#i am a sobbing mess rn

[supakixbabe]

No, like.. I posted on my IG story and tagged the Young Bucks in my version of “Giving them their flowers” which was an edit and a thankful note. Tell me why Nicholas responded with “Thank you very much” in my DM’s.

No Sir, THANK YOU!

Ps. I’m not gloating or anything. (I don’t do that) I just really need this bit of happiness. 🥹

[violetjedisylveon]

Red Son Can't Cry*

He physically can't cry, he can barely tear up under most circumstances because his temperature increases with his emotions and when he's emotionally enough to cry, he's too hot, the tears evaporate too quickly.

The most that happens is he gets steamy eyed cause he's upset and his body is trying to cry but the water is evaporating so he's just got steam coming from his eyes.

He thinks it's annoying and embarrassing so he tries his hardest to not even let that happen

*However, there are some circumstances where he can cry.

If he's shocked, like, really, really deeply shaken up, instead of heating up he freezes, and in that emotional state of so startled that everything basically stops, he can cry and he is a big cryer.

This only comes around if he's absolutely terrified or horrified.

Seeing his first friend crush get stabbed by his "mother" then die to try and save him would certainly do it.

I am using this for when I turn MK into a monkey popsicle in my Spicynoodles Tangled AU and that is a threat.

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[starscelly]

"that word team, it means team." - tyler seguin

sea@dal 5.15.23 | round 2

[akascow]

ive been replaying dreamlight valley which for some reason made me wanna rewatch all the oceany disney animated movies (ariel, lilo and stitch, moana etc) and their sequels

and i hate the ocean/beach irl but these movies are my top favorite disney movies of all time its odd they all have the ocean water in common lmao

[garoujo]

jumpscare !!! emmie in the am !!!

[seiwas]

omg i maxed the tags 😭

WHEN HE SAYS. sayin it is the hard but ive spent forever lovin ya—always been the easiest bit ☹️☹️☹️☹️ IM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SAD BUT IN THE BEST WAY RN

&&&& when he asks u so directly too. when you say u love him but it’s not enough so he asks if ure IN love with him oh my guckdisn im such a sucker for that

AND HE ASKS PERMISSION TO TOUCH YA TOONAKANZJS OHHHH IM LOOOOOOSING IT

😭😭😭😭😭😭

WHEN HE HUGS YOU OHHHHH MY HEART. It reminds me so much of how he did when u fell of that tree 😭😭😭 and and and how despite not touching u for months he still knows u just the same aksndkjx

IF I KISS YA YA GNA CRY AGAIANKSNXKSNSKSJSJ STAWHP I AFNT TAKE THIS

MYYYYY GOOODOODKDKEJDJIEJD IM A BAWLING MESS

im sorry for this mess of a reaction op but. thank u for writing this 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲 crying so hard rn but i loved this so much its so good 🥹 thank uou thsnk you thNk uou i cant see what im thping rn

leave the light on - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 10 in the bff!osamu series tags: childhood friends to lovers, tw instant coffee mention, miscommunication, confessions, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Onigiri Miya closes early on Sunday nights.

It’s not for lack of business—the shop would certainly take in enough revenue to justify staying open regular hours an extra day per week, especially on a weekend. But in the early days of Onigiri Miya, when it was just a one-man show, Osamu needed at least one night that he could count on having off. The workweek business—office workers and students going through their routine hustle and bustle—kept him going, enough so that Sunday nights weren’t a make or break for him, and he was able to start shuttering in the early afternoon once per week.

He remembers those early days. Sweet talking vendors to bring down the cost of produce and haggling with the grubby, bleary eyed men at fish market stalls at the crack of dawn for a deal on the catch of the day. Promising suppliers that he’d be able to get them their money in a couple of weeks if they’d just give him some more time. Standing on the road, because Onigiri Miya was just a street stall back then, trying to coax people in and try his food. To convince them to take a chance on him. He remembers burns on his hands and cuts on his fingers and an ache in his bones that ran so marrow-deep he forgot what it felt like to not be so sore. Sunday nights were the only night he had to relax. The only night he had to sit down, to take off his hat, and to have a beer—or, even more frequently, pass out on his couch in his uniform at 8pm and sleep right through to his alarm the next morning.

Closing early on Sundays had been your idea, way back when— suggested to him gently while he rested with his head in your lap in your tiny student apartment after another 16 hour workday. He still remembers the worry in your eyes as you brushed his hair back from his tired face.

Nowadays things aren’t so hectic. Osamu’s got a good team of people around him to help Onigiri Miya run smoothly—a team who he trusts and values. It doesn’t all fall onto his shoulders in the same way that it used to: he doesn’t have to be there for every open and every close, his bills are paid, he’s not fighting to lure people in off the street just in the hope that he can scrape by for another week.

Now when he closes early on Sunday, it’s more for the sake of his staff than anything else. Occasionally Osamu will take the night off, too; he’ll go home and catch up on housework, run an errand or two, or even grab dinner—usually with you, though evidently not so much lately. But most Sundays he stays behind after his last employee heads out for the night; locking up behind them, switching off the sign in the window to tell the world the shop is closed, and then holing himself up in his office to do some admin. He’ll grab a plate of whatever’s leftover from the day’s service and a cold can of beer from the fridge, put on a rerun of Atsumu’s game from the night before, and get to work shuffling through the paperwork that he’s left to pile up over the past seven days.

Osamu hates paperwork.

It’s not that it’s particularly challenging work—the really hard stuff is left to his bookkeeper after all. It’s just tedious, a mindless task in many ways, and he always finds his thoughts drifting as he sorts through invoices and inventory registers: catching himself being inattentive halfway through a spreadsheet, and having to force himself to go back to the beginning just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in his carelessness. 

You used to help him with this kind of work, or at least keep him company while he got through it—sitting on the lumpy couch crammed into one corner of his little office and pretending like you weren’t asleep each time Osamu caught you with your eyes closed. More often than not, he’d throw his jacket over you to keep you warm while you napped and then rush through the last of his work so that he could wake you up and get you home. But just having you there on those late nights was enough for him; your presence was the thing that helped.

Coffee is his only saving grace, these days.

Samu shuffles out to the front of the shop on one such Sunday evening, taking off his baseball cap and ruffling the hair underneath tiredly. He’d finally gotten a trim, and he’s glad that things feel a bit more normal again as he rakes his fingers through it—his mother had been right when she remarked that it was getting too long the week before. He tosses his hat down on the front counter of Onigiri Miya, rounding the end to grab a sachet of instant coffee from behind the bar where he keeps his emergency stash.

The overhead lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough brightness filtering out from the still-lit kitchen that he doesn’t need to struggle to see as he prepares himself some hot water to add to the mug in front of him. He tips the granulated contents of his instant coffee sachet into the bottom after ripping it open with his teeth, tapping the empty plastic packaging against the edge of the cup to make sure it all comes out. The kettle behind him hums quietly as it heats to boiling, and Osamu sighs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares out at the restaurant—his restaurant, as hard as he still finds it to believe some days—his gaze sweeping over the tables with their corresponding chairs resting atop them. One of the staff had mopped the floors at the end of the night, which left them still slightly wet and glistening. There’s light filtering in through the front windows from the streetlights and the other shops that line the Osaka street outside, and their glow catches in the water that hasn’t yet dried from the tile.

Osamu’s eyes suddenly snap up to the glass that lines the front of the restaurant.

There’s a silhouetted figure—so familiar he could trace it even with his eyes closed, from memory alone—standing on the other side of the door.

Osamu blinks, thinking that the paperwork must have finally gotten the best of him, or maybe that the beer he’d had earlier is inexplicably hitting him too hard. But no matter how many times he squeezes his eyes shut, the familiar shape stays where it is on the other side of the glass each time he opens them again.

His heartbeat thumps, loud and wet, in his ears.

Like the shot of a gun, the man stumbles gracelessly into action: loping around the end of the bar and slipping slightly on the wet tile as he heads towards the door. He fiddles with the lock as he struggles to unlatch it, accidentally trying to force it the wrong way in his haste before eventually getting it right. When he finally throws open the door, a gust of cool night air flooding into the restaurant along with it, he takes in a deep, gasping breath.

“Hey.”

His voice is shaky when he greets you—mostly air and very little shape to the word.

You stare at him from a few paces away, your arms crossed firmly over your chest and a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Osamu thinks you look pretty when you’re mad. He always has. But it’s worse now because he knows all too well that he shouldn’t—because he knows you’re mad at him. 

You seem to have something to say, he can tell as much from the almost spiteful glint in your eyes, but you stay tightlipped as you simply stare at him.

“D’ya… wanna come in?” Osamu asks, still holding the door open. He nods his head back into the shop. “Still got some stuff prepped, I could make ya—“

“You’re a jerk.”

Osamu blinks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he agrees plainly after a moment, thinking it’s only fair of you to say given then circumstances. 

His concurrence only seems to upset you more.

“Like, you’re a real asshole, y’know that?” You’re nearly spitting you’re so angry, your features twisted up in contempt. Your arms uncross and drop down to your sides, and Osamu watches as your hands ball into fists. He’s the one who taught you how to throw a punch, years and years ago now, and he’s wondering if he’s about to experience a practical demonstration of his teaching abilities firsthand.

“I don’t necessarily disagree.” He nods, agreeing with you once more, though this time his response is slower, more hesitant—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s not sure that it’s what you want to hear.

“Ugh!” Your following exclamation is loud, and palpably frustrated, all but confirming his suspicions. “You…!”

Your tone is climbing with every passing second, and Osamu looks furtively up and down the road around the two of you. It’s late in the evening but there are still a few people out, and he sees heads turning in your direction at the commotion.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice dropping in volume but still pleading all the same. “My name’s on the door and we’re gettin’ some weird looks. I wanna hear everythin’ you have to say, but could you please just say it to me inside?”

You look at him blankly, your lips puckering into a petulant, unhappy pout. You seem like you want to say no, to keep causing a scene, and for a second Osamu really thinks you’re about to round in on him again. Instead you trudge forward, stomping past him over the threshold of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu hesitates for a moment after you pass, half in shock and half in relief, and then he lets the door swing closed and locks it behind him for good measure—he’s not sure he wants any unsuspecting people coming in search of onigiri and stumbling upon a brawl.

It’s dim in the restaurant when he turns to face you, but he can still see your fury burning in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

“You can keep goin’ if you want,” Osamu is eventually the first to speak, and he means what he says. This is the least of the punishment he deserves, after all. And hearing you yell at him is markedly better than the silence.

