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caxasy · 2 days ago

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older bf!caleb who loves pampering you every change he gets, wanting to spoil you rotten. he does this through many gestures, anything to prove to you that he is willing to give you anything you could ever want.

this can look like him paying for a lot of your dates together. he absolutely detests the idea that you should ever put your card down for anything in his presence. he thinks its an insult to his capabilities of financially supporting you. another thing that he loves doing as an act of affection is cooking for you. takes it incredibly seriously and expects you to tell him whenever you’re hungry so he can prepare food for you.

i think the main difference between the headcanon of older bf caleb and younger bf caleb is that older bf caleb takes a lot more initiative in taking care of you, whereas younger caleb will still take care of you, duh, but also indulges a lot in you pampering him.

older bf!caleb has none of that around here. he wants to be that pillar of support you can always rely on. kind of unhealthy of him, to refuse to be the one taken care of unless you seriously force him to be, but when was caleb ever healthy in his relationship dynamics lets bffr (i love him to death guysplease)

since older bf!caleb does take spoiling you so seriously though that means that there is no room for anyone else in your life to do the same tings for you. he strictly forbids anyone else to ever pay for your things, provide food for you — whether it be someone else paying for your takeout or GOD FORBID actually bringing you a home cooked meal. he genuinely will not allow that to happen.

you made the mistake of telling him that a coworker of yours gave you lunch today, seeing as you forgot to bring the one caleb packed for you, and caleb nearly lost his mind.

“wasn’t that so kind of them? i mean, i would have done the same for them too, but it feels nice knowing that they care that much,” you smile, retelling the story to caleb, who was not even bothering to hide the pout on his face.

“you took this guy’s food?”

“no! he had a lot of extra, plus i was definitely telling him it was okay, but he kept insisting. i felt bad taking some of his food, for sure. i think i might treat him out to some take out our next shift because that was really nice of him,”

now you wanted to give this guy something in return? the next couple of thoughts racing through caleb’s mind was how this had the potential in becoming a never ending cycle and he resisted the urge of dropping his head in his hands in utter dismay.

“i’m sure it’s fine if you just said thank you, no?” caleb comments before shaking his head, not actually wanting to continue talking about this coworker of yours, “well, ignoring that fact for now, i need you to promise me you’ll call me if you ever need anything, okay? if you forget your lunch at home, call me and i’ll bring you it, okay?”

your eyebrows furrow together and he can already read your mind, “i don’t think that’s neccessary, baby. you’re already so busy, i don’t want to intrude,”

“please, you’re not intruding. i want you to call me, okay? i don’t like hearing about other people taking care of my boyfriend. you’re my boyfriend, i want to be the one giving you food whenever you’re hungry.” he sees you laugh softly at his declaration, but he just continues on staring at you in all seriousness, “hey, i mean it. promise me you’ll call me?”

“i promise, caleb,” you finally appease him, pecking his lips softly to seal the deal.

“don’t call me that,” he whines, leaning into you, pleading eyes looking into yours.

“i promise i’ll call for you, hyung,” you roll your eyes when you see him instantly brighten up. he’s seriously the only person you know that begs to hear that title be called to them so badly.

speaking of, he really hates when you call other guys that title. unless they’re your actual blood related older male figure in your life, he hates whenever you call someone else hyung. it’s something that shows comfortability, closeness, and a relationship between you and whoever you were calling that. even if it’s just a friendship, he hates the idea that you’re close enough with someone to say that so easily.

he wants to be the only hyung in your life. so don’t go calling other men that unlesss you want to see a serious crashout from caleb.

the time he brought it up to you, you thought he was joking. it was just a title, a word afterall, but no, caleb takes that shit very seriously.

“it’s like if you called someone else baby,” he defends, but you’re just looking at him like he’s crazy.

“how is that the same?”

“it is, [name], just please,” he begs by elongating the verb at the end of his word, his eyes pleading and desperate as he looks down at you.

“oh my god, get that look off of your face,” you swipe your hand down his face, smooshing hus features with your palm, but he only smiles and kisses your hand.

“so that’s a yes?”

“you’re clinically insane.”

“well…”

older bf!caleb is really protective of you, to a scary, meticulous degree. doesn’t let you lift a finger whenever you’re around him because 1. it’s part of his nature to spoil you and 2. what if you hurt yourself? he is well aware that you are a functioning, full grown man but still, he’d rather choke on a fizzy soda then hear even an inkling of pain come from you.

doesn’t let you chop vegetables for dinner, insists you just have to “sit there and look handsome” for him whenever you try to help.

will never let you open your own car door, or any door for that matter. you swear he can teleport with how fast he puts a car in park and is then standing outside of your door. teases you, calls it your prince-like attitude that makes him be at your beck and call like this, but really it’s just caleb’s desire to show up for you — show that you won’t even need to do something as simple as open a door when you’re with him because he’ll do it gladly.

screens everyone in your social and work circle, all without you knowing btw. he somehow obtains all their information; keeping mental notes of every single one. most of the things he remembers about them are very simple, but he remembers at least one thing for everybperson you interact with daily.

for example, he doesn’t know what department your one coworker that is, in his opinion — getting too close to you, from, but he does know that they have a 6-year old cat named nami and lives on the outskirts of the business district. does not have a clue on your one girl friends full maiden name, but he does know her favorite cafe, her order, and which barista she tips the most (tries brushing off the fact you have some similarities with said barista).

it’s very niche, miniuscule things that he remembers, but he remembers them all for good reason. their weaknesses if they ever cross you or him.

a very specific one: doesn’t let you pick up orders from the counter at cafes or restaurants? if you guys are eating out and they call for your or his name, he’s up before you can even blink. he’s waltzing over there and bringing back your food with a smile on his face. second nature for him to take care of you, yes, but what if you fell on the way to the counter? what if the barista forgot the cup sleeve and you accidentally burn your hand? he won’t allow it. so just sit down and wait there for him like a good boy so he doesn’t stress out so much.

loves having a physical claim on you. he’s a territorial freak and that’s probably the most immature thing about him (on the long list of immature things he does). refuses to let you leave the house without that promise ring on your finger, he’ll even slip it on for you so you won’t have to exert the effort in that!! won’t let you leave if you’re not carrying some part of him with you.

if he just comes with you, though, that’s even better! he loves hanging out with you, he’s a velcro-boyfriend. kind of hates the idea of you going out and doing stuff alone when you can just invite him? invites himself to a lot of your errand runs. will hang off of your body with no regard for public decency.

his broad shoulders trap and cage you in so you have no escape if you manage to get out of the death grip that are his muscular arms. the kind of guy to stand behind you, arms crossed over your front, weighing heavy on your figure just to remind you (and everyone around) that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere.

older bf!caleb might not know all the couple trends on social media (he only uses it to like your posts, send you cute animals videos, and other misc things all centered around you). but best believe he is down for whatever you tell him.

he loves the idea of you posting about your relationship with him, will watch the videos every night before he goes to sleep and hopes you never stop asking him. because what do you mean your relationship, him dating you!!!, is online for everyone to see? like potentially someone across the planet could know that you’re his and he’s yours. it’s a dream come true for him. loves comments that say how jealous they are of your relationship too, makes him giggle that it’s now very obviously known that you two belong with each other.

one of his favorites was that eye trend. an excuse to be cheek to cheek with you, show off his pretty eyes that you love so much while also staring at you? sign him up, he’ll do that shit everyday.

another fun one was the h.s.k.t. one. he loved the song, loved fact you two were wearing matching outfits, loved how cute you look. he loved it so much he threw you over his shoulder at the end of it and spun the two of you around while he playfully smacked your ass. the video ends with him grabbing your phone and walking with it filming you two as if you weren't thrown over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

he also loved the one where he got to just run into frame, pick you up, kiss you, and spin you two around multiple times. loved loved loved that one because if there’s anything caleb’s good at it, it’s proving how physically strong he is and how you weight just about the same as a feather to him. he also really liked how cute it ended up being, cuddled with you that night rewatching it over and over again. you swore you heard him giggle too.

“a boy who’s jacked and kind” oh, that’s got him written all over it!!! no matter if you’re taller than him, he will be throwing you onto his shoulder with you sitting pretty so very easily. doesn’t even need to hold his breath for a second before he’s putting you on his shoulder, looking at your new given height with a smile. no swaying in his footsteps, he’s firmly planted on the ground and holding you tight so you don’t fall.

liked the one where you wrapped a bow around his bicep too, only cause that one made you so happy. he faked messing it up a couple of times just so he can see that excited smile on your face as many times as possible. before you very adorably scolded him to be serious and he flexed his bicep as hard as possible, breaking the tied bow within seconds.

“do you love my arms more than me, be honest,” caleb’s question isn’t serious at all, he’s just asking to rile you up. you’ve been trying for the perfect shot for what feels like forever and caleb’s teasing isn’t helping your patience.

“i’d love you so much more if you could just do it!” you shush him, retying the pretty pink bow and squeezing his muscular arm, “please, hyung?”

“well when my boyfriend asks like that, how can i say no?” kisses you so softly it practically melts away your annoyance. caleb grins as he hears the audio you’ve chosen play again and he prepares to actually not mess it up for you. to make you happy.

and when you finish filming, you throw your arms around him and bring the both of you down onto the bed. he smiles into your skin, kissing your neck softly as his strong arms go around your back in a tight hug.

“thank you, baby,”

“of course, my love. now — show me the video, wanna see my hard work pay off,” you roll your eyes at his wording.

“all you did was flex your arm, shut up.”

“and you still were looking at me like a piece of candy, now what?” he teases, biting your cheek softly.

“don't bite me!” you screech, smacking his stomach. “swear to god caleb, i’ll bite you back,”

“yeah, wouldn't you like that,” he grins, kissing the spot he bit and wiping it softly with the bottom of his shirt. the sneak peek you got of his abs made you forgive him and settle into his lap to watch the video he worked so hard on.

caleb who is dating you to marry. he already knew he always wants to marry you, but is just holding off on popping the question because you guys are a young couple, plus the fact you are a couple years younger than him. he’s so very, very excited though so permanently make you his and vice versa. wants to turn that promise ring into the real deal as soon as possible.

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retiredteabag · 1 day ago

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Wishful Thinking - chapter 6

arranged marriage Nanami with a people-pleasing reader

last chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

*please be wary, this chapter contains sexual harassment*

Your room was constantly empty growing up. That's not to say nothing happened or you were perpetually alone, but it was very rare for one of the workers at the family estate to visit you. Or anyone else for that matter. You were the one doing the visiting.

One of your greatest concerns regarding your inevitable marriage was simply the nature of sharing a room with someone else at all times. You wondered if your spouse would grow sick of you. If you were a strangely awkward companion. If perhaps you would be too clingy, or otherwise too hesitant. Maybe you were an uncomfortable bedmate, who knows?

All of these worries had ceased, however, with the onset of Kento in your life.

He was gentle and patient with you, friendly and curious to know you. This morning, you had awoken with recollections of the previous night. Had all that really happened? It seemed more than ever that perhaps you really had made a friend.

Your time in Kyoto was fun; you had enjoyed pretending to be normal, but when you would come home for break, you were reminded that your world was not one that could be escaped from. As much as you would have liked to have stayed friends with your classmates, that just hadn't been in the cards for you.

You felt luckier than ever, having stayed up late simply talking with someone you knew would remain present in your life. You had assumed marriage was something scary, something that only lead to more anxiety, but now, your worries seemed wholly irrational.

He called you by your first name, and you his. Even now, Kento stood before you in loose pajamas, his hair tousled in a way you had never seen, pouring you a drink.

"Have you ever been to the beach?" He asked, passing you the cup.

You shook your head, "No...not a real one anyway." He simply nodded.

"Me either." Shrugging, he sat down on his mattress, yawning and running a hand through his hair. It made you smile. How was it that he looked so attractive, unkempt?

It did come as a surprise that he hadn't been to the ocean. You had learned he was quite fond of the water- that, paired with the independence he seemed to exude, you would have expected him to have been at least once. His homeland was an Island after all.

"One time, in school, after finishing one of our missions," You stretch and pull one of your luggage bags to your mattress, "my classmates and I stopped by Lake Biwa." You shook your head, recalling the experience. "It's near Kyoto, and it's so big, it was easy for me to pretend it was the ocean."

Now you would get to see the real thing. You set aside your swimsuit and began to put a bag together for the days ahead of you.

You had arrived at the final destination (before the return journey, of course), the northernmost point of your trip, early that morning. You had been so busy getting to know your husband the night before that you hadn't packed for the days away from the mainland.

Organized as ever, Kento had the schedule mapped out to ease your mind. Today, you would stay in together until noon. After a brunch on the train, you would take a ferry to Pulau Redang, a beautiful island with crystal clear water. You needed to bring your luggage with you because you would not be sleeping on the train this evening, but rather, at a resort in the island.

You set aside the heels you had worn to dinner the night before, opting instead for a comfortable pair of loafers, flipping them upside down, you zipped up your bag. Recalling the contents you had just filled it with, you stopped short, knowing you would be changing into the bathing suit you had brought along before departing.

You had a loose pair of overalls to cover it, and everyone would be in swim attire. What did it matter, anyway? The truth was, you couldn't put aside the notion that you wanted desperately to look nice.

It was a modest one-piece; even so, your family would have some choice words if they saw you in it. When you compared it to the bathing suits the beautiful women you had seen on the beach wearing, you felt suddenly embarrassed.

In the bathroom, you fiddled with the straps of your linen overalls, checking around you for anything you might need while off the train.

When you came around, Kento did not even allow you to pull the bag off the luggage rack, insisting on carrying it for you.

You laughed a bit when his forearm came into view, lifting the case with ease and settling it at his feet. You looked up at him, "Don't you remember how strong I am?" Certainly, the higher-ups hadn't left out your skill in the jujutsu world from the man. Even if your family hadn't let you work towards a promotion, your rank was nothing to scoff at.

"When it comes to unburdening my wife, it's not really a matter of strength but, yes, of course." He smiled softly your way, lifting your bag so it didn't roll on the train's luxurious carpets. "I have no doubt in your ability, do believe me." He set the bags down then, maneuvering in the hall to turn off the lights. "But I can't say I wouldn't be pleased if you would let me do it for you.

An attendant took your bags when you made it to one of the restaurant cars. They had groups of workers bringing luggage to the resorts through a private service since early morning. It only took a reservation check to know where to deliver your bags.

You ate an early lunch with a small group of passengers before the Express had a private vehicle waiting to bring you both to the dock, where a large Merang Jetty boat awaited to carry you to the most beautiful location you had ever seen.

The voyage was comfortable with the way the breeze passed you by, and paired with the shining sun, you had never felt so alive. Every so often, puffs of sea spray would spritz and cool your face, making you laugh. Nanami had gone to the upper deck of the boat to bring you a beverage when suddenly another passenger came to greet you.

In all honesty, when you had boarded, you had thought he was one of the employees of the boat service. He had spent much of his time standing around the women serving the guests aboard, speaking loudly and waving his hands like he owned their attention.

He had a big grin on his face, and he stood awkwardly in front of you for a while. It made you quite nervous to have him silently staring. The boat was moving quickly, only a half-hour trip, and the man wobbled slightly with the movement of the waves beneath you.

He leaned over to grip a seat behind him. His brows were arched in a way that read as a concern. It felt strange to have him smiling so eerily before he spoke up, "Are you traveling alone?"

You wondered suddenly if he had been day drinking, what else could explain the volume of his speech? The joviality in his voice?

"Oh, no, I'm here with someone else." You smiled back. He seemed friendly enough. You weren't completely certain he wasn't just a worker welcoming guests; his eyes were already looking at other passengers, likely looking to strike up conversation once he was done with you.

The boat canted slightly, and he nearly lost his balance. You had a seat beside you that was open, but something told you not to offer it up. You instantly felt ashamed and guilty at the notion. "Are you alright? Why don't you sit?"

He tucked himself between a wall and the top of the seat to your right. He leaned down far, not sitting, but intruding on your space all the same. "Well, aren't you a sweet thing?" You squint, trying for an appreciative smile but not quite being able to, "Is this your first time in Malaysia? Where are you from?"

You turn away from him and wonder if Kento was stuck speaking to the bartender. "Um... yes, I've never-"

You jump slightly when he smacks a boisterous hand on the seat beside you. "Exciting! It's a great place, really, nice broads." He leans in close again, and you grip the edge of your chair so as not to pull away. "They love foreign guys, it's all super easy over here."

He laughs like he's said something funny, and you purse your lips. Some of the attendants from earlier seem to be making their way toward you, a tight smile on their faces. Before they reach you, though, the man is tugged back. You feel as though you can breathe again,

Nanami seemed to have returned, and in an incredibly swift motion, he redirected the man to face him. "Careful." Kento's face was polite as ever, but you had never heard his voice so deep, "We're being asked to find our seats."

The man didn't seem to be put off by it at all, patting the hand Nanami had on his shoulder. "Ah, thanks, man."

Kento wiped the touch off on his shorts and nodded with a curt, "Of course." Before facing you.

"What was that?" He was speaking much softer, and his sweetness warmed you. He narrowed his eyes in that way he does when he's trying to read your mind, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You suddenly have an urge, and you act on it. Patting his arm as if you were petting a cat. A jitter rolls up his spine like the waves lapping at the sides of the boat. He looked down at your hand, completely distracted. Maybe the mist made him cold?

And what on earth had compelled you to do that?

He was still looking at your hand when you pulled away, shaking your head. You laughed it off, "I think he just wanted to talk to somebody."

Nanami made a 'hmm' sound and reached across you to retrieve the drink he had set aside when he saw the man so near to you. Silently, he decided not to leave you alone again, even in such a small space.

When you dock, it doesn't take long for staff to come and point you in the right direction. Some guests, already stripped down to swimming attire, make their way to a more crowded area of the beach. There are booths of people braiding hair, making drinks, and offering fruit.

The attendants of the ferry had handed out brochures depicting "The Blue Tears," a breathtaking bioluminescent glow of the beach. You knew immediately that this was something you wanted. You could only hope you would be lucky enough to catch sight of the natural phenomenon.

You are informed that your bags have already been checked to the hotel and that your rooms will be ready by evening. Soon after learning this, Nanami offers to take you around the island. And while you know that you would want to at some point, you could cover the whole thing by foot- you knew he was wanting to go to the ocean.

Kento was already dressed in a loose button-up and a pair of shorts that you realize might be swim trunks.

Your anxiety is turned up a notch, ceaseless thoughts consume your mind when you think about shedding some layers. The two of you pass by live music, stands offering food, and an elderly lady selling jewelry.

Kento has asked you suddenly how well you can swim, and you have to force your eyes off of his nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt and try to assure him of your ability.

You recall that Nanami had, in fact, witnessed you (even for just a moment) in some pretty raunchy lingerie; even so, you want to keep a loose cloth coverup over your black one-piece. Only throwing it away from yourself when your husband turns from you to walk into the ocean.

He was respectful enough to mind his gaze, but it was not so simple for you. The man was built in a dreadfully distracting way. The saltwater sliding down the tanned skin of his back brought wholly unwelcome thoughts of licking him clean, and at the notion, you dove headfirst to clear your mind.

Good Lord, what is wrong with you?

You watch him when you resurface, allowing the cool water to encapsulate your body, the necklace you wore tickles your clavicle with the motion of the tide. The water was so clear, everything was beautiful, and it was all so distracting that your brain was quiet, devoid of anxious thoughts for the first time in years.

A pair of teens splash each other, not too far off from you, their laughs are infectious, and you spin around to take in the image before you, wanting to commemorate it. You feel even better than you had at Lake Biwa with your classmates.

Kento came in close, and you shared meaningless conversations that had no reason to be as funny as the two of you found them. He seemed to monitor the distance from the beach every so often before leaning back and letting the sun warm his face.

Swimming was more tiring than you recalled it being, but nothing could have prepared you for the delight of the moment. The two of you floated on your backs, the water kissing your cheeks repeatedly.

