#how to choose Name Plates For Home

[bmplabels]

Discover the key factors to consider, from material and design to aesthetics and durability. Elevate your space with personalized touches and enhance your home's unique charm effortlessly.

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

[jinusajas]

07/02/25; 10:45am

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you get on your knees for them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

you decided to spend some time with sylus in his office, listening to his hundreds of business calls while taking note of his mounting frustrations.

every few minutes, you would look away from your novel to see the onychinus leader spitting out orders into the phone. admittedly, you hated seeing your beloved so stressed and would do anything to relieve him-

which was why you promptly put your book aside, standing back to your full height as you took casual steps toward sylus. he lifts a brow at you, but turns around in his seat accordingly.

he had assumed that you would sit on his lap and keep him company during these trying times-

only to be mildly surprised when you end up spreading his legs wide open before settling yourself between them. your eyes would meet his gaze, giving him a brief wink before proceeding to unzip the front of his dress pants. his breathing hitches, no longer focused on the phone call when you manage to pull down his boxers and extract his half-hardened cock.

with your attention solely focused on his cock, you slowly stroked him back to full hardness, basking in his low hiss of your name, his hand already gripping at the phone with an almost bruising strength. resting the palm of your hand atop his thighs, you brace yourself on them before descending down on his cock.

the moment your hot mouth wraps around his erection was when it all came crashing down on sylus. he grits his teeth, trying to keep his voice even when he practically growls into the phone. “fine, have the shipment to me by next week. this is your only chance at redemption.”

not even waiting for the other party’s reply, sylus hangs up the phone, hands already lovingly stroking at your hair, “ngh… you sure know how to turn my bad mood around, kitten.”

mischief was seen in your gaze when you let go of his cock with an audible pop!, playfully tracing at his pulsating veins all while licking at your lips, “i saw that you were stressed and unhappy and wanted to change that for you…”

his gaze darkens considerably at your admission, “then by all means give me a happy ending, kitten.”

and when sylus manages to thrust his cock back inside of your hot and wet mouth, that was exactly what you did.

zayne had skipped eating lunch once more, which prompted to you enter his office with a plate of food in hand.

he hears your incoming footsteps and looks away from his paperwork briefly. a tired smile graces his features when he says your name in a voice laced with adoration. you return his smile, setting his lunch on his desk before settling yourself on his lap.

“it’s not fair how you have to bring your work home with you on a near daily basis, zaynie.”

his smile became minuscule just then, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tighter manner. “i know, but i suppose it just comes with the job, my love.”

you face him, hands framing at his face as you took notice of the dark circles beneath his eyes. gently caressing at them, you sigh before telling him, “you’ve been stressed lately.”

“that’s true, but it’s by no fault of your own-“

“why don’t i help you destress, even if it’s just for a few minutes?”

zayne’s expression was painted with deep confusion, “what do you mean?”

you were giggling now, trailing your nails down the front of his chest before spreading his knees. after settling yourself between them, you gently began to pull off his pants, managing to take out his limp cock in the process.

zayne hissed in response to the sensation of your mouth suddenly surrounding his length, wetting his cock so thoroughly that he couldn’t help but become hard in response. he was aching for you, practically twitching and pulsating within your sweet lips as he sought out his high.

your eagerness to take away his stress and replace it with pleasure became all too evident the moment you moved your head back and forth over his manhood, pumping whatever part of him that couldn’t fit in your mouth with your hands. and after a particularly hard suck-

zayne loses all of his self control, spilling himself down your throat as you swallowed every last drop. satisfied with your work, you give his cock one last, lingering kiss before helping him readjust himself, placing his softening cock back within the confines of his boxers and pants before returning to your seat on his lap.

he encircles his arms around you, hiding his face within the curve of your neck while pressing butterfly kisses against your skin. “i didn’t know how much i needed that.”

you softly smile at him, simply cuddling yourself closer to him when he suddenly whispers into your ear, “perhaps i should return the favor?”

your eyes widen when you felt zayne bite down on the lobe of your ear, whispering sweet nothings into your ear before sliding the palm of his hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties, gently tracing at your center before dipping a finger within your heat.

and when he manages to pinch at your bundle of nerves, you knew that you were a goner as you braced yourself on his biceps.

after a particularly grueling mission, xavier came home to you battered and bruised, and in much need of a shower. he greets you with tired eyes before excusing himself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with your intrusive thoughts in your shared bedroom.

setting down your phone the moment you heard the shower turn on, you slowly began taking off your clothes, taking slow and deliberate strides toward the restroom. a playful grin spreads across your features when you saw that the door remained ajar, filling you with confidence as you took quick strides toward the glass shower stall.

you saw his silhouette against the frosted glass, already aching for him when you swiftly entered the shower with him. caught off guard by your sudden appearance, he lets out a grunt of your name-

only for his eyes to go wide when you suddenly kneel down before him, hands already gripping at his soft cock as you slowly stroked at his length. within mere seconds, he was already hard for you, his cock hot and ready for you when you surged forward. your lips were wrapped around him, bobbing your head back and forth with your tongue tracing at the pulsating veins that surrounded his shaft.

bracing his hand against the shower wall, xavier’s gaze was hooded and narrowed, taking in the sight of you taking him in so deliciously well as you moved up and down his shaft with a fervor that takes his very breath away-

unable to focus on washing himself when you made him feel like he was so close to tasting heaven.

rafayel was being a bit of a brat, pouting and refusing to let you go even when you had some chores and errands to finish.

with a sigh of his name, you look back at your boyfriend, seeing him still clinging to you like a lifeline as he buried his face within the curve of your neck. giving his soft hair some gentle pats, you carefully walk to the living room before shoving him into one of the sofas.

he lands against the plush cushions with a playful smirk, “just what are you planning, cutie?”

brushing back your hair, you place a hand on his inner thigh before kneeling in front of him. “if i give you what you need, will you let me finish my work.”

an almost angelic smile graces his features, “hmm, that depends… what do you mean by ‘giving me what i need’?”

instead of answering him with words, you let your actions do all of the explaining. drawing circles on his inner thighs, you play with the faint outline of his cock seen, immediately teasing it to full hardness when a considerable tent was seen in front of his pants.

“princess-“ yet the rest of his words were lost the moment when he began to swallow thickly, watching as you pulled out his cock from the confines of his pants. you play with the tip of his pretty cock, watching as the beads of precum escaped from it before leaning closer to lick it away.

he grunts, arms already encircled around your head as he demanded, “q-quit teasing me… just put it in already…!”

“as you wish.” pressing a kiss against his cockhead, you open your mouth wide open for him, feeling his velvet hardness on the tip of your tongue before getting to work. you began sucking and tracing at the entire length of his cock, basking in his grunts and desperate whimpers of your name as you worshipped him with fervor.

just minutes later, you felt the lemurian spill himself down your throat, allowing you to eagerly swallow all that he had to offer before standing back to your full height. wiping the stray droplets of cum from your lips, you were satisfied upon seeing his fucked out expression, giving his lips a chaste kiss before attempting to walk away-

only to be stopped by a powerful hand wrapped around your wrist. he bites down on the lobe of your ear before pressing you against the nearby wall. with his hands eagerly exploring down the length of your body, he casually dips it down the front of your sweatpants all while whispering within your ear, “don’t think i’m letting you get away from me so easily, princess.”

you truly wanted to worship your lover in ways that were only kept in secret-

intimate moments shared between you and caleb in the privacy of your bedroom-

but it seemed that the colonel had other plans for you, plans that involved pleasuring you just as much as you were pleasuring him.

he would not relent, wouldn’t even let you get on your knees for him when he lays down in your shared bed. “get on top of me. show me that pretty pussy of yours while you shove my cock down your throat.”

your knees end up clashing together, feeling your entrance clench with need for him. needing no further urging, you get on the bed-

only to have the colonel wrap his large hands around your waist, already bringing your aching cunt down on his lips as you cried out to him. you brace yourself above his thighs, feeling your back arch when caleb’s tongue works his way deeper into your heat.

distracted by his ministrations, you managed to break yourself out of your pleasured haze, leaning over him until his erection was in front of you. refusing to climax, you descended yourself on his cock, taking him inch by torturous inch before curling your tongue around his shaft.

his groans vibrate pleasantly through your body, making you moan as you worked on stroking his cock. you needed to feel the telltale twitching of his dick and how it signaled to how close he was to completion-

yet the moment you tried to bring him further down your throat (nearly gagging in response)-

caleb manages to pull out of you, taking advantage of his strength to flip you over so that you were the one laid back in bed. his eyes were burning with love and lust for you, taking a hold of you leg before tossing it over his shoulder. he traces at your entrance for a few seconds, allowing your arousal to stain at it before completely sheathing himself deep inside of you.

your reaction was immediate, back already arching against the ruined bedsheets as he sets a brutal pace that has you seeing stars. your colonel continues to fuck himself into you, eyes drinking in the sight of you writhing and utterly ruined from beneath him while letting out a chuckle.

“now this sight is something i can definitely see myself getting used to.”

end notes: yay another post as i announce another semi-hiatus before enjoying another vacation with my family 🥰 this is unedited, but i’ll make any changes once this is posted ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🗣️ ✩ three hundred assorted dialogue prompts

¹⁾ “it’s too early for this.”

²⁾ “say that again, but take all the words bigger than two syllables out for me.”

³⁾ “you never came to bed last night.”

⁴⁾ “ibuprofen and a red bull is not breakfast.”

⁵⁾ “where the fuck have you been?!”

⁶⁾ “i can’t believe you told him.”

⁷⁾ “look, all i’m trying to tell you i- oh god, no, please don’t cry.”

⁸⁾ “taxi- taxi!”

⁹⁾ “i broke it off last night.”

¹⁰⁾ “no way that’s true.”

¹¹⁾ “i’m not letting you sleep on the couch in your own house.”

¹²⁾ “red’s definitely your colour.”

¹³⁾ “i don’t even want to know how the glitter got there.”

¹⁴⁾ “second time the electric’s been cut off so far.”

¹⁵⁾ “come on, the water’s fine!”

¹⁶⁾ “i’m so mad at you for this, but i’m angrier at myself for knowing i’ll forgive you for it.”

¹⁷⁾ “nice tan lines.”

¹⁸⁾ “christ, i don’t know how you drink that shit.”

¹⁹⁾ “that was the best meal i’ve eaten in years.”

²⁰⁾ “i got fired yesterday.”

²¹⁾ “are those handcuffs?!”

²²⁾ “hell of defense to put on for someone you say you don’t care about anymore.”

²³⁾ “i love you, i swear it, but not enough to watch another western.”

²⁴⁾ “just hold the ladder, and i’ll do the rest.”

²⁵⁾ “is there any chilli powder left in the cupboard, or is it all on my plate?!”

²⁶⁾ “i know what exes are, and i know you two aren’t them.”

²⁷⁾ “please, please just leave me alone.”

²⁸⁾ “neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me how you got that shiner.”

²⁹⁾ “fucking liar.”

³⁰⁾ “scooch over, i’m about to fall off.”

³¹⁾ “i nicked your shirt on my way out- i hope you don’t mind.”

³²⁾ “the cold will kill us before they can if we don’t find shelter.”

³³⁾ “just- please, can’t you see she’s in pain?!”

³⁴⁾ “a pint of coors and a passionfruit martini, plea- no, i told you, i’m not calling it that!”

³⁶⁾ ��only you could crochet in a time like this.”

³⁷⁾ “they know i hate boats!”

³⁸⁾ “your mother called.”

³⁹⁾ “i can smell vodka and bubblegum toothpaste on your breath, and i’m totally sure which concerns me more.”

⁴⁰⁾ “it’s midnight, please turn off the jazz.”

⁴¹⁾ “i didn’t read that book, but i slept behind [name] in bed every night for a week while they did.”

⁴²⁾ “please, we need a doctor!”

⁴³⁾ “you’ve done shitty things to me before but you’ve never been cruel.”

⁴⁴⁾ “normally i can get behind your stress baking because of how much i benefit from it, but come on. it’s two in the night; what is a red velvet cake going to fix that some sleep won’t?”

⁴⁵⁾ “i found an earring under the passenger seat.”

⁴⁶⁾ “please, if the choice is between ice cream for breakfast or whiskey, choose the fucking ice cream.”

⁴⁷⁾ “you’re still bleeding- stop and let me look at it.”

⁴⁸⁾ “we’ve been broken up for a year now. you’ve got no right to look at me like that.”

⁴⁹⁾ “mama will be home soon, promise.”

⁵⁰⁾ “in the name of the father- “

⁵¹⁾ “i’m going to lose them either way. better they hate me and live, than love me and die.”

⁵²⁾ “you have a son?!”

⁵³⁾ “boss wants to see you.”

⁵⁴⁾ “i figured we were close, i just didn’t think it was “call me at two in the morning from a police station” kind of close.”

⁵⁵⁾ “are we just going to ignore that massive rock on your finger?”

⁵⁶⁾ “you of all people don’t get to question my parenting skills.”

⁵⁷⁾ “is that a fucking chicken?!”

⁵⁸⁾ “fuck- you’re hurting me!”

⁵⁹⁾ “mind the puddles.”

⁶⁰⁾ “you’re sick. you’re not going into work, end of story.”

⁶¹⁾ “what on earth are you wearing?!”

⁶²⁾ “she’s too old for you.”

⁶³⁾ “you play mario kart like it’s your first day on earth.”

⁶⁴⁾ “you’re gonna break an ankle walking in those heels.”

⁶⁵⁾ “if it was important, you would’ve remembered i don’t answer fucking calls!”

⁶⁶⁾ “late night?”

⁶⁷⁾ “i’m terrified.”

⁶⁸⁾ “i’ll call you when i land, yeah?”

⁶⁹⁾ “try and get some sleep, pet.”

⁷⁰⁾ “where is that blood coming from?!”

⁷¹⁾ “it is sheeps or sheepses?” 

⁷²⁾ “so you can fold a paper crane from a candy wrapper, but you don’t know your times tables.”

⁷³⁾ “clerk said they only have one room left.”

⁷⁴⁾ “why did you get an apartment on the eighth fucking floor?”

⁷⁵⁾ “it’s snowing!”

⁷⁶⁾ “when the shooting starts, stay down and only look at me, okay?”

⁷⁷⁾ “how fucking dare you- i am married.”

⁷⁸⁾ “we should be safe here.”

⁷⁹⁾ “i’m at the store, what kind of monster did you want again? and don’t say ultra violet, i’m not bringing that filth into the house.”

⁸⁰⁾ “the cat misses you.”

⁸¹⁾ “i’ve been having nightmares again.”

⁸²⁾ “i can practically hear your stomach growling. come fill up a plate.”

⁸³⁾ “i’m proud of you, kid.”

⁸⁴⁾ “are you sure you’re not mad at me?”

⁸⁵⁾ “please don’t tell me you lost it.”

⁸⁶⁾ “wanna pick the movie?”

⁸⁷⁾ “bit late for boxing, no?”

⁸⁸⁾ “i don’t care if it’s harmless, kill it!!”

⁸⁹⁾ “if you so much as look in their direction again, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

⁹⁰⁾ “do you wanna go out sometime?”

⁹¹⁾ “is- is that [name]’s shirt?”

⁹²⁾ “c’mon, sit with me a minute.”

⁹³⁾ “good boy!”

⁹⁴⁾ “no, fuck- i can’t swim!”

⁹⁵⁾ “your friends are unbearable.”

⁹⁶⁾ “oh, kill me now.”

⁹⁷⁾ “can i bum a light?”

⁹⁸⁾ “just listen to me for once in your life!”

⁹⁹⁾ “someone call an ambulance!”

¹⁰⁰⁾ “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you in pink before.”

¹⁰¹⁾ “i told you i was done talking about it.”

¹⁰²⁾ “the lock’s broken- i think someone’s inside.”

¹⁰³⁾ “you kept it.”

¹⁰⁴⁾ “i have somewhere to be; make it quick.”

¹⁰⁵⁾ “you’re unbelievable.”

¹⁰⁶⁾ “they never meant anything to you, did they?”

¹⁰⁷⁾ “is the point of giving me such bad advice to force me into seeing an actual therapist?”

¹⁰⁸⁾ “your smile makes my day.” 

¹⁰⁹⁾ “how do you remember where all my jewellery goes?”

¹¹⁰⁾ “… but you’re definitely nothing more than coworkers. sure.”

¹¹¹⁾ “i’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

¹¹²⁾ “can i help with your hair?”

¹¹³⁾ “i always forget how pretty the city looks at night.”

¹¹⁴⁾ “the dog, for all his failings, did not do that and i’m taking it personally on his part that you’re trying to claim he did.”

¹¹⁵⁾ “you have many strengths; all i’m saying is that parallel parking is not one of them.”

¹¹⁶⁾ “let me drive you home.”

¹¹⁷⁾ “thanks for bringing me in on this ritual of yours.”

¹¹⁸⁾ “what time do you have to be at court?”

¹¹⁹⁾ “do you, uh- do you maybe wanna get dinner, sometime? like, with me?”

¹²⁰⁾ “i’m- *achoo* a-allergic to one kind of- *achoo* of flowers in the whole world, and you- *cough* really m-manage to pick them out for me?”

¹²¹⁾ “table for three, please.”

¹²²⁾ “you’re getting so grey. i’m kind of liking it.”

¹²³⁾ “of course i noticed.”

¹²⁴⁾ “hey, quit forcing yourself to talk before you lose your voice altogether.”

¹²⁵⁾ “please, please wake up.”

¹²⁶⁾ “was anything you said true?”

¹²⁷⁾ “get in the fucking car!”

¹²⁸⁾ “where’d you get that?”

¹²⁹⁾ “you put me through so much, and still all i can think about is how i’d do it all again if you asked me to.”

¹³⁰⁾ “i’ll stay while you sleep. nothing’s gonna happen while i’m here, okay?”

¹³¹⁾ “you said you wanted to talk it out but all you’re doing is shouting at me!”

¹³²⁾ “we broke up a few days ago. i guess i was too embarrassed to tell you after you warned me about them.”

¹³³⁾ “family don’t pull this kind of shit on each other.”

¹³⁴⁾ “i phoned in sick. i’m yours for the day, if you’ll have me.”

¹³⁵⁾ “i’ll make the reservation, you just worry about turning up looking half as good as you do right now.”

¹³⁶⁾ “that’s still how you take your tea, isn’t it?”

¹³⁷⁾ “stop throwing those damn paper planes at me!”

¹³⁸⁾ “i’m so c-cold.”

¹³⁹⁾ “… i can hear meowing.”

¹⁴⁰⁾ “want some?”

¹⁴¹⁾ “fuck all of them, anyway.”

¹⁴²⁾ “i could look at your tattoos all day.”

¹⁴³⁾ “ever considered sending me flowers without a keycard for a hotel room tucked inside?”

¹⁴⁴⁾ “i made coffee.”

¹⁴⁵⁾ “c’mon, sit with me a minute.”

¹⁴⁶⁾ “fuck, they’re gonna flank us- get someone on the south wall, now!”

¹⁴⁷⁾ “christ, get up.”

¹⁴⁸⁾ “put some pants on.”

¹⁴⁹⁾ “it’s over!”

¹⁵⁰⁾ “not another broken bed frame.”

¹⁵¹⁾ “that thong really brings out your eyes.”

¹⁵²⁾ “you’ve already stolen from me; don’t twist the knife by lying about it, too.”

¹⁵³⁾ “... i thought you locked the back door.”

¹⁵⁴⁾ “they were saying awful things about you. every last one of them had it coming.”

¹⁵⁵⁾ “so you had a can of monster and a pack of sour patch kids for breakfast eight hours ago, and you really don’t understand why you have a headache?”

¹⁵⁶⁾ “i think someone’s in the house.”

¹⁵⁷⁾ “walk me home?”

¹⁵⁸⁾ “this song reminds me of you.”

¹⁵⁹⁾ “can you pick up some eggs on your way home?”

¹⁶⁰⁾ “i’ve got a flat tire.”

¹⁶¹⁾ “you broke his fucking nose!”

¹⁶²⁾ “do you remember the room number?”

¹⁶³⁾ “i can’t see anything.”

¹⁶⁴⁾ “lab results are back.”

¹⁶⁵⁾ “is it really so hard to pick up the damn phone when i call?”

¹⁶⁶⁾ “don’t you dare run.”

¹⁶⁷⁾ “bulleit, please. neat.”

¹⁶⁸⁾ “will you marry me?”

¹⁶⁹⁾ “how did you get tickets?!”

¹⁷⁰⁾ “your tie’s all crooked.”

¹⁷¹⁾ “license and insurance, please.”

¹⁷²⁾ “i’ll get a nurse in to do your sutures, and then we’ll send you on your way.”

¹⁷³⁾ “you’re a dead man.”

¹⁷⁴⁾ “you’re the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

¹⁷⁵⁾ “no, this is her secretary. i can take a message, if you’d like?”

¹⁷⁶⁾ “the money’s gone.”

¹⁷⁷⁾ “yeah, but it’ll cost you.”

¹⁷⁸⁾ “we need to find that phone.”

¹⁷⁹⁾ “can i crash here tonight?”

¹⁸⁰⁾ “i, um… i saw you. online.”

¹⁸¹⁾ “what do you mean husband?!”

¹⁸²⁾ “the fire’s growing- we need to keep moving.”

¹⁸³⁾ “your lipstick’s all over me!”

¹⁸⁴⁾ “four broken ribs… fuck.”

¹⁸⁵⁾ “what happened in shanghai?”

¹⁸⁶⁾ “you and these awful horror movies!”

¹⁸⁷⁾ “next door’s cat is back. do you remember where i put the kibble?”

¹⁸⁸⁾ “glitter and faux fur. classy.”

¹⁸⁹⁾ “since when were you blonde?!”

¹⁹⁰⁾ “do i even want to know?”

¹⁹¹⁾ “we were by a river. that’s all i remember.”

¹⁹²⁾ “please, let me call you a cab.”

¹⁹³⁾ “my hands are killing me, get these damn zipties off.”

¹⁹⁴⁾ “you don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

¹⁹⁵⁾ “i read your last article. you’re not half bad at this shit.”

¹⁹⁶⁾ “is now a bad time to say i’m afraid of heights.”

¹⁹⁷⁾ “- quick, hide!”

¹⁹⁸⁾ “test came back negative.”

¹⁹⁹⁾ “say, ah.”

²⁰⁰⁾ “some friends they turned out to be.”

²⁰¹⁾  “you look oddly good in sequins.”

²⁰²⁾ “now there’s a headline: murder in mittens.”

²⁰³⁾ “we need to swab your hands for gunpowder residue.”

²⁰⁴⁾ “black, three sugars.” 

²⁰⁵⁾ “i need you to listen to me, okay? this cannot happen again. ever.”

²⁰⁶⁾ “we shouldn’t be here.”

²⁰⁷⁾ “if you’re going to be such a die-hard fan, could you please start picking better teams? for my sake?”

²⁰⁸⁾ “… did you make me a packed lunch?”

²⁰⁹⁾ “i got a little bit stabbed.”

²¹⁰⁾ “no, it’s too late; you’re not walking home alone.”

²¹¹⁾ “i don’t care if she’s ten, she cannot be led to believe that derek is an acceptable name for a cat!”

²¹²⁾ “they were just here.”

²¹³⁾ “oh captain, my captai- “

²¹⁴⁾ “come to my room in ten.”

²¹⁵⁾ “no part of this was in the training manual.”

²¹⁶⁾ “i think i’m gonna lie down for a bit.”

²¹⁷⁾ “i can’t come out tonight, i’ve got to re-pot my roses.”

²¹⁸⁾ “you kick like an ass in your sleep.” 

²¹⁹⁾ “i think we kissed.”

²²⁰⁾ “i never want to be a burden to you.”

²²¹⁾ “there’s someone in the trees.”

²²²⁾ “where’s that smoke coming from?”

²²³⁾ “my sheets smell like you.”

²²⁴⁾ “what did sarge say?”

²²⁵⁾ “the funeral’s at ten.”

²²⁶⁾ “she’s asystolic.” 

²²⁷⁾ “it’s too loud in here. i’m going to start biting people.”

²²⁸⁾ “give it back!”

²²⁹⁾ “don’t make me call the cops!”

²³⁰⁾ “we tried everything. i’m sorry.”

²³¹⁾ “another round?”

²³²⁾ “come on the carousel with me, and i’ll think about it.”

²³³⁾ “this is why we didn’t stay married.”

²³⁴⁾ “i like your hair.”

²³⁵⁾ “homicide are on the way.”

²³⁶⁾ “i just ran.”

²³⁷⁾ “want a drink?”

²³⁸⁾ “i’m scared of the things i feel for you.”

²³⁹⁾ “can you remember anything about last night?”

²⁴⁰⁾ “you left this at mine.”

²⁴¹⁾ “i made us a reservation.”

²⁴²⁾ “pass the goddamn ball!”

²⁴³⁾ “someone cut the brake lights.”

²⁴⁴⁾ “wanna come to vegas with me?”

²⁴⁵⁾ “… did you use my body wash?”

²⁴⁶⁾ “go shower, then we’ll talk.”

²⁴⁷⁾ “how dare you say something like that to me!”

²⁴⁸⁾ “there’s a letter for you.”

²⁴⁹⁾ “i need to see you. now.”

²⁵⁰⁾ “i’ll kick this fucking door open!”

²⁵¹⁾ “don’t look at me like that.”

²⁵²⁾ “i can’t do this anymore.”

²⁵³⁾ “got a light?”

²⁵⁴⁾ “i don’t care if we both get hypothermia, i’m not sharing a sleeping bag with you!”

²⁵⁵⁾ “do you hate me?”

²⁵⁶⁾ “please don’t leave.”

²⁵⁷⁾ “i’m sorry i missed dinner.”

²⁵⁸⁾ “i have a name, and it’s sure as hell not kid.”

²⁵⁹⁾ “you are a grown man, don’t pout.”

²⁶⁰⁾ “ah, look who’s awake.”

²⁶¹⁾ “if you’re after a ransom, i’m sorry to say you picked the wrong person.”

²⁶²⁾ “don’t you dare track all that sawdust in here! leave your boots at the door.”

²⁶³⁾ “if you’re not here to pay my tab, you can leave.”

²⁶⁴⁾ “you’re so warm.”

²⁶⁵⁾ “bit kinky for a monday morning, don’t you think?”

²⁶⁶⁾ “not again!”

²⁶⁷⁾ “i think i pulled something.”

²⁶⁸⁾ “kiss me.”

²⁶⁹⁾ “watcha reading?”

²⁷⁰⁾ “i ordered room service. possibly on your card.”

²⁷¹⁾ “this isn’t gonna work out.”

²⁷²⁾ “i saved you a seat.”

²⁷³⁾ “the dog got ahold of your scarf.”

²⁷⁴⁾ “i want to see my son.”

²⁷⁵⁾ “my friend’s an ass, i’m sorry.”

²⁷⁶⁾ “please, she could scare the balls off a brass monkey with a single look.”

²⁷⁷⁾ “you’re an almerciful pain the ass.”

²⁷⁸⁾ “give my compliments to the chef.”

²⁷⁹⁾ “wanna catch a movie at the weekend?”

²⁸⁰⁾ “you said i only had to stay for an hour- you got an hour and seven minutes! what more could you possibly want from me?!”

²⁸¹⁾ “i think i left my phone at the bar.”

²⁸²⁾ “... why is there a pool noodle in the hall?”

²⁸³⁾ “can you turn the lights off?”

²⁸⁴⁾ “was any of it real?”

²⁸⁵⁾ “do i want to know how you got that nickname.”

²⁸⁶⁾ “you’re like if an angel had a very severe ketamine problem.”

²⁸⁷⁾ “i think i fucked up my ankle last night.”

²⁸⁸⁾ “take the sunglasses off.”

²⁸⁹⁾ “i don’t know how i’m going to forgive you for this.”

²⁹⁰⁾ “i can’t believe i fell for this shit again.”

²⁹¹⁾ “morning, killer.”

²⁹²⁾ “who names a goldfish andrew?”

²⁹³⁾ “... i could’ve sworn you had too eyebrows last time we spoke.”

²⁹⁴⁾ “i’m scared shitless of dolls.”

²⁹⁵⁾ “how’d you get the shiner?”

²⁹⁶⁾ “here, let me help.”

²⁹⁷⁾ “look, my tomatoes are finally ripe!”

²⁹⁸⁾ “you can hold my hand, if it’d help.”

²⁹⁹⁾ “i brought you croissants. as like, um, an olive branch.”

³⁰⁰⁾ “do you trust me?”

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Plushie Kidnapping

(A/N): This one just ran away from me.

Summary: Max accidentally packed his girlfriends favorite plush toy. Now it's his chance to show her how good he can care for her loyalst compagnon.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader, Max interacting with other drivers

Wordcount: 2.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ___________________________

(Y/N) is on her way home from work when her boyfriend called her. She accepts the call through the car’s entertainment program, excited to hear Max’s voice after a grueling day.

“Hey Baby,” She greets him while steering the car along the streets. A smile takes place on her face, always giddy to talk to her love. “Schatje,” Max breathes into his phone, “how was your day?”

After some small talk and light banter, (Y/N) taxis her car into the parking space of her apartment building. “Are you home?” Max asks, hesitation in his voice. The young woman frowns upon hearing that. “Yeah, but we don’t need to end the call.” She assures him.

The driver hesitates again. “I made a… let's call it a moderately bad mistake.” He confesses, his voice quiet. (Y/N) stops in her tracks as she previously rummaged in her purse for her key. She looks up at the car’s display, as if it’s Max itself standing in front of her, wringing his hands with a nervous smile.

But he is not, instead he stands in a hotel room thousand of kilometers away from his girlfriend, staring at an object on his bed. She clears her throat, her little bubble of giddy having burst. “What?”

