#i tried asking him what time he wants to leave in the morning and he basically just said idk idc and walked away from me

[bloomiize]

i'll be watching

pairing → jay x yn

warnings → smut, THERES A PLOT KINDA, stalking behaviour, he is OBSESSED, hes still a """"gentleman""", dom jay, fem reader, dubcon, reader gets drunk, coercion

wc: ~3.5k

synopsis → One smile was all it took. The moment your eyes glanced at him, he knew. Jay had already found your full name, your age, where you worked, and exactly where you lived. You just didn’t know you loved him yet and that's okay. He was going to make sure you felt it, too.

You were always quiet, minding your own business and in your own world. It was peaceful, unbothered and drama-free. Juggling a full course load and working at the cafe, you didn't have the time to care about all the guys who tried to get your attention. A compliment here and there, maybe a little note slip on the counter with a phone number on it.

"I have work."

"This assignment is due tomorrow."

"My schedule is packed for this weekend."

You say over and over again. Some would nod their heads understandingly and leave. Others got upset, accusing you of being a tease, wasting their time. But it was always the truth. You just didn’t care to date. It wasn’t a priority. Never was.

The cafe became a soft space for you, and it was a routine you enjoyed. Coffee, latte, baked goods and the warm hum of happy customers filled your days when you weren't busy daydreaming or studying.

"Hi! What can I get you?" You asked, voice light and shining with infinite possibilities. The greeting rolling off your tongue like a script. You didn’t glance up this time, opting to refill the cupcake stand that was being sold at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

"Coffee. Black." The voice was low. Rushed, like he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

You finally looked up, and what a sight it was.

Neat, dark hair. Sharp features that didn't look real. His hands fiddling with— what looks to be— an expensive watch. He didn’t look like the usual customers who came in between classes or after lectures. He looked out of place. Cold, quiet and probably had way too much money.

Then he looked up, staring right at you.

You gave him a warm smile, polite and practiced— the same one you offered to every customer. But his gaze didn’t soften. It stayed locked on yours, curious, unwavering, like he could see past the surface. Like he was trying to figure something out about you that even you didn’t know yet.

When you called out his order, he grabbed it from the counter and left with a quick "Thank you" slipping from his lips. What an interesting guy, wasn't he? And you continued your shift, forgetting all about the strange man. But he never forgot about you.

Jay hated cafes.

Overpriced coffee. Pretentious menus. The same recycled “minimalist” aesthetic with fake plants and Instagrammable drinks that tasted like burnt water and regret. He took his coffee seriously—dark, rich, and brewed with precision. Not watered down through shit using a machine that's probably already rusting.

But today was different.

His morning meeting had been moved earlier without notice, and he didn’t have time to grind the beans himself, didn’t get to hear the satisfying sound of it being poured, didn’t get to take that first quiet sip in the dark comfort of his kitchen. Instead, he was running late. Annoyed. And in desperate need of caffeine.

What a waste, he thought bitterly, eyes scanning the ugly brown exterior of a small cafe on the corner. The obnoxious chalkboard screamed “OPEN!” and jutted out onto the sidewalk like it was begging for attention. Tacky.

Still, he stepped inside, the little chime above the door making his eye twitch. The place was warm, smelled faintly of cinnamon and espresso. Surprisingly, he didn't find bright lights or fake plants or Instagrammable murals. He joined the short line, checking his watch every few seconds.

This better be quick.

He was already thinking about how he’d never let Heeseung schedule his meetings again when something shifted.

A voice.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

You.

The barista behind the counter.

Eyes that shimmered with something— curiosity? Joy? Maybe it was just the reflection of the morning sun, but it caught him off guard. You had a warm smile, a soft voice that was so effortlessly kind it almost irritated him. No fake chipper tone. No forced customer service greeting. You looked real.

His mouth moved before he could think. “Coffee. Black.”

And for the first time that morning, he thought about something other than killing Heeseung.

He kept visiting after that. The cup you made him didn't taste disgusting, he was pleasantly surprised. But it wasn’t the coffee that brought him back the next day. Or the day after that. At first, he sat by the window, pretending to scroll through emails or read a news article. Something to excuse the fact that he hadn’t taken a single sip of the drink cooling beside him.

He was watching you.

The way you tied your apron without thinking, the way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear when you were focused on something. The soft laugh you gave when your coworker said something stupid. It annoyed him how much of your attention everyone else got.

So he listened.

He learned that your favourite pastry was the chocolate croissant, that you hated oat milk, and that you were taking some brutal university class you always complained about on Mondays. He would do all your work for you if it meant you never had to lift a finger. Anything for you to smile.

He learned you only worked mornings on weekdays and full days on weekends. He picked up the rhythm of your schedule with unsettling ease, pretending as if it were his own. Jay started telling his assistant he'd be working remotely more often—from home, he said. But home wasn’t his apartment anymore. It was the window seat at the café.

Your café.

It was a calm morning, he was still watching— still listening. As he sat at his usual corner table pretending to answer emails, he heard your name.

"Y/N, can you grab another box of lids from the back?"

Y/N. It echoed in his head like a siren's curse.

His fingers twitched around his cup. How could your coworker say something so sacred without a care in the world? It annoyed him. But that was all he needed; Jay had a name now. A real one. The moment he heard it, something settled deep in his chest. Like he unlocked a new level. As if knowing it gave him some invisible thread that tied you to him—whether you realized it or not. You let him know your name.

You hadn’t looked at him since that first day. You didn’t remember him. He was just another customer, a regular who always ordered a black coffee. You smiled politely like you did to everyone else. That irked him more than he expected. How could you show that to everyone? It was only supposed to be for him.

But it was okay. He was patient. He'd wait for you forever.

You didn’t know you were his yet. But you would eventually, he’d make sure of it.

You were already running late to class—your shift had dragged longer than expected, and your manager needed help with the register changeover. You said yes, of course. You always did.

Then the kid happened.

Sugar-high, giggling, and sticky-handed, he barreled straight into you as you stepped out from behind the counter. Your drink slipped from your fingers, crashing against your front, staining your white t-shirt in a swirl of espresso and foam. You laughed it off with his mom as she scolded him for being a handful, apologizing profusely while dabbing at your clothes with napkins.

Back in the kitchen, you tried scrubbing it out with soap and water, but the mess clung to the fabric like it belonged there. You were soaked. And the coffee smell followed you like a curse. You had ten minutes to make it to your lecture, barely enough time to breathe, let alone run home and change.

You stepped out of the café with your head down, already mentally preparing your apology for walking into class late and causing a scene. Suddenly, you hit something solid. No, not something. Someone.

You stumbled, arms flailing slightly as the impact caught you off guard, but before you could trip, two hands grabbed your arms. Steady. Warm. Strong.

A chest. Broad. A body, hard with muscle beneath his shirt. It was hard not to stare for a bit.

“Careful,” a low voice murmured above you.

You looked up. One of the regulars at the cafe— Jack? Jake? Jay? His name was something along those lines. His eyes flicked down to your soaked top, his brows pinched together, like he was in pain. How odd.

You scrambled for words. "I'm so sorry!" you blurted, looking up and meeting his gaze with wide, apologetic eyes. That nearly killed him.

"Your next cup is on me, but I really have to go! Point me out next time at the counter," You say, embarrassment taking over your face. You back up, getting ready to sprint across campus.

He almost let you go. Almost.

“Do you… need a sweater?” he called after you, his voice lower, more careful. “For the stain. On your shirt.”

Suddenly, you're standing in front of him and he's taking off his sweater. A neat navy blue quarter zip, as he lifted it over his head, you got a glimpse of his midriff. Tone, perfectly sculpted abs. You ripped your gaze away, masking the awkward silence with a cough. He handed it to you with care and told you to keep it.

"I'll give it back next time i see you I swear!" You said running off waving at him with a smiling. There it was, that smile. Only for him.

He replayed the moment multiple times in his head. How you smelled of vanilla and dark roast. How you felt so warm and soft, his mind often wondered if you would feel the same under him. Jay palmed his dick night after night. How your shirt clung so tightly to your chest. He could see everything. And the way you smiled at him had him unravelling on his sheets. Moving up and down, breathlessly saying your name like a chant.

Life was a blur— assignments, lectures, shifts— and the sweater ended up in your closet. You wore it to work the next week, not thinking twice. At the cafe, Jay stood in line ahead of you. He turned, eyes landing on the sweater, a slow smile spreading. “So, you’re still wearing it.”

You spew out apologies and explanations but he let out a chuckle. Low. Deep. It vibrated in you.

“Keep it,” he laughed. “Looks like it’s yours now.” His gaze lingered. “Let me take you out, I'm sure you're tired of coffee by now.” His tone was light, but his eyes were focused on you. He was handsome, kind, and you basically stole his sweater, this was the least you could do to make up for it.

“Sure,” you smiled and wrote your number on his cup with a small smiley face beside it.

That date turned into hours of talking. Jay was funny, attentive, remembering tiny details like your love for plants and how you refused to allow any fake ones in the cafe, fighting the manager if you had to. You didn’t know he’d studied you online, memorizing your posts, your likes, the plushy bear you’d mentioned wanting. He knew you more than you knew yourself.

The second date was perfect: a park walk, dinner at a cozy bistro. The third was a movie night at your place, laughing together with his arm around you. He never crossed a line unless you wanted him to, always checking if you're okay with whatever he's doing, whether it be a hug or a light kiss on your lips. Jay was a nice guy; he would never do anything weird, maybe that's why you were so comfortable with him. He liked everything you liked. He listened to you rant about your professors and classmates. It was like he was made for you.

By the fourth, you knew you liked him. Jay was perfect—he opened doors, never let you pay, always drove you home and walked you back to your door. When he handed you the plush bear you’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago, your eyes lit up.

“You remembered,” you beamed, pulling it into your arms.

“Of course I did,” he said, watching you like you hung the stars.

You didn’t notice the glint in the bear’s right eye, a tiny lens tucked behind the button. He wanted to keep seeing you smile. Even when you thought you were alone.

At night, when you changed, he was there, on his screen, heart racing. Jay sat in his darkened apartment, the laptop screen casting a sickly glow across his face. The plushy’s camera feed showed you in your room, taking off your shirt after a long day. His breath caught, uneven, as you unhooked your bra, your breasts spilling free, soft and perfect under the lamp’s dim light. He licked his lips, imagining his tongue swirling over your nipples, sucking hard until they pebbled, leaving wet trails and purple marks across your chest. He wanted to bite, to claim every inch of you.

“God, Y/N,” he growled, voice thick with lust, leaning so close his nose nearly brushed the screen. If he stuck out his tongue he could taste it, he could taste you. His eyes devoured you—your delicate collarbone, the maddening curve of your waist, the way your hair draped over your shoulder like an invitation for him to hold your hair up. His hand was already in his pants, gripping himself, the ache unbearable, so needy. Your body was a fucking altar, and he was a starving worshipper.

He groaned as you bent to grab a tee, your breasts swaying slightly, the view sending a violent jolt through him. His strokes were frantic now, sloppy, his palm slick with precum. He pictured pinning you to the bed, spreading you open, licking every curve until you screamed his name. The thought of anyone else seeing you—your classmates, those café creeps—made his gut fill up with rage. “Mine, mine, mine,” he gasped, hips bucking as he came, hot and messy, splattering across his hand. He panted, eyes still locked on you slipping into bed, oblivious, his perfect obsession.

He wiped himself off, breath uneven, knowing you curl up with the plushy. His plushy. His eyes. He’d never let you go.

Jay invited you to his place for dinner, and you couldn’t say no. His apartment was stunning—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The table was set with candles, a spread of homemade pasta, and a bottle of red wine. “You cook?” you teased, impressed and honoured.

“Only for you, angel,” he said, pouring you a generous glass. His smile was warm, but his eyes burned with something darker, a need. He kept refilling your glass, his hand lingering on yours. “You deserve to take a break, Y/N. You work so hard.” He cooed.

The wine hit fast, warming your limbs, clouding your thoughts. Jay was charming, leaning close, his smile growing bigger. You giggled, head fuzzy, his voice smooth and low as he talked. By the third glass, the room tilted, your cheeks flushed, your body uncontrollable. He moved to the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come here love.” “You’re so… nice, Jay,” you mumbled, head lolling slightly, cheeks flushed. By the fourth glass, the room spun, your body heavy, limbs loose. Guilt clawed at you—he’d done so much, the dinner, the plushy, the sweater. You owed him, didn’t you? 

You stumbled, and he pulled you into his lap. His scent wrapped around you, intoxicating. He looked at you like you were his everything, and it felt too good, too warm, even as a faint voice screamed to leave. His hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, inching under your skirt. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, voice thick. “All soft and sweet, just for me.”

“Jay, I… I’m really drunk,” you slurred, trying to push his hand away, but your fingers were clumsy. Your head felt like clouds, the wine drowning out your senses. “Maybe I should… go home.”

“Shh, angel,” he cooed, fingers tightening, ignoring your weak protest. “You can’t leave me after all this, can you? You’re my special girl tonight.” His eyes locked on yours, intense, needy. “You trust me, don’t you? I’ve been so good to you.” 

Guilt twisted harder. He had been good—perfect, even. The sweater, the bear, the way he always showed up at the cafe with a smile. He was so kind and caring, always attentive to your needs. He never pushed any lines; you owed him this, right? Just this once. “Okay..” you whispered, voice small, embarrassed, your body betraying you as his touch sent shocks through you.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you deeply, his tongue and yours mixing perfectly, tasting the wine off your lips. He pushed you back on the couch, hands roaming all over you, tugging off your clothes with a rapid pace. “So fucking cute,” he murmured, unhooking your bra, lips grazing your collarbone. He smiled, sliding your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down. “Look at you,” he whispered, playing with your folds, finding you slick despite your confusion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? And you wanted to go home like this?” He circled your clit slowly, teasing, watching you squirm. “Yeah? You like that?”

“S’good,” you slurred, hips twitching, embarrassed but unable to stop the heat building in you. His praise felt like a drug—cute, perfect, his angel.

“Aw,” he teased, slipping two fingers inside, pumping gently, his thumb on your clit. “Do you think of me when you wear my sweater?” he asked, voice low, eyes glinting as if he didn’t already know the answer. He’s watched you do it countless times by now.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, voice shaky, picturing the cozy navy quarter-zip and how many times you’ve touched yourself while wearing it. He groaned, fingers curling. “So dirty,” he whispered, voice thick with approval. “My dirty little angel, thinking of me like that.” He moved faster, but when you whimpered, close to the edge, he stopped, pulling his fingers out, licking them clean while staring at you. “Not yet. I want to play with you longer.”

You whined, needy, head too foggy to argue, the alcohol was making everything feel lighter. “Jay, please,” you begged, barely coherent.

“Patience,” he chuckled, spreading your thighs wider. He didn’t wait long, his need overtook him. He shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, thick and heavy, the size making your eyes widen even through the drunken haze. “Jay, wait,” you slurred, panic flickering. “It’s… too big.”

“It’ll fit angel, it’ll fit,” he soothed, voice dripping with false gentleness, his hand rubbing your stomach as he lined himself up. “I’ll make it fit.” He pushed in, slow but relentless, stretching you, the burn making you cry out. You were wet, dripping even, yet he was still too big. “Hurts,” you whimpered, hands pushing weakly at his chest.

“I know, love,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his hand pressing your stomach, feeling the bulge where he filled you. “You’re taking me so well. My perfect fuckdoll.” He thrust slowly, savouring your whines, each whimper and gasp fueling him. “So cute like this, whimpering for me,” You were gone. Your head was dizzy and all you could do was moan his name out, gripping onto him like he could save you.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, your head lolling as the pain mixed with pleasure. “Too much,” you’re slurring, but your body arched into him, betraying you.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, thrusting deeper, still slow, watching the bulge in your stomach move. “My perfect girl, letting me have you like this. You owe me this, don’t you? After everything I’ve done for you.” His words sank into your drunken mind. You really did owe Jay everything. You nod barely understanding, just wanting to please him.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, picking up the pace slightly, his hand stroking your hair. “You feel so good, Y/N. Made for me.” He groaned, voice tightening. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You blinked, a flicker of clarity cutting through the fog. “Jay… condom?” you mumbled weakly, too drunk to care fully, the question more curiosity than concern.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he whispered, hand cupping your cheek, thrusting harder. “We’re gonna have such a good family. I’ll take care of you, always.” His hips snapped forward, and he came, hot and thick robes flooded inside you, groaning into your neck as he filled you, no hesitation. Like he planned this.

You whimpered, too fucked out and drunk to process, your body limp beneath him. He held you close, kissing your forehead, murmuring, “My perfect girl. You did so good.” You drifted off in his arms while he cleaned you up. What a gentleman.

a/n: jay being devious is my new favourite thing I fear... anyways I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! sorry for not posting for a bit I've been super busy so let me yap for a bit. i started my summer courses KILL ME and I just started my new job YAY! I have wayyy too many drafts rn LOL pls lmk what you think! comments and reblogs are appreciated I LOVE YOU GUYS! <3

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[lady-pug]

Lipstick Stamps

Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Word count: 3,4k

Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*

Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.

Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all. 

No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.

The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room. 

During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.

But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.

“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.

“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone. 

Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously. 

“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.

“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”

Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights. 

“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”

Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.

“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”

Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.

“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay. 

At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food. 

Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own. 

“You never get in the way, Bob.” 

His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor. 

“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic. 

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”

He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.

“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”

He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-

Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.

But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute. 

By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…

You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.

“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.

He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal. 

“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.

“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous. 

And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”

He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.

At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor. 

After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you. 

He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together. 

“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.

“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”

It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”

He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.

“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”

Your face fell in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.

“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”

He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.

Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.

“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.

As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.

“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.

Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then… 

He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he  removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…

Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.

“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”

Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.

“B-But it’s true.” 

A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.

“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”

Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.

Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”

His entire body was trembling with restraint. 

“I don’t deserve it.” he rasped out, scared “I don’t deserve you.”

Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek. 

“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.

He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.

“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.

Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.

“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”

His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” 

Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.

“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.

All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.

He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.

Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring. 

“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.

“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?

“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.

He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end. 

“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.  

The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.

“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment. 

Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.

“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”

“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips. 

“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”

Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.

“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.

“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.

You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely. 

“You deserve it, Bob.”

It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.

“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”

[snooperzz]

Back on You

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x female!Reader/OC Word count: 5.9k Warnings: angst, reader/oc has self esteem issues Note: this is written in third person & reader/oc is unnamed! you can also read this story on ao3 :) Summary/Excerpt: She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him. (i.e., A former member of the Guardians of the Galaxy, now a member of the New Avengers, has a crush on Bob.)

