.

“I—” Your voice catches, and you clear your throat, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know why it took me so long to come back here. I guess I just… I couldn’t.”

The wind is biting, sharp against your skin as you kneel in the damp grass, fingers curled into the earth like it might somehow anchor you. But nothing can ground you, not when your insides feel like they’re unraveling, not when you’re staring at his name carved into stone, a name that shouldn’t be here.

“I hate myself,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips like they’ve been waiting years to be spoken. “God, Bucky, I hate myself so fucking much.”

Your voice cracks, and a sob rips through you before you can stop it.

“I should have written back. I wanted to…God, I wanted to. So many times, I sat there with a pen in my hand, reading your letters over and over again, telling myself, ‘This time. This time, I’ll do it.’ But I never did. And you wanna know why?”

Your breath shakes, and you clench your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Because I wanted you to hurt.”

The confession burns on the way out, and it makes you sick to even say it.

“I wanted you to know what it felt like to be left behind, to be ignored, to feel like you weren’t enough. And it was so fucking selfish, Bucky, because you were in a war zone, and I was safe at home, and I thought punishing you would make me feel better.”

A broken laugh leaves you, bitter and sharp.

“But it didn’t. It just made me sick. It made me this, this empty thing that kept pretending I didn’t care when all I did was care. I read every single letter you sent me. Every goddamn one except the last.”

You reach into your coat, pulling out the envelope, the one you’ve stored away for years but never opened.

“This one.” Your voice wavers as you hold it up. “I couldn’t do it, Buck. I couldn’t read the last thing you ever wrote to me, because then it would be real. It would mean you were really gone, and I wasn’t ready for that. I’m still not, I don’t think ill ever will be.”

You stare at the envelope, the edges frayed from where your fingers have traced over it hundreds of times.

“I waited for you.” Your voice is barely a whisper now. “I bet you think I didn’t, but I did. I told myself I wasn’t, but I was. I waited, and I waited, and when they told me you were missing, I still waited. And when they told me you weren’t coming home, I still waited. And then one day, I realized I wasn’t waiting for you anymore, I was waiting for it to stop hurting.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, pressing the letter against your chest. “But it never did.”

The sobs come harder now, shaking your whole body, and you press your forehead against the cold stone.

“I almost joined you, you know.”

The words barely leave your lips, but the weight of them is suffocating.

“After they declared you MIA… I thought about it every day. The only reason I didn’t was because I was too much of a coward. Because I thought, maybe, one day, you’d come back, and I’d have to be here. I’d have to be here to tell you I was sorry. To tell you I loved… that I love you.”

Your chest heaves as you pull back, staring at the letters carved into the stone.

“I met someone,” you whisper, brushing your fingers over his name. “Five years ago.” You sniffle, trying to catch your breath. “Steve. His name is Steve. He’s… kind. Steady. He loves me, and I love him. I think you’d like him, you complete opposites but y’know what they say..”

The words taste strange, spoken here, in this place, but you force yourself to keep going.

“He was a single dad when I met him. His little girl, Lily…her mom, Natasha passed away.. She never got to know her and Steve… he did it alone. He raised her for two years before I came into the picture. And then, two years ago, after we eloped, I officially adopted her. She’s mine, Buck. My daughter.” You pause “She looks so much like her Mother, she’s beautiful. I think that's why Steve and I work so well, we both know great loss…”

You let out a watery breath, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I love them, I do so much. But no matter how much I try, no matter how perfect it looks from the outside… I don’t feel happy.”

Your hands tremble as they drop back into your lap.

“There’s always something missing. Some darkness that lingers in the back of my mind, whispering all the what-ifs. And I hate it, Bucky. I fucking hate it. Because Steve deserves someone who doesn’t have a hollow space carved into her chest. Lily deserves a mother who isn’t always wearing a mask. And I try, I try so hard to be what they need, but it never goes away. I know I should tell Steve how I’m feeling he would do everything to help…”

Tears stream down your face, hot and unrelenting. “I hate you for leaving me.” The words are sharp and ragged. “I hate you for making me love you so much that no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake you. I hate that I never got to say goodbye. I hate that I don’t know what really happened to you. I hate that you promised me you’d come home, and you didn’t.”

Your fingers dig into the dirt, your shoulders shaking. “And I hate myself for still loving you after all this time.”

“I hate that the universe never truly gave us a chance, I hate myself for trying to let you go.” You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your fists against your forehead.

“I love you.” It falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The wind howls around you, but it doesn’t carry his voice. There’s no answer.

Just silence.

Just the weight of your grief pressing into you, making it harder and harder to breathe. “What am I supposed to do, Buck?” you whisper. “How do I keep going when I never got to say goodbye?”

The sky is darkening now, the sun dipping below the horizon, and you realize you’ve been kneeling here for hours.

Your body aches. Your heart aches worse.

You reach for the white lily you brought, smoothing your fingers over the delicate petals before placing it at the base of his headstone.

“I should go,” you murmur, though the words feel wrong. You don’t want to go. You don’t want to leave him here.

But he’s already gone. And this, this is just stone.

Your fingers linger on the cold marble one last time. “I’ll come back,” you promise, even though you don’t know if you will. “I love you, Bucky, always.”

-----

The weekend is over, you should have left an hour ago.

But something about leaving feels too final, like once you pull out of the driveway, once you cross the town limits, the past will start to fade again. And this time, you’re afraid it might never come back because you don't know if you will.

So you move slower than you should, your hands careful as you pack.

The sweater goes first, the one Bucky gave you all those years ago, the one that still smells like him if you breathe in deep enough. You run your fingers over the fabric, thumb brushing the frayed hem, before folding it and placing it in your bag.

Then the box.

The old, worn shoebox that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about, the whole reason you made the short trip down.

You hesitate before picking it up, your fingers ghosting over the lid. The weight of it is heavier than it should be, filled with letters, photos, pieces of him you spent years pretending didn’t exist. But this time, you don’t leave it behind. You tuck it into the passenger seat before closing the door.

When you step back inside the house, your mother is waiting for you in the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air.

“You all set?” she asks, her eyes warm, searching.

You nod. “Yeah. Just about.”

She walks over, smoothing a hand down your arm. “Good.” She pauses briefly “When was the last time you saw Winnie?”

Your body locks up before you can stop it. Your mother notices. She always does. “Mom—”

“I think you should stop in and see her before you leave.”

You stare at her. “I—”

“Y/N.” Her voice is soft, but firm, the same way it was when you were little, when she was trying to get you to do something she already knew you wouldn’t like. “I think whatever you’re searching for, whatever journey you’re on… she’s going to be a part of it.”

Your throat tightens. “Mom, I—”

“You weren’t the only one who lost him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. You swallow hard, looking down, your hands gripping the counter. Because she’s right.

You haven’t seen Winnie since the funeral. Since that hollow, unbearable day when you stood beside her, both of you drowning in grief, both of you holding onto each other because neither of you knew how to stand on your own.

And then, after that, you just… stopped. Stopped calling. Stopped visiting. Stopped letting yourself think about her at all.

Because it was easier. Because seeing her meant seeing him, and you know that if somehow he knew that you hadn't seen or spoken to his mom in years that he would be disappointed and you two would definitely fight about it.

And you didn’t think you could handle that.

Your mother steps forward, cupping your cheek gently. “Go see her.”

You inhale sharply, your eyes burning. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. Just go.”

You bite your lip, nodding once.

She presses a kiss to your forehead, her thumb smoothing over your cheek. “I love you, baby.”

You close your eyes for a second, steadying yourself before whispering, “I love you too.”

She gives you a small smile, then steps back, reaching for her coffee. “Next time, bring my granddaughter.”

You let out a small, breathless laugh, shaking your head. “I will.”

But as you step out the door and get into your car, all you can think about is Winnie Barnes.

And how you don’t know if you’re ready to see her, but you know you owe it to her and to him.

