#i could have fixed this DAYS ago??????????????

[rafesangelita]

♡ sheep!reader has a pregnancy scare

warnings: mentions of sickness and pregnancy, angst, brief flashback of rafe and reader having sex, breeding kink, arguing (?)

a/n: i couldn’t choose between breeding kink or pregnancy scare so i just incorporated both concepts.. and also! read more about ‘the other woman’ au here <3

you sat in deafening silence, your cheeks damp with tears as you waited for any sign of rafe to come to fruition. so desperately, you wanted the phone to ring, to hear his truck pull into your driveway, to see him walk through your door with that charming smile of his.. anything. you hadn’t spoken to rafe for going on a week already, your so called ‘lover’ leaving you to go through your new profound sickness all by yourself. it started with you feeling super fatigued, the exhaustion making you stay in bed til’ noon.

you had to force yourself to get out of bed and get ready in order to refrain from bed rotting, your daily ritual of doing your hair and makeup leaving you ready to take a nap despite just getting up mere hours ago. you couldn’t keep any food down, the fresh brownies you made for rafe going to waste as you couldn’t eat them and he just never showed up. other symptoms such as sensitivity to certain smells and dizzy spells also contributed to your woozy state. you sniffled, already having your suspicions as to what could be making you feel this way.. and to say you felt conflicted about it would be an understatement.

just three weeks ago, rafe had your legs on his shoulders, his teeth nipping marks into your skin as he fucked you into your floral bedsheets, his fingers intertwined with your own. round after round, you two got lost in each other while he whispered sweet nothings against your lips. “i can’t wait for you to carry my babies, ‘watch you get all round and pretty as you grow my seed..” rafe was purely saying his fantasy out loud. deep down he knew that everything he worked so hard for would be washed down the drain if you were to ever fall pregnant, and even though he knew this, he let you hear him say those ingenuine words knowing that being a mother one day meant the world to you.

he was sick and cruel for getting your hopes up, but when he was buried inside of you like this, the sight of your clueless, innocent eyes gazing up at him, he didn’t care. you were so easy to impress and manipulate because you didn’t truly know him. you didn’t know about his dark past or the skeletons he kept in his closet. his wife did, though, and that’s why he needed you. he filled you to the hilt and made you watch as he said you’d be the ‘best mommy ever’. in the moment, you were all for it, but now that you were practically barely able to take care of yourself— by yourself, you grew terrified at the prospect of having a child with someone who was as absent and inconsistent as rafe.

you were currently curled up in a ball on the couch, a knitted blanket covering you as you listened to the quiet hum of the air conditioner. you wondered if rafe ever thought about you while he was away, if he even missed you the way you missed him. just as your eyelids started to weigh heavy with sleep, you sat up against the soft cushions of the couch as rafe made his way inside. upon walking in, rafe knew something was up when he didn’t smell dinner looming in the air and he didn’t hear your record player going. you didn’t run up to him the way you usually did when he walked through the door either.

“sweetheart?” you blinked at the nickname, your shoulders falling in defeat as he emerged from the dark hallway. “what’s wrong?” immediately, he started rolling up the sleeves of his button down, his face etched with concern as he took a seat by your feet. rafe felt his heart drop when you didn’t even do so much as spare him a glance, your eyes instead fixed on the clock in the corner. “where have you been?” your voice came out small as you turned away from him, giving him your back. rafe always got ticked off when you asked him questions, especially when it involved his other life.

“you know i have to work..” he trailed off, his words making you blink at the lace trim curtains adorning your windows. “you always say that.” you shot back, shrugging off his hand once you felt the warmth of his touch on your shoulder. rafe didn’t know how to take this kind of rejection from you, considering you never denied his advances before. “what’s going on?” he leaned in close, “talk to me.” you felt yourself cracking already, your eyebrows pinching together as you started to cry. “i need to go to the pharmacy.” you sniffled, scooting away from him.

“what for?” he asked, confused. you stayed silent, debating on whether or not you should just drop the subject entirely. a few moments passed. “what for?” he repeated, his voice more firm than the first time he asked. swallowing thickly, you finally met his gaze. “i think i’m pregnant.” at your words, rafe stilled. it’s not like he could outright deny the possibility of that happening when neither of you took precautions. he especially knew that the chances of you being pregnant with someone else’s baby other than his own was nonexistent, considering he kept tabs on every single thing you did.

“why?” he sat back on the couch, his arms now at his side as you physically recoiled from the question. “i’ve been sick all week, rafe. if you would’ve been here, then you would know that.” you got up, already feeling the sharp prick of frustration as you made your way to your room. rafe groaned, his eyes screwing shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. this was the last thing he needed right now. with heavy footsteps, rafe sighed when he saw you laying down with a wet patch adorning your pillow from crying. “you don’t care about me. you never did.” leaning against the doorframe, rafe scoffed.

“i don’t care about you?” he narrowed his gaze, “but yet i’m making sure you never have to work for anything? all the gifts i spoil you with, all the gestures i do for you? the way i fuck you, you really have the nerve to lay there comfortably and say that i don’t care—?” you snapped, your feet moving before you could think as you stood up. “you’re never here!” rafe was taken aback by the sound of you yelling, considering you had never even did so much as raise your voice at him before. “i don’t care about your gifts! i don’t care about your ‘gestures’! all i’ve ever asked you for was your time, and god forbid you barely do that.”

rounding the corner of your bed, you attempted to walk past him until he pulled you against his chest. “don’t you ever walk away from me like that,” he gripped your shoulders, “and let that little performance in the living room be the last time you turn your back on me.” his breath felt hot against your skin, his nostrils flaring slightly as you ultimately surrendered to him. “just get me a test.” you whispered, refusing to look at him until he was walking out of your house with clenched fists. you waited for him to come back with the pink box, your fingers nervously fiddling with your necklace as you paced back and forth in the doorway.

all you could think about was what was going to happen if you saw two lines staring back at you. you could tell by the way rafe reacted he wasn’t going to be be happy about it and that fact alone broke your heart in two. all you’ve ever wanted was a family, and rafe just had a way with making everything feel short lived and temporary— something a family wasn’t. rafe had forbidden you from going onto figure eight and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why. little did you know he was like kook royalty on that side of the island.. his wife being the glue that made everything about his reputation stick together.

once rafe came back in, he looked uneasy, his exterior suddenly cold and distant as he handed you the plastic bag. without a word, you locked yourself in the bathroom, your chin already wobbling as you began breaking down. you hated that you loved him so much. quickly unboxing the test, your hands trembled through the process until you sat there waiting for your fated answer. feeling your stomach sink for what felt like the thousandth time this week, you felt a mix of relief, sadness, disappointment, and anger when the test only showed one line in the little margin.

leaving the test on the sink counter, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you washed your hands, making sure to get rid of any evidence that you were crying before opening the door. of course, rafe was standing there, his eyes looking slightly glassy as you two stood in front of each other silently. he looked like he was on the verge of breaking down himself. “don’t look so worried..” you spoke quietly, “you get to continue doing what you do best. you don’t have to worry about anyone but yourself.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[lilyinmysoul]

Crybaby

Joel Miller x FReader

WC: 2.6K

Summary: You get hurt after working on the farm all day. Joel fixes your injury and your mood.

Tags: Fingering (F receiving), kisses over underwear, blood in many capacities; ingestion of blood from wounds, ingestion of menstrual blood (brief), description of dead animal, reader is moody, implied large age gap—I imagine reader to be early twenties or something, unsanitary wound cleaning practices, Joel calls reader ‘Kiddo’ once—I am who I am.

Note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I suddenly remembered how much I love it after putting it off. With this one, I was thinking of sweet and fluffy—which it is—but I had to go and add blood as a major element, it’s not that bad. Pretty tame. I imagine this takes place on a little farm not unlike Ellie and Dina’s. Post outbreak.

“Ace! Come back, boy!”

You’d never loved an animal more, but the dog was a menace. A disobedient menace, and the horse could have been fed and brushed already in the time you’d spent trying to lure Ace back to the house.

The fence around the house was short and minimal, but the dog knew never to cross it unless accompanied by either you or Joel for hunting. So as it came closer in your view, you figure that you might get a break from the chasing.

“Ace, slow… slow down, boy,” you call breathlessly, pace quickening and boots trampling over the tall grass. Your walk turns to a jog, which turns to a run. “Do you want some food, Ace? Just come… back. Come back.”

A bark sounds from the Canine’s mouth, and you wonder if he’s punishing you. Joel had asked you to get Ace inside fifteen minutes ago, and it looked like it’d take fifteen more. Maybe you just needed to tire him out.

The dog is still running, but you’re gaining on him. You must look silly running in circles around the backyard, but you figure that once he stops, you’ll convince Ace to follow you back in.

“Ace… baby, come… shit!” When your ankle twists, it only causes a few throbs that jolt up your leg. However, when you hit the ground, it’s your knee that erupts with pain. “Damn you, dog!” Your yell is lost on him, and you watch his tail as he dashes through the grass.

Joel had always told you to wear pants while working outside, but you always much preferred your dresses in the sun. You pull back the hemline, now dusted lightly with dirt, revealing a knee skinned and cut, trickling with little drips of blood. It doesn’t look nice, and you look down at the ground around the wound for a moment, your eyes spacing out on the red rock perpetrator that did this to you as your knee aches like it’d been shot.

You can’t get up yet, so you stare out onto the field, a hot tear of both frustration and pain threatening and conquering your eye, dripping down your face—to your dismay. In your head, you curse that hell raising dog and wish it was dinner time. You are hungry and angry and hurting. The free hand that doesn’t hug your leg to your chest comes down in an aggravated slap against the dry earth underneath you, as if to make it suffer as much as you are, right now. You wipe away the frustrated tear with your wrist, careful not to touch your eyes with your dirty fingers.

Slowly, you lift yourself from the grass, your white dress now tainted by the earth. You set your eyes on the house and begin the walk back to it, your steps a little shaky and slow as your knee slowly drips. The house comes closer and you think that maybe your slight limp is making the trek even more painful. You hope that Joel won’t call you dramatic, and despite the only mild pain, you want to cry.

You swat a fly from your eyes, continuing your walk as you near the old wooden steps to the porch. The house was quaint, and its old, peeling paint felt like home in a way nothing else had. You could cry here if you wanted to, and you make a face at Ace, who sits comfortably by the decrepit mailbox as your boots step up onto the planks. The dog lounges comfortably and it pisses you off further, another wave of hot tears threatening your eyes as you slump down onto the bench on the deck.

Immediately, your elbows find your knees and your chin finds your hands, and you bury your face in them as you let out a frustrated sob. It’s a rather trivial thing, and you don’t think you ought to be crying, which upsets you further.

Through the gaps in your fingers, you see Ace stand up with a lighthearted growl, trotting up the wooden steps and over to the screen door, which is now opening on its rusty hinges.

You see Joel’s shadow on the deck through the mesh as the metal frame is pushed open, and he clicks his tongue at the eager dog.

“There y’are,” he mutters. Looking up you see that his gaze is focused on Ace, a dish of food in his hands. There’s a smell of meat and blood wafting from it—certainly not appetizing, but it reminds you of your hunger.

The dog gives a quiet bark, moving jumpily as Joel sets the bowl down on the bottom steps. He hadn’t seen you yet, you don’t think, so you wipe your face as you watch him.

Joel Looks out for a moment on the grass field outside, his eyes scanning the yard for your figure. You hadn’t brought the dog in, and you hadn’t been back when he asked you to be. He surveys the field for a moment before turning back toward the door, now finally laying eyes on your sitting and slouched figure.

When he sees the tear streaks on your face, he says your name softly, yet exasperatedly. You meet his eyes, a little embarrassed, feeling petulant yet dignified.

His eyes wander down to your knee, red and cut, stinging and exposed, and then to your dress, a little dirty and stained with a bit of dirt and grass. He inhales and rubs his forehead. “Angel, what happened?”

You look over at Ace, your anger having subsided into a moody melancholy. The dog is happily lapping up rabbit guts as you rest your chin in your hands, annoyed. “I fell.”

“Okay…” Joel coaxes. He’s unsure whether the source of your sadness is the pain of your injury, or if you’re just feeling gloomy. He tries to be patient with you; he really does, but it’s hard. You don’t answer for a moment.

“You said I could make Ace’s food,” you state, your voice almost whiny. You didn’t even want to make it—it grossed you out—but still, you complained. You brush a few strands from your face, looking back down at the cracking and dull wood beneath your feet.

Joel exhales again, running a weathered hand through his graying hair. He still had to feed the horse, water the plants. He should probably cut the grass, too… “Baby, you didn’t finish gettin’ Ace. He needs t’a eat.” You don’t answer, so he adds, “And I know you don’t like dealin’ with the meat. Don’t play like you do.”

His voice was getting more stern, impatience creeping into it.

“Well… I fell,” you repeat. You want his help. You want some kind of attention, some affirmation of your feelings. You don’t know why you’re being so pettish, but right now, you’re hurt and you want your way—without being made to feel bad. Joel tried to keep you comfortable, but he couldn’t always feed into your moods. It was difficult, but he would do his best.

Joel takes another glance at your knee, now more bloodied than before. He exhales again. “I’ll patch you up, angel. Just… hang tight.” He turns back toward the screen, and you watch it open, then shut with a clank behind him.

You watch Ace lap up the rest of the food and run off. You stick your tongue out at him as he goes.

It takes a few minutes for Joel to get back, and you listen to the rustling of the wind in the trees, the blue sky momentarily lightening your mood. You watch the barn, still and quiet, and gaze out on the yard as the dog runs in broad circles. Your anger has lifted, but your leg still hurts.

When Joel comes back out, he has a little box of first aid, a small collection that remains hidden under the bathroom sink. “Alright…” he stands in front of you for a moment before kneeling down, slowly, the quiet air disturbed with the pop of a hip and the scuffling of his boots on the deck.

Your hard gaze softens at Joel’s large body kneeled in front of you. It felt nice, now, having him there. You could see, on the treeline, the sun beginning to slink away and out of view, to soon be replaced by the moon, but not before the sky would turn a vibrant yellow that you felt in your soul like honey.

“Alright,” Joel tugs one of your legs lightly, urging you to uncross them as he takes the strings of your left muddy boot. The thing was heavy, a bit loose, and perhaps contributed to your fall. “What happened, baby?”

“I was trying to get Ace, and he wouldn’t come, and I tripped. And there was a rock that I… I kinda hit, and so, now it hurts…” you rattle. The memory causes another hot wall of tears to threaten your eyes, even though the moment is long gone. Joel’s fingers move nimbly at your laces, and when he hears the shake of your voice, he glances up and his gaze softens. There was something about your teary eyes that never let him rest until they were dry again.

“You’re okay. M’sorry.” Joel kisses lightly on your knee, a bit of blood tainting his dry lip and he licks it away, pulling off your boot and moving to the next. When he removes the other shoe, he sets them both aside, and his fingers are light as they rub the area around the cut on your knee. “M’sure he didn’t mean it.”

Your response is almost snappy. “Yeah, of course he didn’t mean it. He’s a dog.”

Joel gives you a warning look. “Watch it.” He grabs an alcohol wipe from the box, tearing open the paper packet. “Don’t give me that, kiddo.”

He sometimes wonders if your petulance is a punishment from God for choosing someone so much younger. He loves you to death, but god, he’s getting too old to run around after you. It’s gotten better, lately, as you’ve settled in on the farm, but… you are so much.

“Gonna sting,” Joel warns, placing his free hand, big and warm on your unharmed knee. You brace yourself, readying yourself for the burn in your open wound. He dabs the gash lightly with the wipe, the material turning a light pink with blood, and a little more leaks from the cut. You hiss, drawing in a breath through your teeth.

“Ow…” you murmur as he draws away the wipe, dropping the sheet into the first aid box, discarding it and focusing his gaze back on you.

Joel’s thumb rubs over the untouched skin once again. “There y’go, baby. All clean…” he presses a slightly sluggish kiss to the wound and you tense, before relaxing into the feeling. It stings slightly every time his lips touch your knee, but it feels nice to have him here. Joel’s eyes watch as another dribble of bright red blood emerges, and his head dips as he licks it away. Soon enough, the drop has disappeared, replaced by the glassy shine of his saliva.

“Thanks,” you whisper, the sound almost lost to the wind. You were no longer teary-eyed.

He nods almost imperceptibly, a soft smile showing on his face as he rubs your thigh through your smudged dress. “We’re gonna clean this one. We’ll get it out,” he lightly pushes up the dress, your thighs becoming visible and his hand continues to rub.

“I like this dress,” you say almost mindlessly, looking out on the grass. The sky is darkening into a deep orange, and you feel both a contented warmth and a hungry growl in your stomach. Joel’s hand consolingly rubs your upper thigh as he gently raises your dress a little more, making your white panties visible.

You look down at Joel, eyes meeting his as his fingers move on to caress your hips under your dress. Your legs spread a little bit as he gets closer, leaning his head on your thigh, warm breath hitting your skin. “You wanna go back out and help me with the work?”

After a few moments of thought, you shake your head. “No,” you tuck some wandering hair behind your ear. “But I’m a little hungry.”

“M’kay, baby…” he tiredly grumbles, kissing up your thigh again. He reaches the lacy trim of your underwear, nuzzling gently into it. “‘M hungry, too.” A kiss to the fabric.

That elicits a laugh from you—the first one of the evening. Joel smiles into your panties, a huff of a laugh leaving his mouth. He breathes in, pressing a kiss to the cotton.

A thick thumb comes between your legs, pressing that sensitive spot through the fabric, and you both hum. The air is a perfect kind of warm, and you hear the first crickets begin to chirp.

“I’ll make you sumthin’…” Joel’s tone is noncommittal as he continues rubbing you. The sensation overpowers the still present, light throbbing of your knee, the pain slowly easing away.

You mumble an ‘okay’ when you feel his fingers slip under the fabric, sliding gently through your folds and eventually sinking into you once he finds the spot. Another raspy exhale leaves you, and you look down at Joel’s face, half hidden in the shadows of your lap as his fingers gently move in and out, curling softly.

“Mm, yeah…” Joel always seems to enjoy this just as much as you do—if not more, and you can tell by the way he murmurs under his breath; he must be hard, but he pays it no mind. None at all. “You still hurtin’?”

“Not very much,” you reply, your words low, now, matching the sun as it makes way for moonlight, darkness creeping into the sky. In response, Joel kisses your upper thigh, inner thigh, hip, as his fingers continue to move. They go a little deeper now, curve a little harder, plunge a little quicker.

Joel’s fingers quicken with a newfound slickness, his digits feeling wetter yet. He wonders if you’d missed him extra while working outside today—he wouldn’t blame you.

Your little grunts are the only sounds overlapping with the chirping of bugs and the buzz of the porch light, and Joel picks back up on the rubbing of your thigh with his free hand, his other dedicating itself to your pussy. One shoeless foot taps on the deck, harder each time Joel touches that spot, and more frequently with the closer you become.

Joel repeats your name a few times, breathily, as he feel your muscles tighten.

You tap your feet quicker, just barely able to make out the wet sound of his ministrations. He kisses your thigh once more, and when you cum, he kisses again, open mouthed and sucking.

