#gonna get back to watching it soon will update later

[swe3theart-succubus]

community service- rafe cameron smau

PT. 11

you’d been awake since before sunrise.

the tents were up, the tables were half-decorated, and you had exactly four paper cuts, two red bulls, and one joint tucked into your purse that would be your salvation later.

but the worst part?

not the heat. not the missing extension cords. not even the delivery truck that backed into the rec center sign and kept driving.

no.

it was your friends.

trailing behind you like gossip-starved ducklings as you tried to run an actual event.

“—just one night,” kiara was saying, hot on your heels as you hauled a crate of canned sodas toward the check-in tent. “that’s all I’m asking. one night of details. were there abs involved?”

“jesus, kie—” you muttered, yanking the folding table into place. “some of us are trying to raise money for at-risk youth, not recap porn.”

“you can do both,” she insisted, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “multitask.”

"so can you." you responded mock-sweetly, passing her a stack of chairs to unfold and place.

she groaned and whinged, but you spun her by the shoulders and sent her off like a troublesome toddler.

and as soon as she's gone, another takes her place.

this time it's john b who saunters over with jj, both of them had spent the entire day so far making every task a two-man job.

clearly, this was no different.

you watch with narrowed eyes as they approach, john b elbowing jj slightly and both of them snickering.

you choose peace. you choose professionalism. you choose-

"so, was it big?"

your hand thudded against john b’s chest with impressive force.

“ow!” he yelped, rubbing his chest with the most smug, shit-eating grin. “rude!”

“this is why i don't tell you shit,” you hissed at jj who'd taken it upon himself to update the group chat when you gave him the literal bare minimum rundown of what had happened last night.

you exhaled slowly through your nose before gesturing toward the unopened cases of water bottles beside them. “contribute or get out of the way.”

jj didn’t even blink. “you’re avoiding the question.”

“i’m avoiding a murder charge.”

“so that’s a yes.”

“oh my god.”

“don’t worry,” john b added, casually grabbing a water bottle like he wasn't tap dancing on your nerves. “we’ll keep it PG when rafe gets here.”

"jesus christ," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "don't remind me that you idiots are all gonna be within 300 feet of each other."

jj leaned in, grinning like a devil on vacation. “seriously, we’ll behave.”

you gave him a look, and he felt the need to clarify.

“no fistfights before eight.”

you dropped your head into your hands.

“swear,” john b chimed, hand over his heart like he was taking an oath. “unless he swings first. then all bets are off.”

"no," pope cut in, ipad in hand, head of accounting mode turned all the way on. "no fights. we have funders coming tonight. like, real ones. with checks.”

jj shrugged. “he’s the only one with a history of felonies.”

“you have two misdemeanors,” pope deadpanned without looking up.

“not the same,” jj replied breezily.

“you spray-painted ‘eat the rich’ on the mayor’s car.”

“exactly. political activism. not a crime—”

“a crime,” pope interrupted, finally looking up. “an actual, documented, you had to pay a fine crime.”

you cleared your throat loudly before the bickering escalated. again.

“focus,” you said, waving them forward. “we’ve got tents to finish, a volunteer station to set up, and someone needs to run and pick up the silent auction baskets from the bakery.”

“on it,” pope said, already walking.

jj stayed put. “i’m not allowed in that bakery anymore.”

“i wonder why.”

“don’t be snide.”

and god was on jj's side, apparently—because that’s when you heard it.

the low purr of a very expensive engine.

you turned just in time to see rafe’s truck pulling in like it owned the damn place. windows down. music low. sunglasses on. one arm slung over the wheel. so casual, like he hadn’t spent the night before making you gasp into his mouth.

he parked like it was a performance. tires crunching. door swinging open slow. he stepped out in a perfectly wrinkled white tee and jeans, hair pushed back, looking like a walking bad decision.

jj grinned.

john b whistled low. “and the man of the hour arrives.”

you didn’t look. not yet. you took a deep breath and steadied your clipboard like it was a weapon.

“nobody say anything weird,” you warned.

jj pursed his lips, raised an eyebrow. “define weird.”

“i swear to god—”

“relax,” he drawled, hands up. “i’m just gonna say hi.”

rafe smirked the second he saw you.

“got your text,” he said, nodding toward the box beside your feet. “brought the spare extension cords and your stress coffee.”

you hated the way your heart fluttered at the small smile on his face. you hated the way jj leaned over and whispered “he’s whipped."

but you especially hated the way rafe’s eyes flicked to your mouth and lingered.

“thanks,” you said stiffly, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“you’re welcome,” he replied easily. then added, just loud enough for the group to hear: “you’re really bossy when you’re in charge. it’s kinda hot.”

john b whooped. jj howled.

you didn’t say anything. just handed rafe the clipboard.

“congrats,” you said. “you’re in charge of parking.”

he blinked. “i don’t know how to do that.”

“guess you better learn,” you muttered, already walking away.

jj watched you go. “...you’re so mean to your little boyfriend.”

“not my boyfriend!” you called back, because you had to.

because if you didn’t—

you’d start smiling.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

you got into director mode like it was a second skin.

smile just professional enough to hide the exhaustion under your concealer. you and pope moved like a two-person pit crew—charming the early donors with practiced ease.

"we’re so glad you could make it," you said sweetly, accepting another check with both hands like it was sacred. “your donation will go directly toward our after-school programs.”

“yes,” pope added, tone reverent. “you’re literally saving lives.”

“like, actually,” you nodded, solemn.

the woman beamed like she’d just won a humanitarian award. her check had hearts in the memo line.

somewhere behind you, jj and john b were covered in glitter. they'd begged to be put in charge of the glitter tattoo tent. naturally, of course.

“hold still,” john b was muttering to a five-year-old who’d requested a velociraptor with a crown. he had four colors of glitter on his face and a glue stick in his mouth.

in between 'clients', they took hits off jj's stupid fucking mango-flavored pen. you'd tried confiscating it, but they just tossed it back and forth over your head until you gave up and called pope for backup.

pope had also taken a hit.

kiara had not given up.

every time you passed by the volunteer tent, she popped up with a new question.

“okay but like—on a scale from 1-10?”

“do you think he’s gonna ask you out? like real-out?”

“how many inches—”

you pointed a check at her. “i will actually hurt you.”

she grinned and handed out another juice box.

and rafe?

bless his heart.

he was out by the parking entrance, directing traffic like he was being punished by god. sunglasses on, safety vest reluctantly worn, waving cars into rows with the strained patience of someone actively trying not to commit a misdemeanor.

some old man yelled at him about signage.

some kook mom tried to flirt her way into VIP parking. (which didn’t even exist, by the way.)

one dude blasted his horn for a solid thirty seconds and rafe just…stood there. blinking. reevaluating every life choice he’d ever made.

you watched from a distance.

he caught you watching.

and even from across the lot, you could see the slow lift of one brow. the curl of a smirk.

you slipped away the second pope turned to answer a question from the local paper.

technically, you were supposed to be standing beside him, nodding thoughtfully for photos and emphasizing how this fundraiser is about the kids—but god, your feet hurt. your head was pounding. and you knew pope could handle one journalist without you.

so you vanished.

you grabbed a water bottle from the cooler, cracked the cap, and headed toward the parking lot.

rafe was still out there, baking in the sun, the safety vest clashing violently with the rest of his outfit. you spotted him from behind: one hand on his hip, the other raised in a tight-lipped wave as he guided an Escalade into place with all the enthusiasm of a DMV employee on his last nerve.

“hydration,” you announced, holding out the bottle like a peace offering.

he turned, took the bottle with a faint, wry smile and downed half of it in one go.

“you’re a goddamn hero,” he muttered, voice scratchy. “i almost punched a minivan.”

“i saw,” you said, leaning against the supply table. “you exercised impressive restraint.”

“i was one honk away from a felony.”

“growth.”

he huffed a laugh.

you watched as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then looked over at you.

“thought you were gonna leave me out here to die.”

“i considered it,” you said sweetly. “but then i remembered how cute you looked in a vest.”

you watched his throat move as he drank again, adams apple bobbing, jaw tense. you had to physically remind yourself not to stare.

too long.

too hard.

too obvious.

he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and tilted his head. “you ditch pope?”

“i’m a terrible person,” you confirmed. “i’ll repent later.”

“mm.” he leaned one shoulder against the pole marking the entrance lane. “you’re good at this.”

“at being terrible?”

“at making this shit look easy.”

you shrugged, suddenly bashful. “it’s not. but—thanks.”

he was quiet for a second. like he was debating saying something. everything. then he looked at you again—really looked at you—and said, “you know you’re kind of incredible, right?”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t flirt with me in a safety vest. it’s undignified.”

he grinned, sharp and slow. “if this is me not being dignified, you should see how bad it gets when i try.”

the breeze kicked up dust. somewhere, a glitter cannon went off. you didn’t look.

“you good?” you asked, quieter now. “some guy honked for like…a solid minute.”

“yeah.” he shrugged. “had a full existential crisis. i’m better now.”

you cracked a smile. “must be the vest.”

he leaned in a little, voice low. “or the company.”

you glanced around. no one was close.

so you stepped closer, stood on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

he didn’t hesitate.

his arms slid around your waist instantly, like they’d just been waiting. like they knew where they belonged.

you exhaled against his shoulder. let yourself breathe. let yourself melt into him, just for a second. just long enough to stop thinking.

he held you tighter.

not crushing, not caging. just close. solid. like he was anchoring you to the earth while everything else spun out.

“you can stay for a sec,” he murmured. “i won’t tell pope.”

you smiled into his shirt. “you better not.”

his hand skimmed your back, slow and steady. “you smell like glue sticks and orange slices.”

“glamorous, i know.”

“irresistible.”

you pulled back just enough to see his face—and yeah, that grin was still there. cocky. warm. annoying. yours.

you couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward and pressing your lips to his softly.

and he didn’t rush it.

he kissed you back slow, like he was scared to break it. like he knew this wasn’t the moment for hunger or heat or anything loud. just this. just you. just now.

your fingers curled lightly into the collar of his t-shirt. his thumb dragged along the curve of your hip.

it was soft. almost shy.

but still, something about it left you dizzy.

when you finally pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded. his lips parted like he had something to say, but couldn’t remember how to say it.

and then pope's voice cut straight through the moment.

“hey! hey! she abandoned me!”

you groaned.

“duty calls,” you said with a sigh.

you glanced at his vest, smirk tugging at your mouth. “jeez, this is hideous.”

he scoffed. “you literally just kissed me.”

“pity kiss,” you said over your shoulder, already walking. “for the guy stuck directing traffic.”

“you wound me.”

“you’ll live.”

you didn’t look back.

but you could feel the grin on his face like sunshine on your spine.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

traffic had finally thinned out.

the lot was mostly full, and for the first time all day, rafe wasn’t directing an endless stream of impatient SUVs. he tossed the hideous safety vest into the supply bin like it was poisonous and rolled his shoulders with a relieved sigh.

finally.

he scanned the field—vendors packing up, the bounce house half-deflated, jj and john b asleep under the glitter booth table like war veterans. kie had taken over the booth, and he could hear her debating a kid on why turtles were the coolest. the sun had softened, casting everything in gold.

and there you were.

still working. still glowing.

you were by the silent auction table now, clipboard in hand, tapping names into the spreadsheet while smiling for a donor couple. nodding politely, holding small talk like it didn’t exhaust you. your braid was falling loose, your lipstick mostly worn off, and you looked so unfairly pretty he forgot how tired he was.

rafe headed toward you without thinking.

you looked up as he approached.

“you live,” you teased.

“barely.”

“you smell like exhaust fumes.”

“yeah, well, you kissed me anyway.”

you bit back a smile. “that was a low point.”

he stepped beside you at the table, close enough to bump shoulders. “so this is the fancy part?”

“mm. silent auction. for all the rich people who pretend it’s not about winning.”

he looked down at the list, eyes scanning the bid sheets. “someone paid two hundred bucks for a gift card to the fish shack?”

“for the kids,” you said sweetly.

“...and bragging rights?”

“obviously.”

“disgusting.”

you nudged him with your hip. “do not sabotage my auction.”

he raised both hands. “i’m being supportive.”

you arched a brow.

“in fact,” he added, leaning over to scribble something down, “i just placed a bid.”

you leaned in to see—and snorted.

“‘one hour of free tutoring with the director’? that’s literally me.”

he shrugged. “i heard she’s hot.”

you rolled your eyes and turned back to the clipboard, fighting the grin that tugged at your mouth.

he lingered, hands in his pockets, watching as you refocused. watched how easily you slipped back into work mode. the way your brows pinched slightly, the way your lips pressed together as you calculated totals.

he didn’t interrupt.

he just stood beside you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and when you glanced over again, he was already looking.

“what?” you asked, suspicious.

he shrugged.

“stop staring.”

“can’t.”

you rolled your eyes again, but this time you didn’t bother hiding your smile.

and for a moment—just a moment—it was quiet. warm. like the chaos had paused just for you.

“yo,” pope called, jogging up with his tablet under one arm and a soda in the other. “vendors are packing up. cleanup’s already started. i told the crew they could leave once the trash bags are full.”

you nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “amazing. thank you.”

he held up the soda. “also, i’m ninety percent sure this is flat, but i got it for you anyway. you looked like you were two seconds from faceplanting.”

you took it gratefully. “i am two seconds from faceplanting.”

a low, amused sound rumbled from rafe's throat. “that’s my cue to carry you to a chair.”

and before you could argue, he bent down and swept you off your feet like it was nothing.

“rafe!” you squealed, flailing just enough to spill soda on his shirt. “put me down!”

“nope,” he said cheerfully, already following after pope. “you’ve suffered enough. allow yourself to be babied.”

“this is embarrassing,” you hissed.

he grinned, unfazed. “you kissed me in a vest. we’ve crossed the line.”

you were still arguing when you reached the bonfire pit. a ring of folding chairs had been dragged into a loose circle, half of them occupied by glitter-smeared volunteers and exhausted pogues. there were graham crackers and chocolate bars already laid out on a table, and kie had somehow acquired skewers for marshmallows. music played from someone’s phone speaker.

the rec center field had turned golden-orange. smoky air, laughter echoing low, stars just barely beginning to show.

rafe set you down gently in one of the chairs, then sat beside you with his legs stretched out, one arm slung across the back of your seat like it had always belonged there.

“see?” he said, watching you with smug satisfaction. “you’re not working anymore. the world didn’t end.”

“give it time,” you muttered, but your smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

he tapped your knee. “you wanna roast something or just sit here looking beautiful and threatening?”

“tempting,” you said, leaning your head against the back of the chair. “but if i stand up again, my legs might fall off.”

“damn,” he said, digging around the snack table until he found a skewer and a marshmallow. “guess i’ll do the hard labor.”

you didn’t look up until he offered it to you—perfectly golden, crisp edges, soft middle.

you grinned. “look at you, being all domestic.”

“yeah, yeah, take it before i change my mind.”

you took the marshmallow, blew on it gently, and popped it into your mouth with a pleased hum.

rafe watched you like he hadn’t just spent the entire day inhaling sun and fumes. like this—this—was his reward.

“you’re staring again,” you said, around the marshmallow.

“yep,” he said unapologetically, grabbing another to roast.

you nudged his leg with your foot under the chair. “weirdo.”

he smirked. “takes one to know one.”

a few seats down, jj and john b had returned to consciousness—jj was poking the fire dramatically with a stick while john b leaned into the glow like he was at therapy. kie had found a bag of sparklers and was now chasing after pope with two lit ones.

you glanced over at rafe as he handed you another marshmallow.

“you’re not bad at this,” you said quietly.

“what? roasting?”

“this. all of it. being here.”

he looked over at you, something softer in his eyes now. less smug, more surprised. “yeah?”

you nodded, nudging his arm gently. “you’re not just a pretty face, cameron.”

“you think i’m pretty?” he teased.

“don’t make it weird.”

he laughed. then leaned in, just a little. “you’re the one who kissed me, remember?”

you tried to smother your grin with another marshmallow.

he bumped your shoulder with his. “thanks for not making me feel like a complete idiot today.”

you turned to look at him. “you never were an idiot. just…needed a little direction.”

“and you’re the bossiest person i’ve ever met.”

“you like that.”

he didn’t deny it.

instead, he grabbed one of the sparklers from the snack table and lit it with an unnecessary flourish. then handed it to you with a small bow.

you accepted it, watching the sparks fly, golden light painting lines across both your faces.

“make a wish,” he said, too casually.

you squinted at him. “wrong thing, genius. that’s birthday candles.”

he shrugged. “just do it.”

you twirled the sparkler slowly, watching it crackle, then looked back at him.

“what would you wish for?” you asked.

he tilted his head. studied you.

and then—softly, without even blinking—he said, “this. more of this.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*

you hadn’t noticed the second wave arrive.

too busy trying to finish your marshmallow without burning your tongue. too busy letting yourself melt into the moment—this warmth, this him.

but you definitely noticed when the volume shifted.

jj was the first giveaway. he stood suddenly, waving like a man on a lifeboat. “my people have ARRIVED!”

a handful of familiar faces came spilling down the hill from the parking lot—friends of friends, volunteers who hadn’t been able to make it earlier.

all armed with beer and bottles of clear liquid.

you groaned loudly.

"john jackson maybank, tell me you did not."

he spun toward you like a kid caught red-handed. “what? i invited them! it’s called community outreach.”

“it’s called open container violations,” pope muttered, already rubbing his temples.

jj pointed at him with his beer. “and you’re called a buzzkill.”

you stood, hands on your hips, watching as more people trickled in—music louder, laughter sharper. someone had set up a speaker, and a remix of something vaguely club-adjacent was already thumping across the field.

“jj,” you said, deadly calm. “this is a rec center event. not your personal afterparty.”

“the event is over,” he argued. “this is the after party.”

you pinched the bridge of your nose. “we aren't having an afterparty.”

“well we are now,” he said brightly, raising his bottle like a toast.

“he’s gonna get us shut down,” pope grumbled.

“i’m gonna get us funding,” jj retorted. “couple of these guys have dads who play golf with people who write checks.”

“you’re bribing them with jungle juice.”

“it’s networking!”

you sighed so deeply it felt like a core workout.

music bumped louder. someone passed around sparklers again. the vibe had officially shifted—from sweet, soft chaos to something more alive. bigger. messier. fun, if you weren’t the one responsible for the property insurance.

jj dug into his pocket and fished out a slightly crumpled joint, lighting it despite your half hearted attempts to smack it out of his hand.

once lit, he started waving it around your face, like he was trying to lure an animal.

“c’mon,” he coaxed, grin lazy, voice syrupy. “just one hit. for morale.”

you swatted at the smoke like it offended you personally. “jj, i’m the director.”

“direct this into your lungs,” he said, waving it closer.

“oh my god—”

“live a little,” he said, like he wasn’t currently hotboxing the memory of your credibility. “we raised money. you suffered. you earned it.”

you turned to pope for backup.

“don’t look at me,” pope said, already retreating with his soda. “if you give in, i’m not taking the fall.”

“coward.”

“realist.”

jj was still holding it out, wiggling his brows. “peer pressure works better when you stop pretending you’re not so close to cracking.”

you opened your mouth—probably to say something mature, responsible, directorly—

and rafe plucked the joint right out of jj’s hand.

“she’s good,” he said, casually taking a hit like he’d been waiting for an excuse all day.

jj gawked. “bro. that was for her.”

“then maybe she should’ve moved faster,” rafe said, exhaling slow, cocky. smug.

you stared. “i cannot believe you just—”

“what?” he said, holding it toward you now. “you are the boss. gotta keep morale up, right?”

you stared at him. at the smirk. the raised brow. the faint glow of smoke curling from his mouth.

and maybe it was the glitter still stuck to your arms. maybe it was the stress. maybe it was the fact that yeah, you’d earned it.

you took it.

jj pumped his arm victoriously. pope sighed.

and rafe?

he just smiled, slow and quiet.

“attagirl,” he murmured.

and you didn’t even try to stop yourself from smiling back.

you let john b toss you a beer.

let jj challenge you to a shotgun.

let kie start drawing constellations on your arm with glitter glue like it was henna.

you even let rafe pull you into a sway when someone switched the speaker to something slow and vintage and probably sampled off a cassette tape.

the fire snapped behind you. laughter echoed sharp. jj had started teaching two volunteers how to do a backflip with zero qualifications and even less balance.

pope was arguing with someone about tax codes.

and for once—you weren’t worrying.

not about the funds. not about the noise. not about your clipboard.

just here. just him.

“you’re loosening up,” he said, cocking his head at you.

“shut up.”

“you gonna shotgun a second beer?”

“i won that shotgun.”

“barely.”

“jealous?”

“only of the beer.”

then he silenced your giggle by pressing his mouth to yours. and it was right when you were wondering if defiling the art room would be worth it when it happened.

when the voice rang out.

loud and obnoxious.

“damn cameron, you didn’t tell me community service looked like this!”

you barely had time to pull away from his mouth when topper walked over, clapping rafe on the shoulder.

“seriously,” he laughed, already holding a red cup and reeking of tequila. “if i knew charity came with makeout perks, i would’ve racked up a few felonies myself.”

rafe shrugged him off with a laugh before pulling him into one of those one-handed shoulder-pat bro hugs. kelce followed. then a couple of other kooks with gelled hair and pastel colored shorts.

jj was already halfway to them.

you caught the flash of his jaw tightening, the sharp pivot of his boots in the dirt.

john b didn’t even try to stop him—just sucked in a breath and followed, ready to back him up.

“yo,” jj said, pointing his beer like a dagger. “party’s over, prep school. get your salmon shorts and your slicked hair the hell outta here.”

topper smirked. “nice to see you too, maybank.”

“i’m not kidding,” jj snapped, stepping closer. “this is our thing.”

“technically,” kelce chimed in, “it’s a fundraiser. for the community. which we are part of, thanks.”

“you’re not part of shit,” jj spat.

topper smirked, like he was itching for this. “aw, c’mon. we just came to donate. you know”—he held up a very expensive bottle of tequila like a white flag—“for the kids.”

jj’s mouth opened. then closed.

his eyes flicked to the bottle.

then to john b, who shrugged.

then back to the bottle.

“…is that clase azul?” he asked suspiciously.

topper wiggled the bottle. “straight from my dad’s bar cart.”

jj held out a hand like he was making a deal with the devil. “gimme.”

topper handed it over with a smug little bow.

jj sniffed it. nodded. “alright,” he said gruffly. “you can stay.”

“you’re a sellout,” pope hissed as jj started pouring shots like he was running bottle service at a club in tulum.

jj shrugged. “hey, he stays outta our way, and he brings good shit. win-win. you want a taste or not?”

“…yes,” pope muttered, grabbing a solo cup.

you didn’t join the shots.

not yet.

you stayed by the fire, your legs curled under you in the camp chair while you let your beer go warm in your hand.

from this angle, you had a perfect view of the group—

jj holding court and pouring tequila like holy water.

john b and pope free styling to no beat.

and rafe, just barely on the edge of it all.

he was talking to one of the guys—some kook you vaguely recognized from a gala last spring. tall. vineyard vines energy. he was holding a red cup like it might bite him. but rafe looked relaxed.

his arms were crossed, shoulders loose, mouth tilted into a crooked half-smile. every so often, he nodded or tilted his head or cracked a joke that made the group cackle.

and for a second, it hit you.

this version of him—sun-tired, tequila-glazed, half in the world you came from and half in the one he’s always known—was dangerously charming.

because he was good at this.

because the line between too smooth and just sweet enough blurred fast when he looked at you the way he did earlier. when he kissed you like the only thing that mattered. when he wore that stupid vest like penance and followed orders like yours were gospel.

and maybe it wasn’t fair.

to want him like this.

to let yourself imagine more.

but god, he made it so easy.

especially when he laughed like that—shoulders shaking, head tipped back, teeth bared like he forgot how to be guarded. like he forgot there was a version of himself that had ever made you flinch.

like he belonged here.

and then he looked at you.

not glanced. looked.

eyes dragging slow from your crossed legs to your face. like he was already halfway walking toward you in his head.

you felt it in your throat. in your stomach. in the heat that rushed up your neck before you could swallow it down.

and maybe it was the beer.

or the marshmallow high. or the glitter constellation on your arm. or the fact that his mouth was still pink from kissing you.

but you wanted him close again.

so when he finally peeled away from the group, cup still in hand, sauntering toward you with the loose-limbed confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing—

you didn’t pretend you weren’t waiting.

“this seat taken?” he asked, motioning to the folding chair beside yours.

he didn’t wait for an answer. he grinned and dropped into the seat—close enough for his thigh to brush yours. close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

you could smell him now. sunscreen and sweat and woodsmoke and a hint of that cologne you pretended not to recognize.

“you’re staring,” you said, not looking at him.

“you’re pretty,” he replied, not missing a beat.

you tilted your head. “you’re drunk.”

he sipped his drink, eyes on your mouth. “you’re still pretty.”

and this time—you didn’t fight the smile.

you just leaned back, let your leg rest against his, let the stars spin above you while the fire cracked and the party swelled and the night felt like something you could hold.

and when he reached over and traced a finger through the glitter on your arm, smudging it into stardust, you let him.

you remembered the joint right as you were sinking deeper into the chair—half-lidded, drunk on heat and him and beer foam.

you sat up a little straighter. “shit—I left something in my bag.”

he shifted, placing his arms on his legs, about to stand. “want me to—?”

“no,” you said quickly, rising before he could. “just… wait here.”

he gave you a look. amused. suspicious. like he knew.

and he did know—if he followed you? if the two of you got even a second alone?

you weren’t coming back to the fire.

not tonight.

"stay," you murmured, glancing at the center before turning back to him. "i'll be right back. promise."

he sighed and sunk back down into his chair. then saluted you with his solo cup. “alright, yes ma'am."

you grinned and started walking backwards, not turning around until the sand under your feet turned into grass.

you found your bag tucked behind the snack table, dug through the side pouch until your fingers brushed the little case.

you lit the joint at the edge of the field and took one long, blessed drag.

exhaled slow.

it was quiet here.

cooler.

and for a second, you let yourself just…float. not think. not worry. not feel every cell in your body reaching for the boy with the ocean eyes and kiss-dumb mouth who had no idea how much power he held in your chest.

you headed back before the quiet turned into questions.

he wasn't where you left him.

he was standing now. back to you. surrounded by his kook boys.

you took another deep drag before heading towards him, ready to interrupt whatever groundbreaking thing they were laughing about.

they were definitely drunk. their slurred voices were carrying through the air, and you caught the tail end of their rambling.

topper snorted. “he’s tryna get off early. gotta finesse the director.”

someone whistled.

“you at least hitting it?”

“shit,” rafe chuckled, “gotta get some kind of credit.”

you stopped in your tracks.

because they laughed.

he laughed.

you stood there, joint flickering low between your fingers.

he didn’t see you. didn’t know you were close enough to hear.

you watched as he tipped back his drink, laughed like it didn’t mean anything.

and maybe it didn’t.

maybe you were being dramatic. maybe he was just playing along. maybe that’s how they talked. maybe it was easier. maybe you were just tired. high. stupid.

but still.

it stung.

because he sounded like he was proud of it. like he’d won something.

like it was a favor.

you took one last drag.

and then turned on your heels.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

note: yea 🤍

[animationismycomfort]

watching thirteen ghosts with my parents and wtf

[kisapmta]

amateur | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: back in LA, nick and chris, your long distance boyfriend, stumble upon a silly little vlog you left them from boston.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: just some cutesy fluff

notes: ahh hi everyone this is my first ever fic! i’m kinda nervous but also really excited, pls let me know what u think <3

word count: 800

—

It’s late Thursday night, and Nick is buried in editing their upcoming Friday vlog. This week’s video compiles the boys’ most recent trip back home to Boston. While scrubbing through the raw footage, he stumbles upon an unexpected clip—one clearly not meant for the final cut.

The video begins with you holding the camera, your voice uncertain as you fiddle with the buttons. “Uh… I don’t even know if this is recording properly,” you say, the shot capturing nothing but your slightly out-of-focus bedroom. The camera wobbles a little before the clip abruptly ends. Nick smiles, calling over his brother. “Chris, come look at this.”

Chris gets up from his seat at the dining table, curiosity pulling him towards his brother in the living room. He settles beside Nick on the couch before the next clip plays. This time, your face appears on the screen as you hold the camera an arms length away. “Good morning guys—Oh my god this quality is insane I can see every single one of my pores,” you mutter, leaning in closer to examine your skin on the tiny viewfinder. After a second, you abruptly flash a peace sign and pucker your lips, before laughing at yourself. “Ew, Nick please leave this out.”

Chris can’t help but smile, his chest tightening with an overwhelming fondness at the sight of you. The soft Boston sunrise filters through the open blinds, washing your room in a warm, golden light. Sunbeams stream gently from behind you, casting a soft halo around your face. You’ve clearly just woken up—your voice is still heavy with sleep, your hair tousled, and your eyes half-closed. But even through the screen, despite it all, you have Chris completely captivated.

The video continues into your makeshift vlog, where you update the camera on your plans for the day—attending a 10am lecture followed by a three-hour lab that starts at 1pm. Halfway through, you get sidetracked by a story from last week’s lab, laughing as you recount how your friend accidentally burnt her eyelash extensions from holding the Bunsen burner too close to her face.

Chris already heard this story the day it initially happened, but he could listen to you tell it a hundred times again. Watching the way your eyes literally smile before the rest of your face follows, and hearing the sweetest sound of your laughter—he could never get tired of it.

The clip stretches on for nearly six minutes as you get distracted by all the little things you suddenly remember you want to share. Finally, you circle back to the reason you’re filming in the first place—explaining how you found the camera in your purse while searching for your wallet to put in your backpack.

“Chris, you must have forgotten it in my purse when you dropped me off yesterday, but I’ll just give it to you guys when I see you later. But yeah… how was your guys’ day?” you ask, fully leaning into the content creator persona. It takes a second of realization before you cringe, your nose scrunching with visible embarrassment as you cover your eyes with your free hand. “I’m literally talking to this camera like it’s gonna answer me. This is so weird, I don’t know how you guys do this.”