“Martyrdom doesn’t suit you at all,” you mutter sullenly.

Osamu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just wantcha to say whatcha came here to say.”

You begin to pace as you work through your thoughts, slowly walking back and forth in front of the counter, picking at your cuticles. You’d put a fair amount of distance between the two of you, and he’s sure it was intentional. Osamu keeps himself confined to the entryway near the door, while you walk a path back and forth along the length of the service counter. His eyes follow every step you take, like a captivated child watching fish at the aquarium.

“I had a terrible dream last night,—” you finally force the words out, your feet stilling against the shiny tile as your pacing comes to a sudden halt.

Osamu decides to just do the right thing and shut the hell up for once, giving you the floor.

“—I was going to buy 30 kilos of rice from Kita-san’s farm—”

That’s a lot of rice, Osamu wants to note, but his lips part to let the words through and then he decides better of it.

“—and I was there, at the farm, and then Kita-san started telling me that you got married and had a baby. A baby, Samu! Kita-san standing there telling me all these terrible things with that big bag of rice in my hands, and I couldn’t even get mad at him because he’s Kita! So I just had to listen to him go on and on and on about the venue and the flowers and the baby name that you picked out. And the more he’d tell me the worse it was, and the bag of rice just kept getting heavier.” Your teeth bite down so hard into your lip as you suck in a breath that Osamu's amazed he doesn’t see blood. “I was hearing all of these things—terrible things—and all I could think was that I should have been there to see all of that for myself. I shouldn’t have been hearing about it from someone else. And I realized that you were living a whole life apart from me, a life that I didn’t know about or get to be a part of, and it just kept getting worse and worse and I woke up and I felt like I was going to scream.”

You’re out of breath by the time you finish your rambling thought, your chest heaving and your eyes wild and your mouth faintly wet. You look to him, and Osamu doesn’t see that same indignation in your eyes anymore, only hurt. He watches as the expression hardens again, whets itself like a blade—sharpened not in anger, but rather in resolve. In resignation.

“That day. I looked for you first.”

Osamu feels lost now. Are you still talking about that dream?

You understand without him saying it, and explain yourself further. “In high school. The day that I kissed Suna.”

Osamu’s stomach drops, all of the blood rushing to his head so quickly that the shop begins to spin a little around him. He can hear his pulse in his ears. He can feel it in his throat. He can’t help the twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, writhing and ugly though it may be, at the mere mention of his friend’s name. He doesn’t have the right to feel the way he feels, but it happens all the same.

“I looked for you,” you keep going, like you’ve broken a seal and have to let it all out. Osamu doesn’t dare try to stop you. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He watches on like it’s a conversation that’s happening not with him but rather to him. “You were eating lunch with Tsumu in your classroom. I realized he would have had a fit if he knew that I was asking you and not him. I thought about asking him but…”

Osamu can’t feel his fingers from how tightly his hands are balled into fists at his side. His lungs burn in his chest—the breath he’s holding having long since lost the oxygen his body needs, though he can’t seem to draw in another.

“If it wasn’t you, I didn’t care who it was. So I asked Suna.”

The young man processes your words slowly. Incompletely. Like only every third word seems to register.

“Ya wanted me to be yer first kiss?” It’s not the question he ought to ask you but it’s the one his brain chooses to spit out.

Your reply is frustrated, but with an unmistakably melancholic rasp running through it. “Yeah. I did.”

Somewhere distantly, Osamu recognizes a sharp, stinging pain. An ache as part of him realizes that it could have been him. All along. All this time. Him. But the pain is muted, because part of him—most of him—still doesn’t quite understand.

“I think that was the first time I realized it.” 

Osamu watches your face, maps the achingly familiar lines and dips and curves of your features as he tries to read meaning in the space between your words. But he still finds nothing.

“I liked you, Samu. More than I should have. Differently than I liked Tsumu, or Suna, or any other guy.” You laugh, but it’s a hollow, watery sound. “I realized it and it was awful.”

You’re waiting for him to say something, but Osamu is at a loss for words. No, that’s not quite it either. It’s not that he has nothing to say, but that he has everything he wants to say to you. To ask you. But he doesn’t know where to start, or how to sort through them, or even how to will his lips, teeth, and tongue to shape any of them.

“You… Y’know ya don’t have to say this,” his voice is tight, like a rope drawn to secure a knot not unlike the one in his throat, when he finally manages to speak. “Ya don’t have to pretend or convince yourself that you��� felt the same as me. I care about ya too much to ever ask that.”

You laugh—a single, sharp, distinctly mirthless ha!—as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “There you go again not letting me have any say, Samu!” You punctuate your exclamation with a frustrated little sound. “Stop deciding things all on your own and just listen to me.”

That shuts him up again.

“I thought I was over it,”—you begin to pace once more, your steps slow and measured—“I really did. I told myself it would never happen and moved on because I never ever wanted to fuck things up between us. Between any of us.

“You told me that you’ve loved me your whole life, but you don’t know if or when something changed. I do. I had a singular moment that I could point to where I realized that if I did or said the wrong thing after that, I could fuck up something that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Even if you felt the same way I did, there’s no guarantee that something like that would work out. But if we tried and it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be able to just go back to how things were. So I told myself that no matter what I wouldn’t. No matter how hard it was or how awful it felt. I could get over it if it meant I never had to lose you. And it was fine. For years it was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine. And then I lost you anyway.”

You suddenly stop pacing and crouch down, your arms winding themselves around your knees as if to comfort yourself. 

“That night, when you…” You swallow, and risk a glance up at him. “I don’t think I’m over it.”

Osamu feels like he might die. Maybe he did already. Maybe this is his life passing before his eyes, because it’s always been you anyway.

“But it’s scary, Samu,” your voice is so small, so vulnerable, when you speak to him again. You’re trembling as you hold yourself. “Aren’t you scared?”

Osamu is suddenly reminded of that fall day in the woods, so many years ago now. Reminded of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Who didn’t know anything. But who knew each other.

Slowly, Osamu crouches too—his joints cracking in protestation as he drops his body down to your level. Your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. Soft but sure. “‘Course I am.”

You let out a soggy, incredulous laugh, but it somehow doesn’t feel out of place. He watches as you reach up and scrub at your eyes.

“I love you,” Osamu says, because it’s true. Because there’s no other words he can possibly think to say in this situation. Because it’s the only thing that he has in his mind.

You look over at him, sniffling a little, wiping at your running nose with the back of your hand in a way that Osamu absolutely should not find as endearing as he does. “How can you just say it like that? Like it’s so easy?”

Osamu wants to laugh too, like you did earlier, but he worries that the sound might come off as almost hysterical thanks to the misplaced hope he can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. “Sayin’ it’s the hard part, that’s why it took me so long. But I’ve spent forever lovin’ ya. S’always been the easiest bit.”

You choke back a sob, your head hanging defeatedly as your body slackens. You’re a ghost of the angry little thing that was outside of his door only a few minutes earlier, but more yourself now than Osamu has seen you in weeks.

“What about you?” he poses the question so quietly he might worry you didn’t hear him if not for how silent the dark shop is around you both.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. You’re stalling, trying to buy yourself time that’s run out now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s been a good enough man up until this point to deserve the answer that he wants to hear more than anything else in the world.

“Of course I do,” you say evasively, refusing to meet his gaze. But it’s not the same. It’s not enough.

“But are you in love with me?” Osamu finally dares to ask.

There’s a stretch of the most painful, profound silence that either of you have ever experienced. It goes on for an eternity, though the clock hands in the corner say differently.

You still refuse to look at him, your gaze fixed instead to a point on the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Osamu watches how the light from the windows catches in the tears that cling to your bottom lashes.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, barely a whisper. You speak the confession like it’s the most terrifying thing imaginable. Like it's wretched.

And it is maybe, but Osamu’s never felt happier to hear anything in all his life—he feels a rush of something so visceral and elated flowing through him, he thinks he might pass out.

“Can I touch ya?” he asks hesitantly, his voice thick and unlike its normal tone. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

You peek over at him for the first time, and Osamu revels in the feeling of having your eyes on him. Delights in watching you watch him and knowing that behind the gaze is the same feeling as the one he holds inside of himself. You consider it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare rush you, but eventually—mercifully—you nod. 

Osamu inches forward slowly and wraps you in his arms. Your body relaxes into his hold instantly, and he pulls you into his lap on the tiled floor. He holds you so tightly that he’s scared he might break you, but he still can’t find it in himself to be more delicate. You cling to him anyway.

It’s the first time he’s touched you in months, but every inch of you is still known to him. Still familiar in every way that matters. You smell the same. You feel the same. You’re soft and warm just like always. Osamu buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers eventually lift to play with the hair at his nape. He holds you, and holds you, and holds you more—sating a thirst that’s been building for longer than the time the two of you have been apart.

And you let him.

You hold him too, in the same way.

“If I kiss ya, you gonna cry again?” Osamu asks you quietly after a while, his lips brushing against your throat as he murmurs the words.

You snort, your fingers twisting into the material of his t-shirt at his shoulders. Osamu peels himself away from you and looks up, and finds that your faces are so close. Too close, in any other circumstance.

His palm lifts, cupping your cheek in his hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin underneath.

“Shut up, Samu,” you say, a little smile twisting up the corner of your mouth.

And Osamu happily obliges by pressing his lips to yours.

[cha-lii]

me: watching one piece reactions won’t be too bad

me, a half hour later:

[mrfoox]

Me, barely clinging on mentally: no I am, OK haha, it's not so bad you know? Yeah I'm fine

[pleuviors]

“steve’s kid was fucking crying”

OH YOURE TRYING TO SEND ME INTO A COMA. i need like 10 business days to recover from this. genuinely think actually shocking me would’ve hurt me less LMAOO

"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART V

[PART I] | [PART II] [PART III] | [PART IV] | [more parts coming soon]

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: tw - major character death (?), attempted CPR, screaming, crying, strong language, trauma (so much f*cking trauma), regrets. 18+

***

When Steve watched you tumble off of the wall and down to the ground, he felt his entire world stop spinning. 

It was as if he could literally see the surge of electricity that coursed through your veins, grappling onto your body before it repelled you off the fence.

You fell, landing flat on your back, and Steve knew that if you’d had any air left in your lungs that the fall alone had knocked the wind out of you.

And Steve felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Crouched at the top, just watching the nightmare unfold in front of his eyes.

“BAUMAN!!!!”

The scream that ripped from Steve’s lungs scared him more than he already was.