He lets out a light chuckle, taking in your pacified expression as opposed to your previous state. “Needed that, huh…?” If you do answer, he doesn’t catch it as he withdraws his sloppy fingers from inside of you.

At first, in the dimness of evening, he doesn’t notice anything amiss, but it soon aware of the red liquid blending with and bleeding into the wetness on his fingertips. Blood mixes with spit as he examines it, and you look down, too.

“Oh, angel,” Joel mutters, looking down at his fingers once more before pressing them to his tongue, running them down its length and removing the excess liquid on your dress. “We’ll get this off… shit.”

You grumble when you see the pop of color, and again when Joel notices the steady trickle of blood into your underwear. The red is rich and overbearing, creating a deep patch of the color in your panties.

Joel stands reluctantly, kicking your boots off to the edge of the porch, forgetting them. “Get up, baby. I’ll get ‘ya somethin’ to eat… clean ‘ya up.”

Thanks for reading, I encourage comments and asks, all that

[brookghaib-blog]

The ghost I left behind - VI

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Word count: 5,5k

Note: This has been an emotional rollercoster, but welcome to the final chapter!! I hope you all enjoyed the story as much as I did!

--

The soft thump of a hammer echoed through the apartment again, followed by the high-pitched whine of an electric drill that had definitely seen better days. Y/N barely reacted—just lazily flipped a page in her fashion magazine, her legs swinging slightly off the side of the couch, toes brushing the worn rug. The model on the page wore something entirely impractical for pregnancy, but Y/N still admired the color.

Her belly shifted under the oversized shirt she’d stolen from Bob weeks ago—though she refused to admit that out loud.

The sound of shuffling tools and an exasperated grunt came from the hallway, and then Bob appeared, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. His hair was a mess again. Thank God the gel hadn’t made a reappearance in weeks.

He looked tired—but in that satisfied, proud way that came after a long day of fixing what was broken.

“I finally got the damn cabinet to stop swinging open every time someone breathes near it,” he announced, stepping barefoot onto the carpet. “Your shower isn’t leaking anymore either. Window in the kitchen’s fixed. Crib’s done. Everything’s… done.”

Y/N looked up from her magazine. “You say that like you’ve conquered Everest.”

He leaned his weight on the armrest of the couch, giving her a crooked grin. “I basically have. You know how long I’ve been fighting that crooked hinge in the pantry? Longer than I fought Abomination.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And which one smelled worse?”

“Definitely the pantry.” He smirked, but then paused, looking at her with something quieter in his eyes. “You’re comfortable, right? I mean, the place—it’s finally good again?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just flipped another page, then closed the magazine and set it beside her.

“I’m comfortable,” she said, finally. “For now.”

Bob nodded, like he knew that tone well by now. He did. Two months of it.

Two months of brushing past each other in the kitchen. Two months of long conversations that always stopped right before they could be about them. Two months of him staying on the blow-up mattress in the other room, waking at every noise she made, every time she turned in her sleep.

He’d offered her everything: the Watchtower, an apartment in the city, a bigger bed, a quieter life. She hadn’t taken any of it. She’d chosen the walls they once called theirs, now patched up and reimagined as hers again.

Still, he never left.

“I know I’m being stubborn,” she said softly, rubbing her stomach as the baby gave a lazy kick. “I just… I need to know that I’m doing this right. For me.”

“I get it,” Bob said, without hesitation. “I messed up. I was gone. I left you holding everything. You don’t owe me anything.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“And still,” he added, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him—hair falling in his eyes again, knuckles scraped from fixing pipes and building furniture, shirt stained with sweat and dust. His whole being radiated exhaustion and devotion.

“Do you even sleep anymore?” she asked quietly.

He gave a breathy laugh. “Yeah. When you do.”

She felt a pang in her chest, unsure if it was affection or guilt or both. She leaned back into the cushions, hand absently rubbing her stomach.

“You’re doing all this for someone who hasn’t even told you if she wants you here.”

“I know,” Bob said, softer now, sitting down slowly on the floor beside the couch. “But I’m not doing it to earn anything. I’m doing it because I want to. Because you deserve someone who fixes things when they break—even if it’s just a loose screw or a cracked tile. Or me.”

He looked down, like maybe he’d said too much. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that yet.

Y/N reached for her water bottle on the coffee table, then thought better of it and instead reached out, fingers brushing his.

“You’re better with the hammer than I thought,” she said, half-teasing.

He smiled at that. “You should see my drywall technique. Masterclass.”

The late afternoon sun bled softly through the curtains, painting the apartment in hues of gold and rose. Y/N shifted a bit on the couch, pulling a pillow behind her lower back, groaning as she tried to get comfortable.

“Hey,” she said casually, as Bob reached for his toolbox again. “You feel like going on a noble quest?”

Bob looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Oh boy. What now?”

“I want a sandwich.”

“That’s it?”

“Bacon and egg. Toasted bread. A side of fries. And a Coca-Cola.”

He blinked. “That’s a feast.”

She gave him a small grin, teeth biting her lip just slightly. “It’ll do.”

Bob exhaled like he was being sentenced to war. “Alright. Want me to go milk the cow and bake the bread from scratch too?”

Y/N leaned back into the couch, hand over her belly. “Don’t tempt me. You’ve got strong arms and the energy of a loyal man in love—I might put you to actual labor.”

He gave her a look, wiping sweat from his brow dramatically. “You are having fun slaving me around.”

“I am,” she said without apology, smug. “But you love it.”

Bob just shook his head, grabbing his wallet and keys, heading for the door. “You’re lucky I can’t say no to you.”

“I know,” she called after him sweetly.

Twenty minutes later, the door clicked open again, and Bob stepped in with two paper bags of hot food, a pair of soda cans tucked under his arm. He was already chewing on one fry, like he’d earned the reward. “Mission complete,” he said, dropping the goods on the coffee table like a hero returning from battle.

Y/N practically pounced. “God, bless you.”

They ate in silence for a while, the soft crackle of wrappers and the faint sound of city life outside the window filling the space. Y/N was already licking salt off her fingers before Bob was halfway through his sandwich.

He glanced at her plate and snorted. “You devoured that. I don’t think I even blinked and it was gone.”

She looked smug again. “I’ve got a whole human being inside me. What’s your excuse?”

“Touché,” he chuckled, and then, more gently, he reached out and rested his hand on her belly. “How are you two doing? I mean… you’re already seven months.”

Her smile softened. “We’re good. Tired, mostly. My back hates me. But he’s growing. Doctor says he’s healthy.”

Bob’s thumb traced slow, small circles on the curve of her bump. The expression on his face melted into something reverent, something quiet and heavy with awe.

Silence lingered for a few moments, the kind that feels full instead of empty.

Y/N looked down at his hand, then up at his face. “Bobby?”

He glanced up, still smiling. “Yeah?”

She watched him for a second longer, eyes unreadable, then said, “You should probably start packing up my things, you know clothes and everything.”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I’m moving in with you.”

He froze. “Wait—what?”

“I already put the apartment up for sale,” she said with a small smile, brushing a crumb from her shirt. “Had a couple people interested. Figured I’d wait until all the fixing was done so the value would go up.”

Bob slowly lowered his sandwich, staring at her like she’d just told him the moon had fallen out of the sky.

“And you’re telling me this now?”

She shrugged, grinning. “I wanted to make sure first. And I needed a reason for you to fix everthing, you wouldn't do it if ou knew it wasn't for me. But… yeah. I’m moving in with you. I want to be there. For all of it. The baby. The crazy superhero stuff. Us, whatever we are.”

Bob still looked like he was trying to process oxygen.

“I mean, I heard,” she added with a teasing glint in her eye, “there’s a luxury suite available in the Watchtower. And a great man who sleeps on the other side of the bed. Big arms.”

His eyes went wide. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, beaming now. “Dead serious.”

Bob launched himself forward so fast the remaining fries toppled over. He wrapped his arms around her, careful of her belly, holding her with the full force of his love. He kissed her hair, her cheeks, her forehead, murmuring breathless declarations between kisses:

“I love you—I love you so much—you’re everything, everything to me—God, I’ve missed you—I can’t believe you’re actually—Y/N, I’m gonna cry—”

She laughed through it all, wrapping her arms around his neck, smiling like she hadn’t in months.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered into his ear.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy. “And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

They stayed like that for a long time—wrapped in each other, the smell of fries and warmth in the air, the flickering golden light of a day well-lived wrapping around them like a promise.

--

The elevator doors of the Watchtower slid open with a soft chime, revealing Bob awkwardly juggling two cardboard boxes stacked so high they completely blocked his line of sight.

“Can someone—uh—get the doors?” Bob grunted, bumping into the wall with a thud.

Y/N followed right behind him, visibly amused, a tote bag over her shoulder and a small plant in hand. “He insisted on carrying all the heavy stuff. Said it was his superhero duty.”

Bob peeked around the boxes just in time to see Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and Walker all sitting around the common room, half-eating, half-arguing about the best combat drills. They turned toward the elevator in unison.

Alexei blinked. “What’s this? Is Bob moving out?”

“Please say yes,” Walker muttered with a mouthful of trail mix.

Bob, ignoring them, stepped forward dramatically and proclaimed with a big grin, “She’s moving in!”

Y/N elbowed him gently. “Not into your bed.”

“Yet,” Bob whispered proudly, causing Yelena to cough suspiciously and Ava to hide a grin behind her water bottle.

Alexei nearly jumped up from the couch, arms thrown wide like he was welcoming a national holiday. “YES! I knew it! The baby is coming, the woman is here, life is beautiful!”

Bob beamed, setting the boxes down and slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “She’s selling the old place. Said she wanted to be here for everything. The baby, the team… me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his cheesiness but didn’t pull away. “More like I didn’t want to miss out on seeing Alexei pretend to be a baby whisperer.”

“Oh please,” Alexei said proudly, thumping his chest. “I already have plans! I will teach him to wrestle before he walks. We’ll bench press together. First words will be Red Guardian.”

Y/N laughed. “Right, because nothing says healthy development like a toddler trying to do kettlebell swings.”

“By age three, he will punch Walker in the knees!” Alexei continued, completely serious.

Walker threw a chip at him. “Try it and I’m throwing him into orbit.”

Ava smirked from the other couch. “We’re taking bets on who he bonds with first. I say me. I’ve got quiet mystery aunt energy.”

“Please,” Yelena said, raising a brow. “He’ll bond with me. I’m the cool one. I’ve already bought him four tiny tactical vests.”

Y/N covered her face, laughing. “You’re all insane. But fine, he’ll need uncles and aunts to balance out whatever chaos Bob contributes.”

Bob looked mock-offended. “Hey! I’m going to be a great dad. I fixed her kitchen window. That’s like… 70% of fatherhood, right?”

“I mean… it’s a good start,” Y/N said, leaning into him slightly. “But let’s see how you do with diapers before you get cocky.”

Walker stood and clapped his hands. “Okay, well if she’s living here now, do we need to create a safe zone? Somewhere baby-proofed where Alexei isn’t allowed?”

Yelena raised her hand. “I second that.”

“Traitors,” Alexei muttered.

As they all bickered and teased each other, Bob took a quiet moment just to look at Y/N. Her smile, her comfort, her laughter blending into the rhythm of this strange, dysfunctional family—they were all here. And soon, the baby would be, too.

“Feels good?” Ava asked softly, sidling up next to him.

Bob nodded, still watching Y/N as she scolded Alexei for something ridiculous. “Feels like home.”

--

Y/N stood in the center of the Watchtower suite, turning slowly as she took it all in. The space was enormous—modern, sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in soft golden light. Bob’s bedroom was bigger than their entire old apartment, and somehow still felt empty, like it had just been waiting for someone to fill it with life.

“So, uh,” Bob said, a little nervous, scratching the back of his head. “This closet’s all yours.” He opened a set of sliding doors to reveal an embarrassingly bare rack with maybe four of his T-shirts hanging. “I mean, technically it’s mine, but… as you can see, I don’t have a whole lot of style to make room for.”

Y/N stepped inside, running her fingers along the open shelves and empty hangers. “You weren’t kidding,” she laughed. “It’s practically begging for my shoes.”

“That was the plan,” he said with a grin, dropping the boxes of her clothes beside the bed. “Take over. Redecorate. Make it yours. Whatever you want.”

She smiled softly, a flutter in her chest she chose not to acknowledge just yet. Still holding on to that healthy distance, she reminded herself.

Her attention turned to the bed and she couldn’t resist—she flopped backward onto it with a dramatic sigh, arms stretched out like a starfish. “God… this mattress… it’s like it molds to my body. I might never get up again.”

Bob chuckled. “You like it?”

“I feel like I’m being hugged by a thousand clouds.”

“Well, good.” He smirked and backed toward the massive bathroom door. “I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you the bathroom next, promise.”

“Take your time. I’ll start making sense of this chaos.” She gestured to the open boxes with a wave, still sprawled on the bed.

He disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, and a moment later she heard the water turn on. Curiosity got the better of her and she wandered over, cautiously peeking in through the open door. The bathroom was ridiculous. Marble floors. Double sinks. A tub big enough to fit a family of four. A glass walk-in shower where the water cascaded like rainfall from a ceiling fixture.

Y/N blinked. “What the hell is this place? A five-star hotel?”

She turned back, letting him have his privacy, and started unpacking her clothes, folding them neatly into drawers and rearranging the few things. She was halfway through organizing when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned—only to freeze in place.

Bob walked out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, steam trailing behind him like he was in some slow-motion cologne commercial. Hair wet and dripping onto his broad shoulders, muscles firm and… very different than the last time she saw him shirtless.

Her gaze lingered—just a second too long. Her mouth went dry.

Bob smirked.

“You can stare, you know,” he said, casual, smug.

She snapped her eyes away, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. I work hard, might as well be appreciated.” He winked, grabbing a T-shirt and boxers from a drawer and disappearing briefly behind the closet door to change.

She shook her head, trying to focus on folding a pair of jeans. This is going to be hard, she thought.

A minute later, he reemerged fully dressed, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. “We’re making dinner with the team. Nothing fancy, but I promised Alexei I’d supervise or he’d just fry everything in bacon grease again.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That actually sounds kind of amazing.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well. I’ll bring you a plate. But if you need anything, just call, okay?”

She nodded, offering a small smile. “Okay.”

As he opened the door to leave, she turned back to her clothes. Fold. Stack. Breathe. Then, under her breath, barely above a whisper—

“…Hold back Y/N.”

--

After organizing the last of her clothes and letting herself unwind for a bit, Y/N finally stood up, stretched, and headed toward the bathroom. The warm water felt like a balm on her tired body, and she took her time letting it relax her, scrubbing away the day, the dust, and the residual nerves of the big move. After drying off, she changed into a pair of soft sweatpants, a fitted maternity tank, and one of Bob’s oversized zip-up hoodies she’d quietly stolen from his drawer when he wasn’t looking. It smelled like him—clean, warm, comforting.

She made her way down the sleek Watchtower hallway, following the faint sounds of laughter and clinking silverware until she reached the dining area. The long table was completely set up—plates stacked high, dishes of food steaming, drinks poured. Bob and Yelena were still fussing over the placement of side dishes.

Bob caught sight of her first and grinned, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Hey,” he said gently, walking over. “You came down.”

“I figured it was either this or let Alexei bring me a plate the size of a car tire,” she said, glancing at the food. “This all smells amazing.”

Yelena grinned. “You’d be correct.”

Y/N stood awkwardly at the side, unsure where to go.

“Where should I…?”

Bob gently pressed a hand to her back and nudged her toward the empty chair beside his. “Right here. Always here.”

She didn’t fight it. Just smiled a little and sank into the seat.

Around the table sat Alexei, Ava, Yelena, Bucky, and Walker, all already halfway into their meals. It was surprisingly loud, the team mid-conversation, joking, teasing one another. They made room without question, offering her drinks, napkins, pointing out which food was “safe” from Alexei’s over-seasoning.

She still felt like a guest, but… less like a stranger.

Then, in the middle of a lull between jokes about Johnny’s tragic attempt to use the toaster oven, Ava leaned in across the table with a curious smile.

“So… have you two decided on a name yet?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh—no. Not yet.”

Bob turned to her. “We haven’t really talked about it, actually.”

“I do have an idea,” she said softly, eyeing him. “I just haven’t run it by you yet.”

Bob leaned closer, curiosity written all over his face. “You do?”

“Ohh,” Yelena chimed in, sipping from her water. “Let’s guess.”

“Oh god,” Y/N groaned, already regretting the openness.

Alexei leaned back, cracking his knuckles. “Okay. Hear me out. ‘Red Guardian Junior.’”

“Absolutely not,” said literally everyone at the table, in unison.

“I like Bacon,” Walker said, unironically, pointing at the leftover strips on his plate. “Strong. American. Versatile.”

Y/N gave him a look that could kill. “You're banned from suggesting anything.”

Walker shrugged, trying to be helpful. “How about something normal? Like Matthew. Or Tyler.”

“That’s what you call a labrador, not a baby,” Ava muttered.

“What about Blaze?” Walker added.

Yelena deadpanned. “No.”

“Wait, wait,” Alexei said. “What about—Vladislav?”

Y/N stared at him. “Absolutely not naming my baby after a vampire.”

“I take offense,” Alexei grumbled.

Bob, half-laughing, turned back to Y/N. “Okay, now I have to know. What was your idea?”

She hesitated for a second. Then met his eyes and said, softly, “I was thinking… Georgie. Short for George.”

He paused, genuinely touched by the simplicity of it.

“…Because of Mr.Cooper?,” he echoed, testing the name on his tongue. “I really like that.”

“It's warm,” she said. “I like the name and...I don't know, I feel like I will always have him but... I feel like he would be honorable.”

“It’s perfect,” Bob said, and for a moment the room quieted, letting the soft sincerity settle.

“Wait, wait,” Walker suddenly said, raising a finger. “Middle name suggestion. Blaze. Just think about it.”

Y/N groaned and threw a bread roll at him, laughing.

--

The room was dim, quiet except for the distant hum of the Watchtower's systems and the soft rustle of sheets. Y/N lay back against the cloud-like mattress, belly gently curved under her oversized pajama top, flipping through her phone lazily while the glow of the bedside lamp cast a cozy hue over the space.

Bob was still moving around, digging through drawers and talking.

“So I was thinking we need one of those changing tables,” he said, pulling a shirt over his head. “The kind that doesn’t make me bend like a ninety-year-old every time. Oh—and maybe blackout curtains? You haven’t been sleeping well. Or is that just me snoring?”

Y/N smiled tiredly. “That, and your habit of kicking blankets off me in your sleep. But yes… blackout curtains. Add that to the list.”

“Also…” He paused, tugging off his jeans. “We’ll need a monitor. The fancy kind, not the creepy baby-camera-that-looks-like-it-wants-to-steal-your-soul type.”

Y/N chuckled, but then her voice faltered when she glanced his way—he was standing near the dresser in just his boxers, back to her, his muscles more pronounced than she remembered. Defined shoulders, strong arms, broad back. His transformation since Malaysia hadn’t just been emotional—it had left its mark on his body too.