Chris lets out a soft laugh, finding your awkward struggle for something that’s second nature to him so endearing.

You sigh softly and glance off-screen. “God I really hope that all recor—oh shit, ‘battery low, please connect to power’,” you read off the viewfinder. “Oh I think it’s gonna die soon. Okay, bye guys! Chris, bye baby! Love you, please text me if you saw this!”

You obnoxiously pucker your lips, leaning in to kiss the lens with a dramatic smooching sound, but just before it lands, the camera cuts off as the battery gives out. Chris stares at the screen, his heart swelling so big in his chest it feels like it would explode.

Nick nudges him, giggling. “Dude, she’s so bad at this.”

“Shut up,” Chris says, biting back a smile. “Send me those.”

Nick glances at his brother as he airdrops him the clips and teases. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face, you look like an idiot.”

But Chris doesn’t hear him. Instead he immediately screenshots the last frame—a blurry but perfect shot of your goofy kiss. Without hesitation, he sets the photo as his new wallpaper, then finds your contact.

Baby: You should start a channel baby

Baby: Gotta teach you more about the camera though haha this vid was a little ridiculous

He sends the screenshot he took.

Baby: This was cute though

Baby: You’re beautiful

Baby: Love you❤️

Baby: Miss you

He sends the last message, knowing you’re back in Boston and likely asleep by now. Still, he can’t help but smile at his phone, already counting down the days until he can see you again. 

—

a/n: hi guyss :) this was just something quick i thought of, inspired by a clip from the boys’ vlog i came across the other day where madi was randomly filming their dining table or something lol. pls let me know what u think ahhh this was so fun!!!

[shigarosie]

PLEASE MAKE A PT 2 TO THE FRANK DRABBLE WHERE FRANK AND THE READER END UP TG 😭😭🙏 IM CRYING I FEEL SO BAD FOR FRANK 😫

It's barely an hour later when you arrive back home, shutting the door a little too loudly and huffing a frustrated sigh that Frank can hear from your living room. He's lounging on your couch when you walk in, eyeing the television to see what he's watching.

"I hate baseball." You roughly drop your handbag down onto the armchair. "It's a stupid game."

Frank eyes you cautiously and, for the sake of your sour mood and his chances at living, he shuts the TV off. "Didn't go well, I take it?"

"He spent the whole time we were there with his eyes glued to his phone, checking the game updates on Twitter. I don't think he looked at me once after he showed up- late, might I add," you rant, pacing back and forth before you get fed up with the sound of your heals and kick them off. "And then- then! He tried to order for me. A steak for him, and a salad for me. Can you fucking believe that?"

"Do you want me to kill him?"

You stop and look at Frank, sitting forward on your couch, giving you his undecided attention. You know he means it.

"No," you sigh. Then you think for a moment. "But if you could find a way to greatly inconvenience him, that'd be great."

"His tires will be deflated first thing Monday morning," he tells you.

When you smile and move to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, he stiffens a little. He hadn't planned on being here when you got back, didn't expect your date to end so soon. You don't notice it at first, but after removing the cork from the bottle and turning to ask if he wants a glass, you see it.

"What's this?"

Frank's eyes do this thing- it's rare, but every so often he gets nervous and his eyes go from their default angry squint to these big, wide deer-in-headlights saucers.

"Flowers," he says. His gruff voice sounds different when he's quiet. No, not just quiet- when he's soft. It sounds raw and vulnerable. It tickles your ears and makes your heart flutter.

"I see that," you say slowly, examining the bouquet in the old vase you hadn't used in ages. A mix of pinks and whites and purples and oranges. "What's it doing here?"

Frank takes a deep breath. "Got 'em for you."

You smile; real, genuine, sweet. Like every ounce of anger and disappointment and insult from your failed date didn't exist anymore. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. Just... Thought you deserved flowers," he says, twiddling with his thumbs. For a moment you think you're looking at a much younger Frank, the one you know once sat under a tree and felt embarrassed to be told by a beautiful girl that he was butchering the song he was practicing. "Was gonna give them to you earlier but you were, uh, you were in a rush."

"That's sweet Frank," you say softly. "Thank you."

"I'd line up."

Your eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"What you said earlier, about not having any men lined up outside your door," he clarifies. "I'd line up."

"Frank-"

"And I'd scare off anyone who tried to get in line behind me."

You laugh, picturing it perfectly in your mind. "You don't have to say that just because I had a bad date."

"Maybe I wouldn't say it if the date went well," he says, his eye contact intense and unbreaking, "y'know, out of respect. But it would still be true."

You swallow. "You wouldn't have to line up outside my door. I would let you in."

Frank stands from the couch, slowly making his way to you. He takes the wine bottle from your hand and sets it aside, his other hand finding your waist in a featherlight touch you could hardly feel.

"Let me take you out tomorrow. Show you a real date- treat you like the lady you are."

You wrap your arms around his neck, and obediently, his forehead drops down to rest against yours.

"And tonight?" You risk asking. "How will you treat me tonight?"

His hold on your waist becomes firm, but not rough. "Any way you ask me to."

[viennakarma]

Funny Little Girl

Lewis Hamilton x Reader (+ daughter)

Summary: When Lewis' little girl gets sick while he's away, he starts contemplating.

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: female!reader, husband!Lewis, Dad!Lewis, fluff, little bit hurt/comfort, daughter is sick, Lewis is worried, hospital, not beta read

Relationship: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Note: I wrote this in a spur of the moment at 2 am last night, no beta we die like men. It was genuinely supposed to be a blurb but my brain took over and ran with it. (Once again in my girl dad!Lewis agenda)

Feedback and comments are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter! | BUY ME A COFFEE ☕️

Lewis was restless.

He hadn’t spoken to you since the morning, and usually, by this time you would’ve already texted him a good morning message or even a silly lazy picture.

He knew, obviously with him being away on a race weekend, it was natural that the time difference stood between you, but this time he wasn’t too far from home, just a few hours ahead, so he found it strange that you hadn’t texted him yet. He left a couple messages for you again, but they were only delivered. He tried to call once but it rang and you never picked up.

Then an hour or so later, when he was in the middle of a meeting, he got a call from you, a FaceTime call. Worried, he immediately interrupted the meeting, asking for a ten minute break and scurried off to his room.

He picked up as soon as he closed the door behind himself. On the screen, he could see you, still in your sleeping clothes, and Ivy was on your lap. Lewis stared at his daughter and from one single look he could tell she was not looking well.

“Hi, love. Sorry I didn’t answer your texts earlier…” You said first thing.

“What happened?” Lewis frowned.

“Ivy woke up a little under the weather today. She’s a little feverish.”

He looked at his daughter on the screen again, she wasn’t paying attention to him, her eyes red rimmed like she had been crying, in her hands, tightly held was Brendon the Kraken, her favorite plush toy, and her blankie. She had a beanie on and a pacifier. She was looking at the TV, not minding him or her mom.

“How’s she doing? Are you thinking of taking her to the hospital?” He asked, his heart tightening in his chest.

“Not yet, I think the fever might go down soon. If it doesn’t then I’ll take her to see the doctor,” you explained, rubbing Ivy’s shoulder as she snuggled up to you and Lewis wished he was home with you and Ivy, taking care of his little girl who was just a little under three, “how is everything going? Ready for the race later?”

Lewis bit back a comment of how he just wanted to go home to his wife and to his baby girl. How he wanted to snuggle up with Ivy on the couch with lots of blankets to keep her warm while watching silly cartoons. But instead, he smiled a little and talked about the race for a minute. He knew that if you knew he was sad, you were gonna be sad too, so he just pretended everything was fine and his heart wasn’t broken for being away from his family.

Ivy was a toddler, and he was aware toddlers were a little under the weather all the time and it usually wasn’t that big of a deal. Hell, he had been home a couple of times when his daughter had a little cold before. But every time it happened when he was away, it ripped his heart apart just the same.

“Will you keep me updated on Ivy?” He asked, looking at your sweet face on the screen.

“Of course, and if I take too long to reply, don’t rip your hair off with worry, okay?” You said with a fond smile. You gently nudged Ivy, pulling her pacifier out, “look, baby, say hi to daddy…”

Ivy looked at the screen, and her little lips turned into a pout, her eyes watering.

“Daddy! Want daddy!” She said, starting to cry as she made grabby hands to the screen.

Lewis felt like his heart was being torn open with a jackhammer, the pleading look in Ivy’s eyes, wanting comfort from her daddy and him being a couple of countries away, unable to teleport to her side to hold her.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love, daddy is coming home soon, isn’t he?” You said, trying to comfort your daughter, but she kept crying, fat tears wetting her chubby cheeks.

“I’m going home soon, sweetheart, I promise. Daddy’s gonna be there soon,” he said through the screen, but Ivy only seemed to grow even more agitated, her cries louder. He knew the fact that she was sick was probably playing a part in making her big emotions come out. He tried more comforting words, but both Ivy was agitated and you were trying to comfort as best as you could.

Lewis watched the screen for a few more seconds, swallowing a painful lump in his throat, seeing his daughter’s urgency in having him closer, her big brown eyes wet with tears and the grabby hands towards him as if he could just go home through the screen and pick her up in his arms.

“Sorry, love,” you said, picking up Ivy and she cried against your shoulder, “I’ll hang up to calm her down, okay? I’ll keep you updated.”

“If anything, anything really happens you can call me anytime.” He said, hearing your little whimpering through the screen, “love you two.”

“We love you, Lewis,” you blew him a quick kiss and hung up.

Lewis stared at the black screen for a long time, not really looking, just remembering the look on his little girl’s face as she wanted him close. He swallowed a couple times more, and he decided to text his dad and stepmom to go check on you and Ivy if they had some free time back home.

He went back to his pre-race meeting with a pit in his stomach. He had to make an herculean effort to be present on the race weekend and not let his mind wander back to you and Ivy. He checked a few more texts, and you kept him updated every once in a while. First telling him you got Ivy to eat something, then you sent him a picture of Ivy taking a nap on your chest, and she looked a little better, but you told him she was still a little feverish, but luckily her temperature hadn’t gone up.

Before going to the race, he warned one of the team’s assistants to keep a close eye on his phone, knowing you’d still be sending him updates on your daughter.

He finished the race P4, which wasn’t a bad finishing position but as soon as he was out of the car, he was thinking of Ivy again. When he checked his phone, your last text had been before the race started, a quick selfie wishing him good luck, but after that, there was not a single text from you, and he started worrying all over again.

“If my wife calls or texts, I need you to interrupt anything I’m doing and get the phone to me, okay? No matter what,” he said to the assistant, handing his phone again before going out to the post race interviews.

He was only half-heartedly replying during the interviews, worried that the assistant had not gone to him not even one moment, which could only mean you had not called yet.

Once the interviews were done, he went back to the assistant to check on his phone and he saw three missed calls from you and two from his dad. His stomach instantly dropped.

“I said to get the phone to me if my wife called,” He looked at the assistant who looked like a deer in the headlights.

“I tried, Lewis! The PR lady didn’t even let me through the door. I told her it was your wife and an emergency, but…” The guy defended himself, pointing to the F1 PR coordinator, who looked at Lewis with wide eyes.

“You don’t ever do that again, understood? My family is my priority and you shouldn’t have interfered when he was under explicit orders to find me as soon as my wife called.” Lewis said, he was calm but his voice was firm and left no room for questioning. The woman only nodded, spurting some excuse and apology.

He barely waved her off before finding a secluded little room to check his phone. In the texts, you had warned him that Ivy got worse and you were taking her to the hospital. He immediately called your phone but it went straight to voicemail. He tried a couple more times before trying his dad, who luckily picked up.

“Dad? Where are they?” He said.

“I brought your girls to the hospital, they put Ivy in a room and the doctor is checking her up now. We’re in the waiting room now, so as soon as I have any news, I’ll let you know. Your wife’s phone died, so it’s probably best to talk to me.”

Lewis exhaled, still feeling nervous but a little more comforted that you weren’t alone with Ivy in a moment like this.

“Can you send me the address of the hospital? I’m going straight there. And please, keep me updated.”

After hanging up, Lewis immediately went to find the team to let them know his daughter was sick and he needed to get home as soon as possible, rescheduling the post-race debriefing. He didn’t even get back to the hotel, since he had his suitcase with him at the paddock, he just called his connections and got himself a helicopter back home.

He arrived at the hospital you and Ivy were in a couple of hours later, going straight inside and finding his dad in the waiting room, chatting with a nurse. He hugged his dad, who told him you were inside with Ivy, and the nurse took Lewis and Anthony there.

Lewis entered the room where you were, sitting before the hospital bed, and Ivy was lying on the bed, holding her plushie with one hand and holding her mom’s hand with the other. She looked the same as she had in the FaceTime call that morning. 

“Daddy!” Ivy squealed, and Lewis rushed inside, hugging her tightly, careful minding the IV drip in her arm. She smelled the same as always, baby shampoo and home. Lewis inhaled into her curly hair and kissed her cheek.

“Hi, baby… I’m sorry dad took too long to arrive. How is my baby girl doing?” He asked, gently putting her down on the bed, but she grasped his coat as if to stop him from leaving again. He leaned over the bed and pecked your cheek, “Hi, my love…”

You quickly explained to Lewis that that doctor had checked on Ivy and you were waiting for him to bring the results in. Lewis comforted Ivy for a moment, before walking around the bed to hug you. You looked tired, and he imagined you had spent the whole day dealing with a sick, fussy toddler.

“Have you eaten today?” He asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“In the morning,” You mutter, closing your eyes for a moment, enjoying the gentle caress of his knuckles on your cheeks.

“Wanna go home to rest and eat while I stay here with Ivy?” He offered, despite already knowing your reply.

“Of course not, I’m not leaving her side,” You said, rolling your eyes and he smiled.

“Dad, will you take my lovely wife to the cafeteria and make sure she eats something?” Lewis said to his dad, who was still chatting with Ivy. He immediately accepted, and Lewis removed his own coat, putting it around you, “We’ll wait here, okay?”

You nodded and left with Anthony just as Lewis turned to Ivy.

“Are you feeling cold, baby?” He asked the little girl, who looked fussy and sleepy, rubbing her eyes as she nodded.

Ivy made grabby hands, whispering for Daddy, and Lewis got into the hospital bed with her, pulling her to lay on his chest as he adjusted the blankets around her. Her skin was still warm to the touch, and he held her close, wrapping both arms around his little girl while she spoke about her day, whining about her day and about being sick. She was always extra clingy when he came back from his trips.

Lewis gently played with her curls while she spoke, muttering his uh-hu, and yeah, and his of course, baby, until she started slurring out the words and slowly falling asleep.

He smiled, despite the worry, he was glad to be there finally, to be with his wife and daughter.

When you came back to the room, Ivy was sleeping against Lewis’ chest just like she used to do as a newborn, Lewis gently rubbing her back and getting drool in his shirt. You handed him a coffee, and he drank without moving a muscle so as to not wake up your little girl.

The doctor came a few minutes later, checking on Ivy and making sure she was fine and the fever was subsiding, he said it was just a little cold and prescribed a couple of meds.

Lewis carried your little girl to the car seat, while you hugged Anthony goodbye and thanked him profusely for keeping you company when you were going to the hospital earlier. After that, you went home driving, Lewis in the passenger seat.

Arriving home, Lewis carried Ivy to her little bed, tucking her in and touching her forehead to make sure the fever was really gone. When he returned to the bedroom, you had taken a quick shower and was dressed in soft, comfortable pajamas.

“How are you, love?” He asked as you walked lazily up to him and he wrapped his arms around your mirror, pulling you into his chest.

“Just a little tired…” You mumbled, and he pecked your lips, walking you back towards the bed.

“Thank you for taking care of her today, love. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for most of it…” He whispered affectionately into your skin.

“It’s okay, you had work… I’m glad you came straight home to us.” You muttered as he placed you in bed, tucking you in.

“I love you,” He tugged your hand and kissed your knuckles.

He let you fall asleep while he took a quick shower too, changing into PJs before going to check on Ivy again. The doctor had assured that the medicine would take her out for the night, but she’d be totally better the following morning.

When he got in bed with you again, pulling you closer, his arm around your middle, his leg between yours and your face pressed into his chest, he finally breathed. He had been tense the whole day from being away from you and Ivy, worry gnawing at him, and guilt for being away in moments like these. Not only tough moments like this, but also the happy ones. He wondered what else he’d miss of Ivy growing up, and he had missed so much already.

That was the first time he truly contemplated retirement. 

[miniwheat77]

The One. (Creepy!Graves x Virgin!Reader.)

!DARK FIC, nsfw, smut, non con, dub con, proceed with caution. P in v sex, unprotected, virginity loss, scumbag!graves, oral sex m&f!receiving. NO MINORS!

“Yeah yeah, I got it.” You mumble into the phone. “She seriously can’t have any human food Y/N. I mean it.” She sighs. “I got it!” You laugh. “Look, me and Ruby are going to be just fine. I’ll feed her exactly how you wrote on the note, no more no less. She’ll get her meds. We’re gonna be alright.” You laugh. Looking down at the little crusty white dog you’ve agreed to dog sit. “Okay. Alright. I’m trusting you with this Y/N.” She groans into the phone. “When have I ever tested your trust?” You laugh. “You’re right. I know. I’m just stressed with this work trip, that’s all.” She sounds exhausted on the other end of the phone. "And outside of all of this that dog is all I've got. You know this." She huffs.

“Get some sleep alright? I’ll send you updates about Ruby everyday. I’ll see you when you come back.” You smile. “Alright. Thanks again Y/N. See you in a few days.”

You hang the phone up. You sigh, this was going to be a long few days.

Her house is a little eerie and you have a hard time falling asleep, but you do eventually, not having gotten to her house until late the night before.

It’s early in the morning when a knock at the door wakes you, you skeptically make your way down the stairs and hate the fact that she doesn’t have a peep hole. You open the door slowly. “Hey I was just wonder-“ The man looking back at you gathers a look of confusion. “Uhhh… you’re not Jennifer.” He laughs. “Uh.. yeah. She’s um.. on a work trip. So me and my boyfriend are house sitting for her.” You lie. You don’t have a boyfriend but you don’t want to tell a random man that you’re alone. “Oh okay. She borrowed my lawn mower a few days ago and it doesn’t look like she ever got around to her lawn but mine needs done here soon.. so. I was just wondering if I could get it back but it can wait a couple days. Thanks anyways.” He smiles. “I can always call and ask her.” You look up at him, he practically towers over you. “Oh no. I don’t want to bug her if she’s on a work trip, it can wait. Thanks anyways darling.” He smiles. The way he says ‘darling’ has your stomach doing flips. “I’m Phillip by the way.” He reaches out a hand. You take it. “Y/N.” You smile.

As soon as the door is closed you’re on your phone sending her a text.

So we keeping secrets now?

Wym?

I mean your hot neighbor.

Ew.

You don’t think so?

He’s kind of a creep I’ve heard.

Oof. Didn’t give me a bad vibe ;)

Oh dear. Don't go getting yourself into trouble.

You laugh at her text, making your way back up the stairs.

Later the same day, you’d gone to pick up some groceries, not wanting to eat her food. She said you could but you felt that was rude since she was only going to be gone a few days anyways. You also had to pick up the remainder of Ruby’s meds. She’s turned into quite the problem child.

As you’re making your way up the walkway, you see him working on some roses. Trimming them down a little bit. “Hey.” He smiles. “Hi.”

“I actually had a question.” He sets the trimmers down, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. “Yeah?” Under his shirt you can see just how toned he is. You approach the chain length fence that he's just on the other side of.

“You house sit a lot?” He asks. “Not usually, but I’m not against it. Why?”

“Well, my wife is a night shift nurse and I’m in the military so I’m gone quite a bit. We pay a lot for our kids to be in daycare but we don’t always trust them. You good with kids?” He asks. “Oh uh.. well. It depends. How many days a week do you think they’d need to be watched?” You ask. “Probably only 2 or 3 days a week. Few hours at a time. Just until their grandparents or aunt can get them.” You nod your head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d mind.” You shrug. He nods. “Alright cool. I’m sure my wife would like to meet you first. Although she isn’t off until about midnight tonight though.” He mumbles. “Uhh.. I’m sure I’ll be awake by then, I can just stop by.” You shrug. “That’d be great.” He smiles.

This could turn into a pretty good job, night shift nurse, military? They’d probably be willing to pay a pretty penny for their kids to be watched and you already have some debt racked up. This could turn into something pretty damn nice. You wait around and it seems like midnight may never come. You make sure Ruby is fed and has her meds before you make your way over next door, not sure how long it may take and you don't want to leave the little dog hanging. You make sure to go over a few minutes early to make a good impression.

11:47pm

You knock at the door and he smiles when he greets you. “Hey.” He smiles. “Come on in. My wife should be off work here soon.” He smiles. You step inside. “You can have a seat on the couch, you want anything to drink?” He asks. “Oh. No I’m alright.” You smile. “Thanks though.” You take a seat on his couch. “Alright. I’m just gonna grab a beer real quick.” He smiles, walking out of the room.

How’s Ruby?

She’s good but I’m out for a minute.

What? Why?

Just a second, your neighbor asked if I’d be interested in watching his kids for him. Yknow. Since I’m such a good house sitter ;)

At midnight?

It’s when his wife is off work.

I didn’t know he was married? Or that he had kids?

He said so. He said she’d be home soon.

No, I definitely remember. He doesn’t have kids or a wife. You’re talking about the neighbor on the left side?

You’re starting to get worried. Eyes drawing up from your phone. If something happens you want her to be able to call for help but you also don’t want to be the idiot that walked right into a trap this easily.

Oh no, the one across the street.

Oh okay, jeez. Had me worried there. They nice? I’ve never met em.

Yeah, super nice. His wife just got here actually. Talk to you later. Ruby misses you.

You put your phone down, the hair on your body standing up. Worry fills you. He walks back into the room, turning the cap off of the beer.

11:53pm

“So uh.. you said you’re in the military?” You ask. “Yeah, been in since I was eighteen.” He nods. “And.. your wife’s a nurse, that’s pretty cool.” You smile. “Yeah, she doesn't mind it.” He laughs. “How old are your kids? I forgot to ask.” You glance at his left hand.

Stomach falling when you don’t see a ring. “They’re 9 and 5.” He nods. “Drive me crazy.” You’re glancing around the house. Not a toy or anything related to a woman or kids in sight. “You said your boyfriend is staying with you, how long have you both been together?” He asks. “Oh.. uh.. 3 years.” You smile. “No kids?”

“No. Not yet anyways.” You laugh. “Do you want them?” He asks. “Uhhh.. we haven’t really talked too much about it.” You laugh. You exchange more conversation as the time passes by.

12:05am

“You know.. I hate to cut this short but I’m exhausted…” you mumble. Standing up.

He stands up quickly. “She should be home any minute, really.” He laughs, gliding a hand through his hair. “Yeah I’m really sorry, I’m not usually up this late. Maybe I can come back tomorrow night or a night when she doesn’t work.” You mumble. Rubbing your eyes. Feigning tiredness.

“Alright well. I understand.” He smiles. You walk for the door, surprised when he doesn’t make a move to stop you.

You grasp the door handle, opening up the door.

It slams shut, his hand above you. A gasp leaves your lips. You freeze. You say nothing and hear nothing from him. Just his heavy breathing from behind you. “Please… let me go.”

He raises his hand, grasping your hair and moving it to your other shoulder. “I’m not trying to scare you.. promise.” He breathes. “I’m not too good at this.” He sighs. His lips are right by your ear. You tug at the door handle again but he holds it.

“Look.. just talk to me please? I promise I’m not gonna hurt you.” He breathes. “Look my boyfriend is probably really wondering where I am-“

“Y/N.” He shakes his head. “You and I both know there’s nobody over there. Just you.” His voice is quiet and deep.

“How do you know that?” Your heart thumps in your chest, so loud he can hear it.

“I live right next door sweetheart. I’ve seen you around before.” He laughs. “Just.. sit back down. We can talk this out.”

“No. I want to leave.” You breathe. “Please.. I swear. One conversation and I’ll let you go.”

You hesitate. “Fine.” You breathe. Surprised when he steps back. You turn to look at him but you don’t move away from the door. He takes another couple steps back. “Why did you lie about having a wife and kids?” You ask. “I.. just wanted you over here. I needed some kind of excuse. I think you’re.. gorgeous and I realize now how creepy that probably soun-“ you grasp the door handle and rip it open.

But you’re not fast enough.

He grasps a hold of your arm, ripping you back inside his house and slamming the door, locking it this time. He shoves you up against it. Your cheek pressed against the cool wood. He hisses, pressing his entire body into you. “Fuck- now why’d you have to go and do that hm?” He breathes. You can feel him shaking. He wraps a hand in your hair, pushing your face into the door harder. “You’re so pretty. Fuck- and you smell so good too.” He breathes. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” He shakes. “I know I’m a fucking creep. I’m not good at this.” His voice is shaky and he stutters when he speaks. Like he’s never done this before. Like some Virgin desperate enough to hurt for it.

“I- I just.. haven’t been with a woman in so long. And you.. my god. I knew I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. Knew you were the one.” He’s nearly panting as he says it. “It’s.. it’s okay Phillip- that’s your name right?” You mumble. He nods. He releases the pressure he has on you, letting you spin around to look at him. “You don’t have to do this okay?” You breathe.

“But.. I do.”

He leans into you. “You can fight me.” He breathes. His lips are nearly brushing yours. “But you don’t have to. I saw the way you were looking at me. I know you want this too.” He breathes. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

You can feel tears gathering in your eyes. This is what you get for being so trusting. “Okay… okay.” You take in a shaky breath. “Don’t cry… please. I promise I’ll be good to you okay?” You nod. Closing your eyes tight. His lips brush yours and you take in a deep breath. He presses his to yours fully, and this is happening one way or another so you ignore what this really is. You don’t kiss him back. He kisses you hard, hands on your hips, pushing them up your shirt. When he finally pulls away your lips are blushing.

“I.. I’m sorry.” He breathes. He wipes his face in frustration. “Can we start over?” He breathes. Your cheeks are still wet with tears. “I.. I’m Phillip. I’m single, no kids. I’m in the military.” He laughs. He inhales through his nose. He sticks his hand out for you to shake.

He sees the slightest tug at the corner of your lips.

“I… I’m Y/N. I’m also single, and I’m dog sitting next door.” You breathe. Taking his hand.

“And.. that’s probably not what you should’ve started with.” You breathe. Eyes flashing to his lips and than back to his eyes. “What?”

“You should’ve said, ‘Hi. I’m Phillip. And I’m so horny that I look like a creep and force myself onto people.’ Maybe.” You laugh, looking down. He smiles. It’s obviously a sad smile. “God.. when you say it like that.” He breathes. “I swear I’m not usually like this.” He shakes his head. “Haven’t been with a woman in years but there’s something about you.” He trails off, shaking his head. “I’ve seen you around but talking to you was an entirely different ballgame. My god…” He breathes. “I am a creep, shit.” He breathes. “It’s okay.” You sigh. “I mean it’s not but.. I’ll let it go.” You breathe.

“Okay. I.. you can go alright? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head.

“What?”

“The proper way to get a girl alone, is to invite her over for dinner sometime. Not lie about having a wife and kids. Total turn off.” You laugh. “But lucky for you, I’m nice so I’ll let it slide.” You take a deep breath. “If you do that shit to me again though I might have to fight you. So just.. keep your hands to yourself and we’ll be alright.” You laugh. Your heart is still thumping in your chest. He didn’t seem like a violent man, but he’d just tried to force himself on you so you couldn’t assume too much more. He raises his hands in surrender. “Promise.”

“How long have you been in the military?” You ask. “I didn’t lie about that part. Since I was eighteen.” He nods. He skeptically sits down. You can tell he doesn’t want you to leave. “And how old are you?” You ask. “Thirty-five.” Your eyes widen. “Jesus.” You laugh. “What?”

“Older than I thought.” You mumble. Seeing as you’re still in your mid-twenties. “You.. want to watch a movie or something?” He asks. “Uh. Yeah fine whatever.” You mumble, sitting down.

Your brain is fried, should you take him being so into you that he nearly forces himself on you as a compliment?

You sit down away from him, the both of you agreeing on a movie.

You’re getting tired but you know you can’t fall asleep here, so you finish the movie and go back next door without any more issues.

———

“Hey.” He smiles. “I uh.. brought beer.” You laugh. He’s invited you to his house once again. Properly this time.

You step inside and he closes the door behind you. You’d picked a new movie to watch this time. It’d just come out. You take your places, you’d set Ruby up with some food and water and a couple treats so she was asleep when you left. He starts the movie and opens a beer, sitting where he usually does.

About halfway through the movie is when a sex scene comes on. The first of any of the movies you’d watched. You notice him shift uncomfortably. By the end of the scene, he’s palming himself in the dark. You can barely see it. You chew at your lip nervously. He’s laying back on the smaller love seat to your right, he can’t see you as easily as you see him. He clearly doesn’t know that.

When the movie is over, he’s got one hand behind his head, his eyes are closed. His lips are parted slightly, he’s clearly fallen asleep. You smile. You stand up, walking around. You cross your arms and bite your lip, thinking of what to do.

Should you just leave?

Since his arm is draped behind his head like a pillow, his shirt has raised. Showing off his toned stomach. Your eyes travel further down, seeing that he’s still hard. Must be dreaming.

Fuck it.

You slide one knee over him, straddling his knees. It’s a little uncomfortable because the couch isn’t too big seeing as it’s a love seat. You expect him to wake up or even stir but he doesn’t. Deep sleeper.

You reach for his jeans, unbuttoning them. Unzipping them and tugging them down around his cock. He’s still hard. You’re being rough and he still hasn’t woken up. You lower yourself down, taking him into your mouth. You’re gentle at first. Toying with him to see how he’ll react in his sleep. It takes a while for him to let out a whine and shift slightly. Taking in a breath. You take him further, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. Bobbing your head up and down his shaft. Making sure not to put too much pressure on him. He takes in a jagged breath. He moans out again. “Fuck- Y/N-“ he hisses. You think he’s woken up.