Her sharp tone makes Max wince. “This morning I did some last minute packing and - please don’t be mad at me - I may have accidentally, unwanted, really, by mistake… packed your little lion plushie.” Said toy stares back at Max accusatory. The Dutchman swears he is getting judged by it.

(Y/N) is silent for several moments. Max feels the weight though the line. He wishes for nothing more than to be able to turn back time to put the soft lion back onto her bed. Finally, (Y/N) sighs. “It’s” She starts and stops again, taking a deep breath. “You are on a triple header, right?”

That was more of a theoretical question. Of course she knows the answer. The date of his return, nearly four weeks away, is circled red in her calendar. Max doesn’t see the point in answering, instead choosing to keep quiet.

(Y/N) nods. “I- okay. You are sure you got Leon? The Leon who has been with me for most of my life? Who has been here before you?” She is waving her hands around as she is talking, still sitting in the car.

Max sits, pacing around in his hotel room. “I am so so sorry, Schatje. I- sending a package would be way too risky. We can’t have him getting lost somewhere. Or even risk it.” He paces a little more, knowing how much that lion means to his girlfriend. “I will have someone take my jet and fly Leon back to you.” At that (Y/N) lets out a humorless laugh. “Max, that’s too extreme. It’s okay. I will manage without Leon. Just… gosh this sounds pathetic. But please. Make sure he is safe. He means so much to me, even though he is just a plush animal.” (Y/N)’s voice gets quieter and quieter.

He stops in his tracks. “I promise you, Schatje. He is in the second best hands possible. No one can top yours, of course.” (Y/N) smiles to herself, albeit a bit warily. Okay. I trust you.”

Soon after, they end the call and the young woman finally leaves her car to enter her apartment.

For the remainder of the day her mind circles back to her plush animal. It was gifted to her some time during her early childhood days. (Y/N) doesn’t have a single memory or picture without that little yellow plush lion.

When she is making dinner, her phone pings. Max’s contact name with an attached photo lights the screen up. Curiously, (Y/N) puts the knife she used for chopping vegetables down and opens the messenger app.

The first thing she sees is Leon, sitting in front of an empty plate. Then the young woman spots her boyfriend, having taken a selfie of himself and her plushie during dinner, his own plate being filled. Leon is taking your spot during our dinner dates, I hope you don’t mind! Max texted her with the picture.

(Y/N) giggles to herself, her worries being eased for now. I hope you insist on paying like you do with me! Don’t let my best friend starve though. Love you two! After that, he sends her a picture of Leon sitting in front of a plate filled with a few peas. Not letting the little man starve, trust me.

And this is a common recurrence during the following weeks. Every day Max sends his girlfriend several pictures of him and Leon in different situations.

During the first weekend, Max brought Leon with him into the paddock, his little head looking out of his backpack. With a red bull can in hand and a smile on his face, he enters the paddock and is immediately greeted by different media personnel.

One of the red bull social media girls catch him on his hot girl paddock walk. “Hey Max. What’s up with the lion? Is this another opportunity to sell?” She asks, keeping up with his step and holding up the phone to film him for their instagram and tiktok channels.

He laughs a bit, tucking some hair behind his ear. “Oh no, he's my girlfriend’s most loyal companion in life and I accidentally packed him up. I promised her to take care of Leon during the triple header, and I felt like he would have been too lonely in my hotel room. So I’m showing him the paddock.” He explains, waving his arm around and pointing towards the plushie in his backpack.

That clip goes viral quicker than any video that had the word “inchident” uttered.

Soon enough, (Y/N) gets another photo of them, Leon being placed on a treadmill next to Max’s, “training” at the gym together. The picture has been taken by Rupert.

A few minutes later, the young woman receives a video of Leon bench pressing some very small weights, with Max spotting him. “He is very strong, I can see now why he is your actual protector instead of me”, he winks into the camera before the recording ends.

By the end of the first race of the triple header, the whole team has already been roped into the spiel of showing (Y/N) how good the Dutchman takes care of her stuffed companion.

Especially the red bull social media team jumped onto that wagon. They make clips of Leon getting a spa treatment at a place specialized on stuffed animals. They take Max and Leon to a zoo, showing him some actual lions. The team also ropes Leon into challenge videos with Yuki, who loses to the stuffed toy every time. (Y/N) gets the first view of course before the video hits all social media channels.

Every single video goes viral. Even other sports try to hop onto that train. But a person in a fursuit for a football team can never step up to be as iconic as a small plush lion.

Soon enough, Leon becomes some kind of mascot for the team, especially for Max.

“Schatje”, he mutters into the phone after turning another pole into a race win, still wet and sticky from champagne combined with red bull, “I think I need to bring Leon to all my races from now on.”

(Y/N) just gasps. “So it was deliberate of you! You packed him on purpose!” Ever since Max has told her that he took the stuffed lion with him, the couple has been bickering whether or not the Dutchman did it intentionally or not. The opinions on both sides are steadfast.

“Lies! Slander! I wouldn’t do such things. Maybe you just need to quit your day job and accompany Leon and me for the rest of the season. I have a championship to win and Leon has a championship winning driver to support!” (Y/N) groans at that. “Come home with my guy first and then we can do some talking. From what I saw, there were attempts to kidnap Leon. Your chances of being able to even have a conversation about my future as part of the workforce will be non-existent if something happens.”

This is true. After other drivers have witnessed the magic of the little lion, plans were made to claim that energy for themselves.

First and foremost the rookies under the lead of Kimi and Ollie tried to make some elaborate plan. In the end they didn’t go through with it, because between them all, they couldn’t agree who is allowed to keep Leon if their plan was to be successful.

Charles actually got close to getting his hands on the trophy in the form of a plush lion as he walked into the paddock with Max during the sunny afternoon for another day of media day. Staying in step with him, the Monegasque put his arm around his shoulder, acting friendly while his hand crawled towards Leon hanging out the backpack. “What is your opinion on the new soft tyre Pirelli introduced yesterday?” He tries to divert his attention.

But there is one thing he hasn’t accounted for, dealing with Max. His lightning fast reflexes. Quickly, Charles’ arm is pinned off Max. “Just touch Leon without my blessing and it’s not only my wrath you’ll get to witness, but (Y/N)’s anger too. And you don’t want to try her.” He warns the Ferrari driver. Charles backs off, a bit scared if he is being honest.

Even through all the evil attempts of commiting crimes, Leon also experiences the full mischief and chaos that comes with the other drivers and daily life in the paddock.

“Has Leon ever tried it?” Yuki asks during a fanzone appearance, gesturing towards said lion that is sat on the table on stage where they held some kind of building blocks challenge against the mclaren boys. The soft toy leans against a can of red bull.

Max is shaking his head laughing while Lando dashes to the front, his excitement barely contained as he puts his own can of Monster next to the red bull. “If he has to try something, it has to be the best energy drink in the world”, he speaks into the microphone. Their sponsors love him.

The Dutchman is quick to set the record straight. “Leon will not try any caffeinated drinks. He is like (Y/N), it would only upset his stomach and make him anxious.” Then he turns towards the crowd. “Especially some sugar water like that neon green piss.” Other sponsors hate him.

The interviewer has some work to do to calm the fans back down.

But also during drivers parades, the stuffed animal has become an icon quickly. It’s the only time where Max lets another driver hold him, since so many eyes and cameras are on them at that moment no one would dare to do something to or with Leon.

To everyone’s surprise, Oscar is weirdly possessive when he gets his fingers on him.

“I feel like it’s my turn to hold him now”, Alex whines as he makes grabby hands towards Oscar, who cradles the stuffy in his arms. He fixates the Thai with a dry look. “Too bad, I have him now.” The Australian successfully fends off everyone's advances of taking Leon from him with his witty remarks and mean glances. Up until the truck is back in the pits, where he gets approached by Max. With a sigh, he hands Leon over. “Ask your girlfriend if she also has a koala. This is weirdly soothing.”

Luckily, eventually all triple headers come to an end. The press later argues that Max’s drive to the airport after the race was faster than his actual fastest lap on track.

Finally, after three poles to wins, Max flies back to his shared apartment with (Y/N) in Monaco. He arrives in the middle of the night, rolling in his suitcase, his backpack slung over his shoulders and gripping Leon tightly in his free hand.

He dumps his luggage at the door quietly to tiptoe into the master bedroom. Max halts in the doorway, his eyes softening as he sees his love cuddled up in tshirt, clutching also one of his hoodies.

While trying to be as silent as possible, he changes out his plane clothes into some pjs before slipping under the blanket on his side of the bed. (Y/N) stirs slightly. Then turns around towards him.

“Did you-” Max already puts the small plush lion into her arms. “I did”, he reassures her with a gentle smile. He pulls her into his arms, before sighting satisfied. This is his home.

“He smells like you.” “Me?” (Y/N) hums, close to falling asleep again. “Like burnt rubber and victory.”

Max chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “And you smell like home.” He whispers, knowing she has fallen asleep already. While he looks at her, wishing he can take (Y/N) with him like he did with Leon. Carrying his love in his pocket at all times.

[coldfanbou]

Getting to Home Base

So this one was inspired by a lewd thought I got, and with these pictures coming out, I just thought it would be a good place to set it.

Length 2K

Sana X Mreader

“Oh, you’re so handsome,” Sana pinched your cheek, tugging at it slightly. “How do I look?” Sana stands back, twirling to give you a good look at her outfit. She wore tight jeans; they hugged her body, showing off her shapely bottom. The top half was just as good as the bottom; Sana wore a white crop top that accentuated her bust and a jersey with her name on the top. The older woman looked good. Sana smiled at you, staying quiet as you admired her body. She walks to you, wrapping her arms around your neck. “I’m so glad you decided to take us out to this game. You sure know how to treat a woman.” 

You place your hands on Sana’s hips, pulling her closer. “You know, as much as I do, it’s not about the game.” You smile before planting your lips on hers. Sana giggles before kissing you again. 

“I know, but it’s still nice for her.” You pull away as you hear the upstairs door open. Running down the stairs was your girlfriend. “I’m ready!” She shouts. Sullyoon came rushing down the stairs; her hair bounced with every step, and her oversized jersey puffed out. You turn around, stretching your arms out and hugging her. You spin her around, looking at her mother whenever you reach her. Sana just smiles, knowing what you have planned. “Let’s go! I want to see our seats!” Sullyoon yelled as you placed her back on the floor. 

“Sullyoon, be patient; we have a lot of time,” Sana said, patting the younger woman’s back.

“But it’s the first game of the season! I want to take a bunch of pictures!” she shouts back, her voice full of excitement.

Sana sighs, “Alright, alright.” She gives you a sly smile before shifting her face to a tired look. “I hope you don’t mind getting there early.”

“Not at all,” you reply with a smirk. Sullyoon leads the way, skipping out of the house and to your car. Sana passes by you, following her daughter. As she does, you give her a slap on the ass, making her turn toward you. 

“Save it for the game, big boy.” Sana continues to the car, sitting in the back as you drive with Sullyoon riding in the front. As you drive to the stadium, you peer into the rearview mirror, finding Sana’s eyes staring back at you, a lustful look in them. You think back to how this all started, cheating on your girlfriend with her mother. The older woman had come onto you the moment she met you. It was only a matter of time before you broke. The older woman was better in just about every way. The best part of this situation was what Sana offered; you remember that part clear as day, and it wasn’t because Sana said it with one of your loads on her face. “You don’t have to worry about choosing between us; you can have me and Sullyoon. I don’t mind being the other woman.” Something about having both the mother and daughter only made you give it to them harder, and Sana was more than a fan of it.

Getting to the stadium, you see the amount of people getting ready for the game, and somehow, Sullyoon seemed to be the most excited. Never mind that most people were looking at Sana, Sullyoon moved quickly, dragging you both to the entrance and trying to get to the seats. She rushed you through people, but the commotion gave you the chance to play with Sana as you moved through the crowd. You grabbed the older woman’s ass, fondling it roughly. Sana bit her lip, trying to hold her moans. She could feel her panties getting wet; it never took long to get her in the mood.

Sullyoon gets more excited as you get closer to your seats. You were right behind home plate, and Sullyoon was losing her mind. “Oh my god! We’re so close!” She said, letting go of your hands. You let Sullyoon take in her sight as you look over at her mother. Sana’s face is bright red from your touch; she gives you a shy look before settling down in her seat. Sullyoon sits between the two of you, kicking her feet. “This is going to be great!” She yelled, bouncing in her seat.

When the game began, Sullyoon was entirely focused on the action, and you and her mother disappeared from her mind. She didn’t even hear you ask if she wanted anything from a vendor. You look over at Sana; the older woman bites her lip before standing. “I’m going to the bathroom; I’ll be back.” She tells her oblivious daughter. 

Together, you and Sana move out into the stadium halls. Sana sticks close to you, hooking her arm around yours and leaning on your shoulder. “So where are we going to do it?” 

“I know just the place. I saw it when we were coming in.” You lead Sana through the halls to one of the bathrooms, a big out-of-order sign in front of the entrance. You look out for people before sneaking in. It was empty, just as you had hoped. 

As soon as you come in, Sana wraps her arms around you, pressing her lips against yours. You spin her into the wall, pressing her against the cold tiles. Sana shivers and laughs. You nip at her neck and sneak your hands behind her. Sana moans softly, your hands gripping her ass. “Mmm, fuck I need this.” Sana reaches down, rubbing your growing bulge through your pants. The mother quickly pushes past it, though, reaching into your pants to stroke your cock. You grunt as her soft palm rubs against the head. “Give it to me, baby.” She whispers in a lustful voice. Sana grabs your arm, bringing it between her legs. 

Getting the hint, you slide your hand under her jeans, feeling her wet panties and rubbing her cunt. Sana moans softly as you tease her, your fingers moving in slow circles. “Oh, please,” she groans. You tug at Sana’s jeans, pulling them down and getting them around her knees before you do the same for yourself. You grab Sana, turning her around. 

Pulling on her waist, you get Sana to stick her ass out for you, slapping your length against her ass before aligning yourself with her cunt. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me already,” Sana says quickly, desperate for your cock. You push into her warm slit, her walls clinging to you as you go deep. Sana moans, her legs shaking. You spank the older woman, watching her ass jiggle before doing it again. Sana yelps with every hit, enjoying the stinging pain. You smile to yourself, rubbing your palm against the soft flesh before striking it once more. Sana's cheek was turning red before you got too caught up in turning both her cheeks bright red. You move your hands up Sana’s body, running over her flat stomach before reaching her breasts. You take one in each hand, finding that the mother of your girlfriend had chosen to come to the game without a bra on. 

“Oh, you’re a naughty mommy,” You tease, squeezing her tits. Sana bites her bottom lip, containing her moan for a moment before giving in when you twist her nipples.

“I’m a naughty girl. I’m a naughty girl for you.” Sana puts her head down and pushes her hips back, pressing her ass against your pelvis. “I’ve been a bad mommy. Please give me your cock.”

You smirk and bring your hands down to Sana’s waist. You hold her in place as you drag your cock out of her. Sana groans, shaking her hips to entice you back in. It brings a smile to your face. You tighten your grip, digging your fingers into Sana’s soft flesh before driving yourself against her womb. Sana cries out, the suddenness taking her by surprise. Her legs grow weak as she feels your cock start smashing into her. As you drive your cock into the older woman, you sneak your hand under her shirt, pulling it off of her so you can freely play with her tits. The cold wall turns her nipples hard, making them more sensitive to your touch.

You enjoy making Sana squirm as you tug and twist her nipples. She bites her lip; her hummed moans still coming through as your cock slides in and out of her slick slit with ease. Sana was starting to sweat as your activity continued. Her slick body only turned you on; you sped up, wanting nothing more than to fuck the mother of your girlfriend silly. Sana, for her part, was loving every second. Having her daughter’s boyfriend fuck her like she was a piece of cheap meat was arousing; she felt desired. That feeling was pushing Sana over the edge. Your cock throbbing inside her made her beg.

“Make me a mommy again!” Sana screams as your cock throbs deep within her cunt. You press her sweaty body against the wall, slapping her ass harder as you push closer to your climax. Your handprint was easily visible, and your continued strikes helped Sana along. “I’m cumming!” She yells, clinging to the bathroom walls, whining as she reaches her limit. Her knees bend, and you're forced to hold her up. Sana’s walls tighten around your cock, squeezing it as she cums. 

You continue to piston in and out of the older woman. On the verge of cumming, you drive yourself as far as you can go into her cunt and begin filling her with your baby batter. Sana groans, your hot cum pouring into her fertile womb. Her eyes roll back, and her body becomes still as her walls milk your cock, greedily taking every drop of cum from you. “Oh, fuck it’s so much,” Sana groans, your cum filling her cunt. You hold her tightly, keeping her pinned to the wall as you make small movements to coax everything out.

Slowly, you both come down from your high, and you begin to pull out, savoring the feeling. Once you're out, your cum begins to flow out of Sana’s cunt, running down her legs. “Mmm, it feels so nice,” Sana hums, reaching between her legs to scoop the leaking semen. She brings her dirty fingers to her lips, swallowing your cum. 

Sana looks over her shoulder once she finishes tasting you. Seeing your slick cock she kneels down and opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out for you. You smirk and tap her tongue with the tip before sliding it into her mouth. Sana moans softly as she uses her tongue to clean you off. It swirls around you slowly. Sana shuts her eyes, reveling in the sensation of your hot length moving further into her mouth and eventually hitting the back of her throat. The mother cups your balls, holding them gently as she bobs her head. “You still have a lot in here. After Sullyoon goes to sleep, how about you come over to my room and finish putting a baby in me?” 

You nod along, “Sullyoon deserves to have a sibling. I’ll make sure of it.” Sana wraps her lips tightly around your cock as she reaches the base and slowly drags her mouth back, sucking in every drop of your cum before popping you out of her mouth. 

Once you clean up, you both put your clothes on. You were tempted to go another round with Sana but decided against it in the end. You both worried that Sullyoon would start to question where the two of you had gone. It was an unfounded worry, though; Sullyoon was just as invested in the game as when you left. “You two are missing the best part!” She said, aware enough to say that at the very least. You and Sana give each other a look before sitting back and letting Sullyoon enjoy her game, completely unaware of what happened. You reach behind Sullyoon’s seat, grabbing Sana’s hand and rubbing it gently.

[muniimyg]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . pov!jk . ۫ ꣑ৎ . — [ 6 . ] green eyed boy

series m.list // taglist unavailable

friends to ???

slow burn

slight jealousy vibes, (ft jaemin,, everyone say hi to jaemin), misa is suspicious

note: jus vibes lol

//

misa has a theory.

she doesn’t say it out loud—not in so many words—but you feel it in the way she keeps watching you. like she’s collecting data.. which is probably why you’re currently slumped over a too-bright brunch table, nursing a hangover, while she bats her lashes across from you with jin beside her and a stranger sitting in the seat misa very intentionally didn’t let you choose.

he’s cute, sure. 

he has kind eyes and a nice voice. he tells you he works in design, and you nod politely while trying not to throw up your mimosa. misa keeps shooting you encouraging glances. it’s subtle, but it’s there—the way she leans in when the guy asks about your weekend, like she’s waiting to see if you’ll say jungkook’s name.

you don’t.

you barely get two sips into your drink before the bell over the café door jingles.

you don’t look up.you don’t have to.

you hear him first—his laugh, low and familiar. then, a second voice:

“damn. she is on a date.”

when you do look, jungkook’s already halfway to your table, a bottle of painkillers in hand. he drops it in front of you casually, like he just remembered.

“figured you’d forget,” he says, not even glancing at misa’s new recruit. “you always forget when you drink tequila.”

your headache pulses in time with your heartbeat… most of all, you hate how much softer it feels just having him here.

“you’re welcome, by the way,” misa says, narrowing her eyes as jungkook slides into the seat beside you. “for the company.”

“oh, we came for the show,” taehyung says as he drops into a chair. hoseok follows, grinning, mouthing hot girl brunch at you like a curse. meanwhile, jungkook just shrugs. there’s not much written on his face and it irks misa. although, she misses the way his arm brushes yours when he leans back. 

“so this is the guy you’ve been dodging for a month?”

you shoot misa a look. she blinks innocently.

jin tries not to laugh into his juice.

“he’s nice,” you say, which isn’t untrue. just… incomplete.

you try to listen while the guy talks—he’s telling jungkook something about his job, asking about you, the normal things. but your head is throbbing and your coffee tastes wrong. you grimace after the first sip and set it back down.

jungkook notices.

without a word, he nudges his drink toward you and pulls yours toward him instead. when you blink at him, he doesn’t even look up.

“no hot coffee after a night out,” he says. “makes you nauseous.”

“right,” you murmur. you try not to feel anything about that.

the guy across from you is still smiling, still trying. he’s sweet. 

you feel kind of bad. but when your food arrives and you reach for your hashbrowns, jungkook plucks them off your plate and swaps them with the fruit bowl from his.

“what the heck,” you say, mouth half-full. “i need that grease.”

he finally looks at you then—really looks. eyes still tired from the night before, hair tucked into a hoodie like he couldn’t be bothered to brush it.

“you’ll feel sick all day,” he says, quiet. “eat your fruit.”

you pout. “you owe me hashbrowns.”

he shrugs. “sure. okay.”

misa stares at both of you like she’s trying to read subtitles only she can see. when you glance at her, she’s already looking away.

the brunch lasts forever.

people finish their food. someone brings up a new movie. you feel jungkook’s knee bump yours once, then again. you don’t move. eventually, everyone makes plans to watch a movie. you opt out due to your hangover. jungkook doesn’t say anything and misa slumps as his silence confuses her more than it confuses you. once the bill is paid and everyone is getting their outerwear on, he offers to walk you home.

there’s a beat.

you glance at jungkook.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just leans back in his chair and looks at you like he already knows the answer.

“i can drive her.”

your breath catches. misa’s eyes ping between the two of you like she’s watching a tennis match. her face lights up, loving the way jungkook stepped in. what will he do next? confess? have a jealous fit? will his brown eyes turn green? 

you blink at him. 

and before you even realize it, you’re declining jungkook’s offer.

maybe it’s because everyone is watching. maybe it’s because you don’t want to embarrass jaemin… and maybe—quietly, selfishly—it’s because jungkook is still jungkook.

“i think i’ll walk,” you say, carefully. “fresh air sounds nice.”

there’s a brief pause. not long enough to be awkward, but long enough for jungkook to hear what you don’t say.

with that, jaemin says his goodbyes kindly, shaking hands with jin, thanking misa. he even tells the others it was nice to meet them, and it doesn’t come off as forced. you offer a small smile when he gently places a hand on the small of your back as you move to leave.

he shakes jungkook’s hand last. and jungkook—because he’s jungkook—gives nothing away. his expression is unreadable, his grip firm and short.

you don’t look back.

not at him. not at misa.

and that, misa thinks, that should be the end of it. either way, she wins, right? she set you up with someone… 

but something makes her glance toward jungkook.

he’s still in his seat. doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. there’s no shift in his body. no clench of the jaw. no sigh. nothing notable.except—

his eyes.

they’re still on the door.

they linger.

misa swallows, suddenly uncertain.

all this time—every glance, every quiet moment, every excuse to stand next to each other, the way jungkook always knew when to step in, to tease, to pull you aside—had it been… something?

or was she just imagining it?

she chews the inside of her cheek. watches jungkook finally look away, lift his glass like nothing happened.

defeated, misa sighs.

her theory?

inconclusive.

still—something pulls at her.

if there’s something between you and jungkook, it’s not a fire. not yet.

it’s sunlight. low and steady. the kind that settles into your skin before you realize it’s been too long.

misa’s not sure what scares her more—that you don’t feel it yet or that you do.

a sunburn. 

as jaemin walks you home, you realize he’s actually pretty charming. he’s funny in ways you didn’t expect him to be. it’s not enough to get you to laugh, but he earns a few chuckles out of you. jaemin is simple and clear. once you two reach your place, you give him a tight hug. 

jaemin leaves with a wave and a ‘text me sometime,’ which you probably won’t.

… and he knows that too. 

you sigh, feeling a weight being lifted off your shoulders the minute he turns the corner and is out of sight. for a moment, you think that’s it—until you spot the car parked across the street from your building.

jungkook’s leaning against the driver’s side door like he’s anchoring himself there—hoodie up, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. he looks up as you approach, eyes meeting yours through the low light, and something in his expression falters. 

just for a second.

you stop in front of him.

his posture doesn’t change, but the way he looks at you does—he takes you in like he’s been holding his breath. like maybe he regrets letting you walk away at all. then he straightens, slow, steps forward like he’s moving through water. his hands find your waist—tentative, warm. not a grab. just a quiet hold, like he’s trying to steady himself. 

or maybe you.

“how was your walk?” he asks, voice low and strained.

your lip quirks. “good. lacked the beach view and some romantic music playing in the background, but hey… there’s always next time, right?”

his grip tightens just slightly. not enough to hurt, just enough to say something. his eyes flicker—not quite a glare, but not relaxed either.

“you want romantic now?”

his tone is light, but it doesn’t sound like a joke. it sounds like something sharp, buried in softness. 

you roll your eyes, deflecting the tension like it’s second nature. “wasn’t aware i had options.”

that lands. 

his jaw ticks.

you almost miss it.

the silence stretches thin between you. neither of you move. but after a moment or two, you finally step back, and he lets you go—reluctantly. his hands drop to his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do now.

you walk toward your door. you don’t look back.

he follows anyway.

you glance over your shoulder, voice quiet. “what are you doing here?”

you expect a smirk, a joke, something stupid and evasive… but jungkook just stands there, blinking like you hit him in the chest.

a moment passes and it’s filled with silence. you turn to face him fully. 

lifting his head, he looks at you like he’s trying to figure it out himself. like he didn’t plan to be here. like he saw you walk away with someone else and followed without thinking. like his body made the decision before his brain could stop it.

and you—god, you don’t know what to do with him like this. with this version of him. unsure. unscripted. undone, almost.

he exhales through his nose. runs a hand over his mouth.

“i wasn’t crazy about him taking you home. didn’t know what it meant to you.”

you stare. for a split second, you swear his brown eyes turn green.

you push it. you push him—your green eyed boy.

“what does it matter if it means something to me?”

“it matters.”

“and this?”

you pause.

“what about this?”

“you.”

“what about me?” jungkook tilts his head at you, trying to play it off as confusion... but he isn't confused. at least, not right now.

your fingers tighten around your keys as you unlock the door. holding it open, you ask him;

“what does this mean to you?”

[honeekyuu]

stuck. [tsukishima kei x f!reader]

>>Tsukishima is the kind of best friend that makes you want to leave him, but you just can't bring yourself to.

or

You end up confessing in the middle of a fight and he fucks you to show you how much he really cares.<<

______________________________

tags: smut, fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, alcohol/drinking, college au, tsukishima kei is a dick, drunk sex, unprotected sex (dont do that), creampie, dom/sub undertones

a/n: ahahahaha this was my first hq work posted on ao3, and it is everything Mean Best Friend Tsukishima Kei that i needed. i hope you enjoy!

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

------------------

“Okay, I’m done! How do I look?”

“You look like shit.”

You sigh, trying not to let him get to you. 

Tsukki’s always been this way - dismissive, nonchalant, indifferent. Through middle school, he’d been sarcastic. He’d been snarky and brutally honest. And in high school, he’d only gotten worse. 

Anyone else in your position might have left him already. People you’d known in school had told you to find someone else, a better friend. Best friends don’t treat each other the way Tsukishima treats you , they’d said. His teammates had been in the habit of scolding him whenever he’d go too far, whenever he’d push your buttons a little too hard. The only one who could see your side had been Yamaguchi, and even he’d had his reservations at times.

But other people don’t know Tsukishima Kei. They know the Tsukki that would refuse to share his notes with you after you’d been out sick. The Tsukki that would steal parts of your lunch and hold it high above your head, far out of your reach, and call you mean names with a cruel smirk. The Tsukki that would often leave you behind after school and head home without you, leaving you to text him and wonder where he’d gone.

They don’t know that the same person would show up at your house with his notes, walking you through calculus and poetry lessons himself because he knows you learn better with a teacher. And, even though you never called him out for it, he would show up the day you’d been out sick, too, just to check on you. Just to watch movies in bed with you, waving off your concerns about him getting sick. He hated being sick, but he would ignore your complaints and force you to relax - because you’d only ever get sick when you overworked yourself, which meant he hadn’t been watching over you closely enough. 

They don’t know that Tsukki would secretly swap your lunch out for his own - better, homemade food that wasn’t the cafeteria slop you were often forced to buy because your parents weren’t home a lot. He would watch you push the food around on your tray while you’d laugh at something Hinata had said, identifying at least 3 things you were allergic to on that plate. So he would reach for it, leaving his own (allergen-free, thanks to Akiteru) lunch open for retaliation while he’d use his height as a way to take out his frustrations on you - his irritation that you never seemed to put yourself first, choosing starvation over just simply asking your parents for money before they go out of town.

And the times he’d leave you behind - well, half the time, it had been an accident. It was impossible to remember your packed schedule, all your clubs and student council meetings lumping into a vague ‘ Y/n’s busy ’ block of time in his mind. The other half of the time, it was because he needed to be alone. It’s not that he’s an asshole and loves to make you suffer - in fact, he would often call you later the same night, apologizing in his own, special Tsukishima Kei way and explaining himself. He gets overwhelmed easily, overstimulated by too many people, too many responsibilities, too many social expectations. So he would disappear as soon as he was allowed, needing to be alone with himself and no one else.

So, the people in your life had known a different version of Tsukishima than you do. Where they’d seen a bully, cold and unrelenting even for his best friend, you’d known nothing more than an introvert, expressing his care in a way that was unrecognizable to anyone but you.

Care that had carried over into college, the last three years filled with a Tsukishima Kei that even you hadn’t expected. A version of him that walks you from the library to your dorm at night, despite his increasingly hectic volleyball schedule. A Tsukishima who calls you in the morning on his walk to class to make sure you haven’t overslept, because - even if the calls consist of nothing but your crabby morning disposition, berating him for pulling you from your slumber - he knows you’ll thank him later, as you often do.