She quickly looked away, cheeks heating.

He noticed.

He turned slowly, running a towel through his still-damp hair, catching the shift in her expression. His brows knit together as he walked over quietly.

“Did I—?” he asked gently, “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

She blinked, shaking her head quickly. “No, no. It’s not like that. I just… I haven’t seen you like that in a long time. Haven’t been… intimate with anyone since you left, obviously. And we’re not technically together, so I guess I just don’t know the rules. The boundaries.”

He stilled at the side of the bed, looking down at her with his heart practically pounding through his chest.

“Y/N,” he murmured, voice deeper now, low with something both urgent and tender.

Then, still in just his boxers, he slowly crawled onto the bed beside her, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of her, his face hovering close but not touching. His eyes searched hers, full of sincerity and longing.

“We have to change that,” he whispered. “Not because I need you to be mine like some claim... but because I am yours. I don’t want anyone else. I can’t even look at anyone else. You’re everything to me—always have been.”

He moved even closer, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.

“I know I’ve hurt you. I know I need to earn back every ounce of trust. But I need you like I need air. It’s not about boundaries. It’s about wanting this to be real again. Us. And I don’t want there to be a single night where you wonder where we stand, or who you are to me.”

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking up at him. Her body flushed warm, half from nerves, half from want. He was being vulnerable—honest in a way that struck deep.

Her hand lifted instinctively, finding his cheek, fingers pressing into the sharp lines of his jaw. She held his face like something precious. Then, with a breathless whisper—

“Come here.”

And she kissed him.

It started soft—slow, like her lips were relearning the shape of his—but quickly deepened. Months of longing, grief, and unspoken love surged up between them. Her other hand tangled into his damp curls, pulling him closer. He let out a shaky breath into her mouth, hand sliding behind her back as he shifted to hold her more securely, reverently.

They kissed as if making up for every lonely night, every missed morning. They weren’t rushing—they were remembering.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Y/N was still flushed and breathless.

Bob exhaled a soft laugh. “You always did know how to shut me up.”

She smiled faintly, fingers still in his hair.

“You said you didn’t want me to wonder where we stand,” she said. “Then prove it. Stay. Don’t go back to the couch or disappear when it gets too much. Let’s take this one night at a time. You, me, and him.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her forehead, then hovered his lips over hers again.

“One night at a time,” he whispered. “Forever, if you let me.”

--

The Watchtower meeting room was unusually tense, mostly because no one wanted to admit they were wildly underqualified for what was coming. A potential cosmic threat—something about "energy fluctuations" and "unidentified space debris"—was heading toward Earth. And their greatest weapon against it?

One guy. Who had godlike powers… but only when he felt mentally stable enough to use them.

"Okay," Bucky started, leaning against the couch, arms crossed, "so we’ve got a new alien enemy possibly crashing through our orbit in less than 48 hours. And our only actual superpowered asset is—no offense—kind of unpredictable."

All eyes turned to Bob, who was slouched on the oversized chair by the window, a book in hand, legs half-draped over one armrest like a gangly teen. He didn’t even look up.

"Sorry, guys," Bob said, flipping a page. "I can’t be the Sentry without the… you know."

He twirled a finger in the air vaguely, then pointed it at his own head.

Walker leaned forward, squinting. "What, you mean the psychotic alter ego part, or the part where you glow like a nuke and throw mountains?"

Bob glanced up and raised a brow. "Bit of column A, bit of column B."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Walker muttered. "Ride Bob into the sky?"

Alexei perked up, nodding. "Yess."

Just then, the elevator dinged. Heads turned.

Y/N stepped in, effortlessly cool in her hoodie and joggers, sunglasses pushed up on her head, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and a smirk on her face. On her hip sat one-year-old George—who had his dad’s impossibly blue eyes, a mop of golden curls, and an undeniable fixation on gnawing the zipper of Y/N’s hoodie.

"Ride Bob?" Y/N echoed, raising a brow. "That seat’s taken, sweetheart."

The room broke into laughter—except Bob, who was instantly upright, already holding out his arms like George was the greatest gift on Earth (which, to be fair, he was).

George squealed, "Dada!" as Y/N set him on Bob’s lap. Bob didn’t hesitate, dropping the book and scooping the toddler up, planting loud, exaggerated kisses on his chubby cheeks.

"Hey, little dude," Bob whispered, as George grabbed a fistful of his beard. "You’ve been working on your super-strength again, huh?"

George responded by smacking Bob’s cheek with a soft babble and a pleased shriek.

"I see the Void in him already," Ava said deadpan, sipping her tea.

Alexei stood, hands on his hips. "He’s ready. Let me train him. I’ll make him unstoppable. Like Red Baby Guardian."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "He still poops in a diaper and I'm his source of food, Red Guy. He’s not ready for the Avengers."

"Avengerz... with a Z." Walker corrected.

"Whatever."

Before Alexei could reach for the baby, Y/N scooped George back up with a practiced mom move and took off running, George laughing hysterically as he bounced on her shoulder like a giggling backpack. "No combat training till he stops licking windows!" she called.

Bob stood up, watching them disappear around the hallway with a dazed look in his eyes, a soft, stunned smile pulling at his lips. The light from the window hit something on her left hand.

The ring. That ring.

It caught the sun perfectly.

"Engaged and still blushing when she calls dibs," Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes with a half-smile.

"She can call dibs on me forever," Bob said dreamily, still staring down the hall like he’d just seen a vision. "I’d let her ride me into a warzone if she wanted."

Walker snorted. "Man. That's disgusting—but kinda beautiful."

Alexei crossed his arms. "Fine. But I still want baby to punch something someday."

Ava sighed. "Maybe start with a stress ball."

--

1 Year ago - NYC Hospital

The pale light from the window cast a soft golden hue across the hospital room. The city outside was slowly waking up, but inside, time felt suspended. Y/N was propped up on the bed, a little tired, a little puffy-eyed, but glowing—not in the superhero way, in the I-just-birthed-a-whole-human-and-he’s-perfect way.

Her hospital gown hung loosely around her shoulders as she gently cradled her newborn, baby George, to her chest. He suckled quietly, little fingers twitching, soft breaths mixing with the occasional squeak. The room was silent but for that delicate sound—until a small sniffle came from her right.

Y/N glanced over. Bob was sitting beside her, hands on his knees, just… staring. His eyes were glassy, lips parted slightly, like he was watching the sunrise from the edge of the universe. A few tears tracked down his face.

She chuckled quietly, brushing a thumb over George’s cheek. “Why you crying, Bobby?”

Bob blinked, looking at her like she’d just asked why the sky was blue.

“You’re feeding him. You’re—he’s here. You’re okay. He’s okay. I just—I didn’t think…” His voice cracked as he wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “We made it, Y/N. After all of it. You’re here. He’s here. I can’t believe it.”

She smiled, resting her head back against the pillows, watching him quietly fall apart in the most beautiful way. “You almost didn’t make it. You passed out when they pulled him out. Hit the wall like a cartoon.”

Bob groaned softly. “Don’t remind me. That nurse is never going to look at me the same again.”

Just then—CRASH.

The door swung open with the force of a thunderclap. The team spilled in like they'd been waiting outside the entire time with their ears to the door.

“Where is he?! WHERE IS MY NEPHEW?!” Alexei boomed, holding a bouquet made entirely of red and gold flowers, and also—somehow—a small toy bear in tactical gear.

“You brought a tactical teddy bear?” Ava said, eyeing it. “Of course you did.”

“He must learn early,” Alexei insisted.

Behind them, Bucky, Walker, and Yelena entered with various levels of coordination, each holding a bouquet or balloon, all arguing over who would be the best babysitter. At the very end, nearly trampled by Walker and a rogue "IT’S A BOY!" balloon, came Mr. Cooper—older, kind-eyed, holding a simple, handpicked bouquet of bluebells and baby’s breath.

Y/N carefully detached George, now full and half-dozing, and shifted him to a blanket as Mr. Cooper approached the bed.

“Everything go okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking from her to Bob.

She smirked. “Smooth sailing. Baby’s perfect. Mom’s tired. And Bob—well…” she looked at him, “…almost caused a second code blue.”

“I thought the monitor flatlined!” Bob interjected from his seat. “There was a beep!”

“It was somebody screaming on the corridor, sweetheart,” Y/N said.

The team had gathered around the bed like it was the Holy Grail, peering over each other’s shoulders trying to see the baby, even though Bob was now holding him again, arms perfectly cradling the tiny human like he was made for it.

“He’s got your curls, Y/N,” Ava noted. “He’s got Bob’s big eyes,” Yelena said. “He’s got my fighting spirit,” Alexei declared proudly. “He’s been alive for four hours,” Walker deadpanned.

Mr. Cooper stepped forward, still looking between Y/N and the baby.

“So…” he asked gently, “what’s his name?”

Y/N looked around at the chaos—the grown adults bickering over who got to hold him next, Bob softly humming to George, who blinked up with those sleepy blue eyes.

She turned back to Mr. Cooper with a small smile.

“George.” She paused, then added, “Well, Georgie, really. That’s what we’ll call him.”

Mr. Cooper stared. The silence fell heavy for a beat, then his eyes began to well up.

Before he could speak, Y/N held up a hand. “Yeah, it’s after you, old man. Don’t start crying.”

But he was already crying. No sobs, no theatrics—just quiet tears sliding down his wrinkled cheeks. He stepped in and wrapped her in a soft hug, careful not to jostle her too much.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispered, voice tight, “everything was gonna be okay. And you… you’re gonna be a good mom.”

Y/N smiled, eyes stinging now too. “I should’ve doubted you less.”

He pulled away with a nod, then looked around the room—at the laughter, the love, the baby everyone was trying (and failing) not to wake up.

“Well,” Mr. Cooper said, clearing his throat, “this kid’s got the weirdest, most dangerous family I’ve ever seen. But also the luckiest.”

Alexei, meanwhile, was whispering Russian lullabies at the baby, Walker and Yelena were arguing over pacifier brands, and Bucky was quietly tying balloons to Bob’s IV stand for “aesthetic purposes.”

Bob stood, rocking George gently and watching Y/N from across the room—his eyes full of everything: disbelief, pride, relief, love.

[neptunecaptains]

In The Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You're finding it difficult to sleep in your new home. Bucky knows how to fix it.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), oral sex (f receiving; I like a giver), fingering, defiling a kitchen.

A/N: This is from a long time ago... was just going through fics I wrote when I used to love the MCU and came across this one. If there's anyone on here from way back then, it might sound familiar. Imagine this to be set in some multiverse where Steve never left in Endgame and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Hope you enjoy!

Previous Fic (masterlist coming soon!)

♡♡♡♡

The clock’s just gone ten past twelve when he feels you slip out of bed.

Bucky shouldn’t know that— the time. He should be dead to the world, asleep in the comfort of his bed with his girl warm by his side, full and sated and happy thanks to good company, good food, and even better liquor that can actually do something to him. Instead, he’s hyper-aware and questioning why you wouldn’t be dead asleep too and, before he knows it, he’s following in your footsteps.

It’s jarring, being awake at this hour in a mostly-empty home.

The halls feel too narrow and you still haven’t put the pictures up so the walls look bare and cold, and the dining table is missing a leg so you had to have dinner on the couch but you couldn’t find the box with the cushions which, now that Bucky thinks about it is probably still at the compound and god that means he has to go up there again— 

“Hey,” he hears, whisper-soft and cautious.

For a moment Bucky feels like maybe you’re the one who woke up to go after him, like how you used to do so long ago, worried about things neither of you could control. But no, it’s him, looking for you.

It’s him, finding you tired and rumpled in front of the stove, the red kettle Nat gave you as a gift steaming away on the burner. With the lights dimmed you look like a dream, but then again you look like that at any time of the day.

Bucky’s hands find your hips easily, skin and metal brushing over soft skin and worn cotton. They slip beneath your sleep shirt, a faded old thing he got as a gag gift some Christmases ago— Sam still asks him about the vulgar print on the front. Bucky tries to forget, but you never let him. Especially not on nights you wear the damn thing to bed.

He finds warmth, the same kind that should be next to him in bed right now, which— “Can’t sleep?”

You sigh, melting easily into the embrace. Your nose is cold, colder than it has any right to be with the heat on, nuzzling against the rough scratch of hair along his jaw. “Feels weird.”

It does— the house. Well, home, now, filled with your clothes and your furniture and the dishes you put in the dishwasher after your friends left a few hours ago because our first meal in our new home can’t be in paper plates, Buck and I already took the glasses out of the box, baby and he’s never been good at saying no. The house feels weird and he can’t wait until it doesn’t, with the pictures up, and the throw blanket on the couch, and those damn cushions he can’t believe he forgot.

“Bet you’d feel better back in bed,” Bucky murmurs, smiles, lips soft against the skin of your neck. “With me.”

You hum, could be a snort if it were any time except almost one in the morning and if you hadn’t spent the whole day hauling boxes and building whatever furniture you could before exhaustion won out. “I just put the kettle on.”

Bucky looks at the offending piece of kitchenware over your shoulder, willing it to somehow set on fire but wait, no. That would be very, very bad. Bucky has a mortgage now, shit.

“Okay,” he says instead, shrugging. “We’ll wait.”

He doesn’t notice the time. Instead, he notices your palms on his cheeks and your thumbs over his cheekbones; the way you taste of mint and something else, something like cloves and honey, no doubt from the sips you stole from his drink during the moving-day-turned-housewarming. He notices the way you sink into his body, held up by his arms caging you against the counter behind you, moaning softly at the wet sweeps of his tongue against the seam of your lips, parting under the pressure.

Bucky grips the countertop a bit too hard, gritting his teeth as he breaks the kiss. “How long ‘til that thing goes off?”

“We’re not defiling our kitchen so soon,” you laugh into his lips, sweet. The hands on his cheeks pull his face further away until you’re squinting up at him, lips spit-slick and shiny in the low light delighted and knowing all the same. “This is where we eat—”

“And I’m hungry,” Bucky grins, wicked, matches your own expression if only a bit dirtier. “Might as well use it for what it’s for, right?”

This time you do snort, forehead resting against his own. The sound settles deep in Bucky’s bones, spreading all over his body in places he didn’t know he had, warm and buzzing like a beehive. “You’re so gross.”

He is. He really, really is and he blames it all on himself and on you and the way you sigh into his mouth when he gets his hands above the swell of your ass, one of his thick thighs slipping between your own, warmth seeping everywhere you touch him. He blames it on those pretty eyes and that pretty mouth, those hands tugging at the bottom half of his hair that’s untied, that sweet voice moaning into the night when he nips at that spot behind your ear— 

“Baby.”

"Bucky," you laugh softly, glancing at him. It’s near-dark, the lights still dimmed, but he swears he can map out the marks on your skin, can count every single lash on your eyelids.

"Baby," he replies in the same tempting tone, watching your eyes with his own, so clear and expressive, so stunning.

You sigh, resigned. Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his grin.

“We’re gonna have to clean in the morning.”

“Guess I’ll have to suffer,” he says, hands warm on your thighs hauling you onto the counter.

He’s gentle as he parts your thighs, takes his time kissing the inside until you’re sighing all breathy and sweet, trembling on both sides of his head. Fingers hooking onto gray cotton, he slides your panties down your legs, bringing you closer to the edge of the counter and towards his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, eyes so blue when they flick up to your own.

Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tugging gently at the hair tie holding the longest strands back. Your lips part in a smile, wavering slightly at the edges as he ducks in, tongue soft and wet against your heat. He licks a broad stripe along your folds, takes in the way you shake almost imperceptibly— only knows it happens because he’s looking for it.

Bucky drinks you in, picks you apart with his tongue and his fingers, wet along his lips, his jaw, and his flesh fingers. He makes it messy, lets you whine and wail into your otherwise quiet home, grinding your hips onto his face and the two digits plunging inside your cunt, stroking that sweet spot deep inside.

You come apart on his tongue, slowly and quietly, a breathy gasp and the rhythmic clench of your muscles against his fingers the only warning he gets before he feels even more wetness pooling on his tongue, dripping down his palm.

“Oh!”

He kisses at the inside of your thighs, leaves it wet and sticky as you come down from your high. His thumbs caress your hipbones, feeling the slight quiver of your core against his touch, reveling in it.

To his right, the kettle starts whistling.

“Water’s boiling, honey,” he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crease of your thighs.

You groan, fingers tugging at the hair tangled in them. “I hate you.”

Bucky laughs, throaty and with his chest, slightly loud at a time where the night seems to stand still. There’s only the rush of your breath and the whistle of the kettle, drawn-out and cut off as he turns the burner off and moves it onto a cold, unused one. He gravitates between your thighs once more, lips on yours like magnets. He kisses you slowly, takes his time and lets you bite at his bottom lip, slipping your tongue against his and pulling those sounds from his throat that play in your head like your favorite song.

“You think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

You sigh deeply, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “You’re gonna have to carry me to bed.”

Bucky feels it spread from the top of his head down to his toes, fingers on your waist curling into fabric and skin. It’s hot and cold, bad and good. He feels it.

“Anywhere you want, sugar.”

Happiness.

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 1

Synopsis: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 1/?

Warnings: Sick!fic, lots of hurt/comfort fluff in the beginning, protective Natasha, protective Wanda, maybe things get sexy later? (Who are we kidding, they absolutely will. Mommy Wanda, Daddy Natasha, anyone?)

Your alarm clock was blaring when you woke up. You blinked slowly, groggily, the last tendrils of sleep refusing to abate. You glanced at the time and swore softly, realizing you’d overslept.

As soon as you were upright, a searing pain shot through your head. You winced, reaching for a glass of water. You took a few gulps, registering more pain as you swallowed. A sore throat.

“Oh no,” you groaned, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. You’d gone to bed early last night, hoping to curtail the symptoms you’d been stubbornly ignoring for the past few days. Clearly that strategy hadn’t worked. Now you’d have to pay the price.

You dragged yourself upright, wandering into the kitchen to make a quick cup of coffee. Yelena was sitting at the island, scrolling on her laptop.

“I’m late! My boss is going to kill me.” Your voice was hoarse, raspy. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The blonde barely looked up from her inbox. “Why do you sound like the crypt keeper?”

You laughed, but this quickly dissolved into a dry, wheezing cough. Yelena frowned, fixing you with a perturbed look.

“You’re sick,” she said.

You shook your head. “I can’t be sick.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a dog walker, not a heart surgeon. You can take the day off.”

You snagged a protein shake from the fridge, choking down a few sips.

Yelena grimaced. “Seriously, go to the doctor.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.

Your roommate muttered something in Russian. “Whatever. Just don’t die ok? I can’t afford this place without your half of the rent.”

You knew her well enough to recognize this blunt directive as her version of affection. Yelena was actually a big softie, once you got past the very rough exterior.

You’d met at a bar playing darts a few years ago, drinking everyone else under the table. By the end of the night, it was settled. Kindred spirits like that only come along every so often.

“If you want the rent money, I have to walk the dogs. See how that works? We can’t all be BitCoin miners or whatever the hell it is you do.”

