#had to fully trust the process and nothing else

[onlyforsebastianstan]

Lessons (Part 2)

Summary:

You and Bucky Barnes have always been close — the kind of best friends who share inside jokes, midnight snacks, and quiet truths. He sees you as someone to protect. Nothing more.

But after a night out with friends, where the conversation turned toward sex. Something you’ve never experienced, a curiosity sparked in you. Nervous and innocent, you turned to the one person you trusted most

“What does sex feel like?”

At first, Bucky laughed it off. Then he grew quiet. Your questions didn’t stop and after days of soft, awkward tension, Bucky gave in.

Genre:

NSFW | Smut | Soft Emotional Tension | (eventual smut, pregnancy themes, emotional intensity) | Friends-to-Lovers

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

Read >>> Part 1 <<<

The days after Bucky walked out felt like moving through fog. The ache in your chest lingered, sharp and persistent, every time you replayed that night—the heat of his touch, the raw intensity, and then the cold emptiness of his absence. You tried to keep things normal, laughing with the team, training, pretending nothing had changed. But Bucky’s absence was a shadow, and every time you saw him with Lia, it deepened the cut.

You couldn’t keep it in anymore. One evening, you found Steve in the compound’s gym, his fists pounding a heavy bag with rhythmic precision. He glanced up as you entered, his face softening at the sight of you. “Hey,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You okay? You look… off.”

You hesitated, twisting your fingers together, the words heavy on your tongue. “Can I tell you something? I just… I can’t keep this anymore”

Steve nodded, grabbing a towel and leading you to a quiet corner of the gym, away from the hum of equipment. You sat on a bench, staring at the floor, your heart racing as you tried to find a way to start. “It’s about Bucky,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s brows furrowed, his concern immediate. “What happened?”

You took a shaky breath, the memory of Bucky’s hands, his voice, flooding back. “We… We were close. Closer than I told you. For months, he was teaching me things—about… intimacy. It was just supposed to be lessons, no strings, but I…” You swallowed, your cheeks burning. “Last night we crossed a line. And then he walked out. Said it was a mistake because of Lia. Left me there, and now he’s just… gone.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “Wait. You and Bucky… you slept together?” His voice was low, stunned, like he was trying to reconcile the image of you—quiet, reserved, the one who blushed at crude jokes—with what you’d just confessed. “I never thought… I mean, you always seemed so… Innocent”

You flinched, the word “innocent” stinging more than it should. “I was.But I… It’s really hard to explain. I sound crazy”

He reached out, his hand resting gently on your shoulder, his touch warm, grounding. “Not gonna lie, it does sound crazy. Does he know you like him?”

You shook your head to answer. “That’s the hard part. He claimed me to be his last night, and then he just… left.”

“Hey, I’m sorry but maybe it’s time to let go.” Steve’s words hit you like a slap in the face. 

You nodded, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I just don’t know what to do now. I’m… stuck.”

Steve’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face—resolve, maybe, or a plan forming. “You’re not stuck,” he said firmly. “You’re amazing, and if Bucky can’t see that, someone else will. You’ve got me, alright?”

His words were kind, but there was an edge to them, a determination you didn’t fully grasp. From that day on, Steve’s behavior changed. He started seeking you out more, his presence constant, his touches lingering. He’d sling an arm around your shoulders during movie nights, his fingers brushing your arm. He’d bring you coffee during briefings, his smile warm but pointed, like he was making a statement. At first, you thought it was just Steve being Steve—kind, protective, the friend he’d always been. But then you noticed Bucky.

Every time Steve’s hand rested on your back, every time he laughed a little too close to your ear, Bucky’s eyes were on you. His jaw would clench, his gaze dark and unreadable, lingering from across the room. You’d catch him watching during training, his fists tightening when Steve corrected your stance, his hands steadying your hips. It stirred something in you—confusion, hope, a pang of longing you tried to bury.

You didn’t realize what Steve was doing, not really. You were too caught up in your own hurt, too oblivious to see the way he was positioning himself, using his closeness to you to provoke Bucky. To Steve, it was a way to push his friend, to force Bucky to confront whatever he was running from. But to you, it was just comfort, a lifeline in the wake of Bucky’s absence.

One night, when everyone was out leaving you and Steve in the compound. Steve invited you for pizza and some movies, a casual hangout to “take your mind off things.” You showed up in jeans and a sweater, your hair loose, expecting nothing more than the usual—easy conversation, maybe a bad action movie. 

The evening started smoothly, the two of you sprawled on the couch, a pizza box open on the coffee table, an old black and white action film playing on the TV. Steve was relaxed, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his laugh warm as you swapped stories about missions gone wrong.

But as the night wore on, the air shifted. Steve moved closer, his knee brushing yours, his arm slipping from the couch to rest lightly on your shoulder. The heat of his body was sudden, overwhelming, and your mind flickered to Bucky—the way his touch had felt, deliberate and sure, the way he’d guided you through every moment. Steve’s closeness was different, softer but insistent, and it made your head spin.

“You okay?” Steve asked, his voice low, his eyes searching yours. He was close now, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand sliding to your arm.

You blinked, caught in the weight of his gaze. “Yeah,” you murmured, but your thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in memories of Bucky’s hands, his voice whispering, “Just let go, doll.”

“Y/n” Steve called your name, soft but firm, snapping you back to the moment. Before you could process it, his lips were on yours, warm and gentle, but with a hunger that caught you off guard. You froze for a heartbeat, then kissed him back, tentative, your hands resting on his chest. It was nice—safe, like Steve always was—but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Bucky. The thought hit you like a cold splash, and your stomach churned.

You pulled back, breathless, your hand flying to your mouth. “Steve, I—”

Before you could finish, nausea hit hard. You stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it before you were sick, the room spinning as you gripped the sink. Steve was there in an instant, his hand on your back, his voice soothing. “Hey, you okay? Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helped you rinse your mouth, his touch gentle, and led you to his room. You were too fuzzy to argue, your head heavy as you sank into the cushions. Steve grabbed one of his shirts from a laundry basket—a faded gray tee, soft and oversized—and handed it to you. “Here, put this on. You’ll feel better.”

You changed in his bathroom, the shirt swallowing your frame, hanging almost like a dress. When you came out, Steve was waiting, his smile soft but careful. “Stay here tonight,” He said.

You nodded, too tired to protest, and curled up on the bed. He draped a blanket over you, his arm settling around your shoulders as you drifted off, the kiss still lingering in your mind, a mix of warmth and guilt.

When you woke the next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, and his arm was still loosely around you, his breathing steady as he slept beside you. The oversized shirt bunched around your thighs, and for a panicked moment, you tried to piece together the night. The kiss. The nausea. Had you…?

No. You remembered puking, Steve helping you, nothing more. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. As you slipped out from under Steve’s arm, careful not to wake him, you headed for the door. You stepped into the hallway, still in his oversized shirt, your hair a mess, and froze.

Bucky was there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on you. His jaw was tight, his gaze flickering from the shirt—clearly Steve’s—to your bare legs, then back to your face. The air crackled with something dark, something unspoken, his expression a storm of hurt and anger.

“Bucky,” you started, your voice small, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, sharp. He pushed off the wall, his fists clenched, and walked away without another word, leaving you standing there, the weight of his gaze heavier than ever.

The compound was suffocatingly quiet, the kind of stillness that made every thought you tried to bury scream louder. Three days had passed since you’d stepped out of Steve’s room, swallowed by his oversized shirt, and locked eyes with Bucky in the hallway. His gaze—dark, stormy, like you’d betrayed him—had seared into you before he’d turned and walked away. You hadn’t spoken since, dodging each other in shared spaces, your glances fleeting but heavy with unspoken words. The air between you crackled, a live wire waiting to spark.

You sat in the compound’s kitchen now, a mug of tea cooling untouched in front of you, the steam curling upward like a faint ghost. Sam’s morning coffee brew lingered, its sharp, bitter scent twisting your stomach in a way it never used to. You pressed a hand to your abdomen, frowning. 

The nausea had been creeping in for days—first chalked up to the overwhelming moment at Steve’s, then to stress, but it was relentless, paired with a bone-deep exhaustion that made your body feel like lead. Yesterday, you’d nearly nodded off during a briefing, Natasha’s sharp elbow jabbing you awake. “You good?” she’d whispered, her eyes too perceptive. You’d nodded, brushing it off, but the unease was clawing at you.

Steve was a constant where Bucky was a void. Since that night, his affection had grown bolder—his touches lingering, his smiles pointed. Yesterday, during movie night, he’d slung an arm around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your collarbone, his laugh warm and close. You’d leaned into him, craving the comfort, but your eyes had found Bucky across the room. He was with Lia, her hand on his knee, but his gaze was locked on you, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. The weight of it twisted your chest, a tangle of longing and guilt you couldn’t untie.

You pushed the tea away, the smell suddenly overwhelming, and stood, gripping the counter as a wave of dizziness hit. “Get it together,” you muttered, but the suspicion was growing, sharp and undeniable. The nausea, the fatigue, the way your body felt wrong—it wasn’t just stress. The math was cruelly clear. That night with Bucky in the common room, the one you’d both called a mistake, had been reckless. No protection. Just heat, need, and the pull of his touch. Now, it was catching up to you.

You slipped out of the kitchen, avoiding the team’s morning chatter, and headed to your room. In a drawer, buried under clothes, was the small box you’d bought on impulse yesterday, hoping you wouldn’t need it. The pregnancy test felt like a live grenade in your trembling hands. You locked yourself in the bathroom, the tile cold against your bare feet, and followed the instructions, your heart pounding. The wait was torture, each second stretching as you sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the stick on the counter.

Two lines. Stark, unyielding.

Your breath hitched, a sharp gasp echoing in the small space. You grabbed the test, staring, willing it to change, but it didn’t. Pregnant. Bucky’s child. The truth crashed over you, tying you back to that night—the urgency of his hands, the low growl of your name, the way you’d clung to him as the world dissolved. It was supposed to be a one-time slip, sealed off from your friendship, but now it was real, permanent. A life growing inside you.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a sob. Fear surged—fear of what this meant, of telling Bucky, of facing him when he was with Lia, when he barely looked at you. You were terrified, but beneath it was a fierce ache for him—not just the Bucky who’d guided you through those intimate lessons, but the Bucky who’d been your anchor, your best friend, the one who’d made you feel safe in a way no one else could. Now, you carried his child, and he was a ghost in your life.

A knock on your door jolted you, and you shoved the test into your pocket, wiping your eyes. “Yeah?” you called, voice unsteady.

“It’s me,” Steve’s voice came, warm, steady. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

You opened the door, forcing a smile. Steve stood there, blond hair slightly tousled, blue eyes soft with concern, dressed in a plain tee and jeans. “I’m fine,” you said, but your voice betrayed you, and his brow furrowed.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing your arm. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You wanted to spill it all—the test, the baby, the way Bucky’s absence was carving you hollow—but the words wouldn’t come. Steve was safe, kind, but this wasn’t his to carry. Not yet. “Just… tired,” you said, stepping back, needing space. “Rough night.”

He studied you, eyes searching, but didn’t press. His smile was gentle, encouraging. “Come to the gym later? A little sparring might help clear your head. I’ll go easy, promise.”

You managed a weak laugh. “Deal. But don’t whine when I land a hit.”

His grin widened, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something calculated, like he was playing a longer game. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, squeezing your shoulder before heading off.

That afternoon, you found yourself in the training room, lacing up gloves, trying to shake the fog in your head. Steve was already there, bouncing on his toes, his grin easy but his eyes watchful. The room was quiet, just the hum of the AC and the faint thud of your steps on the mats. You’d barely slept, the weight of the test in your pocket like a stone, and your body felt heavier than it should, each movement sluggish.

“Ready?” Steve called, circling you, his stance loose but ready. You nodded, raising your fists, but your focus was fraying. The nausea was back, a low churn, and the room felt too warm, the air too thick. You threw a half-hearted jab, and Steve dodged easily, his hand grazing your arm to steady you.

“Come on, you’re off your game,” he teased, but his tone was gentle. “Hit me like you mean it.”

You tried, pushing through the haze, but mid-step, the world tilted. Your vision blurred, black creeping at the edges, and your knees buckled. A gasp caught in your throat as you started to fall, the mats rushing up—

Strong arms caught you, Steve’s voice sharp with worry. “Hey, hey! You okay?” He knelt, cradling you against his chest, his hand brushing your cheek as he tried to rouse you. “Come on, open your eyes.”

You blinked, the world swimming back into focus, Steve’s face hovering above you, his blue eyes wide with concern. Your head throbbed, your stomach roiling, and you realized with a jolt that Bucky was there too, standing frozen in the doorway. His face was a mask of shock, his fists clenched, eyes locked on you in Steve’s arms. For a heartbeat, his gaze softened, raw worry breaking through, but then it hardened, his jaw tightening as he took in Steve’s hands on you.

“Bucky,” you croaked, your voice weak, but he didn’t move, his eyes flicking between you and Steve, dark with something unspoken—fear, jealousy, guilt.

“She’s fine,” Steve said, his tone firm, almost challenging, as he helped you sit up, his arm still steady around your shoulders. “Just pushed herself too hard.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hands flexing at his sides. “She doesn’t look fine,” he said, his voice low, sharp, like he was holding back a storm. He took a step forward, then stopped, his gaze lingering on you before he turned abruptly and left, the door swinging shut behind him.

Your chest tightened, the weight of his worry and his retreat hitting harder than the faint. Steve’s hand squeezed your shoulder, grounding you. “You need to see a doctor,” he said, his voice softer now, but insistent. “That wasn’t normal.”

“I’m okay,” you lied, pulling away, your hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the test was hidden. “Just… didn’t sleep well.”

Steve frowned, unconvinced, but he helped you to your feet, his touch careful. “Take it easy, alright? I’m here if you need me.”

You nodded, your mind on Bucky’s face—the flash of concern, the way it had morphed into something darker. He’d seen you collapse, seen Steve catch you, and it had struck a nerve. You wondered what he’d felt in that moment, but the thought was drowned by the secret burning in your pocket.

That night, you sat alone in your room, the test on your nightstand, its two lines glaring like an accusation. You couldn’t keep this from him any longer. The faint in the gym, Bucky’s haunted look—it all pushed you toward a breaking point. You had to tell him, no matter how terrifying it was. He deserved to know, and you couldn’t carry this alone.

You grabbed your phone, fingers trembling as you typed: Can we talk? Tonight? Your place? Your thumb hovered over the send button, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears. The memory of that night in the common room—his hands, his breath, the way he’d claimed you—flooded back, now tangled with the life growing inside you. You pressed send, the message flying into the void, locking you into the moment you’d have to face him—the moment you’d tell him you were carrying his child, and nothing would be the same.

The hallway outside Bucky’s apartment felt like a gauntlet, each step toward his door heavier than the last. Your heart hammered, the pregnancy test in your pocket a burning weight, its two lines branding the truth into you. The text you’d sent—Can we talk? Tonight? Your place?—had been met with a clipped Sure, and now you stood here, palms sweating, nausea churning, the memory of Bucky’s stormy gaze in the training room haunting you. Yesterday, when you’d fainted and Steve caught you, Bucky’s face had flickered with worry before hardening into something unreadable—anger, maybe, or betrayal.

You knocked, the sound sharp in the quiet, and the door opened almost instantly. Bucky stood there, filling the doorway, his expression guarded, eyes shadowed. His hair was disheveled, like he’d been raking his hands through it, and his blue gaze swept over you, wary, searching. “Hey,” he said, voice low, stepping aside to let you in. “What’s this about?”

You slipped past him, the familiar scent of his apartment—leather, coffee, him—hitting you like a punch, dragging you back to late nights on his couch, to the lessons, to the reckless night in the common room that changed everything. You stood in the middle of his living room, arms crossed, fingers twisting the hem of your sweater, unable to look at him. The words you’d rehearsed felt impossible, tangled in your throat.

“I… I needed to see you,” you started, voice barely above a whisper, trembling despite your effort to steady it. “It’s important.”

He closed the door, leaning against it, arms crossed, his posture tense, like he was bracing for impact. “You’ve been dodging me,” he said, his tone blunt, not accusing but heavy. “Since… everything. So, what’s going on?”

You swallowed, throat dry, his stare pinning you in place. You opened your mouth, but the words faltered, your courage crumbling. “I’ve been… feeling off,” you said, voice shaking.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—concern, maybe—crossing his face before it hardened again. “Yeah, I saw. You went down, and Steve was right there to catch you.” His voice sharpened on Steve’s name, his hands flexing at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You’re not okay. Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not,” you said, too fast, your voice cracking. You took a step back, your hand brushing the pocket where the test hid, your pulse racing. “It’s… more than that, Bucky. I don’t know how to say it.”

He stepped closer, his brows knitting, his voice low, urgent. “Just say it. Whatever it is, just… spit it out.” But there was a strain in his tone, like he was already dreading your words, his eyes searching yours for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

You bit your lip, tears stinging as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. His face—familiar, safe, but now distant—made the truth feel like a blade. “I’ve been sick,” you said, faltering. “Nauseous, exhausted. And yesterday, when I fainted…”

His expression shifted, a spark of realization flaring in his eyes, but he stayed silent, his gaze locked on you, waiting. The air was thick, suffocating, the secret clawing its way out. “I’m pregnant,” you whispered, the words barely audible, breaking as they left you. “I found out yesterday.”

Bucky froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as the weight of it hit him. For a moment, the room was dead silent, his gaze dropping to your stomach, then back to your face, his jaw clenching. “Pregnant,” he echoed, his voice rough, like he was testing the word, his mind racing. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “Yeah. The test was clear. Two lines.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his flesh hand trembling, his metal one curling into a fist. His eyes were stormy, a mix of shock and something darker—doubt, maybe, or fear. “That night,” he said, voice low, almost to himself. “Shit! We didn’t…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking to yours, searching, then hardening. “Is it mine? Or Steve’s?”

The question struck like a knife, sharp and cold, and you flinched, your breath catching. “What?” you whispered, hurt blooming in your chest, your voice trembling. “You think I—”

“You were with him,” Bucky cut in, his voice low, raw, edged with something jagged—jealousy, pain. “I saw you, coming out of his room, in his shirt. You’ve been all over each other lately. I need to know, doll. Is it his?”

Your chest ached, his words slicing through you, the accusation stinging more than you’d thought possible. You stepped toward him, hands shaking, tears spilling over. “It’s yours, Bucky,” you said, voice firm despite the crack in it. “That night in the common room—that was the only time. Steve and I kissed, once, but that’s all. Nothing else. I swear.”

He held your gaze, his eyes searching, like he was trying to root out a lie, but the doubt lingered, a shadow in his expression. He turned away, his hand scrubbing over his face, his shoulders rigid. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry, I made a mistake—”

You stood there, heart pounding, the air heavy with his uncertainty. You’d hoped for something—anger, guilt, even acceptance—but his hesitation cut deeper than you’d expected. Your mind spiraled, landing on Lia—her hand on his arm, his smile when he was with her. He was still with her, still choosing her, even now. The thought twisted in your gut, a quiet ache that he’d rather cling to her than face this with you.

“I get it. You’re with Lia,” you said, voice small, barely holding together. “You're right. That night was a mistake."

He turned back, his eyes flashing, his expression torn. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low, rough. “I’m just… I’m trying to wrap my head around this. It’s a lot.” His gaze dropped to your stomach again, then back to your face, his eyes clouded with doubt. “I believe you,” he said finally, but his voice was strained, like he was still wrestling with the idea of Steve. “But I need time to think. This… it’s big.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks, the weight of his indecision crushing you. You’d bared your soul, and he was standing there, torn between you and the ghost of Steve, between you and Lia. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, your voice breaking. “I just thought you should know.” You turned toward the door, your hand on the knob, your heart heavy with the realization that he wasn��t going to fight for you—not now, maybe not ever. “I’ll figure it out, Bucky.”

“Wait,” he said, his voice sharp, but you were already opening the door, the air in the hallway cooler, a relief against your flushed skin. She could hear him step forward, but he didn’t follow, didn’t call you back. The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against the wall, your hand resting on your stomach, the reality of the life inside you anchoring you to the moment.

He was still choosing Lia, you thought, the idea sinking in like a stone. Even with this, even with your history, he was pulling away, letting doubt and distance win. You wiped your tears, your resolve hardening. You’d face this alone if you had to, but the thought of it—of losing him completely—felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

Bucky paced his apartment, the echo of your words—“It’s yours, Bucky”—ringing in his ears, tangled with his own doubt-soaked question: “Is it mine? Or Steve’s?” He’d seen the hurt in your eyes, the way you’d flinched, the tears you tried to hide as you walked out. He’d wanted to chase you, to say something—anything—but his mind was a storm, caught between the life you carried, Lia’s presence, and the image of you in Steve’s shirt. He’d fucked up, let doubt and jealousy twist his words, and now the silence after your departure felt like a chasm.

The next morning, he steeled himself to find you. He needed to talk, to clear the air, to figure out what this meant—for you, for the baby, for him. He knocked on your door, the apartment’s quiet halls amplifying his unease. No answer. He tried again, louder, then checked the compound, the kitchen, the gym, the common room. Nothing. A knot tightened in his chest, your fainting spell from the other day flashing in his mind, now layered with the knowledge of your pregnancy. His worry spiked, sharp and urgent.

He found Steve in the training room, tossing a shield against a padded wall, his movements precise but tense. “Steve,” Bucky called, his voice rough, “you seen her?”

Steve caught the shield, turning, his brow furrowing. “Who? You mean…?” He didn’t need to say your name; the weight of it hung between them. “No, not since yesterday. Why?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing. “She’s not in her room. Not anywhere. I need to talk to her.” He didn’t mention the pregnancy, the words too heavy, too raw, but Steve’s eyes narrowed, picking up on the edge in his voice.

“You sure she’s not just avoiding you?” Steve said, his tone sharp, a hint of accusation. “You’ve been pretty good at pushing her away lately.”

Bucky’s fists tightened, but he swallowed the retort. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Steve studied him, then nodded, his expression softening. “Alright. Let’s check with the others.”

The team gathered quickly—Natasha, Sam, Tony—all sensing the urgency. Natasha’s eyes flicked to Bucky, her intuition sharp. “She didn’t show for training this morning,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s not like her.”

Tony tapped his tablet, pulling up security feeds. “FRIDAY, run a scan. Where’s our resident chatterbox?” His usual sarcasm felt forced, his worry betraying him. The AI’s response was swift: no trace of you in the compound since last night. Bucky’s heart sank, his mind racing to you, alone, pregnant, vulnerable.

“Got something,” Tony’s assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Maria, called from the control room. She pulled up footage from your apartment, time-stamped just after midnight. The grainy video showed you, unsteady. A figure approached—a woman, her movements quick, deliberate. She injected something into your neck, and you crumpled, unconscious, as she dragged you to a waiting car. The woman’s face was clear under the streetlight, Lia.

You woke to a dull ache in your head, your limbs heavy, the air cold and damp. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of what looked like an abandoned warehouse, all rusted beams and cracked concrete. Your wrists were bound behind you, the rope biting into your skin, and panic surged as you remembered the alley, the sting of a needle, the world going black.

Lia sat across from you, perched on a crate, her eyes blazing with a rage you’d never seen. Her usual easy charm was gone, replaced by something sharp, venomous. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice low, cutting. “Good. I want you to know exactly why you’re here.”

You struggled against the ropes, your heart racing, your hand instinctively wanting to protect your stomach. “Lia, what—” Your voice was hoarse, fear tightening your throat. “What are you doing?”

She stood, pacing closer, her movements predatory. “I heard you,” she spat, her eyes locked on yours. “Last night, with Bucky. Pregnant. His kid.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “He’s been cold, distant, barely looking at me, and now I know why. You. Always you. You’ve been in his head, stealing him from me.”

You shook your head, tears stinging. “It’s not like that, Lia. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie,” she snapped, stepping closer, her face inches from yours. “You’ve been after him from the start, haven’t you? You think you can just take him, ruin everything?” Her voice trembled, rage and hurt mixing, her hands clenched into fists.

“I didn’t take him,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “He’s with you. He chose you.” The words hurt, the truth of them cutting deeper than you wanted to admit, but you clung to them, your heart aching with the belief that Bucky was still hers.

Lia’s laugh was sharp, mirthless. “Chose me? He’s been a ghost since you started hanging around Steve, since that night you two… whatever you did. You’re the one he’s obsessed with, and now you’re carrying his kid.” Her eyes dropped to your stomach, her expression twisting into something darker.

Fear gripped you, your bound hands straining, your body curling protectively. “Lia, please,” you whispered, tears spilling. “Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt… my baby.”

She didn’t answer, her silence chilling, her eyes cold as she turned away, gripping something in her hand—a knife, glinting in the dim light.

Bucky’s heart pounded as the quinjet touched down near the warehouse, its location pinged by Tony’s tech. The team had moved fast, tracing Lia’s car to this abandoned stretch on the city’s outskirts, but Bucky was out the door before the engines stilled, his gun drawn, his mind a single track: you. You, pregnant with his child, taken because of his mistakes, his doubts, his failure to protect you.

Steve was at his side, his shield ready, Natasha and Sam fanning out to cover the perimeter. “Buck, slow down,” Steve hissed, grabbing his arm. “We do this smart.”

Bucky shook him off, his eyes blazing. “She’s got her, Steve. Because of me. I’m not waiting.” The guilt was a vise—Lia’s rage, your disappearance, the child you carried, all tied to his hesitation, his question that had driven you away.

They breached the warehouse, moving silently, the air thick with dust and tension. Bucky’s enhanced senses picked up voices—yours, trembling, and Lia’s, sharp with venom. He followed the sound, his heart in his throat, until he rounded a corner and froze.

You were there, tied to a chair, tears streaking your face, your body curled as if to shield the life inside you. Lia stood in front of you, a knife in her hand, its blade pointed at your stomach, her voice low and menacing. “He’ll see,” she was saying, her eyes wild. “He’ll see what happens when you try to take what’s mine.”

“Lia!” Bucky’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, his gun trained on her. She spun, the knife still raised, her expression a mix of rage and desperation. The team fanned out behind him, Steve’s shield glinting, Natasha’s guns drawn, but Bucky’s focus was on you—your wide, terrified eyes, the way your bound hands strained to protect your stomach.

“Drop it,” Bucky growled, stepping closer, his voice low, dangerous. “Now.”

Lia’s gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her hand trembling, the knife still poised. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice breaking. “She’s ruining everything. You’re mine, Bucky, not hers.”

Your breath hitched, tears falling as you met Bucky’s eyes, fear and pain written in your face. He saw it—the life you carried, the trust he’d broken, the danger he’d brought to your door. His doubt had led to this, and now you were paying the price.

“Lia,” he said, his voice softer now, but steel beneath it, “put the knife down. This isn’t you. Let her go.”

The warehouse was silent, the air thick with the weight of the moment, the blade still hovering, your life and your child’s hanging in the balance.

She wavered, hand shaking, the blade still too close. Natasha moved silently, circling behind, and in a flash, disarmed Lia with a swift twist, the knife clattering to the floor. Lia lunged, screaming, but Steve restrained her, Natasha securing her wrists. Bucky was at your side instantly, his knife slicing through the ropes, his hands—flesh and metal—gentle but urgent as he freed you. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice rough, arms catching you as you slumped, trembling. “You’re okay.”