They had cornered her. 

“They” being Yelena and Ava. She had just gotten out of training with Bucky, and all she wanted to do was take a shower and disappear into her room for the rest of the day. But, of course, Yelena and Ava spotted her raiding the pantry and had now made it their top priority to make her talk about the one subject she avoided at all costs.

Bob .

Not that it was really his fault. He was just possibly the sweetest person that she had never met, and he unfortunately was not hard to look at. It was embarrassing, really, how often she was caught sneaking glimpses at him from across the room. It seemed like everyone was onto her. Well, everyone except for Bob, thankfully. He was oblivious, from what she could tell, and she did not plan to do anything to mess that up.

They were good friends. Ever since the New Avengers were announced, and she found herself moving from her closet-sized apartment into the Watchtower, she and Bob had been spending more and more time together. But that was just out of convenience. It wasn’t her fault his room was right across the hall from her own, and they just so happened to leave their rooms at the same time every morning. And it definitely wasn’t her fault they developed a habit of concocting smoothies together each morning, testing out new, sometimes questionable, combinations (this morning’s was strawberries, bananas, and jalapenos).

She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him .

So, she avoided the topic altogether. At least, she tried to. Just like she was doing right now, shoving whatever snacks she laid her eyes on into her arms in an attempt to get out of the impending conversation with Yelena and Ava as fast as possible.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Yelena teased, causing her to turn around. She could already feel her face turning hot.

“You’re ravaging this place like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Ava commented. “Which I know isn’t true because I was forced to try the disgusting smoothie you and Bob made this morning.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she muttered, placing a family-sized box of cheez its back onto the shelf.

“Speaking of Bob,” Yelena began, giving her a knowing look. “How is he?”

She shrugged, jostling the remaining snacks in her arms. “I don’t know. You should ask him.”

They both looked at her suspiciously. Then at each other. Then back at her.

“We just noticed you guys have been spending a lot of time together,” Ava hinted, raising her eyebrows. “So we thought you might know.”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning. I’ve been training with Bucky all day, so I’m starved,” she laughed awkwardly. 

They groaned at her excuse.

“Come on,” Yelena sighed. “We all see you guys looking all goo-goo eyed at each other. It’s disgusting.”

“What?! I don’t—”

Ava interrupted her, stating her name sharply.

“You do,” Yelena continued. “You definitely do, even Alexei is getting annoyed.”

“Why don’t you say something?” Ava questioned her. 

Her face was burning under their pointed gazes, and she shifted from side to side, unsure how to respond.

Ava said her name again, waiting for the girl to look up at her before continuing. “You’re a badass, and he likes you. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh my God,” Yelena groaned, walking up to her and grabbing the snacks out of her arms and putting them back in the pantry shelf. “Why don’t you invite him out for food instead of stuffing your face with cheese crackers.”

She grabbed the girl’s shoulders and gently pushed her out of the kitchen.

“And take a shower! You stink!” Ava called out after her as she rushed back to her room. 

The two women watched her scurry away before looking at each other, unable to hide the coy smiles growing on their faces.

When she got back to her room, she had hoped she would feel some type of relief. She wasn’t under the prying eyes of Yelena and Ava anymore, but her mind was still racing. Did they really believe that Bob had feelings towards her too? She had sometimes thought maybe he did, like when he stayed up with her until the next morning on movie nights. Long after everyone else went to bed, they would make home on the couch, a bucket of popcorn in between them, having their own movie marathons.

Last week, Bob had introduced her to Back to the Future . Well, she had heard of it before but had never had the time to actually watch it. 

She hadn’t grown up on Earth. She was raised by Ravagers and grew up surrounded by dingy ship walls and bitter outcasts. Her parents had abandoned her as a child, and she was on her own for a while. Until one day, a little boy not that much older than her with fiery red hair picked her up and refused to let her go. Peter Quill became like an older brother to her. A piece of family she never thought she would have. He taught her how to shoot a gun and break out of a jail cell. He showed her which vents in the Ravagers’ ship led to the kitchen and where Yondu kept his spare arrows. She missed him. More than she thought she would when she decided to stay on Earth while the rest of the Guardians travelled back into space with Thor. 

She remembered saying goodbye. Peter almost refused to leave, but she had always been more stubborn. After each Guardian insisted on having their turn to hug her, Peter approached her again, handing her a small box.

“What is this?” she had asked, eyeing him with a quirked brow before taking the box from his hands. When she opened it, she found his walkman along with some other device.

“I can’t take this,” she said immediately, automatically ripping it out the box and pushing it onto his chest.

“Nah, you have to take it,” he chuckled. His eyes were glassy, and his smile was teasing, almost mournful. “You gotta have something to remember me by. Remember how you abandoned me with these losers.” He put the walkman back in her box.

“Then what’s this for?” She picked up the second device.

“That’s a pager. I put my number in there in case you ever want to reach out.”

She smiled, holding the box of gifts close to her chest. She tried to ignore the burning in her eyes. “Does it work even if we’re on different planets?”

“You’ll have to test it out,” his eyes were watering too, and he pulled her in for a final hug.

She hadn’t seen him since that day, and she hadn’t reached out either. Sometimes she would find herself just sitting with the pager, her mind dancing with the decision of sending Peter a message. But she could never do it. She usually ended up slipping on his old headphones and listening to one of his mixes on the walkman. It reminded her of home. Her old home on the Milano. This happened more often, though, before she met Yelena, Ava, and the rest of the Thunderbolts.

She felt happier now. She liked being on Earth. It was something she never got growing up. She also liked her new friends. Her new friends that became more and more like family everyday, no matter how much they tried to deny it. And, as much as she tried not to think about it, she really liked hanging out with Bob.

Sighing, she shook her head.

Fuck it.

She would say something. Tell him how she felt. But only because Yelena and Ava seemed so sure he reciprocated her feelings.

She spent her entire shower trying to find the right words to ask him to dinner, but nothing sounded right. She felt stupid. She had fought side by side Iron Man and Captain America to defeat Thanos. She could fly a spaceship. Was she really going to let the idea of talking to a boy scare her?

No.

Ava was right. She was a badass. She reminded herself of this as she walked towards her bedroom door. All she had to do was open it up, walk across the hallway, and ask Bob if he wanted to get burgers or something. She took a deep breath and swung the door open, only to find a figure already standing there, arm raised as if he were about to knock on her door.

It was Bob. Bob in his navy blue sweater and corduroy pants. Bob with his curly hair framing his face, with that dorky smile that always made her face turn red. He swallowed nervously, letting out an awkward laugh as he slowly brought his arm down.

“Hi,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he looked at her intensely.

“Hey,” she squeaked back, her confidence from five seconds ago quickly depleting.

He cleared his throat, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. Despite his efforts to make himself seem smaller, his broad shoulders felt like they took up her entire door frame. She tried not to think about how good he looked.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab dinner with me?” His words came out quick, like if he didn’t say them now, he probably never would. “I heard the burger place down the block also has good milkshakes.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Really, she was shocked. He asked her before she had even gotten the chance to approach him. When she didn’t say anything for a moment, he began to look worried.

“We don’t have to, though, if that’s too wei–”

“No!” she interrupted him quickly. “I would really like that.”

“Really?” A soft smile began to grow on his face.

“Of course.” She smiled right back.

So, they went to dinner. They both ordered a burger, fries, and a milkshake, hers chocolate and his vanilla, of course. They talked about anything and everything. Bob caught her up on the current book he was reading (Bucky had recommended The Hobbit ), and they made plans to binge all of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies once he finished all of the books. She told him about her adventures with the Guardians and all of the stupid arguments her old teammates always had. He was still fascinated by the fact that she had not only been to space, but she had also grown up there too. That, and the fact she also knew a talking racoon.

They spent hours at the diner, talking and sipping on their milkshakes, until finally, a waiter came over and told them the restaurant was closing soon. Bob picked up the check, refusing to let her pay no matter how much she insisted, and they walked back to the Watchtower.

She thought about holding his hand, but she didn’t want to push it.

When they got back to the team’s penthouse, it was quiet. Not quite ready to go to bed, they sat down on the couch. She tried not to think about how close they were to each other. How their legs were brushing against one another’s. They sat like that for a while, quietly. It was a comfortable silence for the most part, but her mind was racing, the butterflies in her stomach picking up.

She wanted to kiss him. She really did. But she had never kissed anyone before. Before she was on Earth, she never really had the time. Or the want. She saw how many women Peter tried sneaking into his room, and she never really understood why. She had never been interested in anyone like that. 

Not until she met Bob. 

But now that she knew she wanted to kiss him, she also knew that she had no idea how to kiss anyone. It was embarrassing, really. Most people her age had been in relationships already, and she had never even had her first kiss.

Bob whispered her name so quietly she could barely hear it, but she still jumped in surprise as his voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Thanks for getting dinner with me,” he smiled shyly at her, and she returned his look.

“Thanks for asking.”

“Maybe we could go again tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that a lot.”

They were quiet again for a moment, but before she could spiral into her thoughts for the second time, Bob spoke.

He said her name softly as he shifted his body on the couch to face her head on. His eyes were serious, and they shifted between looking at her own eyes and her lips. He leaned in closer, placing a hand softly onto her thigh and the other on her waist.

She froze. This was it. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to kiss her. But she also had no idea how to kiss him back.

He leaned in even closer (somehow that was possible) and stopped for a moment, looking at her, waiting for a sign that she was good, that he could keep going. She took in a shaky breath and gave him a small nod.

When his lips finally touched hers, they felt surprisingly warm, assured. The complete opposite of how she was feeling. She felt like a bumbling mess. She had no idea what to do with her hands. She had always heard not to think about how to kiss someone and just to let it happen. But that felt impossible at the moment. She tried to let him guide the kiss and simply follow his lead, and that worked for a moment until suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. And neither was the silence they had found comfort in.

In its place was the thunderous sound of thousands of heroes and aliens charging towards each other, attacking each other all around her.

Then she saw it. Herself. Fighting the Chitauri, shooting down every alien that she could, but she was running out of time. They were starting to corner her. She remembered when this happened. It was years ago, in the Avengers’ final fight against Thanos. 

Then she saw him. Peter. After five years of not knowing if he was alive. After hearing from Nebula he had been turned to dust. He was there, in front of her and alive. She remembered how happy she was, how thankful she was to see him.

She watched as he helped take down the remaining Chitauri that had her trapped. She watched her past self as she ran toward him, jumping into his embrace. They gripped each other tightly, and her past self laughed almost hysterically as she fought against tears.

Then there was a shift. He paused. He had seen something else. Someone else . His grip loosened, slowly releasing her, and her past and present self turned to look at what he saw.

It was her. Gamora.

Peter had left her side now, walking slowly towards Gamora, his eyes wide in awe and admiration. He left her alone to watch as he ran back to Gamora. Again. 

It wasn’t that she was jealous of Gamora. She just felt intimidated anytime she was around. And a little bit sad. Forgotten, maybe. She had grown up with Peter, watching him bulldoze through thousands of hookups and one-night stands. Sure, it was annoying, but at the end of the day, she knew she still had him. He would always look out for her, always have her back. Not to say that after he met Gamora he didn’t look out for her anymore, but things were definitely different. He started going to Gamora for second opinions instead of her, and started only looking for Gamora’s approval of his ideas.

So, it hurt when he ran straight to Gamora after not seeing him for years. And watching it all over again, those feelings came right back.

She shook her head violently, wanting to be anywhere but in that memory. She closed her eyes tightly, pushing against her tears and her own brain. She wanted out, out, out .

Then, it was quiet again. A panicked voice was calling her name, and a hand nudged her shoulder softly. She opened her eyes to see Bob again, a worried look on his face. She looked all around her, taking in the environment. She wasn’t in the past anymore. She was here, in the penthouse, with Bob.

“A-are you okay?” Bob asked, his voice laced with concern.

She nodded quickly. She was pretty sure she was fine. Her face felt wet, though, and she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. Had she been crying?

“You went somewhere else, didn’t you?”

She looked at him dumbly. She felt like an idiot. She had spent the past few months thinking about kissing Bob, and when she had finally gotten the chance, she blew it. Maybe if she hadn’t been in her own head so much, she wouldn’t have ruined it.

“I’m sorry,” Bob muttered, his eyes down cast. He scooted away from her, not wanting to touch her. Not wanting to accidentally send her into another bad memory.

She shook her head, watching as he moved away. Even though she didn’t really want him to. “It’s not your fault,” she tried to reassure him, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

“I’m gonna, uh,” she continued. She stood up, hugging herself. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll, uh–I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She rushed out of the living area and back to her room, wishing she could disappear.

The next few days felt never ending. She sunk herself into her training, using it as a distraction from the fact she hadn’t spoken to Bob in days. He was clearly avoiding her. Every morning when she made her way into the kitchen, he was already there, eating a bowl of cereal and refusing to even glance in her direction.

It hurt, but she understood. She had run away after he kissed her, with no explanation. And, in all honesty, she had been avoiding him since that night too. She just missed him. Missed getting to spend time with him every day. 

Instead, she spent time in the gym. And when she wasn’t attacking punching bags or trying not to die on the treadmill, she was in her room. Alone with her thoughts and Peter’s walkman. She tried to use the music to drown out the old memories flooding her brain. Ever since seeing her past self that night, she kept remembering her life before being on Earth. Before the Blip. Before the Guardians, even.

Back when Yondu would send her on smuggling missions once Peter was too big to actually fit in the vents anymore. Back when Yondu deemed missions “too dangerous” for her to join him and Peter, and he would leave her behind. Stuck with the rest of the Ravagers. The Ravagers that would leave her on less-than-safe planets for “fun,” forcing her to find her way back on her own. When she did eventually find her way back, they would still taunt her relentlessly, telling her she would never be a real Ravager. Not that she even wanted to be anyway.

She wanted to be just like Peter. Peter, who was charismatic and good at taking down whatever enemies got in Yondu’s way. Peter was always Yondu’s favorite, and she was always the second choice. The one Yondu would take along only when Peter was too busy with another mission.

She had finally left the confines of her room, choosing to go sit outside instead. She was sitting on the edge of the landing pad, her feet dangling over the streets of New York. She held her pager, staring at the number Peter left for her.

Maybe she should finally reach out. It had been a few years since the Guardians left on their search for Gamora. Maybe they had found her. Her fingers hovered over the device. A small part of her told her to just do it. To not think about it and send him a message. It didn’t have to be anything crazy or deep, maybe just a simple “Hey, how are you?” But, a bigger part of her was scared. Scared to reach out to him only to never hear back.

That was where Bucky found her, sitting at the rails of the helicopter pad. The rest of the New Avengers knew something was up. They had noticed she and Bob were never together anymore, annoying the rest of them with their constant, yet somehow oblivious, flirting with each other. They noticed that she had also spent less and less time with them as a group, choosing instead to hide away in the gym or her room.

He had been looking for her that evening. They had just finished eating dinner, and she opted not to join them once again. So, he took it upon himself to make her a plate and bring it to her room. When he knocked on her door, though, she didn’t answer. She wasn't there, and he also didn’t find her in the gym either. He asked around, to see if anyone else knew where she was, but all he was met with were shrugs. 

That was until he ran into Bob. Bob, who quietly informed him he saw her make her way outside to the landing pad. And, sure enough, that’s where he found her.

He called her name softly, and she turned to look at him, watching as he sat down beside her and placed a bowl of mac and cheese in between them. 

“I brought you some food.” He looked at her carefully, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. “We missed you at dinner.”

She scoffed. “Thank you.” She looked back down at the pager in her hands.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, nodding towards the device.

“Pager,” she responded. Her brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t you know that? Aren’t you like a hundred years old?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Over one hundred, and that’s actually past my time.”

She smiled, “Right.” 

There was a beat of silence between them.

“It’s from Peter,” she spoke again. “He was one of my friends before being here. Before the Blip.”

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “He gave it to me in case I ever wanted to reach out. Put his number on it.”

“Have you?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess…I guess I’m just afraid he won’t answer.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t give you his number if he wasn’t going to answer.”

She shrugged. “He’s probably too busy to respond, anyway.”

“How would you know that if you haven’t reached out?”

“What are you doing?” she huffed. “Did you come out here just to lecture me?” She looked at him, her furrowed eyebrows turning into a scowl.

His head dropped. “No. No, I came out to make sure you’re okay. We’re worried about you.”

She turned to stare at the streets below them. “I’m fine. Just…tired I guess.”

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been around. You missed movie night yesterday. I don’t know, I just feel like something’s up.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he said her name again. “You can talk to me.”

She thought about his offer, chewing on her lip. She knew she could trust him. Bucky was there for her after the final battle with Thanos. He took her under his wing, offering her a place to stay. But she knew he had his own demons, his own battles. She didn’t want to be a burden on him, so when she finally got a job, she moved into her own place. Then, they found each other again. Through Valentina, of all people.

“Me and Bob…kissed,” she said finally, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“Really?” Bucky mused. “How’d that go?”

She grimaced. “Not great. I ran out on him. Left him alone on the couch.”

“Ouch.”

“Wait, no! It wasn’t his fault. It was me,” she stammered. “I mean, he was great.”

Bucky tried and failed to hide his smile. “I’m sure he was.”

She felt her face burning. What was she doing?  

“Geez,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands, the pager dropping to the floor beside her. She lifted her head to look at it again, the memories of Peter and the Guardians rushing back into her mind.

“When we kissed,” she continued. “It took me back to a memory. From when we fought Thanos for the last time.”

Bucky nodded, letting her continue.

“I saw myself. And Peter. I hadn’t seen him in five years at the time. I thought I would never see him again. When we saw each other, we hugged each other so tight. I didn’t want to let go.”

She could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“But then he let go. Because he saw her. ”

Bucky looked at her carefully. “Who?”

She laughed dryly. She sounded ridiculous. “Gamora. His girlfriend . He ran straight to her. It didn’t surprise me, really, but it still hurt. You know?”

Bucky nodded.

She went on, “I didn’t know it at the time, but he thought she was dead. Well, technically she was . But he didn’t think he would ever see her again, and then he did. And I understood that, I thought the same thing about him. But I just…”

She paused for a moment, gathering her words. “Ever since Gamora came into our lives, and we became the Guardians of the Galaxy, it felt like I lost a piece of him. Like I used to be his number one. His best friend. And then that became…her.