Jonathan, Eddie and Dustin all shouted your name in response. They rushed over to your body. Your way-too-still body.  

Everyone completely freaked. Steve kept cursing and shouting, knees pressing into the concrete underneath where he was hunched over and gripping the edge. Every inch of him was shaking and ready to pounce off the top of that wall onto the ground.  The walkie-talkie was going off still, and that only heightened everyone’s senses that were already in override.

Jonathan knew what Steve was debating, as he got closer to the ledge.  “Steve, don’t move —”

“Fuck, FUCK.”

“DO NOT MOVE.”

“BAUMAN — ”

“STAY UP THERE. The box got — fuck, it got switched, fuck!” 

Jonathan was frenzied.  Sheer panic brought his voice up several octaves, to where he was just shrieking. 

Eddie was almost shell-shocked next to Dustin, who was the most frightened that any of the guys had ever seen the kid.  He clutched the walkie-talkie as it kept blasting off with Murray’s voice, shaking.

“Jonathan…” Dustin’s voice sounded so small, so terrified. Like he was suddenly six years old again. 

Eddie went from reaching for you, to reaching out to Dustin.  He was so conflicted, needing to help and not knowing how.  The metalhead stuttered unintelligible words of fear.

And up on the ledge still, Steve raked his hands through his hair, throwing his head back to groan more curses to the sky. 

This was hell.  Absolute hell. 

Here he was, stuck at the top, unable to do anything. Steve frivolously paced, tugging at his hair until the scalp burned.

“Group 2 to Group 4, do you copy?”

Steve felt bile rise up in his throat watching Jonathan’s fingers graze your neck, searching for a pulse.  When it wasn’t there, he reached for your wrist.  No sign of life… Jonathan looked sick. Turning to Eddie, who was staring at him — pale as a ghost — Jonathan’s voice shook. 

“Lift her head,” Steve heard Jonathan croak.  He was positioning himself over you, straightening you out on your back. He took his hands, pressing them to your chest.

Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, God no, please no. Steve heard himself saying it in his head, over and over. But when Eddie looked up at him, his eyes heartbroken, Steve realized it wasn’t in his head. Steve was saying it out loud.

“Group 4, this is group 2 – do you copy????”

Jonathan was telling Dustin, in as calm a voice as he could muster, how to help.  And Dustin looked up at Steve, whimpering for him.  But seeing his older brother-slash-mother-like figure at the top in complete dismay only made him want to cry more.  Dustin was scared, he was so scared… Jonathan brought him back to focus. 

“Hey, hey," Jonathan spoke to him gently, shakily. "Look at me.  Look at me.  Help me, alright?”

But Jonathan’s trembling voice was not reassuring at all.  Dustin followed his lead, though. He kept his hands cupped underneath your head, your hair pooled around yourself on the ground.

Steve got a grip on himself for all of two seconds.  Enough to at least speak to his kid, voice wrecked and his words rushed. 

“Dustin, h-hang in there, kid, alright?  It's okay. S'okay. Jonathan – y-you know CPR, yeah?” 

Jonathan fervently nodded his head, getting to work.

The walkie-talkie was a chaotic clusterfuck of voices, begging for an answer.  Murray.  Erica.  Hopper.  Eleven.  Lucas. 

Eddie lost it, grabbing it from the ground and biting back a scream before he tried to tell them, not knowing how — “C-code red, code red, we — we . . .”

Your eyelids – glued shut – made Steve’s open eyes burn. Your lifeless chest, no sign of air, made the sound of his own breathing sound so loud it was jarring.  He couldn’t breathe.  He still had fucking oxygen in his lungs, yet he couldn’t breathe. 

Steve just kept murmuring your name into his fist.  His voice was low and unintelligible, as if he was speaking some twisted prayer out loud while he paced back and forth. He felt acid pricking at his eyes, blurring his vision. Steve swiped at my face, roughly rubbing his palm down his from forehead to chin.

Steve bit at his own cheek, willing the trembling to stop. Stop, damn it. Don’t make this real. It’s not real.

“God damn it,” Jonathan muttered.

“Keep going,” Steve barked down at Wheeler.  It was meant to be a command but Steve’s voice was thick with emotion and he hated it.  He watched every chest compression and every puff of air exhaled into your mouth and over your lips, wishing to God that it was his own lips crushing against yours. Because if it were him, he would give you no choice. You were stubborn as fuck, and no one needed to be easy on you. That wouldn’t work.

Murray was going berserk on the other side of the walkie, and so was Hopper. 

“Where the hell is my niece, what’s going on?!?!”

Eddie was on the verge of a full blown panic attack, trying to get a word out and explain.  For the love of God, how could he explain???

Dustin glanced up at Steve, and that was the worst thing he could’ve done. He was crying. Steve’s kid was fucking crying.

Fuck, this was real.

Steve’s body had never violently convulsed with shakes like this his entire life.  Not when he first saw the demogorgon.  Not when he came face to face with the demodogs.  And not even in the Russian torture chamber. 

He wanted to sob – but hell no, he couldn’t let himself. Not yet. Not fucking yet.

So Steve bit his cheek until he tasted blood, lips tightly curled over his gritted teeth, frantically pacing with his arms crossed and fingernails digging into his elbows even through his shirt.

When Jonathan sighed, exasperated, Steve was suddenly screaming at Jonathan. He didn’t even register it until it was happening. Wheeler shouted back, a storm of words tearing them both at the seams. Wheeler never overreacted. He never shouted unless it was a joke.

But this wasn’t a joke. It was real.

And the distraught anger that boiled inside of Steve was evident as he shrieked back at Jonathan and Eddie below out of sheer disdain towards them for being down there with you instead of himself. It wasn’t even their fault. It was nobody’s fault, and somehow that made it worse. Because it meant that Steve had no one to blame.

So, he blamed God. A god that he wasn’t sure he even believed in.

Eddie finally flipped his shit, screeching into the walkie-talkie.  The trees.  The world.  “She’s.  Not.  Breathing!!!!!!  The fence turned on too soon!!!!”

“Murray, turn it back now!” Steve cried out. 

“Steve’s stuck up top, he needs down here!  He’s a lifeguard, Erica, help!”  Dustin’s cries were heart wrenching.

Erica came onto the line.  “I’m on it, Steve, hang on!” 

After another agonizing 15 seconds, Murray said it was clear — his voice cracking. 

Eddie flung his bat at the fence.  No electricity. 

Steve hurled himself down the wall.

Flinging himself to the ground, Steve could feel himself begin to hyperventilate again as he looked over your pale face up close. Your full lips were no longer that tempting shade of rose pink.

They were blue.

So, Steve moved fast – straddling you and thinking back to lifeguard training a few summers ago. One of the few things I’d done right in high school was learning CPR.  He locked his knuckles against your chest, starting compressions while ordering Jonathan to keep doing mouth to mouth.

“How long has it been...” Steve’s question sounded like a statement, muttered through his actions.

“Over three minutes,” Eddie spoke, his voice also shaking. Then he mumbled, “...if not longer.”

Steve’s stomach churned. He grit his teeth, jaw clenched, forcing the next round of sobs back down his throat.  Your name was choked on his lips, mixed with vulgar curses muttered under his breath.  Your lips were still parted from the attempted resuscitation, and your eyelids were beginning to peak open. But your lively irises were trapped behind her hooded eyelids, dead and unmoving, and the thought of not seeing them ever again fucking wrecked Steve.

One, two, three.   “C’mon, Bauman.”   Four, five, six, breath.  “Bauman, c’mon —”

Steve’s arms began to burn as he frivolously tried to pump life back into your slender frame.

God, I hate her, Steve thought.  I fucking hate her.

Of course it would be her that this happened to. Of fucking course. Not me. Because that would be too easy. Then she would keep so stupid fucking calm, like she always is in situations that infuriate me. She would keep herself together. Her stubborn attitude would keep her emotions at bay. Because God forbid she be visibly scared. She had to be the goddamn hero. Because she is perfect. Impossibly perfect.

So fucking perfect.

“Bauman, cmon, please,” Steve pleaded.

“YOU GUYS, TALK TO US.  WHAT’S HAPPENING?”  Robin sounded panicked over the walkie. 

Eddie didn’t even know how to answer.  He just stared, helplessly.

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he felt the stupid tears that sloped down his face and onto his trembling lips. He tasted the salt, the bitterness making him want to curl up and die. He'd never felt this sick in my life. He never wanted to feel it again.

But he would feel it ten times worse if this is how it was gonna end.

If Steve was never gonna see another day with the niece of Murray fucking Bauman bothering the ever-living shit out of him, then his world was just going be dull again.

Funny how he once thought that’s how he’d preferred it. The world in which you didn’t exist. Steve had raved to you about it, day after day. About how much better his life would have been in that world if you had simply never come into the picture. How much happier he would be, because you wouldn't have been around to ruin it. You would simply cease to exist, and all would be right in the world.

Now he had spoken it into fucking existence. And if there was ever a regret that Steve Harrington had in his life, it was having ever thought for a second that it was what he actually wanted. He would rather be forced to rewatch all his days as King Steve and watch everything horrible that he did and bitterly regretted now, if it meant avoiding this.

Because now, all he wanted was you.

God, please, let me keep her...

Jonathan stopped giving mouth to mouth, heaving for air. Dustin looked at him in pure horror, and for the first time ever I saw Eddie look more terrified than the kid.

“Jonathan,” Dustin croaked.

“Whoa whoa, w-what —” Eddie stuttered.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”  Steve screamed.

Steve sounded like a strangled animal, growling at Jonathan — who now just wept and wept, overwhelmed.  He tearfully argued back with Steve, voice booming and defeatedly saying something about how it’s not working. Something about it being too late. And Steve wanted to punch him square in the face. 

On top of that, the walkie-talkie kept blasting off in Eddie’s hands with everyone’s voices.  Mainly Murray, who was demanding information, screaming —

“Someone tell me what’s going on with my niece right now!!!!!!!!”

Eddie stuttered something to Wheeler, moving to take his place. Wheeler obeyed, moving aside.

Steve swapped with Eddie, giving you mouth to mouth while he pumped your chest.  Jonathan murmured into the walkie, all stuttered and shaky, something about them trying.  Still trying.

And all the while, Steve kept murmuring your name while blowing air into your lungs, and it sounded like a broken prayer on his tongue. Eddie was openly crying at this point, his tears silent but his motions panicked as he continued pumping your chest while Steve willed life back into your airways.

Dustin was whimpering like a child, petrified.  Jonathan held him, winded and freaked.

