#i do not know you. clearly you don’t follow me

[helaintoloki]

Somethin’ Stupid

part two

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: angst, lots of pining, eventual fluff

notes: part two is here! ty guys for the support and hope you enjoy <3

summary: being forced to go on a mission together allows bucky and y/n to come to an understanding

*part one

You wake up with an awful hangover and a broken heart.

A part of you had hoped that the events that had transpired last night were merely figments of a dream, a peek into some alternate dimension where you had misjudged your tolerance for alcohol and completely humiliated yourself in front of the man you were hopelessly in love with. But the glass of water paired with a bottle of aspirin and a note from Natasha excusing you from training today proved otherwise.

All it took was a single drunken confession to completely obliterate one of the most dearest friendships you had. How could you ever possibly face him after this? Not only had you completely misread his intentions, but he had responded less than enthusiastically to your profession. You’d seen it in his face, the guilt that swam in his eyes and sympathetic smile that he wore so beautifully despite how badly it hurt you. Though Natasha had cut him off before he could offer a full response, you had enough sense to know what had been coming next.

“I’m sorry kid, but I don’t see you that way. You’re just not my type.”

The mere thought has you reeling all over again as you fight to keep your nausea at bay and clumsily reach for the glass of water. You’re grateful that you’ve been given the green light to essentially lock yourself away in your room and hide in your shame for the rest of the day, but you know that eventually you’ll be expected to go back out there and resume your daily routine. But Bucky was part of that routine, and you feel absolutely pathetic as you realize just how much you’d centered your life around him.

It’s obvious that logic is not your strong suit when it comes to these situations, so it made sense that you felt the only natural solution was to simply avoid Bucky for as long as humanly possible. You’d spar with someone else, maybe ask Natasha to join you for a movie instead, and chase away your own nightmares from now on. Surely this would help you get over him once and for all.

At least that’s what you hoped.

However, you were only successful in avoiding Bucky for a straight week until Steve decided you two were the perfect candidates for a recon mission.

You’d followed Steve around the compound pleading your case as soon as he’d handed you the mission file, but the man was adamant that you were the only one right for the job.

“You’re the only one who can see inside the building without actually having to step foot in it,” Steve had reminded you, his stance firm and his arms crossed over his broad chest as he spoke. “We need to know if these guys actually have any stolen Stark tech on their hands before we risk going in there. Your vision can give us the layout of the building and determine their inventory without them even knowing.”

“If my enhanced eyesight makes me the most qualified then why can’t I just go on my own?” You adamantly protested before handing the file back to him. “It clearly states in the report that I’m not expected to go inside or make contact with any hostiles, so why do I need a partner?”

“You’re going to be too busy scanning the building to watch your own back, so you’ll need someone else there to watch it for you,” Steve reminded you with authority, his tone indicative of the fact that as Captain he had the final say. With a softer tone, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Besides, I think this will be good for you both. A team only works if everyone’s on the same page, so it’s important to me that you two figure things out. Understood?”

“You got it, Cap,” you finally relinquished with a discontented sigh before excusing yourself to prepare for the mission.

You end up in the car garage a few hours later anxiously waiting for Bucky’s arrival. A part of you had considered leaving without him and worrying about Steve’s wrath at a later point, but you knew better than to test your luck. He was right about needing someone to have your back, but you just wish that someone could have been anyone else on the team.

The sound of heavy boots making their way towards you prompts you to lift your despondent gaze towards their own. Despite only having been apart from him for a week, you still find your breath catching in your throat and heartbeat speeding its pace by tenfold as you lock eyes with his stormy gaze. You have no idea what he’s thinking, and you desperately wish your x-ray vision could allow you to look into his head and read his thoughts, but unfortunately that’s Wanda’s speciality, not yours.

“Hey,” he greets with a barely visible smile that makes your chest tighten with longing. You’d think that after being rejected you’d be over him by now, but it turns out it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Hi,” you murmur meekly, absently dragging the toe of your boot along the ground. The air is thick with tension as you both engage in an unwelcome staring contest and wait with baited breath for the other to address the obvious elephant in the room. After a minute, you finally speak, “Thanks for coming along.”

“No need to thank me,” he assures you in the softest tone he can muster, almost as if you’ll run off again if he doesn’t choose his words carefully. “You know I’ll always have your back.”

His reply has you swallowing harshly while your stomach twists itself in knots; this week had been miserable for you, and yet you’d never stopped to consider how Bucky was fairing in your absence. Even if he did only view you as a kid, you still had formed a close bond with the man, and it must have been jarring for him to spend his days unused to your absence. You’d essentially iced him out without worrying about the repercussions, and now here you were forced to face them head on.

“We should go,” you state suddenly in an attempt to avoid any further awkwardness. Bucky opens his mouth to protest but instead chooses to keep silent and grab the keys for his motorcycle. As much as he’s been dying to talk to you about what had occurred at Tony’s party, he knows you both need to be focused on the task at hand, so he instead chooses to offer you a helmet before starting up the bike.

The world almost feels whole again when you seat yourself behind him and wrap your arms around his torso in a tight hold as he begins to speed off to your destination. You’ve missed this closeness, his warmth, the scent of his cologne and the comfort it brings you to rest your cheek against his back as you watch the scenery pass you by. You’re not sure if your relationship with the super soldier will ever be the same, and a part of you wonders if it’s possible to borrow the time stone from Dr. Strange so you can go back and stop yourself from making such a horrid mistake. You’d feel better if you could at least know what Bucky was thinking.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was thinking about a lot of things.

Though everyone around him could see how stupidly blind he was to your adoration for him, Bucky legitimately had no inkling of your romantic feelings for him. The shock on his face that night had been genuine, and your confession left him dumbfounded as he scrambled to come up with the right words, but Natasha had whisked you away before he had been given the chance.

Bucky laid awake for hours that night reminiscing on all the times you’d shared together- evenings spent talking for hours until the sun came out, playful teasing over your earpieces during missions, letting you crawl into his bed at odd hours because it helped your night terrors. He could say he was simply being a good friend, a good teammate even, but he knew he’d only be kidding himself. Bucky would do just about anything you asked of him, and he knew it was because deep inside he loved you too.

The word kid had slipped out, but it was meant to be viewed as a harmless pet name. If he knew just how upset it would have made you he never would have used it, and it haunted him every single day you ignored him. He wanted to make things right, but that would only be possible if you gave him the chance.

And right now, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

~~~

Your eyes are laser focused on the building before you as you nestle into the high branches of a tree and ignore the biting cold from the snowfall. Bucky is perched beside you, gaze constantly shifting as he scans the area for any potential threats to your safety. You’ve been at this for about an hour as you meticulously scan each floor in search of any weapons as well as intel regarding how many people occupy the building. Your eyes are starting to burn from the amount of strain your powers put on them, something Bucky picks up on as he places a hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“I think you should take a break,” he prompts with worry clear on his features. Though a part of you agrees, you’re too stubborn to relent to his suggestion. This mission is your chance to prove to him that you’re not just some kid he has to babysit; you are just as capable as anyone else, and you want him to see you not as a mentee but as an equal.

“I’m fine,” you insist indignantly before returning your gaze to the weapons base, “you’re breaking my concentration.”

“Y/n, if you put too much pressure on your eyes you’re going to have a crushing migraine for weeks and Steve will have no choice but to bench you from missions,” he reminds you, and though Bucky is only trying to be helpful you feel as if you’re being reprimanded like some child.

“Are you not listening to me? I’m fine,” you grit through clenched teeth. The pressure is getting to you, and this conversation certainly isn’t helping.

“Look, just stop to use the eyedrops Dr. Banner gave you and then-“

“Oh my god, would you stop?! You’re not my babysitter, Bucky!” You finally cry out in exasperation.

“Hey!” A third voice interjects before Bucky can respond, prompting both of you to turn your heads just in time to see a man below raising his gun in your direction. You’d both been so engrossed in your debacle to notice a guard had been sent to search the area, and your little outburst had just given away your hiding spot.

Your head is pounding from the overexertion of your powers, and you’re barely able to register Bucky yelling at you to duck. The man begins to shoot before Bucky can draw his gun, and you’re not quick enough to duck out of the way when a bullet comes in your direction. It shoots straight through your shoulder blade, the force strong enough to hinder your balance and throw you off of the tree branch.

“Y/n!” Bucky cries out, eyes wide as he shoots a hand out for you. He’s barely able to graze your fingertips before you go falling straight to the ground with a strangled cry. The last thing you see is his horrified face before you hit the floor with a defeaning thud.

Everything goes dark after that.

~~~

The lights of the infirmary are blinding as you will yourself to peel your eyes open with a groan. A dull throbbing fills your head as you lift your hand to shield your eyes and attempt to sit up only to be gently pushed back down onto the bed.

“Easy there, slugger,” a voice reprimands teasingly, “Bruce says you shouldn’t be making any sudden movements for the next few days. You didn’t break anything, but you’re bruised up pretty bad and need to be on a five day medication regimen to keep the migraines at bay, and that’s not even mentioning the bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“Natasha?” you murmur hoarsely, barely making out her figure through squinted eyes. Your mind is reeling as you try to recall the events of your mission, and your stomach drops as you recall that you hadn’t been alone when you’d been ambushed. “Where’s Bucky?!”

You try to sit up again only for her to push you back down with one hand while the other uses the control pad to dim the lights in the room. You’re grateful for the pressure it alleviates, but your racing heart does nothing to help your anxious state.

“Bucky is fine,” she reassures you, “he left to get you some water, but he’s been in this room all day since you both got back.”

“What happened? I-I remember arguing with him, getting caught, falling out of a tree…”

“You hit a couple branches on the way down which is why you’re all banged up, but luckily the snow helped break your fall and prevented any further damage. Barnes was able to get you both out of there unscathed, and thankfully Bruce was able to remove the bullet out of your shoulder with minimal scarring. But… I have to say, I’ve never seen Bucky look so worried before.”

“God,” you whine in embarrassment, palms pressing into your eyes as you hold your face in your hands. “It’s like I’m incapable of not making a fool of myself every time we’re alone together.”

“Look, just stop dragging your feet and face the issue head on. You two need to work this out,” Natasha reiterates, her eyes subtly shifting to the man that enters the infirmary with a bottle of water in his hands. “The sooner the better.”

Bucky looks like a dog caught with its tail between his legs as he approaches your bedside, swallowing nervously as Natasha moves past him with a “good luck” leaving her lips as she exits the room and allows you both some privacy. You take the bottle from him with trembling hands and a quiet thank you before finally willing yourself to look at him.

“I’m sorry… this whole mess is my fault,” you murmur remorsefully, fingers fidgeting with the paper label on the bottle, "if I had just kept my mouth shut that night-“

“I’m glad you said it.”

“What?” You breathe out in surprise, unsure if you heard him correctly or if it was just your migraine skewing your perception of reality. Bucky swallows nervously before seating himself beside your bed, a bashful smile playing at his lips as he meets your gaze.

“Look, I know I reacted horribly in the moment, but it was only because I thought you were too drunk to mean it,” he confesses almost shamefully, a flash of guilt present in his features. “It’s hard to believe a woman as wonderful as you would want a tired old man like me, and I assumed it was a spur of the moment thing. But I have cared for you the moment Steve introduced you to us as a new member of the team, and I don’t go out of my way to protect you because I think you’re some incapable kid who needs my help. It’s because… well, it’s because I love you too. And I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.”

Your lips are parted in shock as you process Bucky’s words, your mind racing to catch up as you realize the man you’ve pined for so long is now confessing his love for you. A part of you is scared that this is some sort of concussion dream and that you’ll wake up to find it wasn’t real. But the feel of his hand carefully cupping your cheek says otherwise, and you nearly melt into his touch at the feeling.

“You love me?” You repeat again in quiet astonishment. Bucky lets out a small chuckle in response.

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he reassures you with an adoring smile, “it killed me to be away from you for so long, and I hate that it took us being shot at for me to finally tell you that.”

“I guess we just operate better on chaos,” you weakly joke, smiling when it earns you another laugh out of Bucky.

“It certainly is our specialty,” he agrees with wry grin. Then, tone more serious now as he moves to take one of your hands in his own, he says, “I love you, y/n, and I’d be honored if you would give me the chance to take you out somewhere nice to makeup for this whole mess I put us through.”

With a soft smile, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and answer, “I’d love nothing more.”

And then, in the privacy of the quiet infirmary, Bucky leans in and steals the first of many kisses from you.

| tags: @cjand10 @wamefou @g1g1l @yes-ilovetowrite @greatenthusiasttidalwave @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 |

[mapis-putellas]

𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆/𝑶.𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒍𝒆

Spanish is in italics <3

Ona sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her foot bouncing anxiously against the floor. You watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, doing your best to hide your amusement. You’d never seen her so nervous before -not before a match, not before press conferences, not even before meeting your friends. But now? Meeting your parents had her looking like she was about to face a firing squad.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” you teased, stepping closer and brushing a hand through her hair.

Ona sighed dramatically, tilting her head up to look at you. “I think…maybe I am.”

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “They’re going to love you. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She groaned, letting her head fall backwards. “Not nervous. Scared.”

That made you laugh outright. “Scared? Why?”

Ona fixed you with a deadpan look. “Because your family is…Irish.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

Her hands flailed as she searched for the right words. “And! I…your English, I learn. Slow, but I learn. But them? I don’t know if…if I will understand.”

You bit your lip, doing your best not to smile too much. You knew this was a genuine fear for her. Your parents’ accents were thick, and their speech patterns could be difficult to follow, even for people who had grown up around them. But Ona had come a long way with her English, even if she didn’t always have confidence in it.

“They know you’re still learning,” you reassured her, kneeling so you were at her level, placing your hands on her thighs and squeezing softly. “They’re not going to care if you miss a few words.”

“But…what if they talk, and I…” She made a motion with her hands, mimicking something flying over her head.

You grinned as you stood, reaching for her hands. “Then I’ll translate.”

She groaned again, but she let you pull her up off the bed, exhaling deeply as she muttered something in Spanish under her breath.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your keys and tucking them into your pocket before sticking out your hand and wiggling your fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

The moment you walked into your parents’ house, you knew Ona was in trouble.

“Jaysus, it’s about time ye got here! I was startin’ to think ye’d gotten lost or somethin’!”

Ona stiffened beside you. You squeezed her hand, biting back a laugh at the look of sheer panic on her face. Your mum rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a tea towel before pulling you into a tight hug. She was barely finished with you before turning to Ona, who barely had time to prepare herself before being pulled into the same embrace.

“And you must be Ona,” your mum said warmly, hands resting on Ona’s shoulders as she gave her a once-over. “Lovely to finally meet ye, love. We’ve heard so much about ye.”

Ona smiled nervously, clearly trying to piece together the words. “Um…thank you?”

Your dad appeared in the doorway then, nodding in greeting. “Howya, love. Hope ye don’t mind a bit of madness. We’re not exactly a quiet bunch.”

Ona’s grip on your hand tightened.

You cleared your throat, stepping in before she had a full-on breakdown. “He’s just saying we’re loud.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah! Sí, sí, is okay. Loud is…nice.”

Your mum beamed. “Ah, isn’t she just the sweetest thing? Come in, love, we’ve got a nice dinner ready for ye both.”

Ona followed you into the house like she was heading toward impending doom.

Dinner was…an experience.

Your parents were nothing if not welcoming, but they were also incapable of slowing down their speech. Which meant that, for the majority of the meal, you had one hand on your fork and the other on Ona’s thigh, gently squeezing every time you needed to translate something.

“So tell me, love, how’s the football goin’?” your dad asked, cutting into his chicken. “Ye keepin’ our one in line?”

Ona blinked. She turned to you immediately, wide-eyed.

You coughed, setting down your fork. “He’s asking if football is going well. And if you keep me in line.”

Ona let out a small breath of relief before turning back to your dad. “Uh…football is…very good. And-“ She smirked slightly, eyes flicking to you. “I try keep in line, but is…hard.”

Your dad roared with laughter, clapping a hand against the table so hard it made Ona visibly startle in surprise. You squeezed her thigh apologetically in response. “Aye, she’s a handful, alright. Ye must have the patience of a saint!”

Ona looked at you in desperation.

You smiled tightly, intending to kill your father for his words later. “He’s saying I’m a handful.”

Ona grinned, nodding enthusiastically and completely ignoring the glare you send her way. “Yes. Mucho handful.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” You scoffed.

Ona placatingly patted the hand you still had on her thigh as she took a bite of her food, and you tightened your hand around the toned muscle in response, having every intention of getting her back for that later. And if the way Ona freckled cheeks flush a lovely shade of red was anything to go by, you knew she was fully ware of this fact.

Well, at least you were on the same page.

Your mum laughed, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Ah, she’s grand. Now, tell me, love, do ye miss home much? I imagine Spain’s a lot warmer than here.”

Ona caught onto a couple of words, clearing her throat as she nodded. “Miss home, yes. Spain is…warmer, sí. But here is nice too.”

Your mum smiled, clearly pleased with the answer. “Aye, good girl.”

Ona turned to you again, confused, and you sighed before begrudgingly complying and leaning in. “She’s just saying good job.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah. Thank you.”

The conversation continued, with you acting as Ona’s personal translator whenever necessary. Which was, well, pretty often, actually, especially when your parents spoke over one another in their excitement.

At one point, your mother turned to her and asked, “So, love, d’ya get much time off or are ya always runnin’ about?”

Ona blinked, before she turned to you. “Translate.”

You tried very, very hard not to laugh, and you were only mildly successful as you were forced to set down the drink you were about to take a mouthful from. “She asked if you get much time off or if you’re always running around.”

Ona let out a soft oh before turning back to your mother. “Um…depende. Sometimes, yes, sometimes no.”

Your mother nodded approvingly. “Ah, so same as anythin’ really.”

Ona turned to you. “Again.”

“She said it’s the same with everything.”

Ona groaned quietly, rubbing her temples. “I need…the slowest English.”

Your father chuckled as he wiped his face with a napkin. “Ah, she’s grand. She’ll be fluent before ya know it.”