“And it was fine. I mean, I made new friends too, but…my new best friend was a talking racoon. And his best friend was a tree.” She laughed pathetically. She felt stupid, sitting there crying in front of the Winter Soldier about having no friends. He must have had better things to worry about.

He shifted closer to her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he said softly.

She sniffled. “I’m just tired of always being everyone’s second choice. My parents abandoned me. Then my fake-dad liked my fake-brother better than me. And then my fake-brother decided to get a girlfriend that was ten times better than I was.” Her words came out in hiccups.

Bucky let out a quiet, “Come here,” before pulling her into a tight embrace. She hid her face into her hands, tucking herself into his side.

“You’re not everyone’s second choice,” he told her, adamant. “We all care about you. We all want you here. You’re an asset to our team, and you’re a great friend.” He squeezed her to his chest, letting her release all of the emotions she had been holding back for years.

He didn’t let her go until she pulled back on her own.

“For what it’s worth, I can definitely think of one person who considers you their first choice.” Bucky paused, pretending to think. “Hmm, yeah. You are definitely their favorite out of our little group, although,” he grimaced. “Your competition isn’t that great, so I don’t know how flattered you should be.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully, and she laughed, her sniffles fading away. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

He looked at her as if it was obvious. “Oh I don’t know, the one person that knew exactly where to find you when I asked.”

She nodded her head and looked down, attempting to hide the smile sneaking onto her face. “Bob,” she whispered.

“Bob,” Bucky confirmed. Another beat of silence. “You should talk to him.”

She took a deep breath in. “I don’t think he wants me to do that. He avoids me like the plague, he can’t even look at me.”

“Okay, now that,” he pointed at her. “That is a lie. He cannot take his eyes off of you. He’s just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t kn–”

“I’m serious,” he butted in, giving her a sharp look. “Just at least try. Please. Okay? If not for your sake then for the rest of ours.”

She nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“And eat this,” he continued, picking up the bowl of mac and cheese and plopping it down on her lap. “Before it gets cold. Yelena worked too hard on it for it to go to waste.”

That night, she found herself pacing back and forth in her room, trying to muster up the courage to go knock on Bob’s door. It reminded her of just a few days ago, when she was convincing herself to ask him on a date. Except when she opened the door this time, he was not already there, waiting for her. So, she took a deep breath and made the short trek to his side of the hallway. Before she could even think about turning around and running back to her room, she lifted her hand and landed three soft knocks on his door.

She waited for a moment, nothing happened. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. Maybe he was out. Just as she was turning to walk back to her room, the door swung open, and Bob’s voice called out her name.

She turned to face him. He was in his pajamas, a hoodie pulled over his head. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I, uh,” she ran her hand through her hair, trying to release some of her nerves. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He swallowed, nodding quickly. “Sure. Do you wanna…” he trailed off, opening his door a little bit wider. He motioned inside.

She nodded back, stepping into his room. It wasn’t her first time in there. There was one night where she had woken up from a nightmare, unable to fall back asleep. When she went to the kitchen to grab herself some water, she found Bob already there, raiding the fridge for a midnight snack. Since they both knew sleep was not in the cards for them that night, they grabbed a Monopoly board from the living area and took it back to Bob’s room. They played Monopoly until six in the morning, and both ended up falling asleep on the bedroom floor.

They stood there for a moment. Bob waited for her to speak, but she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, remembering that night. Finally, she broke the quiet tension between them.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Bob. For leaving you the other night. And for ignoring you the past few days. I was just…scared I guess.”

He watched her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

Her eyes grew. That wasn’t what she meant at all .

“No!” she said suddenly, startling him. “ You didn’t scare me, Bob. I just…when we kissed, you disappeared, and I saw myself. Myself from years ago. It was a memory I forgot about, one pushed down, but it came back that night. and I’ve kind of just been…wallowing since then.”

“That was my fault,” he argued. “That still happens sometimes when I touch someone. They see things they don’t want to. They have to relive memories they hate. I knew that it could’ve happened to you, but I kissed you anyway.”

“I knew that, though.”

He stared at her, eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wh-what?”

“I knew that there was a chance it would happen, but I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t. Because I like you, Bob. And I wanted to kiss you,” she was rambling now, the words flowing out of her like a waterfall. “And I’ve missed you the past few days. A lot.”

“I like you too,” he confessed. She could see his cheeks turning red, and she could feel her face heating up.

She went to grab his hand, but he backed away from her touch. He apologized. “I don’t want to send you back there again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you did. I think I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was so nervous that night. So in my own head. I had never kissed anyone before, and I was so worried about messing it up. About not being good enough. I think all those negative thoughts are what brought that memory back.”

He nodded, taking in her words. Trying to understand. “You could never not be good enough,” he promised. 

His words caused her face to heat up even more, and she looked away, trying to hide it. He said her name, and she turned to look at him again.

He stepped closer to her, grabbing the arm of her sweatshirt. “Would you maybe want to try again?”

She didn’t even have to think about her answer. She nodded softly, her breath hitching as his hand moved from her sweatshirt to her neck, cupping her jaw, his other hand placed on the small of her back. She was still nervous, yes, the butterflies dancing around her stomach made that obvious. But it was a different kind of nervous than before. It was more of an anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him in closer until, finally, their lips touched. She didn’t even have to think about it this time. It was natural. Right.

The kiss started off tender, sweet. But soon, it turned into something more hungry, like they had been waiting months to explore each other in this way. And honestly, they had.

After what felt like hours, they finally broke apart, but they didn’t let go, still holding each other close.

“You still here with me?” Bob breathed, his hands traveling down her sides to rest on her waist.

She laughed breathlessly and nodded, their noses bumping together with her movement. “I’m here,” she whispered.

He leaned in again, and she could feel the smile in his kiss.

“For someone so worried about messing up, you’re pretty good at this,” he teased, squeezing her sides.

His words sent heat through her body, and she shoved him back playfully. “Shut up,” she rolled her eyes.

He laughed along with her, and they both settled into a comfortable silence.

“Maybe now everyone can get off our backs about this,” he said, pointing between the two of them.

“God, yes,” she groaned, shaking her head. “Yelena and Ava would not leave me alone.”

“It was John for me,” he chuckled.

“You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was. That guy’s an asshole.”

“...Sooo, how are we feeling about getting some milkshakes right now?”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

[universefcb]

PERDICIÓN, CHAPTER TWO.

LISTCHAPTERS

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Spanish phrases. Fluff. Romance

→ Author's note: This fanfic is so cute :(

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The clock on the wall read 9:57 when the doorbell rang. Three minutes before the agreed time. She was punctual, disciplined, and even a little anxious — a combination that Pedri was beginning to notice as constant.

He was lying on the bed, on his side, the sheet partially thrown over his body. The TV was playing some program, but his eyes were lost in the ceiling, as if he were counting the imperfections in the painting. Since he had woken up, he had already changed position in bed about seven times, and each movement elicited a frustrated sigh.

She entered the room with light steps, holding the same backpack from the day before and a thermos with fresh coffee.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice gentle. “I brought coffee. Is it ready?”

Pedri turned his face away, his eyes a little crumpled, his hair messy, his eyes still cloudy with sleep and discontent.

“Ya casi estoy ahí,” he muttered grumpily. (I’m almost there)

“I can wait in the living room.”

“No, wait a minute.”

The sentence came out harsher than he intended. He sat up slowly, supporting himself with his outstretched arms. His right leg hurt. It hurt more than it should. He tried to feign normality, but the discomfort was evident in every held-back sigh.

She watched, already understanding what was coming.

“Do you need help getting up?”

"No."

He tried. He pushed his body to the edge of the bed, forcing support on his left leg and carefully dragging his right. He stood up, staggering. The sheet fell to the floor. He was wearing only his black Barcelona underwear, and his cotton T-shirt was wrinkled. When he realized she was still standing there, staring, he looked away, irritated.

“Can you go out?” he said through gritted teeth. “I need to put my shorts on. Alone.”

She frowned.

“Okay, just call me when you’re ready.”

And he left, leaving the door ajar. On the other side, he heard the muffled sound of a frustrated scream, followed by curses in Spanish. The sound of fabric being pulled, heavy breathing, and then... silence.

She waited five minutes. Then six. And then she heard a knock on the wall.

She went back into the room and found him sitting up again, this time with his face in his hands and his shorts still hanging over the back of the chair next to the bed. He was once again only in his underwear, his face red with anger and embarrassment.

“You couldn’t get dressed?”

He didn't answer. His silence spoke louder than any words. She took a careful step forward.

“If you want, I can just help you pull your shorts up your legs. You pull the rest up.”

���I don’t want help,” he growled. “Esto es ridículo.” (This is ridiculous.)

She bent down and picked up the shorts, with smooth movements.

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s necessary.”

“Fuck, I’m a professional player! I should be training, getting ready for the first games of the season, playing with the national team!” His voice rose in pitch, his hands clenching the sheets. “And now I’m here, unable to put on a pair of damn shorts without looking like an eighty-year-old man!”

She froze. His fury burned everything around him. But what hurt the most wasn't his tone, it was the weight of frustration in his eyes.

“And on top of that, I need help from someone I don’t even know, who doesn’t even want me here, and who looks at me like I’m a charity case!”

She stood silently, holding the shorts in her hands. The words hit her hard, but she didn't react with anger. She just looked down, took a deep breath, and placed the folded item on the bed.

“I’ll wait outside. When you want to continue, let me know.”

She turned and walked out of the room calmly, without showing any signs of shock. But when she reached the hallway, she stopped. She leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Her heart was pounding. It wasn’t the first time she had dealt with a difficult patient. But it was the first time a patient had seemed to break inside in front of her.

Minutes passed.

She came back, this time knocking softly on the door before opening it.

Pedri was sitting, still in the same place, but with his shorts already on his body — poorly placed, visibly pulled with pain and stubbornness. The look was still dark, but there was no more explosion. Just a bitter tiredness, like someone who had lost a fight with their own body.

She walked in slowly, took a cushion from the armchair and placed it on the floor, kneeling down to adjust the support of his leg on the wooden bench beside the bed.

“You’re angry. And I get it,” he said quietly. “It must be awful to feel your body betraying you. Watching everyone else start the season while you feel like you’re stuck in time.”

He didn't answer.

"Mas é para isso que estou aqui. Para te ajudar a superar essa fase. Não para ser um fardo."

Pedri looked to the side, his jaw still tense.

“I don’t like to depend on others.”

She smiled, weakly.

“Nobody likes it. But sometimes, that’s exactly what we need to get back to who we were before.”

She adjusted the ice gently on his thigh as he kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her touch was gentle, expert, and for once, he didn’t complain. Didn’t joke. Didn’t look away.

During the session, she didn't speak anymore. She just applied the movements calmly, respecting the limits of his body. When she finished, she cleaned everything up, stood up and said:

“I’ll be back here at four. If you want to talk, I’ll be here too. If you don’t, we’ll just work. It’s up to you.”

He left, leaving a light aroma of fresh coffee in the air and a silence lighter than that of the morning. Pedri remained there, motionless, feeling his leg throb and his pride hurt even more.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789 @cinderellawithashoe @mxdi0

[havecouraqe]

Reconnection

Pairing: Go Hyuntak x fem!reader

Summary: Having known of Hyuntak from his training days of Tae Kwon Do, you never thought you'd run into him again. What started as admiration from afar quickly turned into the beginning of something more.

Warnings: Suggestive content but mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Part 1 ☆ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ☆ Part 4

The next morning, you woke up with a headache. That was the first thing you noticed. The second thing was Hyuntak sleeping next to you on his stomach, his arm over you. Images from yesterday came flooding back to you in an instant. If it weren't for your pain, you would have thought this was a dream, or at the very least, a hallucination from your concussion.

Gently moving a strand of his hair, you couldn't believe this was real. You both fell asleep so easily in each other's arms like it was second nature. He was like a magnet, pulling you in, and you willingly complied, never fearing what being around him would bring. Not that you were scared. Yesterday's nonsense was a small price to pay for how you feel now. And looking at his handsome sleeping face, you felt happy.

Sighing, you tried getting up without waking him to no avail. He stirred awake, his arm reaching out to feel you. When he didn't, he opened his eyes.

“Hi.” You smiled at him shly, sitting at the edge of his bed.

Hyuntak rubbed the sleep from his eye and slowly sat up. “Hey. How are you feeling?” His voice was deep and groggy, and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I'm okay,” You hesitated before adding, “I have a slight headache.”

“I'll get you some medicine.” He gets up from the bed, putting on his slippers. “Stay here.”

You watched him leave, checking the time before crossing your arms. It was almost nine in the morning. You decided to quickly get dressed, not wanting to impose on him more than you should. Your messy bun had come undone in your sleep, so you let your hair flow down, removing the dangling hair tie. As you were carefully folding his blue hoodie and sweatpants on his bed, Hyuntak walked in holding medicine in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Thanks.” You smiled up at him.

“Let me get dressed, and I'll take you home.” He said as he took off his shirt, right in front of you.

You almost choked on the water after swallowing the pill and quickly turned around. Hyuntak chuckled, and you were certain he saw you blush before turning away. How can he be so confident around you? You don't know how experienced he was with girls, so you didn't want to judge him for being so self-assured. Besides, it's not like you two were even together. You just told each other you liked one another last night.

Hyuntak touched your shoulder, and you turned around. He had put on a pair of black jeans and a hoodie. His worried eyes held yours as he sat down on his bed and reached for your hands, setting the cup down on the floor. Sitting down, he was an inch or two below your height level.

“Are you still in pain?” His brows were pulled in together as he brought up a hand to your cheek.

You shook your head. A weak smile formed on his lips, but he said nothing. You could tell he was having trouble deciding whether or not he should talk about something. Which was a first. Go Hyuntak was very straightforward and always spoke his mind. He's the type of man who means what he says.

“What is it?” You asked.

Hyuntak's sad eyes turned away as he leaned his forehead on your shoulder. His hands held yours tightly as he struggled to find the words. “I'm sorry… I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.”

That confused you. He did protect you. More times than one.

“But you did. You helped me before it got worse.”

“I can't protect you at your school!” His head snapped up, his voice wavering and eyes full of tears. “What's to stop those girls from going after you again? From hurting you more, especially after I confronted them.”

You felt his hands fist your uniform. He was angry but not at you, you realized. At himself. He must have thought about all this after you fell asleep. Or maybe while you were in the hospital. Either way, you didn't want him to feel guilty, and the fact that he was blaming himself made you almost as mad as him.

“That's just a risk that I'm going to have to take.” You said calmly. You watched his eyes widen at your words.

“You can't blame yourself for what others do to me. That's not something you can control.” You take his face in your hands and wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “If something happens to me, it'll be because they're lowlives pieces of shit who prey on the weak, not because you couldn't protect me.”

He was stunned at your words at first, but then strong hands pulled you in closer, his arms hugging you tightly, almost afraid to let you go. You felt his breathing calm down, and you were glad you were able to soothe him. After a moment, he pulled back, and a hand came up to hold your face. His expression and atmosphere were different. Your heart started to palpitate. His nose gently bumped yours, and you began to feel dizzy, holding your breath.

“A pretty girl who takes risks for me? How did I get so lucky?” He breathed against your skin, his lips traveling up to place a kiss on your forehead.

You shivered at his words and touch, placing your arms around his neck to hold yourself steady. The next words came out abruptly but truthfully. “I would do anything for you.”

“Anything?” He mused.

He pulled back to look at you, and you nodded. His teasing eyes softened as he gently tucked your hair behind your ear. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to your lips before he asked nervously, “Would you let me kiss you?”

You swallowed hard, equally as nervous, before saying, “Yes.”

He looked at you intently. “Yes what?”

You remembered how he wanted you to use your words from the first time he saved you. I need to hear you say it. You figured it didn't matter in what context. Your nerves and excitement skyrocketed. Looking him in the eyes, you said confidently, “Yes, I would let you kiss me.”

Hyuntak smiled, placing a hand at the small of your back, pressing you to him. His other hand guided your face towards his, and you closed your eyes. His lips touched yours gently at first, then you relaxed into the kiss, pulling him closer, your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He sighed, parting his lips, and this time, you kissed him earnestly. His smell was intoxicating, and you gasped for air. With his breathing heavy, he kissed along your jaw, down to your neck. A whimper escaped your lips at the sensation when he started to gently suck at the skin, his hands touching you under the hem of your shirt but never going above that.

You brought his lips back to yours, feeling like you could kiss him forever. It was new and exciting yet somehow, you wanted more. Before you knew it, you were straddling him, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss. Hyuntak was panting, all the emotions from yesterday and this morning wanting to find relief.

“Fuck.” he whispered against your lips, his hands tangling in your hair.

You smiled, content in the fact that you were making him feel good. When you tugged at his hair, you knew you went too far. Hyuntak moaned, but it also brought him to his senses. He fell back against the bed, taking you with him. Breaking the kiss, he swiftly turned you over so you were now under him, his arms on either side of you, caging you in. You felt lightheaded, but from what you couldn't tell.

Both of you were catching your breath, gazing into each other's eyes as you waited for him to say something.

“Always the troublemaker.” He smirked.

You let out a laugh, reaching up to hug him. He joined in with your laughter as he carefully rolled you over once more so you were on top of him again. He kissed your cheek, the heat of the moment finally cooling down. “Let's get you home.”

◇

Hyuntak held your hand as he walked you towards your door. The conversation from this morning was still replaying in his head. You would risk being in danger, just to be with him? He still couldn't fathom it. What other crazy thoughts were going on in your head, he wondered. Any sane person would have just walked away.

“Hyuntak?”

Breaking out of thought, he turned to look at you. “Yes?”

Your worried expression caught him off guard. He didn't want to make a habit of having you worry, so he brought his hands up to your face and squished your cheeks together. “It's okay. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” You managed to say through your squished together face.

Hyuntak laughed and let go.

“I want you to properly meet my friends.” He said casually, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“You do?”

“Of course. You should meet the other people I care about most, don't you think?”

After a pause, you looked up at him with twinkling eyes, saying, “Does this mean we're together? A couple?”

Hyuntak's heart soared. He had assumed that much was obvious after the kiss in his room, but hearing the words aloud sent butterflies to his stomach. He also mentally slapped himself for not asking you first. Reaching for your hands, he brought them up to his lips, giving them a kiss.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend and be with me?” There was a slight teasing tone to Hyuntak's question, but really, he was hopeful.

He watched as your face turned into the happiest he's ever seen. You nodded, throwing your arms around him, “Yes!”

Being careful with you, he gently spun you around, both of you laughing. After setting you down, Hyuntak kissed you passionately. This kiss was different. It was full of promises to protect you, to be your safety now that you were his. And he'll be damned if he ever broke that promise again.