--

You don’t get out of the car right away. You just sit there, staring at the house.

Bucky’s childhood home looks exactly the same. The paint on the porch railing is chipped in the same places, the sun catcher that Winnie always loved still hangs from the eaves, swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. The hydrangeas in the front yard have withered with the season, their color faded, petals curling at the edges.

It’s all the same and that’s what makes it worse. Because nothing is and he’s not here.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, your pulse hammering as you take slow, measured breaths.

You glance at the house again, chewing your lip, your fingers hovering over the door handle. You could leave. You could just… drive away.

But then you hear your mother’s voice in your head—“You weren’t the only one who lost him.”

And that’s what finally makes you move. You step out, your legs a little unsteady as you walk up the front steps. The wood creaks under your weight, just like it always did.

You lift your hand and knock once.

It’s barely a knock at all. Just a light, hesitant tap. The kind that you hope goes unheard, that gives you an out if no one answers.

But before you can even take a step back the door swings open. And there she is.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. She stares at you, her mouth parting slightly, her breath catching in her throat.

And then her face breaks open with something raw and beautiful, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Sweetie…oh my God.”

Before you can react, her arms are around you, pulling you in like she never once resented you for leaving. Like no time has passed at all.

Your breath shudders as you fold into her, your arms tightening around her shoulders, your face burrowing into the familiar scent of lavender and fabric softener.

The first words that slip from your lips are the only ones you can manage. “I’m so sorry.”

Winnie pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands coming up to cradle your face, her thumbs wiping away the tears, the action makes it worse because her son used to do the same thing.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her voice is soft, thick with emotion. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Why are you apologizing?”

Your lips tremble as you shake your head, trying to find the words. “I should have come sooner.”

She just smiles through her tears, shaking her head. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She steps aside, ushering you inside and that’s when you see it.

The walls, the photos, they’re everywhere. Bucky at five years old, beaming at the camera, two missing teeth in the front.

Bucky at ten, mid-laugh, his arms thrown over your shoulders, the two of you grinning at something off-camera.

Bucky at eighteen, standing beside you at your high school graduation, his arm around your waist, holding you close like you belonged there.

The air leaves your lungs, the weight of all those years collapsing in on you all at once.

“I—” Your voice catches, your gaze still scanning the walls, the shelves, the remnants of his life frozen in time. “I wasn’t ready for this.”

Winnie’s face softens. She reaches for your hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Neither was I.”

You turn to her, your eyes still burning.

“How did you do it?” you whisper. “How did you live with it every day?”

She sighs, her gaze drifting to one of the photos, a candid shot of Bucky, laughing at something out of frame, his head tilted back, his eyes bright and full of life.

“I didn’t have a choice.” She swallows thickly, blinking away fresh tears. “He was my son. My boy, I couldn’t let myself forget him.”

Your heart twists painfully. “I tried to forget.” Your voice breaks.

Winnie shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. You tried to survive.”

You stare at her, your breath shaky, your chest aching in ways you don’t know how to put into words.

She cups your face again, the way only a mother can, her expression full of nothing but understanding.

“Tell me everything, Y/N.” Her voice is so gentle. So full of love. “Everything you want to say about my son.”

And for the first time in ten years, you do.

You don’t know how long you’ve been talking.

Time doesn’t feel real in this house, in this space filled with him, his laughter frozen in pictures, his presence lingering in the worn-out cushions, in the scent of old books and home-cooked meals.

Winnie listens.

She listens the way only a mother can with a patience that doesn’t rush you, with an understanding that doesn’t demand explanations, with a love that somehow makes the grief feel softer.

You tell her about the letters. About how they kept coming for two years, how you read every single one but never once wrote back. About how you wanted to, God, you wanted to but every time you sat down with a pen in your hand, all you could feel was anger, betrayal, heartbreak.

“I thought ignoring them would make me feel better,” you admit, your voice hoarse. “Like… if I could just make him feel even a fraction of what I felt, then maybe—”

You stop, shaking your head, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead.

“But it didn’t. It never did. And now he’s gone, and I never got the chance to tell him I was sorry.”

Winnie reaches across the table, wrapping her hands around yours. Warm, steady, forgiving.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightens. Your hands tremble. Your fingers spin your wedding ring absentmindedly, twisting the metal over and over again, as if wrestling with a truth you don’t know how to say aloud.

“I still haven’t opened the last one.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, barely more than a confession, but it shatters the air between you.

Winnie inhales sharply, her gaze flicking down to the letter clutched in your other hand, the one you’ve been gripping so tightly in your pocket that your knuckles have gone white.

Her expression stays soft. Understanding.

“Why?” she asks gently.

You shake your head. “Because if I open it… then it’s real.”

Winnie nods. Because she understands that, too.

Your breath shudders as you try to pull yourself together. “I met someone.”

She tilts her head slightly, watching you carefully.

“Steve.” Your voice wobbles. “His name is Steve. I met him in a grief support group. He… he lost his wife, Natasha, when she gave birth to their daughter, Lily. She was just a baby.”

Winnie’s lips press together, her eyes full of something deep and knowing.

“Steve was—” You pause, shaking your head. “He was good to me. He is good to me. He picked up the pieces when I didn’t know how to. And Lily, Winnie, she’s my whole world. She’s the kindest, sweetest little girl, and I love her like she’s my own. I adopted her two years ago, and… I love them. I love my family.”

You exhale shakily, but it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like a wound splitting open.

You fidget with your ring again, twisting it around your finger, pressing your thumb against the engraving on the inside: Forever & Always.

“Am I horrible to wish it was him?”

The question escapes before you can stop it, and as soon as it does, your breath hitches, your face crumbling as you wipe away a tear.

You can’t look at her. You don’t want to see the disappointment, the judgment, buit never comes.

Instead, Winnie reaches out again, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are soft. Understanding.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s hard to grieve a love that you never got the chance to explore. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t love.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Winnie stands, stepping away for a moment. You watch as she moves to a cabinet, kneeling down to pull out something heavy, something old. And when she turns back around she's holding a stack of letters.

Your stomach drops.

She places them on the table between you, smoothing her hands over them like they’re something sacred.

“These are mine.” Her voice is quiet, reverent. “Every letter James ever sent me while he was gone, I’m sure you have twice as many.” She smiles softly.

You can’t breathe.

She swallows hard, blinking back tears. “And do you know what the common thread within them are, sweetheart?”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your sweater.

Winnie rests a gentle hand on the letters. “You.”

Your whole body locks up.

“Every single one of these, every single letter he ever sent me, he talked about you.” She gives a tearful, shaky laugh. “Stories about you. Memories of you. How much he missed you. How much he hoped you were doing okay. He never stopped, Y/N.”

A sob builds in your throat.

“So don’t you ever doubt for a second that my son didn’t love you. And don’t you ever doubt that you didn’t love him, too.”

Tears spill over, slipping down your cheeks, and Winnie catches them, her thumbs brushing over your skin like a mother would.

Winnie’s hands are warm as they cradle your face, her thumbs gently brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling.

“You don’t have to let him go, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I never want you to let him go.”

Your breath hitches, sharp and uneven, like your ribs are caving in around your heart. Your hands tremble where they rest in your lap, gripping onto nothing.

“Then what do I do?” The words come out small, broken, like you’re afraid of the answer, like you already know it won’t be enough.

Winnie smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that holds years of grief, of understanding, of learning how to live with an ache that never really fades.

She strokes your hair back, gentle, motherly, the way she used to when you were younger, when you and Bucky would collapse onto the couch after running around all day.

“You learn how to coexist with it.”

You close your eyes, a fresh wave of tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Write to him, darling,” she continues softly. “Talk to him. He’s still with you, I know he is. And if I know my son, which I do, there is no doubt in my mind that he’s never left your side." She takes a deep breath, smiling softly "And read that god damn letter."

You let out a shaky, tear-soaked laugh, pressing your fingers against your lips to hold in the sob that threatens to escape.