She gave you the finger. You blew her a kiss and walked out the door. In truth you had no idea how Yelena made her money. It had something to do with finance, maybe crypto? Your eyes glazed over whenever she tried to explain.

The sky was threatening rain when you hopped on your bicycle and began the journey into Manhattan. The clouds opened up and started pouring just as you arrived at your first client’s house.

“Come on, Pepper,” you said, coaxing the ornery Pomeranian into her rain gear. “Let’s get this over with.”

By midday your symptoms had worsened. The dull ache that started in your chest slowly spread to your shoulders and back. The wet chill of the day seeped into your bones as you stomped up and down the streets of the city, soaking your rain coat, slicking your hair to your forehead.

Most of the time, you loved your job. Being outside, running around with dogs. But today was proving to be brutal. By the time you finished your last walk, you could barely see straight. You unclipped Oscar’s lead in the entryway of the massive brownstone, shutting the front door and leaning against it heavily.

The Rottie mix bounded into the living room, straight to his toy box, and brought you the squeaky plush raccoon—his favorite���depositing it at your feet like an offering. When you didn’t pick it up immediately, he nudged it closer with his nose and whined.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, you chuckled, shaking your head. “Not right now, bud.” Your voice was low, hoarse. His big square head tilted to the side in confusion.

You grabbed a towel from the hall closet, then knelt beside Oscar, removing his raincoat and wiping the mud off his paw pads. He waited patiently, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

“There ya go,” you said, dismissing him with a weary pat. You groaned, pushing yourself off the floor. Just that simple action required almost all your strength. Your head felt like it was full of concrete.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You checked the message blearily, realizing there were several of them. All from Yelena.

10:20am

Text me when you finish your route.

11:42am

And take the train home, you can’t bike in this weather.

2:15pm

Are you alive?

3:30pm

Hello????

You were about to reply when Oscar barked impatiently. He had trotted into the kitchen and was waiting to be fed.

You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. You just had to finish up here, then you could head home and collapse into your bed. Take the weekend to recover. This was the mantra you’d been repeating to yourself all day. Now you were in the final stretch, you could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But you felt so achy. And your mind kept wandering, losing track of what you were doing. You glanced into the living room longingly. What if you just laid down on the sofa for 10 minutes? Surely Wanda and Nat wouldn’t mind.

They were your favorite clients, after all. Practically family, considering Yelena was Nat’s sister. You had attended dinners and parties in their home before. Maybe it would be totally acceptable to crash out on their expensive, luxurious sofa…

A roll of thunder overhead snapped you back to reality.

“Feed the dog,” you sighed, worried your foggy brain would forget if you didn’t say it out loud.

You slipped off your muddy boots, then padded down the hallway. You made it to the kitchen feeling out of breath. Leaning over to grab Oscar’s food and water bowls, the world suddenly tilted sideways.

“Whoa,” you muttered, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter.

Oscar barked once, twice.

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to soothe him even as your vision swam. He turned and bounded out of the room.

You closed your eyes, then reached for the bowls again. This time you managed to set them on the counter. Mission half-way accomplished. Slowly you breathed in, willing the room to stop spinning.

The unexpected sound of footsteps on the staircase roused you from your stupor. You heard Wanda saying your name, a fact that would have startled you under normal circumstances. After all, the house had been empty when you arrived. But all your senses were dulled.

“Is that you?” She called. “I’m glad I caught you, there’s leftovers in the fridge and Nat wanted me to make sure you took them home.”

She was walking down the hall, Oscar trailing behind, and you dimly realized you should say something. But before you could form a coherent sentence, she paused.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was different now—uncertain, confused.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you called, trying to sound normal, trying to muster the strength to stand upright as you leaned heavily on the counter for support. “In here.”

Wanda rounded the corner, carefully scanning the kitchen. When she finally saw you hunched by the sink, she stilled.

“Hey, Wanda,” you said with a little wave. You tried to smile. “Sorry, I was just…”

You trailed off, losing the plot mid-sentence. Even at full strength, you would have found the sight of the other woman distracting. But given the state you were in, you stood practically no chance. She was wearing a loose denim shirt with both sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Her hair was pinned back, and she had a pair of reading glasses perched on her head. You realized you were staring and closed your mouth, looking away as an intense shiver wracked your body. Wanda’s eyes narrowed. You gestured weakly to the dog bowls on the counter in front of you.

“Just about to feed Oscar,” you finished, hoping you didn’t sound as miserable as you felt.

Wanda watched as you struggled to push yourself upright. You took a few unsteady steps toward the pantry where they kept the dog food, then swayed like you might fall. The other woman stepped toward you instantly, catching you around the waist. She could feel how hot you were through your shirt.

“Let me do that,” she said. “You sit down, before you fall down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was gone before you could get the words out. You sank onto the nearby barstool, legs feeling like jello.

As soon as you were down, you worried you wouldn’t be able to get back up. It felt so good to be off your feet.

When Wanda reappeared, she was still looking at you with the same expression as before—suspicion edging toward concern. But she knew you well enough to guess that outright fussing would be met with resistance. You were private. And you had a stubbornly independent streak. She’d have to play this one carefully to avoid scaring you off.

“Long day?” She asked.

“I’m fine,” you said mechanically. “Just tired.”

She set Oscar’s bowls on the floor, then fixed you with a glare.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am,” you argued. “Perfectly fine.”

That earned you a small smile. She shook her head, took a deep breath like you were trying her last shred of patience.

“Prove it,” she said.

You scrunched your face up in confusion. Wanda tried very hard not to find this adorable.

“If you’re fine, prove it,” she elaborated, speaking slowly so your fuzzy brain could follow along.

“How?” You whined, rolling your eyes.

“A minute ago you it seemed like you couldn’t even pick up Oscar’s dog bowls,” she shrugged. “So, show me something that a ‘perfectly fine’ person could do.”

“Or what?” You said, trying to buy yourself some time.

She sauntered toward you. “You’re not leaving this house,” she said slowly, enunciating each word. “Until I’m satisfied that you’re okay.”

A ripple of defiance propelled you off the barstool. As soon as you were standing, black dots gathered at the corners of your vision. You ignored these, taking a step forward. Then another. And another. You were almost in the hallway. It would have been a very impressive exit if you had managed to stay upright.

From faraway you heard Wanda cry out, her voice muted by the fuzzy ringing in your ears. The next thing you knew, you were on your back, looking up at the kitchen skylights.

Wanda dropped to her knees beside you. She called your name, brushing your hair back and feeling your forehead. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy.

“See,” you said, slurring slightly. “Perfectly fine.”

She didn’t laugh.

“You have a fever,” she said, words clipped. “How long have you felt like this?”

You shrugged. “Few days.”

“Days,” Wanda repeated faintly, trying to quell her outrage. Something about the flash of anger in her voice made you recoil.

“Don’t be mad,” you said, feeling pathetic.

She softened instantly, schooling her face into something gentle.

“I’m not mad, milaya,” she rasped. “Just worried.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say there was no reason to be worried, just as another violent shiver wracked your body. Your teeth chattered.

“You and Nat,” she murmured, tracing her thumb across your cheek. “Refusing to admit you’re not invincible.”

You looked away. With sudden horror, you realized you were close to tears. Thankfully, Oscar reappeared in the room just then. He ran to your side, licking your face and furiously wagging his tail.

“Honey, I’m home!” A familiar voice called from the entryway.

“Speak of the devil,” Wanda breathed, and you could see the relief in her eyes. Now that they outnumbered you, maybe you’d listen to reason.

“Hey, did Yelena call you? She left me a weird voicemail,” Natasha said. There was a soft clatter as she placed her keys in the ceramic bowl by the door. “She’s worried about our little wolf -“

“In here, Nat,” Wanda said impatiently. “Need your help.”

Little wolf? Before you had time to question it, Natasha appeared, looking devastating as always in a fitted suit. She had clearly come straight from the office. Her smile vanished as she entered the kitchen.

“What happened?” She demanded, skidding across the tile. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Wanda said, just as you said “Yes.”

Natasha looked between the two of you, confused.

“She fainted,” Wanda explained, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I didn’t faint,” you grumbled, insulted by the prissy word. “Just got dizzy.”

Wanda and Natasha ignored you.

“Should we take her to urgent care?”

You groaned, horrified by that idea. You rolled sideways, trying to push yourself up off the floor. Natasha laid a hand on your chest. When you kept struggling, she reached over and pulled you firmly into her lap, anchoring you in place.

“Stay,” she said, her voice a stern rumble.

Natasha had a soft spot for you. Something about your sweet, gentle nature made her feel protective. Wanda had teased her about it at first. But as you became more and more integrated into their daily lives, Wanda found herself falling for you too. She looked forward to the days when you crossed paths, making you laugh, sharing a snack, learning more about your life. And seeing you like this had them both in overdrive.

Natasha pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, eyes widening in alarm. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, voice cracking with exhaustion. “Just tired. Need to sleep it off.”

Wanda stilled, tilting her head to one side.

“I…agree,” she said, giving Natasha a significant look.

You frowned, trying to follow the unspoken conversation they seemed to be having above you.

There was a loud clap of thunder outside. The noise seemed to settle things for Nat. She nodded, acting like a gavel had been struck, a decision reached.

“You hear that?” Natasha said. “Can’t let you leave in the middle of a storm. Why don’t you stay for dinner? Once you’ve had a hot bath, a nap, and a home-cooked meal, we’ll send you on your way. Deal?”

“You don’t have to do all that,” you objected, even as you curled slightly closer to Natasha, seeking her body heat. She ran an absent hand over your back, rubbing big soothing circles.

“Little wolf,” Wanda said fondly. “We want to.”

You felt a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There was that pet name again. And wow, it did things to you, hearing Wanda’s low voice curl around the term of endearment that seemed reserved just for you. You looked back and forth between their faces then heaved a sigh, suddenly too tired to argue anymore.

“Okay,” you said, voice small.

Wanda smiled, victorious. “I’m making stew! Something hearty, restorative. There will be potatoes and broth and—”

“Ok, babushka,” Natasha teased. “Your old country is showing.”

Wanda scowled, then stuck her tongue out, turning toward the cabinet to retrieve several pots and pans. The next second, Nat was helping you to your feet, troubled by how unsteady you seemed.

“Do you mind if I just…?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before scooping you into her strong arms. “Hey!” You complained. But then you relaxed against her, eyes slipping closed as she carried you down the hall, then turned and started climbing the stairs.

“When’s the last time you ate anything?” She murmured against your hair.

You shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed. “Bad girl.”

The words made your breath catch. You buried your face in her shoulder, trying to hide flushed cheeks that had nothing to do with your fever.

Get it together, perv. Natasha and Wanda were trying to do something nice for you. Were they absurdly hot? Sure. Had you entertained an idle daydream or two about what it might be like to kiss them both? Of course. But that was no excuse for reacting like a horny teenager.

Natasha opened the door to a guest bedroom and set you down gently beside the bed. You thought she might leave, but then she walked into an en-suite bathroom and you heard the sound of running water.

“There are fresh towels and robes in here,” she called. “Can you get undressed or do you need help?”

You swallowed around a sudden lump in your throat. “I’m okay, thanks.”

She reappeared, smiling softly. “Do you mind if I stay? I don’t want to leave you alone. In case you pass out again, or slip, or…”

You gave her a tired smile. “You faint one lousy time and suddenly nobody trusts you.”

Natasha snorted, then turned and faced the wall for propriety’s sake. With shaky hands you began unbuttoning your pants.

“Yelena called me,” Nat said after a few moments. “She’s worried about you.”

You sighed. “Seems like there’s a lot of that going around today.”

Although you couldn’t see her face, you could hear the frown in her voice. “We care about you,” she said. “Is that so bad?”

You pulled your shirt over your head with a small grunt of pain. Natasha glanced back instinctively, catching a glimpse of your exposed stomach and toned abs, the low-cut sports bra showing off your curves. She sucked in a breath, feeling that inconvenient flutter again. It would help if you weren’t so pretty, she thought. Then she quickly turned around before you saw her peeking.

“Sorry,” you said, tossing the shirt on the floor. “I’m not very good at this.”

Natasha stilled, hearing the emotion in your voice. “At what?”

You gestured vaguely at the space between you.

“Making people worry,” you sighed. Again, tears suddenly pricked the corners of your eyes. It was a testament to how rundown you were. Natasha heard the way your breathing changed, became ragged.

She said your name so softly it made your chest ache.

“Can I turn around?” She asked.

You crossed your arms, feeling exposed in just your bra and boxers. But you gave her permission anyway. You trusted her.

“Sorry,” you said, hitching on the word. “Just makes me feel like…a burden, an inconvenience.”

Natasha stepped toward you, enveloping you in a warm hug. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, detka,” she murmured. “And you could never be a burden to us. It’s okay to let people take care of you when you don’t feel good.”

You sagged against her. “Kay.”

You might have let her go on holding you all night. But then your stomach growled, and she chuckled.

“Come on,” she said, lips quirking up in a gentle smile. “Don’t want the water to get cold.”

——————

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[eraserbread]

nanami and pregnant resided sensually feeding eachother in bed would fix me 🙏

→ pregnant!freader, feeding, malewife kento, mention of drinking, sfw

the air smells like curry, the fans are on high, and the windows are open. It's mid-fall, right in the peak of your third trimester. swollen ankles, painful stretch marks—all of it—have you bound back to the bed.

kento has been cooking dinner most nights; tonight, he made curry. he is the perfect husband, coming home straight from work with no time to settle before diving into caring for you again. he does it with a nonchalant smile on his face, willing to dive to the dirtiest ends of the earth to dote on his pregnant wife.

he steps into the room with two bowls cradled in his hands. hair all disheveled and work shirt falling off the bone. kento's never cooked so much in his life, you do all of it because you love to. now, he's standing at the stove with a furrowed brow, scratching his head as he tries to read your chicken-scratch recipes.

"yum, what do you have there?" you're mumbling, sitting up as he rounds your side of the bed. it's been hard to focus on much at this stage, too—reading was harder, and your mind kept getting lost. all you could really focus on now is the sound of music, the thought of your baby, and scrolling endlessly on sites to buy things for her. a few days ago, you two settled on a name. kento chose it; he wanted to name his daughter nanami rin.

"ah. curry. " he's quirking a brow, making a flustered look you don't see often on him. "c-chicken. pork, too, and some nuts. used that base you had in the fridge, you'd know better than I would."

"thank you for taking care of me," you whisper when he crawls into bed, a pair of chopsticks between his teeth, pulls off his shirt, and loosens his pants. he'd not usually be so careless, but he did have a drink while preparing your dinner and was so ready to be on your skin.

"thank you for carrying our girl." the first place he kisses you is against your loose cami, right above your belly button. then, he moves to your sternum, nuzzling his nose against your heart. his chopsticks are in his hand now, digging into the fleshy part of your thigh unintentionally. "dinner's the least I can do."

you spend a moment looking at him, tracing a finger over his cheek. he's at the perfect vantage point to kiss, but he doesn't. it's how you know his demeanor is off, you thumb at his bottom lip. "bad day at work?"

"no," he sighs, sitting up to fetch the bowl he was planning on giving you—the bowl with most of the meat and vegetables. kento always makes sure you eat well at this point. "well, I was just worried about you... any day, now."

he's scooping in your porcelain bowl, grabbing the perfect bite to present. gently, you smile into it, taking the utensils between your teeth. flickering eyes, kento watches it disappear behind your lips, it makes him smile. "how is it?" he asks, sucking the chopsticks clean after you to try his cooking.

"it's good cause i meal prepped for it."

"would just be a base in the fridge if I didn't finish it."

"yes, kento, and you did so well." he's giving you another bite, a slight shake behind his hand. you reach forward and grab it, giving him stability to guide between your lips. "mm, here. you try it." you sit up a bit too fast for comfort, but you hide the lightheadedness enough to feed kento a bite, smiling like an idiot when he lets you. "'s good?"

"tastes like your curry." now, he's leaning in to kiss you, big hand tangled in your thigh, forming wells in your skin. you kiss him back, tasting the strong, pale taste of alcohol on his breath.

"that's what you taste like." you're speaking against his lips, smiling when you tell him, "and alcohol. one more kiss and I'll be drunk."

"don't speak like that, you've got my baby inside you. she's far too delicate for those jokes." that hand on your thigh trails back to your jutting belly. his grip is real -- like he's not afraid of touching you, but still so gentle with how he cradles the weight of her.

you're swimming with affection, whispering, "i love you."

[whateverjynx]

Co-Parenting

Your new boyfriend and baby daddy, Eren, have never gotten along, so it only made sense that when it came to your daughter’s birthday, your boyfriend would sit this one out—not knowing that this would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life.

1:00 PM

It was a hot day in June, so it was only reasonable to throw your six-year-old a pool party at the community pool of your apartment complex. A table was set up with blues and purples, her favorite colors, along with an assortment of food and drinks for the kids and parents who would be coming. You wore a beautiful blue two-piece that matched your daughter's one-piece, with your Brazilian wavy bundles styled into a messy bun, gold hoops, and dangles to match.

“Where’s Daddy?” your daughter asked after just coming out of the water leaving her friends. The party had started an hour ago! But it was typical for Eren to show up late.

“He should be here soon, baby, I promise,” you assured her with a smile as you watched her accept your answer before turning and running back to her friends.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone to start blowing him up, you saw that same emerald green Trackhawk that had brought you here in the first place pull into the nearest parking space. Out stepped Eren, wearing white swim trunks that showcased his chiseled abs, holding a large purple gift box and two bags. You rolled your eyes at the sight, trying your hardest not to smile—even just a little bit—at his entrance. You could hear your daughter scream, “DADDY!” as she dashed past you.

You watched as he dropped the box and bags, picked her up, and twirled her around, water dripping from her soaked swimsuit onto him. They chatted for a few seconds before walking to you in the swimming area.

“You’re late,” you said, rolling your eyes and trying not to look at his beautifully sculpted body.

“Hey to you, mamas,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“What did you get me?” your daughter asked eagerly, having overheard the small talk beforehand.

“You’ll see when we open all your presents. Now go play so I can talk to your father.”

She did as told, leaving the two of you. It was silent as you both began to study one another's attire for just a few seconds, like a race against time.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re late?” you asked, turning around so he couldn’t see you begin to fluster.

“You try wrapping a dirt bike; that shit is harder than a motherf—”

“You bought her a dirt bike?” you asked, irritated.

“That’s what she texted she wanted.”

“Yeah, she also said she wanted the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory. You don’t see me buying that.”

“Girl, calm down. She’s good; she’s eight now.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you began to mentally figure out where you were going to put it in your apartment.

Still turned around, you could feel him step closer, just a step away before your butt would touch his shorts. “Where’s that man at?” he asked in a low tone.

“At work,” you said smugly, cocking your head to the side while turning around in the small space you had, trying not to bump into him, getting a good look at just how close he was.

“And where’s that bitch at?” you asked just as cockily.

“Damn, why she gotta be a bitch for?” he said with a low chuckle, using his fingers as a comb to fix his hair.

“Oh, you must have Alzheimer’s or something,” you said, folding your arms.