You both stopped to come up for air. He held you close against his chest, and he wondered if you could hear the fast pace his heart was beating. After a moment, you held him by his sweater, looking up at him. His hands were on your waist, his eyes showing nothing but love towards you.

Not wanting to leave you, but knowing he had to, he breathed deeply. “I should go. Will you call me if you need anything?”

“I will.”

“I'll text you later. Go rest and hang out with your friends.”

Leaning down, he gave one last lingering kiss before handing you your backpack and the breakfast he picked up for you on the way. Waving goodbye, Hyuntak waited for you to go inside, and then he took out his phone, dialing the first number on his speed dial.

“Hello?” Baku answered.

“Hey, let's gather at your dad's restaurant. I'll call everyone else to join us.”

“Everything okay? Is y/n joining us, too?”

“No, no, not today. I'll see you soon.”

Hyuntak hung up. He avoided answering the first question because he wasn't even sure himself. Everything should be more than okay. But deep down, he was full of anxiety. All he could think about was if you truly knew the depth of the potential danger that came with being with him, would you still feel the same way?

The restaurant was empty apart from his friends sitting at a booth when Hyuntak arrived. Suho and Sieun were sitting on one side, and Baku had pulled up a chair to sit at the end of the table. Juntae had saved Hyuntak a seat next to him, and he ruffled the youngest's hair as he sat down beside him.

“Thanks for coming, guys.” He said.

“How's y/n? Is she doing better?” Juntae asked.

Hyuntak looked around the table and saw that everyone awaited his answer. Baku must have told everyone what had happened when they didn't show up for basketball that afternoon. Placing his elbows on the table and intertwining his hands, he sighed.

“She's alright. For now.”

“For now?” Suho questioned. “Is she in trouble?”

Baku spoke up. “That's not what he means.” Everyone stayed quiet, and Hyuntak furrowed his brows in frustration. He hated that Baku knew him so well sometimes.

“I.. I just need to know if I'm making the right decision. Am I being selfish by not staying away from her?”

His friends remained silent, thinking his words over.

“I think it'd be selfish of you if you did stay away,” Juntae expressed, “I'm glad she has someone like you now. She deserves to be protected and taken care of.”

“Although, it sounds like she can hold her own.” Suho interjected. “Baku told us she's not afraid to fight back.”

Baku nodded. “She's not as fragile as she looks. Hey, you guys should have seen it! y/n looked so cool.”

“Even so,” Juntae continued, “why not teach her how to fight more?” He smiled. “I'm sure she will do much better than me.”

Hyuntak chuckled. Then he turned to look at Sieun, who had yet to say a word. “What about you? What do you think?”

Sieun looked at him with questioning eyes. “She's important to you?”

“Very.”

“And you're together?”

Becoming a bit flustered, having all eyes on him, all Hyuntak could do was nod his head. There was a hint of a smile in Sieun's face as the rest of his friends exclaimed. Suho and Baku gave one another a high five.

“What? When did this happen?” Juntae grinned.

“Our Gotak is growing up!” Baku reached over to playfully shake Hyuntak, who shrugged him off.

“Hey! Let him finish.” He said, looking back at Sieun.

They all settled down as he continued. “You asked if you're making the right decision. You already made it when you chose to be together. What matters now is to be there for her.” Sieun looked at him with those sad eyes of his. “And to be prepared for whatever comes.”

That struck a nerve. Translation: Be prepared for either one of you to end up hurt. Be it physically or emotionally. And being in a town like this? Full of delinquents and bullies? The chances were high. Hyuntak groaned, rubbing his face in his hands.

“Teaching her how to fight is a good idea.” Suho agreed, looking at Sieun, who blushed. “We can teach her a thing or two.”

Juntae added, “It's also been pretty quiet since the Union disappeared. The only trouble she could get into would be with those girls again.”

It went silent, the boys all knowing that they couldn't protect you while you were at Buil Girl’s High. Which made you that much of an easier target.

“Hey, Gotak. You can only do so much.” Baku said, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. “You have to trust that she can take care of herself.”

Hyuntak sighed, knowing he was right. He looked at everyone, grateful for such amazing and understanding friends. Sieun was also right. Being together is more important than worrying about what could happen. He promised to keep you safe and happy for as long as he lived.

“I told her I wanted her to meet you all properly. She can come with us to practice basketball.”

“Hey, have you kissed her yet?” Baku teased, changing the subject.

“I bet you she made the first move!” Suho chimed in.

Both of the boys laughed, continuing their banter. Rolling his eyes, Hyuntak turned to Juntae, who had caught his attention. “Jokes aside, we're all very happy for you, Gotak.”

Sieun nodded in agreement. “She must be really special.”

“Yeah.” Hyuntak smiled. “She is.”

Clapping his hands, Suho said, “This calls for a celebration. Let's eat!”

They all agreed, finally digging in at the chicken that was placed before them. Hyuntak smiled happily, feeling more at ease than when he first arrived. Glancing at his friends, he couldn't wait for you to meet them.

a/n: sieun and suho are together in my story in case no one caught the subtle hint :)

I also made a masterlist for this, so it's easier to find the parts. Check out my pinned post.

Thank you all for patiently waiting. Hope you enjoyed the new chapter <3

taglist: @hollxe1 , @l5byrinth , @snowflakemoon3

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 2 – Terms and Conditions

A/N: Here we are, the second chapter. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: angst, slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

The Morning sunlight spilled through the glass walls of the Stark penthouse, arrogant and golden. It didn’t ask if anyone had a hangover or a quiet existential crisis brewing—it just swept in, warming untouched countertops and echoing the silence in the space around you.

You padded barefoot into the kitchen, still in the soft silk set you’d changed into after peeling off the remnants of last night’s masquerade of matrimony. Your first morning as Mrs. Stark, and the husband in question was nowhere in sight.

The place was too quiet, except—

Thud.

Whirrrr.

You blinked.

From behind the island counter, a small robotic arm appeared, swaying from side to side with the unmistakable energy of something both curious and clumsy.

“Oh,” you said, a smile twitching onto your lips. “You’re definitely not a Roomba.”

The bot beeped twice, almost indignantly.

You crouched down, peering at the strange little thing yellow casing, single arm with a clamp at the end, and what looked suspiciously like a paint smudge on its base.

“Let me guess… Dum-E?”

A mechanical chirp. One spin in place. Confirmed.

“Well, hello to you too,” you said, warmth rising for the first time that morning. You stood, opened a cabinet after three failed attempts, and poured cereal into a bowl. “Guess it’s just us for breakfast.”

Dum-E buzzed beside you, trying to reach the drawer with the spoons and knocking it half-closed in the process.

You handed it to him. “No offense, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

A happy beep in return.

You ate in silence, half expecting Tony to make an appearance. But the longer the seconds stretched, the clearer it became—he wasn’t coming up. And he hadn’t all night.

Tony Stark was married, but still a ghost in his own home.

By noon, curiosity and a sense of polite obligation won out. You carried a small tray, leftover smoked salmon toast and espresso, the kind you read somewhere he liked. You tapped lightly on the door to his lab, but surprisingly, it was already open.

Inside, the space was awash in blue light, projections dancing mid-air. Tony was in his element, hair a mess, dark circles even darker, and his body curled forward in a way that screamed fatigue.

He didn’t look up.

“I brought you lunch,” you tried, voice lighter than your pulse. “Well. More like brunch. Or breakfast, depending on which timezone you’re living in.”

He typed something mid-air. A snort. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“You’ve said that before, haven’t you?”

Tony finally looked at you. And just for a second, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, or maybe just weariness. He was charming when he wanted to be, but you were starting to learn the difference between the mask and the man.

“I appreciate it,” he said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. Just… knee-deep in something right now. Rain check?”

You nodded, biting back whatever response hovered at the edge of your tongue.

“Sure,” you said, lifting the tray a little. “I’ll just leave this here. In case caffeine stops working.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered.

As you turned, Dum-E met you at the door, as if escorting you out of a room you were never meant to enter in the first place.

Afternoon stretched like taffy. You explored the penthouse, unpacked a few things, also passed by Pepper in the hallway.

She stopped just short of acknowledging you.

“Mrs. Stark,” she said, coolly.

“Pepper,” you replied, lifting your chin with polite grace.

Her eyes flicked down at the throw blanket you’d tucked over the living room couch, or maybe the open book you left on the side table.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.”

“Should I not be?” you asked, sugar-laced. “I do live here now.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it was the kind that said you’re a guest in a house I built.

Then she walked away.

You stood still for a long moment before muttering, “…well, that wasn’t needed at all.”

.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself wandering into a room you hadn’t properly noticed before, likely because you’d been busy dodging small talk and champagne last night. The door was ajar, the lighting soft, and the scent of packaging paper and cologne wafted through the air.

Inside sat a mountain of unopened wedding gifts. Some were wrapped in matte black with gold ribbons, others in over-the-top luxury packaging.

Your gaze fell on one particular parcel near the top of the pile—white wrapping paper with red twine, utterly simple in contrast. Taped to the top was a card. You picked it up immediately: Bucky Barnes.

You opened it with a smile.

“To the newlyweds—Good luck surviving the Stark tornado. He grows on you. Eventually. Love, Buck & Steve.”

(P.S. You should open this one first. It’s a cocktail shaker. God knows you’ll need it.)

You laughed, unexpectedly warm.

On a nearby console, a sleek glass screen flickered to life as you passed. A touch-sensitive guestbook, no doubt a product of Stark’s own tech. Curiosity got the better of you.

You scrolled.

Some messages were standard-issue wedding fluff.

“Wishing you both love, laughter, and infinite bandwidth.” – Vision

“Please don’t blow up the honeymoon suite. Or do. I’m not judging.” – Sam Wilson

“You already know this, but I’m writing it down for the record: you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it’s about damn time someone did. I don’t usually believe in happily ever afters—but if anyone can make one out of a merger and a mess of a man, it’s you.

You’ve got steel in your spine and kindness in your eyes. Keep both. And if he ever forgets how lucky he is, remind him you’ve got me on speed dial.”

—Nat

Then came one that made you pause:

“If you break her heart, I’ll help you hide the body. Vice versa.” – Lt. Colonel James Rhodes

You stared at the screen for a beat, feeling a strange warmth spread beneath your ribs. You were surrounded by strangers, but maybe… just maybe, not entirely alone.

You shut the guestbook gently, the soft click echoing in the room.

The hallway beyond stood quiet. The penthouse was still too large, too glassy, too much like living in someone else’s dream. But little by little, it was starting to feel… curious. Open.

Not home. But not hostile.

And for now, that was enough.

.

The golden light from the setting sun spilled across the penthouse, brushing warmth onto the sleek floors and cold corners. You’d just finished flipping through the last entry in the digital guestbook—some snarky comment from Happy that made you snort-laugh despite the dull throb of isolation that had been pressing down all day. Tony was still sealed away in his lab, probably halfway through his fourth cup of bitter coffee and deep in his own mind. You hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

So the knock at the door startled you.

When you opened it, Natasha Romanoff stood on the other side, dressed in casual jeans and a fitted navy tee, a bakery bag in one hand and two takeaway cups in the other.

“I figured you could use some company that doesn’t require biometric access,” she said with a smirk, brushing past you like she belonged there. “Also, the coffee’s from that little place down the street. The guy says you’ve got good taste.”

You blinked. “You bribed a barista?”

“I charmed him,” she corrected, settling into the armchair like it was made for her. “I told him you just married Tony Stark. He took pity.”

You snorted and followed her in, heart easing a little. You weren’t used to kindness without strings in this house—not yet. But Natasha? She felt like the calm before a storm. Measured. Unshakeable. You needed a bit of that tonight.

As you sat across from her, wrapping your hands around the warmth of the cup, she leaned in slightly, studying you with that uncanny sharpness of hers.

“He’s not gonna come up for air for hours,” she said gently, meaning Tony. “But you don’t have to sit in the silence waiting for him.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a quiet, “Thanks for coming.”

Natasha smiled, soft and knowing. “That’s what friends do.”

You both sipped in silence for a few moments, watching the city fade into shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It should’ve been calming. But your shoulders stayed tense, your fingers tight around the cup like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Natasha was the first to break the quiet.

“So,” she said casually, “you surviving yet?”

You gave a soft, huffing laugh. “Define ‘surviving.’ I’m married to a man who doesn’t eat unless bribed, is one lab tantrum away from burning out, and who avoids eye contact like it owes him money.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Sounds like Tony.”

You looked over at her. “You know him well.”

Natasha nodded, setting her cup down on the side table. “Well enough to know he’s never brought someone into his life like this before. That means something.”

That lump in your throat returned, heavier now. “Some days it feels like I’m just a… strategic acquisition. A pawn in a merger that got too personal.”

Her brows lifted, then softened. “You’re more than that. I knew it when you walked into the reception like you weren’t afraid of him. Most people flinch around Tony Stark—especially the ones who want something. You didn’t.”

You blinked, surprised by the quiet steel in her voice.

“Trust me,” she continued, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “It takes guts to stand beside a man like him. But it takes something else entirely to reach him when he’s shutting down.”

“…Yeah, well,” you muttered, fiddling with your ring, “he hasn’t exactly made that part easy.”

“No. He doesn’t.” She smirked, but gently. “But that’s why I’m here. I figured you might need someone who speaks fluent Stark-induced chaos.”

You laughed again��truly, this time—and the tension finally cracked. “You offering to be my Stark translator?”

“Among other things.” She reached into the bakery bag and tossed you a lemon shortbread cookie. “Friend. Partner-in-crime. Occasional voice of reason.”

You bit into the cookie, warmth curling in your chest. “And if I need help hiding a body?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll bring the shovel.”

You grinned. “You’re hired.”

As the city lights flickered to life and the night settled around you, something inside eased. Maybe this place wouldn’t feel so cold after all.

.

The sun dipped behind the skyline. Manhattan glittered. The penthouse buzzed in the quiet way all machines do when they’re waiting for someone to notice something’s wrong.

And down in the lab, Tony staggered, fingers shaking as he gripped the edge of the worktable. His breathing was uneven, shallow. The light from his arc reactor flickered once. Then again.

“Not now,” he muttered to no one, tugging open the panel in his chest with trembling hands.

The arc reactor came free—burning hot in his grip. Sparks snapped and hissed at the edges, the metal sizzle loud in the sterile quiet of the lab.

Blue veins spidered out across his chest like cracks in porcelain. For a moment, Tony just stared at them. The room tilted. Or maybe he did.

He forced the new core in place, wincing as it clicked, hissed, then steadied.

Tony exhaled slowly, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His face was pale. His lips tight.

He would tell no one.

Because he was Tony Stark. He could fix this.

He had to.

[obitez]

Troubled Waters

Another 8x17 coda fic, because I can't help myself | AO3 Link

Since Bobby’s death, Buck and Tommy… they had started growing close to each other again. 

It was good, healthy in a way for someone to be there when you were grieving a great loss. Even though Tommy still had feelings for Buck, and he felt they were reciprocated, he didn’t think this was the best time with everything going on for them to get back together again. 

So things were growing as if they were close friends. Nothing like when they were dating, nothing like that at all. They hadn’t shared any kisses or other displays of affection beyond one or two supportive hugs, the same kind Tommy would share with someone like Chimney or anyone else he worked closely with now or in the past. 

But Buck and Tommy had started talking again. Started talking to each other again and stopped leaving the elephants unspoken about. 

Most of their communication had been over the phone or through text messages, but they had met up in person a handful of times too. 

On one such occasion, two days before the funeral, Tommy had run into Eddie on the day he arrived at Buck’s house. To say that the meeting had been awkward was an understatement. 

Eddie clearly didn’t forgive him for whatever he thought happened between Buck and Tommy when they broke up. And Tommy didn’t feel the need to get forgiveness from the man. 

They had spent pretty much the entire dinner avoiding talking and looking at each other, almost like Buck was having dinner with two different people at the same time. Tommy had tried his best to avoid Eddie after that. 

That night was about a week ago now. 

Tommy had texted Buck that morning, in the way he had done almost every morning in the last couple weeks, asking how Buck was doing. Not if he was okay, Tommy knew if he asked that Buck would just say ‘yes’, but an open ended question that Buck would actually have to describe how he was doing. 

Evan: Doing better

Evan: Think Eddie’s starting to grow on me tho

Tommy: What do you mean by that? 

As much as Tommy knew Buck and Eddie were best friends and that Bobby’s death hadn’t done anything to diminish that, Tommy had picked up on a certain… strained between the two the longer Eddie had stayed at Buck’s place. Nothing that screamed imminent doom for their friendship, but more in the way Buck was annoyed by having to share his personal space with someone. Tommy knew, from the months they had dated, Buck usually wasn’t one to get annoyed by people being in his place. But it probably had to do with a mix of still dealing with the aftermath of Bobby’s death and the fact that, from the time he was over there with Eddie, Eddie still treated the place like his own. 

Evan: Doesn’t matter. Ravi said Eddie got the job with El Paso Fire, he should be going back to Texas by the end of this week.

At first Tommy wanted to point out that whatever Buck was feeling with the man, it did matter, but his focus was pulled more towards the second sentence. Why was Ravi the person to tell Buck that, when Buck was living with Eddie? 

Tommy: That sounds good for him. 

It took a long… long moment for Buck to respond to that. 

Evan: Yeah.

Tommy didn’t need to hear Buck’s voice say it to tell he wasn’t that enthusiastic about Eddie’s new job. 

Tommy: Do you not want him to go back to TX?

It took a while for Buck to send a message back to that question. Tommy watched as the text bubbles popped up, then disappeared, then popped up again, for a couple more minutes. Whatever Buck sent, Tommy knew he found the touchy subject Buck was acting hesitant about. 

Evan: No, or well, I’m happy he got the job and is going back to his family. Also, things are getting kind of cramped over here. I’m just kind of annoyed he didn’t tell me himself, we’re living together rn. 

Evan: And I mean, I’m trying to be supportive and help him, but he’s just like, pushing me away. 

Yeah, Tommy could understand Buck’s annoyance with that. 

Tommy: Do you have anything going on tonight?

Tommy asked the question, not expecting or hoping for either a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Maybe, if possible, they could meet and talk about this stuff in person. It would be better than texting, and it had been about a week since they’ve seen each other in person. 

Evan: Not really. Since I took an extra shift on Monday, Gerrard said I could get off at 2 unless some big emergency comes up. Needed to pick some stuff up at the store. Other than that nothing’s going on. 