A Tsukishima who lets you drag him to parties, even though he hates them to his very core. He lets you tug him along to your dorm, lets you force him to sit through the hour-long ordeal of choosing your outfit. Lets you spin in front of him when you’re done, clearly pleased with yourself, and ask him how you look.

Lets you throw a pillow at his face when he tells you that you look like shit, even if he wholeheartedly believes otherwise.

“Tsukki, can’t you say one nice thing to me? For once?”

He scoffs when you put your hands on your hips, turning his gaze back to his phone as he lounges on your bed like it’s his own. It might as well be, with the amount of time he spends in this room.

“That would require you to have something worth being nice about, wouldn’t it?” He smiles mockingly when he catches the irritated twitch of your eyebrow.

“You’re a dick.”

“Nothing new about that.” Tsukishima watches as you turn back to your closet with a huff, taking the time to look you over appreciatively. No , he thinks, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts and the way your dress hugs your hips, the material tight but soft. His hand itches with the urge to touch it, to find out for himself. It’s not that you have nothing. It’s that you have too much.

He sighs, sitting up, and runs his fingers through his hair.

You have too much, and it’s fucking annoying. 

His eyes flick to you again, his own irritation growing. You’d always been too good. Too perfect, too overwhelming. He’d hated falling in love. It had sucked. High school had sucked . Having you cling to him every day and finding himself clinging right back. Not understanding these complicated feelings he has - ones that want nothing more than to hold you in his arms, against others that would tell him to push you away with his sharp tongue, to protect himself from this terrifying feeling. 

And now that he’s accepted it - it had only taken him the entirety of high school and at least a year of college - he almost hates it more. Being so close to you and somehow still feeling like he can’t breathe because it’s not nearly close enough.

So he stands, shoving his phone in the pocket of his jeans, and stares you down when you finally turn back to him.

“Can we go? The sooner we get to this stupid thing, the sooner I can go home.” He thinks he sees a flicker of hurt flash across your eyes, but that can’t be it. He’s said worse things before. You always bounce back, a retort on the tip of your tongue for everything he could throw at you. You always match him, blow for blow.

So why, then, can he see your jaw clenching as you turn away from him? Why does he feel like you’re pulling your jacket off the rack with more force than usual? Why are you leaving without responding?

What the fuck ?

-

Fuck Tsukishima Kei . 

It’s the only thought in your mind as you down the shot, wincing as the alcohol slides down your throat. You’d lost count of the drinks you’ve had about an hour ago, when the thought had been something more like ‘ Fuck Tsukishima Kei. Stupid fucking idiot. Never thinks before he speaks ’.

Clearly, you’d mellowed out a little, but the anger is still there, simmering in your chest and threatening to rise every time he gets close to you.

The walk to the frat had been silent, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about your mood, only scrolling through his phone and occasionally glancing over at you. You’d felt the irritation crawling under your skin with every pass of his eyes over you, but you hadn’t returned any of his gazes, only looking forward to getting to the party and being with other people.

But he hadn’t let you wander off so easily, his tall form following close behind as you’d tried to find some of your friends from class. You can tell he’s been trying to silently check on you, like he always does when he knows he’s bothered you. 

He’d brought you drinks, only smiling emptily when you’d glared up at him. It shouldn’t have made your heart skip that he’d done nothing more than offered you a drink, tapping his own red solo cup against yours and matching you shot for shot. It shouldn’t affect you when he does the bare minimum. 

He’d danced close to you, one hand on your waist and his warm chest pressed firmly against your back. You’d hated it - feeling so safe in the arms of someone who had derived pleasure from picking on you your whole lives. And even if that’s not true - even if you only take into account all the ways that he’d taken care of you, celebrating all your accomplishments with you and holding you while you’d cried about your failures - you still shouldn’t be feeling that familiar tug of nerves in your stomach when he presses his hips against your ass, slipping his fingers through yours and pulling you close.

And when that hadn’t worked - when you’d held your ground and managed to cling to your anger from earlier - he’d even tried to talk to you about it. That isn’t normal for him by any means, but you could see the confusion in his eyes when he’d leaned down to be heard over the music, mumbling his question against the shell of your ear.

“Are we okay ?”

It had taken everything in you to resist him, to resist the pull that is Tsukishima Kei. The same pull that had kept you next to him all these years, through all the teasing and the poking. The pull that kept reminding you that he’s just bad at expressing his feelings. He’s just bad at being nice. He’s just bad at holding his tongue.

But that doesn’t mean you have to sit and take it every time.

So you’d only smacked his hand away and glared when he’d cupped the side of your face, trying to get you to look at him. Stomping over to the bar, you had asked the frat boy for a shot of something random. 

After downing it, you try not to look back but fail miserably - you might be pissed, but you’ve never been immune to him. You probably never would be.

Glancing back, you can see his blond head in the sea of people. He’s trying to make his way to the bar, but his head is whipping to the side at the sound of something. A tall guy - you recognize it’s someone from his team - appears at his side, clapping his shoulder, and you can only assume he’d heard his name being called.

They start talking, Tsukki seeming distracted but drunk enough to at least pretend he’s interested in the conversation. You look away just as he’s turning his head back to you - you won’t be caught looking his way again tonight.

Luckily, there’s someone stepping up beside you, catching your attention with their bright smile.

“Y/n?!” 

You blink, startled by the recognition. But when you finally see who it is, you can’t help but beam.

“Oh my God, Bokuto?!” You leap toward him, wrapping your arms around the man’s neck and dragging him into a hug. You feel him laugh against you, his arms sliding around your waist and pulling you in tight. When you step away, he keeps you close, hand on your hips.

“What are you doing here?! You don’t go here, do you?” 

The man shakes his head, grinning down at you and pointing over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m just visiting a few friends over the weekend.”

You glance past him, seeing a group of boys that seem like they could be familiar to you, but you can never tell - Bokuto Koutarou is friends with everyone.

When you look back, you catch his eyes wandering down the length of your body, his gaze snapping up to yours when you clear your throat. He has the decency to look ashamed.

“Sorry, Y/n - You’ve just, uh… grown up a lot since high school.”

You flush deeply, something that makes him grin when he catches it. 

At least someone thinks I look good tonight .

You’re smiling flirtily up at him, feeling confident enough to drag this conversation out. He seems to notice, an interested glimmer in his eye. But then he’s glancing over your shoulder, and his eyebrows are raising in surprise.

A hand wraps around your bicep, much tighter than necessary in your opinion. You barely have time to spot the blond hair in your peripheral vision before you’re being dragged away. You can only wave at Bokuto, who looks a little disappointed but mostly just amused.

Tsukishima only lets you go when you’re outside, his hand dropping from your skin like you’ve burned him. You whip around to face him, more than ready to yell at him on the front lawn of this frat house. But he’s already walking away, in the direction of your dorm.

“Dude, what the hell? You didn’t even say hi to him - he’s one of your closest friends!” You stalk after him, determined to figure out what could possibly be going through his mind. But he won’t answer you, just shaking his head and mumbling something that sounds vaguely like ‘exactly ’ as he makes his way down the street.

You scoff, turning back to the frat. He’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re just going to follow him home quietly.

You start to head back to the party, but you barely make it five steps before his fingers are closing around your wrist and tugging you back to him. When you look up, enraged at his entitlement, you see that he’s incensed, staring down at you with wild eyes. He looks pissed, which he has no reason to be. But there’s something else there, something that’s contributing to this almost panicked anger sitting just below the surface.

“Tsukishima, what do you want?” 

He bristles at the use of his full name, golden eyes narrowing as he stares down at you.

“You’re going home.” He punctures every word with barely concealed irritation, finally turning and dragging you back down the street. You don’t say anything this time, feeling that previously mellowed out anger returning full force as you stare at the back of his head.

The walk back is just as silent as the walk to the party had been, but this time you feel ready to explode. You’d been annoyed before, bothered and hurt by his words and the way he treats you.

Now you’re just ready to pick a fight. Which means you’ll probably say something you’ll regret if you don’t get away from him soon and take some time to calm the hell down.

When you get to your door, you’ve already got your keys out. He’d let go of you in the elevator, finally realizing that he’d been gripping you way too hard. You might just be able to get inside without him following.

But the second you unlock the door and slip inside, not a word said to the blond as you try to shut the door behind you, his hand is slamming down on the wood. He stops your attempt, staring down at you with annoyance.

“You’re joking, right?” And then he’s pushing into your room with an angry sigh, letting the door swing shut behind him. You only step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you look him over.

“What do you want?”

“What do I wa- What is your problem tonight ?” He squints down at you, eyebrows furrowed. When you only raise yours, his jaw is clenching. “Why the fuck are you so mad at me?”

“Because-” You stop yourself, taking a deep breath in order to maintain some semblance of control. “Because you’re an asshole, Tsukishima-”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Y/n-”

“-and maybe I’m just not in the mood for your shit tonight!” You yell over him, clenching your fists against your body. You need him to go. You cannot let him see you cry.

“I’m always an asshole! How is tonight any different-” He’s taken a step further into the small bedroom, and you take a step back, feeling overwhelmed. You’re immensely glad you don’t have a roommate, so they don’t have to deal with the mess that is your friendship with Tsukki.

“Tonight isn’t any different, you dick. It’s the same as it always is. I’m just tired of it tonight.” You feel yourself growing angrier when he just laughs, throwing you a mocking smile as he paces the room. He’s definitely drunk.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize I needed to account for Little Miss Y/n’s fucking mood swings whenever I open my mouth-”

“What the fuck did you just sa-”

“I just didn’t take you for someone who’s sensitive-”

“Well, maybe I am, you fucking asshole! ”

You’re definitely drunk, too.

Tsukishima stops short, taking you in. He can’t hide the shock on his face when he sees you - the way your hands are shaking at your sides, the quiver of your lip as you try your best to stand up to him. You’re trying so hard not to cry, he can tell.

Wow, I really am an asshole.

“Y/n… I-”

“Did you really think I would still want to go to that party once you’d made it clear how much you didn’t want to go? That you think it’s stupid to hang out with your best friend on a Friday night doing something she wants to do - because your idea of a good time is so different from mine that you would try make me feel like a fucking idiot for it?” 

Tsukishima’s starting to panic - had he made you feel that way? He’d just been talking. He hadn’t even been thinking about how it would make you feel - he’d thought nothing could hurt you, that your friendship is guaranteed and that having you next to him is a given. 

Now he feels like he’s losing you. 

“Maybe, once in a fucking while , it wouldn’t hurt you too much to tell a girl she’s pretty when she’s just spent an hour trying to look good for you.”

The frustration on Tsukishima’s face drops, and he’s left staring emptily at you. 

That’s what this is about? 

He stares for a while, his eyes just flicking back and forth between yours as he thinks of how to take that. It makes you nervous. You’d said too much. 

“Fuck this.”

You blink, staring up at him in disbelief. What is that supposed to mean?

“What do you- mmh -” 

Tsukishima had crossed the room in just two steps, taking your face in his hands while you’d been preparing to yell at him again. And then he’d smashed his lips to yours.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you let out a noise of shock, muffled against his mouth. Your eyes remain wide open, flitting in a panic over his features as you feel his lips move against yours. His brow is furrowing behind his glasses, and you’re realizing that you still haven’t kissed him back. You push against his lips experimentally, watching that wrinkle between his eyes all but disappear when he feels it, and you think it looks a lot like relief.

He’s nervous.

Your body moves of its own accord, hands sliding up his chest to grip at his shirt, and your eyes slide closed when you feel one of his hands fall to your waist. He nudges you backward, and you feel the hard surface of your closet door against your back.

Tsukishima slides his tongue against your bottom lip, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he feels you inhale sharply in response. He takes advantage of your surprise, pushing past your lips and brushing his tongue against yours. When you slide your hands up and around his neck, tugging at the hair there, he groans and leans down. 

Planting a hand on the door behind you, he angles his head, slotting his lips against yours. He presses his hips into you, and you can feel how hard he’s getting. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, smiling when his body reacts to the sound, his cock hardening against your thigh. 

Tsukishima Kei might be impossible to read sometimes, but he never could hide from you.

He drops his mouth to your neck, latching onto a spot under your ear and using his other arm to pull you flush against him. The sounds you’re making are clear now, soft gasps and whimpers echoing in your tiny dorm room.

“So stupid… ” 

You barely hear him, too busy wondering why it had taken so long to feel his lips on your skin.

“The only person in the world that can see right through me, and you were stupid enough to believe what I said. ” He mumbles it into your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and sighing when you moan against him.

“You’re so mean…” Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand drop to your leg, pulling the fabric of your dress up slightly. He grips at the back of your bare thigh, brushing against your panties and kneading into the plush skin just below your ass.

“What were you gonna do, Y/n, go home with Bokuto?” Tsukishima all but growls the question against your neck, dragging your thigh up and wrapping your leg around his hip. He feels your dress slide up, feels your warmth against his jeans. He’s desperate to get out of them.

“Y-You called me ugly-”

“I never said that.” Yes he had. He knows he had. He just hadn’t realized you would take it to heart. Now he hates himself for even saying it. For pretending you aren’t the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

“Bo said I looked good… Figured I might as well go for someone who’s actually attracted to me…” You whimper when Tsukishima presses his erection against you, your thin panties useless against the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Does it feel like I’m not attracted to you?”

You breathe out a laugh, clinging to his biceps as he sucks another bruise into your skin.

“How was I supposed to know, you dumbass? You only ever say mean things, and I thought I could get over you by-”

“By what?” He’s getting irritated again at the thought of what could have happened tonight if he hadn’t brought you home. If he’d left you alone, like his brain was telling him to. If he’d given you space and just texted you in the morning. 

“You thought you could just fuck some other guy and get over me?” He lifts his head, grinning cruelly when you look up at him, your lip trembling. “Because I didn’t call you pretty tonight? Because you were tired of me being mean all the time?”

You nod, a gasp leaving you when he wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you up so you’re eye-level, slamming you back against the closet door and pinning you there with his hips. Your dress is bunched up around your stomach now, leaving Tsukishima with a perfect view of the wet spot on your panties when he glances down. His grin widens, an evil glint shining behind his glasses.

“But it seems like you like it when I say mean things, Y/n.”

You whine in protest, growing louder when you feel him rut involuntarily against you at the sound.

“This is different, Tsukki-”

“Is it?” He’s distracted when he asks, too busy steadying you in his arms so he can lift you up and away from the closet. Making his way to your bed, he drops you unceremoniously on the mattress, smiling when you yelp. He removes his glasses and leaves them on your bedside table, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed and wrapping his arms around your thighs so he can drag you toward him.

You sit up, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips urgently to his - even on his knees, he’s tall enough to be eye-level with you. You feel his fingers, long and calloused, drift up your thighs and hook into your panties while he nips almost affectionately at your bottom lip.

“Tsukki… ” You whisper against his mouth, but he���s quick to shake his head, mumbling back to you.

“Not that. ”

You’re a little surprised - you never really call him by his first name. He’d found it uncomfortable the one time you’d tried it as a joke. But if he’s asking, then-

“Kei .” His pulse quickens under your fingertips when you murmur against his lips, his kiss becoming more full, and you realize just how much he likes it.

You pull away and press kisses to his face, peppering them across his nose and cheeks. It’s a moment that’s far softer than either of you had had before, one that has Tsukishima’s heart beating a little too hard in his chest. 

God, he hates being in love.

He pulls away from you, planting one hand on your chest and shoving you away from him. You fall back onto your elbows with a noise of surprise, bouncing lightly on the mattress. Tsukishima only reaches for your panties again, tugging them down and smiling to himself when you lift your hips to help him. 

He throws them somewhere over his shoulder, refusing to break his attention. Planting his hands on each of your knees, he pries your knees open slowly, glancing up at your face for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, his gaze flicks back down to what’s in front of him.

And then his breath is cutting short at the sight of you lying bare in front of him. You’re glistening, even in this dark room, and his cock is suddenly unbearably hard. 

He’d been thinking about this moment for far longer than he’d ever care to admit. 

“Well, isn’t this just the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen?” 

You throw your head back at his words, moaning loudly. 

“Oh, shut up.” You know Tsukki’s slept with his fair share of girls since you’d started college - being a popular volleyball player has its benefits. You’d done the same, hoping to squash down that jealousy in your own, twisted way. To hear him praising you like this - like you’d always wanted - has you clenching and squirming from the desire coursing through your veins.

“First you get mad because I’m too mean, and now you’re mad because I’m being nice?” He tilts his head, his voice mocking. “You really need to make up your mind.” 

And then, before you can let out some kind of snarky quip, he’s dipping his head and dragging his tongue over your slit in one long stripe. 

You gasp loudly and moan out his name, falling back onto the mattress as your hands fly to his head. You bury your fingers in his hair, tightening your grip when he does it again, licking through your folds before latching onto your clit, pulling the nub gently into his mouth.

He moans loudly against you when you mewl and pull his hair. The vibration on your clit makes you squirm, and you’re involuntarily rutting your hips against his face. He only laughs against you, his breath tickling your skin, and wraps an arm over your hips to hold you steady on the bed.

He pulls his mouth off of you, and you lift your head to look at him in annoyance. He smirks, holding eye contact while he brings his other hand to your folds. When he runs his fingers through them, stopping briefly to circle your clit, you whimper. And when he drops his middle finger to your entrance, nudging gently at it in question, you bite your lip and nod furiously, just wanting him to touch you already-

“Oh my- Kei-” Your head falls back when he slides his finger in and drops his mouth to your clit to suck on it. He sets his pace with his finger, thrusting into you and curling gently up toward himself, repeating the process until he can tell by your squirming hips that you’re starting to feel something.

And then he’s pushing another finger past your entrance, his cock twitching when you moan at the stretch. He’s been painfully hard for a while now, and all he wants is to be inside you of already. He doesn’t realize you’re feeling just as impatient, only noticing when your hands drop to his shoulders, tugging on his shirt.

“Kei …” You pout down at him, your eyelids fluttering when he thrusts his fingers into you again. His fingertips are brushing against a spot you’ve never been able to reach yourself, his fingers much longer than yours. You think you might become addicted to his hands soon. But you only pull again on his shirt with a whine, hoping he’ll get the message. 

Luckily, he does, because he’s pulling away to rip his shirt impatiently off his back, wiping his mouth with it before throwing it to the floor. He unzips his jeans as he makes his way up to the bed, pausing to scoop you up into his arms and tossing you closer to your pillows so he can climb on top of you.

When he pushes his mouth to yours, you’re moaning. He tastes like you, something he’s apparently proud of, because he’s just smiling against you and shoving his tongue past your lips. He drops his mouth to your neck again as he fumbles with his jeans.

“You taste so good, you know that?” He latches onto your skin, sucking harshly. “So much better than I’d imagined.” He pushes his pants just past his thighs, growing impatient. You gasp quietly when his cock brushes against you, the sound changing to a moan when Tsukishima runs it through your folds, sliding against you.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours in a moment of astounding clarity given the insanity of this whole night.

“You sure?”

Your heart jumps when he asks. He’s got the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance, clearly holding himself back. But the way he’s looking at you makes you realize he wants this to be done right - after all, this had started with the two of you fighting. He doesn’t want you to regret this later and be even more upset with him.

He doesn’t want to lose you.

The idea that that’s what been hiding behind Tsukki’s eyes tonight - that vague panic that you couldn’t put your finger on - makes your heart sing and your stomach swoop with butterflies. You can only nod, cupping his face and bringing him down to your lips. His kiss is gentle and full of something that makes your nerves worse, something that makes you feel more than sure.

“I want this more than anything.”

Tsukishima’s heart skips, and he’s swearing softly against your lips. He hovers over you, keeping his mouth on yours as he presses his thumb against the head of his cock, guiding it past your entrance.

You gasp together as he pushes slowly into you, a moan pulled from your throat when he bottoms out and breathes out your name. The fog in your head - a mixture of alcohol, arousal, and nerves at the realization that you’re having sex with your best friend - worsens considerably when he drops his head to your neck, making an admission against your ear.

I’ve wanted this for so long …”

You whimper, curling your fingers into his hair and holding him close as he pulls out slowly just to slide into you again. You moan at the slow stretch, feeling his shaky breath against your ear.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Tsukishima doesn’t know why he’s choosing now to have this conversation, when you very well can just talk about it after. But there’s a strand of fear twisting around the butterflies in the pit of his stomach, and his mouth is moving without his permission. He needs you to understand what this means to him.

“I didn’t know it would hurt you… I didn’t mean it…” His hips are still slow, moving languidly against yours. He’d expected this to be rough - sex is only ever rough for him - but he needs to concentrate on what he’s saying. And you feel so good like this, so warm and tight around him.

You’re having the same problem, your head completely empty as you feel him push into you inch by inch instead of all at once. You can barely hear him, your ears ringing and your skin overheating while you try to process that this is actually happening - that you finally have Tsukishima Kei the way that you’d always dreamed about.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Your heart stutters when you realize what he’s been saying. Even with everything else going on right now - even as his hips are picking up the pace, even with his breath shuddering against your skin as he moans quietly in your ear - he’s distracted, trying to apologize. Trying to make things right between you.

“It’s okay…” You whisper forgiveness into his hair, but you feel him shake his head, his grip on your hips tightening.

“It’s not. I shouldn’t hurt you. Not you…” He gasps quietly into your neck, his hips stuttering momentarily before he returns to his previous speed. “S-Sorry… You feel really good… Trying to focus.”

You flush, clenching around him and pulling him closer when he groans. You think about what he’s saying. ‘ Not you ’?

You’re about to ask what he means, but he’s mumbling another admission against your skin, this one much more intense than the last.

“I love you, Y/n… So fucking in love, it hurts…”

You inhale sharply, your heart stopping in your chest. But then there’s a moan ripping from your throat, because he’s hitting a spot in you that you didn’t even know existed, the tip of his cock bumping up against something that makes the coil in the pit of your stomach twist harshly.

“I- fuck - Tsukki, I love you, too…”

Tsukishima lifts his head then, staring down at you with surprise written all over his face. You can only breathe out a laugh, moaning quietly while you giggle.

“What, you’re shocked? I just told you I almost went home with Bokuto just so I could stop thinking about you.”

His eyes darken at your words, and his hips are snapping harshly against yours. You moan in surprise, feeling your stomach flip at the way he’s looking down at you. He seems to remember now just how this night could have gone.

He sits up, knocking your hands away when you reach out for him with a whine, and pulls out of you completely. Slipping off the edge of the bed, he wraps his hands around your thighs and tugs you toward him roughly. He only smiles mockingly down at you when you slide across the mattress with a quiet yelp, pulling your hips flush against his.

When he slips into you again, the soft, caring Tsukishima is gone, replaced with the Tsukki you’ve always known. The one who has no problem running his mouth just to get to you.

“That’s it then, huh? If I hadn’t dragged you home, you’d be wrapped around another man right now?” He slams into you, watching with delight as you cry out and arch your back. He keeps this pace, his grip on your hips bordering on painful as he drives his cock into you.

“Tsukki-”

“What did I tell you? ” His tone cuts through you, yanking hard on that coil in your navel and setting off a fresh flurry of butterflies.

“I- Kei -”

“You think you can forget about me that easily? You think I would let you?” 

You’re writhing under him, hands gripping your sheets tight as you gasp with each hard thrust of his hips on yours. The sight makes Tsukishima’s hips stutter, and he feels his orgasm coming on. He drops his thumb to your clit to push you closer to the edge, throwing his head back with a moan when you clench around him.

“Kei, please- feels so goo- ah- ”

“S-Shit, Y/n, I’m not gonna last… Where should I-” Tsukishima almost loses it when you claw at his hands on your hips, latching onto his wrists as you moan.

“Insi-Inside… Inside, Kei, please…” You look up at him, taking in the flush of his cheeks, the way his eyelids flutter when you clench around him. The way he bites down hard on his bottom lip and moans after a few seconds, breaking his hold on you so he can slam his hands down on the mattress on either side of you, his hair falling into his face as he pants down at you.

“Fuck -” He reaches down, brushing his thumb over your clit again. When you tighten around him this time, he’s letting out a choked gasp and your name, and you’re suddenly filled with warmth as his hips stutter, as he spills into you. He drops his head to your shoulder, his breath shaky as he thrusts into you, riding out his orgasm.

And when he’s done - when his cum is dripping out of you while you squirm, feeling full but unsatisfied - he sits up, pulling you against him again. He wraps his fingers around your wrists, smiling breathlessly when you cling to his forearms, and uses you as leverage when he draws his hips back and snaps them harshly into yours.

You cry out, feeling yourself throb the more he all but drags you down onto his cock and tries to draw your orgasm out of you. He releases your wrists, his thumb circling that little bundle of nerves while his other hand grips the back of your thigh, spreading your legs even further. 

When he changes the angle of his stroke, you’re gasping, unable to handle all of the sensations he’s causing in your body. There’s too much going on, too many feelings happening, each of which is bringing you closer to the edge. You slap your hands down over your face, trying both to muffle your moans and also hide your face, feeling embarrassed that your body is reacting so strongly to everything Tsukishima does.

He only coos down at you, his tone almost insulting.

“Oh, is my baby going to come?”

You whine loudly at his words, so rude but so endearing - your stomach swoops as the coil tightens, but you nod anyway. His low chuckle reaches your ears.

“Let me see you, then.” When you don’t respond, only moaning into your hands with each thrust, he clicks his teeth at you in annoyance. “Come on, Y/n. I wanna see how pretty my best friend looks when she comes on my cock.”

Tsukishima beams when that does it, your back arching as you cry out his name. You screw your eyes shut and fumble desperately for his hands. He slips his fingers through yours, holding tight when you come, your walls fluttering around him. He fucks you through it, inhaling sharply when you become impossibly tight, and then drops down over you when you're done, pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a sob against his mouth, your limbs heavy as you try to catch your breath. 

“Tsukki …” You wiggle uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. He laughs against your neck, pressing kisses to your skin. And then he leans up again, pressing his lips to your tiredly.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He snickers when you whine but joins in on your soft gasp when he slides out of you, both of you sensitive. Stripping you out of the dress that’s been bunched up on your stomach this whole time, he leaves you on the bed, kicking his jeans off as he makes his way into your connected bathroom. When he returns, it’s with a wet rag and a gentle hand on your thighs.

Tsukishima scoops you into his arms when he’s done, setting you carefully against the pillows and climbing into bed with you. Your head is still empty, and you reach your arms out uselessly for him, mumbling his name. He only smiles, pulling you against his chest and kissing the side of your head.

“You okay?” When you nod sleepily against his chest, he smiles, tugging you closer. “Not too mean?”

You giggle, planting a kiss on his neck.

“I like you a little mean.”

Tsukishima snorts, shaking his head.

“I know you do. But still…” He meets your eyes, suddenly shy, his cheeks flushing. “I’ll be better from now on. Less ‘ toxic boyfriend ’ and more ‘ insufferable but still cute ’.”

You beam at his words, your heart skipping.

“Boyfriend , huh?”

He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I forgot you and Bokuto were basically married.”

“Oh, right, I should probably tell him the wedding’s off-”

“You’re a dick.”

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Of All the Gin Joints in All the Towns in All the World, She Walks Into Mine | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hey! It's been A WHILE. I have been VERY busy but I am back! May I offer you some fluff in this trying time? Also, can you clock the two Casablanca references in this one?

Word Count: 16.2k

Warnings: drinking, light violence, some blood, minor reader injury

Loud, raucous music- music you’d never choose to listen to- poured out onto the street. Men in stained t-shirts and ripped jeans stood outside, smoking cigarettes and nursing beers. A line of beat-up motorcycles stood at attention, fencing off the bar from the rest of the street. 

And you couldn’t believe you were willingly setting foot inside this place. 

A flickering neon sign reading LUCKY’S was displayed just above the door. And much like the bar itself, it had seen better days. This wasn’t your type of place, nor was it an establishment you’d ever consider making your regular haunt. 

But you were in desperate need of a drink, and every other bar you passed on your way home from work made you roll your eyes. They were all too snooty, too pretentious. They were the kind of places whose bartenders would shoot you a sideways glance if you ordered a domestic beer instead of one of their outlandish signature cocktails. And you’d had more than your fair share pointed glances for the day. 

The front door of this fine establishment, with its rowdy patrons and sticky floors, stood propped open with a cinderblock, welcoming you in. The stench of sweat and stale beer wafted toward you the moment you crossed the threshold. And at least three different guys wolf-whistled at you as you strode past them. But the promise of alcohol kept you from turning on your heel and running for the door.

Just as you were nearing the bar, a wall of muscle knocked you sideways. It wasn’t surprising that someone might bump into you in an unruly place like this- but what did surprise you was the way the perpetrator instantly and genuinely apologized. He caught you before you could hit the floor and righted your posture, making sure you were steady on your feet before he let go.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to run into you,” a deep, warm voice said. “That’s my bad. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?” 

Something about that voice pulled your attention. There was a familiarity to it, a certain quality that you swore you’d heard before- but you couldn’t quite place it amongst the noise of the bar. 

You did your best to regain your balance and catch the strap of your bag as it slid off your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, it’s-” And when you finally looked up, you realized why this stranger’s voice was so damn familiar. “Oh, hey, neighbor.” 

Bucky did a double take. He’d been so concerned about possibly injuring someone that he hadn’t even realized it was you. But he’d know your warm smile and the lilt of your voice anywhere. 

When he’d moved in next door to you, you’d been the first- and only- person in the building to welcome him. You brought a plate of cookies, introduced yourself, and gave him the rundown of everything he needed to know about the building. How to get the water to stay hot. How to steer clear of the landlord’s wrath. Which tenants to avoid like the plague.

He stood there, listening intently and making mental notes of your tips and tricks, though he didn’t remember much. He found you too enchanting to commit anything other than your name and face to memory. You were so sweet, so pleasant to be around. He couldn’t believe he’d made a friend on his first day in a new building. Though, he supposed ‘friend’ was too generous a word. You barely knew each other, and there was plenty in his history to scare off any mostly sane person. Still, he counted it as a win. 