---

You don’t remember how you got here. One second, you were fine or at least, you were pretending to be.

The next, your world cracked open like shattered glass, and suddenly you were running. Through the streets, past the houses, past the lights. Running until your lungs burned, until your chest ached, until the betrayal in your stomach twisted so deep it felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

Then you ended up here at his door.

Your hands were shaking when you knocked.

You weren’t sure if he would be home. Maybe he was out, maybe he was already asleep, maybe…

The door swung open.

And the moment you saw him the moment his blue eyes met yours, the moment his face creased with instant concern. The dam inside you broke.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, but his eyes were already searching, already scanning you for the thing that had destroyed you tonight.

But you couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t do anything but choke on the sob clawing its way out of your throat and Bucky, he didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, pulled you inside, shut the door behind and instantly his arms were around you.

Warm. Solid. Safe.

Like home.

“Hey, hey—” His voice was barely above a whisper as he held you. “I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

You buried your face in his chest, your hands gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

And you sobbed.

Not just the quiet, muffled kind. The real kind. The kind that shakes your whole body, the kind you can’t stop, the kind that feels like it’s never going to end.

Bucky didn’t say anything.

He just held you tighter, one hand on the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles against your back.

Like he could take the hurt for you if you just let him.

After a long time after your sobs turned into quiet sniffles, after your chest stopped heaving, after the storm inside you settled into something a little less suffocating, Bucky pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands.

His touch was gentle, careful, grounding.

His thumbs brushed against your damp cheeks, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, like he could erase them if he just tried hard enough.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice was low, steady, but there was something underneath it, something sharp, something restrained, something barely hanging on by a thread.

You sucked in a breath, but it felt like razor blades down your throat.

Your heart was still raw, aching, torn open and bleeding, and the words tasted like bile as they climbed up your throat. “He—” Your voice broke.

You shook your head, pressing your lips together, trying to swallow the truth back down, but it was too late. “He cheated, Buck.”

Bucky’s body went completely still.

You barely had the strength to look at him, but when you did, when you saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his entire frame locked up like he was holding himself back.

You knew.

You knew he was already picturing all the ways he could kill him.

But you weren’t done. And this, this was the part that you could barely say aloud, the part that felt like it had carved you open from the inside out.

You forced yourself to say it anyway. “He said it was my fault.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“Because I wouldn’t—” Your breath hitched, and suddenly your skin felt too tight, your chest too heavy, your lungs too small. “Because I wouldn’t have sex with him.”

His entire body went rigid, every muscle tensing with barely contained rage. His fingers twitched against your skin like he had to physically restrain himself from tearing something apart.

“That fucking asshole.” His voice was low, seething, his jaw so tight you thought he might break his own teeth.

His hand dropped from your face, curling into a fist at his side. “I’m going to kick his ass, Y/N.”

You ignored him, shaking your head frantically.

“I—” Your lip trembled.

The anger didn’t matter. The betrayal didn’t matter. The burning hatred in Bucky’s eyes didn’t matter.

Because the only thing that mattered was the way your chest ached, the way your stomach twisted, the way your voice cracked as you whispered, “I thought he loved me.”

His entire expression crumpled, the fury draining out of him in an instant, leaving behind nothing but grief, nothing but heartbreak, nothing but the sight of you completely unraveling in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his hand already reaching for your face again, his touch so much softer now, so much gentler.

You tried to look away, but he didn’t let you.

“Look at me.” His fingers tilted your chin, forcing your eyes to his, and what you saw there made your heart stop.

Rage. Sorrow. Love.

“That wasn’t love, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened.

“He didn’t love you. He didn’t even know how.” His voice was softer now, but no less certain. “You could give someone the entire goddamn world, and if they don’t deserve it, they’ll still throw it away.”

His thumb brushed away a fresh tear.

“And you?” His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “You are the whole damn world, sweetheart.”

Your lips parted, another sob threatening to break free.

“Nobody deserves you less than him.” His forehead pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious, something worth protecting, something worth more than any of this pain.

“You are everything, Y/N.”

Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs, because he meant it.

He meant every word.

“And don’t you ever—” His voice broke, just slightly, just enough to shatter something inside of you. “Don’t you ever let another person make you feel like you’re not.”

[magnificentmiraclenacho]

The sister of the winner

Part 2= The salesman

Summary: When gi hun wants to take down the games he faces a lot of problems. But one problem he also has is his relationship with his sister minji ( reader ). Gi hun dosent want to tell her about the games do to her innocent. But what happends when the salesman lores her into the games, and the siblings finds them self fighting for their lifes

---

The dim kitchen light flickered softly as you and Gi Hun sat at the small table, finishing dinner. The smell of warm rice and grilled fish still lingered in the air, but there was an unusual silence between you two. It wasn’t the easy comfort you usually shared while eating—something felt off.

You took a bite of your food, glancing at your brother. He seemed distracted, his usual bright energy absent. His eyes kept flicking to his phone, then back to his plate, and there was a quiet tension about him you couldn’t ignore.

After a few moments of eating in silence, Gi Hun broke the stillness, his voice low but casual. “I have to leave tomorrow for a few days… business trip.” he lowered his head and avoid your gaze.

You paused mid-bite, looking at him with surprise. “huh? A business trip?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the sudden news made you uneasy. “What business? Since when do you go on trips for work?” laughing a little.

He shrugged nonchalantly, pushing his food around on his plate. “Just something I have to take care of. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be back soon.”

You studied him, unsure of why his words didn’t feel reassuring. There was a weight in the way he said it, like there was more to the story. But instead of pressing him, you just nodded. You’d gotten used to him shutting you out in recent months, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Okay,” you said, forcing a smile. “A few days isn’t that long.”

Gi Hun looked up at you, a small, almost apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You’ll be fine while I’m gone, right? You don’t need to worry about anything.”

You felt a flicker of frustration rise in your chest. Why does he keep saying that? You opened your mouth to say something, but you hesitated. He was already shutting down—again.

Instead, you swallowed your words, giving him a tight smile. “I’ll be okay, Oppa. You don’t have to worry about me.”

There was a brief silence as he met your gaze, and for a moment, you thought he might say more—maybe explain a little more about why he was going, or at least reassure you in a way that felt real. But instead, he just nodded, his eyes flicking back down to his food.

“Good,” he muttered, his voice softening. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just keep an eye on things, okay?”

You nodded again “Sure” you said quietly.

---

The conversation went back to small talk after that. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, something he wasn’t telling you. The way he kept avoiding your eyes, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes—everything about this felt different.

But for now, all you could do was nod and pretend it was normal.

---

The evening had been quiet after dinner. He seemed distracted lately, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d been under a lot of pressure, and you knew it.

Minutes passed, and you lost track of time, consumed by the quiet hum of the television and the thoughts swirling in your mind. You couldn’t focus on anything for long.

You settled down on the sofa, mindlessly flicking through channels on the television, but nothing seemed to grab your attention.

Just as you were about to put the remote down and head for bed, the sound of the front door opening caught your attention. You looked up to see Gi-Hun standing in the hallway, his coat on, keys in hand.

“I’m heading out to see someone. I won’t be gone long,” he said, his voice unusually calm, as if trying to sound casual. You smiled and said goodbuy and he hurried outside.

Something about the way he said it made your heart tighten. You’d never been a particularly suspicious person, but now, for the first time, you found yourself feeling unsettled. His tone was too indifferent, too distant. And the way he said he wouldn’t be long—yet didn’t explain where or who he was seeing—set off an alarm in your mind.

You couldn’t just sit there anymore. You needed to know what was going on. You stood up quickly, trying to mask the sudden rush of panic, and excused yourself from the room.

You stood in the hallway for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then, without thinking, you headed toward Gi-Hun’s room.