Another minute ticked by, and you still weren't breathing...

Don’t leave me here, Steve begged you in his head.

Lips, air. Breathe, breath, breath.

Don’t fucking leave me here.

Chest compressions.  Pump, pump, pump.

I don’t know how to be without you anymore. You ruined that world for me. That world is gone. I don’t want it back, don’t fucking let me go back there.

Steve was ready to throw himself into that electric fence, and escape the world he had created for himself with his own ignorance.

And then he saw your eyes scrunch. 

Your face moved.

Steve’s breath hitched as he saw your hand twitch. 

“Bauman. . . ”

He barely breathed your last name, almost afraid to say it again. As if that would make you disappear again.

The most guttural cough escaped from your throat, sending you into a choking fit before it began to level out. All the while, Steve watched life color your face again.  Your eyes tried to focus, your eyelids still slightly hooded. But your chest rose and fell, air finally filling your lungs.

Steve felt as if someone had revived him. A rush of air escaped his mouth, his shoulders sagging as he let the overwhelming sensation of relief rattle his bones through body-wracking sobs. “Fuck…”

Steve immediately sought your touch, his hands on your face as his fingers grazed your jaw and your neck.

Eddie choked on a sigh of own relief as he distanced himself to let Steve straddle you. 

“Don’t…touch the fence,” you murmured, your voice small and strained as you caught your breath.

Fucking hell.  Even now, just barely back to life, you're cracking a joke.

Steve laughed hard.  So hard, incredulously. Kinda hysterical. He watched tears splash down onto your cheeks, realizing that they were his own. But Steve didn’t give a fuck how pathetic he looked as he crushed his lips against yours and cried while doing it. He was completely on top of you at this point, caging you with his legs and arms. His elbows dug into the earth beneath you both, one hand brushing your hair off your forehead and the other grazing your shoulder. And your collarbone. And the soft divot of your neck. Steve just had to touch you. He had to feel you moving, to assure himself that you were really alive again.

“Y-you,” Steve stuttered. “You were dead. Your heart. Stopped.”

His choked words hung in the air, desperate and broken. Haunted by the memory that had just been his reality not even a minute ago.

Your eyes opened a bit more, softly glazed over and searching his own. Your heart seized, seeing the tearful anguish in Steve’s eyes up above you.  You wanted to take it away from him, never wanting to be the source of his sadness.

Your hand slowly reached for his, taking his wrist and pressing his palm to your chest.

“S’okay, Harrington,” you sighed. “S’working now.”  Thump, thump, thump.

You watched as Steve clenched his eyes shut, gnawing his lip and whimpering unabashedly at your heartbeat that drummed under his touch.

Fuck’s sake, he thought. Of course she is comforting me. She just died, and yet here she is – comforting me.

God, you were insufferable. Steve fucking hated it. He hated you. He hated you so much.

So fucking much…

Steve buried his face into the crook of your neck, nose pressed to your skin as he wept freely. You held his hand to your chest while his other arm wound up around your head.

“Hate you,” Steve weakly mumbled against your neck. All anguish, no heat. “Fucking hate you.”

You could only sigh, just staying there, letting the soft sounds of your breathing against Steve’s ear ground him again.  Whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours that passed, you didn’t know.  Didn’t care.

And no one else said anything.  The boys fell silent.  Completely silent.  Watching in disbelief.  So much had just happened, revealing so much more at the same time…

The walkie-talkie squawked again.  All channels were tapped in.  Joyce, your uncle’s crackly voice, and Hopper.

“Someone give me fucking update,” your uncle demanded over the walkie in a wobbly, distressed voice.  “Kids, c’mon. What’s happening?”  …even Hopper sounded emotional. “Please, please tell us she’s alright,” Joyce’s sweet voice was full of tears.

Eddie jumped at all the voices.  He sniffled, remembering he needed to answer.  Through his own tears, he told them, “G-group 4, w-we… we got her. Steve’s got her, sh-she’s breathing… She’s alright.”

As Lucas came back through the channel — “Oh thank God” — they could hear Murray in the background sounding like an uncharacteristically relieved mess.

Somehow, Steve pulled himself away from you. He looked down at you, swiping his elbow across his nose hastily. So much snot. Not that you minded, or even noticed. Your eyes were closed again, fluttering exhaustedly.

“Do you wanna,” Steve hiccuped, still stuttering. “Wanna — s-stand up?”

You gave a weak nod and managed to feebly peel your eyelids back open. Steve leaned back on his knees, ready to help you stand.

Jonathan was right behind you, arms slipping underneath your shoulder blades to help lift you off the ground. Steve clasped his hands in yours, pulling you to him after he’d risen to his own feet. You stood too, your footing wobbly and weak. Steve let you lean into him, one arm snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. His left hand gripped the back of your neck, balancing you. Balancing both of you. He kept murmuring a series of little I got you’s, repeatedly saying it was all okay in a hushed tone only meant for you.

Steve finally glanced up to look at the others.

Dustin was a quiet, relieved mess. He looked shaken to the core, glancing from Babe Bauman in Steve’s arms to Steve himself. He trembled, hugging himself. Eddie quickly moved to comfort him, wrapping a tight arm around him as he bit back his own tears. Steve made a mental note that he would undoubtedly thank him for that later. Jonathan looked at Steve with more empathy than he ever thought him capable of radiating in his direction. The oldest Wheeler looked exhausted yet wired at the same time, and Steve caught the sight of his bottom lip trembling before he looked away. 

In spite of the relief, all three of them were asking themselves the same question: how long has something with these two been going on?

Steve suddenly felt seen for all that he was.  Fragile, underneath his cocky bravado.  He felt like a sham, who only pretended to not be emotionally affected by anything.  He felt like deep down, he was still that prick from high school, who didn’t know what he had until it was taken away from him.  Only then did he learn, right?  Only after he was made to face the hell he had created for himself, was he able to finally see the mistakes that he’d made and wanna make them right. It happened with Nancy. It happened with school. It happened with Max and how he failed her as a brother (or mother, according to the kids). When was he ever gonna learn…

Steve could feel everyone’s eyes on him.  Him, and you.  He knew that the three guys were watching, and that they’d all seen him fall apart completely.  The two of you were definitely found out now — no going back.  But Steve didn’t even care.  He couldn’t now. 

Without any control over himself, Steve shamefully sought comfort and privacy by adjusting himself in your arms.  His girl.  He buried his face into your shoulder, clinging to you desperately and trembling. 

And you melted. Your head was fuzzy and everything hurt, so you couldn’t really focus on much that was happening the way that Steve could. But all that mattered to you right now was him, as he held you like he’d lose you all over again unless he did, his breathy cries rattling his bones.  You cradled his head against your shoulder, softly murmuring to him that it’s alright, it’s okay.

Sometimes, Steve would find himself smiling in your embrace, despite the anguish as he couldn’t stop mentally reliving what had just happened.  He had to forget it.  You were here.  You weren’t gone.

He got to keep you.

He’s going to keep you.

Even if it fucking kills him.

***

thank you guys :') I know this chapter stretched out an already stressful situation but it needed to drive the point home: Steve's hatred has transitioned into love.

tag list: @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @xprloki @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers @originalthingparadise @pleuviors @pumpkinonice @ihaveproblemsihaveproblems @brinleighsstuff

[rainbowbeanstyles]

tell why am i crying because sign of the times is playing

[heaven4lostgirls]

i am in need of angist. I need a good cry rn so what do you think would happen if reader got attacked by fenrir greyback. not to the point of where she becomes a werewolf but like a bill Weasley kind of thing. what would be polymarauders reaction be?

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: request above!

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, the attack and blood. prejudice against werewolves, greyback bc fuck him

word count: 1.6K

author's note: thank you for this request lovely! i had fun writing this, i hope you enjoy it! this is somewhat also remus centric due to the nature of the ask but nevertheless i hope you enjoy it. left some fluff at the end for you too

You wince as another scar on your face knits itself together, a strangled gasp leaving your lips. Regulus stands in front of you, wand in hand as he slowly heals the worst of the scars left after your attack.

His gaze is troubled, and you can still feel the blood he had scourgified off of your skin. Your hand is being held in Lily’s shaking ones, you can tell it’s taking all of her energy to hold herself together for you.

You’re too tired to do anything other than stare blankly at Regulus’ stormy expression as you tune out Lily’s shaking sobs that she attempts to muffle in Mary’s shoulder. You’re  unaware that Regulus is done healing you until he takes a step closer, dropping his arm to his side.

“Do I look that bad?” you joke weakly, and all Regulus does is inhale sharply, “You look beautiful,” he says angrily. You know not to take it personally, he’s angry at the situation.

You, Lily, Mary and Regulus were sent on an Order mission to scope out a potential death eater attack hours prior from when it was intended to occur. Greyback had caught the end of Mary’s robes as she was about to find her stakeout spot.

He had cornered her, alone and in fear, she had dropped her wand. You had been the nearest to her at the time and heard Greyback’s snarling voice as he taunted her.

You didn’t think to call for backup in fear of being too late to save Mary, so you had thrown yourself in front of her as you threw multiple curses in quick  succession. Your failing grace had been a well timed stupefy by Greyback that had you hesitating for a short period in which he had time to attack.

It was horrible, you can barely close your eyes without seeing the looming monster above you, amber eyes illuminated by the darkness of night. You can still feel the agony of his claws slashing into you as his manic grin burns your eyelids.

Mary had been able to escape and intercept Lily and Regulus as they looked for the two of you. According to her she was a mess of tears and snot as she recalled quickly what was happening and that they needed to hurry to help you.

They had found you exactly where Mary had last seen you, mangled and in a pool of your own blood. Regulus had confessed in a plea to keep you conscious as soon as they arrived to base that he had thrown up before coming to his senses to help.

Regulus looks less pale as time passes and you start to show signs of healing such as moving without wincing. You gift him a small smile before the moment is interrupted by a slamming door and three unmistakeable sounds of loud footsteps.

Your boyfriends rush to your bed in haste, before all three stop in their tracks at the sight of your torn clothes and scars littering your skin. You think you hear Remus let out a whimper at the sight but you’re all too consumed by the grief permeating the air.

Exhaustion floods your bones as tears fill your eyes, sobs wracking through your body that have Lily, Mary and Regulus shuffling out of the small room. Remus, Sirius and James hesitate for a moment before clambering clumsily to encompass you from all angles.

You can feel the three of them shaking in sorrow and anger. Your body shakes in their hold before one wince from a badly timed squeeze has the three of them jumping far away from you in fear.