The second time he saw you around the building, you addressed him by his proper title, Sergeant, and he knew the jig was up. He knew it would be the last time you ever spoke to him, and that you’d never knock on his door again. He thought you might even move units. But much to his surprise, you remained friendly and warm toward him. And though he didn’t know you well, he thought of you as a comfort. It was nice knowing that he had someone outside of his coworkers. Someone right next door.

He made small talk with you any chance he could and even assisted with your grocery bags on an occasion or two. There was something about you, some undeniable light that he couldn’t get enough of. And even though your run-ins were few and far between, he found himself entranced by you. After a few months, the word “friend’ felt fitting. He even heard you refer to him as such as you spoke on the phone with your mom. And he rode that high for weeks.

On rare nights when you picked up a late shift and worked until the wee hours of the morning, you’d sometimes find a trail of his blood leading from the elevator to his door. And without hesitation, you always offered to stitch him up. 

But it took him quite a long time to take you up on such a proposal, as he never wanted to take advantage of your kindness. And so, he opted to thank you for your generosity before gently rejecting your offer. He promised he could take care of things himself, and that he’d heal in no time- even without proper medical intervention. 

But after he tried and failed for almost two hours to stitch closed a deep gash on his back, he finally asked for your help. He knocked on your door with what little energy he had left and apologized profusely for bothering you so late on a Sunday night. But you shed your sleepy stupor and immediately welcomed him inside. 

Without so much as a complaint or a sigh, you took care of his wound. He was shocked by how quick, how painless, your stitches were. You cleaned and closed his bloody gash without hurting him; it was a novel experience.

When you finished the job, he thanked you endlessly every chance he could.

But that was the extent of your relationship. He always saw you as an unreachable, intangible star. Too bright. Too far away. Too high above him. He knew, without a doubt, that you were too good to be associated with him. Why would you, a doctor, want to hang out with someone like him? What could he ever offer you?

“Hey, neighbor,” he quipped back. He was so pleased to see you, so pleasantly surprised. “Funny running into you here, I-” 

And just like that, his thoughts came to a screeching halt. The pleasant part of the surprise melted away, revealing the truth of the situation. He eyed the grimy bar and its crowd of hardened regulars, and then snapped his gaze back to you. One of these things was not like the others, one of these things did not belong- and that one thing was you. 

“Wait- what are you doing here?”

“I was on my way home from work and needed a drink, so I decided to duck in here,” you said. “Is that not allowed?”

“No, it’s allowed, it’s just- you decided to duck in here? This is a pretty rough joint.” Once again, Bucky scanned the bar. He the clocked broken glass, the intimidating group of men arguing near the pool table; he swore there was dried blood on the floor. This was no place for you. “You should probably get a drink somewhere else. Don’t you think?”

You shrugged, “I mean, it’s close to our building. And after the day I had, I really don’t care about ambiance. I just want a beer.” 

Bucky let out a quiet laugh. You provided such stark contrast to the rest of the people crowding the bar. There you stood in your light blue scrubs, hair tied back neatly in braids, with your hospital badge still dangling from your shirt. This was not the venue for you, and Bucky wished you’d head somewhere safer. But selfishly, he was happy you ducked into Lucky’s. Happy to see you.

“I’m just saying, this isn’t really the kind of place where doctors hang out-”

“I’m not a doctor,” you extended your hospital ID in his direction and gave him a moment to examine it before your badge reel to snapped it back into place. “I’m a physician’s assistant.” 

He shot you an eye roll but couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile. “Okay, okay- then this isn’t the type of place where PAs hang out. So, I think-”

You held up a hand, silencing him, “Barnes.”

He caught himself blushing. Was this your way of giving him a nickname? Were the two of you closer than he thought? His heart pounded with excitement, but sank when he remembered: Barnes was his name. This wasn’t some clever new term of endearment you’d cooked up. His smile fell a fraction of an inch.

“Is there alcohol here?” you asked.

He gave a fervent nod. 

“Then this is exactly the kind of place where PAs hang out- well, this PA at least,” you told him. “And if this place is so rough and dangerous,” you teased, “What are you doing here?”

Sure, he came home bloody and bruised more times than you could count. But he wasn’t threatening. He wasn’t aggressive. He was always so sweet, so gentle. He always fed the stray cat that hung around outside your building. And when he finally won her trust, it was all he talked about. 

And if you didn’t fit in among the riff raff populating this bar, then neither did he. 

Your words caught Bucky off guard. Was it really possible that you didn’t see him as a lowlife? That you didn’t think he was scary?  He firmly believed that he fit right in amongst the delinquents and outlaws crowding this bar- even if he didn’t want to.

But to you, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

A grimace pulled at Bucky’s features. Suddenly, he regretted having this chat with you. He cut his glance to the side and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I um, I work here, actually…” He felt his face blaze red with embarrassment.  

He feared you might snicker a bit. Might cringe. Might even leave. But you didn’t; he knew you wouldn’t. You were too kind to ever treat him- or anyone- that way. You simply cocked your head to the side and delivered a quizzical look his way.

“Oh, I- my bad, I thought you were doing, like… superhero stuff,” you said.

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “I can’t- not yet, anyway. I have to wait for my, um-” The humiliation threatened to force his throat closed. He cleared it for a second or two before admitting his truth. “For my pardon to clear first.”

Bucky watched the gears turn inside your head. Your eyes narrowed; your brow furrowed. You opened your mouth and then snapped it shut, allowing yourself more time to think. But things simply didn’t add up. 

“So… you’re a bartender who comes home covered in blood and knife wounds every night? I know the tips are good, but they can’t be that good.”

“I’m not a bartender, I’m the, uh-” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, “I’m the bouncer- I’m one of the bouncers.”

He hated it. He hated being the muscle. Hated being the enforcer. Hated being the one management called when they wanted someone punished. This wasn’t at all what he imagined when he returned to the city, returned to himself. He’d hoped for a little peace as he rediscovered New York. Hoped that people would stop cowering in fear when he was around. But those hopes were dashed.

The small sum of money awarded to him as part of his POW benefits dwindled quickly, and he needed a source of income. The city had gotten expensive- very expensive- since he last lived there. He couldn’t believe the cost of groceries. Rent. And he couldn’t bum on Sam’s couch forever. So, he found the cheapest apartment he could and started looking for a job.

But most places had no interest in hiring the ex-Winter Solider; they ordered him out before he could even hand over his information. And even if those places were willing to take a chance on him, his resume wasn’t exactly up to date. His last job, prior to his time in the military, was in 1941. 

The only place that didn’t seem to care about his background was the shitty dive bar five blocks from your shared apartment building. It wasn’t ideal, but he knew that beggars don’t have the luxury of being choosers- and he was begging.

“Oh, okay, that makes more sense. I was-” You rolled your eyes, “Oh, I feel so stupid. I’ve been making comments about your hero work every time I patch you up! I just assumed that’s where you got all those gnarly wounds.” Your palm met your forehead, “Wow, I’m an idiot.”  

Bucky let out a soft laugh. “No, no, you’re definitely not an idiot. I just didn’t correct you, cause,” he shrugged. “It’s a little embarrassing. I know this isn’t as noble as ‘superhero stuff’,” he said, quoting you. “I mean, breaking up bar fights isn’t exactly the same as saving the world.”

You shrugged, “Says who? You’re saving people from making drunken asses of themselves, which is still pretty important.” You shot him a wink. 

A warm smile cracked through Bucky’s embarrassment. He wondered why everyone couldn’t be as accepting as you. Why people chose to be judgmental and unkind. Your openness filled him with hope. With warmth. 

He opened his mouth to speak but an interruption halted his words.

A tall, broad-shouldered man barked Bucky’s name from across the bar. He gestured toward two men near the back wall who’d just started brawling and ordered him to get back to work. He strung together a long line or expletives and unkind names and hurled them at Bucky. And though Bucky towered over you- and everyone else inside the bar- he seemed smaller as he took each verbal hit.

Contempt twisted your features into a look of disgust. People were always so rude to Bucky. So callous and cruel and hateful. You couldn’t stand it. He didn’t choose to do the things he did, he didn’t choose to work for Hydra. He was a victim. But the world chose to forget about that part of his story. They, instead, focused on his ruthless kills. News outlets and online creators always played up the cold, psycho-killer angle, knowing damn well that sympathy doesn’t sell.

“I’m sorry, I have to go take care of that,” Bucky gestured toward the two men engaging in fisticuffs. “I’d really like to keep talking with you, but I-”

He could’ve sworn he saw a hint of disappointment flicker across your face. 

“I get it. I don’t want you to get in trouble, Barnes,” you nudged his shoulder with yours, “go on, do what you gotta do. I’ll be at the bar.”

Bucky watched you disappear amongst the throngs of sweaty, boisterous bar patrons. He still couldn’t believe that you, of all people, dropped into a place like this. That you didn’t mind the noise or the violence or the stench. And he found it even harder to believe that you didn’t judge his situation. That you gave him so much grace. That you actually looked disappointed when he said he had to step away. 

When you finished your drink and set off for home, Bucky wanted to give you a proper goodbye. He wanted to walk you to the door- hell, he wanted to walk you to your apartment. But a large group of drunk guys had decided to get into a knockdown, drag out fistfight over a game of darts, and it was Bucky’s job to make sure they didn’t kill each other. Still, even as he was pulling the unruly men off each other, he watched you leave. 

He tracked your scrubs from the bar, across the room, and toward the door. And just as you were about to step out into the night, he could’ve sworn he caught you looking for him. He watched your eyes drift through the sea of people, inspecting each face in search of his. He felt his lips stretch into a smile, even as aggressive drunkards threw punches his way.

He called your name, his booming voice breaking through the music, the noise of the fight. Instantly, your eyes met his across the room. He gave you a warm, genuine smile, and waved like an excited child. You returned his enthusiastic wave and shot him a wink. And then you were gone. 

But to Bucky’s delight- and equal dismay- you returned the following night. And the night after that. And the night after that. You returned so many nights, in fact, that the bartenders learned your drink of choice. The regulars saved you a seat. And the barbacks greeted you like a friend. Strangely enough, you found yourself in a Cheers situation, where everyone knew your name. 

“You know, this is like your twenty-fifth time here, sweetheart,” Bucky joked one night. He leaned against the bar as you sipped on a beer, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.”

“Yeah? And what if I am? What are you gonna do about it, Barnes?” A loud laugh escaped your chest as Bucky snagged your drink and stole a sip. “And if you want to talk about stalking, you’re the one counting my every visit to this godforsaken place.”

Bucky felt his cheeks flash red.

“So, who’s really stalking who here?” You won back your beer and awarded yourself a sip for besting him. “Is it such a bad thing that I like hanging out with you?”

He tripped over his words, “Well, that was- I wasn’t counting, exactly… twenty-five was a guess. Kind of an approximation. So-”

“Uh-huh,” you nudged him with your shoulder. “Sure.”

In all honesty, Bucky was counting. And twenty-five had been a lowball. He figured that if he threw out an inaccurate number, he’d seem less desperate. Less obsessed with you. He didn’t want you to know that he was tallying your every visit to Lucky’s. Didn’t want you to know that you’d made his night for thirty-six nights in a row. 

Little did he know, he’d made the past thirty-six nights some of the best you’d ever had.

There was just something about him. Something so magnetic. So charming. So captivating. Being around him helped quiet the noise inside your mind. Helped you feel more like yourself. 

For your entire life, you found yourself lost in the past and overwhelmed by the future. Bucky, however, was present. He only ever allowed himself to exist in the current moment. And when he looked at you, when he spoke to you, he kept you anchored to the here and now.

Even with all his baggage and trauma, he was still so sweet. How did he manage that? How did he find it in him to be so kind when he’d been treated so terribly? And how was he still so fun to be around? Still so hilarious? If you’d been in his shoes, your personality would’ve been stripped from you ages ago. You’d be a husk of yourself. Cold. Unfeeling. Isolated. 

Maybe, you reasoned, he’d been that way immediately following his escape. Maybe he had to find his way back to the compassionate, gentle person he once was. Of course, he’d worked hard to regain his mind and his personhood. But you knew, without a doubt, that the warm, caring version of him was always there. No matter what Hydra did to him, they could never remove such an intrinsic piece of his soul.

And god, he was cute. Sharp cheekbones matched his sharp, stubbled jaw. His smile illuminated the entire room. And never before had you seen eyes that blue. Every time he looked your way, your cheeks burned. He filled you with the kind of nervous, smitten energy that you thought only existed in high school crushes.

You found yourself wanting- needing- to be around him all the time. But that proved easier said than done, as your schedules didn’t exactly line up. In fact, they existed in direct opposition of one another; you worked days, Bucky worked nights. When you woke up for work each morning, he was just getting ready for bed. 

About twice a week, the two of you would have one of your run-ins. One of your fleeting moments together. And while those short-lived visits filled you with an overwhelming rush of joy, it wasn’t enough. You were always jonesing for another dose.  

But once you realized that Bucky was only a few blocks away, spending his evenings in the dive bar you always avoided, a solution presented itself to you. The few hours between the end of your shift and your bedtime provided you with the perfect opportunity to see him. And you took it. 

Even if he could only talk with you for a few minutes at a time, even if he could only hang out with you between fights- it was better than nothing. At the apartment, you’d only see him every few days if you were lucky, and your conversations were always cut short. He didn’t want to make you late for work, and you didn’t want to keep him from some well-deserved rest.

But at Lucky’s, your talks weren’t truncated or limited to a quick, thirty-second catch up session. No, Bucky could post up next to you and the two of you could share a real conversation. Of course, he had to do his rounds and keep an eye on the patrons. But over the course of the night, the two of you could chat to your hearts’ content. You’d talk and laugh and enjoy the other’s company. And of course, you’d engage in some shameless flirting. 

And he did the same.

A few months after you started frequenting his place of work, you bid him goodnight as you always did. He walked you to the door and asked you to text him when you got back to your apartment, and the two of you shared a hug that felt like home. 

Every time you left Lucky’s, you missed him. It was an instantaneous, full body feeling that hit you the moment you left Bucky behind. And though you knew you’d see him the following evening, it felt like too long a wait. Like he was too far away. In an ideal world, he’d return home, and his key would open your door. In an ideal world, his boots would live in your closet. And in an Ideal world, he’d crawl into your bed as the sun peaked out from behind the skyscrapers.

But you knew you had to be patient. That ideal world would come one day; you just had to wait. 

That night, you flopped down into your bed with the same disappointment you experienced every night. And as you drifted off to sleep, you wished to see Bucky as soon as you possibly could.

Around two-thirty in the morning, you got your wish. After waking from a strange dream, you realized just how parched you were. You padded into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water, greedily downing it in a few gulps. With your thirst quenched, you prepared to return to your bedroom. But a strange sound caught your attention.

It echoed from the hall, and sounded as though it might have come from right outside your front door. A second, almost identical sound piqued your interest; it sounded human, almost like a grunt, maybe. And then it hit you.

It wasn’t a grunt, but a groan. The groan of someone in pain. The same groan you’d heard time and time again. The groan that rumbled out of Bucky’s chest each time he came home hurt. 

As fast as you could, you unlocked your door and threw it open. And there you found Bucky. He stood frozen, his eyes wide with surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone- hadn’t expected you- to be up at this hour.

In his left hand, he held what could only be a dirty bar rag against a wound on his cheek. But the rag did little to stop the bleeding, as it was already soaked through- and probably had been for a while. Blood dripped down his chin and trailed down his neck. It stained his shirt, his shoes, the floor. The knuckles of his right hand were slick with blood, as well. They were swollen and angry, and you could practically feel the throbbing of his broken bones.  “Um, hey,” he couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face at the sight of you, but the movement of his facial muscles made him wince. “What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

“I was getting some water, and I heard- what the hell happened to you?” Concern pulled your brows together and made your voice thin. You hated seeing him covered in blood, hated when he was hurt. Regardless of the durability the serum granted him, knots still formed in your stomach every time he needed stitches.

“I’m alright, don’t worry about me,” he waved you off with his enflamed hand. “I’m just gonna go inside and sleep it off.”

While he loved spending time with you, and loved feeling your warm, capable hands work over his wounds, he couldn’t ask you for help. It was the middle of the night, for Christ’s sake. In only a few hours, you had to be up for work. And he wouldn’t dare keep you awake when you had a long day of saving lives ahead of you. No, he’d simply slip through his front door and take care of things himself, like he used to. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d survive.

His plan, however, was foiled in its earliest stages. 

The blood coating his right hand made his housekeys impossibly slippery, and his broken hand lacked the coordination necessary to keep hold of them. With a sharp, metallic sound, his bloody keys clattered to the floor. And before he could lean down to retrieve them, you’d already swept them into your grasp.

“Gotta be quicker than that, Barnes,” you shot him a wink and thrust the key into the lock, opening his door. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

“That’s okay, I can handle it. You don’t have to-”

“Right,” you scoffed, “Cause I’m just gonna let you deal with this by yourself.” You gestured for him to head inside and rolled your eyes at his mere suggestion. “I swear, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

He remained firmly planted in the hall and let out a soft laugh that made his cheek throb. “I just know you have work in the morning, so I-”

As gently as you could, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Hush. Let me take care of you, okay? Go inside and have a seat on the couch, I’m gonna grab my kit.”

Bucky complied with a dopey smile plastered across his face. He wasn’t sure what had him so jovial- maybe it was the late-night visit from you, maybe it was the sight of you in your pajamas. But he knew deep down it was the concern in your voice; you actually cared about him. He didn’t relish in making you worry, but selfishly, he liked knowing he mattered to you.

If only he knew to what extent. 

The two of you sat on Bucky’s couch in his sparsely decorated apartment, and he allowed you a look at the wound on his face. It was deeper than you thought, slicing down into the meat of his cheek. Blood still oozed steadily from the wide-open gash, even after he’d held pressure to it for quite a while. 

Again, concern seeped into your voice. “Shit, it’s worse than I thought.” Of course, the serum would have this wound healed in the blink of an eye- and there’d be no scar to speak of. But he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Didn’t deserve to be hurt again. 

After getting a good look at his wound, you dug through your kit and fished out the supplies necessary to stitch it shut. “How’d this happen?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He was so fed up with this job, so over the drunken antics of the bar’s rowdy customers. “Well, there was a fight- shocking, I know,” he quipped. “And one of the guys pulled a knife. He slashed at me, and-”

“I wouldn’t call this a ‘slash’,” your words took on an incredulous tone, and you placed the first stitch. “It’s waytoo deep to be a ‘slash’.”

Bucky threw you a roll of his eyes, “Okay, fair enough. But it’s not that bad. And it’ll be gone before you know it.” A sudden wave of guilt crashed around him. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. He leaned away ever so slightly, “I feel bad, you shouldn’t even be doing this. I’ll be fine- this is a huge waste of your time.” He sighed, “You should be sleeping, I-”

Once again, you shushed him. With expert hands, you finished his second stitch and moved onto his third. “This is not a waste of my time. Come on, you know I don’t mind patching you up.” A quiet laugh fell from your lips, “Any excuse to hang out with you, ya know?”

In that moment, something came over you. You weren’t sure what prompted you to do it; maybe it was the sight of Bucky covered in blood. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it made you press your lips to his temple, just above his wound. 

Warmth bloomed over Bucky’s skin, and suddenly, the gash in his cheek stopped throbbing. His knuckles stopped aching. And the world felt like a better, kinder place.

The rush of ecstasy that flooded your system halted all too soon, and regret followed close behind. The two of you didn’t touch each other that way. Hugs were the most intimate you’d ever been, and even something that innocent took time to achieve. Bucky wasn’t massively fond of physical touch, not yet anyway. Not after what he went through. 

Slowly but surely, he was getting more comfortable with it. And if you’d asked, he’d tell you he loved the sensation of your hands on his skin. But he’d never said it out loud. And there you were, possibly violating his boundaries.

With a shake of your head, you righted your mind and continued with the stitches.  “I’m sorry about that, I shouldn’t have-”

Bucky shot you a smile, “Don’t be. I liked it.” He gave a shrug, “You know, most doctors don’t do that kind of thing, but I think they should. It makes for really excellent bedside manner.”

A breathy laugh rattled inside your chest, and you gave Bucky a gentle shove, “Would you cut it out? Let me finish.” 

The two of you sat in a warm, comfortable silence as you closed the rest of Bucky’s wound. There was something so cozy about the situation, regardless of the excessive amount of blood. It felt like the entire world was asleep, or that it ceased to exist altogether. Like only you and Bucky remained. And if that had been the case, neither of you would have minded. 

With the stitches finished, you gently cleaned the blood from his face, his neck, his hands. You carefully inspected the wounds on his knuckles and appraised the fractures spiderwebbing through his bones.

“So, am I gonna make it?” Bucky asked. “Or am I done for?”

“Well, it was touch and go there for a while, Barnes. But I think you’ll survive.”

An overly dramatic sigh of relief left his chest, and he pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow. “Thank god I live next door to a doctor, you’re a real lifesaver, sweetheart.”

“I’m not a doctor,” you corrected, “I’m-”

Bucky chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Close enough! You’re basically a doctor.” He paused, eyeing you for a long moment, “You know, I’ve been wondering. What are you doing living in a place like this?”

You dragged your gaze away from his broken hand, “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, our building is kind of a shithole.” 

You laugh echoed through his empty apartment, “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

Every other wall seemed to have tiny cracks veining through the sheetrock. Stains signaling water damage littered the ceiling. And an army of vermin tucked themselves safely inside the walls. The entire building had a grimy quality to it, stemming from the landlord’s decades of neglect. It was the only place Bucky could afford on his less than generous pay, but it never made sense why you chose to call such a dumpster fire ‘home’.

“I’ve got a mountain of student loans to pay back- PA school isn’t cheap.” You shrugged, “So, until I pay off all that shit, I’ll be here. But I don’t really mind,” you told him, “I’ve got good neighbors.” 

The wink you shot him nearly made him melt.  As he willed himself to regain his composure, you cautiously dabbed a piece of gauze against a bloody spot on his knuckle. He braced for the wave of pain that was sure to rocket through his mangled hand, but no such sensation came. 

He couldn’t believe how gently you touched him; he didn’t know such a thing was possible. After the way he’d been treated all those years, he forgot that humans could treat each other with softness. With compassion. Never once did you hurt him. Never once did you make him flinch. He felt completely and totally comfortable in your hands, as though pain were no longer possible. It was a sense of safety he hadn’t experienced in a lifetime.

Neither of you remembered falling asleep. After you’d helped rid Bucky of all the gore, the two of you ended up chatting, as you always did. It was like a bonus round, like a perfect extra dose of your favorite person. And you weren’t going to let it slip through your fingers. But time, did indeed, slip past you rather easily; neither of you even noticed the minutes tick by. And eventually, you both ended up dozing off.

Around five in the morning, Bucky came to. He had no recollection of passing out on the couch and struggled to find his reasoning for doing so. He almost stood up and headed for his bedroom, but the sound of soft, steady breathing stopped him. Slowly, he turned to his left and found your head leaning against his metal shoulder. 

He couldn’t believe you’d chosen it as your pillow. That you weren’t afraid to rest your cheek against the thing he hated most. The thing that made most people shrink away. Upon hiring him, his boss at Lucky’s asked him to wear only short sleeves at work. That way, people could see his arm. He wanted the unruly patrons to be intimidated, frightened by Bucky’s unique prosthetic. And it only made him feel worse about himself.

Goosebumps traveled up his spine and over his scalp as he took a moment to drink it all in.  You really did trust him, didn’t you? A small smile spread across his face at the thought. 

But another thought cut his joy short- there was simply no way you could be comfortable sleeping with your face pressed against cold metal. 

He knew he had to do something. Had to fix the situation. He’d already kept you up far too late and taken advantage of your kindness once again. Making you more comfortable was the least he could do.

He took a moment to formulate a plan for mitigating the issue. All he had to do was gently lift your head from his shoulder and allow you to rest on the couch cushion instead. It was simple, easy; he could manage it no problem. If he could assassinate public figures without anyone realizing he was ever there, he could move your head without waking you.

But as he snaked his right hand between your face the vibranium, a pained sound escaped his lips. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but in his haste to make you more comfortable, he’d forgotten about his broken hand.

A gasp filled your lungs as you bolted upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. It took a moment for you to place the apartment in the dim, early morning light. To remember how you ended up there. But Bucky’s presence assuaged any anxiety.

“Hey, sorry,” he flashed you an awkward smile, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The events of the previous night came rushing back all at once: Bucky’s pained groans pulling you into the hall. His bloody face. His broken hand. The stitches. The time spent chatting about everything and nothing.

It wasn’t exactly how you imagined your first night together, but you couldn’t complain. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m-” you rubbed your eyes and let out a yawn, “I’m sorry I crashed on your couch.”

“Oh, please,” he rolled his eyes at you, “You can stay here whenever you want, you can move in for all I care.”

The two of you sat in a long, charged silence. 

He didn’t mean to seem so overly enthusiastic. So borderline desperate to have you around. But he couldn’t help it. He’d woken up next to you. He’d watched you sleep soundly against his shoulder. He was simply intoxicated by it all. Just knowing that it was possible to wake with you by his side each morning filled him with a blaze of hope.

But you didn’t find his enthusiasm off-putting or bizarre. If anything, it was a comfort. It felt good knowing that he wanted you in his space, that he enjoyed your company just as much as you enjoyed his. 

The voice in your head told you to curl up with your head on his chest. To kiss him. To take him by the hand and lead him to bed. The urge to make him yours vibrated inside your chest, nearly snapping your ribs. But you refused to set it free. Not yet, anyway. You wanted to take things slow, wanted to ensure that you wouldn’t scare him off. 

You did your best to formulate a witty, flirtatious response. But the sound of birds chirping outside the window derailed your thought process.

“Shit,” you searched for your phone but came up empty; it was still next door. “What time is it?”

Bucky freed his phone from his pocket, “Um, five-thirteen.”

A long, deep sigh left your chest, “I have to go- I’m gonna be late for work.” 

No part of you wanted to leave Bucky’s side. The medical professional in you wanted to stay and keep an eye on the wound that sliced through his cheek. But your romantic side, the side of you that counted down the hours until your next visit to Lucky’s, wanted simply to spend more time with him. To chat with him. To curl up next to him on the couch and spend the entire day watching movies.

“I don’t wanna ditch you,” you clarified, your hand resting on his forearm, “I just-”

“No, I get it. Go save lives,” he shot you a wink. “Here, let me,” he stood from the couch and offered you his hand, helping you stand.

You thanked him for the gentlemanly gesture and told him to take it easy as you set off for his front door- but stopped in your tracks when he began following you. 

“Oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to walk me out,” you gave him a quick, tight hug before gesturing toward the couch. “Go back to sleep.”

“I will, but I’m gonna walk you home first.”

A loud laugh exploded out of your chest, “You’ve gotta be kidding me- Barnes, I live next door.”

“And?” He stared at you with fabricated indignance. “Hey, something could happen to you in the three seconds it takes for you to get home. And I’m not standing for that, sweetheart.”

Feigned annoyance and a dramatic eye roll punctuated your, “You’re ridiculous.”

He nodded, “Yeah. I am. I never once claimed to be otherwise.” He shot you a smile and snaked an arm around your back, escorting you toward the door. “Now, come on. It’s a long walk back to your place and I don’t want you to be late.”

The two of you walked the three feet back to your door with Bucky’s hand resting gently against your spine. And though you really did love your job, you’d never wanted to quit more than you did in that moment. If quitting meant spending the rest of the day with him, you’d be more than happy to resign right then and there.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” you said. “It was a pretty dangerous journey, I appreciate you coming with me.”

Bucky shrugged, “Well, I am a hero.” 

This time, it was him who left a kiss against your cheek. He dropped all of the sarcasm and jokes the two of you had been passing back and forth, and gave you only his most authentic, genuine affection. He wasn’t sure how long one should linger in that kind of situation. How long was too long for a kiss on the cheek between friends? But the way you leaned into his touch told him there was no limit. 

His stubble pricked at your skin as his lips pressed against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your chest tightened. And a swarm of butterflies filled your stomach. If this was the effect he had on you with just a kiss to the cheek, you couldn’t imagine the way you’d feel once he finally kissed you properly. 

It was truly cruel that you’d actually be expected to go to work after this. How were you supposed to focus on paperwork and prescriptions when the man of your dreams kissed you like that? It was inevitable that you’d spend the rest of the day replaying this moment over and over and over; you’d essentially be a useless employee. 

“Have a good day,” he said as he finally pulled away. “Will I see you tonight?”

“I mean, duh,” you said, almost offended he’d even ask. “I’m a regular now. People will be disappointed if I don’t show.”

Bucky agreed. Of course, he knew you were kidding. But to him, you were the only good thing about Lucky’s. You were it’s only redeeming quality, it’s only bright spot. And at this point, you were the only thing keeping him from quitting. He hated working there. Hated being the appointed bruiser. But once you started frequenting the joint, his love for the job grew exponentially. If he had to work in a shithole, if he had to take constant verbal abuse from his boss, at least you were there to soften each blow. 

Eventually, you had to head inside and get dressed to avoid being unforgivably late. But the two of you only parted ways once Bucky promised you he’d to go back to sleep and get the rest he deserved. 

Only two nights later, Bucky strode up to the bar and perched on the stool next to yours.  

He gently nudged your shoulder with his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” a smile that you’d categorize as ‘borderline embarrassing’ instantly stretched across your face. “What are you doing?” 

This was out of the ordinary; all these nights you’d spent at Lucky’s, and Bucky had never actually sat down with you. He always posted up next to your stool, his back against the bar, scanning the sea of boisterous customers for signs of trouble. But tonight was different. And though you were thrilled to see him taking a load off, you knew it was a recipe for disaster. If his boss caught him, it would result in a deafening and vicious verbal lashing.

