#if there's mistakes... no there's not! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[carlyraejepsans]

Screen recording of the band segment from chapter 3 so I can read the full lyrics without eating shit too badly

[shrimpler]

soon she’ll have nowhere else to go

[ridiculouslyunintelligent]

hot take: the problem with doctor who is NOT that they brought billie piper back, it is NOT that ncuti left early, it is NOT that 15 never faced a dalek or a cyberman, and it is CERTAINLY NOT that it’s ’too woke’

the problem with doctor who is that they have forgotten how to engage an audience without utterly confusing them. if i were a writer, this is what i’d change:

1. i would lower the stakes

my biggest issue with dw in recent years is that the stakes are always SO high - it’s always ‘we need to sort this out or else the ENTIRE UNIVERSE WILL END. this rarely happened at the start of nuwho. of course, there were instances where galaxies and universes were at stake, but there were also plenty of instances where the doctor solves issues to A. save his own skin, B. save his friends, and C. to save smaller populations of people and/or generally do what is morally right.

prime example is in new earth. the world isn’t really at stake, he has a couple of objectives: get cassandra to piss off, free the test subjects, stop the infections from spreading. he doesn’t spend the hour worrying that if he doesn’t help then the world will end, he sees a problem that’s morally corrupt and he solves it for the sake of that group. the payoff is just as good, and actually IMPROVES the payoff for episodes where a bit more is at stake, like the poison sky, for example.

2. i would stop plots from spilling over across seasons

i’d like to remind everyone that, although there were things that kind of linked into each other and were mentioned again, generally for the first 4 seasons of (new) doctor who, an overarching issue was built up, climaxed, and resolved throughout a single season. for example: bad wolf in s1. this has gotten worse and worse over time but has honestly been a problem since rtd1 ended, and for some reason when he came back it got WORSE than it’s ever been!!! there’s just way too much overspill across seasons, things even span accross different doctors more recently which is just too much at times. when it’s little things it doesn’t matter, but it’s not. again, this has been an issue before this finale, but this finale is a good example since there were a hundred and one loose ends before he regenerated. when nuwho began, they literally stated each regen would be treated as a soft reboot and their neglect of that has been a downfall.

3. i’d make doctor who dirty and grungy again

it’s too clean futuristic ultra modern sci-fi these days. the tardis doesn’t look like he stole it. what happened to those fun tardis scenes where the entire thing would shake as it took off and landed? why is everything so light and clean? it should be dim and cozy and imperfect.

4. i’d make the companions’ family members more prominent and interesting characters again

doesn’t take much explaining, really. picture jackie tyler, now picture carla sunday. who has a stronger presence and personality in your head and why is it jackie tyler? (there’s bound to be someone who disagrees and that’s fine but i don’t rlly want to hear about it tbh)

5. i’d re-inject some british whimsy

please don’t mistake this as me saying doctor who ‘isn’t british’ or something weird and gammon-y like that, i love when dw explores different cultures, the story and the engine was one of my highlights last season, i just mean like - let him save the world with a jammy dodger again. let him be brought back to life by a good cup of tea. it makes it enjoyable.

there are lots of things, but those are my main ones.

EDIT: thank you to everyone who has weighed in on this - i’ve found it really interesting to see everyone’s perspectives on this because honestly i could talk for king and country about it, but also i just wanted to say that it makes me kind of sad that one of my only negative posts about doctor who is my most popular post :( if you’re reading this, it’s your sign to do something positive today, if i can help to make just one person’s day better then that’s a win to me :)

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧪 Character Arcs 101: what they are, what they aren’t, and how to make them hurt

by rin t. (resident chaos scribe of thewriteadviceforwriters)

Okay so here’s the thing. You can give me all the pretty pinterest moodboards and soft trauma playlists in the world, but if your character doesn’t change, I will send them back to the factory.

Let’s talk about character arcs. Not vibes. Not tragic backstory flavoring. Actual. Arcs. (It hurts but we’ll get through it together.)

─────── ✦ ───────

💡 what a character arc IS:

a transformational journey (keyword: transformation)

the internal response to external pressure (aka plot consequences)

a shift in worldview, behavior, belief, self-concept

the emotional architecture of your story

the reason we care

💥 what a character arc is NOT:

a sad monologue halfway through act 2

a single cool scene where they yell or cry

a moral they magically learn by the end

a “development” label slapped on a flatline

─────── ✦ ───────

✨ THE 3 BASIC FLAVORS OF ARC (and how to emotionally damage your characters accordingly):

Positive Arc They start with a flaw, false belief, or fear that limits them. Through the events of the story (and many Ls), they confront that internal lie, grow, and emerge changed. Hurt factor: Drag them through the mud. Make them fight to believe in themselves. Break their trust, make them doubt. Let them earn their ending.

Negative Arc They begin whole(ish) and devolve. They fail to overcome their flaw or false belief. This arc ends in ruin, corruption, or defeat. Hurt factor: Let them almost have a chance. Build hope. Then show how they sabotage it, or how the world takes it anyway. Twist the knife.

Flat/Static Arc They don’t change, but the world around them does. They hold onto a core truth, and it’s their constancy that drives change in others. Think: mentor, revolutionary, or truth-teller type. Hurt factor: Make the world push back. Make their values cost them something. The tension comes from holding steady in chaos.

─────── ✦ ───────

🎯 how to build an arc that actually HITS (no ✨soft lessons✨, just internal structure):

Lie they believe: What false thing do they think about themselves or the world? (“I’m unlovable.” “Power = safety.” “I’m only valuable if I’m useful.”)

Want vs. need: What do they think they want? What do they actually need to grow?

Wound/backstory scar: What made them like this? You don’t need a tragic past™ but you do need cause and effect.

Turning point: What moment forces them to question their worldview? What event cracks the surface?

Moment of choice: Do they change? Or not? What decision seals their arc?

🧪 Pro tip: this is not a worksheet. This is scaffolding. The arc lives in the story, not just your doc notes. The lie isn’t revealed in a monologue, it’s felt through consequences, relationships, mistakes.

─────── ✦ ───────

🛠️ things to actually do with this:

Write scenes where the character’s flaw messes things up. Like, they lose something. A person. A plan. Their cool. Make the flaw hurt.

Track their beliefs like a timeline. How do they start? What chips away at it? When does the shift stick?

Use relationships as arc mirrors. Who challenges them? Enables them? Forces reflection? Internal change is almost never solo.

Revisit the lie. Circle back to it at least three times in escalating intensity. Reminder > confrontation > transformation.

─────── ✦ ───────

🌊 bonus pain level: REVERSE THE ARC

Wanna make it really hurt? Set them up for one arc, and give them the opposite. They think they’re growing into a better person. But actually, they’re losing themselves. They think they’re spiraling. But they’re really healing. Let them be surprised. Let the reader be surprised.

─────── ✦ ───────

TL;DR: If your plot is a skeleton, your character arc is the nervous system.

The change is the thing. Don’t just dress it up in trauma. Don’t let your character learn nothing. Make them face themselves. And yeah. Make it hurt a little. (Or a lot. I won’t stop you.)

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // plotting pain professionally since forever

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Holy WOW.

Like, you think you know how badly Kris's life sucks. Divorced parents, brother off to college, no friends, some strange higher power hijacking their body and going off on adventures without them... but hey, at least they're able to take some control back from us sometimes! At least they can go off and eat all the pie in peace! At least they can open a dark fountain in their home so they can spend more time with their cool friend Susie! Yay! I'm sure they're just leaving the door open for the cops to get in so they can save the day!

And then. AND THEN. Chapter 4... happens. And everything we thought we knew about Kris crumbles to dust before our very eyes.

Those snatched moments from the player? They weren't the triumphant grasp at freedom we thought, but another, yet more insidious layer of control that has been exerted upon them. Because for the end of Chapter 3 to have happened, a few things had to be prepared - the TV had to be plugged in, Susie had to come over, the tires had to be slashed so the police would be called, and the door had to be left open so that the Knight could gain entry - not the police, but The Roaring Knight. The Enemy.

And make no mistake - they didn't want to do ANY of it. Drinking in the Holidays' kitchen... the way their head turns whenever Susie or Noelle mentions them... Carol's ice-cold hand on their shoulder ("in the shadow of the Knight's hand")... do any of these things indicate Kris as a willing co-conspirator? Or rather, a child who has fallen into the clutches of a very manipulative - and very real - authority figure, who is being groomed and coerced into performing dangerous acts that threaten the lives of not just their friends, but their family, their town, and quite possibly the whole world?

We knew that Kris Dreemurr's life sucked before this. But we could never have anticipated just how badly it sucked, just how little control and agency they truly have, in any aspect of their life. This situation has been going on for MUCH longer than we've been around - you can tell that much from the birdcage. Their situation is so utterly, catastrophically FUCKED that death seems the most preferable outcome for them.

Remember Susie noting how Kris responds to Queen's offer to "Perish" with enthusiasm?

Remember the way they crumple onto the floor when Spamton NEO is about to kill them and take their SOUL, not even attempting to fight back?

Remember them whispering in Susie's ear in "the_newest_girl_girl"?

...yeah. It's THAT bad.

And you have to wonder... if we were never shunted into Kris's body... if we didn't literally FORCE Kris to move, to go to the dark world, to Fight and Spare enemies - to FORCE them to play at being a hero, in spite of their situation... What would have happened?

Would Kris even be alive now, if not for us?

[sangunary]

very random but batfamily with a reader that just favors Tim. They have a whole space under his desk and everything. Eats his snacks, drinks his sodas, ect. Refuses to bond with anyone else, Tim and Reader might as well be conjoined twins. This can be normal batfamily or yandere batfamily it's completely up to you!<3

Batfam x Child Reader! (Platonic)

SYPNOSIS: Your family thought they adopted you, turns out you adopted only one of them.

IMP: PLATONIC, Reader is a child.

It was supposed to be a normal investigation, just two couples that got murdered in their own home.

When he enters another room he saw you, in your my little pony pajamas with a round red plushie with a poorly drawn face around your arms, completely oblivious to the brutal death of your parents.

He couldn't hell but let a slight smile, in such darkness there you were happy to see him. Happy to see a stranger in ridiculously dark clothes.

The room he found you in was no condition for such a ball of happiness, wallpaper teared, water dripping although it was summer, your bed was extremely mess ans solid hard.

He picked you up as you wrap your tiny arms around him clutching onto your plushie. No thoughts in your head as you look dead in his eyes, sucking onto your thumb.

"Ba-man"

You spoke, thumb still in your mouth as your lips parted to form a smile.

He was definitely going to adopt you now.

Your first day with the family was amazingly wonderful, everyone wanted to hold you or bite your cheeks for some reason.

You did choose your favourite from the start, Tim.

When anyone tried to pick you up while he holds you, you would simply turn away and wrap your arms around his neck so they won't seperate you.

Try feeding him anything you can hold onto, pulling his hair cause it was beautiful and you wanted them or the time you didn't stop crying for the whole day straight because Tim went to school.

As you grew older your favourite did not change to the disappointment of most.

Your room was never occupied by you and instead you slept next to Tim much to his dismay.

Unlike him you slept like you've never slept before plus you were deaf and can't feel any touch when you slept.

He would wake up with you on the floor still asleep and he would have to pick you up and make you face the wall, yet you still managed to end up at the bottom of the bed without him knowing.

You arm on his nose or your entire body ontop of him like a cat that want more warmth and will get it no matter what.

Under his desk was something else, a whole new place you had created.

Tim spent most of his time on the desk and you knew it, since you don't want him to be alone you build your own room under his desk.

Picture of my little pony, a chart that doesn't make sense but Tim would listen to you mumbled about it, food and drink, pillow and his jacket you used as pillow and books.

You would read aloud to him while he work on a case, you did have trouble reading and in the end Tim would just read the book with you and intentionally make mistakes so you won't be so embarassed.

Jason who didn't like this was trying so hard on the sideline to get you to drop Tim yet to his Disappointment you were stubborn.

"C'mon we can go watch my little pony till ten if you say im your favourite"

Jason have been trying for years to beat Tim and get the favourite. He tried to spend more times with you but it's impossible when you follow Tim like a duckling even waiting outside bathroom.

"I know you love Pony"

Jason was determine, it wasn't fair at all. You saw Tim call him a tomato and from that day you practically glue yourself onto him, he was way too happy for Jasons liking.

He already wanted to Bash his head for replacing him and now he wanted to throw his head throw a wall for getting all your affection.

"No, Timmy said no"

"You- When did you start listening to adults, you should be a rebel..."

"No"

Jason have never wanted to shake a child so hard just cause they weren't rebellious like he was.

Before Jason could continue his persuasion you saw Tim walk by and instantly went towards him, leaving the older male still kneeling on the ground with my little pony disc on his hand.

"...You like pony?"

Stephanie who just walk into the scene commented, with a wide smile.

"Shut it"

Jason left with the disc still on his hand, leaving Stephanie who was over the moon with her discovery to shout at him.

"Nothing wrong with liking ponies!"

Tim bought everything in two now, doesn't matter what he bought you would always swallow them without even knowing what it was.

It was honestly adorable, eating or drinking anything he ate because you wanted to grow up like him. For someone with short arms you could reach high.

If Tim was to eat something you would eat them without hesitation and proudly huff when you swallow.

You drank coffee once didn't sleep the entire night just went crazy around the house all night.

That's how they made you eat disgusting medicine, by making Tim eat something else that look alike to the medicine and faster then a cell could enter your brain you would chuck them down.

"C'mon brocoli is healthy, you'll grow up like me!"

Dick tried to convince you as he tried to push the food through your mother yet you stubbornly resisted.

And you resorted to pulling his hair, it doesn't hurt that much but it still does hurt and you were in no mood to let him go easily.

"Aouch! Geez, you pull real hard huh? Okay let go now no more brocoli"

Dick tried to gently pry your hands away from his hair but you wouldn't budge, pulling with all your might which hurt way more.

Before Dick could resort to yanking you and have you pull some hair out Tim walk in with no reaction to the current dilemma Dick was in.

Sat next to you and pick a brocoli and fed it to you, which you open your mouth without any second and chew, your hands remain on his hair.

"Tim, could you atleast get her to let go-"

"Let this be a punishment for you forcing her to eat when she obviously doesn't want to"

"She just ate, it's not the food it's the feeder!"

You didn't let go of his hair until Tim pick you up.

It was quite normal for people to mistake Tim as your father even tho you two look nothing alike.

Random mother's and elders or even workers praising him for being such a strong single father who loves his kid, Tim doesn't care about the comments. He absolutely found them hilarious.

"Bless your heart for stepping up for your child, the world need a father like you"

An old grandmother who was walking down the street would comment and Tim on the other hand just nod along with it, no denying or acception.

Even the journalists would intentionally made jokes about how Tim was more of a father than Bruce could be to you, and you thought Bruce was... Your distance uncle and not your father.

Every time anyone brought up the Wayne family and Tim or you is mentioned, everyone will agree that you adopted your own father while your adoptive father became your uncle.

You would hold his hands because they were comfortable unlike the others and if anyone tried to hold your hands, insult everywhere.

"Is your hand made out of cement...?"

"...Did your hand ran a marathon? Why so sweaty?"

"Did your hand ate a giant?"

"Your hand's have different gender"

"You hold onto me like im about to fly"

"No please"

"...Your fingers ate a snake"

"It should be illegal for you to hold hands"

Damian love's your fast mouth but hate it when it's towards him, he secretly tried to teach you how to fight Tim went wrong you ended up attacking him.

His plan backfired real bad.

Did they hate that you loves Tim so much while activity insulting them without even understanding your own word? Yes, they still love you.

It was as if you had adopted Tim solely and the rest were just extra benefit.

Tim loves the fact that you were so open about him being your favourite, he's a proud father of one which is you.

As much as the family love's you, you can only love one and that is your adopted father Tim.

Yes, you adopt your father.

[bucketsorbueckers]

Trouble - 5

Age gap Paige X Azzi

Warning: Alcohol, language, suggestive thoughts from these losers

WC: 6k

a/n: i hope you enjoyyyy <3

Paige’s POV

She felt mildly unhinged. Probably because she hadn’t slept in two days—every time she closed her eyes, there it was. Azzi Fudd, all flushed cheeks and stupid confidence, saying “Always do what I’m told” like a curse she couldn’t scrub out of her brain.

It looped like a bad dream. Or worse, a good one.

She’d successfully avoided Azzi for the last few days.

Well—as much as you could avoid someone you shared a court, a locker room, and a dozen group chats with.