You cower away from them at the sudden movement, closing your eyes and wincing,  before you peak one eye open to see them look at you in varying stages of despair.

“I’m…okay,” you offer hesitantly, eyes shining and pleading with them to believe you. It’s Remus who breaks the silence with a scoff that has both James and Sirius looking at him incredulously.

“Don’t lie to us, not about this,” he says finally, his heart breaking as he watches you cave into yourself. There’s a building insecurity in your chest that you know he’s aware of, all too well.

“Do I look…bad?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Sirius’ smile is wobbly when you look at him and your gaze catch his shaking hands as he shuffles over to the bed to cup your face softly, the same you’ve seen him do to Remus after a full moon.

“I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he offers through a warbled tone. Your eyes shine again as tears line your vision. With a sniff and a quick kiss to his palm you smile at him, loving and trusting just as you did before you had left for the mission.

“Can I hug you?” James voice cuts across the quiet room, he’s shuffling on his feet, wringing his hands as his eyes swim with worry. You know he needs to touch you to fully grasp that you’re okay and not stuck bleeding out in a random alleyway.

You offer him a small smile and a nod as you shuffle to the side of the bed, opening  the covers for him to get in. He wastes no time, clambering towards you in a clumsy haste, tugging you delicately into his arms as a breath of relief leaves him.

“I’m right here.” you murmur into his chest and with a small sniffle he presses a deep kiss into your hair as his arms tighten around you in acknowledgement. You can see out of the corner of your eye, Remus shuffling into Sirius’ awaiting arms.

You lift your head slightly to catch his eyes over Sirius’ shoulder and he clenches his eyes in pain. You know what he’s thinking and before you can think better of it, you sit up slowly with maximum effort and a small wince.

James scrambles to help you as he adjusts himself to lie against the headboard, tugging you again to lie backwards against his chest. His hands rub calming circles on your hips as you breathe deeply through the pain.

Sirius and Remus watch you both in agony. You hold your hand out, eyes locking with Remus’. He looks hesitant but with one sharp look aimed at him, he concedes and shuffles to the sit next to James’s leg, hand holding yours.

With your hands intertwined, you pat your other side for Sirius to sit down, which he does with minimal hesitation, only hesitating before asking he can lay his head in your lap.

You roll your eyes fondly before nodding, he’s gentle in a way he never was before and some part of you aches for the normality you’ve lost.

You lock eyes with Remus before taking a deep breath and murmuring for the three of them to hear, “He didn’t turn me.”

Sirius and James both stiffen but Remus only nods, his gaze guarded. “It’s not a full” he explains for Sirius and James, eyes still locked on yours. “Do you hate me?” you question weakly, and Remus immediately looks horrified as Sirius and James squawk in protests and indignation.

“Hate you? Because you were attacked?!” he asks appalled. You shrug, looking away in shame before he grasps your chin in his palm, tugging your gaze back to his.

“Why would you ever think I would be upset with you for this?” he asks, eyes pleading for you to explain. You want to close your eyes again, let the tears roll down your cheeks again because no part of you wants to have this conversation.

“You’ve never necessarily…liked being a werewolf, which is okay!” you rush out before clenching your eyes shut and looking down again. “I understand you don’t like this part of yourself, that you will never fully understand that James, Sirius and I love you, including your wolf side. I just thought,” You huff out a broken laugh.

“I just thought you’d hate me too for becoming something you hate” you confess, voice cracking as insecurity coats your bitter words.

You hear Remus let out a shaky exhale, looking back at him to see tears trailing over tanned scarred skin. “I didn’t mean to make you cry” you rush out and all he can do is shake his head jerkily before leaning forward to place a deep kiss to your lips.

“There is nothing in this world that could make me stop loving you,” he mumbles into the kiss. James and Sirius echo his sentiment, though the static in your brain seems to  switch off when Remus detaches from you.

“I hate what Greyback did to me, and I will never not be thankful that you do not have to carry this burden, but even if you were turned, that would have never changed the love I hold for you” he says seriously, unflinching and calm as he looks at you.

You laugh a little hoarsely before nodding, squeezing his hand and shuffling deeper into James’ arms as your hands card through Sirius’ curls.

“You do look pretty badass with the scars” Sirius adds through the silence which has James snorting into your hair, murmuring a soft, “subtle.”

“Now you and Moony match, Prongs and I look so boring next to you guys” Sirius continues which has James reaching over to flick his forehead in annoyance.

“Speak for yourself Pads, my muscles are completely badass,” James  smirks and flexes his biceps around you. Sirius scowls looking at him before turning his puppy dog gaze to you with a pout, “Lovie, you think I’m badass don’t you?” he asks with a saccharine grin.

You shrug with a sly look that has Sirius gasping dramatically and huffing in offence. “I’ll have you know if anything I’m the most badass out of all of us” he proclaims.

[buckevantommy]

CAMILA?!??!?!!! LIGHT OF MY LIFE!!??!! YOU KILL HER??!?!!! YOU KILL HER WITH CANCER?!!??! JAIL FOR YOU!!!! JAIL FOR A THOUSND YEARS!!!!!

[chaostudee]

i love you i'm sorry, charles leclerc + jude bellingham

summary : y/n y/ln and charles leclerc are the it couple in the f1 universe and when they aren't spotted together for some time hell breaks loose all over the internet. it's not long before y/n starts soft launching a new relationship but unbeknownst to her charles is still keen to get her back. faceclaim : cindy kimberly a/n : pls lmk if u want part 2 because i have so many ideas hehe

y/nusername a girl who is going to be just fine because she has her two boys.

liked by charlesleclerc, kikagomez, landonorris and 2,729,920 others.

charlesleclerc forever mon amour ❤️

y/nusername forever and always x

f1fan829 this is who i want to be when i grow up

user9292 no wag has ever wagged like she has

y/nfan91 crying because why are they acc the cutest ever 😭😭

user_0082 mom and dad

f1lover4eva id acc die if they broke up

username127 the hottest couple to ever exist and i will stand by that ✋️

kikagomez you have me too girl ;)

y/nusername love uuuu

forzaferrari56 love themmm

user11133 idk who im more jealous of actually

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

text messages between y/n and charles

yk i love u right ? charles

ofc i do you only tell me like a hundred times a day 😭 y/n

ik ik i just don't want u to ever forget it, god im going to miss you sm over the next few weeks charles

oh baby we'll be okay and besides the monaco gp is less than a month away y/n

ik but i'm really going to miss you charles

such a simp y/n

🙄 charles

i'm really going to miss you too y/n

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charlesleclerc tough race for us as a team, hopefully we can bounce back at the next one 💪

liked by f1, y/nusername, carlossainz and 1,182,929 others.

user182 it's okay pookie we still love you 🫶

f1fan totally not your fault ferrari are to blame again

username67 wtf was that strategy....

f1lover plsss a podium in monaco we believe in you <3

user728 stopp he looks so sad

y/nusername love you always x

charlesleclerc 😘

forzaferrari they are actually just screwing up this whole championship for him

y/nusername 🌟🐇

liked by charlesleclerc, carmenmundt, lewishamilton and 2,018,528 others.

username_89 oh charles i get it

user00 she is literally the prettiest everrrr

f1fan it's giving disney princess

ln4_7 WE NEED Y/N IN MONACO OH PLS I BEG

charlesleclerc i'm so lucky

user116 atleast he's aware f1lover 😭😭

carmenmundt the prettiest angel <3

user728 omgg i need that lip combo rnnn

f1lover yes i am indeed jealous of charles leclerc

f1 monaco gp this weekend !!

liked by charlesleclerc, y/nusername, maxverstappen and 1,302,628 others.

user88 the girls that get it get it

f1fan this is my superbowl

user7202 i've waited all year for thissss

f1lover hoping that charles can acc get the winnn

user728_7 yesss ferrari pls don't mess up his strategy i beggg

user11 hehe can't waittt

y/nusername monaco ✈️

charlesleclerc it feels like a fever dream bit i couldn't be happier, the best weekend on my life. i love you all so much thank you for supporting me.

liked by y/nusername, maxverstappen, carlossainz and 5,728,929 others.

maxverstappen congrats :)

charlesleclerc ❤️ f1fan never beating the lestappen allegations

user78 so we can all collectively agree we all cried when charles crossed the line??

y/nusername so incredibly proud of you my sweet boy i love you so so much

user728 i can't im so emotional rn

username y/n's comment omg im sobbingg

f1fan never ever getting over this

f1updates highlight of my year actually

user266 his smile 🦋🦋

*y/nusername has just uploaded a new video*

》 oh my queen

》 her vlogs are acc my comfort

》 stopp the clip of charles playing piano to her im sobbing

》 her reaction to charles' win is everything

》 her voice is so soothing

》 i got the notification and screamed

y/nusername a quick stop in paris 🥐🇫🇷

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, pierregasly and 1,819,729 others.

pierregasly are u happy to be in paris

y/nusername oui

user845 "a quick stop in paris" oh girl u rich rich

username ugh to be leo leclerc like that dog has a better life than me and it's sad honestly

f1fan awww the cutest family

landonorris where was my invite :,(

f1lover whenever y/n posts ik it's going to be good

user78 i don't think i'd be okay if they ever broke up

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

texts between charles and y/n

was this whole relationship just a joke to you y/n

did i ever even mean anything to you y/n

fuck of course you did baby i love u charles

you love me?!?! y/n

yes yk i do charles

we have been together 6 YEARS 6 YEARS CHARLES y/n

if you are not ready now, you are never going to be y/n

thats not true charles

yes it is charles y/n

if u don't want to marry me after 6 years of being in love with me you never want to it's as simple as y/n

i'm sorry but i just can't be with someone who doesn't want the same things y/n

charlesleclerc summer

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, danielriccardio and 7,192,111 others.

landonorris ☀️

user828 i'm speechless

username11 looks like charles got leo

f1fan i miss them

user718 this breakup just can't be real

f1lover he's already replaced y/n with lando 😭

username_55 unless i see a statement or them dating other people i'm just going to try to convince myself it's rumours

anon delulu is the solulu

y/nusername i've never been happier :)

liked by charlesleclerc, carmenmundt, kikagomez and 5,299,551 others.