You swept your glance over the bar, keeping an eye out for the manager. “Aren’t you gonna get in trouble if-”

“Nope, I’m on my break.” Bucky waved to the bartender and motioned for a beer. “The other bouncer got here earlier than usual. So, you and I get an uninterrupted half hour to talk and drink and…” You could’ve sworn his gaze drifted toward your lips, “Whatever else.”

He clinked his beer against yours and frowned at your half-empty glass, “You need another?”

“No, I’m good. Since I’m here every night now, I can only do one,” you said. “Being hung over in health care is frowned upon.”

Bucky let out a laugh, “Aw, come on. I was gonna buy you a beer. Well, I hope you’ve been putting your drinks on my tab, at least.” 

A scoff pushed past your lips, “What? No. I’m not making you pay for my drinks.” 

He shot you an eye roll, “You’re not making me do anything, sweetheart. I want to. So, we need to mitigate this situation immediately.” He motioned for the bartender again, and you did your best to stop him, but he was far too strong.

 “I don’t come here for free drinks!” You delivered a light punch to his arm, “What do you think I am? A gold digger?”

Bucky’s laugh boomed through the bar. “Well, I would hope not! Cause if you are, you’re really bad at it. You chose the wrong guy, sweetheart- I don’t have any gold for you to dig.” He shot you a wink before turning again toward the bartender, “Hey, from now on, all of her drinks go on my tab- no matter what she says.”

He refused to listen to your argument and laughed as you crossed your arms over your chest. But after a moment of feigning annoyance, you endlessly thanked him for his generosity.

“It’s really nice of you,” you admitted. “I appreciate the gesture.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do.” All at once, he dropped his goofy smile. Suddenly, his expression grew serious, his voice quieted. “You make my job bearable- enjoyable, even. I’ve been…” He let out a sigh, “I’ve been pretty miserable working in this place. But now that you’re a regular, I don’t hate coming here anymore.” 

His words set your face ablaze. And as you stared at him, you sensed something brewing beneath his surface. It seemed like he had more to say. Like he was testing the waters. 

And he did, indeed, want to tell you the truth. To admit just how special you were to him. How much he enjoyed your company. He found himself afloat in his feelings for you, drifting along without a care in the world. Maybe, he thought, this was the perfect time. Maybe this was the perfect place. The two of you didn’t meet at Lucky’s, but it was where your friendship blossomed. Where the two of you spent most of your time together. Where he fell hard- and fast- for you.

But he felt too exposed all of a sudden, like someone placed a magnifying glass right on top of him. He came screeching back to reality, back to his senses. He couldn’t tell you here. Sure, Lucky’s was significant to your relationship. But it was loud and dirty and packed to the gills with ruffians. He couldn’t trust this environment with something as delicate as his feelings for you.

He opted to tuck his confession safely away in a quiet corner of his mind. And once again, adopted his light-hearted tone.

“And hey, if a girl like you is gonna hang out in a place like this? All because of me?” he shrugged. “I can at least cover your drinks.”

“Yeah?” You laughed, “Well, I think it’s-”

A sudden outburst cut you off. 

“Hey!” A tall, burly man lumbered toward the bar. Toward Bucky. He was clearly intoxicated. Angry. He shot a sneer at the two of you as he approached. “HEY!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Not at all surprised. He waved the man off, “Come on, man. I’m on my break-”

The man took a few unsteady steps closer and clapped a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder. “No! We gotta talk! Right fuckin’ now!”

Bucky shrugged the man’s hand from his body and gave him a sharp look, “Don’t touch me.”

“You got me arrested!” The man shouted, “You called the cops on me, they put me in jail!”

Bucky maintained his composure as he stood from his seat and faced the man. “I didn’t get you arrested,” he said, keeping his tone even. “My boss called the cops because you threatened multiple people- and sliced my face open- with a knife.”

He turned back to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “I think you should probably get out of here, sweetheart. Just in case.” Concern knit his brow together, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

It was sweet of him, it really was. And the way he worried about you filled you with an intoxicating warmth. All he wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe- it was enough to make you swoon. But you weren’t willing to give up your time with him.

“Oh, um… but I’d rather stick around. We’re only a few minutes into our ‘uninterrupted half hour.’” 

The disappointment in your voice nearly bore a hole through Bucky’s chest. ��Even after all this time, he was still in awe of the fact that you actually wanted to spend time with him. He was so grateful. So indebted to the universe for bringing you into his life. He never considered himself a lucky guy, considering all of the decidedly unlucky things that happened to him. But ever since you two started spending time together, he found the name of the bar appropriate.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” you said, hoping it would be enough to convince him. 

“I know,” Bucky sighed, “But I’d rather you be safe than sorry. So, if you could-” 

With Bucky’s attention on you and his back to the wily man, he was an easy target. 

Normally, Bucky was a fortress. An indestructible wall of muscle. No regular civilian could ever be a match for him. But he was so focused on you, so hellbent on convincing you to head home, that he let his guard down.

The man launched himself against Bucky’s body and sent him crashing forward. All of Bucky’s weight careened into you, knocking you from your barstool. His body landed square on top of you, and a sickening ‘crack’ resounded through the space as your head hit the floor. And Bucky could’ve sworn he heard something snap like a twig beneath his weight

The world around you went black.

Bucky instantly lifted himself off of you and tried to appraise your condition, but his assailant refused to relent. He made another grab for Bucky and tried to pull him from your side, still determined on getting his revenge. But Bucky wasn’t having it. 

He delivered a swift punch to the man’s jaw, sending him to the floor. With the threat neutralized, Bucky returned his attention to you. Onlookers had started gathering, growing ever closer to your unconscious body.

“Woah, woah, hey!” Bucky shouted at the crowd, “Back the fuck up!”

He brought his palm to your cheek and spoke softly to you, asking you to open your eyes. But you remained unresponsive. That’s when he noticed the blood. It poured from a wound on your skull and pooled around you like a macabre halo. 

His heart leapt into his throat as worst case scenarios piled up around him. He felt for a pulse and found your healthy heartbeat thrumming beneath his fingers. He observed the steady rise and fall of your chest. You were alive, you were okay. But he knew the fear clawing at his throat wouldn’t recede until you woke.

“Hey,” Bucky waved toward the bartender, “I need a towel- a clean towel.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and retreated into a backroom, emerging moments later with something that passed as clean by Lucky’s standards. He tossed it over the bar Bucky snatched it from the air with haste. As gently as he could, he snaked his hand beneath your head and pressed the towel to your bleeding scalp. Chills slithered up his arm as the sensation of your warm blood met his skin.

He wished you’d never stepped foot in this godforsaken place. He’d been thrilled that the two of you got to spend time together each night. And he loved seeing your warm smile through the crowd of miscreants. But this was no place for you. And as your blood pooled in the palm of his hand, he wished you would’ve stuck to trendy cocktail bars instead. 

“Hey, hey- I said back off,” Bucky barked at a man who crept a little too close to you.

Those were the first words you heard upon waking. Sure, they were aggressive and a bit jarring- but you didn’t care. Because it was his voice, Bucky’s voice that welcomed you back to the land of the living. The sound sent a rush of warmth over you, cloaking you in comfort like a blanket. 

“Barnes?”

Relief flooded Bucky’s system. “Hey, hi,” he let his free hand drift across your cheek, “How do you feel?”

“Like I…” A quiet moment passed as you took inventory of your condition. And while your mind was fuzzy from the impact, your medical background wouldn’t allow you to say something as pedestrian as ‘like shit.’

“Like I have a concussion, and-” With the slightest movement of your shoulder, you tested your hypothesis; the pain that radiated through you proved your theory right. “And a broken clavicle.”

Bucky grimaced, “Yeah, your head’s bleeding pretty good. You’ll probably need stitches- and before you suggest it, you can’t do them yourself.” 

Even as pain sliced through your skull and throbbed inside your chest, a smile stretched across your face. Bucky had that effect on you. “Boo,” you teased. “I can sew up the back of my own head, Barnes. Just give- give me a couple mirrors and I’m golden.”

“How about I pick you up instead?” Bucky suggested. “I think you’ll probably end up with hepatitis if you lay on that floor much longer.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust; who knew what kind of microbes lived on the floor of Lucky’s?

“You don’t- you don’t have to. I can stand,” you assured him.

He eyed you with uncertainty. But you insisted. 

And so, he slipped his free hand into one of yours and gave you a nod, “We’ll go on your count. You tell me when you’re ready.”

Just thinking about moving filled you with dread. The pain in your head was sure to multiply upon sitting up, and you knew the agony from your broken collarbone would make you wish you were dead. But the longer you put it off, the worse the anticipation got. And so, you gave Bucky the subtlest nod you could manage and began the countdown. 

“Okay,” you sighed, “Three, two… one.”

With that, Bucky helped you sit upright. A loud, miserable groan rolled out of your chest; your fears about the pain were right.

But the severe instability of your environment took precedence. The walls of the bar wiggled and wobbled. The entire world seemed to fall into a strange, zig-zag pattern. And though you were sitting perfectly still, your entire body listed to one side. A black vignette bloomed on the edges of your vision, and you reached desperately for Bucky, hoping to steady yourself against his muscular frame.

“Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here. I got you.” He allowed your nails to dig into his flesh as you clung to him for dear life. And when the dark clouds parted, they revealed his beautiful, concerned smile.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He peeled his hand from the back of your head for just a moment, hoping that the bleeding had finally come to a stop. But the crimson river remained. He did his best to conceal the worry that fought to infiltrate his expression and flashed you a warm smile. 

“When you’re ready, I’ll help you stand, and we can get you to the ER.”

He pulled his gaze from you for only a moment, and only to ask a Lucky’s regular he didn’t detest to hail the two of you a cab. 

But in that short moment, he clocked the way your assailant still skulked through the bar. He’d regained his feet and set out on a warpath. He hounded anyone he came upon, shoving them and hurling expletives through the air. As long as Bucky could get you out of the bar without another run in with that man, everything would be okay. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for him before turning his focus back to you. 

“Alright, I’m- I guess now is as good a time as any,” you sighed.

Bucky threw you a smile, “Count it down, sweetheart.”

“Three, two.” You let out a huff, “One.”

As carefully as he could, Bucky helped you stand. He tucked you close to his side, making certain that you were steady on your feet. Even before the two of you became close friends, he felt an urge to protect you. It was a strong, all-encompassing need that only grew as he got to know you. And now that your blood stained the floor around him, that urge exploded into overdrive. He was certain he’d never be able to leave your side, that he’d have to spend the rest of his life keeping you safe. Not that he’d complain. 

“How you feeling?” He pulled a bar stool to your side, “You wanna sit for a second?”

“No, I’m-” You waited for the second round of black clouds to part. “I’m good.”

“Then let’s get you out of here.” With one hand still pressed to your skull and the other winding carefully around your front, he watched you like a hawk as you started your journey toward the door. 

But just as you made your first few steps, Bucky’s boss blocked your path.

“Barnes! Get him out of here!” He barked, pointing toward the man who’d attacked the two of you. He was pushing people down left and right and antagonizing the ones who fought back. The other bouncer was nowhere in sight, leaving this task up to Bucky. “Get rid of him!”

Bucky didn’t respond. He had a one-track mind that was solely comprised of getting you the help you needed. But his boss didn’t like that.

“Hey! You hear me?” He yelled, “Go get his ass!”

“My friend needs help,” Bucky said. “I’m taking her to the hospital.” 

He did his best to escort you past his boss, but the man wasn’t having it. He once again stepped directly into your path, “No, you’re gonna stay here and do your fucking job,” he spat. “You’re a bouncer- go bounce the guy.”

With one shove, Bucky sent his boss to the floor. He carefully guided you around the man’s body and led you through the crowd of onlookers, all without removing the towel from your bleeding wound. 

As the two of you neared the front door, a sense of relief flooded Bucky’s senses. The only thing that stood between his favorite person and the medical attention she needed was a quick cab ride. 

But his relief was short-lived. 

“You take one fucking step out that door,” Bucky’s boss called from his place on the floor, “And your ass is fired!”

But Bucky didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He continued forward with you in his grasp, carefully watching your footing in case you became unsteady. He didn’t care about Lucky’s; he didn’t care about job security. He cared about you- and only you.

But his boss’s words hit you like a ton of bricks. And even through the fog of your concussion, you realized just how serious his ultimatum was. Without a word, you stopped in your tracks. Only six or so inches lay between you and the bar’s threshold, and you weren’t going to cross it with Bucky still in tow. 

“Hey, you doing alright?” Bucky’s arm tightened around your middle, “Feeling dizzy? Do you need to sit?” 

“No, I’m-” you turned toward him, as much as his grip would allow. “I’m not letting you leave with me.”

“What?”

“You heard what he said. If you take even one step outside, you’ll lose your job.” A sad smile flashed across your face, “And I’m not letting that happen.”

Bucky went through hell trying find a place that would actually employ him. He told you about all the harsh comments, all of the businesses that kicked him out without even giving him a chance. And it destroyed you. He was so kind, so warm, so good- he didn’t deserve to be treated that way. 

You didn’t want him going through that bullshit again. And you definitely didn’t want him going through it because of you.

“Sweetheart, who cares? I’ll get another job. I’ll be-” He did his best to escort you through the door, but you held firm. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“But you said this is the only place that would hire you,” a distinct twinge of despair filled your voice. “And I don’t want screw it up for you. I don’t want you to have to deal with all the-”

His lips found your cheek and lingered far longer than they had when he walked you home. It was an effective way of silencing you, possibly the most effective way you’d come across. 

“I don’t care about this job. I don’t care if I have to get another one,” his voice was low, his lips only millimeters from your skin. “I care about you. About getting you out of here safely.”

“But-”

He pulled away a few inches, locking eyes with you. “No buts. You’re my priority.”

Heat coursed through your veins and set your cheeks alight. His priority? You could get used to that. 

But you were still unsure. The city was expensive- wildly expensive- these days. It was hard enough for him to get the job at Lucky’s, and if he lost it, you feared he’d be destitute within a few days’ time. It’s not like he had mountains of savings to fall back on, or any remaining money from his POW benefits.

But the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. He just wanted to take care of you. To get you out of the bar in one piece and allow a doctor to look at your wound. He’d choose you above all else, every single time. 

“Okay,” was all you could manage, his intense stare nearly hypnotizing you. 

And with that, the two of you stepped out into the night without giving Lucky’s a second look. 

The rest of the evening flew by in a painful, dizzying blur. The cab ride. Sitting in the waiting room at your hospital’s ER. Your coworkers chatting with you as they sewed your head wound shut and appraised your X-rays.

But Bucky was by your side the entire time. He did everything in his power to be there for you. To make you more comfortable. He held your hand through every stitch and made pleasant small talk with your work friends. And when an orderly came to collect you for your X-ray, Bucky even left another kiss against your cheek. 

You swore to yourself that one day soon, you’d ask him for the real thing.

The cab ride home seemed to last an eon. Horns blared. Drivers cursed at one another. The taxi stopped and started every few seconds, jerking you forward with each sudden acceleration. The sling around your neck did little to save your broken clavicle from throbbing, and pain rocketed through you with each lurch of the vehicle. With your equilibrium compromised by the concussion, you feared you’d fall out of your seat at any moment.

But Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He held you close, allowing you to melt into the safety of his body. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but before he knew it, your face rested in the crook of his neck. Goosebumps tingled up his chest, over his neck, and across his scalp as your breath drifted over his skin. 

He was certain that you’d only opted to rest your head on him because you were exhausted. But his optimistic side- the side of him that rarely saw the light of day- was awash in hope. Maybe you returned his feelings. Maybe you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

But he couldn’t allow himself to get tangled up in the marvelous world of what ifs; he had a job to do. He had to get you home safely. To get you settled. To keep a watchful eye on your condition. It was his responsibility, his duty. After all, he was to blame for your injuries.

At least, that’s what he believed. 

When the cab finally pulled up in front of your building, Bucky helped you from the car with careful hands. He treated you like glass, fearing you’d shatter if you tripped on the uneven curb. His arm laced around your back, prepared to catch you in the event of a misstep. 

A quiet, mischievous voice in the back of your mind told you to trip- just a little. If it meant he’d hold you tighter, you’d throw yourself to the ground without shame. But you resisted the urge, knowing he was worried enough about you as it was.

He wasn’t just your neighbor, anymore. And the word “friend” no longer held the same weight. No “friend” had ever cared about you like this. No “friend” had ever sacrificed their job for you- not that you’d ever expect them to. But the lengths to which Bucky was willing to go for you spoke volumes. 

The two of you made it inside without incident and boarded the building’s small, outdated elevator. A rush of relief flooded Bucky’s system. He was so glad to have you home. So glad that you were safe and on the mend. 

And you seemed glad, too. A quiet sound of contentment slipped past your lips as you leaned against Bucky for support, your face resting against his chest. As the creaky elevator slowly came to life, both of his arms wound around you, encircling you in his embrace; it was the safest place in the world. His warmth spread through you, easing some of your pain. And by the time the elevator reached your floor, you’d nearly fallen asleep. 

It almost scared you how comfortable you were with him. How easy it was for you to drop your guard and allow him in. But nothing had ever felt so right. 

The elevator doors parted, but you didn’t move an inch. You were too wrapped up in the warm, cozy sensation of Bucky’s body pressed against yours. Of your face buried in his chest. Of his hands sweeping over your back. 

And Bucky was more than happy to stay in the moment as long as possible. But when the doors began closing again, he knew it was time to go. He couldn’t allow you to ride up and down in the elevator with him all night, not when you needed some proper rest. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” He gently traced his hand up and down your spine.

The sound of his voice brought you out of your stupor, “Hmm?”

 “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Without a word, you allowed him to lead you by the hand to your apartment. He fished your keys out of your pocket, unlocked the door, and escorted you carefully inside. And when he got you comfortably seated on the couch, he finally released the breath he’d been holding since you hit the floor.

“I was thinking I’d stick around for a while, if that’s okay,” Bucky took a tentative seat on the edge of the couch, “Just so I can keep an eye on you.”

A tired smile stretched across your face, “You know, the whole ‘you can’t go to sleep when you have a concussion’ thing is just a myth, Barnes.”

“I know, doc. But I still wanna make sure you’re alright,” he cupped your face in his hand and swept a thumb over your cheek. “And if you need anything, I want to be here for you. Unless you want me to get out of your hair-” 

“No,” It came out more urgent, more needy than you intended. “No, I want you to stay.”

A comfortable silence permeated the apartment as you leaned into his touch. Your eyes fluttered shut. The sharp pain inside your head dissipated. And all that remained was his skin on yours. 

He sighed, “Plus, this whole thing is kinda my fault. So, it’s only right that I-”

Your eyes shot open. The sense of peace he’d granted you only moments ago vanished. 

“Barnes, none of this is your fault.”

He shrugged, “I feel like it is.”

His tendency for shouldering blame that didn’t belong to him would almost be impressive if it wasn’t so goddamn heartbreaking. He could twist and contort any scenario and find a way to make himself culpable. To make himself worthy of reproach. You knew it stemmed from his past; from the decades he spent doing Hydra’s dirty work. 

And you refused to allow it.

“No. It’s not. Some asshole knocking us both down isn’t your fault- you didn’t do anything wrong.” An overwhelming desperation leaked into your voice, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about this.”

The pleading in your eyes snapped Bucky out of his self-flagellation. He knew the blame would return in a few hours, but your sincerity banished it for the time being. You weren’t saying these things just to make him feel better, you meant them. You believed them. And Bucky chose to believe them, too. Even if that belief could only last a little while.

An almost shy smile flickered across his face, and he cut his gaze to the floor. He was made bashful by the way you cared about him. By the way you trusted him so wholeheartedly.

“Um, is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?” He gestured to your arm, resting in its sling. “You know, since you’ve only got one good arm for the time being- I know what that’s like.” 

There was, indeed, something you needed help with. You’d thought about it at the hospital. In the cab. And while you knew Bucky would have no issue helping you out of the goodness of his heart, the task in question would certainly force your friendship into new territory. 

“There is one thing that I don’t think I can do by myself, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said, cringing at the thought. “So, if it’s too awkward, I can figure something out and-”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

Nothing was off limits between the two of you. Nothing could ever make Bucky shy away. He was entirely and wholly committed to being there for you- whatever that meant. He only ever wanted to make you happy. 

“Could you-” you stopped and opted to rephrase your request, “Would you mind helping me change?”

Bucky’s heart started pounding. 

“I can handle the pants,” you laughed. “But I’m not gonna be able to get out of my shirt by myself.” An apologetic smile pulled at your lips, “I just can’t lift my arm very well, you know? But again, if it’s too weird-”

“It’s not too weird,” Bucky said. “I’m- I’ll help as best I can.”

He assisted you as you struggled to get off the couch and supported you when your concussion made your feet unsteady. He didn’t rush you as you walked, didn’t complain that you were taking too long. He simply kept an eye- and a hand- on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t fall. He would never let you fall. 

“Not to ask you for another favor,” you said as the two of you made it to your bedroom, “But could you get me a pajama shirt? They’re in my dresser, third drawer from the top.”

Bucky took a step or two in the direction of your dresser but paused when an idea popped into his head. 

“Wait- what about a hoodie? The zip up kind, I mean,” he offered. “That way, you won’t have to raise your arm to get it on and off.” 

“Barnes, you’re a genius.” 

Bucky blushed at the praise. Something about his proud smile, his scarlet-tinged cheeks made your heart lurch. The instinct to deliver a firm kiss to his lips grabbed you by the throat, cutting off your airway. But you couldn’t plant one on him now, not when he was moments away from helping you take your clothes off. The two of you were already entering uncharted territory and you feared that kissing him would only make things more awkward. 

“Um,” you cleared your throat, “I have a few in my closet. Dealer’s choice.” 

Bucky rifled through your closet until he came across a zippered hoodie and plucked it from its hanger. 

He wanted to do anything he could to help you. To make you more comfortable. But the thought of helping you undress made his hands shake. There was nothing sexual about helping an injured friend change clothes. Nothing erotic about your situation. But he couldn’t deny his want. It thrashed inside his chest, begging him to tell you the truth.

And as much as he wanted to confess his feelings for you, this was not the time to make a move. You were hurt, vulnerable, exhausted. You trusted him. And to turn this moment into some sort of romantic confession felt like a betrayal of that trust. Instead, he opted to cage his hunger for you. To assist you with your predicament in the most innocent and respectable manner possible. 

He’d never dream of making you uncomfortable or making you doubt his intentions, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his heartrate from increasing with each step he took in your direction. 

“Okay, so… I guess let’s just get it over with, huh?” You started lifting the bottom of your scrub top, but stopped when your sling got in the way. A hopeless expression crossed your face, “See what I mean? I need help, I’m a mess.”

A quiet laugh rumbled out of his chest, “Here, let me.” 

Bucky cautiously removed your sling and set it to the side with care. And together, the two of you slowly worked your scrub top over your head. Pained groans left your chest every few seconds, and expletives fell from your lips now and again. 

Bucky apologized over and over. He knew you were miserable. Knew that his shaking hands didn’t help the situation. But he did his best to rid you of your shirt with as little pain as possible. And he made a conscious effort to avert his eyes as he helped you shimmy out of your sports bra. It was the least he could do, given the circumstances.

“I appreciate you trying to preserve my modesty, or whatever,” you chuckled. “But you don’t have to. I really don’t care.”

“Yeah, no. I was- I didn’t want you to think that I was-” Bucky stumbled over his words. “I didn’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“You can’t. Nothing could ever be weird between us,” you said. 

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Knowing that you were as comfortable with him as he was with you filled him with all-encompassing warmth. 

“And I mean, if you’re gonna help me get dressed,” you added, “You might have to- to look a little.”

Bucky slowly lifted his gaze from the floor and found a tired smile stretched across your face. It was only when he reached for your hoodie that he gave your bare torso a quick, passing gaze. He didn’t allow himself to stare- though, he wanted to. Instead, he adopted a clinical approach and assisted you with donning your jacket in the least offensive way possible. 

He did, however, make a mental note of just how perfect you were. How beautiful. Part of him knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, as he always knew you were flawless. But actually experiencing your soft, beautiful body made his chest tight. He didn’t linger, though. Didn’t allow himself to ogle you. He got right back to the task at hand and got you dressed without incident. 

A sense of pride filled his chest as he zipped up your hoodie. Not only did you trust him enough to be his friend, but you trusted him so much that you were willing to undress in front of him. You didn’t see him as a threat or a menacing presence, you saw him for who he was: gentle, kind, caring. 

He placed your sling back in its proper position, carefully resting your arm inside. 

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm. All good.”

The two of you locked eyes for a long moment. Part of you wondered if Bucky only saw you as a friend. You’d just allowed him to undress you and even gave him a pass to stare at your bare chest- and found yourself disappointed when he didn’t take it. You could’ve sworn there was a mutual, lustful tension. A shared romantic interest. But maybe it was one sided. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe you were wrong. 

Finally, he broke the silence. “Um, I’ll give you a minute to finish changing. Let me know if you need help.”

And just like that, he was gone. He wasn’t proud of the way he fled the scene, the way he practically ran from your bedroom and left you in the dust. But his overwhelming feelings, his suffocating need for you was reaching a boiling point. And if he didn’t take a moment to clear his head, he feared he’d misspeak and ruin the fragile, beautifully crafted trust the two of you shared. 

With Bucky waiting in the living room, you removed your scrub pants and underwear and donned a pair of pajama shorts. In all honesty, you wished he’d stayed in the room while you slipped out of your work pants. But clearly, you’d misread his signals. Hell, maybe he hadn’t sent you any signals at all. Maybe you made it all up. He obviously wasn’t interested. And so, you unceremoniously dumped your scrubs in the hamper and opened your bedroom door.

“Could you do me one more favor?” you asked. 

He nodded immediately. 

“I could use some help getting into bed.”

With that, Bucky flew into action. He pulled back the covers on your side of the bed and carefully guided you onto the mattress. He propped pillows behind your back to ease the pain of your broken clavicle. And once you were as comfortable as possible, he tucked the blankets snug around your body.

“Is that okay? Do you need another pillow?” He took a glance around the room, searching for more. “I can-”

“It’s perfect.”

A proud smile shone on Bucky’s face. “I can get you some water, or some tea?” He offered. “And if you’re hungry I could make you something. Or if you just want to crash, I can go hang out in the living room in case you-”

“Do you wanna stay in here?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. 

Bucky almost laughed. Of course, he wanted to stay in your room; it was a stupid question, really. 

“Yeah. If that’s alright with you-”

“It’s more than alright,” you assured him. “I’d prefer it, actually.”

“Well, in that case,” Bucky shrugged and threw you a wink. He removed his jacket and sunk down into the armchair in the corner.

You did your best to suppress the laugh that bubbled inside your chest, but it escaped against your will. “Oh, that’s- that’s not what I meant.”

The gears inside his mind came to a screeching halt. Had he done something wrong? “What- what do you mean?” He felt his face burn with embarrassment. 

“I meant, do you want to stay with me?” With your good arm, you folded back the blankets on the other side of the bed, welcoming Bucky in. “It’s late. I know you’re probably tired. And my bed is way more comfortable than the chair.”

The offer was enticing, overwhelmingly so. But Bucky couldn’t find it in him to say yes. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t hurt you in his sleep. That he wouldn’t have a nightmare that resulted in borderline-violent thrashing. If he knocked you the wrong way, if he jostled you even a little, it was certain to send apocalyptic pain surging through your broken clavicle. And he simply couldn’t risk it. 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” the disappointment in his voice was almost palpable. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know? I think it would be best if I just-”

“Would it change your mind if I said I wanted you to sleep in here with me?” 

The hope in your tired eyes sliced through him. He never wanted to disappoint you, never wanted to leave you hanging. And he had to admit, hearing those words come out of your mouth was his dream come fucking true.

“Then I guess,” he shrugged, “I guess I can’t say no to that. Not that I’d want to.” He shot you a wink before shedding his boots and emptying the pockets of his jeans. 

He climbed into your bed with the utmost caution, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But all he found each time he looked at you was a satisfied smile. He took his place- his rightful place- next to you in bed, and finally allowed himself to truly relax. He hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was. But in the safety of your bed, the fatigue hit him like a truck. 

You watched as he snuggled under the covers, “Comfortable?” 

He answered with an emphatic nod. 

“Good. And hey, I’m,” you reached for him, allowing your hand to card through his hair. 

Bucky used every ounce of his strength to suppress the sound of pleasure that rose to the surface. 

“I’m sorry I got you fired…” you said.

All at once, the exhaustion left Bucky’s body. He was wide awake, completely and totally alert. “It isn’t your fault. I got myself fired, sweetheart-”

“But it’s my fault,” you insisted. “You got in trouble because of me. I should’ve-”

Bucky put his foot down, “Hey, this isn’t open for discussion.” With the utmost care, he removed your hand from his hair and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I wasn’t gonna ditch you, okay? I wasn’t gonna let you go to the ER by yourself. I chose to leave with you.” He let his lips lazily drag across your knuckles, “And if I had the choice to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The dark, stormy clouds of guilt that loomed over your head parted a bit. They didn’t recede completely, but Bucky’s words helped alleviate some of their doom and gloom.

“Well… I really appreciate you having my back tonight,” your fingers drifted over his stubble, “You were a real knight in shining armor for me.”

Bucky shot you a smile, “Happy to do it, sweetheart. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.”  He thought about it for a second, and added, “Plus, it’s the least I could do, you know?”

You gave a small shake of your head, regardless of the pain. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean, you’ve been so nice to me. You’re the only one- aside from Sam- who actually treats me like a person.”

A jolt of pain shot through your chest, but it didn’t stem from the evening’s injuries; it was Bucky’s words that forced your heart to splinter. You knew just how tough it was for him to reacclimate to society, to put himself out there. And though he deserved nothing but warmth and understanding, he received only vitriol. 

“It just means a lot to me- you mean a lot to me,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d ever have friends again, let alone friends who are so good to me.” 