Tommy: I could bring some take out over. Got some coupons for that Indian place that opened on Powers Street

Evan: You don’t have to do that. 

Tommy: Don’t worry, I want to do this. 

If there was one thing that worried Tommy the most these last three weeks, it was that Buck was continuously putting others before himself, to the point where if someone offered him help, he was pushing them away. Maybe that was one of the reasons Tommy had made sure to keep in contact with him. 

It took a second, and another message from Buck came in. 

Evan: Okay, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. 

🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁

Tommy pulled up on the street outside of Buck’s house. He got out and grabbed the bag of take out he had sat on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat, closing the door behind him and walking up to Buck’s door. 

Tommy had walked in, the front door unlocked like Buck had said, and through the angle he was looking towards the kitchen at, he could see Buck standing, back to the wall, with Eddie standing in front of him, nearly chest to chest, Eddie’s arm against Buck, aggression oozing out of him. 

Tommy let his presence be known by slamming the door closed behind him, both Eddie and Buck quickly turning their heads in his direction. 

Eddie dropped his arm, letting out a breath and taking a step back. “T- Tommy!” Buck called out. 

“Hey,” Tommy said. He lifted his arm holding the food. “I brought the food, what’s going on?” he asked, trying to play it cool and bring a calmness to whatever was just going on. 

“Nothing,” Eddie said as he turned around and leant against the opposite counter. 

Tommy had to lift an eyebrow in disbelief at that. Whatever was happening, it definitely wasn’t ‘nothing.’ 

“We- we were just talking,” Buck said, mumbling and looking down at his feet. “Eddie finally got a position with El Paso Fire,” he said, as if he hadn;t told Tommy that only hours before, probably because he didn’t want Tommy to know what they were actually talking about. 

Eddie let out a harsh breath and he turned around, his back leaning against the kitchen counter as Tommy walked in, setting the bag of take out on a far counter. With all three grown men standing in there, the already small kitchen felt infinitely smaller, and the tense atmosphere did nothing to help. 

“You just can’t leave anything between us, can you?” Eddie asked. 

Buck shifted on his feet. “Again, sorry for assuming you would have told me instead of needing to find out from someone else. You’re freaking living with me right now.” 

So this was what this ‘argument’ was about, if you could call Eddie pinning someone to a wall an argument. From his texts earlier, Tommy figured this might be a topic of conversation tonight. 

“And again you’re making it about yourself,” Eddie bit out. 

Tommy watched as Buck bit his lip, but before he stepped in to say something and try to dispel this whole fight, Buck continued. “I just want to know what’s going on! Sorry about that!” 

“Oh, you want to know what’s going on!” Eddie repeated. “Well maybe if you hadn’t been constantly ‘checking in on us’ I would have told you!” 

“Well sorry for caring about everyone! I just wanted to make sure everyone was doing okay after… after…” Even after all this time, Buck still had trouble voicing the event. 

“You want to know what it feels like for me?” Eddie asked. “Well, what do you want to know? How I had to wake up in the middle of the night to find out Bobby died. Or how I had to hold it in to not wake my son up? Or how I had to tell my son the next morning that another person that he loved was dead? Of what? You want to know about all of the thoughts running through my head on how if I was here we might have been able to save him?” 

“What- What are you saying? You think we didn’t try everything to save him?” Buck asked. 

“How should I know? I wasn’t there,” Eddie threw back. 

Tommy’s eyes widened in complete shock. Did he really just hear Eddie say that? As if that was Buck’s fault? 

“Okay, that was uncalled for,” Tommy said, directing Eddie’s attention from Buck to him. 

“And who do you think you are to have a say in any of this?” Eddie asked. 

“I was there too!” he shouted, making them all go silent. “We were all there, all doing the best we could to save everyone, when you were across the country, so why do you feel the need to question any of this?!” 

“Tommy-” Buck began to say as he took a light hold of one of Tommy’s hands. 

Eddie cut him off by speaking. “Look man! This is about you, this is between me and Buck!” 

“Oh, don’t give me that Eddie!” Tommy said. “You lost that when you put your hands on him!”

Eddie scoffed, looking away from them. “Well sorry for wanting to grieve in my own way.”

“You’re not the only one grieving here, Eddie,” Tommy bit out. “We all are, that doesn’t give anyone the right to attack someone like this.” 

They all lapsed into a very tense silence after that. Eddie glaring daggers at Tommy. Tommy stood firm and not backing down to him. Buck looked nervously between them, but drifting closer to Tommy. 

“I think you should leave,” Buck said, just over a mumble, just loud enough for all of them to clearly hear what he said. 

Eddie’s head whipped up to look at him. “What?” he asked. 

Buck took a deep breath, giving his eyes a hard blink as he looked at Eddie, making direct eye contact with him. “I said… you should leave… You, Eddie.” 

Eddie brought a hand up to his head and ran it through his hair. Letting out half of a laugh, he said, “This is hilarious, you know that.” 

Tommy felt more than saw Buck take a half step back, straightening his posture as he did so.  

Eddie dropped his arm and shifted his gaze between the two of them a couple times, before eventually landing back on Buck. “When this blows up in your face again, don’t come crying to me,” Eddie said before he turned around and left the kitchen. 

It took a couple minutes, a couple banged doors later, but then Eddie was gone. Tommy didn’t know where, but he didn’t particularly care right now. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know Eddie was gonna be here when you arrived,” Buck said after a moment. 

Tommy resisted the urge to sigh, knowing it wouldn’t be reassuring to Buck at all. “It’s fine, I figured he would most likely be here anyway.” 

“Still,” Buck said, wrapping his hands around one of the cans he had just taken out of the shopping bag. “You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have had to walk in on that.” 

“Really, it isn’t a problem,” Tommy said, then paused and rethought something Buck had just said. “When I walked in it looked like he was about to hit you,” Tommy said, his voice almost near a whisper. 

“It- it wasn’t like that!” Buck suddenly said, looking slightly startled. “He- Eddie’s- He never hurt me before!” 

“Never hurt you?” Tommy asked. 

Buck gulped, looking down at the can and picking his fingers at it. “It was years ago now. Doesn’t matter.” 

Tommy knew when to drop a subject. He wouldn’t drop it for good, but he would for now. Instead he walked back a couple steps and picked up the bag of food, setting it down on the kitchen island. 

Buck looked back up, still looking slightly shaky. “What did you get?” he asked. 

“Their sampler and some samosas,” Tommy said. “Didn’t really know what I was reading on their menu.” 

That elicited a small laugh from Buck. “You could have sent me their menu. I could’ve told you what sounded good.” 

“I’ll remember that for next time.” 

🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁

They fell asleep watching movies on the couch in Buck’s living room, leaning against each other. Buck’s cheek pressed into the bony tip of Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy was woken up by the sun peeking through the blind on the window on the other side of the room. 

“Tommy?” he heard Buck’s voice softly ask after a while. He turned his head to the side, he hadn’t even realized Buck had woken up yet. 

“Hmm?” he hummed. 

Buck lifted his head to look at Tommy��s face. “You stayed?” he asked. 

Tommy gave him a soft smile. “Of course,” he said. 

Buck lowered his head to place his forehead against Tommy's large biceps. “This is the first time you’ve stayed over since that night,” Buck said, followed by a small squeeze to his forearm and what Tommy probably guessed was a smile on Buck’s face. 

“I guess it is.”

“Thank you… for everything.”

“No problem.”

[belit0]

Still thinking about Yandere HS Obito (you wrote him so beautifully thank you!) especially with the way the other Uchiha’s use girls. Darling tried to break up with him, while he won’t accept it or let her, he’d still be upset. The older cousins Madara and Indra are like “find another one?!? You’re an Uchiha it’s not hard?” And that’s the wrong thing to say to poor Obi, he’s now both mad at darling for her tantrum and his cousins for saying she was replaceable.

I live for these very-fucked-up-delusional-yandere! Uchihas, fr.

I'm changing their ages all the time, sorry not sorry.

Side street.

Indra’s car is parked half in shadow, matte black under a flickering streetlamp.

Windows cracked just enough to let the smoke out, weed, tobacco, and bad decisions.

Low music pulses like a warning.

Five Uchihas.

Indra and Madara, already out of school, sitting like kings.

Izuna, Shisui, Obito, seniors, still stuck in the cycle.

The air reeks of tension and burnt-out morals.

They’re too high, too fucked up, and too deep in their own heads.

-She tried to dump me today.- Obito says it like he’s confessing a murder. Hood pulled up, eyes dead. His voice is flat, but there’s something dangerous curled under it.

Madara scoffs without looking at him. -Again? You’re seriously letting her mouth off like that? Shit’s pathetic.-

-You sound like a fucking idiot,- Izuna mutters, snatching the joint from Shisui. -Who gives a shit? Get another one. You’ve got options. You're not some loser begging in DMs.-

Shisui exhales smoke from his nose, lazy but sharp. -Last week I had three in my bed who thought they were exclusive. One cried while the other was still putting her shoes on. Shit was hilarious.-

Izuna smirks, stretching his legs. -Two sisters. Swear on it. Morning and night. Same house. Same bathroom. Neither had a clue.-

Obito doesn’t laugh. His jaw’s tight. -She’s not like that.-

-They all are,- Shisui mutters. -You just haven’t seen it yet. Give her time. They all crack the same.-

Madara’s voice cuts in, sharp and dry. -You think she’s irreplaceable The only pussy on this planet?-

-She’s not some random fuck,- Obito snaps, finally lifting his head. -She’s my girl.-

Indra’s been silent the whole time, but now he speaks. Low. Calm. -Then handle it. Sitting here whining isn’t gonna fix shit. Go make her remember.-

Obito’s eyes flicker. Darker now. -You don’t get it. (Y/N)'s confused. She keeps talking like she’s the one in control.-

-You let her think that,- Madara growls. -That’s your fuck-up. Let her run her mouth too long and now she thinks she’s untouchable.-

Izuna leans against Obito's side, cruel grin. -Next thing you know she’s out there with some other guy wearing your hoodie. You gonna cry when that happens too?-

-Fuck off,- Obito mutters.

-Just saying, y'know,- Shisui shrugs. -you're acting like she’s some kind of prize. She’s a girl with good tits and shitty attitude. There’s a hundred more like that waiting to get picked.-

-You’re both fucking delusional,- Obito says, voice sharper now. -You think I want some random bitch to take her place? You think this is about options? I don’t need another one. I need her. And I don’t give a fuck how scared she is.-

The car goes quiet.

Izuna breaks it first. -Damn. You’re already gone, huh?-

Obito doesn’t blink. -I’ve been good. I’ve been fucking patient. But if she pushes me again… I’ll make sure she never even thinks about leaving.-

Madara chuckles under his breath. -Now you sound like us. About time, kid.-

Indra tilts his head toward the windshield, unreadable. -Wanna keep her? Take her. That’s how it works. No asking. No warning. Just take what’s yours.-

Obito nods slowly, smile twisting. -She’ll come back. Or I’ll drag her back myself.-

Smoke hangs thick in the car, clinging to their clothes like guilt.

Or pride.

No one says anything else.

There’s nothing to say.

These boys don't know love.

They’re just infected with danger and toxicity.

[hbyrde36]

Steddie | R: Explicit | WC:5877 | Ch 4/8 | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 <-

Chapter 4: The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak

For the next few days, Robin’s words continued to echo through Eddie’s mind. 

“I don’t know what is or isn’t going on between you two, but be careful with Steve, I don’t want to see him get hurt again.”

That wasn’t all she’d said, but it was the part that struck him most.

While he was stuck combining forces with her to make Steve stay in bed resting and healing, as best they could without direct communication anyway, Eddie tried to be angry that she had essentially given the shovel talk to a dead guy, which felt a little insensitive, and more than a little fucked up. But, the longer he thought about it, he had to admit she kinda had a point. 

He was a ghost.

Probably. 

There was no version of his story that included a happy ending, and he didn’t want to trap Steve in a horror flick when he deserved nothing less than a fairytale romance and a happily ever after.

In death was a hell of a time to find out that the ‘straight’ guy he’d been crushing on and flirting with the entire time they'd been preparing for battle with Vecna was not as straight as previous estimation. And, sure, Eddie’d had his suspicions before. It’d been hard not to wonder when Steve couldn’t seem to stop staring at his mouth when they were talking in those creepy woods, or think twice about the way Steve had started to reach for him in moments of pain or joy, almost as much as Eddie had done the same, relying on one another like they’d known each other better, and for far longer, than they really had. 

If only he’d known then that he actually had a chance, before those fucking devil bats had gone to town on his flesh and ruined everything. He would have risked it all for one kiss from Steve to bring with him to the afterlife. 

Taking Robin’s words to heart, for his own sake and sanity as well as Steve’s, Eddie tried to keep a little distance. It wasn’t all that hard at first, with Steve sleeping so many hours of the day and night. He still spent more time than was probably healthy lying in bed next to Steve’s sleeping form, but from shovel talk on, Eddie made himself scarce whenever Steve began to stir.

Naturally though, there came a point where he and Robin could no longer keep Steve contained. Steve was feeling better, stronger, and even Robin couldn’t argue that his wounds were finally on their way to mending.

Eddie stuck close that first day when Steve was up and about, though he kept quiet—by Munson standards—feeling a bit unsure of how to act around the other boy now. Nothing had changed exactly, but also, everything had changed. He was happy enough to stay a shadow for now, letting Robin and her motormouth take the lead on convincing Steve to take it slow and let the ghost research go for one more day. 

Unfortunately for Eddie and his plan to suffer in silence, a frantic phone call from Robin’s parents was about to leave him alone with Steve for the first time since Robin had all but confirmed that Steve was into him.

Shit.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she whirled on Steve with narrowed eyes. “I swear on Dustin’s mother, if you so much as look at that attic door before I come back here tomorrow morning, you’ll be sorry.”

“Are you really threatening me with bodily harm when I just got out of the hospital?” Steve asked, looking unimpressed as he leaned against the kitchen door frame.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, pursing her lips, tapping them as if she were deep in thought. “I was thinking more like telling Munson something embarrassing. Your middle name maybe? Or—ooh! How when you found out your precious Farrah Fawcett hairspray had been discontinued you cried like a ba—”

Steve lunged forward to slap a hand over her mouth, the tips of his ears burning pink as he began to walk her forcefully towards the front door. “Oookay, you better hurry home before your mom sends Powell and Callahan after me.”

Eddie stifled a giggle, following along at a safe distance behind them.

“Where is Casper anyway?” Robin asked.

Steve hitched a thumb in Eddie’s direction, turning to catch his eye. 

It was the first time all day that Eddie didn’t avoid Steve’s direct gaze, stomach fluttering traitorously at the sight of those gorgeous hazel eyes.

Robin turned too, facing the general area Steve had pointed and glaring at a spot roughly a foot to Eddie’s left. “I’m counting on you to keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“And how exactly do you expect me to do that?!” Eddie quipped, for whatever good it would do, and glared right back at her.

A heavy pause and a sideways glance later, Steve relayed what he’d said to Robin.

“Use your words, Mr. Dungeon Master!” She shot back with an attitude and air quotes.

“First of all,” Eddie sucked in a loud, sharp, affronted breath. “Watch your tone when you’re talking about my life’s work, Buckley. Second of all, what makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

“Can you both stop talking about me like I'm a child?!” Steve snapped. “It’s extra insulting when you figure I have to translate for one of you.”

In an impressive act of synchronicity considering the circumstances, Eddie and Robin swung their gazes around as one to look at Steve, wearing matching raised eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered quietly, pressing two fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. “Look, my only plans for the night are to finally take a shower, and go to bed. Scouts honor.”

“Fiiine,” Robin ground out.

Meanwhile Eddie could only grimace at the implications. “Please tell me you weren’t really a boy scout.”

Seriously, the polos were one thing, but to have a crush on a former badge collecting goody-two-shoes?

Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I used to be cool, remember?”

Robin looked between Steve’s face, the air Eddie’s form occupied, and back again, before bursting out in the most obnoxious laughter imaginable.

“Thanks, Rob.” Steve deadpanned.

“You’re welcome!” she chirped cheerfully, finally pulling the front open and stepping out. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Well, I’ll see Steve in the morning, and I’ll just assume the ghost of Christmas past is floating around somewhere too.”

“I don’t float,” Eddie grumbled in reflex, only realizing what she’d actually said after she was gone. He quickly rounded on Steve, mouth agape. “Wait, can I float? Have I been out here walking around like an idiot and missing out on all the fun parts of being a ghost?!”

Steve grinned wide enough to make his eyes sparkle, and suddenly it dawned on Eddie that his buffer had just left for the night. He looked away abruptly, an awkward tension, completely of his own making, pulling taut now that they were unsupervised. 

“N-nevermind,” Eddie mumbled, before Steve even had a chance to reply, keeping his head down as he stepped wide around him, “I-I just remembered I don’t like heights anyway, so—”

“Eddie, wait—” Steve called out.

Though every instinct in Eddie’s body shouted at him to run, his traitorous, unbeating heart could hear the sad and timid quality of Steve’s voice peeking out from behind those two words, giving him no choice but to stop and face his friend.

“I’m sorry if I-I said or did something to make you uncomfortable. I thought…” Steve paused, giving a little shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, but iIt feels like you’ve been avoiding me and considering the fact that I’m the only person who can see and talk to you, I figure that means I must have fucked up pretty badly.” 

And, god, that wasn’t what Eddie wanted at all. 

He knew he was doing the right thing here. For both of them. For himself, who didn’t need to go into whatever eternity he faced with a dinged-up heart, and for Steve, who had his whole life ahead of him. But he couldn’t bring himself to let Steve go on thinking he’d done something wrong when that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged, and he started and stopped half a dozen times before the words finally came out. “You’re… amazing.”

Steve raised a perfectly arched brow.

Okay, not what Eddie’d meant to say, even if it was the truth. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “I mean, you didn’t fuck anything up, Steve. And I don’t know exactly what you thought, but if it’s what I think you thought, you weren’t wrong.”

Jesus Christ… did that even make sense?

“Um, what?” Steve asked.

Right.

“I like you,” Eddie pushed on, figuring the direct approach was his best course of action here. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure for a while if you even realized I was flirting with you while all this shit has been happening. If I was the only one feeling like there was something between us. I mean, after shoving a broken bottle up to your neck, it would have been fair if you hated me.”

Steve tilted his head thoughtfully. “For the record, hate is definitely not what I was feeling at the time.”

Fuck. 

He should have known Steve wasn’t going to make this easy.