She skipped morning shootaround. Left practice before anyone could ask questions. Had every group chat muted, every notification silenced like it might keep her pulse from doing that thing anytime Azzi’s name popped up.

It was petty. Inefficient. Slightly delusional. But it was working. Mostly.

At least training camp was over.

Rosters were getting finalized by end of day. There’d been a few tough calls, a couple surprise waives, but nothing that shook her. For the most part, the team looked exactly like she expected.

Which meant one thing, officially:

Azzi Fudd was her teammate.

The door to her apartment swung open, snapping Paige out of her spiral. Courtney and Bridget strolled in like they owned the place.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Paige muttered, not looking up.

Courtney shrugged, setting takeout on the counter. “Ever heard of locking your door?”

Bridget was already grinning. “Unless you wanted someone to wander in. Someone with curls and—”

“No,” Paige said, cutting her off clean. “We’re not doing this. You just got here.”

“Never too early to poke at your sexual repression, Bueckers,” Courtney said casually. 

Paige dropped her phone face-down on the couch cushion and made a mental note to deadbolt the door next time. 

“I’m not sexually repressed,” she said flatly, grabbing a container from the takeout pile.

Bridget flopped into the armchair. “You literally fled the gym the second Azzi looked at you on Monday.”

“I had treatment,” Paige said.

“You ran,” Courtney countered, opening her chopsticks with a snap. “I haven’t seen you move that fast in years.”

Paige pointed her fork at them both. “She’s a rookie. And I’m her teammate. Which means it would be incredibly inappropriate to notice anything about her except her jump shot.”

Bridget snorted. “Oh, so you admit you noticed.”

“Jesus Christ,” Paige muttered, shoving food in her mouth like it could fill the silence.

Bridget leaned back on the couch, smug. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. We saw the video. The catch? The look? That’s a woman down bad.”

Courtney waggled her brows. “And we’re not talking about Fudd.”

Paige sighed and stood up, already halfway to the kitchen. “I will throw all of this in the trash.”

“You won’t,” Courtney called. “Because you’re too hungry and too emotionally constipated.”

Bridget cackled, raising her water bottle, “To Paige Bueckers, who would rather suffer in silence than acknowledge her feelings like a well-adjusted adult.”

They were an hour and a half into the movie when Paige made her first mistake.

She picked up her phone.

Which, in hindsight, was a catastrophic lapse in judgment. Rookie shit. The kind of thing you yell at characters for doing in horror movies—don’t go in there, except it was don’t open Instagram.

But she did. Absentmindedly. Like she wasn’t a walking red flag of self-sabotage.

The first story that popped up?

Azzi.

In front of a mirror. Full-length. Hair half up, half down. Wearing something black and short and illegal. A cropped tee and skirt situation that did something unholy to Paige’s blood pressure. The caption?

Rookie dinner 😌💅🏽

She tapped again.

The next clip: Azzi with the other rookies, all of them laughing, toasting cocktails.. Someone said, You better post this, Fudd, and Azzi turned, grinned into the camera like she knew. Like she could feel Paige watching it in real time.

Which was insane. But it didn’t stop Paige from watching it three more times.

"You're fidgety," Bridget said without looking away from the screen. "What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Paige replied. “You know I can’t sit through a whole movie.”

“I also know you’ve been looking at something on your phone for the last five minutes like you’re searching for all of life’s answers.”

“I have not been-”

Courtney snatched her phone out of her hand with the speed of someone who’d been waiting all night for the opportunity.

“Hey!” Paige lunged, but Courtney was already on her feet, screen turned away.

“Oh my God,” she said, eyes wide, grin wider. “You’re stalking her stories?”

Bridget perked up. “Her who?”

Paige crossed her arms and sank deeper into the couch. “Give it back.”

“Who do you think? Fudd,” Courtney announced like it was breaking news. “Looking like that? In that outfit? You’re doomed.”

“She’s at a rookie dinner,” Paige said, as if that justified anything. As if that explained why she’d been replaying a five-second video for the last five minutes. 

“Jealous she didn’t ask you to come?”

Paige didn’t look up. “Why would she? I’m not a rookie.”

Bridget didn’t miss a beat. “No, but you clearly want one.”

Paige shot her a look. “Get out.”

“Can’t,” Bridget said, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “We live here now. Welcome to your intervention.”

“And the topic of the night,” Courtney added, raising her water like a toast, “is Paige Bueckers and the girl who’s going to ruin her life.”

------

It took a full hour to get them out of her apartment. An hour of relentless teasing, dramatic reenactments, and so much shit-talking Paige genuinely considered tossing them both off the balcony.

By the time the door finally clicked shut, she was half-feral with exhaustion. Her body ached. Her head throbbed. And her eyes were already slipping closed before she even hit the pillow.

But then her phone vibrated.

Paige groaned, face still half-buried in the pillow. Probably the group chat. Bridget and Courtney, back on their bullshit.

But then it vibrated again. Longer this time. A phone call.

Paige blinked, rolled over slowly, and squinted at the screen. It was a number she half-recognized—vaguely familiar, but not saved. Probably spam. Or worse, someone who expected her to answer. She shook her head and dropped the phone face down on the comforter.

It buzzed again.

And again.

By the third call, her patience wore thin. She snatched the phone up with a sharp sightand swiped to answer.

“Hello?” she snapped.

The line crackled. Music thudded somewhere in the background, muffled by static and distance.

“Paige?”

She sat up. Immediately. Her body just…knew.

She pulled the phone away to double-check the number. No name, But that voice—high, a little rushed, like it was trying not to break—there was no mistaking it.

“Are you there?” the voice asked.

Paige didn’t mean to nod like a moron. Didn’t mean to whisper “yeah” under her breath before clearing her throat and trying again.

“Fudd?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, her voice softer this time. “It’s me. Sorry. I’m on Maddie’s phone. Mine died.”

Paige rolled her eyes instinctively, already trying to summon the cool detachment she’d been clinging to all week. “Do you ever charge your phone?”

“I do—usually,” Azzi said. But the second word cracked. Barely. Enough that Paige sat straighter. Pressed the phone tighter to her ear.

“Everything alright?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

A breath on the other end. Then a sniffle. Paige’s stomach dropped.

She thought of that night at the bar. That guy who’d leaned in too close, said something too smooth. How Azzi stood there like he had the right. And Azzi hadn’t moved. She’d just smiled that uncomfortable, too-polite smile. The kind girls learn young. The kind that says I don’t like this without saying a word.

What if—

“I can’t remember my address,” Azzi choked out, her voice cracking through a wave of tears. “I saved it on my phone but it’s dead and I want to go home and I can’t—I can’t remember where I live.”

The words came out slurred and desperate. Hiccups catching between syllables. Sobs fighting for space with each breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Paige muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I thought something was actually wrong.”

“It is,” Azzi whined. “I want to go home. My feet hurt, I’m tired, and I don’t even know where to tell the driver to go.”

Paige exhaled hard through her nose. Checked the time. 12:53 AM. She could practically see it: Azzi in some too-short skirt, mascara smudged, standing on a dark corner shivering and trying not to cry, because of course she was.

“What exactly do you want me to do here, Fudd?”

“I thought…” Azzi’s voice cracked, small and guilty. “You knew where I lived. From the car that one time. Maybe you could tell the driver?”

Paige stared at the ceiling like it could save her. “So you called me at 1 AM because you assumed I memorized your address?”

She had. Of course she had. But she wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi whispered, so quiet Paige almost missed it. “I shouldn’t have called. You’re probably busy and I’m just…ruining your night—”

“Oh my god,” Paige groaned, already getting up. Her knee cracked. “Where are you?”

There was a pause—like Azzi had to squint at the street sign or maybe just gather the pieces of herself long enough to form a sentence.

“Corner of Westin,” she finally said. “Outside some place called Zee’s.”

Paige knew exactly where that was.

She yanked a hoodie over her head and slipped her feet into sneakers, already annoyed at how fast she moved. 

“Go back inside,” she said. “Sit near the door. Order a water.”

Azzi hiccuped. “Why?”

“Because I told you to,” Paige said, grabbing her keys. “And if you don’t do it right now, I might come to my senses and crawl back in bed.”

A pause. Then: “Okay.”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Azzi breathed.

And Paige didn’t even say goodbye. Just ended the call and headed out the door. 

Azzi’s POV

It turned out Azzi did actually like tequila—especially if it came dressed up in a well-made margarita with a salted rim and a tiny umbrella that made her feel like less of a lightweight.

She had made it through two without a problem. Three had been pushing it. Four was… well. That’s how she ended up sobbing outside Zee’s on a Friday night, calling Paige Bueckers like she was her emergency contact.

As soon as Paige hung up the phone, the gravity of what Azzi had done hit her square in the chest. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered, pressing her hands to her face. “What the actual fuck was I thinking?”

Maddie raised a brow from where she stood near the bar, nursing her ginger ale like the responsible adult she was. “Did she give you your address?”

Azzi groaned. “No. Worse. She’s coming to get me.”

Maddie blinked. “Like…personally?”

Azzi nodded. “Like I’m some dumbass freshman who got too drunk at a house party and had to call their RA. Only instead of an RA, it’s Paige Bueckers. Who is never going to look at me the same again.”

“You mean instead of how she looked at you in that one-on-one video?”

“Shut up.”

“Or the way she looks at you when you cross her up on the court?”

“Maddie.”

“I’m just saying—if this is your rock bottom, it’s weirdly hot.”

Azzi groaned again, dropped her face into her hands. “She’s never going to talk to me again.”

Maddie took a long, leisurely sip of her ginger ale. “Babe, she’s literally on her way to pick you up. That’s not not talking.”

Azzi exhaled. Shaky, embarrassed, still a little dizzy. But she started walking anyway.

“Where are you going?” Maddie asked.

Azzi shrugged, tugging her sweatshirt down over her hips. “Paige told me to go back inside. Get a water. Wait near the door.”

Maddie raised a brow. “Did you say yes ma’am?”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Text me when you get home?”

Maddie nodded. Her Uber pulled up right on cue.

“Try not to combust,” she called out, slipping into the car. “Or do. Either way, I want details.”

Azzi turned toward the bar. Her stomach a mess, her head worse. But her feet moved anyway. Because apparently, when Paige Bueckers gave orders, Azzi Fudd did follow them.

Azzi perched on the barstool, legs swinging like a kid waiting to be picked up from school. Which, all things considered, wasn’t far from the truth. She felt ridiculous. Embarrassed. Slightly sticky from whatever had spilled on her skirt earlier.

She hadn’t meant to get this drunk. But the rookie dinner had turned into a rookie celebration, and every time she turned around, someone was handing her a shot. Or a margarita. Or a too-sweet cocktail with a name like “Electric Love.” And just when she thought they were calling it, someone suggested darts.

She won. Over and over. And apparently the rule was: lose to Azzi Fudd, buy Azzi Fudd a drink.

She hadn’t argued. She’d just smiled and drank and let the night spin faster.

And now here she was. Waiting for Paige Bueckers like she hadn’t already called her once in tears and then practically whimpered on the phone when Paige told her to get inside.

Azzi buried her face in her hands. She was never drinking again.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there—legs still swinging, head resting in her palm, struggling slightly to sit upright without swaying—when the door finally opened.

And there she was.

Paige Bueckers.

All long legs and sharp lines, hoodie slung over one shoulder like she hadn’t just crawled out of bed at 1AM to play drunk girl chauffeur. Her expression was pure exasperation. Lips pressed tight. Eyes scanning the bar with zero patience. She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Which, to be fair, she probably would.

But god, she looked good. Stupidly good. The kind of good that made Azzi sit up a little straighter despite the room still tilting sideways. The kind of good that made her stomach flip and her brain short-circuit and—

Their eyes met.

Azzi offered a tiny wave.

Paige did not wave back.

She didn’t speak at first, just gave Azzi a slow once-over. Took in the mascara smudge under one eye, the crooked way her shirt had slipped off one shoulder, the half-empty glass of water cradled in her hands like a peace offering.

And drunk, dumb Azzi—so far past the line of self-preservation—smiled up at her and lifted the glass like a toast.

“Told you I always do what I’m told.”

Paige just exhaled, slow and tired, like she was already regretting her entire existence. Then she shook her head.

“Come on,” she said, voice low. “It’s far past time for you to go home.”

Azzi slid off the stool, and for a moment, Paige’s hand hovered—like she was preparing to catch her if she stumbled. Like some part of her already knew she would.

Azzi didn’t stumble. But she swayed. Just a little. Paige steadied her anyway. And didn’t let go.

They were almost to the door when it happened.

“Wait—are you Paige Bueckers?”

Paige didn’t stop walking, not at first. But Azzi saw it. The way her jaw tensed, the flicker of irritation in her eyes. Still, she turned. Slowly. Controlled.

Two girls were standing near the bar, half-drunk and fully starstruck. One of them—blonde, bold, already pulling out her phone—grinned like she’d just won the lottery.

“I am,” Paige said, voice flat.

“Oh my god,” they breathed, nearly in sync. “Can we get a photo?”

Paige licked her lips, subtle and sharp. “I’m a little busy right now.” Her hand on Azzi’s lower back tightened slightly, tugging her closer.

But the blonde girl wasn’t deterred. “Pleeaaase,” she whined, bouncing slightly on her toes. “You’re our favorite basketball player.”

Azzi blinked up at Paige through a haze of tequila and poor decisions. And in her slightly blurred vision, Paige looked incredibly annoyed.

“Alright,” Paige said finally, sighing like she already regretted it.

Azzi smiled, because even drunk, she knew this was what made Paige Bueckers so dangerous. Not just the talent. But the way she could still be decent even when she clearly didn’t want to be.

Paige didn’t let go.

Even as she shifted slightly for the photo, even as the girl raised her phone and counted down:“One, two, three!”

Instead, her hand slid lower, fingers drifting with the kind of casual intention that made Azzi forget how to breathe. And then—God—two fingers hooked lightly into the waistband of her skirt.

Not enough to pull. Not enough to hold her in place. Just enough to say: stay.

Azzi’s skin lit up beneath it. Her breath caught in her throat. Because it wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t a grab. It was worse. Because it was quiet. Subtle. Private.

The photo clicked. Then another. Paige gave the smallest smile, all for show. Polite. Distant.

Azzi swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of every nerve ending in her body. Of how easily Paige could ground her with just her touch. How dizzying it was—how humiliating—that she wanted to lean back into it. To chase it.

The girls thanked them, giggled their way out of earshot, and Paige finally turned back to her, shifting her hand back to Azzi’s back. 

“Let’s go,” she said. 

She guided Azzi out of the bar toward a sleek, black Lexus SUV idling by the curb.

Azzi blinked at it. “This is yours?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” She squinted, swaying a little. “Your contract pays better than mine.”

Paige shook her head, already pulling open the passenger door. “Well, I am much older than you. One would hope so.”

Azzi licked her lips. “Not that much older.”

Paige helped her inside, hand lingering longer than necessary as Azzi collapsed into the warm leather seat like the car had been waiting just for her.

Paige leaned in slightly—close enough for Azzi to feel her breath, to catch the faintest trace of her perfume—and murmured, “Old enough.”

Then, instead of pulling away, she reached for the seatbelt.

Azzi held her breath as Paige gently grabbed the strap and pulled it across her body, the click of the buckle deafening in the silence between them.

Her hand brushed Azzi’s stomach—bare skin under the edge of her shirt—and lingered for half a second. Just long enough to make Azzi forget every word in the English language.

“There,” Paige said “Can’t have you flying through the windshield.”

Azzi blinked up at her, pulse sprinting. “You always this thoughtful?”

Paige shut the door without answering.

Paige’s POV

Azzi Fudd smelled like tequila and vanilla.

A combination that should’ve made Paige wrinkle her nose. Should’ve been too much—too sweet, too sticky, too college freshman—but somehow, on Azzi, it worked.

She sat in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, staring straight ahead like maintaining verticality was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her knees pressed together. Like if she moved too much, she might unravel completely.

Paige gripped the wheel, trying not to look. Trying not to notice.

But Azzi’s presence was loud. Even silent, even swaying slightly in her seat, even wrecked.

Especially wrecked.

And wrecked she was.

Mascara smudged just slightly under her eyes. Lips parted like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Her hair a little too messy, her skirt a little too short. The picture of someone who’d gone out thinking they could handle it and now looked like a cautionary tale.

Paige tapped her fingers against the steering wheel at a red light. If she turned right, she’d head toward Azzi’s.

Simple. Easy. Responsible.

But something about dropping her off and leaving her there, alone, in that state—with that look in her eyes like the whole world had spun too fast and left her dizzy—didn’t sit right.