‘Friends’. The word took a bite out of your heart with its sharp, gnarly teeth. Bucky only saw you as a ‘friend’. All the sweet gestures, all the kisses he’d pressed to your cheek- it was just friendly rapport. Platonic. Neighborly. The disappointment crushed you, but before the agony could set in, Bucky continued speaking.

Adoration splashed across his face as he stared at you, “I’ll literally do anything for you, sweetheart. I want to you to feel like you have someone in your corner, like you have someone who cares. Cause that’s how youmake me feel- and it’s…” A warm smile pulled at the corners of his lips, “It’s the best feeling in the world. And if I can give that back to you, if I can make you feel as good as you make me feel, then I’m happy.”

It was the most heartfelt, gushing sentiment anyone had ever expressed to you- and it was completely authentic. Not a hint of sarcasm seeped into his words, and you didn’t find even a drop of cynicism. Bucky’s appreciation for you, his gratitude for you was one hundred percent genuine. It was so sincere, in fact, that you forgot how to speak.

So what if he didn’t return your feelings? So what if you’d read into his actions more than you should’ve? He was a good person, a good friend. And you were lucky to have him, even if he showed no romantic interest in you. 

“Anyway, I should stop talking your ear off and let you get some sleep.” He cautiously leaned over a pressed his lips to your cheek, “I’m really glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if-” He cleared his throat, “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

The back-and-forth of Bucky’s sentiments nearly gave you whiplash. He’d called you a friend only moments ago. But there was something lurking beneath his latest words. Something that made your chest tighten. It was almost romantic. Almost pining. And maybe if you hadn’t received a head injury only two hours earlier, you would’ve been able to navigate the confusing waters of Bucky’s words. But the world inside your mind was fuzzy. Foggy. Confusing. You kept getting turned around. More than anything, you needed a map. A clear-cut sign. 

“If you need anything during the night, you can wake me,” Bucky said. 

Now was as good a time as any to find your sign. You did your best to chase his lips. To follow him as he retreated to his side of the bed. But in your injured state, you simply couldn’t make it happen. You were too slow. Too uncoordinated. And your broken clavicle screamed in pain as you tried to pursue him. 

He clocked the agonized look on your face and returned to your side in an instant, “Are you okay? Is there-”

“I need you to kiss me-” You shook your head- sending a dizzying pain through your skull, and rephrased, “To kiss me for real.”

Bucky stared at you with wide eyes. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I know we’ve been ‘just friends’ for a while and I love- I love being your friend,” the words fell from your lips before you had the chance to make edits. “But I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. And if you… if you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally okay, but I just-”

His lips met yours in a soft, careful kiss. It was feather light. Cautious. Not the intense, passionate kind you’d dreamed of. 

But you were already hurt, and he’d rather die than make things worse. And so, he kept his intensity measured, exercising the most restraint possible. 

And even though he couldn’t completely consume you like he wanted, it was still the best moment of his life. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, and he’d certainly forgotten how to breathe, but that was fine by him. If he died with his mouth pressed against yours, at least he’d die doing what he loved. 

When he finally broke the kiss, the mutual hunger remained. Neither of you were sated by his gentle, ginger affections. And the deep ache in your chest only multiplied. 

“Yeah, I’m-” Your good hand twisted into the front of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. “I’m gonna need you to do that again.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You won’t,” you breathed. “And I’ve been dying for this for months, so-”

His hand cupped your face, and his mouth slotted over yours in a firm, desperate kiss. This was what you’d been waiting for. This was what you’d dreamed about. Finally, as his lips devoured yours, everything was right in the world. 

Only when your broken collarbone howled in pain did you pull away. 

Bucky stared at you, and you stared right back. No one moved. No one spoke. You weren’t even sure that this was real. But it didn’t matter, because after months of pining, of desperation, of want- Bucky was in your bed. And his lips had finally touched yours. 

“So…” Bucky broke the silence. “You’re ‘pretty sure’ you’re in love with me, huh?” He tilted his head in an expectant manner and let his hand drift across your cheek. “Is there anything I can do to make you sure-sure?”

You sighed, “Well, I was pretty sure. But now…”

“Now?” Bucky nodded.

“Now, I’m sure. I’m sure-sure. I’m as sure as I’ve ever been. About anything.” Your good hand slipped through Bucky’s hair,  and you did your best to uphold the light-hearted tone of the conversation. But a few drops of anxiety slipped through the dam and colored your words with worry. “What about you? Are you… on the fence?” 

A loud laugh boomed out of Bucky’s chest. “I haven’t- I haven’t been on the fence about you. Ever. The day you brought me those cookies after I moved in? I was done for.”

“What?” You said, incredulous. “Really?” 

“Really.” He lowered his lips to yours and gave you a long, soft kiss. “I have been sure about you from the start.”

His words set your entire body alight. To know that he’d been smitten with you this entire time, that he’d wanted you, that he’d been hopelessly in love with you- it was almost too much. You heart pounded; your mouth ran dry. All you’d wanted for months was to hear him say those exact words. 

But a sudden realization hit you like a truck, and you mourned what could’ve been. The weight of regret made it impossible to inhale. If you’d been braver, if you’d had the guts to tell him how you felt, he could’ve been yours months ago; you wouldn’t have wasted so much precious time. You could’ve had him in your sheets for every night. You could’ve kissed him each morning before leaving for work and welcomed him to bed when he returned from each shift at Lucky’s. 

“I should’ve said something sooner,” you sighed. “I feel like I wasted so much time, I-”

“It wasn’t wasted,” he assured you. He brushed his lips against your cheek, “We got to spend every night together at the bar- that was not a wasted.”

A large yawn escaped your mouth as you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. But I just-” Another yawn interrupted you.

“Okay, alright, I think it’s time you get some rest,” Bucky tried to remove himself from your space, but you refused to let him go.

“No,” you protested. “I don’t want to go to sleep yet, we just- we just figured this whole thing out. I want to stay up, I don’t want us to-” 

“We’re not wasting time,” he said gently, reading your mind. “You’re hurt. You need to sleep. And we will have plenty of time together, I promise.”

There was no such thing as “plenty of time” with him; there could never be enough time with him. You thought back on all the days you went without seeing him. All the times you could only talk for a few minutes before rushing off to work. And suddenly, you feared for the future. Feared that you’d still only catch passing moments with the man you loved. 

Bucky could practically see the worry radiating off of you. He understood exactly what it felt like to fear the passage of time. To feel as though you might miss something. He knew what it was like to have time stolen from him, to know he was never going to get it back. But he didn’t feel that way with you. 

To him, the time the two of you spent cultivating and nurturing your friendship was invaluable. If given the opportunity, he’d never trade it- not for anything. And he would never classify time spent with you as time wasted. Though part of him wished he would’ve kissed you months ago, he knew somewhere deep down that this was the right moment. That everything- the cookies, the countless stitches, the beers, the innocent cheek kisses- it had all built into a perfect crescendo. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he assured you. “I have all the time in the world for you- I’m unemployed now, remember?”

You rolled your eyes and gave a weak laugh, “Yeah, yeah. I remember.”

“You’re going to see me so much that you’re gonna get tired of me,” Bucky said. “You’re gonna pick up extra shifts at work just to get away from me-”

“I don’t know about that-”

He shrugged, “It’s true. I’m gonna be here so often that you’re gonna beg Sam to take me on missions with him! You’re gonna want me out of your hair! And I’m-”

“Okay, okay!” You laughed so hard that your head and chest ached. “I get it! We’re gonna be together a lot!”

“Damn straight.” He dotted a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, and finally, your lips. “Now, get some sleep. You need your rest.” 

He flicked off the lamp by your bedside and slipped his hand into yours. He wanted nothing more than to pull you tight against his chest and hold you there all night. But your injuries kept him at a safe distance. Once your body healed, he’d spend every night molding his body around yours. Playing with your hair as your head rested on his chest. He just had to be patient. He could do that for you- he could do anything for you. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, Barnes.” He could hear the smile in your voice.

The two of you settled into the darkness, the quiet, relishing in the sensation of the other. This was worth the wait. Worth the diametrically opposed schedules. Hell, it was even worth the concussion.

And just as sleep threatened to pull you under, Bucky spoke up.

“Hey, I know I was originally against the idea of you hanging out at Lucky’s,” he said. “And I know I tried to steer you away-”

“You practically kicked me out- you tried to bounce me,” you whispered.

”I know,” he laughed. “But I’m glad you decided not to listen to me. Thank you for not listening to me.”

“Any time, Barnes.”

You inched closer to him, ignoring the unyielding pain scorching through your body. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of relentless hunger and undying want, Bucky was yours; he always was, you just never realized. 

And as sleep finally sank its hooks into you, you sensed the turning of a page. Like the ending of one chapter, and the start of the new one. A chapter in which the two of you were no longer neighbors. No longer friends. No longer drinking buddies. It wasn’t just a new chapter, but a new book altogether. And while you’d knew you’d occasionally miss the days of shameless flirting at the bar and the will-they-won’t-they of it all, you were thrilled to be his. Thrilled that he was finally yours. And you knew in your heart that the two of you would always have Lucky’s. 

———————————————————

Tags: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf417 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[theskywithin]

✦ Natal Asteroids ✦ Karma in the Houses

The asteroid Karma in the natal chart points to what wants resolution, what repeats itself, quietly or loudly, until it’s fully met. It’s about learning the difference between what was placed in your hands and what you are here to release. Like soul-DNA, the house where Karma lives holds a story you’ve been carrying long before you had language for it. And now you get to choose whether that story becomes a cage or a key.

My book waits for you, a mirror for the sky you were born under. Find the link at the bottom of the page or in the pinned post ♡

✦ Karma in the 1st House

Your body remembers. Before your mind, before you ever learned to introduce yourself, there was already a script written on your skin. Karma in the first house is the soul born into visibility it didn’t fully choose, the kind that comes from having once been named too soon, too wrongly, too many times. You were taught to read the room before you breathed too loudly, to wear the costume before asking what you even felt. And now, even in this life, the self can feel like a performance you didn’t audition for. You carry old instincts like a second spine, the way you hold yourself when you’re not being watched, the way your expression shifts the second someone enters the room. This isn’t about ego. It’s about remembering what it once cost to exist unfiltered. But now you’re here to un-armor in slow ways, to speak your name as a becoming. You are are the one that decides how the story unfolds this time.

✦ Karma in the 2nd House

You were born with memory in your hands. The kind of memory that counts, that measures, that keeps score in secret. Karma in the second house is a soul wired to ask: Have I done enough? Have I earned this yet? Is it safe to receive if I didn’t pay for it? It’s the echo of lives where worth was transactional, where every belonging had a price, and love came with a receipt. Now, value feels slippery. You might hoard what you fear could vanish or might give too much just to prove you’re not a taker. You might call it generosity, but underneath, it’s the hope that no one will take more than you can replace. But this placement is not a debt, it’s an invitation to remember that not all wealth is counted. That peace is a currency too. That your presence is not something you owe the world in exchange for safety. You are not an offering plate. You are the garden, and you are allowed to bloom without asking who it benefits.

✦ Karma in the 3rd House

Your mind is a corridor full of echoes. Rooms filled with conversations that never ended, questions that were never answered, thoughts that began lifetimes ago and never stopped speaking. Karma in the third house means language lives inside you like a storm cloud. Words arrive in floods, silence feels like exile. And somewhere inside, you still remember what it meant to speak and be punished. Or to speak and be praised for something that wasn’t the truth. In this life, you often narrate before you feel. You analyze instead of land. You offer clarity where you long to be held. It’s safer, sometimes, to sound composed than to risk being known, but your voice was never meant to be a mask. It was meant to be a window and even if others have forgotten how to listen, you are allowed to speak like someone who has nothing to prove. You are allowed to stop translating your truth into something quieter. The karma isn’t in what you said, it’s in what you still edit. Say the thing. Even if it doesn’t explain. Let the words be keys, not shields.

✦ Karma in the 4th House

There’s a hallway inside you that smells like the past. A door that opens into memory even when you weren’t the one who lived it. Karma in the fourth house means you were born with someone else’s weather in your chest, their grief, their silence, their patterns. Home, for you, is a question: Am I safe here? Am I allowed to soften? You might carry a loyalty to what hurt you. You might shrink in familiar rooms. You might find comfort in keeping the peace even when it costs yours. This placement is here to teach you how to belong to yourself first. You are not the house you grew up in, you are the one building a new one, brick by brick, breath by breath, where your softness doesn’t have to be hidden under lock and key.

✦ Karma in the 5th House

You were born with a song in your chest but the first thing you learned was how to lower the volume. Karma in the fifth house means joy has always felt like a risk. Maybe you were once punished for wanting too much or loved for the parts of you that performed, but not the ones that felt. Maybe you were silenced mid-laughter. Maybe you fell in love and disappeared inside it. Now, you hesitate at the edge of pleasure. You flirt with self-expression, but don’t always stay. You create something beautiful, then apologize for it. You long to be seen, and fear what that seeing might take from you. You are here to unlearn the idea that delight must be earned. To remember that your aliveness is not decoration, it is the flame that changes everything.

✦ Karma in the 6th House

Your body has always been a ledger, even when no one else noticed, you kept track of what was needed, what was fair, what was never returned. Karma in the sixth house is the signature of a soul shaped by service. Not the kind that flows freely, but the kind that was expected. You may carry past-life memories of being the one who held it all together, the helper, the healer, the one who showed up, even when she had nothing left to give. So now, you might struggle to rest, to say no, to want without guilt. You tie your worth to what you contribute. You call it responsibility, but underneath is a longing: When will it be my turn to be cared for? This placement is here to rewrite that rhythm. You are here to create a life where tending to others doesn’t mean abandoning yourself. Let your body become a home, not a battlefield. Let your care include you.

✦ Karma in the 7th House

You’ve always looked for yourself in the eyes of another. Karma in the seventh house is the soul that remembers relationship as both sanctuary and test. You may have once lost yourself in love, given too much, disappeared too quietly, waited too long to be chosen. Or maybe you loved from a distance, a pattern of missing what never stayed. Now, partnership feels heavy with memory. You might crave closeness but flinch when it arrives. You might choose people who reflect a version of you that feels familiar, not necessarily safe. This placement is about recognition. It’s about learning to meet your reflection without losing your shape. You are not here to disappear into love. You are here to bring your full self to the mirror, and stay.

✦ Karma in the 8th House

Your depth remembers everything, even when your mind doesn’t. Karma in the eighth house is the signature of a soul who has been burned by trust, by power, by intimacy that came too fast or not at all. You were built with a lockbox in your chest. One part longing, one part armor. You want to merge, to be met, but the moment it starts to feel too real, too sharp, too true, you pull back or burn it down. Because somewhere in your history closeness cost you everything. Now, desire feels like danger. Vulnerability feels like exposure. But this placement isn’t asking you to fling the door wide open. It’s asking you to stop treating your sensitivity like something shameful. You don’t need to be unbreakable to be powerful. You just need to trust that the right kind of intimacy won’t require your erasure.

✦ Karma in the 9th House

You were born with a compass in your chest and no clear destination. Karma in the ninth house speaks of a soul shaped by belief, inherited, imposed, or outgrown. You may have once followed someone else’s truth too far or preached a truth you later betrayed. Now, you wander. You question. You study every version of meaning because none of them feel complete. This is the karma of wisdom, not just knowledge, but humility. You’re here to learn that truth isn’t a hill to die on, but a horizon you walk toward. Your beliefs may shift. Your story may change. And that doesn’t make you lost. It makes you alive. You are not here to memorize the answers, you are here to keep asking better questions and to let wonder, not certainty, be what guides you home.

✦ Karma in the 10th House

You came into this life with the weight of a name you hadn’t earned yet. Karma in the tenth house means that legacy, success, visibility, have always carried more meaning than they let on. Maybe you were once praised for being needed, not known. Maybe you were punished for having power. Maybe you rose too fast, or fell too hard. Now, you climb with caution. You work with intensity. You tie your worth to your title, your timing, your ability to hold everything together. And yet, it still doesn’t feel like enough because the goalpost keeps moving. The voice in your head keeps asking, Is this who I’m meant to be? Or just who I learned to become? But this placement is here to remind you that you are not your résumé, you are not your role, you are not the image they fell in love with. Your real legacy begins when you stop performing what success is supposed to look like and start living what purpose feels like.

✦ Karma in the 11th House

You’ve always been surrounded but not always seen. Karma in the eleventh house means belonging doesn’t come easily, not because you’re difficult, but because you carry old blueprints of fitting in that required you to fracture yourself. Maybe in another life, you were exiled for being different or blended in so well you forgot who you were. Now, you find yourself among people who almost get it, you nod, you stay, you support. But a part of you still floats above the room, waiting for the moment it will all slip away. This is not about making more friends or finding the perfect circle. It’s about learning that real belonging doesn’t come from being accepted. You don’t have to shrink to stay. The right people won’t ask you to hide the part of you that’s been waiting to exhale.

✦ Karma in the 12th House

You came into this life with memory underwater. Karma in the twelfth house means something ancient lingers beneath your surface, in moods, in patterns, in grief that arrives before the story does. You may feel like you’ve been carrying things that don’t fully belong to you: ancestral sorrow, unspoken guilt, collective ache. And so you stay quiet, you dream vividly, you disappear into others, you seek solitude but fear being forgotten. This is the karma of the soul’s attic where everything lost is still echoing. But this placement is asking you to learn how to rest without vanishing. How to feel without drowning. You are not here to make peace with the parts of you that never had words, and to stop apologizing for being sensitive to everything the world tries to numb. Stillness is not weakness. It’s where your soul goes to remember itself.

[chiorisgf]

❕nsfw childe x f!reader

summary : his dear siblings were in need of a babysitter, and he wasn’t informed.

tartaglia, or, ajax — was ecstatic to be back home! his warm smile could almost melt the snow around him as his boots clicked against the icy sidewalk. snezhnaya has always been cold, he hopes his dear little siblings were warm at home! what about his parents, he wonders.

as he step foot onto his front porch, he couldn’t help but eye the smaller footsteps in the snow of his backyard. visiter, perhaps?

he shrugged it off, knocking on the door. he always enjoyed the smile of his family whenever they’d open the door, expecting a mailman or someone else — only to be surprised when the face of their beloved ajax appeared.

he could almost see it now, they’ll all be so happy!

just as he was in the middle of a happy little daydream, the door opened.

“hey every! — one,” he blinks at your figure, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks down at you. “and who might you be?” he raises an eyebrow, his bright blue eyes glaring down at you with coldness almost as unforgiving as the harsh weather outside.

“o-oh, you must be—“

“brother!” little teucer squeals excitedly, running quickly towards the taller man as two other children emerge, peeking over your body.

“their older brother.” you smile, gently urging his younger sister and brother to greet him.

as he bent over and hugged the young kids, he couldn’t help but eye you as you walked away from the group, choosing to give them some privacy.

after a few moments of hugs and smiles, the younger children pulled their older brother inside into the warmth of his home.

oh, how he missed this place.

“this is name, she’s our babysitter!” tonia smiled, walking over to you and grabbing at your hand gently. “she’s really nice, come say hi to her!”

tonia was the sweetest, she almost reminded you of yourself when you were her age. she was well behaved, and a good cook aswell.

“hello.” you smile shyly at the man in front of you, offering a small wave.

he simply nodded his head with a tight lipped smile, before turning back to his siblings, tonia giving you a cute little giggle before rushing back to the others.

they’re so adorable, you think, turning away from them to finish the dinner you had made. it was fortunate you made extra, that leaves some for.. ajax, was it?

by the time you were done, tonia was already by your side, helping you hold the plates.

“oh, my brother likes this!” she smiles, before looking up at you. “you two are gonna get along so well, i can already see it!”

if she had to admit, she really wanted you and her brother to become friends. you’re so kind, how could he not like you?! she thinks.

“that’s so sweet of you, tonia.” you smile, patting her head gently before picking up the pot of soup, being careful not to burn your slender fingers. “but i really should be going when we’re done setting the table, seeing as your older brother is home.”

you don’t miss the way her smile drops at your words, and a pant of guilt stabs at your heart. you feel sorry, you really do, but you can’t help but sense that the man doesn’t like you.

you’re not the only one who noticed tonia’s expression, childe did aswell. he can’t help but frown as he watches his dear sister walk into the dining room, holding a few bowls in her delicate hands.

as she busies herself with setting the table, he walks over to you, who’s carefully walking to follow the younger girl.

“hey,” he stares down at you, his face hardening as he watches you flinch slightly and stumble to keep a good hold on the hot pot in your grasp.

“c-can i help you?” you ask with a slight gulp, nervousness washing over you as he steps closer to you.

“would you like to tell me where are my parents are? ” he frowns, eyes narrowing. you were quite suspicious, if he was being honest. he got no letters for message from his parents warning him about a babysitter — but you seemed to make his siblings happy, so he won’t complain too much. “or would you prefer for me to throw you out into the snow right now?”

“they’re out on a trip—!” you stutter, the air around you growing colder as his expression dulls. “please— please don’t do that. i was going to leave, anyways.” you say, fingers twitching slightly against the handles of the pot.

ajax glanced down at the soup in your hands, before looking back up at you. “i’ll get the dinner table ready, and you go to my room, it’s the one next to my parent’s room. i’ll be there after in a little while.” he says curtly, taking the pot from your hands and returning to the dining room, smiling as the children greet him.

you can’t help but sweat nervously as you walk towards his room, what does he want? is he really going to throw you out into the cold?! maybe you should wear a jacket. or should you just run away?

well, it’s too late now, you think as your trembling hand holds onto the doorknob and slowly turns it. the door opens, and his room is revealed.

it’s not, plan, but it’s definitely not very decorated. there’s no time to dwell on that, though — the sound of his heavy footsteps echo through the hallway and it seems that your heart has begun to beat faster.

you quickly shut yourself in his room, eyes darting around as you begin tremble.

he’s getting closer, you can hear him. is this really it? you’re going to die because you needed money?

“name, was it?” his voice sounds from behind the door, it’s low, and almost attractive. “i’m coming in.” he says, slowly cracking the door open and peering inside.

you look back at the man, eyes slightly wide and you really can’t stop the shaking. how humiliating, you think!

he steps inside, before shutting the door behind him and locking it with a soft ‘click’

“so,” he starts, inching closer to you. “my family seem to love you.” he hums, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “and i have to admit, you are quite cute.” ajax grins, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

you freeze, warmth creeping up your neck. “especially when you’re scared.” he pokes at your chest, leaning back. “like a terrified mouse.”

your eyes meet his and he simply smiles. has he always been this hot? and what’s with the change of attitude?

“you know, teucer, tonia and anthon have talked about you a lot. they say you’re really sweet,” he purrs, stepping in front of you.

you take a step back, and away from him, only for him to step forward again. you back away from him as he moves closer until your knees stop at a bed — his bed, and you fall onto it.

it’s not long before his hand is beside your head, and he leans down with a teasing smile. “do you think that’s true? i wanna see just how sweet you really are.”

you hate how he’s getting to you — the warmth of his breath tickling the side of your neck as his lips grow closer. you’re supposed to be scared, so scared! but how can you be scared when his free hand is gently smoothing down your clothes.

teucer was right, ajax really is sweet — even if he can be scarily overprotective.

“okay,” you whisper, your head turning to the side slightly as you feel embarrassment flush over your features. why did you let yourself get into this situation?

his lips connect with your neck, ajax’s hands trailing down your body before he hooks a finger around the waistband of your pants.

he slowly tugs them down, smirking slightly as he notices your flustered expression. a finger pulls your panties down soon after, and he swears he’s gonna start drooling.

in a few moment his pants are pooled at the floor, his boxers following as his hardening cock springs free, pre forming at the tip.

“now, be quiet for me.” he whispers, a hand cupping your cheek as the other guides his cock to your entrance. he’s sure your little hole can take him, considering how wet you are.

each inch you took was painful at first, soft sounds escaping your lips as you squirm against his hold; but when he’s fully sheathed you can’t help but squeal. you’re so full, and it feels so good when he moves like that.

his first few thrusts are slow, but when the pain has fully shifted to pleasure he quickens his pace, the squelching sounds of your wet pussy being pounded bouncing off the walls of ajax’s room.

your cute little pussy was so good, and childe couldn’t help but moan, before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss, his hips snapping against yours.

something about you, childe thinks, is just so hot. so alluring.

maybe it’s the way you’re moaning so quietly into his ear, your breath brushing against his skin. the freezing temperature outside stood no chance against the warmth of your body, oh and that look in your eyes — he just can’t resist pecking you on the lips and thrusting particularly hard into your wet folds.

the way your gummy walls wrapped around his shaft and sucked him in was just so nasty, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

each hard stroke of his cock sent you into a frenzy of moans, and ajax had to place his palm on your mouth to keep you quiet. while he loved your sounds, he knows he shouldn’t let you get too loud; his siblings are only a few doors away after all.

“a-jax,” your voice is sugary, and the way you arch your back so far off the bed is practically knocking childe out. he can’t handle it — you’re so cute, so perfect!

he knows you’re close, he can tell by the way your hands are clutching onto him, your pussy hugging onto him so tightly. he can feel your breath tickle against his palm and at that moment he knows he’s going to invite you over more often.. to “babysit” his siblings.

yeah right, he thinks.

“you’re gonna— babysit our kids, that’s what.” he huffs breathlessly, his cock pounding into you tougher than before at his newfound idea.

“cum with me, angel.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, grinning when you nod obediently and just as you’re about to snap, he cums and he cums, letting you milk him dry as you come undone around him.

you’re such a good listener, such a good girl for him. with a few more thrusts, he finally stops his movements.

his warm palm slowly pulls away from your mouth to stroke your hair, and he can’t help but pull you onto his lap, sitting down on his bed.

it’s moments like these that he’s grown to enjoy, aswell. holding you on his lap and kissing your cheek, whispering encouraging words into your ears like moments ago.

“you’re not leaving tonight, you know that right? wouldn’t wanna disappoint my siblings..” he chuckles at your expression, offering one last kiss before tucking you into his bed.

[tortillamastersblog]

Where Light Bends Wrong - Part 6 | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You’ve kept your secret buried and your power quiet, until Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore and turned your whole world upside down.

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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I blink tiredly and prop my chin up on my hand, trying to pay attention to Thornhill who’s babbling on about some carnivorous plant.

The memory of Rowan’s screams kept me up most of the night.

I still can't believe what actually happened. Throughout the night I heard a search party go through the woods, with the dogs whining and barking and officers shouting orders every now and then, but whether they found Rowan or not, I have no idea.

I knew there were rumors about this supposed monster roaming around lately, but I thought it was just a bear or something. But what I saw yesterday despite how comically grotesque and weird it looked scared the shit out of me.

The classroom door opens right as Miss Thornhill is about to feed a dead mouse to one of her plants which is already reaching its greenish tentacles for it.

A police deputy I've seen around Jericho before pokes her head inside and looks around making everyone shut up and stare curiously as she points at me.

I stiffen and feel Ajax and Enid who are sitting next to me shoot me questioning looks.

“L/N please come with me,” she says and I look at Thornhill for permission which she gives with a nod slightly wide-eyed.

I get out of my seat avoiding everyone's eyes even Enid and Ajax’s and hurry toward the door.

Deputy Santiago, as I read on her little name plate, closes the door behind me and tilts her head before starting to walk, silently telling me to follow her.

I do, hearing Thornhill's class continue all the way until we make it to Weems’ office where Sheriff Galpin Weems and Wednesday are already waiting for us. Deputy Santiago ushers me inside before closing the door again, choosing to stay outside herself.

“What’s going on?” I ask, “Has Rowan’s body been found?”

I see a muscle twitch in Weems’ jaw but she stays silent. Wednesday also looks displeased for some reason, her eyes harder than usual, and when Sheriff Galpin answers I know why.

“No, we haven’t found a body as I’ve already told Miss Addams here.”

“What?” My eyes dart between Wednesday Galpin and Weems. “That can’t be. We saw I saw…” I trail off, feeling a shiver run down my back at the memory of the gurgling sound Rowan made when he was literally gutted by the monster.

“Yeah well we didn’t find anything. No blood, no footprints, no sign of a struggle. Nothing. Our search party looked all night,” he says, sounding almost annoyed.

“Well your search party must have left their seeing-eye dogs at home,” Wednesday deadpans and were it not for the circumstances I’d actually snort at that.

Weems glares at her while I just stand there absolutely speechless.

I know what I saw, so how did they not find anything

As if reading my mind Wednesday goes on, “We saw that monster kill Rowan right in front of us. Right?”

She looks at me expectantly and I’m about to nod, but then I catch Weems’ eye over her shoulder. She shakes her head subtly.

Don’t cause any trouble. Stay under the radar.

I swallow thickly. “I-I’m not sure what I saw to be honest,” I lie which makes Wednesday’s face crumble with disbelief for a second before it hardens again.

She straightens up and goes to say something, probably accusing me of lying, but then Weems speaks up. “My guess is Rowan ran away. An alert has been put out and I’ve contacted his family but they haven’t heard from him yet”

Wednesday keeps her piercing eyes on me a little longer and I can tell there’s a lot of emotion brewing underneath the surface, but then she turns to Weems and snarks, “Maybe that’s because dead people are notoriously bad at returning calls.”

Sheriff Galpin sighs and sinks into one of the leather chairs in front of Weems’ desk, taking off his hat and running a hand down his face. “What were you two doing out in the woods with him?”

Wednesday neatly folds her hands in front of her and answers evenly. “I heard a noise in the forest and went to go investigate. That’s when I stumbled upon the attack.”

My eyebrow quirks slightly because that’s not what happened at all. Well, maybe the first part is true, but definitely not the second.

I quickly school my features back to neutral though when Galpin looks at me expectantly. “I saw Wednesday leave the fairgrounds and wanted to make sure she didn’t get lost so I followed her,” is all I say which is close enough to the truth and the story I told Wednesday.