You clung to him, tears soaking his shirt, his warmth grounding you as the fear ebbed. “Bucky,” you whispered, voice breaking, but he was already lifting you, carrying you out, his jaw tight, eyes haunted.

The hospital room was sterile, the monitors’ steady beeps a lifeline. You’d been there three days, hooked to IVs, monitored for shock and dehydration, your body bruised but whole. The doctors confirmed the baby was safe, a small miracle anchoring you, but the trauma lingered—Lia’s rage, the knife, the fear for your child. Bucky hadn’t visited, his absence a raw ache. Steve came daily, bringing coffee, offering quiet comfort, his presence steady but stirring confusion, your heart still tethered to Bucky despite his doubt about the baby’s paternity.

Natasha told you Lia was detained, her betrayal a shock to the team. Bucky was shutting everyone out, blaming himself for her actions, for not seeing her obsession. You wanted him there, needed his reassurance, but his silence left you grappling with the trauma and the weight of carrying his child, wondering if his guilt would keep him away forever.

Discharged on the fourth day, you were back at the compound, sitting in your room, staring at the ultrasound photo—a blurry image of the life inside you. A knock broke your thoughts, soft but insistent. You opened the door to find Bucky, looking wrecked, hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept since the warehouse.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice low, hesitant, as if unsure he belonged there.

You nodded, stepping aside, heart racing. He stood in your room, hands in his pockets, gaze on the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to the hospital,” he said, voice rough. “I couldn’t face you. Not after… Lia, the warehouse, everything. It’s my fault. I didn’t see her for what she was, and you paid the price.”

You clutched the ultrasound photo, voice trembling. “You weren’t there, Bucky. I needed you, and you just… vanished.” Tears stung, the trauma and his absence twisting together. “I was so scared, for me, for the baby. I thought you were gone for good.”

His head snapped up, pain flashing across his face. “I know I fucked up,” he said, voice breaking, stepping closer. “I let you down, let our baby down. I doubted you, asked if the kid was Steve’s, and it nearly cost you everything. I’ve been carrying that guilt since the warehouse.”

You froze, his words unraveling you, the raw guilt in his voice hitting hard. “Bucky,” you whispered, but he shook his head, closing the distance, eyes searching yours.

“I’ve been a mess since the day you asked me about doing it,” he said, voice low, raw. “You sat on my couch, so open, so trusting, asking me to show you something I had no right to. I was already falling for you. I didn’t even realize when it started, I just felt it. You’re not just my best friend, but… you’re everything. I was too scared to admit it, too afraid of ruining us.” 

Your breath caught, tears spilling as his confession rewrote every moment—the lessons, the common room, his doubt. “You love me?” you whispered, voice trembling. “All this time, and you never said anything? I thought… I thought you didn’t want this, didn’t want us. What about Lia?”

He paused, jaw tightening. “Lia… she was never romantic. She was a distraction, someone I used to keep myself from facing how much I wanted you. I let her get close, and I didn’t see her obsession until it was too late. I’m so sorry, doll. For doubting you, for letting her hurt you.” 

You held the ultrasound photo, heart aching with his words, with the trauma of Lia’s knife, the weight of your child. “I was so scared, Bucky,” you said, voice small, tears streaming. “I thought I’d have to do this alone.”

He closed the gap, his hands—warm flesh, cool metal—cupping your face gently, his eyes glistening. “You’re not alone,” he said, voice fierce, steady. “I love you, doll. I love you, and I want this—us, the baby, everything. I know I messed up, but I’m here now, if you’ll have me.”

Your heart swelled, the fear and pain melting under the warmth of his words, his touch. You’d carried the weight of his doubt, Lia’s threat, but here he was, baring his soul, choosing you. You leaned into him, tears falling, and nodded. “I love you too, Bucky,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Since those nights on your couch, since you made me feel safe. I want this with you.”

His forehead pressed against yours, a shaky breath escaping him, relief and love in his eyes. He pulled you close, arms wrapping around you, careful of your stomach, his touch grounding you like it always had. “We’ll figure it out together,” he murmured, voice soft, a promise. “You, me, and our kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

You clung to him, the ultrasound photo pressed between you, a symbol of the future you’d build. The trauma lingered, a shadow, but in his arms, with his love confessed, you felt hope—a new beginning, fragile but real, for you, Bucky, and the life you carried.

A/N: My brain's not working at the moment but I know this could still have a better continuation. I might revise this but for now here you go!! Love lots!!!

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

[novasintheroom]

💗 for Vash from trigun please. I always need more of just Vash being happy for once😭

It’s one of those days when everything hurts and nothing has gone right.

Vash puts down your packs in the little cave you managed to spot. Stretches out his back, his legs. They’re cramping from not drinking enough water, from working too hard today. He looks over at you. You don’t look much better. There’s a bruise forming on your cheekbone. Several cuts on your arms and legs. Your eyes look hollow; they’ve lost the spark they had when the day started. You have the air of “don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t even breathe near me.”

“C’mere,” he still says. He digs through his pack for the first aid kit. Ignores your whiney grumble.

Hiking over boulders is one thing. Running from bullets and a rag-tag group of crazy teenagers while hiking over boulders is another. Definitely not something he thought he’d face today. To top it off, there was the swarm of worms that descended on you both when you’d finally left the young gang behind. Vash felt the goo of a thousand bugs stuck between the crevices of his clothing. Disgusting.

But, he thinks, and smiles over at you. At least you’re safe now. And finding a shelter like this cave is a much needed blessing. Vash gestures for you to come over again. You roll your eyes and neck and limp over.

“It can wait until we sleep a bit, c’mon,” you complain, sitting down at his feet with a groan. Vash meets you where you are, sitting and offering a hand for your permission. You place your scratched-up fingers in his. Something in him warms at the trust you display. He gets to work.

There isn’t anything to look at in the cave. You stare at his hands, moving and intertwining through your fingers to balm and bandage them up. It is hard to keep your eyes open, so you don’t. Through the brown-black of your eyelids, you feel his breath puffing on the tips of your fingers, so engrossed in making sure you’re okay. Always making sure you’re okay.

If only he would do the same for himself. Let himself be loved, appreciated, wanted. So, with a weary, here-goes-nothing attitude, you say, “Considering I love you, and all, you better let me patch you up too.”

Vash stills. There’s a leap-skip in your heart, and you flutter your eyes open. His blues are wide and trained on your face. Maybe if you were more awake, less beat up, you’d feel embarrassment at your admission. But right now, all you want is to make it known that he has someone who loves him, and that comes with responsibility. So, you train your eyes back at his and give a thin-lipped smile. “Or else you’ll make me feel bad,” you tack on.

His blush actually can reach his hairline, turns out. Your gunslinger clears his throat and looks back down at your hands. “Didn’t take you for a guilt-tripper,” he mumbles.

Taking your hands out of his, you reach for the gauze and ointment. A glob of the stuff goes on your fingertip. With a look, you wait for his permission to touch him. Vash hesitates. Nods. You grab his chin and begin applying the medicine to the gash across his forehead and cheek. He hisses, grabbing your wrist but only that. 

When you’re done, and the rest of yours and his wounds are tended to, you both lay down in your sleeping bags side-by-side, saying nothing. Vash is tense, you can tell, and perhaps that is still because of what you said. Whatever, your tired mind says. If he takes it the wrong way…I’ll apologize in the morning. You turn over and start to drift off.

“I love you too, you know.”

“Hm?” Something in your brain fires off and you look over your shoulder. “What?”

His smile is sad, even in the dim light. “It’s why I do what I do. To keep you safe.”

It takes a moment to process what he’s said. You snort and turn fully back to him. “Got a funny way of showing it.”

“I know.” He turns on his side and props his head up with an arm. Looks at you. “I know you don’t like it either.”

“Yeah, taking bullets for me isn’t what I’d call ‘romantic.’”

“Really? A lot of western dramas and books think it is.” You huff a laugh, and his smile turns more genuine. Then it slides back down. “You shouldn’t love me. I’m…not really dating material.”

“Mmph.” Your eyes close, and they threaten to stay closed. “Frankly, neither am I.”

His mouth opens to protest. You’re incredible. Amazing. He’s surprised someone hasn’t snatched you up already. But he sees the tiredness in your face and sighs. “We’ll…talk about this tomorrow, yeah?”

You nod, and curl closer to him. With another sigh, he scoots you even closer, letting you rest your head on his chest. Tomorrow, his heart beats wildly. He’s never looked forward to something more.

--

A/N: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ not exactly a happy Vash, but maybe tomorrow he will be!! Thanks for playing and sending this in <3

[sincerealev]

"I am the quiet you've been longing for."

THE devil's minion moment ever. S2 episode 5 how I love you

(lineart, sketch, and an extra sketch I discarded before doing this one below)

[lucifermonsii]

Barrage x M!Reader

err sub reader n dom barrage hehehe (this man needs more fic.) Reader accidentally drinks Barrage's "milk"

It was a nice day, or so you thought. After a long day of training you've grown tired and exhausted, wanting nothing more but just to go grab a glass of water— or basically any type of liquid at this point. Eventually after some reps at a pull bar in the training room you've decided to head to your little office that had a mini fridge which you've kept tucked beneath a book shelve, it was cute and convenient. To be honest every high ranked officer had a pretty nice office, and lucky for you you've just been promoted to a chief warrant officer. Talk about the perks. Upon your arrival you're met with a familiar face who seems to be sitting on your couch with his feet on your coffee table, Barrage. Typical. Sometimes you'd wish you didn't give him the keys to your office. But what could you do? He was your best friend after all. The masked man stared at you through his shades, holding a monster can in one hand as he sits there. "The fuck are you doing in my office-" You scoffed at him before closing the office door behind you, shaking your head before you headed over to your mini fridge and crouched down to see what was left behind after Barrage's looting session. A singular glass of white liquid substance— to what you assumed was milk. What was that doing in your mini fridge? "Eh, why not? I'm tired of training rookies all day.." He murmurs before taking a sip of the carbonated beverage though the fabric of his balaclava as he glances over at you through his dark shades, although you couldn't really see his eyes you could feel his gaze upon you. The very gaze you've grown used to over the years. Your eyes lingers on the glass of milk for a moment too long, contemplating whether it was one of Barrage's trick or just a drink he kept for you. You've known this man long enough to know he isn't one to trust. Knowing his usual cheeky antics and tricks. "Barrage, why's there a glass of milk in my fridge?" You asked as you look over at him, now standing properly with the glass of milk in your hand as you waited for his answer. His gaze lingers on yours for a while before he answers. "Hm? Saved it for you, know you'd get thirsty.." Was all he said before looking forward and finishing off his beverage with a swig and placing the empty aluminum can on the coffee table before getting up and stretching, groaning in the process before his arms fell back to his sides. "Alright then.." You said slowly, gently swirling the glass in your hand as the white substance swirls in the glass slowly. It was unusually thick and a bit transparent for a milk, but what else can you drink after he finished your whole stock? So without a second thought you began to drink it. "I wasn't done talking." He says as he heads over to you, seeing as you've already chugged the whole glass and wiped off the access on your lips using your hands. "What is it..? The fuck did you do." You replied sternly as you furrowed your eyebrows at him, face slightly grimacing at the slightly thick liquid you had just swallowed down your throat. Turning around to look at him face to face. You weren't short no, in fact both of you are the same height— Is what you say knowing that he's just an inch taller. "It's not just any milk— its my milk." The male grins smugly before breaking into laughter, clutching his stomach as strings of giggles and snickers left his mouth uncontrollably. You on the other hand was absolutely disgusted. Eyebrows furrowed in disbelief as you stared at him, baffled and straight up speechless before your eyes glanced back at the now empty glass of semen in your hand. "BARRAGE WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" You shouted at him, face flushed with embarrassment as your mind came to realize what you had done— Coughing, trying to get the liquid out of your throat was no use now since it had been fully digested. ⋆⭒˚.⋆ "you're so fucking disgusting.."

You hissed at him, pink tinted your cheeks as you kept a firm tone and your guards up— although you knew the whole experience had you aroused, the damn pervert you call your best friend made you drink his semen? God damn you were a sick person for enjoying it.. "your flushed face tells me other wise.." Was all he mused before letting go of your jaw to dip his thumb into the corner of your mouth, smearing the thick white liquid from your mouth to the corner of your lips. Grinning to see that you still had some of it inside to indulge in the salty taste. "hm, who's the pervert now?" he says before wiping it off on your cheek and lifted his balaclava just above his nose to give you a kiss. Dragging the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip to gain entrance, to which you eagerly complied. Gaze hazed as he hums into the kiss, pushing you further against the wall as one of his hands found their way beneath the fabric of your shirt, his rough, calloused fingers drags their way along your toned— muscular physique as they found their way to the dip of your hip, keeping a grip there as his other hand made it's way to grip the side of your chest— slightly squeezing onto the soft, firm flesh before pulling away from the kiss. Staring down at you through half lidded eyes through his dark shades. "fuck you." You grumbled back to him as you gripped onto his waist, pulling him further more against your body as you kissed him again. This time a bit more gentle than before. Tongues intertwined with one another as both of his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt and slide your shirt up until it reached above your chest, exposing your tone torso to him as his thumbs were on your pecs— flicking over your nipples as his other hand went to grab the side of your waist, his whole arm around it as he deepens the kiss further. Grinding against you with no shame while your hands held him by his back. "now, be a good boy and turn around for me yeah sweetheart?" he whispered ever so sweetly into your ear as he pulled away from the kiss. God damn it. ⋆⭒˚.⋆ slow lewd claps of skin slapping against skin fills your office as he had your legs parted, pants long pooling at your ankles as his grith slowly pushes in and out of your tight heat with ease. Soft, hushed grunt and whimpers escapes your lips as he pries your thighs further apart while he had you pushed against the wall. One hand on the front of your thigh that meets the groin and the muscle as his other hand cupped one of your pecs— squeezing it every so often to have you hushed. "you're doin' so good baby.. all for me hm?" he muses against your neck, his warm breath fanning over it with every grunt and sigh escapes his lips while he fucked you ever so gently. Feeling his member stretch you out as the tip grazes your sweet spot with each thrust, your own cock standing hard and erect helplessly as the leaking tip stains the wallpaper walls of your own office. "god damn you're so tight.. squeezing around my cock like there's no tomorrow huh? don't be greedy now, we have all night.." (i reached the words limit)

[speed-world]

[Chosen Undead Cookie\Y/N AU | Interlude 1]

————————————————————————

“Ohoho how I wish you could see the looks on all the sad, miserable faces of these Cookies. They don’t know what to believe or trust, can’t even tell left from right!! HAHAHAHA!!”

“You could have seen the truth like they all did, but you could not resist going down a pointless path, suffering a fruitless struggle. The beautiful world of white that I wanted is now here…a shame you cannot witness it.”

“So many civilizations…so many wailing, frightened, PATHETIC Cookies! All of them, unidentifiable and lost in the Spice Storms. I’ve never felt more alive, and yet there is something…missing. I don’t have your crumbled dust in these storms, and it’s been ages since we last met. I wonder how broken your soul will be when you see there is nothing to save…”

“My garden has never been so abundant with Cookies! The suffering they’ve endured for so long is long since over! I’ve even had to expand my garden’s space to welcome all the cookies that have come by to live eternally happy! You could be here too; free yourself from your burden and live as you wish! You just need to wake up…”

Wake up…

Wake up…..

WAKE UP!!

Once again, you are here, alive in the Cookie World.

You couldn’t recall how you were struck down previously, but it didn’t matter. You were here, you had a purpose to complete, and if that harrowing vision is remotely true, then you cannot crumble just yet.

But…where were you?

You never remembered an environment like this, and that large tree is new. The longer you stared at it, the more you could sense and feel what was within.

The Five Beasts, all in one place. Why?

….

Someone’s coming—

“It appears you are finally awake, Chosen. This may have been the longest time you’ve been in slumber.”

“…..Who are you, and why do I sense the Beasts all in that one tree?”

“I am Elder Faerie Cookie, guardian of the Silver Tree, where the Beasts are imprisoned.”

“What…?”

“I understand this may be difficult to process, but you have nothing to fear. Ever since your last defeat, I have been guarding this tree with my life, and I continue to do so. But I never would’ve been able to do it alone, you have been the greatest aide in the fall of the Beasts.”

You should be happy hearing this, at least at peace with yourself knowing that the threat of the Beasts were handled. And yet, all you feel is confusion.

Did you fail in the one task you were baked for?

Did the Witches forsake and abandon you, placing your duties in the hands of someone…better?

What are you to do now…?

You were snapped out of your clouded mind when Elder Faerie Cookie gently placed his hands on your shoulders, and spoke to you in the gentlest voice you’ve heard in your lives.

“I know what thoughts are raging in your mind, and I urge you to clear your head for a moment and listen. You have not failed in your duty in anyway. The Witches never lost faith in you to save the Cookie World from their own creations. But time was running out, and the lives of millions of dessertians were being cut short at a near unstoppable pace. The Witches themselves came together and tried once more to seal the destructive Beasts, and it finally worked.”

You sat down and took in everything that he said to you. It was still difficult to accept everything like this, but there wasn’t much else you could do.

Actually, that realization was beginning to fully dawn on you: with the Beasts taken care of, what purpose did you now have?

“Well, you have several choices, it is ultimately your life to live after all. If you still feel bound to your duty with the Beasts, you may help me guard the tree. Or, you may find a new purpose for yourself, and live your own life just as all other Cookies do.”

With this presented to you, you stood up and took a deep breath, before responding to Elder Faerie Cookie with…

[theskywithin]

Toxic Zodiac Traits: Everyone Else Is Just as Emotionally Unstable, Don’t Worry

( read for Sun and Rising )

Aries

Absolutely incapable of waiting for anything. Will cut you off mid-sentence and mid-relationship. Thinks every inconvenience is a personal attack from the universe. Starts a new project every 3 days and finishes approximately none. If Aries texts “I’m outside,” you have 3.5 seconds before they leave forever. Will argue with a traffic light and still think they won.

Taurus

Would rather eat drywall than change their mind. If they’ve blocked you once, they’ve blocked you in their heart forever. Will act like they don’t care while remembering exactly what you said on May 14th at 4:23 PM. Refuses to compromise unless it involves brunch. Emotionally attached to objects, TV shows, and the one person who gives them nothing.

Gemini

Will tell you every detail of a breakup they had six years ago and forget your birthday. Overthinks nothing, underthinks everything. Can hold five contradictory opinions before breakfast. Ghosts you and then messages you “I had a dream about you” two weeks later. Says “we should talk more” with no intention of ever replying. Flirts for sport.

Cancer

Pretends to be chill but is actually holding a ten-volume emotional encyclopedia on everyone they’ve ever met. Has cried over a memory that wasn’t theirs. Will bring up something you said in 2018 just to watch you squirm. Makes you a playlist, a home-cooked meal, and a passive-aggressive guilt trip all in one sitting. Thinks emotional manipulation is just good communication.

Leo

Can’t walk past a mirror without giving themselves a TED Talk. Will give you a whole therapy session about their unhealed inner child and then forget your name. Thinks “subtle” means wearing sunglasses indoors. Posts thirst traps during existential crises. Believes every compliment is true and every critique is character assassination.

Virgo

Thinks emotions are a puzzle to be solved and you're a cluttered spreadsheet. Hypercritical, hypo-compassionate, and fully convinced their control issues are just "high standards." Say "I’m fine" while internally dying over your misuse of apostrophes. Gives unsolicited feedback with the energy of a disappointed parent. Probably gave their therapist a 3-star Yelp review with grammatical corrections.

Libra

Would rather fake their own death than make a decision. Flirts with the bartender while processing a breakup from 2016. Says “no drama” while actively starring in a love triangle they directed. Needs a mood board to text you back. Believes aesthetics are more important than stability. Could be in love with you. Could also be in love with your sweater.

Scorpio

Has never forgiven anyone, not even their kindergarten teacher. Will emotionally soul-scan you within five minutes of meeting, then vanish for three days to see if you panic. Knows your birth chart, your trauma, and your passwords. Shares nothing but expects full access to your emotional hard drive. Trusts no one but expects loyalty like a blood oath. Falls in love once every five years and never recovers.

Sagittarius

Will disappear mid-conversation to follow a butterfly and call it personal growth. Thinks commitment is a threat to their “freedom journey.” Forgets your birthday but remembers an ancient Mayan prophecy. Thinks monogamy is a government conspiracy. Avoids feelings by going on a spontaneous road trip and posting cryptic captions.

Capricorn

Has three side hustles, a 5-year plan, and no idea how to relax. Thinks rest is a character flaw. Controls their emotions by pretending they don’t have any. Plans your vacation like it’s a military operation. Feels personally insulted by inefficiency. Will judge you for crying at work, including themselves. Emotionally constipated, but will Venmo you for half the toothpaste.

Aquarius

A conspiracy theory in human form. Thinks emotions are “low-vibration.” Invents new relationship dynamics for fun. Disassociates mid-hug. Could write a 42-slide presentation on your attachment style but can’t tell you what they’re feeling. Emotionally invested in your trauma but only if it’s framed as a social experiment. Will text you “thinking thoughts” at 2am and never elaborate. Will befriend your ex for the plot.

Pisces

Says “I don’t care” while sobbing into a vintage sweater. Cries during commercials. Will fall in love with someone they made eye contact with for three seconds at a coffee shop. Romantically unavailable but emotionally entangled with everyone. Forgets to eat but remembers every detail of a dream they had two weeks ago. Constantly oscillating between “I love everyone” and “no one gets me.” Still not over what you almost said in 2019.

[ashthesalamipiece]

hey ash can i please request soemthing? a katsuki bakugo x female reader they are married and reader is like extremely weak? like physically and she got pregnant-a high risk one the type where the doctor would say to consider a abortion? something like that? you dont have to do this Just a request from a fellow follower love your works they are chaotic and love them :)

Hii mll♡

Of you can request anything I appreciate ittt♡

I hope this is up to your expectations♡

---

"Stronger Than You Know"

Bakugo had never imagined himself the marrying type—at least not back when he was the hotheaded teen with a short fuse and a tunnel vision for victory. But somehow, you had wormed your way into his life with gentle hands and soft words, the exact opposite of everything he used to think he needed.

He used to think strength was everything.

But then he married you.

You weren’t strong like him. Not in the way that counted for most people. Your body was fragile, your energy limited, and your constitution was nothing short of worrying. Some days, he’d carry you from the bed to the couch because your muscles trembled too much. He always did it without complaint, though he grumbled under his breath just to keep up appearances. You’d laugh and call him a softie, and he’d call you a brat.

But he never once resented it. Not once.

Because you were the only one who could make him feel calm. Needed. Loved.

So when you told him you were pregnant, his reaction was… complicated.

He stared at you for a full minute before the words even processed. You were sitting on the couch in one of his old shirts, fingers wringing the hem, face pale and eyes a little wet. You’d looked scared—not of him, but for yourself. For the tiny, forming life inside of you.

And he felt like the ground tilted beneath him.

You were already so delicate. The idea of you carrying a child—his child—through nine months of hellish strain made his stomach twist in fear.

Of course, the hospital visit only made things worse.

“The pregnancy is high-risk,” the doctor said, voice carefully neutral. “Your body might not handle it. If complications arise, it could be fatal… for both of you.”

You’d gripped Bakugo’s hand then. He could still feel how cold your fingers were. The doctor kept talking, listing options, risks, and the word he hated more than anything in that moment: abortion.

Bakugo didn't speak. He didn’t trust himself to.

The moment you two left the office, you waited until you were in the safety of his car to finally whisper, “Katsuki… what should we do?”

He didn’t answer right away. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“Do you… want to keep it?” he finally asked, voice low.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I want to try. Even if I’m scared.”

He looked at you for a long time. Your face was full of fear and hope, all tangled together. You weren’t strong—at least not in the way people measured it. But he had never seen someone braver.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he said, turning fully to face you. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. I’ll be there for every damn second.”

You gave him a watery smile, and he kissed you before you could say anything else.

---

The following months were hard.

You were in and out of the hospital more times than either of you could count. Bakugo adjusted his patrol schedule, sometimes canceling it altogether just to sit beside you during check-ups. The staff got used to seeing the pro hero sitting with you, his scarred hands cradling yours, whispering quiet reassurances that didn’t match his usual brash image.

There were nights he’d sit beside your bed, wide awake while you slept restlessly. He’d talk to your belly when you were too tired to stay conscious, his voice low and steady.

“Your mom’s the toughest damn person I know, you hear me?” he’d mutter, fingers gently tracing circles on your skin. “She’s stronger than any hero out there.”

Sometimes the fear crept in.

Like when you collapsed while walking across the kitchen.

Or when the doctors said your blood pressure was too high again.

Or when they prepared an emergency bag “just in case.”

But you always pulled through. Even when your body screamed and the world felt like it was stacked against you, you kept going.

Because you had a reason now. A heartbeat you heard on fuzzy monitors. A future wrapped in warmth and baby clothes folded neatly in drawers. And Katsuki’s hand, always there. Always strong. Always steady.

---

The birth wasn’t easy. It was a blur of beeping machines, sterile white lights, and a level of panic Katsuki never wanted to experience again.

They rushed you in after you started bleeding—too much, too fast.

He wasn’t allowed in the OR.

He punched a wall.

Paced like a caged animal.

Nearly lost it when a nurse asked him to “stay calm.”

But then—

A baby’s cry.

And the nurse came out.

“A girl,” she said. “She’s healthy. And your wife… she made it. She’s going to be okay.”

Bakugo didn’t remember sitting down, but he did.

Didn’t remember the tears, but they came.

When they let him in, you were pale, exhausted, barely awake—but smiling. And in your arms was the tiniest, angriest baby he had ever seen.

“She’s got your scowl,” you whispered hoarsely.

He looked down at the two of you—his whole world in one hospital bed—and something in him broke open.

He kissed your forehead.

“You scared the shit out of me, idiot.”

You laughed weakly. “Worth it?”

He looked at the baby again, who had just punched the air in protest.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, it was.”

[mxchibomb]

content. mdni 18+

roronoa zoro !! makeup sex, accidental creampie, porn with little plot

torn apart and bloody, covered in bandages that were soaked with that of your bodily secretion regarding your practically fatal injuries. your skin had rips in it, thick stitches decorating your form and your face a sickly pale. knocked out dead cold in the bunker of the thousand sunny with a much less fatally injured zoro by your side, unconscious with his back leaning against the edge of your bed. seemingly unaffected externally and yet, he slept by your side each night in the small probability of emergency, chest heavy in worry. he had nightmares he'd never tell anyone. not you, not luffy, not even a god. he thought you were dead at first when you were face down and your blood seeped into the dirt underneath your barely breathing body. it made his tough stature shake and his heart collapse. he wanted to trust the strength he knew you had but you reached your limit, rendering you almost six feet under.

 now zoro treated you similar to a bratty child under constant surveillance. you hated to admit it hurt you. it wasn't the same. he'd keep his distance, staring you down coldly but not enough for you to not notice he watched your every move. his gaze like a vulture scoping out its next meal. only he didn't eat you, only jabbed his beak into your side every now and then.

 day in and day out, your body still ached despite the treatments of chopper, blood still threatening to leak through not fully healed slashes underneath tight stitches. zoro worked your body into the ground despite it. he stared at you with vigor, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and urging you snarkily to fix whatever you did wrong. he was not usually this ticked off with you, clicking his tongue rudely with the pain he held in his chest that was hidden far away from you and anyone else. an overwhelming need to keep you away from heaven and hell all the same. who knows how much his heart could take if such situations were to appear once more. he didn't think he could bounce back from that one.

 with high expectations and even higher tension, metal clanged loudly in an air full of silence. sweat covered your bodies and muscles wearing down, sword finally dropping from your hand with your behind sat willingly on the dirt.