Your eyes snap to his face but his eyes are still shut. It’s you he’s dreaming about. Maybe he really did just like you.

You keep up the pace. His breaths getting heavier and more frequent, until he’s panting. He’s right on the edge. His eyes tighten. He’s really close. He’s never been this close before in a dream. Why is he so-

His eyes snap open, widening when he sees you on him.

“O-oh fuck.” He breathes. “Y/N- what are you-“ his lips open.

“Wait-“ he hisses, you don’t. You don’t relent for even a second.

You can’t deny it, he’s hot and he wants you.

He’s pathetic

“Sh- oh my god…” He breathes. The muscles in his stomach tense up as you start sucking at the tip of his cock. “Fuck baby- fuck..” he breathes. “Look at me.” He hisses, his teeth are gritted. Your eyes snap up to his and he moans out, resting his back on the couch, looking down at you. “Fuck.. I’m gonna-” He groans. His eyes screw shut and he cries out. He rocks his hips forward and you swallow down a gag.

He bucks his hips again, crying out a final time as he finishes down your throat. Panting as you clean him up. “Fuck… you didn’t have to do that.” He breathes. You finally look up at him, moving up further and straddling his still hard cock. He gasps when the seam of your jeans rub against him.

“Phillip?” You say. Your voice is unsteady and rough. “Yeah?”

“You’re pathetic.” He laughs. “And you still sucked my cock.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s because you’re hot, creep.” You go to stand up, but he stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You laugh. “Well I was going to go home.”

“You really want to leave after that?”

You shrug. “Why don’t you stay a while.” He chews at his lip, hand gripping his hard cock again. “Or maybe I’ll just give you no choice.” He smirks.

You roll your eyes at him. “What are you going to do?”

“At least.. meet you in the middle.” You look away from him. “Yeah, I’ll be honest. No one’s ever done that before.” You go to stand up but he stops you again. “Done what?” He asks. You roll your eyes, looking away from him.

“No one’s ever gone down on you before?”

You try to hide the smile of embarrassment. “Have you ever.. done any of this before?” He asks.

You swallow hard. Avoiding his gaze. “Shit… are you a Virgin?” He asks. You look down, setting your hands in your lap. The way you fidget with your hands is enough for him to know that you are. “Damn baby. I had no idea. I’m sorry I came on so strong before.”

You can’t help but hide your face, hearing him laugh. He grips your wrists, tugging them down. “Have you ever gone down on anyone else before, like that?” He asks. “No.”

He smiles. “You really had me fooled because.. that’s the hardest I’ve probably ever cum.” He laughs. He’s so straight forward you. You don’t know how to take him. “You’re already a pro and I haven’t shown you anything yet.”

“Yet?” You laugh. “Yeah. Yet.” He rests his hands on your thighs. His cock is still exposed. Still hard and blushing red. “You’re a bad girl, waking me up like that.” He laughs.

“Yeah right, like I couldn’t see you palming yourself through the entire movie.” You roll your eyes.

He sits up, you go to move off of him but he stops you, lifting you up with it. He sits you down on the couch like you would normal. “Slide your hips to the edge.” He nods. “What?”

“M’gonna eat that pretty pussy. Cmon.” He reaches for your waistband. “I- I haven’t shaved and I’m-“

He laughs. “Look at me.” He lifts your chin, forcing you to look up at him

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m a man not a boy. Take your pants off.” He’s stern.

You swallow hard. Nodding your head. “Y-yes sir.” The words leave your lips before you even realize it. “I- I mean!”

“It’s okay. You’re working yourself up for nothing. Relax.” He wants to taunt you but doesn’t want to take this too far.

When your pants are finally off, you have your legs shut tight. It’s amusing, how nervous you are.

“Slide your hips to the edge and spread your legs for me baby. Go on.”

You take in a deep breath. Your heart thumps hard in your chest, he can hear it. He lowers himself to his knees as you do what he says, skeptically opening your legs. You’ve still got panties on. He holds onto your knees, opening your legs even more. “Fuck. You’re so pretty.” He licks his lips. He’s ready to devour you. He’s got it in his eyes.

He runs his thumb over your clothed pussy, rubbing back and forth over your clit through your panties. You take in a deep breath. “No one has ever touched you here before?” He taunts. You shake your head. “No.”

“Shame for them. And you of course. Not for me.” He laughs. “I get you all to myself.”

He lowers his head, gliding his tongue across your panties. You moan out, watching him tease you. He flicks his tongue over your clit through them, he can feel you shiver. Desperate for him to actually touch you. He uses the tips of his fingers to slide your panties to the side. Biting his lip when he finally gets a good look at you. “Fuck…” he draws it out. It’s nearly a moan when it leaves his lips. “You’re so wet..” He breathes. He glides his tongue up your slit, flicking it over your clit just once. You tense up, the sensitivity has you whining. “Phillip please!” You cry.

He holds your hands to your side so that you can’t touch him. He laughs. “Be patient. Don’t you want your first time to be special?” He smirks. Your eyes are glossy and your cheeks are flushed. You’re turned on and he can see it in your eyes. He lets go of your hands and leans in. He’s going to seal the deal. He draws his tongue over your clit again, but this time he doesn’t let up. He keeps the steady pace, flattening his tongue across it and abusing it.

He doesn’t stop or give you a break, keeping the pace and force on your clit. You’re squirming in no time. Whining and crying out for him. You’ve got a hand in his hair, tugging it slightly. He likes the way it feels. He draws away for just a second, gathering his saliva on his fingers and gliding them down. Returning his tongue back to your clit. You don’t realize what he’s going to do until he’s already done it. He slides a soaked finger into your hole, feeling you tense up hard at the intrusion. Your breath gets caught in your throat. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust. He pumps his finger into you at a fast pace.

You’re not going to last.

You’re nearly sobbing when he brings you to the edge. He sucks at your clit, fingering your pussy until you can’t even form a single word or thought.

When you reach your peak, you sob. Crying out louder than you’ve ever been. He keeps the pace until you squirm, stopping him.

When he finally pulls away, his lips and cheeks are flushed. His face glistens in your arousal. He smiles, licking his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “How do you feel baby? I make you feel good?”

You nod your head. He’s put you into a daze.

He laughs at your fucked out state.

“If you thought that was good.. you should see what my cock would do to you.” He glides his middle finger down your wet opening, sliding it back into your blushing hole. You whine out again. It’s too much.

“I’d stretch you so much more.. and reach so much deeper.” He slides his finger in and out of you slow, barely moving it. “You’d feel so full.” He breathes.

“You want to feel me baby? Think you can take it?”

You think for a second. You’re already sprawled out on his couch.

You nod your head.

“Atta girl.”

He exposes himself once more. He glides the tip of his cock over your slit. Gathering the arousal that’s still there from when he’d devoured you. “I’ve opened you up quite a bit already, you’re ready for me now.”

He notches the tip right at the entrance and pushes into you slow. He was right. He’s stretching you a lot.

It’s uncomfortable but he’d made your body ready for him.

He rubs circles over your clit as he pushes deeper and deeper. Keeping you stimulated. Your body takes him right in. When he’s almost there, you start to tense up. He knows he’s hurting you. Going deeper than anything you’ve ever taken, “it’s alright. You’re doing so good baby. Just keep your legs spread for me.”

You wrap your arms under your knees, spreading your legs further. You watch as he slides deeper. His cock disappearing into you.

It’s getting tighter and hurting more. “I-it hurts Phillip.” You whine. “It’s okay. Nearly there doll.” He keeps rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. He jerks forward, hearing you cry out as he forces himself the rest of the way in. Drawing his hand back from you. “There we go- all done.” He breathes. You have tears in your eyes. “I know it hurts but it’ll never have to hurt again okay. Look at me.” He nods. Your eyes snap to his. “There’s my girl. Doing so good.” He shakes his head. He draws his hips back and slides back into you, slow. He nods his head while looking at you. “You’re taking me so well baby. So good. Just keep relaxed for me.”

The pain starts to ease. He’d hurt you pretty badly right there at the end.

It takes you a few minutes to get fully used to him. Even after that, it’s a foreign feeling. Not quite comfortable but not entirely uncomfortable either. You feel nothing.

He can see it in your face that you’re not enjoying it, but he knows exactly how to change that.

He fills you completely, the backs of your thighs flush with his hips. He’s buried completely inside of you. He nods. “Slide your hips back a little bit.” He moves with you as you do as he says. “Open your legs just a little more- perfect.”

“Now lay back completely and relax. Okay?”

You nod your head. Still feeling uncomfortable. “Perfect, try to relax now. It’s going to be a lot.”

You don’t understand what he means until he draws back and thrusts in again. Right up against that spongy spot inside of you. Your eyes widen and you gasp when he does. Chills rise on your skin. He laughs at your reaction. “Found it.”

He picks up his pace, fucking into you harder, going even deeper. The squelch from your pussy getting wetter around him has you blushing. You’re already overstimulated but he’s got you closing in on another orgasm. Your clit throbs and he doesn’t forget to give it attention too. Rubbing his thumb over it again. It’s nearly too much.

“Look at me.”

You raise your eyes to look at him, swallowing hard.

“You’re doing so good. You feeling good baby?” He asks. You nod your head. He can tell you’re getting close again. “I’m going to cum in you.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. He laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.” He smiles. “Phillip- no-“

“Shhh.. just relax baby. You get the full experience. It doesn’t count, not until I fill your pussy full.”

You start to squirm. You’re not ready for a baby and even if you take something, then what?

He keeps his pace and holds you still, using one hand to force your hands together. You can’t help it. The way he stimulates you. You cry out, soaking his cock in your orgasm. The first time ever cumming around a cock. “Oh god.. I’m gonna cum so deep baby- I’m gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you.” You squirm hard, trying to wiggle away, but he’s got you pinned. He draws his hand back, holding both of your wrists with both of his hands. He’s got a death grip on you.

He thrusts in as deep as he can and pauses, your eyes widen when you feel him. He cums right up against your wall, the force has your eyes widening.

You can’t believe him!

When he’s calmed down, you shove him back.

“Woah- hey. What’s wrong?”

You look pissed off.

“Y-you’re such an asshole!” You hiss. You hurry to tug your clothes back on but he’s trying to stop you the entire time.

“Don’t touch me!” You growl. “And don’t come near me again.” You go for his door and he tries to stop you but you slam the door behind yourself before he gets the chance.

“Shit.” He mumbles.

Just when you start to trust him, he fucks it all up.

[intrepidacious]

time after time [9]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.9k

chapter warnings: suicidal ideation in a time loop context; general angst; in many ways, this is a callback chapter but also a step forward; is exposition a warning? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i wasn't sure i was gonna post tonight until like an hour ago but hey, it's friday 13th and i'm feeling lucky 🫶🏼 we're in the home stretch now folks

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

nine: out of the past

Home smelled like dish soap and warm cookies.

From your childhood, you remembered that sweet scent wafting from the kitchen to every adjourning room until it knocked on the front door from the inside, welcoming you in its embrace. You never appreciated it as much as you should have, then; maybe children never did. But when the bad days found you, later, you recalled that smell, and it offered a bit of comfort to you, no matter how dismal your surroundings actually were.

At the Compound, smells didn’t linger. No matter how many trays were left out to cool, the air purifier kicked in way too soon and got rid of all sugary traces that tried to stick. It did break your heart a little, but you didn’t know enough about vents to try to mess with them.

The Tower was different, though; a lot of its functions hadn’t been overhauled since 2016, and because all FRIDAY systems were still getting regular service updates, it was simple enough to make minor adjustments to the rest of the set-up. Not that you were baking a lot these days. It was nice to think about it, though. To return from a grueling closing shift and let your nose guide your way home.

Today, it guided your way towards disaster, instead.

"Why are you trying to burn down my kitchen?"

"I got bored," Bucky said, reaching into the oven with his bare hand. You flung up your arms automatically before you realized it was the left one.

You quickly crossed them in front of your chest instead, squinting at the smoking tray. "What are you doing?"

"Making an offering," he muttered distractedly, slapping the crisp pastries with your only good dish towel. "What’s it look like."

You were going to kill him.

"Did your landlord take away your oven for safety reasons or why exactly aren’t these charcoals Made in Brooklyn?" You still hadn't changed the door codes, so you couldn't exactly accuse him of breaking in. It was deeply annoying. "Do you know what time it is?" you said instead.

"Twenty-two forty-five," he said, completely ignoring your first question and not really answering the second. "So you don’t want rugelach?"

"Love rugelach. Prefer them edible."

Maybe you could salvage this. It’d been a long day already, but you’d had quite a lot of coffee and a few minutes should suffice to stop most of the smoke, right?

Otherwise, it’d just linger.

You let out a sigh. "Gimme a sec."

"Could you not—"

With one swift, practiced move, you reached behind and pulled on the thread, teasing time backwards little by little. You watched Bucky return the cursed tray to the oven, his motions jerking, like an old tape that’d been rewound too many times. You found yourself moving into the hallway again, backwards, your shoes returning to your feet, your bag—

Your grip slipped, and you tumbled straight into the coatrack, pulling several hangers noisily down with you. Your ankle twisted with a cracking noise that made tears well up in your eyes.

Great. Just great. Exactly how you’d wanted your evening to go.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Grimacing, you glanced at the time on your phone. You’d barely made it back four minutes. You’d been aiming for six.

"Just take your damn rugelach out of the oven, idiot," you called out sharply.

They still smelled kind of burnt, but not as bad as before. Wincing, you threw your sneaker at the wall to gently roll your foot. It had already started swelling, but at least it didn’t seem broken.

With a relieved sigh, you wiped your cheeks and leaned against the wall to catch your breath. When you opened your eyes again, you flinched backwards, bumping your head.

Today was a dumpster fire.

"What?" you said through gritted teeth when Bucky kept staring at you with raised eyebrows. "This was your fault."

"I magically pushed you into the wall?"

"You just demonstrated your impeccable baking skills. Ow, fuck." Maybe you should just spend the night on the floor. It seemed like the best idea right now. "Why are you bored?"

You didn’t really expect him to answer, but it was the most interesting tidbit of your reset conversation, and you’d promised to share those things.

"Did I say that?" he asked, squatting in front of you. He looked tired as well. There was a long tear through his shirt that you hadn’t noticed earlier. "Why’d you keep your fall?"

"I didn’t keep it," you said disdainfully. "That was a one-time occasion. I overestimated how much energy I had left for my reset."

His frown deepened. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Sometimes," you shrugged. "It’s not like I have a floating health bar I can check every time, you know."

"Sounds impractical."

You huffed. "For once, I agree with you."

He had a pensive look on his face, and you didn’t know what to make of it. Finally, he blinked back into the present and held out his hand. "Come on, Twelve. You should go to bed."

You were too exhausted and aching to question any of it, then. The fact that in all this time since you were introduced, he’d never offered to help you before; or that this was the first time he’d given you that nickname. You didn’t want to ask when you did notice, afterwards, and you couldn’t come up with an explanation on your own until you got a little more used to his military speak, and you remembered what he’d said to Sam.

I’m keeping an eye on her.

You were the danger that was standing right in front of him, and he knew it. He made sure to keep reminding you of the fact that you weren’t to be trusted; that he was watching you.

Then, you remembered telling him about your longest jump backwards being eleven minutes, and you started resenting the nickname a little more. Because no matter which reason was the right one, deep down, you couldn’t fault him for thinking that you weren’t, could never, be good enough.

That was later, though. Right then, you just took his hand.

* * * * *

It doesn’t make any sense.

His hands are still wrapped around your wrists, a light pressure on your pulse. His touch is the only thing tethering you here, cold and warm fingers, and that look of his that you can’t even begin to describe.

I never hit the ground.

"What do you mean," you say quietly, barely a question. "I saw you fall. The loop reset."

That’s how it goes, no matter what else happens. No matter what you do.

"But it reset before I hit the ground," he interrupts your looping thoughts, and there it is again. That awful, useless hope in his eyes. "I don’t remember dying. It didn’t hurt."

You freeze, unable to look away from it. From him. "So, this past week, you always …"

Up until this moment, it hadn’t truly sunk in that Bucky becoming aware of the loops would also mean he’d recall dying; every aspect of it. The pain, the frenzy, the desperation.

Your unwillingness to witness his last moments any longer.

"Doesn’t matter now," you hear him say through a layer of fog and nausea, and how the fuck does he keep doing this? You crave getting that glimmer of optimism back, the sense that there’s another option to explore, a new angle to twist things around in your favor. "We found our loophole."

You blink several times. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it." His thumb swipes across your wrist, gently, and the band tingles. "No more pointless missions that put you and Sam in danger. No more wasting time on trying to save me when it never works out. I can reset us on my own terms."

It’s like something cracks inside you, releasing a cold rush of dread into your bloodstream. "No," you say, "no, that could’ve just been a glitch, we don’t know what’s going on. We have no control over any of this."

Bucky’s face hardens, the triumph that split his mouth into a grin only moments ago a distant memory. "You mean, you don’t."

"Didn’t you just tell me that suicidal behavior can’t be our solution?" you say, unable to hide the bitter edge in your voice.

"That’s different." He drops your hands, finally, as if he’s just noticing he’s been holding onto them this whole time. "You know it’s different."

You can recognize the self-loathing radiating off him all too easily. Useless.

"Forget it," you say, shaking your head. "I won’t let you."

"You won’t let me?" Somehow, he still sounds vaguely amused, and it’s making your blood boil. "Then what’s the alternative, we keep meandering around while I continue to get myself shot every day?"

"I don’t know! Let’s think about this for, like, five seconds."

"I’ve thought about it. And if my options both lead to the same result, anyways, I’d rather choose the one where I at least get somewhat of a say."

Your nails dig into your palms, a sharp, familiar pain. "So you want to, what, pick a time of day where you’re just calling it quits and you plummet to your death?"

"And why not?"

You let out a shrill sort of laugh. "What if it doesn’t work more than once?"

"And what if it does?"

Again, again, he looks at you and something in his gaze shatters. You hate this, and you hate yourself, but you’ve been here before. Hope is the thing that kills him.

"Right," he continues. "You’d rather we keep pretending that nothing’s wrong, like we don’t already know how this day is going to end."

"That’s not fair."

"Nothing about this is fair."

You notice it, then: the fury quietly burning behind his eyes; not with you, necessarily, though you wouldn’t blame him for that, either. No, this is a different kind of rage, one that simmers in the background and hides in the darkest corners, constantly rattling to be let out of its cage. His hands are balled into tight fists now, a single concession to this emotion. It doesn’t seem enough.

Now that you think about it, you wonder if you’ve ever actually seen Bucky Barnes angry.

Annoyed, yes. Frustrated. Pissed off. But those are surface feelings, bubbling up quickly, comparatively easy to live with; nothing like the raw anger that you’ve just caught a glimpse of.

That’s the kind of feeling that, when continually swallowed down, eats you up alive.

So you raise your chin, and you say, "Fight me."

He reflexively moves backwards. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You get up slowly, wiping some more blood from your nose. The band around your wrist is still tingling. "Or are you scared?"

In all those months you’ve known him, Bucky’s refused to spar with either of you, even though you know for a fact that Sam’s asked several times. He’s not even bothered to come up with a flimsy excuse, just stared blankly and said, "Nope."

"He knows I’d wipe the floor with him again," Sam’s told you in a whisper loud enough to be heard across the living room. If you recall correctly, that was the same night he found white cat hairs all over his bed and had to do laundry at midnight.

Now, Bucky watches you stretch, his gaze intense, calculating. "I don’t want to fight you," he says, but there’s some leftover edge to his voice; more than that, there’s curiosity.

"Bullshit," you reply lowly, tilting your head.

He unlaces his shoes and you smirk.

"Fine." He climbs into the ring, rolling his neck. "What do I get when I win?"

You circle each other on the mat, eyes never leaving each other’s faces. Bucky’s eyebrow is still raised in amusement, a silent challenge for you to make the first move.

"In your dreams, Barnes," you say, and then you do.

He sidesteps your first kicks as easily as a gust of wind, a grin twitching in the corner of his mouth when you follow them with a punch that’s aimed at his stomach but lands on his right arm without much force. The next one doesn’t even graze him, his movements too quick for you to do any damage.

Despite that, he lets you herd him to the other side of the ring, even though you feel it’s more him leading you. Like he’s waiting to see what you’re going to do and is left continually unsurprised. No matter the swirl of confused feelings in your gut, you want to wipe the increasingly smug look off his face.

"Come on, wolf boy," you huff as your foot hits empty space once more. "You’re not gonna hurt me."

His stance changes in a split second, and you barely manage to duck away from his first swing. He’s still holding himself back, you can tell, but the way he holds himself changes from casual defense to downright predatory. You swallow heavily.

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," he says.

In one quick move he slaps your fist to the side again before his vibranium fingers curl around your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on it, but your spine still goes rigid as he holds you there for a moment, his gaze slowly dropping down every inch of your body in a way that feels familiar. His thumb twitches with a flutter of your pulse.

He leans in until he hovers right next to your ear and your breath hitches. "And it’s White Wolf."

With a twist, you move out of his hold and aim another kick behind you. It’s not hard enough to hurt—honestly, you’re a little too distracted to put much force into it right now—but he does let go of you with a low chuckle.

Even after that, it’s useless. Every single move you try, Bucky seems to anticipate. It’s like he’s able to tell where you’re about to try to hit him before you even know it yourself.

"Your posture’s terrible," he remarks, blocking your foot again. It sends a jolt of a memory through you.

With the right training, you can use your own weight to your advantage in a fight.

You don’t think you’ve had the right training, exactly, but you’ve certainly never been in better physical shape in your life.

"Thanks," you say, and you think, what the hell.

You feign a punch down, and when he lowers his torso to follow your movement, you turn it into a wonky handstand, yelping as your momentum sends your legs flying forward quicker than anticipated. You feel one of them collide with Bucky’s back, and he huffs in surprise as he staggers, his arms wrapping around you like he’s not sure whether to stop your fall or get you off him. Either way, you both plummet over and into the mat.

There’s a groan from underneath you. "Y’alright, doll?"

"Great," you pant, untangling your legs from his neck but not moving off him quite yet. Instead, you lean forward and press his shoulders to the ground. "One—two—three, yay, I win!"

He gives a short, disbelieving snort of a laugh, and something hot rushes through you again.

The next moment, he flips you both over, catching one of your hands and pinning it to the mat while the other is pressed down by his elbow. Your head is spinning, Bucky’s grin wicked and so close to your face you can feel his breaths fan over your mouth.

"You were saying?"

Your brain short-circuits.

He seems to recognize something is off, because the naked glee in his eyes is slowly, gradually replaced with something else, something you can’t quite name because there’s not a single coherent thought left in your head. You’re acutely aware of the dried blood under your nose. Of a freckle next to his upper lip.

Inhale. Exhale.

And then—

"Am I interrupting something?"

Another rush of heat washes down your body as Bucky takes another couple of seconds to look at you, frowning, like he’s just remembering that you were fighting before all this. Then, he rolls off to the side.

"Go shower, Twelve."

And just like that, the moment has passed.

You push up to your elbows and watch as he ducks out of the ring without so much as another glance at you, an avalanche of your thoughts returning all at once. When you turn to look at Sam, his arms are crossed and his expression seems way too stern and cap-like for this time of day.

"A word?" he says when Bucky shoulders past him, and for some reason you feel like you’re in trouble.

* * *

You stay in the shower until the mirrors fog up and your fingers turn wrinkly, trying and failing to scrub away whatever just happened. It’s like you can still feel him only inches away from your face, hovering, searching. Almost as if he’s waiting for something.

I’m guessing you’ve tried the Groundhog Day option?

Fucking hell, you need to get a hold of yourself right now.

This … training session was a mistake, a miscalculation on your part. Maybe you’ve started losing your mind a little bit after the first couple dozen loops. Lesson learned: find another way to get Bucky to let out his well-earned ire.

One that doesn’t involve him on top of you.

Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?

You let the water hit that tense knot at the back of your neck and let out a long sigh. This iteration of today has barely even started and you’re ready to delete it from existence.

Of course, you realize, then, that won’t be quite so easy this time around.

There’s a certain numbness that, according to the heaps of time loop media you’ve consumed early on during all this, seems inevitable when you’re always, always the only person in the world to continually remember the things that happen. Maybe it’s even worse for you, since there once was a time where reversing uncomfortable situations was something you did on the regular. Looking back, those little corrections seem like a preamble for what you’re going through now. Today is a video tape that keeps skipping on the rewind, reliable only in its endless monotony.

It makes you stop considering the long-term consequences of your actions, since there never are any; everything is bound to repeat, with no regard to what you may have done or said that one time during loop number eighty-whatever. Who would remember, except you?

Or so you’ve thought.

The green band around your wrist catches the light and you stare at it for a long time. It shimmers in the steam of the shower, an almost beautiful sort of gleam to it, like it’s gleeful in reminding you of your latest disastrous mistake.

I’m getting Bucky out of this.

As usual, you didn’t do your job as well as you should’ve, and now you’re having to face the consequences of that.

Real stubborn fucking consequences with distractingly blue eyes, that are apparently intent on driving you batshit—

"What was that?"

"Nothing," you mumble, crossing your arms in front of your chest, tapping your fingers one by one. Bucky rolls his eyes for the twenty-eighth time in as many minutes.

Which you know for a fact, since you’ve not let him out of your sight once. Not as he’s rummaged through the fridge with his usual scowl, not as he’s channel-hopped through a couple of lackluster morning shows, not as he’s spent a couple of minutes playing with Alpine before she hopped off his lap to go do whatever cats do. You don’t particularly care today.

If he's so keen on dying, fine, that's his prerogative; but not yet. Not on your watch.

You just need to come up with another solution before he can do anything stupid.

"Are you gonna spend your whole day like this?" he asks, irritated. Good. He doesn’t have a monopoly on staring.

"Depends," you reply. "Got any plans this morning?"

Twenty-nine. That has to be some sort of record.

"Not if I'm gonna be trailed by an overeager barn owl."

"How dare you. And that's Miss Barn Owl to you." You're aiming for lucky number thirty, but no luck. Instead, he lets out a huff.

"I'm not gonna change my mind just because you're annoying, you know."

"When have you ever," you mumble. If only your useless mind could draw anything but a blank.

Endless loop. Saving each other. Threaten Loki. Blow yourselves up. Upon the wielder’s death, the timeline will—

"Twelve …"

You shake your head, your nails biting into your skin, and Bucky cuts himself off, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

Your gaze wanders. He's all sharp angles this morning in his gloves and the leather jacket, like he’s dressed in black armor concealing all the parts that should be gone, bruised, bloodied, broken. A mundane shield anyone else wouldn't even take conscious notice of, because this is just what he does.

Not lately, though. Not at home, not on Friday.

So how many weapons is he hiding right now?

"Okay, we are getting into Annabelle territory."

Out of the corner of your eye, it looks like Sam’s lost some of the ramrod Captain America energy he was radiating earlier. Bucky’s not told you what kind of words were exchanged, so you’re left to chalk it up to another TAG.

That doesn’t calm you even a little bit.

"How's your nose?" Sam asks, leaning against the back of Bucky’s couch.

"Mostly in shape, I think." You dab at your nostrils and it still hurts a little, but there’s no more blood. "How’s your speech?"

"Mostly in shape, I think," he echoes with a lopsided grin that unexpectedly stings.

Again, you can’t help but yearn for a timeline more permanent than this one. Every day Sam writes that speech, and every day he frets about the details for hours and you can’t tell him that he’s always going to end up smashing it. That’s not how this is supposed to go.

"Have I told you lately that I really appreciate you?" you tell him instead.

His eyebrows raise in mild amusement. "Did you take the good painkillers?"

"I’m serious," you protest, even though you may have. "You’re a good friend and a good cap, and you should be told more often."

Sam blinks, glancing at Bucky as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Don’t look at me, bud," he replies. "She’s right."

There’s a couple of moments before Sam shakes his head. "Y’all are Looney Tunes today and I think it’s some sorta ploy, so I’m gonna finish this speech and you’re gonna leave."

"Are you kicking us out?" you ask.

"Yup."

"It’s our apartment," Bucky says.

"I don’t care. Shoo. Come back when you’re normal."

Bucky doesn’t move an inch, even as he has to hide a grin when Sam keeps shoving his shoulder, mumbling to himself about needing room to think, and you have an idea. A bad one, perhaps, but it might just work for your purposes.

"I know what we’re gonna do," you tell Bucky and get up from your couch, grabbing your bag.

"That so?"

You hum, pressing the button for the elevator. "But first, we’ll have to steal a car."

* * *

It’s odd to be back.

Everything about it feels wrong.

You used to know this place like the back of your hand and now it’s like you’re looking at it through fun mirrors, making the image all twisted. The Compound is both bigger and smaller than you remember, and the reality of it makes your heart twinge.

Rubble lines the driveway. You’re both silent as the borrowed car shakily bumps around the curve leading up to where the main building used to be. Your fingers drum a nervous rhythm against the dashboard as you look outside. The branches that used to hang low and cast a soft shade over your head now litter the ground.

New ones are already sprouting, though.

Time hasn’t stopped, not even for this battlefield, and that fact makes you feel better and worse at the same time.

Through the open window, the air smells like hot grass and cement. No one’s working today, of course, but the repair work’s been going slow, anyway. There are no new Avengers to house, and Pepper Potts has had more pressing things to do. You wonder if Morgan’s old enough to be in kindergarten yet.

The car slows until Bucky turns the engine off, parked next to a particularly large piece of debris. You take a deep breath before you trust your legs not to buckle underneath you when you climb outside.

The one and only other time you were here after it all happened, you were still amped up on morphine and grief and you barely felt anything at all at the sight of your home of almost five years lying in ruins. Now, you have to grind your teeth, hugging your arms around yourself in a sorry attempt at comfort.

You used to spend hours reading underneath that tree that’s been cleaved in half. If you squint, you could still point your gaze to where your windows would have been.

Yours.

"This feels strange."

You turn to look at Bucky and find him staring at a spot near the tree line, looking out at the lake.

"Yeah," you say, clearing your throat. "Me too."