“I mean, shid, you right, you right. But nah, we, um, broke up.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

“Chill, nothing like that, I swear. We just weren’t a good match, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow before rolling your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face as the words left his mouth. Why were you slightly happy about that?! You’re in a relationship—REMEMBER!

You could see a smile beginning to form on his lips as you could feel where his mind was going.

“Anyways, I’m going to go set up the birthday cake—tired of looking at you,” you said in a serious yet playful tone.

“Yeah, right.”

This was normal for you and Eren, although unhealthy. You’d find yourself in a relationship, then he would be too, but once you broke up, he would also. But not this time! Or so you thought...

Nighttime came, and by now everyone had left. Your baby had enjoyed herself, and that was all that mattered. You were feeling like an accomplished parent, and everything had gone to plan—except that Eren was still here...

“She’s asleep, you know,” you said cockily as he began to open your balcony door.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, pulling his shorts up while walking around like he owned the place and not even bothering to put on some real clothes. You followed him onto the balcony in only a nightgown, your daughter fast asleep from the day’s activities.

“So, what are you still doing here?” you asked.

He chuckled in response, pulling out a cigarette from the pack already on the balcony and lighting it.

“Why that man really didn’t show? I mean, this is his what…daughter-in-law?” he asked, taking a puff while eyeing you up and down slowly.

“Well, let’s see…you fucked me, got me pregnant, and are still fucking me. I mean, the list goes on—”

“I’m still fucking you?” he asked, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he took another hit.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed with his bullshit, as if he were oblivious to just two months ago when you and that “man” were on a break.

“So what does that mean? Because he knows I ain’t going nowhere. The real question is, why stay? Some simp ass shit if you ask me.”

“Because he actually loves me, Eren, and he wants to give it a chance and work to be a family and grow a family—”

“He ain’t special. F/n, I love you too; it’s just you be tripping, bro.”

“I be tripping? Asking you to come home was tripping, and asking you to be involved with your family was tripping? You act like I was asking for money?! Mind you, I worked just as hard as you—”

“Bro, that was what, seven years ago? We were kids, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’ve told you I’m sorry for all that.”

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t account for me going through my pregnancy alone, Eren. I didn’t even have my family…member? I was doing all this shit alone, remember?”

“And I’m sorry, mamas, I am. I tell you that every time we have this conversation,” he said, his voice getting lower as he walked towards you, moving a few strands of hair from your face behind your ears.

“I’d tell you that every day just to make it right—to take it back, I would. Why won’t you let me?”

You glared at him, but it was hard to resist those pleading green orbs staring into your soul. A mix of regret and sadness lay behind them, but you weren’t falling for it…or were you?

You looked away, rolling your eyes, not knowing what to say. Why was it that you couldn’t take him back? Why, in his case, he been trying to make it right? What was it about him that made you want him yet hate him all at the same time? So many question yet no answers tonight…

there was no telling how to two of you had gotten from point A to point B but it was happening.

Without another word, Eren closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face as he leaned in. Their lips met, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, growing more passionate with each passing moment.

F/n melted into him, her hands finding their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as she pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of warmth and sweetness that sent shivers down her spine. Eren’s hands moved to her waist, drawing her against him, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

As the kiss intensified, F/n felt her body responding to him, the heat spreading through her as she pressed herself against him. Eren groaned softly, the sound reverberating through her, fueling the fire that burned between them.

They kissed like they were the only two people in the world, losing themselves in the moment. Eren’s lips traveled from hers to her jawline, trailing soft kisses down her neck, eliciting a sigh from F/n. She leaned her head back, giving him more access, reveling in the sensations he was creating.

“Eren,” she whispered, her voice a mix of desire and urgency.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with need as he searched her face. “Tell me you want this,” he urged, his breath warm against her skin.

“I want this,” F/n breathed, her heart racing. “I want you.”

With that, Eren captured her lips again, their kisses growing more frantic, fueled by the overwhelming emotions they had been holding back. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in their own universe of passion and connection.

By now, they were on the bed, slowly pulling off one another’s clothes, barely breaking the passionate make-out session the two shared. The air was thick with desire, and each kiss ignited a fire within them that couldn’t be contained.

Eren’s hands roamed over F/n’s back, his fingers tracing the soft curves of her body as he peeled away the last barriers between them. Her skin felt electric under his touch, and he couldn’t suppress the low growl that escaped him as he reveled in the warmth of her.

F/n responded eagerly, her hands exploring the toned muscles of his chest and arms, feeling the strength in his body. She pulled him closer, their bodies pressed tightly together, the heat radiating between them almost overwhelming. Every kiss deepened their connection, and every touch sent shivers down their spines.

As they finally broke apart to catch their breaths, Eren looked into her eyes, a mix of desire and tenderness in his gaze. “Are you sure?” he asked, jokingly, the weight of the moment settling between them.

“Yes nigga now fuck me,” she breathed with a couple giggles in between, her heart racing with anticipation.

With a shared understanding, they leaned into each other again, kissing hungrily as Eren’s hands found their way to her thighs, gently coaxing her legs apart. F/n gasped against his lips, the sensation sending waves of excitement coursing through her.

Eren took a moment to admire her, his gaze filled with awe and longing. “You’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

F/n felt her cheeks flush at his words, and before she could respond, Eren captured her lips again, their mouths moving together as he positioned himself between her legs. The heat between them was palpable, and F/n could feel the tension building once more.

As Eren began to move, slowly at first, he watched her reaction closely, wanting to savor every moment. F/n arched her back, a moan escaping her lips as he deepened their connection, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt both exhilarating and intimate.

“Eren,” she gasped, gripping the sheets as he continued to thrust, each movement sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

“Just like that, baby,” he encouraged, his breath coming in heavy pants as he lost himself in the sensations.

F/n met his movements with her own, her body instinctively arching against him, urging him on. The world outside faded away as they became lost in each other, the only sounds filling the room were their breathless gasps and whispered encouragements.

Eren’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer as he quickened their pace, the intensity building with each thrust. F/n felt the pressure mounting within her, a delicious tension that threatened to consume her.

“Eren, I’m so close,” she cried out, her nails digging into his back as she clung to him.

“Fuck mama,Me too,” he grunted, his voice thick with desire. “Let go for me, F/n. I’m right there with you.”

With his words, the dam broke. F/n’s body surged with pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed over her, and she cried out Eren’s name, the sound echoing in the room. Eren followed closely behind, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside her, their bodies trembling together in the blissful aftermath.

They collapsed onto the bed, breathless and entwined, the world around them fading away as they held each other close. Eren pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips.

*high as FUCK writing this I promise imma get better 😭🙏🏾

[fredswrite]

A/N: Oh myyyyy. My first James Kelly fic I’m so happy hehe. I spent so much time on this and I hope you enjoy this just as much as me!!

SUMMARY: After your car broke down, you don’t really have a choice but to go to the nearest auto shop you can find. What a surprise to see that a certain James is working there.

WC: 1.2K

WARNING: None for this chapter.

MLST part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5?

ONE NIGHT STAND

The auto shop wasn’t much to look at.

Its sign was half-lit, one of the bulbs flickering against the gray sky. The garage doors were rusted at the edges, and a battered old truck sat out front like it hadn’t moved in weeks. You hadn’t even noticed the place before today, even though you must’ve walked past it dozens of times. But when your car sputtered out two blocks from your apartment and refused to turn over, no click, no crank, nothing, this place suddenly felt like your only option.

But when you walked inside, the bell ticking at your arrival, you saw the man you least expected to see, hell, you wanted to forget him.

You weren’t supposed to see him again.

That was the unspoken agreement, the deal made somewhere between the second whiskey and the third kiss. A night of heat and nothing more. No last names. No texts. No follow-up.

And yet, there he was.

James.

Standing in the middle of the open garage bay, his shoulders broad under a blue work overall smeared with grease, his sleeves pushed to his elbows. The sunlight caught on his forearms as he leaned over the open hood of a car, one hand steady on the frame, the other wiping a rag across the side of his wrist.

You stopped mid-step. Your breath caught. The engine noise faded into the background like someone hit mute on the world.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

You could leave. You should. But your car died on the side of the road not ten minutes earlier, and the old guy at the front desk had called ahead to this shop for a repair. It was supposed to be just a quick fix. A battery, maybe. A cable.

Not him.

You took a step forward. Gravel crunched under your black boots. His head turned from the car he was working on at the sound.

And then those eyes, the ones you hadn’t been able to forget, locked onto yours.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

For a second, you couldn’t tell if he recognized you. His expression didn’t shift. No smirk. No flicker of embarrassment. Just the same unreadable stare he’d given you that night, right before he kissed you like he didn’t know how to be gentle, like he hadn't eaten in days.

Then his jaw tightened.

He knew.

“Can I help you?” His voice was low. Unchanged. Familiar in a way that made your chest feel like it was cracking open.

You opened your mouth. It took a second for the words to come.

“My car died,” you said. “I called and they sent me here. He said one of his guys would take a look.”

James nodded once, slowly. “You’re the Civic?”

You nodded.

He didn’t say anything else. Just walked past you toward the front office, all calm professionalism. Like you were a stranger. Like he hadn’t pressed you against a hallway wall two months ago and whispered your name into your neck like a confession.

You followed him into the office.

The same old man was waiting behind the desk, cheerful and oblivious. He handed you a clipboard and asked you the usual questions: make, model, last time you had it serviced. You answered mechanically, pen scratching across paper as your ears rang.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel James watching you. Not obviously. Not directly. But it was there, the weight of it. The question in his silence.

He whistled low at the battery code and sent one of the younger guys to go pick up your car. “Might be a quick fix,” he said, glancing between you and James. “Unless the starter’s fried.

“I’ll check it,” James said, already turning back toward the garage.

You hesitated. “James—"

He stopped as you left the office to meet him by the counter.

Didn’t look back. Just stood there, spine straight, hands on his hips.

You dropped your voice. “You weren’t gonna say anything?”

He turned then. Slowly. Blue eyes locked on yours, sharper than you remembered.

“I didn't realize it was you.”

“And now that you know?”

A beat.

“I’m still figuring that out.”

There was no heat in his voice. No guilt either. Just that same steady calm, like he never let himself react too fast. That same tension you’d felt after he kissed you the first time, like he was always holding back more than he gave.

You stepped toward him, just a little. Not enough to make a scene. Just enough that the air shifted between you.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you said.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. Then back to your eyes.

“We weren't supposed to, didn’t want to explain anything.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

The words stung more than they should have. But he didn’t say it like it was cruel. He said it like it had cost him something, too. But that was the engagement you both signed when you shared your kisses.

“And now?” you asked, quietly.

James glanced toward the bay. The clang of tools echoed in the background. His jaw worked once, like he wanted to say something else but didn’t know how.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You want the truth?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “But I figured you moved on. People like you don’t circle back.”

You blinked. “People like me?”

“People who stick to comfort. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Your heart thudded once. Twice.

“Well,” you said, voice soft but steady, “I guess the universe decided you were for today.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was the closest you’d seen to something real. You don't think he even smiled that night, but the alcohol didn't help.

“You want me to pretend we don’t know each other?” he asked.

You shook your head. “That’s not what I said.”

He didn’t speak for a long second. Then he stepped forward. Close. Close enough that you could smell the soap on his skin beneath the grease and sweat and metal. Close enough to remember exactly how he’d looked above you in the half-light of that one messy night.

“I don’t forget that easily.” he said.

Neither did you.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet. But his hand brushed yours as he passed toward the door.

He walked towards your car, which had been towed into the parking lot. Your heartbeat shattered out of your chest like a hammer.

And this time, he didn’t leave.

TAGS: @haydenchristensenisbae @f1wh0recom (lmk if you want to be added)

[aspenmissing]

Hi, I haven't submitted any request before, but I really like your Arcane headcannons and decided to give it a try. I lost a dog a month ago, and while I'm mostly doing fine, I still miss her.

So I was wondering how each Arcane character would react to their loved one dealing with the same kind of situation, and what would be their way of comforting. Feel free to change the loved one's reason for grief, meaning they could be mourning for their family member, friend or other pet.

ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴍᴇʟ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ | ᴠɪ | ᴄᴀɪᴛᴠɪ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 6570 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴏꜱꜱ, ɢʀɪᴇꜰ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴇꜱ/ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ/ᴘᴇᴛꜱ ᴇᴛᴄ (ɴᴏ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴜᴘ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛᴇꜱᴛ ʙᴀʙʏ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ʙʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɪᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴍᴇʟ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ | ᴠɪ

JAYCE

The soft hum of the laboratory’s late-night work was the only sound filling the quiet space. Shadows from the flickering arc lamps danced across the scattered papers and blueprints strewn across Jayce’s desk. Yet his mind was far from the intricate designs before him. His eyes kept drifting toward the doorway, where Y/N stood, framed in the pale moonlight spilling through the high window. Their shoulders trembled subtly, weighed down by a sorrow Jayce could feel but not yet fully understand.

Jayce rose from his chair with quiet urgency, the scrape of his boots on the wooden floor seeming louder than it should in the stillness. He crossed the room in a few swift steps, voice low but steady. “Y/N?”

They swallowed hard, lips pressed together as if to hold back a flood. Their hands curled into fists at their sides, knuckles white. “It’s... it’s just hard,” they murmured, voice brittle and cracked from too many unshed tears. “Losing them—it feels like the world’s gone a little dimmer. Like the colours have faded and everything I knew has shifted. I don’t know how to move on from this.”

Jayce’s chest tightened with an ache he recognized all too well — the sharp, hollow pain of loss. Without hesitation, he reached out, gently pulling Y/N into a careful embrace. His hands settled warm and steady on their back, fingers splaying as if to hold every fragile piece of them in place.

Y/N hesitated a moment before leaning into him, burying their face against the expanse of his chest. The quiet of the laboratory was replaced by the soft, uneven hitch of their breath, the subtle shaking of their form as the grief spilled out — quiet sobs, tears finally free to fall.

“I keep thinking I should be stronger,” Y/N whispered against his coat, voice raw and small. “I keep telling myself I have to be... but right now, I just feel broken. Like nothing I do will ever fix this hole.”

Jayce’s hands tightened ever so slightly, his lips brushing the top of their head. “Grief isn’t about strength,” he said softly, every word deliberate and filled with warmth. “It’s about love. Losing someone you love—it leaves a hole, yes. But it’s also proof of the depth of what you shared. That love doesn’t disappear. It lives on, even when they don’t.”

He shifted slightly, pulling them closer, his heart beating a steady rhythm beneath their cheek. “And that hole? It takes time to fill. There’s no timeline, no way to hurry it. But you don’t have to do this alone. Not ever. I’m here, Y/N. We’ll face this together — step by step.”

Y/N clung to him tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, as if holding him would keep the world from crumbling entirely. The steady beat of Jayce’s heart beneath their ear became a grounding force, a quiet promise in the overwhelming darkness.

After a moment, Y/N pulled back just enough to look up at him. Their eyes glistened with tears, reflecting the pale glow of the laboratory’s lamps. “I miss them so much. Every day feels empty without their voice, their laugh... their presence.”

Jayce reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from their face. “I know,” he whispered. “I know that ache. I wish I could take the pain away for you.”

He paused, searching their face. “But what I can do is hold your hand. I can listen when you want to talk, or just sit quietly when words are too much. And I can remind you every day that you’re not alone.”

Y/N’s breath hitched again, but this time it was a breath filled with fragile hope. “Thank you, Jayce. For being here. For... not letting me fall apart completely.”

Jayce smiled gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles over their back. “You’re stronger than you know,” he said. “And together, we’ll find a way forward — one day at a time.”

They stood there in the quiet glow of the laboratory, two hearts leaning on each other, wrapped in the shared warmth of love and grief — learning that even when the world dims, the light of connection can guide them home.

VIKTOR

The room was quiet except for the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows across Viktor’s workshop, where countless mechanical parts and blueprints lay scattered in meticulous disorder. Y/N sat curled up in the corner, knees drawn to their chest, their eyes red and swollen from hours of tears, staring blankly at the cold, unyielding floor.

Outside, the city murmured softly with distant sounds of Zaun’s restless night, but inside, time seemed to slow, holding its breath alongside Y/N.

Viktor entered slowly, his cane tapping lightly on the worn wooden floor with each measured step. He paused the moment he saw them, the familiar sharpness of his gaze melting into something far more vulnerable. The usually composed scientist’s chest tightened painfully as he crossed the room and lowered himself carefully to sit beside Y/N, careful not to startle or crowd them.

“Y/N,” Viktor’s voice was low, gentle, almost a whisper that felt like a balm against the ache. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting like this.”

Y/N didn’t answer at first, only letting out a few shaky breaths, the quiet trembling of their shoulders betraying the storm inside. Finally, their voice emerged fragile, raw. “It still feels like... they should be here. Like I should be able to call them, see their face, hear their voice. Like this is some terrible mistake.”

Viktor’s hand hovered uncertainly before reaching out, hesitating only a moment as if afraid to break the fragile barrier of their grief. Then, slowly, his fingers found theirs, warm and steady, a silent anchor in the turbulent sea.

“Grief,” he began softly, “doesn’t disappear overnight. It’s not something you ‘get over’ or simply move past. It becomes a part of you—sometimes a weight, sometimes a quiet presence—but you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to meet his, filled with a fragile hope beneath the exhaustion and sorrow. Viktor gave their hand a gentle squeeze, grounding them without words.

“I remember when I lost my own family,” he confessed quietly, voice thick with memory. “At first, I thought the weight of it would crush me. I thought I would never breathe freely again. But in time, it taught me… that love never truly leaves us. It stays with us in the memories we hold, in the parts of ourselves that they helped shape, in every breath, in every choice.”

A single tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, tracing a slow, silent path. Viktor carefully brushed it away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving theirs.

“I’m here. With you,” he promised gently. “If you want, we can talk about them. Share stories. Remember every detail. Or if words fail you, we can simply sit in silence—let the quiet hold us. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

Y/N let out a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding, leaning gently against Viktor’s side. Their fingers tightened reflexively around his cane, seeking comfort in the familiar.

“Thank you,” they whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

Viktor rested his head lightly against theirs, careful not to press too hard, but close enough to share warmth and steady presence. “Always,” he said, his heart aching alongside theirs.

Outside, the city’s distant sounds continued ��� but inside, the two of them found a fragile peace, shared between sorrow and solace.

JAYVIK

The small room was quiet except for the faint sound of Y/N’s soft, uneven breaths and the occasional, barely audible sniffle. Moonlight spilled gently through the cracked window, casting pale silver streaks over the rumpled bed. Y/N lay curled up against Viktor, their body trembling as quiet tears traced warm lines down their cheeks.

In Y/N’s arms was a worn, faded scarf — the one that still held the faint scent of the person they’d lost. The scent was bittersweet, a fragile thread tying them to memories now distant yet painfully close. Y/N clung to it like a lifeline, burying their face deep into the fabric as Viktor’s steady hand rested lightly on their back, his cane leaning nearby within reach.

Viktor’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, as he stroked slow circles on Y/N’s shoulder.