Time falls away from you. The two of you swam all evening, and at some points, you would wade closer to the beach so you didn't have to swim as hard. You had a blast, and when you finally extricated yourself from the water, the two of you ate all kinds of foods from the nearby stands. Even after sunset, the beach was still comfortably warm despite the chill of the wind.

In the light of the lanterns, you feel more comfortable in yourself, just wrapping the cloth over your shoulders. And standing there, eating some kind of meat on a stick, soaking wet, and flushed from exertion, Kento smiles and whispers something. It takes you a moment too long to understand what he had said. He was already moving on.

"I hope you know how lovely you are."

You feel as though you have never left the ocean, still floating there with him an arm's width away. You probably looked ridiculous, what with your wet hair, sandy feet, and satay on your fingers? You use the back of your hand to wipe at your mouth and laugh at him.

Kento walks a few paces before you, shaking his head while you call him insane. The people you pass while trying different foods tell you to come out tomorrow night to see the bioluminescent hues. How lucky you felt in that moment, Nanami seemed just as thrilled as you were.

When you were younger and training so regularly, your stamina had never been an issue, but after eating, the weight of your exhaustion hits you. It had been a long time since you strained every muscle. You feel slightly annoyed that Nanami was not even remotely out of breath.

He was carrying both of your shoes, and your linen overalls hung on his arm. You knew that you would sleep well tonight after a shower, though a new side of this man might just keep you up. Thinking about just how broad his shoulders were, just how earnest he had looked when he called you lovely.

He must have been teasing, you know that, you very well could have had peanut sauce on your face when he said it, but it caused your heart to speed up nonetheless.

You bring a hand to your warm cheek, feeling the heat present despite the cool air on your damp skin. You huff a breath as you walk up the steps to the hotel you were staying at.

You wait in the foyer while Nanami gets your cards. He had insisted on allowing you to rest for a moment after he chuckled hearing how out of breath you were.

After taking a seat, you're embarrassed to realize that standing up from the position you were in might take a great deal of effort. Perhaps you had overdone it.

You were too distracted by the haze in your head to notice the familiar man making his way toward you. It didn't take long to recognize him, though. All loudness and indecency.

He laughs, making some comment of surprise to see you as if you had been more than brief, unfortunate acquaintances. "Funny seeing you here, hmm?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you in a very odd fashion. It was clear he felt closer to you than you felt to him.

"You're not following me, are ya, sweetheart?" The slight dampness on the back of your thighs from the salty ocean clings uncomfortably to the chair below you, and when the man leans in to touch the side of your face, you feel as though it is what keeps you frozen in place.

Just as you begin to shake your head away from his intruding hand, he pulls it back, still leaning all the closer. He smells of alcohol and laughs right by your ear, suddenly speaking lowly, "No, surely not...you keep out of trouble, doncha?"

You motion for him to move, a gentle, "excuse me." chokes from your mouth, your eyes attempt to find Kento, but the lounge blocks the welcome desk.

The man suddenly grabs at your arm and in an intoxicated motion, rubs it against his chest and belly. His shirt is unbuttoned and the feel of his skin makes you sick. You try to drag your hand away from him, not caring for niceties anymore, but he's closer than ever, and his breath puffs against your face when he talks, "No, you're a good girl, aren't you."

You're nauseous, your heart is pounding, and for some reason, you can't seem to call on your cursed energy. It's not even the exhaustion in your bones; you're having some kind of mental block. He seems to quite like touching himself with your unwilling limb, but once your hand starts to be brought lower, you jerk your hand free. A frightened "Stop it!" leaves you as you bring the arm to your own chest.

You've forced yourself to your feet, hoping he will take a step (or thirty) back, but he seems insulted by the action. Brows furrowing as if your apparent repulsion is incomprehensible.

He's got his hands on you in an instant, he's shoving your shoulders down, forcing you to sit once again. He's doing a strange shuffling motion on his feet, perhaps not having thought his actions though, and then, only a horrible moment later, it's as if he's climbing on top of you.

You hesitate to shove him off, for some reason, putting your hands back where they had just been forced feels jarring but thankfully, you don't have to.

In one starting motion, the drunk man goes from breathing on your neck, knee almost on your lap, to being completely knocked to the floor, prone on his back, his head cracking loudly on the marble floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Kento is shaking above him, having just yanked the man off of you, he doesn't waste a moment helping you out of the seat. He removes himself from you instantly, his eyes almost seem to jitter with how quickly he is taking you in.

You realize that he is trying to see if his touch has frightened you, but you're not backing away from him, you find his wrist, and stare, "I'm fine...I'm fine." You're shaking your head, it's like ice-cold water has been doused on you, and you're filled with sickening shame.

You were fine; he had hardly done anything to you, so why did you feel so overwhelmed? Why was your pulse rocketing in your ears? Why were you breathing so loudly?

Nanami extricated you from the scene with speed, in an attempt to not make too much of a scene for your sake, he controlled his tone when speaking to the staff who had come running at his shout. Informing them that they better get that man away from him before he did something unsightly. Something he wouldn't regret.

You find yourself patting his arm, telling him it's okay. You're so embarrassed that you had reacted in such a way, that there were so many people involved now, that it had even happened in the first place.

You massage your neck, a strange laugh escaping you. One of the attendants from the front desk brought you a robe and you try to turn the gesture away, but Kento takes it, and with incredible attentiveness, wraps you up. He holds the sides of the fabric, looking at you directly. It doesn't take long for the hotel manager to come and personally escort you to your room.

Time seems to move so slowly, you force yourself to keep up as he leads you down a nearby hallway. Kento has a hand on the small of your back, he's watching you closely, and you try to force yourself to focus.

You bite your cheek, and the hall tilts. Nanami keeps you from cantering to the side, but you have realized too late what exactly is happening.

It's been a while since something like this has happened, but from the exertion of the day, and moving so suddenly, you feel as though your blood pressure has dropped. Your vision pulses in and out of focus.

By all accounts, you do try your best to make it to the hotel room, but every step you take to follow, you become more discouraged by the distance. Nanami says your name, you hear it and you know there's nothing you can do.

You try to pull away from your husband to lean against the wall, but he misinterprets your action, holding you tighter, and before you can attempt to fall to a sitting position, you have lost all range of motion.

Consciousness leaves you.

Nanami had already been worried by your state when he began leading you after the hotel attendant, but the moment he noticed your breathing change, he surged with panic.

He followed you to the floor, gently laying your head on the carpet. He did not recognize his own voice calling for help. His heart is in overdrive, and he doesn't know what to do. Had you fainted from shock? Were you unwell?

He thought back to how flushed you had been when he had told you to rest a moment while collecting the key cards. Had you been feeling unwell since even then? Why hadn't you told him?

Thankfully it didn't take long for you to groan from your position on the floor. Nanami kept calling out your name like a mantra. The hotel manager had used a walky-talky to call for help, but you were already trying to sit up before anyone arrived.

Earlier, Kento had been so cautious, anxious that his touch would scare or upset you somehow. Now, he grabbed your cheeks in his hands, unable to control himself.

"What happened? Are you alright? Are you not feeling well?"

You silently encircle his wrist, leaning your face into his tender touch, "I'm okay, I'm sorry, I'm alright."

He squinted, shaking his head with furrowed brows, "You're sorry? Don't be sorry, what's happening?"

Someone turned the corner of the corridor, and they were in the very same uniform as the man on your left. He seemed concerned, sprinting to a kneel beside Nanami to feel your pulse, your forehead.

You tried to wave them off again, "I'm okay, I'm very sorry, I have anemia, I didn't think this would happen..."

The hotel attendant looked understanding, nodded, and asked if you needed anything, if they could do anything to be of service to you, but once again, you waved them off.

Nanami was looking at you closely; he was so focused on your face then, watching your every movement. He seemed almost upset.

You recall another angry face.

Years ago, something like this had happened, you had been training in the dojo at the family estate, everything seemed normal, you had been sleeping and eating well, and yet after one flailing movement, you had found yourself sightless, lying on the tatami mats.

When you had awoken, the family doctor was there, informing your father of this condition, he said that it was improper for women to be pushing their bodies in the way you had been, that such distress on such a weak form could affect fertility, could lead to weak stock, to hysteria common amongst women.

You didn't train after that.

You really were alright, that's the embarrassing part. You were quite sure you would be able to comfortably make it to the room just fine but Kento was having none of your actions to brush him off.

The room spun again, not with vertigo, but with the action of him lifting you sturdily against his chest. He was breathing tightly, and every so often, he would murmur reassurances. He was still off kilter though.

He didn't know you were anemic.

He felt that it was rather important information to have on his wife and yet, here you were, trying to convince him to let you walk on your own.

He wonders why you hadn't said. Was it possible that you thought it wouldn't affect you? Could it be that you had your condition under control until now? Or, he suspected, his stomach churning, was it that the higher-ups thought he would not want you unless your condition was perfect? Had you hidden it from him on purpose?

Anemia wasn't uncommon, but he hadn't seen someone faint like this before. Nanami recalls suddenly the past he so desperately had wanted to pursue. The life away from Jujutsu he had thought would bring him freedom. He recalled the boss who had overworked him to sleeplessness. The deep discontentment he found himself in when he lived to serve those around him.

In that moment, holding you closely to his chest, he wondered if that had been how you felt. If you had been trapped there, the same way he had been. Only now, with your body tucked into him, he wondered, was that your norm?

He couldn't let that happen.

The two men from before brought Nanami to the reserved room, and they opened the door for you both, asking repeatedly if you needed hot chocolate or a cold compress. You seemed more cognizant, turning them down. Your luggage was just beside the door, you realize.

Before you could turn them away again, the hotel manager pointed out some beverages and salty snacks on the table. Kento thanked them, and after the workers had turned to leave, he set you down on the desk that was in the main entrance of the room.

He murmuerd something about wanting to lay you down, that perhaps he should have your knees above your head, but his main priority was trying to keep you from jumping off the counter to prove you were really quite well.

So much embarrassment riddled your brain, and Nanami was too sweet to be anything but needlessly worried.

He bent his knees to look at you closely. Ignoring your words of assurance, he placed his palm gently on your forehead. He cracked open a water bottle, and you knew instantly that you were fine since your brain was quickly picking up on how tensely his muscles became when he tore the lid off.

You wanted to bite his arm.

Seriously, what is wrong with you?

He clutched your chin, watching you swallow the liquid, only satisfied once you set the bottle down yourself. He reached over to a small packet of peanuts in a basket amidst other treats laid out free of charge.

Ah, yes, you were just fine, you felt every stroke of his thumb on your thigh as he watched you eat away at the individual nuts. You found it funny, or maybe you were just laughing to ease your ruckus of a heartbeat.

Kento did not find it amusing; his brows were still tightly knit together, had pulled back after noticing how close he had become, and only once petted the back of your neck when you laughed at him.

You really just wanted to curb this deep-seated concern of his.

"You need to lie down." Before the man could pick you up himself, you swung your legs off the desk, he didn't exactly gasp, but he huffed a,

"Please don't do that..." Before you could promise again that you were right as rain. Cheeks flushed in explanations you didn't want to share. In silent prayers, he would leave this all alone and somehow forget this had ever happened.

He still walked you out of the foyer, only just barely passing by the archway that led into the bedroom, when your steps halted. Alerted almost instantly.

He looked down at you, palm gently rubbing your back, "Please. It's best for you to lie down, even if you really are feeling alright."

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, looking between your husband and the massive room before you, "It's...not that."

He follows your head a few times, "What's wrong?" He looks closely at your eyes, and you don't understand how he isn't getting it. He turns to face you completely, brows furrowing, hands encompassing your face. Perhaps he thought you were feeling weak again.

"Kento." You look distinctly from him to the scene through the doorway, drawing his hand from your face.

He slowly turns again, trying to understand your tenseness, it takes him a bit, silly man, before he stills. "Oh..." He straightens considerably, finally understanding.

It seems there was only one bed in your room.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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zorosgirlfriend · 17 hours ago

Text

monster trio ~ !! they catch you playing with your boobs

warnings: ehhh, i kinda dunno. boob squishing? teasing, you let them squish it, you moan the few times they squish it, a lil suggestive but no smut happens.

masterlist and rules || have fun reading!

Monkey D. Luffy

You were alone in the your room, stressed out, mumbling to yourself while unknowingly squeezing your chest like stress balls.

That’s when Luffy walked in, stretching.

“Hey, y/n, have you seen my-”

Pause.

Blink.

Head tilt.

“…Why are you squishing your boobs like mochi?”

“LUFFY?!”

You yelped and jumped back, arms flying to your sides. “N-NO REASON!”

He blinked again. “Can I try?”

“WHAT?!”

“They look fun!” he grinned.

You chucked a pillow at him, red-faced. “OUT!”

“Okay okay!!” He laughed as he retreated. “You’re so weird, I love it!”

You thought about it for a moment.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms.

“You wanna try?”

You said while blushing.

His eyes lit up like he just saw meat.

“Really?!”

Luffy said with sparkles in his eyes.

You nodded, cheeks warm.

“Just once!”

You shouted.

He reached forward like he was holding sacred treasure…

Squish.

He blinked.

“…Whoa. It’s like jelly but warmer.”

“LUFFY—”

He squished again.

“This is amazing. I didn’t know boobs were this fun!”

You swatted his hands away, face on fire. “Okay that’s enough!!”

“But it’s soothing! Like stress balls with feelings!”

You tackled him with a pillow before he could compare them to mochi again.

And before you knew it, he squished it again.

Squish.

You gasped.

“Ahn—!”

Luffy blinked. “Did you just moan?!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth, wide-eyed. “I—I didn’t mean to!! Reflex!!”

He stared… then burst out laughing. “You sound like Usopp when he eats something too spicy!”

“LUFFY!!”

You tried to run but he grabbed you by the waist.

“Do it again!”

“NO!”

“Please? It was funny!!”

You kicked your feet as he giggled nonstop. “You’re not allowed to squish anything ever again!!”

You said jokingly while giggling as well, feeling kinda turned on.

Roronoa Zoro

You didn’t think anyone was around, so as the stress hit, your hands went up to your chest… squish squish.

“Ughhh…”

Before you knew it, Zoro was already standing in your door.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He said while smirking.

You nearly passed out from how fast you turned.

“Z-ZORO?!”

He was just standing in the doorway with a single raised eyebrow.

“I… was… thinking.”

You said trying to defend yourself.

“By fondling yourself?”

He said while chuckling.

“They’re comforting!”

You pouted.

He shrugged, trying not to smirk.

“Tch. As long as you're not asking me to hold 'em for you.”

You turned red. “I wasn’t—!”

“Yet,” he said, smirking.

“ZORO!”

You stared at each other for a moment.

"Can I try?"

Zoro said with pink ears.

You thought about it.

"Fine..."

You said while looking away flustered.

He gave you a flat look. “Wait—you’re serious?”

You huffed, turning red. “Don’t make it weird, okay? You were curious.”

Zoro blinked… then shrugged.

Squish.

“...Huh.”

“What?”

“They're… firmer than I thought.”

Squish.

“…Excuse me?”

“I mean—they’re soft too! I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—”

You took this as an opportunity to tease him.

You smirked. “You’re blushing, swordsman.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, pulling his bandana down over his face.

You kissed his cheek.

“...Definitely better than dumbbells.”

He mumbled.

He gave them one more squish.

Squish.

“Ah—!”

You froze.

Zoro froze.

Your face turned crimson. “I-I didn’t—!!”

He raised an eyebrow, flustered but smug.

“...You good?”

“No I’m not good!! That wasn’t supposed to come out!!”

He leaned in closer. “Sounded kinda real to me.”

“ZORO!!!”

You shoved his face away while hiding yours in your hands.

“Maybe I’ll squish ‘em again when you least expect it.”

He chuckled.

You squeaked and nearly fell off the bed.

Vinsmoke Sanji

You were grumbling about something and squish squish, you didn’t even realize what you were doing until...

“Mon amour…”

You froze.

Sanji was standing in the doorway, blushing like mad and clutching his nose as he nosebled.

“S-Sanji?! I didn’t hear you come in!!”

You said blushing profusely.

“I must’ve died and gone to heaven…”

He collapsed to his knees.

“IT’S NOT LIKE THAT!

You said feeling even more embarrassed.

“Is it some sort of secret ritual?! Should I leave you be? Or—or volunteer to help?”

He said with a teasing tone.

“SANJI!!”

You yelled.

“Just say the word, my love.”

He winked through the blood trickling down his nose.

You threw a towel at his face while screaming.

"Can I squish them too?"

Sanji said with those signature heart eyes of his.

You look around for a moment before giving in.

"Arghh, fine!!"

You said while blushing again.

“You really mean it, mon amour?”

He said like he just went to heaven.

You nodded shyly.

“Only because you looked like a kicked puppy earlier.”

He dramatically collapsed to his knees.

“This is the greatest honor of my life."

Feeling like he just won the lottery.

“SANJI.”

You yelled out.

He composed himself carefully and gently.

Squish.

He made the most dramatic gasp.

“So soft… so divine…”

Almost getting his nosebleed in your sheets.

“Don’t faint”

you teased.

“Too late”

He whispered, sinking with hearts in his eyes.

“They’re better than dreams… I’ve touched heaven…”

You had to fan him with a towel while muttering.

“This is your fault, y/n…”

Before you knew it.

Squish.

“Aah—!”

you accidentally moaned out loud.

Sanji stiffened, ears red.

“W-Was that… a moan?!”

Your soul practically left your body.

“NO!! I mean yes but no!!”

He covered his nose like it was a nosebleed emergency.

"I’m gonna pass out. I’m gonna die. You’re too powerful.”

You waved your hands frantically.

“Sanji, don’t faint!!”

He collapsed onto the floor, muttering.

“You moaned… I lived for this moment…”

You whined, “Why am I like this?!”

He peeked up and whispered.

“Do it again?”

You told him to get out because you felt like you were about to explode.

#one piece x reader #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader

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mandoalorian · 3 days ago

Text

if this is war, i surrender — prologue

Revenge had a price. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: You wanted revenge. He became the reason you hesitated. He was the ghost from your past—the one who took everything. But getting close to him meant playing a dangerous game. And somewhere between hating him and pretending not to care, you forgot the one rule you swore you'd follow: don't fall for the enemy.

Word Count: 2,700

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for eventual smut - and there will be a lot of it, mentions and descriptions of abuse (both physical and emotional), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, death of a family member, Sam/Bucky aren't friends.

Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (and is tagged accordingly) — as promised, a brand new fic series for our beloved New Avenger!Bucky. And it's an Avengers Tower fic! I am so excited for this. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Masterlist | next chapter

You’d lived your whole life feeling what others couldn’t hide.

Anger that simmered beneath polite smiles. Grief was tucked behind practised charm. Lust, hatred, envy—emotions wrapped in flesh and bone and lies. Most people were predictable once you knew what they’d do before they did it.

It wasn’t magic. Not really.

It was you—something twisted into your blood long ago. You could read them. Sense the weight of a person by the colour of their aura, the heat of their intent. It made the world feel like a game of chess, you were always five moves ahead in.

And still, somehow, you’d lost everything.

No family. No justice.

Just a face burned into your memory—cold, unfeeling, and soaked in your brother’s blood.

The Winter Soldier.

You’d read all the self-help books and spent years in counselling and therapy. God, you had tried everything to get over it. But you remembered it like it was second nature, so much so that your Void Room felt like a nightmare you’d been used to for the past twenty years. It wasn’t reliving trauma, because you had never left. You were only a small child when it happened. You remember the fear that outlined your brother when he was cornered by the Winter Soldier, and the Soldier’s aura? Nothing. Like he was cut off from the world. Not an ounce of feeling or emotion.

But how could that be possible?