The look that passes his face is one you haven’t seen in a while, oddly similar to the one you recall him giving you on your bathroom floor. It’s gone within seconds, but it leaves its trace.

The big hall that had housed the time machine is still mostly rubble, and you’re glad for it. You don’t know how Bruce ever managed to get the pieces out and make them work again; you don’t like thinking about it and you would bet Bucky doesn’t either.

You inhale your grief once more and let it out in one long, shaky exhale. Then, you roll your aching shoulders. "Alright," you tell yourself, lifting your chin up to blink against the bright July sun.

It should be autumn by now.

Every step towards the Campus ruins makes something coil inside your chest, something painful and hot and angry. Good, you think. That’s why you’ve come, after all.

"Remember that game Sam used to play?" you ask and your voice comes out both sharper and softer than you expect. "If you could go any place, any time?"

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately, and for one shocking moment you wonder whether you’d jumped away all of Sam’s terrible attempts of camaraderie.

"My ma used to say that home’s not really a place."

It’s a peace offering, you think, or maybe just his way of showing that he understands what you’re trying to say. Of course he does.

You bite the inside of your cheek harder. "Smart woman."

The site in the center of the former entry hall seems as good as any. No reinstalled roof that could cave your heads in, no loose cables lying around to fry certain jinxed super-soldiers to death.

"She was." Bucky stops a couple of steps behind you as you scan your surroundings for what you’re going to need. Luckily, whoever’s responsible for this part of the site isn’t as cleanly as the ULTIMATUM lab guys; everything’s been left right where someone was using it on Thursday. "So, what are we doing here, exactly?"

You blow the cement dust off a pair of slightly singed safety glasses and hand them to him. "Fuck shit up."

He stares at you. "Sorry?"

"Nope." You continue rummaging through the work tools that are lying about. "No more apologizing. That’s the point. We’re stuck in a damn time loop and absolutely nothing we do matters, so we’re going to fuck some shit up."

"Is this you telling me you’ve finally lost your marbles?"

You pull out a crowbar. "I’m telling you I’m furious and I need to break something, and I think you do, too."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, I don’t think so."

"Come on, Barnes. You must’ve had the urge to just destroy something before." You swing your lever around for emphasis. "What’s the worst that could happen?"

You wince right after you say it, recalling the last time someone’s said that to the both of you. Bucky’s face stays blank, unreadable.

"Someone gets hurt," he says quietly, making it sound like a prediction. Haunted.

"No one’s gonna get hurt," you say, putting on a second pair of glasses. "Look around! No one here except us. And you know what—helmet." You adjust your hair and plop it onto your head. "See?"

"You look ridiculous," he says dryly.

"Thank you." Perhaps your appeal would be more effective if you weren’t already struggling to close the damn latch of your helmet. Unfortunately, your safety glasses are making everything fit a little funky, and you can’t seem to find the right—

"Geez, let me—just hold still for a sec."

You swallow and tilt your head up, trying not to look at his face when Bucky takes a step closer. His fingers brush the tips of your ears as he readjusts the damn goggles, trailing down to your chin. You suppress the urge to shiver when you realize he’s finally taken his gloves off again.

His touch is rough and light and way too close to your pulse point.

The helmet clicks into place and you shake yourself out of your stupor. You hold up your crowbar like a challenge.

"How about we make a game out of it?"

He deliberates, his mouth set in a thin line, slightly blurred by the polycarbonate. "What do you have in mind?"

"Pry of truth," you say. "You name the thing that gets your hackles up, you get to smash something. And you’re not allowed to say me."

"I don’t like that rule."

"That’s a shame. I’ll go first, then."

You narrow your eyes at an old glass bottle sitting on a bench next to the site. "I’ll never be able to listen to any song by the fucking All-American Rejects ever again."

The bottle smashes beautifully and a rush of adrenaline charges through your veins.

"Your turn, Buck."

You look over your shoulder and freeze for a moment, because he’s shrugged off his jacket, putting it on a work table nearby. Smart, you belatedly think, giving himself a bigger range of movement and you the opportunity to ignore his bare arms.

Get a damn grip.

You hold out the crowbar. "Time to get angry."

"You won’t like me angry." He takes it anyway, and you huff.

"Whether I like you or not has never stopped you before."

His jaw twitches. He mutters something to himself before the pry lightly hits the bench and the whole thing flies away. A startled laugh escapes you.

"Out loud, next time."

"My bad," Bucky says, throwing you the crowbar.

"You’re a cheat," you shake your head, pulling back for another swing. "I’m fucking sick of this weather."

More glass shatters when a bunch of tools and containers go flying off the work table with a couple of strikes.

"I already knew that."

"My bad."

There’s a moment where Bucky flashes a quick grin at you, but you recognize something ignite in him. He slams his vibranium fist into some of the brick stones piled up nearby and they fly into little pieces.

He flexes his fingers slowly, a lost look on his face. "Sometimes I can almost forget that this isn’t …"

You swallow, gripping your crowbar more tightly. "I want nothing more than to stop this loop for good, but it also terrifies me."

Crash. Tools and parts and leftover items smash on the rubble ground as you strike them over and over again, splinters flying off in all directions. You ignore the pain when they hit you, and the sounds of more things breaking behind your back, focused only on the next thing in front of you. Each small destruction that’s under your control.

When you’re done, your breaths come out fast and shallow, your anger at yourself, at your situation, escaping you in desperate pants. Because this is your worst secret yet, isn’t it? More terrible than any growing feelings and long-forgotten truths, this nagging fear of what’s next.

As terrible as the loop has been, it’s at least predictable. Who’s to say that what’s after isn’t worse than this one day? What of every other way the future could break your heart, kill those you care about, burn this world to the ground? If nothing else, Friday is the devil you know.

But you can’t stay; and you wouldn’t want to, anyway. That’s the contradiction you’re stuck in.

Your fingers are wrapped around the pry so tightly it hurts, and you force yourself to take a deep, shuddering breath. Then, you turn around, and your eyes widen.

Bucky’s moved farther away from you, as if to make sure not to put you in his path of destruction. In it, no stone’s been left unturned. Work tables are flipped, machines dented and cracked; the newly put-up drywall a couple of yards ahead has several cracks and holes running through it.

He’s a swirling storm of piled up fury and anguish, and you’re the sole witness to his wreckage. It’s quiet, in a way, with a finality to the brunt of each throw, each hit. Like he’s been waiting for this implicit permission to let go a very long time.

Slowly, the dust settles, leaving him alone at the center of it all, the only thing still standing among broken pieces.

"I keep—" he starts, his head still lowered, shaking. "I keep telling myself that I’m no longer the Winter Soldier, but I don’t think it’s true."

You don’t respond immediately; you’re not sure he’d want you to. Taking off your protective gear is a lot easier than putting it on, and you blink against the sun behind him. It leaves his face in shadows.

"What do you mean?"

"Look at me," he spits, every syllable ringing with despair.

"I am," you say quietly, and you are, you are, you are.

And right then, you feel yourself slip, because the truth is that seeing him like this doesn’t make you like him any less than you do seeing him with relaxed shoulders and sun spots across his chest. It’s just a moment or two before you catch yourself, but you’re sure that if he’d looked at you right then, he’d know.

He hesitates, his jaw tight. "I still hear his voice. I keep thinking like him, wanting to act like he would. What if I do? What if one day, I can’t control it?"

You clear your throat. "Can I say something?"

He nods.

"Of course you still have parts of him in you. It’s your past. You can’t get rid of that. That’s, unfortunately, not how it works." You take a couple of steps closer, your shoes dragging on the rubble. "But it doesn’t make you a bad person, either. It wasn’t your fault."

"I’m supposed to stay in control."

"Aren’t you?" you ask. "I mean, you hear the voice, but do you ever act on it?"

He meets your eyes, then, vehemently. "I would never do that."

You nod, not surprised in the slightest. "What does your therapist think?"

He scoffs. "Not much. He called it intrusive thoughts."

"Hm. That’s really concerning," you say, tilting your head. "You’re being a normal human."

Bucky frowns when you come to a stop in front of him, his eyes swimming with confusion.

"Everyone has those thoughts sometimes," you continue, holding up the crowbar again. "Like, I could hit myself with this. Or you. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it. Your thoughts just happen to have a particular flavor to them."

He grinds his teeth. "What if I like being him? When I have these thoughts, my mind is clear. Quiet. Focused. That’s why—"

"What?"

He shakes his head, looking behind you at the rubble surrounding you both. His shoulders deflate at the wasteland before him, and you desperately want to reach for him.

"You’re one of the good ones, Buck," you say, not moving an inch. "Despite your past. Because of your past. It doesn’t make you any less …" Loveable. "You know that, right?"

A beat passes.

"Keep remindin’ me and I might." He clears his throat. "Your turn, Twelve."

It still stings, unexpectedly so. You half-heartedly throw the pry at a couple of bricks, missing by a mile and not caring one bit. You’re out of anger for now.

"I really hate it when you call me that," you admit.

"Why?" he asks, the surprise in his voice genuine.

"Because it makes me … you know how I feel about my powers. It’s like you’re reminding me how I’m not good enough, every time you say that."

Bucky’s gaze on you burns in your neck. "That’s what you think?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" you ask, rolling your eyes. "You said you wanted to keep an eye on me, back when—”

"I think you’re better than you’re telling yourself."

You twist your rings around your fingers, one by one. The space on your pinkie is still empty. "No, I’m not."

"Yes. You are." His boots crunch as he takes a step closer. "You told me eleven minutes on your best days? That’s bullshit."

"It’s not," you huff.

"Remember Marylebone? How much did you jump then?"

London seems like years ago, with July getting stuck. It was another extraction mission, and it went well enough—if you ignored Redwing getting shot to bits, that is. Which you usually did.

"Maybe three minutes," you mumble. Not exactly a span of time to write home about.

"But how many times did you do that?" Bucky insists. "How many times did you hold time still during that?"

Your skin prickles. "That’s different—”

"Not really. Not according to your rings, it’s not. They’re just different aspects of your powers. Also, you made a fucking time loop out of nothing."

"One that I have no control over, remember?"

"Not yet."

You shake your head, pulling your arms around yourself. "How did this turn into you giving me a pep talk?"

"You’re …" He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. Little pieces of dust get stuck in it, and you find yourself wanting to brush them out.

"Likewise." How could he be so positive about all the things you disliked about yourself most while not doing the same for himself?

Bucky picks up another brick from the pile next to you, weighing it in his hand, and something about the movement catches your eye, the sunlight just so that …

"Wait!" you say.

He freezes.

You drop to your knees and start digging through the rubble, pushing the bricks aside and ignoring the cuts you get on your hands until—

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"What’s that?"

It’s stuck underneath a pile of debris, the accumulation of nearly two years of being stuck and forgotten, but somehow, it’s still here. Covered in dirt and a little tattered at the edges when you finally manage to pull it out, but still.

"That’s my invisibility cape."

"You have an invisibility cape?"

"Had," you correct, inspecting it more closely. "I didn’t know it survived."

"For the love of—d’you think you might’ve mentioned this before?"

"I didn’t think it was important."

"Twe—" He pinches his nose with two fingers and lets out a long, slow breath. "Does it still work?"

"I don’t know."

"Well, go on then."

You flap it a few times to get the worst of the dust off, then pull it over your head and watch your body disappear. It’s as much of a journey to the past as you’ve managed throughout this loop, and an incredulous giggle escapes you.

Bucky has a peculiar look on his face as he looks just to the right of where you are.

"You trust me, right?" he says pensively.

It occurs to you that he’s never asked you that before, and so you nod even though he can’t see. "I trust you."

"I have an idea."

* * *

"For the record, I hate your ideas."

"Noted," Bucky replies out of the corner of his mouth, tucking his cap deeper into his face.

You nervously tap your foot, peering at the building on the other side of the street. Bleecker Street isn’t all that busy at this time of day, and even though you're fully hidden by your cape, you can’t help but wish for more of a crowd to hide in. You reach for the amulet around your neck.

"What if something goes wrong?" you murmur.

"It won’t," he says calmly. "You said Sam’s already tried and no one’s there today. Plus, we have more or less infinite tries for this, remember?"

You do, unfortunately. Even though you’d really prefer a better, more elaborate plan to break into the New York Sanctum in much the same way as you did the public library, you don’t think they have a Supreme burglar alarm or anything of the sort. Picking the front door lock, it is.

Annoyingly, Bucky even knows you well enough to understand you don’t want to be seen within a hundred yards of any time wizard territory; hence, the game-changing cape.

You wish you’d kept the damn thing in the dirt.

"You don’t know what they’re capable of," you say quietly.

"True, I don’t. But you do." He waits for a couple of people to pass by before risking a glance in your general direction. "Come on. I would never let anything happen to you in there."

You hate these sunglasses. They make it impossible to tell how he means that.

Before you can voice another reason why you should better head back and go get ice cream somewhere, Bucky’s already moving across the street. Cursing under your breath, you rush to follow him, bumping against his arm to make your presence known.

The tiniest grin flickers in the corner of his mouth, and for a moment you enjoy getting to stare at it without him noticing. Then, you take another step and the air around you changes.

If there was any kind of active warning system, you can pinpoint the exact moment it would have alerted. It’s like you’re entering an invisible bubble that surrounds the building, the air growing just a fraction colder. It’s not the temperature that makes you shiver, though.

Magic hums within the very walls of the house. This energy is different to what you remember, but still similar enough you have to bite your cheek hard to keep concentrating on the task at hand.

You swallow down the bile in your mouth and turn your back on the heavy oak door to make sure no one notices that Bucky isn’t, in fact, struggling with a key but instead breaking and entering in broad daylight.

I knew you’d be back, a voice just behind your shoulder seems to whisper, and you flinch. All those years, and still …

Finally, you hear a quiet click and the door creaks open.

"You with me?" Bucky mutters.

Your nails dig into the palms of your hands. "Let’s do this."

177A Bleecker Street is quite a lot bigger on the inside. In many ways, it looks just as you expected, solemn and intricate, all wooden paneling and marble floors that block the sounds from the street outside. Heavy couches sit along the far walls, framed by doorways. A gigantic staircase leads to the upper floors, spreading out into a gallery.

However, something about it feels … unexpected. The energy you’ve already noticed outside is sparkling like electricity, like a fuse ready to be lit, like fireworks waiting to explode, unprecedented and ever changing. Alive.

For some reason, it’s not all that scary.

Pure magic fills your lungs with every breath, and yet it’s just a house. Dust particles are dancing in the blurry light. Your shoes squeak a little on the stone floors.

Bucky takes off his sunglasses, blinking to readjust to the dim light in here. He takes stock of his surroundings much more quickly than you do, zeroing in on the upper levels.

You hold your hood with one hand as you crane your neck. From your position hovering just behind him in the entrance, you can make out the shapes of a few large shelves.

Bingo.

You’ve agreed that despite Strange’s flakiness, he’s already shown you the books most relevant to your situation that the Sanctum library has to offer. Therefore, if not a reading room, you’re looking for any other magical items that might give you a helping hand, maybe some sort of power boost.

To be honest, you’re hoping for a portal to simply step through and finally leave this day behind for good, but you’d settle for a clue.

Bucky’s fingers twitch ever so slightly by his side. Without thinking, you reach out and wrap your pinkie around his. He doesn’t look at you, but he gently squeezes your finger before pulling away, putting his hands back into his jacket pockets.

He left his gloves in the stolen car.

The stairs creak when you sneak up behind him, but the house remains silent. There’s only the omnipresent hum of electric magic, which gets even stronger when you get closer to the shelves you’ve spotted. It’s calling out to you, but not in the way it did outside; this is a softer whisper, more alluring, more curious. Could it be? it says. I’ve waited so long.

You find yourself trailing off, moving a few paces towards the far wall, your heart pounding a wild rhythm. The shelves are made of glass-paneled dark wood, arranged in a spiral pattern. Their contents look rather unassuming in the pale sunlight falling in from the large circular window, museum-like if not for the absence of proper labeling: a couple of old daggers and wands, dull gemstones, shards of pottery, all carefully bedded on crimson velvet and then left for dust.

None of it screams Gateway Out of Here.

Maybe, you think, you could try to hold a few of these gems in your hand and see what happens, do a couple of gestures to coax your powers back. If only there was one of those rings that—

Behind you, shots are fired, and then something heavy crashes to the floor with a resounding shatter. The thrall breaks.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, to think you’d be safe just because you couldn’t be seen. To think that Bucky would be fine waltzing into a place like this without any real protection, just because you’ve been led to assume it’d be abandoned. You’ve stepped right into the trap, and it’s snapped shut immediately.

You spin around, your hands flying up automatically as if there’s a damn thing you can do.

Time doesn’t freeze, but you wish it would.

Bucky’s tangled in a web of rust-colored twines that curl around his arms, his torso, his neck, cutting off his air flow. His gaze is wild, flitting around the room, searching for you even in your invisibility, a silent command in his eyes: Run.

His gun’s dropped to the floor at his feet, right underneath the tendrils winding their way up his struggling legs. You fall towards it, reaching out right as you’re yanked backwards and the eldritch magic catches hold of you, too. Their otherworldly glow makes shadows dance across the dark shelves, ghostly and distorted.

"I suggest you show your face now," a voice says right behind you.

You can tell the hood is ripped off your head because Bucky throws himself against his bindings again. They tighten even more around him, and he chokes, his eyes still glued to you.

He does it again.

"Please don’t," you cry, "not like this, please stop it!" You’re not even sure who you’re pleading to, your fingers twitching, but there’s nothing you can reach out to, the magic in this place forsaking you again.

"You," the voice behind you says sharply.

Any moment, you should wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

You’re slung backwards and you scream because you can’t see Bucky anymore, can’t do anything except hang there, helpless, eye to eye with the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Zealot," he says, venom in every syllable. "I thought you’d died."

"I’m not," you gasp, the very word stinging. "Please, you need to let go of him."

"I don’t think so. I ought to banish you to the Dark Dimension like the rest of you."

The magic around you starts spinning, surrounding you in a dizzying blur of orange and gold. Your blood rushes in your ears as you feel something pull at your very consciousness, harsh and terrifying, and you’re not waking up, you have to wake up, you—

"We’re facing an Incursion!" you shout, hoping anyone can hear you over the mad cacophony of energy. "Please, there’s no time, call Stephen Strange!"

And then, with a final sputter of color, everything goes black.

* * *

The last time you woke with the smell of Sanctum magic in your lungs was the day Thanos snapped.

Wait. Rewind for context.

Your mother used to call it a gift, but for most of your life, your powers had felt more like a curse.

Sure, they had their uses, sometimes, but at what cost? Most of the time, you couldn’t control them, so when you got older, you tried to hide them instead, as best as you could, to pretend they weren’t there at all. You just wanted to be normal.

But your powers didn’t like that.

Ignorance was a vicious circle: The more you tried to suppress the magic coursing through your blood, the more unpredictable it became, flinging you through the timeline without any regard to your sanity. It was a struggle to control even a fraction of what was happening to you.

You knew you needed help.

The London Sanctum was the only one you were aware of, then, the one safe haven for people who were struggling with things beyond their control. Your mother had told you about it many times.

One can never be too wary of their promises, though, honey, she’d close the story every time. They like to forget them when it’s more convenient.

You never asked how she knew so much about the Sanctum and its inhabitants. Mothers just know things when you’re a child.

Maybe you should’ve listened to her warning more closely, but you were young and overwhelmed and out of options, and so you left familiar faces behind and traded them for a silver lining. For the hope of finally controlling this power that was set on destroying your life.

Time itself.

That first day, you were sitting in the Sanctum's courtyard, looking at the other recruits with wide eyes, to the glimmering portals that, they told you, could bring you to the other side of the world in a single step. For the first time in your life, you were surrounded by magic; it wasn't just your secret burden to bear, it was all around you.

Like an offering, they brought the stone to you that day, suspicion clear in their eyes, and you trembled in your bones knowing that everything would finally be fixed, now. Surely, everything would be fixed. You could feel the energies pulsating from that unassuming little gem, mixing with your own powers, sending apprehensive shivers down your spine.

Yes, you thought, stepping closer to it with your hand outstretched. You can fix this.

It was the one and only time you could recall not remembering anything at all.

You'd lost a few seconds at most, but when you blinked back into consciousness, your head was pounding and the time stone had been snatched away from you once again, safe in its golden cage. You'd never see it again.

How peculiar, you caught a whisper, then another, like voices born out of every nightmare you'd ever had, and you tried jumping back to find out what you'd missed, but your powers didn't obey you.

You let yourself get soothed by the empty promises you'd been warned of, but magic would never seem that light or gentle to you again as it did during that first afternoon.

For a while, things got better anyway.

You studied with the Masters of the Mystic Arts while they studied you. They provided you with all sorts of amulets and cuffs that kept the random jumps under control, but they either couldn’t figure out how your powers came to possess you, of all people, or they just didn’t want to tell you.

Time is sacred, they used to teach, and your very existence went against that premise. You were unpredictable, a variable that could never fit into their precious calculations and theories of the grand, sacred timeline, no matter how hard they tried. You found yourself using your powers even less than before, just to stop them from talking over you.

Impossible girl, the Ancient One used to call you, and you hated it.

Of course, she wasn’t making a reference. She just thought you impossible, along with everyone else.

You went along with it for a couple of months or so before you got tired of trying to do something, anything, and you wanted to go home. That was when things shifted.

You’re not a prisoner, they kept telling you, and it was true, in a way. The doors were always open, and your cuffs weren’t shackles. There were just certain rules to learning, particularly in these important early stages of the process. Rules to who goes where, and what to do, and what to wear at every hour of every day, and also the food all tasted the same, like sad mash of whatever vegetables they were able to find that week, but no. You weren’t a prisoner.

That was just life, here, and everyone else seemed fine with it, so what was your problem, exactly?

You were tired and terrified, and everyone told you that there was something about you that just didn’t make sense, which you could’ve told them from the start if only someone listened to you. Everything seemed pointless.

It was no wonder, then, that when Kaecilius and his band of lunatics offered to take you under their wing, to give you a cause and a reason to use your powers, you thought your luck might finally turn.

You’re such a special girl, they’d tell you. Such a special, clever girl. This is a great thing, you know. It’s your talent to make things right, make them the way they should be. You, my dear, are invaluable.

If it sounded too good to be true, that’s because it was.

Kaecililus’ definition of help, it turned out, meant subjugation; or at least the attempt of it. Do as I tell you. For once, your strangling limits turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

What a disappointment you are.

There were no grand speeches. No fanfare, no declaring you a nuisance; you felt the sentiment, anyway. The special, clever girl was a useless waste of time, after all, and was left behind as such. Never good enough. Not deserving of everlasting life.

Not that you wanted any part of that.

You faded back into oblivion again, unable to leave and unable to stay, stuck somewhere in between in the background where you were met with endless whispers and suspicion, doing your part and eating your mush without complaint. What else were you to do? People didn’t leave this place, after all, not before they understood what they came here to find.

Unless they suddenly started applying to your situation, you were fantastically uninterested in any more lectures.

It took a very long time for you to figure out that you could limit the random time jumps by using your powers as much as you could, small skips and halts to the point of exhaustion. If there was nothing left to use, you reasoned, your body couldn’t act without permission. Slowly, you were able to return their trinkets one by one until the only piece you had left was the one you’d brought from home; silver and black tourmaline. Putting it on again was a small relief.

You were still in London when the world was decimated.

The air was heavy and burnt with dust. It was all that was left of so many. The cries of those left behind dried up quickly, leaving a deafening silence in their wake. That was the part you most remembered in years to come: the smell, and the silence.

You were ready to disappear, too, and when whatever fate there was decided to spare you, you took matters into your own hands. The confusion and panic had raised your adrenaline, and the world stopped easily at your command.

It didn’t take you long to grab the few belongings you had left, to shove them into the wooden box every room was outfitted with, and to turn your back on your prison. You found the portal that would take you closest to home, and you stepped through.

You’d never been lucky for long, though. When you arrived, the front door was locked from the inside, and the television was still running, day and night, with no one left to turn it off. You shouted and knocked and rang the doorbell anyway, until your knuckles hurt and your voice got hoarse, and then you noticed that the name above the door was wrong. Time had once again passed unexpectedly, and this place you'd once called home did not belong to you anymore.

You were a nobody now, just like you’d wanted.

Right?

Right.

…

Anyway.

The first time you met Natasha Romanoff in person, a few weeks after the Snap, she only had to look at you for a couple of seconds to be able to read you like a book.

* * *

When you’re finally done, your voice is hoarse and your palms are bloody. You can tell both Wong and Strange are staring at you, but the only person you look at is Bucky.

He’s leaning against the invisible wall of his cell in the Sanctum’s undercroft, meeting your gaze in grim, unreadable silence. He hasn’t looked away from you once during your whole monologue.

You feel drained, turned completely inside out, presenting your most vulnerable parts for everyone to see; and yet, you keep looking at the one person in this room who’s going to remember any of it, calmly and unwaveringly. It makes your head swim, but you can’t keep looking away.

That me then, you think, your hands tapping a quiet rhythm on the cool stone floor. Disappointed?

A pity, you suppose, that you never did get an answer to that particular question.

To your surprise, Strange is the first to break the silence. "Well, then. You think that’s enough to let them out of there?"

Wong mutters a response you don’t understand, but something flickers in front of you for just a moment, and one blink later, Bucky’s in front of you. He wordlessly holds out his hand.

You don’t hesitate before you take it.

Time slows in a way that’s entirely imaginary as he pulls you back to your feet. Every inch of your skin that’s touching him turns hot and cold at the same time.

If it had been his right hand, you wouldn’t have dared to gently squeeze it before finally letting go.

Bucky looks like he wants to say something, but before he gets a chance to even open his mouth, Strange clears his throat. Not for the first time, you want to set his cloak on fire.

"It’s a good thing you came here."

"Oh, yes," you say. "Thanks again for the warm welcome. What fun we’ve had."

"You did break in," Wong says. "Over the past couple of months, we’ve had to be particularly careful when it comes to unexpected visitors. For what it’s worth, though," he adds, "I am sorry."

There’s an honesty to his voice that you appreciate, though not as much as Bucky staying a half-step in front of you during this whole conversation.

Strange claps his hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tea set appear on the sad old desk that’s been pushed against one of the dungeon walls. "Best not to dwell on it," he says, his cloak gently flapping at you. "May we take a look at your necklace?"

You hesitate. You’ve not taken it off in years, not even to sleep or train. It’s been what’s successfully hidden you away from anyone trying to find you or your powers.

Now that you’ve revealed all of yourself, though, you suppose there’s no point in denying him.

You place the necklace in his palm and he murmurs something. It starts glowing in gentle amber colors.

"It should do," he says to Wong. "Do you want the honors?"

"Here’s what I don’t understand," Wong says, ignoring him. "All of this could’ve been avoided with a few controlled time slips."

"A few what now?" you say.

"It’s the act of reversing time not for the whole universe, but for one small part of it. Even he could do it after just a few months," he says, nodding his head at Strange, who lifts an eyebrow.

"Look at you condoning going against the laws of nature."

"Shut up and do your job. Away from my carpets, this time."

"Your carpets, is it?" Strange says, his cloak flapping impatiently. His gray eyes bore into you one final time, assessing you, you think, or maybe silently telling you something you don’t understand. Then he turns and starts ascending the stairs again.

You wrap your arms around yourself. "I’ve not had months of training," you remind Wong.

"Not that first time," he replies. "From what you’ve told us, though, your training in the astral plane has progressed immensely. You should have much more control over your powers than you ever have before."

"So you’re saying I could do it now?"

"I’m saying there’s at least a chance. May I?"

You fiercely ignore Bucky glancing at you, holding out your arm. The symbols around your wrist buzz and glimmer when Wong murmurs something, his hands hovering over your skin. The smell of magic grows more potent as gentle wisps of light travel along your arm, poking at the loop.

Warm fingers wrap around your other hand this time, and you realize you’ve been shaking.

"With the time anomaly persisting, it will continue getting stronger with every repeat of this day," Wong continues out loud as he’s working. "It will eat away at the fabric between realities until things start to slip through, and then it’s only a matter of time until this one collapses entirely."

You swallow. "What things?"

"People. Places. Memories meant for other timelines. Playing with the fabric of everything is a dangerous pastime."

"It’s not like we’re doing it on purpose," Bucky speaks up for the first time. Your hold on his hand tightens.

Wong glances up at him. "Unfortunately, Sergeant Barnes, there are some rules that don’t care about intent."

"So what if it does?" you say. "Collapse, I mean. You know about me now, can you not portal or time slip us to another reality, let this one disintegrate? It’s cursed, anyway."

"Apart from the fact that that’s not how portals work," Wong says dryly, "that’s a reckless idea. All realities are connected in one way or another. One imploding like this might have disastrous consequences on the entire multiverse."

"This is about the whole sacred timeline thing again, isn’t it?" You roll your eyes. "Who came up with that, anyway? What makes our existence so damn special? I mean, there are endless possibilities out there, aren’t there? An infinite number of realities. Who’s to say we’re more real than the rest of them?"

"Magic, as a whole, is always a balancing act." The symbols return to their place just above your skin, tingling. Wong rubs his hands, looking at you. "Ask your actual question."

"I’m not supposed to exist here, am I?" You’re grateful for the fact that Bucky is still holding your hand, even though you don’t know why he would. It anchors you. "I switch between realities every time I jump back in time, right? So this one isn’t actually mine at all."

"Has anyone ever taught you about the Infinity Stones?"

Had they? You’d learned more about the stones at Campus than you ever had during your time at the Sanctum, but even then—knowing how to find a thing and understanding it aren’t the same thing.

You shake your head.

"The powers held by the stones are interconnected. You don’t just control time, your powers have an influence on space and reality by their very nature as well. You can’t just separate one from the other. Tea?"

You stay silent as he pours it into several mugs and offers you one. It’s steaming hot, and it smells almost exactly like the one you were offered in the astral plane; only with a dash of cinnamon.

"The thing is," Wong continues, blowing on his tea, "in a way, we all hold the same kind of power. These other worlds, they exist alongside this one, all the time, and each time we make a decision, our consciousness merely slips between them. That doesn’t make the ones we left behind more or less ours."