Eddie pulled at his shirt collar. Was it getting warm in here? Could ghosts even feel room temperature? “Noted,” he choked out.

“So—that moment we had the other day, when we almost…” Steve took a few careful steps closer as he trailed off. 

“Kissed?” Eddie breathed, finishing Steve’s sentence, fighting both the instinct to back up and meet him halfway.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

It’d been such an almost… normal—for lack of a better word—moment, between two people who were growing closer, getting comfortable with each other and opening up. There’d been heartbeat there, the briefest of seconds when Eddie realized they were both leaning in, where he forgot he was dead. He was just a guy and his crush, about to share their first kiss.

Until they weren’t.

Though Eddie technically managed to stand his ground, with Robin’s warning stuck in his ear, running still won out. Just, not with his feet. “I’m dead, Steve. You, more than anyone, should understand what that means.” 

Steve’s gaze dropped, so many different warring emotions dancing across his pretty face before he finally looked back up. Eddie desperately wanted to know every single one, but he stayed quiet.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve said it like you believe it,” Steve said eventually, a small, sad smile curving his lips.

Eddie shrugged, trying so hard to smile back but he couldn’t seem to make it reach his eyes. “Well, I guess I'm starting to.”

For someone who’d been trying to convince him of the reality of his existence from the moment he’d appeared, Steve sure didn’t look happy about his sudden willingness to accept it. Eddie wasn’t thrilled with it either, particularly given his recent realizations, but there was no use in fighting the truth.

It wouldn’t change anything.

“Look, I wish things were different but they’re not and we just—we can’t go there, okay?” Eddie sighed, backing his way towards the hall, desperately needing to be anywhere but here, at least for a while. 

Standing there, looking into Steve’s wide puppy-dog eyes begging him to stay, was torture of the worst kind. It was also a foolproof recipe for surrender to this thing between them, and he couldn’t risk giving in no matter how much he wanted to. What could he even offer Steve like this?  Yes they could talk, and he would always be there for Steve in that way, or for however long he was allowed to haunt the guy, but there were some needs, and wants, that required more… right? 

Steve had to realize that.

“Besides, Big Boy,” Eddie said as he turned, unable to stop the frown that was tugging at his lips. “What would be the point?”

This time when he walked away, Steve let him go.

Steve took his time in the shower, letting the warm water run over his body long after he was clean, as if the spray alone could ease the disappointment that had settled into his bones. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the sad, resigned look on Eddie’s face when he’d said it.

‘What would be the point?’

Steve had wanted to scream.

Everything?

Nothing?

What was the point of any of this bullshit if they were just going to roll over and give up when something good actually presented itself, without even trying to take it!

Inevitably, the hot water ran out and Steve had no choice but to leave the comfort and safety of his shower, carefully drying himself off and taping new clean bandages to his healing wounds.

He slipped on a pair of clean boxers and nothing else before falling into bed, more tired than he felt like he should be when all he’d done that day was walk around the house and argue with Robin, but he supposed that was what he got for not taking care of himself. He was leaning over to switch the bedside lamp off when Eddie appeared in his open doorway, left so out of habit and maybe a small spark of hope that Eddie might have a change of heart and seek him out.

“Hey,” Steve said, sinking back down into his bed and pulling the covers up higher on his chest. If by chance they were about to rehash the conversation from downstairs again, he didn’t really feel like being so exposed when Eddie doubled down on his rejection. 

“Can I come in?” Eddie said, the first time he’d actually asked permission to do anything since his arrival.

It didn’t feel like a good sign, but Steve grit his teeth and nodded.

“I, um…” Eddie stepped over the threshold and into the room, but hovered an awkward distance away from Steve and the bed, eyeing it cautiously. “I don’t—uh—I didn’t really like the way we left things earlier.”

Steve snorted, giving him half an eye roll. “I wasn’t a big fan either.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie pleaded, taking a few slow steps closer. “But you know I'm right. I mean, this whole thing is ridiculous anyway. Don’t we have bigger, much more important things to worry about than having stupid crushes on each other?!”

By the end of his brief speech Eddie was practically shouting, and Steve tried and failed to stifle a grin. It was so obviously taking all of Eddie’s self control not to stamp his feet.

“I don't recall actually admitting—”Steve began, but was quickly cut off.

“Harrington—” Eddie growled, glaring with all the fierceness of an especially adorable house cat as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Steve couldn't resist copying him, sitting up to cross his own arms and pitch his voice as low as possible. “Munson—”

Eddie let out an exasperated sigh, raking a hand roughly over his face before stumbling closer, falling to his knees next to the bed. 

“Look, Eddie,” Steve said gently, something tight in his chest releasing as he scooched himself towards the edge. “If there's one thing I've learned in the last three years, it’s that there’s always going to be something else to worry about. But I’m done waiting to live my life when I know full well It could end with a snap of Vecna’s disgusting fingers. None of us knows how much time we’ve got left, and if all I have are these stolen moments between world ending disasters, then so be it. We’ll deal with Vecna when the time comes, but until then…” 

Steve trailed off, trying to find the words to explain to Eddie that he wanted this, that he’d already fought through his own worry and doubt, weighing the pros and cons as he rotted away in sleep for the last few days, but Eddie was already shaking his head.

“But I’m—”

“A ghost, yeah, I know,” Steve spat, cutting him off with a wave of his hand, and went on to say the single last sentence he ever thought he’d utter aloud and truly mean it. “It’s a good thing I was born a Harrington then, isn’t it.” 

Eddie said nothing, his jaw tightening, and his gaze remaining set on the comforter below.

“Unless…” Steve mumbled, worried now that maybe he’d misjudged. Maybe Eddie was trying to let him down easy, when really he just wasn’t all that interested. “Unless you don’t want—”

“Oh, I want,” Eddie blurted out, raising his head, his eyes burning with enough open, naked desire that it lit Steve’s skin on fire and burned away the last of his uncertainty. “More than what I ever thought was realistic to hope for. But you deserve better than what I could give you like this. I'd be happy enough to just be your platonic invisible friend for the rest of your life. What if we try this and you regret it, and then you're stuck with the ghost of your ex hanging around?”

Steve sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. It was a fair thought, and this was uncharted territory, but even if it was just a crush, as Eddie had called it, even if they got together and one day it fizzled out, Steve couldn’t imagine regretting any time spent with Eddie.��

“The only thing I regret is not getting to know you better when you were alive. Not being able to touch you now? Yeah, it kills me. And I know we could never have a normal relationship, that it’ll never be real, but I want this, you, in whatever way I can.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching them tight, the faintest hint of a whine escaping him as he let his chin fall to his chest.

Steve worried at his bottom lip, letting the silence stretch on in hopes that Eddie would say something, anything.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie finally whispered as he raised his head again, a new resolve  reaching out to hover his hand just above Steve’s cheek, warming it, and making the rest of his body shudder, suddenly aching with need. “Just because we can't touch the usual way, why would that ever mean it wasn’t real?”

The impulse to surge forward and capture Eddie’s lips was intense, but Steve managed to hold back. This would be a delicate dance to learn, but he was sure they could figure it out together.

“Tell me,” Steve purred, letting all the longing he felt leak into his tone, just as he would have made Eddie feel it through his kiss if he could have. Gathering his old confidence, he tossed the covers aside, revealing his mostly naked body, save for the thin white briefs he wore and the fresh gauze at his sides. “Talk me through it, Eddie. What would you do to me right now, if you could?”

Eddie’s eyes raked up and down his body hungrily, a low groan emanating from deep in his throat like a warning, “Steve.”

“Tell me,” Steve said again, quiet as a whisper, as he let his fingers play along the hair on his lower stomach. He felt so exposed, but so safe at the same time under Eddie’s reverent, watchful gaze. “Please?”

“Fuuuck,” Eddie cursed softly, raising himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Okay, yes, I…”

A thrill ran up Steve’s spine, anticipation already making him reach for the waistband of his underwear until Eddie’s voice, deeper than he’d ever heard it, made him freeze.

“Wait.”

For one frightening moment he thought Eddie was changing his mind, calling it off, and he almost reached for the covers in embarrassment, but then Eddie spoke again, leaning over his body with shining, eager eyes. 

“I wouldn’t rush it if I had my way with you, Steve,” Eddie said softly, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I’d start with that lovely mouth of yours. I’d spend hours memorizing the feel of your lips against mine, and the taste of them, if you’d let me.”

Steve slowly raised his hand to his face, running the tips of his fingers softly over his lips as he met Eddie’s eyes, wishing it was the real thing.

“Close your eyes,” Eddie whispered.

Without hesitation Steve complied, pursing his lips again to kiss the pads of his fingers and found it really was easier this way. Easy to pretend he could taste Eddie’s mouth. Lips dry, but soft. Sweet with a hint of cigarette. He imagined the scents that would fill his nose as they made out in the backseat of his car, hairspray and smoke, the warm earthy smell of leather as he grabbed Eddie by the collar of his jacket and pulled him in impossibly closer.

“Only when we’re both panting and desperate for air would I stop, giving your swollen lips a rest while I kiss down your neck.”

Steve pressed his lips to his fingers one last time before running his tongue over them, trailing the wet touch down his chin and over his throat.

“Would you let me mark you there, sweetheart? Suck a bruise into your skin where everyone could see it?”

The possessive bite to Eddie’s otherwise softly spoken question was enough to have Steve already whimpering pathetically. “Yes,” he gasped, hardly able to recognize the wanton, breathy sound as his own voice. “Please, Eddie.”

“So pretty when you beg for it.” 

This time Eddie’s words were spoken right next to his ear, so close to where his own fingers were pressed. Close enough for him to feel a bit of the warm aura that surrounded Eddie’s form, like it was Eddie’s real hot breath washing over his skin. His cock twitched for it, filling out and straining against the tight fabric of his briefs, a sensation so similar to that of a hand palming him that his hips bucked, searching out a deeper friction.

“Needy boy,” Eddie murmured. “I’d make my way to your chest next.”

Steve sucked in a breath, forcing his hips to still as he ran both of his hands down to his chest without needing to be told.

“So good for me.” Eddie’s voice trembled, a strained quality to it that told Steve without a doubt that this was all affecting Eddie just as much as it was him. 

“Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?” Eddie went on at a whisper, the sound moving lower just as Steve’s hands had. “To rest my hands against that chest of yours, rake my fingers through all the thick hair. I almost lost my mind when you took your shirt off on that little boat, and not out of fear.”

Steve remembered the moment well. The terror of knowing what he was likely to find at the bottom of the lake, the fear that nothing they did would make a difference in the end anyway. A fear that had partially come to pass, but he wasn’t thinking about that now. Instead he recalled the way he’d looked back to see Eddie staring at him openly, those big brown doe eyes catching the moonlight almost as well as they’d caught Steve’s attention. It was far from the first time he’d noticed Eddie in that way, but it was the first time he realized the attraction might be mutual. So, he’d smirked, and he’d thrown his sweater into Eddie’s stunned arms for safekeeping, a subtle attempt at flirting, but an attempt nonetheless.

“I would have let you,” Steve said with a grin. He kept his eyes shut tight but it was easy to hear the answering smile in Eddie’s voice when he huffed a laugh.

“I can see that now.”

Picturing ringed hands in place of his own, Steve could almost feel the cool metal gliding over his skin when he ran his fingers through the thatch of hair on his chest. He paused, taking a handful and gripping it tight, giving it a light tug. He hissed at the sharp feel of it, pulling harder and arching his back as he moaned. 

“That’s it,” Eddie cooed softly. “I had a feeling you’d like a little pain with your pleasure.”

Eddie wasn’t wrong. Steve had often longed for a rougher hand, and maybe some other things, in the bedroom, but hadn’t quite known how to ask any of the girls he’d been with for what he wanted, even if they’d have been willing to give it to him. With Eddie though, he was starting to get the most wonderful feeling that he wouldn’t have to ask at all.

“Mustn’t neglect the most sensitive part of your chest, hmm?” Eddie hummed. “I’d keep playing with your chest hair, teasing little pulls that are never quite enough to reach that sting you’re craving, until I take one of your nipples into my mouth, rolling my tongue around the edge until it pebbles up, and finally biting down.”

Though his dick was screaming for attention, Steve obeyed, performing the torturous touch to himself with one hand just as Eddie had described, using his other, and the light touch of a fingertip, to circle his already pert nipple before pinching it as hard as he dared.

Lightning shot down his spine, while a high-pitched whine was forced from his lips. It wasn’t until he let go, fighting to catch his breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, that he felt the small wet spot in his underwear, the almost cold feel of the cotton pressing back against him. 

He was dripping. 

Eddie was taking him apart piece by piece with nothing but his voice and his words. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, leaking precome, and his briefs hadn’t even come off yet.

“You’re so fucking hot like this, all laid out for me like a banquet, letting me do whatever I want with you.”

“Anything… everything. Just, please… don’t stop.”

“Anything, huh?” Eddie mused. “So if I kissed a line down the center of your chest and ran my tongue along the length of your delectable happy trail, only to stop cold at the waistband of your underwear, you’d just lay there and take it?”

Steve’s hands moved to comply of their own volition, even as he pleaded for more.

“Please, Eddie. I need… I need…”

Eddie shushed him quietly. “I know, baby, I’ve got you. I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise. I just prefer to open my gifts carefully, that’s all. I would take that bit of fabric between my teeth and slowly pull them down your hips, your thighs, and all the way to your ankles and off so I could spread your legs as wide as I like.”

With shaking fingers, Steve finally took hold of his briefs, tugging them down bit by bit until his cock was freed, slapping against his lower stomach with a light smack. He had to tuck his legs up to finish stripping them off, but he didn’t let that take him out of the fantasy, and when he was finally laid bare he placed a hand on each of his knees, pushing them apart wide until he heard Eddie choke on air.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

As much as the compliments and praise were doing for him, and they really were doing it for him, Steve felt like he was on the verge of losing his sanity. 

Thankfully, Eddie seemed to be of the same mind.

“Lovely as it is to torture both of us, I wouldn’t be able to resist wrapping my lips around you immediately, letting your cock fill my mouth until my spit pooled at the base of it, taking it all the way to the back of my throat until I choked.”

Just being surrounded by the husky sound of Eddie's voice, hearing him explain in detail how he’d work him over with that clever mouth had Steve ready to blow, and it almost had him hesitating to take himself in hand.

Almost.

His need for relief, for release, won out over his worry of ending their fun too soon. Besides, if this experience they were sharing now meant what he desperately hoped it meant, then there would be other opportunities to expand their play in the future.

Still, he started slow, taking only the head of his cock in his palm at first, smearing around the precome that had been steadily leaking from his slit this entire time, and envisioning Eddie’s tongue circling before his lips closed tightly around his shaft. He groaned at the sight in his mind’s eye, gripping himself tighter and letting more of his cock slide through his fist as he thought of the way Eddie’s eyes might begin to water when he took the full length to the back of his throat.

“Has anyone ever explored this tight little hole of yours?”

There was no mistaking it, Eddie’s voice came from directly between Steve’s legs. He really was laying there, probably spread out on his stomach, his face inches from Steve’s most intimate parts.

Steve’s breath hitched, speeding up the pace of his hand as he jerked himself off. “No, but I–I want you to. Want you to be the first,” he choked out.

In truth he had attempted to finger himself once or twice, but no one else had ever touched him there. He never managed to get the right angle to find his prostate, but the feeling of being entered, that fullness, had still helped him come in record time.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie cursed, sounding as wrecked as Steve felt. “You’re a dream, sweetheart, I can’t believe I get to have you like this. I’m gonna need you to wet my fingers for me, since my mouth is a little busy elsewhere. Do you think you can do that?”

Steve nodded, too lost in the heady cocktail of lust and desire running through him to form any more words, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring as two fingers were shoved into his mouth. He moaned around the intrusion, nearly gagging himself as he took the digits deeper, wanting to make sure he did the job thoroughly for Eddie.

“Good fucking boy,” Eddie crooned, a deep rumbling bass. “I think you’re ready for me now.”

While one hand still bobbed up and down his length, Steve reached under his raised leg with the other until he found his rim, circling, spreading the spit around the edge of his hole. He tried to push the tip of one finger inside, gently at first but the resistance was too much and he was too keyed up to wait or relax. He pressed in hard, a loud, piteous whine forcing its way out of his throat when it finally popped inside. The burning stretch was small, fading too quickly for Steve to really enjoy and he was quickly begging for more. 

“Another,” Steve gasped, working the finger in and out of his hole until it slid easily, down to the knuckle. “Please, Eddie, I need more.”

“Okay, baby. If you're sure.”

God, Eddie was going to ruin him with all these pet names just as sure as he was ruining him with the rest of it. Every baby, every sweetheart, had his heart filling dangerously close to the brim.

“I’m sure… need you.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open as he worked his middle finger in next to the first, and quickly got what he’d been wanting, that intense pressure bordering on pain, the incredible feeling of being stuffed full. As he fucked himself in earnest, caught between bucking his hips up to drive his cock into his fist, and wriggling down to meet the thrusting of his hand, he lost control of himself completely, loud cries of pleasure falling from his lips near constantly.

“You close, baby?” Eddie asked, voice gone taut, strained as though he were the one balancing on the edge of the most intense orgasm of his life.

“So close. I’m—” was all Steve could manage in reply as he felt his length suddenly being engulfed by Eddie’s unique effervescent warmth. It was such a surprise that he couldn’t help finally snapping his eyes open, seeing Eddie’s translucent fist hovering around his own as he rabbited up into the clutch of them together. The sight alone was more than enough to send him hurtling over that last breathtaking cliff.

He came with Eddie's name on his lips, looking deep into Eddie’s eyes and it made all the pretending, all the imagining feel so fucking real. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as his dick pulsed in his grip, coating his hand and dripping down his inner thigh.

“Kiss me!” Steve cried, forgetting for a split second that they couldn’t. 

But he didnt take it back. It didn’t matter that it wouldn’t feel the same, the phantom brush of Eddie’s mouth on his would be better than a normal kiss from anyone else. He was absolutely sure of it.

Eddie crawled up higher on the bed, and as if he too had forgotten his limitations brought his mouth crashing down onto Steve’s without hesitation.

The first touch was indeed warm, as all Eddie’s touches were, but it was also firm and real. Eddie’s lips were plush, as soft as they looked, a perfect compliment to the light scratch of stubble as they both leaned in, deepening the kiss. For a solid minute Eddie licked into his mouth, and it tasted exactly as Steve had imagined, but better. 

Because it was really him.

All too soon the feeling was gone, whatever connection they had that allowed for such things failing in an instant.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, pulling back, as if it were his fault.