Her fingers stilled. The light turned green.

She went straight.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask where they were going. Just leaned her head against the window and sighed, like she knew. Like she trusted Paige to take her wherever she needed to be.

Which was ridiculous.

Paige wasn’t the soft place people landed. She wasn’t the one who made things easier. She kept people at arm lengths. Didn’t get mixed up in shit that didn’t concern her. 

But Azzi made her forget how to do that.

And now Azzi was in her passenger seat. Quiet. Vulnerable. Hands folded in her lap like she was trying to behave, trying to stay small. Like she hadn’t just flipped Paige’s entire night upside down with one tequila-soaked phone call.

Paige tightened her grip on the wheel one more.

Ten more minutes and they were pulling into her complex. She killed the engine. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have.

She turned, half expecting Azzi to be asleep. Instead, she was watching her. Still drunk. Still glassy-eyed. But waiting.

“You’re not staying alone tonight,” Paige said finally.

Azzi blinked, slow and owlish, then looked around the unfamiliar complex like it had just materialized outside the window. “Is this where you live?”

“No, I brought you to a random parking garage for fun.” Paige sighed, already pushing open her door. “Yes, it’s where I live.”

She walked around and opened the passenger side door. Azzi still hadn’t moved—just looked up at her, wide-eyed and flushed, lips parted like she was waiting to be told what to do.

Something low in Paige’s stomach pulled tight. Too tight.

Azzi looked innocent in the most dangerous way—eyes glassy, cheeks pink, skirt riding just a little too high on her thigh. She blinked up at Paige like she didn’t know what she was doing, like she wasn’t sitting there and making it very, very hard to be a decent person.

“I don’t feel good,” Azzi whispered.

Paige exhaled through her nose. “Fudd, if you throw up in my car, I swear to God I’ll lose my shit.”

Azzi’s bottom lip wobbled at that, and Paige immediately regretted her tone. She wasn’t actually mad—just overwhelmed. Frustrated. Mostly with herself.

“Okay, okay,” Paige muttered, softening as she reached in and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Azzi took it, her fingers small against Paige’s. Her grip was warm and a little unsteady, but she let Paige pull her out of the car, their bodies nearly brushing. Paige didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Not with how Azzi swayed a little, letting her head rest briefly against Paige’s shoulder as they walked.

“You’re not dying,” Paige said, trying to steady them both. “You’re just dramatic and drunk.”

Azzi hummed. “You’re being nice to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But she didn’t pull away when Azzi leaned into her again. Didn’t say anything when Azzi’s hand found her waist, fingers curling into her hoodie like she needed something to hold onto.

Just get her upstairs, Paige told herself. Water. Sleep. Be decent. Responsible. And maybe—just maybe—stop thinking about how good she’d look unraveling in Paige’s sheets.

Paige unlocked the door and nudged it open with her hip, flipping on the lights with one hand while keeping the Azzi steady with the other. 

“Huh,” she said.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shrugged, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t know. I guess I pictured you living in one of those places that looks like it was staged for a real estate ad."

Paige rolled her eyes as she hung her keys up on the wall. 

Azzi kept looking around like she hadn’t heard her. “But this is nice. Like… weirdly nice. Kind of cozy. Which is so not what I expected.”

What’d you expect?”

“I don’t know.” Azzi glanced over her shoulder with that slow, drunk smile. “Not plants. Or books. Or throw pillows that actually match.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Azzi didn’t answer, and when Paige glanced over, she found her leaning against the wall, brow furrowed, trying, and failing, to unbuckle the strap of her heel.

“Jesus,” Paige muttered, already walking over.

“I got it,” Azzi insisted, wobbling slightly.

“You really don’t.” Paige crouched down in front of her, careful not to touch more than she had to, even though her fingers brushed warm skin as she worked the clasp loose.

Azzi went quiet. The air between them slowed. Paige didn’t look up until the shoe was off, and even then, only for a second. Just long enough to see Azzi watching her with a soft, unreadable expression.

One shoe off. Then the other. 

“There,” she said, standing again. “Try not to fall over now.”

Azzi blinked up at her. “Thanks.”

Paige didn’t respond, just jerked her chin toward the couch. “Go sit before you faceplant and I have to explain to the team why their prized rookie’s got a concussion.”

“So I am a prize?” Azzi grinned. 

“You’re something,” Paige muttered, turning towards the kitchen. 

She didn’t have to look back to know Azzi was still smiling. Paige could feel it—warm and smug and entirely too effective. She opened the fridge, trying to remember why this had felt like a good idea. Then pulled out a bottle of water and grabbed the Tylenol from the drawer, because even if it wasn’t smart it was done.

Paige returned to the living room to find Azzi sprawled on her couch like she belonged there. She blinked up at her. Still smiling. Still reckless.

“You’re pretty when you’re annoyed,” she said, the words slurring just enough to feel weaponized by accident.

Paige exhaled through her nose. Slowly. Deliberately. Like control was something she could inhale back into her lungs if she just tried hard enough.

Azzi, oblivious or simply uncaring, popped the Tylenol into her mouth and chased it with a sip of water. “Which is a lot with me,” she added, too casually. “You press your lips together, and your brows do this thing—this crease? It’s really pretty.”

"You're drunk," was all Paige could say.

Azzi just blinked up at her, completely unbothered. “Obviously I’m drunk, Paige. But I always think you’re pretty. Drunk or not.”

And there it was.

Paige’s grip tightened around the glass in her hand like it might stop the wildfire crawling up her spine. Because Azzi wasn’t trying to ruin her—she was just doing it. Casually. Carelessly. Like breathing.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because the truth was, Paige had never wanted anything more than she wanted to lean down and kiss the tequila off Azzi Fudd’s mouth. Instead, she went back to the kitchen and gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles ached, turned her back, and busied herself with the safest task she could think of—rinsing a glass that didn’t need rinsing.

When she came back, Azzi was still on the couch, still swaying a little, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes heavy but tracking Paige’s every move.

“Come on,” Paige said, holding out a hand.

Azzi blinked. “Where to?”

“My room.”

That froze her. Her hand hovered between them, suspended like she wasn’t sure if she was reaching for balance or something much worse. Much better.

“You’re not sleeping on my damn couch. You look like you’d fall off it in your sleep and crack your skull on the coffee table.”

Azzi blinked. Still didn’t move.

“Fudd,” Paige said, a little softer this time. “Come on.”

That did it. Azzi placed her hand in Paige’s and let herself be pulled to her feet. Too easily. Too trustingly. And Paige could feel the warmth of her skin even after she let go.

She turned quickly. Didn’t look back. Not when she led her down the hall. Not when Azzi followed her in silence.

And definitely not when Azzi whispered behind her, almost like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud, “I knew your bed would be big.”

Which, realistically, should not have been something she’d ever thought about. But clearly, it was. And now they were here.

Azzi stood in the middle of Paige’s room like she’d forgotten how furniture worked. Her eyes drifted toward the bed, then the dresser, then Paige herself—wide-eyed and swaying and too beautiful for someone who couldn’t stand upright.

Paige opened a drawer and tossed her a clean shirt. Oversized, soft. One of her UConn ones. And a pair of boxers. She didn’t think too hard about it.

“Here,” she said. “You can change in the bathroom.”

Azzi held the shirt tightly in her hands staring down at it. Then, after a beat, she nodded and crossed the room—only to throw open the wrong door.

“That’s my closet,” Paige said dryly. “Other door.”

Azzi froze. Cheeks immediately flushing as she mumbled something Paige couldn’t quite catch. She turned quickly and disappeared into the bathroom instead, the UConn shirt still clutched to her chest.

A few seconds passed. Silence, then:

“Paige?”

Paige looked up. “Hmm?”

“I can’t…” Azzi’s voice was softer now, almost sheepish. “Get the zipper. On my shirt.”

Paige closed her eyes briefly. Of course. Of course.

She pushed off the bed, schooling her face into something neutral as she padded toward the bathroom. The door creaked open slightly, just enough for Azzi to peek out—bare shoulders visible, hair falling in soft curls over one side. Paige swallowed.

“Turn around,” she said, voice low, steady. Maybe steadier than she felt.

Azzi did as she was told.

Each inch exposed more of Azzi’s back, more of the curve of her shoulder blades, the tension running along her spine.

Azzi didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But Paige could feel her—could feel the shallow pull of her breath, the way her body leaned ever so slightly into the touch.

The zipper caught once, and Paige’s hand brushed lower to fix it. She could smell the faint trace of Azzi’s perfume—sweet and dizzying. And suddenly, it felt like the room was too quiet, too close.

She let go like it stung. Like if she didn’t, she might not stop.

“You’re good,” She muttered, turning away. Forcing herself to breathe.

When Azzi stepped back into the room, Paige genuinely thought her heart might stop.

Because Azzi—drunk, dangerous Azzi—had rolled the waistband of the boxers up short, and the shirt Paige had given her hung loose, oversized, and completely swallowed her frame. It draped just low enough to cover the shorts entirely, hitting mid-thigh like a fucking invitation.

Paige blinked. Once. Twice. And still, Azzi was standing there, barefoot and blinking back at her like she hadn’t just walked straight out of every one of Paige’s late-night thoughts.

She cleared her throat. Loudly. Uselessly.

“You still have your makeup on,” Paige said, nodding toward her face.

Azzi blinked. “Didn’t know if you had anything to take it off.”

Paige sighed, already turning toward the bathroom. “Come on.”

She guided Azzi in with a hand at the small of her back. “Up,” she said, tapping the counter.

Azzi hesitated, then bit her lip and hoisted herself up—wobbling just enough for Paige to reach out, steadying her with both hands.

“This was a bad idea,” Azzi mumbled.

“No shit,” Paige muttered, running the tap and soaking a washrag with warm water. She wrung it out and turned back, stepping between Azzi’s knees.

She didn’t speak as she pressed the cloth gently to Azzi’s cheek. Just focused on wiping away the smudged mascara and faint shimmer, slow and careful.

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe, it seemed. And Paige didn’t meet her eye. Because if she did, she might do something really stupid.

“You didn’t have to,” Azzi whispered, barely audible.

Paige didn’t look up. “Yeah, well. You didn’t have to call me.”

Azzi smiled, slow and a little lopsided. “Guess we’re both making bad decisions tonight.”

Paige’s hand froze mid-motion. Just for a second. Then she set the rag down on the counter and finally let her eyes meet Azzi’s.

It was a mistake.

Azzi looked wrecked in the softest way. Sleepy and flushed, her lashes damp, lips parted like she might say something Paige couldn’t afford to hear.

So Paige did the only thing she could. She stepped back. One firm move. Like putting distance between them might fix everything spiraling inside her.

“Come on,” she said, voice rough. “Bed. Before you fall asleep on my sink.”

Azzi slid off the counter slowly, and without another word, padded toward the bedroom.

Paige leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed, watching Azzi crawl into bed. The oversized shirt shifted with every movement, slipping off one shoulder, riding higher up her thigh when she knelt to fix the blanket. Paige didn’t look away.

Should’ve.

Instead, she stood there until Azzi flopped back against the pillows with a dramatic sigh, already half-asleep. Paige exhaled slowly, checked the time on her phone. 2:34 AM.

She turned off the light, grabbed her own pillow off the bed, and started for the couch.

“Wait,” Azzi’s voice came, soft but clear.

Paige froze.

Azzi shifted onto her side, blinking up at her. “You’re not really gonna sleep out there, are you?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Paige muttered. “I’ve slept on worse.”

Azzi shook her head, barely. “Just get in. It’s your bed.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m giving it to the very drunk 23-year-old currently drooling on my pillow.”

Azzi’s mouth curved into a grin. “You’re too old to sleep on the couch. Your back won’t recover.”

Paige clenched her jaw. 

Azzi shifted again, making room, the blanket falling low on her hips. “Seriously. Just lie down. I won’t even look at you.”

“You’re literally looking at me right now.”

Azzi grinned, sleep-heavy but smug. “Okay, then I’ll only look a little.”

Paige hesitated another beat before exhaling like it physically pained her. She tossed the pillow down and slid into the bed as carefully as she could—like proximity was dangerous. Because it was.

Azzi turned away, settling into the pillows. “See? Not even touching you.”

Yeah, Paige thought. And that’s half the problem.

But she didn’t say it. Just rolled to her side, faced the wall, and shut her eyes. Tried not to think about the warmth behind her. The sound of her breathing. The scent of her vanilla lingering in the air.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“Thank you for helping me, Paige.”

Her name, soft and slurred, landed in the center of her chest. Paige clenched her jaw, dragged her tongue along her teeth, and focused on keeping her voice steady.

“Go to sleep, Fudd,” was all she could manage.

[galaxywannabe]

The Miscommunication Trope™

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting into the first real argument of your relationship, some misspoken words from Bucky leave you thinking that he's done. By the time he realizes just how badly he screwed up, will it be too late to correct his mistake?

Warnings: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Miscommunication; Crying; Arguing between romantic partners; Bucky is mean but he makes up for it; Happy ending; Reader identifies as a woman and uses she/her pronouns, but other than having hair that can be swept behind an ear I don't think there are any other physical descriptors; Please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: Almost 9.3k.....I'm sorry lol

A/N: Ummm....so. I'm fairly certain I promised this fic, like...3 months ago? In fact, I actually just went back to look and I first teased this fic on Febuary 19th, so um...lol? I made it! Listen, idk if it's even any good anymore but if I look at it for another second I'll scream, so please take it off my hands. Any and all comments or reblogs would be SO appreciated because this has truly been a labor of love, I didn't know if I had it in me. Also!! I have not forgotten @buckyinmyuniverse - you asked to be tagged in this wayyyy back when I first posted about it and I have FANTASTIC news for you babe: The wait is finally over!! I know you've no doubt been refreshing your feed for months looking for it (/j) but this whole time I was cooking this thing I remembered you asking for a tag. So, this one goes out to you. Hope you all enjoy! <3

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

You and Bucky hadn’t ever been in a fight before, not really. You bicker, sure, usually over something lighthearted, usually resulting in an eyeroll and a “whatever you say, honey,” from Buck, but nothing serious, nothing that can’t be worked out through a civilized conversation. That was, until today.

You weren’t even trying to start an argument, you were just expressing your concern. He works too much, he takes more missions than anyone else, and it’s running him ragged, anybody can see that.

Obviously, you miss him when he’s away, but that’s not even the point - the point is that he’s taking on too much because he thinks he owes the world something, and that’s not sustainable, it’s not good for him. All you said was that maybe he’d ought to ask Fury to take him off the rotation for a while, or even just cut down on his assignment load, to give him some room to breathe. And Bucky got…defensive.

Obviously, you knew that was a possibility. Typical male pride of course prohibits silly ideas like “self care” and “burnout,” but on top of that is Bucky’s specific brand of guilt, the kind that makes him work himself into the ground no matter how badly his brain and body beg him to stop.

The defensiveness you were prepared for, but you were only coming from a place of love, your concern that of a devoted girlfriend, and surely he’d understand that, wouldn’t he? Except he hadn’t. He’d immediately dismissed your suggestion, waving a hand and continuing to type up his latest mission report with a laser-like focus. 

“I don’t need a break, I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes trained on the bluish light of his laptop screen.

Again, you weren’t trying to argue. You certainly weren’t going to  force him to take a break, you just wanted him to at least consider it, to remind him that it would be okay for him to rest a little, if he wanted to. The world would go on without his help for a few weeks, and there were other heroes available besides him. 

“Honey, I know you might not need one, but it’s okay if you just want one. No one would judge you if-”

And then he did something he’d never done before: he snapped at you. He didn’t even look up from his screen, his fingers still a steady staccato on the keyboard as he barked out harshly.

“I said I don’t need a fucking break. I’m just doing my goddamn job, and I don’t need you breathing down my neck watching my every move the whole time I do it. I can take care of myself.”

You winced. Obviously, that stung, and if he’d bothered to look up from his computer screen, he might have seen that on your face. But you could tell he wasn’t as unbothered by this conversation as he was acting.

Despite his brusque attitude, your words were striking a chord with him, hitting a little too close to home. His shoulders were stiff as a board, bunched up around his ears in a telltale sign of defensiveness, and you understood, really you did.

For Bucky, doing this job is the one way he can even attempt to atone for all the bad shit he’s done. Of course he felt uncomfortable with the idea of a break, he thinks he has to do these missions as some sort of self-imposed penance for the things he’d been made to do as the Winter Soldier. 