"But the stones got destroyed in our reality," Bucky says.

"There’s that thing called the first law of thermodynamics."

Bucky’s thumb traces an absentminded line along the back of your hand, and you have to hide a shiver. "Energy can’t be created or destroyed, it can only change its form."

"That’s exactly right. So you see, even though the stones may be turned to dust, they’re not gone. Otherwise, our reality—or any like it, in fact—wouldn’t continue to exist."

"That wasn’t my question, though," you argue. "The power of the stones still exists, whatever that means. That’s great. What does that have to do with me? Or with this loop, for that matter."

"You draw from the time stone’s energy more than the other’s," Wong replies. "Since the stones don’t exist in their physical form anymore in our reality, you are pulling the necessary energy from others in which they are still intact, at the moment of using your powers. You’ve been able to jump greater temporal distances more easily before, am I right? Before the stone was crushed into pieces?"

You’re about to deny it, but then he adds, gently, "When you were a child, maybe?"

Memories of repeated accidental time jumps rush through your mind. Memories of getting stuck in the same couple of minutes for hours on end, finally getting out of it after what had felt like years and yet not feeling any different at all.

It’d never made you feel so exhausted, then.

You’d never put it together consciously because the first time you tried using your powers after the Snap, you you’d already been exhausted for so long. You’d blame a lack of practice, of proper technique or attention or adequateness; a lack of freedom to use them however you wanted without feeling prying eyes watch your every move.

Later, you’d mostly blame yourself.

Bucky’s hand slips out of yours and you are brought back to the present again. The tea has gone tepid in your cup when you take a sip; it makes your eyes water with its bitter sting.

"What I’m trying to say is this," Wong continues. "There’s no right or wrong answer to whether you actually belong in this reality, because we all shift between related realities constantly. What you’re doing is unusual, yes, but not unheard of. And it certainly doesn’t mean you shouldn’t exist. Quite the contrary. I’ve found that everything and everyone of us has a purpose here."

You nod, your throat still clogged up.

"The loop," Bucky says. "How do we go about undoing it?"

We.

"It comes back to how it was created in the first place. With internalized magic like yours, the kind used on yourself instead of externally, it comes back to the emotions we feel when we reach out to the stones. They’re essential in what they help create."

Your mind replays the first time you’ve watched Bucky die in front of you. To that desperation, the guilt, the shame. And hidden underneath, still unnoticed, still pushed down, perhaps …

"Here you go," Strange says, returning your necklace. The tourmaline is warm to the touch, humming with newly imbued magic. "Whenever you’re ready, this should do the trick. You might get a bit light-headed."

You both stare at him. "This gets us out?" you ask, your voice cracking.

Strange frowns. "What? No."

"I told you," Wong says with an edge of impatience, "that’s not how portals work."

"Technically not a portal," you mumble, putting the pendant on again, feeling it pulsate warmly against your chest.

True to Strange’s words, you immediately feel a little dizzy with a rush of concentrated magic that has nowhere to go. Even though you’re seated, you have to grasp for Bucky’s arm to keep your balance.

"I’ve imbued the necklace with some of my own powers and linked it more closely to your person," Strange continues, and you dig the nails of your unoccupied hand into your palm to pay attention. "It should help you focus your powers more directly once you’re back in the astral plane and allow you to break the loop in time. Mind you, it’s merely an amplifier, not a quick fix. It might still take a while."

"How much time do we still have before the loop starts to disintegrate?" Bucky asks. Smart question. He’s so smart.

"You’re already past that point, Sergeant Barnes," Wong says, and it sends a chill through you. "But we’ll do our best to help as much as we can. I will set up some wards that should bypass my own consciousness and buy you some more time."

"Thank you," you say quietly, blinking quite a lot. "For all of this."

He nods, slowly, measuring you up, but not in the way you’re used to; for once, you appear to meet expectations. "Good luck, Miss Y/L/N. Let us know how these matters resolve."

"You doing okay, doll?" Bucky chuckles on your way up the stairs. It’s the first time he’s smiled even a little bit all afternoon. He should do it more. Why doesn’t he do it more?

It takes you a bit to notice you’re still holding onto his sleeve. "I’m great," you say. "Superb, really. Did the floor sway like that earlier? Seems like a safety issue. What time is it? I hope Sam’s alright."

"Maybe you should take that thing off again, hm?"

"No no no," you say quickly, immediately tripping over your own feet. Before you plant on your face in the middle of the entrance hall, Bucky manages to hold out his other arm to catch you. "Whoops."

"Very convincing," he says dryly, but there’s something akin to fondness in his eyes when he looks at you.

"You have the prettiest eyes," you tell him with a sigh, "did you know?"

"And you are quite literally drunk on power." A fascinating shadow falls over his face as he steadies you; it mostly reaches his cheeks. "Let’s hope that’ll fade once you get back to the astral plane or else you might just as well kill me yourself."

"I never want to do that. I don’t want that. Do you think I want to kill you?"

"If you did, now’s your chance." He huffs. "Wouldn’t blame ya."

You stare at him, at his oddly bright blue eyes and his self-deprecating scowl and at the way he’s still holding you upright, and then your lightheadedness makes you do something very, incredibly, outrageously stupid.

You kiss him.

It barely takes a moment to make you realize, like a shock of cold water, what it is you’re doing. Bucky freezes when your lips brush against his. They’re so soft.

You immediately jolt your head back, your heartbeat loud enough to reverberate in your ears, "Fuck!"

His eyes are so wide and so blue and he’s still holding your elbow, and so you yank your arms away and tumble backwards just as he says, "You’re not—"

But you’re still falling.

And then, with a start, you wake up.

* * * * *

"You have a lot of empty rooms," Sam said when he found you on one of the couches in the living room area, curled up to watch some Netflix.

You shrugged. "Guess Stark anticipated more people’d be left to use them after … everything."

"And it’s just you?"

You let the question sit for a moment, for some reason looking at your dish towel. "Yup," you replied finally. "Just me."

Sam nodded, apparently lost in thought.

"So yeah," you continued for some reason, "if you’re in the city and need a place, feel free, I guess."

You didn’t expect much to come of it. After all, Sam had his own apartment all the way over in D.C., and you honestly didn’t expect to see him much once this mission was over.

You told yourself that for the first five missions before you accepted that maybe he’d continue asking you to tag along.

In the end, it hadn’t been him who needed a place, anyway. It was Bucky.

He didn’t tell you the particulars about why he had to leave his Brooklyn apartment; you assumed he’d had to leave, because there was truly no other explanation why he’d choose to move in with you, of all people.

Then again, you hardly ever saw him, and if you hadn’t seen him bring an overnight bag and a withering houseplant on the weekend he’d settled in one of the upstairs bedrooms, you wouldn’t have known another person was living in the Tower at all.

Well, that and the food mysteriously disappearing from your fridge now.

Sam was the one most weirded out by your living situation, even though you were absolutely positive it’d been his idea in the first place.

"What did you expect?" you asked, handing him his usual coffee cup. "That we’d immediately become besties just because we share a kitchen?"

"It’s unnatural," he shook his head. "Do you communicate with each other at all?"

"Sure. Sometimes I leave post-its on the fridge and when I come back, they’re in the trash."

"One day, one of you is gonna outweird the other. I just hope I’m out of town." He bit into a rugelach and started coughing. "Jesus, what did you put in these?"

"Ask Bucky. He’s doing a whole midnight baking thing at the moment. I think he’s trying to take the Tower for himself by smoking me out."

Sam decidedly pushes the cookie tin farther away from him. "You’ve not asked him, then?"

"Again, he doesn’t respond to my post-its."

Truthfully, you were still mad at him. How were you supposed to wallow in peace if someone was constantly ignoring your personal space? There were only so many times you could flee into the blissful loneliness of the void.

In other words, you didn’t notice for a very long time that you didn’t seek out the quiet nearly as much anymore these days.

"Hey, Ratatouille," Sam said. "I was gonna tell you both, actually."

It was good progress that made you not flinch quite as much anymore when a cupboard opened just behind you. In fact, you didn’t even move a muscle.

On your second try.

"I was gonna tell you both, actually," Sam said again, taking a sip of coffee. "CIA wants us to quit the ULTIMATUM case."

"What?" you both said at the same time.

"Why?" Bucky asked irritably. "Sharon already sick of your face again?"

Sam threw a piece of rugelach at him. "I don’t think it was her call. But it means I gotta head to Virginia for a while and give them a full debrief so they can do their own 'internal investigation', whatever that’s supposed to mean. After that, we’re on our own."

"I don’t like this," Bucky said.

"Neither do I," Sam replied. "But I’m hoping to get some information out of them while I’m down there."

"So that’s just it?" you said. "They tell us to stop and we just have to drop everything?"

"Officially, yes."

Bucky crossed his arms. "When you say 'we’re on our own' …"

"I don’t trust these people," Sam said. "I want to know what they’re trying to keep hush. But you," he nods at Bucky, "have been pardoned for less than a year, and you," he nods at you, "don’t officially exist. I can’t guarantee either of these things will stay that way if we go against official government orders. So if you want an out, this is it."

You looked at Bucky, and for the first time, you didn’t find any challenge in his eyes. He simply looked at you, letting you make the call first.

Maybe it was a dare in and of itself, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your curiosity had been sparked.

"If you’re waiting for me to chicken out …"

For a fraction of a second, something like a smile made his mouth twitch. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

chapter ten

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[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 27/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, ANGST

Word Count: 8738

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 27 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

When you and Ben finally stepped into the meeting room, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The rest of the team glanced up, their expressions a mix of amusement, curiosity, and thinly veiled knowledge. It was clear they already knew—or at least suspected—what had happened behind closed doors.

Frenchie, of course, couldn’t resist. His lips curved into a devilish grin as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking between the two of you. “You look very… relaxed now, ma chérie. Flushed, but calm. I wonder why”.

You froze for half a second, your cheeks heating up again as you shot Frenchie a sharp glare. “Don’t start”, you warned, your voice firm but betraying a hint of embarrassment.

Ben, unfazed, strode past you and dropped into his chair, his confidence practically radiating off him. “She finally stopped running her mouth”, he said nonchalantly, his smirk returning as he stretched out in his seat. “Figured you’d all appreciate the peace and quiet”.

The room broke into scattered laughter, with even Hughie chuckling nervously. Annie gave you a sympathetic look, though the corners of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “I don’t know why I ever agreed to come with you”.

Frenchie raised his hand like he was about to make another comment, but you cut him off with a pointed glare. “Not one more word”.

He mimed zipping his lips, though the mischievous sparkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t done teasing you later.

Ben leaned back, clearly reveling in the attention, but his hand casually rested on the back of your chair, a subtle, possessive gesture. You shot him a look, and he simply smirked, unrepentant.

“Alright”, you muttered, settling into your chair with as much dignity as you could muster. “Let’s just get this over with”.

A while into the meeting, as the conversation droned on about Vought’s latest initiatives and team updates, you couldn’t help but yawn. Not just once—several times in a row. Each one seemed to grow louder, and you could feel Ben’s gaze burning into you from his seat beside you.

He finally leaned over, his voice low. “You gonna nap in the middle of this or what?”, he muttered, smirking as he watched you try to stifle yet another yawn.

You gave him a sidelong glance, your lips twitching into a sly smile. “I might”, you whispered back, just as smug. “But don’t forget—you’re the one who’s gonna be chasing a little girl around soon. You’ll be yawning just as much as me”.

Ben froze, his smirk faltering for a split second. He narrowed his eyes at you, about to respond, but the room suddenly went silent. You turned to see everyone staring at the two of you, their expressions a mix of surprise and intrigue.

“A girl?”, A-Train finally asked, breaking the silence. His eyebrows shot up as he leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “For sure?”.

The tension in the room shifted as all eyes turned to Ben, who leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of frustration and embarrassment in his expression. “Yeah”, he grumbled, his tone sharp but resigned.

Everyone exchanged glances, clearly remembering how adamantly Ben had insisted it was going to be a boy. M.M. raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, didn’t you say no way in hell it was a girl? Thought you were dead set on having a boy”.

The room erupted in laughter, everyone clearly enjoying the irony of Ben’s predicament. He sat there, his jaw clenched, glaring at each of them in turn as if daring someone to say one more word.

Frenchie leaned back in his chair. “So, big bad Soldier Boy”, he said, grinning widely, “how’s it feel knowing your little princess is gonna have you wrapped around her tiny finger in no time?”.

Ben shot him a death glare. “You want to find out what it feels like to be tossed out a window?”.

Frenchie held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Hey, no need to get violent, mon ami. I’m just saying—it’s a beautiful thing. Karma, as they say”.

M.M. chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned forward. “I gotta agree. After all that talk about sending your ‘boys’, turns out your girl’s the one taking over. Life’s funny like that”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling just under the surface. “You’re all real fucking hilarious”, he growled. “Got a fucking comedy routine planned for later, or is this it?”.

You placed a gentle hand on Ben’s arm, leaning close and whispering just loud enough for the group to hear, “Oh, come on, tough guy. It’s all in good fun”.

Ben shot you a look, his frustration softening slightly at your teasing smile. “You’re not helping”, he muttered under his breath.

You grinned, leaning back in your chair and patting your belly. “I think it’s adorable”, you said with mock sweetness. “Soldier Boy, getting all worked up over his baby girl. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen”.

Ben groaned, running a hand down his face as the laughter picked up again. “I’m never living this down”, he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Frenchie leaned closer, his grin as mischievous as ever. “Oh, no, mon ami”, he said. “Not a chance. This? This is going down in history”.

As the evening settled in, the soft hum of the car engine and the gentle rhythm of the road beneath you had lulled you into a sleepy haze. Ben pulled into the driveway, cutting the engine with a sharp turn of his wrist. He glanced over at you, slumped in the passenger seat, your head leaning against the window, eyes half-closed but still aware enough to give him a small, hopeful smile.

He narrowed his eyes, already knowing exactly what you were thinking. “Don’t even start”, he grumbled, leaning back in his seat with a groan. “You can walk. You’ve been walking all damn day”.

You blinked at him slowly, your smile widening just enough to add an extra layer of pleading. “Ben… I’m tired. The baby is tired too”, you murmured, your voice soft and laced with just the right amount of dramatics. Then, without missing a beat, you added, “And it’s your fault anyway. You’re the one who knocked me up”.

Ben groaned audibly, his head falling back against the headrest as he muttered under his breath. “Here we go”, he grumbled, throwing you a look that was equal parts exasperated and amused. “I swear, you bring that up every fucking chance you get”.

“Well, it’s true”, you replied, a playful pout forming on your lips. “If I wasn’t growing your child, I wouldn’t be this tired. So really, this is all on you”.

He rolled his eyes, his hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it. “Unbelievable”, he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not a damn taxi service, you know. Or a pack mule”.

You grinned, knowing you were wearing him down. “You’re not a taxi service or a pack mule”, you agreed sweetly, before adding, “You’re my handsome baby daddy. Which means carrying me inside is literally part of the job description”.

Ben stared at you for a long moment, his lips pressed into a tight line. Finally, he sighed heavily and threw open his door. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he stomped around to your side of the car. “I used to be the toughest guy in the room, and now I’m a fuckinf baby daddy".

You tried to suppress your grin as he opened your door, but it was impossible. He glared at you, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that betrayed how much he secretly didn’t mind.

“Don’t say a word”, he warned, his voice low and full of mock menace, before he bent down and effortlessly scooped you up into his arms.

You squealed softly in surprise, looping your arms around his neck. “Oh, Ben”, you teased, resting your head against his shoulder. “You’re so strong and manly. How lucky am I to have a big, strong boyfriend who takes such good care of me?”.

Ben groaned, rolling his eyes as he started toward the house. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”, he muttered, though his grip on you was firm and steady. “Keep it up, and I’ll drop you right here on the driveway”.

You snuggled closer, your grin widening. “You wouldn’t dare”.

Ben glanced down at you, his smirk returning. “Try me”, he said, though the way he held you closer betrayed his words. He carried you up the steps, muttering under his breath about how he was too old for this and how you were lucky you were cute.

Once upstairs, Ben carried you into the bedroom, his grumbling still audible but softened by the way he handled you so carefully. He set you down gently on the bed, stepping back with a sigh as you immediately started wiggling your feet, pointing at your shoes with an exaggerated pout.

“Seriously?”, he asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at you. “You’re not helpless, you know”.

You gave him a sweet, innocent look, fluttering your lashes. “But I’m so tired, Ben. And they’re your fault anyway. You tied them too tight this morning”.

Ben groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Of course they’re my fault”, he muttered, crouching down in front of you. “Because apparently, fucking everything is”.

He grabbed one of your feet, tugging at the laces with more force than necessary, but he still managed to get the shoe off gently. You couldn’t help but grin as he moved on to the second one, muttering curses under his breath the entire time.

Ben tossed your second shoe aside with an exaggerated sigh, still crouched in front of you as he glared playfully up at your grinning face. You tilted your head, batting your lashes in that way you knew drove him crazy, and said softly, “I love you”.

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, though you could see the flicker of affection in his eyes despite his annoyance. “Yeah, yeah”, he muttered, standing up and brushing off his hands. “You only love me when I’m taking your shoes off”.

You laughed softly, leaning back on your hands, your gaze sweeping over him. “That’s not true. I love you all the time”. Your tone turned lighter, more teasing, as you added, “But I might love you a little extra right now… Especially in that suit”.

Ben rolled his eyes, but you could tell he was holding back a smirk. Before he could say anything else, you patted the bed beside you, your grin turning mischievous. “You sure you don’t want to stay in the suit a little longer?”, you whispered, your voice low and inviting.

His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you with a mix of suspicion and amusement. “You’re real funny, you know that?”, he muttered, though he didn’t move. “What’s the angle this time?”.

“No angle”, you said sweetly, patting the bed again. “I just thought maybe Soldier Boy could take a break for a bit. Right here. With me”.

Ben groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible”, he muttered, but the way he stepped closer and sank down beside you betrayed his smirk. He looked at you, his green eyes glinting as he added, “You really think I’m keeping this suit on, don’t you?”.

You shrugged innocently, leaning into him just slightly. “I think it’s worth considering”, you teased. “For old time’s sake”.

Ben chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret saying that”. His tone carried just the slightest hint of a warning, making your grin widen even further.

You murmured softly, your voice playful but laced with suggestion. “I could use some more of Soldier Boy tonight”, you said, your fingers drifting over the edge of his belt.

Ben froze for a split second, his eyes narrowing as a wicked smirk spread across his face. But before he could say anything, you reached out and grabbed him, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t tell me you’re tired”, you teased, looking up at him with a knowing grin.

His smirk vanished, replaced by a low growl as he leaned down, his face hovering just above yours. “Oh, you’re asking for it now”, he muttered, his voice deep and rough. “But let me make one thing clear—you’re definitely not on top tonight, doll”.

Without another word, he moved with that quick, commanding confidence he always carried. In one swift motion, he had switched positions, pinning you beneath him. His strong arms caged you in, and his weight pressed you into the bed as he hovered above you, his suit glinting in the dim light. The sheer presence of him, his authority and intensity, was almost overwhelming.

“Comfortable?”, he asked, his tone dripping with mockery, though his eyes burned with desire.

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely. “Very”, you whispered, your voice soft but filled with anticipation.

“Good”, he growled, leaning in closer until his lips barely brushed against your ear. “Because you’re not getting up until I’m done with you”.

The next morning, the sun was streaming softly through the kitchen windows as you moved around the counters, preparing breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint sizzle of something on the stove. You were still in your robe, your hair slightly tousled, but there was a peacefulness in the way you moved—a small smile tugging at your lips as you hummed softly to yourself.

Ben appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame for a moment as he watched you. He was shirtless, his sweats hanging low on his hips, his hair still messy from sleep. His eyes were heavy-lidded, but there was a flicker of something warm and amused in his expression as he took you in.

“Didn’t expect you to be up already”, he grumbled, his voice rough from sleep as he pushed off the doorframe and made his way to you.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, giving him a small, playful smile. “Well, someone has to feed you”, you teased lightly, turning back to flip whatever was in the pan. “Figured I’d get a head start”.

Ben smirked as he reached you, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his scruff grazing your skin as he murmured, “Didn’t think you’d have any energy left after last night”.

You chuckled, leaning back into his embrace. “I recover fast”, you said cheekily, tilting your head to look at him. “Coffee’s ready, by the way”.

Ben groaned appreciatively, releasing you only to grab a mug from the counter. He poured himself a cup, leaning against the counter as he watched you plate up breakfast. “You really don’t need to do all this”, he muttered, though the look in his eyes said he appreciated it more than he’d admit. “But I’m not gonna complain”.

You set a plate down in front of him, raising an eyebrow. “Good", you teased, sitting down beside him at the table. “Because you owe me a big ‘thank you’ after making me so sore I could barely walk this morning”.

Ben nearly choked on his coffee, his bark of laughter echoing through the kitchen as he shook his head. “Fuck, woman”, he muttered, but the grin on his face was undeniable. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”.

“Not when it’s true”, you quipped, digging into your own breakfast with a satisfied smirk.

After breakfast, you and Ben headed upstairs to shower and get dressed for the day. The water had been warm, soothing away the lingering aches from the night before, and you felt refreshed as you dried off and slipped into some comfortable clothes. Ben was already halfway dressed, tugging on his usual jeans and shirt while you finished up at the closet.

You were just about to close the closet door when you turned your wrist at an odd angle, a sharp, sudden crack echoing in the quiet room. The pain hit immediately, sharp and jarring, and you let out a loud curse as your eyes filled with tears.

“Shit!”, you hissed, clutching your wrist and cradling it against your chest as you backed away from the closet. The pain was sharp enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you winced as you tried to straighten your hand.

Ben spun around instantly, his eyes narrowing as he crossed the room in two long strides. “What the hell happened?”, he demanded, his voice tense as his hands hovered near you, unsure where to touch without hurting you more.

“My wrist”, you gasped, blinking back the tears as the pain throbbed. “I think I twisted it—or something popped”.

Ben’s face darkened with concern, his jaw tightening as he gently reached for your hand. “Let me see”, he said, his voice calmer now but still laced with urgency. He carefully cradled your wrist in his large hands, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examined it.

You winced when his fingers brushed a tender spot, and he immediately eased off, his green eyes locking onto yours. “It doesn’t look broken”, he muttered, his tone gruff but soothing. “But we’re not taking any chances. I’m calling Dr. Collins”.

“Ben, it’s probably nothing”, you started, but he silenced you with a sharp look.

“Don’t argue”, he growled, already pulling out his phone. “You’re pregnant, and we’re not risking shit. End of story”.

You sighed, knowing better than to push him when he was like this. “Fine”, you muttered, cradling your wrist again.

As Ben helped you out of the car in front of the tower where Dr. Collins’ office was located, you carefully maneuvered yourself out of the seat, still cradling your aching wrist. Ben held your uninjured hand, steadying you as you moved, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the protective way he hovered close.

You turned to close the car door, using your elbow instead of your hand to push it shut, not wanting to aggravate your injury. But as soon as you applied pressure, there was another sharp pop, followed by an immediate, searing pain in your elbow.

“Fuck”, you hissed, your voice breaking as fresh tears sprang to your eyes. You clutched your arm, wincing as the pain radiated through your joint. “Owwww, Ben, that hurt”.

Ben froze, his eyes snapping to you with alarm as he stepped closer. “What happened now?”, he demanded, his voice sharp with concern.

“My elbow”, you whimpered, your face scrunching in pain as you tried to straighten it. “It just—something popped. It hurts”.

Ben swore under his breath, his jaw tightening as he scanned you like he was trying to will himself to find a solution on the spot. He crouched slightly, his hand carefully moving to support your arm. “Damn it", he muttered, his tone low but filled with frustration—mostly at the situation. “You’re falling apart on me”.

“I’m not falling apart”, you snapped weakly, though the pain made your voice wobble. “It’s just—ow, it’s not my fault, Ben”.

His sharp gaze softened slightly as he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, come on”, he said gruffly, his tone calmer now. “We’re not waiting around. I’ll carry you if I have to, but we’re getting this checked out now”.

You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to manage the pain, leaning into Ben’s support as he guided you toward the tower. He muttered under his breath the entire way, a mix of curses and grumbled reassurances that somehow made you feel both cared for and exasperated at the same time.

As you entered the building, he glanced down at you, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. “Next time, don’t even think about trying to shut a door by yourself”, he said firmly, his voice softening just a fraction. “You got that, doll?”.

You gave him a weak smile, despite the pain. “Got it”, you whispered, appreciating his relentless need to take care of you, even when he was clearly stressed.

“Good”, he muttered, his hand steady on your back as he led you to the elevator. “Let’s get this figured out before you manage to break something else”.

Inside Dr. Collins’ office, the nurse took one look at your teary eyes and the way you were cradling your wrist and elbow, and she instantly guided you back to the exam room. Ben followed close behind, his expression stormy as he began explaining everything to the nurse in clipped, frustrated tones.

“She twisted her wrist somehow while getting dressed”, he grumbled, his voice low but tense. “Then her damn elbow popped when she shut the car door. And now we’re here because she keeps—”.

“Ben”, you interrupted, glaring at him as best you could through the pain. “I can explain my own—”.

“Not happening”, Ben shot back, his hand on your lower back as he motioned for you to sit on the exam bench. “You’re falling apart. Someone’s gotta keep track”.

Ignoring him, you tried to get onto the bench without his help, determined to prove you weren’t entirely helpless. But as you shifted your weight, a sharp, audible pop sounded from your hip, followed immediately by an explosion of pain that radiated through your lower back and down your leg.

“Fuck!”, you cried, clutching your side as tears streamed down your face. The pain was so sudden and overwhelming that your body shook, your breath coming in uneven gasps.

Ben froze mid-sentence, his attention snapping to you instantly. “What the fuck?”, he barked, rushing to your side as you slumped slightly on the bench.

Dr. Collins, who had just stepped into the room, immediately took control. “Alright, let’s get her settled and figure out what’s going on”, she said calmly, motioning for the nurse to assist as she moved to your side.

Ben hovered, his frustration giving way to visible panic as he watched you struggle. “She’s been fine until now”, he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

The doctor gave him a firm look, her tone steady but reassuring. “We’ll take care of her. But I need you to let me do my job, alright?”.

Ben nodded stiffly, stepping back but staying close enough to catch you if you wobbled again.

You couldn’t stop the tears at this point, the combination of physical pain and emotional frustration too much to hold back. “Ben, I’m—”, you started, your voice breaking, but he cut you off.

“Don’t”, he said firmly, his green eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t you dare apologize. This isn’t your fault”.

You nodded weakly, gripping his hand as he squeezed your shoulder in silent reassurance. But the moment Ben did, a sharp crack echoed through the room, followed by a searing jolt of pain shooting down your arm and into your neck. You cried out, your voice breaking with both shock and agony.

“Shit!”, you gasped, clutching your other arm instinctively as fresh tears spilled from your eyes. “Ben! Stop touching me!”.

Ben’s face paled as his hand immediately flew back, his wide green eyes filled with panic. “I didn’t even—fuck, I didn’t mean—”, he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Dr. Collins snapped into action, her calm professionalism overriding the chaos in the room. “Alright, alright, let’s slow down”, she said firmly, motioning for the nurse to grab an additional support cushion for the bench. “We need to figure out what’s happening here”.

Ben, visibly shaken, stepped aside but stayed close, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “This isn’t normal”, he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous. “Her whole body can’t just… crack like this”.

Dr. Collins nodded, her brow furrowing as she gently guided you to sit upright, her hands careful not to cause more pain. “Let’s take a closer look”, she murmured, her tone soothing. “We’ll check your joints, your bone structure, and anything else that could explain this”.

You sniffled, still cradling your aching shoulder, your tears spilling freely now. “It hurts so much”, you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dr. Collins froze mid-examination, her professional demeanor slipping for the first time as she looked up at you, her face pale with concern. “Okay, stop moving!”, she said sharply, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic edge of panic. “Just—stay put. Don’t even move a damn finger”.

Ben stiffened at her tone, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “What the hell is going on?”, he demanded, his voice low but filled with barely restrained anger.

Dr. Collins ignored him for the moment, her attention locked on you as she ran her hands carefully over your shoulder and wrist, her touch feather-light. She moved quickly to check your elbow and hip, her brow furrowing deeper with every touch.

She straightened suddenly, pulling off her gloves and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Her bones”, she said softly, almost to herself. Then louder, with more urgency, “Her wrist, her elbow, her shoulder, and her hip—they’re broken”.

“What?”, Ben barked, his voice rising as he looked between you and the doctor. “Broken? How the fuck is that even possible?”.

Dr. Collins turned to you, her expression now openly worried. “You shouldn’t even be conscious right now”, she said, her voice trembling slightly. “The level of pain you must be in—your body should have shut down. You should have passed out”.

You stared at her, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to process her words. “I—I don’t know”, you stammered, tears streaming freely now. “It hurts, but… I can handle it".

Dr. Collins took a deep breath, clearly trying to regain her composure. “I need to run tests immediately”, she said, her voice firm but still laced with concern.

She turned to her nurse, barking quick instructions. “Get the portable scanner and order a full panel of labs immediately. I want detailed bloodwork, hormone levels, and a skeletal scan. Now”.

The nurse nodded, hurrying out of the room as Dr. Collins turned back to you, her hands hovering near your shoulder, careful not to touch you again. “I need you to stay as still as possible”, she said gently but firmly. “I’ll stabilize you, but I need those results to figure out what’s happening”.

Ben, still pacing like a caged animal, let out another growl of frustration. “How does this happen out of nowhere?”, he snapped, his voice sharp. “Yesterday, she was fine. Now her damn bones are breaking left and right?”.

Dr. Collins sighed, her expression tense as she adjusted the ultrasound machine. “This is exactly what I warned the two of you about last appointment”, she muttered under her breath, her frustration barely concealed. She pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, her movements quick and precise as she began preparing the ultrasound.

Ben’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. He glared at her, his tone sharp. “You warned us about broken bones? Because I don’t fucking remember hearing anything like that”.