 "i'm taking a break." you mumbled, flopping your back down to lay flat.

 "when did i say we were done?" he leaned over, casting a shadow over your body as he towered above you.

 "you didn't. i did." you huffed, annoyed. with a frown, he spun a sword and dropped it to make contact with your gut. grunting loudly, you turned in pain, clutching at your stomach.

 "get up." he ordered, stuffing a foot into your back at a surprisingly gentle force.

 "you're pissing me off. go away." your hand swatted at him, pushing roughly at his leg. his eyebrow twitched, impatient before kicking you harder.

 "i'm pissing you off?"

 "that's what i said." your body was held in a fetsl position while he bullied you with his foot. not enough to hurt, but enough to be annoying.

 "if you wouldn't have almost killed yourself, we wouldn't be in this position." his foot held you down from moving, threatening you with his blade pointed at you. "i'm sick of you walking yourself around like nothing happened." his voice cracked under emotional pressure, throat tightening before he cleared it. you could only glance back.

 ".. is that what this is about?" you scoffed. "you sit here being a dick instead of speaking to me. shouldn't you be more relieved im alive?" you couldn't tell if you were correct for being upset, but he wasn't thinking logically either. for the first time in the last 10 minutes of him battering you, you kicked back. your foot launched at his ankles, quickly dragging him down with you before he could even process it. immediately kicking your leg over, you sat fully just beneath his chest. "tell me what the issue is."

 he only stared, his lip twitching and eyebrows furrowed. the tension somehow got denser, his arms casually wrapping around your thighs from behind. he could've easily lifted you off and turned the tables. you knew that. and yet he didn't.

 "there is no issue." he spoke nonchalantly, jaw clenched tightly.

 "liar." you leaned down, holding his face in your hands tightly. "you could have just told me you were worried." your nose oh so lightly rested against his, the tips of each of them touching.

 "i wasn't." his voice was quiet now, the irritation on his face slowly fading. your heartbeat was like a war drum, pounding in your ears and threatening to rip itself from your chest. was this a bad idea? you didn't know and frankly, you didn't really care.

 "liar."

with pure greed, your lips touched in a messy mush of teeth and tongue. his body jumped momentarily in surprise, but didn't hesitate to bite at your lips, vigorously pushing back against the force of your mouth on his. spit swapped and slid down zoro's cheek, attempting a fight of who would come out on top. bitten, blunt nails dug into the skin of your thighs, leaving behind the slightest red tint of his fingertips. soft grunts and gasps, your fully clothed cunt sought friction. your hips rocked gently, using the upper half of washboard abs for personal use, his thin shirt rolling up in sync with your movement. groaning in realization, his cock began to twitch in his pants, big hands shaking as they reached for your waist. he held you down tighter on his body, thumbs digging into into your hip bones. your lip finally parted, sitting up tall. you whimpered softly with your hands planted firmly on his shoulder, your under stimulated cunt unsatisfied with the lack of pleasure against the thick layers that prevented you and zoro from being skin to skin. your hips were wild, rubbing against him with absolute need, cheeks dusted a pretty pink and your eyes blinking at him through your lashes. the desperate whine that left your throat made zoro's head spin and his teeth bare. his primal senses ticked, forcing you underneath him with minimal effort.

 "take em off." he ordered, speaking to himself more than he was to you. with no effort to get you off the battlefield, clothes were strewn about. a shirt here, your panties there, his pants over there. legs had been flung over his shoulders, cock heavy on your clit. the touch alone made you weak, your body sinking shamelessly into the warm dirt. with a kiss on your calf, he hissed with a drag of his cock right on your slicked cunt. back and forth, he teased your aching pussy and smothered himself in your secretions. he was slow. deliberate. he occasionally caught his tip right against your hole, the slightest push pulling out soft begs.

 "inside.." you beckoned with a heel to his back.

 "hmm?" he stared, intentionally halting his cock directly with his tip at your hole. "what was that?" he was mocking you now. you only dug your heels further into his muscled back, attempting to wiggle your hips closer.

 "please.. put it inside." you sniffed softly. "wanna feel you. wanna feel how worried you were." you yanked him down to your lips, desperate for intimacy. he slowly caved, groaning slowly against your lips. your fingers dug into his scalp, short green hair surprisingly soft on your fingertips.

 yanked, your stomach hit the dirt with a loud gasp, zoro's fingers interlocking with yours from behind and holding you still while he adjusted you like a doll. face to the ground and your hips lifted as high as possible.

 "zoro—" you squeaked, shifting uncomfortably with slick soaked thighs.

 "shh, i got you." he mumbled, groaning lowly as his tip finally pushed through wet folds and through your tight hole. he struggled his way in, balls squeezing with every inch of movement. you were unexpectedly tight and unexpectedly loud. how long have you been waiting for this? your hands scrambled to scratch at the dirt, choking when he pushed tightly against your cervix.

 "s—so big.." you whined, no longer caring of your cheek on the bare earth. you could feel him deep in your stomach, whining loudly as he pushed in once more. he took his time. hard, deep, and excruciatingly slow. he'd reel back with the speed of a dead man before slamming into you as deep as he could go only to sit there for a few moments and repeat. you could feel every crevice, every vein that pulsed inside you, every twitch. your stomach rounded in the shape of his cock, poking slightly outwards and creating an obscene sight. hefty breeder balls bumped at your clit as you begged him to go faster.

 with a free hand, he pushed down directly between your shoulder blades and a leg lifted to place itself right beside your head. muscular hips pounded into you from behind with a force you've never felt before, bullying your insides to shape you into whatever he liked, eyes rolling back til you saw nothing but dark. your voice was turning hoarse and your body shivered in pleasure, babbling his name along with absolute gibberish. your string snapped without even realizing, already too overcome by ecstasy, cunt clenching down on his fat, pistoning cock.

 "f—feels too g—good.. 's deep ! " you cried, sniffing softly as a tear slipped down your cheek but you didn't ask for him to stop. zoro didn't speak much, his ears flicking at each sound of the loud shlick! of his cock inside your overwhelmingly wet cunt. he only groaned, fucking into you like it'd be the last time you'd let him. ruthless and bruising your skin with love. fingertips and slaps to your behind.

 perhaps you should've been quieter, the ship just meters and meters away. your fighting ground just being a random clearing on a new island. as much as your brain told you to, your cunt told you otherwise. you couldn't have done it even with a gun to your head, the disgusting drag of his cock in your insides mind numbingly sweet.

 "cum.. 'm c—cumming ! " your thighs shook as you whined loudly. you could hear zoro hum in approval, a smug smirk wide on his shiny lips.

 "feeling my worry enough? this what you wanted?" he scoffed at you but his cock twitched and his balls tightened, his stomach churning and his hands tightening on your wrists. he swallowed thickly, squinting at your fallen apart form and it went over his head as he spilled in heavy grunts that resided in his chest, your tight ring of muscles milking him for all that it was worth.

 he warmed your insides in spurts, white slowly overpouring your cunt of his essence. you gasped for air, whimpering quietly as you soaked in the feelings of his cum deep in your pussy. you clenched down instinctively, drool dripping from your mouth.

 "shit.. i'm so sorry." his brain finally clicked into reality, a hand running down his face in disbelief. "i didn't think i'd do that—"

 "do it again." you croaked, lazily trying to get up from your spot on the floor. he almost choked on air, pulling back in surprise with a red face only to gulp as pure white met the the floor, leaking deliciously from your stuffed cunt.

 "... maybe another time." he huffed shyly, using his usual white shirt to wipe down your body. "lets uhh.. get you back to the ship."

 upon entering, your exhausted body thrown over his shoulder, you were met with quiet. too much quiet. and a couple stares. a deadly gaze from a fuming sanji, a hand over a giggling robin, and an overly red usopp who jumped with a yelp when you glanced his way from atop zoro. zoro cleared his throat, dropping you nervously in front of the deer of a doctor.

 "you should check if their body is okay from.. all that training." he spoke, speed walking out of sight and leaving you alone with a curious crew.

this is a request for @hethia <3 I'm not the best with plot and I tend to write short style smuts so I hope this is okay >.<

[xan-izme]

Double life 11 (ATSV x Reader x Batfam)

Summary: You can't do this alone

Part 10, Part 12

You felt stressed. The anomalies were popping up in Gotham and in New York at the same time. Of course, Aaron and Miles are there to handle things. But you no longer want their help. You don't want them to have that responsibility anymore. None of the burden.

And with Bruce. He hasn't talked to you. You haven't seen him in a few days. You felt like you have messed up everything. That he now hated you because of what you said.

But in truth. Bruce was just sulking behind closed doors. He's raised 4 boys so far, and he likes to think he's done a great job. Well, not a great job but an okay job. But with you, he feels like he's failing with every move he makes. He knows what you said is true.

He has the papers to prove you are his daughter. But he's missed 16 years of your life. Your uncles were more like fathers to you than he will ever be. And it hurts him. More than he would expect. And what hurts the most is that was the true you. Not the act you have been putting on for a few months. What he saw was a child struggling to morn her mother.

He would know.

But it must have been harder on you. Because you only had her. And now she's gone. And now you're stuck with him.

It was another night of kicking anomalies through portals. Preventing some minor crimes and avoiding Batman.

You sighed as you sat on top of the Wayne Mannor roof. The sun should be setting soon. You used to watch the sun set back in New York before beginning your day as spider woman.

You sighed as you pull out your phone.

Jason was looking for you. He needed to speak to you about, well everything. If he was to keep your little secret. Then he needed to know what the hell was going on. What's with the portal he saw you kick that one villain in, what was in the suitcase. Why are you being so secretive. It's suspicious, and he can't trust you fully. And he needs to trust you a little bit for this to work.

Jason enters your room, but you were nowhere to be seen. He assumed you were out with Damian.

If your gone. . .

Jason smirked to himself as he got the idea to snoop around. He walked around. He was Immediately at your bookshelf. He sighed in disappointment when he only sees education books. Books about physics and geology. Technology.

"No one is this into school." He pauses for a moment before correcting himself. "Tim. Tim is."

He grumbles as he tries to see anything else he can find. He circles around to a different side of your bed. He gasped as he finds a secret stash of books.

All fantasy fiction and history books Manga too. Harry Potter, Hunger games, Art of war, Game of thrones, The Odyssey, The lightning theft- the whole damn Percey Jason series. Heros, Gods and monsters of Greek Mythology- Wow! you're really into Greek mythology.

He hums in amusement and put things back. He Looked up to your desk and picks up a little picture of you and your cousin. He takes note of how you reacted when he mentioned Miles knowing about you being Spider woman. Probably the angriest he's seen you.

Your protective.

He sets the picture down and walks into your bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. A lot of hair products. He opens the mirror cabinet. Painkillers. Tylenol, ibuprofen. First aid which was, empty.

He pauses for a moment. Something doesn't look right. He closes the mirror cabinet. Then opens it again. He repeats the process before finally taking a look at both sides of the mirror. He knows this manner inside and out. practically memorized the blueprints. Both old and new.

He decides to try and pry the mirror cabinet open from the wall. And there, a secret stash within the wall. He grabs the small duffle bag. He opens it up to see your suit. and a Polaroid picture of a woman. Your mother he assumes.

He lets out a small sigh and puts it back and closed the mirror cabinet tightly. He decided it was time he goes back to looking for you. Yours still in the manor he knows that much. He saw your shoes and window open. He searched the manor but could not find you. He stepped outside to see if you were at the barn.

But when he looks up. He sees a glimpse of a head. Someone was on the roof.

Jason hurries back into the manor and makes his way onto the roof.

You stare at the video playing on your phone. Sniffling a little.

"Mom, stop. I mean it!" You laughed as you try to back away to a wall

"Nope. not happening!" Your mother pointed the water gun at you and started shooting

"AH! Mama!" You tried to run but tripped and fell on your face.

"Pfft-" Your mothers laugh could be heard along with yours

You continued to solemnly watch the old video. Not noticing Jason a little far behind from you. Listening and watching you. You looked so sad it was unconfortable.

But he felt, a little guilty. Just a little bit. Because if he thinks about it you have been through a lot. Jason took a few steps closer and cleared his throat to signal his presence.

You jolt at the noise and glance back and see Jason. You quickly look away and wipe your tears.

"What do you want."

Jason stood there awkwardly before taking a seat next to you. You stare at him with your tired eyes. Jason sighed as he looked back at you. "Look, kid. I know I'm a jerk. I'll be lying if I said I didn't mean to. But can you blame me? You're not telling me anything."

You stay silent before looking away. Contemplating weather, you should tell Jason the truth.

"You can't do this alone kid. Trust me, it won't work if you do this alone."

You let Jason's words sink in. Slowly realizing. He was right. You were scared, and truly didn't want to go through this alone. And this was Jason, so it should be okay, right?

"Do you believe in the multiverse?" You finally spoke up. Your words made Jason look at you a little confused.

"The multiverse, like different universes. Timelines and stuff."

You nod. "Yeah, something like that. . . it's real. The multiverse is real. And, in every universe, there is a Spider Woman or Spider man to protect and keep balance. This universe is mine to protect. Those bad guys you see me throwing through portals. Those are anomalies."

Jason listened in closely. Half of him believes you, the other half not really. But he's all ears.

"Anomalies from different universes, brought by portals that were ripped due to mankind tempering with forces that were beyond our understanding."

You talked about everything. About the society. About Alchemex. And the whole cannon situation. A fate every spider hero had to succumb to.

It felt nice to let everything out now, like some wight was lifted off.

Jason believed you. Well, he kind of does. He only believes you because, well it's you. And he doesn't see the use of you lying about something as crazy as multiverses.

But the fact that you were hiding all of that and you were planning to carry the burden alone when still in the process of mourning the loss of your mother. It concerned him a bit.

He could tell Bruce. This could be a family effort. You're a vigilante, so are they. The whole bat family can help. But you have already expressed that you can't let anyone else know about the multiverse thing you have going on.

For safety reasons you claim.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

A/n: sorry, this is a little short, but I do want to warn everyone that I will be a little late with the next few chapters because they will be longer and might be traumatizing. so, yeah. Thank you for reading

@huening-ly. @mariadvorak, @superherosdystopiafreak, @chelluv, @houseissofine, @esposadomd, @greyeyedmockingbird, @1-800-daisy, @c0c0-puffsxxx, @arthurswife, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @josiepapen, @natashanice165, @amber-content, @mahbeanz, @azurewisteria, @seraph101, @skepvids, @lara20aral, @iwasveronica, @jackrabbitem

[cheol-e-kat]

• no blueberries, feat. mingyu, pt. 1 •

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

mentioned: seungcheol, joshua, vernon, christian yu (dpr ian in part ii)

word count: 4.1K

genre: fake dating, college au, college student!mingyu, college student!reader, fluff, f2l, idiots, idiots in love, angst, pining, denial of feelings, etsablished friendship (reader & ian)

summary: mingyu was just your lab partner and study buddy for several semesters, but lately things seem to have changed, and maybe everyone else has noticed, but for the most part, neither of you even think about what you are to one another until mingyu asks you to be his 'fake' date for a long weekend trip so he can avoid an ex, the biggest problem is realizing that there's nothing fake about your relationship but when mingyu won't even talk about what you are to each other, you start to think things might be over before they even really start

warnings: explicit language, mentions of anxiety, sexually suggestive situations, drinking, established open relationship

a/n: they are literally idiots in love but they're so dumb they almost don't deserve a happy ending - i am screaming at them ;-; ooof writing part ii...and well, i need to update this with additional characters...oops (if you don't know - i am not a planning writing - i just go where the characters take me - they get their shit together - trust the process) besides it's named for a dpr ian song anyway, might as well include him for his dilf status and the accent

xx kat

[part ii] [part iii]

♡ if you would like to be tagged in my upcoming posts, go [here]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

“please, y/n,” he was definitely begging now. 

she rolled her eyes, “dude, she’s your ex - you’re over her, just go and be normal, okay?” she was a bit annoyed at this point because he was over her, wasn't he, she wondered.

he whined softly, “seriously, just come with me, pretend you’re into me for like four days - i can’t deal with her, you know, alone,” she watched him stare at his textbook, looking fully embarrassed. 

she blinked quickly wondering how she was the friend being enlisted for this - to her they were mainly lab partners and study buddies. she had no clue how he had decided they were close enough to even bring this idea up. but she did feel bad. even as lab partners, she knew his ex was genuinely horrible, as in her entire personality was “gaslight, gate keep, girl boss” - as though those were positive things no less. 

she sighed, “i thought it was kind of a couples thing? since almost everyone is part of a couple,” she trailed off. 

he nodded, “yeah, it is, but she’s going alone - she told someone her whole goal is to fuck me one more time,” he mumbled the last part, blushing hard, “apparently, she ‘misses’ that,” he rolled his eyes, looking miserable. 

even she was shocked to hear that. it was certainly a new low. 

“that’s - that’s really shitty,” she sighed, not knowing what else to say. 

she watched him nod, still staring at his textbook, thumbing the edges of the page. she bit her lip gently, “can i think about it for a bit?”

he nodded, glancing up at her. she couldn’t help but notice how glossy his eyes looked - she worried he was on the verge of crying. she wasn’t equipped to deal with a crying mingyu. happy? sure. drunk? yes. whiny and ridiculous? no problem. 

but to see him on the verge of tearing up because he was worried or stressed or whatever, that was beyond her friendship scope. but to be fair, fake dating probably was too. even if she knew some people did mistake them for a couple. that really wasn’t the point.

the point was the longer they sat there fake studying, she knew what she was going to do. she couldn’t sit back while he went off to a terrible trip to the lake where he might be the target of his ex’s sexcapades. she knew he hadn’t dated since her, which would just be a point againts him - she could easily imagine, ‘oh baby, you haven’t even tried since me?’ - gross, she thought. besides, if he were gone for the break, she wasn’t really sure what she would do anyway. 

the standard was for them to study friday afternoon, and then they would usually met up at a party or something and would duck out for food when either of them got bored and go back to y/n's to watch tv and pass out. saturday was fairly similar, but sunday was more like study, and then they kind of always ordered food and watched tv or something. sometimes he slept on the couch - something her roommate would roll her eyes at whenever possible, espeically since ‘sometimes’ seemed to translate to almost every sunday. 

she had finally told him to just bring clothes so he would't be late for monday morning practices anymore. her roommate had wondered loudly why mingyu didn't just move into y/n's room and get a tiny corner of the closet already. she had ignored that unnecessary commentary. 

she groaned inwardly, “okay, fine - i’ll go with you, but you owe me,” you whispered. 

he glanced up, “really?”

she ignored that he sounded a little too happy and nodded, “yes, if it means you can avoid her insanity for the long weekend,” she tried to feel confident about the decision. 

luckily, she knew there was nothing between them. they’re only lab partners and maybe friends, at best, she tried to assure herself and ignore every other thought she had. 

⋆˙⟡

she truly hated packing for anything, and this trip was no exception. the only slight difference was mingyu hanging out on her bed while she packed this time. she wasn’t sure if he was nervous or what, but he kept shifting around on her bed - it reminded her of a puppy rolling around in the hope that someone would rub its stomach. she tried not to laugh at the mental image of him rolling around in search of belly rubs. instead, she tried to focus on what to pack. 

it was still warm enough to go swimming, despite the fact that it was ‘fall’ break, so she tried to decide on swimsuits. ultimately, she just packed them all - they were basically underwear anyway, she reasoned. 

“are we sharing a room?”

“yeah, you know, since we’re together and ‘finally admitting it’ - is that really what jeonghan said?” he asked. he had been annoyed about that response for at least two hours. 

“i literally showed you his text,” she mumbled as she hunted for friends-who-are-fake-dating appropriate sleepwear, aka her most oversized tshirts, sleep shorts that were as un-sexy as possible, and a few sweatshirts in case it was cold.

he sighed, “okay, but that’s such a flippant answer,” he complained. 

she snorted, “‘flippant’?”

“yes!”

she grinned, wondering when he started using words like ‘flippant’ in normal conversations. mingyu was one of those guys who she hadn’t taken seriously when she first met him - he was fun at parties, but when he wanted to study together, she had been seriously skeptical. but then she saw their first exam grades post and realized how well he had ranked. she had wondered if it was just his personality or if he actively worked to hide the fact that he was that smart. 

it hadn’t really mattered though since they had been studying together since then. something she distinctly remembered being an issue for his ex - katie had genuinely hated y/n and wasn’t quiet about it. it was maybe the only time she had seen mingyu fully lose his mind over something - she had never heard the words ‘get fucked’ said quiet so intensely, especially since that they were sitting in the library at the time. 

she sighed, “don’t you think it might be a little obvious for us to show up together?”

“not really - she always said we had some weird thing, so why not let her be right,” his voice was concerningly normal. 

she had been thinking about the fact that it was kind of a petty move. actually, there were loads of reasons she could think of for not going, including almost every scenario from a horror movie - she was not discounting serial killers in masks waiting in the woods. but her main concern was being confronted by katie - it just felt like a needlessly stressful way to spend her fall break.

“okay, but i mean, you couldn’t think of anyone else?"

he sighed, “like who? i hang out with you, i go out with you - you make sense,” his voice was soft, but he still sounded just a little disappointed that she was asking him…again. 

she rolled her eyes, “we could just hang out like normal and avoid this.”

she glanced at him, watching him mull over what she had said and not for the first time either. to be fair, her anxiety was only growing. she left him to go pretend to be discerning about how much of her skincare she was packing, even though she was blindly grabbing everything from her counter. when she walked back into her room, he was sitting up.

“even if she’s there, the trip is just to have fun and not be on campus - you know, a break at joshua’s nice lake house,” he didn’t look at her as he explained. 

she stared for a moment and turned back to her already exploding suitcase, “you only asked me because of her,” she felt like it was very obvious why she was going, but she heard him mumble something, which she ignored. instead, she violently jammed her clothes and toiletries into her bag. 

she absolutely hated that knowing katie would be there made her feel a tiny bit competitive - she had purposefully picked all of her smallest swimsuits - she had even gone to get waxed for this, something she definitely would never admit to anyone. she had even dragged out her status luggage bag - the one her step-mom had given her two christmases ago that made her cringe. there was also the little, tiny mean voice in the back of her mind that had always thought katie had never been good enough for mingyu anyway - she wasn’t especially cute, and her voice drove y/n up the walls - not to mention she was kind of dumb and objectively sucked at beer pong. y/n would also never admit that she used to play them on purpose just to beat them because she was good at beer pong. 

she jumped when mingyu touched her arm, “fuck, what?” 

she hadn’t even noticed that he was lying on his side, watching her jam everything into her bag.

“you don’t have to go,” he whispered. 

she swooped all of her hair off her shoulders in annoyance, mostly because there was something about the way he whispered, with this weird tenderness, that made her feel way too quivery. it wasn’t fair because she knew she never affected him like that. she just shook her head. she was totally fine with everything. plus, she didn’t believe him for a moment that she could just stay. she knew in her gut that she had moved something in their friendship past a boundary that she hadn’t even noticed, and now, she couldn’t just take it back without suffering the consequences. 

⋆˙⟡

she was glad she was driving. she could at least focus on the road, plus they were the ones tasked with stopping at the liquor store, so she only had to deal with mingyu and seungcheol - she only wondered briefly why no one cared that seungcheol was solo for the long weekend. actually, it only annoyed her slightly that mingyu had left that fact out - she knew he could have spent the entire break with seungcheol, no problem, which only made her wonder why he really asked her. worse was her wondering why it seemed to matter that mingyu sounded disappointed at the idea of her not going, accepting but unhappy - not like he had been when she said ‘yes’. 

she walked through the store, mainly looking for the things she wanted. her ideal party weekend was starting her day off with something bubbly and moving on to liquor by lunch. she wasn’t really paying attention to the cases of beer, tequila, and vodka mingyu and seungcheol were collecting. instead, she was in line to pay for her stuff and some edible gummy candies she noticed last minute - she grabbed several of those. she could’ve kicked herself for not asking her roommate’s girlfriend for some weed before she left. she waited next to her car for them to come out, answering a few texts. she ignored the ones from mingyu. she couldn’t help that she was from a family of people who completely avoided their emotions, plus she could see the message preview - it wasn’t anything life-changing. 

when they came out, she wasn’t super shocked by the very full cart or the fact that they practically filled the back of her suv - they had to move their bags into the seat with seungcheol. it was like half the soccer team, their girlfriends, and friends for five nights, after all. the team wasn’t known for holding back at any of their parties - the rule was ‘no empties.’ she could only hope that the people getting food were grabbing enough to balance everything out. 

the rest of the drive was uneventful. it was pretty though - even if it still looked like summer and not a bit like fall. 

the house was a massive hunk of glass overlooking the lake. everything was very modern and sleek inside. she had been imagining something a little more cozy, less brutal. but that didn’t really matter, especially when they started divvying up the rooms - she and mingyu had a room that shared a bathroom with seungcheol’s room. and it hit her immediatly, mingyu was staying in seungcheol’s room. she wasn’t sure why it annoyed her, but it did, especially when she planned to be sharing a room with him. 

she starfished out on the bed - her bed - and decided she would probably go home the next day. there was literally no reason for her to be here, and there probably never had been. also, sharing the bathroom with two whole ass guys just sounded miserable. she sat up after a few moments of moping, remembering the edibles she had - she ate three and dropped back onto the bed. she wasn’t planning on coming out of her room. mingyu could get fucked, she decided. 

it was seungcheol who was leaning over when she woke up with a yelp, “what the fuck?” her heart was pounding. 

he laughed, “sorry, mingyu wondered if you were okay, so i came to check,” he raised an eyebrow, “you seem alive, though,” he concluded.

she rolled her eyes, “thanks for the astute diagnosis, dr. choi,” she murmured and fell back onto the bed.

he laughed, “seriously though, you good?”

she exhaled loudly, “is he like standing in the bathroom or something?”

seungcheol shook his head.

“liar,” she groaned and rolled over, “i’m going home in the morning, so he can stop feeling whatever way he’s feeling.”

seungcheol looked surprised, “you’re just heading back? isn’t this like the first time you’ve like been somewhere together?”

she shrugged, “and?” your annoyance was definitely coming through, loud and clear.

seungcheol nodded, “right, you two have weird vibes, but look, i need him out of my room - my date is here, and i actually want to spend time with her.”

she could only roll her eyes, “so four people and one bathroom - this is only getting better,” she sighed, “i should just go home now.”

seungcheol shrugged, “whatever, just say it’s okay for him to come in here, so he stops whining in my room - it’s seriously killing my mood.”