You hadn’t snooped around before—never had the need—but tonight was different. You had to understand what he was hiding.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open, not wanting to make a sound. Gi-Hun's room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp on his nightstand

Everything looked normal at first glance—his bed neatly made, his clothes folded carefully in the closet—but as your eyes moved across the room, they fell on something that sent a cold chill down your spine.

The closet door was slightly ajar. A glint of metal caught your eye. You hesitated for a moment, but then your curiosity got the best of you, and you walked over, your breath shallow in your chest.

You opened the closet door fully.

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the sight before you. Hidden behind a pile of neatly folded clothes were several guns, knives, and other weapons. The metal gleamed under the faint light, and you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a step back, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

What is this?

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, but none of them seemed to make sense. Gi-Hun had never been violent. He was kind, protective, but this... this was different. A sickening thought crossed you mind

Is he in a gang? No. No he can't be.. you try to tell yourself.

But it would explain the sudden money, the secretive nature of his actions. But the idea of Gi-Hun—the brother you’d always trusted—being involved in something so dangerous was almost too much to bear.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm your frantic thoughts, but the fear you felt was palpable. Your hands trembled as you closed the closet door quickly, but it didn’t help the sense of panic that was now rising within you. You couldn’t stay in the room, couldn’t breathe in the thick tension that now hung in the air.

You needed fresh air. You needed to clear your head.

Your heart was still racing as you grabbed your jacket, not caring that it was still chilly outside. You needed to get away from the house, away from the thoughts that were spiraling out of control. You didn’t even think twice before stepping out the door and into the night.

The cool air hit your face, and for a moment, it helped calm you. You walked down the street slowly, hoping that some distance from the house would give you clarity.

Was Gi-Hun really involved in something dangerous? Could he be in trouble? And why hadn’t he told you any of this?

As you walked, the quietness of the night felt overwhelming. Your footsteps echoed in the empty street, and you found yourself drifting toward the nearby park. You had always found solace there, the trees and quiet paths a comforting escape from the chaos that life sometimes threw at you.

But tonight, even the park couldn’t soothe you.

You sat on the park bench, staring blankly ahead at the empty pathways stretching out before you. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. The cool air helped calm your racing thoughts, but the knot in your stomach still lingered.

Gi-Hun’s secret, his weapons hidden in the closet, haunted you. You couldn’t understand why he would hide something like that from you. You were his little sister. You’d always been close, and yet now, you felt like there was an impenetrable wall between you two. He had his own problems, sure, but you had your own fears—fears about money, about not being able to make ends meet. And worse, Gi-Hun had no idea just how deep in debt you really were.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him, even though he had done so much for you already. He was stressed enough, with his own burdens. The thought of adding to them felt selfish. But the bills piled up, and the creditors kept calling, sending threatening letters you couldn’t afford to ignore. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending that everything was okay.

The weight of it all pressed on your chest, suffocating you, and just when you thought you couldn’t bear it anymore, you saw him.

A man in a dark suit, walking toward you with a casual yet purposeful stride. You hadn’t noticed him before, but he seemed to appear out of nowhere, his gaze locked on you. His expression softened, and he smiled as he stopped in front of the bench.

“You look like someone who could use a little company,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and inviting. There was something comforting in his presence, though you couldn’t quite place it.

You didn’t respond immediately, unsure of whether you wanted to talk to anyone. But his smile seemed genuine, and something about him made you lower your guard, even just a little.

“I’m… fine,” you said, forcing a smile, though you knew it probably didn’t reach your eyes. “Just… thinking.” as you sighed.

The man nodded knowingly, as if he’d heard this a thousand times. “Thinking, huh? Sounds like a heavy load.” He lowered himself onto the bench beside you without asking. His presence was calm, almost serene, but you couldn’t shake the odd sense of curiosity that had stirred inside you.

“You seem troubled,” he continued, his voice gentle but probing. “Something weighing on you?”

You swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. Was it that obvious? You’d always tried to keep your worries hidden.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I just… feel stuck, I guess. My brother’s been helping me out a lot, but the debts… they’re just too much. I don’t want to tell him, he’s already dealing with so much. But it’s like no matter what I do, nothing gets better.”

The man’s eyes seemed to sharpen, though his expression remained warm and understanding. “It can feel like you’re trapped in a cycle, no matter how hard you try to get out.”

You nodded, your heart sinking. That was exactly how it felt. Trapped. And Gi-Hun—he didn’t know how deep the problems went. He had been so generous with what he could, but the amount of money you needed to fix everything was far beyond anything he could provide.

The man leaned in slightly, his gaze intent on you. “You know, I’ve helped people in situations just like yours. People who feel stuck, who can’t see a way out. And there’s a way to break free from all that fear, all that uncertainty.”

You looked at him, confused but intrigued. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, almost knowingly. “There’s a way to escape the burden of debt. A way to stop living in fear. A way to take control of your life, once and for all. The only thing you have to do is take a chance.”

“A chance?” you echoed, your brow furrowing. What was he talking about?

The salesman reached into his pocket, pulling out a small folded piece of paper. He held it out to you, and despite your initial hesitation, you took it from him, your fingers brushing against his as you did.

“It’s an opportunity,” he continued, “an invitation to a game. A game where you can win enough money to change everything. To leave all your worries behind. Money, freedom—it’s all there for the taking, if you’re willing to take the leap.”

You stared at the small invitation in your hand, still unsure of what he meant. A game? How could something like that solve your problems? But the desperation inside you began to outweigh the doubt. Maybe this was the way out you’d been looking for. Maybe this was the answer you didn’t even know you needed.

“What kind of game?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, though your mind was racing.

The salesman’s smile never wavered. “It’s a game that changes everything. It’s not easy, but you’ve got nothing to lose, do you? The money, the freedom—it’s all there. You could leave all this behind. No more struggling. No more worrying.”

He was right. You had nothing to lose.

You looked down at the invitation in your hand, diffirent shapes printed across it in simple black ink. The strange promise of money, of an escape, tugged at you. Could this really be the way out?

“I… I don’t know,” you said quietly, uncertainty and fear mixing with a glimmer of hope. Placing the card down“What if it’s dangerous?”

The man’s smile softened, his eyes gleaming with something almost... reassuring. “Life is always a little dangerous. But sometimes, you have to take a risk to get what you deserve. Think about it. The game could give you everything you need. A fresh start. A life without the weight of all this.”

You held the invitation tighter in your hand.

“Think about it,” he repeated, standing up slowly. “The game is waiting for you. You’ll know what to do.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the invitation in your hand, the promise of something better, and a choice that would change everything. You placed the card in you pocket and went back home.

From author= i hope you guys liked it. If you want to be tagged say it in the comments❤️

Masterlist=

[somanyratsinthewalls]

congrats on the 700! i love your work 🫶🏼🫶🏼 can i suggest a blue rooster 👀 maybe drunk/nightclub ish themed tyyyy

THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING and man the Sanji girls SHOWED UP for this prompt game! And I am sooo not complaining... I love this man.

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Drunk/High Sex

WC: 2700 oops

Warnings: DRINKING AND INTOXICATION if this bothers you please don’t read! I know how consent works but these are two adults having a nice time it’s fine here I promise. Stay safe out there in real life, tho! unprotected sex, creampies, blowjob, spitting, dirty talk, once again they're a lil drunk but it's cool.

Let's Dance (+18)

———

“I’m not going with Usopp, he whines the whole time!” You shout.

“Yeah well I don’t want to go with you OR Robin! I don’t want to go to a stupid book store!” Usopp spits back at you. 

“I don’t care who I go with as long as it isn’t the ugly shitty cook. I’d hate to have to save both of us if we get attacked.” Zoro says casually. 

“No problems there, asshole. I’d like to not get lost for once.” Sanji quips back as he holds his cigarette between his teeth. 

“You guys, stop fighting! Let’s all go together!” Chopper looked distraught. 

“We’re wanted criminals, Chopper. I don’t think the whole lot of us together would allow us to keep a low profile.” Robin states as she pats Chopper’s head. 