Ona didn’t even try to understand that one. She just looked at you with a look that said, help me, and you couldn’t help but grin as you squeeze her thigh again.

“He said you’re good.”

Ona seemed doubtful. “Too fast.” She looked down at her plate before sighing and dropping her hands.

Your dad winked at her. “You’ll catch up soon enough, pet.”

Ona stared, then turned to you once more.

You translated, and she groaned again, dropping her head onto your shoulder. “No puedo.”

“You can,” you assured her, pressing a kiss to her hair as you wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed softly. “You’re doing great, baby.”

She glanced up at you. “Really?”

“I promise.” You assured.

Ona let out another long, dramatic sigh, before sitting up and turning to your mother. “You…speak slow, please?”

Your mother nodded seriously. “Of course, love.”

She lasted approximately two minutes before she was rambling at full speed again.

Ona shot you a look, and you just laughed.

“Welcome to the family, baby.” You placed a fond kiss to her forehead.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[nickfowlerrr]

something good and true - part 1

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 4.5k

notes: this fic was supposed to be posted last year for suz’s blind date writing challenge but clearly that is not what happened. a year later and some thousands+ words over the maximum allowed (in total), i was finally able to wrap this thing up. i’m posting in parts bc it’s just so long and ahhh i’m sorry i didn’t follow your rules suz @targaryenvampireslayer 😭 and honest to god there is absolutely no expectation for you to read or even acknowledge this! i just want to give credit where credit is due and so this, my first mob boss!fic, is all thanks to the mob boss au prompt you had given to me! so thank you - and sorry again 🫢 dialogue used: “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”. thank you in advance for reading, i’d be happy to hear your thoughts! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. 🩵

He’s staring again. You can feel it. The heat creeps up your spine as your heart begins to beat a little faster. The feeling has become quite familiar. It’s been two months of this. You had a feeling he’d be back, but really you hoped he’d have just let it go by now. It’s not like you thought any of this through, though… Of course there’d be consequences; and none worse, you’re sure, than the ones he could dish out.

It’s not your fault, you try to remind yourself. It’s not. You finish wiping off the table of the newly vacated booth, tucking the cash tip left for you in your pocket, before you turn around.

You steel yourself, taking a strong breath before you start to walk toward his private booth. You’re not stupid, you know the only reason he comes here is for you, he told you as much himself. And everyone else knows that too as the place has become nearly empty since his arrival. Even your coworkers aren’t bustling about. You don’t know if you prefer having the audience or not. You don’t blame anyone for their fleeing, though. After all the stories you’d heard about the man, you always made yourself scarce in his presence, too.

Until the faithful night he requested you at his table by name… You sigh, it seems you no longer have the luxury of avoidance.

You remember that night well. The first time you formally met the infamous mob boss, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

You remember how it felt like your blood turned to ice in your very veins when Molly uttered your name with worried eyes, “Mr. Barnes is asking for you specifically,” she had whispered as she peaked into the kitchen where you’d fled when you heard he was being sat at his rarely used, always reserved table.

You felt sick. Like a lead weight was dropped in your stomach. You wrung your hands until it hurt before you finally nodded. You were sure she could see the fear in your eyes when you looked at her. “O-okay. I’ll be right there,” you’d nodded. You had to swallow down the bile threatening to creep up your throat. He knows, you’d thought. He has to know. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s looking for you. You were breathing hard and heavy and you could feel the tears welling in your still sensitive eyes. You were caked in makeup, had been all week, to hide the bruises that marred all over your face. It wasn’t anything unusual. But there was an eerie comfort you felt in knowing once they were finally gone this time, you wouldn’t have to see yourself like that again.

You were in a long sleeve so you knew he wouldn’t be able to see the marks along your arms, and unless he had X-ray vision he wouldn’t be able to see the contusions littered all over your body either. You had a brace on your wrist but it wasn’t too noticeable under the sleeve… Okay, you breathed. You can do this. Deny, deny, deny. You don’t even truly know what he’s here for. You shouldn’t freak yourself out before you’ve even seen him.

You exhaled a shaky breath before you reached for the kitchen door.

It was dead silent as you entered the dining hall and it only added to the compounding fear and anxiety growing inside you.

You approached his table cautiously, too nervous to make direct eye contact as you held your pen and pad in hand.

“Good evening, sir, - uhm, Mr. Barnes,” you corrected yourself, “can I get you started with something to-“

“I’m not here for drinks or the mediocre food, doll,” he stopped you easily, unnervingly calm.

You chanced a glance at him and his deep blue gaze had you swallowing hard.

You didn’t know how to respond, so you stayed quiet as he stared at you. Like he knew something. Like he knew you knew something.

“Hm,” he considered you for a moment longer before nodding, “ya know, I think you know why I’m here.”

“I-“, you shook your head almost imperceptibly, “I don’t,” was all you could muster as your eyes were now glued to him. You couldn’t will yourself to look away. You were too terrified.

He licked his lip seemingly out of habit before he spoke again.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked, sounding exasperated, bored of the interaction already as he tilted his head at you.

You stiffened at the question, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“I don’t-“

“You do.” He stopped you again, the certainty in his voice leaving no room to deny his accusation. His eyes cutting into you as you stood before him, defenseless. You felt like you couldn’t breathe but you couldn’t just stand there looking terrified. You had to work up your voice and it came out quiet, but Bucky was listening, and watching you, intently.

“I don’t know where Freddy is,” you said, voice low, trying to keep the tremor from it as you finally felt your eyes sting, the fear and pain catching up to you as you blinked the would be tears away before a single one fell. “And he’s not my boyfriend,” you swallowed, “anymore.”

“No?”

“No. We broke up…about a month ago.”

“That’s interesting…” he hummed. “Why did someone see his car at your place the other week, then, huh?”

You winced at the images that ran through your mind as you thought back to that day, the one you knew he was referring to.

“He came over, to talk,” you forced out, no longer looking at the man before you. “But nothing came from it,” you added quickly, “and he left. I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t heard from him, I don’t know where he is.”

You didn’t look at him but by the weight of his gaze you knew he wasn’t buying what you were selling.

“What happened here?” he asked, reaching for your hand.

You were quite literally frozen to your spot as he grabbed your hand in his. His touch was the most gentle you’d experienced in a long while and it sent an unexpected hum through you. You watched your hand in his as he pulled you just the tiniest bit closer to him and the table. He inched up your sleeve to see more of the brace on your wrist and when he moved to raise your sleeve further up your arm, your body finally moved into action. You yanked your hand back, as if his touch had burned you, keeping him from seeing anything more than the brace.

“Fell,” you answered shortly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know where he is. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really care.”

You met his eye once more, feeling a little safer as the words came easily. It wasn’t a complete lie. You really didn’t know where he was. And you certainly didn’t care. Despite the scrutiny of the mob boss’ gaze, you didn’t feel nearly as scared as you had before he touched your hand. Something about the softness there… You wouldn’t dwell on it.

“If there’s nothing else,” you added, though it was definitely more of an unspoken question than anything. You weren’t as scared but you weren’t stupid either. You wouldn’t be going anywhere until he dismissed you.

He smirked, huffing a laugh as he watched you.

“You hear from him, I’d be grateful to know,” he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out a business card, placing it on the table as he flicked his sharp eyes up to you once more, moving to pull out his wallet next. You watched as he slipped out two bills and blanched as he put them down on the table, moving the card so it sat on the money.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood from his seat, standing right in front of you as you took in his build and stature. Everything about him screamed success, power, and authority and the two hundreds he left on the table were nothing more than chump change to him, you were sure.

“Just so you know, doll,” he spoke lowly, “I will find him, one way or another,” he took a step closer to you, “and if you think you’re protecting him by not telling me the truth, I promise you’re not.” He held your gaze and you were terrified he could see straight into your soul with how intent it was, “What’s even worse, is he knows we know all about you. He doesn’t care if he’s putting you in harm’s way or not… Forgive me for saying, but nice girl like you, you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. So, if you think of anything you might wanna tell me, my number’s right there,” he said looking back over to the card and money on the table. “That’s your tip. You enjoy your night, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you.”

His words weren’t a threat, but a promise.

He would be seeing you. Didn’t always call you to his table, sometimes just observed you while you worked, but every week without fail from that day on, he would be at the restaurant.

You never called him, you didn’t have anything to say. You wouldn’t tell him the truth, no, you couldn’t tell him the truth. He was half right, you were protecting someone. But it wasn’t Freddy.

You breathe another strong sigh as you get closer to him and once you’re at the table, you don’t say a word, only meeting his brilliant and pointed gaze.

There’s something different about him tonight, something unnerving in his stare that you take notice of right away. You work to keep your calm but you’re not sure how convincing your faux headstrong demeanor is tonight.

He lets the silence between you grow for a moment longer before finally, he speaks.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

His voice is like honey, smooth and rich with that familiar lilt as his lips quirk up just at the corner of his mouth. It warms you while he holds your eye. There’s unspoken tension between you two as you stand so close yet so far, it’s been brewing since your first meeting and has only grown with each interaction since. You’ve never named it, but you couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to. You haven’t felt your tummy flutter like this since…you can’t remember when.

Surely he knows what his gaze does to anyone, you’re no exception. But the nerves you feel under the weight of his stare are twofold - not all due to fear, but to flustering.

You haven’t responded, but you’ve held his eye in the silence. He smirks at you before gesturing to the open space across from him.

“Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart.”

It sounds like an invitation, but you know it’s more than that.

It’s an instruction.

You look around briefly, as if someone might stop you or get you in trouble - but that’s laughable when you’re standing next to, arguably, the most feared and respected man this city has ever seen. Standing. Why is he standing? You realize suddenly he’s still waiting for you to move.

You do as he said and gingerly sit down across from him. He retakes his own seat as you settle. How chivalrous.

“I’ll get right to it,” he starts, his deep blue eyes never leaving you, “Freddy-“

God, that name. You can’t hold your tongue. You know it’s why he’s here but you don’t want to talk about this. You just want this to be over!

“Like I told you the last time, and the time before, and the time before, and every other time you’ve asked, I haven’t seen him.” You cut him off without thinking. But you really can’t have the same conversation again. You can’t keep having to think about him. About that night. You're at your wits end - you don’t want to have to so much as hear his name again. You don’t catch yourself in the moment but it hits you when you’re done talking that you just spoke to Bucky in such a familiar way…someone walking past might wonder who exactly you are to him. Clearly you’ve forgotten your place, gotten a little too comfortable around him.

You look up from where you watch yourself wring your hand and shamefully meet his eye again. You inhale and start to apologize but he doesn’t give you the chance.

His hand is on yours before you realize he’s even moving and you flinch a second late, his gentle touch already on you, stilling your nervous habit.

His eyes soften as he makes you meet his gaze, his thumb gently rubbing your fidgety hand.

You swallow hard and watch as he blinks away the previous softness in his gaze, his familiar confident twinkle back as he speaks,

“I know,” he nods, his hand still on yours. He’s closer as he leans across the table. “I found him.”

Your breath catches and your face falls. Fuck fuck fuck.

What does that mean? What does he know? You’re on the verge of having a complete freak out and god he can probably see it written all over your face. You feel a squeeze of your hand and are brought back into your body, into this very moment.

“Don’t look so sick, sweetheart,” he says, a half smile on his lips. “You don’t have anything to worry about, you or your old man.”

Your heart drops at the mention of your father and Bucky must see it because he leans closer still, now holding your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting, but more so is the look in his eyes. The sincerity there, and the hard edge of protection.

You want to believe him but you’ve been gullible before.

“I just wanna know the whole story. I know pretty much what went down, some things I think can safely be assumed, but I wanna hear your narrative, just to get the full picture and get this whole mess squared away, yeah?”

The way he’s looking deeply into your shining eyes, the intimate gaze and soft touch as it seems like he’s trying to keep you calm, you can’t speak much but you give him a quiet, “yeah.”

He nods and you feel a single tear slip down your cheek. He slowly raises his hand, and your eyes are glued to him as he makes sure you watch his movements. Like he’s trying to reach out to a scared little puppy, he reaches to gently touch your cheek. You don’t flinch but as his hand makes contact with your skin, your eyes shut as you try and suppress a shudder.

“No tears, sweetheart,” he tells you in a soothing timbre as he wipes it from your cheek. “You’re too pretty to cry over a loser like that,” he adds with a soft smile.

You shake your head, “He’s not why I’m-“

“I know,” he cuts you off. “Look at me,” he orders gently.

You do as he says and slowly meet his eye. “You don’t have anything to worry about, ya hear me? Not the police, not my men, and certainly not me. Got it?”

You know you’re staring at him like he’s crazy, but you do understand what he’s saying. It takes you a second but you force yourself to nod.

“Good.”

His touch is still on you as his eyes trail all over your face before he lets his hand slip away.

“Alright, you wanna do this tonight or tomorrow night?”

You’re momentarily stunned. You definitely don’t want to do this tonight. You just need to get through the last two hours here and then you’re headed home to unravel in your own space. But tomorrow…

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” you point out, sounding unsure.

“What,” he sniffs, looking at you once again, “you got plans?”

“I, I have work,” you answer dumbly after a second.

“Not anymore you don’t,” he says, moving to stand. “So tomorrow it is.” He walks closer to you and extends his hand for you to take, helping you out of the booth. “And you’ve got the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, I carpooled today so, I have to wait anyway,” you explain, though the idea of leaving early sounds like heaven.

“I’ll drive you. Get your things, I’ll have the car pulled around,” he supplies easily. He leaves to the front of the restaurant and you stand in your stupor for only a moment longer before you move to get your things from the back. You have a silly thought worrying about giving him your address, then remember he’s had it this entire time. And he told you you had nothing to worry about.

You’re not a typically trusting person, even more so after Fred, but there's something about Bucky. Something trustworthy, something that feels safe.

You grab your bag and let Molly know you’re leaving early and you got a ride before you head to the front to find Bucky.

He’s waiting patiently and his eyes seem to light up just a bit when he sees you coming.

Your manager is smiling tightly behind the stand as she watches you go. You feel slightly bad for just cutting out like this, but once Bucky came in, the place cleared out some, so it’s not like they’re in the midst of a rush.

You let your work worries slip away as the brisk night air hits you, Bucky holds the door for you as you exit and then opens the passenger of his sleek, blacked out Jaguar for you to get in.

You always assumed someone like him, in his position, would have a driver, but maybe that’s just not his style.

Bucky gets in and as you buckle, begins to drive off. You don’t need to supply him with your address as he heads in the right direction without a word.

It’s quiet but not unbearably so. It’s not until you’re just a couple minutes away from your place that he breaks the silence.

“I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. I figure it’s a delicate conversation we’ll be having, so somewhere private would be better. Are you okay with going to my place? We can have dinner.”

It’s a genuine question, and the earnestness of it eases your nerves even further. He’s truly asking, genuinely concerned with your comfortability.

“Mhm,” you nod with a quiet hum. “Yeah.”

He pulls up in front of your house, the porch light on and shining because you knew you wouldn’t be off until late.

The car cuts off and you turn to face Bucky only to find him opening his door and getting out himself.

You grab your bag and follow him with your eyes as he rounds the car to get to your side. He gallantly pulls open the door for you and helps you out with care. You stand and he closes the car door before you start up the path to the front door. It’s a short walk and as you reach the door you turn to look at him as he stays beside you.

“Thank you, for the ride, and…” you trail off not knowing how to articulate what it is you want to say. Thankfully he doesn’t make you continue. He smiles softly at you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You blink at him. You don’t know what else to say. You finally look away and turn to the door to unlock it.

“When you said I don’t have anything to worry about,”

“I meant you don’t have anything to worry about,” he answers you before you finish your question. “I’m gonna make this all go away, I just need to know if there’s any loose ends we need to tie up to be done with it, that’s all.”

Your eyes sting again. He makes it sound so easy, so simple.

“I-“ your voice threatens to break.

“Hey, we don’t needa talk about it right now, doll. You just go inside, relax, eat, get some rest. You don’t gotta stress a thing anymore, alright? I’ve got you, there’s nothin for you to worry about.”

“…Why are you being so nice to me?” you look at him with bleary eyes as you crack the front door open and ask the question you’ve been wondering for the past two months.

He takes a small step closer to you and gently turns your face to look at him. “Why do you expect cruelty?”

You stutter a breath as you look at him and feel the memories of the year you spent caught up with Freddy stab at you. You know why, and you’re sure he does, too. But there’s no sense of judgment coming from him, and you don’t feel embarrassed; not like the way you do in front of your mom. She’s the only other person who knows what happened, what your dad did. For you.

She never said it, you don’t expect she ever will, but you can sense the thoughts, the subtle judgement from her, especially when this all first happened. She doesn’t know the truth but you don’t have the care to tell her. Because even if what she assumed was true, it doesn’t change anything. No one deserves that.

But the truth is, you didn’t stay. The first time he put his hands on you, you were gone. He just wouldn’t leave you alone. You were together for six months at that point and they were nice, nothing overly romantic like you see in the movies, but nice. You weren’t expecting anything long lasting, marriage wasn’t even a thought. You knew he wasn’t the one, but dating was… fun. And then, one day, a switch flipped.

He wasn’t the kind, but nonchalant guy you thought he was. He was angry, like it was your fault the relationship wasn’t what he wanted, that it wasn’t more. He wanted it to work so badly, but he knew it never would. That only kept his ire burning. And so during the other six months you were ‘together’ you were really nothing close. You avoided him every chance you got and when he’d find his way in he’d always be sure to leave his mark. He kept up appearances of course, to everyone it seemed. You didn’t want to look crazy, so what were you going to say? ‘I broke up with him months ago and I don’t know why he won’t accept that. He uses me like a punching bag when he gets me alone - when he breaks into my car, my home, any way he can weasel into my life.’ He was in with the mob and everyone knew it, so even if they believed you, what the hell would anyone be able to do? At a certain point you just kind of accepted that this must be it. He’d always just be around somehow. Stories of your on and off again relationship floating around thanks to him - he wanted everyone to know that even if you weren’t together, you were together. Making it harder and harder for you in every way possible.