“okay, whatever, i don’t care.” 

this was truly going downhill as far as she was concerned. and why would mingyu be whining to seungcheol anyway, she wondered. she heard him come into the room, but she didn’t move. even when he sat on the bed, she stayed still. 

“are you really leaving?”

she pressed her lips together, thinking, “probably not, but seriously, why did you even ask me?” 

she had maybe run out of whatever annoyance she had felt before at being woken up out of nowhere, plus her edibles were wearing off. she sat up so she was next to him, “just tell me what this is - like i’m a buffer, right? but you didn’t tell anyone that i was just coming along, you told them we’re dating, and that comes with like expectations,” she trailed off. 

“since when do you care about expectations?”

she wondered if smacking him would be too strong of a reaction. 

this was all such a bad idea. she was going to have a shit weekend and probably lose her friend in the process. 

⋆˙⟡

the rest of the night was uneventful, with everyone filtering in and no one eating at the same time. she grabbed food and something to drink and mostly avoided conversation, especially if it had to do with her and mingyu. 

she also decided if she pretended this was like a retreat, she could just focus on swimming and hiking since, according to her phone, there were some great trails around. and obeying her fake retreat rules, she grabbed some extra water and headed to bed early - she needed to sleep if she was going to go for a sunrise swim. she was glad that she brought a sleep mask and ear plugs.

her only problem was mingyu’s texts. he hadn’t answered her question about why he asked her or explained why he went nuclear and told everyone they were dating. she had thoughts on what was going on, but she was as bad as he was. even lying in bed, in her not sexy at all clothes, her brain was in overdrive thinking about him in ways she didn’t want to be, especially since her phone kept going off. she knew he was thinking about her, even if it was this pretend, fake way - it didn’t matter. she pulled her pillow over her head to try to drown out the telltale buzzing. she refused to check her phone. 

even when she finally heard the sounds of people going to bed. she cringed at the idea of seungcheol fucking. her gut reaction was that man would be loud. 

she heard the footsteps outside their door, “come on mingyu - baby, just come to my room - you know you want to,” she sat up, knowing the voice immediately. 

“no, i told you i’m not” — she heard the sudden wet sounds of a kiss.

“fuck, katie, stop - what are you not hearing?” she could hear the edge in his voice. 

she sighed, she was technically there to help him avoid this kind of thing. she got out of bed and pulled off her sleep shorts, so she was clearly down to just her panties and tshirt, and tossed her sleep mask. 

she walked to the door and opened it slowly, “gyu?” she made sure sleep was thick in her voice, as she pouted up at him adn tugged his shirt sleeve, “come to bed,” she whispered, biting her lower lip gently. 

she didn’t even look at katie, just him.

he looked at her, “hey, baby,” he didn’t miss a beat, pulling away from katie as fast as he could and walking into their room after her, closing and locking the door. 

she walked back over to the bed and flopped back onto the soft mattress, “helpful enough?” she asked. 

the low light from outside was enough for her to see him nod, “sorry we woke you up,” his voice was soft. 

she shook her head, “it’s fine, just come to bed - i want to swim in the morning,” she was already happily back under the duvet. 

he was gone long enough for her to doze, but she opened her eyes when she heard him, “do you literally mean come to bed?”

she turned over and threw the covers back and patted the spot next to her. he still looked uncertain. she sighed and moved so she was on her knees - she grabbed his hand, “how much more of an invitation do you need?”

“you didn’t even check my messages,” his voice was so small - he sounded hurt. 

she tried to find some answer in the way he was looking at her. but there was nothing besides the fact that she had hurt his feelings. ignoring him was the only thing she knew genuinely drove him nuts - he had told her when they were strictly lab partners how much he hated it - how much it annoyed him. she rarely ignored him. but she had tonight, mainly because her own thoughts were kind of fucked, seeing his stream of conciousness texts would have made it worse.

“so let me apologize,” she whispered, pulling his hand gently - it wasn’t lost on her that he was just in his underwear. 

he let her pull him into bed, and she straddled him, reaching down to smooth his hair back from his face, “what hurts, baby?” 

he touched his lips - she nodded, leaning down to kiss him softly. she held his jaw gently and kissed him slowly. she moaned faintly when she felt his hands ghost along her lower back and under her shirt. his hands were so warm, she shivered. she deepened their kiss, tracing her fingers through his hair as she did, loving how soft his hair was. they stayed that way, making out like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. even when she felt one of his hands slide down over the curve of her ass to trace his fingers under the hem of her panties, she didn’t break the kiss. she wasn’t worried about where his hands might wander. there were only so many things he could touch. 

when she finally pulled away to breathe, she still played with his hair, “so, tell me what we’re doing, mingyu - so we both know, please.”

she could feel his hands on the backs of her thighs - he squeezed her thighs lightly, “what we do every weekend, y/n,” his voice was low.

she bit her lip softly, thinking about the weekend before, letting all her memories bubble to the top. her favorite part was the way he had held her back against his chest, leaning down to kiss her while he fucked her from below. 

she shook her head gently, “just say it - tell me the way you told everyone else,” she murmured. 

she waited for anything besides silence before sitting up and shaking her head. she moved to her side of the bed. she didn’t understand how they had gone so fluidly from one thing to another without really talking about it at all. but then again, that was maybe exactly how it happened - they hadn’t called it anything - it was just what they did. and she hadn’t cared about what it was anymore than he had until he brought it up - until he told people what they were. but somehow, that was the fake part - actually calling it a relationship wasn’t real, even though they had clearly been more than friends or anything else for months. 

⋆˙⟡

she went to sleep purely for spite. and when she woke up with her alarm, she slipped out of bed, grabbed her swimsuit and went to change. it was when she walked out of the bathroom and by the bed that she felt him grab her hand gently, “are you really going out?”

she nodded, “yeah, why shouldn’t i do the stuff i want?”

“i didn’t say you shouldn’t,” he let go of her, sighing as he shifted around under the duvet. 

she didn’t repsond, instead, she just grabbed her stuff and went quietly through the house and out the back. she walked along the dock, pausing at the end for a moment before jumping into the cool waters. even when she surfaced, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. she floated, thinking about the fact that whatever they were was only nameless when they were alone. she laughed to herself. 

she got out when she started to feel chilly. she dried off and walked back to the house. she poked around the kitchen to find something for breakfast and some ice - she had kept her own drinks in their room, knowing they would be gone otherwise. 

she went back to their room, bypassing the bed in favor of going onto the balcony they had. she hadn’t looked at it the night before. she only went back in to grab a bottle of champagne. she popped the cork, not really caring that it wasn’t chilled yet. she sipped it before sticking the bottle in the ice she had gotten. she ate fruit and some leftover steak she had found in the fridge. she scrolled through her socials. 

a few of her friends had messaged to ask if she were really dating mingyu - her blanket response was easy, ‘no.’ 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

a/n: told you they are dumb af...trust the process, yes they're about to be messy af...but i only write happy endings

♡ kat

[part ii] [part iii]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

tag list: @syluslittlecrows

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

[hatsukeii]

the curious case of kageyama tobio's love life / kageyama tobio x reader

genre(s): crack + fluff! timeskip au (third year/graduation), investigative report format, secretly dating trope, drunk x sober LMFAO

warnings(s): drunk people and house parties... (underage drinking is not! recommended here!), defs multiple/many uses of y/n because of how the fic is formatted but you need to trust the process PLEASE (sorry!) also reader's ass gets slapped by kags as a dare...

wc: ~4k

tldr; below is a transcript, recounted by partygoers hinata shoyo, tsukishima kei, yachi hitoka, and yamaguchi tadashi, of the happenings at hinata shoyo's graduation house party, set on the night of 29th march. any and all hearings have been sworn to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. they think. probably.

[Report #1- Initiated by Hinata Shoyo]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 7:20pm

Location of occurrence: Living room

Kageyama Tobio is the third guest to arrive at Hinata Shoyo's residence, twenty minutes after Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi. He carries with him the items that were agreed on the night prior- two twelve-packs of beer, one two litre bottle of coke, one Nintendo switch, and two Nintendo Pro controllers. Upon entry, Hinata Shoyo greets him at the door, and the following conversation ensues between Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio.

[Transcript #1- provided by Hinata Shoyo]

S. Hinata: You're here, what's good! You got the stuff too?

T. Kageyama: Yeah. Where's everyone else?

S. Hinata: Daichi's on patrol until eight, Suga's picking him up when he's done. Yachi's lining up to pick up the cake with y/n-

T. Kageyama: Cool, I'll put the stuff down there. (He signals to the kitchen counter across the living room)

[End of transcript #1]

Kageyama Tobio proceeds to the television, where he sets up his Nintendo on the dock. He then offers a controller to Tsukishima Kei, who accepts, and joins Kageyama in a game of Super Smash Bros. Upon opening the character menu, half of his characters are unavailable for use, evident by the following conversation that ensues between Tsukishima Kei and Kageyama Tobio.

[Transcript #2- Provided by Tsukishima Kei]

T. Kageyama: What the fuck?

K. Tsukishima: For someone who's had this game since release, you're pretty shit if you can barely move past the starter characters.

T. Kageyama: Shut up. [He proceeds to the home page of his console.]

K. Tsukishima: Sure.

[End of transcript #2]

Kageyama Tobio then leaps to the dock, unplugging it for a total of forty-two (Hinata Shoyo estimates) seconds. During its downtime, he is seen to be wiping his neck with one hand, tapping at the screen with the other. The game of Super Smash Bros ensues when he replugs it onto the dock, to reveal a fully unlocked character selection screen. Kageyama Tobio, who plays Sonic the Hedgehog, loses 1:2 against Tsukishima Kei, who plays Sora. But don't tell him that Hinata Shoyo kept count. Thanks.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #2- Initiated by Yachi Hitoka]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 7:46pm

Location of occurrence: Living room, kitchen

Yachi Hitoka and y/n are the sixth and seventh guests to arrive at Hinata Shoyo's residence. By the time they step foot into the house, Hinata Shoyo is three vodka redbulls in, courtesy of Tanaka Ryunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu's contributions to the party's catalogue of available drinks, and is shooting down a fourth with Yamaguchi Tadashi, who is on his first drink of the night. Tsukishima Kei is one can of beer in, and is wrestling Kageyama Tobio on the couch, who is two cans of beer in. Upon entry, Hinata Shoyo slings an arm around Yamaguchi Tadashi, and drags him along to greet the two guests. The following conversation ensues between Yachi Hitoka, Hinata Shoyo, Yamaguchi Tadashi, and y/n.

[Transcript #3- Provided by Yachi Hitoka]

Y/n: What is going on...?

S. Hinata: You're heeeere! C'mon, take a bit from me! [Hinata Shoyo proceeds to tilt his glass too far into his face, and breathe in roughly 250mL of redbull mixed with vodka. He chokes. Yamaguchi Tadashi attempts to worm out of Hinata Shoyo's grasp. His attempt is unsuccessful.]

H. Yachi: If this is what forty minutes looks like, I don't think I wanna know what happens later.

Y/n: Why are they wrestling like... that?

H. Yachi: Men.

T. Yamaguchi: Men.

S. Hinata: [coughs]

Y/n: Understandable.

[End of transcript #3]

Y/n heads to the kitchen counter, where they set a cake into the fridge. Kageyama Tobio breaks free from Tsukishima Kei's sloppy side pin at this moment. Tsukishima Kei heads for the bathroom, and does not return until twenty minutes later. It is unsure what occurred in the bathroom, but not of importance. Kageyama makes a beeline for the fridge, and stubs his toe on the corner of the kitchen counter. He is...unusually uncoordinated, and barges into the space beside y/n, only to grab a third beer and push his way out again. Y/n shoots him a side eye, one that nobody else notices, except for Yachi Hitoka, who is currently writing this report. It's pretty scary, actually, they're a little scary with the side eye. But that is besides the point.

Y/n does not take a drink, but instead heads to the now empty couch, where they pick up the discarded Nintendo Pro controllers off the ground, and invite Yamaguchi Tadashi and Yachi Hitoka to a game of Super Smash Bros. Upon entering the game, y/n selects Sonic as their character. Kageyama Tobio returns to the couch with a can of beer at this moment, and the following conversation ensues between y/n, and Kageyama Tobio.

[Transcript #4- Provided by Yachi Hitoka]

T. Kageyama: Why aren't you picking Ness?

Y/n: I feel like Sonic today, so why not?

T. Kageyama: Sonic's difficult, even for me. Fun, though.

Y/n: I never get to play Sonic, so now that I can, I'm using him.

T. Kageyama: ...Fair enough.

[End of transcript #4]

Following the conversation, Kageyama Tobio does not leave the area. He leans with his forearms against the edge of the couch, and his hands hanging just above y/n's shoulders. He does, however, watch the game and the game only. Y/n, who plays Sonic the Hedgehog, ties with Yachi Hitoka, who plays Kirby. They both lose to Yamaguchi Tadashi, who plays Joker.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #3- initiated by Tsukishima Kei]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 9:02pm

Location of occurrence: Living room

Disclaimer: Tsukishima Kei would like to preface that from this point onwards, his recounts may be liable to errors in continuity and/or accuracy. This is because by 9pm, he was three cans of beer, and one can of Jack Daniels and coke in. Daichi Sawamura, in his fancy police uniform and all, insisted on staying sober, so he will be fact checking any of Tsukishima Kei's recounts up until the point when he leaves the party prematurely. Daichi Sawamura will be aided by Sugawara Koushi, who also insisted on staying sober. For the children, he said. From Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi's departures onwards, any and all informtaion provided by Tsukishima Kei is subject to human error and inaccuracies. Apologies for the inconvenience.

[The following is fact checked by Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi]

Hinata Shoyo, who has managed to hold in four vodka redbulls, one can of beer, and half a vodka cruiser thus far, makes the suggestion to play drunken truth or dare. At this point in time, Kageyama Tobio is three cans of beer, and two cans of Jack Daniels and coke in. He is half-asleep on y/n, who looks visibly distraught, like when a guy you're not really into thinks he's allowed to sleep on your shoulder. At Hinata's proposal of truth or dare, y/n speaks into the air, however, it is inaudible to Tsukishima Kei, who has just returned from another twenty minute break in the bathroom. What can be said? The guy needs his downtime away from the rest of these drunk idiots. (This is a Daichi Sawamura approved comment)

In y/n's hand is a red cup, however, it is unconfirmed whether its contents are alcoholic or not. Everybody sits in a circle on the ground of Hinata Shoyo's living room, and in the fourth round of truth or dare, the following conversation ensues between Hinata Shoyo, y/n, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, and Yachi Hitoka.

[Transcript #5- Provided by Tsukishima Kei (aided by Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi)]

S. Hinata: Who's to SAYYYY...it isn't somebody...RIGHT HEEEEERE! [Hinata Shoyo swirls a bottled vodka cruiser in circles, and spills rougly 15mL of its contents onto his carpet. Nobody notices this. The carpet is not cleaned until the next morning. This will be of importance.]

T. Kageyama: Yeahhhhh...YEAAAAAAH! It HAAAAS to be somebody here, riiiiiiight?...RIIIIIIIGHT? [Kageyama Tobio nudges y/n's shoulders as he prods on. His inquisition is futile, as y/n does not respond directly to his advances. However, they shoot him a look. You know, the look of panic when a guy that you're a little bit into starts totally hitting on you in front of everyone.]

Y/n: Yachi's question was are you into anybody. Yes, I am. Who's next?

K. Tsukishima: Well...it's no FUN if you're not telling us whooooo! C'monnn, a guy hits on you every other day...it's BOOOOORING if you don't tell usssssss...specifics! Yeah, specifics!

T. Kageyama: You're...stiiiiiill getting hit on by OTHERRRR GUYSSSSS? [Kageyama Tobio proceeds to grab y/n by the shoulders, and turn them to face himself. Y/n is visibly taken aback. They shoot another look. the kind of look where your mouth is open and you suddenly stop blinking because you aren't sure how to anymore.]

Y/n: Can we...can we please move on to the next person? Thanks! [Y/n taps Kageyama Tobio's wrists two times. Kageyama Tobio releases y/n from his grasp, and folds his arms.]

H. Yachi: Goooooootcha! [Yachi Hitoka takes a swig from a red cup. Its contents are known to be cream soda and vodka in a 7:1 ratio, courtesy of Hinata Shoyo's contributions to the party's catalogue of available drinks. At this moment, Yachi Hitoka is two drinks in, and that is already two drinks too many.] So, Yamaguchi! Truuuuuuuth...or dare?

[End of transcript #5]

This round of truth or dare continues for another thirteen minutes. No further interactions are recorded between Kageyama Tobio and y/n within this timeframe. Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi leave the party prematurely at 9:20pm.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #4- Initiated by Tsukishima Kei]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 9:52pm

Location of occurrence: Living room, kitchen

[The following is not fact checked by Daichi Sawamura or Sugawara Koushi, and may contain inaccuracies. Ensure to cross check with multiple reliable sources. As reliable as you can get with a group of hammered, freshly graduated young adults, and their enabling seniors, at least. For the record, Tsukishima Kei has ceased his consumption of alcohol by this point in time. Tsukishima Kei's brother, Tsukishima Akiteru, gives him the talk when he returns home the following day, but that is not of importance. So don't worry about it. Just know that Tsukishima Kei was the second most responsible drinker of the night. Thanks.]

At approximately...9:52pm? Yes, 9:52pm, sure. At 9:52pm, y/n separates from the truth or dare circle, and proceeds towards the kitchen. They are seen filling up a red cup with coke, and nothing else. While y/n is away from the larger group, the following conversation ensues between Nishinoya Yuu, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, and Hinata Shoyo.

[Transcript #6- Provided by Tsukishima Kei]

Y. Nishinoya: No...I'VE GOT a GOOOOOOOOD ONE FOR HIM! ...KAGEYAMA! I...daaaaaare YOU!

K. Tsukishima: He asked for a truuuuuuuuuuth, not a...DAAAARE!

S. Hinata: GODDAMN LET HIIIIIIM FINISHHHHHH....

Y. Nishinoya: Yeaaaaaah, asshooooooole. Leeeeeet me FINISHHHHHH! [Nishinoya Yuu sniffs, and stares into the ceiling for four seconds. Not a single thought is coherent in Nishinoya Yuu's mind.]

T. Kageyama: Whaaaat am I dooooing! I'm gaaaaame enough...for ANYTHING! ANYTHIIIIIING! [Kageyama Tobio possesses a look that is a little insane, and proceeds to...beat at his chest? What the fuck? Did he actually beat at his fucking chest? (This is not Daichi Sawamura approved. Please cross check with reliable sources.)]

Y. Nishinoya: I daaaare YOU! To smack y/n's aaaaaaaass...hahah...ha.... [Nishinoya Yuu falls over to the side. He remains in slumber for the next thirty-two minutes.]

S. Hinata: Thaaaaaat...is CRAAAZY! Kaaaageyamaaaaa...are youuuuu! Gaaaaaame enoughhhhh!

[End of transcript #5]

Kageyama Tobio pushes himself off the ground at Hinata Shoyo and Nishinoya Yuu's provocations. He snickers to himself, and walks to the kitchen, where y/n is placing the two litre bottle of coke into the fridge. Kageyama Tobio proceeds to advance towards y/n, and smacks their behind, before…squeezing it? And then jiggling it in his- what the…fuck is going on? (This is not Daichi Sawamura approved, please cross check with reliable sources.) Y/n snaps around at the abrupt impact, and empties the contents of their cup onto Kageyama Tobio. It's a shame Nishinoya Yuu is too knocked out to witness what he has provoked. Sucks. The following commotion ensues between Kageyama Tobio, and y/n. Please note that parts of the conversation were inaudible from the truth or dare circle's location.

[Transcript #6- Provided by Tsukishima Kei, Yachi Hitoka, Hinata Shoyo, and Yamaguchi Tadashi]

Y/n: WHATTTTT the FUCK KAGEYAMA.

T. Kageyama: [inaudible]

Y/n: Oh...my fucking God! You are! Very drunk!

T. Kageyama: [Turns to the truth or dare circle.] TOOOLD YOU! I'M GAAAAAME ENOUGH! FOR AAAAAAAANYTHING!

Y/n: [inaudible]...NISHINOYA! [Y/n shoots a look towards the truth or dare circle. One of disdain. Contempt, even. In hindsight, the dare was much too inappropriate. Here is a reminder for everybody to apologise at the next available chance.]

T. Kageyama: Soooorry, [inaudible].

Y/n: [inaudible]...God, I should have never did it to you the first time. Not the place. Not! the place! [Y/n proceeds to grab Kageyama Tobio by the shoulders, turning him around. Kageyama Tobio is ushered into the bathroom, alongside y/n. Y/n shoots one more look at the truth or dare circle. Tsukishima Kei, as he writes this transcript, is beginning to understand Yachi Hitoka's slight fear of y/n. It's the side eye. They are definitely a little scary with the side eye.]

T. Kageyama: Ouuuuuu, the BAAAATHROOM! Thaaat's a firstttttt. [Kageyama Tobio wiggles his brows, and it's kind of creepy. Like when a guy is trying a little too hard to get laid, and is throwing every existing pickup line at you. Y/n smacks him in the side of his head, and pushes Kageyama Tobio into the bathroom. They slam the bathroom door shut and lock it. The two do not return until fifteen minutes later. It is unsure what occurred during that timeframe.]

[End of transcript #6]

When Kageyama Tobio and y/n return to the living room, it is approximately 10:12pm. Nishinoya Yuu is still asleep on the floor, and shows mild signs of...nevermind. Yachi Hitoka and Yamaguchi Tadashi have moved on to drunken karaoke. Hinata Shoyo and Tanaka Ryunosuke learn to do the Rasputin beside Nishinoya Yuu's unconscious body. Kageyama Tobio and y/n settle beside Yamaguchi Tadashi and Yachi Hitoka respectively, and pretend to be at a concert where the singers can barely remember their own lyrics and aren't sure what notes to hit. Tsukishima Kei wants to go home, but hasn't gathered a satisfactory amount of blackmail yet. Therefore, Tsukishima Kei stays the night. He passes out on the living room carpet at 12:03am.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #6- Initiated by Yamaguchi Tadashi and Hinata Shoyo]

Date of occurrence: March 30

Time of occurrence: 12:12am

Location of occurrence: Living room

Disclaimer: Any and all recounts made my Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi from this point onwards may be liable to errors and inaccuracies. Since Tsukishima Kei made the disclaimer, the two believed they too were responsible for making one of their own. They admit that they were not responsible drinkers. They also admit that this will, undoubtedly, happen again.

12:12am is a time of silence. By this time, Tsukishima Kei has fallen asleep on the carpet, just beside Hinata Shoyo’s cruiser spill. He does not wake until 11:13am of March 30. Yachi Hitoka leaves the residence at approximately 11:30pm, alongside Tanaka Ryunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu, who are all picked up by Kiyoko Shimizu. Yamaguchi Tadashi and Hinata Shoyo are positioned at the kitchen counter, where they eat the graduation cake with their bare hands. At this point in time, Yamaguchi Tadashi has ceased all alcohol consumption, tapping out at two vodka redbulls, and two cream soda and vodkas in a 5:1 ratio. Hinata Shoyo, who has thrown up twice between this report and the last, has also ceased all alcohol consumption, tapping out at four vodka redbulls, one can of beer, and one vodka cruiser. Does cake work as a hangover cure? So sinful, so decadent…who gets to eat the happy graduation chocolate sign? Pay that no mind, for it is unimportant. What is of importance, is Kageyama Tobio and y/n’s current form.

Kageyama Tobio, who has tapped out after three cans of beer, two cans of Jack Daniels and coke, and an additional shot of pure vodka, stirs in his half slumber. This is no regular half slumber, but is one of intimacy, and of lovesick vulnerability, evident by his entire body splayed across y/n’s lap. At the time of this report, it is unsure whether y/n has consumed any amount of alcohol, but their sobriety is to be applauded regardless. (Please do not inform Kageyama Tobio of Hinata Shoyo’s comments on his character. Thanks.)

Y/n proceeds to bounce their leg twice, no, three times. Yes, three times is what it takes for Kageyama Tobio to stir awake. Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi advance towards the couch at this moment, with the intention of smearing cake over Kageyama Tobio and y/n. However, upon entering the vicinity of the living room, the following conversation ensues between Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shoyo, and y/n. Please be reminded that Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi are both drunk out of their mind, and that the conversation was one of whispers. For that reason, any and all details of the transcript are liable to errors, redaction, and/or inaccuracies. Apologies for the inconvenience.

[Transcript #7- Provided by Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi]

T. Kageyama: [inaudible]…leave?

Y/n: Do you? [inaudible]…car [inaudible]

T. Kageyama: I don’t [inaudible]…ow. [Kageyama Tobio rubs at his temples. Hinata Shoyo believes he is crying, but also don’t tell Kageyama Tobio he thinks that. (This is not Daichi Sawamura approved. Please cross check with reliable sources.)]

Y/n: Alright. Upsies now, I’ll drop you off. [Y/n pushes Kageyama Tobio’s body off of their lap. Kageyama Tobio whines. Hinata Shoyo is recording this entire ordeal, but there is frosting on the camera from fumbling for his phone with cake-covered hands. It is unclear who is speaking in the video, or what is happening, really.]

T. Kageyama: Drop me…offffffff? BUT I THOOOOOUGHT- [Y/n proceeds to punch Kageyama Tobio in the side, to which he doubles over. Kageyama Tobio begins to giggle uncontrollably on the ground.]

Y/n: Yes. I'm dropping you off, Tobio. Hinata? [Y/n turns to Hinata Shoyo, who throws his phone onto the ground upon being spotted. They leave the couch, and attempt to pull Kageyama Tobio to his feet. Kageyama Tobio is still giggling, and is unable to find his grounding.]

S. Hinata: Y-yeeeeeees...? [Why are they looking at Hinata Shoyo like that? No, seriously, he's getting scared thinking about it again as he writes this transcript.]

Y/n: I think I'll head out, Kageyama needs a drop off and I'm getting tired. This was fun! Thanks for holding the party, happy grad! I'll catch you around, yeah?

S. Hinata: Of COUUUUUUUUURSE...! Youuuu're NEVER! Getting rid of USSSSS!

Y/n: Yeah, of course. See you soon, Hinata. Good luck with the cleanup. [Y/n has finally managed to pull Kageyama Tobio to his feet. They yank Kageyama Tobio by the arm, and push him out the front door.]

[End of transcript #7]

At 12:15am, Kageyama Tobio and Y/n leave Hinata Shoyo's residence. Yamaguchi Tadashi, and Tsukishima Kei do not leave until the day of March 30.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #7- Initiated by Tsukishima Kei, Hinata Shoyo, Yamaguchi Tadashi]

Date of occurrence: March 30

Time of occurrence: 11:13am

Location of occurrence: Living room

Tsukishima Kei is the first to wake from the stench of the cruiser spill by his nose. God, fuck, everything hurts. Is this what death feels like? A hangover? Also, that spill? Foul, fucking rank. It comes as no surprise that vodka, steeped into the fuzz of an unwashed carpet, would undoubtedly stink. That is beside the point. Tsukishima Kei leaves the ground at the stench, and searches for his phone. He is afraid. He promised to be home by midnight. His brother is going to kill him. Following two minutes of mindless smacking at the ground, Tsukishima Kei finally finds his device. Upon closer inspection, however, the following conversation is shown on the phone.