So you didn’t judge him too harshly for lashing out. You understood the reason he worked so hard, and you knew what motivated him to continue going out there even when he was exhausted. You just wanted him to see that taking a break for his own mental health wasn’t a bad thing, that even if he was making amends he still needed to find time to take care of himself, too.

You took a deep breath and spoke in a calm voice, hoping to express your concern in a nonthreatening manner even as he still refused to look at you. 

“Angel. I’m not trying to breathe down your neck or tell you how to do your job. I know it’s important to you, and I love how hard you work! It’s just that, super-soldier or not, if you want to continue to do this job, you’re gonna need to stop and rest at some point, honey. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m worried about you, love.”

Finally, he looked up at you, and your heart fluttered just seeing those baby blues you love so much. Until you clocked the scowl on his pretty face, and the hope in your gut curdled to dread. He was angry, you knew what that looked like, but in the six months of your relationship so far you’d never once seen that anger directed at you before.

It wasn’t frightening in a physical sense, not like you were scared for your well-being, of course not. But it deeply unsettled you, seeing the man you love looking at you like that. It made you want to apologize, though you weren’t quite sure what for. Before you could do anything at all, he spoke, his voice a cold, steel edge.

“You don’t know anything about what I can handle. I was doing just fine before you came around, and I don’t need you fussing over me at every turn just because I don’t sit around here all day scrolling on my phone or whatever it is you think I should be doing. I don’t need or want your hovering, so just stop, okay?”

There was silence. His shoulders heaved in the wake of his outburst, and you felt almost dazed, like this was some kind of mirage you could will away if you blinked hard enough. He’d never spoken to you like that.

Obviously, you’d hit a nerve, and while logically you understood that, it didn’t lessen the pain in your chest. You were just worried about him, why was he fighting like you were trying to strap him down and force him to quit?

While you tried to regain your bearings, breathing deeply and forcing back the stinging you felt building in your eyes, he slammed his laptop shut, standing and stalking towards your bedroom door. He’d come over to your place to work on his mission reports at your insistence because you’d wanted to keep him company, and now it appeared he was leaving.

“W-where are you going, what are you doing?” you’d squeaked, alarmed, following after him as he made his way to the foyer of your apartment and shoved his feet into his boots.

“I can’t fucking do this, I'm done,” he’d muttered in a gruff, hard voice, lacing his boots efficiently and standing back to his full height as he reached for the doorknob.

You shook your head, panicked, reaching for his arm and trying futilely to drag him back into your apartment. “Baby, please. I’m sorry, don’t go.”

But he just shook off your hold and stalked out the door, leaving you there as your eyes blurred with tears. After standing there in your foyer for several minutes, waiting for him to turn around and come back, you’d simply fallen to your knees and curled up right there on the polished wooden floor, bawling your eyes out.

That’s where you still are a couple hours later when your phone starts to vibrate incessantly in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe to answer a call from Natasha.

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

“H-hello?” you croak into the receiver.

The second Nat hears you pick up the call she’s talking, looking distractedly through her closet as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Hey honey, listen, me and the girls were thinking about running to Target, and we wanted to- wait, what’s wrong?” Natasha’s cheerful voice quickly drops into something soft and concerned as she picks up on the sniffles coming through her tinny cell phone speakers.

For a few seconds all she can hear is you sobbing quietly, the way you struggle to slow your hysterical breathing so you can put together a sentence. “H-he left, Nat. He broke up with me,” you whimper, voice barely audible. 

This stops Natasha in her tracks, her brow furrowed in deep confusion as she freezes with one hand reaching for her favorite sweater. What the fuck? Why in the hell would Barnes break up with you? Especially when she knows for a fact that on the last mission she had with him, he stopped into a jewelry shop in Germany ‘just to look’ at engagement rings? This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Honey,” Nat speaks into the phone again, her voice soft and soothing even through the crackly audio coming from your cell phone. “What happened, what did he say?”

You sniffle again, and clear your throat so she can hear your scratchy voice a bit better. “We…there was a fight, a-and I didn’t mean to, Nat, I swear, I was just worried, but…he said he can’t do this anymore, that h-he's done, and then he left. He didn’t take any of his things with him, but maybe he’s gonna come back for them, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nat…” As your sentence tapers off, your voice fades out, and a few renewed sobs float over the phone call into Nat’s ear, the sounds soaked in agony.

Oh, okay. Nat thinks she can see what really happened here just from your description, but that doesn’t make the sounds of your misery in her ear any less painful to hear. Likely, when Bucky had said he couldn’t do “this” anymore, that he was done, he’d meant the argument, the conversation, not your relationship.

But Barnes is your first real boyfriend, and you’ve never had a fight with him before. You were probably so confused and upset in the moment that you weren’t thinking about the context of his statement.

All you knew was that Bucky got upset with you for the very first time, and then he left. To you, that must certainly look like a breakup, and when Nat thinks about it from your perspective, she understands how you’d come to that conclusion.

She’d love to explain to you how you may have misunderstood, but as she listens to your hoarse crying over speakerphone, she knows you’re not in the frame of mind to process rational thought right now. Instead, she decides to focus on soothing you for the moment.

“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know why he’d ever do anything like that to you. I’m gonna get to the bottom of it, alright? In the meantime, I just need you to do something for me,” she coos, her voice comforting and warm.

You don’t answer, just sniffling occasionally as you sit there in silence. Natasha, interpreting your lack of response as an affirmation, continues on.

“Where are you right now?”

There’s more silence for a few seconds, the sound of you pulling deep breaths into your lungs as you regain awareness of your surroundings. Then:

“Uh. The floor. In my apartment,” you mumble, confused, like you’ve just now realized that fact.

Natasha feels an additional lash of anger at Barnes flood her system when you tell her that, but she works to keep her voice calm even has her knuckles go white around her device.

“Okay, well, I need you to get up off the floor and go to your bedroom, okay? I want you to get dressed in your comfiest pajamas and crawl into bed for me, and wait there while I handle this. Can you do that? Just close your eyes and try to rest while I figure everything out?”

More sniffles, a hoarse cough, and then, after a beat of silence, your voice crackles over the line.

“Yeah….okay. I can do that, Nat,” you croak, the sound of shuffling floating over the line as you stagger to your feet after who knows how long on the floor.

She smiles, relieved to hear your voice coming through a bit more calmly, even as her mind races with the next items on her to-do list. “Okay sweetheart, you do that, then. I love you, I’ll call back soon, okay? Go get some rest.”

After hanging up with you, confident that at least you’re not curled up on your apartment floor anymore, she pockets her cell and immediately stalks down the hall towards the elevator, Target trip long forgotten.

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

Bucky knows he fucked up. As someone who fucks up just about everything, he’s intimately familiar with the process, and he can say, with 100% certainty, that in this instance he absolutely fucked up. He never should have snapped at you - his sweetheart, his girl. You were just worried about him, and of course you were.

Bucky knows damn well he works too hard, especially lately, and he’s been on the verge of physical and mental collapse pretty much every damn day for the past month, running himself into the ground. He’d even been thinking to himself before your argument that he should slow down, take a break before he gets himself killed. So why did he get so defensive when you’d suggested it?

He doesn’t goddamn know. Because he’s messed up. Because it’s one thing when he decides to take some time off, but another when someone else has the idea, like they think he needs it.

He can’t help it; for decades of his life, the slightest sign of weakness meant pain, meant the frigid blast of a firehouse to wake him up or the wandering scalpel of a Hydra doctor looking to find a defect. Not that that makes his outburst okay, by any means, but it’s an explanation, and hey, he’s working on it, really he is. 

Still, he knew the second he walked out of your apartment that he’d fucked up, and so he’s spent the past two hours at his own place a few floors up, licking his wounds and gathering the courage to go apologize.

Because…yes, okay, he’s embarrassed by the way he acted. He’s ashamed of his own behavior, and he’d needed a minute to feel sorry for himself before he inevitably goes back down to your apartment and grovels for your forgiveness. 

He figures you’re pissed beyond belief, and if giving you some time to cool off also gives him a little while to stall the complete destruction of his ego, well, then, he’ll take it.

He finished up his mission report, he took a shower, and now he’s preparing his apology speech, debating the merit of walking down the street to a bodega for some flowers, when his doorbell rings. Shit, maybe he’s already out of time and you decided to come to him. 

When he opens his door, looking thoroughly contrite, it’s not your expected figure that stands in his entryway, but Natasha’s. And even given all his super-soldier reflexes and military training, he still staggers back a step in shock when she slaps him right across the face. 

“Whoa, what the fuck, Nat?” he barks, rubbing at the heat blooming under the skin of this cheek.

Standing there in front of him with her arms crossed, she looks anything but remorseful, her fists clenched as if she has to deny herself the urge to do it again.

“Why the fuck did you break up with her, Barnes? Are you insane?! The one good thing in your life, and you threw it all away, why, because you got a little pissed off? Out of all the stupid, careless decisions you’ve made in your fucked-up life, I really didn’t think you had it in you to top all that, but Jesus…”

As she continues to rant at him, her face pinched with rage, Bucky struggles to make sense of the words she’s already spoken. Broken up with you? Why in God’s name would he ever do that?

What an absolutely absurd thing to accuse him of, given that everybody in this building knows how insanely in love with you he is, especially your own best friend. Why is she here playing some kind of prank on him when he’s supposed to be rehearsing his apology?

“I did no such thing,” he answers bluntly, interrupting her impassioned speech, his expression confused and a little irritated at the accusation.

Nat barely even blinks at this denial. “Oh really? Then why did I just talk to her on the phone, bawling her eyes out on the floor of her apartment, telling me that you did?”

Of course, Nat’s pretty sure that Barnes hadn’t really meant to break up with you by leaving during your argument, but she’s pissed at him either way for not being cognizant enough of your feelings to foresee your interpretation of his behavior.

To Bucky, Natasha’s words might as well have been a bucket of ice water poured over his head, the way they immediately freeze his joints with dread. He feels his stomach churn as if he might be sick, the horrifying mental image of you curled up on your wooden floors driving a stake between his ribs. When he’d left, you’d been standing. Sure, you’d looked upset, but surely not that upset…right? 

He tries to think back to your emotional state when he’d stormed out a couple of hours ago, but truthfully he hadn’t turned back to see your face as he’d walked out your door. Had you been crying? He didn’t think so, but now he isn’t so sure, especially given the look of anger on Nat’s face. Why would you tell her that he’d broken up with you? As a joke, some kind of payback for his outburst?

“I….” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You talked to her? What did she say?”

Natasha almost feels sympathy for Bucky in this moment, standing before her looking so confused and slightly horrified. But then she thinks about her best friend sobbing on the floor because he’s an idiot, and that emotion vanishes, replaced with her plentiful anger.

“Well, it was kind of hard to hear her, what with all the sobbing and such. But when I finally was able to get her to speak, she said that there was a fight, and that you broke up with her and then left her there. She said you hadn’t taken any of your stuff with you when you left, and she wasn’t sure when you’d be back for it, but that she didn’t know what she was going to do,” Nat recalls in a hard voice, her gaze sharp and accusatory. “After that she started crying again, so I didn’t ask her any more questions.”

Another bruising blow to the tatters of Bucky Barnes’s heart. What did you mean, he hadn’t taken his stuff? Why would he take his things when he’d left them there on purpose so he had them to use when he was at your place?

Why would he take his belongings out of your apartment just because you got into an argument? This doesn’t make any sense, and the longer Natasha talks, the worse his growing sense of unease becomes. 

Why were you crying? Sure, he expected anger, he’d been a huge swinging dick and he deserves some harsh words. But why is Nat saying that you were curled up on your floor sobbing? Why wouldn’t you be on the couch, or in your bed, or even down in the gym punching out your frustrations? 

And why were you on the phone with your best friend moments ago talking like you didn’t expect him to come back? Surely you know he’ll be back, he practically lives in your apartment - his wallet and keys are still sitting in the dish by your front door, his favorite jacket hung on the coat rack. He looks at your closest friend desperately, his face drawn in stark lines of horror and regret.

“Natasha, please, I don’t know why she said all that stuff to you, I didn’t break up with her, I would never break up with her. We had an argument. She was only worried about me, but I got defensive like an asshole and said some shit I didn’t mean, so…I just wanted to get out of there, get some space before I lashed out some more, that’s all. I just needed a minute to cool off, I was always fully planning to go back, to explain myself and apologize. I don’t know why she…” he trails off, looking lost.

Nat sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her best friend is in hysterics, and it’s all because men are the dumbest creatures on this planet.

“What do you think that looked like to her, Barnes? You guys get in your very first fight, and after saying some mean shit to her you stomp out of there and go ‘I can’t do this, I'm done’. What do you think those words might have sounded like to her ears? You’re her first serious boyfriend, jackass! She’s never been in this situation before! She doesn’t know that it’s relatively normal for couples to argue, even if you definitely shouldn’t have snapped at her. She just knows you’ve never fought before, and the first time you do, you walk out the door. She thinks you’re gone for good, James.”

You could hear a pin drop in Bucky’s apartment right now, the sounds of bustling Manhattan outside his windows muffled by the blood roaring in his ears. He wants to be upset with you, to question how you could ever doubt his love enough to think he’d really just walk out after one disagreement. But in truth, given his actions and your lack of relationship experience, he doesn’t see how you could’ve come to any other conclusion. 

Bucky thought he’d been regretful before Nat got here, but after hearing his behavior described in this new light, he’s got a whole list of emotions to add to the pile. Self-loathing, remorse, fear. You’re in your apartment right now, believing yourself to be single. All that time you two spent together, every memory and intimate moment, you think it’s over, just like that, in the blink of an eye. 

Obviously, he needs to explain himself immediately, to tell you that he hadn’t meant to end your relationship in the slightest and that this is all just a giant misunderstanding.

But what if you don’t care? What if, after the way he acted towards you today, you’d rather accept his words as you’d thought he meant them and stay broken up, even knowing that wasn’t his intent? He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, noticing the way Natasha looks at him with concern in her eyes now.

He hadn’t ever really let himself consider that you’d turn him down before, when he was rehearsing his apology speech. You’re in a committed relationship of six months, you’re in love. Surely, even if he was a bit of an asshole, one transgression can be forgiven as long as he apologizes sincerely.

But that was back when he thought his only sin was his harsh words, back when he thought you were angry with him for his outburst.

Now that he knows what you’ve really been feeling, that you’ve apparently spent the past two hours sobbing on your wooden apartment floors waiting for him to come back and take his belongings, he’s not so confident that he can grovel hard enough to make up for this.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, god damn it, that’s the whole reason he left in the first place, to spare you from his undeserved anger. Now he might be about to lose you because of his own childish temper tantrum, and the terror of that thought feels icy in his veins as it travels straight to his heart, freezing it in place. 

His body is moving towards his apartment door before he even commands his muscles to do so, single-minded on the only thing that matters anymore: fixing what he’s done. His hand is already turning the doorknob by the time a slightly startled Nat is able to catch up with him, her hand on his shoulder stalling him for only the tiniest moment before he’s barrelling ahead again.

“Don’t fuck this up. You love her, now go make it right,” she commands sternly, and Bucky just grunts his acknowledgment before bursting through his door out into the empty hallway, towards the elevator.

He doesn’t stop to voice his fears to Natasha, that it might be too late to make anything right, that he may have fucked it up beyond repair already. He just keeps moving, hoping beyond hope that he still has a chance.

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

When he makes it to your apartment a few floors down from his own, it’s eerily silent as he pushes the door open. He’s never needed a key, FRIDAY has explicit orders to grant him entry, but for the first time ever it feels wrong entering your space unannounced, like maybe he should knock and wait for permission in light of what’s happened. He ignores the impulse. 

You’re not crouched on the floor of your entryway like Nat said you’d been, so he supposes that’s a good sign, but it occurs to him then that he’s not even entirely sure you’re home. Bucky pauses to ask FRIDAY where you are, and is relieved to hear that you’re only in your bedroom.

He almost thinks he picks up a hint of annoyance in the AI’s voice when she responds to his inquiry, though, as if even the damn computer program is pissed at him for the way he treated you. It must be his imagination.

“Angel?” he calls out softly, making his way slowly through the apartment to your bedroom, noting the oppressive stillness of the place as he goes deeper. “Honeybun? Sweet pea?” he uses his softest, most gentle voice, disturbed to find your usually lively dwelling so silent. 

The TV in the living room - usually playing some youtube video or episode of your favorite show - is powered off, and the lights are all off too, as if the sun had set and you simply hadn’t bothered to flick any of them on to combat the encroaching darkness. The place he’s wandering now is like a ghost of your apartment, no scented candles lit, no steaming mug of tea waiting for you at your usual spot at the coffee table. 