And then, one day, everything changed.

Now you’re here, and he isn’t.

Now you’re here, and so is James Barnes.

His warm hand is still holding your face and his thumb gently rubs your soft cheek, almost mindlessly, while he peers at you - intent as ever. That softness you saw before is back and you have to remind yourself to breathe when you notice his gaze flit to your lips. It’s brief, fleeting as his hand drops and he meets your eyes once more. He takes back his step and you watch him take a deep breath himself, the first time you’ve ever seen him be anything close to unsteady, if that’s what you can call it.

You break eye contact first, looking down to the small space between you while you push your door open a bit more, holding onto the handle with one hand.

“Have a good night,” he says, voice low and quiet as he watches you step closer yet to the door.

You look at him again then, “You too,” you bid softly, finally stepping inside.

He nods and waits for you to close the door behind yourself. As you push it shut, you catch a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then that fluttering in your belly returns again.

You turn the lock and then press yourself up against the wood, exhaling heavily.

You feel relieved and yet ten times more terrified in the very same breath.

The most pressing feeling in this very moment though is a weird kind of guilt.

You feel more for a man you’ve only known for two months than you ever did for Freddy in the entire time you’d known him. Bucky is intimidating, obviously, and you know what he does, what he’s known for; he’s a man anyone would tell you to avoid at all costs. But when he’s around, there’s this feeling you get that you just can’t shake. You feel safe around him.

He’s known for being a man of his word, and his words to you have never been anything but thoughtful and…caring. He may prod, but he’s never threatened you. Truth be told, you think maybe he’s known this entire time what really happened. Or at least that you were involved somehow. And still, he wasn’t harsh with you even once. He was doing his own investigation this entire time, of course, and if he’d wanted to get the truth from you, surely he could have- he could’ve saved a lot of time too. Could’ve even gone after your dad.

But he didn’t do any of those things. No, he’s been patient, waiting until he had enough proof without having to pry anything out of you. At the very least you were grateful for that.

Not to mention the fact that he had called you pretty. It seems silly given the circumstances, but it did warm you when the compliment hit. It’s crazy but it’s clear that you’re feeling feelings for one James Bucky Barnes. God help you.

Alongside the unexpected romantic stirrings you’re coming to terms with, the anxiety and stress of the truth you’ve been trying, and apparently failing, to keep about what happened to Freddy has been weighing heavily on you, but with Bucky’s veiled acknowledgment of it, you feel more free already.

It’d be a lie to say you aren’t nervous for tomorrow night, but it’d also be a lie to say a part of you isn’t looking forward to it, too. If for no reason other than what Bucky said; to finally just be done with this whole mess.

[fayelero]

ⓘ 01. MY KIND OF WOMAN !

⤷ FLUFF ﹫ kirishima eijiro x fem!reader ﹫ oneshot

⚠︎ pure fluff, friends to lovers, clumsy kirishima .ᐟ.ᐟ

kirishima paced back and forth in bakugo’s dorm room, running a hand through his already messy red hair. his mind was racing, his heart pounding like he had just finished an intense sparring session, but for once, it wasn’t because of training. it was because of you.

and now, here he was, seeking advice from bakugo, of all people—who currently sat slouched in his desk chair, arms crossed, an unimpressed scowl on his face.

“oi, quit pacing, shitty hair, you’re giving me a headache.” bakugo grumbled, kicking at kirishima’s leg as he passed by for the fifth time.

kirishima stopped in his tracks, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “ah, sorry, man. i just—this is kinda important, y’know?”

bakugo raised a brow, clearly not convinced. “tch. if it’s so important, why the hell are you asking me?”

kirishima took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of bakugo’s bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “because, dude, you’re… brutally honest. and i need that right now.”

bakugo scoffed. “damn right.”

kirishima exhaled heavily. “okay, so, it’s about her—”

bakugo groaned loudly. “of course it is.”

“—and i think i’m in love with her, man.”

that caught bakugo’s attention, if only slightly. his red eyes flicked to kirishima’s face, scanning for any sign of hesitation. there was none.

“yeah? no shit. took you long enough to figure that out.”

kirishima blinked. “wait, you knew?”

bakugo rolled his eyes. “dumbass. it’s obvious. you follow her around like a lost puppy, always hypin’ her up, always lookin’ at her like she’s the damn sun or somethin’. it’s pathetic.”

kirishima let out a defeated groan, flopping backward onto bakugo’s bed. “ugh, i knew it. i knew i was bein’ obvious. no wonder she doesn’t see me that way.”

bakugo made a face. “or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

kirishima sat up again, eyes wide with hope. “wait—you think she might like me back?”

bakugo shrugged. “dunno. don’t care. that’s your problem.”

kirishima sighed, rubbing his temples. “alright, well… that’s not even the main thing. the real problem is—how the hell do i tell her? how do i tell her that she’s the most badass, kind, and incredible person i’ve ever met without soundin’ like a total idiot?”

bakugo narrowed his eyes. “…that’s what you’re stuck on?”

kirishima blinked. “huh?”

“you’re actin’ like confessin’ is some kinda battle strategy. just spit it out.”

kirishima exhaled sharply. “i can’t! she’s my kind of woman, y’know? she’s strong, she’s passionate, she never backs down from a fight. she’s got this fire in her that makes me wanna be better. and she’s gorgeous, dude, like—way outta my league. and somehow, she still treats me like i’m someone worth standing next to.”

bakugo stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “god, you’re such a sap.”

kirishima groaned. “i know! that’s the problem!”

bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose. “then stop overthinkin’ it. you already know what to do.”

kirishima furrowed his brows. “i do?”

“tch. you don’t gotta be some smooth-talking dumbass. just be you. tell her what you just told me—minus the whining.”

kirishima hesitated, then slowly grinned. “…y’know what? you’re right. i do know what to do.”

bakugo rolled his eyes. “obviously. now get the hell out of my room.”

kirishima laughed as he stood up. “alright, alright. thanks, man. you’re a way better listener than you let on.”

“shut up before i kill you.”

kirishima grinned as he left, heart racing—but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. it was from excitement. because now?

now he was really gonna tell you.

kirishima had faced a lot of scary things in his life. villains. grueling training sessions. bakugo in a bad mood. but somehow, none of those compared to the sheer terror he felt as he made his way through the dorms, heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to break free.

he was really gonna do it. he was gonna confess.

at least, that was the plan.

unfortunately, nervous energy had turned him into a full-blown disaster.

his first mistake was misjudging the distance between the common room couch and the coffee table. he tried to casually step over it, but his foot caught on the edge, and he nearly face-planted.

“shit—”

“dude, you good?” kaminari blinked from his spot on the couch, holding a controller mid-game.

“yeah! yeah, totally good!” kirishima laughed awkwardly, straightening up as if that hadn’t just happened. his cheeks burned as he quickly power-walked toward the exit before he embarrassed himself even more.

his second mistake? the door.

it was a push door. he pulled.

it didn’t budge. he frowned, yanked again. nothing.

“uh…”

sero, who had just entered the common room, raised an eyebrow. “you good, man?”

“i—yeah, i—” kirishima realized his mistake mid-sentence, quickly pushing it open instead. “see? totally fine.”

sero didn’t look convinced. “riiight…”

kirishima groaned under his breath as he finally made it outside, inhaling the crisp evening air. okay. deep breaths. he could do this.

then he saw you.

sitting on a bench near the garden, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, you were completely absorbed in your book. the wind played with your hair, making it dance around your face, but you hardly noticed, eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. your fingers gently turned the page, movements delicate and unhurried, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

and just like that, kirishima’s brain short-circuited.

how the hell am i supposed to just walk up to her and drop a confession like that?!

his palms were sweating. his heart was racing. his legs? not cooperating at all.

but he had already come this far—backing out now would make him a coward.

so he forced himself to move, trying to act normal.

which, apparently, was not in the cards for him today.

the first thing he did was stub his toe on the edge of the pavement. he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before eating dirt.

then, as he tried to casually walk it off, he overcompensated, swinging his arms too much, like some weird overenthusiastic jogger.

you looked up just in time to see him approaching. his usually confident stride was replaced with something stiff and unnatural, like he was trying way too hard to look casual. you blinked at him, confused for a moment—then, a small, amused smile tugged at your lips.

“eijirou?” you called softly, tilting your head.

kirishima froze.

oh god, even just hearing you say his name in that soft, gentle tone made his heart do an entire gymnastics routine.

“uh—hey! hi! h-hey there!” he winced immediately. hey there?! who even says that?!

you chuckled, closing your book. “you okay?”

“me? totally fine! just… out here! enjoying the fresh air! like you! haha… yeah.”

he was dying.

you smiled again, patient as ever. “it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“yeah! nice! super nice. like… really, really nice.”

kirishima, for the love of god, shut up.

you hummed softly, shifting on the bench to make room beside you. “do you want to sit?”

oh. oh, that was dangerous.

but there was no way he could refuse, so he quickly nodded, plopping down next to you—too quickly. the force of it made the bench shake slightly, and he almost lost his balance again.

you let out another soft giggle. “you seem kinda jumpy today.”

“i—I do?”

you nodded, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “mhm.”

kirishima swallowed hard, gripping his knees to stop his hands from shaking. this is it. just say it. just tell her.

he looked at you, really looked at you—the way your eyes softened when you smiled, the way you always seemed so patient with him, the way your presence alone made him feel like he was home.

his throat tightened.

“i, uh—”

your gaze remained gentle, waiting.

kirishima’s heart was pounding. he could feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue—i like you. no, i love you. you’re my kind of woman. you always have been.

but suddenly, his fear kicked in full force.

what if you didn’t feel the same? what if he ruined this? what if this easy, natural friendship between you shattered because he couldn’t keep his damn feelings to himself?

so instead of saying what he wanted to say, he panicked.

“—i, uh, i was just wondering what book you’re reading!”

a pause.

you blinked.

then, you smiled. “oh, it’s just a romance novel.”

kirishima laughed, but it was a little too loud, a little too forced. “aha—yeah, romance, that’s cool! that’s, uh, really cool.”

you gave him a knowing look, but you didn’t push. instead, you simply opened the book and started talking about the story, your voice calm and soothing.

kirishima barely heard a word. his own thoughts were too loud.

damn it. i chickened out.

but as you kept talking, smiling so softly, so effortlessly, kirishima felt some of his tension ease. maybe he hadn’t confessed tonight.

but at least he was here, with you.

and maybe, just maybe, he’d find the courage next time.

kirishima barely processed a word you were saying.

he was nodding along, making the occasional hum of agreement, but in reality? his brain was still spiraling from the fact that he had completely chickened out. again.

you had given him the perfect chance, sitting beside him, smiling at him, soft and patient as ever. and what had he done? asked about your book. like an idiot.

but even now, as the two of you fell into easy conversation about other things—the day’s training session, how kaminari had nearly set off the fire alarm again, how aizawa looked two seconds away from quitting—kirishima still felt like his chest was too tight.

because you were right there.

the sun had nearly set, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, and the soft glow of the dorm lights made your features even gentler. your voice, your laughter, the way you turned to look at him with that natural warmth—it was killing him.

and the longer he sat there, the worse it got.

his heart felt too full, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. the words were bubbling up again, just like before, but he was determined not to let them slip out.

so, of course, they did.

“man, i love you.”

the words left his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, that for a split second, he didn’t even realize what he had said.

then, he did.

and his whole world stopped.

you stopped talking mid-sentence. your eyes went wide, lips slightly parted in surprise.

kirishima’s heart nearly gave out.

“—wait, no—” he shot up from the bench so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. his arms flailed, his hands waving in a panicked frenzy. “i-i mean��not like that! i mean—I do! but not—I mean, yes, but—oh god, i wasn’t supposed to say that!”

you just stared at him, stunned.

kirishima’s face was on fire.

his words kept tumbling out in a messy, frantic rush. “i—I didn’t mean to say it like that! i was gonna say it eventually—no, wait, i mean—I wasn’t not gonna say it, but not right now! i had a plan! a good one! and now i ruined it—”

you blinked. then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, amused smile.

kirishima’s heart stuttered.

“i’m an idiot,” he groaned, running both hands down his face. “i—I swear, i was gonna do this properly, not just—blurt it out like that—”

you let out a quiet laugh.

kirishima froze.

he peeked at you through his fingers, confused. “w-what?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stood up, stepping closer, until you were right in front of him. the sudden lack of space made his breath hitch, but before he could freak out further—

you leaned up on your toes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

kirishima went completely still.

every thought in his brain short-circuited.

then, just as he felt his soul leave his body, you pulled back, still smiling that gentle, beautiful smile of yours.

“i love you too, eijirou.”

kirishima forgot how to function.

“you—you what—” his voice cracked mid-sentence.

you laughed, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours. your fingers were warm, soft, delicate against his own calloused ones, and it made his entire body light up.

“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time, looking up at him with eyes full of warmth. “i have for a while.”

kirishima genuinely thought he might pass out.

his mouth opened. then closed. then opened again. his brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, desperately trying to process what was happening.

you… loved him?

him?

his face was burning, his heart was pounding, his entire body felt like it was buzzing. he was so sure that he’d ruined everything. that you’d look at him with pity or let him down gently.

but instead, you had kissed his cheek. held his hand. told him you loved him.

and suddenly, every single ounce of nervousness and panic melted away.

because this was you.

the girl who always cheered for him. the girl who always listened to him ramble. the girl who had been by his side through everything.

the girl he had loved for so damn long.

a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face.

“holy shit,” he breathed. “you—you love me?”

you giggled. “yes, eiji.”

a breathless laugh escaped him, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with himself. he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, his heart soaring. “oh my god—I—wow—I cannot believe i just accidentally confessed—”

“would you have ever done it on purpose?” you teased lightly.

kirishima let out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “…probably not.”

you squeezed his hand. “then i’m glad you did.”

his stomach flipped.

for a moment, he just looked at you, the realization settling in fully.

you loved him back.

you had always been his kind of woman. and now? now you were his.

he exhaled deeply, then, without thinking, squeezed your hand and tugged you just a little closer.

“so, uh… does this mean i get to kiss you now?” he asked, grinning despite the heat still burning his cheeks.

you laughed, rolling your eyes fondly. “yes, you dork.”

and with that, kirishima finally—finally—closed the distance.

the end.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 36. The Only Mare In His Stable

Summary: With War Games and her first year over, Dahlia finally has the time to seek out Garrick. But maybe he just beats her to it.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

Of course Xaden had to pick the one spot to defend that had the longest flight there and back. My body was screaming at me to rest. We’d barely gotten time to sleep and fully rest. But it had been worth it. We’d successfully defended our outpost and taken over others in the area. I swear to gods we better have won this. Otherwise Xaden might need to hide for the next few days.

”It will get easier little flower.” Proth drawls in my head. But I can tell he’s just as exhausted as me through the bond.

”I know. And please don’t call me that anymore.” I tell him, my mind going back to when Garrick had used the name as he’d pulled a the first of many orgasms from me that night.

Proth chuckles in my head. “I have always called you that. The large one can find another name, or you can learn to separate the two.”

I can’t help but laugh at his nickname for Garrick. “You say that like it’s going to happen again.”

”I have spent the last five days listening to you think about him like a lovesick puppy even when you think you aren’t thinking about him.” He snaps at me. “So please do us both a favour and sort out whatever this is when we get back.”

Noted. And I’m sure my friends would be bugging me for updates as soon as I’d had time to shower and get back to normal. Damn Bodhi and his inability to keep his mouth shut. I sag with relief as the flight field comes into sight, only a few squads ahead of us as they make their way down to the Rotunda. I can’t see it from here, but I know it will be filled with the rest of the Quadrant waiting for the last of us to return so they can reveal the winner of War Games.

My feet barely touch the ground before Proth takes off, clearly wanting to rest after the long flight. We all fall into a comfortable silence as we follow Xaden through the field and down the stairs. All of us too exhausted to talk amongst each other. As we walk into the Rotunda I can’t help but scan the squads to find him. And due to his height he’s easy to spy down the back of tail section, his body sagging in relief as he sees me alive. I’d like to say unharmed, but I now sport a new scar on my right jaw that extends onto my neck from a well thrown dagger from second wing. And from what I can see he’s unharmed, just exhausted like the rest of us. His squad had been on the opposite end of our area, meaning we hadn’t crossed paths at all in the five days.

As soon as we take our spot Panchek steps forward. We must have been the last squad back. “Congratulations on surviving War Games. Just a small taste of what you will all do one day when you graduate. Tomorrow once all Squads have been accounted for, we will conduct the death roll and graduation. But for now, we must declare a winner.”

The quadrant buzzes with excitement, everyone mustering whatever energy they can. But as I scan the other squads I note a good number of them clearly showered and rested. Lucky bastards.

Markham walks forward, handing a scroll to Panchek who unrolls it, keeping his face void of any emotion as he reads it. His eyes raise to us, scanning the wings in front of him. Everyone going silent as they anxiously await the results.

”The winner of this years War Games after a very impressive battle this year, is Fourth Wing!” He calls out before the Quadrant is deafened by the cheers of our wing.

I’m immediately pulled into the arms of my Squad, Xaden begrudgingly joining us as Bodhi pulls him in. All of a sudden relaxing and a shower is the last thing on my mind, on any of our minds. We’d fucking won War Games. Guess I wouldn’t need to murder Xaden for picking the outpost that he did. Slowly we break apart, my other squad members moving away to congratulate the rest of our wing.

I can’t help but look over at Dain who looks thoroughly annoyed his wing hadn’t won. I’m sure Panchek had read out the placements of the other Wings, but I’d been too lost in the cheers of my Wing to hear it. Dain furrows his brow at me. No, not me. Something behind me. His eyes looking at something above me. I turn to see Garrick pushing his way over to me. My heart starts beating loudly in my chest as he gets closer.

I open my mouth to say something, but he rushes forward, grasping my face in his hands as he crushes his lips to mine. All I can register is the warmth of his hands, the firm pressure of his lips, and the way my pulse thrums like a drum in my ears. My hands instinctively rise, clutching at his flight jacket, half for balance, half in disbelief.