[Transcript #8- Provided by Y/n]

Y/n: r u dead???? -1:02am

Y/n: hurry up i wanna sleep:( -1:02am

Y/n: im not hearing water istg if ur not showering im gonna fucking drown u babe i dunked SODA all over u -1:03am

Y/n: r u hearing me -1:05am

Y/n: kageyama tobio r u hearing me because i still am not hearing water from my bathroom -1:05am

Y/n: if you don't shower ur sleeping on the ground tn -1:07am

Y/n: tobio r u done omg hurry up i wanna sleep sb -1:27am

[4 missed calls from: Y/n]

[End of transcript #8]

Upon this discovery, Tsukishima Kei wakes Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi, who sleep on the couch for the night. The three ruminate on their next course of action, before the phone rings. The following conversation ensues between Tsukishima Kei, and y/n. Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi choose to act as bystanders.

[Transcript #9- Provided by Tsukishima Kei]

Y/n: ...Fuck.

K. Tsukishima: So.

Y/n: He dropped it while wrestling you, didn't he.

K. Tsukishima: ...We wrestled?

[End of transcript #9]

[Case Closed]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

bonus:

When you realise that Tobio's phone is MIA, he finally returns from your bathroom. Barely clothed, he shakes his head, and droplets of water come flying from his hair. His feet are heavy against the floor, and he isn't sure if he'll even make it to your bed at this rate, until you come darting out of your room, phone in hand.

"Tobio, where is your phone?"

"My phone?" His phone, it's in the bathroom, like it always is when he showers, right? Tobio grunts, annoyed at the extra return journey to the bathroom. He swipes at his T-shirt on the bathroom counter-right, that's where his shirt has gone. What meets his fingers is cold porcelain, and he frowns, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Not...here? Good question...where is it?"

You drag Tobio to your room, shutting the door behind you. When he spares no time to roll into your bed, blissfully unaware, you glare at him, and remind yourself that you do, in fact, love the guy. Even if he drunkenly slapped your ass in front of everybody four hours prior, forgot about your warnings and drank much too far past his limit, and has by now, probably outed your relationship to everyone at the party, despite keeping it perfectly hidden for over a year. Unfortunately, you remind yourself once again that you indeed, do love Kageyama Tobio, so this can wait. What is important now, is catching up on lost slumber, and forcing Tobio to join you.

Crawling into bed beside him, you finally melt into his arms for the first time tonight, away from the eyes of the Karasuno volleyball team. Tobio smiles, satisfied with the way that you're relaxing against him, instead of pushing him off and smacking his head. He inhales the scent of your shampoo, slips his hands beneath your shirt to hold your bare waist. This is comfortable. You are comfortable. Better than whatever he was on at that party.

"Oh well, who cares? You probably dropped it while wrestling with Tsukishima."

"...I wrestled Tsukishima?"

author's note:

I hope this is as fun to read as it was to write and i also hope it's actually good because it's so crack that there's not really any fluff until the bonus bit at the end BUT i'll come back with some proper butterfly inducing fluff and or angst soon!! love u all!!

tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @staraxiaa @catsoupki @hiraethwa @laughingfcx @akaakeis @kuroppiii @tulip-room @wyrcan @wishi-selfships @fiannee @bailey-reeds @zzwon

ok thank u for waiting n reading love u all see u soon bye bye

[justastraymoa]

Something to be Soft for

Chapter 8 (FINAL)

Masterlist

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

Warnings for STBSF: mentions of injuries, blood, gore, broken bones, depression, general sadness, swearing, fear, wolf bites, kidnapping attempts, rape mentions/attempts. This is a ABO fic with full wolf shifts.

A/N: I know I just posted chapter 7 but honestly I just wanted this all done and posted. It's been typed up and finished for over a week now so here ya go. It is what it is folks 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♂️

P.S. I'm glad I finished when I did because I seem to be in a depression drop at the moment. So, sorry if I sound off or cold.

The fear and betrayal hit you hard.

Min grabbed Lix by the back of his shirt and threw him away from the group and towards the basement stairs. “Run! Get out!” He screamed.

In order to help your brothers escape you tackled the nearest Beta, Lino, to the ground. A screaming growl left your chest as you used the defense skills Bin taught you to keep Lino down and the others off you.

“What are you doing? Let go!” Lino yelled as chaos erupted around you.

“Felix!” Hyunjin shouted. Lix had managed to get up the basement stairs and flee the manor, Hyunjin hot on his trail.

Minnie was not so lucky. BangChan had grabbed him only halfway up the stairs, dragging him back down. “What’s wrong, Min?” He asked desperately as you shook Bins grip off yet again.

“Let go of him!” You scream at the Alpha.

Han and Innie were somewhere out of sight in a standoff.

“Y/n, stop!” Bin begged not reaching to grab you again.

“Let us go!” Min yelled shoving at BangChan violently.

BangChan blocked the exit and released Min, holding up his hands. “Everyone calm down!” He pleaded. “Stop, please!”

Somehow his pleas got everyone to stop yelling over each other. The charged silence after lasted what felt like minutes.

“I thought you were different, but you’re just like everyone else.” Tears of betrayal streamed down your cheeks.

BangChan looked confused. “What do you mean? What did we do?”

Min pointed at the thick door. “You are not going to lock us up like the others!”

“Of course not! What are you talking about?” Bin replied.

You were still straddling Lino on the ground. He was laying still under you, hands up to protect himself even though you had not hit him, only restrained him so your brothers could have a chance to escape.

“We never should have come here! And we shouldn’t have stayed!” Min growled trying to dodge BangChan and get to the stairs but failing.

“No one is locking you up!” BangChan repeated desperately.

You fling a hand at the thick door again. “Then what’s this? Why’d you bring us here?”

“It’s a safe room for you!” Lino answered.

“Locking us up to keep us safe?”

“What the fuck, Y/n!” Han exclaimed. “It’s not to lock you up! It’s a room for you to go to to feel safe if something happens!”

“What?” Innie asked stunned and still a little confused.

“When the OPA came to inspect the packhouse they said we needed a room the Omega can go to in case of an emergency. We finally finished yours.” BangChan explained carefully.

You paused as you processed this, starting to feel foolish. Despite this pack doing nothing to betray your trust for months, you immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. You full body deflate as all the flight left you.

Now that everyone seemed calmer BangChan stepped away from in front of the stairs and went back to the locked door. “This door and the walls are Alpha and Beta proof.” He knocked on the door with a knuckle. “And the lock is thumbprint and code locked so only you four will be able to get in.”

You didn’t know what to do now. Or what to say. You watch as he opens the door to reveal a beautifully decorated, fully stocked room. From just the short look you took you and your brothers could comfortably live there without worrying for weeks. You all stare silently at the room, absorbing the new situation.

“Can I get up now?” Lino asked from under you.

You scramble up and away quickly. “Sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Its fine, I’m not hurt.” He replied dusting off his pants.

In the end Hyunjin and Lix came back an hour later and the rest of the day was colored with an air of awkwardness.

“Its fine, hun. It was a reasonable reaction.” Bin tried to comfort you later that night as you two curled up to sleep.

You just hid your face in his bicep, still embarrassed. He chuckled and rubbed your back comfortingly.

You and your brothers use the safety room a lot. As a relaxation space and chill zone. The door always remains open.

~

On the one-year anniversary of the day Lino saved Innie from the trap all nine of you piled into cars and headed to the local Pack Registration Bureau.

BangChan was giddy like a child and hadn’t stopped smiling the entire morning.

You teased him by poking at a dimple on his cheek. “Your face is going to break.”

He allowed your teasing good naturedly. “I can’t help it, I’m too happy.”

“It’s not like we haven’t been in your pack for a year already.” Min rolled his eyes at his Alpha, something he never would have dared to do a year ago.

“But now it’s going to be official. On paper and everything!”

You ruffle BangChans hair roughly. “Aww, you’re so cute!”

He slapped your hand away this time. “Why aren’t you in Bins car? Go away, brat.” But he still had a smile on his face.

“But then I couldn’t get to tease you.”

“Go tease Bin!”

“I tease Bin all the time! I’m an equal opportunity person. Your turn now.” You sing songed.

BangChan parked the car. “Get outta my car. Go pester someone else, menace!”

You laugh. “Yes, dad.” You skip across the parking lot.

Registering four new Omegas into a pack was both easy and more difficult than you expected. They were open to letting you join, but also oddly suspicious. They required an interview with each of you alone.

The problem was you and your brothers still didn’t trust other people. Especially Alphas. And the two who wanted to interview them were both Alphas.

Lix immediately clung to Hyune and Lino protectively pulled Innie and Han behind him. Min let out an unhappy growl causing you to elbow him in the ribs. There was no reason to anger the strange Alphas.

But instead of getting offended, they shared an understanding look and a smile. “Don’t worry, we can work with you to make you feel comfortable.” One assured them.

In the end they allowed you and your brothers to go in together, with the understanding that only one would talk at a time. And you were given a panic button box whose twin stayed with the other pack members. One press if you or your brothers got scared and the others would be in the room ready to defend you.

BangChan nodded when this was explained to the group and held the panic button box tightly in his hands. He looked each of you in the eyes and gave you a reassuring nod before you separated. Your heart still raced the entire time.

Two hours, four interviews, and a new pack photo later and in the governments eyes you and your brothers were now officially a part of BangChans pack, which you learned was officially called ‘Stray Kids’. The name made you smile.

You, Felix, Minnie, And Innie intended to spend a very long and happy life with BangChan, Lino, Bin, Hyune, and Han. And you couldn’t wait to get started.

THE END

🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟

STBSF Taglist: @skz-haikyuu-epic-girl @vietjeb @sophiesanders12 @nicoleveno14 @xanhnax @pasteldusks @im-sinking-in-mud @vampkitten82 @lil-bear08 @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @estella-novella @tiana-maxivar @babygirlskz98 @pixie0627 @thatgirlangelb @headfirstfortoro @hyunjinstolemyheart

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[bumpkinspice0]

Know One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through 3/3

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6

Summary: He lied to you. They all lied to you. They didn't want you back. This was all some sick ploy to get you to dig up the past you worked so hard to bury. You've held it inside for so long… time to let it out. Thanks for all the comments! I love you! We made it babes, buckle up Warnings: canon typical violence, fighting to resolve feelings (cause that makes sense), S M U T, Logan: Pussy eating champion, knife play? (blink and you'll miss it), fingering, dirty talk, P in V sex, switches switches everywhere, praise kink, multiple orgasms, smut with feelings

Series Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

Funny how perspective can change in an instant. A few words shared in confidence can be used against you. Someone you thought you could trust was just using you the whole time. Nothing but a means to an end.

Night was finally here. You stand on the opposite side of the fire, Logan on the other with his hands raised as if you were a spooked animal. 

Getting close to you, the drinks, the kiss— all to get to this. This is what he actually wanted from you— to know your past to help himself. 

“Weapon X isn’t a person.” you spit

“It’s what they called me. What I’m told they called me.” he pleads back, circling the fire.

“What do you mean you were told?”

“They put metal in me— adamantium. They gave me claws and made me a weapon—a monster. That’s all I know. I don’t remember anything. They took everything from me. My memories, my humanity, everything.”

You can’t see past your rage to fully process what he’s saying. Another person stolen and experimented on. In a different life, you’d pity him— but not tonight. 

“Is… is that why you’ve been talking to me? Is that what this is? You think I can help you find something?”

“No! Of course not, I never—”

“You grilled me about my life! Questioned me just to—“

“Listen! Would you please just listen!” 

You turn away, each step making the concrete around you rumble. You storm into the mansion, slamming the door behind you. Logan follows. You’re halfway through the living room before he reaches for you. 

“Darlin’, I didn’t know anything, I swear to God,” he pleads behind you.

“Don’t!” you whip around before he can grab your wrist, “Just don’t, you fucking liar.”

“He’s not lying.” you both turn to the sound of Charles’s voice. He sits at the edge of the room, Scott and Storm behind him. “He didn’t know anything.”

You feel cornered, all of them looking at you expectantly— like you have all the answers. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to be reminded of it all— and all for the benefit of someone else. 

Your anger has a new target. 

“But you knew, Charles.” You spit at your old mentor, “Is that why you really brought me here? To help tame your new stray?”

“Of course not.” His voice is so calm and level, it only infuriates you more. 

“We had a right to know about this, Charles.” Logan bites out behind you. 

“You don’t get to talk right now,” You point an accusatory finger at Logan. 

“You’re not the only one allowed to be mad right now,” he growls back. If this is all true, deep, deep down you know he’s right. Then you were both pawns, the game was just being played by Charles. 

“It would have been addressed in time.” The Professor simply replies. 

“Oh, bullshit.” you bark out a mocking laugh before making your way past Charles and your once friends.

“Dozer, please,” the pleading in Storm’s voice almost makes you pause. Almost. 

You’re at the front door now, hand resting at the knob. A million possible responses are at the tip of your tongue.

They knew—they all knew—and this was just some big dance to get you to dig up things you didn’t want dug up—for him, for their new pet. They didn’t want you back. They didn’t want you at all.

“Fuck you.” You hiss before slamming the door behind you. You think you hear Charles telling the others to let you go before you do. You don’t know. You don’t really care. 

Still, that doesn’t stop a hand from clamping down around your wrist when you're only just steps from your truck. 

“Don’t go. Please.” 

“Let go of me, Logan”

You don’t bother to face him. He doesn’t deserve anything from you. No one does. 

The truck is so close yet so far away.

“I can’t help you.” You bite out. 

“I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that. Just—” His grip tightens, “You said you wanted to stay. You wanted to come back. Please… stay.”

“Let go.”

“You’re angry, with every right to be. I am too.”

“You don’t know a damn thing.”

You’re tired. You’re so tired of being used. 

“I get it. They deserve it, darlin’. All that rage.” He dares to take a step closer, “Charles, me, Weapon X… your father.”

“Let. Go.”

You rip him off, a pillar of rock sending him flying across the lawn. You finally turn to look at him. He gets up as if nothing has happened. He holds his hands out— a challenge.

“Let it out, darlin’. You deserve to let it out. I can take it.”

Anger needed a target, and he was offering himself up to be yours. 

The fucking masochist. 

You should leave. You want to leave but it’s a shame how all rationality goes out the window when rage is at the wheel.

The ground quakes, rocks and dirt swirl in the wake of your thundering steps. You run towards him almost blind. You don’t know what you’re doing but you don’t want to stop either. 

Let it out, he said— fine. 

You’ll let it out.

Rocks of all sizes come crashing down around him— pebbles the size of quarters to boulders the size of people. You rip them all from the ground with no regard. There is only fury. There is only white, blinding rage. 

Logan is fast, dodging every new obstacle you throw at him in an instant. He runs, he pounces but still, the claws stay sheathled. What good is a knife against a stone, anyway? It doesn’t matter, you don’t really care. In its own fucked up way, it felt good the let loose— consequences be damned. 

You don’t notice when you start to pull dirt from the gardens. 

“Bastard!” It’s screamed at Logan but you’re not entirely sure who you’re thinking of when you say it. 

Logan doesn’t have a scratch. It’s not just because of the healing factor, nothing’s touched him. He’s playing cat and mouse with you, drawing you further and further away from the mansion. He wants you to fight, but he won’t do it himself. 

Coward.

You plunge your fists into the ground, massive cracks in the earth jutting out from the force. The ground around Logan breaks apart from the rest, a small platform of earth lifting him into the air.

Try running from this, you think as you slam it all back down in one thunderous motion. The small island breaks apart on impact but Logan breaks free, claws finally bared. 

“You ready to fight back now?!” you scream through wheezed breaths. It’d been so long since you’d exerted yourself this way. You do your best to hide the creeping exhaustion. 

“This isn’t a fight, darlin’,” still he holds his claws at the ready, “Never was.”

“Oh, shut up! J-just shut up!” you hurl a small rock at him. He deflects it easily, a metallic ping ringing out as it bounces off his claws. His expression remains blank— unreadable.

Cocky asshole.

You throw more, stone after stone, not one meeting its target. Gradually, they get bigger and bigger as you continue. He starts the move again when the rocks become too big for him to simply slice through. With a single stomp of your foot, the ground beneath him turns to sand. He sinks down to the ankles and before he can react you harden it to stone. He pulls at his legs uselessly and you can't help but scoff at his efforts.

Try to run away now.

With shaking arms and legs you raise the debris-field around you, thousands of pounds of shattered earth at your command. Your whole body shakes with the effort.

“Is this it? Is this what you wanted?!” You scream at him through ragged breaths.

Logan only stands there, feet trapped in the dirt and ready to accept whatever your blind rage would bring down on him.

But he’s not Logan. 

He is your father. He’s the faceless men that held you in a metal box. He’s every scientist that pricked you with needles. He’s everyone you killed on that boat. He’s Charles. He’s you.

You fall to your hands and knees, the ground cracking and crumbling under your palms. 

You wanted to run away from this. Forget Weapon X ever existed but proof of it has been standing in front of you the whole time. Logan, a man stolen and tortured by the same people who did the same to you. A living weapon. Weapon X incarnate. They wanted to turn you into something like him. You could have been him. 

You could have been him. 

No memories. A quiet rage only scarred people like you recognize. Running until someone like Charles takes pity on you. That’s all anyone ever had for you. Pity. 

In an instant, it’s all still. All that power you were exerting into the earth boils out and rips through your throat in a harrowing scream. Everything falls around you, dust engulfing you in an instant. Long-held-back tears sting at your eyes, finally escaping down your cheeks. You curl into yourself, the earth and your mind finally still.

You don’t register the sound of metal claws digging at the ground. You barely notice the strong arms pulling you in. You think comforting words are being whispered to you, but you can’t bring yourself to listen just yet. 

Slowly the dust settles and you see the destruction you’ve brought to the land you worked so hard to rebuild. It only makes it all hurt more.

You did what he said. Years of holding it down— you let it out. You let it out on him and now he’s holding you like a blubbering child. With the initial anger quelled, the shame finally has a chance to creep in.

You did it again. You destroyed something you love because something was already broken inside you a long time ago. 

Why do I do this? Why do I always do this?

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Logan's quiet voice breaks through finally.

“Fuck… y-you,” you manage to gasp out between the sobs. They’re harsh words, but you have no strength left to fight him. 

You practically killed him and now he’s comforting you. Was he so desperate for any ounce of knowledge you had… or he was just someone who understood in a way no one else had? You’re not ready to face the implications of it all yet. You’re not sure you’ll ever be. For now, crying will have to do.

The dust has settled completely, covering both of you in a pail brown coat. Still, he doesn’t move, holding you as long as you need. Until the tears settle, until the remaining anger subsides, until your friends gather at the front door in the distance… waiting for you to come home. 

You look up from the crook of his neck, still surrounded by the results of your rage. You’d both sat in the center of a newly formed crater at the center of the yard. 

Sometimes, you forget how destructive you can be when you don’t hold yourself in check. Yet… somehow, you feel lighter. Maybe Logan was right. 

“Is the house still there?” you find yourself asking first. 

“Yeah, hon. She’s still standing just fine,” he answers.

“Told you I could t-take you.” 

“I didn’t doubt you, darlin’.”

A beat. A few wheezed, calming breaths.

“What do you want from me, Logan?” your voice is coming out horse, throat raw from dust and sobbing. 

“Nothin’ you don’t wanna give,” His voice is equally as ragged, “Just stay. Start with that.”

“I don’t think I can anymore.” 

“What… this? This ain’t nothin’. I’ll take the blame,” he nods his head to the side, gesturing back to the house where the X-Men stood silently, “They’re already waitin’ for you.”

And they always would, a hopeful voice echoes in the back of your mind. It’s small, but you still hear it. Maybe even believe it too. 

“Yeah, well, maybe all the self-destruction makes it even for lying to us.” you wipe your eyes, desperately trying to find a little composure again.

“Us, huh?”

“Yeah, us,” you push back against his chest, finally looking him in the eye, “The class fuck ups, remember?”

Part of you was broken, you know that. The same part of him was broken too.

A cauldron of emotions was boiling between you both. You’re not sure where to even begin to sort it out. Part of you is still angry with him. Another part of you pities him— but the biggest part of you just feels safe with him. 

Despite it all, knowing what you both know now, he still made you feel safe.

Your lips find his and he pulls you in close again. This kiss is different from your first. It’s a truce, in a way. Everything’s changed now. You don’t know what this is, you don’t know what you wanted it to be. You just know you still wanted him. Despite it all, you still wanted Logan.

He pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I…I don’t want anything from you,” his voice is just above a whisper. A quiet promise, “That shit hurts, I get it. I won’t make you dig it up. Just stay… please.”

“Logan… I—”

You both jump at the sound of a phone alarm, a melodic beeping coming from Logan’s pocket. You’d heard it before dozens of times— the alert system of the X-Men. Something was wrong. 

“Goddamn it,” Logan pulls out the phone, the yellow X emblem flashing rapidly on the front. You look over to the front door and see the rest of your friends do the same. 

It takes only a moment for Logan to read the message. You see his face drop as he does. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“The Trask rejects. They’re making a public attack.” He growls out through gritted teeth. 

Impeccable timing.

“Logan,” Scott stands on the edge of your little crater. The rest of the X-Men were already inside, surely preparing for deployment. “We have to go.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, bub,” You feel Logan’s grip tighten. 

“It wasn’t a request,” Scott stands strong, “And we don’t have time to argue. We need the whole team.”

You think for a brief moment Scott means you too. Of course, he doesn’t. It would be a horrible idea. You're emotionally turbulent right now. It could be dangerous. The best thing for you to do is sit down and cool off. Scott was trying to separate you both.

Logan pulls you in tighter.

“I’m not–”

“Logan,” your voice finds strength again. You stand up from his grasp, hugging your arms into yourself. You already miss his warmth, “Go. Just go.”

There’s a flash of pain in his eyes but you think he understands what you’re really asking for. 

Space. I need a little space.

Logan stands, dusting himself off in the process. Scott, seemingly satisfied with Logan’s efforts, makes his way back to the house. 

Still, Logan pauses. 

“Will you be here when I get back?” There’s almost a pleading in his voice.

“Logan, I—”

“Let's go, Wolverine!” Scott’s voice cuts through the tension. You're almost thankful for it.  

Logan grimaces before stepping out of the crater. He pauses at the top, back to you and fists clenched at his sides. He storms up to the house without turning around. 

You collapse back down into the dirt, burying your face in your hands. You’re not sure how long you sit there until you find the strength to get back up.

__________

The mansion is eerily quiet. A house this big should never be this quiet. Rooms upon rooms that should be filled with children giggling. Gossip spreading like wildfire. Someone sharing a first kiss or first cigarette. Normal kid things that non-normal kids get to do in peace. 

You used to be one of them. 

It’s late. You stalk the dark halls of the mansion like a ghost. You heard Charles come up from Cerebro over an hour ago— a good sign the team was successful in their mission. He’s been sitting in his study ever since and you can’t seem to work up the courage to confront him. 

It’s only the two of you in this big house. Not a single thing is standing in your way except your pride. He’ll wait for you to make the first move. You’re not sure what you’re going to say to him, but you know you have to say something.

How dare you?

Sorry I re-wrecked the lawn?

I thought I wanted to be an X-Man again, but Logan has made this all vastly more complicated and I’m not sure I can forgive you for keeping such a big secret from me?

Decisions, decisions. 

You sit on the bench just down the hall from his study, the same place you’d sat so many times before waiting for a lecture. This time is no different, you suppose. 

Once a student, always a student. 

“I’m old, you know,” Charles’s baritone voice booms from his office, “I can’t do these late nights as well as I used to.”

It’s a gentle encouragement. He probably has a migraine from overhearing your raging stream of consciousness while managing an actual crisis. He wanted to discuss this like adults— You did too. Unfortunately, only one of you really knew how to be an adult. 

Mostly you just wanted to get it over with.

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself to your feet. You shuffle into his office, tail between your legs. He sat by his desk, his chair turned to face out the window behind the desk. You quietly take a seat next to him. The sense of betrayal was still there but it was now mixed with a healthy dose of regret.

You both silently look out over what was going to be a beautiful garden— now in ruins once more. 

“How are they doing?” you meekly ask. 

“The offenders are all finally apprehended and contained,” Charles answers bluntly. Neither of you turns to face the other. “Everyone is okay. They should be back within the hour.”

You simply nod, staring blankly out the window. You’re not sure how to start this. You didn’t really want to begin with. 

“You want to ask me why I didn’t tell you about Logan’s history right away.” His words cut through you. Charles wanted to get this over with too, you suppose. 

“Well… why didn’t you?”

“Would you have come if you’d have known?”

You don’t answer— not out loud at least. The silence is answer enough.

“Why didn’t you tell him about me, then?” You press forward. 

“That’s not mine to tell, now is it?” You can almost feel his eyebrows raising, “Logan has a long journey ahead of him. I will help him in whatever ways I can, but that is my burden to bear. Not yours,” you hear the pain in his voice. The sincerity. He’d seen what you’d been through. He’d likely seen what Logan had been through—parts of it at least. Charles always knew everyone's pain. Always carried it with him.

“Would you have ever told him about me?”

“Only if you wanted. Only if the situation presented itself. I must admit, I didn’t anticipate you two getting so close.”

“Making us kiss wasn’t part of your master plan?” You scoff. 

“I like to think of myself as a decent storyteller but I’ve never been much good at writing romance.” He lets out a small chuckle, “Though I should have known you’d be a bad influence on each other.”

He’s trying to lighten the mood. You can’t blame him, but there are still things you want to know. Things you need answers to. 

“When was he…there?”

You can’t say its name anymore. Not tonight at least.

“Years before you. I’m not entirely sure when. I believe he was the very beginning. You were the beginning of the end.”

The answer doesn’t bring you the comfort you thought it would. There may be some solace in knowing he wasn’t locked up in that boat with you. He was their first test, and he got out. You both got out. 

“Why am I here, Charles?”

He lets your question linger longer than you’d like. Jean could have likely done the work you’ve been doing. Hank would have been more than happy to plan the tunnels. You didn’t need to come back. Not really. He risked a lot bringing you here with Logan. 

Charles takes a deep breath.

“I won’t deny I could have handled this better, but I can be a selfish man sometimes. Every now and again I get reminded how fragile this little world I’ve built here is. How vulnerable we all can be. As a teacher, I always found it difficult to detach myself from my students completely. Checking up every now and again is a thing of habit for me. I hear all the things no one else can hear. I know it can be lonely out there. I know self-doubt is rampant. But I could help… If I could bring everyone home and remind them that they’re loved–”

“Charles,” you don’t mean to interrupt, but if you didn’t he’d ramble on forever and you wouldn’t ever get a straight answer. Even if he was just reminding you of things he’d already told you a million years ago.