“I don’t care who goes with me, I just want to go to that barbecue place we passed sailing in!” Luffy grins and you could have sworn saliva was pooling in the corners of his mouth. 

None of you could decide on who you wanted to be paired up with the explore the island, and unfortunately your crew had a method for solving these kinds of disputes... and everyone hated it.

“ALRIGHT I’M GETTING THE STRAWS!” Nami, frustrated, calls out as she heads to her room to grab the dreaded bag of straws. 

Groans echoed across the deck of the Sunny. 

Nami returned and every one lined up, waiting to pick from the bag. Pairs would be assigned by who drew the same length straws. 

“If I get paired with moss head I’m drowning myself before we even dock.” Sanji, lined up next to you, rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette. 

“And if I have to go with Franky to the boring-ass lumber yard I’m going to hang myself from the top sail.” You sigh. 

All the straws had been distributed and you look down at the one in your hand. 

You hear an excited gasp from directly to your left. 

Sanji was holding his straw up to yours, they matched. 

“UGGGGHHHHH!!!” You groan and huff. You even make a show of stomping your feet and pouting. “I’m stuck with the pervert?!”

“Ha ha!” Zoro points at you across the circle and laughs. 

“Shut up, moss balls!” You scowl.

“Y/n mon amour! How wonderful we get to spend the evening together!” Sanji’s eyes sparkled as he smiled down at you. You roll your eyes dramatically. 

This was going to be a long night. 

— — — 

You had your arms crossed in annoyances as Sanji followed at your heels obediently while you walked through the town. The sun had gone down and it seemed like this village had quite the active nightlife. 

“I know you aren’t keen on being paired up with me, my sweet, but I promise we can do anything you want, any shop, any restaurant, it’s on me!” Sanji gushed at you. 

You see a seedy looking club with bright neon signs up ahead. You stop walking. 

“Anything I want, huh?” You say without turning around. 

“Of course, darling!”

“Let’s get drunk.” You smile a bit and cross the street towards the club. 

“O-oh? Um… I mean, yes! Whatever you desire!” Sanji jogs after you. 

Sanji ducks past you as you approach the club so he could hold the door open for you. You’re immediately met with thumping music and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. 

“See, you can smoke inside!” You say as you pass Sanji to enter the establishment. 

“T-that’s nice… OH-“ 

Once the two of you entered and your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realize that the cocktail waitresses were scantily dressed in mini skirts and bras. You sense that Sanji wasn’t by your side anymore. He was frozen in place. You storm up to him in a huff. 

“If you ruin my night of partying because you need a fucking blood transfusion, I’ll make sure you never see another boob again! Not one!” You seethe up at him, poking a stern finger into his chest. 

“Right! Okay! I’ll be fine, I promise!” Sanji straightens his tie after snapping out of his breast-induced stupor. 

“Now shut up and buy me a drink.” You grab Sanji’s hand and pull him towards two seats at the bar. 

Sanji pulls out the barstool for you and allows you to hop up whilst still holding his hand. You pull your hand back once comfortably seated and you feel a bit of a reluctant pull before Sanji releases you from his grasp. You shoot him a “don’t even think about it” kind of glare… one he had received from you many times before. 

Sanji clears his throat before beckoning over the barkeep. 

“A glass of cabernet, and a-?” Sanji looks at you and cocks a curly brow in question. 

“Gin martini. Filthy.” You smile wickedly. 

A few moments go by waiting for your drinks so you scope out the place. The club was so dark you had a hard time examining your surroundings. There was a dance floor, heavily packed with gyrating, sweaty people in a mess of hands and limbs. There were also booths scattered around the floor and almost each one was filled with a couple making out or at least engaged in some heavy petting. 

“Wow this place is certainly something.” You whistle and turn your stool around to face the bar again. “I think those people at your 8 clock are actually humping.” You shake your head. 

Sanji whips his head back to look and immediately turns back to the bar, eyes wide. 

“God, I feel like I’m interrupting something.” Sanji’s cheeks blush pink. 

The barkeep arrives with your drinks and Sanji pays him, with a hefty tip of course. 

Sanji picks up his glass of wine and holds it out to you. 

“Cheers to a lovely evening, with an even lovelier lady.”  

You find yourself rolling your eyes again.  You clink your martini against his drink. 

You take several swigs of your drink and set it back down on the bar top. Sanji notices that it’s already over halfway finished. 

“You’re not going to be a cheap date, are you?” You gives you a playful smirk. 

“Not a chance.” You grin up at him before turning to flag down the bartender again. 

— — — 

“Okay okay okay, but like, if you HAD to cook a person.. what part are you cooking and how?” You say with a giggle with your umpteenth martini close to your lips. 

“That’s absolutely vile, y/n! I would never do such a thing!” Sanji looks at you with wide eyes, a tipsy smile forming at the corners of his mouth. 

“Okay but you HAVE to.” You press further. 

There was a long pause. 

“Well human flesh is the most similar to pork… so I guess I’d slow roast the rump with seasonal vegetables and red wine.” He eventually remarks. 

You make eye contact and both immediately burst out laughing. 

“Wow it’s incredible to know that the first thing you’d do after I die is eat my ass!” You laugh loudly. 

“Sweetheart I’d eat your ass right now at this bar!” Sanji says with a grin. 

You choke on your drink and push his shoulder playfully, calling him a pervert in the process. You finish your martini and set the empty glass back down on the bar top. You lift your pointer and middle fingers towards Sanji’s face and snip them together like scissors. 

“You are drunk.” Sanji says as he passes you his cigarette. 

“Na uh.” You tease as you take a long drag of the cigarette. 

“You only ever ask me for a smoke when you’re drunk.” He smirks at you before taking the cigarette back from your slender, delicate fingers. 

“How about asking you for a dance then?” You say as you hop down from your bar stool. You grab Sanji’s tie and gentle pull him along as you walk backwards towards the dance floor. Sanji snuffs out his cigarette and follows you with his mouth slightly agape. You lead him through the crowd of sweaty bodies and once you found enough space you pulled him close to you and put your hands around his neck. One of your hands threaded up through his blonde locks as he wrapped his hands around your waist. 

The bass-heavy club music was thumping through your ears and the alcohol was flowing through your bloodstream. You couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt to be held by such strong hands as you gyrated your hips against Sanji’s slender ones. 

Sanji leans his head down and presses his forehead against yours, you smile drunkenly. 

“You look so fucking hot right now…” Sanji says at a volume just loud enough for you to hear him over the thrum of the music. 

With your inhibitions completely gone, you kissed him. 

You felt Sanji freeze briefly as you pressed your lips against his before he continued his movements against you. The grip on your hips tightens and pulls you even closer against his crotch as he presses his tongue into your mouth. 

You gladly accept the intrusion and return the kiss with similar fervor. You make out on the dance floor for what seems like ages before you finally pull back. 

“Y/n..” Sanji gazes at you, pupils blown wide from lust and intoxication. 

“Come on.” You grab Sanji’s hand and pull him towards a darkened hallway that you could only assume housed the club’s restrooms. You burst through one of the restroom doors, thankfully finding it empty. Sanji locks the door behind you and immediately he attacks your lips again, hands gripping the sides of your face tightly. He kisses you hungrily, like he’ll never taste you again and he needs to get as much of you as he can. 

“Slow down, baby boy, I’m not going anywhere…” You purr as you pull back to press Sanji’s back against the locked bathroom door. You drop to your knees. If you had been sober, there would be no way you'd let your bare lets touch the floor of a public bathroom, but here you were anyway.

“M-my love I-I-“ Sanji stutters. 

“Just shut up…” You whisper as you nuzzle your nose into Sanji’s clothed erection straining against his suit pants. You unbuckle his belt and pull down his trousers and boxers in one go. It was a bit clumsy but you eventually got to what you were after… Sanji’s thick cock sprang from his waist band and nearly knocked you in the face with how hard he was. 