They said he was reformed, that he was out in the city under a government pardon, trying to live a ‘normal life’ after the Battle of Earth. There were traces of his presence a few years ago, working alongside Captain America to disassemble the Flag Smashers. And since then, a brief stint of being Brooklyn's Congressman.

Seriously, who would vote him into power?

You had been waiting for the world to hand him a spotlight, a new beginning, because that always seemed to happen to men like Bucky Barnes.

A fresh start. Forgiveness.

You were okay with waiting because a plan like this had to be made with precision, and precision took time. You couldn’t fight him with fury or fire.

You’d get close. You’d make him trust you. And when the moment came, you’d watch his world fall.

But for now, you worked at McCready’s bar in Lower Manhattan.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered in a lazy rhythm as you wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, the stale smell of spilt whiskey and cheap beer lingering in the air. It was a Tuesday, but the bar was packed — a sea of half-drunk faces and the kind of conversations that never mattered. You hadn’t expected much from the job, but at least it kept you afloat. Barely.

The tips were inconsistent, the hours long, but it was all you had. Living in New York City wasn’t kind to anyone who wasn’t swimming in money, and you weren’t even close. You’d gotten used to the way the city hummed around you, indifferent to your struggles, just another face in the crowd. At least you weren’t completely alone. Shane was always there, hovering in the background like a constant reminder of the life you were stuck in.

He was your roommate, sure — but the lines had blurred long ago. It was more than that. You couldn’t leave him, not because you loved him, but because you had nowhere else to go. Shane had a way of turning everything he touched into a mess, and you were caught in the fallout. He was just… volatile, always drunk, always angry. His mood swung like a pendulum — when it was good, it was fine, but when it was bad, it was a storm. And you were always the one caught in its path.

Tonight was no different. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred, but you knew better than to challenge him. You knew the look, the one that came just before things went south. You had learned how to move quietly, how to keep your head down when he raged. It wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out — and you hated yourself for staying, for letting him control so much of your life. But you couldn’t leave. The apartment was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. The city wasn’t kind to women on their own, and you weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be different.

So you endured.

The clink of glass broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the bar. Another customer. Another drink to serve. You plastered on your best smile and handed over the next round, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, the one that never went away. The ache that was there every time you realised you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours to begin with, with a person who only made it harder to breathe.

But then, he crashed against the bar when your back was turned.

You felt it before you saw him.

A tight heat in the centre of your chest, like a warning flare under your skin. The aura rolled in a moment later—dark, pulsing red, bloated with alcohol and laced with something sharp. Bitterness. Rage. Shame. It wrapped around you like smoke, familiar and suffocating.

Shane.

You didn’t even need to look up. The aura was unmistakable. Predictable. He always came into your orbit like this—loud, drunk, and looking to pick a fight he could pretend wasn’t his fault.

You braced your palms against the sticky bar top and sighed.

“Didn’t think you worked Thursdays,” his voice slurred from your left. He leaned heavily against the counter, already swaying.

“I switched shifts.” You kept your eyes on the glass you were drying, steady and detached.

Shane scoffed. “Of course you did. Probably duckin’ me.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in closer, breath hot and sharp with whiskey. “You can’t keep avoiding me, babe. We’ve got things to talk about.”

You turned to face him. “We broke up.”

His jaw twitched. You saw the spike in his aura before he even moved. The humiliation—how quickly it curdled into fury.

He slammed his palm down on the bar. “You can’t just cut me off like that! I still have your stuff!”

“And I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I get off work.” You spoke calmly, but your fingers curled against the wood.

“You act like I was the problem. Like you’re so perfect.”

You felt his emotions boiling up, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs. Your powers made it impossible not to feel it all—the guilt, the desperation, the jealousy eating holes in his brain.

He reached toward the shelf behind you, fingers clumsy and quick.

You saw it in a flash—his intention. The movement. The bottle. The shatter.

“Shane,” you warned, voice low.

But he grabbed the glass anyway.

And when you didn’t flinch—didn’t react—he hurled it at the far wall. The sound of shattering exploded through the bar like a gunshot.

Conversations cut off. Heads turned. The bartender at the other end shouted something you didn’t catch, but you didn’t move. You stared him down, heart steady even as your powers screamed with the heat of his spiraling aura.

“Get. Out.” Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

Shane scoffed again, as if that might somehow make him look less pathetic. He backed up with slow, jerking steps, flipping off the room as he staggered toward the door.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, just before the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was louder than the glass.

You let out a breath, realising you’d been holding it. Then you grabbed the broom from behind the bar and swept the shards into a dustpan, the sharp scrape of glass grounding you.

Your skin still tingled from the contact with his rage. You hated that you felt it all—the fear before it turned violent, the hurt beneath the anger. You hated that your powers made it impossible to just forget someone.

But maybe that was the curse of being who you were. You always saw what was coming. You just couldn’t always stop it.

As the last pieces of glass clinked into the bin, you finally straightened. The bar had settled again. Conversations resumed. The music picked back up.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from the far end of the bar—smooth, level, edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You looked up. Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. Sunglasses indoors. He didn’t look dangerous, but he looked like someone who could be.

“Getting there,” you replied.

He offered a small nod. “Water, please.”

You poured it and slid it over. “You don’t seem like a regular.”

He chuckled. “I’m not.”

There was a pause. You watched him closely, brushing your senses over his aura. It was… quiet. Centred. Strong in a way that didn’t shout. But frayed at the edges. Worn. Heavy. You sensed something simmering—like a soldier forced to sit still while a war started without him.

“You handled yourself well earlier,” he said, not looking up.

You blinked. “You saw that?”

“I saw enough. Most people don’t know when to walk away. You did.”

You tilted your head, wary. “You following me?”

“No. Just watching.”

That didn’t make it less strange. But your instincts didn’t scream danger—only mystery.

You turned toward the corner TV to anchor yourself—something normal. Background noise. Distraction.

Instead, your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t meant to keep watching.

The TV had always just been background noise—old games, muted news reels, the occasional infomercial to fill the gaps between orders. But tonight, the screen was impossible to ignore.

A navy-blue backdrop. Stark white letters:

LIVE: O.X.E. GLOBAL INITIATIVE PRESS CONFERENCE

At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sharp in her suit, that perpetual half-smile like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

“Today,” she said, “marks the beginning of a new era.”

You barely noticed the sound of glass clinking behind the bar as someone restocked. The world had narrowed to that screen.

Val continued, cool and poised. “A world in chaos needs structure. Direction. Accountability. O.X.E. was founded for that purpose—and now, I’m proud to announce its greatest achievement yet.”

The camera panned as she lifted a hand, gesturing to the five figures standing just out of frame.

Your heart skipped once—no reason. Just instinct.

“Earth’s new protectors. A team not built on nostalgia or outdated legacies. But on precision, strength, and experience.”

The screen cut to a slow pan across the group.

First: Yelena Belova.

You recognised her instantly—shoulders squared in sleek black tactical gear, expression unreadable. There was something fiercely restrained in her stance. A storm with a chokehold on itself.

Next: Ava Starr.

Ghost. Gloved hands in her pockets, hood half-drawn. She looked like she wanted to vanish right through the floor. Her energy vibrated through the screen—quiet, unstable, barely contained.

Then: John Walker.

U.S. Agent. Chin high, arms crossed like he was daring someone to challenge his spot. The smugness rolled off him like oil.

After that: Alexei Shostakov.

The Red Guardian. Smirking like he thought this was a stage play. You remembered his face from news clippings—over-the-top patriotism paired with brute force.

And then—just as the camera reached the final spot—

You felt it before you saw him.

Cold steel wrapped in guilt. A storm buried under a thousand locked doors. It hit you like a tide and settled in your bones.

Bucky Barnes.

He stepped forward into frame, silent. Dark clothes. Gloves on. That familiar stare—the one you’d only ever seen in flashes, or in the brief security footage you weren’t supposed to find. The one from fourteen years ago.

Your grip on the counter went white-knuckle.

His name appeared below him in bold, unmistakable letters, sub-titled with the words Team Leader.

The world faded around you. The bar. The people. The music. It all disappeared.

There he was. Front and centre. Standing tall like the past never happened. Like the blood on his hands had been scrubbed clean.

Leader. Hero. Forgiven.

And just like that, the plan began to form.

Because if he was back—if he was leading this new world—then this was your chance.

You’d get close. You’d get answers.

And you’d finally make him pay.

“Mind if I use your phone?” The voice cut your thoughts off with a sharp snap.

You hesitated. “Landline’s under the register. Doesn’t do long-distance.”

“That’s fine. He’s local.”

The man in the cap dialled quickly, voice low as he turned away from the bar. You stayed close, listening despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Cap said. That was the nickname you’d given him. It felt fitting. You read his aura, and found it laced with anger. But it wasn’t like Shane’s anger. It wasn’t volatile or red, but instead, it was muted and hurt. Betrayal.

A pause.

“No, I saw it. They didn’t clear it. Val went public without warning.”

Another pause.

“No, he didn’t tell me. Look, Torres. He knew— he knew about my plan to restart the Av—”

His jaw clenched before stopping mid-sentence, aware of his audience.

“Just be ready. If this gets worse, we’ll need to act fast. I’ll call him tonight.”

He hung up. Didn’t say goodbye.

You crossed your arms. “You talk like someone important.”

He gave you a look, unreadable behind the glasses. “Depends who’s asking.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to back down. “I’ve had enough people lie to my face tonight.”

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then, with the tiniest smirk, he pulled off the sunglasses and tucked them into his hoodie.

“I’m Sam.”

Your breath hitched.

Captain fucking America.

────✪────

Bucky’s phone lit up the second the press conference ended.

Sam Wilson.

He stared at the name a moment longer than he needed to, then answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t waste time.

“You really let them use the name.”

Bucky leaned back against the edge of the hotel desk, jaw tight. “It’s just a name.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam snapped. “It’s our name. You think you get to let some corrupt agency parade it around like a branding tool? Like Steve’s legacy didn’t mean a damn thing?”

Bucky said nothing.

“You stood up there like it was nothing,” Sam continued. “With Walker. With Val. You think this is what Steve would’ve wanted? You think he’d look at that team and—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut in, voice suddenly cold. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Sam didn’t flinch. “Someone has to.”

Bucky exhaled, short and sharp. “I didn’t choose the name. I didn’t write the headline. I chose a mission. That’s it.”

“Yeah?” Sam snapped. “Well, congratulations. You just handed the Avengers legacy over to a bunch of government puppets.”

Something burned behind Bucky’s eyes. He clenched his fist.

Bucky’s silence was answer enough, and Sam could feel his partner’s stoic glare through the line.

Sam exhaled, like he was holding back something worse. “You think this is justice? You think you’re fixing something?”

“I’m doing what I can with the mess that’s left,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”

“No, I’m trying to honour what came before. You—? You’re just trying to outrun it.”

That struck a nerve.

Bucky stood straighter, voice low and clipped. “You think I give a damn about your approval? I don’t need your permission to do something that matters.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam snapped. “Since when do you care about legacy?”

The air between them tightened, stretching thin with unspoken names and unforgiven history.

“You’ve got no idea what I care about,” Bucky said coldly.

Sam paused, just long enough for it to sting. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Click.

Bucky hung up first.

The fourteen months that followed weren’t peaceful.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283

#thunderbolts spoilers #thunderbolts #the new avengers #new avengers #marvel #bucky barnes #avenger bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #mcu #sam wilson #thunderbolts*#avengers tower fic #avengers tower #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you

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inkbyme · 1 day ago

Note

Hi if you’re taking requests could you do the Mha boys accidentally hurting reader during training, and they have to go to recovery girl? If not that’s ok!

₊˚ෆ MHA Characters When They Hurt You During Training ₊˚ෆ

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya ✧ Katsuki Bakugo ✧ Eijirou Kirishima ✧ Shouta Aizawa ✧ Hanta Sero ✧ Hawks ✧ Tenya Iida ✧ Shoto Todoroki ✧ Denki Kaminari

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

When training gets a little too real—here’s how the MHA boys handle accidentally hurting the one they love. Expect guilt, chaos, and soft apologies wrapped in bandages.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Izuku Midoriya

• He immediately freezes the second you go down. You barely have time to say “I’m okay” before he’s already at your side, eyes wide and filled with panic.

• “I—I didn’t mean to hit you! That wasn’t aimed for—oh god, I’m so sorry!”

• He’s practically vibrating with nerves the whole walk to Recovery Girl, clinging to your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

• After you’re treated, he won’t stop apologizing.

• “You trusted me and I hurt you… I’ll never forgive myself for that. You’re supposed to be safe with me.”

• He ends up writing out a training safety plan the next day, color-coded and everything.

⸻

Katsuki Bakugo

• He hears the thud of your body hitting the ground and goes stone still.

• The moment he realizes it was his explosion that knocked you back too hard, his heart plummets.

• “Shit—Y/n—dammit, I wasn’t aiming for you! You weren’t supposed to dodge that way!”

• He scoops you up and runs to Recovery Girl, refusing to let anyone else touch you.

• Once you’re patched up, he stands in the corner of the room with his fists clenched, looking like a kicked puppy.

• “I don’t lose control. I never lose control. But I did… and I hurt you.”

• Later, he mutters a soft, “Won’t happen again. Promise.” with his forehead resting lightly against yours.

⸻

Eijirou Kirishima

• The moment your body flies back and lands wrong, he’s sprinting toward you. His weapon drops. Nothing else matters.

• “No, no, no—please tell me I didn’t do that. Y/n? Can you hear me?”

• He carries you bridal style straight to Recovery Girl while panicking aloud the whole way.

• “I pushed too hard, didn’t I? I wasn’t paying attention to your stance—I should’ve noticed you were off-balance!”

• He stays beside you the entire time you’re being healed, apologizing and holding your hand.

• Later, he says: “I wanna be strong—but not at the cost of hurting you. That’s not manly at all.”

⸻

Shouta Aizawa

• He’s usually hyper-aware of his surroundings, especially when you’re around. But during a fast-paced spar, one of his binding maneuvers ends with you slammed harder than intended into the mat.

• He doesn’t panic—yet. He crouches beside you instantly, hands steady, but his voice is low and tight.

• “Don’t move. Let me see what I did.”

• As soon as he confirms it’s not life-threatening, he quietly scoops you up and carries you to Recovery Girl. Not a word spoken during the walk. But you can feel his grip trembling.

• Once you’re healed, he stays seated beside your bed, arms crossed, face unreadable.

• “This is why I don’t get close to people.”

• He finally looks at you—tired, vulnerable. “I train people to survive, not to break them. I should’ve known my limits when it’s you.”

• Later, he makes you promise to call him out next time you even feel pushed too hard. It’s not bossy—it’s fear disguised as authority.

⸻

Hanta Sero

• Training was all fun and games—until his tape accidentally yanked your ankle mid-jump, sending you crashing down hard.

• He panics immediately, bolting to your side like he just broke something priceless.

• “Oh my god—Y/n?! That wasn’t supposed to happen—I thought you’d dodge!”

• He carries you straight to Recovery Girl, rambling apologies the whole way.

• “I swear I didn’t mean to pull that hard—please don’t hate me, I’m such an idiot—”

• Once you’re patched up, he’s unusually quiet, guilt all over his face.

• “I mess around a lot, but this? Hurting you? That’s not okay. You matter too much.”

• He later sends you 27 memes and a handwritten apology with a stick figure drawing of himself getting tape-slapped.

⸻

Hawks

• He was being cocky, zipping around you with his wings mid-training, showing off. Then one feather veered wrong—too sharp, too fast.

• You flinch as it slices across your arm. Blood. A lot more than either of you expected.

• His heart drops.

• “Oh no. Baby, no no no— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—dammit, I thought I had perfect control—”

• He immediately bundles you in his wings and books it to Recovery Girl, panic fully kicking in.

• “I’ve done missions in the sky under gunfire and still kept control. Why is it the one time I let loose around you, I mess up?”

• He can’t sit still while you’re being treated. He keeps trying to crack jokes, but his voice cracks too.

• When you’re stable, he sits beside you, voice soft. “I move too fast sometimes… Forget that the people I care about don’t have wings like I do.”

• He presses a kiss to your bandaged arm. “I’ll slow down for you. Every time. Just say the word.”

⸻

Tenya Iida

• The second he sees you knocked down by one of his high-speed moves, he skids to a halt so fast he nearly crashes.

• He’s already at your side, rattling off injury protocols and doing everything by the book—except his voice is shaking.

• “I was reckless! I should’ve adjusted my path! I’m so sorry, that was entirely my fault!”

• He insists on carrying you to Recovery Girl himself.

• While you’re being healed, he keeps pacing back and forth, muttering about how this was “a disgraceful lapse in control.”

• Once you’re okay, he bows so deep it’s dramatic. “I promise to train even harder to ensure this never happens again.”

⸻

Shoto Todoroki

• When you drop from the blast of his ice wall, he immediately rushes over, his calm face cracking just slightly.

• “That wasn’t meant to hit you. I misjudged your position—I didn’t calculate the ricochet.”

• He picks you up so gently, like you might break if he moves wrong again.

• During the healing, he stands silently nearby, but his eyes never leave you.

• “I don’t let my power hurt the people I love. I failed at that today.”

• Later, he asks to redo the whole exercise—with roles reversed, so you can be the attacker. “If I can’t protect you, I want you to know how to take me down.”

⸻

Denki Kaminari

• He fires off one of his electricity blasts as a joke mid-spar—and accidentally zaps you square in the shoulder.

• His face drains of color as you drop to your knees with a pained gasp.

• “OH MY GOD—WAIT, I DIDN’T—CRAP—I THOUGHT YOU MOVED!”

• He practically short-circuits himself trying to get you to Recovery Girl.

• While you’re being treated, he’s holding ice to his own face because he slapped himself in panic.

• “You’re never training with dumbass-me again. I’ll just stand there and cheer. Like emotional support.”

Thank you so much for sending this in! It was such a cool request to write. Hope it hits you right in the feels like you wanted!

Let me know if you have any feedback or if there’s any warnings I need to put on my post. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

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jinjoohaa · 3 days ago

Text

TOJI X READER !!!

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (dad's friend! AU)

Under His Roof

Content Warnings (Please Read): Age gap, Power imbalance, Manipulation, Overstimulation , Corruption kink, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Degrading talk, Jealousy sex, First time sex, Size kink, Fingering, Grinding, Dry humping , Possessiveness/Obsession, Breeding kink, Spanking/Discipline, Biting / Marking, Angst & emotional manipulation, Soft/dom moments later on, Minors DO NOT INTERACT (18+ ONLY)

prev chapter

Chapter 15 - Final chapter

A few weeks passed. Quietly.

Too quietly.

Things with Toji had gotten strangely better now. No anger. No outbursts. No dragging you by the wrist or shutting you up mid-sentence. Just this unnerving calm.

Toji still came around—same old bottle in hand, same lazy smirk when your dad greeted him at the door. Usual stuff.

It was finally getting normal. Peace. Comfortable.

And that's when it happened.

---

The air felt a little too still when you opened the front door.

The hallway smelled faintly of bleach, like someone had scrubbed too hard in a hurry.

You hadn’t expected your dad to call you home with such urgency.

“Just come after class,” he’d said, his tone weirdly serious, almost guilty.

You thought maybe he’d found out something. Maybe he’d seen something between you and Toji he wasn’t supposed to.

Your heart had been racing all the way home—but nothing could’ve prepared you for what was actually waiting.

Toji was already there.

Of course he is.

Sitting on the couch. Casual. At ease. One leg over the other, a drink in his hand, eyes locked onto you the moment you stepped in.

And that damn smirk.

“You’re here,” your dad said, standing up from the dining table where a few papers were spread out.

“Come sit. We need to talk.”

Your gaze flicked between the two men. “Why is he here?” you asked, voice sharper than intended. “This is family stuff, isn’t it?”

Toji chuckled low. “I’m practically family, aren’t I?”

Your dad nodded, completely missing the undertone in Toji’s voice.