“It’s alright to cry,” he murmured, voice thick with empathy. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Y/N’s shoulders shook, the weight of grief pressing heavy against their chest. Viktor’s presence was a calm anchor, his warmth a quiet reassurance that they were not alone in this moment of pain. His thumb gently traced invisible patterns, a quiet rhythm meant to soothe.

“You gave so much, you know,” Viktor continued, voice steady and kind, “and it’s okay to feel lost. Healing takes time.”

Y/N didn’t reply, only pressed their cheek harder against the scarf, inhaling the scent as if it might somehow bring back the lost presence, even for a fleeting moment.

=

Minutes passed, measured only by the slow, steady cadence of Viktor’s comforting touch and the quiet breaths that filled the room.

Then, the door creaked open quietly. Jayce stepped in, his expression softening instantly at the sight before him. His usual confident stance was replaced by a tenderness reserved only for these intimate moments. Without a word, he crossed the room and gently settled beside them on the bed, careful not to disturb the fragile calm.

Jayce’s fingers brushed lightly against Y/N’s hand, a simple touch full of unspoken support and love. Y/N’s tear-filled eyes lifted to meet Jayce’s, the sorrow mirrored there, but also a gentle strength.

“We’re here,” Jayce said, his voice low and steady, a gentle balm to the raw ache in the room. “Both of us.”

Viktor shifted slightly to make space, still holding Y/N close, his cane resting against the bedside. The three of them formed a quiet circle of warmth and understanding, a fragile shield against the cold weight of grief.

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath and let their fingers intertwine with both Viktor’s and Jayce’s. The simple connection was enough — enough to remind them they were not alone, that love could still be a refuge even in the darkest hours.

Viktor’s voice came again, softer this time, “When you’re ready, we’ll be here to help carry the weight. Together.”

Y/N’s tears slowed, but the sadness remained — not gone, but somehow lighter. The love in the room wrapped around them like a blanket, steady and unyielding.

Jayce leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple, and Viktor rested his cheek lightly against their hair. In the quiet, the three of them sat — healing slowly, one breath at a time.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual that evening, a heavy stillness settling over the usual chatter and laughter. Y/N sat by the window, fingers tracing the rim of a worn cup, eyes distant and shadowed. The loss weighed on them—a beloved friend who had recently passed in Zaun’s unforgiving streets. It was a grief that settled deep, stubborn and raw, like a cold weight pressing against their chest.

Vander noticed immediately. His footsteps were soft as he approached, and when he reached Y/N, he settled his large hands gently on their shoulders, steadying. “You don’t have to carry it alone,” he murmured softly, voice thick with understanding and something fierce in his quiet strength.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to his, and a fragile, grateful smile barely touched their lips. “It just feels… endless, Vander. Like the shadows won’t leave. Like they’re stitched into the air around me.”

He nodded slowly, lowering himself to sit beside them, pulling Y/N into a steady embrace. The warmth of his body was solid, grounding. “Grief is its own kind of battle. But you’re not fighting it alone. We’re here. All of us.”

Y/N exhaled, their breath shaky. “Sometimes it’s like… the world keeps moving and I’m stuck in place.”

Vander’s voice was soft, patient. “That’s okay. We all get stuck sometimes. But we get up again. Together.”

From the doorway, Vi peeked in, clutching a small bundle of scraps and bits of colored cloth she had gathered. Behind her, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor followed quietly, their faces serious but hopeful.

Vi stepped forward, her voice bright but gentle. “We made this for you.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed in surprise as they untied the bundle, revealing a small patchwork doll stitched with uneven but heartfelt care — the fabric scraps borrowed from old clothes, bits of thread shimmering faintly in the dim light, and a tiny hand-stitched heart sewn onto its chest.

Powder’s voice was soft, almost shy. “It’s like a little memory… to remind you that we’re all here. Like family.”

Claggor’s eyes shone with earnestness. “We wanted you to know you’re not alone. Not ever. Even when it feels like the shadows are too big.”

Mylo, usually the quietest, nodded. “And you can tell us stories about them. The friend you lost. We wanna hear.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with tears, the lump in their throat loosening for the first time in days. They lifted the doll, cradling it gently like a fragile treasure. Vander squeezed their hand, voice steady, full of warmth. “We carry our losses with us, but love carries us through. That’s what family is for.”

Y/N’s smile deepened, shaky but genuine, breaking through the grief’s heavy veil. “Thank you… all of you.”

The children gathered closer, warmth spreading in the dim room as Vi slipped an arm around Y/N’s waist, Powder curled close by their side, and Claggor and Mylo stood protectively near.

For a moment, in the quiet comfort of family, the shadows seemed a little less dark.

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s streets seeped through the cracked window, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Faint flickers of neon signs outside splashed muted colors against the peeling walls. Y/N sat curled up on the worn couch, knees drawn to their chest, fingers clutching an old, frayed dog collar — the one that had belonged to their beloved dog, who had been by their side since they were a child. The metal tag, scratched and dulled with time, was cool against their palm, but it felt like the last tether to a world that had slipped away.

The silence was thick, heavy as a shroud, broken only by the faint hum of distant machinery and the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe. Y/N’s eyes were red-rimmed, swollen from days of crying, the grief raw and unyielding. Their breath hitched as they whispered into the stillness, “I miss you.” The voice cracked — fragile, breaking, as if saying it louder might somehow make the loss more real.

Silco stepped quietly into the room, his usual commanding presence softened, muted by the weight of Y/N’s sorrow. He paused by the doorway, watching them for a moment, not wanting to disturb the fragile moment. He understood grief — the kind that carved deep canyons in the heart — and knew there was no rush to fix what was broken.

He moved slowly to sit beside Y/N, close enough to offer comfort but careful not to crowd their space. His hand rested lightly on their shoulder, steady and reassuring. No words came at first. Sometimes silence held more meaning than any phrase.

After a long moment, Silco reached out, his fingers gentle as they brushed a stray tear from Y/N’s cheek. “You loved them fiercely,” he said quietly, voice low and steady, like a balm. “And they loved you just the same.”

Y/N blinked, swallowing hard, trying to stem the tide of emotions swelling inside. “It feels like…” they started, voice trembling. “Like there’s a hole in me. A hole I don’t think I can fill.”

Silco’s eyes darkened, heavy with empathy. “I’ve seen that hole before,” he said softly. “It’s not something you can fill quickly or easily. But... maybe there’s a way to ease the ache.”

Y/N looked up, confused but curious, as Silco rose and disappeared briefly down the hall. Their heart thudded painfully, a mix of hope and apprehension tightening their chest.

=

Minutes later, he returned cradling a small bundle wrapped in a worn cloth. A soft whine escaped as he gently lowered the fabric, revealing a scruffy, bright-eyed puppy, trembling slightly but wagging its tail with hopeful excitement.

Y/N’s breath caught in their throat, shock and disbelief mingling on their face. “Silco… you didn’t have to,” they whispered, voice thick with emotion.

He smiled gently, a rare softness in his gaze as he knelt and placed the puppy carefully in Y/N’s lap. The little creature immediately licked Y/N’s hand, warm and alive, an unexpected flicker of joy in the shadow of their grief.

“I know this one won’t replace the one you lost,” Silco said, voice barely above a murmur. “No one could. They’re irreplaceable. But maybe…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Maybe they can help you heal. Even just a little.”

Y/N’s fingers trembled as they stroked the puppy’s fur, the weight of loss still heavy but softened by this new, fragile connection. Slowly, a fragile smile cracked through the sorrow, like dawn breaking over a dark horizon.

Silco wrapped an arm around them, steady and warm, a solid presence against the waves of grief. “It’s okay to miss them,” he whispered. “To carry that love with you. But don’t forget — there’s still love waiting to grow.”

Y/N leaned into him, heart aching but somehow lighter, holding this small new life close, finding in Silco’s arms the strength to face tomorrow.

JINX

The rain was light but steady, misting over the cracked earth of Zaun’s forgotten outskirts. The sky hung low and heavy, the gray clouds pressing down like the weight Y/N carried inside. They stood quietly by a small, weathered grave marker, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the faint, chipped letters carved into the cold stone.

“I still don’t believe you’re really gone.” Their voice was barely a whisper, fragile and small against the soft patter of rain. The words seemed to hang in the air, swallowed quickly by the quiet gloom.

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking back tears that stung as they slipped down their cheeks. The cold seeped through their thin jacket, but the chill in their chest was far worse.

From behind a rusted metal fence, a sudden rustle caught their attention. Jinx appeared, her usual wild grin softened into something tender as she stepped forward, clutching a handful of wildflowers—bright purple and yellow—plucked from a patch near the scrap heaps. The flowers looked almost ridiculous against the gritty backdrop, but the thought behind them made Y/N’s chest ache.

“Hey…” Jinx’s voice was softer than usual, almost fragile. She didn’t rush or demand, just gently offered the small bouquet as she knelt beside Y/N. “I thought you might wanna see these.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the kindness. The simple gesture felt like a lifeline in the gray, endless sadness. “You didn’t have to…”

“Sure I did,” Jinx said, her voice steady now, fierce even. “You’re my best friend. And no way I’m lettin’ you be all alone here.”

Jinx reached out carefully, sliding a messy strand of damp hair behind Y/N’s ear. Her fingers lingered for a moment, warm against Y/N’s cheek, grounding them. It was a quiet reassurance, a promise that they didn’t have to face this grief by themselves.

The two sat side by side, the rain soaking through their clothes, but the cold was forgotten. Jinx’s presence was like a shield—wild and unpredictable but steady—holding back the crashing waves of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm.

“You know,” Jinx finally murmured, her gaze locked on the grave, “I don’t think they’d want you to be sad all the time. They’d want you to live loud, wild… just like me.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, a fragile sound mingling with the rain. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.”

Jinx nudged them playfully with her shoulder, a little spark of her old mischief returning. “Of course I am. And hey, if you ever feel like crying or yelling or just being a mess… I’m here. Always.”

Y/N leaned their head against Jinx’s shoulder, drawing comfort from the chaotic, fierce friend who refused to let them fall apart alone. For once, the world didn’t feel so cold.

“Thanks, Jinx,” they whispered, voice cracking but sincere. “Really, thank you.”

Jinx grinned, the wild light flickering back in her eyes. “Anytime, bestie. Now come on, let’s get outta this gloomy place and find something explosive to blow up. For them.”

And somehow, despite the grief that still sat heavy in their chest, a tiny spark of hope flickered back to life inside Y/N. Because no matter what, they weren’t alone.

MEL

The night was cool and quiet, the city’s usual hum softened under the blanket of darkness. The rooftops of Piltover stretched out like jagged silhouettes against the deep indigo sky. A few scattered stars blinked faintly above, fragile pinpricks of light in the vast expanse.

Y/N sat on the balcony, knees pulled close to their chest, arms wrapped around themselves as if to hold together the pieces inside. Their eyes stayed fixed on the distant stars, breath visible in the crisp night air. The gentle glow of lampposts far below cast soft shadows that danced lightly across the wooden planks beneath them, but Y/N’s gaze never wavered from the sky.

The silence was heavy, thick with all the words left unspoken. Grief settled around Y/N like a shroud — suffocating, yet strangely familiar. Memories flickered through their mind — laughter, quiet moments, the ache of sudden absence.

Mel appeared quietly behind them, her footsteps soft on the stone floor. She paused, watching Y/N’s still form, reluctant to break the fragile silence but unwilling to leave them alone with the pain. Without a word, she settled beside them, their bodies close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Mel leaned back against the railing, her presence steady and grounding.

For a long while, neither spoke. The night air wrapped around them like a shared secret, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked stone and wildflowers from the market below.

Finally, Mel’s voice broke the silence — soft, steady, a whisper meant only for Y/N. “Sometimes the stars remind me of the people we’ve lost,” she said. “Like they’re still up there, watching over us. Always just out of reach, but close enough to guide us when we need it most.”

Y/N’s breath caught, the tightness in their throat making their words catch painfully. They swallowed hard, voice trembling as it slipped into the night.

“I miss them so much,” they whispered. “Every day it feels like a part of me is gone… like I’m not whole without them here.”

Mel turned toward them slowly, eyes warm and tender, reflecting the pale starlight. She reached out deliberately, sliding her hand over Y/N’s. The touch was soft, intimate — a promise that they weren’t alone. That Mel was here, always.

“Grief is a heavy weight,” Mel said quietly. “But you don’t have to carry it by yourself. Not ever. I’m here — with you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, feeling the steady pulse beneath Mel’s fingers. For the first time in what felt like forever, a fragile spark of comfort bloomed inside their chest — small, like a single star appearing in the night, but enough.

They squeezed Mel’s hand gently, voice barely more than a breath, but full of quiet strength. “Thank you… for not letting me fall apart.”

Mel smiled, a slow curve of warmth that made the cold night feel a little less biting. She shifted closer, their shoulders brushing, the space between them shrinking. “We don’t have to be whole all at once,” she murmured. “We’ll heal bit by bit. And I’ll be right here, holding every piece with you.”

Together, they sat beneath the vast sky, sharing the silence and the memories that drifted between them like ghosts in the dark. The stars above seemed to burn a little brighter, as if joining their quiet vigil. Slowly, in that tender companionship, the weight of grief softened — held gently by two hearts that refused to let go.

SEVIKA

The Last Drop’s dim light flickered unevenly, casting long, restless shadows across the cracked wooden floorboards. The murmur of low voices and the occasional clink of glass filled the air like a distant storm, but Y/N sat silent and still at the bar, shoulders hunched, fingers trembling as they gripped a glass of amber liquid. The burn of the whiskey coursing down their throat barely touched the deeper ache, the hollow that no drink could fill.

Their eyes were glazed, fixed on the swirling ice inside the glass, as if the shards of frozen water could somehow freeze time itself. The weight of loss was suffocating, pressing into their chest with relentless force, threatening to pull them under.

Sevika stepped through the haze of patrons like a shadow—her boots thudding softly on the worn floor. She moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had faced far worse than grief and come out harder on the other side. Without a word, she slid onto the stool next to Y/N, the faint scent of leather and smoke clinging to her.

She ordered a drink, her voice low and steady, then turned her sharp gaze toward Y/N. For a moment, she just watched—the way their hands trembled around the glass, the faint quiver of their lips, the way their breath hitched like they were barely holding themselves together.

“You can’t drown this in drink,” Sevika said bluntly, voice low but steady, not wanting to coddle or pretend.

Y/N lifted their gaze slowly, eyes glassy, heavy with exhaustion. “Maybe I don’t want to face it yet,” they whispered, voice raw and fragile.

Sevika scoffed, a bitter humour flickering in her eyes. “You think hiding from it makes it easier? You’re stronger than that. Stronger than the pain.”

“But it hurts,” Y/N admitted, swallowing hard, voice cracking. “It hurts more than I thought it would. And I don’t know how to stop it from tearing me apart.”

Sevika leaned in, her tone firm but not unkind—like a blade sharpened to cut through lies, but careful not to draw blood unnecessarily. “You don’t stop it. You carry it with you. Like armor. Like a blade. You let it make you sharper. Stronger. And if you fall, I’ll catch you. But I’m not gonna let you waste away here, drowning in sorrow.”

Y/N’s shoulders trembled, a tear slipping free and tracing a hot line down their cheek. “I’m scared,” they confessed, voice barely audible. “I’m scared I’ll forget them. That the memories will fade. That the pain will disappear and take the love with it.”

Sevika reached out without hesitation, her fingers brushing the tear away with the pad of her thumb—rough, steady, grounding. “You won’t forget. They’re part of you—always with you. Every step you take, every breath you draw. You honor them by living, by fighting, by refusing to let their light die inside you.”

For a long moment, the room seemed to quiet around them—the hum of the bar fading into the background as Sevika’s hand curled over Y/N’s, anchoring them back to the present.

“Get up,” she said softly, but there was steel beneath the softness. “We’re not done yet.”

Y/N met her gaze, feeling the flicker of fierce determination sparking back to life deep inside. The ache hadn’t gone away—not yet—but it was no longer a prison. It was a fire, a reckoning.

Sevika squeezed their hand once, then stood, pulling Y/N gently to their feet. “Come on. The world’s still waiting for you to make your mark.”

Y/N blinked, steadying themselves as Sevika led them away from the bar, away from the darkness. The night was far from over, but together, they would face it.

CAITLYN

he soft glow of the fireplace cast flickering shadows across Caitlyn’s sitting room, wrapping the space in a gentle warmth. Outside, the night stretched quietly over Piltover, broken only by the distant hum of airships and the occasional murmur of late-night streets. Inside, the world felt still, save for the rhythmic crackling of the logs burning low in the hearth.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, knees drawn tightly to their chest, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. But the light in those eyes was dim, overshadowed by something deeper—an ache Caitlyn recognized but that Y/N fought to hide. Every time she tried to reach out, Y/N masked their pain with a fragile smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

Caitlyn remained quiet for a long moment, simply watching—the rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, the way their fingers nervously twisted the edge of a threadbare blanket. Then, gently, she moved closer and lowered herself onto the cushions beside them.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice carrying a tender warmth, “you don’t have to hold it all in. Not here. Not with me.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the catch in their throat betraying the composure they tried so hard to keep. They bit their lip, trembling as if struggling to keep a storm locked inside. “It’s just… I don’t want to burden you. I’m fine,” they whispered, voice breaking under the weight of the lie.

Caitlyn reached out slowly, her fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from Y/N’s face with delicate care. “You’re never a burden,” she said firmly, meeting Y/N’s gaze. “Let me be here for you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The walls Y/N had built around their grief crumbled in that moment. Tears spilled free—soft, shaky, desperate. Their hands clenched into trembling fists, nails digging into palms as their body shook with the release of all the pain held too long.

Without hesitation, Caitlyn wrapped her arms around Y/N, pulling them close until their head rested against her chest, their breaths mingling in the quiet warmth of the room.

“I miss them,” Y/N’s voice came, raw and fragile, barely audible. “I thought… I thought it would get easier with time. But it just feels… empty. Like a part of me is gone.”

Caitlyn pressed a gentle kiss to their temple, her fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns across Y/N’s back. “Grief doesn’t have a timetable,” she murmured. “It’s okay to feel lost, to miss them. And it’s okay to not be okay right now.”

They stayed like that for a long while, the only sounds the crackle of fire and the soft mingling of their breaths. Caitlyn’s presence was steady and unwavering—a quiet promise that Y/N wouldn’t face this alone.

When the first fragile hint of calm returned to Y/N’s eyes, Caitlyn whispered, “Whenever you’re ready, we can talk about them. Or we can just sit here. Whatever you need.”

Y/N nodded slowly, a small, grateful smile breaking through the sorrow. “Thank you, Caitlyn. For this… for being here.”

Caitlyn smiled back, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear once more. “Always.”

And in that simple, shared moment, amid the shadows and flickering light, they found a small, fragile beginning of healing — together.

VI

The dim light of the Last Drop’s back room flickered weakly, casting long shadows over the worn punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The air was thick with dust and the faint smell of sweat and old leather. Each strike landed with a harsh, jagged rhythm—a violent punctuation in the stillness. Y/N’s knuckles were raw and bleeding, the skin broken in places, but they didn’t slow. They couldn’t. Every punch was an attempt to shove the weight pressing down on their chest a little farther away, like the pain was something solid they could beat into submission.