Dr. Collins shot him a pointed look as she adjusted the wand and positioned it over your belly. “I told you that if the baby started growing rapidly, her body might struggle to keep up. It’s not just about size—it’s the strength, the energy demands, the strain on her entire system. Her body is trying, but it’s not designed for this”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting between Ben and the monitor. The tension in the room was suffocating, but you stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. The soft sound of the ultrasound filled the room as the image of your baby flickered to life on the screen.

Dr. Collins studied the screen intently, her brow furrowing as she made adjustments. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but grim. “Right. Just as I thought”.

She turned the monitor slightly so you and Ben could see. “The baby has started to grow significantly again. Look at the measurements here compared to last week—they’ve nearly doubled”.

Your breath hitched, and you felt Ben’s hand tighten on the back of your chair. “Doubled?”, you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dr. Collins nodded, pointing to the screen. “Your baby is healthy, but the accelerated growth is demanding more from your body than it can safely provide. Your bones, your muscles, your organs—they’re all trying to adapt, but there’s a limit to what they can handle”.

Ben ran a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling out in his tone. “So, what are you saying? That her body can’t do it? That this is just gonna keep happening?”.

Dr. Collins sighed, turning to face the two of you fully. “I’m saying her body is compensating as best as it can, but it’s at a breaking point. She’s human, and this is the first documented case of a supe-human pregnancy. Her body isn’t built for the kind of strain a supe baby brings”.

You felt your heart sink, your hand instinctively moving to your belly as tears stung your eyes. “But the baby’s okay?”, you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Collins nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Yes. The baby is fine right now. But we need to act quickly to prevent further damage to you. If we don’t, the strain could affect both of you”.

Ben took a step closer, his voice low and firm. “What do we do?”.

Dr. Collins met Ben’s intense gaze, her expression steady but serious. “We’re going to run more tests to get a full picture”, she said firmly, her voice calm but with a weight behind it. “But… I think it’s time we start the V medication”.

The room went silent for a moment, her words hanging heavy in the air. Ben’s jaw tightened, his shoulders tensing as his eyes flicked to you, then back to Dr. Collins. “You think or you fucking know?”, he asked, his voice low, sharp, and brimming with frustration. “Because this isn’t something we can get wrong for fuck´s sake”.

Dr. Collins stood her ground, her tone unwavering. “I’m confident it’s the best step forward. The V medication will help strengthen her body to handle the strain the baby is putting on her. Without it, we’re risking further complications—more broken bones, or worse. This is about keeping her stable”.

You sat there, frozen, your mind racing. The idea of taking V was something you’d talked about in passing, always as a last resort. But now, hearing it spoken of as a necessity, you felt your chest tighten with anxiety. “Will it hurt the baby?”, you asked quietly, your voice trembling.

Dr. Collins let out a steadying breath, her hands clasped together as she looked between you and Ben. “Nothing has changed”, she said carefully, her tone measured but firm. “We still can’t say for certain how the V medication will affect her long term or if it will impact the baby. But if we don’t do this, we’re left with one other option”.

You felt your heart sink, your hands tightening over your belly protectively. “What option?”, you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

Dr. Collins’ expression turned grim, and her voice softened, as if she was trying to ease the blow. “We would need to deliver the baby now”.

The room seemed to freeze, her words cutting through the tension like a knife. Ben stiffened beside you, his jaw tightening as his hand gripped the back of your chair.

“Now?”, he said, his voice sharp, like the word itself was dangerous. “She’s not even close to ready! Look at her, she´s the size of a fucking Potatoe”.

Dr. Collins nodded, her face solemn. “Exactly. The baby is still delayed in her growth. Delivering her now would mean a very slim chance of survival. Her lungs, her organs—they aren’t ready yet”.

Your chest tightened, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a boulder. “So it’s either the V medication… or we risk losing her?”, you asked, your voice trembling.

Dr. Collins met your eyes, her gaze steady but empathetic. “Yes”, she said softly. “The V medication gives us the best chance to keep both of you safe. But we need to act quickly”.

Ben let out a low growl, his hand moving to grip your shoulder lightly. “You can’t give us anything better than ‘best chance’?”, he said, his frustration boiling to the surface. “What the fuck kind of science is this?”.

“Ben”, you said softly, placing your hand on his, your voice shaking. “It’s okay”.

He turned to you, his expression fierce but with a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “It’s not okay”, he muttered. “None of this is okay”.

Dr. Collins straightened, her voice firm as she addressed you both. “I understand this is an impossible decision, but it’s the only path forward. We’ll start with a low dose and monitor every single change. If it doesn’t work, we’ll reevaluate. But right now, this is our safest option”.

You swallowed hard, looking down at your belly as tears welled in your eyes. “She’s okay now”, you whispered, almost to yourself. “I can’t lose her”.

Ben crouched down, his hands moving to rest on your knees as he looked up at you. “You’re not gonna lose her”, he said, his voice softer but no less determined.

Dr. Collins nodded, stepping back. “I’ll prepare the injection. We’ll monitor her and you immediately afterward”.

You glanced at Ben, his gaze locked on yours, and in that moment, you both knew there was no turning back. This was the only way to give you and your baby a fighting chance.

As the tension hung thick in the room, a nurse stepped back in, handing Dr. Collins a fresh set of papers. The doctor scanned the blood results quickly, her expression shifting as she took in the information. She glanced up at you and Ben, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Interesting”, she murmured, setting the papers aside before meeting your eyes. “Your bloodwork just confirmed that the baby is already producing small amounts of Compound V”.

You blinked, taken aback. “What does that mean?”, you asked, your voice shaky.

Dr. Collins exhaled, leaning slightly on the counter. “It means that some of the V is transferring to you through the pregnancy. That’s why you haven’t felt the kind of pain you should have from the broken bones—it’s dulling your sensitivity to some of it”.

Ben leaned forward, his sharp gaze locked on her. “But it’s not enough, is it?”, he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Dr. Collins shook her head. “No, it’s not enough. While it’s helping manage some of the pain, it’s not protecting you from the physical damage. Your bones are still breaking under the strain. The V the baby is producing simply isn’t sufficient to ensure your safety, her safety”.

Your hand moved instinctively to your belly, a mixture of wonder and worry washing over you. “She’s trying to protect herself?”, you whispered, tears stinging your eyes again.

Dr. Collins offered a small, empathetic smile. “In a way, yes. But the demands on your body are too great for what she can provide right now”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “Then what the hell are we waiting for?”, he snapped. “Get the injection ready”.

Dr. Collins nodded briskly, turning to prepare the syringe. “It’s going to be a low dose”, she explained as she worked, her movements precise. “We’ll start small to minimize risk and monitor you closely for any reactions. If it works as intended, it should stabilize your body enough to handle the rest of the pregnancy”.

The nurse handed her the prepared syringe, and Dr. Collins approached you carefully. “This might sting a little”, she said softly, her voice calm and reassuring.

You nodded, your heart racing as you looked up at Ben. His green eyes met yours, intense but filled with a protective softness that grounded you. “You ready?”, he asked, knwoing what will follow, his hand reaching out to hold yours.

You took a deep breath, gripping his hand tightly. “Yeah”, you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dr. Collins administered the injection with precision, the needle pricking your arm before a slow, burning sensation spread through your veins. You winced slightly, squeezing Ben’s hand as the Compound V began to take effect.

“Done”, Dr. Collins said, stepping back and watching you carefully. “Now we wait".

It didn’t even take ten minutes before you felt it—a strange, overwhelming sensation coursing through your body. It started as a faint warmth under your skin but quickly escalated. Within moments, it felt like your blood was boiling, searing every nerve in your body. You let out a shaky breath, your grip on Ben’s hand tightening involuntarily.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s—hot. Fucking burning”.

Ben’s jaw tensed immediately, his green eyes darkening with a mix of worry and memory. He still remembered what it felt like when he’d been injected with Compound V all those years ago—an experience that had been far more intense and violent, considering the sheer amount and potency of what he’d been given. But seeing you go through even a fraction of that now made his blood run cold.

He knelt beside you, his large hand cupping your face as his other stayed firm over your trembling fingers. “Breathe”, he said, his voice rough but steady. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing, doll”.

Dr. Collins had already stepped closer, her sharp gaze monitoring your vitals on the nearby screen. “It’s an expected reaction”, she said calmly, though there was a flicker of concern in her tone. “The body’s metabolizing the V. It’s amplifying her systems to adapt—but yes, it’s going to feel… intense”.

You gasped, your head falling back as the heat seemed to peak, your entire body tense like a coiled spring. “It’s—it’s too much”, you choked out, tears springing to your eyes as the sensation seemed to crescendo. “I can’t—”.

“You can”m Ben cut in, his voice firm, his grip on you unyielding. “You’re tougher than this. You hear me? You can take it”.

His words, while gruff, cut through the chaos in your mind like an anchor. You focused on his eyes, on the steady pressure of his hands, and tried to regulate your breathing. The firestorm inside you didn’t fade, but with Ben right there, it felt just a little more bearable.

Dr. Collins nodded approvingly, checking your blood pressure and heart rate on the monitor. “Her vitals are holding steady”, she confirmed. “It’s working. But the adaptation process is painful—there’s no way around that”.

“I know it hurts”, he muttered, his voice softer now. “But you’re doing good. Real good”.

For over an hour, the pain tore through you like a relentless storm, leaving you gasping for breath and trembling uncontrollably. Each wave felt like it might push you over the edge, but somehow, you didn’t pass out. You clung to Ben’s steady presence—his hand gripping yours, his voice a constant anchor through the chaos.

“You’re doing so good”, he murmured again and again, his thumb brushing over your damp knuckles. “Just hang in there, doll. It’s gonna pass. I’ve got you”.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the fire coursing through your veins began to subside. The sharp intensity dulled into a heavy ache that spread through your entire body. Your muscles stopped trembling, your breath evened out, and the room around you stopped spinning. You were utterly drained, the fight having taken every ounce of your strength.

As soon as the pain faded, exhaustion overtook you like a tidal wave. Your head lolled back, your eyes fluttering shut despite Ben’s soft voice calling your name.

“She’s out”, Dr. Collins said quietly, stepping closer to check your vitals. “That’s okay. Her body’s been through an immense amount of stress. Sleep is the best thing for her right now”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked on your face as he kept his hand wrapped around yours. “Is she okay?”, he demanded, his voice rough with worry. “You’re sure?”.

Dr. Collins nodded, though her expression remained serious. “Her vitals are stable. The V has integrated, and her body’s started to adapt. But we’ll keep monitoring her closely. The next few hours are critical”.

You slept deeply, your body finally allowed a moment of respite after enduring so much. Ben didn’t move from his spot beside you, his hand never leaving yours as he kept watch, his protective instincts refusing to let him rest.

The next week passed in a grueling blur. Each day seemed to follow the same exhausting routine: Ben brought you to Dr. Collins’ office for the V injection, and every time it left you feeling weaker, more drained than the last. The pain wasn’t as intense as the first time, but the constant strain on your body wore you down in ways you hadn’t expected.

Ben was always by your side, carrying you when you couldn’t walk, holding you through the worst of it, and staying close to make sure you were safe. But even his unwavering presence couldn’t stop the creeping doubt and despair from settling in. Every injection left you feeling more fragile, more exhausted, and more uncertain about how you could keep going.

One evening, after yet another long day, Ben carried you up the stairs to the bedroom. Your body felt heavier than ever, your limbs weak and trembling as you leaned against him. When he finally laid you down on the bed and pulled the blankets over you, you turned to him, your voice barely a whisper.

“I can’t do this for another four weeks”, you said, tears welling in your eyes. “Ben, I don’t… I don’t think I can”.

Ben froze for a moment, his hands still resting on the edge of the blanket. His jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration, the helplessness, the anger at the situation. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching for yours as he let out a long, shaky breath.

“You can”, he said firmly, his voice low but steady. “You don’t have a choice, doll. We’ve come this far, and you’re stronger than you think. I’ve seen it”.

You shook your head, the tears spilling over as you looked up at him. “It doesn’t feel like it”, you admitted, your voice breaking. “Every day, I feel weaker. I’m scared, Ben. What if I can’t make it?”.

His grip on your hand tightened, and he leaned closer, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You will”, he growled, his voice filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Or to her”.

Ben gently pulled you into his arms, wrapping them around you as if trying to shield you from the weight of everything pressing down on you. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there as his hand ran soothingly up and down your back. You felt his breath against your hair, steady and grounding, but you could sense the tension in his body—the worry he tried so hard to keep hidden from you.

Everyone was worried. Your parents had been calling constantly, Annie checking in every chance she got. The concern from everyone else was palpable, but it was nothing compared to the silent storm raging inside Ben. He was trying to hold everything together for you, but you could see it in his eyes—the sleepless nights, the quiet moments where he stared at you like he was terrified you might disappear.

Still, there was no other option. Every day you endured the V injection, your baby’s survival chances climbed higher. She was still too small, her growth not yet at the point where delivery was safe. Every hour you held on mattered, even though it felt like your body was crumbling under the strain.

You cried against his chest, the tears spilling freely as pain and exhaustion overwhelmed you.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, but his presence kept you anchored, his unwavering support the only thing holding you together. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ben spoke again, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute.

“She’s gonna make it”, he murmured, his hand resting gently over your belly. “And so are you. We’re not giving up, doll. Not now. Not ever”.

You nodded weakly against him, the exhaustion pulling at you like a tide. But you held onto his words, his strength, and the tiny, fragile hope that it would all be worth it in the end.

Eventually, the exhaustion pulled you under, and you fell asleep against Ben’s chest, your soft, uneven breaths the only sound in the quiet room. His hand stayed on your back, moving in slow circles, even after you drifted off. He stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tightly as he fought against his own helplessness. It had been eight long, grueling days of this—your body breaking down, the V injections pushing you to your limits, and the endless cycle of pain and sleep that seemed to define your existence now.

You weren’t living anymore, not really. You were surviving. Your days were reduced to lying in bed or sitting in the most comfortable chair in the house, Ben constantly hovering nearby like a guardian who wouldn’t let anything near you. The few times you managed to get up and move, it was brief and painful, and it only served to frustrate you further.

The pity visits from friends and family didn’t help. They came with worried eyes and forced smiles, trying to be cheerful or reassuring, but you hated it. You hated the way they looked at you, as if you were fragile, something that might shatter at any moment. Annie’s kind words, your mom’s gentle touch, even M.M.’s rare, soft-spoken encouragement—all of it grated against you, a constant reminder of how far you’d fallen from the strong, independent person you used to be.

Ben knew how much you despised those visits, and he didn’t push you to entertain anyone. If you wanted to send them away, he made it happen. If you wanted to endure it for their sake, he stayed right by your side, silently enduring the tension right along with you.

But he was breaking too. He tried to hide it, but you could see it in the way his hands lingered over you when he touched you, as if grounding himself in the fact that you were still here. You caught the moments when he’d pace the room after you fell asleep, muttering curses under his breath or rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t know what else to do. He hated seeing you like this, hated that he couldn’t fix it, couldn’t take the pain for you.

When you stirred awake, your head still resting on his chest, you could feel the tension in him—the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the slight tremble in his hand as it rested against your back.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice hoarse and tired.

He looked down at you instantly, his green eyes softening as they met yours. “Hey”, he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You okay?”.

You nodded weakly, though the ache in your body hadn’t faded. “I’m sorry”, you whispered, guilt tugging at your chest. “I hate that you have to deal with this”.

His expression darkened, and he shook his head firmly. “Don’t”, he said gruffly, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You don’t apologize for this. None of this is your fault”.

You whispered, your voice trembling with exhaustion and frustration, “I hate it so much, Ben. I hate how useless I feel… how everyone looks at me. Like I’m already broken”.

Ben stiffened beneath you, his hand pausing its soothing motions on your back. He let out a long, slow exhale, his jaw tightening as if your words cut him just as deeply. For a moment, he said nothing, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer against his chest.

“You’re not useless”, he muttered finally, his voice low and rough, like he was fighting the words out. “And you sure as hell aren’t broken. You’re doing the hardest thing anyone could ever do, and you’re still here. Still fighting”.

You shook your head weakly, tears pooling in your eyes again. “I don’t feel like I’m fighting, Ben. I feel like I’m just… lying here, waiting. For what, I don’t even know”.

“For her”, Ben said firmly, his hand moving to rest on your belly, warm and protective. “You’re waiting for her, so you can bring her into this world safe. That’s not nothing. That’s everything”.

His words brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, and you buried your face against his chest, letting them spill freely. “I just want this to be over”, you choked out. “I want to feel normal again”.

“I know”, Ben murmured, his voice softer now, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I know, baby. And I hate this for you. I hate that you’re going through it. But you’re not alone, you hear me? You’re not doing this by yourself”.

You clung to him, his words grounding you even as your emotions threatened to pull you under. “Promise me”, you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Promise me it’ll be worth it”.

Ben pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His green eyes were fierce, unwavering. “It’s already worth it”, he said, his voice steady and resolute. “You’re worth it. She’s worth it. And I’ll make damn sure that both of you come out of this okay. I swear to you”.

The conviction in his voice, the sheer force of his presence, gave you a flicker of hope. You nodded slowly, your tears beginning to subside as he held you close again, his arms a fortress around you.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

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Part 28

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219

[riansdiary]

YOU HAVE IT ALL NOW. END OF STORY. PERIOD. DOOR SLAM!!! (Be Your Own Abdullah!)

Dearest Gentle Readers 💎

Let this be the last Tumblr post that you will read. This is the secret to not wavering and spiraling. Aren't you tired? If yes then continue reading. If not, grab that manifestation by the horns and be stubborn about you having it already no matter what.

I have a little Halloween aesthetic treat for you today and Nancy Wheeler who I love so much from Stranger Things! I've been rewatching Stranger Things to get ready for the fifth season and some parts of it made me think about manifestation. In fact, I have a new analogy coming soon and I'm working on it now.

Before anything, I wanna thank the people who helped me have a better and stronger new mindset about all this. First of all, I'd like to thank @babygothprincess as usual for her deciding post that has really helped me a lot. Second, I am grateful for Taylor Tookes' updated outlook and mindset about manifestation that immensely improved mine as well. I agreed completely with everything she said.

Fun fact: I loved her X account as it really helped my mindset get better and her tweets have helped me a lot. Let me just set up the story. I wanted her to have an updated video about her new way of manifesting now that can be seen on her X account. I just decreed and decided that she's gonna post an updated video about her new mindset and beliefs about the law of assumption and voila! Later on, I went to her YouTube account to watch a video and she has a new video about the exact topic I wanted! Yes, I manifested it. I did that once and relaxed. Told myself that it is done.

The third and last is for Nancy Wheeler from Stranger Things. She helped me become braver and stronger just by embodying her. This is about normal everyday things like when I'm scared of something but also about manifestation. She helped me realize that I need to stand my ground when it comes to my desires and become a badass boss when I decree or decide, affirm or command my subconscious.

This is your reminder to fully claim and accept your desires as yours now. Stop wavering and spiraling. You have to know that you have the choice. The choice to dwell on the old story, circumstances or 3d. Whatever you see that you don't want or the choice to be stubborn in the fact that you already have it, keep saying that you have it now and stop taking bullshit from anything. Not let anything dictate whether you have it or not other than yourself.

Okay now let's move on...

YOU 👏 HAVE 👏 THAT 👏 CHOICE 👏

But do you have the courage and the badass energy to deny what you see and keep telling yourself that you have it now?

"Oh but he said he didn't like me."

"Oh I didn't get into the college I wanted"

"It didn't work. I need to do more."

Who has the power here? You have to remember all the time that YOU ARE IN CONTROL, YOU HAVE THE POWER AND IT WILL GO EXACTLY HOW YOU SAY IT WILL GO.

WHAT 👏 YOU 👏 SAY 👏 GOES 👏

You are the operant power for a freaking reason. You are in control and it's based on if you agree that you don't have it because of what you see or you deny, say no and are stubborn about you having it now.

It's simple. You either agree or disagree. Say yes or no. You have that choice and keep decreeing that you have it now no matter what happens. If that's how you are on the inside, it's done. That is what the 3d would follow if you still use that term. If only you keep telling yourself that and deciding that you have it now.

You already have it no matter what you see. You are the boss and what you say goes. If you say that you have it, you have it now. What I mean is you have the conscious choice to dwell on those things or decide now in this moment that you have it. There's nobody else who can be the best Abdullah for you other than yourself so be stubborn and slam the door in your own face and keep going to the end.

You have to do it for yourself and always go back to deciding that you have it now. You need to be your own Abdullah. No one decides for you if you have your desire or not other than yourself. You have the "choice" to dwell on that or completely claim that desire as yours every time it crosses your mind.

That's all you need to do. Decide it's yours, say "I don't care, who cares? I'm the boss I have the power. I choose. This has no power over me and it doesn't mean anything."

The 3d does not stand a chance if you keep claiming and saying that you have this desire now. The limited dead reality 3d doesn't stand a chance if you decreed that you have it and it is done. Just keep gently reminding yourself that you have it now and it is done because you are the operant power, the boss and the freaking queen or king of this reality.

Just stop separating the 3d and the 4d. That just implies more process. If you truly believe that then that's fine but I'm just here to help and tell you what I learned. If you decided that you have it, you have it period. If you keep reminding yourself that and decreeing that then it has no choice but to manifest anyway. Be careful not to get stuck in the "manifesting" phase. Have it now.

Just think that it is done and you're at the end. Feel how you would feel if it's already done and no it's not emotions. I dismiss and not give any meaning to what's happening around me and I just decree or affirm and assume that it is done. It's already here.

I would then feel like it is already here and feel myself feeling relaxed and contented and calm. Feel it real and feel that it's done.

It's time to stop being a softie and letting anything else outside of you dictate whether you have it or not.

BE 👏 LIKE 👏 NANCY 👏 FUCKING 👏 WHEELER 👏 AND 👏 STAND 👏 YOUR 👏 GROUND 👏

Do you really think that Nancy would be able to properly shoot Vecna if she was worrying and being scared of him? "Oh Vecna said she can't shoot him, he's superhuman and way too powerful!" Do you think Nancy would just agree to that and give up? NO.

It's like Vecna is the 3d when he was in Nancy's mind and the 3d said you didn't have it, would you agree to that? Be honest. Do you know how stupid that sounds? I don't mean that it's just you because I was once like this too. Letting the unwanted invade my mind instead of standing my ground, disagreeing and decreeing that all my desires are here now.

So please. Be your own Abdullah and slam the fucking door in your face, I'm reminding you once more. That means you take what you affirm or say or decree as a fact and it is done because you said it is. Nothing can ruin your manifestations if you already have it. You're the judge of it all, think in your favor and tell yourself that you have it now period! Stop waiting, stop manifesting and start having it now. Feel the feeling of relief and calm or whatever feeling comes up when you think that you have it now and it's done. Don't force it.

You have it, it's already done and it's already here!

No one can take that away from you other than yourself too. It is what you say it is so if you decide or affirm that you have all of your desires now then take that as a fact and feel how it feels now that you know that no matter what happens (unless you let it happen and agree to the unwanted), you have all your desires now and it's already here. Assume that it is. Choose to have it now period. Not in 4d and 3d and separating them. You have it now, it's already here. That's it. It's already done. Just trust in the law and relax.

Do what makes you happy because it will help you take your attention away from the unwanted things you might see. Watch your favorite shows or movies or relaxing vlogs!

Don't let Vecna (unwanted things or circumstances) or yourself take your desires from you from now on. Become Nancy Wheeler, be a boss and stand your ground. You're the operant power of your reality for a whole damn reason.

Have strong will and stop letting anyone or anything else dictate if you have your desires or not. Stop being so weak and letting Vecna a.k.a anything you don't want gain control on how your reality should be or if you have it your desires.

If it's not what you want that you see, deny and disagree. Remind yourself that you have it now.

I kept repeating the key parts of this post so you will really get it ingrained in your brain.

Don't forget that the 3d or your circumstances have no meaning other than what you give it. It doesn't have any meaning except when you give it meaning like if you say that the old story is true and you don't have it. I'm sure all of us made that mistake before. Correct it. It has no meaning. Why not think that even whatever you see means that you have it.

Literally say:

"Everything means I have all my desires."

Yours Truly,

Lady Rian Whistledown 💋

[iamtired10]

sick in love

pairing - pham hanni x female reader

genre - pureeeee fluffffffffff!!!

synopsis - your girlfriend has this weird obsession with getting drenched in the rain, even though you’ve told her so many times not to. of course, she doesn’t listen, and now she’s sick—and somehow, it’s all your fault. now you’ve got to deal with this clingy, whiny kid, who's acting like it’s the end of the world while you play nurse.

warning - nothing much... just some fluff and whining

word count - 1.5k

a/n - guess who’s about to get super busy next week and won’t be updating for a while :)

it all started with the rain.

nah, scratch that—it started with hanni’s bizarre love for the rain, the way she romanticized every single drop that fell from the sky as if it were some poetic blessing from above.

you knew better.

rain, to you, was wet and cold, and most importantly, the perfect recipe for catching a nasty cold.

but hanni? oh, hanni couldn’t care less.

but you tried everything to convince her.

everything.

“hanni, it’s literally pouring out here! you’ll catch a cold!”

you had pulled out your umbrella as soon as the clouds started weeping above the two of you, but hanni had other plans in mind.

she beamed, those signature crescent-shaped eyes gleaming as raindrops began to land on her cheeks.

“come on! it’s just a bit of rain. what’s the worst that could happen?” she took a playful step backward into the downpour, her carefree giggle piercing through the sound of the rain.

“i’ll tell you what’s gonna happen—you’re gonna get sick, that’s what!”

you were grumpy by nature, the forever practical one, always two steps ahead when it came to worrying about things like catching a cold.

you tugged her wrist back, trying to shield her with the umbrella.

but hanni? nope.

she shook her head like a puppy and ran further into the rain.

“catch me!” she twirled around, arms outstretched, water soaking her through.

you couldn’t help but watch her for a moment. she was beautiful, even when she was being an absolute menace.

but now wasn’t the time to admire her stubbornness.

now was the time to stop her from getting drenched head to toe.

“i swear to god, pham hanni, if you get sick because of this—”

oops, too late.

three days later, you found yourself exactly where you didn’t want to be: sitting in bed with a feverish hanni clinging to your waist, her breath slightly hot as she buried her face in your shirt.

“you’re so mean,” she grumbled between coughs, her voice raspy and whiny, the kind of voice that made you want to sigh in frustration and kiss her forehead at the same time. “you didn’t stop me from getting sick…”

you raised a brow, leaning back against the pillows. “i literally tried. multiple times.”

“yeah, well…” she sniffled dramatically, leaning more of her weight onto you, practically becoming deadweight. “you didn’t try hard enough.”

she looked up at you with the most innocent pout. the fever had made her eyes a little glassy, but she was still just as demanding as ever.

you loved her so much, but oh god, she was getting on your nerves today.

“hanni,” you said in your most grumpy tone, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

she only responded by hugging you tighter, squishing herself against your side. “i don’t feel good… i need cuddles.” she nuzzled into your neck, her breath fanning over your skin.

you could feel her warmth.

and not just the warm-you-up-on-a-cold-day kind of warmth, but the i-have-a-fever kind of warmth.

you sighed, pressing the back of your hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

she was still a bit too warm for comfort.

“you need to rest, babe," you whispered, though the gruffness in your tone barely masked the tenderness in your voice. “you’re burning up.”

hanni shook her head, her hair brushing against your neck. “nooooo, i need youuuuu,” she mumbled, her words slurred together like a stubborn child.

you rolled your eyes but pulled her closer, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to give you any personal space until she felt better. hanni had always been clingy, but when she was sick?

she was ten times worse.

if you even moved an inch, she’d whine and pull you back into her arms.

it was cute, you’d admit, but it was also exhausting.

“stop moving,” hanni grumbled, tugging on your shirt to pull you back against her. “i can’t get comfy if you keep wiggling around.”

“i have to get up and get your medicine. and water. and maybe some soup.”

“noooo,” she whined, her voice muffled by your shoulder. “i don’t want soup. i want you.”

you sighed again, this time with a softer edge, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “now you’re literally attached to me like a baby koala.”

“not a baby koala,” she mumbled, pouting again. “a sick, sad koala. big difference.”

“oh, sorry. a sick, sad koala,” you corrected, rolling your eyes playfully as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her even closer. “better?”

she nodded, snuggling back into your chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “better… but i still feel awful. stay with meeeeee.”

you sighed, your grumpy exterior faltering as you softened under her gaze. it was hard to stay mad when she looked at you like that, all doe-eyed and needy.

you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, brushing some of her messy hair out of her face.

“okay, you big baby,” you murmured, “i’ll stay for a bit. but you need to promise me that you’ll take your medicine later, alright?”

“mm-hmm,” she mumbled, snuggling further into your embrace. “i promise.”

for a moment, it was quiet.

just the sound of her shallow breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets as she shifted closer to you. you closed your eyes, resting your chin on top of her head as you let the silence wash over you.

but of course, hanni had to break it.

“hey,” she whispered, her voice still soft but with a mischievous edge to it. “wanna kiss?”

you blinked, turning your head to look at her. “hanni, you’re sick.”

“so?” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out in the most adorable way. “i still wanna kiss…”

you raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching as you fought the urge to laugh. “babe, you’re literally a walking virus right now. i’m not kissing you.”

hanni whined, her grip on you tightening as she buried her face further into your neck. “pleeease?”

“nope,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “not happening.”

“but i miss kissing you,” she mumbled, her voice small and pitiful. “just one little kiss?”

“hanni, you’ll get me sick,” you said, gently pushing her head away from your neck. “and then who’s going to take care of you?”

“i’ll take care of you,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the blanket she had wrapped herself in.

you couldn’t help but chuckle, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead instead. “nice try, but no. you’re gonna have to wait until you’re not contagious.”

hanni pouted again, clearly not happy with your answer.

but before she could whine any further, a sudden fit of sneezes cut her off.

you handed her a tissue, biting back a laugh as she wiped her nose, her expression utterly defeated.