Steve wasn’t so sure it was, but hopefully their research tomorrow would help shed some light on it all. “Don’t be sorry, it was perfect,” he said with a small shake of his head. “You were perfect.”

Reluctantly Steve slid off the bed, knowing he had to clean up before the sticky mess he’d made spread any more and got on his clean bandages. He plucked his still damp towel from the hamper and gave himself a quick wipe down before climbing back into bed, next to a now pensive looking Eddie. 

“Lay with me?” Steve asked through a yawn.

Without a word Eddie laid down facing him, and after only a second’s hesitation slid his arms around and sort-of through Steve’s body. 

It made for an unusual sight but it was everything Steve wanted, and needed, in that moment, caring, comfortable, warm. He let out a contented sigh, feeling his body go boneless as he relaxed into the sheets, and was asleep before he even registered that his eyes had closed.

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

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[dulcecherub]

Lose My Cool

Synopsis: Sofia is friends with the Pogues Rafe hates. She’s friends with his sister. Someone he considers to be a traitor. These are the things Sofia knows. Things she’s grown to hate about him. He’s hurt the people she loves… it doesn’t help that they have feelings for each other. Her feelings for him… are complicated.

Author’s note: this is kind of an alternative take for ‘Would That I’, Would that I is centered around season 4 sort of. It’s not accurate to the show. It’s like if there was no gold. But the Pogues still had a rocky relationship with Rafe. Well this follows the plot of the show, and what it would look like if Sofia was friends with them during all the things that happened in season 1-2.

I don't know what you've done to me/But suddenly I'm feelin' things I just can't control/I don't know what you want from me/But every time I try to leave, you just won't let go

She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t keep lying to them. It became something that started to make her feel dirty. Like slime that wouldn’t rid off of her body. She hated him, that was true. That was a part of her she made very obvious. But she— she also loved him. And she knew he felt the same about her. Their “relationship” was complicated to say the least.

She’s tried; of course to leave him, multiple times. The last time had been her last straw. Should have been her last straw, when he’d tried to drown Sarah. She remembered when she heard about it. She was lying in bed, her hands preoccupied with a book. When she got a call from unknown number.

When she picked it up, she was surprised to hear it was Sarah. She’d told her everything. She tried getting in touch with everyone else. But they seemed busy and weren’t picking up their phones. Sofia had offered her to come over to her house. But to her surprise, Sarah said she was already with Topper. The phone Sarah was using was his.—And she didn’t want to be rude by leaving him. He’d been the one to have saved her. She felt like she had owned him this.

Sofia had found Rafe, she had screamed. Yelled into his face. Told him she never wanted to see him again. That she would never forgive him for what he’d done. He’d sobbed, begging her to not leave him. She had left him there like that. Begging, on his knees, tears staining his cheeks.

It was when they all presumed Ward was dead. That she broke no contact. She’d laid in bed with him, held him. She had let him undress her, kiss her. Make love to her. She felt the ickiness spread through her body like a disease. She laid there next to him, his arms wrapping around her body. Eyes closed, holding her like a vice. And all she could feel was disgust that she’d laid with him again.

'Cause in the night/I'm sleepless without you/Yeah, you're the calm throughout the storm/I need you here to keep me warm/And I won't pretend that things are okay/Whenever I'm without you, babe/It don't feel right, it don't feel safe

“What’s wrong?” Kiara asked, eyeing her suspiciously. Kie was always so good at that. Managing to dissect something wrong with any of her friends. Sofia sat with her on the hammock at the Chateau. The other’s talking amongst themselves. Sofia felt a wedge in her throat, preventing her from speaking.

“Uhhh—nothing. It’s nothing. I’m just a little tired.” Sofia answered, her mind still on the night she had with Rafe. The way they’d made love to each other over and over again. The bruises he’d left behind, still littering her body. Reminders of what they’ve done together. Thankfully tucked in places only she and he could see. She touched her inner thigh absentmindedly.

“You sure? You seem awfully quiet. Quieter than usual.” Kie sounded concerned. Sofia knew that concern would turn into an ugly thing if she told her the truth. Where she’d been. Who’d she’d been with. The feeling of feeling dirty was back. Worse now.

“Sorry, I came in late and I couldn’t really sleep.” That part was true, she had sat in the dark. Until well into morning. Feeling disgusted with herself. A part of… wasn’t. And that made her even more disgusted with herself.

“Guys!” JJ yells, calling them over. Kiara, like it was second nature, removed herself from the hammock. Heading over to see what the others were talking about. Sofia didn’t move yet. Her phone began to ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Sofia looked down in horror. It was Rafe. She stared at the screen for what felt like hours. But were merely seconds. She didn’t answer, letting it go to voice mail. Then she got texts instead.

Sofia sighed deeply to herself, before turning her phone off. She got up from the hammock. Her hands shook as she stuffed her phone in her back pocket. Pretending like she didn’t see his messages. She felt it continue to vibrate. —She walked towards her friends like there wasn’t another world of herself; waiting.

“You okay, Sof?” John B asks, worried like a father. Sofia only gave him a smile she hoped didn’t let her lie seep through.

“All good, so what about the cross?”

Sofia could feel eyes on her as she entered the farmers market. A tug finally came at her arm, she twirled around to see him. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face ashen. His hand shook where he held her.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He said hoarsely, his blue piercing eyes staring into her hazel ones. Trying to figure her out.

“I’ve—I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah I know. Trying to get the cross. Wheez told me.”

“How does—”

“That’s the least of your worries. And not what I want us to talk about.” His grasp on her arm becoming more tighter, like he was afraid if he let go. She’ll disappear.

“It is, if it’s none of your business.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. His eyes closing and opening like a cat. “Why have you’ve been ignoring my texts? My calls?” He leans towards her, his eyes nearly next to hers. Their noses almost touching. Sofia attempts to shake off his hand from her arm. But he’s much stronger than her.

“I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. Not to Sarah. Or my friends.” Sofia shook her head, her eyes blinking rapidly. The guilt finally settled in her stomach. The idea that she’d been fraternizing with the enemy, it left her feeling nauseous. The way she’d let him have her. After everything he’s done.

“You didn’t seem to mind every time we had sex. When—when you told me you loved me.” He said, his grasp becoming even more rougher. His eyes looked crazed, as if he hadn’t slept. Sofia eyes squinted into worry. “You love me, don’t you Sofia?Please just, just tell me you still love me. That this is all bullshit. That you’re not… you’re not leaving me. R-right.”

When she didn’t answer, another dry laugh leaves his lips. He looks away from her briefly. Before his eyes are trained on her again. “This is fucked up, you know. My dad died and then you decide to leave me too.”

“Sarah is hurting too, Rafe.”

“Fuck Sarah, mm okay! Fuck her, fuck John B, fuck that lowlife JJ. Fuck all of them! I don’t care about them! I only want you! And and all you seem to care about are those dumbass Pogues. What have they done for you, hm? Besides get you into trouble and almost risking your life. I-I never ever did that!” He pauses, rubbing his nose. “What about me huh? Do I not matter?”

She didn’t realize she’d done it before she watched his head turn violently. She’d slapped him; hard. “You don’t know shit about my friendship with them! Nothing! So stop talking about them like that!” Rafe eyes widen, he held his cheek. He turned to look at her. Shocked riddled on his face, almost to say, ‘You too?’

Sofia blinked away guilt, his grasp on her arm gone. She could still feel it on her, like a branding. He stepped away from her, slowly. A tear slid down his face as he stared at her.

“I-I love you Sofia. This isn’t fair. I care about you more than they do.” He said tearfully, his lips turning into a pout. “I can’t do this without you. Please—”

“Stop. Just stop it.” Sofia ran her hands in her hair, she felt her heart clench. She had put her hands on him. Something she never had done before. To anyone. She was never one to strike people in that way.

“Sofia?” Sofia body ran cold, she couldn’t move even if she tried. She would be able to recognize that voice anywhere. She’d heard it thousands of times, of course.

Sarah.

“What are you doing with him?” Kiara voice cut through the tension. Sofia felt her stomach drop, her heart in her throat. She couldn’t move and she couldn’t speak.

“Sofia and I are in love. And you stupid Pogues try to get in that way of tha—”

“Woah. Woah. What?” Pope says, Sofia finally looks up. She felt her heart almost give out. All her friends were here. She suddenly felt like she wasn’t in her body. Someone else had taken over. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.

“She loves me. And I love her. I’m surprised you idiots haven’t figured it out yet.”

Sofia eyes landed on Sarah, in that moment. That’s all that mattered. “Sarah, I’m-I’m so sorry.” She cried. She ignored the words Rafe was saying. If she pretended he hadn’t said them. Maybe they would too. Sofia attempted to take Sarah’s arm. But Kiara intercepted her.

“No, what the fuck.” Kiara said angrily. “You’ve been lying to us! All of us! Do you not remember what he did! To Peterkin! To John B! To me and Pope! To Sarah!”

“Kie—” Jj says, trying to calm her down.

Kiara put her hand up, “No! He hurt Sarah! He fucking tried to drown her Sofia! And you just decided to what? Have a relationship with him?! Are you crazy?!”

Sarah began to cry, Sofia couldn’t make herself look away. Her own eyes welling up with tears. She’d messed up. Big time and she didn’t know how she was going to fix it. She heard sniffing behind her, she turned to look. Rafe was sobbing now, shaking his head.

“Shut the fuck up, Kie!” Rafe yelled. “You are all against me! And then once I find the one person who isn’t, you try and ruin that for me!”

Kiara let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t deserve her! You never will!” Sarah continued to sob, John B wrapped her into his arms. His eyes scrunched in concern. Pope wouldn’t even look at Sofia. His eyes were staring at the complete opposite direction of her and everyone else.

“I—I know I messed up, okay. I messed up—”

“Messed up?!” Rafe and Kiara said in unison. Kiara flinched but continued to speak.

“You did more than just messed up. You betrayed us! For him!” Kiara pointed at Rafe, but move her hand away as if it burned to even try to acknowledge him. Rafe narrowed his eyes and Kiara. But as he opened his mouth to say something to retort. Sofia began to run.

“Sofia! Sofia wait!” John B yelled.

“Sofia!” Rafe voice sounding the ever heartbroken boy. But Sofia continued to run.

“Sofia!”

She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the thought of what she’d done. The pain she caused. She continued to run until she collapsed against the front door of her house. Sobs breaking out of her like a dam. She couldn’t breathe, she rubbed her tears away. And of course, of course she ran away like a coward. She tucked her knees towards her chest, letting herself cry. This was all her fault. She didn’t know how she was going to fix things. She didn’t even know where to start.

I don't know what you've done to me/But suddenly I'm feelin' things I just can't control/I don't know what you want from me/But every time I try to leave, you just won't let go

[secondsistershelby3]

NO HAPPY ENDING FOR US

Pairings : Joel Miller x Wife!Reader

Summary: your life with Joel was perfect, you got engaged in high school, you went to the prom, you got married, you had a perfect daughter, but apparently they didn't want you to have a happy ending

Warnings: !SCENE TAKEN FROM DEADPOOL 1!, a bit of fluff, angst, death

Notes: this is so short and pointless but i'm feeling down and i wanted to write something

It was a cool, lazy Sunday, which meant Sarah wasn't in school and Joel wasn't working. The Texas sun was shining through the half-open windows. You blinked as you tried to look ahead, thinking you were the only one awake, but as soon as you felt kisses on your neck you realized that wasn't the case.

You smiled and closed your eyes at the feeling. "good morning to you too"

"good morning honey" Joel's wet kisses moved from your neck to your bare collarbone.

"if you want to have sex wait until I brush my teeth" you tried to get up but Joel stopped you "do you think I care what your breath is" Joel laughed at your statement.

You turned around and looked at him in protest "uhg..alright alright you win" Joel removed his arm from your torso and stretched as you stood up in only your black lace panties, you picked up Joel's gray shirt from the floor and went to the bathroom.

Amazing how life can go from perfect to a huge explosion of shit

As soon as you brushed your teeth you walked out of the bathroom with a smile with Joel watching you, ready to take off your shirt. But when you put your hands on the hems to take it off you started to feel heavy

"what the fuck…"

and you fell to the ground

"DARLING!" The last thing you saw was Joel running towards you

--

one day you find yourself making pancakes with your husband and daughter...another day the doctor tells you that you have terminal cancer

"it..it can't be…I..how the hell is it possible!?" Joel got angry at the doctor in front of you, you instead couldn't hear a single word. Joel was already thinking of all the possible strategies to save you while he held your hands.

You instead were counting the days you had left to live

"there are some experimental treatments that we could try, medicine is making progress every day, we could at least try" the doctor looked at you and Joel with passion

"then we will try, we will try as long as we can" he squeezed your hands as he turned to look at you "I won't let you die" you looked at your husband with a heartbroken smile "ok…."

Joel kissed your knuckles.

You had never believed in miracles and you didn't believe in them now either

--

Joel has never been a believer… but in these last months he has been more of a believer than any believer in Texas.

The experimental treatments hadn't worked, you should have expected it. You had nothing left to hope for, the doctor had suggested palliative treatments for the little time you had left, to at least ease the pain that had tormented you for the last 3 months.

They had asked you if you wanted to do them at home or in the hospital and without hesitation you decided to do them at home. You received flowers from Tommy almost every day, affection from your husband and daughter and that was enough for you

you were lying on the couch, wearing baggy pants, and a fleece to keep you warm from the constant cold you felt. You had Joel on one side and Sarah on the other while you were watching a movie. At a certain point a pain in your stomach made you writhe on the spot

"Mom? Mom are you okay? Should I get you something?" Your eyes were closed as Joel stood beside you like your daughter not knowing what to do "it's okay honey, it's okay it'll pass now"

"Sarah go get her some water" Joel whispered as he tried to hold you up as much as he could

You didn't even realize you were crying, you turned to look at Joel and he hugged you right away

"I don't want to leave you Joel…I don't want to.." He pulled you closer, Joel shed a tear too, because he knew he was about to lose you, he knew he couldn't do anything to stop the process, that you were just waiting for the inevitable

and that moment didn't take long to arrive

because it was precisely 3 weeks later that Joel and Sarah watched your grave being buried 3 meters underground

It seems the world didn't want you to have your happy ending

[the-camp-half-blood-library]

Hey! I’m sorta new to fanfic but have loved PJO for a long time now. I was wondering if you have any good fanfic recommendations for Will Solace x Nico di Angelo?

I’m not sure what tags are so sorry I don’t have any to request, but I’m up for anything! Just no spice/sex scenes please!

Hey there! We've found fics from a variety of tags for you -- and these are all fairly popular fics, just to get you started! And if you'd like to learn more about tags and what they mean, I'd suggest the Archive's information page for more. That being said, here are the fics -- sorted by genre/main tag. Mind the other tags!

Angst

Happy Anniversary, Solace by InfectedToad_Mousiepaws

In which Will breaks down on the anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan.

run that body down by @ikeasharksss

"Not how long,” Will continues, “just how. I’m not interested in a time frame, I’m interested in exactly what would have to happen for people to notice that Will is gone."

The Demi-God Who Wouldn't Eat by Salmonellas__House

[no summary] A/N: Hii! This is totally different from my normal fics cause it’s pretty much just a vent. Which also explains why it’s not very good. Whoops! And please don’t read this if you think it’ll trigger you. Cause I think I triggered myself a couple times 🥲

Hurt/Comfort [mod note: yes, these are often cross-tagged with angst, for the purposes of this post I'm doing three different fics for each tag!]

give me another chance (i wanna grow up once again) by @alltheglowingeyess

“Ah, Mr. di Angelo. What can I do for you?” Chiron asks, his voice warm. Nico feels a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over him as he glances down at the smuggled plate. “I, uh, was looking for Will. Kayla and Austin too. I didn’t see them at breakfast, so…food.” He gestures vaguely at the plate, briefly considering the repercussions if he were to chuck it out the nearest window. Chiron’s eyes crinkle with amusement at Nico’s complete inability to function like a normal demigod, though his expression quickly flickers to something more serious, almost sad, at the mention of the three siblings. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Unfortunately, our Apollo campers are out for the day.” Nico frowns, rolling a grape between his fingers absently. “Like, they are on a supplies run?” Chiron shakes his head. “No, they’re still at camp. They’re just… on leave for the day.” Nico’s frown deepens. “On leave? All of them?” Chiron nods. “While I know they are eager to work, I decided it is for their benefit they take this week off, seeing as it will be a difficult one. So, I’ll be handling the infirmary duties until next Monday.”

A Full Cabin Seven by @because-youre-a-person

And that's when Will burst into tears. Right there, standing in the doorway of a full-to-capacity Cabin 7, trying to stifle his sobs in the sleeve of his jumper. Four years after the devastating Battle of Manhattan, Will comes back after a long shift in the infirmary to a cabin where every bed is taken. And it is oh-so bittersweet.

Since There is No Me Without You by @thebiscuitbread

He wasn’t sure what was happening. Standing awkwardly with his arms raised in a don’t shoot kind of position, he tried to assess the situation. Nico was pressing him harder into the wall, furiously holding him close and kissing him. or will gets woken up and nico aggressively makes out with him but then will's like "dude what is going on" and nicos like "i had a nightmare :("

Fluff

I'm waiting for it, that green light, I want it by Pondbox

Jason, Will, and Nico all consult Reddit on what to do about Nico and Will's relationship instead of communicating with each other like regular people. r/AmITheAsshole AITA for going to attempt professing my love to my straight best friend? u/sonofapollo r/advice Just realized I am gay and in love with my best friend. u/theghostking

My coffee black in my bed at three by sunnyy_days

Nico and Will spend a morning together, cuddling and wrapped in warmth.

'til we were dead and gone and buried by kidmaiok

Will Solace is a coward. Will Solace is a coward, or at least that’s what everyone says. He’s terrified of lots of things, most of all he’s afraid of death. Or A journey to Will and Nico’s first kiss.

Alternate Universe

paper hearts (we’re burning matches) by @wordsofasarcast

Where Will constantly complains about the medical inaccuracies in Nico’s books but has never bothered to look at the ‘About the Author’ page to know exactly who he’s complaining to.

a sweet tooth for you [series] by thebhorror

Nico works in a bakery and is determined to make Will fall in love with him his baked goods

Behind the Screen by Whiteout_creations

Nico and Will are boyfriends. Nico is a streamer while Will is med student working at a hospital Will stays out of Nico's steams most of the time. But Will has a bad day while at the hospital and walks in while Nico's streaming.