It’s unnerving, to have a place usually so full of life be so startlingly empty all of a sudden. His slow steps and his soft voice calling out for you are the only sounds in the entire space, until he finally reaches your bedroom door and pauses to listen. For a moment there’s nothing, and he worries that perhaps you aren’t home after all, until he hears a soft sound coming muffled through the thick wood of your door. 

He presses his ear against it to listen closer, brow scrunched as he waits to hear the sound again, and a moment later his heart shatters as it becomes clear that what he’s hearing is your soft sobbing, interspersed with the occasional sniffle.

Bucky pushes your door open ever-so-carefully, cursing under his breath at the slight squeak of the wood on its hinges. It’s hard to see anything in your room, even with his perfect super-soldier eyesight, as the lights are off in here, too, the curtains closed to limit even the soft moonlight coming through the windows. 

His instinct is to flick on the light so he can see you better, but he doesn’t want to startle you, and besides, you obviously prefer the lights off or you would’ve turned them on yourself when it got dark. Instead he just steps further into the room, squinting his eyes as he can just barely make out the lump under the covers where you lay, curled in a ball in the center of your mattress, crying quietly.

He knows you must have heard his entrance, must realize he’s standing at the side of your bed right now, but you make no move to acknowledge him, continuing to sob softly as he watches on, heartbroken.

“Oh, darlin’...” he sighs, pulling the covers back a bit to expose your head, kneeling with one knee on the mattress so he can get a closer look at you.

You sniffle pitifully as you feel the cool air of the room on your face, extra cold against your cheeks where they’re wet with tears. Your vision is too blurry for you to actually see him, but you know who it is, know the scent of his cologne and the familiar touch of his fingers on your face as he brushes your hair back to see you better. 

Your stupid, traitorous nervous system reacts immediately to his presence, your panicked breaths slowing and your tears subsiding, a warm wash of comfort moving through your chest along with an instinctive sense of safety.

Your body knows nothing of the events of the past few hours, that he isn’t yours anymore, that he isn’t here to comfort you. It just instinctively calms under his attention, unaware that it is fleeting now, sure to be gone in only moments.

As the man you love wipes the tears gently from your face, his touch so sweet and soft it inadvertently causes more of them to fall, you force your hoarse voice to speak, the sound a barely audible croak even in the silence of your room. “Are you here to get your things?”

Bucky’s own eyes sting at your words, at the miserable tone to your voice as you say them, and he shakes his head vehemently, though he’s not sure you’re even really seeing him right now.

“No, baby, of course not. Why would I take my stuff, huh? I left those things here so I could use them when I’m visiting my girl, you know that,” he counters in a painfully soft voice, like he thinks speaking above a murmur will shatter you. Maybe he’s right about that, you do feel awfully close to shattering.

You feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind your eyes, and you close them for a moment, struggling to craft a coherent thought through all the heartbreak clouding your brain. Why is he here speaking nonsense when you’re in the middle of trying to mourn him? Does he not see that it’s cruel for him to be here with his comforting touch and his sweet voice, knowing that those things are lost to you forever now? 

“I’m not your girl anymore…” you mumble brokenly, the very act of having to speak the words into existence pulling another sob from your chest. 

Despite yourself you nuzzle your cheek into his palm as he cradles your face, desperate for his affection. If you’re never going to feel his touch again, you’ll bask in every opportunity while you have it, savoring the familiar warmth even as you question why he’s offering it to you in the first place.

Your face is pinched in concentration, like you’re trying to commit the sensation to memory, and Bucky’s heart might as well be in shards by his feet at this point, the way you seek out his touch like you’re starved for it. Like it hasn’t only been hours since he last gave it to you, like you’ll never have the chance to feel it again.

“Yes you are, baby, you’re always gonna be my girl. You’re mine, honey, just like I’m yours. Forever, haven’t I told you that?” he speaks desperately, like he’s pleading with you to agree with him, and although you’d love to, you have very recent evidence to the contrary.

“B-but, you said…” you trail off in a whisper, unable to repeat the words. You don’t need to anyways, you both know what he’d said. That he can’t do this. Can’t be with you anymore.

Bucky’s quick to interrupt you, needing you to understand that that’s not what he’d said, or, at least, not what he’d meant. “Baby, I didn’t- I’m sorry I said it like that, and I understand why you took those words the way you did. But that’s not what I meant to say, sweetheart, I swear.”

He huffs and slides a frustrated hand through his hair, suddenly unable to bear having this conversation with you while you lie curled up alone in your bed, looking up at him blankly with your shining eyes.

Before you can speak another word he peels back the covers some more, making room for himself as he slides into the bed beside you, pulling you up and onto his chest so he can hold you in his arms. The tears on your cheeks immediately soak through the soft cotton of his T-shirt, but he doesn’t care, cradling you tightly against his chest and rubbing slow, comforting circles onto your back.

You want to say something, to express your confusion at his incongruent behavior, but you can’t, not with his arms around you and his scent in your nose. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out are more shuddering sobs, your body limp in his hold, completely helpless against the comfort he offers.

Even if he shouldn’t be, he’s here. He’s here, and he’s holding you like you’re something precious again, and even if you know that there must be some mistake you can’t stop yourself from completely melting into his embrace, any semblance of your remaining composure crumbling completely.

Bucky just coos softly, murmuring gentle assurances in your ear and holding you, solid and steady as you weather the storm of your heartbreak. Despite having spent the better part of the past two hours bawling your eyes out, the crying starts anew with him here, his comforting presence both a relief and a reminder of what you’ve lost, what you’ll be missing when he walks out that door again.

You two lie like that for a while, though whether it’s for a few minutes or several hours you can’t say, time stretching into infinity as you cry into his chest. As the tears finally subside once again, your body exhausted and your throat sore, your mind belatedly registers his words from before. He’d been saying something, hadn’t he? 

“What…” your voice comes out scratchy, so you clear your throat to be heard better - though Bucky couldn’t have missed a word out of your mouth if he tried, focused on you as he is. “What do you mean, that’s not what you meant? You broke up with me.”

Bucky shakes his head immediately, bringing his mismatched palms up to cradle your face, sweeping your hair back behind your ears so he can see his beautiful girl. God, it’s torture watching you cry, but he seems to have broken through to you somehow, and he’s not going to squander this opportunity to explain himself.

He can’t suppress the urge to lean down and drop a tender kiss to your forehead, though, your tear-stained face so pitiful he could cry right along with you if he didn’t have something more important to be doing at the moment.

“I mean, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I never intended to break up with you. How could I? Leave my girl, my princess? Don’t you know you mean more to me than every other person on this planet put together?” He speaks calmly but firmly, his gaze steady on yours as he practically begs you to believe him. You have to believe him.

You frown, confusion pulling your brows together as you take in his desperate expression. His words make your heart flutter with hope, but you don’t understand, can’t make sense of the reality he’s trying to assert when you know you heard otherwise only a couple of hours ago. It’s all a bit much for your heartbroken brain to handle, and you just blink at him blankly, completely lost.

“I don’t understand, Buck. Y-you were so upset, and then you left, and you said ‘I can’t do this, I'm done.’ I thought you meant we were done, that you can’t do us anymore.” you recall in a miserable voice, searching his eyes for answers as you desperately try to understand.

He nods empathetically, his thumbs brushing at the tears on your cheeks even as more continue to fall to take their place. “I know that’s what I said, sweet girl, and I know how it sounded to you, but that’s not at all how I meant it, I swear. I just…” Bucky sighs, his features plastered with remorse, his eyes falling from yours in shame.

“I was being an asshole. I knew, even as I was doing it, that I was being an asshole, that I couldn’t stop being an asshole, so I just…I wanted to get away from you before I lashed out any more, that’s all. I knew if I kept trying to discuss things with you right then I was only going to say more shit I didn’t mean, so I tried to put some space between us, just until I could cool off and be rational again.”

Bucky pauses, sighing deeply and stroking your cheeks. His eyes are swimming with guilt so deep it hurts your chest just to look at it. He looks almost as torn up about this whole ordeal as you do, which, although his pain isn’t something you revel in, does make your heart beat a little faster with hope. Would a man who doesn’t want to be with you anymore still look at you with that much guilt over having caused you pain?

When he speaks again his voice is low and strained with emotion, apologetic. “Darlin’, I…I am so sorry for the things I said to you today. I didn’t mean a single damn one of them. I love that you look after me, I love that I have someone waiting for me when I come home, making sure I’m not pushing myself too hard. I need you there to do that for me, because we both know I’m too proud and stubborn to take a break on my own. I got defensive, and I lashed out because I felt threatened, and that is not okay or fair to you. If you can’t forgive me for those things I said, I understand.” 

He swallows thickly, his eyes closing as hot tears sting the backs of them, fighting to escape. “But you need to know that when I told you I couldn’t ‘do this,’ I sure as hell didn’t mean you, or us. All I meant was that I couldn’t keep having that conversation with you, that I needed to get away before I hurt you worse. That’s all it was. When I left your apartment today, it was to get some space because I knew I was throwing a temper tantrum. In no way, shape, or form was I breaking up with you, or trying to end what we have. I couldn’t do that, it’s not in my DNA to do that. I’m simply not capable of it, and you have to know that. Even if you decide you’re better off without me, I need you to know that. Please.”

You stare down at him in the wake of his speech, watching as he blinks rapidly to keep tears at bay, and you’re so god damn confused in this moment that you wish he would give you a timeout, let you process everything he just said before you have to respond to it.

Could it possibly be true? That he’d never meant to break up with you, that he still loves and wants you? Could this all just be some massive misunderstanding on your part?

The possibility has hope fluttering warm in your chest, but you suppress it. Better to make absolutely sure first, before you let your heart get obliterated for the second time today. Letting yourself have this hope only to quash it moments later might actually break you for good.

“You weren’t…I mean, you didn’t want to break up with me?” you whisper hesitantly, afraid to let yourself believe it even though you’re desperate to.

Bucky’s heart cracks in his chest as you ask that so timidly, like just voicing the question is opening you up to a whole new potential world of hurt. He shakes his head firmly, his metal hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull, his fingertips massaging your scalp gently.

“No, babygirl, never. Not in a million years. Even though we were arguing, it was the last thing on my mind, trust me. I’ve never wanted to break up with you, not for a second. I love you,” he reassures you smoothly, his voice low and calm, exuding certainty.

You have to sniffle hard to hold back a fresh round of tears at those three simple words, ones you never thought you’d get to hear from him again. Jesus Christ, if you never cry again it’ll be too soon. Your gaze is particularly frail and fragile as it meets Bucky’s, some of that hope you’d been suppressing earlier making itself known in your features, tentative but present.

“So…you’re still my boyfriend?” you ask in a tiny murmur, like maybe this is the part where he pulls the rug out from under you and announces he was kidding about the whole misunderstanding thing.

Bucky’s features tighten a little at your question, and dread pools in your stomach rapidly, fearing the worst. But his words aren’t quite the heartbreaking blow you’re expecting, more like a puzzling wrinkle.

“If you want me to be, yeah, baby, I am.”

Your brow furrows, confused. What the hell does that mean? Suddenly, you recall a few other parts of his speech just now, parts that had been immediately overshadowed when he’d said that he still wanted to be with you. Now that you think about it, he’d also said a bunch of stuff along the lines of ‘If you can forgive me,’ and ‘If you decide you’re better off without me,’ hadn’t he?

What the hell was that all about? Why’s he talking about whether you want to be with him? Like you haven’t been literally bawling your eyes out for the past two hours at the prospect of having to live without him? How does that make any sense?

“Of course I want you to be. You think I was curled up on the floor sobbing because I was happy to think that our relationship was over?” you ask incredulously, frowning at him. 

He chuckles a little at that, the sound vibrating through you as you lay on his chest, but it’s strained, his expression vulnerable. Although you attribute this misunderstanding mostly to your own mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion, Bucky is riddled with guilt for both his abrupt exit from your apartment and the things he’d said leading up to it.

In his eyes you went through a lot of pain today, and every inch of it is his fault. If he’d stopped to explain his meaning, or, hell, if he hadn’t gotten so damn defensive in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. His girl wouldn’t have spent hours of her life sobbing on her hardwood floors if he’d just stopped to breathe like his therapist taught him to. His pale irises swim with shame as he gazes up at you.

“No, no, I just…I said some horrible things to you today, darlin’. And just because you were upset to think that I’d broken up with you doesn’t necessarily mean that all is forgiven, I know that. I understand if you’d rather keep us apart after the way I acted,” he murmurs defeatedly, like he’s already prepared himself for a thorough scolding.

Which is absolutely goddamn ridiculous, in your eyes. You snort, brows raised in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? All is forgiven, Buck, all is so past forgiven. I don’t care about the shit you said. You’re here, you’re still mine, that’s all that matters now. Forget the fight, forget all of it. I’ve got you, that’s all I care about.”

You say it so simply, like it could be so easy. Like his indiscretions are just wiped clean in the face of your pure relief. But he knows that they aren’t, they can’t be. It’s not that easy, as much as he’d like it to be. He fucked up, and he deserves what’s coming to him.

He tries to reason with you, his expression pained. “Baby, you can’t just-” 

“I absolutely can, actually,” you interrupt, looking unamused, stern. “I’m the one you said those things to, so I think I have the right to determine how I feel about them, don’t you?” You keep your eyebrows raised, challenging.

You watch as he mulls those words over a bit, licking his lips anxiously. It takes him a moment to decide how to respond, and when he does his words are slow, strained. Like maybe he doesn’t want to say them, but he feels like he has to.

“Yes, you do. It’s ultimately your decision, of course it is. I just…before you decide to blindly forgive me for this, I want you to really consider how you feel, okay? I know your instinct is to forget all about it because you’re just relieved to have me at all right now, but…I messed up. I hurt you, I said hurtful things even if I didn’t mean them. You didn’t deserve that, least of all from me, the man who’s supposed to love and protect you. You’re allowed to be upset about it, and if my actions made you realize that you don’t want to be with me anymore, then…you’re allowed to feel that way, too.”

His voice cracks on that last word, and your heart aches painfully in your chest at the sound. In this moment, you’re realizing with horror that Bucky truly believes he deserves to be broken up with tonight. With the unshed tears clinging to his lashline and the devastated look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be dumped, that in fact that’s the last thing he wants.

But it’s obviously what he thinks should happen, the punishment he thinks he’s earned for the inadvertent heartbreak he put you through tonight, and that’s just…unacceptable, to be honest. 

The man would forgive you if you literally drove a stake through his chest, for Christ’s sake, yet he’s expecting you to kick him to the curb? What, because he got a little snippy with you? Because you jumped to the wrong conclusion and convinced yourself he left you? You would almost be insulted that he could think such a thing of you if you didn't know where the fear comes from.

You've seen them firsthand: the deep layers of self-loathing that have bogged him down since long before your relationship started, the inherent belief he carries that he is irreparably flawed and unworthy of love. He doesn't feel like he deserves you on his best day, so when he screws up, no matter the size of the infraction, he expects to be cast aside.

You reach out with one hand to cradle his cheek, his stubble gently scraping against your thumb as you caress his skin. Your expression is caring but firm, your eyes holding his as you speak in an even voice.

“I need you to understand that I don't expect you to be perfect, James. I don’t expect that you will always say the right thing, or have a perfectly even temperament in every situation because hell, none of us do. You’re allowed to fuck up sometimes, sweetheart, and you still deserve to be loved even when you do.”

His brow furrows as you speak, his instinct to reflexively deny the forgiveness you’re offering. “But I hurt you,” he interjects, the look on his face so miserable it tugs at your chest.

You nod your agreement, though your expression is still full of compassion and love. “Yes, you did. I won’t even begin to address the break-up fiasco because that was a complete misunderstanding on my part, but yes, the things you said before you left really stung me. Do you know why I’m going to forgive you anyways, though? Why, even if this happens again, I’ll probably forgive you a hundred times over?”

You pause for effect, giving him the opportunity to respond. Honestly, as upset as you’ve been these past few hours, it’s all begun to fade in the face of this man you love trying to convince you he’s not worth it. When he just looks at you helplessly, his eyes tracking your speech with rapt attention, you smile and continue.

“It’s because I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, Bucky. Let me ask you something: when you snapped at me today, did you do it because you were trying to find the absolute meanest thing you could say at that moment? Did you say it because you wanted me to feel bad?”

Looking a bit startled at the suggestion, Bucky shakes his head mutely. He hadn’t really even been conscious of the words at all until after they’d already blurted from his mouth, and even then it didn’t fully sink in until after he’d calmed down. You smile, satisfied by his immediate denial. 