username_67 👀

user28 this is so petty of her and i love it

f1fan help not charles in the likes

f1_wag i refuse to believe they broke up....yes i'm that delulu

user727 that post breakup glow 😍

f1lover oh charles defo regrets losing her like omggg how can someone be this gorgeous

charlie_7 these pics are so aesthetic i could cry

user51 ik everyone only cares about the drama but GUYS Y/N IS SERVING CUNT

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

texts between charles and y/n

please y/n charles

please charles

i can't take it anymore charles

i regret everything i said and i wish i had never even said it i wish i could take it all back charles

fuck i love u sm charles

i don't deserve you one bit charles

yeah you don't y/n

leave me alone charles y/n

we're done y/n

move on y/n

but i can't

*this user has blocked you*

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

judebellingham

liked by y/nusername, football728, realmadridfc and 7,929,728 others.

user828 he fine asfff

f1fan guys y/n is in the likes....

username728 what a player 🤍

user_27 great game today jude keep it up!!

f1lover waittt are y/n and jude like dating

user25 omgg stop she just liked his post get over it weirdo

anon charles is better

username_12 great game, but y/n y/ln come on man

y/nusername finally found someone who treats me right 🤭🫶

liked by judebellingham, oscarpiastri , maxverstappen and 4,729,519 others.

user727 BRO WHAT

username i just opened instagram-

f1fan im shooketh

oscarpiastri glad you're happy ❤️

y/nusername thanks x user828 I KNEW IT I KNEW OSCAR WAS TEAM Y/N

user999 oh charles

f1lover f1 wag to football wag is crazy like girl what crystals are u using?????

user_27 ik this was probably supposed to be a soft launch....but girl you just broke the internet

username616 ik y/n is giggling just reading all these comments

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

texts between lando and charles

did you see y/n's post? lando

yup charles

are you okay? lando

ha i mean no not at all charles

like its only been like 5 months and i have told her that i want her and i love her and now she's with him charles

sry mate but jude is actually sound lando

shit ik he is that's what makes this worse charles

maybe he is better than me charles

oh charles mate don't be thinking like that lando

lando she's never going to take me back charles

you don't know that lando

she blocked me charles

oh lando

like how am i supposed to sort everything with her charles

maybe you still can lando

how....wdym? charles

write her a song lando

......are u being fr charles

well yes i was but forget it just trying to help lando

no no wait you might actually be right charles

ha your welcome lando

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

vogue model y/n y/ln confirms relationship with footballer jude bellingham

liked by f1fan7282, kikagomez, georgerussell and 5,910,011 others.

user9292 ik we all knew BUT WHAT

f1fan charles is probably dying rn

user0 imagine fumbling the y/n y/ln

user0101 jude is one lucky guy

username78 she's still the IT girl in my eyes idc what ya'll say

f1lover girl it's only been a couple of monthssss like chilll

user627 ugh if only i was a rich model living in monaco

y/nlover wait this is acc so iconic

charlesleclerc my first single "i love you i'm sorry" from my debut album comes out tomorrow at 12pm est. i have put alot of work into this and i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i enjoyed making it. music has always been an escape for me and a way for me to express my feelings so i felt that it was right to put this album out. love you all ❤️

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 10,729,819 others.

user879 this is actual insanityyyy like sir wdymmm

f1fan oh he's hurtttt

user929 okay okay ik we all know its about y/n but can we talk about how that is literally SIR LEWIS HAMILTON IN THE SECOND PIC TF?!

f1lover i feel like im living through a moment of history rn

lewishamilton love u brother had the best time working on this with you 🙌

16_charlie what can't u do???

user000 my divorced parents

anon screw y/n what a bitch

landonorris your welcome everyone (i encouraged him to write this album)

user727 ha this is why we love u lando !! username22 omgg no wayyy f1fan pls this is so on brand for him

taglist ⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@llando4norris

@hadidsworld

@sweetestgirlintown111

@mxryxmfooty

@heavy-vettel

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Four.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky deal with the fallout of Cora's reveal. What's that saying? If you love something, let it go...

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - i can only apologise that this chapter took a little while!! my life is at a super weird place rn, so i'm just trying to find the time when i can. words cannot describe how incredible all of your support is for Honey Girl. the fact you all reblog and comment and send me asks means the world to me. love you all so much.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You can't breathe.

It's like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, leaving it dry, brittle, sterile. Your lungs are burning, scratched like sandpaper. The backyard is spinning, like teenagers at a roller rink - all flashing lights and endless rotations.

You haven't taken your eyes off of Bucky, and he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. If you were thinking more logically, you'd probably realise that you've been staring at each other for too long, and it's starting to look a little suspicious. You don't care.

Your ears are ringing. It's like there's been an explosion, and you're scattered amongst the debris. Smoke, flames, rubble. A catastrophic detonation in your parents backyard.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you back to reality. The music is still playing, everyone around the table is still conversing, the house still stands. No explosion here.

"Sweetheart?"

It's your Mom, clearly sensing your distress. She probably thinks you're upset with her, for telling Cora. You are, but that's not what's causing the pain in your chest.

"Come inside with me, baby girl. Let's get away from the noise for a second."

She grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair, still none the wiser to the magnetism preventing you from breaking your gaze that's locked on Bucky's. She practically drags you inside, the cool air of the kitchen waking you up.

"Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. Cora overheard the conversation we had earlier. I thought it was good news, so I didn't think to ask her to keep it private."

She looks like she's being eaten alive by guilt. Your bottom lip quivers, your eyes well up, and before you know it, there are warm, salty tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?"

You sit down on the tiled floor, back pressed against the cabinets. Curling your knees to your chest, you try to stifle your sobs.

"Everything's such a mess, Mama."

She drops to the ground, gathering you in her arms. She holds you as tight as she can, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering comforting words in your ear. Eventually, she pulls back to look at you.

"What's the matter, baby? I thought Stella's call was a good thing - that you'd be excited to go back to California."

You take a shaky breath before replying.

"It's just... I think - I don't, it's... it's so complicated."

She traces her fingers over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your nose. She dances her fingertips over your face, as if she's committing it to her mind forever. It brings back warm and cosy childhood memories of her doing the same thing to help you sleep. The two of you would snuggle up against all of your pillows in bed, tucked up and safe. She'd lie with you until she was sure you were dreaming, before kissing you on the forehead and sneaking out.

"Talk to me. We can figure it out. We always do."

"It's not that simple. I just... there's a lot going on, I guess. I thought it'd be an easy decision, but it isn't, and it's all I can think about, and it's eating me up because I'm so scared I'm gonna do the wrong thing -"

You cut yourself off with a sob, resting your head on your knees.

"I knew there was something bothering you, sweetheart. Why didn't you come and talk to us? Even if we can't fix it, we can listen."

"I thought I could handle it. I thought I could figure it out on my own."

"You don't ever have to carry stress like this on your own, baby girl. Ever. You hear me?"

You nod and lean into her, letting her rock you in her arms on the kitchen floor.

"I'm sorry again, about Cora. She means well, you know she does."

"I know. Doesn't feel like it sometimes, but I know."

A pause.

"Okay, sweetheart. What are we going to do now? Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

"Your Mom's right," your Dad says from the doorway. "Whatever you choose, we'll be right alongside you. No matter what."

He strides over to join the two of you on the floor, sandwiching you between him and your Mom.

"If you need help packing up and moving, we're here. If you need us to create an elaborate lie to tell Stella, we're here. Either way, you've got us."

You smile at him gently, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. Regardless of what happens, you have two parents that love you more than anything in the world. That has to count for something.

"You wanna rejoin us outside, or are you too tired? No one will blame you if you go home."

"I think I'll go home," you murmur. "I don't wanna face any more questions for today."

"Bucky's just gone too. Said something about an early morning tomorrow."

You inhale shakily at the mention of his name. You know you'll have to face him sooner or later.

Your Dad stands and grabs your hands to help you to your feet, before doing the same to your Mom. They both hug you tightly before walking you out to the front door.

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything."

"I promise, Mama. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"Do you want one of us to walk you home?"

"No, it's okay. I think I need the air."

"Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too. Both of you."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're halfway home when you decide to turn around. You need to talk to Bucky.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where he is. You can feel in your chest that he's close by, that he hasn't strayed far. He hasn't gone home, though. The Universe is pulling you in the opposite direction.

The beach.

You spin on your heel and start walking down the road, picking up pace as you go. You can feel rain in the air, threatening to spill from the clouds at any given moment. Before you know it, you're running, sprinting along the sidewalk in the direction of your soulmate.

You get to the small boardwalk and look out over the sand. The sky is grey as concrete, cold and unforgiving. You spot a figure in a worn brown leather jacket by the shore, and you know instantly. It's him.

You march onto the beach with your shoes still on, wrapping your arms around yourself to act as a shield from the wind. You left your jacket at your parent's house, too eager to get out of there in a hurry. The rain is suspended in the air, never quite reaching the ground. You know it's only a matter of time before the heavens open.

"Bucky!" you yell, practically bounding across the sand. "Buck!"

He doesn't turn because he hears your voice. He turns because he suddenly feels like he can breathe, which he hasn't been able to do for the last hour. He knew you were there before you shouted his name.

"Bucky, please!"

He spins on his heel and stops walking, waiting for you to catch up with him. You're sprinting, panting as you reach him. The ocean waves crash against the shore, dangerously close to his boots.

"Buck, just let me explain," you choke out, trying to catch your breath.

You finally stop running and look at him. He looks broken. His hair looks like he's pulled his fingers through it repeatedly, tear tracks staining his cheeks, lips bitten red. You've never seen him upset like this. It's the worst thing you've ever witnessed.

"There's nothing to explain," he begins calmly, trying to keep a lid on his feelings.

"There is, Buck. There is. I... Cora overheard me confiding in my Mom, telling her about a call I'd gotten, from a classmate at culinary school. It was just an offer - I haven't accepted anything! I never meant for you to find out like this, I swear. It's all just... it's all so fucked up."

He looks at you in disbelief.

"No, you know what's fucked up?" he asks, raising his voice. "Finding out that my soulmate is moving across the country from some alcoholic suburban mom at a dinner party!"

You've never heard him yell before. You don't like it at all. You gather yourself before replying calmly, determined to keep you emotions under wraps.

"I've been trying to find a way to talk to you about it, but I didn't know where to start. How do I even begin to explain any of this?"

"Maybe, I don't know - 'hey, Buck, I got a call and I'm thinking of moving thousands of miles away for my dream job,' would be a good place to start?"

"It's more complicated than that. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From blowing your life up for me!"

You stare at each other for a minute, both of you unblinking.

"What are you talking about?" he croaks out.

"You'd drop everything for me, Bucky, and I can't let you do that. You've worked too damn hard to let it all go."