The cheers of my Wing morph into hoots and hollers, but they feel distant, like they belong to a world I’m no longer part of. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and his breath comes in shallow bursts. His eyes, bright and intense, search mine, as though he’s trying to find words but can’t quite manage them. The silence between us feels louder than the noise around us.

“You—” I start, but my voice catches, barely above a whisper. “What was that?”

Garrick smirks down at me. “Making what I want clear. This,” He says as he gestures between us, “Is not just sex. Not anymore. You made it clear what you wanted from me to even consider this being a thing. And I did it.” I swear I note a slight shake in his hand, but it’s hard to tell with how hard we’re both breathing.

”You barely know me.” I say as I look down at where my hands still grip his jacket.

”You know that isn’t true. We might have spent most of the year despising each other, but we both know more about each other than we care to admit.” Garrick puts a finger under my chin, guiding my eyes back to him. “So, what do you say to being the only mare in my stable?”

My heart pounds in my chest, drowning out everyone around us as I look up at Garrick. And after a few seconds where I swear Garrick looks scared, I nod up at him. And for the first time since I was a kid, I beam up at Garrick, unable to hold back the smile at the way he’s asked me. But with the amount of times I’d thrown that analogy at him, it was fitting.

”Imogen! I want my ten gold pieces!” Bodhi yells out, startling us both as he pushes past Austin and Liz, walking towards Imogen who shakes her head and tries to walk away from him.

”Did they-”

”Yeah, they placed a bet on us.” Garrick confirms with a shake of his head.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus

[juniperskye]

Mr. Bear

Based on the following ask: @itzvenus04 Aaron X reader where Aaron is a little jealous of when reader cuddles the teddy more, but he rather have her cuddle the teddy when he’s away on a case then someone else or something like that, especially when reader made sure the teddy smelled like him, but one morning he makes the bed and holds the teddy and looks at it, seeing some marks on it and stains and a few holes and a small tear on its side, clearly loved by reader for many years now and it makes him a little sad seeing the teddy like this and how sad his gf will be one day if she has to throw it away, knowing full well she wants to pass down the little teddy bear to her kids no wait their kids someday, hopefully a baby girl someday but then he decides to fix the teddy and clean him up or ask someone to help him maybe someone like Garcia idk and surprise reader with the teddy looking brand new and reader is so happy Aaron can’t be jealous of it because the smile on reader face is so worth it even if she cuddles a another man *wink* he’s literally a teddy bear – this is a short one babe, it’s a super cute idea and I loved writing it!

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 997

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, one use of y/n – it was unavoidable, age gap (non-specified), reader has a teddy that she cuddles when she sleeps, jealous Hotch (in a teasing way), Garcia being the best, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“You cuddle that thing more than you cuddle me.” Aaron whined teasingly.

“Oh, I do not!” You giggled, turning over and nuzzling into Aaron’s strong chest, your hands still clutching your beloved teddy, Mr. Bear.

“I don’t know babe, I’m thinking I might have to be worried. You have maintained a very long and serious relationship with this guy…and now look, he is quite literally coming between us.” Aaron’s tone was completely unserious as he playfully fought to take Mr. Bear from you.

Aaron shifted so he was hovering over you, his hands tickling your sides relentlessly. You writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get away from his grasp.

“Okay I surrender! I surrender!” You giggled, booping Aaron in the nose with Mr. Bear.

Aaron couldn’t help but notice that your teddy had smelled just like his cologne. The thought made him smile, you spraying your bear with his cologne just so it would smell like him, cuddling it while he was away.

--

“Okay! Coffee?” You asked.

“Coffee would be great.” He smiled “You go, I’ll make the bed.”

You made your way to the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going. You then began heating a pan to make some eggs, throwing some slices of bread in the toaster to go along with it.

Aaron when through the motions of making the bed, pulling the pillows off while he tugged the sheet and duvet up to the top of the mattress. He neatly arranged the pillows, noticing Mr. Bear at the foot of the bed. Aaron hadn’t realized how threadbare your teddy had really become; he was very clearly well loved.

Aaron thought about what he could do to fix him up, knowing that you had hoped to eventually pass the bear down to your future child.

--

“What can I do for you sir?”

“Garcia, what do you know about restoring plush toys?”

“Oh sir, I went down a seven-hour rabbit hole of stuffy restoration videos on TikTok, what do you need?”

“Well, I want to surprise y/n, she’s had this teddy since she was a child and he’s looking a little worse for wear.”

“Leave it to me…do I have your permission to work on it today – provided we don’t have a case?”

“Of course. Thank you Penelope.”

“Any time sir.”

--

Aaron had discretely placed Mr. Bear in his bag for work, gathering the remainder of his things. He made his way to the kitchen to have breakfast with you.

He helped you clean up before you both headed out for work.

“Aar, I have conferences tonight, so I will be home later than usual.” You reminded him.

“That’s right! I’ll get dinner started for us when I get home.”

“You’re the best. I love you baby, drive safe! Let me know if you guys get called away okay?” You requested.

“I love you too honey, I will. Drive safe, see you tonight.”

--

Aaron had made his way straight to Garcia’s office as he arrived at the BAU. He pulled out Mr. Bear and handed him over to Penelope, making her swear that she’d be careful with him.

“You got it sir.”

Penelope had brought in everything she could think of to help her repair your teddy. Penelope began by opening Mr. Bear and removing his stuffing so she could wash him carefully using warm water and a gentle detergent. Letting it dry, using the bathroom hand dryer to speed that process along before checking out where she might need to patch a few things. She used a technique called darning to patch the few small holes that had been created through years of love; once this had been done, Penelope brushed Mr. Bear’s fur to get him looking fluffy again.

Penelope had made two small hearts out of some scrap fabric, filling them both with Mr. Bears old stuffing, she placed one inside him as she stuffed him with new polyfill and kept the other one out as a keepsake for you. Once he was all filled up, she sewed him closed, brushed him once more and tied a neat ribbon around his neck.

The process had taken her the entire workday, though she and her boss didn’t seem to mind.

--

Aaron had been amazed with the work Penelope had done, Mr. Bear looked brand new, and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to him!

“Hi honey, I’m home!” You called out, entering the apartment.

“Hi baby, in the kitchen.”

The apartment smelled amazing, it had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to eat whatever it was that Aaron had been cooking. Truthfully you wanted to eat and then curl up into bed and watch a movie.

“Mmm it smells amazing!” You sighed, taking in the table set up. Amongst the place settings sat a giftbag. “Did I forget something? I know it’s not our anniversary.”

“No honey, you didn’t forget anything, I just wanted to do something special for you.” Aaron explained. “Go ahead and open it.”

Aaron sat across from you, having already set the food on the table. You looked at him skeptically, pulling the bag into your lap and carefully pulled out the tissue paper. A shocked gasp escaping you as you revealed its contents.

“Aaron, what is – what did you – I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” Tears sprung to your eyes.

“I know how much he means to you, and I thought it would be nice to have him fixed up a bit, you know, so he’ll last a while longer.” Aaron wore a sheepish smile.

“This is amazing. You are so thoughtful.” You leaned over the table, pressing your lips to his.

You couldn’t believe that Aaron had done this, going as far as spraying him with his cologne so he’d still smell like him. Aaron was the best thing that ever happened to you, and every time he did something like this, it reminded you of that.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[cowboylikemac]

LOVE NOTES | J.P

“ love’s a game, wanna play? ”

james potter x reader

including : fluff

word count : 1k+

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been an over-the-top affair. Professor Flitwick charmed pink and red paper hearts to float lazily through the corridors, Madam Pince enforced an even stricter no public displays of affection in the library rule (which never stopped couples from sneaking into the Restricted Section), and Peeves delighted in dropping flower petals—or sometimes actual ink—onto unsuspecting students’ heads.

It was ridiculous. Excessive. Completely overdone.

And yet, it had never mattered much to you—until now.

Because for the first time in your life, you had a secret admirer.

The first note had appeared in your Potions textbook, folded so neatly it was clear whoever had left it had taken great care. The parchment was slightly crinkled, as if it had been held too tightly before finally being placed inside.

“A smile like yours could rival the sun—lucky for us, you don’t burn as bright, or I’d be blinded every time you walked by.”

At first, you assumed it was some sort of prank. Maybe Sirius Black was up to his usual nonsense, or perhaps some lovesick Hufflepuff had gotten the courage to anonymously express their feelings. Either way, you dismissed it as a fluke.

Until the second note arrived.

This one was slipped into your robe pocket between Transfiguration and Charms, folded once with the same careful handwriting:

“If kindness had a sound, I think it would be your laugh.”

The third note came the following morning, waiting for you at breakfast beside your goblet of pumpkin juice:

“I swear the library is quieter when you aren’t there. Even the books miss you.”

By the fourth note, which had been tucked into your favorite quill case, you were officially flustered.

Who in Merlin’s name was doing this?

Who was noticing these small things about you?

And, more importantly… why did it make your heart pound so much?

The answer, of course, came in the form of one James Potter—who, much to your amusement, was not handling the situation well.

“What do you mean someone is leaving you notes?” James demanded, sitting across from you in the Gryffindor common room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hazel eyes, usually filled with mischief, were narrowed in something suspiciously close to jealousy.

You raised an eyebrow, casually twirling the most recent note between your fingers. “I mean exactly that, James. Someone’s been leaving me love notes.”

James’s scowl deepened. “But who?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. “If I knew that, they wouldn’t be a secret admirer, would they?”

Sirius, who had been lounging beside James, smirked in amusement, clearly enjoying his best mate’s unraveling. “Merlin, Prongs, you sound jealous.”

James scoffed, waving a hand in frustration. “I’m not jealous—I’m concerned, love.” He gestured wildly. “What if it’s some creep? Some bloke with terrible intentions?”

You shot him a look. “James. Someone who writes poetry about my laugh doesn’t exactly scream dangerous.”

James ran a hand through his messy hair, looking properly exasperated. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting all these notes from some anonymous git who can’t even sign his name.”

Sirius snorted. “Big words coming from the bloke who’s been carrying his love letter around for two weeks without delivering it.”

James immediately stiffened.

You blinked.

“What?” you asked slowly, turning to James.

James spluttered, his face immediately turning scarlet. “I—I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Sirius threw his head back, absolutely delighted at the turn of events. “Oh, come off it, Prongs! You’re the worst secret admirer in history.”

You stared at James, your heart hammering in your chest. “Wait.” You sat up straighter, gripping the note between your fingers. “You wrote these?”

James didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let out a quiet groan, dropping his head into his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled. “Maybe?”

Sirius was howling with laughter now. “Oh, this is bloody fantastic! You’ve been ‘jealous’ of yourself this whole time!”

James groaned again, refusing to lift his head. “I hate everything.”

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to laugh.

“James,” you said, reaching out to gently pry his hands away from his face. He peeked up at you through his fingers, looking so embarrassed that it was almost endearing.

You squeezed his hand. “You’re an idiot.”

James exhaled sharply, finally meeting your gaze. “I know.”

“But,” you continued, a small smile tugging at your lips, “you’re a very sweet idiot.”

James perked up ever so slightly. “Sweet enough for a Valentine’s date, pretty girl?”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. Maybe.”

James straightened. “Maybe?”

You grinned, enjoying the way his face lit up. “I might be more convinced if you write me one more love note.”

James groaned dramatically, though there was no hiding the dopey, lovesick smile spreading across his face.

And when Valentine’s Day finally arrived, a final note appeared on your bedside table, written on slightly crumpled parchment in familiar, loopy handwriting:

“I may have been late to the game, but if you’ll let me, I’d love to be the only one writing you love notes from now on.”

And something told you that he would be.

happy valentines day from yours truly, mac <3

masterlist!

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[totaly-obsessed]

Good Luck, Babe!

➳ Nika Mühl x reader

➳ pt. 2 of Casual

➳ Summary: A complicated, on-again, off-again relationship where they try to move on but keep getting pulled back together. There’s jealousy, mixed signals, and heartbreak, but no matter what, they can’t seem to fully let go - until maybe they have to.

➳ Word count: 4.178 (idk how I got here)

➳ Warnings: A lot of cursing? Pls be nice to me, it's my first fic in like 6 months...

It's fine, it's cool You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth. And I guess I’m the fool

Ignoring someone who was such a constant in your life turned out to be much harder than you expected. Sure you were convinced you were done with her and didn’t need her anymore, but pulling through with it? It was a whole different world.

The Huskies had just played a fantastic game against Creighton when the brunette finally managed to catch up to your friend group outside in the hallway. Nika had put in a shift in the game, giving her all on the court, so she was already out of breath, when she called out a sharp “Hey, stop!”.

A deep sigh left your body, there was no way out of this now, once she set her eyes on something, there was no other option in the basketballer's mind. “It’s alright, I’ll catch up to you guys later.” They didn’t seem too sure to leave you alone with someone who just a couple of weeks ago had brought out a side of you they had never seen before.

“You’ve been acting like we’re nothing. Like I don’t exist.” Nika’s arms were crossed over her chest, clearly frustrated and ready to defend herself. And the scowl on her face told you that she did not like the scoff you let out, or your rolled eyes.

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Casual, no attachment?” You hadn’t even noticed the hallway emptying, leaving just you and Nika. Carefully you tried to shift away from her, putting a bit of space between the two of you, trying to save yourself some embarrassment. But the brunette was quick to follow your movements, forcing you closer to the wall behind you.

“It’s fine. It’s cool,” and just like that her eyebrows that tend to make her look angry relaxed, and that damn cocky smirk won over her face. By now you were completely pressed against the rough wall behind you. Nika came closer and closer, eventually leaning down, her face only a couple of inches away from yours.“You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth.”

She was right. You did know.

That didn’t mean you could continue being toyed with.

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself before finally locking eyes with her. Christ. You had nearly forgotten just how deep they were, and you could feel yourself slipping. But your voice was firm, unwavering “Yeah, I know the truth, Nika. And I guess I’m the fool but I’m done being something to you only when it’s convenient or you’re bored for 5 seconds.”

The Croatian’s smile nearly fell off her face, and you swear if you squinted you could see a quick flash of hurt on her face. But you decided not to wait around to question it, instead moving past her - ignoring the pain in your chest and the way her hand twitched in your direction.

But walking away didn’t feel like you were winning like you finally stood your ground. It really fucking hurt.

With her arms out like an angel through the car sunroof

After you got back to your friends they decided to do something against the tears streaming down your face. And what better thing is there to do in Storrs Connecticut than 5 young adults in a car chasing sunsets?

By now the sun had been long gone, and the cold night air bit at your stretched-out arms, but you barely noticed. The trees flew by in a blur as Daisy held on to your legs, terrified that you would fall out of the sunroof of the car.

Just for a second, it was as if you were flying. Like you were free like an angel.

But was freedom supposed to feel this empty? Were angels truly free or just servants of god?

The howling wind tangled your hair, as you squeezed your eyes shut - trying to get rid of the ache still left in your chest as if someone was squeezing you too hard. Maybe you could leave it all behind. But who were you kidding? As dramatic as it sounds, right now there was not a possibility in your mind to get over Nika.

Daisy’s grip on your thighs tightened, pulling your attention away from the star-painted sky. “Alright, I think that’s enough main-character moment for one night,” she yelled over the blaring music and the roaring winds. You could hear the slight concern hidden behind a laugh.

With a sigh you let her pull you back down to earth, but also back in the car as you collapsed against the worn leather seats, your heart still racing. The others were singing along to some old song, not hitting any note of it and laughing about themselves. It was warm and safe in the chaos of it all.

But the emptiness was still there.

Maybe angels weren’t free. Maybe just like you, they were stuck between wanting to fly and staying.

I don't wanna call it off But you don't wanna call it love

It turned out, that Nika isn’t all that calm, cool, collected either. Her performances in recent games had been sloppy and everyone was able to see that something was off with their secretary of defense.

The worst part of it all was seeing her get frustrated with herself. Whenever Geno took her out, she had tears in her eyes as her jaw clenched on the bench.

Giving up, however, didn’t seem to come to her mind. At any party, game, or lesson she had a glimpse of you, Nika tried to find excuses to be near you.

Oh, look! You’re here too, directly next to the fan whose shirt I’m signing. What a coincidence!

And it was safe to say that you weren’t oblivious to it. The way she lingered just a second too long when you were close, how her eyes automatically looked for you in crowds (just to find that you were already looking at her once she actually found you), the way she laughed extra loud, hard and fake at people, trying to act unbothered, just to stop once you turned away. 

At first, you thought this was just Nika being Nika - dramatic, relentless, and not accepting of a loss even if it wasn’t on the court. But the coincidences started to pile up.

Oh wow, the only open seat in the dining hall just happens to be at your table? No way.

Oh, she’s just suddenly best friends with the person sitting next to you in class? What a small world!

Oh look, you’re leaving a party at the exact same time, at the exact same exit, and she just has to walk in the same direction as you? Who would’ve thought?

Despite her games, her need to be close and her pure annoying-ness, she never actually said what you needed to hear. She never called it what it was.

“I don’t wanna call it off,” she had once told you in passing, the first thing she actively said to you after the hallway conversation, her voice low and her gaze unreadable.

But she never called it love either.

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

If the dumb universe wouldn’t help you get over Nika, you would just have to do it yourself, or at least that was the plan. Which is why you ended up at some Alpha Delta Phi Frat party - halfway through your third drink that you barely liked, in a mass of sweaty people with hands on your body. 

You were trying to pretend that the warmth of someone else’s hands on your waist would be enough to make you forget.

Of course, it wasn’t.

But it was better than nothing, which is why you still threw your head back, downing whatever vile concoction was in that cup, and dragged the guy, whose hands were currently trying to find a home on your hips, off the dance floor. He was cute enough, said the right things, well as far as your drunken mind cared, he leaned in a little too close - but none of that mattered.

Because even with the bass running through your body, and unfamiliar lips brushing against yours, all you could think about was her. 

Daisy caught you when you stumbled your way back over to the bar, promising the guy to get some drinks. “You done?” she asked unimpressed, arms crossed over her chest. She seemed strangely sober. Or maybe you were really drunk. 