“No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t say that stuff to be mean, to hurt just for hurting’s sake. You were feeling ambushed and defensive, and you lashed out. Is it ideally how you’ll always react when I try to express my concern for your wellbeing? No, of course not. But is it a realistic thing for a person to do who’s not used to being cared for? Absolutely, it is. And it’s just something we’re gonna have to work on, baby. I’ve never done this whole relationship thing before, and you’re trying to do it for the first time in 80 years with a hell of a lot of additional trauma thrown into the mix. 

“We’re learning, and it’s not always gonna be perfect or easy. Maybe before this becomes an issue again, we’ll think up some ways for you to politely tell me ‘I’m feeling overwhelmed by this conversation, please back off and we can come back to it later.’ Or maybe we’ll discuss how I can voice my concerns to you in the future without triggering your defensive response, how I can come off as less accusatory and make the discussion feel more safe for you.

“We’ve only been doing this for six months, and as real as it is, as much as I love you more than anything, we’re gonna face a hell of a lot more than this one hurdle if we want to keep doing this thing in the long term. So, yeah, tonight has sucked, pretty much every minute of it was a disaster, but you know what? It’s over now. You apologized, we’re gonna try and do better next time, and…that’s the end of it. Clean slate. All I want to do with the rest of my night is finally stop fucking crying, and eat a burger the size of my head. Preferably, with my boyfriend next to me the whole time, trying to steal my fries when I’m not looking. Do you think you could help me make that happen, Buck? Please?”

He looks stunned in the wake of your speech, silent for several moments as his brain struggles to grapple with the reality of your easy forgiveness. He blinks at you hard, like he truly can’t believe that you’re not running in the opposite direction right now, burning every trace of your life together and cursing his name the whole way.

But the truth is, you’d already made up your mind to forgive him the second you realized he hadn’t meant to break up with you in the first place, and Bucky must see that, too, because the fight in his eyes is slowly dimming into something more fragile, vulnerable. 

His gaze fixes on yours in the dark, searching for some hidden shard of resentment or anger that you may be holding back for his sake, but he doesn’t find it, there is no such thing for him to find. You just smile weakly up at him, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day but no less sincere, and when he blows out a slow breath through his nose, you know you’ve got him.

He’s definitely not done badgering himself about the mistakes he made today, not by a long shot, but he must see your weariness on your face, your desperate need to move on from this at least for the moment, so he nods slowly, his flesh hand rising to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can make that happen. Whatever you want.”

Your smile brightens, the relief so stark in your features that it brings a lump to his throat, and when you press your lips against his he makes a silent promise to never put you in a position like this again, to never let his bullshit drag you down or put your relationship at risk like he did today.

He’ll go to therapy twice a damn week if he has to, you deserve better than his temper tantrums, than cruel words spoken out of a defensiveness he doesn’t need anymore. Not with you. 

Half an hour later finds you perched in his lap, draped in one of his hoodies and talking and laughing at your favorite diner like there never was an argument, like not a single tear was shed today. He hates that the joy on your face is most likely motivated by your sheer relief that he’s still yours, but he can’t complain about the sparkle in your eyes, nor the way you lean back against his chest as you sip your shake.

Obliging your request, he steals some fries off your plate while you gesticulate wildly through a story, a warm flutter going off in his chest when you pretend to squawk in protest. He soaks in every second, every twitch of your lips and brush of your hand against his, reminding himself what he could have lost, what he perhaps deserved to lose after his actions today. 

He’ll make this up to you, he knows he will - he’s sure Natasha will have plenty of suggestions for how he can start. He thinks back to that little velvet box he’s got buried deep in the back of his sock drawer, a sharp pull tugging at his heart as he realizes he almost lost his chance to give it to you at all. He resolves right here and now, basking in the warm light of your infinite patience for him, that he won’t take that box out until he’s earned it.

He hates to wait even a second longer, itches to lock you down with every passing moment, but he won’t ask you to make that kind of commitment to him until he’s sure he’s the man that you need him to be. As he presses a firm kiss to your temple, swiping another morsel from the edge of your plate with a smile, he swears up to his Ma that he will work hard to deserve you, even if you seem to think he already does.

[sweetblossomsss]

IN THE NIGHT || J. YH (1/3)

Synopsis: You were just trying to survive. Dance, collect money, pay off your debt. Repeat. What you were not trying to do is to fall in love with someone you can’t have—not when you are owned by someone dangerous.

THEME: mafia!Yunho x Stripper!Reader

Warnings: Alright here we go. ANGSTY (MY FAV), SMUT, eating out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of back and forth/push and pull (you have been warned), mention of guns, someone gets shot, Yunho and Y/N are idiots in love, cursing, drinking, drunkenness, Y/N is in denial most of the time, we have Jae (IFYKYK), at his point he’s going to be my paid actor in my stories (Jae isn’t based on anyone), fluff, adorable happy ending, a drunk guy who tries to get at Y/N, have to break this up into 3 parts because tumblr hates me, I know I’m missing just lmk.

Word count: 46K

Date started: EST 2024 Date Finished: June 4, 2025

Blossom’s Note: My petals, thank you for being patient. I haven’t forgotten about you. Life has just been hitting really hard. I’m doing my best to keep writing so bear with me. Now that we have that out the way, Yunho in this story had be kicking my feet at times. Let’s give an around of applause for Jae making a comeback in a different story lmao. Story was inspired by Obsessive by Lumi, Obsession by Mellina, and In the Night by The Weeknd. You know what to do, grab that popcorn and drinks and let’s get into it.

—

You sat in front of the vanity, brushing powder on your face to ease the shine on your face with practiced, steady hands. The low thumping of the bass from the club pulsed through the room. 

 You applied the final touches—coating the lashes some more with mascara, one more swipe of lip gloss, brushing through your hair with your finger, fluffing it out.

Lastly, you spritzed perfume along your neck and collarbone, scrunching your face up at the intensity of the smell as you waved the air off with your hand.

Placing the perfume down, you let out a sigh. Your eyes flickered to the mirror in front of you, roaming at your reflection. You felt the nerves kicking in, slowly. 

Tonight was important. There was no room for mistakes—no room for excuses.

Jae’s orders.

And speaking of the devil—

A knock from the door echoed in the room. You stiffened slightly, trying to keep your composure but now having the nerves coursing through your veins at full speed. There was no need to turn around to know who it was. 

Your eyes flickered through the mirror and stared at him. “There she is,” Jae murmured with a smirk as he stood leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are roaming with hunger—dripping with satisfaction at the sight of you. “My star.” 

Your back straightens—gut twisting as he steps into the room all slow and deliberate. When he reaches behind you, his hand slides over your chest, all possessive like.

“You look so beautiful.” His palm flattened against your skin before reaching up to your throat, “All mine.” 

You remained stiffened under his touch, jaw clenching. You watched him lean in causing you to exhale through your nose in disgust—fright. His lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Tonight we’ve got a very special guest.” His voice is low, almost playful. “Do not disappoint me.” 

Your eyes flicked to the mirror. 

Blank. 

Still. 

“Do I ever?” You asked him with calmness—too calm. Your hands forming into fists, trying to ease your mind. 

Jae hummed as he tilted his head side to side slightly, “Mm, no.” He said thoughtfully. “But you’ve got this habit of forgetting who is in charge.” He pressed his body closer to you, “You start thinking you are free.” 

The word free sends goosebumps in your body. 

Oh, how you yearn to be out of this. 

His breath touched your skin as he whispered. “Let me remind you once more—you are here because I allow it.” 

“How can I forget?” You murmured, voice feeling tight, “You remind me every chance you get.” 

A pause.

Silence.

You then hear a soft tsk. His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to face him, causing you to let out a soft gasp. 

His eyes held that hungry, possessive look. 

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered as he leaned in closely, gripping tightening, “it’s going to get you in trouble one day.” 

He flickered his eyes between yours before letting go of your face, which caused you to inhale sharply as your hand reached to soothe the aching sensation on your face as you glared at him through the mirror. 

“But don’t worry,” he circled behind you. “Not tonight.” 

Your mouth parted slightly as you let out a shaky breath, eyes still on him. “Tonight I need to seal this deal.” He said as he stood still behind you. 

He leaned down next to your face, removing some strands of hair from your face. You closed your eyes under his touch, feeling scared. “And I am counting on you to make sure it happens.” 

His words held something dark which made your skin crawl as you clenched your jaw. He turned his head to your lips, leaning in, “Don’t make me regret it.” He whispered.

Your eyes snapped open as you looked at him through the mirror, hand sliding slowly off your face. 

His words felt sharper than a knife. 

He smirks at your reaction and stands up, taking a few steps back. And just like that—

He was gone. 

Leaving the horrid, chilling of his absence behind. 

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

You felt the beating of your heart in your ears. You don’t move—not right away at least. 

Your eyes looked into the mirror and saw that they were hollow—empty of life and light behind them. You saw the way you slightly shook, raising your hand slightly to watch it tremble. 

You placed both hands on the table and closed your eyes. You inhaled and exhaled deeply—shaky—and then opened your eyes. 

You blinked once. Twice. 

Then—

You snapped out of it.

It’s time to get to work.

You reached for the powder once more—calming down the slight redness from Jae’s touch. You then just moved on autopilot—hands moving like they belonged to someone else.

You can’t afford to tremble in fear tonight.

Not when the wrong breath, glance, movement—anything—could send everything into a dangerous spiral.

You stood up and leaned your hands onto the table. “Showtime.” You whispered to yourself.

You turned around, heels clicking against the floor as you made your way to the door—mask in place, heart gone. 

—

You could hear the loud chatter of men as you walked to the stage behind the curtains. You watched as your coworkers came off stage, talking about how exhausted they were. 

Finally you arrived and took off your robe, handing it to security near the steps that lead to the stage. He places a comforting hand on your arm, “You got this!” He whispered to you with a smile, “You can do it, Y/N.”

You gave him a wink and a small smile before he left. You then turned to the DJ, who had a direct view of you from the outside, and nodded at him to which he returned and went to work.

Finally—

The music played.

A mysterious and sultry tune that resonated throughout the club as the lights turned down low. Slowly, you make your way up the steps and then onto the stage.

Instantly—the atmosphere felt electric. 

Once your silhouette was spotted, loud hollering and whistling from men commenced.  They wasted no time in throwing money like confetti, hungry gazes waiting impatiently for you. 

Then it hits—

A golden glow spotlight that shined heavenly on you in synchronicity of your movements, making you the sole person of attention. 

Every single step you took towards the pole was a calculated step to captivate everyone in the room. 

You let your hips sway to the rhythm of the song, reaching out to wrap your hand in the pole. Your body quickly curves and twists in fluidity and sensual motions.

Slow and deliberately spinning to which you arched your body—commanding the room without a single word. 

You then turned your head to the side, smiling at the men as they erupted with loud cheers. The bright neon lights made your body glitter shimmer as you gently landed on your knees. 

You crawled to the edge of the stage where eager hands clutched bills. Men desperately waving it in your face—signaling you to go to them. 

With practiced ease, you smiled at one of the shy ones. You beckoned him to come closer, watching him gulp in nervousness as his shaky hands reached out to give you his money. 

You let out a small laugh at his actions. You got closer and grabbed his hand—guiding his trembling hands to slip a bill into the strap of your bra while “confident” hands found the curve of your hips—tucking cash into the waistband of your barely there lingerie. 

You kept your composure, maintaining that sultry smirk—remaining in control, but inside your stomach twisted in horror. 

Their fingertips would linger too long as their gazes stripped away your clothes. ‘Ugh’, disgust coils deep within your chest, but you don’t flinch. 

You don't let it show.

Instead, you arched your back—letting their fantasies run wild. 

You just kept selling the illusion they crave as you internally wish to scrub every trace of their touch from your skin.

But—

Your focus wasn’t on them—

Not tonight. 

In perfect sync with the sultry rhythm of the song, you turned your head towards the vip section—a section that was far away from the sweaty hands and greedy gazes. 

Perched in the dimly glowed of the private lounge sat him. The man Jae would not shut up about. 

Jeong Yunho.

Wow—

Is that him?

You could feel your breath hitch for a second.

There was no denying that this man was dangerously handsome. 

Just one look and you can tell the power he held. 

That tailored suit not only reeked of expensive, but—the way it looked like it belonged to him. Molding to every sharp line of his body like it had been made with only him in mind. 

The way his broad shoulders displayed, long legs spread in a way that screamed power and ease. One arm draped over the back of the leather couch, his fingers lazily tapping against the rim of the glass while the other rested on his thigh—just a few inches away from the women clinging to him. 

Despite the desperate attempts for his attention from the women, his eyes were elsewhere—

On you.

His gaze was dark—unreadable—piercing in a way that, suddenly, the air around you got heavier—hotter. 

His lips, slightly, curled into something in between amusement and intrigued.

It’s almost as if he was already three steps ahead of you. 

You crawled to the center edge of the stage—right in front of his view in a controlled feline motion. Your hips sway to the slow, hypnotic beat as you feel the music pulse throughout your body.

You take this moment to take in his surroundings. 

Men—standing stationed all around him, even on the steps that lead up to the VIP section. Silent but watchful. 

Yet—

He simply sat there. Completely unbothered, as if he knew nothing could touch him. 

As if he owned the room. And—maybe he did. 

Heat shot up your spine as you met his gaze. You slide off the stage with each sway of your hips being a calculated promise. The front of your heels hit the edge of the bottom of the steps—still keeping that eye contact locked on one another.

Then—

Like a predator closing in on its prey—

You dropped to your hands and knees, feeling the velvet material of the stairs below them. 

In this moment, it’s like the crowd disappeared—no longer mattering. Everything fades as his eyes are the only thing that fills your vision. 

The world shifts. Music slows.

Suddenly, there is only you and him. 

Your feline–like movements were slow and deliberate. Every crawl forward was a tease—an invitation wrapped in pure seduction. 

That smirk on his lips remained. But his eyes darkened with something almost… feral. He raised the glass to his lips, never breaking that contact with you. 

The women around him, who were desperately clinging onto him, shot you judgmental glares. You watched as their eyes burned with jealousy as they pressed their bodies closer to him. 

But you don’t care.

You are here to do your job.

That’s it. 

But they just kept on. They whispered vile things about you. Laughed at you. You couldn’t make out what they were saying in specific, but with the way they exchanged looks with eyes of venom—you knew enough.

But then—

He raises his hand. 

A single powerful gesture and the chatter—

Stops. 

They fucking froze in their words. You watched as they stiffened up as his eyes flickered to them with an icy glare. The girls looked down to the floor, feeling upset that they got him angry. 

But with a wave of his hand, he silently orders them to leave. 

They tried to protest but he gave them a look. A look that held many words. They let out an annoyed scoff as they get up—heels sharply clicking against the floor as they retreat to the shadows, arms crossing and hips jutting out with attitude as they glared at you. 

Within perfect timing, you reached the top. You remained kneeling down before him—your pulse racing. You felt like his presence was a magnetic force that pulled you closer without even doing anything. 

Your eyes flickered to the top floor. For a split second chills were sent down your spine—Jae standing there with arms crossed and a smirk on his face. 

Reality hits you. 

‘Don’t make me regret it’ his voice rang in your head. You take a slow, controlled inhale through your nose and gently exhale—controlling yourself.

You began by gliding your hands up his thighs—teasingly slow—until they rested on his hard muscles beneath the fabric of his suit. 

You can feel the heat radiating off of him underneath you as you move up, sliding onto his lap with the grace of a predator claiming its prize. 

Your hands run up his chest, leaning in just enough to let that tension build. Your breath warm against his ear, “Are you enjoying the show?” 

He inhales your alluring perfume. His voice was low and smooth—sending shivers straight down your spine, coating your skin in goosebumps, “Immensely.” 

Shit.

You can’t help the smirk that curves your lips as you lean back, grinding your hips just enough to draw a breath from him. You placed a finger under his chin—running your thumb on his lower lip.

The room around you seems to blur. The thumping of your heart matches the beat of the music as you continue to tease him with each controlled movement. 

From your peripheral, you see his hands sliding towards your waist but—

Before they can reach you, you look at him with a challenge flashing in your gaze, “No touching,” you purr out, your voice dripping in mischief as you slide off him, caressing his face with your fingertips as you stand up. “Not tonight.” You winked at him. 

You lingers there, a few inches away, your gazes locking for one last breath—a stealing second. 

And then—

The shift happens. 

Something dangerous flashed behind his eyes. That smirk curled into a scoffed out smile. Behind that smile there was something deeper, almost sinister. 

You have no idea what you have done. 