“He’s been helping me with a lot lately. I thought it’s best he’s here too.” He patted the seat next to him.

You sat—reluctantly. Toji didn’t take his eyes off you. Not for a second.

There was something territorial in the way he looked at you, like he was already claiming what wasn’t officially his yet.

Your dad inhaled, like he was bracing himself.

“I got transferred,” he said. “To another city. Bigger role. I start next month.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“I tried to see if they could make any adjustments, but...” he sighed. “It’s too good of an opportunity to turn down.”

A million thoughts rushed through your head. “Okay but—what about me? I can’t leave. My college is here—”

“I know, sweetheart. That’s why we thought you’d stay.”

Your heart stopped. “We?”

Toji’s voice slid in, calm and slow. “Your dad and I had a long talk. Makes sense for you to stay here. I’ve got space. And you’re comfortable with me, right?”

You looked at your dad like he’d lost his mind. “But dad—!?"

Your dad gave a tired smile. “It’s only for a year or two. Toji’s house is close to your college, you won’t have to move or adjust. He’ll take care of you.”

Your stomach turned. “I—I can take care of myself. We shouldn't bother him like this," you said to your dad.

“You’re still young, kiddo. You need someone looking out for you. I can’t just leave you alone in an apartment.” His tone turned gentle. “I trust Toji. More than anyone.”

“Dad—” you tried, a crack in your voice.

Toji leaned back, watching the whole thing like a show. “I don’t mind,” he said casually, swirling the ice in his glass. “But only if she wants to, of course.”

The mockery in his tone wasn’t missed. You flinched, chest tightening.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you whispered. “I’ll figure something else out—rent a place, maybe stay at a dorm—”

“Dorms are full this year,” your dad cut in. “And you know how much hassle it is to rent, especially for students. I don’t want you living with strangers.”

You tried to speak again, but Toji's voice cut through, smooth and sure.

“She’ll be safe with me. I’ll treat her like my own.”

The way he said it—low, almost amused.

Your dad nodded. “It’s settled then. I already talked to your aunt, and she agrees. No one’s better suited for this.”

You stared down at your lap, throat dry, mind racing.

Toji raised his glass slightly in your direction. “Looking forward to having you, kid.”

That smirk again.

You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t.

There's no room for argument.

Part of you was kinda okay with it, since you won't have to live in fear of dad finding out anymore.

But still, something was bothering you. An uneasiness.

Like the ground beneath your feet had tilted ever so slightly and no one else noticed.

---

You didn’t sleep that night. You kept hearing the echo of Toji’s words over and over in your head.

“She’ll be safe with me.”

Safe.

What a joke.

The sheets felt too warm. Your skin too tight. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of wind outside made you flinch.

You caught him alone the next day, in the garage while he helped your dad move some boxes. You didn’t even know why you were trying—you just had to say something. Anything.

“Toji… I—” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you slowly, eyes narrowing as he wiped his hands off with a rag. “Hm?”

You hesitated. Swallowed the lump in your throat. “I-I don’t think this is… fair. You… you can’t just—just treat me like—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, voice calm but laced with warning.

“Like something that already gave in to me more than once? Don’t act innocent now. We've already come into an agreement. I take care of you. You stay mine. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."

Your lips parted, no words coming out.

He was right. In that quiet, twisted way of his—he always was.

“You having second thoughts now?” He stepped closer, cornering you against the wall with that same terrifying gentleness.

You gasped softly and shook your head.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Go on. Say you want to back out. That you want me to stop.”

You couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t.

Toji smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

He walked away like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just confirmed that you were already his.

---

Later that week, your dad finalized the move. Boxes left the house one by one, furniture packed, and your own bags slowly transferred to Toji’s place—room by room. There was no ceremony. Just resignation.

When your dad hugged you goodbye, he smiled with so much trust in his eyes. “Call me if anything, alright? And listen to Toji. He’s doing me a huge favor.”

You only nodded.

And then he was gone.

Toji was waiting at his place when you arrived with the last of your things.

Leaning against the doorframe with that same bottle of whiskey in his hand, he watched you carry your bag in like a pet who finally gave up running.

“Welcome home, princess,” he drawled. “Did a little something for you.”

You didn’t want to see it—but you had to. So you walked to the room he had set aside for you.

Soft lighting. Fresh sheets. The room smelled like cedarwood and something deeper, warmer. His scent. The bed was neatly made—maybe too neatly.

Your eyes fell on the nightstand. A single collar sat on top of it. Jet black. Plain. No tags.

You froze.

"Could try it when we. . . . y'know. . ." he grins.

Toji’s hand brushed over your lower back, slow and heavy.

“I like order,” he said, right near your ear. “I like my things where they belong. Now you’re under my roof.”

You turned to look at him, trembling slightly.

He was still calm—too calm. "No lies. No running. Yeah?"

“Toji—” you whispered.

He tilted your chin up with his fingers. "Hmm? We're gonna be happy, don't we?"

Your heart pounded. You didn’t nod. You didn’t shake your head.

You didn’t resist either.

Toji stepped back with a satisfied smirk. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

And as he left, you stood there in the center of his room—your room now—realizing you weren’t scared of what he might do anymore.

You were scared of what you might let him do.

---

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

By the time summer faded into fall, you and Toji had settled into a rhythm—your own quiet, twisted domestic life under one roof.

At first, everything was a little hard. You walked on eggshells, unsure when he might snap, scared of what he’d do next.

But something changed.

Maybe it was the satisfaction of finally having you under his control. Or maybe Toji had simply grown comfortable knowing he didn’t need to force anything anymore.

You were his now. Completely.

Your days started the same: breakfast in the quiet kitchen, sometimes made by him, sometimes by you—depending on how tired or sore you were from the night before.

You'd attend your classes during the day, headphones in, face down, living your college life like any other girl.

And when the clock hit the late afternoon, you'd always get that text from him: “Come home soon.”

Evenings were quiet. Toji worked out, showered, occasionally read the newspaper or watched TV. You’d cook if he asked, sometimes he helped you prep. It almost felt… normal.

He’d take you out sometimes—grocery shopping, walks through quiet neighborhoods, or lazy ramen dinners on Sunday nights.

To the world, he was your guardian, an uncle, a family friend doing a favor for your dad and you were the quiet college girl staying with a guardian.

Innocent.

Proper.

But behind closed doors, it was different.

Every glance, every touch, every shared silence said more than words ever could. The possessiveness hadn’t gone away; it had just taken a softer form. He didn’t need to threaten anymore. You were already too deep, too worn in, too molded by his hands.

Toji never apologized for how it began. He never needed to. But he grew gentler. He stopped taking what he wanted so harshly. He started asking— though you both knew you’d never say no.

Some nights, he’d hold you tighter, covered you with soft tender kisses. Whisper things like, “Two years, huh? Guess I’ve got you all to myself until then,” as if daring fate to take you away.

You never responded. Just let his warmth surround you as you drifted off on the bed he “specially" made for you.

He gave you freedom in public. You could go out, shop with your friends, hangouts, be normal. But you always returned home.

Always opened your bedroom door to find him waiting, or feel his hand slip over your waist while you were brushing your teeth.

Because no matter what anyone saw…

You were his.

Entirely. Secretly. Quietly.

You shared his bed now, not just his body. He touched you like you were precious—but always his. He never let you forget that. Every kiss reminded you. Every touch said it.

"Two years will fly by," he murmured one night, arm slung lazily around your waist as you lay tucked against him.

You nodded. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because you weren’t going anywhere.

And he wasn’t letting you.

And you finally started finding the comfort and safety in his arms again— the same which drew you into him in the beginning.

And you had two more years to go, and honestly, it's gonna be a mixed bag—some days you'd feel like you were getting the hang of this, and others you'd still be figuring out what you signed up for.

But one thing stayed the same: he always called you home.

And you always went.

The End.

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mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

Text

THE TURTH | kregg x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: cheating ?

The room was quiet, save for the low hum of alien lighting and the rustle of silken fabrics as women shifted in their seats—each one beautiful, unique. But they all had one thing in common.

Kregg.

He stood before them, tall and broad-shouldered, the muscles of his arms tense beneath his dark ceremonial garb. His expression was unreadable, but his black eyes flicked between them, landing on you—and softening.

“These women,” he said slowly, carefully, “are my wives.”

You froze.

The words echoed. Wives. Plural.

You turned your head slowly, taking in the others now with fresh eyes. The way some sat straight-backed, proud or defensive. The way others avoided looking at anyone, shame or heartbreak flickering in their gazes. Your hand dropped to your side—and brushed the cold band of your wedding ring.

You stared down at it.

“It was a mandate, people,” Kregg said, voice rising slightly as if to steady the room. “Our population is dwindling. I know this kind of thing is frowned upon on your planet—but really. I didn’t know.”

Your breath caught as you pressed a hand to your swelling stomach. The child inside gave a gentle flutter, as if stirred by the emotion rolling through you. Your throat tightened.

“I know some of you are better at handling this than others,” he continued, shifting his gaze between you and the others. “But you need to understand—I care deeply for all of you. Nothing has changed.”

You looked away. Everything had changed.

The warmth of his arms—how safe you felt in them. The promises he made. The way he kissed your forehead like it meant something sacred. Was it all real? And yet, despite the betrayal… despite the storm of betrayal and confusion roaring inside you… all you wanted, achingly, was to be near him. To let him hold you. But how could you?

A glance around the room told you you weren’t the only one at war with yourself.

Some women looked just as broken. Others looked furious. One looked coldly indifferent, as if she’d prepared herself for this long before it happened.

“It’s just that you now know about each other,” Kregg said softly, finally voicing the heart of it.

“Kregg…” your voice cracked as you spoke his name. You didn’t know what you wanted to say. To scream, to ask why—but all that came out was his name.

Then one of the women stood. Her face was tight with pain, her voice sharp. “You lied to us. All of us. And you expect us to forgive you just because you ‘didn’t know’?” Her jaw clenched. “I don’t know about the others—but I want a divorce.”

Kregg didn’t argue. He nodded, solemn. “I understand.”

You stood next, your knees trembling.

“I… I am not sure what to think…” you whispered, holding your belly protectively, like a shield and a burden both.

He looked at you then, not as a husband, not even as a man under judgment—but as someone afraid to lose you.

The silence that followed your whispered words stretched long, heavy with the weight of every unsaid feeling in the room. No one moved at first. Then, one by one, the women began to rise.

Some left without speaking—shoulders stiff, expressions guarded. Others murmured quiet farewells or cast betrayed glances toward Kregg. A few paused at the door, as if waiting for him to call them back.

He didn’t.

The woman who’d first spoken walked past you, pausing only for a moment. “Whatever you choose,” she said softly, without accusation, “make sure it’s for you. Not him.”

You nodded numbly.

Eventually, only two women remained in the room.

One lingered near the back, arms crossed, lost in her own world. You weren’t even sure she was aware of your presence anymore. The other was you.

Still seated.

Still staring.

Still… there.

Kregg didn’t speak until the door hissed shut for the last time. “You stayed.”

You nodded once, unsure if it was strength or weakness. “I don’t know why,” you admitted.

He moved slowly, like he didn’t want to spook you—like you were something fragile that might shatter if touched the wrong way. He knelt before you, eyes not pleading, not begging—just open.

“I thought I could keep you from this pain,” he said. “I didn’t want you to feel like a choice… like one in a collection. Because you’re not. You’re you.”

“And they weren’t?” you asked quietly, eyes searching his.

He didn’t answer at first. Then: “They were, too.”

Tears pricked your eyes. It was the truth. It made it worse. It made it real.

“I don’t think I can share you,” you said, voice trembling. “Even if I wanted to. I need to be enough for someone.”

He reached up, one hand hovering near yours but not touching it. “You are more than enough.”

“Then why—”

“Because our people are dying,” he said, pain etched into every word. “I was chosen, paired, directed. I accepted. I didn’t know I’d fall in love.”

You froze.

He exhaled slowly. “I love you, Y/N. I know that may not change anything now, and I’ll accept whatever you choose. But it’s the truth.”

Your chest ached. The words you wanted were tangled in your throat. You wanted to scream, cry, hold him, run away—all at once. You looked at your belly, then back at him.

“I don’t forgive you,” you said, voice breaking.

“I understand,” he whispered.

“But I stayed,” you continued. “Not for duty. Not even just for the baby.”

His eye widened a fraction.

“I stayed because… I still love you, too. And I hate that I do.”

He reached out again, this time his hand brushing yours—gentle, hesitant.

You didn’t pull away.

For a long, fragile moment, nothing more was said.

Just the quiet truth of two hearts, shattered but still somehow beating for one another.

Months passed.

Grief didn’t disappear. But it softened.

And when the pain dulled enough for the world to move again, something unexpected began to take its place.

Not all the women had left that day.

Some returned after time. Some had never left at all.

Kregg’s home—more a sprawling sanctuary nestled between the pink-leafed trees of his native region—was large enough to house a dozen families, its halls echoing with laughter, footsteps, and the occasional heated debate. The walls held history, ancient and solemn… and now, life.

You stood in one of the sun-drenched atriums, gently rocking your newborn daughter in your arms. Her tiny eyes blinked up at you, her features delicate and warm against your chest. Her fingers curled around the edge of your robe, and your smile grew soft.

She was yours. Yours and his.

No lie, no pain, no shared grief could ever dim the way you felt when you looked at her.

Behind you, voices rose and fell—familiar, now. One wife passed by, bouncing her toddler on her hip. Another knelt to help a child tie their shoes. Someone else called from the shared kitchen, asking who took the last portion of sweetroot bread.

It was strange, at first. To see them like this. To see you among them.

There were days you still woke with your back stiff, unwilling to speak. Days when guilt hung heavy in the air. But there were more days now when one of them would press a warm hand to your shoulder, or you would offer to hold someone’s crying infant while they rested.

You didn’t call it family.

Not yet.

But it was something close.

Kregg came into the room quietly, as he often did now—no longer imposing, no longer trying to command peace or force understanding. He had changed, too. Humbled.

His gaze found you first, then your daughter. He moved slowly, respectfully, never assuming.

“She looks just like you,” he said, voice barely above a murmur.

“She’s got your eyes,” you replied, watching him carefully.

He smiled—not the confident, charming one you remembered from the beginning. This one was soft. Earnest. Tired. But real.

“She’ll have a complicated world to grow up in,” you added, turning your body slightly to shield the baby. “A mother who stayed. A father with many wives.”

“And a home filled with people who love her,” he said, stepping forward just enough to see her more clearly. “People who chose to make something new from something broken.”

You looked up at him.

The words didn’t fix everything. But they no longer needed to.

There was no perfect ending. Just imperfect people, choosing each other in the wreckage of truth.

You offered him the child.

He took her gently, holding her as though she were carved from stardust. And when he looked at you, his expression held something deeper than apology.

It held hope

#general kregg #kregg #kregg X reader #x female reader #reader insert #x reader #invincible x reader #invincible

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nakylvr · 3 days ago

Note

would anyone like dealer dani angst/fluff...

like i keep thinking about dani having a bad high from all of the stress with being in jail and having to start all over so ofc she's going to smoke weed to feel more relaxed but sadly it doesn't go well and having to help her through her high ☹️

my shayla ☹️ this is so ☹️☹️

— troubled waters

warnings/tags: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!reader, dealer!dani au, language, drug usage (marijuana), arguments, happy ending yay

part of the substance series

in the nearly three years you've been dating daniela, there were only a few times where she would have a bad high. she would usually just get paranoid about random things which left you picking up the pieces to ensure that she doesn't do something stupid or maybe say the wrong thing.

then there was this time.

barely a month after everything went down, and things were starting to feel a little normal now. it was going to be a slow process, you knew that. it would take time for things to be fully back to normal. but this was the last thing you expected to happen.

you made dani lay low for the month, not doing any deals or anything related to the sort while everything dies down, and you could tell she wasn't happy about it. she tried to argue with you, but you gave her a look that told her how serious you were and she reluctantly agreed to it. which meant she was stuck in the house even more than she normally would be. you thought it would be fine considering she rarely leaves the place anyways. apparently you were wrong.

you texted dani that you were on your way home from work, asking if she needed anything while you were driving, and you received no response. while this wasn't exactly odd, it wasn't normal either. if she was asleep she would wake up because you're notifications sounds were different than everyone else's. you tried not to think too much on it, just driving home and unconsciously preparing for what you might walk into.

you should've been more prepared.

the second you walk through the front door you're met with the smell of smoke, which would be normal if it weren't for the burning smell along with it. you walk past the living room straight to the bedroom, opening the door and seeing her.

"dani," you say, but she doesn't look up. you can see the beer bottles along with half smoked blunts across the bedding, and you have to bite your tongue to keep you from instantly snapping at ruining the bedding. you take a step closer, then spotting the actually lit blunt burning into the sheet. "daniela!" you say more sternly, grabbing her hand and taking the blunt from her, quickly putting it out in the ashtray.

daniela finally looks at you now. and when you look into her eyes, your breath hitches. red and glossy, but filled with more emotion than she could explain.

"dani?" you let out softly.

"am i a bad person?" is the first words that leave her mouth.

"what?" you question.

"i'm not." she shakes her head. "i'm not a good person."

"dani, what are you talking about?" your hands reach for her face but she grabs them and moves them away, a pang of hurt going through you at the action.

"you don't deserve me," she mumbles. "i don't deserve you."

"daniela, what are you saying?" you ask, trying to remain calm and collected.

"why didn't you leave me in there?" her eyes meet yours, and you swear your heart stops for a second. "why?"

"because i love you," you immediately respond. "i wouldn't do that for just anybody."

"not megan?"

"dani." your voice lowers an octave, already seeing where she was going with this. "don't start that."

"start what?" daniela suddenly gets off the bed, standing in front of you. "start saying the shit i want to say?"

taking a deep breath, you manage to keep yourself from snapping. "you're drunk and probably higher than you should be. you don't know what you're say–"

"i know what i'm saying!" daniela interrupts you. "i know what i am saying!" you subconsciously flinch when her voice raises, but she doesn't seem to notice. "i don't deserve someone like you. you shouldn't be with me of all people. i-i'm not a good person. i-i don't do anything good. you should've left me. you should've stayed with sophia or someone else just not me."

your body tenses up when she mentions sophia. you know sober she knows better than to speak of her, but with the alcohol and weed mixed in her system she's spilling it all out. "you know sophia wasn't good to me, dani," you say to her. "you're a good person, daniela."

"what do i do for a living, yn?" she looks at you expectantly. "i sell people weed. that's my lame fuckass job! yo-you have a real job! you work in an office! you have people under you! you have people who respect you! you can call out and still get money that day! meanwhile i haven't done shit for a month and now we're barely making rent money!"

"i am doing my best and you know that," you tell her, pointing at her. "i worked my ass off to get this job. i'm working my ass off keeping our house while you lay low like i told you to. you can go back to it in a few weeks, that's what i told you. i didn't say you had to."

"obviously i have to!" daniela throws her hands around in the air. "if i don't listen to you god knows what will happen!"

"what is that supposed to mean?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

"it means i'm not your fucking puppy like you treat megan," daniela tells you.

"excuse me?" you let out surprised.

"i mean–"

"think very carefully before you say your next words, daniela," you cut her off sternly, losing your patience by the second. "don't say something stupid."