“fine,” she mumbled, slumping back against you. “but as soon as i’m better, i’m kissing you everywhere.”

you snorted, rolling your eyes. “yeah, yeah. we’ll see.”

later that evening, after coaxing her into taking her medicine (which involved more whining and pouting on her part), you finally convinced her to settle down for a proper nap.

she curled up against you, her head resting on your chest as her breathing slowed and evened out.

you gently ran your fingers through her hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers as you hummed quietly.

she was so peaceful when she was asleep, all of the day's frustrations and complaints forgotten.

but you knew as soon as she woke up, she’d be back to her clingy, whiny self.

and honestly, you didn’t mind.

you loved taking care of her, even when she was being a handful.

there was something special about being the one she relied on, the one she clung to when she didn’t feel well.

as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself growing more and more tired. the weight of the day and hanni’s endless need for attention had finally caught up to you, and your eyes began to droop.

just as you were about to drift off, you felt a pair of warm lips press against your cheek.

you blinked, opening your eyes to see hanni grinning up at you, her feverish cheeks still pink. “gotcha,” she whispered, her voice soft but full of mischief.

you groaned, pulling the blanket over both of your heads. “go to sleep, han.”

she giggled, snuggling closer to you as she closed her eyes again. “okay, okay. goodnight, babe.”

“goodnight,” you murmured, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before finally drifting off to sleep.

and despite everything—the rain, the sickness, the whining—you couldn’t help but smile.

because at the end of the day, hanni was your clingy, whiny baby, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

a/n - fluff sucks..

[wlwsoccerfics]

Slipping into Chaos (DaphneVanDomselaarXSisterReader)

Summary: you get hurt doing the UCL Game and have to get surgrey and Recovery. But things don't go as planned.

The First Champions League quater final Game against Real Madrid was a mess. Not only the Performance but also the pitch. You slipped and tried to Catch yourself, right before scoring a Goal for you guys. Like that wasn't frustrating enough the pain that shot through your knee was just terrible. So was your scream.

Daphne your sister who watched from home. And her face was just as Pale as it was from your other teammates. And even the Real Madrid Players looked shocked. It was obvious that this wasn't good. Given that you needed Help from two medics to get Off the field and that you couldn't really put much weight onto it. It was swollen so badly that they decided to get you to the Hospital right away.

"that's not good at all!" Your sister said to herself, watching at home. Knowing you would get terrible news out of that.

There you found out you needed surgrey. The terrible three Letters ACL were thrown your way. It's not what you ever want to hear. Especially not when your career basically just started two years ago. You were currently 19 years old. You were part of the Arsenal Academy before you made your debut for the Senior Team at 17 years old.

You would fly out in a few hours and get straight to a hospital back home for more Check ups and a surgery date.

Your sister promised to be there every step of the way. Which did help. She still wasn't cleared to go back to practice due to her concussion. So she could be there for you the next few days.

Traveling with crutches wasn't fun. But thankfully one of the Arsenal staff members came with you. Something you really appreciated. Plus if you were alone you would probably be in your head too much. It was always like that. You were a thinker. It sometimes kept you up at night. which surely wasn't the healthiest thing to do.

You looked at the doctor, being at a hospital in London now.

"i agree with my colleagues in Madrid. It's 100% the ACL. I would like to do the surgery tomorrow." He told you. Your sister having a gentle hand on your back. Trying to ground you.

"okay, when can i start with recovery practice?" You wanted to know.

"well i first want to do the surgery to See how bad the damage is and then we discuss everything else. But a day or two after surgery your physiotherapist should check in and he can figure out a recovery plan for you!" The doctor suggested.

"promise you gonna listen to the doctor and the Physiotherapist." Daphne said and looked at you. You sighed softly.

"fine, i promise!" You answered with yet another sigh escaping your lips. You weren't a Fan of staying still. But you knew the season and the Euros were over for you. That was something you would totally cry over. Later, when you were alone.

You were lying in your Hospital best that night, crying yourself to sleep. Your sister promised to come back in the morning. Before your surgrey was gonna happen. So she could wish you luck.

Daphne ended up keeping her promise. She promised to update the team cause everyone wanted Updates. You were in surgery for a little over two hours. The doctor told your sister that everything went smoothly and that you could Go Home in Like 4 hours, once you were fully awake. But he also explained that you couldn't be alone for the next 24 hours.

You let out a small groan, waking up after surgery. Daphne was holding your hand gently.

"hey little Sis. Careful, take it easy." She said softly. You blinked a few times, trying to get used to the light and staying awake.

"hey D, thank you for being here!" You mumbled out softly. Still quite tired.

"of course, Kyra and Vic are coming soon as well. They just landed a few minutes ago. The entire Team is glad that the surgery went well." Your sister explained.

"i am glad to hear all of that!" You answered, trying to smile a little.

"i will let the doctor know you are awake." Daphne replied and walked out of the room.

A few minutes later she returned with the doctor.

"i am very Happy with the results of the surgery. You can leave once you are fully awake and the everything is fine." The doctor let you know.

"thanks doctor!" You replied and smiled a little.

A few hours later you were at Home, sitting on the Couch. A pillow under your leg. Kyra and Vic sitting there with you. Eating the Pizza they had brought over. The Pizza was amazing. It was probably the Highlight of your day. Kind of sad but true!

"we are glad you are feeling better! It you need anything, let us know though." Kyra said.

"yes to what Kyra said." Vic replied and smiled at you.

"thank you, to both of you!" You quickly let them know. Offering them a small smile.

They were right. They were there whenever you needed them during Recovery. Same for your sister and the Rest of the Team. You really appreciated that and were really thankful for them.

You had a Set back a few days after surgery when you had to Fight an infection. Which frustrated you. But after 13 months you finally were ready to go back onto the pitch. Scoring a Goal on your first game back.

[mattsobvimyfav]

roommates (matthew sturniolo)

pt 15 (the real one)

a/n- idek how good this is i’m just winging it guys

I didn’t stop driving until I pulled into my dad’s driveway. My hands were gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles turned white, and my chest felt heavy with all the emotions swirling inside me. Everything at school felt too much, too overwhelming. I couldn’t stay there. Not with Matt, not with Charlie, not with everything that had happened. I just needed to get away. I knew part of me was overreacting but I didn’t care much.

When I walked up to the door with my duffel bag, my dad opened it, looking surprised. “You okay, honey?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

I hesitated for a moment before stepping inside and wrapping my arms around him. “I just need a break,” I murmured into his shoulder. “A lot happened at school, and I needed to come home for a bit.”

He didn’t push for details, he never did unless I wanted to share. Instead, he just gave me a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll get the couch ready for movie night” he said with a small smile, trying to cheer me up.

For the next few days, I threw myself into spending time with him. We watched all my favorite movies, went out for burgers at the local diner, and even took the dog for long walks around the neighborhood. Being home felt safe. Simple. It was exactly what I needed.

I only answered Chris’s texts, ignoring the dozens of messages and calls from Matt and Charlie. Chris didn’t push me, which I appreciated more than I could put into words. His messages were sweet little check-ins, updates about practice, and reminders that he missed me. I told Chris what happened and he understood what I meant. It felt like he was the only person that gets me.

Matt, on the other hand, wouldn’t let up. Every time my phone buzzed with his name, I felt that familiar knot of anger and hurt in my chest. Charlie was just as persistent, her messages ranging from apologies to defensive explanations. I couldn’t deal with either of them right now.

Being home didn’t fix everything, but it gave me space to breathe, to clear my head. And for now, that was enough.

My stomach churned with nerves and a bit of excitement. It was Thursday and I was driving back to school because Halloweekend at UMass was legendary, and I couldn’t just skip it, especially after promising Chris we’d do a costume together.

My phone buzzed in the passenger seat, and I glanced at it at a red light. It was Chris.

“U better not flake on me, trouble. Can’t wait to see you. Drive safe.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the message.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I had mentally prepared myself to deal with whatever fallout was waiting for me. Matt? Charlie? I’d figure it out later. Tonight was about Chris and Halloween. I parked, grabbed my bag, and headed toward the dorms.

Chris was waiting for me outside our building, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand. He looked up as soon as he saw me, that goofy grin spreading across his face.

“There she is,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I was starting to think you were gonna ghost me.”

“Not a chance,” I said. “I couldn’t let you down.”

“Damn right,” he teased, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, we’ve got a party to shut down tonight.”

For the first time in days, I felt a spark of excitement. Whatever drama was waiting for me could wait—tonight, it was about just me, Chris, and being absolutely hammered.

As I opened the door to my shared dorm room with Matt, I felt my chest tighten. I hadn’t seen him since everything happened, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled to deal with him now. He was sitting on his bed, scrolling on his phone, but as soon as I walked in, he looked up.

“Hey,” he started, his tone cautious, like he wasn’t sure how I’d react.

I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Not tonight, Matt. We can talk tomorrow, okay? I just need to get ready.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say more, but he nodded, dropping his gaze. “Alright. Tomorrow.”

He stood up and started rifling through his drawers, clearly getting ready for tonight. Ignoring him, I set my bag down and got to work.

I unpacked the pieces of my costume carefully, laying them out on my bed. The black corset I’d picked was perfect—tight in all the right places and pushing up my chest just enough to turn heads. The matching ruffle shorts barely covered anything, the bottom curve of my butt peeking out just enough to make it bold but not completely over the line. I slipped the corset on first, adjusting it until it hugged my body like a glove. The shorts came next, sitting snug on my hips, and I took a moment to check myself out in the mirror.

Not bad.

I added the final touches: the bunny ears perched on top of my head, the little black bowtie around my neck, and a pair of sheer tights to tie it all together. I curled my hair into soft waves that framed my face perfectly. I slipped on a pair of black heels, their height giving me an extra boost of confidence.

Behind me, Matt came out of the bathroom in his own costume. He was wearing a flannel and jeans with a cowboy hat. his gaze lingering for a second too long before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat as he grabbed his keys. I ignored him, focusing on my mascara as I added the final touches.

By the time I was done, the transformation was complete. I checked myself out one last time, feeling a surge of confidence.

After finishing up in my dorm, I made my way to Chris' room. My heels clicked against the floor with each step, and I couldn't help but smirk to myself, imagining his reaction when he saw me.

When I knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately, and there he was-Chris, looking every bit the part of Hugh Hefner. He was dressed in a rich, burgundy robe, his hair slightly tousled, with a knowing smirk plastered across his face.

But when his eyes landed on me, that smirk faltered for a second. His gaze traveled from the bunny ears down to my corset, lingering on the way it hugged my body, and then lower to the ruffle shorts that left little to the imagination. He shook his head slightly and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

"Too much," he said, tilting his head as his eyes flicked back to mine.

I rolled my eyes, stepping inside. "Too much? Chris, this is the whole point of the costume."

He shut the door behind me and turned, arching a brow. "You do realize guys at this party are going to be looking at you, right? You're basically a walking distraction."

"That's the point," I teased, placing my hands on my hips. "I look good, and you're just jealous."

"Damn right I'm jealous," he muttered, stepping closer to me. He gave me that look-the one that always made my stomach flip. "But I know exactly what to do about it."

Before I could argue, he grabbed my hand and led me to sit on the edge of his bed. My heart raced as he stood over me, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. He leaned down, placing his hands on either side of my thighs, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck.

"Chris..." I started, but my words trailed off as he nipped at my skin, his lips warm against my collarbone. He worked his way up and down, leaving a trail of faint marks.

"Now," he said, his voice low as he pulled back to admire his work, "if anyone's looking, they'll know exactly who you belong to."

I glanced down at the small hickeys decorating my chest, peeking out just above the edge of my corset. My cheeks flushed, and I bit my lip, trying to ignore the heat building between us. His hand slid to my waist, and his thumb brushed against my skin, making me shiver.

"You're unbelievable," I muttered, though the corner of my mouth tugged upward in a small smile.

Chris leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "And you love it."

I couldn't deny that I wanted him, right then and there, but we had a party to get to. Pushing my feelings aside, I stood, straightened my corset, and grabbed his hand.

"Let's go, Hefner," I said, pulling him toward the door. "You've got a bunny to show off."

He laughed, grabbing his keys. "Only because you asked so nicely."

The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived, the bass thumping through the floors of the house. People spilled out onto the porch, red Solo cups in hand, and the air was thick with smoke and the faint smell of alcohol. Chris had his arm slung casually around my waist, and I could feel the heat of his hand resting just below my corset as we navigated through the crowd.

“Who’s ready to party?” Charlie’s voice called out as she stumbled toward us with a drink in her hand, a sheepish smile on her face. She looked at me nervously, her confidence faltering when our eyes met.

I gave her a curt nod but didn’t say anything, keeping close to Chris. I wasn’t ready to deal with her just yet.

“Want a drink?” Chris whispered in my ear, his lips brushing against my temple.

“Yes, please,” I said, already feeling the buzz of excitement from the party atmosphere.

Chris left to grab us drinks, and I stood by the makeshift bar, scanning the room. People danced in the living room, some already a little too drunk to keep their balance, while others were huddled in corners, laughing and passing around joints.

Charlie hesitated, then walked up to me. “Y/N,” she started, her voice low, “can we talk?”

I crossed my arms, raising a brow. “About what? How you broke girl code? Or how you’ve been pretending nothing happened?”

She winced, glancing down at her cup. “I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have done what I did with Matt. It was shitty, and I’m sorry. I was drunk and stupid, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

I stared at her, letting her words sink in. She looked genuinely remorseful, and part of me wanted to forgive her, but the wound still stung. “thank you for apologizing. I made a big deal out of nothing.” I said finally.

Relief washed over her face, and she nodded. “I really am sorry, Y/N. I miss being friends.”

Before I could respond, Chris returned with two drinks, his presence grounding me. I handed Charlie a small smile and turned back to him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, handing me a cup.

I nodded. “Yeah, just clearing the air.”

Chris and I made our way outside to the backyard, where the air was cooler and less suffocating. He passed me a joint, already lit, and I took a long drag, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease. We found a quiet spot by the fence and leaned against it, passing the joint back and forth while sipping our drinks.

“You look incredible tonight,” Chris said, his voice low as he ran a hand along my side.

I smirked, the alcohol and weed loosening me up. “You’re just saying that because of the hickeys.”

He laughed, his eyes darkening as he leaned closer. “No, I’m saying it because it’s true.”

His lips brushed against mine, soft at first, but the kiss deepened quickly. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as the world around us faded. I felt his fingers skim the edge of my corset, his touch igniting a fire in me.

“Chris,” I murmured against his lips, my hands tugging at the collar of his robe.

He groaned, his forehead resting against mine. “You’re killing me, Y/N.”

I bit my lip, feeling the heat between us intensify. “We should go back inside before we give everyone a show.”

He chuckled, taking one last drag of the joint before leading me back into the house.

As the night pressed on, the party only grew louder, the house pulsating with energy. Charlie and I were laughing over a drink in the corner like nothing had happened, when the front door swung open, and in walked Matt, dressed in his cowboy costume.

I caught sight of him immediately, and for a moment, my heart skipped a beat. Damn it, why did he have to look so good?

He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me. A smirk tugged at his lips as he made his way over. Charlie, sensing the tension, gave my arm a squeeze and muttered something about needing to find her drink, disappearing into the crowd.

“Y/N,” Matt greeted, his voice smooth, his smirk still firmly in place. “You look… uh, different.” His eyes flickered down to my outfit before quickly meeting my gaze.

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “That’s your opening line? Really?”

He chuckled, tilting his hat back slightly. “What do you want me to say? You look sexy as fuck, but you probably already know that. Would look better without those” He pointed to the hickeys on me

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “What are you doing here, Matt?”

“It’s a party,” he said simply, leaning against the wall beside me. “Chris told me about it. Figured I’d stop by.” He said.

I blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged, looking down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I just wanted to make sure we’re good. You know, after everything.”

Before I could respond, someone stumbled into me, spilling a little of their drink on my arm. Matt reacted instantly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me closer to him to avoid the spill spreading.

“You okay?” he asked,

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice came out quieter than I intended. His hand lingered on my arm, and I suddenly felt hyper-aware of how close we were.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, the party noise seemed to fade into the background. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his tone low. “You know that, right?”

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. “Matt—”

“Y/N!” Chris’s voice cut through the moment, and I quickly stepped back, turning to see him making his way toward us, his expression unreadable.

Matt let out a breath, tipping his hat slightly as Chris approached. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he said, his voice back to its usual nonchalance. He gave Chris a nod before disappearing into the crowd.

Chris slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning my face.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

But as Chris kissed my temple and led me back toward the kitchen.

As the party wound down, Chris and I decided to head back to his dorm. The air outside was crisp, and the cool breeze helped clear the lingering haze of alcohol and weed from my mind. We walked in silence, his hand loosely holding mine, but there was an odd tension between us that hadn’t been there before.

When we got to his room, Chris dropped his keys on the desk and turned to face me. “Y/N, we need to talk.”

My stomach sank. “What’s wrong?” I asked, even though I already had a feeling I knew where this was going.

Chris sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair. “I saw you with Matt tonight.”

I stiffened, my heart pounding. “Chris, it wasn’t—”

He held up a hand, cutting me off gently. “I’m not mad. I just… I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me, okay?”

I nodded hesitantly, sitting down on the bed beside him.

“Do you still feel something for Matt?” he asked, his voice calm but serious.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The truth was, I didn’t know. Seeing Matt tonight had stirred up feelings I thought I’d buried, but I also cared about Chris.

Chris let out a small sigh, nodding as if he already knew the answer. “You don’t have to say anything. That’s all I needed to know.”

“Chris, I—”

“I’m not mad at you, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice soft. “I get it. Matt’s… complicated. And so is this whole situation.” He reached for my hand, holding it between both of his. “But maybe we need to put a hold on this. At least the… lovey-dovey stuff.”

My chest tightened, and I could feel tears threatening to spill. “Chris, please—”

He shook his head, giving me a small smile. “It’s not like I’m cutting you off or anything. We can still mess around, I still wanna make you squirm under me.” He winked, causing me to giggle as he continued “I just don’t want to get deeper into this if you’re not all in, you know? I like you, Y/N. A lot. But I don’t want to be a placeholder for someone else.”

His words stung, but I couldn’t argue with him. He was right.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Chris leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “No hard feelings, okay? I still want you around. Just… no pressure.”

I nodded, blinking back tears. “Okay,” I repeated, though my heart felt heavier than ever.

We lay down in his bed that night, tangled in each other’s arms, but there was a new kind of distance between us that hadn’t been there before. And as I stared at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just ruined something really good.

tag -

@ch0llies @namelesssav @christmastreecake

@chrisstopherfilmed @mattsturnii @sturnrc @larnieboox88

@tbfaptbfae @2muchofaslvt @sturnioloshottiekay

@rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @realuvrrr

[redrose10]

Yoongi x Female Reader. Soulmate AU

Summary: There’s no one on this planet you hate more than your coworker/secret crush Min Yoongi. He’s an arrogant, rude, womanizer who gets under your skin every single shift and you can’t wait for your day to be over so you can get away from him. Unfortunately when Jimin, your caseworker from The Ministry of Adoration, shows up offering you both a raspberry jam filled cookie, things take a surprising turn for the worst and you can no longer get away.

Warnings: Swearing, hints of smut (nothing graphic or really detailed), a little angst, Yoongi gets around, small hint to homophobia, mentions a guy not taking no for an answer. Might get updated later

Tag list: @kam9404 @yoongisducky @farfromsugafanfic @welcometomyworld13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2- Whiskey and Wedding Cake

Word Count: 4,081

Waking up this morning your body was sore and you had a pounding headache. You rolled out of bed thankful that it was your day off before heading towards the kitchen to make a much needed cup of coffee, but as soon as you got to the door you felt a sharp pain in your chest. Doubling over you were immediately reminded of everything that had happened the night before. Yoongi groaned from the bed feeling the sudden pain too.

“What the hell Y/N? Are you stupid or something?”, he spat as you crawled your way back to him.

“I’m sorry okay. This is all new to me. I just wanted to make some coffee. You don’t always have to be so mean Yoongi.”

He looked at you kneeling on the floor trying to catch your breath and he felt immensely guilty for lashing out like that especially at you.

“I’m sorry. I’m just grumpy in the mornings. Let’s go make some coffee.”, he sighed walking with you to the kitchen.

Once the caffeine hit your lips you started feeling a little better. Surprisingly, but thankfully Yoongi was also a great chef and made a delicious breakfast that you really appreciated so you wouldn’t have to eat yet another bowl of cereal.

You also appreciated how adorable he looked in the morning with ruffled hair and eyes barely open paired with his puffy red cheeks that you just wanted to reach out and pinch before quickly reminding yourself how much you were supposed to hate each other and pushing that thought way to the back of your mind.

“So uh what are we gonna do today?”, you asked between bites of your pancakes.

“Well whatever we do we have to do it together so…”

Almost as if on cue his phone beeped indicating a text and you watched as his mouth turned up into a grin, “Looks like I have plans for this evening with a hot blonde in a baby pink lingerie set.”

“Really? How do you plan on doing that when we can’t be more than five feet from each other?”, you smirked back reveling in the feeling of bliss as you saw his face fall at the realization.

Placing his head on his hand as he leaned on the counter and smiled at you, “Well you know, I am not opposed to some double action.”

“Nope, absolutely not.”, you shook your head.

“Alright fine. Then I’ll just move your bed closer to the door and you can stand on the other side of it and wait. We shouldn’t be long anyways.”

“No Yoongi. I’m not gonna stand on the other side of the door while you hook up with some random chick in MY bed. And being quick isn’t something I’d be proud of by the way. You seriously can’t go three weeks without getting some?”

“No, because unlike you I want to enjoy my life and not sit at home like some loser being a buzzkill for everyone else. Now I see why Jae cheated on you.”

You gasped hearing his words. The beginning of tears were already stinging your eyes as you looked up at him.

During one of your shifts many months ago Yoongi had accidentally walked in on you crying in Mina’s arms about how you had caught your boyfriend Jae cheating on you. It was a really hard time for you as you felt used and hurt by by your ex. You waited for Yoongi to make some sarcastic remark, but he just walked away without saying a word so you had assumed maybe he was actually going to be a decent person and not rub it in, but it seems like he was just waiting for the perfect moment to really make sure it hurt you.

“Fuck Y/N, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have sai…”, he started but you were already half way down the hallway not even caring about the stabbing pain in your chest due to the distance.

Yoongi quickly followed after you both to try and apologize and also stop the pain.

“Y/N, just please let me…”

You spun around so fast taking him off guard and nearly knocking him over, “No Yoongi. I don’t want your half ass apology that you don’t even mean. You knew how traumatizing that whole ordeal with Jae was for me and you just couldn’t wait to throw it in my face.“

“Y/N I am sorry. I was just irritated and I said something I shouldn’t have. I really didn’t mean it.”

“Fuck you Yoongi. Go ahead and call that girl that’s blowing up your phone right now, but you’re not fucking her on my bed so figure something else out.”

You left him speechless and crawled into your bed cocooning yourself in your blankets. He had no choice but to also lie in the bed next to you rethinking his words.

You did your best to contain your sniffles, but he still heard a few of them sneak through and up until that point in his life he thought the chest pains thanks to the stupid raspberry cookies were the worst pain he’d ever felt, but hearing you cry and knowing he was the reason behind those tears quickly overtook that as the most painful thing he had ever experienced.

At some point you must’ve cried yourself to sleep, only realizing it when you were gently woken up by Yoongi in an already dark room.

“Come on Y/N, get up.”, he said softly nudging your shoulder.

“Alright. Just let me get changed.,” you grumbled throwing the blankets off of yourself. If you were gonna have to sit there and listen to him get off with some girl you at least wanted to be dressed comfy.

“You don’t have to change. Let’s just go eat. The foods here.”, he said motioning towards the door.

“What? What happened to your plans with the hot blonde in a whatever you said?”

He nervously scratched at the back of his neck, “I uh I told her I’d have to reschedule. Wasn’t feeling it any more.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure another one will come along any minute.”, you said walking past him towards the door.

He grabbed all of the food placing it down on the table. It didn’t take long for you to realize he had ordered all of your favorites from your favorite restaurant.

“I heard you talking to Mina one day about how this was your favorite so I ordered it for dinner. I hope this is okay.”

You nodded, “Yeah looks good. Thank you.“

The dinner was ate mainly in silence. That silenced carried over to the couch where you both agreed on watching a movie.

When the end credits started rolling Yoongi finally spoke up, “So Y/N, I am really sorry about what I said earlier. You know the Jae thing. I didn’t mean it. I was just frustrated by everything and it slipped out. I have a tendency to speak before I think when I’m upset. I’m going to try and do better another that.”

“It’s fine. Maybe you were right anyways. Maybe that is why he cheated on me.”, you shrugged not having any more care to give.

Frantically he shook his head, “No that’s not true at all. That guy was an idiot who didn’t deserve you and you can do way better anyways.”

You were slightly taken back and a little embarrassed by his words.

Trying to change the subject you asked, “And what about you? Why don’t you try and find an actual relationship instead of hookups and one night stands?”

“Any time I’ve tried to have a relationship with someone I end up getting hurt so I guess I see it as you can’t get hurt when you’re just expecting sex from someone and nothing else. It’s just easier. I’m tired of having my heart broken like that.”

“I’m sorry.”, you whispered. Seeing him be open like this even if it was just a little made you notice him in a different way.

“It’s fine. Maybe one day I’ll find someone I’m willing to get hurt for and finally settle down.”, he chuckled clearly uncomfortable about all the emotional talk going on.

He laughed to hide his true emotions. If you only knew how badly he wanted you to be that person.

The next couple days working with Yoongi while the two of you couldn’t be far away from each other were some awkward uncomfortable shifts for not only the two of you, but your other coworkers as well. Especially since things were still a little awkward after the whole Jae situation even with Yoongi apologize a hundred times.

“What’s going on with you and Yoongi?”, Mina asked.

“What do you mean?,” you said trying to act dumb.

“Well normally you two don’t speak to each other unless you’re arguing and you’ve both been pretty nice to each other. You’re following each other around like little puppy dogs. Rose showed up for her usual quickie and Yoongi asked her to leave instead of dragging her off to the bathroom. You haven’t told him to fuck off and get lost even once in the last couple days. You’re both just being really weird and I don’t like it.”

You just shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know. Maybe we’re growing up or something.”

Mina laughed, but agreed to let it go at that for now.

“Do I look okay? Will your parents like it?”, you asked spinning around to show Yoongi the dress you had chosen to wear to his brothers wedding this evening. Even though you were only going as his date because you had no other choice you still wanted to look nice and make a good impression with his family.

Yoongi stared at you stunned.

He’d always thought you were beautiful, even when you were covered in coffee stains and sweat and you had that one strand of hair that would never stay down no matter how much product you used, but seeing you dressed up with your hair lightly curled and a touch of makeup on and the fact that you were his date tonight, even if it was forced, made his brain turn to mush and his heart beat a little faster than he was used to.

He had often imagined what it would be like to take you out on a date. How he’d showed up at your place with a bouquet of flowers and tell you how beautiful you looked before taking your hand and helping you into the passenger seat of his car. Then driving over to some super fancy restaurant where he’ll pay a ridiculous amount of money for a tiny amount of food so you’ll both still be hungry and will end up at a night market trying all of the various street foods. He’d laugh as he watches you try to stop melted cheese from dripping all over you as you take another bite of your corn dog. And then at the end of the walk he’d run his thumb over your bottom lip while really thinking about kissing you before getting too scared and playing it off like he was just wiping away some of the tteokbokki sauce from earlier. And then he’d be kicking himself the rest of the drive home for being a chicken until he walked you up to your door and as you were saying goodbye he’d muster up every ounce of courage he had and lean in and actually kiss you this time feeling his stomach flip when you pulled him in a little closer to you.

“Hello? Earth to Yoongi. Jeeze I think the lack of action you’ve been getting lately is melting your brain or something.”, you laughed trying to get his attention.

“I’m sorry. What was the question again?”

You rolled your eyes, “Do you like this dress? Or should I go with the green one instead?”

“You look very nice Y/N. My moms favorite color is blue so I know she’ll like this one.”

You smiled before grabbing your purse and walking towards the door with Yoongi close behind.

The wedding venue was located about thirty minutes away giving him plenty of time to try and calm his nerves about this whole night.

“Hey uh I just want to give you a little warning about my family.”, Yoongi said looking over at you from the drivers seat while you were sat in the parking lot.

“Okay? Like warning as in I should fear for my life?”

He chuckled, “No, more like I haven’t brought a girl around since I was in high school so they might be a little aggressive with their questions and stuff and I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. It’s not the first time I’ve pretended to be someones date.”

“Seriously?”

You laughed, “Yeah, one of my friends back home was gay and his parents didn’t know that because he knew they wouldn’t approve so he hadn’t told them. But they kept asking when he was going to bring a girl home so I pretended to be his girlfriend for a while to get them off his case.”

“Oh well that was nice of you I guess.”

“Yep I’m always the pretend girlfriend never the actual girlfriend.”

He laughed but after sensing the awkwardness forming you opened your door stepping out of the car, “Come on. Let’s get inside and get this over with.”

Yoongi introduced you to his family one by one and they were all surprisingly pleasant. You had no idea how or why Yoongi ended up being the way that he was judging by how friendly and kind his family had been to you m.

“Oh wow Yoongs, I never thought you’d have it in you to snag a catch like this. She’s way too pretty to be here with you.”, his uncle teased. You awkwardly laughed along pretending to ignore the deep shade of red that Yoongi had turned at his uncle’s remark.

You took a seat next his grandmother as Yoongi stood off to the side just couple feet away from you talking to his father. You took the moment to admire how handsome he looked dressed up in his suit. It was different from the cafe uniform or ripped jeans and t-shirts you usually saw him in. His hair was actually styled and not just combed through with his fingers. He had took the time to accessorize his look adding some earrings and a very expensive looking watch.

“He is a handsome one.”, his grandmother spoke making you jump a little and come out of your daydream. You smiled at her, “Yeah he really is.”