He's dumbfounded, for a moment. Not because he doesn't understand. No. He's realising that you're right.

"I knew that if I told you straight away, you'd have persuaded me to let you come with, and I would have said yes. And then you'd regret it, and you'd resent me, and we'd be over before we've even begun."

When he doesn't say anything, you continue.

"The thing is, Buck, the selfish part of me would have happily invited you along. Me and you, in California, running a bakery? That sounds like a fucking dream. But I have to listen to the other side of me, the selfless part. And that part is telling me that you have worked too damn hard for too damn long just for me to take that all away."

You feel droplets of water on your face, and for a moment, you wonder when you started to cry again. Then, in the deep distance, you hear a crack of thunder. The rain begins to pour, both of you caught in a storm in more ways than one.

"You don't get to make a decision like that for me!" he finally responds, yelling to be heard over the downpour. "We're supposed to talk about these things! To figure them out together! That's what soulmates are - we're a team!"

"I can't think rationally around you, Bucky! It's like all logic goes out the window. I'm just so overwhelmed with-"

You stop yourself before the word comes out, but you both know what you were about to say. He feels it in his ribcage, the surge of emotion from you.

"-with how I feel about you. You're my forever, Buck, and I feel like -" a sob wracks through you, shaking your frame. "-like I've fucked it all up already."

Your tears mix with the rainwater, trailing down your cheeks. You watch as Bucky fights with himself, internally battling his feelings.

"You're not the only one fucking it up," he chokes. "You repeatedly told me we had to take it slow, but I just... couldn't help myself. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you, and being away from you for even a minute is fucking torture. I moved us too fast, and now look where we are. We've become the equivalent of a married couple in a couple of weeks. No one can handle change that sudden."

"It's not.. none of this is your fault, Buck. I kept something from you, something big. I know it doesn't matter now, but I want you to know how hard it's been to not tell you. It was killing me."

"I felt it," he murmurs shakily, willing himself not to cry. "In my chest. You were so torn up about something, and I just couldn't figure out what it was. I should have pushed you more, but I was worried I'd push you away."

Your lip trembles as you watch him bite his own anxiously.

"I'm so scared, Buck," you whisper. "I feel so lost and so confused and like nothing makes sense."

"Me too," he whispers back, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm fucking terrified. Our worlds have been turned upside down."

"Is it... is it supposed to be this hard? Everyone makes it sound so easy."

"I don't know. Maybe the Universe heard that we were anti-soulmate and decided to be super tough on us. Cosmic karma, or something."

You choke out a laugh through your tears. The rain has plastered your clothes to your body, the salty wind chilling you to the bone. Without thinking, Bucky takes off his jacket and wraps it around you, unable to watch you shiver any longer.

"What now?" you ask quietly. If he wasn't standing so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Let's get out of the storm," he suggests, nodding his head towards the path home. "We can talk some more somewhere warmer."

You sniffle and take a deep breath, willing yourself to get it together. Bucky surprises you by linking your hand with his, warm fingers intertwining around yours.

He doesn't let go the whole way home.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky takes you to his house.

You haven't been here since before your Tethering. You walk in the door, and your knees threaten to give way.

It's overwhelming.

Everywhere - everything - smells like Bucky. His scent clings to every fabric, every upholstery, every room. There's pictures scattered across the mantelpiece, his handsome face staring at you wherever you go. The house is warm, cosy, and just so Bucky it makes your heart ache.

You walk over to the fireplace, taking a closer look at the array of frames adorning it. There's one of your parents and Bucky smiling, sat out on his lawn last summer; another of Bucky and his team of mechanics, stood proudly outside his garage. A small black frame catches your eye. You pick it up, and your breath hitches in your chest.

It's a picture of the two of you on the deck of his boat, the day after you found out you were soulmates. The wind is blowing your hair, billowing your shirts, sun beating down on your skin. You're both beaming at the camera, bright and blinding, completely content.

You're holding back tears as you put it back in it's original place.

"My favourite picture," he murmurs from somewhere behind you. "We look happy."

"We were happy," you whisper. Then, quieter, "We will be again."

A pause.

"You want something to drink? Coffee, cocoa? Oh, I have that tea you like, the apple one?"

"You do?"

"Yeah. I, uh, bought some last time I went grocery shopping. In case you stopped by."

"Tea sounds good. Please."

You stay stood in the middle of the living room while Bucky puts the kettle on the stove, worried that your wet clothes will ruin his couch. As if he's read your mind, he pops his head around the door.

"There's a load of fresh clothes folded on top of the dryer. Grab whatever you want, dry off a little."

You wander into the laundry room, sorting through the pile. You find a t shirt with his garage logo on the back in big, white letters.

J.B.B. Motorcycles and Automotives.

The blocky, bold font swirls across the black material. You run your fingers over it, tracing the curves and spikes of the typeface. It's something you've seen him in a million times. You inhale deeply as you slip it over your head, revelling in the way it smells like him. You grab some boxer shorts and slip those on too, glad to finally be warm and dry.

Bucky loses his breath when you walk into the room. He's never seen you in his clothes before, and for good reason. He's about to have a goddamn heart attack.

"Tea is on the coffee table," he chokes out. "I'm gonna change, and then we'll talk, yeah?"

You nod gently, settling into the cushions of his couch and tucking your legs underneath you, mug warming your hands.

When Bucky returns, he's in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that you want to burrow yourself into. He takes his place, careful to put a little distance between you. Far enough that you're not touching, but close enough that you almost are.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm not good at this."

"Neither am I," he smiles gently. "It's my first time having a soulmate."

"Mine too," you laugh softly.

It floors you, his ability to always be able to comfort you. It's like a superpower, the way he always knows what to say or do to put you at ease.

"I think we got a little ahead of ourselves," he begins, careful to keep his voice low and deliberate. "I keep forgetting that we have forever. Literally. I was so eager to rush into this with you because I got excited. Don't get me wrong, I'm still ridiculously excited, but I'm realising now that our version of 'slow' wasn't slow at all."

"This whole Tethering thing makes everything so intense. There have been times where I honestly thought I was going to drop dead if you didn't kiss me."

"The feelings mutual," he chuckles.

You lace your fingers with his, never breaking eye contact, before addressing the elephant in the room.

"What am I gonna do about California, Buck?"

Your voice cracks just saying the word.

"Stella needs an answer, and I've upset you, and my parents are clueless, and I just - I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do. Please."

"I can't tell you what to do, honey," he soothes, running his thumb over the back of your hand. "And I'm not upset. I was, in the backyard... but I was mainly just blindsided. I kinda get it, you not telling me. I'm not sure what I'd do in your situation either."

"I just feel like both decisions are wrong. I can't win."

"Hey, hey. Look at me, pretty baby."

Bucky cradles your face in his warm hands, forcing your eyes to meet his ocean blue ones. You have to focus on his words, so you don't get lost in the waves of his irises.

"At the end of the day, it's completely your decision, and no one in the world can change that. But-"

He takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I think that you'll regret it every day for the rest of your life if you don't take the incredible opportunity that's been offered to you."

You take a second to process what he's telling you, your mind running at a thousand miles an hour.

"Are you... you're... are you saying I should take the job?"

"Like I said, it's your decision, but... yes. I'm saying you should take the job."

Your eyes well with tears, and you bite your lip to stop them from escaping. Inhaling carefully, you put your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. He's calm. He's sure. He's collected enough for the both of you.

"What about us?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

"Like you said, baby. I'm your forever." Buck leans in, resting his forehead to yours. "We have time."

"All the time in the world."

You connect your lips to Bucky's softly, testing the waters. He kisses you back with so much feeling, tears slip from your lashes without warning. He's crying too, emotion mixing with yours, dousing you both.

You pull away and wrap your arms around him, curling yourself into his chest. He holds you as tightly as he can, knowing this will be the last time for a long time.

"So you'll go."

"I'll go."

"And I'll stay."

"You'll stay."

"And we'll be okay. No matter what, we'll be okay."

You and Bucky fall asleep in each others arms, cherishing the feeling of home one last time.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The happiness is starting to seep through.

You're devastated to be leaving Bucky behind, but you're trying to look on the bright side. Sunny beaches, new people, your dream job. If you think about the positives for long enough, the Bucky sized hole in your chest hurts a little less.

You're packing up your bookshelf when your phone rings, scaring the life out of you.

"Bitch!"

You know who it is instantly.

"Hi, Lacie."

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my text from last night?"

"Shit, sorry. I've been packing. What's up?"

"We're going out tonight. Not just us - all the girls. We're throwing you a goodbye party!"

You groan inwardly, massaging your temples with your fingers.

"A party? Lace, I don't need a party."

"Babe, you do. You really do. It'll be fun! I thought you'd be excited!"

You take a deep breath, and remember what you've been telling yourself. Focus on the positives.

"Okay, fine. Where? What time? What should I wear?"

"I knew you'd say yes! Come to my place at like... six? We can get ready together, like old times! And wear something sexy."

She doesn't wait for you to argue, just hangs up the phone. She knows you too well.

You know it'll be good for you, to see your girlfriends - but the thought of all the goodbyes you're about to say breaks your heart a little more.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?"

You're sat cross legged on Lacie's living room floor, sharing makeup that's scattered across the coffee table. You sip your wine for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. It's no use.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turn to look at her.

"What?"

"It's bullshit, babe. Something's going on. You've been given your dream job, and you're moping around like you just got broken up with or something. Why aren't you happy?"

There's no malice in her voice, just pure love. She adores you. You adore her. She's the one person with an outsiders perspective on all of this. So, you cut the act.

"I had my Tethering."

Silence.

She's processing.

"What?!"

"Yeah."

"When? Who? Where? How? Oh my God what is happening? Why didn't you say anything? Fuck, I'm gonna cry. I'm so overwhelmed right now, I'm so happy for you! Wait... are we not happy?"

"It's... complicated."

There's a lump in your throat, but a levity in your heart. A weight has been taken off you. Telling someone the truth has made you feel a little lighter.

"Who is it, babe?"

You take a deep breath, and look her in the eyes.

"Bucky."

Her jaw drops.

"Your... your Dad's best friend Bucky?"

"That's the one."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"This is complicated."

"Yeah."

"Aw, babe."

She pulls you in for a hug, not caring about the makeup you're smearing across her shirt. You cling to her as tightly as you can, savouring your best friends comfort.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. We decided not to tell my parents for a while."

"Shit. No wonder you've been so sad lately. You're moving across the country, away from the one person you're supposed to be near."