"you think you can tell me everything. what i can do, what i can't do, what i shouldn't do, what i have to do. everything!" she exclaims. "i'm done listening to you!"

you take another deep breath, your fingers twitching showing you were close to snapping. "look, daniela. i never said you had to listen to me, you just did. you always have. do not put that on me when i have never once told you to do anything and made you do it. you–"

"just listen and do! i know!" daniela yells. "i do because i'm scared you'll leave if i don't!"

a moment of silence passes before she continues. "i fucked up so fucking bad that i ended up in jail and you ended up traumatized because i didn't even hear you out! i listen because i'm too stupid to figure out anything myself! i-i can't remember the last time i did my own taxes, or even the last time i double checked the income because you help me. you help me with everything and i appreciate that so much but fuck i feel so useless." her voice cracks and she balls her hands into fists, covering her eyes that were furiously tearing up. "i-i feel like i can't do anything anymore, or i fuck it up when i try. and i don't want to fuck up what i have with you. i love y-you so fucking much a-and i'm fucking terrified of screwing up again and you l-leave." the tears start rolling down her cheeks, her breaths coming out shallow and short. "i don't know wh-what i'd do without you."

your gaze softens when she starts rambling, and you uncross your arms and take a few steps towards her. hesitantly, you reach out and grab her arm, pulling her into your arms and holding her tightly. she tries to push you away, murmuring "let go" under her breath, but your arms tighten around her, keeping her close to you.

"it's okay, you're okay," you mumble as she cries into your chest. "everything's okay, i promise. nothing's going to happen. i'm not going anywhere." you press a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "i love you so much, i'm staying right here. i promise."

daniela's body trembles with the sobs wracking through her, her arms finally wrapping around you and allowing herself to feel vulnerable for once in her life. "i'm s-sorry for ev-everything."

"don't do that." you shake your head. "you don't have to apologize, i'm not mad. i promise." you kiss her head again. "everything is okay."

she still mumbles incoherent words that you can't understand past her cries, but you can get a gist of what she's saying through the sobs. you keep her close to you, feeling your shirt getting progressively more damp with her tears, but you didn't mind.

you were unsure how long it had been of her crying before she went quiet, her head still pressing against your chest trying to calm her breathing back down. her fingers were curled around the material of your shirt, loosening slightly as she finally calms down.

"are you okay?" you ask softly, running your hand through her hair.

"yeah," she mumbles with a nod, pulling her head away and looking at you. "i'm sorry. i didn't think–"

"it's okay," you interject, shaking your head. "everyone has bad highs once in a while, and you drinking doesn't help. but it's okay."

"i didn't mean it," her voice cracks, and you can see the tears building again at her realizing what she said. "i'm so sorry."

"hey, hey." you move your hands to cup her face, wiping away the few stray tears with your thumbs. "it's okay. i know you're–we're still going through everything, but we're together in this, okay? the two of us, like it's always been. it's still us. nothing else matters. i love you so much, and i don't want to lose you if this happens again. you are a good person, daniela. even if you don't think it, i do. i love you, and only you. forever."

daniela's bottom lip trembles as you speak, a choked sob escaping her mouth and she nods. "i love you too," she whispers. "i love you so much."

"i know." you smile softly at her. "but you're gonna have to pay for the new bedding, okay? i spent too much on this last one."

"okay." she nods again. "you'll help me pick it out, right?"

"of course," you respond. "i know you wouldn't pick a good color."

"rude," she laughs.

"you love me." your smile grows bigger.

"i do." she smiles back.

#katseye thoughts 💭#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #daniela avanzini thoughts 💭#daniela avanzini x reader #substance thoughts 💭

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delicateperspective · 1 day ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/delicateperspective/782767157576679424/hi-ive-noticed-theres-a-lot-of-debate-about?source=share

But isn’t it true that Sony sabotaged Louis’ career for a long time? That’s why people criticize Harry for being so close to Columbia/Sony and for staying with them, like he's just not working with them, they seem like friends (or at least that's what we see). Sorry, I just want to understand some of this better.

Hey anon, that’s a really good question!

I think a good place to start is by remembering that Louis Tomlinson is a complex human being, like anyone else. There’s the part of him that’s the scrappy, stubborn, working-class kid from Doncaster (the one who used to steal sandwiches and has always had a “fuck you, I do what I want” streak). But there’s also another side: the smart, strategic, deeply passionate artist who’s always loved music and performing and who understands the business better than people give him credit for.

And humans are allowed to be both. They can want freedom and still play the game. They can be pissed off by the industry and still choose to stay in it — because it’s the only way to do what they love.

It’s also really important to remember that what we see from the outside is rarely the full story. There are smiling photos of me with bosses I’ve had issues with. I’ve gone to events with them, hung out at their homes, and still had major frustrations under the surface. A job is a job (whether you’re someone like me, or someone like H). The difference? I could walk away from my job tomorrow and probably be fine. H couldn’t. Not without risking everything he’s worked for.

Also, H didn’t just randomly “choose” C*lumbia out of nowhere. 1D was signed to Syc* in the UK and C*lumbia in the US, which means that when the band went on hiatus, those companies likely had what’s called “first right of refusal.” That means that before an artist can sign with another label, the current label gets the chance to match or outbid that offer and keep them. So chances are, H had to stay with C*lumbia unless someone came in with a better offer — and clearly, C*lumbia was invested enough to make sure they kept him. In the same way, Syc* held onto Louis, and it seems they had very different plans for him.

2015/2016 Was Messy, Let’s not forget how chaotic that time was and all of the different gears that were spinning for all of them. Around then, S*ny execs (including R*b Str*nger) allegedly wanted both of them. (L to stay behind the scenes, writing songs while H became the face.) And at the time, that probably made sense to them — L was most proud of his songwriting credits in 1D more than anything else, and H had already been getting the solo star treatment.

But L didn’t do what was expected. He didn’t choose songwriting. He didn’t choose to manage acts under Sim*n. He chose to make his own music — and in doing so, he pissed off a lot of powerful people who expected him to play a different role. That’s when things started to get really difficult for him.

Now, whether or not R*b Str*nger (or anyone else at S*ny) actively sabotaged Louis — that’s something we may never fully know. But let’s say, hypothetically, he did. Should H have walked away from C*lumbia? (and lets be clear, he couldn't have until he gave them three albums - at least - and the contract could have also included what is called "options" which would mean he still might owe them more under the first contract. So, his first oppertunity to walk way would have JUST happened.)

Honestly? I don't think so. Harry snubbing R*b Str*nger publicly would be career suicide. Like it or not, Stringer is one of the most powerful people in the music industry. Ghosting him or switching labels in protest wouldn’t just hurt H — it could hurt L, too. Both H and L know how this system works. H staying close to C*lumbia/S*ny isn’t necessarily a betrayal. It’s playing the long game. It’s making sure he still has the platform and the power to make the kind of music and statements he wants to make.

TL;DR:

L is complex. He made a choice that went against what S*ny & Syc* wanted — and it made his road harder.

H’s connection to C*lumbia/S*ny isn’t just about loyalty — it’s about business, contracts, and survival in a cutthroat industry.

What we see (smiling photos, friendly interactions) doesn’t always reflect the full truth.

Criticizing H for staying with C*lumbia is easy from the outside, but the risks of leaving would have been far bigger than people realize.

Hope that helps clear some of it up, anon. If you want a deeper dive into L's journey and how it relates to R*b, I'd suggest these posts from @fookinhellcurlyyy.

#harry's carrer #louis' career

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atreeinthemoonlight · 3 days ago

Note

Even if people argue that Rhaegar didn’t owe Elia anything as a husband, and that’s already a stretch, he still owed everything to his children. As their father and heir to the throne, he had a non-negotiable duty to protect Rhaenys and Aegon. He was the heir, a father of two, and a prince with power and foresight. He knew his father was unstable. He knew the realm was fracturing. He knew Elia and their children were political hostages in a volatile court. And still, he left them. People say, “He left them in Dragonstone,” but that excuse doesn’t hold up. Rhaegar returned to King’s Landing while Aerys was actively unraveling, and it's clear that Elia and the children were no longer at Dragonstone but in the Red Keep. Aerys had ordered Prince Lewyn Martell to command the Dornish forces and made it clear Elia was being kept as a hostage, a political tool. Rhaegar knew this. He did nothing. This was not a matter of limited power. Rhaegar had enough authority to command two Kingsguard knights — sworn to the king, not the prince — to break their oaths and guard Lyanna in secrecy, far from the capital. If he could pull Dayne and Whent away from their sworn duties to protect his mistress, he could have taken similar steps to protect his wife and children. He had power, agency, and foresight — and he chose to exercise them elsewhere. This was not about love; it was about values — and he made it clear who he valued more. His actions left his children politically unprotected, and directly contributed to their deaths. What’s even more frustrating is how people act like he owed loyalty only to Lyanna. What did he owe her that surpassed the responsibility he had to his children? He had no obligation to her beyond desire and delusion. But Rhaenys and Aegon were his children. Elia had nearly died in childbirth. Who was meant to care for them if she died, while he was off hiding a girl in Dorne and chasing dreams of destiny? Rhaegar did not act like a hero, a protector, or a father. Not a tragic one nor a noble one. He acted like a man chasing an ideal at the expense of the living lives he was supposed to care for. That makes him accountable — not romantic. And what protection did his choices offer? A baby girl hidden in a bed — that’s all the realm’s great prince left her with. That’s all the power he wielded amounted to: a bed as a shield for a child. If love is truly in conflict with duty, then duty should have cost him something. But Rhaegar never paid that price. Instead, he made others pay: Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, his siblings, and the realm.

He owed Elia and children more than he could ever repay—and anyone saying he didn’t is just simping for royal and patriarchal power, bootlickers for bloodlines—cyber Jon Conningtons.Or just a bunch of people who’ve said “I don’t owe you” so often it’s become a reflex—no thought behind it, just muscle memory.

People tend to set the bar embarrassingly low for men—if a man is technically a husband, that alone is seen as proof he’s already done his duty. Meanwhile, wives are expected to be content, wait in silence, and—when he finally turns to leave—watch him go without complaint or regret, and certainly without asking for accountability. Because, after all, “men already have so much pressure.”

Rhaegar, as the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms—the privilege stacked on privilege.Privilege doesn’t argue with you,it just moves past you.When people say “he doesn’t owe anyone,” what they really mean is: he takes what he wants, fully aware of its cost to others, never intending to pay the price,never feeling guilt or responsibility. That’s just blame-shifting—a clear warning that someone’s about to run from accountability, maybe even turn around and bite you on the way out.

Take that already pitifully low bar, hand it to a privilege prince, and watch what happens—Rhaegar took precious things from Elia and her babies.Health,dignity,hope,future life.From the Martells, their peace,their family numbers,their wholesome little moment of family joy—something he could never repay in his lifetime. Somehow,Rhaegar ends up with no responsibility to his wife,Rhaegar could cut ties with Elia anytime, anywhere, without paying price.

He could have sex with her, father children back-to-back.Of course, the fans say there was no love, no lust—just a tragic prince, solemnly enduring the unbearable task of sleeping with his wife. So what is he then—Aegon IV with a harp, or Aerys II who just happened to like baths and cleanliness? Didn’t he love books? Guess no matter how many he read, not a single one taught him how to love a woman.What he did take away was: “Oh, perfect! You don’t have to love your wife to sleep with her. Just time it down to the day—get her pregnant again and again.It’s her job after all."

Therefore,both in the books and among fans, he’s always portrayed as sensitive, emotionally deep, introspective—the clear contrast to all those “macho men.”He spent all that time brooding, being oh-so-sensitive, strumming that damn harp and making women cry, claiming he was meant to save all humanity—and yet somehow, the one person he's so cold to,emotionally distant from,and apparently owes nothing to is his wife? You’ve got to be kidding me.

Funny how that works. Did the fans activate cheat codes or something?Imagining Rhaegar treating his wife like an enemy—squeezing everything out of her, just to clear space for the mistress.With Lyanna it was making love, but with Elia—was it making hate? Or so we’re supposed to believe.Convenient, isn’t it? Maybe fans should draft an outline before hyping him up—just to make sure the logic actually lines up from beginning to end.

If Elia and the children had lived, maybe we could talk. But they’re dead—and everyone knows how they died.And those fucking idiots still out here speaking so boldly,defending the powerful without a shred of shame,like none of it matters……please,have some dignity, even when kissing up.

You know what?That’s also what puzzles me—aren’t they usually the first to hate on the powerful who are being greedy, reckless, and messing around with whoever they want? But the moment they start shipping, they’re suddenly aligned with them,suddenly everything becomes understandable—even worthy of sympathy. Picking a side and projecting themselves into it makes them feel powerful too. So what, turns out it’s not the powerful they hate—just the fact that they’re not the ones in power?Once they become the powerful ones themselves, they won’t hesitate to draw their swords against the weak?

#game of thrones #got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #elia martell #house martell #house stark #anti rhaegar targaryen #rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaelya

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orellazalonia · 2 days ago

Text

The Silence Between Us

Summary: When a mission goes wrong and you resort to bad habits, one of the last teammates you expected finds you. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader)

Trigger Warnings: Descriptions and acts of SELF-HARM. Failed mission. Mentions of civilians death. Minors DNI. Angst. Sort of comfort at the end.

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: I wanted angst and have had this idea for a bit. Reader & Bucky are not in a relationship in this. As always, please read the warnings. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

You hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt. It was supposed to be a routine mission: intel, extract, and get out. But something went wrong. Of course it did. The detonation happened too early and the blast wave swallowed a civilian transport before you could shield it. You watched the fire bloom, bright and furious, as the screams rung loud. Then the silence that followed.

You stood numbly while the team regrouped. They didn’t say anything, not really. Steve gave you a tight nod. Clint didn’t meet your eyes. Natasha’s mouth pressed into a thin line, the kind that said everything and nothing all at once. You could still feel the warmth of the explosion near your face, even hours later. You couldn’t stop seeing their faces.

So you slipped away.

The Tower was quiet, save for the hum of the lights and the occasional sound of Friday responding to someone else. You knew no one would come looking, not tonight. Not after what you did and what you failed to do. You made it to your room, but didn’t stay there. Instead, you found yourself in the bathroom with trembling hands and blurry vision. The guilt was like tar in your lungs, thick and suffocating. You tried breathing through it, tried telling yourself you didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked before you got past the first word.

And then you saw the blade.

It was instinct, not thought. You weren’t even sure why your fingers wrapped around it, why you sat down on the cold tile floor and rolled up your sleeve like it was some rehearsed choreography. You just needed something. Something sharp, something real, something that hurt more than your head and your heart. The sting was almost welcome. It focused the pain. Made it tangible and controlled.

You didn’t notice the blood until it had already patterned the grout like inkblots.

You didn’t move from the floor as the blade slipped from your fingers. It clattered against the tile, but the sound was too soft, too far away. You were somewhere else now, drifting in that space where everything is slowed down and sound becomes distant, muffled, like your ears were underwater. Your breath hitched and your chest tightened, but the tears still refused to fall. Part of you had already shut down.

You stared at your arm. At the red lines, thin but vivid, like cracks in porcelain. They weren’t deep enough, not fatal. You hadn’t meant to go that far. Or maybe you had, you didn’t know. You couldn’t tell what was intentional anymore. Everything felt heavy and hollow at the same time, resembling the feeling of a black hole that had opened inside you, pulling everything inward. Every ounce of guilt, every mistake, every scream you couldn’t stop echoing in your mind.

You didn’t want to think how you looked like.

You had caught your reflection earlier by accident. Your face was pale, jaw tight, eyes…empty. You certainly didn’t look like yourself. You wanted to punch the glass, to shatter it, to make the outside match the inside. But your body had been too tired. Too numb. The only thing you could feel now was the warm, sticky drag of blood as it crept down your skin.

You curled in on yourself, knees pulled tight to your chest, one arm wrapped around your ribs, the other held away like something foreign, something broken. You wished the floor would crack open and swallow you whole. You wished you could disappear.

The thoughts came in waves. You should have died instead of them. They didn’t sign up for this. You did. You promised to protect people. The words felt like knives. And you took them all, again and again, let them bury themselves in your spine until there was nothing left to do but breathe shallowly and wait. Wait for the blood to dry, for the guilt to rot you from the inside out.

Not caring how long you sat there with your head down, eyes closed. You didn’t even hear the door open.

Maybe it was unlocked. Maybe you’d forgotten to lock it in your haze. Or maybe he just picked it, quiet as death, like he’d been trained to be. You barely flinched when the soft creak of the hinges gave him away. But your eyes didn’t lift. You stayed there, folded up like paper, still bleeding, still silent. You didn’t have the energy to care or do anything else.

There was a pause. A breath.

“…Shit.”

His voice wasn’t loud. It was low, rough, somewhere between a curse and a sigh. You knew that voice though. It was the one that rarely spoke to you. Not out of cruelty. Just…distance. He was always at the edge of the group, a little like you. Watching more than participating. Following orders, fighting hard, and saying little. You never expected him to be the one standing in your bathroom doorway, taking in the sight of you broken on the floor.

But there he was.

Bucky didn’t rush. He didn’t bark your name or kneel with some dramatic flare. Instead, he stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The kind of silence that settles before a storm. You heard the faint clink of metal fingers curling into a fist, then loosening.

“You’re bleeding,” He said.

You let out a weak, joyless sound. It might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a sob. “Yeah. Noticed.”

You didn’t look up, knowing his eyes flickered to the bloody blade beside your broken form.

There was more silence. But it wasn’t empty this time, it was tense. A wire pulled too tight. Then the sound of fabric shifting. Movement. You felt the air change as he knelt beside you, just barely close enough to be felt but not touched.

“I saw what happened today,” Bucky murmured. “You think I don’t know what that does to someone?”

You turned your face away, more toward the tile. “I killed them.”

“No,” He said. “You didn’t.”

Your laugh came again, sharper this time. Bitter. “That’s not how it looked.”

Bucky didn’t argue. He didn’t feed you platitudes or repeat what Steve might’ve said. Instead, he shifted again, setting something down beside him. A towel? Maybe his jacket? You didn’t look. You couldn’t. But his voice stayed low, grounded.

“You freeze up when it happens,” He said, like he was talking to himself more than you. “The explosion. The screaming. It’s like your body remembers too much. You forget how to move. How to breathe.”

You said nothing.

“I’ve had days like that,” Bucky continued. “Too many. Days where I couldn’t even look at my hands without seeing the blood that wasn’t mine. That’s not something you can just… walk off.”

You blinked hard. Your vision blurred with tears that finally, finally started to fall. “I just wanted to save them.”

“I know,” He said, almost a whisper.

There was a long pause before you felt the faintest touch, metal fingers brushing yours. Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just… being there. Present. Steady. You didn’t pull away. Not this time.

You still hadn’t looked at him, but it didn’t matter.

“I’m not good at this,” He exhaled. “But I know what it’s like to be drowning in your own head. So don’t sit in it alone.”

Your voice cracked when you asked, “Why are you here?”

Bucky was quiet for a moment. Then he said something so quiet it nearly disappeared:

“Because I saw myself in you.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Instead, he stood, the scrape of his boots on the tile echoing softly, and walked toward the small cabinet in the corner. You could hear the rustling of supplies: bandages, antiseptic, gauze, who knows what else. The faint sound of a drawer sliding open. He moved like someone who had done this before, not hurried, not hesitant, just deliberate.

You stayed still, frozen against the cold bathroom floor, not knowing what to do with the sudden tenderness in his actions. There was something surreal about it. The way he was treating you with a care that no one had given you for so long, maybe ever. The coldness of the tiles beneath your legs was starting to seep into your bones, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

When he returned, it was with the first aid kit in his hands, but his expression was a bit softer, unguarded. He didn’t try to force you to look at him. Didn’t demand anything of you. He simply sat beside you again, pulling a disinfectant wipe from the kit and placing it in his lap.

He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word, as he took your arm gently, the metal of his prosthetic cool against your skin. His touch was careful, as if you were fragile in a way that didn’t show, like something beneath the surface was breaking, even though you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel it yet. His thumb brushed lightly over the cuts: too small, too shallow, but enough to leave marks.

"Let me clean them," He looked at you, his voice calm but firm.

You didn’t pull away. Not because you trusted him completely, but because you felt like you were too far gone to care about anything else.

He started with the first cut, swabbing at the wound with the antiseptic wipe, the sting of it sharp and biting. You flinched, but he was there, steady. His eyes were fixed on your arm, on the task at hand. You could feel his focus: no judgment, just intent to heal, to make the pain go away, if only for a moment.