Galpin looks back at Wednesday, seeing that I’m not going to elaborate and Wednesday is obviously the more vocal one out of the two of us. “And then what happened?”

“Then we ran into Bianca Barclay and told her to go for help. Next thing I remember I was waking in my dorm,” she says and even though that last part sounds unbelievable I believe it because I also can’t really remember what happened after telling Bianca what happened. It's all a blur, and the only thing I can vaguely remember is the bus ride back to school with the others. I’m sure Wednesday was also occupied with whatever happened between her and Rowan before I interfered.

“Okay, so just to be clear this monster wasn’t a bear or something?” Galpin asks.

Almost bored now, Wednesday stares at him, her hands still neatly folded in front of her. “I’ve hibernated with grizzlies. I know the difference”

Of course she did, I think, but I don’t speak up.

Weems seems to think this is a good place to end things. She puts her hands on her desk and gets to her feet. “Thank you Sheriff. I think Miss Addams is done now. And of course Y/N, too”

I dip my chin in acknowledgment and turn to leave, but then Wednesday speaks up again. “Actually I would like to speak to Sheriff Galpin. Alone.”

Weems narrows her eyes her gaze briefly meeting mine before she looks back at Wednesday and the Sheriff who looks mildly intrigued by Wednesday’s request. “I’m not sure I can allow that.”

Galpin puts his hat back on and crosses his arms, going on about how he could just take Wednesday to the station with him and get a formal statement, which is what makes Weems ultimately agree to a private conversation between the two.

“Fine. You have five minutes and everything is off the record,” she says, stepping out from behind her desk and joining my side. “Play nice or I’ll call the mayor.”

Galpin tilts his head in understanding though there’s a challenging glint in his eyes.

“Come on Y/N,” Weems says, brushing past me, and I go to follow her but then Wednesday’s voice stops me.

“Y/N.”

I turn and meet her eye, biting the inside of my cheek. I know what she wants from me. She wants me to be honest and tell Galpin what I really saw now that Weems isn’t looming over us but I just can’t do it.

Not causing any trouble and staying under the radar is what I’ve been told repeatedly since getting here and I know if I don’t I’ll get found out and I’ll have to leave again and I just can’t do that. Not again.

I exhale shakily and ball my hands into loose fists at my side. “I-I have to get back to class.”

I know it’s a lame excuse because Wednesday should be in class too, but I don’t know what else to say.

A flicker of something unreadable flashes through Wednesday’s eyes and I feel a tiny spark of guilt blossom in the pit of my stomach for leaving her out to dry, but I just I can’t do this.

So I turn without another word and leave, wondering briefly why Weems isn’t outside the office when she just left a moment earlier.

Deputy Santiago is still there though and I nod at her, earning an acknowledging little smile before I make my way to my room.

I know I said I had class, but I know I just wouldn’t be able to concentrate anyway. And I don’t want Enid or Ajax asking any questions. They already did that on the ride back to school last night and earlier before class.

If I wasn’t unnerved before by what I witnessed last night, I sure am now. Because what does Galpin mean they didn’t find a body?

It’s all so confusing and messing with my head. And to make matters even worse, I know there’s no way in hell Wednesday is going to want to run away again now. Not if there’s a mystery to be solved which means I’m still in danger. I can just hope she’ll focus on the monster from now on and kind of forget about me, but I doubt that’s going to happen because I’m once again somehow in the middle of that too.

I spend the rest of the morning catching up on my schoolwork and actually studying in an attempt to distract myself. I get quite a big chunk of work done, finishing two essays and a presentation on vampires all while listening to some music.

After about two hours though, a knock breaks through the music and I set my pen down and get up, taking my headphones off and letting them rest around my neck.

I'm mentally still occupied by my next paper I just started on Thornhill's carnivorous plants, which is why I don't register who's at the door until I've actually opened it and my eyes land on Wednesday.

Thing is on her shoulder and lifts his index finger in greeting, which I return with an awkward wave myself.

I go to say hi too, but then Wednesday beats me to it. "Why did you lie to Weems and the Sheriff?"

Straight to the point, like always.

I go to reply, maybe come up with a believable lie, but then, much to my surprise, she actually brushes past me and enters my room unbidden.

I blink in surprise and close the door behind her before turning around to catch her taking in my room.

Her eyes wander over my desk, and the scattered papers on it. Then over my neatly made bed, the gray sheets folded and tucked under the mattress around the edges. Then, the small wooden corner bookshelf next to it, filled with dog-eared books and one wrinkled photograph I taped to it.

It's a little blurry, but you can clearly see a younger version of me in it, giving a little girl a piggyback ride.

Lara.

It's unmistakable that we're close, and I can see Wednesday focusing in on it, so I clear my throat which actually makes her start ever so slightly and then her eyes snap to me and her face hardens. "We both saw how that monster killed Rowan," she states matter of factly.

I avert my eyes. "I know."

"Then why did you lie?" she steps closer, her tone now lower, almost menacing, but I sense no anger beneath the veil she has over emotions. It's more like... disappointment?

I look back up to find her crossing her arms while Thing skedaddles around the room exploring, flipping through my books and climbing onto the window seat of the wide and arched window that allows for a view of the courtyard and the forest beyond the school grounds.

"I just..." I trail off and play with the hem of my uniform's sweater vest. "I can't get dragged into this, Wednesday."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, I have enough stuff going on as it is, I don't want to get involved," I say honestly and for a moment, I think Wednesday might actually accept that because her face softens just the slightest bit.

Then it hardens again though, and I see her grip on her upper arms tighten. "That is absurd. You just lied because you're Weems' little pet and she doesn't want anyone to get to the bottom of this, just like Galpin."

I clench my jaw and lessen the distance between us with a step, looming over her while she just looks up at me with defiant eyes. "I am not Weems' pet," I hiss through gritted teeth.

Unperturbed, Wednesday snaps back with, "Someone is trying to cover Rowan's murder up."

I eye her incredulously, bothered that she didn't say anything else about the pet thing, before taking a step back again when I realize I'm actually so close to her I can pick up on the smell of fresh linen that clings to her. "So?" I ask, irritated. "Murders get covered up all the time and if it means things will quiet down, I don't care. I don't want anything to do with this. You should honestly—"

"I saw Rowan earlier."

That makes my mouth snap shut before an unbidden, "Excuse me?" escapes me.

This time Wednesday takes a step forward and I try to ignore the way my pendant heats up at the proximity. "Right after you left, Deputy Santiago opened the door and there he was."

What. The. Fuck.

"Now, I don't know how that's possible because you and I both know what we saw which makes me believe one of two things. Either, we're both simultaneously losing our minds, which is highly unlikely and honestly not as enjoyable as I hoped it would be. Or the person I saw wasn't actually Rowan, which seems like the more plausible of the two options, but once again begs the question, who would go to such lengths to cover it up, and why."

"I... don't know, and I honestly don't want to know either," I say, which makes her let out a sharp exhale. Her eyes dart between mine, frustrated and clearly searching for something.

"Fine," she says after a moment, then lets her bag fall off her shoulder and drop to the floor.

I frown and glance at it, only to realize it's actually my bag, the one I left in Thornhill's class when Deputy Santiago came to get me.

Enid must have taken it to her room with her, which is probably where Wednesday found it. She must have grabbed it and brought it to me so she would have an excuse to come see me.

"Thing."

The hand stops looking out of the window and jumps off the window seat, scrambling to Wednesday's side.

She turns to leave, bubbling with irritation and frustration underneath her mask of calm indifference. But then she stops when my necklace pulses gold underneath my sweater vest and shirt. It's barely visible through all the fabric, but Wednesday sees it and freezes, her eyes zeroing in on it.

I raise my hand defensively and clutch it through the fabric, hating how the curiosity I saw in Wednesday's eyes after she threw her knife at me sparks up again.

She doesn't say anything. She just meets my eyes again, then they flick to her knife, perched on my desk beside my laptop, before she finally turns and leaves with Thing on her heels.

He taps a goodbye on the door before slipping out, but I don't bother to return it, feeling my knees weaken slightly.

Why is this stupid pendant acting up the whole time?

I have half a mind to take it off right then and there, but I don't have the heart to do it. The fear of losing it is too great.

I've had it since I was dropped off at the orphanage as a baby. Not once in my life have I taken it off because it reminds me that I came from somewhere--that I'm not just another orphan.

I've also known it's somehow connected to my powers since I discovered them. But until Wednesday showed up, it has never acted like this before. Which reminds me I should really go and check out that book Weems hid in the Nightshades' library.

I never actually read it completely. She showed it to me once, but it overwhelmed me so much I couldn't finish it. I'd just been dumped at Nevermore, but now I really need some answers.

So I grab one of my books off the shelf next to my bed and pull out the small little note I wrote down after Weems gave me a riddle-like description of where to find the book in the library.

Why she couldn't just tell me I don't know. Maybe she did and I can't remember. I just remember writing down this riddle in a haze after I learned about what I am.

Seek where silence is etched in stone And light bends wrong when left alone What you search for is out of sight Until you ask the dark for light

I remember she said something about only being able to retrieve it at night and it's only half past twelve now, so I tuck the piece of paper into my pocket before leaving the room to go and find Enid.

She's been dying to talk to me since this morning, and it's lunchtime now, so even though I don't want to talk about Rowan and the rumors that have already spread around the school because of Bianca, I do crave her company. Her energy, although a bit much sometimes, always manages to make me feel better.

Also, she's got the Poe Cup coming up tomorrow, and I actually want to be there for her while she spirals about Bianca probably winning again.

I've already been roped into helping paint the canoe last year, and I can see that happening again this year, but I don't mind. Not only because it's actually kind of fun, but because I just know Wednesday won't come near me there.

‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆ ⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧

This is around 3k words. The last part was like 1.7k, so what are we feeling, people? Is this long enough or do you want even longer chapters?

Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag @theallseer97 @hellenheaven

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 10, A Saturday well spend

Masterlist Word count: 2.8 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Yes, I HC Simone as a lesbian. Fight me.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Zayne watches you intently at the breakfast table. He can tell you're nervous to see what mindset Sylus will be in when he gets here, but he's proud of you for insisting on him joining or you going home. With past boyfriends you had never cared this much. It was never because you didn't like or love them, more so because they did not care the same way about you, and you were tired of giving them everything while getting nothing back. 

That being said, he doesn't like that you're just poking around at your breakfast without taking a single bite. They've got a full day ahead and with Sylus joining them, it may become emotionally exhausting. That's not a problem of course, but you should eat. 

'Please eat,' he mumbles. You look up from the table with wide eyes, just now snapping back to reality. Thoughts had been flooding your mind. Everything that could've happened to Sylus runs around your head all at once. You are terrified of what you might see when he gets here. 'I know it's nerve-wracking to sit here and wait, but you need to eat. We've got a long day ahead of us.' 

'You're right.' Of course he's right. He's always right. You finally take a bite. The food is absolutely delicious as it always is when you let Zayne choose the hotel. For a second he revels in your satisfied expression before turning back to his own meal. 

'How do you want to do this?' 

'Hm?' 

'Do you want to take Sylus along for everything or do you want to chance the schedule?' 

'Let's just keep to the schedule. I really had to fight him on coming here so I think the last thing he would want is to feel like he's keeping me from doing what I want,' you explain to Zayne, who nods along with your words. 

'Sounds like a plan.' He gets up from his seat and you notice he's already done eating. 'If you're okay with it, I'm going make a reservation for a restaurant.' You nod. He's got a point. Most places can usually squeeze in two people but three becomes a crowd. 'Make sure you finish your breakfast. Doctor's orders.' Your lips pull into a smile for the first time today as you nod in agreement once more. 

'Thank you, Zayne. For understanding.' 

'Of course.' He walks off, heading back to the room while you finish munching on your breakfast and staring out the window. Your phone is next to your plate and you've been waiting for Sylus to send an update on his whereabouts. He was texting you very early this morning that he couldn't sleep so that he would just head out so he could be there in the morning. He could be arriving at any moment. 

That's when you hear the rumbling of a motorcycle outside. Excited, you quickly shove your breakfast into your mouth and run towards the lobby where you wait for him to park his bike and head inside. It just takes a few minutes before he come sauntering in wearing his motorcycle gear, his helmet swinging in his hand, saddlebags thrown over his shoulder. You almost have to take a moment to compose yourself. Your man looks so handsome. 

'Sylus,' you call. He looks over and smiles, seemingly shedding all his worries the second he sees you. You run over to him and hug his waist. His free arm wraps around you and you feel his lips on top of your head. 

'Thank you,' he whispers as you feel his body soften underneath your touch. Whatever happened must've shaking him up quite a bit for him to be so tense. You decide against asking about it for now. 

'Come on, let me show you our room.' You take his hand and start dragging him towards the elevators. 

'Our room? I thought you would be sharing a room with Doctor Zayne?' 

'No, Zayne likes his privacy, so we get separate rooms.' 

'I like the sound of that,' he teases, shaking your hand off and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 'And Doctor Zayne is truly alright with all this?' You nod enthusiastically as you press the button to the sixth floor. He smiles ever so slightly and leans down to press a kiss on your lips. 'You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me.' 

'Sylus, you are wonderful. You deserve everything good that comes your way.' 

'You are too kind, sweetie.' The elevator dings at your floor. 

'I am,' you agree. 'Come on, let's drop your stuff off and tell Zayne that you're here.' He stiffens up a little bit again but does let himself be led by you. You notice his hesitation and stop in your tracks. 'Sylus, I don't know what your history is with Zayne but you should know that he takes patient confidentiality very seriously if it has anything to do with that. He hasn't told me anything nor will he ever tell me anything that goes on inside hospital walls.' 

That seems to do it and he follows you inside the room. 'This is nice,' he notes as he drops his things and looks around the room. 

'Oh, you know, maybe get changed first. We're going on a hike in a bit. I'll go tell Zayne you're here.' You almost rush out of the room again but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest like you're light as a feather. His eyes look at you so intensely, so full of love. 

'Let me just hold you for a second.' You give him your consent by wrapping your arms around his waist once more and holding him as close as you physically can while resting your head against his chest. You feel him lean his head on top of yours as his breathing slowly becomes steadier and his heartbeat slows down as he slowly sways with you. 'Thank you.' 

'You already said that.' 

'I know.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The only thing you did not account for when inviting Sylus along is that you are now not on a trip with one tall man, but with two. The hike feels like a run, walking around town feels like a hike, and your neck fucking hurts. But at least your two favorite people are getting along great. 

You groan as the three of you finally sit down at the restaurant. Your legs are tingling from all the walking and running. The two men sit across from each other, and you sit at the head of the small table. Zayne picked a fairly nice restaurant but nothing to intimidating. It's something that you would have picked too. 

'Doctor Zayne, I want to thank you again for letting me come along,' Sylus says as if he hasn't said it at least five times today. Zayne shakes his head with a laugh. 

'Please, just call me Zayne.' 

'Sorry. Hard to get it out of my system.' He looks over at you, sitting there with a self-satisfied grin while looking at them interact. 'You're enjoying yourself.' 

'It's hard not to. My two favorite men get along. That's something to enjoy,' you tell him. He huffs a laugh in response. Zayne chuckles and pats Sylus hand. 

'I'm glad I finally have someone to take her off my hands.' 

'Hey, don't say it like that. I am lovely,' you playfully argue as you gently nudge Zayne's shoulder. Sylus can't help but stare at you with a lovesick look on his face. He just loves watching you, loves seeing you happy, loves you. Despite all of that, there's a stinging in his chest. His situation changed yesterday, which might mean changing the relationship you have with each other. He'll enjoy it for as long as it lasts. 

'It's no trouble,' he replies to Zayne's joke, 'I'd gladly take her off your hands any time.' 

'You two need to stop talking about me like I'm a burden,' you warn with a teasing grin. You quickly notice the mischievous glint in Sylus eyes as he leans his elbows on the table and folds his hands together, pretending to exclude you from the conversation. 

'Say, Zayne, how did you deal with her constantly being at your door?' 

'Excuse me,' you exclaim, pretending to be offended. 

'Oh, I was barely home because of work so she was barely at my door. The texts though,' Zayne goes along with the joke, a small smile playing on his lips. 

'Rude,' you huff. 

'See, the texts I can handle. It's the constant knocking.' 

'I don't knock at your door all the time.' 

'Well, it's your problem now.' 

'You guys are being mean. How about I leave you on your date and I'll go home,' you suggest, keeping up the offended act as you pretend to get up. Sylus quickly grabs your wrist as you are standing and pulls you down far enough to press a quick kiss on your lips. 

'I'd never betray you for some man,' he whispers to you. It's a joke, all of it is still a joke, but the words come out so sincere. You sit back down with a pretend pout and cross your arms. 'Alright, what will it take for you to smile again?' 

'Nothing. I'm never smiling again.' 

'You sure?' You notice his hand inching closer to your stomach. He is going to try and tickle you. 

'Woah, no, stop, don't do it. I'll smile. Look, big smile.' You pull the biggest smile on your face. Zayne chuckles as Sylus grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

'I prefer you like this,' he whispers, hoping that Zayne can't hear it. He can and he is truly happy for you and Sylus. He's almost gleaming seeing that you have found someone that truly loves you and that Sylus has found someone to love him unconditionally. It's perfect. 

'Hi, my name is Simone. I'll be your server. Did we know what we want to drink yet?' All three of you look up at the waitress a little dumbfounded. Well, except for Zayne. He's the only one who's been looking over the menu. 

'A bottle of still water for the table please. She'll have a glass of vermentino. What do you want Sylus?' You notice the way the waitress is looking between the two men you are with and then at you. She's very pretty and you trust Sylus, but you really don't feel like seeing him get flirted with all night. While Sylus quickly glances over the menu, you take his hand that was laying on the table. 

'Do you want to share a bottle of wine, Sylus?' He leans towards you so the waitress can't hear your little conversation. 

'Sweetie, you are drunk after three glasses of wine, besides I prefer red,' he says with a grin. Clearly he has noticed the way the waitress was looking at him and your slightly possessive nature. It feels like a whirlpool of mixed emotions in his stomach. He remembers how possessive his ex used to be and he knows you're not like that, at the same time he kind of likes it when you do it. He has to remind himself that it's a completely different situation. 'And I only have eyes for you.' He turns back to the waitress. 'I'll have a glass of the Hacienda Monasterio.' 

'I'm sorry, that wine only goes by the bottle.' 

'Can we take the bottle if we don't finish it?' 

'Yes, but I do have to note it's an expensi-' 

'Then it's not a problem.' You try to glance at the wine list to see the price, but he returns it to the waitress before you can see. 

'Alright, I'll go get those drinks and I'll take your food order when I come back.' The waitress almost turns, but decides she has one more thing to say. 'Also, I saw you get a bit uncomfortable so I feel the need to say this,’ she says as she looks at you with a kind smile, 'I am a lesbian.' 

Zayne almost bursts out in laughter, Sylus puts his hand in front of his mouth to hide his smile, and you just sit there catching flies with your mouth. Zayne pinches your thigh to snap you out of it and you quickly apologize. 'I am so sorry. It's just-' 

'No, no, I get it,' Simone says with a smile, 'he's very attractive, as are you. I was just trying to figure out if you were friends or a polycule.' Sylus can't hold it anymore. He tries to bite down on his teeth to keep his laughter from coming out but it fails terribly, as is Zayne. You don't quite know what to say but you suddenly really like this waitress, and you will be flirting with her to tease Sylus. 

'We are not a polycule. He is my boyfriend and that is my best friend,' you explain. She nods and bites her lip a little. 'Why? Were you hoping there was space for one more.' 

She chuckles, seeing where you're going with your joke. Teasingly, she brushes a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. 'I mean.' The two of you burst out laughing together at the dumbfounded faces of the men at the table. 'Okay, okay, I'm getting those drinks because I might die of laughter if I stay here.' 

'Thank you Simone.' You turn to Sylus, who now looks a little conflicted. 'What?' 

'Are you also into women?' 

'Why do you ask?' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Sylus paid for the whole dinner as a thank you to Zayne for allowing him to come along. Also, he did not want either of you to pay for an expensive bottle of wine he planned to finish at home.  

When you came back to the hotel, you had a long talk about sexuality and boundaries in the bathroom while you shower and he brushes his teeth and does his skincare. Normally, Sylus and you shower together. That's what you have been doing for the past few weeks at least but today feels different. There's a distance between you two that you can't quite put your finger on. You figure it has something to do with what happened to him yesterday, but he won't tell you anything. 

As you sit on the bed dressed in one of Sylus’ shirts that you stole recently, reading your book, you listen to the shower turn off. You wonder if he'll feel comfortable sleeping with you in one bed if he doesn't feel comfortable taking a shower with you. It's almost as if you're meeting him for the first time all over again. 

The words on the page you're reading don't seem to come through in your mind. You keep rereading the same passage, trying to keep your mind on the page. It doesn't help. Thoughts are racing through your mind faster than you can keep up with. Worst case scenarios keep popping up and you have to convince yourself he'd tell you if it came to that. 

Not that it works. He has barely told you anything about his past, nor why he had a panic attack a few months back. It seems he keeps his secrets close to his chest where they can only hurt him, but he should know by now that nothing could make you run away. 

The bathroom door unlocks and Sylus steps out. He's only wearing boxers and is lazily drying his hair with a towel. For a second, he stops in his tracks when he sees you in his shirt and you notice the slightest twitch of his lips into a smile. 

You close your book as he throws the towel in a corner and approaches the bed. The worries you had melt away when he slips under the covers with you and pulls you into him. His arms wrap around you like you're his safety blanket and his head is against your shoulder. You instinctively start scratching his head with your one hand and put the other on his skin as your legs slot between his. 

It takes mere seconds for his breathing to slow down. He must've been exhausted. He did tell you he couldn't sleep last night but he didn't let it be known that he was tired all day. 

'Sylus?' He hums in response, the rumble going through his chest. 'You know there is nothing you could tell me that would scare me away, right?' He doesn't respond, but his arms tighten around you. 'I love you.' 

It's the first time you've said it and you've been scared to do so. The last person you told you loved them thoroughly explained that they didn't love you back, so not hearing him say something right away is nerve-wracking. Sylus looks up at you and presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, pulling you impossibly close as if he wants to absorb you into his very being. 

'I love you too.' 

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[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM | part two

character(s): childe, ayato [part one is finished, it features diluc & zhongli]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

AYATO

note(s); you are his fiance

Your marriage alliance is purely for business. Ayato knows that. He’s the head of the Yashiro Commission's Kamisato plan—he’s busy, for god’s sake. He doesn’t want to waste time or beat around the bush: if he is to marry you, the only son of the L/n clan, he will, but he doesn’t want you to expect any pleasantries. He will be cordial and polite enough, but he doesn’t have the time to butter you up. He will mind his own business, and so will you. He is not one for earthly desires. He cares far more for his clan’s prestige and for surviving to play the role of a husband.

“[Name], right?” He smiles at you. You smile back, your posture stiff and your smile fixed painfully on your face. “I’m sure we know what this marriage is intended for.”

Your skin feels tight. “I do.”

“You can go to Thoma should you have any inquiries. My sister will help you too should you need anything.”

You tilt your head. Your tone is straightforward and blunt. “And you?”

“I’ll be busy,” Ayato says politely.

“I understand.”

There: your first conversation had been completely unremarkable and bland. But Ayato had appreciated that you had been straight to the point. You had been completely no nonsense, and Ayato at least, did not feel annoyed. He has too many things on his plate to deal with trivial things like romance: too many rival clans are trying to assassinate him, too many people are trying to destroy his clan. He does his own things, you do too. Occasionally you two meet—it’s just one house, after all, and you two make polite conversation. You make for a rather amusing partner at times, you make him laugh, and with you he feels relaxed.

Sometimes he plays the tricks he plays on Thoma; but it’s almost impressive to see you stomach the strange food he feeds you. You tease him with a rather sweet straight face; in calm tones, you poke fun at him. Ayato forgets that the two of you are married, at times, but there are also the rare times that he’s almost pleased.

Months pass after your encounter. The two of you have lapsed into a routine. Ayato finds that there are times he almost looks forward to the occasions the two of you meet. He starts planning brief instances where he can see you: he starts to finish his work a little quicker so he’ll be able to see you. He lessens your workload so you won’t be tired. He buys trinkets that remind him of you. He starts to reach out to you a lot more. 

He notices you smiling more. You seem pleased, joyful, even at this. 

(“Gosh,” Ayaka tells him once, smiling sweetly. “You two do act like a married couple.”

Married. Ah. Right. Ayato has nearly forgotten.)

One day, as he’s out, he spots a gem the color of your eyes. He spends a decidedly long time looking at it, choosing it carefully, before he tucks it in your pocket. You deserve to have nice things, he thinks to himself. And so he will give it to you. His husband.

But when he returns home, he doesn’t expect to see the sight of you barely breathing, your breaths shuddering, your body limp. Thoma and Ayaka are not in sight. They must have gone out today. And you…

The gem clinks in his pocket as he runs towards you.

“[Name],” Ayato calls for your messily, the words falling over each other as they spill from his mouth, “[Name]!”

The last word is a yell. “[Name], please…who did this to you?”

“Those bastards,” you say weakly, “from…that…clan…they wanted information. They…”

“And you—”

“I didn’t give it to them, if that’s what you were worried about,” you manage to choke out. “I know how important it was to you.”

The information. Right. The scrolls. Right. Important? Perhaps months ago Ayato would have agreed. After all, that was months, almost a year of hard work. But looking at you now, Ayato begged to differ. Here you were, bleeding out, dying, because of him.

You sacrificed yourself. You sacrificed yourself for him.

“I know what this marriage was intended for,” you repeat the words he had told you when you two had first met. His husband. His beloved husband. His darling. “I’ve honored it.”

“No,” Ayato cradles you, feeling as if life escapes your body. Your body is turning cold. “No!”

It’s too late. The gem rolls out of his pocket, and Ayato despairs.

The gem is no longer the color of your beautiful eyes.

It’s bathed in red.

CHILDE

note(s); you are from fatui

There are countless deaths when it comes to Fatui. It has become disturbingly normal. And you are Tartaglia’s subordinate. The eleventh harbinger’s associate. You two hit it off, immediately: you are of similar age, and you have a little brother the same age as Teucer. Or: you had a little brother. He was torn away from you because of your poor living conditions in Snezhnaya. And that was what spurred you on to make a last ditch attempt to join the Fatui to find a purpose somehow; to riddle yourself with work so you cannot think of your brother’s death.

Childe has been nothing but sweet to you so far. You have been seeing two sides of him: the tender, gentle side to him when he talks about Teucer, when he speaks of the little letters he gets from his siblings, or on the occasions he speaks to you. And the other is more wild; more bloodthirsty—and in those instances, you can see the marks that the Abyss has left on him. That uncontrollable urge to ravage everything in sight; to leave it broken and damaged.

Today is no different. The two of you tread the snow as you walk up the mountains. Childe is laughing as he is telling you stories. You listen to him like you always do. Neither of you spot the Ruin Guards. Not even three—by some wretched curse, there are five of them, lumbering behind. And by the time their shadows loom before the two of you, it’s too late.

Childe flinches; you reach out to him in desperation before you see him shift into his Foul Legacy form. 

What rotten luck, you curse to yourself, adrenaline starting to fill in. What kind of stupid thing have we walked into?

You have seen him use it a few times—once against three Ruin Guards. He defeated them without much difficulty—but you had seen the after effects. You had seen the way he had panted for his breath; the way his face had turned pale, the way he had quivered and had grasped onto you and the Traveler for help.

He does the same. There’s still two remaining, and Childe’s still standing. But you see him clutching his head. You think of Teucer. Childe has a family to return to. You have no one. In a way, this action would be the most logical. The most understanding. It will be a sacrifice for Childe and his brother. You know the pain of losing a brother—you don’t want Teucer to go through that again.

“I think I can handle them,” you tell Childe quietly. You don’t have a vision, but you have a delusion you have yet to use. “Go. Rest.”

“[Name],” Childe warns.

“Teucer.” Is the only word you say.

Childe’s eyes widen. He bites his lip. He sees your point—you knew he would. 

“I’ll come back alive,” you promise.

“[Name],” he tries again.

“See you later.” It’s a clear dismissal. 

You push him a little to the side; Childe stumbles away. Then you quickly unleash the delusion you have kept and unsheathe your sword. Childe was the one that taught you how to use a sword—and now you recall his advice as you step to the side. The delusion has potentially lethal consequences. You know that. It’s your first time using it. You know that too. The energy thrums in your fingertips as you start to battle—the crimson lashes out between your teeth and blows start to rain on you.

You think of your brother. It was your lack of strength that caused his death—you can still remember his shouts, his screams—and even now they haunt you. You don’t waver, but your stance and your attacks become sloppy. Useless, you think harshly, useless! I can’t even—

The delusion unleashes more power in your desperation. The ruin guards start to sway and fall. You continue, but now blood is bursting from every crevice, every corner: wounds open, flesh tears away, and your mouth overflows with blood. The ventricles of your heart seem to be pulsing dangerously—the delusion is ripping away your mortality in return for its power. You continue. Your eyes start to tear—

Thuds tell you of the defeat of the guards. You slump in relief. Your feet carried you to Childe, who has collapsed on the ground.

“Childe,” you call weakly. “I…”

The words don’t leave your throat. Your broken stance is not the one that jolts him from his consciousness, but it is the splutter of blood and the horrid gargle your throat make when you start to retch out blood that horrifies him.

“[Name]!” He yells, “[Name]!”

“Let me close my eyes,” you plead. “I’m so tired.”

“No. Let’s—let’s get you to—”

“Please,” you start to beg him. “I think…”

Childe knows better. You will die if you close your eyes. He has to get you help—he can’t let you die. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He has loved you. He loves you. He adores you.

“You promised me,” Childe starts to whisper brokenly, “you promised me, [Name]. You said you'd come back alive. You said you will…”

The promise is shattered when your head slips from his grasp.