"It's really hard," you whisper, tears threatening to spill.

"I can't even begin to imagine," she murmurs, holding you close. "I wish you'd told me sooner. We could have talked about it."

"I know," you sniffle. "I thought I could handle it on my own, but I really can't."

"You're not on your own, okay? You have Bucky, and you have me. You can always talk to me about this stuff. God knows I talked your ear off about Cameron."

You laugh softly, thinking back to that day that feels both like yesterday and a million years ago.

"Where is he tonight?"

"Out with his boys. It's good for us to spend a few hours apart."

You smile at the happiness that's radiating off her. She's glowing, beaming in all directions.

"Thanks, Lace. I love you. You know that right?"

"Of course I do. I love you too. So much," she leans forward to kiss your cheek. "Now let's have one hell of a last girls night, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You've lost track of exactly where you are.

You know you're downtown somewhere, in one of the bars. This one smells like wood and whiskey, lowlit and smoky. You hit the cocktail bar first, then the one covered in leopard print, then the monochrome pink one. Now, you're here.

The six of you are sat at a booth, high heels tangled and legs intertwined under the table. The wood is sticky with lemon wedges from tequila shots, salt scattered across the surface.

"If you find any hot west coast men, will you send them my way?" Reese asks, nudging you with her shoulder.

"And if you find any hot west coast women, will you send them mine?"

Everyone laughs, the scent of perfume filling the air.

"Rosa, what happened to Aubrey? We liked her!"

"Caught her kissing my ex girlfriend. So now they're both my ex girlfriends."

"Jesus Christ."

"Man, that's rough," Lacie giggles next to you.

The other girls continue to talk about Aubrey's infidelity as Lacie leans to whisper in your ear.

"Have you said goodbye to Bucky yet?"

You nod.

"Yesterday. I stayed the night, we fell asleep together. Said our goodbyes in the morning. It was awful."

"Love you," she whispers, squeezing your hand under the table.

"Love you too," you reply, squeezing back.

"There's a table of super hot guys over there," Maggie observes, tilting her head in their direction. "Maybe we should conveniently dance that way in a little while."

You don't bother to look over, knowing that none of them will compare to your soulmate. The other girls seem interested, though, so you smile along with them.

"Babe," Sam hisses, kicking you under the table. "There's a hot guy at that table, three o'clock, that keeps staring at you."

You glance over, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Bucky.

His blue eyes pierce your soul, even from across the room. For a moment, it's only the two of you, all the noise forgotten.

You're snapped back to reality by Sam.

"Fuck, he's hot. If you don't want him, I do."

"You should talk to him," Lacie suggests quickly. "Why not, right?"

She's practically pushing you out of the booth, high school wrestler style. In another life, you think, she would have made a good football player. All five foot four of her.

You walk past his table, eyes still locked on him, and towards the bathrooms. You know he'll follow you. You walk to the end of the hallway and out of the door, into the fresh night air.

You feel him appear before you see him. You lean your body against the wall, head resting on the cold brick. Bucky stands in front of you, shirt stretched across his shoulders gorgeously.

"Hi."

"Hi, honey baby."

You smile softly at the nickname.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a boys night. What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a girls night."

He laughs, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

"Thought we said our goodbyes. I didn't think I'd see you again before I left."

"Me too. But you know the Universe. It hates us."

"Cosmic karma," you whisper.

The two of you stand down the alleyway, looking at each other carefully. Neither of you wants to spook the other person. You'd processed your leaving, said your emotional goodbyes. And now he's here, standing in front of you. You don't want to have to do it all again.

"I should probably get back inside, before the girls get the wrong idea."

"Baby, I followed you to the bathroom. They've already got the wrong idea."

You chuckle, kicking at a rock on the ground.

"Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna explain this."

A smile. A pause.

"I'll let you get back to your friends, then."

You lean up to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"Bye, Buck."

"Bye, pretty girl."

You push off the wall and walk away towards the door. Suddenly, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you into a solid chest.

Bucky kisses you like a man possessed. There's nothing gentle about it - just pure, unadulterated passion. It's all teeth and tongue and nipping and biting, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

He walks you back into the wall, pushing you against the rough brick. You hike a leg up onto his hip as he grabs your thigh to pull you closer, desperate to feel all of you. Your hands are in his hair, around his neck, tangled in his collar, his shirt, his belt loops. Anything you can get your hands on, you grab.

A distant chorus of cheers break you out of your lust fuelled haze. A bachelorette party walks by, one of the women winking at you as they go. You and Bucky take a step away from each other, straightening out your clothes and fixing your hair.

"Promise me you'll call me if you need anything," Bucky murmurs, leaning to rest his forehead on yours.

"I promise," you whisper, almost against his lips. "Goodbye, Bucky."

"Goodbye, honey girl."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The salty ocean wind whips through your hair, sun beating down onto your skin, some upbeat pop song humming from the radio. You keep your eyes glued to the road in front of you, begging yourself not to look back. You know if you do, you'll turn the car around and run straight back into Bucky's arms.

Let the happiness seep through, you remind yourself, gripping the steering wheel.

Let the happiness seep through.

tag list part one -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara   @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen   @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance  @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[1425fivefive]

for the kink prompts... (all of them have been devastatingly hot so far and i am Foaming at the mouth hnggg) something with sounding if you can please?? i'm so obsessed w it rn

sounding for landoscar!! you have no idea how long i had to spend on the sounding subreddit to write this (for the kink prompt asks)

“Is that alright?” Lando asks.

Oscar doesn’t say anything, just watches open-mouthed as Lando slides the slim metal rod into the tip of Oscar’s dick. The rod’s tiny, only three millimeters, the smallest size the shop had, but Oscar gasps when the rod slips deeper, dick throbbing, flushed and angry.

“Osc, you’re good, yeah?” Lando repeats. Oscar can hear the strain in his voice.

“Yeah,” Oscar whispers. He’s trembling from the effort of holding still, of letting Lando set the pace. Oscar wants to beg already, wants to beg for Lando to push it deeper, harder, faster. To fuck his—to fuck his cock.

Jesus, it feels fucking insane when he thinks about it like that. But that’s what’s happening. Lando’s fucking Oscar’s cock, filling him, stuffing him full, so fucking full he feels like he can’t take it. The first person to have him like this. Just like Lando was the first person to have his mouth, his arse. Lando’s done it all, now. Fucked Oscar every single way a person can be fucked.

Oscar lets out a breathless whimper at the thought, fingers tightening on the sheets, thighs sliding apart.

“Please,” Oscar gasps. “Fuck me—I—fuck my cock, please.”

Lando’s mouth drops open, face flushing, but he slips the rod a little deeper.

“Jesus, Osc,” Lando breathes, eyes fixed on Oscar’s swollen cock. “The way you take it.”

Oscar’s hips hitch up involuntarily and the rod slips even deeper. There’s still a quarter of it left and Oscar doesn’t think he can take it, it won’t fit, he’s too full, he’ll burst—

“That’s it,” Lando murmurs. “That’s it, baby, good boy.”

Oscar moans and forces himself to stay still, trembling, shaking, whole body a mess of sensations. The crazed feeling of watching his body take something it shouldn’t. Of watching Lando make him take it.

Lando lets go of the sound and it stays still for a moment, half-in and half-out of Oscar’s cock. And then it just fucking slides, all the way in, his cock swallowing the sound to the hilt, the base resting right flush with the bright red tip of Oscar’s cock. Oscar feels—he’s so fucking—

“Full,” Oscar whimpers, staring at the sight of his cock stuffed and plugged, full to the brim.

Lando traces a finger over the underside of Oscar’s cock, right over where the sound is pressing through Oscar’s skin and it feels like coming but not, oversensitive and insane and awful, like coming without release, like Oscar’s a balloon that won’t pop.

Oscar can hear himself crying out, begging, babbling about how it’s too much, he’s too full, he can’t, Lando, please, he can’t.

“Yeah,” Lando breathes, pupils blown wide as he keeps dragging his finger over Oscar’s dick, watching as Oscar’s dick twitches and throbs and swells, pulsing desperately with nothing spilling out.

“I can’t,” Oscar sobs. “Lando, please, I can’t—”

“Shh,” Lando murmurs. “You’re okay, Osc, you’re okay.”

Oscar shakes his head, frantic, hips fucking up, cock bobbing, Lando’s finger still stroking over Oscar’s dick, tracing the long line of the sound.

“Just a little longer,” Lando says, voice low, raspy. “Just keep it in for me, yeah? Love seeing you all full like this.”

“Lando,” Oscar moans, squirming against the sheets. He’s desperate to come, desperate to stay fucked full, desperate to have Lando keep touching him like this, gentle and awful.

Lando stops stroking Oscar’s dick and pinches the base of the sound between his fingers.

Oscar thinks Lando might finally pull it out and Oscar sobs, imagining the rush of come, the relief. But Lando starts fucking the sound in and out of Oscar’s cock, moaning at the sight of Oscar’s cock swallowing it hungrily every time Lando pushes down.

“Oh,” Oscar gasps, staring at his cock with wide eyes, stunned at the sight of how much he can take, how much his body will take for Lando. “Oh, Lando, oh—”

“Look at you,” Lando murmurs, and he tips forward to mouth at the flushed head of Oscar’s dick, right where the base of the sound meets his skin.

It’s too much, too good, too terrible, the wet, sucking drag of Lando’s mouth. Oscar’s cock feels feverish against Lando’s tongue, hot and swollen. Oscar thinks about shoving Lando’s mouth away, begging him to stop.

Instead, Oscar says, “Fingers—can you—in my—”

And Lando doesn’t have to ask what Oscar means, just moans against Oscar’s cock and slips two fingers inside Oscar, smooth and easy.

Oscar feels full, so full, full of Lando, fuller than anything.

Lando pulls off Oscar's cock to say, “Suck your fingers,” and Oscar does, sobs as he slides his fingers into his mouth, hollows his cheeks and sucks.

He’s completely full. Every single bit of him plugged and stuffed.

“Fuck,” Lando moans, eyes dragging over Oscar. “Jesus, Osc.”

Oscar whimpers, slick sounds as he swallows around his fingers, as Lando pushes his fingers deeper inside Oscar.

“Wish I could keep you like this forever,” Lando groans. “So fucking full for me, yeah?”

Oscar nods, frantic, sucking his fingers, fucking back against Lando’s hand, cock thick and swollen, bouncing with the plug. He doesn’t want to ever be empty again, wants to be just like this, always. Full, so fucking full. For Lando.