You know you should have fought harder. Made sure to lock the door. Pushed him away. The man who had been through hell and back didn’t need to deal with this. But for some reason, he was. You didn’t know what it meant either and that scares you. Your thoughts were interrupted once more.

"You don’t have to talk," Bucky murmured after a beat, his voice low, just for you. "I know you’re not ready for that. But, know you don’t have to carry this alone. We all carry our own ghosts.”

You didn't say anything. His fingers worked efficiently, bandaging your wounds with gentle precision. The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t tense or suffocating this time. It was comforting in its quietness, like two people who didn’t need words to understand the weight of everything that had happened today. The first aid kit was closed, the sound of it calming, rhythmic.

When he finished, he looked at you, his metal hand hovering near your shoulder, as though waiting for permission. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t ask him to leave. You were still, lost in the feeling of someone caring for you in a way you hadn’t expected. Bucky didn’t press for anything. He simply let his hand rest on your shoulder.

“You’re not what happened today,” He stated quietly, his thumb brushing across the fabric of your sleeve, the touch almost tender. “You’re not what you think you are. You don’t need to punish yourself for the things out of your control.”

You didn’t know how to answer him, so you didn’t. The quietness in the room felt like a balm, the silence enveloping you like a weighted blanket. His presence was like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, strong and unwavering. You didn’t feel the need to hide, not with him sitting beside you, patient and understanding.

Finally, he spoke again. “You need rest.” His voice was softer, quieter now, as though he knew it wasn’t just physical healing you needed. “Let me help you to your bed. Rest a little. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

You still didn’t respond or move. But this time, when his hand gently urged you to your feet, you let yourself follow his lead. You took another breath, closing your eyes just for a moment. For in that quiet space, you weren’t alone.

#bucky x reader #tw self h4rm #tw sh destructive behaviour #bucky barnes #angst #james buchanan barnes x reader #avenger!reader

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lilangelbuds · 20 hours ago

Note

Big brother has been shooting his load into his little sister whilst she sleeps, but now she’s pregnant and mum and dad found out. They don’t believe her when she’s sobbing claiming to still be a virgin

She sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, her face buried in her hands. Her parents stood in the doorway, their expressions a mix of disbelief and horror. Her mother clutched the pregnancy test in her hand, the two pink lines glaring back at her like an accusation.

“How could this happen?” her father demanded, his voice low and trembling. “You’re still a virgin, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her voice barely a whisper. “I am… I swear, I am. I don’t know how this happened!”

Her mother’s face twisted in confusion and anger. “You don’t just wake up pregnant, sweetheart. There has to be an explanation.”

She shook her head, her hands trembling as she wiped tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

Down the hall, her brother leaned against the wall, listening. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms slick with sweat. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Every night, he’d crept into her room, watching her sleep, his desire growing until he couldn’t resist. He’d convinced himself it was harmless, that she’d never know. But now, the truth was unraveling, and he felt the walls closing in.

Her father stepped closer, his voice rising. “You’re lying to us! Who is it? Some boy from school? Have you been sneaking around behind our backs?”

“No! I haven’t! I swear!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I’ve never… never been with anyone. I don’t know how this happened!”

Her brother’s stomach churned. He wanted to step in, to say something, but what could he say? How could he explain what he’d done? He felt a sickening mix of guilt and fear, his mind racing as he tried to think of a way out.

Her mother sat down beside her, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. “Honey, you need to tell us the truth. We can’t help you if you don’t.”

“I am telling the truth!” she insisted, her voice desperate. “I don’t know how this happened! I don’t understand it either!”

Her brother clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t listen to her pleading, her anguish. He turned and walked down the hall, his steps heavy, his mind a whirlwind of regret and panic.

Back in the room, her father sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This doesn’t make any sense. There has to be an explanation.”

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” her mother suggested, though her voice lacked conviction. “Maybe the test is wrong.”

She shook her head, her voice barely audible. “It’s not wrong. I took two of them. They both said the same thing.”

Her parents exchanged a look, their silent conversation filled with unspoken questions and accusations. Her father turned away, pacing the room, his frustration palpable. Her mother leaned closer, her voice soft but firm.

“Honey, if something happened… if someone hurt you, you can tell us. We’ll protect you.”

She looked up, her eyes wide with fear. “No one hurt me. I swear. I don’t know how this happened.”

Down the hall, her brother stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, his eyes haunted. He felt like a stranger to himself, a monster hiding behind a familiar mask. He thought about going back, about confessing, but the words caught in his throat. How could he admit to something so vile? How could he face her, face them, knowing what he’d done?

He splashed water on his face, trying to calm his racing heart. Think, he told himself. Think of something. But his mind was a void, empty of solutions, filled only with guilt and fear.

Back in the room, her father stopped pacing, his voice firm. “We’re going to the doctor. Tomorrow. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

She nodded, her tears still flowing, her body trembling. Her mother wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Everything will be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

But she didn’t believe it. She could feel the weight of their doubt, their suspicion. They didn’t believe her. They couldn’t believe her. And that realization made her heart ache more than anything else.

Her brother finally emerged from the bathroom, his expression stoic, his hands steady. He walked back to her room, standing in the doorway, his eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment before he looked away. His voice was calm, controlled.

“Maybe… maybe it’s some kind of miracle.”

Her father scoffed. “A miracle? You really believe that?”

He shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual. “I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.”

Her mother looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his heart pounding again. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Her father crossed his arms, his tone sharp. “And what conclusions should we be jumping to? She’s pregnant, and she’s claiming to still be a virgin. That’s not exactly a common scenario.”

Her brother looked down, his guilt threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to say something, to divert their attention, but his mind was blank. All he could think about was her face, the way she’d looked at him, the pain in her eyes.

She spoke up, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t understand it. But I’m telling the truth. I haven’t… I haven’t been with anyone.”

Her mother sighed, her hand still on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll go to the doctor, and we’ll figure it out.”

Her brother stood there, feeling like an intruder in his own home. He wanted to run, to escape, but there was nowhere to go. He’d caused this, and now he had to face the consequences.

Her father turned to him, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re her brother. You’ve been around her more than anyone. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

His heart stopped.

"You know something, don't you, son?"

#fauxcest #fauxc3st #1cky family #!cky thoughts #sibcest #sibcon #1cky sibling #siscest #siscon #big sib / little sib #brocest #brocon #1cky big brother #big bro x lil sis #big bro/little sis #!cky little sister #1cky little sister #!cky sibling #lilangelbud

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c0wboylikeharry · 2 days ago

Text

THE PACT (h.s fanfic)

(masterlist)

chpt 3

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: Y/N and Harry have always had a complicated relationship. They're friends, then they're not. They like each other, then they despise each other. But something deep inside can't let them stray too far apart, even as everything changes around them. Through the trials and tests of life, the heartbreaks and joys, can Harry and Y/N find their own way? Or will they stick to the drunken marriage pact they made in a time of desperation?

word count: 7.1k

warnings: n/a

a/n: this is one of my favorite chapters. it’s a long one, but it’s all very worth it!! lots of angst…

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

3 | PROM

It’s going to rain. It’s going to rain and Harry is running late for pictures. No one is happy. On the day you’re all supposed to be having the night of your lives. You’re all miserable out in the cold, in a random grassy field, waiting for a stupid boy to show up. You knew you should’ve told him pictures were 30 minutes earlier than they were so he’d show up on time.

The rest of the boys are too busy playing a game of catch to even really notice the dilemma. If you girls weren’t following such a strict schedule, they’d probably stay out here all night. But now the schedule has been thrown off. Who knows if you’ll even make it to the dinner reservation? Or even Prom at this point!

Leah’s the most mad. Partly because of the hours she spent getting ready, and the other because she’s been looking forward to this night her whole life. You’d know since she’s told you exactly that since the day you two met. All of it has been planned to a tee since she was a little girl. What she didn’t know—or couldn’t control—was how she was asked.

You’re sure she was expecting something grand. Something to show off to everyone and tell her future children about. And, while everyone did know, it wasn’t spread by word of mouth. More so…right in front of their faces.

In the middle of lunch one day, an announcement rang through the speakers. At first, everyone froze, thinking it was some sort of natural disaster or zombie outbreak. What no one expected was for Rock Your Body by Justin Timberlake to begin blasting through the shitty speakers on a random Wednesday afternoon. After that, it was like time moved in slow motion.

Wayde had jumped up from his seat next to Leah at our table, and you think that’s when she clued into what was happening. Her face went white when he stood on the bench and started vigorously dancing along to the song. The entire lunch room erupted into cheers—or screams of fear—at what they were witnessing. He was mouthing all the words and everything, it was truly a performance. But it didn’t end there. No matter how much you wish it did.

Ronan was next to jump in, officially making it a cringy flash mob. Though, it wasn’t choreographed in the slightest. Just some teen boys ‘rocking their bodies’ in front of the whole school. But you had to give it to them, they were shameless. The rest of the group was dying laughing, embarrassed to no end that those were your friends. You were seriously considering making that sentence obsolete.

Ryan reluctantly pulled himself up onto the bench, despite Frankie practically begging him not to. He was the stiffest with his moves, but that made it better. His face was beet red as he tried his absolute hardest to follow the beat.

The absolute—and you don’t say this lightly—worst, was when you felt Harry start to rise from his seat beside you. You’d never moved faster than when you slammed your hand down onto his thigh to try and keep him seated. “Not you too,” you muttered, a plea. Anyone could tell he was embarrassed about what he was going to do, but he still leaned over and whispered, “I have to.” You couldn’t understand how Wayde convinced Harry to do it. “Is he blackmailing you?” He couldn’t even muster a laugh because of how ashamed he was. But he’d met his deadline, and your hand fell back to your side as he stood up onto the bench.

For how nervous he looked, he sure did go all out. Gyrating hips, body rolls, and even some pops and locks. It sure was a sight to see. And you had front row seats.

But, to everyone’s disappointment, that wasn’t even the end of it. Oh no. Somewhere in between the final chorus and the outro, these teen boys started stripping themselves of their shirts. Yes, you’re being dead serious. In the middle of school. Where people eat. The image is still burned into your brain. As their shirts started falling all around the table, with Harry’s landing straight on your head, a message appeared. With one letter painted on each of the boys chest, clear as day, “P R O M?”, the question was finally popped.

At that point, everyone was inconsolable. Especially Leah, who had tears streaming down her face. You’re still not sure if it was happy tears or tears of laughter and embarrassment. Yours were definitely the latter. But you could tell she had enough of the public humiliation from the speed in which she shouted, “Yes!”

When the boys finally rejoined society, after the song had ended and the whole lunchroom cheered for their social suicide, they were still shirtless. Which…you guess you weren’t gagging at the sight. It still made your cheeks bright red regardless. Especially when Harry reached for his shirt and caught you staring. “Was it really that bad? You look shell shocked,” he had asked at your blank stare. “It was horrible.”

But you’re a liar. It wasn’t that horrible. Not at all.

After that fiasco, Ryan ended up asking Frankie with a simple poster outside her door. No one else was involved and that was for the best. After Wayde’s show, everyone needed a break. That’s why Ronan simply asked Quinn over text one day. As simple as it could be.

And then there’s you. Who’s here alone. Which is totally fine. You’re totally fine. Definitely not thinking about the scrapbook you made when you were little that detailed exactly how this night would go. And the fact that nothing has gone to plan. Especially the part about going with the captain of the baseball team. You should just burn that scrapbook in a fire, honestly.

Despite Leah’s claims about you and Harry, everything went back to normal the next day. Prom was never brought up again, you still got annoyed with him every day, and Leah never brought it up again. Tonight is the last night you should be thinking about something as ridiculous as that. Especially since the boy in question is not even here, and is pissing everyone off.

Probably, most of all you.

“I’m here! I’m here!” The sound of screeching tires and brakes sound off throughout the entire field, stealing everyone’s attention.

Harry comes stumbling down the dirt path, abandoning his bike on the sidewalk. He sprints to your group, effectively wrinkling his suit. Now, if you’re being honest here, the sight could make up for all the time he wasted. In a hopeless romantic kind of way! Not because of anything else. But seeing him—or anyone!—run through a field in a tailored tuxedo… It’s a sight for the big screen. You can just picture it. All slow motion set to swoony music.

“Fuck you, Harry! Shouldn’t have even showed up!” And the movies ruined by Leah’s unashamed use of profanity.

“I’m sorry! I had to make a pit stop!” He yells, stopping a few feet away to hunch over and catch his breath.

“Was your pit stop in the official itinerary? No! It wasn’t!” Leah continues with her rage fueled rant.

“Leah, I will make it up to you, okay?” Harry gives up on his fight, slowly walking closer like you’re all rabid animals he doesn’t want to spook.

“Let’s just get these photos over with,” she grumbles, turning away from Harry all together. “Wayde! Get your ass over here!”

Everyone slowly starts to congregate in the middle of the field. There’s no professional photographer here anyway, just Quinns digital camera. Wayde and Leah are up first, quickly getting into the classic couple poses. You can tell she’s been training him since he asked her to Prom. Off to the side, Ryan and Frankie discuss how they’ll pose. All while you silently stroll toward the group, wondering if you should even get your picture taken. It’d be kind of awkward to stand there all alone. You’d probably just shrivel into the dirt below your feet.

“Y/N! Wait up!” Harry calls for you from a few steps behind, forcing you to slow to a stop.

When he catches up to you, you finally get a good look at him. Dressed in an all black suit, down to the dress shirt underneath, and no tie. He looks…nice. Okay, he looks good. Very put together. A vast difference from how he normally looks. Not that you’d ever say this out loud. Besides his physical appearance, you notice he’s hiding something behind his back.

“What’s up?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling exposed to the elements.

He clears his throat. “Uhm… I like the dress.” His eyes dart back and forth between you and the grass below. “Very, uh… Pretty.”

Despite choosing this dress, it’s hard for you to believe his words. It’s blue chiffon that hugs you in places you didn’t know you had and is strapless, which scares you. But, yeah, sure…pretty.

“Thanks,” you mutter shyly, matching his hung head stance.

“I, uhm… My pit stop was actually to, uh…” His nervous rambling makes you anxious. He’s never acted like this. Normally he’s overly confident in his words, even when they’re loud and wrong. “I got you this.” With your eyes pointed down, he whips out whatever he had hidden behind his back. It’s hard to tell what it is at first, mostly thanks to the slight tremble in his hands, but as soon as your eyes register it, your throat goes dry. “You shouldn’t be the only girl without one.”

Staring down at the small, plastic box, a delicate, white corsage rests inside. It’s really, really pretty. And you’re really, really confused.

“Harry,” you breathe his name, unable to tear your eyes away from the flowers.

“D-don’t say anything,” he cuts you off, opening the box, “let’s just keep this between us.”

“Yeah,” you whisper back, subconsciously holding out your wrist, “wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re actually a nice person.”

“Would really mess with my asshole reputation, y’know?” As he speaks, he lifts the arrangement out of the box with a light touch. Fingertips brushing over your skin as he ties it around your wrist.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” Neither of you acknowledge what he’s doing, but from both of your heavy breathing, you’re very aware.

“No…” he speaks just above a whisper, having finished tying it off, and yet his thumb continues to trace patterns on your skin, “we can’t.”

You can’t tell if the goosebumps that are rapidly arising on your skin are from his words, or the chill in the air. Hopefully, it’s the latter.

“You didn’t happen to buy a matching boutonnière, did you?” His hands drop from your, now limp, wrist, pulling his eyes up to your face.

“I…did,” he mutters, but his eyes won’t meet yours. “But we wouldn’t want people to think we’re going together, would we?”

Your shoulders raise slightly, staring at his apprehensive expression. “We’ll see how the night goes.”

That makes his eyes snap to yours. For a reason you're not one hundred percent sure of. Sparkling green eyes dancing between your own, like he can’t decide which to focus on. Or like he’s trying to decode a secret message within them. To which, there isn’t any. You have no idea what you’re thinking right now. Your brain has given up and is letting your other organs decide how tonight is going to go. So far, your heart has stepped up as the new leader. And you’re not hating how it’s running the show. How could you when it’s the reason a slow, lopsided grin grows on Harry’s face.

“Oh my god! It’s raining!” Leah’s shriek is about the only thing that could’ve broken you out of the moment.

Because, yes, it is in fact raining. But you wouldn’t have noticed. If that bubble hadn't popped, you’re sure you would’ve stayed and allowed yourself to get drenched before you took any notice of the weather.

“Shit, we should go,” Harry mutters, narrowly avoiding the growing raindrops.

You nod in agreement, lifting your dress from the soon to be soaked dirt and carefully stepping toward where you parked. It was a struggle to walk out here in the dirt, you can’t imagine how much harder it’ll be when it all turns to mud. Harry’s already a good distance ahead, trekking it to the car.

“Y/N, come on!” Harry calls back, watching your struggle.

“You try walking on toothpicks in the dirt!” You yell back, hobbling.

Even from the good ten feet of distance between you two, you can hear his huff. Your first reaction is to yell at him again, because why is he complaining? But when your eyes raise to the scene, he’s hurriedly rushing back to you.

“Get on my back,” he instructs, turning around and bending at the knee.

“What? No!” you protest, attempting to take another step—bad idea—and feeling your heel jam into a patch of mud. Lovely.

“Y/N, just get on my back.”

“Fine!” you groan, hiking up your dress and leaning forward to wrap your arms around Harry’s neck. “You better not drop me.”

His hands snake behind your calves, sending a chill down your spine. This time, it’s definitely not because of the cold weather. With one little jump, he’s hoisting you off the ground and onto his back. You let out a small, surprised shriek from the altitude change, clinging onto him tighter. His light laugh rattled from his back into your ribs. “I’m not going to drop you. But if you choke me out, I will.”

“Noted,” you reply, giving his neck a teasing squeeze.

And just like that, you two are a winning horse off to the races. Your opponent being the vastly approaching rain storm. You can’t help the uncontrollable laughter that spills from your mouth during the bumpy ride. This is something that would only happen to you.

When you reach the car, Harry drops you off at the passenger side of your truck. You don’t question it. Until you do.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You drag the now rain spattered material of your dress into the cabin of the truck.

“You’re wearing heels, and I’d very much not like to die tonight,” Harry replies, pushing the damp strands of hair out of his face.

“I drove here in heels, idiot.” You roll your eyes, but gasp when a realization hits you. “Wait! You can’t drive! You don’t have your license!”

“Got my license a month ago, idiot,” he mocks.

“Wait— What?! Then why have I been lugging your ass home every day?”

He shrugs softly. “Thought it was just sort of our thing?”

You can act mad all you want, but on the inside, you think his words are kind of sweet. Sure, now you’ll start charging him gas money or making him drive when you’re too tired, but still. The idea of you two having a “thing” doesn’t disgust you as much as you thought it would. Odd.

“Uh… Y/N,” Harry clears his throat after being eerily quiet for the past couple of minutes. “I, uh… I know this is very last minute, but—“

“Yo! Harry! Were you just gonna leave your bike here to rust?!” Ryans booming voice breaks into the back of the truck cabin, cutting Harry off. “I’m tossing it in the back!”

Everyone slowly trickles into the truck, all except Wayde and Leah who drove here separately. They all chatter about what the rain ruined or certain pictures they got.

“Sorry, I drove them here,” you mutter to Harry, seeing his shocked face at the ruckus. “What were you saying?”

He snaps out of his trance. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just wondering if you had the directions to the restaurant.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’ll pull them up.” You immediately fumble for your phone, letting Harry’s terse tone roll off your shoulders.

As he pulls the car away from the curb, he almost whispers, “Cool.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Apparently your group wasn’t as creative as they thought when it came to picking a restaurant. So far, you’ve spotted at least fifteen of your classmates.

It also doesn’t help that you all arrived a little late. Prom starts in an hour and you haven’t even ordered yet. Some of your classmates have already gotten their checks!