What you have started. 

But you’re already turning away. 

Your body swaying with each step as you head down the steps. You smiled at the men who stood at the bottom of the steps, shoving money in your face, happily taking them as you headed up the steps with the help of the club’s security. 

You left him behind, craving for you again. 

You returned to the spotlight, music sweeping to match the energy surging through your veins. The cheers grew louder as you finished your routine—bills raining down, more than you’ve ever seen in one night.

From the distance, Jae smirks as he flickered his eyes between you and Yunho—a look of satisfaction. Yunho can’t keep his eyes off of you like a hungry predator watching its prey. 

You lit a fire within him.

You then vanished behind the curtains. Unaware of the chaos you left behind. 

—

The crowd has since scattered, leaving behind drinks and empty bottles on tables. Chairs all over the place, thrown or fallen, with bills scattered on the floor and stage.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement.

You stood on the stage, eyes looking at the bills that had yet to be collected and sighed. You took off your heels and just dropped them behind you, then you tightened the strings of the silk robe and crouched down on the stage. 

You gathered the money in a bunch and started collecting them—straightening them out before folding a good amount and wrapping a rubber band around it. 

You’ll count it later.

Right now, you just just want to go home and boil the night off and sleep.

The laughter and chatter from your coworkers with their clients was a background hum to your own thoughts. Enjoying this calmness.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the shadow at first. Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, casting a silhouette over you.

“Impressive performance,” a deep, velvety voice drawled.

You froze.

That voice.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes up to the voice. Your breath hitched when your eyes locked onto his. The gleam in his eyes was something unreadable, “May I?” He asked as he extended his hand out for you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your eyes flickered to his hand. You gnawed on your inner lower lip as you looked around the area. His men standing around you two, the same women from earlier with crossed arms with annoyance written on their face but most importantly—

No Jae. 

You looked back at his face to which he tilted to the side, as if saying ‘well?’ Slowly, you reached out and grasped his hand, noting the rough patches on it as you stood up.

He steps to the side and helps you down the stairs with ease—as if this is the most natural thing in the world. 

“Thank you.” You told him gently as you stood in front of him. He smiles and slowly releases his hand from yours, reaching into his inner pocket of the suit. 

“This,” he takes out a thick stack of cash, neatly stacked with a white paper band wrapped around it, “is for making my first visit… worthwhile.” 

Your lips slightly parted in shock as your eyes widened at the sight of the money. He just took that money out as if it was nothing but pocket change to him. 

You felt conflicted. 

“I–“ You couldn’t speak. 

Your eyes flickered between the money and his face—you were hesitant.

What if this is a test? Should you even take his money? Was the deal completed? What would Jae say—?

“Take it.” His voice was softer, taking you out of your thoughts. He noticed your hesitation, his smirking slowly fading. “It’s not a gift—it’s recognition.” 

You swallowed hard. You still felt reluctant at the offer but eventually, you slowly reached out, brushing his fingers with you as you took the money. 

You gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” You tell him, keeping your tone neutral. “It’s very generous of you.” 

“Of course.” He said with a faint smirk. 

There was a pause between you two. 

You slightly shifted under his gaze, feeling like you’re about to suffocate. “Um, so,” you say softly, “Thank you for coming tonight. We hope it was up to your expectations.” 

You gave him another small smile and went to turn around but—

“Wait,” He said, grabbing your arm with the most gentle touch you have ever felt. You looked at his hand and then back at him, eyes slightly widened. “May I have your name?” He asked with a smile.

You could feel your heart skipping a beat—something you’ll bitch at yourself for later tonight. “I think that…” you turned to face him and gave him a coy smile that didn’t reach up to your eyes, “you and I both know I can’t give that to you.” 

Now, it’s not that you were hiding. You would gladly give him your name except—

It was about protecting yourself from Jae. It felt like he owned your own name. Jae was very keen on keeping you all to himself—not even wanting to let others breathe your air. 

You can see his face slightly drop but kept smiling. “But,” you stepped closer fingertips lightly brushing against his chest, trailing down the smooth fabric of his suit until it hovered just above the top of his belt, “it was lovely meeting you… Mr. Jeong.” You murmured as you looked up at him with your lips curling into a teasing smile.

But before you could take a step back, his hand caught yours, once more, “Something tells me this won’t be the last time I’ll be seeing you.” He said in a low voice, laced with certainty.

His eyes bore into yours, a smirk on his lips. 

You let out a small scoff as the smile remained on your lips. You then slipped your hand out of his grasp, turning on your heels as you walked to the curtains. 

His eyes stayed fixed on you until you disappeared—not bothering to glance back at him. He stayed there for a moment. The ghost of your touch lingered in his hand. 

No one has ever made him feel so intrigued like how you have. Especially in such a short time like this. Yes, he has gotten dances before but something about you… he can’t pinpoint it. 

“Who are you?” He murmured to himself.

He then straightened up, “Her name,” his voice low and sharp. “Find it.” 

You won’t give it? Okay. 

He will just find it first. 

One of his men stepped forward, nodding once before disappearing. 

Soon another one stepped forward, “Sir, the car is ready.” 

He didn’t move at first, keeping his gaze on the curtain—wanting to open it and find you. He adjusted his cuffs on his suit sleeve and nodded, “Very well. Let’s go.” He turned around and headed to the entrance of the club.

His girls quickly dropped the sour faces and giggled as he propped his arms out to the side, causing them to hug his sides as they walked to the door. He glanced down at them with a mischievous smile as they whispered something to him. 

Behind the curtain, you watched him the entire time between the narrow slits, feeling your heart race as you watched him leave. You stood up straight and let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

You took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. You then felt the stack of money in your hand, making you look down at it—fingers curling around it.

“Men,” you said in a whisper—bitterly, “They really do have it all, don’t they?” Your lips curl into a humorless smile. 

—

It had been a week since that night. 

A week since you disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Yunho behind—drowning in curiosity and intrigue.

But no need to worry, he sure as fuck did not forget you. Not the way you were perched up on him. Not the look in your eyes. Nor the delicacy in your touch. The way you said his name. 

Safe to say, your performance—or rather, you—really sealed the deal with Yunho. Which is exactly why he was back tonight.

Partly to finish some business with Jae. But most importantly… in hopes that he is able to see you—even if it’s just a glimpse. 

The lights were dimmed slightly in Jae’s office, casting a soft glow within the room. The air was filled with strong scents of expensive cigars and champagne with the music vibrating throughout the space.

Laughter echoed within the circle as Jae clicked his glass with Yunho’s—some liquor spilling out from the action. Jae leaned back into the sofa with legs spread comfortably apart, taking a huge gulp.

He sighed in satisfaction as he looked at Yunho. “Your terms are fair, Yunho.” He said with a grin. He then sits up straight with a devilish smile, “You won’t find a better deal elsewhere. Trust me.” His fingers lazily twirled the glass.

Yunho smirked as he placed his drink down onto the table, “Then we understand each other.” He said with his eyes glinting. “That’s all I need.” 

Jae—a man who wants more and more. More reach, control, and power. But, in order for that to happen he needs Yunho—the man with the keys in his hands. He had the contracts, network, and the leverage.

And just like that—

The deal was sealed. Two men gaining more power and money. And to celebrate—?

Immediately, several girls came dressed in lingerie into the office—their eyes locking onto the scattered men in the room, picking who they wanted quickly. Jae gives two girls a glint of approval with his eyes as they sit next to him—all the girls settle in beside the men, laughter blending into the atmosphere.

Yunho looks at the girls who draped their legs over his. Watching how they quickly went to work when one girl slowly undid the top of his buttoned up shirt, caressing his exposed skin while the other rubbed his arm.

His expression was unreadable at the sight of them. “They seem to follow your lead without question.” Yunho said smoothly—calculated. He flickered his gaze to Jae, “Is that loyalty or… good training?” 

Jae lifts his eyebrow when he flickered his eyes to Yunho, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Well, you know how it is,” He smirks.

Actually, Yunho didn't, but proceeded with your stupidity. 

“Loyalty isn’t given. It’s bought. Broken. And rebuilt.” He looks at the girl wrapped in his arms, smiling, “Ain’t that right, baby?” 

Yunho watched as Jae kissed the girl’s neck, making her laugh—a little too high. A little too fake. Yunho saw the way the girl tensed up her shoulders, how she looked at the floor, dead inside, before laughing in fear. 

Then Jae gets a thought. 

He looks at Yunho, removing himself from the girl’s neck. “Why?” He smirked, “Did someone catch your eye?” 

“Well,” Yunho said in a low voice. “It’s hard to ignore someone who doesn’t want to be seen.” He reaches down for his drink and takes a sip. 

Jae furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand who it was that he was speaking about. Then his eyes light up, snapping his finger when it hits him—

“You must be talking about, Y/N.” He lets out a small laugh. 

He didn’t flinch. 

He already knew your name. 

The same night he sent his men to find it, he got it. Took a little bribing but nothing a few dollar bills couldn’t fix. The girls talked—eventually—made the men swear they won’t even breathe a word about this to Jae. 

Yunho leaned back in quiet satisfaction, letting your name settle in his mind. He didn’t answer back at Jae, but that’s all Jae needed to know. 

“Do you…” Jae paused. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Want to meet her?” He asked casually—too casually.

But his tone said otherwise. It’s as if he was going to show off his most prized possession. Telling Yunho subliminally that you belonged to Jae.  

Yunho stayed silent.

Didn't blink.

He remained leaning back, the corner of his mouth barely twitching as his eyes locked with Jae's— unreadable but speaking volumes. 

A slow, knowing smile slowly crept on Jae’s lips. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, keeping his eye contact with Yunho. Instantly, one of his men appeared with readiness as he leaned down to Jae’s level, “Go get her.” Voice was low and smooth as he whispered. 

The man gave a curt nod, "Yes sir." And with that he slipped away.

Jae downed his drink, placing it on the glass table in front of him. “I figured you would want a closer look.” Jae said. “Eventually.” His smirk widening just enough. 

Yunho gave him a faint smirk back, remaining silent. 

This game just started. 

—

Finally, the night was over.

Fuck.

The music faded, stage lights dimmed, and the noise from the crowd was nothing but an echo behind you as you stepped off the stage. 

You thanked the security who handed you your robe and quickly slipped it on as you made your way to the dressing room, exhaling after a long day of work.

You shut the door and instantly, your body ached with exhaustion. You made your way to your chair and just dropped onto it. You sighed in relief as you kicked off your heels—flexing your sore feet, moving them in circular motions to get the circulation flow back with a slight tingling fire feeling.

You leaned back in your chair, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes for a moment. ‘Home’. It was all you can think about right now. You couldn’t wait to get out of this heavy makeup with this outfit that makes you feel like your boobs are pushed up to your ears.

Slowly, you get up, winching in pain as your joints burn, limping slightly at the ache in your legs. You rolled your shoulders back, moving your head side to side as you took off your robe. 

You started to gather your things off the counter until—

A sudden knock on the dressing room door snapped you back into reality as you jolted. “Y/N?” Your body tensed up when you heard your name, muffled. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, eyes shooting to the door, “Boss wants to see you.” 

Oh, fuck no.

You closed your eyes as your jaw tightened. You exhaled a sigh of frustration through your nose. And just like that, the ache in your body was instantly forgotten—replaced by the heaviness settling in your chest—anger in your body. 

You walked to the door and opened it with an attitude, “Can you tell him that I—“

“You’re coming.” He cuts you off, words feeling like a slap in the face. “Now.” 

You glared into his emotionless face. You wanted to scream but you stayed silent. You turned around, putting on those dreaded heels back on. Once you finished, you stood up and closed your eyes one last time to enjoy the final peace you had.

You turned back to the guard, who didn’t even say a single word. You glared at him and he nodded, stepping to the side, waiting for you to follow him.

And you did just that.

The small peace you had was completely snatched from you.

—

Every step that led to him was a step you dreaded. This walk to his office felt longer than usual for some reason tonight. Maybe because you were just tired and wanted this night to be over.

Or because you hated him and didn’t want to see Jae.

Finally, you arrived at the door. You inhaled and exhaled, getting mentally ready for whatever bullshit Jae had in store. You nodded at the guy and he opened the door for you, his hand gesturing to go inside, “He is waiting for you.” He tells you.

You straighten your posture and take your first step inside and—

“Ah,” you heard Jae’s voice, “there she is!” You looked and saw Jae giving you the most wicked smile ever. He goes around the sofa and takes your hands, “my beautiful Y/N.” He plants kisses on them. 

 Before you could even gather your bearings—Jae grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him to the couch. He then pulls you down to his lap with a sharp tug. His hand immediately slid possessively across your waist and onto your backside, squeezing roughly.

You could barely suppress the flinch as the familiar disgust was threatening to show on your face, but you quickly pushed it down—giving a tight smile.

You looked across from you and froze. 

How did you not see him? Maybe that’s why Jae was acting the way he was with you at first. 

Yunho was watching you intently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied your body language. His gaze flickered to Jae’s hand on your waist—his expression was unreadable but the slight crease of his brow didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

Jae chuckled, “Beautiful, isn’t she?” He said as he admires—if you can even call it that—you. “She’s shy at first but—once she knows her place, she is perfect.”

Yunho gives you a faint smile, “Beautiful,” he echoed, bringing his drink to his lips, “you got that part right.” 

Your breath hitched—just barely. 

Did you hear that correctly? 

No—

No. 

Last time you fell for a man’s words, you ended up in this bullshit. 

This man is just as dangerous as Jae—if not, more.

Don’t be stupid. 

“Pour me a drink, darling.” Jae said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Just like that, back to being a machine. He leaned back, arms resting on the edge of the couch. 

You nodded as you leaned forward, grabbing the mini tongs. You placed three ice cubes into Jae’s cup—

“She’s a good girl, don’t you think?” He said caressing your back. You wanted to throw up from his touch as you poured his drink into the glass. “Knows how to listen. Knows when to stay quiet—that’s rare these days.” He said, looking at Yunho with a smirk.

You sat up and handed him his drink, watching how he smiled at you as he said a small thank you. Ugh, asshole. You wanted to throw the drink in his face and slap him right across.

During the interaction, you felt Yunho’s eyes on you. “Quiet doesn’t always mean obedience.” He said in a low, calm voice—an undercurrent tone you couldn’t pinpoint. 

Your heart raced just a little faster at his response. Jae chuckled as he caressed your thigh. “Spoken like a man who’s never trained anyone.” 

Trained.

That word sat heavy in your chest. You tried to keep your face neutral as you flickered your gaze to the glass Jae kept in his hand—waiting for this moment to be over quickly. 

“Spoken like a man who’s afraid of what happens when they think for themselves.” Yunho answers back as he finishes his drink, placing it on the table as he stares down Jae. 

His words ran a fucking shiver down your spine—fighting to not look at him. 

Jae shifted beneath you—you can tell these words affected him. “Control is not fear.” He said smoothly. “It’s all about consistency. My girl knows that I’ve got her.” He smirks, “Therefore, she does not need to question anything. Right, baby?” He looks at you with a smile.

But before you could say anything—

“Or maybe she knows what happens when she does.” His words cut through the silence like a knife.

Your heart stops as you slowly look at Yunho. 

No one has ever spoken to Jae like that.

Jae’s voice dipped into something darker, a grin still on his face. “Are you trying to say something, Yunho?” 

Yunho slightly shook his head. “I’m just observing.” He said calmly. His eyes lingered on you as if it held you in place.

You knew the look in his eyes—the type of man who commands with just a glance. This only confirms how dangerous Yunho was and you do not want to fuck with that.

But—

You can’t help it. Something about him was tugging you towards him. 

Was it…

The way he looked at you? The way he saw the cracks through the mask? The way he made you feel human, even if it was just for a second? 

I mean—You don’t even know man. Yet, slowly, he has undone some of your walls… just with words.

Wait—

Stop—

This was reckless.

You have to stop it. 

You know better than to want answers. Curiosity in this world gets people killed. 

—

It was later in the night. 

Yunho was sitting in the back of the car with one arm slung casually along the seat—the window cracked open as the smoke from his cigar disappeared into the night air. 

His driver was silent—ready for any command.

But Yunho—

He was busy.

He was watching you.

There you were. Standing outside with Jae—who had two of his men standing behind him. You were at the back of the club, away from curious eyes. Your coat was wrapped tightly around you, shielding you from the cold night. 

You adjusted your purse strap on your shoulder and then crossed your arms, looking away from Jae with attitude. 

Jae had stepped closer to you—the argument was escalating as you looked back at him and scoffed at whatever he said, shaking your head at him in disbelief. 