She continued, “I’m glad that he finally found someone like you. Someone to make him smile again. After that girl that works with him at the coffee shop stood him up I didn’t think he’d ever recover. He was just never the same.”

You looked at her with furrowed brows.

What girl? You didn’t remember him ever dating any of the other employees. Maybe she was confused and meant one of the customers you thought. Before you could clarify you felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up to see Yoongi smiling down at you.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink. Want to come with me?”, he asked.

“Do I have a choice?”, you joked making both of you laugh.

He grabbed himself some kind of a whiskey mixed drink and got you the wine you had requested before walking you over to a corner table in the back with fewer people around.

Curious about his drink you reached over and grabbed it with the intention just to smell it. But Yoongi encouraged you to take a sip and try it. He then doubled over in laughter at the look of disgust on your face as the strong liquid hit your tongue.

“How can you drink that?”, you coughed before chasing it down with a couple sips of your wine.

He chuckled, “I don’t know. It’s not for everyone I guess.”

“How’s the night going?”, he asked.

“Not bad. Your family is very welcoming and sweet. Are you sure you weren’t adopted?”

He laughed at your joke before taking another sip of his drink.

“You want to maybe dance later?”, he asked staring at the table too shy to make eye contact with you. He had always had this thing about wanting to slow dance with the woman that he really loved. He knew it was cheesy but he couldn’t help it. It was his thing.

A little shocked you nodded, “Yeah that sounds nice.”

The two of you made a little small talk back and forth. He pointed out certain family members and friends to you while telling stories about them. His aunt shared her top secret chocolate chip cookie recipe with you but after she walked away Yoongi laughed and told you she was a liar and she just used tubes readymade Tollhouse cookie dough. Something about the situation felt really normal. Like you two had been dating for years.

While he was staring off to the side watching his grandpa trying to learn some new trendy dance with the young kids the conversation with his grandma was still fresh in your mind and you really wanted to know what coworker could possibly break the heart of Min Yoongi.

You tapped him on his arm to get his attention.

“Hey I was talking to your grandmother earlier and she said something about you dating one of our-“, you went to ask but were cut off by a man around your age.

“Ahh there he is. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”, the man said.

Yoongi gave you an apologetic smile before greeting the other man with a hug and introducing him as his cousin Taehyung.

They spoke back and forth for a little until you motioned to Yoongi that you had to use the restroom. He followed after you with Taehyung in tow.

Thankfully the bathroom was fairly small so you were able to have some privacy as Yoongi waited on the other side of the door. Just as you were about to open it you heard Taehyung question why you were there to begin with.

“So where did you find Y/N? She’s not exactly your type.”

“What do you mean by that?”, you heard Yoongi ask.

“I mean don’t get me wrong, Y/N isn’t bad looking or anything and she’s definitely cute but she’s just not the type of girl I usually see you with. You told me you were thinking of asking that girl from the club to be your date tonight. You remember? The one with the long hair, long legs, and giant tits. Now SHE is someone I’d expect to see you here with.”

“I don’t know man. You’re looking too much into it.”, he responded.

Taehyung continued though, “And normally you would’ve already been in a broom closet somewhere here fucking your date senseless by now, but instead you’re sitting at a corner table swapping cookie recipes with Y/N. It just doesn’t seem like you.”

The two men laughed, but you couldn’t help but feel hurt at the comment.

“No it’s not like that. Y/N just isn’t that type of girl.”, Yoongi said.

You scoffed, “And what type of girl does he think I am?”

You’d had enough and swung open the bathroom door letting it slam against the wall before storming past Yoongi and Taehyung leaving them both in shock.

Yoongi quickly raced after you asking what was wrong, but you refused to speak to him afraid you’d loose your cool and you didn’t want to make a scene at his brothers wedding. You took a seat at the same corner table quickly finishing off a piece of wedding cake hoping the sugar would help to heal your wounds, but all it did was make your new headache worse.

Yoongi downed another glass of whiskey hoping it would give him the courage he needed before he cleared his throat, “Um do… do you want to dance?”

You really thought about it. Maybe try to have a little fun and end the night on a good note, but then you spotted a woman sitting a few tables over. Hair down to her hips, toned legs that went on for days, wearing a dress that you wouldn’t even wear to a club let alone a wedding thanks to the amount of skin it showed and then Taehyung’s words came back to you.

“No thanks.”, you said shaking your head.

“Please Y/N.”, he cringed at how desperate he sounded, but he could sense his chance slipping away and at this point he wasn’t above begging.

“No Yoongi. Go ask that woman. She seems more your type.”

Yoongi glanced over in the direction you were pointing.

“Well I can’t because she’s my brothers best man’s wife so that might cause a few problems. And I’m not interested in her. Actually I can’t stand her.”

You scoffed, “According to Taehyung that’s exactly the type of woman you’d be interested in. Maybe you two can go find a broom closet nearby to fuck each other in.”

And then it hit him. You had heard the conversation he had outside the bathroom.

“Y/N please let me explain.”

But you put up your hand to stop him.

“Can we please go home?”, you asked.

He wanted to say no. He didn’t want to leave with you this upset and without having a dance with you, but he also knew you were too hurt right now thanks to him. So he agreed and the two of you said goodbye to only the necessary people like his parents and brother and then went home.

Neither of you spoke the entire ride back or while you both got undressed and finished your nightly routines. He tried dozens of times to say something, but didn’t know the right way to bring it up.

Wordlessly you got in bed and quickly turned over facing the wall. Yoongi laid staring up at the ceiling.

He thought he was dreaming when he kept feeling a buzzing next to him only to realize it was your phone that you had left on the bed in between you both.

The screen lit up with a text from some guy named Han offering to pick you up.

He knew he’d hate himself for doing this, but he had to know who Han was and why he wanted to pick you up.

After making sure you were asleep he unlocked your phone and got to your messages. The exchange he saw made his stomach fall.

Apparently Han was this customer that came to the cafe often. After some thinking Yoongi remembered him coming in a few times. He

was sleazy and gross and would always harass the female employees to the point that Yoongi or Namjoon would have to kick him out. And it irked Yoongi that he was even talking to you.

Judging by the messages he had been asking you out for a while but you kept turning him down. It made his blood boil that this guy didn’t just take no for an answer.

Until this evening when you messaged him at some point after the wedding asking if he wanted to go out for dinner next week. Of course he immediately responded yes and you sent him a heart emoji that made Yoongi’s stomach sour.

He bit his lip until he drew blood as he read through the messages over and over before finally having enough and turning the phone off and placing it on the night table next to you.

Just as he laid back down to try and finally get some sleep his own phone went off signaling a new message.

He picked it up and laughed to himself at the irony. The phone lit up with a message from Jimin,

“Hey there Romeo! How did it go tonight? Did the plan we came up with work on Y/N? Hope I’m not interrupting anything by the way or maybe I do 👀”

Yoongi quickly typed out a reply, “Not exactly. I’ll explain tomorrow.” Then he shut off his phone and tossed it down.

“Because I’m the biggest idiot on the planet.”, he groaned before pulling the blankets up over his head.

[genericpuff]

Hey y'all, Episode 67 will be out as soon as it's ready. I'm not gonna lie, coming off the back of a crazy holiday season, I was hoping things were gonna get back on track with the update schedule, but the last 2-3 weeks have brought about a whole new whirlwind of issues:

I took our cat to the vet a few weeks ago to get him checked out (esp because he wasn't eating as much as usual and we wanted to make sure he wasn't sick). The usual vet we go to has become a shithole, the doctor we got was extremely unhelpful and every interaction I've had with other members of staff there has been confusing and unpleasant. After an hour of an appointment that was more uncomfortable than it should have been, we were out $700 which was absurd, even for usual vet fees. After I shared the more detailed version of this story with friends IRL, some of them mentioned that apparently this particular clinic (among others throughout Canada) was bought by an American company. So that certainly explains a lot -_-

Car broke down and that cost like $800 to fix. Thankfully wasn't as expensive as the fucks at Canadian Tire quoted us, but it was still another huge expense on top of the vet bill.

Our shop moved locations this weekend, which took a lot of time to both prepare for and finally pull off over the course of the last few weeks. My new booth is at least set up enough to tattoo but there's still a lot left to do to make it comfortable.

Now my cat is potentially developing jaundice (sign of liver failure) which lines up with his blood test results from the vet showing increased liver enzyme levels or something like that (but they were apparently not enough of an emergency for the vet to actually do anything about it). I booked with a different vet clinic but they can't get us in until the 20th. So I booked an appointment for today with the emergency vet up the road. I'm terrified for him, he's an old cat so it was inevitable that his health would start to turn, but other than his increasingly picky eating habits and signs of jaundice, he's still acting like himself and it's breaking my heart that he could be hiding his own symptoms. I really just do not need a pet death on top of everything else that's going wrong right now.

As for the episode itself, it's not even that long, but the set design is pretty detailed and in our attempts to create some 3D models for ourselves, it resulted in bugs that had to be fixed on the fly. Thankfully I think we've finally got it down (and it's a recurring location so it's not like it won't be useful to have again in the future) but overall the episode production just hasn't gone as smoothly as it could have compounded by everything else mentioned above.

None of these are excuses, just reasons that have justifiably required my attention. Depending on how the vet appointment goes, I'll try and stream later tonight so that folks can at least watch some of the drawing progress for this episode. Episode 67 will be out by next Saturday at the latest, assuming I'm not able to get it out in the next day or two.

I know I'm a broken record at this point, but I'm incredibly sorry for the wait and I appreciate your patience with me. I'm begging for things to calm down soon.

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: Rindou loves you and all but...you really aren't supposed to be spamming his phone during a meeting right now.... A/N: This is absolute crack, based off a recent convo and dedicated to my unhinged moot @plebbypebblepleb WARNINGS: Sanzu on drugs and swearing

>>look at this cat I found

>>he's so cute!!!!!!

>>IM GONNA DIE FROM CUTENESS can we pls pls adopt him???

>>never mind

>>HE BIT ME

Rindou felt his eye twitch. He discreetly swiped away the notifications on his pinging phone away under the table. Thankfully no one had noticed yet, although Ran was grinning slyly at him he always was.

Twenty messages.

Barely ten minutes had even gone by in the meeting.

Luckily he had turned off volume for his phone. Mikey wouldn't be too happy to have his Bonten meeting so frequently interrupted so unprofessionally. Rindou didn't have much interest in being laughed at or questioned by the others either.

>>riiiiiiin

>>I was watching some videos

>>would you become a 100 foot boa constructor who eats British children boiled and gets skinned to be used as socks or boots for a Russian lady I consumed three centuries ago (she tasted like coconut)

I'm in a meeting<<

And no???<<

Rindou continued to nod at Mikey's words, doing his utmost best to divide his attention between his rapidly typing fingers and his boss while Ran ducked his head under the table curiously and came up with a wink and a very obvious smirk. Koko eyes them both suspiciously.

He was used to this. Absolutely. One thing that came with dating you was that you had a tendency to spam his phone with updates of what you were doing, odd things you had seen, the most creative of questions and pictures bordering on unhinged.

He wouldn't change it for anything, of that Rindou was certain. He loved you to Pluto and back and in an every day fight he'd take your side over Ran (even despite the elder Haitani’s “miserable” theatrics of supposed betrayal). The texts livened up the dreary work of being part of the number one most wanted criminal gang.

But…

>>I'M NOT FINISHED

>>or drink fruit juice that will give you the seven most deadly diseases

Both are terrible<<

>>[image attached]

WTF<<

>>Like it?? <33

I don't want close up pics of your feet<<

>>how dare you

…it was quite the inconvenience when he was supposed to be working.

Like right now.

Rindou reached up and rubbed his temples. Mikey was getting to the important part and he was really struggling to concentrate. It wasn't like you didn't know he was busy. He had specifically mentioned it today. Rindou couldn't fault you either - this was just your love language and…this was probably revenge for him misplacing your favourite shirt.

He briefly considered ignoring your texts for now, until he could answer them later. But then it'd probably spiral to a 100+ and the vibrations were really starting to get to him. And he did once promise to never ignore anything you said after you apologized for talking too much. You might even call him.

Ugh. What a conundrum.

Ran’s smile widened and a new notification sprang up on Rindou’s phone.

>>Ah ah ah lil bro

>>texting your gf in a meeting?

>>you're very obvious about it

>>I'm sure Mikey will notice soon~~

Great. Two idiots were spamming up his phone now. Couldn't he ever catch a break? He caught Kakucho’s frown at him and adjusted his poker face again.

Shut up<<

You're on your phone too<<

>>I'm just warning you~~

Rindou exhaled sharply and kicked his brother under the table. Childish, but Ran was a child and he deserved it.

>>Rin???

>>guess what!!

>>my fav singer just dropped a new album!!

>>can we buy it later

>>pleaseeeeee

“Haitani Shithead! What are you doing under the table?”

Crap, Sanzu caught him. Rindou shrugged, leaning away from his side-eyeing neighbor. “Nothing, just need to arrange some things on my phone for some debts to be collected,” He lies casually.

The pinkhead is probably too high to realize the holes in the fib. Thankfully he lets it go with another pop of a pill. “Sure, don’t gotta be so secretive.”

“Also, don’t call me Shithead.”

>>[3 images attached]

>>chat wake up what is going on in my friends gc rn

Yes, Rindou wanted to scream, he absolutely had to be secretive…with the cursed pictures you had just sent him. Thirty unread messages already and the meeting wasn’t even ending yet! God, Ran wasn’t helping either - he too was now spamming Rindou’s chat.

>>rindou and (y/n)

>>sitting in a tree

>>k

>>i

>>s

You know what, he could make his excuses later. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Rindou massaged his temples again, sighed deeply and looked down on his phone.

He blocked the both of you.

***

Of course it came back to bite his ass when he went home later that night: having taken extreme offense to the block you had promptly banished Rindou out of your once shared bedroom and he was exiled to the couch.

Which was being hogged by Ran who claimed he was there first for his sixth nap of the day.

Maybe next time he should just “lose” his phone before a meeting.

[covetyou]

first steps

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three

pairing: cuck!Joel x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cuckolding, daddy kink, unprotected PIV, creampie, cuddle!fucking!, kinda premature ejaculation, praise kink, pet names, reader gets a brief foot rub, mention of male OC, ddlg vibes, established relationship. word count: 3.6k summary: You can't get thoughts of him out of your head, and Joel does nothing (or everything?) to help matters.

A/N: this takes place at the start of cuck!Joel's adventures in being cucked. they're on a journey of self discovery here folks. I daresay this is almost sweet and soft. look at me go. I'm growing as a person. follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

You're in bed already; teeth brushed, washed up, and those god forsaken shoes off of your aching feet, waiting for Joel and his promised foot rub. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening, made longer still by the ache cramping your toes.

You huff to yourself - patience not being your strong suit when it came to Joel - and throw yourself back into the pillows. You were quite happily getting handsy downstairs, palming his erection through his dress pants when his phone had rang. At 11pm on a Friday. You'd rolled your eyes at him, pulling away as he swatted at your ass. It was a work call he said. He had to take it.

"I'll be up as soon as I can, baby," he called after you, and you had stuck out your tongue at him before disappearing up the stairs, shoes in hand.

It was okay, you figured. You'd spent the best part of the night mildly tormented. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt. From the moment you'd got to Joel's house that evening, he'd been touching you, whispering praise, telling you how beautiful you looked and how he wanted to just take you right there and then but sorry baby, we gotta get goin'. That hadn't stopped him sliding a hand up your thigh and dancing his fingertips across the front of your panties for the entire ride to the venue. By the time you got there, you were dripping and ready to come, but he had simply extracted his hand and got out of the car, leaving you hot and bothered and alone in the passenger seat.

And it hadn't got much better from there. Joel was making his way around the room, introducing you with a look in his eye that made you weak at the knees. You'd never known someone to be so proud to know you, so keen to show you off, before you'd met Joel. His hand would slide protectively up your back, drawing goosebumps across your flesh, or lightly ghost over your ass, whispering promises of later in your ear. He pressed endless kisses to your temple, and more than once you had to fight the supernova in your chest from exploding outward, flinging yourself at him with the force of it, and begging him to take you home as you wept into his mouth.

But then he'd introduced you to him. A contractor who he'd picked up on their latest job. He was shorter than Joel, and well dressed with dark hair and pristine shoes. You remember the shoes well - you'd focused on them for a long time, unable to keep looking at his face for fear of the heat that would spread to yours.

"This is my girl. Told you about her," Joel introduced you, shouting loud over the noise booming from the speakers. He kissed you on the side of the face then, watching you like a hawk as you looked up and smiled sweetly at the beautiful man before you - Andrew, from what you heard Joel say over the music - and choked out a small hello.

Joel took that moment to excuse himself.

"Gonna go get our friend here another drink."

You turned to kissed him square on the mouth before he could stride off, leaving you alone with Andrew, nipples puckering almost painfully beneath the thin material of your dress.

Small talk had been awkward all evening, mostly because you hadn't really wanted to be there, but with Andrew it was anything but. He spoke to you like it was the easiest thing in the world, laughing and joking together like you'd known each other for longer than a few minutes. You were transfixed, talking animatedly as you rested a hand on his arm, making a comment that made him laugh, a deep contagious thing that made your core drip with want. All the while, dark eyes from across a room stare at you, and you don't realize for a second that it's taken much longer than a few minutes to grab a drink.

Joel had known, you were sure of it. Maybe it was your wide eyes, or your shuffling feet played off as just the ache in your toes, but talking to Andrew did something to you, and Joel knew. Finding out he was here alone and would be going home to an empty apartment too was more of a thrill than it should have been. Not that you would be. You'd be going home with Joel, but that made the thought of him all the sweeter.

It's a thought that still lingers with you as you lie here in Joel's bed hours later. You sigh, trailing your fingertips softly up your body, willing Joel to hurry up and finish his phonecall so he can relieve the ache from more than just your feet.

And that's just how he finds you a few minutes later. Caressing your own soft flesh beneath crisp sheets, caught in a fantasy of a shapeshifting man.

"Sorry baby, was Tommy. Security called him in for a late delivery, ruined his date." You open your eyes, not realizing you'd even closed them, and look up at him with a soft smile. The shapeshift man is clear as day now, no longer shifting between the men that could be, but staying firmly as one that is right in front of you. Fuck, do you want him.

His back is to you tugging his shirt from his arms, revealing broad shoulders and his soft belly as he turns. He spots your hands moving beneath the sheets you'd tucked yourself into, unable to keep them still even now that he's here.

"Gettin' started without me?" he asks, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You were taking too long," you say, dragging your fingertips across the swell of your breasts and up your neck into a lazy stretch.

Reaching for your outstretched leg, he pulls your foot from its confines, making you yelp and giggle as he tugs you down the bed. He did promise you a foot rub. Strong thumbs push into your arch, rubbing there, making your foot flex, the ache in your sole abating just a little with each slow rotation. You groan, lost in the relief his hands bring, before he's switching to the other foot and doing the same all over again.

You're Jell-o by the time he's finished, kissing all over your calves, knees, thighs, as he crawls up your body.

He nuzzles into the soft front of your panties, still damp or newly damp, you're not quite sure, and breathes you in. He mouths at you over the thin fabric, and you're so desperate for more friction on your clit after hours of waiting that you wiggle, trying to grind yourself against his face.

"I know what you want when you get all wiggly, baby," he says, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. He tickles his fingers across your damp crotch, making you wiggle even more. "You want your daddy, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy," you say eagerly, reaching down to scratch at the scruff on his face, trying to tug him up to you for a kiss. "I've been a good girl."

He presses a long kiss to your palm, nudging your hand away with his head so he can burrow his face into your mound again. "Mm. You have. Know you didn't wanna stay that long, but you did so good for me." It comes out as nothing more than a mumble, the deep vibrations of his voice shooting straight to your pussy.

The truth was you hadn't expected to like anything about this evening that didn't involve Joel. But you had, and that had made sticking around far more tolerable than it should have been, even with the consistent trickle of want through your core.

"Think we should get these panties off o' you and see what mess we're dealing with. Been worked up all night, huh?" he asks, as if he hadn't been responsible for it.

He peels your underwear from you, tugging them down your legs and throwing them behind him without a care for where they land, before he spreads you open and takes a leisurely lick through your folds. He can never resist, the sight of you so worked up for him from so little always such a temptation. He licks again, looking up at you with a smirk as you melt further into his sheets. The slippery muscle of his tongue pushes into your slick hole and fucks you gently, tasting every drop of desire you'd had for him - and Andrew.

A final peck to your clit and he's groaning, shifting up the bed to slotting in beside you with a heavy sigh, curving his broader frame against yours. You find his mouth, needing to have him close to you in every way you can, and kiss him, holding his head in your hands as his own finds its way between your legs. Large fingers stroke delicately across your pussy. His own spit makes the soft drag of his fingers effortless as he finds your clit with practiced ease, and swipes gently at the swollen nub.

Your own hands roam, drifting from his face, slyly tracing down his body until you're tucking your fingers into his pants. Only, it's not sly at all, and he's holding back his amusement when he whispers into your mouth, unzipping his pants and pulling them down before settling beside you once more. "S'alright, I got you."

Your hand immediately flies to his cock, stroking across his smooth length, wasting no time in working him back up after it had softened since your antics downstairs. When he's stiffened in your palm, standing up and knocking rigidly against his belly when you let go, you trail your fingers down to his balls. You lightly squeeze, massaging them in your palm, rolling your thumb over the soft flesh.

He groans, closing his eyes as he grabs his own dick in his massive fist, long lashes tickling his cheek. "That's it, stroke Daddy's balls. Gotta get ready to go in that pretty pussy of yours baby."

You lightly drag your nails across his sack as his slowly jerks himself, stiffening further the more you play with him. You revel in the shaky breath your nails draw from him, nuzzling into his chest. The velvety scent of his cologne is faint now, but you breathe deep regardless - the smell of his bare skin and a subtle hint of his sweat was better than any bottled fragrance anyway.

He pulls his hand from between your legs to reach over to his bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube. Both of you know you're slick enough to take him without it, but the slip of his lubed up dick gliding so easily in and out of you without stretching you with his fingers first was too much to resist.

A sound you love to hear, a soft gasp, leaves his lips when he drizzles some of the cold liquid onto the head his engorged cock, letting you spread it over him with your own fist before nudging you onto your side, forcing you to release your grip.

He is everywhere, surrounding you in every sense. A broad arm tucks under your waist, hugging you tight to his chest with a palm pressed flat between your breasts. His lips are on your cheek, tracing wet biting kisses down your neck. You turn to moan into his pillow just as his other hand snakes its way back between your thighs, pushing the plush flesh aside to rub broad circles over your soaked pussy.

"Gonna take me in now baby, open up for me." Arching your back, you expose your cunt to him from behind as his length ruts against you, lube spreading across your thighs. He fucks between the meat of them, grazing your pussy and nudging into your clit and his own palm with each thrust.

"Don't tease, Daddy," you whine, already so far gone you're ready to plead with him to just fuck you already.

"No teasin' baby, you've been so good for me. Gonna give it straight to you. Here it comes," and he feeds the tip of his cock into you, gently fucking you with his thick head. You push your hips back, slipping more of him into your wet heat, delighting in the feeling the stretch in your cunt and his ragged breath on the back of your neck. Slick dribbles out of you, coating him as he pushes in to the hilt.

"Ohhh, f- mm."

He holds you tighter when you moan, his front flush with your back. You're totally cocooned in his arms as he begins sliding his cock in and out of you with minute thrusts of his hips.

Being cuddled and fucked like this was your favorite. His hands could roam freely, stroking your belly, tugging at your nipples, sticking a finger in your mouth for you to suck on, all whilst his hips gently rocked into you, your pussy coating him, dripping wet slick all over him and making a mess between the two of you the longer it went on. And it could go on. Sometimes he would make you lie here for what felt like hours, talking and watching a movie as he painfully slowly fucked you, keeping himself hard for so long you feared it'd do damage. When he eventually came, it'd be an easy thing, a few quicker thrusts pulling him over the edge and spilling his cum inside you, painting you, filling you so full it'd leak out of you where he had you plugged. You loved those days.

This was not one of those days.

He starts snapping his hips quicker, thrusts still shallow as his fingers start to rub deliberate circles over your clit once again. Remembering your manners you stutter out a quick thank you Daddy when his fingers pick up the pace.

"Can't get enough of your daddy's cock, can you? It's all you want."

You make a noise, somewhere between a groan and a negative. After today you couldn't say it was. You'd seen the way he had looked at you, and the way that Joel had looked at you because of it. Whatever that was, you wanted it, and you were pretty sure Joel did too.

"No? You want other dicks in this pussy?"

Biting into the pillow, you nod, stifling another whine. You'd almost be ashamed that you'd been so obvious with it, flirting too brazenly in front of too many people, but you're too far gone to care.

"Fuck yeah, you do. My baby wants to be filled with so many cocks, don't she? Have 'em fuck you and then you come crawling back to me to kiss it better."

And that's it, that's the thing that sends you over.

"Oh fu-Daddy, D-Daddy, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come."

His cock slips further into you, stretching you out and dragging against every part of you as his fingers pull an orgasm from your twitching clit.

"That's it. You come thinking about all those cocks that are going to ruin this pretty little hole."

You do. The arms wrapped around you are Joel's, but you imagine the cock buried in you is anyone but. Faceless strangers, acquaintances, colleagues. You want it so badly that when your orgasm finally wanes, you let out a feeble sob, burying your face into the pillow once more.

He holds you tightly to him, grinding into you slow and deep, your pussy sloshing wetly around him with your release.

"It's okay," he coos as you shudder, crowding over you now to nuzzle into your cheek. "Don't hide from me. You're allowed to have a greedy little pussy baby. Daddy doesn't mind."

He cradles you to him, letting his cock rest inside of you as he strokes you all over, coaxing you down from your orgasm. When you come to, unfurling from the ball you'd tucked yourself into, dried streaks from a few unnoticed errant tears on your face, he starts to rock again, peppering your face with kisses. You let out a small laugh, feeling silly now that his words, those words, could make you come that quickly and that hard. But then he blindsides you with an offer you weren't expecting.

"How 'bout we find you someone to play with when Daddy's not around?"

You'd almost approached it before, the two of you dancing around the idea of there being someone else, another body, shared with you or taken separately. Joel had joked about other men fucking you, watching you suck their cocks, but you never knew if he was serious.

"How 'bout Andrew, huh? Bet you'd like his mouth here," he touches your neck, trailing two rough fingers down your torso, stopping at your breasts to tease and pinch your nipples. "And here."

His hands move lower and you close your eyes, imagining Andrew's mouth. You can practically fucking feel it - whisps of well groomed facial hair scratching at your delicate skin. Andrew had been so handsome - suave, funny, interested. You'd noticed how his eyes had been drawn to you, subtle flicks down your body, taking you in, as he tried to maintain an air of politeness, of respect for his boss and his girl. You wish he respected Joel a little less.

Joel's fingers finally meet your clit and you moan. "Here too."

"I'm- f- I'm so close again daddy," you whine, not ready for another one so soon.

"You gonna come on your daddy's cock thinkin' about Andrew filling you up?" You nod frantically, unable to hold back anything any more as your cunt pulses around his stiff length. "You are? Oh fuck, you are."

He's cuddling you again, holding you tight as he snaps his hips into yours. He's breathless when he next speaks to you, whispering filth into your ear.

"You'd look so pretty creamin' around his cock baby, just like you do for Daddy." The moan that leaves your mouth is something next to a cry, ready to sob at the idea of how good it'd feel to have Andrew touch you, to come back and tell Joel all about it, to snuggle into his arms, safe and warm and used.

You're lost in the daydream as Joel fucks you, talking you through it, pulling you deeper into the fantasy. You can't stop it any more, your entire body convulsing as you come yet again, the imagined flick of Andrew's tongue on your over sensitive clit being the thing that finally sends you flying.

"Uhh-A-Andrew."

"Fuck yeah that's it, say his name."

"Andrew, f-yes. Please, Andrew, please."

Joel tenses behind you, gripping you harder around the middle as he can't hold back, barely moving his hips at all. The thought alone had pushed him so close to the edge he's tumbling over it without warning, spurting heavily into your dripping pussy, coating your walls with his cum. "Oh fuck, shit, fuck I'm coming, ohhh fuck."

He holds you tighter for a long while, his cock throbbing and heavy inside you, breathing deeply as his thumbs gently stroke over your skin, soothing you now that your second orgasm had abated.

"Mm, I'm sorry baby. Looks like Daddy made a mess of you quicker than he expected, huh? You're just such a good girl for me." You preen at his praise. Even now you were his good girl, and you loved how wanting another man to fuck you could make him lose control so easily. It's all a dream, it's got to be.

Your vision is still blurred when he turns your head to face him, brushing his nose softly against yours. "Just love how greedy your pussy is, baby. How much you want her filled up."

"I want it, Daddy," you whine pathetically into his mouth. "Want to be filled up." By Andrew.

You didn't need to say the silent part out loud for Joel to know what you wanted. After all, if you wanted something, it was a sure fire bet that Joel Miller already wanted it too.

"I can ask him. If that's what you want," he says it softly, almost a whisper as he caresses the side of your face. His softening cock slips from you, cum gushing out with the release of pressure, flooding your thighs with a wet mix of lube and Joel's cum and your own release as you think of him again.

Him. Joel would ask him for you - the fantasy could become a reality.

"Are you... are you okay with that?" You search his eyes, trying to find any trace of uncertainty there. There's none, just burning hot fire, a need, that courses straight from him into you and back again.

"Wouldn't be offerin' if I weren't, darlin'. Besides," he grins at you. "Good girls get to go on playdates."

"Joel!"

"What?!"

"A playdate? Really?"

"Well, if you don't want it.."

You hit him, hand slapping playfully against his chest and he's suddenly rolling on top of you, growling as he scratches his beard against your neck. It tickles, and your feeble attempts to fight him off are made even weaker by the laugh bubbling in your belly.

Your face hurts from smiling and holding back laughter when he pulls back from the onslaught on your neck. He's marked you, of that you're sure, and of another thing too.

"I want it."

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