Vi lingered just outside the doorway, silent and steady. Her gaze traced the tight set of Y/N’s jaw, the flare of nostrils as they exhaled sharply with each blow, the trembling muscles in their shoulders and arms. The storm inside Y/N was fierce—anger, grief, frustration—all tangled and pouring out through those fists.

The room echoed with the sound of flesh hitting leather, sharp and relentless.

After a few minutes, Vi stepped in, her boots quiet on the floorboards. Her voice was low but firm. “Hey… you gotta stop before you really hurt yourself.”

Y/N’s head snapped toward her, eyes flashing dangerously bright, burning with a mix of pain and stubbornness.

“I don’t need you telling me what to do,” they snapped, voice brittle and sharp like shattered glass. The kind of edge only grief could carve.

Vi didn’t flinch or step back. Instead, she closed the distance between them slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal that needed space but not abandonment.

“I’m not trying to boss you around,” she said softly, voice steady. “I just don’t want to see you bleed more than you already are.”

Y/N’s fists trembled in her hands, the sting of bruised and torn skin flooding through their nerves. There was a catch in their breath, a sudden hitch like something fragile was cracking inside. But the walls stayed stubbornly in place, protecting the rawness beneath.

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking on the edges, barely more than a breath. “I have to be.”

Vi’s eyes softened as she wrapped her fingers gently around Y/N’s bruised knuckles, not squeezing, just holding—offering a steady warmth and grounding presence.

“You don’t have to be,” she murmured. “Not all the time.”

Her gaze searched Y/N’s face, tracing the lines of pain they usually hid so well. She brushed a stray lock of hair away from their forehead and tucked it behind an ear with a tenderness that made Y/N’s breath hitch again.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Y/N’s defenses cracked just enough for tears to spill quietly down their cheeks. They swallowed hard, the grief bubbling to the surface—silent, raw, and exhausting. They leaned into Vi’s arms, into the safety that only she could provide, letting the heaviness settle, if only for a moment.

Vi pulled them close, wrapping her arms tightly around Y/N’s shaking frame, holding them like a shield from the storm.

“We’ll get through this,” Vi whispered against their hair. “Together.”

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Y/N let themselves feel the fragile peace that came with being truly seen and held—not for who they were supposed to be, but for who they were in this moment: hurting, broken, and still here.

And in that quiet room, filled with bruised knuckles and broken hearts, a small light flickered—the promise of healing, of hope, of love.

CAITVI

The sunlight filtered softly through the wide windows of their Piltover apartment, casting long golden slants across the polished floor. The quiet hum of the city below floated in, muffled by thick glass and distance. It was one of those unusually warm afternoons in Piltover — the kind that usually brought comfort. But not today.

Vi leaned against the kitchen counter, a dish towel in hand, idly drying the same mug over and over. Her gaze kept drifting to Y/N, who sat curled on the couch, legs tucked under them, staring at nothing in particular. The cup in their hands had gone cold long ago, untouched. Their expression was far away — not lost in thought, but lost in something heavier. Something that pulled at the edges of their presence like gravity.

Since morning, Y/N had been quieter than usual. Not the comfortable silence of shared space, but the kind of quiet that weighed on the room — the kind that made the air feel dense.

Caitlyn had noticed too. She stood by the bookshelf now, half-heartedly pretending to browse the titles, her eyes flicking to Y/N with concern every few moments. Y/N’s usual spark — the soft glint in their eyes, the subtle curve of their smirk — had dulled. Their smiles were fewer, their laughter almost non-existent. There was a haunted look lingering beneath their lashes, and Caitlyn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were barely holding it together.

Vi finally set the mug down, the soft clink of ceramic grounding the moment. She crossed the room quietly, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor, and sank into the couch beside Y/N. Caitlyn followed a beat later, settling on Y/N’s other side. Her hand reached out, brushing gently against Y/N’s.

Y/N blinked slowly, pulled from the haze as if surfacing from deep water. “Sorry, I—”

“No need to explain,” Caitlyn said gently, her voice steady but kind. “You’ve been zoning out a lot today.”

Vi leaned in, resting her forearms on her knees, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face with quiet intensity. “Is something wrong?” she asked, softer than usual. “Did we miss something?”

Y/N hesitated — then their hands trembled, barely perceptibly, where they rested in their lap. Caitlyn felt it through the touch they still shared. The air around them seemed to still, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes suddenly wet and shining. “It’s… today.” Their voice cracked. “The anniversary. Of losing my brother.”

Silence fell — not awkward, not uncertain, but solemn. Caitlyn’s heart ached. Vi’s expression faltered, all her usual bravado slipping away like steam.

“Oh,” Vi said, softly, almost to herself. She reached out immediately, threading her fingers through Y/N’s with a fierce gentleness that made Y/N’s chin wobble.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

“I didn’t want to bring it up,” Y/N whispered, staring down at their hands. “Didn’t want to make the day about grief. But it’s like… no matter how much time passes, this day just… haunts me. I woke up with the ache already there.”

Caitlyn’s touch moved to Y/N’s back, gentle circles grounding them. “Grief doesn’t care about time,” she said quietly. “It’s not something you get over. It just… changes.”

Vi scoffed softly, not unkindly. “Anyone who says it gets easier hasn’t lived through it.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath that turned into a quiet sob. “Some days I forget the sound of his voice. Or the way he used to laugh. And that—” they clenched their jaw— “that terrifies me.”

Vi’s hand came up to cup the back of Y/N’s neck, her thumb stroking along their hairline. “Then we’ll remember him with you. However you need. Say his name. Tell us about him. Or not. We can just sit. Whatever you need.”

Caitlyn leaned in closer, resting her forehead lightly against Y/N’s temple. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Y/N hesitated, then let the tears come — slow and silent at first, then all at once. They leaned forward, and Vi caught them, arms wrapping tight, pulling them in. Caitlyn’s arms followed a moment later, encircling both of them. A woven embrace of warmth, patience, and presence.

They stayed like that for a long while — a quiet tangle of limbs and comfort, nestled on the couch as the world outside continued on. Piltover bustled in the background with all its bright steel and promise, but inside their apartment, time softened.

The grief was still there. It always would be. But wrapped in the arms of those who loved them, Y/N could finally let it breathe. Not alone. Never alone.

[h1nanii]

Not that kind of guy.

This is a oneshot

Jealous!Zoro x F!Reader (Pre-established relationship)

Genre [fluff, Romance, slice of life with cannon-verse context. Jealousy, self-consciousness]

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader.

[Warnings: none]

A midday nap on the deck in which your moss haired boyfriend couldn’t help but eavesdrop on your “ Girl Talk” with Robin & Nami.

It started harmlessly enough.

You were helping Robin and Nami fold laundry on the deck while Zoro napped nearby. The sun was warm, the ocean calm, and the wind carried lazy conversation across the ship.

“I mean, I used to dream about a guy who could write poetry,” Nami said with a laugh, folding a towel. “Someone smart, mysterious, charming.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully. “A gentleman. Tall, elegant. Maybe someone who brings you flowers.”

“Exactly! The kind who dances at galas, gives surprise gifts, knows how to talk sweet…”

You smiled softly, hugging a fresh shirt to your chest. “That sounds lovely.”

Unbeknownst to the three of you, Zoro was not actually asleep.

He’d cracked one eye open just enough to catch the words charming, sweet-talking, and gives flowers—and then you saying “That sounds lovely.”

He didn’t stir.

But he definitely heard.

⸻

Later, he was quieter than usual. He trained harder, longer. You found him by the mast that evening, sword drawn but unmoving, his eyes fixed on the sky with a frown on his face.

You approached, the hem of your loose shirt swaying with the breeze.

“Zoro?”

He glanced at you and went back to wiping down Wado.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

You stepped closer, picking up the cloth he wasn’t really using. “You’re not.”

He paused. “Just tired.”

“…Is it because of what Nami and Robin were saying earlier?”

Zoro blinked. His grip tightened slightly.

“Thought you liked that kind of guy,” he muttered. “Charming. Pretty words. Surprise gifts. That’s… not me.”

Your heart softened painfully.

You stepped in front of him, taking the cloth from his hand and setting it aside.

“I said it sounded lovely, Zoro. Not me.”

His brows drew together. He wasn’t mad—just distant. Hurt. That quiet kind of hurt he didn’t know how to express.

You reached for his hand.

“I never wanted someone who dances at balls or writes poetry,” you said gently. “I wanted someone who protects the people he loves without hesitation. Someone strong, steady—even if he’s quiet. Someone I can trust.”

You leaned your head against his chest.

“I wanted you.”

Zoro stood frozen for a moment. Then you felt his arms wrap around you, slow and hesitant at first—but tightening.

“…I don’t say the right things,” he murmured into your hair. “I never know what you need to hear.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “You show me every day. That’s enough.”

He held you closer, resting his chin on your head.

“…Would it kill you to want a guy who talks less and lifts heavy things?”

You giggled into his chest. “I think I already have him.”

He exhaled something like a laugh, then mumbled, “Good.”

After a moment of silence, you peeked up at him. “But… if you ever brought me a flower, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He gave you a suspicious look.

“…Don’t push your luck.”

And you didn’t, you never pushed expectations onto the swordsman since the start of your relationship. But he always seemed to surprise you from holding a soft spot deep down for you.

-

-

The island air was heavy with heat and the scent of wild fruit, the thick green jungle humming with cicadas and bird calls. The Sunny had docked off the shore of a bright tropical cove, the water so clear it shimmered like polished glass.

You’d had to shed your usual layers—the thick clothing of your shirts was too much in the heat. Instead, you wore a soft pink bikini set, the top trimmed with gentle frills, a gauzy wrap fluttering at your hips, barely covered by the denim shorts you bought a few weeks ago.

The others had gone exploring. You had too—until you realized something was missing.

Zoro.

You hadn’t seen him since disembarking. You asked Luffy (who was chasing a parrot), Sanji (who was too distracted by your outfit to be helpful), and even Brook (who offered to help you search “spiritually”).

No luck.

Eventually, you gave up, returning to the quiet stretch of beach near the ship, your bare feet curling into warm sand as you gazed at the waves.

The sun was starting to dip behind the cliffs when you felt it:

A strong, familiar arm wrapping around your waist, grounding you instantly.

You didn’t even jump.

His other hand came into view, calloused fingers holding something delicate and unexpected.

A single water lily.

Large, white, with a faint pink center—its petals soft and open like a sunrise.

You blinked in surprise, turning your head slightly.

“…You disappeared,” you whispered.

Zoro stood behind you, chin resting lightly against your shoulder.

“I was looking for this,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened. “For me?”

“Tch.” He shifted slightly, but his arm didn’t move from your waist. “You said once you wouldn’t hate it if I brought you a flower.”

You blinked. “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything you say,” he muttered, then cleared his throat like he regretted admitting it.

He held the water lily out to you—awkwardly, like it might explode—but his grip was steady.

“I don’t dance,” he said. “I don’t do sweet talk. But I saw this, and I thought of you. Soft. Pink. Floating, but not fragile. Strong enough to grow out of still water.”

Your throat tightened.

You took the flower gently, cradling it against your chest. “It’s beautiful.”

He stepped in front of you now, facing you fully. His eyes dropped down to your pink bikini for the first time—he stared just a beat too long before coughing and looking away.

“…You look good,” he muttered.

Your cheeks flushed with heat taking in his own appearance. “So do you.”

He was shirtless—swords still at his side, muscles cut by golden light, hair messy from the wind. He looked like something out of a story: a storm made man.

You stepped forward, placing the lily gently in his hand and guiding it to rest above your ear.

“Now I’m yours,” you said softly. “Everyone will know.”

Zoro watched you for a moment. Then he reached for your waist again, pulling you against him with no hesitation this time.

“They already know,” he murmured, just before pressing his lips to yours.

The waves washed over your ankles as the sun dipped lower, casting the two of you in gold.

And Zoro—quiet, rough-edged Zoro—stood there with his hand on your waist, a flower behind your ear, and a look in his eyes that said:

You were always the one.

[sillygoobermanlol]

Imposter

Silly short fic I wrote

You are dead lol sorry

Simon has retired, thought he could ignore the mental effects of what his former job brought onto him.

Simon Riley sat with his hands cuffed to a table, on his wrist they were too tight. Straining his blood flow, nobody had fixed it, not since the officers came, when they saw you on the floor in a pool of your own blood, blood that was still stuck under his nails, still staining the lines of his hands. Part of him still didn’t believe it was real, grey eyes dazed as he stared at the metal table blankly, no mask, only flesh. Not a monster, but a very bad man. Somehow that was worse. The glint of the bright light overhead overbearing. His leg bounced and he couldn’t unclench his fists. The sound of sirens was still blaring in his head, and he couldn’t think. Though he was acutely aware of the man in the corner, watching him with a gun, ready to fire if he so much as moved an inch. Simon Riley was no small man, it was only reasonable, and with what he had done even more. But part of him itched to fight, only instinct with such a weapon pointed at him while he had nothing. After years of keeping one in his grip so tightly, how could he have let himself get soft? How dare he try? How dare he promise you that he could be. 

A tear rolled down his cheek, and fell into his palm, taking some of your blood with it as it rolled down, he hadn’t realized he was crying. 

He hadn’t noticed either the sound of voices that grew louder. But when he did, they were already so close.

“Simon Riley. Ex soldier, murdered his partner.” Said one, 

“Jesus,” said another under their breath, a woman. He didn’t look up when the door was pushed open. There was only silence for a moment, before the sound of a chair dragging across the floor, she sat down sitting the clipboard she held on the table before clasping her fingers together on top of it. “Simon,” she said, and it was so sickeningly soft. It reminded him of his mother almost, soft, yet didn’t do anything to stop the chaos around him. It wasn’t protection, but pity. “I know this is hard, but I need to know what happened tonight.”

Of course, they knew what had happened, somewhere the details were written on paper, that described the state of your body and what killed you. This was for him, to put him behind bars. He knew that he deserved that. But he didn’t know if he could take picturing your face right now. It settled in. You were dead, oh god, you were dead. 

“Simon?” she said again, dipping her head to see his face. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

All he could see was the blurry outlines of his hand, tears were still falling unwilfully. But he couldn’t feel anything. Gods, why couldn’t he feel anything? The woman only sighed, “My name is Detective Porter, I’m not here to hurt you, or accuse you of anything. I just want the truth. Can you give me that at least?” 

When he didn’t say anything, she kept going, “I was told you were ex SAS, is that true?” 

Silence. 

“You retired a year ago, worked with the T141. Under John Price, with the callsign: Ghost.” 

His eyes shot up, peering at her. He was shaking. Of course, they knew all of that, they knew everything about him. Ghost was a manufactured weapon, a successful one. He was milked for everything he had and when let go didn’t know how to be human. He didn’t know how to be gentle for you, yet you still stayed. And now you were dead. He always thought that maybe it would have been the demons that followed him off the battlefield, hungry for revenge. Wanting to take away the only happiness he ever had. Like they did to his family, scared that one day he would come home and find that they had put a hole in you, leaving him to grieve yet again. He thought he was clever, thought that if he kept you close, he could stop it, but he didn’t think to save you from himself. 

The woman nodded, pleased that at least she had ignited some reaction in him. “Let’s talk more about that then, yeah?” 

“No.” he finally spoke, gravelly and deep in his throat. 

“Then we have to talk about what happened tonight.” 

He went still again. 

The woman sighed, taking apart her clasped hands and taking up the clipboard. Reading over the text before speaking, she said your name first, the wound was still so fresh that he didn’t think of you gone, but the way she spoke of you in past tense made him sick, “Your significant other, correct? They were found dead inside of your shared apartment. You were the only one inside, you were also the one to notify the authorities.” 

Simon dug his nails into his palm, where your blood still stained red. Get it off, please get it off. The realization of what he had done was still fresh in his mind, when you stopped moving, when he touched you and you were real, when just a second ago he was convinced, you were not. That you were here to hurt him. A threat, another enemy. 

“Simon, I want you to understand that-”

He slammed a fist on the metal table, she flinched, the man in the corner tightened his grip on the gun, she let out a shaky breath, holding a hand up to stop the man from proceeding further. 

“Stop, saying my fuckin’ name like that.” He snarled. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t,” She breathed out, “What would you prefer? Ghost?” 

“No.” he said, and his voice shook slightly, he didn’t know. He did not want to be Ghost nor Simon right now. 

“This is serious, I want to make sure you understand that all I want to do right now is understand.”

He was still shaking, the cuffs rattled on his wrists like chains. “No…No, you jus’ wanna…you..” he rambled, voice shaking, his entire chest shuddering. 

“I want to help, I want to know why they were found in your apartment with their neck broken.” 

Simon whimpered, shaking his head. “Don’t…Don’t do that, don’t you fuckin’ do that.”

“Do what? Tell you what happened? That’s what we found, Simon.” 

He shook his head again, shaking violently, he knew these interrogation techniques, hell, he’s used them himself. But he was breaking, because this wasn’t war, this was you. 

“I didn’t mean to- please, I didn’t-” he choked on his own words, “I thought- I didn’t know it was them I didn’t know..” 

“You didn’t know?” She leaned forward a bit, like she had a fish caught on her hook now, all she had to do was reel it in, “Can you tell me what you thought, then?” 

“I…I…I didn’t…I thought-” he sputtered, everything felt so real now, the fuzzy haze in his mind was gone, no longer there to protect him from reality. Is this why it had been so easy to kill before? With a mask and convinced he did not have to be human. Like a machine, with just a job to do. But your blood was on his goddamn hands. Your body was somewhere getting cold, and he had done it. 

Porter tilted her head down to write on the clipboard before looking up at him again, “Did you kill them, Simon?” 

“I didn’t mean to.” He said, and it was so broken. So gone. He did not register your cries, your begs, when he put his hands around your neck because something in his brain was telling him that you were not real, only posing as someone he loved. He squeezed you until you stopped moving, you clawed at his arms, at his face and now he could feel them burning. Like all of his kills they had left a mark, physically or mentally. You had left both. 

[gail-v-gail]

Kya lifted the cigarette to her lips, softly pulling the fire into her lungs. She strolled through the streets, finding her way back home, taking the time to take in all the sights and sounds of the city she had been away from for the past four years. So much had changed since the day she left air temple island. Her eyes drifted across the landscape, watching people enjoy food from the various vendors, and noting all the different storefront signs. She lifted the cig to her lips again, lost in thought, when she heard a voice call out from behind her, “Kya?”

She turned her head around to find a familiar face staring back at her in disbelief. It was Lin, she was standing in a queue at one of the food stalls, a shy smile replaced the shocked expression on her face as she stepped out of line towards her old friend, “What are you doing here?”

“Lin!” Kya exclaimed, her heart fluttered at the sight of those bright green eyes. Kya rushed forward and closed the space between them, throwing her arms around the smaller woman. Lin chuckled and returned a small squeeze before Kya pulled back, holding Lin by her shoulders, “I just moved back! I’m so fuckin excited to see you, what the hell have you been up to?” Kya was brimming with excitement.