“Something terrible happened here, and I got scared.” Charles admits with a heavy sigh, “I got scared and I wanted something. I wanted those closest to me to feel safe again. And, selfishly, I wanted to feel safe by having those I loved back home. I didn’t consider the larger consequences of those actions, and I am sorry. I just found an excuse to call a child home.”

You almost choke out a sob. Fortunately, your tear ducts seem to have had enough crying for one night. 

You hated that he could always do this. You came in here so ready to be furious with him. You were so ready to give him a piece of your mind and storm off. Tell him you’re never coming back to this godforsaken school again. 

“I’m not your child, Charles.” You coldly say instead. 

“No… No, you’re not.” He turns his chair slightly to face you. You finally look him in the eye. Despite it all, he still smiles warmly. “You’re my student. Always will be.”

You were wrong, a few stray tears still escape. 

He opens his arms without hesitation when you lean into him, muffled I’m sorry’s said into his suit’s lapels. This was a familiar scene. You’d been here so many times with Charles. God, he even smelled the same. Some old man cologne you could never place. He’d talked you down so many times in school and now he was still doing it into your adulthood. You never felt like you deserved his patience. Maybe you could try a little harder to earn it though.

You pull away, wiping your nose for hopefully the last time tonight. You both gaze back out over the decimated garden. Well, that was the hardest part done. Now there’s just the matter of Logan.

“You think I can help him?” You ask.

“I think you can help each other… if you want to.”

“What if I don’t want to help him?”

“Then don’t.”

You roll your eyes at his bluntness, “Say what you really mean, Charles.”

 “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He starts to move his chair around the desk.

“But?” You prod, following behind him.

He halts in the middle of the room, “But you might be denying helping yourself then. You’ve been fighting these demons too long, my dear. Face them. He can help you face them.”

You do believe it wasn’t Charles’s intent for all this to happen when you brought you here. He and the team respected both your and Logan’s privacy by not telling the other. You and Logan opened this book together unknowingly. It’s too late to close it, and it’s too big to just ignore. 

Charles makes his way to the door, but you still have one more thing to say. Or really, one more thing to ask.

“I was—I was going to ask to stay. Before…before everything.”

“Do you still want to stay?” He pauses at the door.

“Do you want me to?”

“Well of course I do… you need to fix the mess you’ve made of my gardens and finally plant those damned flowers.”

_________

You stand in front of the full mirror in your room, an ill-fitting navy blue shirt with a bright yellow X plastered across the chest hastily draped over your body. Jean always kept a few changes of school clothes in all the closets. All of your clothes were dirty, so this was the only option. Your regression back to a new student was complete now. If you were a more superstitious person, you take this as an omen— whether it was good or bad, you hadn’t decided yet.

You collapse face-first into the bed. It felt nice to be clean after everything today. You’d practically turned the floor of the shower black with all the dirt that was caked on your body. At least you finally got that shower.

You’re still here, after everything you’re still here… probably for the long run. You tell yourself you’re going to sleep on it tonight, but your mind is practically already made up. It would hurt, you’d be challenged, but you wanted to be here. You wanted to just fucking try again. The X-Men, your friends, they brought out the best and worst in you, but that’s what family does, isn’t it? That’s what you were always told, anyway.

You think you heard the team land while you were in the shower. They were home, and the mission successfully completed.

There was still one more thing you wanted before you made your final decision. One more thing you had to face to see if this would all be worth it. You sit up, face the door, and wait. You asked him to come to your room tonight, you hope he’d still come. 

Eventually, there’s a knock.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast you jump for the door. You pull it open and there he is, still fully suited up in lemon yellow with the fresh smell of smoke and sweat wafting off of him. To your surprise, it’s not entirely unpleasant. 

“You….You stayed.” He says first. 

“I did.”

“Finally got that shower too, huh?”

“I did.”

That’s the extent of the introduction. You both stand there awkwardly for a beat. Neither of you knows how to start this. You didn’t necessarily end on the best note. You didn’t start on the best note either.

You both decide to break the silence at the same time.

“How was—

“I’m sorry you—”

You both catch yourself before continuing. God, why was this so hard? Luckily, Logan is the first one to try again. 

“I uh— I wanted to say I’m sorry,” His gaze dropped to the floor, “I’m sorry you got roped into my shit.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

“I’d understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he looks back up at you, “If you want me to leave, I’ll go. If you’re gonna stay for the long run, I’ll leave.”

Unbelievable. This man was absolutely unbelievable. He gets back from saving the goddamn world and comes straight to your room to say you can kick him out of his house. How do you tell him that’s not an option? How do you tell him you want to start over with all this?

Actions were so much easier than words.

Your hands snake up his arms gently as you step closer. You think you feel him relax under your touch. His hands find your waist as yours loop around his neck. You pull each other into the kiss, sensual and slow. Everything you’d shared so far had been violent or painful in a way. This was… it was nice. A quiet embrace in the early hours of the morning. Two people seeking comfort in each other's arms. Simple. You liked simple.

He pushes you both further into the bedroom. Excitement pricks at your every nerve but you still have more to say. You need to get it out. You need to. He has to know before you forget to say it. 

I think you can help each other… if you want to.

“Logan—” you pull away, almost painfully. “Just… wait.”

He leans back, “We don’t have to—”

“No! God no, I want to! But—” you shake your head, desperately trying to gather yourself despite the aching that was building inside you, “I wanted to say— I wanted to tell you, I— I want to help. I want to help you— help both of us. I want to try at least.”

You feel him tense under your touch. Great, another moment ruined by your self-righteous big mouth. 

He looks you in the eye, expression almost pained. “Darlin’, I told you, you don’t—”

“I know,” your fists curl around his collar, “But I want to. I’ve been… I’ve been running from this a long time, Logan— ignoring it almost. I think you have too. They need to pay…For what they took from me. For what they took from you. I don’t remember much but… I know names. Locations. Places we can—”

His lips crash back into yours, hands squeezing your body flush with his. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks you both backward towards the bed.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he growls, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Logan—” You moan, clawing your hands through his hair. 

You both collapse back onto the bed, the wooden frame creaking in protest. Your movements get more frenzied. You claw at the various zippers and latches of his suit while his hands drag down your body, pulling off your shorts in the process. Your quickly dampening underwear stays in place. You manage to get the upper half of the suit open. He leans back, pulling off the top of his suit the rest of the way. You peel off your own shirt as he does so. You look at him towering and bare-chested above you, his knees caging your hips in. Only one thought flashes through your mind. 

Holy fucking shit.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, rough hands finding your body again. He cups your breast, “Fucking look at you, sweet thing.”

His mouth comes down over a nipple, fingers rolling over the free one. You arch under him, hands clawing up and down his back. God, his body is so warm against yours. So heavy.

He grinds into you as his tongue moves to your other peaked breast, his hardening length rubbing against your pulsing cunt. These underwear are probably be ruined after this. 

His movements were rough, almost desperate. You loved it, you loved every fucking bit of it. 

His mouth comes off your breast with a small pop. He glides his nose over your heaving chest with a deep inhale, small kisses peppering your skin as he moves. Slowly, he moves down your torso, pausing at the hem of your panties. 

“Oh God, Logan—” You gasp, feeling his hot breath against your waiting pussy. He places a sloppy kiss over the already damp fabric, tongue rubbing against your clothed bud. An almost pained gasp escapes your lips. 

“I really do like the way you say my name,” his mouth moves to your inner thigh, fingers curling around the hem of your last scrap of clothing. “God, you’re so—”

A single claw unsheathes. The blunt side runs against your skin as he slides it under your panties at the apex of your thigh. The cool metal sends electric shivers up your body. He rips through the fabric with ease, the claw retracting as soon as you’re fully exposed before him. He takes his time pulling away the final scraps of your underwear, rough hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. Yep, definitely ruined.

His eyes come up to meet yours, his brow heavy over them, deep brown and almost animalistic. 

You all but scream when he comes down on you. His mouth engulfs your entire cunt, tongue running up your seam and circling around your clit. Your legs curl around his head, hands shooting out to grip his hair. A growl rumbles up from his throat when you pull and reverberates through your whole body. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. His movements are almost frenzied again. Stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin as his tongue attacks your pussy, hands squeezing your hips so hard to the point of bruising— pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Taste so good, baby,” he moans against your mound, “Knew you would. First time I saw you, I knew you—”

His tongue flattens against your seam, slowly dragging up and pausing at your bud. You gasp when you feel a finger breach you, curling against that delicious soft spot inside. His mouth and fingers work in unison, pulling heated breaths out of you almost rhythmically. 

He’s good at this. Fuck, he’s really good. 

That familiar heat starts to build in your stomach as he works you slowly, his rhythm getting rougher and rougher as he goes. Mouth sucking as his fingers curl, back and forth, back and forth. He’s fucking enjoying this, you think. The thought makes you even more excited. He wanted to take his time with you, selfishly milking sinful moan after sinful moan out of you as he did so. 

Too bad you’d been sexually pent up for god knows how long. 

The heat rises in your stomach. 

“L-Logan–I–I—” the words barely make it out. 

His heavy-lidded eyes shoot up to yours, “Give it to me.” He growls against you, “Let me feel you.”

His tongue circles your clit once— twice—

Your back arches off the bed with a pained moan ripping through your throat. You push him closer as liquid fire pulses through your veins. His mouth doesn’t leave you the whole time, tongue in a frenzy of movements as your orgasm rocks through you. He draws it out longer. Makes it stronger. 

Even when the initial wave subsides, his mouth doesn’t leave you. You squirm under him, hypersensitive and brain fogged over with pleasure you didn’t realize you’d desperately missed. 

“L-Logan… Please,” You pull at his hair. 

He stills, pulling off of you slowly. He leans back, chin dripping with your release. His hands stroke gently up and down your shaking legs. You look down and see the straining bulge in his pants, a faint wet mark forming against his thigh. 

You sit up, hands trailing up his heaving chest and looping back around his neck. You pull him in, tasting yourself on his tongue. He grasps the back of your head and pulls at your hair just slightly. You push against him, he falls back on the bed. You hover over him, bringing your hands down to his belt. You undo the clasp and he pulls them off the rest of the way, his pulsing hard cock finally springing free.

Holy fucking shit— you think for the second time tonight. 

He gives himself a rough stroke, a bead of pre cum escaping his already wet head. You can’t resist the sight. You lean down and drag your tongue over the tip to lick it up. He hisses in a sharp breath as you do. 

“What do you want?” you whisper against him. You’d honestly be happy with any answer.

He moans at your words, hands coming up to cup your breasts again. 

“Wanna see you ride me, tough girl,” you swear his voice has dropped an entire octave. “Want you to take me. Wanna see that pretty pussy stretch around me.”

You feel his hips squirming ever so slightly. It felt so powerful to have a man like him underneath you, almost begging. 

You place your hands on his massive chest as you lean forward. You can’t help but touch him— Maybe even dreaming about touching these fucking muscles. You can’t resist giving his pecs a rough squeeze when you do. He hums in approval, his hands trailing down to your rising hips. 

You drag your sopping cunt along his cock a few times before lining up with him. Small gasps escape as you do. The motion was just as much for your pleasure as it was for ease. Logan was big, and with no lube, you’ll need a little extra help. 

His grip tightens when you start to take him, a low rumble starting in his throat and traveling through his chest. You feel it reverberate up your arms. Your legs are only a little shaky but you manage. You finally let out a heavy breath when you bottom out. You take a moment to savor the feeling. It’s a stretch, but not at all unpleasant. You’re so full. So fucking full. 

“Fuck.” Logan hisses underneath you, “F-fuck, you’re so—move, baby. You gotta move or—”

You immediately oblige, rolling your hips against his. You find a rhythm, slow and sensual. His head tilts back into the pillows, his jaw tensed to the point where you can see almost all the lines and veins in his neck. You rise, pulling him out just a little more with each thrust. He practically drools out the most delicious moan you’ve ever heard.

You love seeing him like this, see him falling apart for you. You made The Wolverine into this. 

The pain of being stretched so wide starts to subside, melting into your building pleasure. You shift, and your movements become more deliberate. Searching almost. You gasp out when you find it, that spot that makes your vision go blurry. You grind down against it again and again and again.

“God, that’s it, darlin’,” Logan chokes out, “T-take it. Take what you need.”

His hands shoot up to your breast again, giving them a rough squeeze. His fingers massage into the soft, sensitive flesh there, thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples. 

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he praises, the white of his teeth flashing in a grin. 

You’d probably blush at the compliment in any other situation. Instead, you lean down and kiss him. It’s messy, a bunch of feverish tongue and teeth but, god, it was perfect. You drink down each other's moans, gasping for breath in each other's air as you grind into him. 

Your hips start to betray you, the fatigue catching up the muscles in your legs. It’d been so long since you’d gone this hard with anyone. You weren’t out of practice by maybe a little out of shape. You lose your rhythm just a little, but Logan doesn’t seem to entirely mind, but he does seem to take notice.

His hips rise, giving you a few experiment thrusts before he sits up, pulling your chest flush with his. Your movements are subdued into small rolls against him, an entirely new pressure against your clit.

 His lips still haven’t left yours. They don’t leave as he pushes you further back. They don’t leave when you collapse into the sheets and he crawls on top of you. They don’t leave when he almost completely pulls out of you and slams back in. 

“Fuck!” You scream. You think you hear him chuckle as he pulls out again. His laugh is slowly overtaken by a moan as he slides back in. Gentler, slower this time. 

His mouth trails down to your neck again, nipping and suckling in ways that would surely show tomorrow. The thought of people seeing what he did to you excites you.

You hook your legs around his hips. He rises from you, just for a moment.

Seeing this massive man hover above you was a sight you wanted permanently burned into your brain. His massive arms caging you in, veins popping against the tense muscles. His chest is red with claw marks from your hands. Eyes glossed over with animalistic bliss.

This was fucking, hard and dirty fucking in almost every sense of the word000 sure. But there was something about it that made your mind go fuzzy. The deliberateness of it all. The roaming hands and heated eye contact. Not just pleasure for pleasure’s sake, but connection. Making love.

Neither of you wanted just a quick dirty fuck to get it out of your system. Something more. This all had the potential to be something more.

For now though, hard and dirty was still good. 

He bites at your lip with a growl and you moan at the prick of pain. All of you, Christ he wanted all of you. You’ll give it to him—gladly. 

You shift your hips and you feel it again— that perfect spot. He notices. 

“That’s it, huh?” he grunts, thrusting back into the exact same spot again. “Oh yeah, that’s it.” 

His mouth attacks you while his cock makes you go cross-eyed. This can’t be real. He can’t be real. You died. You’d crushed both of your bodies under the yard hours ago and this was some sadistic heaven your dying brain had cooked up. 

That’s the only explanation for something feeling this good. 

He licks his fingers, two of them finding your clit as soon as they leave his mouth. 

“Give it to me. You got one more don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs against you, “Give me another one. W-wanna… wanna feel you… Fuck.”

“Oh G-god, oh fuck, oh God—” You chant, seemingly unable to say or process anything else in the blinding pleasure.

Your hips raise, grinding into his palm while his cock continues to drill into you. The feeling comes on fast. It was building in you again. You become desperate for it, that sweet impending release. You claw at his neck for any sense of stability.

“N-need you, Lo-Logan,” you find yourself begging, “N-need to feel y-you—Wanna feel you—”

“C-christ, don’t say that,” he growls, “Give me one more. One more more and—and I—”

He trails off, losing himself in his sporadic thrusts. He was getting close, his movements getting more desperate— but you were close too.

He ruts into you, rolling his hips against yours and you’re done for.

“L-Logan! I– I’m–”, you can’t finish, your words melting into a silent scream. You arch and squirm under him. He continues to relentlessly pound into you, chasing his own high. 

“Oh— G-God— Y-you— You’re so—” his lips crash back down to yours, a growling moan reverberating down your throat. You drink him in selfishly. His hips still against yours, his cock pulsing and spilling into you. You grasp at him, pulling him close as you both lose yourselves in the waves of white-hot pleasure together.

You don’t know how long you both hold each other there, lost in the euphoria of it all. Eventually, your muscles start to loosen

His lips leave yours with a ragged gasp like he’s desperate for air. His sweat-slicked forehead lowers down to yours. You both hover there for a moment, choking on each other's air. His eyes bore into yours. 

You can still feel him pulsing inside you.

“Holy shit,” you break the silence with a small giggle.

He chuckles back, placing a kiss on your forehead.

He rises, pulling out of you with a moan and you gasp at the sudden emptiness. He collapses next to you, hand still lying heavy across your stomach. 

“So… you’re gonna stay?” he asks, thumb rubbing comforting circles on your sensitive skin. 

“Only if you keep that up every night,” you joke back.

He nips at your neck with a growl, “Don’t tempt me, honey.”

God, what have you unleashed. 

He curls around you, pulling the covers up over the both of you. The exhaustion was creeping in. It had been a long day. He pauses, looking at you almost for permission. He’s wondering if his assumptions about staying the night have maybe crossed the line. You simply smile and pull the covers up the rest of the way.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck as he pulls you in closer. Your hand finds his own, resting on top of his chest. You run your fingers between his knuckles. There weren’t even scars to show. To your surprise, he doesn’t flinch away. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” you assure him, “I… I want to help you. Help us.”

You feel his breath hitch just a little as his fingers close down around yours. 

“I know you will, darlin’.”

“I don’t know where we’ll start, but—”

“Don’t,” his nose nudges your head gently, “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I told you you don’t owe me anything. Just stay. Start with that.”

You don’t think you’ll ever understand how he can quell your anxieties with so few words. Maybe it was the reassurance in his voice. The confidence. You place a gentle kiss on his chest. 

Your scars are the same as mine.

It was the unspoken words between the two of you since the beginning, whether you knew it or not. Something inside the both of you knew the other— stripped away all the layers and saw what was underneath.

Someone who was just like them. What a rare thing to find.

“I’m happy I came home, Logan.”

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.”

____________

Hope you loved it! I loved writing these two. I might do a little one shot or two, not sure yet. Just not quite ready to let them go. Let me know if you want more of these idiots!

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 18- 'Birthday Baby' | 'Aperture'

word count - 12.8k

[Crashing Down - Kali Uchis ft. d4vd]

Things had been… different since London. Not loud or dramatic or marked with any real shift—but quieter, steadier. Like something fragile had been mended between you and Trent that night in the hotel, and now, you were both walking carefully over the seams, pretending the cracks weren’t still visible in certain light.

You hadn't talked about love since LA. Since that stupid night where it spilled out of him in a breathless, broken release like he knew he shouldn’t have said it then but couldn't stop himself. You hadn’t brought it up since. And he hadn’t said it again. Still, things felt lighter lately. Like maybe you were both starting to feel safe again in something that never felt entirely real when it hurt too much to hold.

The afternoon had been simple. You’d grabbed lunch in a quiet part of town, nothing flashy, nothing for anyone else. Trent had kept his hood up and smiled every time your knee brushed his under the table, purposefully nudging yours back reminding you he wanted the touches and reminding himself you were actually there. And you—well, you tried not to read too much into the way his fingers found yours without even looking when he drove you home. One hand on the steering wheel, the other laced with yours across the middle console. You two holding hands was a new phenomenon that was occurring more since those three words were uttered. Suddenly, intertwined fingers were somehow more intimate than sex could ever be. Like they meant something real. So you stared down at your intertwined hands like they were trying to tell you something. The shape of your fingers slotted into his. The soft scratch of his thumb over your knuckle, absent but intimate. You told yourself not to spiral. But he kept glancing over like he was memorizing you, like he hadn’t had the chance to before today, like he didn’t understand how the world let him have you like this again and again. You caught his gaze once and he looked away too quickly, eyes flickering back to the road ahead, like he’d been caught feeling something he shouldn’t say out loud.

And maybe that was what scared you most—how easy it would be to believe he loved you if he just said it again. How maybe he already did and it was you who didn’t know how to ask. When he pulled up outside your building, the street was slick from the morning rain, the grey sky starting to warm with the lazy orange blush of late afternoon. But Trent didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t lean over and peck your cheek like he sometimes did when he was trying to behave, trying to not hurt your hearts that were aching for more even when more would feel like not enough. 

No, this time… he leaned in slow. His hand slid up your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath it with that maddening softness that always turned your thoughts to liquid. And then he kissed you—lingering, unhurried. His perfect plump, soft, lips against yours. Like he was tasting honey and didn’t want to waste a drop. Like the world could wait a little longer while he held your mouth on his. He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips still grazing yours, smile crooked and smug like he already missed you. That boyish glint in his eyes always made your heart stutter.

“Baby,” he said, voice lazy, undeniably loving. Your eyes flickered with hope. “You busy Friday afternoon?” Your breath caught. Friday. Your birthday. You felt your heart crack slow. Not a sharp break—but a delicate fracture, like a porcelain plate dropped on the counter. Still intact. Still beautiful. But not quite the same. You blinked once. Twice. He didn’t laugh, didn’t say only joking. Just smiled at you like it was any other week. “I’ve gotta run a few errands. Was gonna see if you’d come with, beautiful.” The disappointment settled over you like fog. Heavy. Inevitable. You nodded. Quiet.

“Yeah. Sure.” You replied softly. You didn’t want to seem dramatic. Didn’t want to be the girl who expected surprises or attention or magic. You weren’t that girl. You weren’t desperate but maybe desperation would’ve spared you the hurt you were feeling right now. So you’d waited. Silently. Hoping. Wanting him to remember you without being reminded. Trent hesitated. Just for a second. And maybe in that second, he felt guilty. He didn’t like that he could see the hurt of feeling forgotten flashing in your eyes. But not guilty enough. No. The plan had to be set in motion even if it began with hurt. 

“Alright, good.” His voice hummed like it was coming from far away. But he wouldn’t let you drift too far, he cared too much about you to do that, even for another few days. So instead, he kissed you again—deeper this time. Like he needed to seal the moment shut before the truth slipped through. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers pressing into the soft spot behind your ear, kissing you until your mind went hazy and you almost forgot the way your stomach had just dropped through your feet. You pulled away and smiled, soft and small. 

“Thank you for lunch, T.” Your voice was light, but inside you felt hollow. You slipped out of the car and onto the wet pavement, the cool air biting at your skin as you shut the door. Trent exhaled, guilt rushing back. You didn’t look back at him. Not until you heard the slow whir of the window rolling down.

“Don’t forget, beautiful,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat, voice soft but full of something else. “Friday. I’ll need you.” You looked at him. Really looked. His face was glowing in the soft grey light. His lips curled gently, soft, annoyingly kissable. Eyes a little too bright. He winked. That wink used to flip your stomach. Now it just… sank. Like your body knew something your heart didn’t want to admit. You nodded and he drove off. Taillights disappearing into the golden mist of the coming dusk. And you stood there a moment longer, on the curb, the sky stretching wide above you—two people in the same moment, the same day, the same city. But somehow, not in the same story. Not yet.

—

The gallery had the hush of someplace sacred. Early afternoon sun gently spilled in through the high, arched windows, gilding everything in liquid gold. The white walls glowed with it, kissed with amber light that shifted as shadows danced across the hardwood floors. The faintest smell of fresh-cut flowers and polish lingered in the air, mingling with something even softer—like anticipation, or hope. Campbell stood in the center of the room, holding her breath as she spun slowly in place, taking it all in. It wasn’t just a birthday surprise. It was cinematic.

Every corner of the space had been transformed. Flowers were beginning to be laid in soft, sweeping arrangements—nothing rigid or too polished. Just wild, beautiful things, white camellias, hundreds for now. Like a painting brought to life. Like the softness of you, made tangible. And then the walls. Image after image, hung with intention and reverence, curated and compiled with the help of your bestf riend and the boy who was so madly in love with you he enlisted her help. They were photos Trent had taken over the past year. Or ones others had taken of the two of you together. But mostly his. Candid shots, selfies and stolen glances, moments only someone deeply in love would notice—let alone keep. You in his hoodie, curled into the passenger seat of his car. You dancing barefoot in Delaney’s kitchen with friends. Asleep on his chest in your bed. You laughing too hard to breathe, head thrown back, eyes lit like stars.

“I’m gonna cry,” Campbell murmured, almost a giggle of disbelief, brushing a knuckle beneath her eye and pretending it was dust. Trent stood a few feet away, fidgeting with the cuff of his jumper. His stomach twisted like he’d swallowed bees. “She’s gonna love it,” she said again, firmer this time, catching his eye.

“Yeah?” He gave her a small, lopsided smile—grateful, but still wracked with nerves. Before she could answer, the door to the gallery space slid open.

“OH MY GOD.” Foster’s voice sliced through the gentle quiet like a cymbal crash.

“Jesus Christ,” Kieren muttered, visibly jolting as he spun around from his place in the corner of the room trying to work out how the lighting in the gallery should be later for you.

“T!!!” Foster squealed, her eyes wide, hands thrown up like she physically couldn’t take it. “Are you fucking serious right now?!” Trent rubbed the back of his neck, his ears going pink.

“You good?” He raised his brow mocking her overzealousness but frankly, her reaction was merited. The fact that Trent even asked for help spoke volumes. Foster ignored him completely, spinning in a slow, dramatic circle. 

“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever seen. This is like her— in gallery form. This is like cinematic universe level devotion. What the actual—”

“Alright, lads,” Leon cut in coolly as he strolled in behind her, dapping Trent and Kieren up without missing a beat. “Place looks mad.”

“It’s so good,” Campbell said, laughing as she exchanged a look with Foster—equal parts I told you so and can you believe this man?

“Alright, shhh, yeah?” Trent chuckled nervously, glancing around like the gallery owner might come back in and shoo them out for being too loud. Then Campbell froze, her gaze snagging on a particular photo as she continued to help.

“Oh… my god…” She stepped closer, reaching out like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch it. Her fingers hovered near the image hung. The photo was grainy and dark, but beautiful in that way intimacy always is. You, tangled in Trent’s lap in his cinema room. A night that had gotten away from the both of you. His shirt on you unbuttoned entirely, hair mussed, thighs bare. His hand cradling the back of your head like he was trying to memorize the way you felt in his palms. You were smiling into his skin, lips at his neck. Utterly, shamelessly in love. He took the selfie but you were too lost in the moment to notice it. Campbell’s jaw dropped. “Oh… my god.” She repeated. Trent didn’t even try to suppress the smirk blooming on his face.

“Okay, seriously, keep it hush please.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth, half-sheepish, half-smug. The people who mattered most—your people—were finally seeing it. The truth of it. The quiet, unrelenting devotion. The knowing. That he didn’t just love you—he understood you. Knew every curve of your smile, every version of your laughter. Knew the map of your skin in darkness and daylight. Foster snatched the photo from Campbell with a gasp.

“Ugh, she’s so hot. Are you joking?”  She held it up to inspect it closer. “Look at her. Look at you! You’ve got her purring in your ear don’t you, T?” She teased. The photo looked like a whole dream, your lips glossy, his dimples deep, your hand cradling his jaw like saying mine without speaking. Trent looked down, but the way his lip curled gave him away. “Lucky you, T,” Foster added, nudging him gently. He shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. 

“Dunno what you’re on about.” But he knew exactly what they were on about. It was all there, in every photo. Every frame. Every stolen moment hung on the wall like it belonged in a museum. A whole gallery of proof that he didn’t just love you—he saw you. And later, when you walked in, you’d finally see what he saw too.