“Not even close”, you leaned over the counter so that the barkeeper, who really was just another frat boy, could actually hear you as you ordered more drinks.

These were supposed to help, right? This is what people did when they wanted to move on. But it didn’t work, not for you at least. You could kiss a hundred different people in a hundred different bars, take a hundred shots, but the feeling never left. 

No matter how you tried to drown her out, or maybe drown yourself with other sensations, she always resurfaced.

And the worst part? You knew exactly where she was.

Just across the room. Watching you. 

You can say it's just the way you are Make a new excuse, 'nother stupid reason Good luck, babe

She was staring.

And it wasn’t an ‘oh I was just looking over, and there you are! What a surprise!’. No. Nika was standing on the other side of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight and eyes locked with yours. She was daring you to keep going.

Like she was waiting for you to break first.

Fuck this. Instead of breaking, you took the shot instead. The burn in your throat was nothing compared to the ache you felt in your chest, as you made your way back to the guy from before.

Finally meeting her gaze again felt like a crime, but you could see it. The frustration, the jealousy. But she didn’t move. She didn’t storm over like you had thought she would. 

She just stood there, watching.

The smirk made its way onto your face before you could control it - just to piss her off even more. You let the guy, whose name you still didn’t know pull you closer, feeling him breath down your neck, and you prayed that the Croatian didn’t see the way you grimaced. If she wants to pretend that everything is fine, then two can play that game.

You could nearly hear the scoff all the way across the room - Well you couldn’t hear it, but you saw it, and you knew exactly how that expression sounded - before she turned her head and walked away.

What you didn’t see was Daisy pulling the tall basketball player back inside by her arm before she could fully escape.

“You just gonna stand there all night?” Daisy snapped, her voice low but sharp.

Nika clenched her jaw, ripping her arm away. “What do you want me to do?” she muttered, eyes flickering back toward you, wrapped up in someone else’s arms.

Daisy scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe stop acting like a fucking coward.”

Nika’s glare snapped to her. “I’m not—”

“Oh, spare me,” Daisy cut in, shaking her head. “You can say it’s just the way you are. Make a new excuse, ‘nother stupid reason.” Her voice dripped with frustration. “But you and I both know that’s a load of shit. So… Good Luck, Babe.”

Nika didn’t respond, just tightened her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Because Daisy was right.

And she fucking hated that.

I'm cliché, who cares? It's a sexually explicit kind of love affair And I cry, it's not fair I just need a little lovin', I just need a little air

To no one's surprise, you didn’t last much longer at the party. Maybe it was the thick air or the alcohol in your system. Or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t think straight. A certain brunette is always present in there. 

So you left. Slipped out the front door silent as a grave. But before you had reluctantly taken the guy's phone number that he had scribbled on a piece of paper ‘just in case’. The cold air had hit you in the face. This felt nice, to finally be able to breathe. Clearly, you needed this.

You didn’t expect her to still be here, after seeing her leave earlier. But of course, she waited. 

“You think that’s funny?” Nika's voice had cut through the night like a blade. And you didn’t even need to turn around to know that she was right there, just a step behind you.

“What?” You decided to play unknowingly, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

“You know what,” As the last few times you’ve spoken to her, her voice was sharp but you could hear a slight wavering. “Dragging some random dude with you, making a show off it.”

With a scoff, you now fully turned around to her. “What I do, is none of your business.” She let out a dry laugh, not the kind of laugh that you liked, but a mocking one. “Bullshit. You were looking at me the whole time. Don’t lie to yourself.”

And that was the problem. You were looking at her. All the time.

“God, you’re so fucking - “ you stopped yourself, hands gripping the hairs at the side of your head in desperation, trying to push down all the feelings. Make them go away. “I don’t get you, Nika. One minute you don’t want anything to do with me. The next-”

“I never said I didn’t want anything to do with you.” Her interruption was sudden, but not unexpected. Her voice was quieter than before, but it sounded dangerous somehow. “I never said that.”

“No?” It was your turn to chuckle now. “Then what the hell is this,” you pointed wildly between the two of you, becoming aware of the lessening distance, “Because I can’t keep doing whatever this is.” Your chest was heaving up and down, so fast as if you had just run a marathon.

The brunette didn’t say anything for a moment, she was just looking at you, trying to find the right words, and just when you thought you had broken her again - “I’m cliché, who cares?”

“What?” You were the broken one now.

“I’m cliché,” she said again, repeating herself, her lips curling into that goddamn smirk you loved so much. “Dramatic, stupid, jealous as fuck - I’m all of it, you’re right. But you -” She took a step even closer, and suddenly, there was barely any space left between you, to the extent that you could feel the warmth radiating off of the tall girl in the cold night. “You make me lose my goddamn mind.”

And instead of heaving like before, your chest stopped moving as you held your breath. Fuck. If she had said this a few months ago, you would have folded instantly. Maybe none of this would have happened and instead, you’d be - No. You couldn’t even think about it. 

But it was too late, wasn’t it?

“Yeah, well,” you took a step back, ignoring the pain. “Maybe you should have figured that out before you decided I was only good for convenience and in private.”

The smirk fell off her face.

“That’s not-”

“Save it, Nika.” The words hurt in your throat. And seeing the hurt on your face nearly killed you. But you were doing this for yourself. Too long you had yourself as a last thought. “You don’t get to be mad. You don’t get to act like I did something wrong when all I ever did was want you.”

Something behind her eyes snapped, and her right hand went up to grasp at her shirt. “You - You think I don’t want you?” Nika’s voice broke slightly as she demanded an answer “You think I don’t feel this?”

You stared at her. “Then say it. Tell me what you feel.”

She hesitated. Of Course, she did.

Because that’s what she always did. That’s what she’s good at. Dancing around the truth, playing games, got close but never too close or close enough. She was a coward. And you were so fucking tired of it.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You turned on your heel, ready to walk away. For real this time. But then -

“I just need a little lovin’,” she said, with a voice so quiet that you nearly missed it. 

You froze.

“I just need a little air,” Nika’s beautiful eyes were glued to the ground, hands fidgeting with each other when you turned back around. She looked wrecked. 

Something in you twisted painfully. Because god you understood.

You understood what it was like to want something that scared you. To be so afraid of losing it, that you ruined it yourself before anyone else even had the chance to do it.

But that didn’t change the fact that she had hurt you. And she knew that it hurt you. She made you believe that she didn’t care all this time when in reality she did.

“I cry,” the admittance made her scoff at herself, but seeing you smile, made it feel a little better. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” you agreed, the cold night wind carrying it over to the brunette, “It’s not.”

The silence felt suffocating between both of you, the tears in your eyes were begging to be set free. But then - 

“It’s a sexually explicit kind of love affair,” she said like she was confessing something like she was finally laying herself bare.

This was her way of saying It was never just about sex. It was never just a fling. It was always more than that.

The noise you made was somewhat between a laugh and a sob “Yeah,” you whispered. “It is.”

When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife

The sheets felt wrong. Too crisp, and not familiar. The room was bathed in soft moonlight, casting shadows on the wall. But it was all strange, hazy, like a blur. Like she was watching it, instead of actually experiencing it. 

Nika turned over in her bed, expecting to find it empty, but the weight beside her made her stomach sink. His breathing was steady and peaceful. It was like he belonged here, the room was colorless, without character, which fit to him. But she didn’t belong here. This wasn’t right.

The Croatian squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her temples. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. 

When she was lowering her hands, the wedding band on her finger caught her eye, the moonlight reflecting off of it.

No. No, no, no. 

Suddenly she felt as if she was suffocating, the breath getting stuck in her lungs. The air in the room was thick, pressing down on her chest. She didn’t know who was beside her, didn’t know his name, and she couldn’t remember how she got there. She couldn’t feel anything besides the aching hole inside her. The one that has been there before.

The one that has always belonged to you.

She stumbled out of the bed, feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. Nika could feel her heartbeat in her ears. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger - with tired, empty, and lifeless eyes. 

And when you think about me all of those years ago You're standing face to face with "I told you so"

And then she saw you. Standing in the doorway like you had always been there, always waiting. 

She couldn’t read your face, but your eyes - god your eyes - held everything. The frustration, the hurt, the longing, the knowing.

She had fucked this up.

You tilted your head, arms crossed over your chest, lips parting just a tiny bit like you were about to say something. But Nika already knew what you were going to say.

“I told you so.”

It wasn’t smug, you weren’t trying to hurt her more. It was just the truth. A truth that crushed her.

Her throat tightened again like she was drowning. It came so suddenly it felt as if she let go of something that wasn’t just important, but vital - necessary.

The brunette wanted to reach for you, take you in her arms, and tell you that she was sorry. That she never stopped thinking about you. But before she could move, say something, you were gone. And you took all the warmth and light with you.

You were gone.

And she woke up.

You know I hate to say, I told you so

Nika jolted upright. Her chest heaving as if her air was cut off in real life and not just her dream. Sweat clung to her skin and her heart was racing, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the dream or the realization that came with it.

Shaky hands ran through her hair, blinking at the darkness, but familiarity of her room as she was trying to calm herself down. But it wasn’t working. Because she knew.

This wasn’t just a dream, this was a fucking warning.

If she didn’t do something, that’s how she would end up. Incredibly unhappy, a wife to some dude. Without you. If she didn’t stop running or hiding and she stopped being a coward, this would be her future. 

And she would lose you for good.

She wasn’t going to let that happen.

Not now. Not ever.

Nika threw the covers off and grabbed her phone.

It was time to fight for you.

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

“Can you meet me?”

It was nearly 3 am when you got the text. Of Course, you were still awake. After coming home and explaining what had happened to Daisy, the two of you decided to watch some movies. 

The answer was easy, “Yes.”

“I’m outside.”

The next minutes were a blur as you grabbed your keys, got some shoes, and put on a jacket. Why were you so nervous? This was only Nika.

Walking down the flights of stairs to get to the front door of your student housing felt endless. Outside you could see her. Standing on the sidewalk, hands gripping the strap of her bag, shifting on her feet - you feel it before you even reach her. That pull. That undeniable force.

After seeing you, her face lights up. But you could still see the dark circles under her puffy eyes. 

At first, neither of you speak. Just standing across from each other, reveling in the comfort the others' presence brought. Then with a deep breath, Nika took an uncertain step forward before finally pulling you into a hug, resting her head on yours, while you buried your face in her neck.

“You’d have to stop the world just to stop this feeling,” she whispers against your hair.

And right then, you know - you never want it to stop.

You held her tighter as the world outside kept moving. Every now and then cars zoomed by or people walked past you. But for you and Nika time slowed down. 

She pulled back just enough to be able to look at you, one of her hands cupping your cheek so gently, that she must have thought you would break. There’s something unreadable in her expression. Something raw.

“I was scared,” she admitted. “That if I said this out loud, it would disappear. You would disappear.”

Your fingers brush a strand of her behind her ear “It’s real,” you say softly. “It’s been real the whole time.”

She exhaled shakily, but the hand that was holding onto your jacket didn’t let go. Instead - she smiles. A small one, but it was there, and it was as if a boulder was lifted off of your chest. 

“I don’t want to run from this anymore,” she murmured before pressing a kiss on your forehead. You could feel the heat shoot up to your face, knowing she could feel it too, one hand still cupping your face.

“Then don’t.”

A beat. Then she laughed, and it’s the kind of laugh that melts through every doubt you have ever had. “Okay.”

You had to laugh too, and before you could think, before fear or hesitation could creep in, you cupped her face right back and pressed your forehead to hers. The warmth of her skin, the way she sighed like she was finally home - was enough to make your heart ache in the best way.

“This is crazy,” she whispered, but she was smiling.

You grinned. “Maybe. But I don’t care.”

And then, finally, she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It was slow, filled with every unspoken word, every moment that led you here. 

It was a promise, a beginning.

[amphitriteswife]

୨♡୧.valentines day.୨♡୧

‘Is this what you’re giving me?’ DG raised an eyebrow, he was sitting at one of the sofa’s at the pool, drinking a cocktail that was in his hands. It wasn’t often that the pink haired k-pop idol had a moment to actually relax. Not even today, he had a fan sign today but luckily it finished early. ‘You don’t like it?’ DG chuckled at you, his hand stirring the cocktail in his hand, his eyes looking at your back. He could see the lid of the box besides you, a nice pink bow and his signature on the silky fabric that was wrapped around it. ‘They’re limited edition.’ His lips wrapped around the brim of the glass, his eyes still looking at you sitting by the pool, staring down at the box. The fresh yet sweet taste of the cocktail swirled in his mouth. ‘This is….nice…’ DG snickered at your reaction, getting up to his feet and sitting besides you at the pool. His eyes drifted to the box. They were cards. Kpop card. Of DG. All signed by him with his signature. He looked like a whole other person, your usual stoic boyfriend now doing an aegyo as well as intimate poses…like twerking…they were…interesting…to say the least….’you told me you wanted me for valentines day remember?’ The soft sound of you saying ‘ew’ as a reflex made DG glare at you with a deadly face.

‘Miss there’s someone outside for you…should i call the police?’ Your eyes followed the finger of your co-worker…until you saw gun standing besides his car, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. He looked rather fancy…if that wasn’t already his normal outfit. It was…surprising…to say the least. Jonggun isn’t romantic at all, and you never took him for someone who would be into Valentines day. But here he is with roses in his hand. You thanked your coworker and went outside to him, taking the bouquet out his hands and placing a kiss on his cheek. Gun didn’t react much to your kiss and just placed his hands on your hips. ‘Thank you.’ You told him, looking at the red roses. They seemed very fresh, kept together with a white lint. Jonggun also gave you another box. This one seemed more like a bakkery product rather than something else. Opening the box you saw a cake made in the shape of a heart. The buttercream was sloppy and the sprinkles were sliding off…it clearly hadn’t been cooled down and the letters looked very wonky. ‘You made this?’ Jonggun let out a hum. You still couldn’t see his eyes because of the glasses. But his hum gave away that he was indeed the one who made the sloppy cake. It’s not the best but it’s the thought that counts! Besides…maybe you can trick him into baking more. Who knew that a man as terrifying as gun would like to bake? ‘Eat it.’

‘Samuel?’ The call of his name still hadn’t made Samuel raise his eyes at you, only a rather annoyed hum escaped his lips. His pen scribbling on some documents he was signing. ‘Did you sent me this?’ You asked him holding up a rather cute teddy hear from a specific brand you collected plushies from. Samuel glances at you briefly before turning to his documents again. ‘Yes.’ ‘Why didn’t you give it to me directly…you would’ve seen me anyway today.’ Samuel put down his pen. His eyes now focused on you. A tired sigh escaped his lips. ‘I couldn’t be bothered.’ ‘Wow.’ Samuel looked at you with narrowed eyes. Is this a sign of disrespect? Hmph. He does his best you know? He tries. Even if he’s busy because of all this paperwork and because everyone takes a day off on valentines day. Noticing his rather moody face you replied flatly. ‘I was being sarcastic’ Samuel didn’t buy your words but didn’t question it either. Just sitting in his chair with his arms crossed around his chest. His head leaning against the headrest of the chair. A very light weight being thrown at his chest made him grunt in surprise. His eyes fell to his lap where a mini cat like plush was holding a heart with the world ‘i love you’ on it. Samuel kept a straight face. ‘This is ugly’

‘Happy valentines day babe.’ You stopped in your tracks to your bedroom. You just came home from work and hadn’t seen Goo all day, at least you expected him go be either with Jonggun or just doing his own job…not here…like this. Goo looked at you with a rather smug grin and wiggled his eyebrows at you. ‘Not even getting one back? Did i stun you too much?’ Goo leaned back, letting you take a look at his almost naked body that was only covered with a single red lint. A bow hanging right around his grional area. Goo took a notice of you staring at him and chuckled at you. A teasing smirk on his lips ‘you’re staring. You pervert.’ ‘I’m not a pervert.’ You told him defensively. He’s the one being naked! Not you! ‘But you’re still staring though?’ Goo replied rather cluelessly. His hands grabbing you by your shirt. He smelled rather different today. A perfume you usually smelled on Jonggun. Did Goo steal his perfume? It was a strong yet lighter scent than most of Jonggun’s perfume. Why did Goo have it on? ‘You like it? Don’t tell him, he wouldn’t want me touching his stuff’ ‘yeah…it smells great’ Goo smirked at your response and took off his glasses, his hands now moving to your hips and throwing you onto the bed. His form towering over you, who was looking up at him from the bed. Goo glanced down at the bow and then at you. ‘Won’t you open your present?’

[kendrysaneela]

“She’s like you. Or you’re like her? I don’t know”

That’s such an interesting line cause it’s true! While the outies and innies have different personalities and different wants and needs they each exist within each other. When Helly is Helly Helena is within her subconscious,when Dylan is Dylan outie Dylan is in his subconscious,when Mark S is Mark Scout Mark S is there in his subconscious. They’re all there. And they’re all influencing each other Irving being the most straightforward version of this what with him seeing the globs of paint sometimes because his outie always paints the same painting over and over.

They each exist within each other’s subconscious. And you can see some of the outies bleeding into the innies as they start to experience similar stuff the outies have experienced! (Except for Helly and Helena Helena is actually the one turning into Helly) I think it goes to show what do memories do how do memories shape a person how much of you is your is subconscious and how much is your conscious memory. Like Mark starts out super peppy and happy and helpful and then as he starts to experience more and grief and slowly starts becoming more similar to outie Mark in the way he handles his grief. But that also makes me wonder. Before Mark Scout experienced all that grief was he similar to Mark S? I bet he was. Or he at least had the potential to be.