You’re all squished into a half-moon booth, conversing over one another. You got stuck with an edge seat, but you don’t really mind. You can make a quick escape if need be. Harry is sitting beside you, squished by Ryan. He doesn’t really seem interested in conversation, just mindlessly scrolling through his phone. It leaves you on a deserted island, trying to clue into the conversations happening on the other side of the table.

Though, you do have something that could break him out of his funk. You snatched it from your truck when you noticed he’d forgotten it inside. Feels like he’s earned the right. Discreetly, you crack open the package under the table. For some reason, you want it to be a surprise.

“Harry,” you nudge him with your elbow, finally getting him to look up, “I think you’ve earned this.”

His expression of confusion quickly morphs to pleasant surprise as you pull the boutonnière out from its hiding place. “And to what do I owe the honor?”

“Well, you were a trusty steed that saved me from disaster.” The decoration spins between your fingertips, a nervous action.

“So… I’m your knight in shining armor, is what you’re saying?” He smirks, a dangerous look.

“Shut up,” you mumble and roll your eyes. Leaning closer, you take charge. “May I?”

“Please,” he whispers.

Delicately, you reach for the breast pocket of his jacket. The needle is so thin, you fear it’ll break trying to stick through the thick material. You can feel his eyes on your calculated movements, and you’re sort of hoping no one else is watching this oddly intimate moment.

But a throat clearing alerts you of outsider onlookers. You force your hands to freeze. Maybe if you stay still enough no one will see you?

“Lacy…” Harry’s soft voice pulls you from your bubble. The breathlessness of it could’ve been enough to make you drop the flower all together.

For a second, you think he’s making a bad joke. Bringing up his ex as you’re essentially knighting him as your Prom date. But his statue-like stillness tells another story. You nervously tear your gaze toward the head of your table. And lo and behold, there she stands in all of her glory. Lacy.

Just as you’d expect any bombshell to dress, she’s in red. It compliments her tan skin beautifully, which just isn’t good for anyone else’s self image. You swear she has a golden aura looming around her.

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling as her eyes connect with the boy beside you. The boy with your matching boutonnière half attached to his lapel.

“W-what are you— How are you?” Harry stumbles over his words. But who wouldn’t when you’re in the presence of such an enigma.

Subconsciously, your hands drift onto your lap under the table, picking at the fresh manicure that cost you $80. What a crazy thing insecurity is.

“I’m good…yeah,” she replies, and only then do you notice that your whole table has gone silent. She knows how to command a room. “And you?”

“I’m…uh—good, yeah.” You can feel Harry shift in his seat beside you. Did he just scoot away?

“You look great, Harry,” Lacy continues on while you wonder where the hell your waitress is when you need her. “You all do, really.”

Being as you are a courteous person, only slightly petty, you finally allow your attention to raise to her. A mumble of ��thank you’s’ rolls out from your group, but yours is the quietest. The smallest. Because that’s how you feel.

“So, uh… What’s up?” Harry finally asks the burning question on everyone’s tongue.

“Oh, uh,” she laughs lightly, “just wanted to come and say hi.” You could cut the awkward tension with a dull butter knife. “And, uhm… Just that I’m happy everything worked out for you, Harry.”

Her cryptic words leave you more confused than when she showed up at the table. And that’s saying a lot. Your eyes dance around the table, trying to gauge if anyone else is just as confused as you are. But your investigation comes up inconclusive. In fact, instead of being stumped like you, they all look…nervous?

“Oh, yeah… Thanks,” Harry replies quickly, like the anxious energy around him is making him antsy.

“Okay,” she sighs, “you guys have a great night!” And just like that, she’s rushing back to whatever lab they created her in.

The table tries its hardest to get back to the groove they were in before her interruption, but it’s stiff. Forced. There’s something there. Something you can’t put your finger on. Was it something you missed that day you faked being sick to skip a Math test? Peering beside you, the real show that something has shifted is Harry doing up his own boutonnière. No longer needing your help like he previously begged for.

“What the hell was that about?” you find yourself blurting, hoping at least one person will give you answers.

All the conversations stop once again, eyes hesitantly drifting to your face. Only a few of them have a good poker face. Or maybe they're all in the dark too? The one expression that piques your interest is Leah’s. Thinking you don’t notice her, her eyes flick from your face to Harry’s, and then back to you. As if that didn’t happen, she just shrugs.

“I don’t know?” she mutters, totally unconvincing.

Are you seriously going to have to hold all of your friends hostage until one of them spills? You’re willing to do it. Prom isn’t even a priority for you anymore.

“Sorry about the wait, guys! Have you all decided on what you’re getting?” Okay, the secret is your second priority. You’re starving.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Prom. The night every young girl is introduced to through any kind of media. The night they dream about for ages. How they’ll do their hair, what color dress they’ll wear, who their date will be. Watching the You Belong With Me music video over and over and self inserting. An unbridled fantasy that even if you say you don’t care about, you secretly really do.

Prom. The night you went into with low expectations and even lower standards. How amazing would a dance in your school’s gymnasium really be? Not good. That’s the answer. You tried not to get too excited, because you knew you’d be let down, but that little girl still lives inside of you. She was still praying for a novel worthy night. Most let down by not getting to have your own You Belong With Me moment. Especially not the popular, hottest guy in school, love interest. Because, no, the whole room didn’t still when you walked in. No one even noticed the door opened. You walked in completely under the radar.

You’ve accepted your fate of being a wallflower at dances. The only difference this time is the fact that usually your friends would take shifts “babysitting” you. Four on the dance floor and two looking after little ol’ you. This time, they’re all out there, getting their grind on. But you’re not completely alone. Harry’s here too. Sat in silence at a lone table at the edge of the room.

He’s been pretty silent since you left the restaurant. Well, really since Lacy showed up at your table. You never got your answers as to what she was talking about. But… You think you have an inkling. Given Harry’s sour mood, you’re pretty sure it has something to do with not being here with her. Kind of sucks given your matching corsage and boutonnière, but it’s fine. She doesn’t even have a date, so maybe he has an in.

“I’m gonna grab some punch, do you want any?” Harry stands from the table, an abrupt motion.

Your eyes flick over to the nearly full cup of punch he grabbed not thirty minutes ago. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Cool,” he mutters before fleeing the scene. Leaving you actually alone at the table.

It feels colder, if that makes sense. Like the loneliness has materialized itself and is finding ways to torture you. It’s very rude.

You sigh loudly, because no one is around to judge. Resting your head on your palm, you stare out into the sea of swaying bodies. You lost your friends there an hour ago. You tried to dance with them, but as soon as the first slow song came on, you took it as your cue to leave. For some reason, Harry followed. He could have his pick of fellow lonely girls looking for a knight to save them, but no. Pretty stupid move on his part.

As your eyes continue their journey around the room, you spot Harry at the punch table. Your heart does a weird little thing in your chest, probably something you should get checked out. You know it’s not because of him in general…maybe. And it’s not because of his disinterest and constant flees to get more drinks. But, you’re pretty sure, it’s because of who he’s standing with instead.

Red dress, tan skin, golden aura. Lovely.

It would make sense for her to stake her claim on a wallflower and invite him to dance. She is that considerate after all. He’s probably informing her that your guys’ little matching flowers are just a joke between you two. A friendship thing, if you will. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just ripped it off and dropped it into the punch bowl.

For some reason, that thought alone brings your anger to a boil. You watch as he waves bye to Lacy and starts to make his way back to the losers table. Probably to let you know that he just won the lottery. To break the news that unfortunately he has a very pressing issue to attend to. To inform you that, yes, you will be spending the rest of tonight alone while he dances with the one that got away.

You try to hide your burning gaze as he approaches, darting your eyes to the other side of the room. And that’s when you spot him.

Jackson, walking back from the dance floor—moderately sweaty—and taking a seat at a table a few feet away. You’ve heard the rumors that he’s here alone. Just his baseball friends. Perhaps this is your You Belong With Me moment?

Immediately, you rise to your feet. But, to your demise, that’s the exact moment Harry arrives back at your table. You have to act fast. You need to rip the bandage off before he can. What’s that thing people say? Hurt them before they can hurt you? Leave before they leave you? Yeah, that one. You can tell from the look on his face that he’s about to come and break, what he thinks is, heartbreaking news. But you’ll beat him to it. A taste of his own medicine, if you will.

It will royally suck if Jackson turns you down.

“Hey,” Harry mutters as he reaches you, placing his drink on the table. He eyes you skeptically, questioning why you’re standing.

“I’m gonna go ask Jackson if he wants to dance,” you blurt, not being able to even look at Harry as you say it.

Only when the silence grows between you do you peer over at him. Having stopped midway through lowering himself down into the folding chair, his face is pinched. Why he was even planning on sitting when he’s got a hot date to attend to, you’re unsure. Perhaps he thought if he broke the news in a more formal setting, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“Really?” he finally speaks, a tone full of distaste. As if he has the right.

“Yes, really. I’m bored and I’d like to at least dance with someone at my one and only Prom.” You hold your ground, not letting his negativity sway you.

“And of all people, you chose Jackson?” You nod assuredly, watching him scoff and shake his head. “You’d choose that asshole before—“ he stops himself, forgetting his plans to sit. “Y’know what? Forget it.” He shrugs, a downturned smile on his face. “I’m out of here.”

“What?” Your entire facade drops as his shoulder knocks yours in his exit. “Harry!”

He doesn’t turn back at your plea, continuing his fast pace toward the exit. You’re not exactly sure what to do. Obviously, you want answers out of him, but he doesn’t really seem in the mood to talk to you. Plus, what happened with that supposed dance with Lacy? Did you just read that conversation wrong? Jesus, what has this night turned into.

You find yourself rushing forward, toward where he fled. He’s got a good advantage on you, longer legs and no heels. Who knows if you’ll ever catch up to him? But you push yourself to your limit and hurry your steps, your heels clacking against the waxed floors. You reach the doors and burst through them, but the hall is practically empty. Just a few stragglers who hate loud music, and the stoners, who you could smell from a mile away. The main exit is down the hall, you have to keep going.

Racing down the hall, you get a couple stares from the kids in the hall. Looking like a madwoman chasing after a boy who probably wants nothing to do with you right now. Is this a mistake? Probably. You continue anyway.

If he’s already across the parking lot, you know you’d have to give up before your heart did. You’d give him a call later. But you’re dying to know now.

The doors scream as you push them open, alerting anyone within a one-hundred-foot radius of your presence. And while there’s not a lot of people to alert, there is one.

Harry.

Pacing in circles near the entrance, his head hung and his fingers toying with his bottom lip. He looks stressed. And mad. Not a good mix. You’ve never dealt with him when he’s like this. You’ve never been the reason he’s like this. It makes you want to turn around and let him cool off, let him come and find you when he’s ready to talk, but you lose that chance. As his eyes raise to you, you swear you can feel all the blood in your body freeze.

“Back so soon?” he snaps, a face full of anger. “Lover boy didn’t want to dance?”

“I didn’t ask him.” You shrug defeatedly, wishing he would tell you what’s wrong instead of deflecting. “You’re not dancing with Lacy?”

“Why the fu— Why would I be dancing with her?” he scoffs, morphing his face into a painful contortion.

“I don’t know? I saw you two talking and thought maybe she asked you.”

“Even if she asked, which she didn’t, I wouldn’t.” He won’t stop pacing, as if his mind is working a mile a minute.

“What even happened between you two? You never told me but it seems like everybody else knows!” You force out a fake bark of laughter.

That’s when his steps halt, scarily so. Right in front of you, just a few feet away, as his eyes bore into your soul. “Are you blind, Y/N? I know you’re a smart girl, but are you seriously this naive?”

“Stop dancing around the question, Harry!” you groan, this situation feeling oddly familiar. “Just this once, tell it to me straight! I don’t know why I’m the only one who’s been left in the dark?! Did she say something about me? Do you think I’ll be hurt because I’m some fragile little—“

“We broke up because of you!” he cuts you off, yelling so loud you’re certain the record scratched inside.

“B-because of me?” Your eyebrows pinch together. “What the hell did I do?!”

“Nothing! You did nothing!” He throws his arms out by his sides, a sign of distress. “Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?”

You’re not sure if it’s because of the stress of the situation, the whole being yelled at thing, or the realization slowly setting in, but your eyes glass over. Blurring your vision of Harry in front of you.

“Apparently I’m so naive, so maybe you should,” you quote his hurtful words, holding your head high despite it.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it!” His finger is pointed right at your face, an outburst.

“Tell me, Harry! What part did I play in you and Lacy breaking up?” You hope he can’t hear the way your voice is wavering.

“Because you’re you!” he yells, forcing the birds to migrate westward early. “You’re you and she’s… She’s not you.”

You hadn’t even realized that you weren’t breathing until you took a sharp intake of breath at his confession. His…raw and surprising confession. Although, perhaps it’s just surprising to you.

“Harry—“ you whisper, hardly even audible over the music rattling inside.

“No! No! I’ve held my tongue and been patient for long enough and I’m so over it!” he groans in frustration. Through your blurry vision, you watch him run through every nervous tic he has as if he’s preparing for battle. “I really thought you would’ve picked up on it by now… I thought— I thought you knew?”

Like a puzzle being pieced together inside of your brain, it all starts to connect. And yet, you still find yourself muttering, “How could I have known?”

“Was I not obvious enough? Fuck— I mean, everyone knew! Even Lacy!” he won’t lower his voice, but you won’t make him. It seems like he needs to release his anger.

“Exactly, Harry… You were with her—“

“For hardly three weeks!” he cuts you off, nearly a shriek. “And in only two, she picked up on it!”

“But how was I supposed to know when you were going around dating other people?” your defense is weak, but at least you’ve found your voice again.

“Going around—“ he scoffs. “It was one girl! One girl who I only dated to try and take my mind off of you!”

“Well, that’s kind of shitty of you and rude to Lacy—“

“Since the first day of school it’s like you’ve been this pesky, little parasite in my brain that I couldn’t get rid of!” Don’t really like being compared to a parasite, but you’ll hear him out. “I thought that I was just making something out of nothing, so I pursued Lacy!”

“And?”

“And obviously it didn’t fucking work! You— You were still there. I felt shitty for dragging Lacy into it, but she understood.”

“Is she just a perfect fucking human being or soemthing?” Somehow, you find humor at a time like this. Luckily, he lets out a breathy laugh. “So… What she said at dinner tonight…”

He sighs loudly, shaking his head. “She assumed because of the stupid corsage that we were going to Prom together. And that we were, like… together and shit.”

“Is that what you wanted? To go to Prom together, I mean.”

“Clearly, that is what I wanted, Y/N!” And he’s back to yelling, okay.

“Why didn’t you just ask me then?”

“I did! On multiple fucking occasions at that!” He’s pacing again, though this time his movements are more frustrated. “But how could I get through to you when it was all “I hope Jackson asks me to Prom” this, and “I’m fine with going alone to Prom” that?!”

“Maybe you weren’t clear enough…” Your words are dangerous, but you’ll take the risk.

“Did you want me to get on a table and flash mob you into going with me? Is that what you needed?” When you shake your head no, he continues, “Exactly.” He sighs. “You were so caught up in your own world, you couldn’t even see what was right in front of you.”

This is definitely an inappropriate time to be thinking about this, but Harry is totally having his You Belong With Me moment. Down to the cheer captain. Wait. Does that make you the swoony love interest? Are you jealous that he’s living out this fantasy instead of you? Okay, no. Focus. What did he say again?

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry,” you sigh, defeated and still a bit confused.

“I just want you to be honest with me.” He finally seems like he’s calming down. “Tell me if it was all one-sided. Tell me if I’ve made a complete ass of myself tonight.”

Oh, God. You don’t know what to say. Obviously, you like Harry. But do you like Harry? Sure, you find him hot. Anyone with working eyes could tell you that. And he’s funny. Not in a cracking jokes kind of way, but one that always knows how to make you laugh. He’s also very kind, even if he puts up an opposing front. He’s thoughtful, giving, and selfless. And though it used to pain you to admit, he’s one of your closest friends these days. But could he be something more? Okay, fine. You’ve thought about kissing him more than any other guy friend you’ve had. And that romantic dream you had about him didn’t just happen once. But has it become something you’re yearning for? Something you want for real?

You think…you do. The more you think about it the stupider you feel about your own feelings. As if a code has been cracked and the truth is sitting right in front of you. Except, it’s been there all along. You were just too blind to see. You had just brushed it off, or repressed it. In fear, you guess. Of what? You don’t know. But you can’t lie and say that his confession doesn’t feel like weight hasn’t been lifted off your chest. Like a secret you didn’t even know you were hiding was just spewed and yet…everything worked out.

Shit. You like Harry. You like, like Harry. What is wrong with you? You like Harry, and Harry likes you back!

“It…wasn’t one-sided,” your confession comes out just above a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear.

His pacing stops again, it sort of scares you. You both know that you know now. Where do you both go from here? His eyes are lit up like the fourth of July. Full of relief and hope. It’s quite a beautiful sight. He’s quite a beautiful sight. And you really, really like Harry.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“N-no,” you stumble on your words despite the truth behind them.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He looks genuinely pained as he recites your words from earlier.

“I…don’t know,” you sigh. “I think I was just afraid of ruining our friendship.”

“Fuck our friendship,” he spits out quickly. “I don’t want to be just your friend. I never wanted to be just your friend.”

“I don’t want to be just your friend, either,” you parrot him, your voice small and frail, nervous for what’s to come.

“Please, Y/N… Let me ruin our friendship.”

“Okay?” You laugh lightly at his pleading tone. “I don’t really know how you’re—“

And just like that, his lips are on yours. A simple embrace. Just two lips pressed together. Both of you suck in a sharp intake of air through your noses from the surprise. You say it’s simple, but it’s anything but. Your school doesn’t have the budget for fireworks, but you’re certain they’ve just set some off. It genuinely feels…electric. Which is horrendously cliche, but true. As if your body has been set on fire. And that only grows when one of his hands grabs your face to pull you closer, all while the other is snaking around your waist. Your hands instinctively land on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath your palms. It’s innocent and delicate, but—God—does it feel intense. Like you’re breaking some sort of rule. Every light touch is addicting, and this is nothing. In fact, you find yourself almost screaming in protest when he pulls away.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your face. “What did we just do?”

“We? Don’t blame me! That was all you! You’re the one that wanted to ruin our friendship in the first place!” you tease, watching as his classic, lopsided, dimpled grin pops out.

Fuck. You really like, like Harry.

“You wanted to ruin our friendship just as much as I did. Don’t lie,” he jokes, making you smile until your cheeks ache.

“Okay, I guess I sort of did.” You roll your eyes playfully, earning a small pinch on the back from it. Hell, you might never stop rolling your eyes if that’s the punishment.

“So… Do you just want to head out of here, or…?”

“Excuse you, but I think there’s something you’ve been wanting to ask me.” You push back from his chest, forcing eye contact. Though his told hold on you never falters. Who knows if he’ll ever let go.

“Right,” he sighs, smiling. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honor of going to Prom with me?”

“Meh, could be better.” You shrug and watch his jaw drop. “Maybe I should grab my phone so Justin Timberlake could set the mood?”

“Absolutely not,” he laughs, surprising you when he leans in to peck your lips once. It’s very domestic. Something you’ll have to get used to. Kissing Harry in general will be a learning curve. But you don’t think it’ll be too hard.

“Yes, Harry Styles, I would love to go to Prom with you.”

He sighs happily, as if your words were the cure to everything. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

“Well, maybe if you just asked me like a regular person—“ You teasing words are cut off by his lips attaching to yours. Now you’re certain you’ve been transported into a rom-com. Getting cut off by a kiss? Someone write this down! You’re the one to pull back this time, having one more request. “I believe you owe me a dance.”

“Lead the way.”