“Fos, alright shhh,” Leon muttered, low and amused, tugging her gently into his chest like he could absorb her volume by osmosis. He pressed a kiss to her temple, grounding her. But Foster only wriggled out with a grin, mischief burning bright in her eyes as she snagged another photo from the display table—this one of you in Trent’s kitchen, half-wrapped around him, arms around his shoulders, hair still damp from a shower you likely took together, your cheek resting on his bare back like it was your pillow, your safe place. You looked so at home in him, like you belonged nowhere else. Foster held the print up like it was incriminating evidence. 

“Oh stop… Come on. We’re all here aren’t we? Bit obvious now they fuck.” She smirked, correct and honest. Foster to a T. Leon groaned quietly, dragging a hand over his face. She turned away from him with a wicked little look. “And you’ve been fucking.” She teased swiveling to Trent, daring him now, “You probably tell them everything she’s told us too.” Trent’s jaw ticked—amused, caught, and maybe a little flustered. He didn’t offer a rebuttal. Couldn’t. The silence was louder than anything he could say. His ears went a shade pinker again. “Mmhmm.” Foster smirked.

“Yeah?” Trent challenged softly, tilting his head toward her, eyes narrowing with fondness. “And what’s she tell you, then?” Before she could reply, Campbell chimed in from across the room, plucking a photo from the wall with delicate fingers. 

“Oh we’ve heard things.” She gave a cheeky shrug, her mouth quirked in a knowing grin. You’d share the types of things only girls told their best friends. But even so, the truth was, no one knew everything—not the late-night whispers, not the tremble in your voice when you talked about him like it hurt to hold it in. But they didn’t need to. It was written in the way you looked at each other. Blatant. Bare. Like the kind of love that made other people shift in their seats. It was making everyone sick, honestly. Sick and soft and completely obsessed. Campbell wandered back over and slipped her arm around Trent in a side hug, voice low. 

“Gonna tell her?” He didn’t look at her at first, eyes still on the print in Foster’s hand.

“She knows,” he said. Quiet but sure. Like his bones believed it. Campbell turned to look up at him. 

“Gonna tell her?” she repeated, softer this time. No teasing, no bite—just the weight of a best friend who wanted you to have the world and the man who could give it to you. Trent finally met her eyes. 

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling slowly. “I’mma tell her again.” But his gaze drifted—somewhere behind her, beyond the frames, into the unknown. Past the blooming florals and the photographs and the soft orange light that painted the walls. Past all the proof that his love had been real for a long, long time. He was scared. Scared that loving you out loud meant risking it all. That the silence you sometimes met him with was fear, not affection. That maybe you loved him too, but not in a way that stayed.

“Gonna ask her, lad?” Kieren’s voice broke the quiet. He nudged Trent’s shoulder with a sly pinch, disrupting the spiral, the doubt. Trent rolled his eyes, shaking his head like he could shake off the vulnerability, but he didn’t step away.

“I’m gonna try.” He said it low, like a promise. Like a prayer. Campbell squeezed him tighter, her warmth pressed into his side. Her hand rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him. Letting him be scared, but reminding him he wasn’t alone. The room buzzed with the hush of friends who’d seen it all, who knew the ache behind the silence, the softness behind the swagger. Who knew what it meant to love someone so much that your body felt too small to hold it. He loved you. He wanted you. Now, he just had to tell you that. And hope—God, hope—that when the door opened, you’d be ready to hear it.

—

[Fade into You - Mazzy Star]

The sky was bruised with clouds, heavy and slow, rain that came this afternoon falling in soft, delicate sighs as it painted the windows of the car. You hadn’t paid much attention to where you were going, legs curled under you, the rigid denim [ref index] pinching your skin but you didn’t care, your sandals on the floor juxtaposed by your jacket you maybe didn’t need. It was subtle, something you supposed a boy wouldn’t notice–wearing something sparkly on your birthday—and now you sort of wished you hadn’t. You pressed your cheek lazily to Trent’s shoulder, watching the city blur and weep. You’d said you’d help him run errands today—groggily agreeing with a half-hearted shrug over a phone call this morning, assuming it was something trivial, maybe trainers or food, maybe something for his brother. The morning of your birthday felt cold. No call from your friends or delivery of flowers from your mum could warm your soul up. You wanted him to know you. You just wanted him to remember you. You thought he would and yet you found yourself in his car, still cold. But then… reality came creeping in, you were somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere… wrong for errands and a warmth in your chest began to bloom. 

Your brows furrowed as you stepped out beneath Trent’s outstretched hand holding an umbrella, shielding you both from the drizzle. He still hadn’t explained a thing, only tugged you gently forward, fingers brushing yours until he properly laced your hand with his—an act that was rare since LA, since everything between you had become both closer and yet infinitely harder to name. But the warmth of it was magnetic. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. If he tried, you’d let him every time. 

The building he led you into was tucked off a small street, anonymous and whitewashed from the outside—barely even noticeable. You blinked against the sudden change in light as the door clicked shut behind you. And then…You froze. Your breath caught. Your lips parted. Your fingers slackened in his but he didn’t let go. The world had fallen away and become something else entirely.

The room was soft-lit and cavernous in the quiet way that galleries always were—white walls glowing dimly, shadows and softness dancing where light touched it. But the floor… The floor was blanketed in white camellias, hundreds—maybe thousands— like they were a part of the floorboards beneath your feet. A sea of fragile beauty, pure and calm. The scent hit you next: delicate, green, clean like tea leaves and soap and something faintly citrus. It wrapped around you like a memory. Like a hand smoothing over your skin. But it was the walls that undid you. Prints. Almost a hundred of black and white prints. Of you.

Your breath hitched. You took a step forward. Then another. Each image—hung deliberately, carefully spaced—was one you didn’t know existed. Some, maybe you remembered. The back of your head walking toward his car, a grocery bag trailing from your hand. Your bare legs tucked up on a sunlit balcony, coffee between your palms. You laughing, mouth open, head thrown back—smiling in a way you didn’t recognize, not because it was staged, but because it was real. Unaware. Unfiltered. Seen. You moved slowly, reverently. Your fingers hovering near the wall but never touching. Photos stitched into thick horizontal strips—moments strung together in time. You saw yourself sleeping in a hoodie you’d stolen from him. You saw yourself squinting in the mirror fixing your lip liner, Trent rolling his eyes at you. You saw yourself blurry and spinning in a club, your smile wild and wide. You saw yourself. The way he saw you. The girl behind the camera, now on display. Your throat burned.

"Trent," you whispered, barely audible. The sound like a prayer. Or maybe a gasp. But he didn’t speak yet. He only came up behind you, wordless, and wrapped his arms around your waist—slow and certain. His chest flush to your back, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, his scent curling into your lungs like something holy. Like rain on concrete, clean and warm and real. He let the silence hold for a moment longer, your breathing shaky against his ribs, your heart trying not to shatter from the weight of what this all meant.  His arms stayed around you like he wasn’t sure if the gravity in the room would hold you otherwise. His voice, when it came again, was low. Meant for only you.

“You’re always the one behind the camera,” he murmured, chin resting on your shoulder, his words soft like light spilling through curtains. “Always the one capturing everything and everyone else… but never really letting yourself be seen.” Your breath caught. “But I see you,” he whispered. “Lucky enough too.” His fingers gently tightened at your waist like he needed to ground you—to ground himself. “You’re in the front of every composition I carry with me. Even when you’re not in the frame… you’re there. In the way I think about light. In the way I notice beautiful things now. It’s all because of you.” You felt something in your chest ache. It was the kind of ache that came with being understood. Known. Warm. “I just wanted to try to give that back to you,” he said, voice almost breaking with how much he meant it. You turned your head slightly, just enough to feel the stubble of his jaw against your cheek. Your eyes blurred, your chest rising and falling far too fast. His next words barely a breath: “I wanted you to know you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” A pause. “And I wanted you to see it, too. See what I see when I look at you.” A pause. A heartbeat. A pulse skipping through time. Then, whispered against the shell of your ear, soft and certain: “Happy birthday, baby.” You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You ran your hands over his in a state of shock, letting the weight of love unspoken fold itself into the space between your ribcages. His arms locked tight around you as if he could hold you in this moment forever. And you? You let him. Because this wasn’t just a gallery. This was a heart—his heart—turned inside out, beating across the walls in silver and black and white. And he had given it to you.

—

You barely noticed the warmth of his chest pulling away until it was gone. Trent took a half-step back, and the absence of him made your breath catch in your throat. Like you were free-falling. Like your body didn’t know how to exist without the shelter of his. Instinctively, without thinking, your hands found his—pulling them gently back against your stomach, holding them there, holding him there, like a quiet plea. Don’t go. He looked at you then. Really looked. Something passed behind his eyes that made your skin prickle. You didn’t say a word—but he heard you all the same. There was just no way he was real. A soft, husky laugh fell from his lips, barely audible over the hum of the dim gallery.

“I still haven’t given you your presents yet,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Can I get them?” He smirked softly. 

“This is a present, Trent.” You blinked up at him, dazed. Your voice cracked on it. Quiet. Fragile. Honest. “I don’t need anything else.” His smile faltered. His expression softened into something raw and unreadable, something close to adoration but heavier somehow. Like it hurt to feel this much. But he didn’t say anything—he just leaned in and kissed your temple, then let go. He disappeared for a moment into the room, and the silence that followed made the flowers seem louder, like they were rustling secrets between their petals. When he returned, he was holding two bags. The matte black ribbons danced as he walked toward you, and you nearly laughed because of course—Chanel. He set the first bag down on the nearby bench and knelt beside it, 

“Well c’mere. Come open this f’me.” He purred and so you did. You took the box from him with trembling hands, pulling the ribbon, undoing the tissue paper, opening the dust bag in what felt like slow motion until you pulled out a black purse [ref index.] It wasn’t a purse though. Not really. It looked like a quilted camera only Lagerfeld could come up with, glinting under the soft gallery lights.  “Little on the nose but made me think of you,” he said casually, his voice low and quiet, like he didn’t want to break the magic of the moment. You stared at it, at him, and giggled—lightheaded with disbelief. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything. This…” You gestured to the room, the flowers, the photos, him. “This is everything.” But he was already reaching into the same bag again. Another box. Your breath hitched. “T… Seriously, stop.” You cautioned him. It was too much. You didn’t need another gift. And certainly not anything that came in a smaller box with the bigger price tag you knew was coming inside of it. 

“If you don’t want to open it, I’ll do it for you.” He smirked, devastatingly, lethal, and like a punch to the stomach scarily reminiscent of the way his lips curled when you first met. And yet, he wasn’t the same. Not one bit. No, because he’d opened himself up to you in a way you couldn’t have ever imagined. And he was about to do it again. He opened the box slowly. Nestled in velvet, a delicate gold and diamond Coco Crush bracelet shimmered back at you. The diamonds catching the soft light. So small. So intentional. So achingly beautiful. Tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them. You blinked, but they spilled anyway, slipping down your cheeks as you turned towards him, pouting in disbelief. You stared down at the bracelet—at the way the diamonds glimmered like they belonged against your skin, like they were always meant to catch the light there. You couldn’t speak. Not because you didn’t have words, but because you didn’t know where to begin. The ache in your chest swelled, not from sadness, but from the impossibility of it all—of being this seen, this known, this adored. Trent didn’t just get you things. He got you. He knew everything about you like it was a part of him. He noticed how you always reached for gold before silver. How you tucked your fingers under the strap of your camera bag when you were nervous. How you liked your things to be timeless but not boring.

“Thank you.” You whispered. But that didn’t feel like enough. So you said what was really sitting at the base of your throat. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do,” you whispered again, but it didn’t sound the same this time. Your voice was waterlogged, thick with disbelief and devotion and something dangerously close to forever. He knew you. And something about that knowledge—not just the gallery, not just the flowers or the photos, but this—this material echo of being paid attention to—shattered you. Tears burned again. And this time, you didn’t blink them away. Because love like this didn’t arrive with fireworks. It came quiet. It came in details. It came in the things no one else ever saw, or if they did, didn’t care to remember. But Trent had remembered. He had remembered everything. Still, Trent just looked at you like he’d been waiting for this—for you to see yourself through his eyes. And then he pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your mouth so tender it made your knees wobble. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t deepen it. He just held you there like he couldn’t stand the thought of you floating away. Like if he kissed you carefully enough, maybe you’d believe it too. Soft. Slow. A kiss that tasted like every word neither of you had said out loud. His lips pressed against yours like a promise—like he couldn’t help himself.  When he finally pulled back, your lashes fluttered open just in time to feel the brush of his lips ghosting yours, his breath warm and steady against your face. His mouth barely against yours, breath warm and steady, tethering you there.

“I’ve got one more,” he whispered, the words slipping into the space between your lips like a secret too sacred for distance.  But even if he hadn’t said a thing more, you were already undone. Because he could’ve given you nothing but this room and that kiss and you'd still be certain of it—you were completely, devastatingly in love with him. And you had been.

—

You blinked, lashes sticky with tears as Trent reached for one last box. It wasn’t as glossy as the others—no Chanel ribbon, no tissue paper rustling like music. Just a small, matte black box, inconspicuous and simple. But something in your chest tightened the moment you saw it. Like your body already knew this one would wreck you because you recognized it. You knew what store used these boxes. Your fingers trembled as you peeled the lid back, breath snagging in your throat. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, sat a perfectly refurbished vintage Polaroid camera. Ivory cream with gold-rimmed buttons and the faintest marks of time on the body—like it had lived a life before this one, but was made to end up here, in your hands. You stared at it, eyes wide and glassy.

“I know you like your film cameras,” Trent started quietly, a hint of nervousness curled into the edge of his voice. “The ones that take their time. The ones that make you wait. But…” You looked up at him, and he was scratching the back of his neck like he hadn’t fully rehearsed this part. “I thought maybe… I just liked the idea of this one, that’s all. Because it prints instantly. And I dunno,” he chuckled, sheepish now, “sometimes it feels like every second you exist is something I wanna capture and print out right then and there. So I can tuck it away in my pocket.”  Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The tears slipped down your cheek. Trent saw them and laughed—soft and shy, a little helpless. “Baby,” he said gently, stepping forward to catch one with his thumb. “Didn’t mean to make you cry so much, beautiful.”  You shook your head, unable to stop the way your mouth quivered.  “It’s just…” he trailed off, gaze flicking around the gallery like he needed it to hold him steady. “Sometimes it feels like my brain’s this room. Full of you. All these images of you, just… popping up. Everywhere.” He looked back at you, voice lower now. “So I thought maybe having them print out might be nice. So you could see what I see, like this, real time.” You were already ruined. Already folding into yourself, undone by the way he said it. So casually, so earnestly. As if it wasn’t the most devastatingly romantic thing you’d ever heard. He lifted the camera carefully from its box and turned it over in his hands, adjusting the lens, checking the light.

“Gonna let me take one of you?” He softly smirked and you shook your head reluctantly. 

“Now?” You blinked. His eyes softened. 

“Yeah. Just like this.” And even though you felt messy and fragile and far too full of feeling to be seen—you nodded. Because if it was Trent behind the lens, you’d let him see anything. You stepped back, into the sea of camellias and film, and lifted your chin. He raised the camera, and something in the air shifted. The silence wrapped around you like silk. Through the viewfinder, Trent saw you in a way no one ever had. You weren’t just pretty. You weren’t just his. You were this living, breathing paradox—delicate and strong, composed and falling apart, glowing under gallery lights like you belonged somewhere like the Louvre, not in a moment with someone like him. Your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in a shy half-smile. Your hands fidgeted at your sides. And even in the quiet, you burned. Because no one had ever turned the camera on you before. Not like this. But he had. Again and again. You had spent a life behind the lens—chronicling others, finding beauty in the unnoticed, building a career on seeing what no one else could. But now? Now someone saw you. And it was Trent. The boy you met on a thoughtless holiday. The man who had waited. The one who somehow knew exactly how to love you—not in grand declarations or perfect timing—but in attention, in meaning, in seeing. He snapped the photo. The click echoed through the room like a secret. A soft whirr.  Then, like magic, the print slid out, slow and humming with heat. Trent caught it with a little grin, but then frowned, squinting at the grayish sheet in his hand.

“Oh—shit,” he muttered, pouting. “It’s gray or something. I messed it up, didn’t I?” You giggled—soft, breathy, still teary-eyed. 

“No, baby. Perfect. Just wait…,” you whispered, stepping closer. And as you said it, Trent exhaled because he’d wait a million years for you. “Even Polaroids take a minute. Gotta be patient.” You softly spoke, taking the image from him wafting it in the air in an effort to speed up time but all you wanted to do was pause it. He looked at you then, like maybe you hadn’t just been talking about film. And then the corners of his mouth lifted, slow and adoring as he took the photo back. He watched as the image bloomed between his fingers—your smile coming into focus, the glow of you framed in a gallery of yourself, surrounded by memories he had spent months collecting, curating, cherishing. A portrait of you in your element, yet finally, for once, inside the frame.

And then he handed it to you. But as you took it, you realized— it was thicker than one photo, there were two prints so you shifted the one on top. The photo of your reflection, reframed through love moved to the side. The second wasn’t an image. It was blank, entirely white except for a handwritten note scrawled carefully across it in Trent’s unmistakable script.

You read it once. Slow. Then again. Slower. And then the breath left your lungs.

I developed feelings for you faster than any photo ever could. But I know real things take time. You taught me that—just like you taught me film does. I’ll never rush you. I’d never want to rush this. I just need you to know that I’m patient. And I’ll be patiently, desperately in love with you… probably for the rest of my life. No matter how you feel or what you decide you feel. No matter how long it could take even if you never come to find me. I’ll be there. Loving you and waiting for you. Happy Birthday, baby.

Your Trent. 

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. Your fingers shook. The tears spilled before you even realized they were coming again, warm streaks cutting down your cheeks. Something inside you cracked wide open—something soft and aching that had tried so hard to stay guarded. Before you could speak—before you could even think—he stepped forward and gathered you into his arms. He didn’t think of how you’d react. He wasn’t prepared and yet he was still strong and gentle, the way only Trent could be. 

“Shhh,” he murmured, holding you close, one hand on your back, the other threading through your hair like he’d done it a thousand times in dreams. “Don’t have to say anything.” You sobbed softly into his chest. His hoodie smelled like clean cotton and a cologne that had long since started to feel like home. He held you tighter. His own vulnerability starting to leak out. “Just…” he paused, breath catching in a way that told you this was hard for him too. “Just think about it.” He leaned back enough to look at you—eyes searching yours, shining. “We’ve got time, baby,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “You’ve got time with me… always.” And that was the thing about Trent. He never asked you to fall, but he built the safest place for you to land.

–

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, still clinging to the last note of his voice. You’ve got time with me… always. Your fingers tightened just slightly over the fabric of his hoodie. His heartbeat was a steady thrum beneath your palms. Like he was reminding you he was here. Still here. Still yours, if you wanted him. The words sat behind your ribs, soft and pulsing like light through sheer fabric. But your body knew what to do—what it had always done with him. You looked up. Still trembling. Still clutching the two Polaroids like they were evidence of something you couldn’t name—but felt in every bone of your body. He was so close now. So warm. So real. His hands hadn’t left you, and yours hadn’t let go either. Your lashes fluttered. A tear caught on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t wipe it away. Neither did he. His lashes were damp. Whether from the rain or something else, you couldn’t tell. He was close enough that you could count the freckles dusting under his eye. Close enough to see the pulse ticking faintly in his neck. Close enough to fall, if you hadn’t already. And then—slowly—you lifted your hand to his jaw. Your thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, soft and trembling. A reverent kind of touch. The kind that says I see you. I know you. I’ve always loved you, I think. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let you study him, like you were the one holding the camera now—framing him in your mind’s eye, etching this version of him into memory: eyes full of hope, a little heartbreak, and every quiet promise a heart can make. And then, with a breath that sounded almost like a prayer, you kissed him, slowly, so slowly, your lips grazed his. Barely a whisper of contact. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a surrender. And it broke him.

You tilted your head and pressed your lips to his like it was the only way to say everything you never could out loud. It was soft, at first. Barely there. But he understood. His hands came to your waist. Yours slid into his hair. And the kiss deepened, not with urgency, but with knowing—like you’d both finally arrived at the truth you’d been circling. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours between breaths. His nose brushed yours. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a year. Like every second since LA, he’d been praying for this moment without ever daring to believe it would come. His hand came up to your face, fingers feather-light at your jaw, thumb catching the tear that had spilled but hadn’t fallen. His eyes never left yours. Not even when his mouth finally—finally—met yours in full. It was so gentle. So reverent. Like he was kissing you in prayer. Like your mouth was something sacred. You melted into it, melted into him, into the warm press of his chest, the protective cradle of his arms, the soft groan he gave when your fingers fisted in the back of his shirt like you needed him to stay anchored to you forever. He didn’t rush it. Because this wasn’t about hunger. It wasn’t about want. It was about love. And Trent Alexander-Arnold kissed you like a man who had fallen quietly, fully, and undeniably in love. The kind that lingers. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything in return, but hopes. When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. Just rested his forehead against yours again, eyes shut, both of you breathing like you’d survived something. Maybe you had. Maybe he didn’t. You didn’t say anything. The kiss had spoken for you. And in the hush of that gallery—surrounded by white camellias, memories printed in silver halide and heartache, soft light spilling in from the overcast sky—it was enough. You were enough. And he was still holding you like he always would be.

—

You stayed like that for a while. His arms wrapped around you. Your hands tangled in the cotton at the base of his neck. The kiss still blooming between your mouths like something sacred. Something neither of you wanted to disturb. But eventually, reality crept in—the kind that doesn't slam, but taps. The kind that reminds you how fragile it is to feel this much. You pulled back just an inch. His face stayed close. Still searching. Still open. And your lips parted, trembling slightly with the weight of something trying to escape.

 “I…” your voice cracked on the vowel, barely audible. You blinked hard.  “I—” again, softer. Helpless. His brows knit, worry folding across his forehead. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t rush you. “I’m scared,” you breathed. The words slipped out like confession, like surrender. “I’m so scared, Trent.” It wasn’t fair—the way his expression fractured. His entire face falling into something so visibly gutted, it felt like the floor cracked beneath you. Like your fear had hurt him more than silence ever could. His throat bobbed. His hands didn’t leave your body. But he was still. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, anything—but he didn’t. And you couldn’t take it. Couldn’t bear the pain you saw in the softness of his eyes. So you leaned forward again, holding his face between your palms, and pressed your forehead to his. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice already wet with tears. “Thank you, baby.” And that wrecked him. His eyes squeezed shut. His shoulders curled toward you like you were gravity and sanctuary all at once. Like your thank you had sealed something inside him that had been breaking open for too long. He didn’t kiss you again right away. He just held you tighter, like your body could hear the words he still couldn’t speak. Like his touch could tell you what his heart had been screaming for months: That he loved you more than anything. That he would wait forever. That even if your fear never left, he never would either.

“I’m here,” he murmured eventually, voice cracked and low against your temple. “No matter what, I’m here.” And for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe it. The rain kept falling outside. The lights dimmed to gold. And in the gallery filled with memories of you, you let him make another one—this one quiet and unfolding and true.

—

The car ride was gentle. Trent had his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing in slow, lazy arcs across your jeans, but he was quiet. Thoughtful. Like he was trying to tuck his heart back into his chest before you noticed it had fallen out entirely. He told you you didn’t have to say anything but he wished you did. He wanted you to. He prayed you would. He gave you everything. He gave you himself and still those words he wanted so badly didn’t come from your lips. You leaned into the silence, your head resting against the window, the sky still swollen with rainclouds and streaks of fading sun. Everything glowed in that melancholic blur that follows crying—the world looking softer, more vulnerable, like you. When you arrived at Leon and Foster’s, the door flew open with warmth. Music spilled into the driveway. So did laughter, a blur of hugs and excitment.

“Happy Birthday, babe!!” Campbell was already dragging you inside with a glass of champagne that had a little pink bow tied to the stem. It should’ve felt perfect. And in some ways, it did. The house smelled like vanilla and candle wax and fresh flowers. Foster had cooked her famous lemon garlic pasta. There were balloons strung across the dining room with polaroids of you and your friends clipped to a ribbon between them. 

“Birthday girl!” Leon came over, arms wide and dimple deep as he kissed your cheek and shouted. But underneath the laughter, something lingered. A thrum just beneath your skin. Trent stayed close the whole time. His touch never far—brushing your waist as he passed behind you, refilling your drink without asking, his hand warm on the small of your back when someone got too close. And when Campbell turned the lights low and called everyone into the kitchen for cake, he pulled you back against him with a low murmur of your name.

You tried to laugh, the sound came out it did—giddy with champagne and all the love in the room—as they carried out the cake but in a way it hurt. A soft chocolate sponge with whipped icing, a single sparkler flaring on top and golden candles flickering beneath. And Trent was behind you. Chest to your back. One arm slid low around your waist, the other braced on the countertop beside you, caging you in like instinct. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he didn’t want to let go—not even for this. Not even if you didn’t love him back.  You felt his breath on your shoulder. Quiet. Heavy. The kind of exhale that carries more than air. Everyone sang. You smiled so hard it almost hurt, cheeks flushed and heart fluttering—but it was there. That ache. That hum in your bones that something was missing, even as you were surrounded by everything. You closed your eyes. Took a breath. Made a wish. And as you blew out the candles, Trent did too—behind you, unseen. His chest rising with yours, his breath leaving him slow and almost trembling.

He didn’t say what he wished for. He never would. But he didn’t need to. Because as the candlelight snuffed out and the kitchen burst into cheers, he looked at the back of your head with the kind of ache that only love can create. He wished for you to love him someday. And even if you never did—not the way he loved you—he’d still be here. Still close. Maybe still wishing.

—

[Party 4 U - Charli XCX]

Campbell had waited all night for a quiet second with him. The moment she saw Trent alone, rinsing a glass under the kitchen tap like he needed something to focus on besides the heaviness in his own chest, she tugged him by the wrist down the hallway.

“Okay, okay—but wait,” Campbell hissed, grabbing Trent’s wrist with a bounce in her step, her glossy lip gloss catching the twinkle lights overhead. “You have to tell me what she said. About the gallery. About the flowers. About the bracelet, Trent, please.” She practically dragged him through the hallway, giddy and glowing, already preparing her emotional reaction like she hadn’t cried three times setting up the exhibit with him. Her voice was all sparkle and hope, eyes shining with the glow of someone who believed in grand gestures and earned love. She’d helped him plan it for weeks, seen the way his hands shook opening the box of prints, how he ran his thumb over the bracelet like it was too delicate to touch. She knew how much he cared. How deeply he wanted you to feel seen. But when Trent turned, his expression didn’t match hers. His lips were tight. Pained. Like they were trying to survive having touched yours. So when he didn’t smile back— When his lips didn’t quirk, didn’t even twitch— So un-Trent. Campbell’s heart and stomach dropped. “What?” she whispered, the light dimming in her eyes. He shrugged. A slow, defeated little rise and fall of his shoulders that felt like watching a tide go out for the last time.