And then Irving, his outie is clearly a character that needs meaning and is devoted to a cause. And at first innie Irving finds meaning and finds a cause in like helping to spread the message of Kier and doing his work and following the rules and it’s not until he finds meaning outside of work and finds something new to fight for that he starts to become more similar to who outie Irving seems to be. Someone who is more paranoid and more rebellious. Not to mention both of them enjoying art and both of them painting/drawing the same piece of art over and over again. (Albeit for different reasons)

Then there’s Dylan G who’s outie is kinda insecure because he’s been batted down by life a lot seemingly but he does still clearly love his family he’s just depressed unfortunately and has low self esteem from having a lot of unsuccessful adventures in life clearly. But he does seem to be trying outside and his wife still loves him a lot. Dylan inside starts out confident and convinced his outie is super successful and a body builder and has a bunch of girls on the outside. Then he finds out who he really is outside and then unfortunately. Starts to have some losses inside….and his self confidence starts to fall, and then he learns he has a family and able to be convinced to separate himself from his friends because he cares so much about his family. (I think this will transfer back to him caring a lot about his innie family again) .

Then. There’s Helly. Now Helly is the exact opposite of everyone else and shows that it’s not always innies turning into outies. Helly doesn’t start to turn into Helena. Helena starts to turn into Helly. And the longer Helly exists the further she digs her feet into her rebellion. And the more Helena learns about Helly the more she turns into her. Helena is a woman who has no autonomy who makes none of her own decisions and clearly her whole life has just gone along with what she’s been forced to do without making much of a fuss because that’s what she was raised to do and I assume because the punishments for stepping out of line in the Eagan cult are severe. She has also never experienced love. And I think she’s probably resigned herself to this life. But then she sees Helly. And Helly doesn’t know she’s an Eagan. Helly doesn’t have all the cult programming Helena has, they can’t control Helly with threat of what her father will think or do. So Helly rebels and Helly rebels HARD. And Helly’s first instinct being to rebel is probably because Helena has been trapped her whole life so when Helly woke up on that table locked in that room her subconscious went “WE’RE TRAPPED WE’RE TRAPPED ESCAPE” and Helly didn’t have any of Helena’s fears or knowledge of who she is or what’s happening so she doesn’t repress that rebellion or fear like Helena does so she continues to outwardly rebel.

More than Helena probably ever has or at least has in a while. And she receives love for it from her coworkers. She receives love and she receives friendship and Helena sees all this. She sees this woman this other version of her who’s not weighed down by her name or the expectations put upon it and she sees her become who she’s always wanted to be so she starts to try to become that person. And when she’s pretending to be Helly, she flirts with Mark and she makes Irving little snow seals and she makes fun of her family’s lore and she’s free and she’s taking in love.

I think even with Helena no longer being able to pretend to be Helly, Helena will start to either consciously or unconsciously become Helly outside. I think it’s also why she’s watching Mark at the end of the episode. She’s basically in the middle of an identity crisis right now and she’s probably wondering if outie Mark is the key. What outie Mark is like if he’s anything like innie Mark.

I also think Helly and Helena hating each other is a good illustration of Helena’s hatred toward herself. I think she hates herself because she doesn’t have the courage to be like Helly and to rebel like Helly and to fight for her autonomy like Helly.

And they all do this because they are their innies. Their innies are their outies and their outies are their innies they are each other just if they had different life experiences.

[universefcb]

Hi I love what you do could you do that hector is with the sister of marc guiu knowing very well that it's his little sister please

↬❥ Marc Guiu's sister

Hector Fort x Fem!Reader

sy: You and Hector have a multi-night stand, but she's the sister of one of his best friends. And you're insecure about it.

a/n: This request was made days ago, I just forgot to post it, sorry. And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

warnings: Conflicts, fights, kisses and a Hector crazy about the reader.

The Barcelona sun was beginning to set when Héctor Fort parked his car in front of Marc Guiu's house. He knew he was about to step onto dangerous ground, but he couldn't help himself. Not when it came to her.

You, Marc’s little sister, were everything Héctor knew he shouldn’t want, but at the same time, you were the only thing he could think about lately. They had known each other for years, but something between them had changed in the last few months. The way she looked at him, the way her smile seemed different when she was with him…

And it happened. Hector declared his love for her and they had a small, secret, non-serious relationship.

Marc had always been protective of the girl. Anyone at Barça knew that getting close to her was like signing a footballing death sentence. Marc would not tolerate any player approaching her with ulterior motives.

And Hector? Well, Héctor was one of Marc's best friends.

Still, there he was, knocking on the door of the Guiu house with his heart racing and his thoughts plunged into uncertainty.

The door opened, and it wasn't Marc who appeared, but HER. Her hair loose, her eyes shining with excitement, and that smile that always disarmed him.

“Héctor…” she said, surprised but clearly happy to see him.

“We need to talk,” he said, looking around to make sure Marc wasn’t around.

She looked inside the house before leaving, closing the door behind her.

“What is it?” she asked, crossing her arms, but with an amused tone in her voice.

“This has to stop.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “Marc will kill me if he finds out.”

She laughed.

“Are you afraid of my brother now, Héctor?” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not a matter of fear, y/n. It’s respect. He trusts me. If he finds out that I’m… that we’re…”

“What are we?” she teased, tilting her head.

“That I am completely in love with you.”

Her expression softened. The playfulness in her eyes gave way to something deeper.

"Hector…"

He sighed, stepping closer.

“I can’t help it. I tried to ignore it, I tried to walk away, but when I’m with you… it feels like nothing else matters.”

“What if Marc finds out?” She bit her lip, hesitant.

“I don’t know. But I’m willing to take the risk.” Héctor held her hand firmly.

For a moment, silence fell between the two. Then, Sofia smiled.

“Then I think we’ve taken too long to do this.”

And without thinking twice, she approached, joining her lips to his. Héctor felt a shock run through his body, but the moment he hugged her, he knew he was lost.

If that was a mistake, it was one he would make again and again. Now, all that was left to do was find out how long they had until Marc Guiu found out. After they walked away, she gave him an awkward smile and wiped her mouth, watching him do the same. They went inside the house as if nothing had happened and Marc went downstairs.

“Hi, you didn’t tell me you were coming.” He crossed his arms, following his sister with his gaze until she disappeared into the kitchen.

“I was nearby and decided to stop by.”

You and Hector knew you were playing with fire, but that only made it all the more intense. The kiss from that night was still burning in both of your minds, and every secret look you exchanged, every discreet touch when no one was looking, only made it harder to keep it all hidden.

But the inevitable happened faster than they imagined.

Marc Guiu may be a great striker on the pitch, but off it he was also very clever. And nothing went unnoticed by him, especially when it came to his sister. And it was in a Barcelona training session that everything started to come together.

Héctor was in the locker room when he felt a shadow hovering over him. He looked up to find Marc standing with his arms crossed, his gaze hard and cold.

“I need to talk to you,” Marc said, his voice tense.

The entire locker room fell silent. The other players exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. With no other option, Héctor stood up and followed Marc into a more secluded hallway.

The attacker suddenly turned, his gaze fierce.

“Are you dating my sister?” Héctor froze.

He could lie. He could say that Marc was imagining things, that there was nothing between him and you but friendship. But something inside him refused to do that. He took a deep breath and held Marc's gaze.

"Yes." Marc's face turned red in an instant.

“Are you kidding me, Fort?”

“I’m not! And I know I should have told you sooner, but–

Before he could finish his sentence, he felt a strong push in his chest.

“You’re my best friend!” Marc growled. “How dare you?

“Because I like her, Marc. A lot!” Héctor didn’t back down.

“Marc!” You crossed the hall, quickly going to them, taking Marc’s hands off Hector. “Please, no.

She stood in front of Hector as she looked at her brother.

Silence fell between them. Marc’s chest rose and fell, his anger evident. But he knew Héctor. He knew his friend wasn’t the type to play with someone’s feelings.

“If you hurt my sister…” Marc clenched his fists.

“I would never do that!” he grabbed her shoulders.

The two's eyes faced each other for a few more seconds, until Marc let out a long sigh and turned his back.

“It’s going to take me a while to get used to this,” he said, before leaving without looking back.

You sighed, turning to Hector, analyzing every inch of his face.

“I’ll talk to him later. Are you okay?” Her hands cupped his face.

“I guess we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.” He smiled, moving his hands down to her waist.

“You’re hopeless, aren’t you?” he laughed, feeling kisses being placed on his face.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well 🥰

I had an idea for the Marvel Multiverse Reality Show AU with Tony x F!Personal Assistant Reader (if you’re willing to write it?).

Maybe after just announcing he’s Iron Man, he’s agreed to have a reality show about himself called “The Stark Reality” (because we know this man LOVES attention and it’s a good play on words 🤭). He welcomes the crew in and it shows the world about his daily life, his iron man life, maybe his playboy life etc etc. Throughout filming his reality show, he has many interactions with his personal assistant on screen. Fans watching begin speculating on their relationship together, which after a while leads to an awkward yet sweet realization between the two. His PA definitely has feeling for her boss, but much to her surprise he’s had those same feelings too. It’s sweet when they come to the realization together, but it’s incredibly awkward when they realize the cameras had been secretly filming their sweet moment entire time 😵‍💫

I hope it makes sense lol. Thanks for taking the time to even read this! 🫶🏻

THE STARK REALITY (SHOW)

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): lack of privacy because they are in a reality show

ᯓ★ Maybe a part 2?

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The camera crew files into the mansion, wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed, their equipment catching the gleam of expensive decor and cutting-edge technology. The grand entrance of the Stark estate is exactly as the world imagines—opulent, excessive, and bathed in the golden glow of wealth. The moment the director calls for the first shot, Tony Stark is already in the center of it all, perfectly at ease in the limelight.

“Welcome to The Stark Reality!” he announces, arms thrown wide, that signature smirk plastered across his face. “A reality show about a billionaire, genius, ex-weapons manufacturer, and recently announced superhero. Also known as me.” He winks directly at the camera. “You’re welcome, world.”

The camera crew shifts to follow him as he walks deeper into the house, narrating as he goes. He gestures to the extravagant living space, to the sleek glass walls revealing a sprawling Malibu view, to the open bar already stocked with expensive bottles. It’s all part of the spectacle, but then again, so is he.

And then there’s you.

You linger just outside the frame, tablet in hand, lips pressed together in a straight line. You’ve been Tony’s assistant for years now, navigating his unpredictable whims, his extravagant lifestyle, and now, apparently, his newfound interest in reality television. You should’ve seen this coming. The man loves an audience.

He turns suddenly, catching you off guard. “And this,” he says, beckoning you over, “is my lovely, brilliant, long-suffering personal assistant.”

The camera swings toward you, and you resist the urge to sigh. Instead, you school your features into something passably professional, giving the crew a tight smile.

“Hi,” you say simply.

Tony raises a brow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, give ‘em something. These people are here for entertainment.”

You don’t miss the way he leans in slightly, mischief dancing in his eyes. He loves doing this—pulling you into his orbit, pushing at your composure just to see if you’ll break.

You tilt your head, tapping your tablet. “Would you like me to list your meetings for the day or just summarize the number of ways this reality show is going to be a logistical nightmare?”

He grins. “See? She’s got personality. And she keeps me on schedule, which is an almost impossible task, so she’s basically a superhero in her own right.”

“I don’t have time to save the world,” you say dryly. “I’m too busy saving you from yourself.”

The crew chuckles, and Tony places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ouch. And yet, true.”

The filming continues as Tony moves through his morning routine—or rather, what he claims is his routine but is obviously exaggerated for the cameras. He lounges dramatically on his couch, sipping a green smoothie he wouldn’t drink on a normal day. He shows off the in-house gym he rarely uses because, as he puts it, “Why sweat when you have a suit of armor that does all the heavy lifting?”

Still, he’s in his element. The camera loves him, and he loves it right back.

Throughout the day, the crew captures glimpses of what it’s like to work for Tony Stark—organized chaos at best. You’re constantly in motion, fielding calls, managing his schedule, and dodging his playful antics.

At one point, you’re briefing him about an upcoming meeting when he suddenly cuts you off.

“Hold that thought,” he says, turning toward the camera with an exaggerated look of excitement. “This is the part where I ignore my assistant’s very important words and do something reckless.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a brief second. “Please don’t.”

Too late. He’s already bolting toward his workshop, the crew scrambling to keep up.

The rest of the day follows suit, a whirlwind of Tony being Tony—charming, infuriating, and completely impossible. The world wanted a peek into his life, and now they’re getting it. But beneath all the theatrics, the cameras capture something else too—those little moments where he looks at you just a beat too long, the way he teases you not just for the show, but because he enjoys it.

And maybe you enjoy it too.

The days of filming blur together in a chaotic, camera-filled whirlwind. Tony adapts quickly, thriving under the constant attention, but for you, it’s an adjustment. You’re used to managing him behind the scenes, not under the watchful eyes of millions who will dissect every interaction, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

And dissect they do.

At first, the comments from fans are lighthearted.

"Wow, Tony’s assistant is a saint. How does she put up with him?"

"The way he looks at her though?? I’d die for a man to look at me like that."

"There’s no way they haven’t at least kissed before. The chemistry is insane."

You ignore it. It’s just the internet being the internet. But as the show airs more episodes, the speculation doesn’t just continue—it grows. Entire compilations pop up online, showing moments between you and Tony that seem insignificant alone but, when stitched together, tell a different story.

One of those moments happens late one night when the cameras are supposed to be off.

It’s past midnight, and most of the crew has packed up for the day, but you’re still in the workshop, scrolling through Tony’s calendar on your tablet. He’s at his workbench, eyes locked on whatever latest modification he’s making to the suit. It’s quiet, comfortable. Just the two of you.

“You should go to bed,” he murmurs without looking up.

“You should take your own advice,” you counter.

A smirk tugs at his lips, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. “I will if you will.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “I have too much to do.”

“So do I.” He gestures vaguely at the half-finished repulsor in front of him. “But unlike you, I am my own boss and can ignore my responsibilities.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “You ignore them whether you’re your own boss or not.”

His smirk widens. “Exactly. Now sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sit?”

“Yeah.” He pats the empty stool beside him. “You’re making me nervous, standing there all tense. Come on, take a load off.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give in, sliding onto the stool next to him. He’s still looking at you, and now that you’re closer, you notice the exhaustion tugging at the edges of his expression. It’s rare to see him without the armor of his usual bravado.

“Long day?” you ask softly.

He hums, rolling his shoulders. “Something like that.”

Without thinking, you reach out and press your fingers against a knot in his shoulder, kneading gently. He freezes for a fraction of a second, then exhales, melting slightly under your touch.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “That’s dangerous.”

Your fingers still. “What is?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “Letting you know that feels good. You might start using it as leverage.”

You roll your eyes but keep massaging the tension from his shoulder. “Please. Like I don’t already have enough leverage on you.”

His lips quirk up in amusement, and for a while, neither of you say anything. The quiet hum of the workshop fills the space, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding you. It’s easy to forget the world outside of moments like this.

What neither of you realize is that one of the smaller cameras in the corner of the workshop—the one meant to capture footage of his tech for the show—was never turned off.

When the footage airs, the internet explodes.

"GUYS, I AM LITERALLY GONNA SCREAM. Did you see the way he just let her touch him like that? He was SOFT for her. I can’t do this."

"No but the way she just casually massages him like it’s normal… THEY’RE IN LOVE."

"I don’t even care if they say they’re not together, the EYE CONTACT says otherwise."

Tony, of course, loves the reactions.

“People are calling me soft,” he says one morning, shoving his phone in your face. “For you.”

You glance up from your tablet, unimpressed. “I mean, they’re not wrong.”

His grin widens. “Oh? You admit I have a soft spot for you?”

“I admit you think you do,” you reply smoothly, swiping to the next appointment on his schedule.

“Ouch. Brutal,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile, but then he does something unexpected. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small thing, a fleeting touch, but it sends your heart skipping a beat.

And of course, the cameras catch it.

The moment goes viral within hours.

"Tony tucking her hair behind her ear?? Sir, I am UNWELL."

"I’m convinced they forget they’re being filmed sometimes because this is NOT platonic behavior."

"The way she paused for a second after he touched her… yeah, she felt that."

The more moments like this pile up, the harder it gets to brush off the speculation. The crew catches everything—the way Tony always seems to find excuses to be near you, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long when you’re not looking, the way you press a coffee into his hand before he even asks for it.

One day, after a particularly chaotic filming session involving a very unnecessary stunt with the Iron Man suit (which you had explicitly told him not to do), the two of you find yourselves alone in the kitchen.

You’re filling a glass of water when Tony steps beside you, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re mad,” he observes.

You take a sip of your own water. “I’m not mad.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Annoyed, then.”

You set your glass down with a sigh. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

His expression softens slightly. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

For once, he doesn’t immediately deflect with a joke. Instead, he reaches out, gently tugging at your wrist until you look at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, quieter now.

You exhale, shaking your head. “I know. I just—” You stop yourself, not sure how to put it into words.

Tony doesn’t push. He just holds your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his expression. The air between you shifts, heavier than before.

Neither of you realize the camera in the corner of the kitchen is still rolling.

"Nah, because that moment in the kitchen was INTIMATE. The way he reached for her wrist so gently??? PLEASE."

"Okay but the way she was genuinely worried about him? And the way he actually let himself be serious for once?? They’re in LOVE."

"I don’t even need confirmation at this point. This is a slow-burn romance happening in real-time."

You tell yourself it’s just the cameras.

That’s why everything feels heightened, why your heart stumbles in your chest every time Tony leans just a little too close, why your stomach flips when his gaze lingers a second too long.

It’s the show. The attention. The fact that millions of people are dissecting every interaction between you, making you hyperaware of the way Tony touches you so casually, the way he teases you so effortlessly, the way he just exists in your space like he belongs there.

Because that’s all it is.

Right?

You try to ignore it. Try to act normal. Try to pretend your pulse doesn’t quicken when he throws an arm around your shoulders in front of the cameras, pulling you into his orbit like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t let yourself think too much about the way his touch lingers, the way his hand sometimes settles at the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, the way he always seems to know exactly what to say to get under your skin—just enough to fluster you, just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know that he’s always been like this. He’s charming, magnetic, impossible to ignore. He flirts with everyone, makes people feel like they’re the only person in the room when he talks to them.

It’s just who he is.

But then there are moments that don’t feel like a performance.

Like the time you’re both in the workshop late at night again, and he offers you a screwdriver without looking, like he somehow knows exactly what you need before you ask. Or the time he catches you yawning after a long day and, without a word, pushes his cup of coffee toward you.