Your first and last promise to him, broken.

comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated

[mikaylathenerd5]

One of These | Roman Reigns

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Pairing: Roman Reigns × Shiloh Lucero

Summary: Roman never thought he’d want to share his space with anyone—until her. What started as one quiet night over dinner has turned into something bigger. Now, the two of them are building a life together, one soft moment, one box, one heartbeat at a time. From the first unspoken invitation to the last kiss in the kitchen, this is the story of finding home—in another person, and in yourself.

Content Warning: None

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: A girl literally have too much time with being on summer break lol but my loves you wanted more of this pairing so I do hope you love it ✨

✨🖤 If you haven’t read You Already Do — the one shot that started it all — you can catch up HERE first! 🖤✨

Before we begin—🖤 I just want to say thank you in advance for reading, reblogging, commenting, and sharing your reactions to my work. Every note, tag, and ask means more than I can say. This is a story about choosing softness, about finding home in the quiet moments. I hope it wraps you in warmth today. ✨

“Letting someone in means handing them the match and trusting they won’t burn the house down. But sometimes... they light the fire that keeps you warm instead.”

The world outside Roman's condo was washed in gray—quiet rain tapping against the windows, the occasional rumble of distant thunder low and sleepy in the clouds. The scent of honey garlic salmon still lingered in the air, softened now by the citrus in Shiloh’s dish soap and the clean warmth of fresh towels stacked on the counter. Soft lo-fi music played from the Bluetooth speaker on the counter, barely louder than the weather outside.

Shiloh was barefoot, wearing one of Roman’s long-sleeved black shirts and a pair of soft sleep shorts. The shirt swallowed her frame, dipping off one shoulder, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she rinsed the last of their plates in the sink. Her curls were up in a loose bun, a few tendrils sticking to her neck from the steam and warmth of the kitchen. The yellow glow of the under-cabinet lights softened her silhouette.

Roman leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with that rare, unreadable look he only ever wore around her—part awe, part peace, part something he hadn’t figured out how to name yet.

Not like she was a guest. Not like this was temporary.

Like she belonged there.

He didn’t speak at first, just stood there taking her in—the way she hummed quietly under her breath, swaying a little, the way she stacked the plates like she did it every night, the way she always reached for his mug first when unloading the dishwasher. There were two mugs on the counter drying—hers pale pink, his matte black. She always put them side by side.

"Tupperware?" she asked, glancing back briefly. "I’m packing up the rest of this salmon before it mysteriously vanishes again."

He smirked. "Bottom cabinet. Behind the protein powder I don’t use."

She laughed, soft and easy, and Roman felt something in his chest shift. He didn’t know what it was exactly—maybe a realization, maybe surrender. But it curled around his ribs and settled in like it belonged.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been over. She had a toothbrush in the bathroom. A silk bonnet draped across his nightstand. Her favorite tea tucked in the cabinet next to his protein bars. Her fuzzy socks hidden between couch cushions. She’d spent more nights in his bed than in her own over the last month.

But something about tonight felt heavier. Not in a bad way. Just...full. Like his home was holding its breath.

Roman stepped into the kitchen slowly, bare feet silent against the tile. He rubbed his jaw, searching for the right words. His voice was low when he finally spoke again.

"You ever notice how you already live here?"

Shiloh paused, sponge still in her hand. Her fingers tightened slightly, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a flicker of tension passing through her shoulders. She turned slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her expression softened—curious, slightly wary, like she wasn’t sure what she was stepping into.

"What?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "You do. You got your mug next to mine. Your scarf’s on the back of my chair. You rearranged my spice rack."

She smirked. "That was a crime scene — cinnamon does not go next to oregano."

Roman chuckled but didn’t look away. "I like the way it feels when you’re here."

Shiloh turned fully, drying her hands on a dish towel before leaning back against the counter, the fabric twisted between her fingers. Her brow furrowed a little like she wasn’t sure if this was casual or serious or somewhere in between.

"What are you saying, Ro?"

He moved closer, stepping into her space until only the hem of his shirt and the flicker of something unspoken separated them. He didn’t touch her—just stood close enough to feel her warmth, close enough to breathe in the faint scent of coconut and hibiscus on her skin. His eyes were steady, but there was a tension in his shoulders.

"I’m saying," he murmured, "I want you to stay. Not just for dinner. Not just overnight. I want you here. Like...really here. Your stuff in the drawers. Your name on the mailbox."

The rain picked up outside, a steady hush behind the windows. It filled the silence like a third heartbeat.

Shiloh blinked slowly. She didn’t answer right away. She looked at him for a long time, like she was weighing what it meant to belong somewhere. A thought flickered—sharp and familiar. Stillness had never lasted in her world. It always came before the shift, before someone left, before something cracked. What if he changed his mind? What if she took up too much space, the way others said she did? This kind of certainty always scared her. But the quiet in Roman’s eyes didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like a door.

And Roman didn’t rush her. He just stood there, breathing through the nerves crawling under his skin, hoping she could feel how real he meant it.

Finally, she exhaled—something quiet, something shaky—and nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "I’ll stay."

Roman didn’t grin. Didn’t celebrate. He just stepped forward, finally letting himself touch her face, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Good," he said, voice thick. "Cause this place already knows you. You might as well call it home."

Shiloh let the dish towel fall to the counter. Her hands lingered in the air for a moment, as if they weren’t sure what to do next, then slowly lowered. She took a quiet breath, grounding herself in the weight of his words, the safety of his presence. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, face tucked into his chest, and Roman exhaled like he hadn’t taken a real breath in days.

He murmured into her hair, soft and almost smiling, "Even with my terrible spice rack?"

She laughed against his chest, and just like that, the heaviness between them cracked open into something tender. Something right.

Roman didn’t fall asleep that night.

He held Shiloh close in the dark, one arm around her waist, the other hand resting where her ribcage rose and fell against him in the hush between raindrops. She slept easily—like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.

His room smelled like coconut oil and her vanilla body butter. The lamp glowed amber in the corner, casting a soft glow across her overnight bag and the folded hoodie she always wore when she stayed late. There were no boxes yet—no tape, no clutter—just the early traces of a shift not yet unpacked. But the thought of her doing it—waking up here every morning, falling asleep here every night—settled something in him he hadn’t realized was restless.

He didn’t move or fidget, barely even blinked. Just lay there, breathing her in like it was something sacred. Something still. Something rare. The kind of peace he never let himself get used to.

It scared him, how badly he wanted it.

It scared him more how natural it felt. Like something he’d always been waiting for without realizing it. Like ease wasn’t supposed to be earned in pain.

He’d spent most of his life keeping people at arm’s length. Even the ones he loved. He’d let people in before. And every time, they left with pieces he never got back. But Shiloh had crept in quietly, wrapped around the edges of his routine until she became part of it. Folding his laundry without asking. Cooking for him even when she was tired. Laughing at the way he got grumpy when someone messed with his gym bag. She didn’t poke at his walls—she just leaned on them. Warm. Patient. Solid. Unlike others who pressed and prodded, who tried to climb them or knock them down, she simply stayed. And somehow, over time, the weight of her presence made those walls feel less like protection and more like a cage he didn’t need anymore.

He kissed her shoulder before the sun came up.

"You really staying?" he whispered, even though she couldn’t hear him.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, brow soft, breath even. She didn’t answer.

He smiled into her hair and closed his eyes.

The next morning, Roman was in motion before she even woke.

He’d brewed her favorite tea, cleared out another drawer, and texted Solo to ask if he still had the toolbox. He just needed to tighten a couple screws in the dresser—nothing urgent, but it mattered now.

Before leaving the room, his eyes caught the kitchen. Her mug still sat beside his on the counter, pale pink and untouched from last night. He stared at it for a beat longer than he meant to, feeling something settle behind his ribs—something like certainty. Side by side like they always were. He took one last glance at her sleeping form, curled under the throw blanket she always dragged across his bed. Her fingers twitched lightly like she was dreaming, face tucked into his pillow.

Yeah. She was really staying. Her mug in the kitchen. Her hoodie on the chair. Her name already stitched quietly into the edges of his day.

And maybe—just maybe—that meant he could, too.

The late afternoon sun was just starting to dip when Roman’s truck backed into the curb, golden light flashing off the windshield as he threw it in park. It had been a few weeks since that quiet night in Roman’s condo, when a simple dinner turned into something bigger—something permanent. Since then, boxes had been packed, logistics sorted, and plans made with the kind of calm chaos that only love could hold together. Today was the day Shiloh officially moved in.

The air was thick with Florida heat and the scent of rain from earlier showers still clung to the pavement. A few kids down the street shouted over a basketball game, the rhythmic bounce of the ball punctuating the steady hum of cicadas. Just ahead, Jaida and Rhea were already at the front door, laughing as they fumbled with the spare key Shiloh had given them weeks ago. Both of them turned with grins that stretched wide and unapologetic, Jaida waving a coffee in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other.

“You’re late!” Jaida called, her braids swinging behind her as she popped open the front door. “We’ve already claimed the good bathroom.”

“You don’t even live here,” Roman muttered, slipping out of the truck. He slammed the door shut with a little more force than necessary, and his expression was pure exasperation.

Rhea smirked. “Might as well get used to it. You’re about to be outnumbered.”

Shiloh gave Roman a nudge with her hip, eyes gleaming. “Play nice.”

Naomi hopped out from the passenger side of Jimmy’s car with her arms already full of folded blankets and labeled storage bins. “Don’t start fighting before we finish moving the plants, please. I promised Shiloh’s cat I’d keep his vibe space intact.”

Roman groaned but took the bin from her without argument.

“Yo, what’s this?” Jey’s voice rang out as he walked in carrying a box labeled candles + lotions. “You got a whole spa in here or what?”

“It’s called self-care,” Shiloh called back, amused.

Solo trailed behind him, expression unreadable as always. “That’s box seven marked ‘bedroom stuff.’ You moving in or opening a store?”

Roman shot them both a look. “Y’all touching her stuff like you’re not replaceable.”

Jimmy smirked, already sliding into the kitchen. “Man’s in love and suddenly everything’s off-limits. Don’t break the Shiloh pillow, it’s sacred.”

“I will throw all y’all out,” Roman muttered.

“Sure you will,” Jey grinned, slapping him on the back. “After you fold her pajamas and light a candle or two.”

“Hey,” Jimmy called, strolling up behind Roman and handing him a cold bottle of water like it was a peace offering. “Think of it this way—you finally got a house full of women who like you. Enjoy it.”

Roman looked around—at Naomi giving orders like a general, at Jaida already turning on the Bluetooth speaker, at Rhea helping Shiloh carefully unpack the box of incense and candles—and exhaled through his nose. “Remind me why I let y’all talk me into this.”

“Because you love her,” Jimmy answered simply.

Roman didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t have to.

Inside, the condo was already alive with motion and music. The smell of fresh paint still lingered faintly beneath the scent of palo santo and lavender. Shoes were scattered near the door, a half-unpacked box of throw pillows sat beside the couch, and the sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains they’d hung just last week. Roman lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. The scene before him looked nothing like the place he'd once come home to in silence. For years, this space had echoed—too clean, too quiet, too bare. He remembered standing in this same spot alone, late nights after matches or workouts, with only the hum of the fridge and the flicker of the streetlights outside. It hadn’t felt like a home. Just a place he happened to live. But now? Now it breathed. Now it held memories-in-progress and the woman who made it all feel intentional. That contrast stung a little—in the best way. Because he remembered what it felt like to be the man who never let anyone get too close. And now here he was, watching his whole damn life shift with the weight of one person’s presence. He wasn’t used to this—to joy without it falling apart eventually—but he was starting to believe it might stay.

He caught sight of Shiloh standing barefoot in the center of the room, her eyes closed as she breathed it in like it was hers already. She smiled to herself before stepping toward Rhea, humming softly to the music. The moment lodged itself in Roman’s chest—quiet, whole, undeniable.

Shiloh caught Roman’s eye as she passed, mouthing a quiet thank you. He didn’t respond. Just tugged the brim of his cap down and lifted another box off the truck bed.

Naomi sidled up to him and bumped his shoulder. “You soft as hell right now.”

“Shut up.”

“Uh-huh.”

The front door opened again, and Roman assumed it was Jey or Solo arriving with the last of the boxes. But then—

"Roman!"

His mother’s voice. Sharp, familiar, and cutting straight through the noise like it always had. Roman froze. His heart stuttered, caught somewhere between disbelief and dread.

His mother’s voice.

He turned slowly, heart already in his throat.

There she stood. Dressed sharp but casual, arms crossed, mouth already twitching into a disapproving smile. And flanking her, just as unannounced, were his two sisters.

“Oh my God,” Shiloh whispered, halfway to the hallway. “That’s your mom?”

Jaida was frozen, Rhea quietly lowered the incense, and even Naomi looked caught off guard.

Roman closed his eyes and counted to five.

“Y’all really couldn’t text first?”

His mother walked past him like she owned the place, eyeing the half-unpacked boxes, the music, the energy. “And miss the chance to see the woman who finally got you to act right? Not a chance.”

Roman sighed. “Welcome to the chaos, Ma.”

His mother turned back toward the door, arms still crossed. Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. He loved her, but damn—she always did know how to bulldoze into his life like a freight train, no warning and no brakes. A muscle ticked in his jaw, caught between irritation and reluctant affection. “And before you ask how I knew—ask your cousin.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

Jey coughed into his fist, suddenly very interested in the floorboards.

“Don’t look at me,” Jimmy said, backing away with both hands up.

Roman gave him a long, slow look that said betrayal without a single word, then narrowed his eyes in mock offense, like he’d just been stabbed with a butter knife. He pointed a finger at Jey. “You? You’re on dish duty for a month.”

Jey threw up his hands. “C’mon, man! It slipped!”

“I’ll make sure you slip when I wax the floor,” Roman muttered. “He was the one on the phone last Sunday, rambling about throw pillows and candle scents.”

Jey muttered, “I just said it was cozy in here. Maybe accidentally mentioned someone was moving in.”

Roman stared at him. “Accidentally?”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “That’s how I knew to wear flats.”

She smiled, tight but warm. Then turned to Shiloh. “You must be her.”

Shiloh swallowed. Then nodded.

“Good,” his mother said. “You’ve got a kind energy.”

She glanced back at Roman, her expression softening further. “He don’t bring people around. Never has. Not unless it’s serious. So the fact that we’re standing here? That says a lot.”

Roman’s stomach tightened. His mother never said shit like that lightly. Not to anyone. Not about anyone. The fact that she said it in front of the whole damn family—he felt the words land somewhere deeper than pride. Maybe this was realer than even he’d let himself believe.

One of his sisters chimed in with a teasing grin. “And that he’s letting anyone touch his stuff without having a meltdown? He must be in love love.”

The other nudged Shiloh with a wink. “We’ve been waiting to meet the woman brave enough to deal with his grumpy ass. Welcome to the family, girl.”

Shiloh laughed, nerves easing. “Thanks... I think.”

Roman groaned from across the room. “Y’all done?”

His mother didn’t look at him. Just smiled at Shiloh again. “Let him pout. He’s always been like that. But he loves hard. And if he’s picked you, then you’re something special.”

Jimmy wandered over, grinning. “You should’ve seen him last week, Ma. Tried to rearrange her bookshelf and nearly had a meltdown when he couldn’t find his protein powder afterward.”

Jey snorted. “Man was out here talkin’ about balance like it’s a feng shui situation.”

“Don’t forget the day he vacuumed twice ‘cause her cat shed on the rug,” Solo added, deadpan.

Roman shot them a glare. “I will deadbolt this door behind y’all.”

Naomi leaned against the kitchen counter. “Aw, he’s just a softie wrapped in tattoos and trauma.”

Shiloh tried to hold in her laughter, cheeks pink from all the attention.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Tattoos and trauma? You just described half this family.”

Shiloh blinked, caught off guard by the quiet approval. It reminded her of the times she’d sat in awkward silences in other living rooms, smiles tight, conversations strained. No one had ever looked at her like this before—not with ease, not with trust. For once, she didn’t feel like she had to prove she belonged. She just... did. Something in her chest cracked open—this was the first time she’d ever been acknowledged like this by someone’s family. Not just tolerated. Welcomed. The smell of garlic bread wrapped around her like a hug, and for a second, she thought of all the nights she’d wondered if this kind of softness could ever be hers. It settled over her like warmth, equal parts grounding and overwhelming.

Roman’s sisters were already making themselves at home—laughing as they moved through the condo like they’d been there a hundred times before, teasing him about Shiloh’s scented candles and pastel mugs. One grabbed a broom. The other offered to organize the spice cabinet. Someone turned the music up just a bit, and Shiloh’s cat wandered into the room, weaving through legs like he owned the place.

Roman looked around at the loud, messy, loving hurricane, the scent of garlic bread wafting from the oven and an old-school R&B track crackling faintly from the Bluetooth speaker. The aroma reminded him of holidays at his grandmother’s place—tight spaces, louder laughter, and too many hands in the kitchen. Back then, he’d watch the chaos from the sidelines, never sure where he fit. Now, the chaos felt like home. He’d willingly invited it in—people who knew how to make noise, take up space, and still leave room for him. For a moment, his mind flashed back to the echoing quiet of his old apartment—days when silence stretched longer than it should, when meals were eaten standing up, half-distracted, with no one to ask about his day. That life had been simpler. Cleaner. Lonelier. He remembered the way he used to keep one cabinet empty, just in case. Now, there was music in every corner, people in his space, voices layered like harmony, and the faint scent of Shiloh’s favorite lavender oil curling around the edges of it all—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like too much. It felt right.

He wasn’t a man of many words.

But right then, watching Shiloh laugh with his mother in the kitchen and Jaida pretend to fight Rhea over who got the better closet, he knew:

He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

The condo was quiet now.

After hours of laughter, unpacking, and unexpected family arrivals, everyone had either gone home or crashed in guest rooms, leaving behind the hum of the dishwasher and the faint echo of old-school R&B still playing low from the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. Outside, the moon hung low, spilling silver light across the patio and casting faint shadows against the sliding glass doors.

Roman stood there, barefoot on the hardwood floor, hair still damp from a recent shower. He held a half-eaten cookie in one hand—chocolate chip, the kind Shiloh liked to bake when she was stressed. He’d stolen it off the cooling rack like a kid who thought no one would notice.

The glass door reflected a different version of himself. Less armor, more softness. He stared for a beat longer, then looked past his reflection and out into the quiet street.

Behind him, he heard the light pad of footsteps.

Shiloh emerged from the hallway, wearing one of his oversized shirts and a sleepy smile. Her curls were piled up in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She didn’t say anything at first, just walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"You stole my cookie," she murmured.

He smirked, not turning around. "It was lookin’ at me funny."

She snorted softly. “That’s your excuse?”

“I'm sticking to it.”

She leaned up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of everything they didn’t need to say out loud.

“I still can’t believe your mom just... showed up,” Shiloh said after a while, voice muffled against his back.

Roman chuckled low, the sound vibrating through her chest. “I can. She’s been crashing my peace since 1999.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “She was really sweet to me.”

Roman finally turned, cookie forgotten as he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close. “That’s ‘cause she likes you. If she didn’t, you’d know.”

He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her temple, then another along her cheekbone. Shiloh tilted her head, inviting the attention, and their noses brushed before he kissed her mouth—slow, lingering, the kind that spoke without words.

Shiloh tilted her head. “You think she really meant it? What she said? About me being good for you?”

He studied her face, thumb brushing against the edge of her jaw. “You’re the only thing that ever slowed me down. And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

She blinked. “What do you mean then?”

Roman exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking past her like the words weren’t easy to pull from his chest. “I mean... I used to move like I had something to prove. All the time. Everything felt like a fight. But with you, I don’t feel like I’m losing ground by being still.”

Her throat tightened, but she nodded, leaning into his palm.

He tipped her chin and kissed her again—this one deeper, slow and reverent, like he was trying to memorize the taste of forever.

“That night—when you asked me to move in—I didn’t think you meant it,” she admitted against his lips. “Not really.”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

“I know. I just... I’ve never had this before.”

He bent forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You do now.”

They stood there in the glow of the moonlight and the hum of a home finally feeling like one. His fingers grazed the hem of her shirt, slipping beneath to find the bare skin of her back, rubbing gentle circles there like he never wanted to stop touching her.

After a beat, Shiloh pulled back with a sly smile. “You still owe me a cookie.”

Roman grinned. “I’ll bake you a whole damn batch tomorrow.”

She raised a brow. “You? Bake?”

His smirk widened. “Alright—I’ll stand behind you and stir while you bake. Still counts.”

Shiloh laughed, and Roman pulled her in tighter, one hand resting against the small of her back. He dropped a final kiss on the top of her head and held her there like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

Then, quieter: “You remember that night you made cinnamon cookies ‘cause you couldn’t sleep?”

She looked up, brow furrowed slightly. “At my old place?”

“Yeah. I showed up around 1 a.m. with nothing to say and everything on my mind. You didn’t ask. Just gave me a warm one and let me sit on the floor next to you while you cleaned the kitchen.”

Shiloh smiled, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “You fell asleep against the fridge.”

“I felt more at peace than I had in years. Didn’t realize it then, but that was the first time I ever felt like I could stop running.”

She didn’t respond right away—just rose up to kiss him again, slow and certain, and let it linger.

And just like that, the quiet wasn’t empty anymore.

It was theirs.

A few weeks later

It was a rare day off.

Sunlight spilled across the bed in thick, golden slants. The world outside could’ve been buzzing with noise, but inside Roman’s condo, everything was still. Shiloh lay nestled beneath the comforter, eyes open but unmoving. Roman’s arm was wrapped snug around her waist, his chest pressed to her back, his soft snores brushing the back of her neck.

She didn’t dare move. Not yet. Not when this was the kind of morning she used to dream about—a quiet life wrapped in strength, warmth, and someone who loved her so deeply it made her believe in stillness.

Somewhere in the background, the soft jingle of her cat’s toy bell echoed as he batted it across the hardwood floor. The scent of last night’s cinnamon lingering faintly in the sheets made the moment feel even softer—lived in, real.

Here, in this bed, was warmth and weight and breath syncing between two bodies who had finally learned how to rest.

Roman stirred minutes later, burying his nose into her neck before pressing a kiss into her shoulder. Then another at the nape of her neck. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "You smell too good to be legal," before tightening his arm around her.

She smiled into the pillow. "Morning, Mr. Reigns."

He groaned. "What time is it?"

"Too early for chaos. Not too early for kisses."

His lips found her skin again. This time, a little slower. A little lower. Hands sliding under the hem of her shirt, fingers stroking softly over her stomach like they’d been molded just to memorize her.

She hummed. "You’re not even awake yet."

"M’awake enough for this."

He didn’t push further—just a few lingering touches, a lazy kiss, the kind that lingered long after lips parted. A kiss that said you belong here. A kiss that reminded her that love didn’t always have to be loud. Sometimes, it was just breath and skin and the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

Eventually, they got out of bed—reluctantly. Shiloh threw on one of his shirts, oversized and worn, while Roman padded barefoot to the kitchen in sweatpants, hair still tousled.

He insisted on cooking breakfast. Shiloh offered to help. He declined. Firmly.

"I got it," he said, already cracking eggs like he was auditioning for a cooking show. "I have a system."

"Your system includes burning toast and undercooking bacon," she said, hopping up onto the counter with a coffee mug.

"Slanted criticism for someone who once exploded a bag of popcorn in my microwave."

"It was one time!"

He flipped a pancake that was already looking a little too crispy around the edges.

"You’re a grumpy domestic alpha," she teased.

"And you’re distracting."

He kissed her forehead as he passed, his hand trailing briefly down her spine. She swiped the spatula from his hand just in time to salvage the last pancake.

The cat pounced nearby, batting the bell toy into the pantry door with a thunk. Roman side-eyed it. "Your son’s got too much energy this early."

"He’s thriving," she said, smirking. "He’s got two parents now."

Later, while putting away dishes—his shirt hanging off one shoulder, toes bare on cool tile—Shiloh found a small folded scrap of paper tucked in the back of the silverware drawer.

Roman’s handwriting, messy but bold.

You make this house a home.

She didn’t say anything. Just folded it carefully and slipped it into her journal—the one she only wrote in when something mattered.

And when she kissed him minutes later without a word, he knew exactly why.

Not everything needed explaining. Not when it was already written into the walls, the warmth, the rhythm they were slowly building together.

And this—this quiet kind of love—was exactly what they both needed all along.

Remember I was outta trust I didn't ever wanna fall in love I didn't ever wanna care too much But he changed my mind — Ella Mai, “One of These”

Author's Note 📄:

If this one shot resonated with you—if you felt the weight of that quiet love, smiled at Roman trying so hard to make space, or teared up a little when Shiloh tucked that note away—please like, comment, reblog, and share your thoughts. 🖤✨ Every tag, comment, and ask lets me know that these moments mean as much to you as they do to me. I hold them close. Here’s what I’d love to know from you:

💬 What would you like to see next from these two? 💬 Which moment in this one shot hit you hardest? 💬 Are you craving more softness next, maybe some spicy, or is it time to explore deeper layers of their intimacy?

And if you want to follow this story as it grows, be sure to join the main taglist. Just send me an ask or reply below—I’d love to add you. 🖤

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[mariclerc]

Soft fur | cl16

Summary: When your date with Charles takes an unexpected turn. Or when you have a new fluffy member in the family.

Warning: None, a lot of fluff from Charles and reader.

You and Charles have been dating for a long time, and occasionally you go on casual dates since you are both busy and hardly have time for a date as such, and today is one of those. You are both sitting in front of each other, the sun was coming through the window of the place, plates with half-eaten and delicious pastries occupy the space between you. You take a bite of a macaron, your eyes sparkle with delight.

“You're enjoying that, mon amour?” Charles asks while keeping a little smile on his face.

You nod with your mouth full. “Mmm! It's so light and airy, just like... Well, you.”

He chuckles. “Me? It's that because I'm sweet and fluffy? Flattery will take you so far, love.” He winks and reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. You blush lightly, a shy smile playing on your lips.

Moments later, you walk hand in hand down a cobblestone street. The afternoon sun warms up your skin, and the gentle murmur of conversation hangs in the air while you talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

“...and then the girl screamed very loudly in the office, and I was scared, she screamed because there was a bug in her coffee cup, she started shaking the cup, spilling coffee all over the floor. I swear it was something out of a movie.”

“Oh god, I can imagine it, baby.” he said while laughing.

Suddenly you feel something soft against your ankle, you stop and look down at the floor to see fluffy siamese kitten nuzzling you leg. Its emerald eyes looked at you with great curiosity and innocence.

“Oh god Charles, look! It's a kitty! It's so small, oh my!” You say while gasping.

He kneels while extending a hand. “Hello there, little one. Where did you come from?”

The kitten rubs against his palm, purring contentedly. You watch, your heart melting at the beautiful sight.

“It's so cute. Can we pet it?”

He smiles. “Of course, mon ange.”

He gently picks up the kitten, cradling it in his arms. You reach out with a shy smile, tentatively stroking its soft fur. Memories of your childhood flood back: begging your parents for a pet, daydreaming about cuddling with a furry friend, or simply being your companion while you study.

“You know? I always wanted a kitten when I was younger. But my parents never let me had one.” You said with your voice a little brittle.

He notice your wistful expression. “Is that something you still want princess?”

“I don't know... It seems a bit silly now, being an adult and all.” You say a little hesitantly.

Looks at you intently. “Silly? I don't think it's silly love. If it makes you happy, it's not necessarily silly.”

He holds the kitten out to you. You hesitate for a moment, then cautiously take it in your arms. The warmth of its tiny body fills you with a sense of comfort and joy.

“Thank you Charles.” You say in a whisper.

He smiles warmly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Consider it an early Valentine's day present.”

You let out a little giggle and continue walking together, now with your new furry friend, which is quite comfortable in your arms, the sun light becomes brighter and more resplendent. After walking for a while, you and Charles stand in a bustling pet store, the kitten nestled comfortably in your arms. Shelves overflow with cat toys, treats, and colorful accessories.

“There are many options! What can we choose?” Your eyes are wide with wonder.

He chuckles. “Well, let's ask the experts, don't we?” He approaches a friendly-looking employee wearing a name tag that reads "Sarah." “Hi there! We found a little lost soul and are looking for the perfect essentials to welcome it home.”

“Oh, how adorable! What a lucky kitty. Let's see what we can do.”

Sarah guides you through the maze of cat supplies, explaining the differences between food brands, litter types, and scratching posts. You bombard her with questions, your excitement growing with each answer.

***

Later, you stand in your cozy apartment, transforming a small corner of the living room into a cat sanctuary. Charles helps you assemble a cat condo, set up a litter box, and fill bowls with food and water. The kitten, now sporting a cute red collar and named "Sparks" by you, explores its new territory with playful curiosity.

“All ready! What do you think Sparks? Happy with your new digs?” You say while wiping some sweat from your forehead caused by the work of arranging things.

Sparks rubs against your leg, purring loudly. You kneel down and scoop it up, burying your face in its soft fur. A contented sigh escapes your lips.

“You look radiant, mon bébé! Even happier than with the pastries.” He said while wrapping his arms around you.

“Maybe it's the pastries, maybe it's the kitten, but mainly it's you. Thank you for making this dream come true, Charles!” You say with a little smile on your face as you lean into him.

He kisses your forehead, his eyes filled with love. Sparks, sensing the affection, snuggles closer to you, completing the picture of perfect domestic bliss.

“Now we have a little family!” He says while having a smile on his face.

“Maybe later, a little human addition to the family?” You say in a whisper.

Charles's eyes widen in surprise, followed by a slow, teasing grin. “Mon ange, are you proposing?”

“Maybe...” You say while blushing. “But I think for now we are fine the way we are.”

You don't rule out the idea of ​​having a family in the future, whether near or distant, with Charles, but at the moment you guys are pretty good with Sparks and their fun and curious things that they do every day and that make them smile at the least expected moment, no matter how stressed or tired you both are, Sparks is always there to make you smile.