We hope we've found some good fics as jumping-off points for your reading journey! Leave kudos, leave a comment, and happy reading!

-Mod 2

[cetoddle-archive]

my wisdom tooth surgery is tmrw and i’m really scared ;-;

[yanderedrabbles]

Christine - A Yandere Short Story

Based on Christine by Stephen King After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go. Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words Taglist: @mel-vaz

When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.

All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.

After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.

"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."

His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."

You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.

You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.

It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.

She was waiting for you.

Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.

She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.

You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.

Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.

But things were different now.

You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.

When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.

The seats were empty.

You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.

The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.

You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.

When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.

At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.

But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.

No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.

You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.

It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.

It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.

Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.

"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."

Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.

"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."

You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.

He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.

"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."

You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.

When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.

His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.

"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."

You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.

"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"

He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.

"He... he passed away a few moths ago."

He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.

"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."

You shrugged. "It's fine."

He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.

He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."

You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.

"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"

"Be my guest."

He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.

"How long did this take?"

You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.

"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."

He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?

"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."

If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.

But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.

You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.

"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."

You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."

It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.

"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."

The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.

"Christine?"

"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."

You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -

'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'

He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.

'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'

Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.

Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?

The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.

God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.

He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.

'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'

It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.

You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

"What do you think?"

"She runs sweet as apple pie."

You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.

"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."

"Sorry. Just a little car sick."

Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.

"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."

You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.

The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.

"How did you know about this place?"

He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."

Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.

He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.

"You know this place?" he asked.

If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."

He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."

"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."

He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.

"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."

You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."

He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."

It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.

When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.

"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."

"Sure thing sugar."

He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?

Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.

When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.

It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.

No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.

Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.

"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.

"You say something sugar?"

He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.

"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."

"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."

He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?

"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.

He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."

"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."

See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?

He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.

"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.

You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?

"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.

You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.

You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.

He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.

"She's all yours." And thank God for that.

Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.

You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...

You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.

"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."

"Sure. I'm in no hurry."

He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.

Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.

He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.

Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.

Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.

Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.

And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.

'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'

Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.

He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.

"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."

He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.

You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.

"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."

He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."

You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.

He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.

You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.

He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"

It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.

'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'

You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.

Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.

'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'

The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.

"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."

You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.

"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."

You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-

"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"

YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.

"I'll bring you home early, promise."

"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."

Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.

'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'

He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.

That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.

You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?

Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.

Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.

Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.

Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.

You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.

Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.

"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.

You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."

Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.

"One hell of a dream," he muttered.

'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'

He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.

Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.

Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.

'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'

How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?

He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...

He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.

He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.

'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'

He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.

You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.

"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"

He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.

"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?

"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."

He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."

He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.

You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.

"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."

"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."

He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."

"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."

"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.

"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."

He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.

"So how's Christine treating you?"

"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."

"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.

It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.

"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."

You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?

He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."

You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.

He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.

He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.

"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.

"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."

He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.

"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"

You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.

"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."

You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.

"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"

'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.

He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.

And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.

He looked away from you and stayed silent.

You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"

He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.

"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.

He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.

Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.

"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."

He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.

He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.

All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.

He wanted to dream about you again.

There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.

He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.

He was right. He did dream of you.

You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.

You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?

He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.

He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.

"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"

You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.

Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.

"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"

He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.

"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."

"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"

He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."

He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."

"I don't want a fence."

He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."

You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"

He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"

That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.

"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."

It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.

"I haven't seen this one before. New?"

You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."

"It's cute. But..."

You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"

He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."

He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.

He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.

Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.

It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.

He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.

He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.

He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.

'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'

Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.

Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.

In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.

If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.

"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.

'Because you aren't thinking about her.'

He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.

Not tonight though.

He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.

The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.

'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.

'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'

A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.

He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.

'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'

When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.

He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.

He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.

Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.

On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.

He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.

'Mine. Forever and always.'

He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.

He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.

Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.

Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.

It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.

Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.

He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.

He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.

He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.

He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.

He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.

He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.

The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.

Funny. He used to hate tequila.

It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?

"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.

There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.

He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.

And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.

But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.

Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.

"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.

The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.

It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?

'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'

The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?

It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.

He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.

Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.

He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.

"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.

"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"

The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."

Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.

"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"

"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."

The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.

The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.

You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.

You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.

Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.

-Colt

Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.

Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.

The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.

You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.

You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.

It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.

You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.

"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."

Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.

"I got something to ask you, baby."

You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.

"Yes?"

He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.

"You're my girl, yeah?"

"Obviously. I love you."

"And you ain't going to leave me?"

"Never."

He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.

"Will you marry me?"

You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.

"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."

"I..."

"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."

"I...can't."

You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.

"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."

He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.

"Is there another man?"

"What?"

You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...

"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."

He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.

"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"

"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"

"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"

You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.

His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.

"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"

"No! That's not what I-"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat.

"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"

You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.

"Please just -"

"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"

He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.

"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."

You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.

"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"

Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.

Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.

You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.

Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.

How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?

Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.

White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.

You stabbed him.

You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.

The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.

You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.

He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.

You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.

But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.

You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.

You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.

You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.

He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.

You kicked the door shut.

It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.

The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.

You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.

When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.

You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.

You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.

At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.

And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.

If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.

Guy like him had it coming.

When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.

Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.

He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.

Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.

Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.

When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.

"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."

The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.

"Why is this dude so up my ass?"

He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.

Almost like a...Mustang.

His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.

He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.

And still the Mustang kept coming.

The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.

Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.

A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.

He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.

The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.

Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.

He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.

Screech.

The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.

"Fuck!"

Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.

Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.

The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.

The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.

But the car didn't have a driver.

He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.

Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.

He could almost hear the laugh.

'Do I got you scared cowboy?'

Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.

He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.

It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.

Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.

Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.

The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.

The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.

He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.

He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.

Where?! Where was she?!

Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.

The airbags came on, blinding him.

Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.

An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.

Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.

He landed hard, on his hands and knees.

Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.

For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.

Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.

She revved.

Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.

It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.

He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.

His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.

He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.

At least she can't follow me down here.

True. Christine couldn't follow him.

But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.

The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.

Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.

But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.

"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."

The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.

His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.

Kind of like in the cemetery.

No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.

He was looking at a dead man.

The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.

Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.

There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.

"You know why I'm here?"

Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.

Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.

"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"

The dead man laughed.

"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."

The pieces were clicking together in his head.

"Your girl."

"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.

He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.

That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.

He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.

"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"

Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.

"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."

The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.

His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.

Colt fainted.

The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.

The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.

It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.

You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.

"Hello?"

The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.

"Hey beautiful. Did ya miss me?" 

[softaestluv]

prev. | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ | angst a lil, fwb, jealousy, toxic Simon, possessive sex

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but your apartment is the last place he visits before being sent off on an assignment.

‘Jus’ need somethin’ to tide me over, yeah dove?’

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but when he’s away, his rugged and calloused hands don’t feel like yours, can’t get off unless he pictures you.

Above him. Below him. On your knees. On your back. In your mouth. Buried in your cunt.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but your apartment is the first place he visits when the mission is finished, doesn’t even bother going home.

And you answer, despite it being three in the morning.

“There’s my girl.” He breathes. Relieved. Dropping his bags on the floor before lunging forward to cup your face in his palms.

The claim makes you whine quietly, digging your fingertips into his wrists, arching on your tippy toes to meet his lips halfway. It’s ravenous, leaves your breath ragged, and lips thrumming with swelling blood.

He hoists you in his arms, burrowing his hands under your thighs and ass, pinching the flesh so hard it’ll bruise, but he can’t help it. He’s greedy. Selfish. Hasn’t quite coaxed himself down from the harsh realities of being ‘Ghost.’

“Ah—Simon,” You whimper, huffing hot air against his lips, “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry, baby,” He smooths his hands, petting the backs of your thighs, “I just-”

The ‘missed you’ dies on his tongue, stops it from rolling off and filling the empty space between the two of you, but you know.

That night when he asks you to repeat him, tell him you’re all his, you don’t respond like usual. He tries his best to coax it out of your pretty lips orgasm after orgasm because he needs to hear it, but you don’t give him the pleasure.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, so he has no other option but to accept it because you’re not his. The lack of acknowledgment eats at his skin, brutal talons gnawing at his flesh when you slowly stop responding to his texts.

Shows up at your doorstep anyway because you don’t get to tell him when this stops. When you answer the door, you’re all dolled up, a tight little skirt hugging your figure, lip gloss smeared on your lips like you have somewhere to be other than on his cock.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, glaring at him, “I’m busy.”

“With what?”

You frown, “I have a date.”

He snorts, pushing past you, making a show of taking off his boots and placing them next to yours, has no intention of leaving.

“Simon,” You sigh, closing the door behind you, “I don’t have time for this right now. He’ll be here any minute.”

The statement alone pinches his temples with irritation, but that’s when he sees it, one small hickey adorned on your neck, just below your ear. His vision narrows, tunneling red, nudging you against the wall with one swift movement, tilting your jaw to get a better look at it.

“The fuck is this?” He snarls, runs his thumb over the bruise, and makes your breath hitch slightly.

“Nothing.” You mutter quietly.

“Your little date give you this? Huh?” He grits through clenched teeth, grip tightening on your jaw, drawing dimples in your skin.

“None of your business.” You spit back, but it’s far too gentle to have any real bite like it always does with him, pup with baby canines.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he seethes at the idea of another man inside of you, another man marking you as theirs when you’re his.

Sinks his teeth around the stupid mark, dragging sharp fangs against your delicate flesh, and sucks the skin viciously. Covers the ugly bruise with his own claim.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he presses you right up against your front door, so your date can hear him fucking you in two when he comes to pick you up.

‘Can yer little boyfriend fuck you like this? Huh, baby? Did he know jus’ how you like it?’

Fucks you messy and pretty, until your cheeks are tear-stained and your breaths are wrecked, hiccuping over your moans that’s he’s so mean, so cruel, asking you to say you’re his when he doesn’t even have the courage to say he missed you.

‘Be a good girl f’me, yeah? Tell me you’re all mine.’

And when you do finally say it, he carries you to your bed, fucks you slow and deliberate like he always does, like he really means it, and whispers the words against your skin.

@bbygirl9 @ailanbutterfly @amberbalcom14 @h0lydrag0ns

[nezuscribe]

there’s been a couple nights where you and arranged!gojo have had to host little dinners at the estate to show face and let people know you two are still alive.

it’s before the big confession, when the two of you were becoming closer, so it was just pretend niceness hiding the tension for a couple hours.

you tried to talk to the people around the large dining room table, sitting near gojo as you listened in on the conversation, but it was better to just be a part of it rather than the center of the spotlight. gojo had become increasingly aware of the long looks people gave your way, the hushed talks behind the women’s hands. you didn’t notice, maybe you’d been jaded to it, but he did, and he was becoming more tense under their stares.

he noticed how you’d try to jump in and say something, but was instantly cut off by somebody else. gojo had told you before the dinner started that the two of you should hold hands, but you hadn’t let go of his, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of you either. he’d give you an encouraging squeeze, one which you gave him a little smile to, but still clammed up, sitting back in your seat.

"want me to tell them to shut up?" he whispered to you, dropping his head near your ear so that nobody else could hear.

"no it's okay," you say with a laugh, waving it off, "i was just going to ask what cashmere is," you say, in relation to a previous story one of the girls was telling about cashmere moth, and how her entire closet was chewed to bits because of the creatures.

"it's a type of fabric," he explains gently, his eyes searching yours, "very soft," he adds with a little smile and yours grows wider.

"i'd like to see it," you comment, leaning a little bit closer to him.

"i'll have your closets full of cashemere by the morning if you'd like," he says, but you know deep down it could be a promise if you simply said yes.

but you giggle, shaking your head.

"no," you're looking up at him in that way that makes his tongue feel heavy, "the moths, they must be huge," you murmur and he snorts, squeezing your hand a little bit tighter in retaliation.

to be honest, gojo hated these dinners. these people he grew up with were dull and annoying, their conversations full of lame gossip and cheap jokes, and he’d much prefer your lively stories with just you, but they were a necessary evil.

when the servants had cleared the meal away and had begun setting up for dessert, he could feel the stare of one of the girls, anya, and the way her eyes squinted when he caught her looking. he saw the way she sneakily tipped her head back, chin pointing to the opening near some of the stone columns, and excused herself a couple seconds later, looking over her shoulder at him before she disappeared.

gojo knew anya. he’d fooled around with her a couple of times long before the two of you got married, but he found her a bit shallow and dim, nothing he found interesting. he looked over at you to see if you had seen her, but you were looking at your plate, moving some grains of uneaten rice around with your fork.

curiosity got the better of him, wondering what it was she wanted, and so he stood up, his chair scraping behind him as you let go of his hand, you, along with everybody else, looking at him as he excused himself to the washroom.

he walked briskly past the table, leaving through one of the openings of the stone columns, looking around until he say anya at the end of the hall, waiting for him.

“what?” he bit out, hushed, looking behind him to make sure that nobody had followed him out.

anya smiled, her teeth glimmering as he neared her, standing a safe distance away as she pouted slightly.

gojo winced. he forgot how her smile up close was unnerving, the way it wasn’t as soft or full of emotion like yours. her eyes, a deep hazel, glimmered as she took a step closer, her fingers reaching for his collar.

“i missed you,” she whispered, lips glossy as she peered up at him, her lashes batting against her cheeks as he felt his mother dry up, feeling a sudden air of nausea overtake him as he swatted her hand away.

he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“is that all you wanted to tell me?” he hissed out, knowing how stupid he sounded seeing how he had followed her out, surely expecting this.

“what?” anya tilts her head, “thought you’d like to hear it.”

gojo rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest.

“i thought you had something important to say,” he shrugs, looking away, focusing on a crack, getting ready to leave until she laughs, shaking her head.

nobody said he was the brightest soldier in all the land. he’s not above some actually good gossip, but he had a feeling this ain’t about to be that.

“you’ve always loved gossip,” her eyes glimmer as she takes another tentative step closer, “is that why you married the center of it?”

his eyes narrow slightly, but she just sees him listening to her.

“come on,” anya snorts, her hand coming up to his face until she stops at his cold gaze, pulling her hand away, “we all know it’s not rank or looks that made you marry her.”

gojo feels his arms tighten, a vein bulging in his neck as he swallows thickly. he doesn’t say anything, wants to see how she continues, wants to see what everybody else thinks without saying it.

"i mean, your mother keeps saying it was reciprocal," she rolls her eyes, laughing mirthlessly, "but i know that's a lie. you look miserable whenever you're around her."

gojo feels his eyes twitch, his ring shining in the slivers of moonlight through the large, overarching windows.

"did you call me here to talk ill of my wife?" gojo bites out, but she can't sense his tone, giggling as she shoves him, his body not moving.

"drop the theatrics 'toru," he feels bile in his mouth at her sweetened words, "it's just me," she says, biting her lips as indiscreetly as she can, eyes raking over his toned body as she looks back up to his face, "but regardless, no, i had something else i wanted to tell you."

she sighs, her voice a little higher as if he wouldn't notice.

"i'm staying at the hostelry in the town near here for a couple of nights," she bats her eyes again, and suddenly gojo wonders if he had been insanely ill when he had slept with her those months ago because now he feels sick just looking at her, "if you wanted...i'm there for you."

he raises his white brow slightly.

"gods anya," he breaths deeply through his nose, his eyes darkened, "you have audacity if nothing else."

she smiles brightly, taking it as a compliment.

"i know," she winks, "i looked around the area, and nobody of import comes near there. i know you need it as bad as i do," her voice drops a little, eyes falling slightly to the ground, "people are talking. i know how lonely you must feel."

his nose wrinkles slightly in confusion.

"what are you talking about?"

anya looks at him briefly before looking away, shrugging.

"everybody knows you two don't share a room," she explains, "and how she's not even showing signs of pregnancy. is she frigid in bed? you know, some people are saying she's infertile."

gojo straightens up, a new look taking over his face that makes her voice die down.

"what? who's saying that? who's talking?" he presses, and she feels her mouth dry up, suddenly picking up on the fact that he doesn't seem to be at all interested in the deal she's trying to make.

he feels a sudden wave of mixed emotions washing over him.

are the maids taking? gods, that makes him feel even worse. it surely couldn't be yours, they care for you too much. but it must've been somebody who knows your situation, somebody who sees the way you live on different sides of the estate. gojo feels a sinking pit in his stomach. these rumors that are growing because of his own selfish actions, rumors at your own expense, ones you have no control over, by people you've been trying to befriend for ages.

he knows people look at you whenever you enter a room, hears their awfully concealed whispers. and despite the fact that you try to hide the hurt on your face, he sees the way you avade their glances, hide into yourself to act like it doesn't bother you.

are these whispers now because of him?

"i don't know," she mutters, annoyed, "everyone. you barely look at her. did your parents pay you to marry her? she must've been-"

"stop it." gojo warns, and she shuts her mouth, eyes shimmering with shock.

she looks like she's about to say something but stops, looking over his looming body at something.

"gojo? is that you?" another voice calls out, and he turns around, all the anger melting off of his face when he sees it's you, standing near the pillars as you try to find him.

you smile when you see him, still not seeing anya who's hidden behind him, and wave for him to come back.

"they're about to serve dessert," you say, trying to be as quiet as you can, "oh, are you with someone? sorry, i didn't mean to interrupt..." you trail off, your smile falling when anya shuffles around, making sure you see her behind him, your eyes widening.

gojo feels his world slipping beneath him as your shoulder drops, looking at him and then at anya, a somber look taking over your features. you look for another second, not knowing what to do. gojo feels like a fish, gaping silently at you, never looking back at anya, but you excuse yourself, going back to the dining hall without saying another word.

gojo stares aimlessly at the wall in front of him, not sparing his energy to look at the girl peering up at his face.

"get out," he murmurs, his voice low with timber.

"w-what?" she stammers, brows furrowing in confusion.

"get out before i call the guards," he snaps, looking at her from the side of his eyes, "fucking now anya, leave."

she looks up at him, swallowing thickly, but gets the memo that he's being serious. she scammers away, sniffling dramatically as she disappears through another hallway.

he drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples.

his eyes fall to his ring, the one that seems to be growing cold on his finger.

he feels his heart burn in his chest, every step feeling like he had stones tied to his feet as he makes his way back to the hall, hearing the edited clammer of the people welcoming him back, but there was only one person he cared about.

and you weren't looking at him.

in fact, you didn't speak to him that entire night. nor that following week.

gojo has almost bled to death before and has had arrows pierce his back and exit through his chest, but he'd rather experience that ten times again than feel the agonizing silence of the woman he's starting to love.

(second part)