You waste no time and grip Sanji by the base and engulf the head of his cock in your warm, eager mouth. 

“Fuck!” Sanji exclaims and threads both his hands into your hair. You were thankful the club’s music was so loud, because you could already tell that this man didn’t know how to be discrete. 

You bob your head back and forth down his shaft a few times before loosening your throat and taking him all the way down to the base. You gag and nestle your nose in his neatly trimmed, honey blond hair. You pull back off his cock and spit the remaining saliva back onto his member before catching your breath. 

“You’re fucking perfect, y/n..” Sanji says lovingly as he strokes your reddened cheek with his soft thumb. You smile stupidly up at him and shove his cock back into your mouth. “Oh my god, just like that baby… so good…” Sanji continues to coo down at you as you service him with your lips and tongue. You were glad he was a bit drunk or else he would have no doubt shot his load down your throat by now, and you wanted it elsewhere. 

You pull off his cock with a lewd pop and a string of saliva still connected it to your lips.

“Fuck me.” You smirk up at him. 

“As you wish, love.” Sanji picks you up off the floor and sets you gently yet hurriedly on the sink counter. Sanji pulls your dress down your torso and your breasts spill out. He immediately dips his head to capture one of your tits in his plush lips. You whine at the feeling of his tongue against your sensitive nipple. Sanji notices you bucking your hips in need and pulls off of you to hike your dress above your hips, exposing your wet panties. He spreads your legs with his strong hands as you were seated on the counter. He roughly grips your panties and rips them into pieces so he could have immediate access. 

“So beautiful, mon amour…” Sanji whispers to you breathlessly as he slides his cock head up and down through your wetness, not taking his eyes off your glistening sex. 

“Please, need you…” You whimper as you wiggle your hips, trying to entice him to finally enter you. 

Sanji answers your plea by stuffing you slowly making you loll your head back and moan. His girth stretched you so perfectly, his curve hitting you in your favorite spot. 

“Shit…” Sanji is almost speechless as your cunt sucks him in so deeply. 

“Fuck me hard, Sanji… please…” You white knuckle grip the edge of the bathroom counter, trying to stay balanced in your inebriated state.  

Sanji responds by pulling out and plowing his hips into yours rapidly creating a lewd wet slapping sound that reverberated around the tile walls of the bathroom. 

“Fuck! Yes! Like that!” You cry out, your sweet spot being hammered with every thrust. Sanji gripped your hip with one hand and brought one hand to your chin, sticking his thumb in your mouth. You immediately wrap your lips around his digit and suck. 

“Sweet little slut… so pretty…” Sanji cooed at you as your pussy greedily accepted his cock over and over and over again. 

You moan around Sanji’s thumb and drool drips from your lips. 

“My dirty girl… going to cum?” Sanji asks you, teasingly. 

You nod furiously. 

“Give it to me, my love…” 

You oblige and let the tightening band in your lower half snap, gushing your release all over Sanji’s abdomen and thighs. You moan loudly and your eyes roll in the back of your head. 

“W-where should I-“

“Inside! Please!” You yelp through overstimulation. 

“Shit-“ Sanji grunts and pants as he humps you through his orgasm, spurting hot cum to coat your insides. He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, trying to catch his breath before pulling out. A true gentlemen, he fixes your dress by pulling the skirt back down and pushing your breasts back in gently before pulling up his own trousers. 

He picks your shaking form up gently from the counter and sets you down on the tile floor. 

“W-we should probably get back…” You say softly. 

“You’re right, come, love.” Sanji grabs your hand and walks you out of the bathroom and out of the club entirely. 

Sanji doesn’t release your hand the whole walk back to the ship and you don’t try to pull it away. Several times on the trip back you look at each other and break into fits of giggles. No words needed to be said. Eventually, you make it back to the Sunny and cross the gangplank, hoping to slip to your bedroom unnoticed by any of your crew members. 

“Geez, you guys look like shit. You get into a fight?” You turn after taking only just two steps onto the ship. Zoro was sitting up against the mast on night watch. You groan. 

“Don’t you need to go be stupid somewhere else, moss head?” Sanji angrily retorts. 

“And what the fuck happened to your dress, y/n? You piss yourself or something? You really are a lightweight.” 

You look down and notice the stain on your dress and the wetness on the inside of your legs. 

“Um! Maybe I should shower! Goodnight Zoro! Care to join me, Sanji It was a long night after all…” You rush towards the ship’s bathroom. 

Sanji was hot at your heels, his green haired rival quickly forgotten.

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 11)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Some Smut

Please comment and engage!

Over the next few days, you tried to avoid your best friend Nina to come to terms with the kiss between you and her father that seemed to echo in your mind.

But, of course, Nina always found a way to reach you and it was on a Saturday evening that you finally managed to catch up with her and some of your other friends in Dublin's Temple Bar.

The pub you went to, for affordable student drinks, buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, a mix of old Irish folk tunes drifting through the air. You sat at a small table, the wooden surface sticky from spilled drinks.

Unusually though, Nina was late and your unease shifted like the flickering candlelight on the table as you scanned the crowd.

“Where is she?” you muttered, stirring your drink absentmindedly.

"She probably missed the dart into town," one of your mutual friends grinned, taking a swig from his pint and, just as you were about to respond, the door swung open, and Nina appeared, wind sweeping in behind her like a curtain of autumn leaves. Her cheeks flushed pink and her deep blue eyes sparkled with a mix of sadness and irritation.

"Sorry I’m late, I got caught up," she said, forcing a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she slid into the booth beside you.

"Don't worry about it," you replied, forcing your own smile as you nudged a pint of Guinness toward her. “Is everything okay?” you then asked as you leaned closer, sensing that her usual vibrancy had dimmed.

“I don’t know,” she said, fidgeting with the condensation on her glass, “It’s just... my parents had another one of those massive fights," she whispered so that only you could hear, her voice low and shaky.

“About what this time? I thought your dad was still on set?" you asked, lowering your voice to match her intensity.

Nina shook her head, frustration clouding her features. “No, he came home after mum nagged him to. His flight was delayed and mum was waiting for him," she said, her fingers tapping the table restlessly.

“OKay. So what happened?” you asked as you tried to keep your tone casual, but concern tugged at your insides.

“Well, I honestly don't know. Everything seemed fine until dinner. Then, out of nowhere, they started shouting," she continued, her gaze fixed on the frothy head of her drink.

"In front of you?" you asked, incredulity creeping into your tone.

Nina shook her head and stared at the floor for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “No, I was already in my room, but I could hear them. Mum was screaming about being tired of waiting around for him and always being second to his career,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if the mere act of voicing it too loudly might make it all real. “And Dad... he just kept saying he was always there for us and that it was her who ruined everything because of what she did. They were going in circles, and I couldn’t take it. I thought maybe if I just ignored it, it might blow over.”

Your heart dropped as you listened to her, the air around you thick with unspoken tensions.

"Do you know what he meant by what she did?" you asked gently, leaning in closer, your heart racing with the implications of her words.

Nina's gaze dropped to the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I don't know specifics, but I remember overhearing a conversation once," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mum and Dad... they had something happen before. It was years ago, but it's like it never really faded for them. They act like, because time has passed, everything is fine. But it’s not," she sighed, frustration spilling over as she furrow ed her brow. "I think dad had an affair a few years back while on location somewhere, and she contacted the woman, another actress, via her agent out of anger, demanding answers."

A chill swept through you at Nina's words. “Your dad had an affair?" you whispered, disbelief hanging in the air.

Nina’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, each blink holding back the flood. “That's what mum says,” she said, frustration clawing at her voice.

“Have you talked to him about it?” you asked, hoping she wouldn’t brush the question aside.

Nina shook her head vehemently. “No, because what would I even say? ‘Hey, Dad, did you really cheat on Mom?’ It would just blow up in my face,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” you breathed, abandoning your drink to focus fully on her. “But don't you think it might help if you talked to him?”