“It didn’t happen, Cam.” Trent looked at her like he’d lost something. No, someone. His voice was soft. Almost apologetic. “It just didn’t happen.”

“What do you mean it didn’t happen? You didn’t say—?” Her brow knit. 

“I said it,” Trent said softly. “I just… I don’t think she feels that way. I misread the whole thing. She doesn’t want it. And I wasn’t gonna ask her to be something she doesn’t want after that.” His voice was raw. Like he’d scraped it across gravel just to get the words out. It shattered something in Campbell.

“T, come on.” She blinked. 

“I said it.” He swallowed, eyes fixed somewhere just past her. “Told her I loved her. Meant every word of it.”

“Okay…” Campbell’s chest was tight now, a slow pressure building like rising water.

“She didn’t say it back.” The silence that followed felt louder than the party still humming down the hall.

“No,” she said too fast, shaking her head. “No, Trent, she—she does. You know she does.”

“Cam.” He gave her a look—tired, a little broken. “Please don’t. Don’t try to convince me.”

“I’m not—I’m not convincing anyone. I just—she probably just got scared, you know? She’s just—” She panicked, heartbroken, confused, unable to articulate something that made no sense. 

“She shouldn’t need to be convinced to love me,” he said, gentle but resolute. “That’s not how it should work.” Campbell stared at him, her jaw slack with disbelief. 

“Trent… no. She does—she just—she probably froze. You know how she gets when she’s scared.” He shook his head, gently, like the movement itself hurt.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. “Don’t try to explain it away. Don’t make it easier for me.”

“Then let me talk to her.” She offered. 

“I don’t want you to.” He looked her in the eye for the first time. “I love her. She doesn’t love me. No one should have to be convinced to love me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Campbell winced. 

“I know,” he murmured. “But it’s how it feels.” His throat worked as he swallowed again, emotion lodged like gravel. “She doesn’t owe me anything,” he added, voice barely audible over the bass down the hall. “I just needed her to know. And now she does. It’s not her problem.”

“Yeah but you’re still in love with her though.” Trent gave a short breath of a laugh. 

“My heart’s hers, Cam. Whether she wants it or not. She knows that… but it wasn’t enough. The gallery. The gifts. The words. The kisses. Me.” She felt sick. Sick for him. For you. For the night that should’ve ended in joy but now glinted like broken glass in the dim. Campbell’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Trent looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter. I meant what I said. My feelings aren’t going anywhere. She doesn’t have to love me back. It’s not her fault. My heart’s hers either way.” And that was it. He walked away, and Campbell stood frozen, her own throat tightening. And then, just like that, the hallway disappeared. The music surged back to life, voices rose in chorus, the pulse of the party beating against the bones of the house. People laughed and swayed and toasted into the night like nothing had cracked open in the quietest corridor. But Campbell saw everything. She watched as Trent leaned against the kitchen island, one hand braced as if to keep himself from falling, shoulder slumped, gaze pulled magnetically to where you stood across the room in a pool of warm light. You were radiant—bathed in candle glow and soft laughter, wine glass in hand, your smile blooming wide at something Delaney said. Trent stared like he’d never seen something so painful and beautiful in his life. He smiled hearing you. It was quiet and pained—barely-there—but it was real. He looked like someone who’d been punched in the chest and asked for another. 

You turned slightly, catching him watching, and he straightened like he hadn’t been caught. You didn’t say anything. But then you moved closer. You slid between him and the counter, his hands instinctively landing at your hips—like he didn’t need permission. Like muscle memory. Like the place he was always supposed to be. Glasses clinked. Laughter roared from the other room, but everything slowed—like a movie reel skipping frames—as Campbell followed the flicker of you and him through the crowd.  You reached behind him, dipped your pinky finger in the frosting on the cake still resting nearby, and smudged it on the tip of his nose with a smirk. His lashes fluttered, mouth twitching into the faintest smile.  And when you softly giggled, carefree and melodic— Trent blinked. He closed his eyes tighter this time. Just for a heartbeat. You laughed and it hurt. But he’d pretend he was breaking inside for you.  Because even the sound of your laughter was enough to bring him to his knees. Just for a heartbeat. Just to feel what it was like to stand inside the sound of your happiness. Even if it wasn’t love. 

—

Later, when the party mellowed into golden haze, you found your way to him again. Settling into the space of his body like you were made for it. Your knees slung over his lap, head tucked beneath his chin, your hand curled around the fabric of his shirt like a tether like the most natural thing in the world listening to Leon and Foster tell a story simultaneously, cutting each other off with eagerness and laughter. And Trent held you close, fingers drawing shapes along your arm. From far away, it looked perfect… It looked like love. But Campbell saw it. Saw him blink a few times too hard. Saw the way his hand faltered for half a second on your shoulder. She followed the flick of his gaze to the edge of the counter, where your bag sat open and the corner of a polaroid peeked out—his handwriting barely visible in the low light. How he held you like he’d already lost you. How he never stopped looking at you like you were celestial—like your very existence hurt and healed him at once. He hadn’t stopped looking at you all night. Hadn’t stopped loving you since he met you. Like you were the moon and he was just a boy on earth, aching to understand how something so far away could still pull his whole tide. And as the party carried on—people dancing, drinking, slipping into that glittery blur of celebration—Campbell watched a boy bleed quietly in a room filled with candles and cake and the girl he’d never stop waiting to love him back.

—

The night had turned syrupy and slow, humming with the kind of warmth only good friends and red wine could summon. Laughter lilted low from the other room, blurred with the soft echo of music and the occasional clink of a glass. Your limbs were loose, your heart full—buzzing with the love that surrounded you, but aching quietly with the one you hadn’t let yourself say. Trent. Your Trent. You could feel him like gravity all night. Always in your periphery. Always nearby, and still—somehow—not close enough. And maybe it wasn’t fair. He’d done so much. Given so much. That gallery. The photos. The note he’d handwritten, more vulnerable than anything he’d ever said out loud. He’d told you he loved you. And you hadn’t said it back.

But the ache of that moment, the tremble it left in your chest, was beginning to dissolve in the heat of wine and the softness of celebration. You were full of sugar and nostalgia, of the sweetness of candles and cake—but more than anything, you were filled with need. The kind that pulled your body forward before your mind had caught up. You found him mid-conversation, half-laughing with Kieren, that same low-lidded grin he always wore when he was a few drinks in. His head tipped back, smile lazy, bicep flexing where he gripped a glass. You reached for that arm without thinking, curling your fingers gently around it.

“Can you come with me?” you whispered, voice soft and shy but lit with something slow-burning. Trent turned to you instantly, smile melting into something far softer, far more undone. He didn’t answer, just nodded once, setting the glass down and following you without a word. Not even a glance back to Kieren.

“You alright, birthday girl?” he asked, voice lower now—cooing, intimate. Charming even when he was breaking.  You turned as you walked backwards, hands still wrapped in his. 

“Mhm,” you murmured, biting your lip, unable to look at him too long without your stomach twisting. There it was. That flare of something too close to love in your eyes. And Trent saw it. God, he felt it. He followed you into the next room—one of the guest bedrooms left untouched by the party. The door clicked shut behind him with a low finality, muting the world in one soft swoop. And then it was just you. You, standing inches away. Your eyes wide, glazed with wine and something else—something real. You stepped closer, your hands finding the edge of his shirt, smoothing it down like you needed the contact to steady your nerves.

“Thank you for tonight,” you whispered, voice velvet.

“’Course, beautiful.” Trent smiled, lazy and wrecked by the sight of you. Like he didn’t even care you hurt him if it meant he got you alone. Like he was lucky to be the one you were breaking. His hands found your hips like they always did, like they were made for it. He tugged you flush against him, his palms warm and large as they settled, anchoring you to him. But his chest was beating fast. You felt it. You felt everything.

“Can I have one more birthday present?” you asked suddenly, your breath catching just slightly at the end. Greedy. Unfair and greedy. Trent’s eyes flickered down to your lips. His grip tightened.

“Anything you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice a rough prayer. His thumbs brushed slow over the curve of your ass, his whole body aching, desperate. In his mind, he was screaming. Please say you love me. Please say it back. You swallowed hard.

“Can I have another kiss?” Your voice was barely a sound, your request so tender it felt like it would break in the air if he didn’t catch it fast enough. “Just for my birthday,” you added quickly, cheeks flushing. You were scared he’d say no. Scared he’d finally stop giving and start protecting his own heart. Trent stilled. His hand slid up, gentle, holding your neck with a reverence that made your knees weak. Who was he to deprive you, deprive himself. His forehead met yours, breath brushing over your lips, his eyes heavy with a thousand things unsaid.

“For your birthday…” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “For you… forever, baby.” And then he kissed you. Slow. Devastating. Sacred. His mouth moved over yours with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache—like he was spelling I love you with every pass of his lips, like he was trying to breathe the words into your skin. You whimpered softly into him, arms winding around his neck as your body melted, your hands grabbing at his curls, his shirt, anything to bring him closer. You kissed like you needed him to keep you from falling apart. He kissed like he’d been holding this in for years. It was messy and perfect, too much and not enough. The kind of kiss that made time irrelevant. That turned the air to gold. That whispered I love you even when you still weren’t ready to say it. But your body told the truth. Your mouth did. And Trent felt you unraveling for him. Because of him. With him. And he let you. Even if it wasn’t the words he was waiting for.

The kiss deepened, slow and hungry, like you’d both been starving for each other in silence. Trent’s hands slid up beneath the hem of your top, splaying across your bare back like he needed to memorize every inch of you—like he’d forget how to breathe if he didn’t touch skin. And you let him. Let him press you close, let him taste the truth from your mouth because even if your lips wouldn’t say I love you, they sure as hell felt like they did. You kissed him like he was home. You kissed him like you’d never been kissed by anyone else. Like the past didn’t exist and the fear that’d been holding you back was folding into this moment, this reckless, raw need to just feel something true. Trent groaned softly into your mouth, thumb tracing slow along your spine. He was pouring himself into it. Every ounce of love. Every second of missing you. Every imagined future he kept tucked behind his ribs. And you could feel it. He kissed you like he loved you. And you kissed him right back like you loved him too. Because you did. You did. But the words— They wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t they fucking come out? They caught in your throat like a scream. Trapped and trembling and terrified. Because saying them meant changing everything. Meant trusting that if you gave him your heart, he wouldn’t run. That he wouldn’t break it. That maybe you wouldn’t. So instead, you kissed him harder. Clutched at him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his tee. Your mouths moved like they were trying to speak in touches, in sighs, in the slide of lips and breathless gasps. You didn’t realize the tear had fallen until it slid warm and slow down your cheek. Until Trent pulled back just enough to see it. His brows furrowed. A soft, broken sound left his throat—like something inside him cracked.

“Baby…” he whispered, voice wrecked and shaking. His thumb brushed the tear away so gently it made your heart ache. You gasped—just slightly—your breath hitching as your chest caved in on itself. You could feel it. You were hurting him. The silence between your kiss and your truth was killing him inch by inch. “Please, baby…” he said again, barely a sound, like it cost him something just to say it. And you knew what he meant. Please don’t cry. Please tell me I’m not alone in this. Please say it back. Please love me. But you didn’t. You just surged forward again, mouth colliding with his in a desperate blur, needing to feel the thing you couldn’t say. Needing him close because close was safer than honesty. He kissed you back instantly, hands fierce and trembling, dragging your body into his like he wanted to disappear inside you. Like maybe if he held you hard enough, the words might come. That maybe your love would spill out without you even realizing. But it didn’t. Only the kiss. Only this. And it was beautiful. It was bruising. It was everything. But the silence? The silence was killing him. 

—

The bedroom was dim, golden light seeping through gauzy curtains, the music from the other room a muffled pulse behind thick walls. It smelled like something sweet, something warm. A contrast to the party outside, which pulsed with bodies and bass and artificial joy. Here, it was just the two of you. You were warm with champagne and attention, cheeks flushed from being celebrated, but none of it touched the place inside you that only he could reach. Trent kissed you like he always did—like he knew you down to the marrow. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth again, just in case it was the last time. Your hands were in his curls, his were anchored on your hips, and every slow press of his lips said what you both kept swallowing.  Slow. Searching. Starving. It was your birthday. But it felt like he was the one falling apart from it. You wouldn’t say it. And that’s what broke him. Because he did love you. Had for ages. Loved you through silence, through anger, through touch. And still—still—you wouldn’t let the words out. Wouldn’t free him.  His mouth moved against yours with the reverence of someone memorizing the taste of something he thought he might never get again. And maybe he wouldn’t. That was the cruelty of it—you, so close, pressed into every inch of him, and still somehow miles away. And Trent could feel it—fuck, he could feel it. In the way you clung to him like you were afraid to fall, but wouldn’t say why. In the way your hands were trembling where they rested at his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheeks, tender like you loved him—but never saying it. His heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Because every kiss from you felt like a promise, but every silence was a betrayal. He couldn’t do it. Not tonight. Not when he knew—knew—that he’d give you every part of himself and you’d still be holding something back. He pulled away. Not far, just enough for the air to stretch thin between you. His lips were parted, raw, kiss-bitten. His eyes full of something he hadn’t let you see before—hurt. Real, sharp, undiluted. His breath shaky, like the distance physically hurt. You leaned into him like a reflex, nuzzling into the curve of his neck like you hadn’t even noticed he’d retreated. And that hurt worse. That you didn’t feel the shift, soft and thoughtless and it made his heart ache sharper but you had. 

“Come on, birthday girl…” he tried, voice barely steady. “Gotta get you back.”  He made it sound teasing. He tried for cheeky. Tried to be the version of himself you liked best—easy, light, charming. But his voice cracked halfway through, and his hands—traitorous hands—were already sliding up your spine like they missed you. Your nose skimmed the sensitive skin beneath his ear, your breath warm there, making his eyelids flutter shut.

“MmNm,” you hummed into him, drunk on closeness. He hated how much he loved the way you said no. How you always said it like yes. Your nose buried in the warm column of his throat. You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to be seen by anyone but him. Didn’t want to be reminded that the rest of the world still existed when this was happening. Whatever this was.

“They wanna see you.” His voice was hoarse, weighted, control unraveling by the second. His arms had gone soft around you again, unwilling to let go. “Can’t keep you all to myself.” God, how he wanted to though.His fingers were curling at your waist again, pulling you in, palms splayed wide like he wanted to hold all of you at once. 

“I just wanna see you though,” you whispered, pulling back, just enough to look at him. The shift was seismic. 

A thud—silent but heavy—landed in the room between you. It was the weight of everything unspoken. Of your eyes meeting his and holding, glassy with unshed meaning. Of all the things you wouldn’t say but he could feel blooming between your ribs.His jaw ticked. His eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with effort. With restraint. Willing himself not to give in to the hope that shimmered in your gaze. Why couldn’t you just say it? Why couldn’t you love him out loud? Still… still… he softened. Trent’s breath stilled. Your eyes—wide, glassy, smudged with makeup and meaning—were staring straight into his. There was so much in them. All that unspoken affection and fear and longing. It hit him in the chest like a punch. You weren’t trying to hurt him. But you were. Because he could see it—right there—and still held back. You were holding it hostage behind your teeth. He tried not to show how badly it broke him. His eyes narrowed slightly, jaw clenched—not with anger, but with effort. With restraint. Willing himself not to give in to the hope that shimmered in your gaze. A quiet fight. Heart vs. pride.

“You’ll see me,” he managed, voice softer now, sadder. “I’ll be right there. Keep my eyes on you the whole time.” Your fingertips trailed up his chest, slow and deliberate. You leaned in again, brushing your body against his, voice a whisper of silk and smoke. It wasn’t fair. Using physicality to mask something so emotional. 

“And your hands?” you asked, laced in velvet and sin.  He exhaled hard, breath catching on a groan and a grin.

“Yeah… can do that too.” His hands found the small of your back. Warm, familiar. Home. Greedy in his own right. “How about I keep ’em right here?”

“Lower,” you whispered, and your eyes were liquid now. All innocence and desire and heartbreak. You said it like it hurt to ask, breathless, eyes wide and pleading like it hurt you not to be touched the way you needed. He stared at you, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parted, utterly undone. 

“Little lower, huh?” You didn’t wait. You moved his hands yourself, dragging them down until they cupped your ass. His fingers flexed instinctively. You could feel how hard he was against you. How much he still wanted you. Despite everything.

“T…” you whispered, like you were asking for something and apologizing for it all at once.

“Mm.” His eyes fluttered closed. A tremor ran through him.

“When the party’s over…” Your voice cracked. You were shaking, just slightly. “I want to tell you something.” you whispered, and the way you said it—it didn’t sound casual. It sounded like you were about to change the weather in his chest. The room went still. Trent’s eyes snapped open, searching yours. His hands on your body stilled, his heart stopped. The possibility of it—the thing he had dreamed about, begged for in silence—hovered between you, terrifying and magnetic. He didn’t say anything but his heart slammed into his ribs. He just held you tighter. God, please. Like maybe this time, you’d be real. “And after…” your voice was thinner now, tremulous, “I want you to lay me down. I want you to take off all my clothes. I want you to do whatever you want.” Your lips brushed his with the lightest tease. Not a kiss. A promise. A prayer. He nearly crumbled. Trent’s hands tightened on you. His breath hitched. Jesus Christ.

“Sure it’s not my birthday?” he rasped, voice breaking on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A boyish lilt, one last defense before he caved completely. You shook your head, so slowly. His hands tightened where they rested. Possessive. Careful. He didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do here. Lead with his heart, and risk it shattering again? Or stay quiet and let this moment pass him by?

“Alright… Whatever you wish for,” he said, the words a benediction against your lips.

“Need,” you breathed, correcting him, eyes so full of him it made his knees weak. His smirk faltered, jaw tensing, reverence sliding in. 

“Yeah… you need me.” He doubled down because no matter how much it hurt inside his chest, outside his body was purring for yours. 

“Need you,” you whispered an echo. This time when you kissed him, it was trembling, soft but urgent, like you were begging him not to give up on you before you were brave enough to give him everything.  And he kissed you back like a dying man taking one last breath. Because maybe—just maybe—after the party, you’d finally say it. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to bring him back to life. He didn’t know whether to let go or hold on for dear life. Because somewhere between love and lust and longing, he was losing his grip—and all you had to offer him was a maybe.

—-

[Answering Machine - Ruby Haunt]

The party didn’t end all at once. It leaked, like something punctured. Like a slow deflation. One by one, the bodies slipped out of the house in a trail of perfume and aftershave and laughter grown too tired to last. The music was still playing—muffled now, barely there, more background than beat. Empty glasses littered the countertops, glitter stuck to the tiles. The house had the scent of friends and champagne and over-perfumed hugs goodbye. And with every guest that left, it was like the air changed. The silence crept in like a tide. And with it… the words. Those words. They crept up the back of your throat, tentative and heavy, sticky with fear. Each footstep toward the door—each final wave, each echo of ‘happy birthday’ slurred with Moët—seemed to carve the path clearer.

Campbell was on the couch, curled beneath a throw blanket, watching it all unfold with a look that could only be described as exhausted dread. Like she was witnessing the tail-end of a love story she knew was either about to blossom or explode. Her eyes flicked between you and Trent as he trailed behind you like a shadow, soft and loyal and helpless. And she knew—she knew—that this was gonna end in tears no matter how good it felt in the moment, she just wasn’t sure who’s they’d be. You glanced at her. She raised her brows. You looked away. Back to him. He was slouched in the doorway now, shirt wrinkled, smile a little messier than the beginning of the night. Eyes never leaving you as promised. The soft amber light from the kitchen hit the sharp edges of his cheekbones and made him look too beautiful to be real. And maybe that was the whole problem. Because Trent looked at you like you were already his. And you knew you’d never stop wanting him. But wanting wasn’t the same as saying it. Not when love meant ruin. Not when love meant no take-backs.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, voice coarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. You nodded. Didn’t move. He pushed off the doorway, came to stand in front of you. The energy between you pulled taut like thread. His body grazed yours. You exhaled.  You pressed your palm to his chest and felt the thud of his heart—fast, unsteady, too big for his body. 

“Can I still sleep with you?”  The words came out trembling. A question soaked in guilt and need. Your voice was soft, scared. Begging for him to not make you do this. You tried to convince yourself you wanted him to reject you so you didn’t have to confront your fears but Trent didn’t want that. He wanted this and he knew you did too. So he exhaled looking down at you, startled by the simplicity of it. By the sadness tucked into the way you phrased it like a question. Like you didn’t know if you’d crossed the line. Like touching him meant something else now—something more dangerous.

“Baby, you know I’ll never say no to you.” His answer was breathless. Immediate. That was the problem. You both knew it. His lips twitched at the corner, not quite a smile, but something softer. His eyes flicked across your face, studying you like he could read the confession on your skin before you ever spoke it aloud. Campbell sat up behind you. Her expression was tight. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. You could feel her thoughts echoing in your chest like a second heartbeat.

Say it. Or let him go.

But you didn’t say it. Not yet. Instead, you let Trent take your hand. You let him lead you upstairs. The hallway was quieter than it had any right to be. Your fingers intertwined, warm and steady, and he didn’t speak—just kept glancing over at you like he was waiting for you to speak first. You passed Kieren asleep on the sofa, Leon and Foster curled together on a chair for one, Delaney’s heels kicked off in the hallway. And when he finally opened a bedroom door, the air inside was cooler than before. Quieter. Like even the walls knew what was coming. He let go of your hand only to touch your back, gently guiding you in. Then the door shut behind you with a softness that betrayed the weight of what was about to happen. That borrowed room felt like limbo. Not yours. Not his. A purgatory made of crisp sheets and white walls that didn’t hold your history. A single bedside lamp cast a golden glow, too warm and too cruel—highlighting your faces like a painting neither of you felt brave enough to finish. You turned. Your chest rose and fell too fast. He didn’t touch you. He waited. Waited for you to speak. Waited for the slow leak to finally rupture. Waited for the thing he knew he wanted to hear, but his pride wouldn’t dare let him beg for.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 19 - Still

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[hom3landr]

First I just wanted to say please take your time whether it’s writing the next chapter or dealing with mental health just please take your time. Baby steps! Anyway I had a little baker verse idea! She is teaching Ryan how to make chocolate chip cookies so they get to know each other and hang out meanwhile Homelander comes home from a meeting and walks in on them and is just so happy to see his son and his girlfriend getting along!❤️

Hello! Thank you so much for the request. I did tweak it just a bit but I hope the spirit of the ask remains in the final product.

Gingersnap

Homelander learns the importance of patience as Ryan learns a new recipe

Homelander leans against the entryway to the kitchen, a fond sincere smile lighting up his face. His son and his love are bathed in the golden light of the sun coming in through the kitchen window. The grin on Ryan’s face is just as bright even through the slight shyness that he carries around you. You’re rifling through the cabinets as you set ingredients down on the counter haphazardly.

He’d begun introducing Ryan to you slowly. He was perfectly happy to speed up the process but you’d insisted on being patient. You didn’t want to overwhelm Ryan and you were annoyingly insistent about respecting Becca’s boundaries. He’d snapped at Becca once and the look you gave him was so stormy that he hadn’t dared try again. The shock of it amidst all of your normal sweetness was enough to keep him in line. Mostly at least, you still had to deal with some grumbling. After lots of discussion, a tentative schedule was made and you introduced your presence into their lives. You fit in remarkably well.

“What kind of cookies would you like to make?” You ask breezily as you sweep around the kitchen like a whirlwind. Ryan seems a bit dazed by all the activity, excited but still becoming accustomed to the energy of a new person inside his home.

“I like chocolate chip! My mom makes them for me sometimes.” He looks over to where his mother is sitting at the table. She’s flipping through a magazine and she returns Ryan’s grin softly. She still doesn’t trust the situation fully, but she’s more at ease when you join Homelander for his visits.

“Oh no. I can’t compete with mom’s recipe. I’m a smart woman, I know when I’m beat.” You shoot Becca a wink. She doesn’t return it but she smiles.

Ryan giggles.

Homelander wants to intervene and reveal himself. He hasn’t been noticed by the happy scene yet. He’d only just returned from a quick meeting. But another part of him is happy to observe the peaceful scene. It warms a part of him he’s not sure has ever been warmed before, at least not like this.

His family

“How about some gingersnaps?” You ask Ryan, who looks at you quizzically.

“I’ve never had a gingersnap.” He replies and you clap your hands together with joy. There’s nothing you enjoy more than baking something new with someone. You told him once that there is something so pure about an honest first reaction. It’s a brief glimpse of something elusive, something no one else will be able to see again. You don’t even mind if it isn’t positive. It’s the experience that matters to you. He doesn’t quite understand how you let disappointment roll right off of you. Authenticity doesn’t seem worth the risk of rejection, even if it’s something as small as a baked good.

“Never had a ginger snap?!? Well it is your lucky day!” You reach out to give Ryan’s shoulders a friendly shake before separating out the dry and wet ingredients into little piles. He joins you eagerly and it doesn’t take long before you playfully dust him with a bit of flour. He retaliates by flicking you with sugar but before the two of you can devolve into a full food fight, you remember that it isn’t your kitchen to clean up. Homelander knows from experience that you aren’t afraid to get messy in your own space. He has a cookie dough stained cape to prove it, he keeps it folded up safely in his closet.

Homelander wants to clear his throat. He wants to step in and insert himself, let the domesticity wash over him. But he doesn't, he just watches. For once, he’s content.

[muisley]

What are your thoughts on other otacon ships?

truthfully i'm a big pliskin x otacon truther they had crazy chemistry like whatever happened to that guy...?

my more serious answer is very long winded, sorry, anyway:

when i think about otacon’s possible (romantic) ships, ex. sniper wolf and naomi, they don’t feel like genuine love to me. they read more like emotional projection to me. given his specific background of abuse and neglect, it makes sense that he struggles with forming healthy and reciprocal attachments. people who grow up with that sort of trauma, often, grow up mistaking attention for affection, when not processing that trauma, and clinging to any form of warmth as a survival instinct. it’s not about connection: it’s about filling a void.

he meets both of them, when otacon is at his lowest; isolated and desperate. and in that state, he doesn’t fall for the person as they are, but for what they represent, it's a coping mechanism. his feelings are only real in the sense that his pain is real, but they’re rooted in loneliness. he only sees an idealised version of them, not their true selves. meanwhile neither naomi/sniper wolf truly see him either.

naomi exploits his desperation to break snake (beefing with kojima for this forever): manipulating him and encouraging him to change parts of himself (glasses). sw never showed interest in him at all. they were one-sided emotional lifelines he clung to when he had nothing else.

that’s why his relationship with Snake feels so different AND so much more compelling to me. there’s mutual respect, understanding and trust. they don’t have to perform or change to be accepted. they see each other fully (flaws, trauma and baggage). they've been through so much together and still choose to stay by each other’s side until the end, because they genuinely care. they bring out the best in each other. for both, it's their first relationship that isn’t about coping or survival. it's mutual. it’s about learning to be loved and be changed by each other. and, as a result, they end up breaking the cycle of grief that their lineage gave them, etc. fulfilling the boss' legacy. crazy stuff. it's real love, baby!

not sure if that even answers the question you were asking, i'm sorry if it did not, i went off in a tangent here.........