Or the time you stumble half-asleep into the kitchen one morning, still in your pajamas, and find him already there, making two cups of coffee—one exactly how you like it.

“You’re up early,” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes.

He smirks, handing you the coffee. “You’re just up late.”

You take the cup from him, wrapping your fingers around the warmth. “Thanks.”

He watches you as you take your first sip, his expression softer than usual. “You should sleep more.”

You arch a brow at him. “You’re one to talk.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. And then he does something that makes your brain short-circuit—he reaches out and brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

You freeze.

“There was coffee there,” he says, voice low, almost teasing, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something that makes your heart stutter.

The moment stretches, thick with something unspoken. And then—

“Morning, boss! Morning, Y/N!”

You both jolt back as one of the camera crew members strolls in, oblivious. You step away quickly, lifting your coffee to your lips to hide the fact that your face is burning.

Tony just exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like cockblocked by my own reality show.

The cameras weren’t even rolling that morning, but somehow, the clip of him wiping coffee off your lip still ends up online.

"HELLO?? HIS THUMB ON HER LIP?? WHAT KIND OF ROMANCE NOVEL BULLSHIT IS THIS??"

"He looked so focused on her mouth I am losing my mind."

"I swear they forget the cameras exist sometimes. That was INTIMATE."

The internet is eating this up. Fans are analyzing every look, every touch, every moment between you and Tony with the kind of dedication usually reserved for crime scene investigations.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

Because suddenly, you start noticing things you’ve ignored before.

Like the way Tony always saves the last slice of pizza for you. The way he keeps an extra pair of your favorite sunglasses in his car because he knows you always forget yours. The way he always seems to position himself between you and any potential threat—even if the "threat" is just a pushy journalist or an overenthusiastic fan.

And then there are the looks.

The ones that last just a little too long. The ones where he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. The ones that feel different.

The realization creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow stretching in the late afternoon sun.

You like him.

No—you’ve liked him. Probably for a while now. You were just too stubborn, too careful, too scared to admit it.

And Tony—oh, Tony has known for a long time.

It’s in the way he looks at you, like he’s just waiting for you to catch up. Like he’s been patient, so damn patient, but he’s not going to wait forever.

But you don’t know how to cross that line. Not when the whole world is watching. Not when your job, your life, everything is so tangled up with him.

So you try to act normal.

The cameras catch every single slip-up.

Like the time you’re standing beside him at a press event, and someone asks a question about his playboy lifestyle.

He laughs, playing it up for the cameras. “You know me, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Most of which involve ignoring my carefully planned schedule.”

He turns to you, smirking. “See? This is why I keep her around. She keeps me humble.”

The reporter grins. “Y/N, what’s the secret to handling Tony Stark?”

You glance at him, and for a split second, you forget about the cameras. Forget about the audience.

“He’s not as much of a handful as people think,” you say, voice quieter, more honest than you mean it to be.

Tony blinks, and for the first time in a long time, he actually looks surprised.

The internet notices.

"DID YOU SEE HIS FACE WHEN SHE SAID THAT?? Bro was not expecting her to be SWEET."

"‘He’s not as much of a handful as people think’ MA’AM. MA’AM. ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH HIM??"

"I swear to god Tony is just waiting for her to admit it at this point."

The dress is too much. That’s your first thought as you stare at yourself in the full-length mirror, smoothing your hands down the fabric. It’s expensive—of course, it is. Tony sent it over himself, and you’d bet good money that it cost more than your rent.

It’s stunning, undeniably so, hugging in all the right places, the deep color making your skin glow under the soft lighting of your bedroom. Your makeup is flawless, your hair styled perfectly, and for once, you don’t look like Tony Stark’s overworked assistant.

You look like a woman on the arm of a billionaire.

Which, technically, you are.

Just for tonight.

It’s not that unusual for Tony to bring you to events, but tonight is different. There’s no work agenda, no schedule to maintain. For this one night, you’re not his assistant—you’re his date.

The word lingers in your mind, foreign but not unwelcome.

There’s a knock at your door.

“You decent?” Tony’s voice is light, teasing, but when you open the door, he just stops.

His mouth parts slightly as his gaze sweeps over you, lingering at your exposed collarbone, the way the dress clings to your curves. For once, he’s silent, and you think that might be the most shocking part.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Tony blinks, then clears his throat, smoothing a hand down the front of his sleek, tailored suit. “Yep. Nope. I was prepared for this. I am handling this just fine.”

You fight back a smile. “You sure?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, stepping back so you can follow him. “Just casually rethinking all my life choices and trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to have you on my arm tonight.”

Your heart does something stupid in your chest, but you roll your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Stark.”

He smirks. “Worth a shot.”

The drive to the event is smooth, the car sleek and comfortable, but your nerves kick in the second you see the flashing lights ahead, the crowd of reporters, the sea of cameras waiting.

Tony notices.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice warm and steady beside you. “You look incredible. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

You exhale, forcing yourself to nod. “Right. Just another night.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Except this time, when they ask me who I’m with, I get to say you.”

Before you can overthink it, the door opens, and suddenly, you’re stepping onto the red carpet with Tony Stark’s hand resting at the small of your back. The flashes are blinding, the noise overwhelming, but Tony guides you through it with practiced ease, nodding and smirking at the cameras like he was born for this.

Reporters immediately start shouting questions.

“Tony! Who’s your date tonight?”

“Y/N, how does it feel to be on Stark’s arm instead of his payroll?”

“Why her, Tony? Out of all the women in the world, why did you choose your assistant?”

Tony grins, pulling you just a little closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “Some secrets are just for me.”

Your face burns, and you’re grateful when you’re ushered forward, past the press and into the venue. The inside is just as extravagant as expected—glittering chandeliers, champagne flowing, a sea of celebrities dressed to impress.

And, of course, that’s when it happens.

The actor is objectively handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, a charming smile that probably makes half the world swoon. You recognize him immediately, a famous action star, one of the many guests mingling at the event.

And for some reason, he’s interested in you.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he says, his gaze sweeping over you in obvious appreciation. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I would have remembered.”

You offer a polite smile, feeling Tony shift beside you. “Y/N,” you say, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, his own smile widening as he takes your hand. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Tony’s grip on his champagne flute tightens.

You catch the slight tick in his jaw, the way his entire posture stiffens. Oh. Oh, this is interesting.

The actor keeps talking, asking about your work, throwing in more compliments than necessary, and you can feel Tony practically vibrating beside you.

And then—just to push it a little—you laugh at something the actor says, placing a hand on his arm.

It’s nothing. Completely innocent.

But Tony clears his throat sharply. “Hey, buddy,” he says, voice light but just a little too loud. “You mind if I borrow my date for a second?”

The emphasis is unmistakable.

The actor, blissfully unaware of the silent tantrum Tony is throwing, just grins and nods. “Of course. It was a pleasure, Y/N.”

Tony is already pulling you away before you can respond.

He doesn’t stop until you’re outside, away from the crowd, in a quiet balcony area overlooking the city lights.

You turn to him, crossing your arms. “Are you jealous, Stark?”

He scoffs. “Me? Jealous? Please.”

You step closer, tilting your head. “You sure?”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I didn’t love watching that guy drool all over you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because?”

He meets your gaze, and suddenly, all the teasing, all the bravado—everything—falls away.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Or at least, I want you to be.”

Your breath catches.

Tony exhales, running a hand down his face. “I know I joke around a lot, and I know I’m a lot to deal with, but I need you to know that this—us—it’s not a game to me. It never has been.”

Your heart is pounding.

He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, Y/N. And I know it took you a little longer to get there, but…” His lips twitch up. “You’re here now. Right?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

And then his hands are on your waist, pulling you against him, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, and then—

He kisses you.

It’s slow at first, careful, like he’s savoring it, but then you make a small noise against his lips, and suddenly, the restraint snaps. His hands tighten, his lips moving against yours with something deeper, more desperate, more real than anything you’ve ever known.

When you finally break apart, your forehead rests against his, your breath mingling.

“Wow,” you murmur.

Tony chuckles, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Yeah. Wow.”

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

You freeze.

Tony groans, turning to find one of the cameramen standing there, eyes wide.

“Are you serious?” Tony grits out.

The guy winces. “I—I swear, I wasn’t trying to film that—I just—okay, yeah, the cameras got everything.”

Tony sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “Of course they did.”

You stare at him for a moment, then—

You start laughing.

Tony blinks at you. “Are you—are you seriously laughing right now?”

You nod, still giggling. “It’s just—of course this happens to us.”

Tony shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out, huh?”

You grin, reaching for his hand. “Guess so.”

And honestly?

You don’t mind one bit.

The internet explodes.

The second the episode drops, social media ignites like someone threw gasoline on an open flame. The clip of you and Tony kissing—your whispered words, his confession, the way he pulls you in like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—spreads like wildfire.

"I’M SCREAMING. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL."

"The way Tony looked at her BEFORE the kiss? He’s been GONE for her. Absolutely down bad."

"We all knew it. We KNEW it. But seeing it happen is just chef’s kiss perfection."

"'You’re mine. Or at least, I want you to be.' That’s it. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I need a Tony Stark in my life."

"I can’t believe the cameras caught this. The way they got lost in each other? They weren’t even thinking about the cameras. That’s REAL."

"How do I file a lawsuit for emotional damage? I was NOT prepared."

Memes flood the timeline. Screenshots of Tony’s jealous expression when the actor flirted with you. Edits of your kiss set to dramatic music. Slow-motion compilations of every single time Tony had looked at you that way throughout the show.

The fans had always speculated, always hoped, but this? This is confirmation. And they are obsessed.

Of course, there are reactions from the media too. News outlets pick up the story immediately.

“Billionaire Tony Stark Off the Market—Confirms Romance with Longtime Assistant”

“The Stark Reality’s Latest Episode Features a Moment No One Expected—But Everyone Wanted”

“From Work Partners to Life Partners—The Love Story of Tony Stark and Y/N”

And through it all, Tony is thriving.

Because of course, he is.

At first, you don’t know what to expect from him. If he’s going to act differently now that the world knows. If he’s going to keep things professional in front of the cameras or tone down the way he touches you, the way he teases.

Nope.

If anything, he gets worse.

The next time the cameras are on, Tony makes absolutely no attempt to be subtle about the fact that you’re his now.

Like the moment in the kitchen when you’re making coffee, and he walks in, shirtless, hair still messy from sleep.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You tense for half a second, eyes flicking to the camera set up on the counter. “Tony—”

“What?” he hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I can’t say good morning to my girlfriend?”

Your face heats. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

The internet LOSES IT.

"TONY CASUALLY SHOWING UP SHIRTLESS TO CUDDLE HER?? I’M IN SHAMBLES."

"They’re acting like a real couple now. This is NOT a drill."

"Petition to make sure Tony is shirtless in every episode from now on."

Or the time you’re sitting on the couch, working on your tablet, and Tony just flops down, draping himself across your lap.

“Tony,” you sigh, adjusting your grip on the tablet. “I’m working.”

He looks up at you with that damn smirk. “I’m cuddling. Way more important.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Your lips twitch, but you refuse to indulge him. “Debatable.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, you wound me.”

The cameras catch it all—the way you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair despite your protests, the way he practically purrs under your touch, the way you smile just a little when you think no one is looking.

They eat it up.

"HIM LAYING IN HER LAP. THIS IS PEAK ROMANCE."

"You’re telling me Tony Stark went from billionaire playboy to a man who begs for cuddles? I LOVE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT."

"The way she plays it cool but is clearly obsessed with him? Relatable."

It’s not just the cuddling. It’s the stolen kisses, the lingering touches, the casual intimacy of a couple that has been circling each other for years and is finally allowed to have each other.

And Tony? Tony is having the time of his life.

He lives to fluster you on camera.

Like when you’re organizing his schedule in the office, completely focused, and he suddenly leans in, whispering in your ear, “You looked really good in my bed this morning.”

You choke on absolutely nothing. “Tony—”

“What?” He’s grinning, utterly unrepentant. “Just making an observation.”

You shove a folder at him. “Sign this before I kill you.”

His laughter follows you down the hall.

"THE WAY SHE CHOKED. HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING."

"Did he just CONFIRM they sleep together? Sir, have mercy."

"Tony Stark is officially the clingiest boyfriend in existence, and I respect that."

Despite the teasing, despite the relentless public scrutiny, it’s good.

Better than you expected.

The realization hits you on a slow morning, when the sun is barely up and your body is still heavy with sleep.

You don’t even think as you roll out of bed, stretching lazily before heading toward the kitchen for coffee. The floor is cool against your bare feet, the oversized shirt you’re wearing—Tony’s, of course—falling mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess, your eyes half-closed, and you let out a soft yawn as you step into the kitchen.

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

It’s the cameraman again. The same poor guy who accidentally caught your first kiss with Tony.

You blink at him. He blinks at you.

There’s a beat of silence before it clicks in your sleepy brain.

“Shit.”

You spin on your heel, all but sprinting back to the bedroom.

Tony is still sprawled across the bed, barely awake, his hair sticking up in every direction. He cracks one eye open as you dive under the covers, groaning.

“Uh… good morning?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You grab a pillow and shove your face into it. “I forgot about the cameras.”

There’s a pause. Then, a rustling of sheets as Tony shifts closer, draping an arm over your back. “Okay… and?”

You groan. “I walked out there wearing just your shirt.”

Silence. Then—

Tony cackles.

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “This is not funny.”

“This is hilarious,” he corrects, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn. I wish I’d seen it.”

You smack his chest. “Focus, Tony! That footage is out there.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t air.”

But the incident sticks with you.

Because the truth is, you and Tony don’t have much privacy anymore.

The show has been fun—chaotic, ridiculous, but fun. And yet, it’s always there. The cameras catch everything—the teasing, the bickering, the moments when Tony pulls you into his lap just because he can now, the late nights spent tangled up in each other, and even the mornings when you wake up to find him watching you with something terrifyingly soft in his eyes.

Some moments are meant to be just for you.

And that’s when you know.

It’s time to end The Stark Reality.

Tony doesn’t even hesitate when you bring it up.

“Done,” he says easily, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s wrap it up.”

There’s a finality to it that makes your chest ache. The show has been his, in a way—one of his crazy ideas, something he threw himself into because he loves the attention, the spotlight. But he’s willing to let it go.

For you.

The last episode airs a week later.

And of course, Tony makes sure it goes out with a bang.

The final scene is classic Tony. He’s sitting on the couch, arms draped over the back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” he begins, looking straight into the camera. “This is it. The end of The Stark Reality.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for dramatic effect.

“Or is it?”

You, sitting beside him, roll your eyes. “Tony.”

“What?” He gestures vaguely. “I’m just saying. Maybe the next time you see us, it’ll be in the documentary about our wedding.”

Your soul leaves your body.

The internet erupts.

"WEDDING?? HELLO?? THEY’VE BEEN DATING FOR TWO MONTHS??"

"TONY STARK, YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT AND LEAVE."

"Blink twice if you need help, Y/N."

And it doesn’t stop there.

“Or,” Tony continues, completely unfazed by your scandalized expression, “maybe another season of The Stark Reality… with our kids.”

You choke on air. “Tony.”

“Hey,” he says, throwing his hands up. “People love a good family reality show. Gotta give the fans what they want.”

The show ends with you smacking him with a pillow as he cackles.

"TONY, STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS."

"IS SHE PREGNANT?? IS THIS A HINT?? I NEED ANSWERS."

"Manifesting a Stark wedding and mini Starks immediately."

The reaction is insane.

Theories explode overnight. People analyze everything—the way Tony said our wedding, the way he casually mentioned kids, the way you covered your face in embarrassment but didn’t deny anything.

Some are convinced you’re already engaged. Others think you’re secretly pregnant. A few believe Tony is just being Tony—chaotic, dramatic, and completely unserious.

But you know better.

Because when the cameras stop rolling, when it’s just you and him curled up in bed that night, he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “I was kinda serious.”

You shift, tilting your head to look at him. “About what?”

He smirks. “Marrying you. The kids. The whole thing.”

Your breath catches. “Tony—”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand. “It’s only been two months. But let’s be real, sweetheart. This thing between us?” His fingers trace absent circles on your back. “It’s been happening for years.”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding.

“Just… something to think about,” he says, voice softer now. “No pressure.”

And you realize—he means it.

Tony Stark, the man who once ran from commitment like it was a ticking bomb, is ready for this.

For you.

You press a kiss to his jaw, your chest warm with something terrifyingly close to forever.

And for the first time, the cameras aren’t there to capture it.

Just the way it should be.

part 2 anyone ?

[bluemantics]

the art of tending

Keith has a lot of scars. Some are more visible than others, but Lance makes sure each one receives the proper care that it requires. In the morning, as he sweeps into the kitchen with languid stretching, he slides up to the counter beside his love. Ever the early-riser, Keith smiles at him as he scrambles eggs. 

“Good morning, Lance.” Keith isn’t one for pet names, which never matters— the way he says Lance is enough. It echoes in the crisp morning air, traveling out through the ajar windows. 

It’s too early for words, so Lance cradles Keith’s jawline in his hand. He relishes in the feeling of his wedding band pressing softly against Keith’s scarred cheek for a moment before pressing a kiss into its slight ridges. His husband hums, content. 

They linger in mornings, now. And both of them are endlessly thankful for the ability to wake up slowly, together. 

Throughout their days on Earth, teaching occupies a large sum of their time. The students at the Garrison are brilliant. Lance has a fondness for one girl in particular, a 16-year-old named Vidhi who loves the simulator and loves pranks even more. He scolds her, of course, in an attempt to not be obvious with his favorites. Still, she knows that she can always come to him. It’s a source of pride for Lance. 

As wonderful as they are, they can also be… challenging. Lance is grading papers when Keith storms into his empty classroom at lunchtime. He throws himself into the chair opposite Lance with a drawn-out huff, dramatically leaning forward on the desk. 

“Carlo, again?” Lance doesn’t even look up, continuing to work. 