Nina let out a sharp sigh, shaking her head again. “It would just make things worse. He’s already on edge because of mum.”

You leaned back, feeling a weight settle in your stomach. The energy in the pub around you felt distant, the laughter and music fading into a dull roar.

"I honestly don't know what to say," you finally admitted, eyes searching hers for some sign of hope amidst the chaos. "But you can't ignore it forever. It's eating at you."

Nina crossed her arms defensively, a gesture that screamed vulnerability masked as anger. “I just want things to go back to normal,” she said sharply, her voice barely above the din of the pub. “I want them to be together like they were before all this mess.”

You forced a smile, wishing you could grant her that desire. “I get it. But they’re adults, right? They have to navigate their own feelings to deal with and sometimes things like this cannot be fixed and it might be better if they part ways," you explained, recalling your own parents' divorce many years ago and the way it had shattered your perception of love.

Nina looked at you, her jaw tight. “Do you really think my parents can’t work this out? They've been together forever. I just can't imagine them splitting up."

"I don't know, Nina. I honestly don't know what’s going on in their heads, but what I do know is that this has nothing to do with you or your siblings. They still love you, no matter how tangled their relationship gets," you told your best friend, sounding like your own therapist did when your parents split up.

Nina took a long pause, staring into her glass as if searching for answers within the dark coloured liquid. Her voice came out softer, strained. “You are right," she said before picking up her pint and taking a long swig until all of its content was gone, her lips pressing against the cool glass, almost as if she sought solace in the liquid.

You watched her, a concern building as she set the glass down with a thud.

“Take it easy, will you?” you whispered, nudging the empty glass away. “Let’s at least try to enjoy a normal evening, hmm? Maybe we could go somewhere cool, just you and me? To get your mind of this mess," you suggested and Nina's lips curled into a faint smile, though the sadness lingered in her eyes.

“That sounds nice,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But I honestly just came here for one or two drinks because I have an assignment due next week. I’ve pushed it off for too long, and now it’s haunting me," Nina said, her fingers nervously grazing the rim of her glass. "But you go out and have some fun with the gang. You've earned it!" she then urged, her lips tugging into a small, encouraging smile.

You raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “Nah, I couldn't possibly go out without my wing-woman ," you teased, folding your arms. "Besides, I have no interest in partying when you clearly need company."

Nina rolled her eyes, but a smile flickered back onto her lips, momentarily chasing away the shadows. “No, honestly. You need to go out and have some fun. After the break-up with James you need a distraction. Maybe even get laid," she urged, her tone growing earnest.

You sputtered, laughter escaping your lips, quickly silenced by the serious nature of her suggestion.

"I am picky. You know that," you chuckled, shaking your head before you took a deep breath, considering her words.

Eventually though, you agreed to her suggestion, less the getting laid factor, and, after another half an hour and two more drinks with your best friend, Nina called an Uber to take her home.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" you asked, glancing at her, but she shook her head.

"No," she said. "I really need to tackle this assignment and you cannot help me with it anyway," Nina told you as she pushed back a stray lock of hair, determination flickering in her eyes before she said goodnight and you promised her to call her tomorrow to check in.

As Nina slipped away into the night, the buzz of the pub felt louder without her, but not necessarily in a pleasant way.

The pub quickly filled with more patrons, some of which were rather rowdy. Thus, you finished your drink and followed your friends to another venue shortly thereafter, which is where you contemplated your next move.

You were slightly tipsy and, yet, your mind was somewhat absent from your surroundings. The laughter and music filled your ears, a chaotic mix of emotion and noise, but you couldn't shake the weight of the evening's conversation from your mind, nor could you forget about the kiss you had shared with Cillian over a week eatlier.

While your friends were dancing around you, laughter ringing through the air, your thoughts drifted back to that moment in Cillian's kitchen—the vulnerability, the spark that surged between you both, and the inevitable retreat that followed.

Then, your mind went to what Nina would think if she knew, especially in light of the information about her parents she had just shared with you. The memory tugged at your conscience like a weight, an anchor threatening to pull you under.

This kind of guilt was overwhelming as you watched your friends toss back shots and laugh uninhibitedly, oblivious to your turmoil.

But then, just as you were lost in your thoughts, a familiar face broke through the chatter, and there he was - your best friend's father, sitting on his own, in a corner, nursing a pint of Guinness.

You froze, instinctively tugging your jacket closer as a rush of warmth spread through you.

Cillian looked different, sadder and more contemplative than you remembered from just a few days ago, the deep blue of his eyes dulled by something lingering in the depths.

A tight knot formed in your stomach. You had avoided him for days, yet the sight of him stirred emotions you thought you had carefully tucked away.

You wanted to hide, to turn away and vanish into the crowd, but your legs wouldn’t betray you. Instead, they led you in his direction (or maybe it was the influence of the alcohol), each step weighed down by hesitation.

Cillian's gaze lifted from his glass the moment you approached, surprise flickering in his eyes. Those deep blue pools had always held a thousand unspoken words, and now, they reflected a mix of surprise and concern.

“Hey,” you managed, the word tumbling from your lips like an ungraceful ball. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the weight of his gaze settling on you, assessing your presence.

"Hey," he replied, his voice warm yet guarded, as if he were trying to navigate the tension that hung in the air between you.

“Uhm, hey," you said again, the awkwardness thickening as your eyes darted briefly to the bar behind him. “What are you doing here?" you asked like if it was any of your business which, obviously, it was not.

Cillian took a deep breath, the edges of his lips twitching upward slightly, as if he was weighing his words. "Having a beer and listening to the band, I guess," he shrugged, his deep voice barely audible over the chatter of the pub. He gestured toward the empty seat across from him, a silent invitation that you couldn't resist.

"Are you here on your own?" you asked as you slid into the seat, the air between you charged with unacknowledged tension.

“Yes, I just needed a bit of space,” Cillian said, his eyes flickering with an emotion you struggled to identify. The light overhead glinted off his handsome features, casting shadows across his furrowed brow.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as concern coiled tightly in your chest.

Cillian shook his head, a small smile breaking through the heaviness that surrounded you both. “Yes," he said initially, unsure about his words. "I mean, no. I could use the company. Just... it’s been a long day."

You nodded, biting your lip as you watched him take a swig from his pint. Suddenly, the familiar warmth of his presence washed over you, like a soothing balm to the confusion swirling in your mind.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concern spilling into your tone despite the warnings in your mind.

Cillian took another slow swig of his beer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered your question. "It’s just... a lot of noise in my life right now," he said, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the side of his glass.

"Nina may have mentioned something about that," you replied, leaning in slightly, trying to gauge how much he wanted to share.

Cillian sighed deeply, his gaze drifting toward the band playing a lively tune in the corner, his expression tightening as if the music prodded at something raw inside him.

“She’s worried, isn't she?" he asked, his voice low, almost lost beneath the rhythm of the band.

"Yeah, she is," you admitted, nodding slowly and Cillian rubbed the back of his neck, casting a furtive glance around as if searching for the right words.

“She shouldn't have to be concerned about problems like this,” he continued, his voice laced with frustration. "Fuck, sometimes I think I forget how this affects the people around us, but I honestly don’t know how to fix it,” Cillian admitted, his brows pinching together as he stared into his glass. “I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something I can’t control.”

You studied Cillian, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest.

“I don’t think any of us ever really can control everything, Cillian,” you said softly, your gaze steady on him. "I mean, I am sure you are trying the best to navigate this chaos in your life right now, but it’s okay to admit when you’re feeling overwhelmed."

Cillian looked up, meeting your eyes with a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. His lips curled slightly, as if your words had provided a brief respite from a storm he'd been weathering alone.

“Thanks,” he murmured, the heaviness in his voice almost palpable. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath that seemed to lift some of the burden off his shoulders.