“Oh, you know,” Lin shrugged, “working hard to clean up the city.” She gestured to the RCPD duffle bag in her hand. Kyas hands dropped back to her sides, her fingertips grazing along Lin’s toned arms as she glanced down at the bag she hadn’t noticed a moment ago. 

“Detective Beifong, working as hard as ever.” Kya replied, taking a beat to look Lin over and make note of other things she hadn’t noticed a moment ago; the way her tight white tank top had ridden up ever so slightly revealing her soft pale belly, her toned shoulders that glistened with a light sheen of sweat, her dark hair curling in around her strong jaw, and two new pink scars that her mother had written her about.

“Sergeant, actually.” Lin stated, pulling Kyas attention back to those mischievous green eyes, “I was promoted about a month ago.” Lin’s eyes were still fiercely locked onto Kya, a shiver ran up her spine. 

“Well, look at you.” Kya playfully replied, once again raising the cigarette to her lips to take a drag. Kya kept her eyes fixed on Lin as she turned her face slightly to blow the smoke out of the side of her mouth. Lin broke her gaze to nervously glance around at the street vendors, beginning to squirm under the intent observation.

“Are you doing anything? I just got off work and was about to grab something to eat. I would love it if you joined me.” Despite Lin’s casual tone, Kya noticed her now slightly flushed cheeks. Kya fought the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“That sounds great.” She replied, stepping forward and pivoting to stand next to her friend, casually draping her arm over Lin’s shoulders, “So, what’s good around here?” Kya asked as she scanned the landscape. 

“I’ll tell you, but it’s going to cost ya.” Lin teased.

“Ha!” Kya huffed, and she lifted the hand that was draped over Lin so that she could take a hit of the cigarette that rested between her fingers. A warm sensation washed over Kya as she watched Lin lean in and focus on taking a drag. She thought fondly of the last time they had shared a cigarette, sitting close, out on the dock of air temple island. Their feet grazed the cool water as they looked at the moon through the haze of smoke in the air, the evening before she had left four years ago.

“Let’s see,” Lin exhaled the smoke through her nose, staring out into the street, “Your favorite noodle place closed a while back, but I think I know someplace you’ll like better.” Lin looked at Kya and grinned at her.

So much had changed in the past four years, Kya thought to herself, but at least this was still the same. 

--

yall liked this one so much, so i thought id give color a go. tried to mimic the style of the show. i had fun dreaming up a lil scene for this pose, hope you enjoyed it :3

[cozmowrites]

something unsaid

You sat on the front steps of the small house you and Izuku had once shared, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of your pants. The sun was setting in a wash of colors you barely noticed. You twirled your wedding band between your fingers, a habit you'd picked up in the months since he was gone.

The grief wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull, heavy, like trying to move through water. Some days it felt almost manageable. Other days, like today, it sat on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Oi."

The familiar voice broke the silence, and you looked up to see Katsuki standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His hair was messy, more out of laziness than any sort of style, and his eyes... his eyes were the same. Sharp, but softer now. Softer when he looked at you.

"Hey," you whispered.

He didn't ask if you were okay. He never did. He knew the answer, or maybe because he understood you wouldn't know how to respond.

Katsuki sat down beside you, close but not touching. The distance was careful, intentional, a line you hadn't crossed yet.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He looked tired, like he carried a thousand unsaid things with him wherever he went. Maybe he did. You both did.

"House looks fine," he muttered, nodding toward the chipped paint and the overgrown lawn you hadn't had the heart to fix. Something Izuku would point out too.

You huffed a laugh, so soft it barely made it past your lips. "Fine's a generous word."

Katsuki shrugged, like he agreed but wasn't about to say it.

A long, heavy silence stretched between you. It wasn't uncomfortable. It never really was with him. Still, you could feel something different tonight. An invisible weight to the air.

You stared down at the ring in your hand. "I don't know how to... move forward," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "It feels wrong. Like I'd be betraying him."

Katsuki didn't answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked sidewalk.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to be alone," he said finally, voice low and rough.

"I know," you said. "But knowing and feeling are... different."

You twisted the ring between your fingers again, heart hammering against your ribs. You needed to say it. You needed him to know.

"Izuku knew," you said, swallowing thickly. "He knew... I loved someone else more. Even back then."

Katsuki turned his head slightly toward you, but he didn't interrupt. He knew what you were talking about. How you confessed to him all those years ago, but he shot you down so you sought after Izuku, his friend, to fill the void.

"I loved him," you said quickly, urgently, like you had to make him understand. "I did. I loved him so much. But... you..." Your throat tightened. "You were always... it."

Katsuki inhaled sharply through his nose. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs.

"He told me," Katsuki said after a beat. "Back when we were kids. Dumbass said... said he just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn't with him."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the fading colors of the sky. "I hate that he knew. I hate that he was that good."

"He was too good for all of us," Katsuki muttered, his voice breaking a little at the edges.

You wiped at your eyes roughly. "I don't even know if I can love again."

Katsuki finally turned to face you fully, his red eyes burning with something raw and painful.

"You don't have to," he said. "Not if you're not ready. Not if you never are."

You stared at him, the ache in your chest shifting, not lessening, but changing into something different. Something warmer.

"I promised him," Katsuki said, voice quieter now. "I promised I'd take care of you. However you needed. Friend. Boyfriend. Husband. Just... someone to check in on you. I don't care. I just want you to be okay."

The first sob broke free from your chest before you could stop it. It wasn't loud, but it was broken, and Katsuki moved instinctively, closing the space between you.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel the tremble in his muscles. Like he was barely holding himself together too.

You buried your face in his chest, clinging to the front of his jacket like a lifeline.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The world moved on around you, the stars came out, the streetlights buzzed to life, but you stayed there, wrapped up in him.

When you finally pulled back, Katsuki let you go reluctantly, his hands lingering at your elbows like he wasn't sure if he should let you go completely.

You wiped at your face, laughing wetly. "Sorry. I’m a mess."

"You're allowed," he said simply.

You looked at him, really looked, and saw the man who had been there through every impossible moment. Every bad day. Every night you thought you'd break apart from missing Izuku so badly you couldn't breathe.

And somehow, Katsuki had stayed. Not out of obligation. Not out of pity.

Out of love.

"I don't know what I can give you," you whispered. "I'm... not whole anymore."

Katsuki shook his head, eyes fierce. "You don't have to be."

The tears came again, but they felt different this time. Less like mourning. More like release.

You reached out, hesitant, and Katsuki met you halfway, taking your hand in his much larger one.

It was clumsy, and painful, and beautiful all at once.

You weren't ready to fall in love again.

Instead, you were ready to let yourself heal.

Katsuki would be there, however you needed him.

Always.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy has something to say. (Sequel to: Say Something, I'm Giving Up On You)

Tommy watches Evan sleep, and something painful curls around his heart. Something that wants him to slip underneath the blanket, wrap his arm around Evan, and pull him close until he can feel his heartbeat.

But he can’t do that. 

He can’t hold Evan while he sleeps. But he could hold Evan while they were having sex weeks ago, when their lips were so close they were almost touching, the shared air between them hot and filled with unuttered questions.

They haven’t even talked about … what they are now.

Friends?

Friends with one-time benefits?

Friends for whom you steal a helicopter and get chased by the army and the FBI?

Tommy isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about anything right now, but the - probably pathetic - fact that he’s happy when he can be around Evan. Even with how fragile the ground they are walking on feels right now.

He gently closes the door to allow Evan to get some more rest and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

What a mess.

When Evan texted him, Tommy thought it was because of his grief. Because he needed someone to talk to about Bobby. He didn’t expect Evan to start talking about Eddie first.

“I think I fucked up, Tommy. I … I told Eddie to leave. Because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take him acting like I’m making Bobby’s death about myself. It made me so angry. I think I destroyed our friendship. I just couldn’t look at him anymore. He said he doesn’t know if I did enough to save Bobby, because he wasn’t there. It’s not fair. How can he say that, Tommy? He knows what Bobby meant to me. He does!

God. Everything is already so broken, and now I broke this too. I feel horrible. And I hoped Eddie would want to talk. That he would want to … to fix this. But he just left. I hate when people do that! Why do they always have to leave.”

Tommy winced at that.

But he was more focused on the way Evan was blaming himself.

“You did the right thing,” he said, pushing his anger away, running his hand over Evan’s back. “Your emotions are valid. And if you needed to be angry at Eddie in that moment. It was valid too."

Evan nodded, but he still looked so sad. So small. So haunted. "It still hurts so much," he said quietly. "And I can't see a future in which it will hurt less."

He cried, and then he fell asleep, exhausted without a doubt.

Tommy pours himself a glass of water in the kitchen and quietly wonders about what he’s supposed to do with himself now. Should he stay and wait for Evan to wake up? Should he leave? Maybe he should take care of dinner … It’s almost painful, though, to look at the fridge. To think back to the day he was making breakfast here. Not for the first time, Tommy curses himself. He shouldn’t have walked out so fast that day … 

Old habits die hard. Old fears, too.

His thought process is interrupted when he hears the front door opening. Surprised, Tommy perks up. His first suspicion turns out to be true.

“Buck?” Eddie walks in and falters when he discovers Tommy, confusion and surprise on his face. “Oh.”

The last time they saw each other, it was at the funeral. They didn’t exchange more than a look and a nod, though. Tommy didn’t have the energy to think about this friendship that ended so abruptly. Not that it was a surprise. He’s used to short-term friendships. But now, looking at Eddie, he feels anger bubbling up inside of him.

After a few heartbeats, Eddie forces a smile on his face, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh. Hey, Tommy. Didn’t expect to see you here. I forgot a bag. Just wanted to pick it up. Is Buck here?”

Tommy doesn’t even try to smile. “He’s sleeping right now.”

Eddie keeps that awkward smile on his face, putting his hands on his hips. “Oh. Alright. I was hoping I could tell him I’m not angry at him or something.”

Tommy grits his teeth. “I don’t think that’s what you should tell him,” he says coldly.

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I think you should apologise,” Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “For accusing him of making Bobby’s death about himself. You say that a lot, you know? That he’s making things about himself.”

Eddie looks a bit taken aback for a moment, but then he asks, “What, you keep a list?”, clearly trying to joke his way out of the conversation. 

Tommy looks at him deadpan. “Yes. I do, actually. The bachelor's party. The wedding. That one time when he was trying to communicate his feelings about Chris being in Texas, and you shut that down fast. Now. I keep counting.”

Eddie stares at him, lips slightly parted, brows furrowed. Finally, he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “And? What am I supposed to say? I know Buck. I’ve known Buck much longer than you. It’s something he does. He’s very emotional. He always gets so worked up, and then he spirals. You have to tell him so he notices and pulls himself out of that. Bobby’s death hit us all hard, but I don’t feel like Buck can see that. He’s too deep in his own head for that …”

“His feelings are valid,” Tommy grits out, the rage pulsing in synch with his heartbeat now, his blood rushing in his ears. He can’t believe the things he just heard. “He’s grieving his father figure. He’s allowed to feel as much as he wants. How dare you talk about him like this? Like, he’s not constantly thinking about everyone else? About you and the 118? His friends, his family? He thinks about how he can help everyone, fix everything, hold things together, and you have the audacity to tell him he’s making things about himself?! And don’t get me started on Bobby’s death. You told him that maybe he didn’t do enough? What would you have done, Eddie, huh? What difference would it have made if you had been there? We did everything we could.”

“I never said Buck’s feelings aren’t valid,” Eddie says under his breath, his smile completely gone now, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “And you don’t know what would have been different if I had been there, because I wasn’t. You were there, though. And isn’t that interesting? Wasn’t it you who broke up with him? Wasn’t it you who left him alone in the loft? You walked out. You abandoned him. You didn’t text or call him. And you know who he came to? He came to me. He sat on my couch, and he drank my beer, and he told me what you did to him. So what are you doing here, Tommy, acting like you have the moral high ground?”

Tommy swallows. Eddie’s words do sting. He remembers Evan’s pain-filled eyes all too well. “Yeah, I broke up with him. I never stopped caring about him, though. So when he called, I came. I know what he lost. I know what he needs. Someone who listens. Someone who comforts him. You clearly couldn’t do that, even though you’re supposed to be his best friend. You couldn’t take a moment to listen to him and hug him? Really?”

Eddie chews on his lip, shaking his head. “You know, I’m tired of having this conversation with you. Maybe you should leave, Tommy. Didn’t you think of me as “competition” anyway? That’s how well you know Buck, huh? You think he was in love with his straight best friend all this time? That’s kind of sad, bro, I’m not going to lie.”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me bro,” Tommy bursts. “Not when you immediately stopped talking to me after I broke up with Evan, Diaz!”

“Oh, we are at Diaz now?” Eddie sneers. “Well, what did you expect, Kinard ? Did you really think I would continue being friends with you after you walked out on Buck? Really. How pathetic are you? Anyway. If Buck needs someone to talk to and someone to hug him, he will tell me. He’s a big boy.”

The pulses of rage change into a storm. Tommy takes a step towards Eddie, forcing himself to keep his voice low. “I’m not going anywhere. Evan asked me to come, so I did. He told you to leave, though, so you should do that. Plenty of hotels around here. And I’m warning you, Diaz, Evan comes first. He will always come first for me. His well-being is what concerns me, no matter if we are together right now or not. I care for him deeply. So I swear, if you ever act that aggressive towards him again, if you ever shove a finger in his face or invade his space or blame him for his emotions again, I will be there to put you in your place, do you understand me?”

“Oh, so now he needs protecting?” Eddie asks, raising a brow. “Is that what you are here for? Maybe you do see Buck as a child, needing you, big strong man, to fight his battles?”

“Shut up, Diaz, or I swear I will -” Tommy starts, but then stops because he sees Evan entering the living room, looking between them.

“Buck,” Eddie starts.

“I told you to leave,” Evan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you still here?”

“He forgot something,” Tommy says coldly, glaring down at Eddie. “But he was just about to leave. Isn’t that right?”

Eddie’s working his jaw. He looks like he wants to say something else. But finally, he just nods. “Yeah. I’m on my way. This place doesn’t feel like home anymore anyway. Goodbye, Buck. Take care.”

He grabs his bag and then he leaves without another word or a look back, slamming the door.

Evan looks at Tommy, and Tommy wonders how much of the argument he has heard.

“I think we should talk,” Evan says quietly.

(AO3 Link)

[theplottdump]

first | prev | next

Val: No. Chad: I didn't even ask yet. Val: Whatever it is, no.

Chad: C’mon, I'd owe you a huge favor! Val: Bet it's not worth it. Chad: What if I like - pretend to be your friend or something!? Val: Why? Chad: So people think you're cool or whatever! Val: Chad I don't want to be your fake friend.

Chad: So you do know who I am! Val: I'm pretty sure everyone knows who you are.

Chad: Okay well, think of it like - I dunno, charity work? You could put it on your college application! Val: College applications were due three months ago. … Did you... Did you not know that? Chad: I could help you pass PE! Val: I don't need your help to pass PE. They let you walk the mile. I just put it off. Chad: They let you do that?

Val: Not really. But I've gone in and changed my schedule in the school database every year and they finally took notice. Chad: So you can fix my grades?

Val: Is that what this is about?

Val: Is that what this is about? Chad: I need you! Pleeeaaase! I can pay! Val: I don’t want your money.

Chad: But you're smart right? Val: You don’t even know who I am. Chad: I mean a littleee? I sorta guessed. Smart people always look kinda - y'know~

And I really owe you one.

Val: What class? Chad: I need help passing Chemistry. Val: Or … Chad: Or they're not going to let me play in the last few games this season.

Val: Fine. Chad: Really? Why?

Val: But you have to promise to take it seriously. Chad: Of cour- Val: Library. Every day after school. Chad: Every day? Val: Just until you’re off the hook. And you still owe me a favor. … To be determined at a later date.

Chad: Ooh, Ominous. I like it. Deal.

[fadeintosatoru]

GOOD LOOKING

highly recommend listening to good looking by suki waterhouse

‧₊˚ cw┊angst, mentions of mental health

───────────୨ৎ───────────

Suguru is that emotional residue someone leaves behind when you truly loved them — when your body and soul burned for them, but they were never really yours.

It was strange, the way he shifted so suddenly.

At first, it was small things. He’d go quiet out of nowhere, not a word until the next day. It caught you off guard. Suguru wasn’t the type to shut you out — or so you thought. It’s not that he didn’t know how to open up; it’s that he didn’t want to burden you with his sins. At least, that’s what he told himself.

You weren’t sure if you should bring it up. He acted normal the next day, like nothing had happened. So you let it go. Maybe he was just tired.

But then weeks passed.

Then months.

He started pulling back. First, he stopped answering every call, every message. Then he stopped coming by after his afternoon lectures. You wanted to ask Gojo, but you knew he’d rat you out — and even though you and Suguru were together, it didn’t feel like you had the right to pry. To invade the parts of him he never offered.

Then out of nowhere, after months of radio silence he texts you:

get ready. we're going out.

You didn’t ask questions. You just got dressed — did your hair, your makeup, chose the perfume he once told you he liked. It felt like forever since you’d last seen him.

He shouldn’t have brought you here.

The second you both sat down in that cracked red booth, the memories started pressing against his ribs like glass. Your laugh, the way you used to tug on his sleeve, the way you made him feel human. Lighter. He wanted to feel that again. He wanted you to feel that again.

But all he could do was go through the motions. Smile. Nod. Ask you about your classes and how your day was.

You were glowing tonight. Hair tucked just right, lips glossed soft pink, cheeks a little flushed — probably from the walk or maybe the hope that this meant something. That this was you two getting back on track.

And fuck, you were still looking at him like he was yours.

He didn’t deserve it.

Not when half of him had already disappeared months ago.

He felt it every time he woke up and didn’t want to move. Every time he left your message on read because he couldn’t bring himself to lie and say I’m okay. He hadn’t known how to explain that it wasn’t you. That he still loved you. That he still thought about you when he couldn’t sleep.

You leaned in, slow and certain — and for a second, he panicked. Not because he didn’t want you. He did. God, he did.

But he was afraid that if he kissed you, you’d know.

You’d taste it — the distance, the ache, the apology on his tongue.

So instead, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb brushed your cheek. It was soft, almost reverent. A gesture that said I love you, and also I’m sorry I can’t love you the way you need.

He saw the question in your eyes.

He didn’t answer it.

He just dropped his hand, looked away, and forced a smile.

He looked away.

Just like that, the warmth is gone — his hand, his eyes, the moment that might’ve meant something.

You pull back slowly, trying not to make it awkward. Trying not to make it hurt.

But it does.

You stare down at the half-empty mugs between you. Yours is gone cold. His was never touched.

It’s quiet for too long. Long enough for the weight in your chest to settle, to stay. Long enough to realize: he’s not coming back. Not the way you want him to.

“I missed you,” you say, so softly you’re not even sure he hears it.

He does.

He swallows, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the window like he’s watching something only he can see.

“I know,” he says and then, after a pause— “I missed you too.”

It’s honest. You can tell. But it doesn’t reach far enough.

───────────୨ৎ───────────

‧₊˚ a/n┊i had good looking on a loop for hours last night :3