Prom is something you’ve dreamed about your entire life. You knew how you’d style your hair, what color your dress would be, and who your perfect date would be. Prom isn’t anything like you planned, and yet, somehow it’s exceeded your expectations.

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leejenowrld · 2 days ago

Note

I think you’ve mentioned before that Jeno and Jaemin have had threesomes (correct me if I’m wrong)

How does that play into their dynamic? What do they get out of it on an emotional level?

absolutely, so while it’s not canon in back to you that jeno and jaemin have had threesomes, here’s how it would play out if they had — how it affects their relationship, what they get from it emotionally, and why it both reinforces and complicates the way they relate to each other.

jeno and jaemin in a threesome context: how would it happen?

it starts at a rooftop bar — post-season, post-finals, the team is drunk and scattered, and jeno and jaemin have peeled off into their own orbit, sitting on a low couch with a bottle between them. they’re loose, golden-lit, shirts open at the collar, still high off the rush of the season and half-daring the world to keep up. and then she walks in — a girl neither of them know, tall, magnetic, mouth like a dare, and both of them clock her instantly.

“she’s mine,” jaemin says, already smug.

jeno laughs, dry. “you don’t even know her name.”

“don’t need it. i know the look.”

“she looked at me.”

“because you’re loud and keep staring at her.”

“and you’re reckless.”

they go back and forth for ten minutes, arguing in half-whispers, eyes never leaving her. eventually, she walks past. stops. looks between them. raises an eyebrow. and jeno — cool, unreadable — says, “we were just trying to decide who gets to take you home.”

she laughs. slow. curious. and says, “why not both?”

they take her back to jeno’s apartment. it’s never discussed, but there’s a silent order: jeno starts. he presses her into the mattress, hands firm on her waist, while jaemin watches from the corner chair, all sharp eyes and slow exhale. when she moans, jaemin’s already undoing his belt. jeno shifts, gives space, mouth curling into something close to indulgent. and jaemin steps in — grinning, careful, controlled chaos. they don’t touch each other. they don’t speak much. but their coordination is eerie — two halves of a rhythm built over years. one pulling her hair, the other between her legs. one in her mouth, one at her throat. every move in sync, a silent dare: keep up. it never happens again — not with her. not with anyone for a long time. but something in them changes. not desire. not jealousy. just a shared memory neither of them can unsee.

if it were to happen with back to you y/n

jeno always folds first. it’s not hesitation — it’s instinct. he falls into your rhythm before you’ve even set it, knees hitting the floor like it’s the only place that makes sense. when your fingers trace his jaw, he leans into it. when you tell him “stay still”, his breath catches and he holds it like obedience is its own kind of pleasure. you don’t need to raise your voice, don’t need to spell out what you want, jeno reads it in your body, your silence, your hands. he kisses your thigh before he kisses your mouth. he looks at you when he begs, not to manipulate, to be seen. when you slide your hand down his chest and whisper, “don’t come until I say,” he nods once and trembles under the weight of it. there’s nothing performative about how he gives himself over. he doesn’t want to impress you — he wants to please you. wants to be used and held and undone at your pace. everything about him tightens for you — jaw, fists, thighs — and when you finally let him have what he wants, it’s like reward. like your praise could split him open sweeter than any orgasm.

and jaemin watches all of it like he’s waiting for you to look back and earn his attention. he doesn’t kneel. doesn’t beg. doesn’t break until you make him. he watches how soft jeno goes for you and licks his teeth like he’s daring you to try it with him. when you turn to him, when your hand reaches out like you expect him to follow, he tilts his head and asks, “or what?” he’ll touch without being told to. kiss you deeper than you asked. fuck you slow on purpose, just to hear the catch in your voice when you stop pretending he’s not in control. he’s bratty, deliberate, impossible. but he gives you everything when you rise to meet him. when you take his dominance and twist it back, ride him with your hand on his throat and your voice in his ear saying, “watch your tone.” he laughs into your mouth, all teeth, until you grind him silent. jaemin doesn’t follow because he’s told — he follows when you prove you’re worth chasing. and when you take both of them in hand — one melting, one resisting — that’s when it hits: jeno makes you feel worshipped. jaemin makes you feel challenged. and having both of them? at once? means you never have to choose.

you’re the one on top — physically, mentally, completely — not just riding one of them, but controlling both, guiding their pace like you built them for it. jeno’s beneath you, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets as you sink down on him with his lips parted and eyes glassy, his whole body tuned to the sound of your voice. he doesn’t move unless you do, every thrust met with that aching, breathless “please” that’s more about staying connected than getting off. jaemin’s behind you, mouth hot at your neck, one hand gripping your hip while the other slides between your legs without asking — not because he doesn’t know the rules, but because he wants to be punished for breaking them. he fucks you with teeth bared, not to steal control, but to pull it from you just enough to make you take it back harder. he’s loud where jeno is silent, fast where jeno is patient, and every second they’re inside you at once, you feel it — their difference, their edge, their devotion. one serves. the other resists. you keep both of them exactly where they belong.

you take the dominant role because they need you to. because control isn’t just something you wear well — it’s something they fall into the second you touch them. jeno craves your authority like a tether, like it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded when his body’s spiraling with need. he’s built to follow: all discipline, breathy submission, wide eyes and shaky whimpers when you tell him to hold still. his pleasure relies on your pace, your permission, your praise — being good for you is what makes him come. that’s his role: the one who obeys. the one who waits. the one who breaks prettily at your feet and thanks you for it. jaemin, though — jaemin’s not soft. he doesn’t fold. he challenges. he plays dominant by default, lives to provoke, to test limits, to touch without asking and smirk when you tell him no. his role isn’t to be controlled easily — it’s to make you prove you can. he pushes back with bite, with pace, with fingers that grab too hard and thrusts that drag filthy curses out of you, because he wants to see if you can take him apart without losing yourself. that’s the thrill for him: when you pin him anyway. when you tighten your grip on both of them and make them serve you together. jeno gives you submission as a gift. jaemin makes you earn it. and you? you take the lead because you can handle both. because neither of them can touch what you control — unless you let them.

what do they get from it emotionally?

jeno — emotional clarity, permission to soften, and quiet security jeno doesn’t enter threesomes for novelty or chaos — he enters when he trusts the dynamic. emotionally, what he gets from it is permission. he’s someone who lives under pressure — athletic discipline, family expectation, team responsibility — so sex is one of the few spaces where he can surrender, where nothing is expected of him except presence and pleasure. in a threesome, that need multiplies. it gives him the chance to feel chosen in a crowd, to be desired not just in a one-on-one vacuum, but with and against someone else. being shared, watched, instructed — it unburdens him from control. he doesn’t need to perform dominance. he just gets to feel.

he thrives in roles where someone else is taking the lead — especially in situations where emotional intimacy is paired with physical intensity. jeno’s the type to kiss softly during someone else’s orgasm, to hold hands while someone else fucks you, to need to be needed, even if the attention isn’t solely his. emotionally, he finds reassurance in threesomes when the connection is balanced — when he knows he’s not just extra. when he sees you watching him while you’re with someone else, or when someone mouths “good boy” in his ear while he holds back for you. it’s not about competition for him. it’s about being trusted enough to be invited into something shared.

jaemin — stimulation, control through chaos, and affirmation through intensity jaemin, on the other hand, doesn’t seek softness in threesomes — he seeks proof. proof that he can captivate in a room full of want. that his presence doesn’t get diluted when there’s more than one body in the bed. emotionally, he uses threesomes as a way to maintain edge — not to lose himself, but to heighten his own sense of dominance and cleverness. when someone’s moaning under someone else’s touch, jaemin wants to be the one dragging their eyes back to him. when things get messy and unbalanced, he thrives on recalibrating the dynamic — making himself unforgettable in the middle of heat and distraction.

for jaemin, a threesome offers something specific: attention split that he still manages to win. he likes the challenge of being watched, likes fucking someone while whispering about the third person in the room, likes being part of something sensory and indulgent, while still controlling the tempo. emotionally, it feeds his confidence and his deflection at the same time. he’s not there to open up, he’s there to create the scene, direct the tempo, say things that make people blush and squirm. and when he is affected? when someone turns the game on him, makes him wait, makes him beg, it disarms him in a way that thrills him.

in summary: • jeno gets to feel safe, wanted, and led — threesomes offer him release from expectation and a chance to participate in something emotionally generous, even tender. • jaemin gets to feel seen, desired, and in control — threesomes give him space to express dominance, toy with tension, and feel emotionally powerful in a curated chaos.

how does it affect their larger dynamic?

in the larger context of their relationship, their years-long, platonic, emotionally loaded brotherhood — threesomes don’t fracture jeno and jaemin’s dynamic, but they complicate it in ways neither of them ever speaks aloud. because threesomes expose something that their friendship is built to avoid: vulnerability. not between them directly — they never touch, never flirt, never cross the line into romantic tension but the intimacy of watching each other give and take that close up does something. it marks them.

jeno sees the way jaemin fucks — how reckless he gets, how sharp his focus turns when he wants to prove something and it reminds him that jaemin is performing even in pleasure. it makes him protective, and a little resentful, especially if jaemin starts pushing a partner too hard just to get a reaction. jeno’s quiet about it, but it sits under his skin — the discomfort of watching someone he loves act out in a way that feels like a cry for attention no one else hears.

jaemin, on the flip side, watches how soft jeno becomes in group sex — how fully he hands over control, how deeply he connects, how emotional his responses are — and it rattles him. because it’s not just submission; it’s sincerity. and jaemin isn’t used to sincerity surviving in shared spaces. it makes him feel like jeno’s playing a game jaemin doesn’t know the rules to. he’ll tease him afterward, keep it light — “you looked like you were gonna cry when she pulled your hair,” — but deep down, it reminds him that jeno feels everything more than he lets on. and that stings.

over time, threesomes become a mirror. not for their friendship, which stays stable on the surface, but for all the ways they respond to intimacy. jeno doesn’t seek it anymore unless he knows there’s emotional safety. jaemin leans into it harder, treats it like performance art. but every time it happens, and they’re both in the room — fucking someone else, never touching, never crossing that line. they’re both aware of the contrast. jeno makes people feel protected. jaemin makes them feel overwhelmed. jeno slows things down. jaemin speeds them up. and being reminded of that again and again, in sweat, in sound, in glances across a body, makes their friendship more layered. heavier. not broken. just full of unspoken truths.

they’ll never talk about it. but it changes the way they look at each other, after. not with regret. just with recognition. i know how you love. i know how you hide. and maybe that’s what binds them tighter, not the sex itself, but the fact that they survived it without losing the thread between them. they’re still boys who would show up, no matter the hour. they’re still brothers who won’t say “i love you” but would bleed for each other. but now they’ve seen each other mid-need. mid-performance. mid-collapse. and that makes the silence between them louder.

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lucydixon · 2 days ago

Text

Coming Home after the Murder

Summary: Faust comes home covered in blood and you freak the fuck out. (I might do an alt reaction piece where the reader doesn't freak out) Warning: Blood, Murder talk

Faust staggered in through the door of your apartment at three in the morning, and you almost dropped the glass of water in your hand at the sight of him.

He had blood splattered all over his face and neck. His hands were covered in a sticky red layer, and you couldn’t tell if any of it was actually his. You locked eyes, and he froze, obviously not having expected you to be awake at this hour.

“What the fuck?” You breathed, still pinned in place by your shock.

“What the fuck?” you said louder after a moment had gone by with no answer. “Are you hurt?”

You felt a pit growing at the bottom of your stomach when he shook his head slowly, and set the cup down before your shaky hands could drop it.

He could feel himself starting to panic.

He hadn’t wanted you to see him like this. Hadn’t decided how he was going to tell you what had happened. If he was going to tell you what he’d done. He certainly hadn’t anticipated having to decide so soon.

For the first time since he’d left the house with the intention of committing a murder, Faust thought about the consequences of his actions, and I mean truly thought about them. He'd been blinded by his blood lust before and hadn't considered how you might take it.

You’d never be able to look at him the same.

You’d be horrified when you found out the full extent of what had happened, and you very well might leave him over it.

“Whose blood is that?” you took a step back. Unsure if you actually wanted to know.

You were shaking now.

“Just wait a minute.” He took a step towards you, reaching out with one hand, but stopped when you took another step back.

Fuck.

You were afraid of him.

“Let me explain.” His eyes were pleading, ready to fall to his knees and beg you for your forgiveness. “Please?”

“I don’t-” You wanted to let him explain himself. Wanted him to tell you that it had been self-defense or that he’d gotten into a bar fight or something, and that it was just from a bloody nose, but you knew in your heart that you weren’t going to like whatever he had to say.

You didn’t want to think about Faust, your sweet, gentle Faust, hurting anyone bad enough to be wearing as much blood as he was.

“Can you just clean yourself up first, maybe?” You breathed finally, hoping it would be easier to stomach if he looked more like himself.

“Will you come with me?” He asked, terrified that you would use whatever time he spent in the shower to pack a bag and leave before he came back out.

“What is this?” Your brows pulled together, and you couldn’t help the overwhelming urge to just be alone with your thoughts for a moment, and the annoyance the question brought on. “Are you holding me hostage or something?”

“No.” Faust was quick to correct, face falling into an even more panicked look, “I would never- baby, I just-”

“The whole point of you going in there is so I don’t have to look at the blood, Faust.” You cut him off. “Could you just go?”

“Are you still gonna be here when I come out?” He sounded so small that it broke your heart. You could see in his eyes just how scared he was in that moment, but you weren’t about to comfort him. Not until he told you what he’d done.

“Yeah,” you sighed, tiredly, “I’ll be in the living room, alright?”

You could see the doubt.

“I promise.” You added.

Finally, he nodded sadly and shuffled down the hallway, towards the bathroom.

You lowered yourself onto the couch and pulled your knees to your chest, trying to prepare yourself for whatever you were about to hear.

You tried to make a decision, then and there, going over all the possibilities and what you were going to do if it were any given one of them. But you kept coming back to the look of terror in his eyes when he was clearly thinking that you were about to leave. Whatever it was, it was bad.

It was so hard to try and picture him as the type of person who could be capable of such violence.

He’d always been so gentle with you. He was always so careful and soft, even when you asked him to toss you around, he did it in a way that had never left so much as a bruise.

He didn’t even raise his voice when the two of you got into fights.

Sure, you’d watched him smash in car windows when he was drunk, and he liked to flash a knife at bars if he saw anyone looking at you wrong, but you’d always found that endearing and kind of sexy, if you were being honest.

But, to picture him so much as raising a hand to you felt so unbelievably wrong and impossible that it helped you calm down at least a tiny bit.

Regardless of what he’d done, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Ever.

Faust was back in less than 10 minutes with wet, dripping hair and clean clothes. He was breathing heavily, like he’d run around trying to finish as quickly as he possibly could just to make sure that you had actually stuck around.

He slumped over in relief when he saw you sitting there, curled up on the couch.

He probably should have sat on the other side of the couch, or in a chair, but instead, Faust only left a couple of feet between you.

You didn’t so much as flinch when he sat down, which made him feel the littlest bit better. You didn’t seem to be afraid, but he still had a lot of explaining to do.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” His voice was raspy and strained as he gazed down at you. “Never.”

You nodded, and he felt some of the weight leave his chest.

It became clear very quickly that he was struggling to find the words to explain what had happened, so you just started with your questions.

“So,” You swallowed hard, “you hurt someone, obviously.”

Faust nodded.

“How bad?” you hesitated, watching the way his eyes filled with guilt. You understood that it wasn't guilt for what he'd done, but for upsetting you, and not thinking about how this might affect you.

“Really bad,” he breathed.

“You didn’t-” you paused. You’d been trying to convince yourself that it was just a really, really bad fight of some sort, but knew in your heart that he wouldn’t be so scared of you leaving if it was. “You didn’t kill anyone? Did you?”

Your voice wavered.

He didn’t have to answer.

You inhaled sharply.

“Jesus, fuck.” You muttered under your breath, able to feel the dread building back up inside you. “Oh, god. Faust.”

You tore your gaze away and rubbed your face roughly.

“Who was it?” You asked quietly, hiding your face in your hands. You were pretty sure you would start crying if you kept looking at him. “Did he deserve it? Did he do something?”

“It was just some guy.” Faust wanted to reach out to you, but thought better of it. “He didn’t do anything, really. I stabbed him.”

“Why then?” Your voice was shaky.

“I just wanted to know what it felt like.” He admitted, grimacing at how stupid it sounded out loud.

“You what?” Your head shot up so you could look into his eyes. Yours were filled with disbelief and maybe a little anger, quickly brimming with tears.

“You wanted to know what it felt like?”

Now, you were crying.

“So what? You planned this? You left the house and decided you were going to kill someone on your way home?”

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you looked at Faust like you didn’t even know him, your eyes full of betrayal.

The panic started back up.

“Okay, hold on!” He reached out and cradled your face in his hands, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Baby.”

“You’re sorry?” You sobbed, sounding devastated.

Faust wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you upset enough to cry like this.

It physically pained him to know that he was the reason you were crying.

“Yes!” He urged, words coming out rushed, frantic even, “I’ve never been so sorry in my life. I know I fucked up. I wasn’t thinking!”

“But I love you, I love you so much it fucking hurts and I don’t wanna lose you over this.”

“You’re gonna go to jail over this, Faust!” You cried, looking at him like he was crazy “It doesn’t matter how much you love me, they’re gonna fucking take you from me!”

All you could think about was him being hauled out of bed in handcuffs in the morning.

Your breathing picked up, and it was starting to scare him, so Faust swept you into his lap and wrapped his arms around you.

“Just catch your breath,” he muttered into your hair, rocking you back and forth while you hyperventilated. “It’s gonna be okay, just breathe for me.”

“I can’t,” you gasped, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

“You can.” He squeezed you tightly in an effort to draw your attention away from your breathing. He wasn’t far off from crying himself. “I promise, you can.”

Eventually, you tired yourself out and stopped gasping for breath. You were still in Faust's lap, sniffling every few seconds while he kept his arms around you and his face buried in your hair.

“How long do you think we have until the cops come looking for you?” You asked shakily, playing with the ends of his hair absently.

You felt him shrug around you.

“It was completely random, and I didn’t leave anything behind,” he muttered. “They might never come.”

“I’m scared, Faust.”

“Of me?” His voice wavered, and you felt his shoulders slump into you.

“No.” You shook your head right away, and he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of you. I know you’d never hurt me. I just mean for what comes after.”

“Do-” He had to swallow the lump in his throat before attempting to get the words out. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, Baby.” You sighed, leaning into him, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Are you gonna leave?”

“Nobody’s going anywhere.” You pulled back slightly to look up at his big brown eyes, brimming with tears. “Okay?”

He nodded, and a tear escaped.

It rolled down his cheek, but you were quick to wipe it away with your thumb. You were still pissed and upset with him, but you couldn't take seeing him so afraid that you were gonna leave him. It was tearing your heart right out of your chest.

Faust leaned into your touch, sick with relief that you still wanted him, even after something like this.

“Why don’t we go to bed?” You offered softly, suddenly exhausted. “I think we’ll both feel better after some sleep.”

He nodded.

He was glued to your heels while you walked to the bed and immediately wrapped himself around you once you were under the covers, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You wondered if he was trying to make sure you couldn't get out of bed without waking him up. Your fingers threaded through his hair, gently running through the strands in an effort to ground both of you.

Neither of you seemed to be able to allow yourselves to drift off to sleep despite the exhaustion, too busy thinking.

"I love you, you know?" You whispered into the dark room. "I don't think anything could ever change that."

His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the relief coursing through his veins.

"I love you too, Angel." He breathed into the skin at the base of your neck, tightening his grip around you. "More than anything. I swear, I'm gonna make it up to you."

Finally, you were both able to sleep.

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics

#Faust #Faust x Reader #Angst #Bard Faust #Bard Faust x Reader #Faust Lords of Chaos #Lords of Chaos #valter skarsgard

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