“He’s skipping math. I asked him about it, and he said that he’d rather fly, and that he doesn’t like the other kids. In less polite words,” Keith explains, balling up his hand in a fist. “I want to be there for him, I do, but he isn’t ever there for himself. It’s so—“ 

“Oh, Keith,” Lance clucks his tongue, drawing a glare out of his beloved. 

“Don’t do that,” Keith complains. “Just say what you have to say.”

“Carlo is a trouble kid right? Always does what he wants? Kinda a lone wolf?” Lance levels an unimpressed look at Keith. 

“Yeah?” Keith raises an eyebrow, clearly confused and frustrated.

“So, he’s like you, babe.” A range of emotions flash over Keith’s face. Indignation morphs into thoughtfulness before settling on realization. 

“Oh, shit.” He pushes back his bangs, eyes wide, and looks down at his hands with panic. “How am I supposed to even start with him? He’ll see right through me, and I am not equipped to handle an emotionally unstable kid. This is a horrible—“

Lance grabs Keith’s hand, forcing him to meet his eyes. “This is a wonderful idea. Who better to help him than a person who understands him? Who will treat him like an equal?”

“I don’t know where to begin, Lance,” Keith whispers. Lance rubs his thumb over Keith’s knuckles.

“Yes, you do.” He uses his free hand to turn around the frame on his desk. In it is a picture of the team, all smiling proudly while hugging one another. Lance taps the photo. 

“Shiro.” Keith follows his gesture, grabbing the photo and looking at it contemplatively. 

“Shiro,” Lance agrees, watching him take that information in. “You don’t have to be perfect, red. God knows Shiro wasn’t— he was just as young as we are now— but if you can do what he did for you… that’s powerful stuff.”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles, glancing back up at Lance. “Okay, yeah. I can try.”

“I know this is hard,” Lance tells him. “There is no other person who could do this for Carlo, Keith. Not a one. You’ve got everything you need, and if you ever need help, you can always call him. You lived it first. Now pass it on.”

Keith stands abruptly and places the frame down on Lance’s desk, determination set into every muscle of his frame. “I’ll talk to him.” He swivels on his foot, turning to fast-walk out. 

“Up-bup-bup! You’re forgetting something!” Lance calls over. 

“Oh, yeah.” Keith grins, spins back to his partner, and draws him up into a kiss. It’s as grateful as it is fleeting. 

It leaves Lance’s heart fizzing with energy as Keith dashes out, adding a new pep to his grading. Lance is always relieved when he can soothe the pain from Keith’s oldest scars, the ones on his mind.

Eventually, when they turn in for the night, Keith will wince at the pull of his aching muscles. He’ll twist in their bed, trying to get comfortable until Lance finally gestures for him to move in front. Then, with quiet and calming hands, Lance will rub out the soreness from a long day of training and hard work. He makes sure to gently pull aside Keith’s long hair when necessary, lets his fingers skirt over the hard lines of Keith’s back. 

Keith will lean into his touch, as always. They’ll talk, voices long and low, about everything. Their classes. Hearing from teammates. A hard workout. An annoying call from family. Even, in their most difficult moments, they might mention missing some aspects of the war.

Those kinds of discussions are only reserved for nighttime. When the air from the windows is chilled, the stars are up instead of around, and Lance’s hands are tracing lines across Keith’s ribs and his shoulders. He maps out every scar from memory, pulls out every memory from each scar. 

Over time, Lance will lose his ability to speak, capable of just monosyllabic words. 

Keith will notice. He can never stop noticing. His eyes will wander over his shoulder, see his husband’s lids droop, and, with the grace of a much less rugged man, will ease Lance slowly to lie down. 

In a matter of seconds, Keith will wrap around Lance. They’ll close their eyes, limbs tangled, hearts thudding slowly in time. 

No “I love you” needs to be said when every action, every tender caress and guiding word, leads them to the same place day after day. 

[noirsdoll]

just a quick drabble abt reader picking up prison!jimmy from jail!

(for context this is an au where he went to jail for what he did to anya. cw for mentioned rape/abuse and smoking)

His hair could do with a trim.

Jimmy’s thrown it into a bun that’s more of a limp knot than anything— jagged strands frame his constant grimace and splotchy stick-and-pokes peek out from under his collar. 

He put on muscle, it surprises you. The man’s only ever been a deadbeat to you, you’re shocked his eyes even had the strength to look at a barbell. The fat jokes you brainstormed on the way here promptly die on your tongue. 

There’s a nasty split in his lip and a bruise frames his cheekbone like crappy blush. He's wearing the same leather jacket that he had on when he got arrested, it's gray on the shoulders from water damage. Ratty jeans and even rattier sneakers— at least he’s not sagging. 

The automated slammer doors roll shut behind him with a beep. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet and pretending like you’re not the only one standing here to pick him up. 

“Over here, sweetie.” You snap your fingers at him like you’re calling a dog with a toy in its mouth. “Hurry up— I’m double-parked.”

You turn without checking if he’s following you— Orpheus has nothing on you. His grunt of annoyance confirms there is a cat in your box. 

You pop your gum, rounding the hood to the driver’s seat. The keychains on your keys jingle as you unlock your car. It’s one more accident from falling apart, your wheel’s missing its horn and the entire radio unit’s been stolen. 

Spitting the gum onto the pavement, you slide in front of the wheel. Jimmy stands awkwardly outside the shotgun door— it’s still locked because you think it’s funny that he gets so annoyed when it is. 

Your shiny pumps stomp down on the gas and you pull out onto the street, clearly speeding along the barren road. Jimmy stares out the window with his arms crossed, giving you the silent treatment you expected. You watch the plains melt into shitty residential areas and the street lanes get more crowded. At a red light, you light one of your many cigarettes of the day. 

After a moment, he reaches for your cigarette like a greedy toddler, you swat his hand away without a glance. With the cigarette tucked firmly between your lips, you complete a two-handed turn onto your driveway. 

Jimmy kicks over one of your lawn gnomes on your way to the door— for looking at him funny, you guess. You pay it no mind.

“Your room’s exactly how you left it,” you say, tossing your keys by the door.

When he doesn't answer, you turn to face him. “What, so you’re just not gonna say anything to me now?”

“You could’ve paid my bail,” he says quietly, malice tinting his voice.

“You could’ve not gotten arrested.” You lean on the kitchen counter and light a fresh cigarette as soon as the current one fizzles out. “God, Jimmy, do something with your life, why don’t you?”

He stands there on the other side of the room, staring at the ground, silent. The way he gets when you’re right and have talked him into a corner. You’re angry now, continuing the tirade.

“Two years, Jimmy. Christ—,”  You run a frustrated hand through your hair. “Do you expect people to always just clean up after you?”

“I didn’t ask you to wait.”

“But you wanted me to, right?”

He snorts. “You act like you know me.”

“I clearly don’t! You got that girl pregnant, Jim. That poor fucking girl, God, I— I can’t believe you.”

His eyebrows twitch in surprise. “She got pregnant?”

You nod. “She kept the baby. The kid’s sixteen months old.”

“Oh, and you two are friends now?” Jimmy asks cooly.

“The least I could do was help out after what you did.” You scoff. ”Why’d you even do it in the first place? Am I not enough for you?”

Jimmy half-rolls his eyes. “Did I ever say that?”

You can’t believe this is the man you waited for all this time. “Don’t you feel ashamed? Remorseful? Anything?”

“I was fucking drunk, okay? I don’t wanna talk about this again—”

Your eyes go wide in shock. “Being drunk doesn’t make you stick your dick in the first pussy you see! It doesn’t make you strangle a girl half to death!” You bury your face in your hands, tears swimming in your vision. “God, Jim. Fuck. Fuck!”

Jimmy walks closer, draping his arms around you. “Don’t… cry, please.” It’s said with as much empathy as he can garner— a net total of zero.

“I shouldn’t be here right now. I fucking shouldn’t.” You look up at him with glossy eyes. Your cigarette blazes out in your limp hand, all but forgotten. 

Your hand cups his face, running your thumb over his prickly stubble, catching on his fresh shaving nicks. He tried to shave for you today. He tried.

You look away. “I fucking hate you. I hate you.”

“I know.”

[meritski]

no (hyoid) bone to pick • heizou x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of suicide, murder, blood, and corpses (nothing very detailed but please be aware) , reader is a forensic scientist

“Regarding the victim’s past mental health problems and the medicine she has been using for the past months, her suicide can be explained by the depression she’s been experiencing. The divorce must have taken a toll on her. Poor soul, may she rest in peace.”

Heizou gave the man in front of him a close-eyed smile, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all. ‘Bullshit.’ The interview was not going to his liking, it seemed. 

“Ah, I see. Thank you for your input and contribution.”

The man’s eyes lit up immediately. 

“So, May I take my lea—”

“Ah, there is my favorite doctor!”

Heizou stood up quickly, leaving the man hanging in the room while not batting an eye. Intentionally, of course.

On the other hand, hearing his loud and somewhat energetic voice, you sighed while arranging the papers that were in your hands. You seemed tired, he noted. And worst of all, you seemed in a bad mood. Ah.

“Hey.”

It was a simple, curt response. One that he expected but didn’t like it nonetheless. He decided he wasn’t going to dampen your mood by wasting your time even more like he usually did. 

“Got any news?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Not good ones, I suppose?”

“Well, good for the investigation.”

“Oh, they must be bad then.”

“It’s probably not a suicide,”

Hearing him hum in acknowledgment, you sighed and thought: ‘Of course, he’d guess’ and continued. 

“Their hyoid bone is fractured and they are past 30, which means their bones are not flexible at all, also since they don’t weigh much— It’s unlikely for the hanging to cause a fracture. So I’d say it’s most likely to be a…”

You were giving a piece of important information while his thoughts were having none of it.

‘Are they rambling? Cute.’

“Yeah, guessed so.”

“I could guess you’d guess, detective. I am afraid that’s all I got. I wasn’t even allowed in the medical examination room, and the autopsy reports are—”

“Whoa, you sneaked a peek for me? My my, aren’t you adorable—”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, his presence was comforting. After being surrounded by dead bodies and the smell of blood all day— his cologne was refreshing in a way. And maybe his personality was also helping you to clear your head. But you’d never say that to his face and feed his ego even more.

You let out the breath you weren’t aware of holding and spoke again,

“Can you get me the blood samples of their ex-husband?”

“Ah, so we are on the same page. Though I don’t know why you need it, of course.”

This was surprisingly going well; you were waiting for him to play around a bit first. Well, it clearly saved you from the headache.

“Thanks,”

Finally, your eyes met his. Ah, now looking at him closely, he seemed tired too. Though it didn’t affect his smile, his eyes were telling a different story.

“...want to grab a drink?”

Okay, maybe the tiredness didn’t affect his smile, but your suggestion clearly did wonders because you could’ve sworn his eyes shined at the sound of it.

“Lead the way, then.”

He extended his hand to you. You looked at it for a few seconds before placing the reports on it. You opened your phone and looked at the time, all while avoiding his eyes, the words slipped between your lips,

“The café or the vending machine?”

 “...vending machine.”

His tone sounded like a disappointed child who was pouting. 

Good thing you didn’t look at him because, boy, was he sulking. He mentally sighed and followed after you.

‘So much for wanting them to hold my hand.’

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ notes!

☆ heizou is my baby, i love him sm <3

☆ not proofread (again), so it might get rewritten later! (it probably won’t, anyway)

☆ why do i study medicine?

☐ money

☐ my family forced me to do so

☐ because i want to help people

☒ to write fanfics based on what i’ve learned in class

[eyejest]

Happy Valentine's day everyone (coming from the aro guy but hey platonic love is love too)

I felt like drawing Skaterlight angst again... fork found in kitchen BUT I also wrote a fanfiction for this in the style of one of Lampert's journal entries, it's under the cut (1514 words)

I apologize if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, I wrote this in one go and wanted this entire thing posted before midnight

Dear Journal,

It’s currently day 3766, or three-thousand seven-hundred sixty-six. But looking at the clock, it seems like it’s getting close to midnight. If I hurry with finishing this entry it will still be day 3766. It doesn’t matter for now, I can correct it later if I was wrong.

Today is valentine’s day. It’s a day to celebrate love, usually romantic but I’ve heard some folks celebrate it for platonic reasons. Anyways, I’ve seen a lot of couples in Rokea today. I thought more people would be busy celebrating, going on dates, having fun with their loved ones. But it seems like I was wrong. Maybe some people enjoy going to Rokea for a date, I’m not sure. I’ve seen a fair share of pregnant people and families as well. The couples that didn’t have children quite yet seemed to buy a lot of things. They were probably moving into bigger homes for their growing family. The families that already had children were a lot to deal with. Some of them kept their kids on a short leash or sent them to the daycare area, but some just let them run wild. What a nuisance. I kept my distance for the most part, I didn’t want any of the children to get dirt or snot into my system. When there weren’t any children in the plots with toys and plushies, I cleaned them and organized them. I remember sorting some when the store was about to close when a child went up to me, she couldn’t have been any older than 7. “Miss?” She asked. I was quite startled because I didn’t see her. I was turned around. “I can’t find my mom and dad, have you seen them?”. I put on the friendliest tone my voice box would allow me. I find children to be quite annoying, but she was clearly worried. “I don’t know where they are, I don’t even know what they look like. Sorry.” The girl started to tear up. I got worried about the tears and snot her crying would produce so I had to think quickly. “Maybe we can go to the cashier. They could make an announcement so your parents know you’re safe and by the register.” That seemed to calm her down, thankfully. “Maybe…” she sobbed. I thought for a second and then said she should come with me so she doesn’t get lost. She seemed skeptical, stranger danger and all that. But I told her I’m an employee, which is sort of true, and that made her trust me a bit. “Follow me, but don’t touch me.” We started walking towards the exit where all the registers are. She was quiet for a while which I enjoyed. But then she started asking questions, great. “Have you ever lost your mom and dad?”. I sighed and told her I was made in a factory since I’m a lamp… and a robot too I guess. She seemed confused and asked if I ever had a family. “Well, the employees are kind of my family. I think. They took care of me when I needed it but nothing more. They didn’t have to do anything fancy, though. I managed just fine by myself.” “That sounds boring,” she mumbled. “You never ever had fun before?”. I was hesitant to reply, but I didn’t want her to run away or cry. “I used to have a best friend. But he’s sick and at home right now.” I thought about it some more. “We used to go bowling together.” The kid got excited. “I LOVE bowling! Me and mom and dad go bowling a lot! Mom says that's where she met dad!” I felt a bit melancholic about it and just replied with a simple nod. The kid became quiet again, she probably noticed now was not the time for this amount of chitchat. We arrived at the register, her parents were already there and were about to ask the cashier to make an announcement. They seemed to be very relieved as their child ran into their direction to hug them. The father went up to me. “Thank you so much, miss. She’s not usually like this. We were worried she was kidnapped or ran out of the building!” I waved it off: “No problem. I’m glad I could prevent any further panic.” The mother turned to her child: “What should you say to the nice lady?” “Thank you.” The kid said quietly. “I like your necklace a lot.” Right, my pendant. I forgot I was wearing that thing, it was a gift from Kasper. “Oh, thank you.” I said back. “Have a good rest of your evening.” I told the family as I walked away, the kid waved for a bit before they headed out.

The store closed down and the lights shut off. I had to turn my head on to see anything at all. I just wanted to go to a quiet and isolated place where I could calm down and rest. It’s been a while since I went to the outskirts of Rokea so I went to one of the pillars. I think that’s where me and Kasper met for the first time when he got lost. I usually just rest where it's neat and tidy but I felt nostalgic I suppose. Goodness, the plots around here were a mess. I don’t think anyone was here in ages, not even the employees. I started to clean up a play plot first. It had a heart lamp shining a soft pink light around the plot, a pullout couch, a rug and various plushies laying around. I just wanted everything to be over quickly. As I was pulling out the couch to see if it needed dusting I noticed something, a letter. Geez, that thing must be old, it’s all wrapped and it smelled like a couch. No way someone put this here today. I turned it around, and there was something written on the envelope. “To: Lampy”. I couldn’t believe my vision sensor at first. Lampy. That's what Kasper used to call me, it was a really cheesy nickname and sometimes it annoyed me a bit. I sat down on the rug. It was so dusty I regretted it instantly but I couldn’t help but lay down shortly after. Me and Kasper sat on this rug when we first met…  and the couch because he couldn’t sit still even if his life depended on it. That's when we were up all night talking about life. We sometimes went into this corner of Rokea if we wanted to stay in here and just talk without the employees finding us. He used to steal so many snacks from the cafeteria to eat during those talking sessions, kinda makes me wonder what it all tasted like. But I digress, I was holding the letter in my hand for a while, wondering if I should open it up or not for a solid thirty minutes. I decided to open it up. It read as follows: “Dear Lampy Haha, I know you can’t stand that nickname, sorry not sorry! It’s valentine’s day… well, not as of me writing this but it’s the day I’m giving this to you. You’re one of the best things to  have happen in my life. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me, how much we laugh together, how many things we can tell each other that we can’t tell anyone else, how much sorrow we shared and learned to live with together. IDK, I’m not good with words I suck when it comes to writing. That's why I’ve gotten an F in English on almost every test. I’ve never really had the guts to tell you this directly, but would you like to be my valentine? I’m not sure if we’re dating, heck, if you even have any feelings for me. But maybe giving you this letter can convince you to give this all a shot, we don’t have much to lose anyways. I love you so much Kasper”

I didn’t feel sad, I didn’t feel angry or anything like that after reading that letter. I just felt kinda numb. He almost confessed but probably hid it to give it to me later. I don’t know if he was just being stupid and forgot, or if he was too much of a coward to take the last step. I never told him either. Not because I was scared, but I wanted to let him take that step. It was so obvious, anyone with even a single brain cell could tell he had a crush on me. I wanted him to take that step to realize that he does have control over his life despite how many people around him made him feel like he didn’t.

I don’t know what I’m saying, I don’t want to get too emotional right now. It’s gonna be midnight in a few minutes anyways and I don’t feel like correcting anything. I’m going to call it a night, goodbye.