"And I shouldn't really be troubling you with this kind of stuff either," he said, his gaze flickering to the pub's lively crowd momentarily before returning to you. "You should be out there, dancing with your friends and having a good time," he said, his voice warm but tinged with hope that you would decline and stay, to keep him company.

You waved your hand dismissively. "I don't dance," you said with a chuckle, shaking your head. “Not in front of a crowd, at least.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Huh, how then?" he asked and you simply shrugged.

“I prefer to make a fool of myself in private, or just amongst people I know,” you explained, your heart racing at the playful glimmer in his eyes, the unexpected ease of the moment melting away the heaviness that had surrounded both of you.

“Fair enough," he said, a genuine smile breaking across his face for the first time that evening, lifting the weight in the air just a little more.

“Maybe you could show me your secret dance moves sometime,” he teased, his gaze sparkling with mischief, as if he was inviting you to share more of yourself.

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension. “Oh, trust me, you’d regret asking. I’m a total disaster on the dance floor,” you replied, shaking your head with mock seriousness.

Cillian chuckled, the sound deep and warm and the topic of dancing quickly led to another as well as another round of drinks.

With the conversation flowing like the drinks, laughter rang out between you, slowly chipping away at the heaviness that had lingered.

You felt the atmosphere shift, the laughter curling around you like a familiar blanket as the warmth of the pub enveloped you both. Cillian leaned back, relaxing into the worn wooden chair, a slight smile still lingering on his lips as he regarded you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You know,” he began, swirling the beer in his glass, “it’s nice to talk to you like this, away from work and all the mess at home. You bring a sense of normalcy I didn't realize I needed,” he said, his gaze steady on yours, vulnerability lacing his words.

Your heart raced as his deep blue eyes lingered on you, and you knew this moment was teetering on the edge of something profoundly intimate.

“But, at the same time, it feels a little inappropriate talking to you, like this, considering…” he then said, not finishing his sentence, the weight of unspoken complications hanging between you.

You held his gaze, a mix of anticipation and trepidation swirling in your chest. “Considering what?” you finally prompted, your voice steady as you leaned in slightly, feeling the electricity crackle between you both.

Cillian hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Considering the fact that I crossed a line last week that I shouldn't have crossed. I mean, you’re my daughter’s best friend, and I shouldn’t…” He let the sentence hang, but the implications were clear. The weight of it loomed heavily in the air, a barrier neither of you dared to cross again.

"Cillian, I kissed you first,” you interjected, your voice firm yet soft enough to convey the complexity of your feelings. “I initiated it. And if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me.”

His expression shifted slightly, a mixture of surprise and thoughtfulness swirling in his deep blue eyes.

"I am a shit friend," you admitted, the words tumbling out like stones from a crumbling wall. "It was impulsive and selfish. I didn’t think about the consequences—about Nina—or anything."

Cillian leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, a mix of concern and understanding etched on his face. "You are not a shit friend. You acted impulsively in a moment of vulnerability and it is not just on you. I wasn't— I shouldn't have reciprocated," he said, carefully choosing his words as if they might unravel the tension binding you together.

“I think we both know it wasn’t just impulse, Cillian,” you countered, your heart pounding as you scrutinized his expression.

Cillian’s gaze flickered, uncertainty clouding his blue eyes. He leaned back slightly, the distance between you suddenly feeling cavernous. “What do you mean?” he asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of unsaid truths.

You took a deep breath, the truth hovering at the tip of your tongue. “There was something more, wasn't there?” you pressed gently, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs, urging you to bridge the widening gap between your worlds.

Cillian’s gaze sharpened, an intensity settling over him as he weighed your words. “What do you want to hear?” he asked, his voice low, each syllable laden with unspoken tension.

“Maybe I want to hear that you felt attracted to me, in that moment at least," you said, the vulnerability of your words catching in your throat, the many pints of Guinness softening your resolve just enough to speak the truth you had buried deep.

Cillian held your gaze, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of insincerity, but he found only honesty reflected back at him. A spark flickered through the space between you, filled with unspoken desires and complicated emotions.

“Maybe I did," he admitted finally, his voice low and measured. "But that doesn't mean it’s right. I’m your friend’s father, I have a marriage to consider. And that kiss... it complicates everything.”

A heaviness settled between you, echoing your deepest fears that this moment did indeed complicate everything.

"But lets not talk about it anymore. It happened and we should both forget about it," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with a sadness that tightened in your chest.

“Forget about it?” you echoed, disbelief rising in your tone, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste. “Okay, let's just forget about it," you said, forcing yourself to sound light-hearted, though the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Cillian looked away, taking a deep breath, the weight of his silence heavy with unspoken emotions. You studied him, the warmth of the pub suddenly feeling stifling as you wrestled with the moment slipping away. Cillian stared into his glass, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the wood, a man lost in contemplation.

“Another drink?" you then asked as you broke the silence, trying to lift the heaviness that threatened to swallow you both.

“Yeah, why not?” Cillian replied, looking up with a slight smile, as if the prospect of another drink offered a temporary reprieve from the tension. He raised his empty glass slightly toward you, a silent toast, but just as the bartender approached, you were surprised when he informed you that last drinks had already been called.

“Sorry folks, it's one o'clock. I can't serve anymore," he said, waving his hand apologetically as he wiped the counter with a grimy rag.

Cillian let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the abrupt end to what had started as a somewhat pleasant evening.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue,” he said, attempting to mask his disappointment with a casual shrug. "I should walk you home," he offered, his expression settling into something more serious, almost protective.

You hesitated, glancing around at the dwindling crowd before meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to, Cillian. I am a big girl and can manage on my own,” you replied, trying to downplay the flutter in your chest at his offer.

Cillian’s expression turned serious, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly. "I insist Y/N. It’s late. Plus, I owe you for putting up with my rambling,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, revealing a flash of the charisma that had won so many hearts.

You couldn't help but smile back, but the weight of the evening lingered in the back of your mind, your heart still racing from the mix of emotions swirling between you.

“Okay, then,” you relented, standing up from the table, your legs slightly unsteady beneath you from the drinks. Cillian moved with an easy grace, gathering his coat from the back of the chair and slipping it on.

As you stepped out of the pub, the brisk night air hit you like a splash of cold water, sharp and startling.

You took a deep breath, relishing the coolness against your warm skin, and glanced sideways at Cillian as you both stepped onto the dimly lit street.

"This way," you said, gesturing down a narrow alleyway that led toward the more residential areas of Dublin.

"I know," he chuckled, having visited your father's apartment many times during family gatherings and his familiarity with the streets added an odd comfort to the moment.

You walked side by side, the night air crisp and charged with an unsaid tension. You engaged in some light banter on the way and, when you finally reached your destination, you paused outside the building's entrance, the dim glow of the streetlamp casting a warm hue over your faces.

“Well, here we are,” you said, hands shoved deep into your pockets to keep from fidgeting. You glanced at Cillian, the dappled light illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw and the warmth in his deep blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he responded, a softness settling around the edges of his expression. “I should probably just—”

But you stepped forward, the urge to bridge the distance growing stronger than the anxiety knotting your stomach. "Cillian, wait,” you interjected, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions. He paused, brow knit in curiosity as he regarded you in the muted light.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?" you offered, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

The invitation hung in the air, electrifying and unexpected, your heart racing at the sudden pivot in the night’s course.

Cillian lifted an eyebrow, surprise flickering across his features as he weighed your words. “A drink?” he echoed, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an uncertain smile.

“Yes, I mean, dad is away and I could use the company,” you continued, holding his gaze steady, nerves fluttering in your stomach like butterflies. Cillian studied you for a moment, the streetlight casting shadows across his handsome features. His expression shifted, the weight of your invitation hanging heavily in the air.

“Just one drink,” he finally replied with a measured tone that carried some hesitance in his words, but the glint in his eyes suggested curiosity, a flicker of intrigue behind the caution.

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