Jae just looked away from you, smoking his cigarette as he waited for you to comply with what he asked of you. You glared at him with fury in your eyes as you opened your purse, grabbing the stacks of cash and shoving it to his chest. 

Jae stumbled back slightly—taken aback by your actions as he looked down at the money on the floor. He exhaled through his mouth as closed his eyes, letting out a scoff. He smirked as he looked back up at you, face written with anger. 

“What do we have here?” Yunho murmured to himself as he tilted his head slightly in curiosity—the tip of his cigarette glowed a faint red as he took a drag, casting a brief flicker of light across his face. 

“Sir?” The driver asked, looking through the mirror. But Yunho stayed silent, just keeping his eyes on you. 

You then proceeded to tell Jae something that just sets him off, talking back at you in anger. You roll your eyes at his stupidity. Done with his bullshit, you turned around—

But—

Then it happened. 

Jae’s hand shoots out and grabs your face, roughly and controlling as he leaned in, yelling something directly in your face. Yunho can faintly hear you yelling at Jae to let you go as you try removing his hands off of you. 

There was a lot of back and forth yelling but eventually—

He let go. 

Your chest was heaving as you looked at him with fear and anger all mixed up. You adjusted your purse and turned around to walk away—fast. But Jae tsks as he dropped his cigarette to the floor and rushed to you but only this time—

It’s gentle. 

He caught up to you and turned you around, softly. You closed your eyes as he caressed your face, him apologizing for his actions. But you aren’t falling for his antics. 

You completely tensed up as you looked away, removing his hand from your face as your lips curled in disgust from his touch. He caresses your hair and leans down, whispering something in your ear causing you to freeze and look up at him.

He steps back and walks to his car, opening up the backseat door for you. He gestures for you to enter as he gives you a smile. Yunho can see your hesitation.

He sees the way your eyes linger on the car before you slowly make your way to the car, stopping once more but eventually, you climb into the car. Jae then follows suit but before closing the door he orders one of his men to pick up the money. 

Yunho flicked the cigarette out the window, little flicks of ember spark upon contact to the floor. Interesting, he thought. 

“Let’s go.” Yunho told his driver.

And with that they took off, leaving Yunho curious of what just went down.

—

It’s been a few weeks and Yunho has now become a permanent fixture within the club. But of course, it was bound to happen now they are partners.

It just means he isn’t going anywhere.

You saw him more often than you wanted to.

He never once did anything to make you feel uncomfortable but—you won’t deny the feeling that occurs within you when you two lock eyes.

You don’t know what it is. It’s unspoken—unnamed. But it weighed very heavy every time. 

The club was darker tonight. A spotlight on you as you performed. The music was sultry, dangerous—enough to make the men holler for you as you gave them your captivating smile.

Off in the distance, Jae leaned back against the leather of the booth with a lazy smirk on his face, “She is something, isn’t she?” He said in awe of you as he watched you dance.  

Yunho just hummed in response. 

He leaned forward as his elbows rested on his knees, glass dangling from loose fingertips. His eyes followed your movements, feeling like he was in a trance. 

He then looks down to the floor and ponders hard before asking, “What is she to you?” His voice was quiet yet it sliced through the noise. 

Jae didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, there was a pause. Both men looked at you in admiration—well, one did. The other looked at you as a money making machine. 

“She is everything to me.” Jae said in a serious tone, downing his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh. 

He then sits up with a face full of smugness. He places his cup on the table, opening up the bottle of liquor, “She is the best thing I ever invested in.” 

Thing. 

Asshole, Yunho thought as he let out a small scoff that went unnoticed. 

Yunho looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “Invested?” 

Jae chuckled, tipping his glass towards the stage in faulty delight. “Found her working at a shitty diner. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen…” He said as he zoned out, daydreaming about when he first saw you. 

All bright smiles. Now they are all gone. 

“Well,” Jae said, clearing his throat, snapping out of it. “I made her an offer, one where she can make real money—to live a little, ya’know?” 

He then leans closer to Yunho, lowering his voice, “But, let’s just say, she signed the contract without reading the fine print.” He lets out a cackle as he shoves Yunho as if he just said the funniest joke ever.

“Ahhh,” he sighed happily, in a daze. “Now, she belongs to me.” 

Let me tell you, if looks could kill—

Jae would’ve been dead.

Yunho’s stare had darkened but his face just remained cold—expressionless. He can’t believe someone would do something so fucking cruel to a person who was just trying to survive. 

“Hey,” Jae said as he tapped his arm, “do you want a closer look?” He offered you. He then places a hand on his own chest, “It’ll be my personal gift to you.” He smiles at him.

He then gets serious, “But,” he warned, “don’t get attached.” He said in a low tone. They just stared at each other before Jae bursted out into laughter making Yunho smirk back at him.

Yunho looked away from Jae and watched you finish your dance. Jae didn’t bother for a response as two girls approached him and easily got distracted. Idiot, as always. 

When you finished your set, your eyes roamed the crowd—the room. You caught Yunho’s eyes already looking at you and it felt as if time slowed down for the both of you. 

But reality came striking in as the lights turned off—snapping you right back into the moment as you disappeared behind the curtains. 

Yunho just kept his gaze on you. 

Little by little, things were starting to make sense to him.

—

 After the performance, the club was winding down. Once again, as always, right when you’re about to leave—

Jae.

Of course.

But this time, it’s slightly good news? 

You stood off at the side of the bar, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stood in your silk robe. Jae was completely leaned into your space—mouth near your ear, smiling as he spoke to you.

Completely blinded that he didn’t notice your face was carved out in flat annoyance as you stared into an empty space—wondering when the fuck this conversation was over.

From the shadows, way up near Jae’s office, Yunho had the perfect view. He saw the way Jae cupped your face, caressing it with his thumbs as if you were something so delicate he wanted to take care of.

Right.

He saw how you removed his hand with a sharp flick of your wrist—careful to not draw attention from your coworkers. Jae’s smile faltered for half a second before snapping back into his cruel self.

He closed his hand around your arm, fingers digging into it as he guided you around the corner where the noise of the club thinned out, swallowed by the heavy walls.

He leaned in, voice low. “I’m leaving the city for a bit.” He said as he brushed a stray hair from your face.

Oh?

“Business things, you wouldn’t understand.” He said condescendingly, making you exhale deeply. “You see, there are some things I have to finish now that Yunho is onboard with us.” 

You stayed still. 

Silent. 

Jae’s mouth curled into a smirk. His hand lifted your chin to face him, “And since I’m leaving, I’m trusting you with a little responsibility, mmh?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What is it?” 

His hands slide around your waist, bring you close to him as he sways you two a little bit. “Take care of our new partner, yeah? I want you to show him why we are the best in the business.”

Your stomach twisted.

“But,” his eyes darkened. “Don’t get any fucking ideas. Do you understand me?”

You nodded as you swallowed down your nerves. “Good.” He said smiling. “I don’t know when I’ll be back but—“

He leans in slightly.

“Don’t give me a reason to come back early, alright?” He then gives you a patronizing little tap under your chin before walking off, leaving you standing there.

Yunho watches as you stand there, letting Jae’s words sink in your mind.

Slowly, he starts to back up into the shadows—disappearing just in time as you flickered your gaze up to the third floor where Jae’s office was, feeling someone looking at you.

But no one was there.

—

Jae has been gone for some time now and quite frankly it has been… peaceful.

Everything seems to flow with ease now. The club seems vibrant with good energy. The girls seemed happier and actually laughed more. Security seemed relaxed, less tense than normal—everything just seemed lighter. 

As if everyone can breathe. 

Why is that, you may ask?

Yunho was the complete opposite of Jae. 

He earned the respect of people without raising his voice or barking out orders. 

And the girls? Well, they noticed it.

They laughed more when he was around, joked with him in between sets—hell, even the newest ones felt safe enough to talk to him about issues they had. Something no one ever bothered doing with Jae.

It’s like he was always surrounded by them. Comfortable enough to drape themselves over him, flock to him, hooking arms around his shoulder or arms as they whispered things into his ears that made them giggle in the process.

They craved his attention—his gentle touch. A small piece of him. But it was understandable—we never had this type of figure in our lives at the club—it’s almost as if he was something the club itself was missing. 

And you would see how he would let them. 

Let them play their games. Pour his drinks. Caress his whole body. 

You also saw how he would lean in, whispering sweet nothings to them making them turn shy under his stare. How the girls would send glances at each other before standing up, grabbing his hand as they tugged him to one of the many private rooms—where fantasies would roam. 

But—

You maintained your distance. 

You’re not falling for his antics—his bullshit. I mean, let’s focus on the facts here; he’s just like Jae. 

You tell yourself, ‘look away, it's not worth it.’

But—

Something always pulls you back.

You did look

Every time.

Every night, he would run off and disappear with different girls. 

You had no clue what the hell would happen behind the closed doors but with the way they came out with makeup smudged, faces flushed, giddy as they adjusted their clothes, and fixing their hair said enough. 

And Yunho? Untouched. 

And yet—

No matter how much you try to avoid him, despite Jae's orders, he somehow manages to find your eyes through the crowd—every single time. 

It never fails to make your heart race or breath hitch.

Like take tonight for example—

Finally, you finished your set and you just wanted to count your money and go. You were behind the bar, stacking up your cash tips into neat piles but your hands were trembling slightly. 

Your fingers would fumble when you looked up to grab a glance—wanting to know if he was still looking. 

And he was.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his stare was unreal to relentless. Feeling conflicted and frustrated with how easily you let him affect you—

You dropped your money and sighed, leaning on the counter as you closed your eyes, exhaling. You ended up gathering your money in one pile and decided to just count it in the dressing room—what you should’ve done in the first place.

You gave him one last look—slight annoyance written on to which he returned with a small smirk as you disappeared into the dressing room. 

His stare felt like it whispered, I’ll see you. Soon.

—

The following night, you were in the dressing room with the rest of the girls—shift change. 

But not for you, you have been here the whole day. 

Some girls were wiping off their makeup and talking out loud about some handsy, cheap men, gaining some laughs from some girls as they made jokes over it. Some focused on getting dressed as they prepared for the night.

You sat at your vanity, tugging your zipper open on your makeup bag, grabbing your setting spray. You softly chuckled at the ongoing conversations from the girls as you took off the cap from the bottle and sprayed your face, waving your hand to help the skin soak in the liquid.

Once that was settled, you adjusted the straps of your outfit back onto your shoulder—hands moving on autopilot to adjust, tighten, apply. 

Just as you were about to take off your heels to let your feet breathe for a second—“Hey,” your coworker leaned around the corner of your mirror, “You’re booked. Private dance. Room 11.” She said lazily chewing gum, voice casual.

You let her words sink in as you felt your sore body crying, complaining at her words. You exhaled slowly through your nose as you nodded at her words, giving her a forced smile, “Got it.” 

She flashed you a wink and disappeared around the corner. You sat there for a second longer, staring at your reflection. You mentally tell yourself ‘you can do it’ as you get up, roll your shoulders and head out the room with some girls telling you good luck as you give them a small smile. 

—

You approached room 11 and stopped in front of it. You gave your body a little shaky to wake yourself up and exhale once. You steadied your hand into a fist, knocking twice. 

“Come in.” 

You turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit private room. The heavy door thudded close behind you, muting the club's music into a dull vibration against the wall. 

Oh my god—

There he was.

Yunho. 

His legs were crossed at the knee—an arm draped lazily along the back of the chair while the other rested on the curve of his thigh with a glass of dark liquor dangling loose in his grasp. 

He didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched you through the huge mirror in front of him. A slow smirk curved his lips while you two stared at one another. 

Internally, you were scared—shitless. You wanted to turn around and leave but Jae’s words haunted you. You had no time to slack off—

You leaned casually against the door frame, “Mr. Jeong,” a sweet, coy smile appeared on your face. “What can I do for you?” You purred, voice like honey.

His smile only widened—darkly. You pushed yourself off the door, ignoring the way your heart raced as your heels softly clicked towards him—walking around the room. 

A predator's arc.

You let your finger trail lightly across the back of the leather sofa behind him until you stood directly behind him. Your hands slide down his chest, palms ghosting over his broad shoulders—all light and teasing. 

You lowered your head slightly, just enough for him to feel the whispers of your breath against his skin. “You know,” you murmured, voice dropping to a sultry tone. “I was wondering when you were going to come to me.” 

You felt the way his body tensed but barely. It was controlled within seconds.

Finally—

After what felt like forever—

He spoke. “I want you tonight.” His voice was low and smooth—unrushed. “Just for me.” 

“All to myself.” He smirked. You felt the floor crumbling under your feet just by his words.

 He tilted his head up just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. “You understand me,” he said as he caught your eyes. “Don’t you, Y/N?”

Hearing your name come from his mouth made your knees slightly buckle. 

The room felt smaller now—hotter even. You felt your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“I understand.” 

You smiled at him as your hands moved around the chair, humans saying with a practiced roll. You deliberately dragged your fingertips across his chest as you circled him and stood in front of him.

You hooked your finger under his chin and made him look up at you, “So…” you whispered, voice dipping into something dark—intimate. “What are you willing to do to get what you want?” 

He said in full confidence, “Anything.”

That smirk remained on your face, “Anything?” You repeated as you tilted your head. He nods once at you.

“Mm.” You hummed in amusement as you let go of his face, taking a step back. The way his legs spread out just enough seemed to invite you in—but not enough to beg. 

His eyes burned into your figure, waiting for your next move. You turned around and walked to the speaker—purposely leaning down to press the button of the speaker, showcasing your curves. 

He lets out a quiet chuckle at your action, taking a sip of his drink before placing it off to the side.

And just like that—

The music played. 

You walked to the center of the room, sliding down to your knees—maintaining that eye contact with him. You slowly crawled on all fours to him until you were between his legs. Your hands gently caressed his strong thighs—

Moving them up and down a few times before you use his thighs to help yourself up—your hands finding the hard plane of his chest, giving him a push.

He lets you force him back deeper into the chair with a soft thud, smirk flickering at the edges. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap with a slow roll of your hips that barely skimmed his—just enough for him to feel the unbearable heat trapped between your thighs. 

You settled on him deliberately, your weight feather–light—teasing as your thighs squeezed around his hips. 

You leaned in, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear, letting your breath ghost over his skin until you felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide. 

Here goes nothing.

“Tell me you’re mine, Mr. Jeong,” you murmured to him—voice dipped in velvet sin. You rolled your hips—slow.

Controlled.

You felt him slightly tensed at your actions causing you to look back at his face. Your fingers reached up to his hair—just enough to make him obey.

“But look at me when you say it.” 

His breath hitched—fuck. 

We are just getting started and he already feels in heaven with you. 

“Yours–” His voice was low and strained, distracted by your slow grinding. “I’m yours.” 

You smirked at him as you tugged his head back, just enough to expose his neck. Your fingertips traced from the tip of his chin down to his chest—barely a touch.

He bit his lower lip in delight—hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch you but you moved faster than he could—

“Oh,” you scolded, voice teasing, ”Mr. Jeong. Keep those hands to yourself.” You smirked at him as you grabbed his face gently, bringing his head to eye level with yours. “Wouldn’t want to get in trouble.” 

Although you held that smile—inside, your walls were still up.

This was just a fantasy—a role you were just playing. And this man did not belong in your reality. 

His lips parted slightly—a low growl rumbling deep from within his chest. You silenced him with a single finger pressed against his mouth, “shh,” you whispered, giving him a faint smile—just enough to keep in control of the moment. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a taste… eventually..” 

Your eyes darkened as you removed your finger from his lips, using that same hand to drag it down your body. Over the swell of your breasts. Down the curve of your waist. Moving with a slow, deliberate arch of your back that made your core pulse with need as you grind shading him again. 

Instinctively, his hand shot up—desperate to feel you more. But you smacked it away with a sharp crack against his wrist—the noise cuts through the room, making his jaw flex harder. 

You grabbed his face firmly with one hand, forcing him to look at you. “I said no touching.” You warned him, your tone in pure dominance.  

His breath caught in his throat as your grip tightened on his jaw. There was a pause between you two as his eyes flickered between yours.

 Until—

“That look in your eyes,” his tone was deadly, “I know you only get like that with me.” 

You paused at his words. Your brain short circuits for a second—

But you’re quick with words. 

You let out a small laugh, leaning as your mouth hovers over him, your eyes narrowing with the faintest smirk on your lips. “You must think you’re special.” 

You let the words hang there, your lips inches from his. Then you pulled back, in control of the moment. “Don’t mistake the fantasy for something real, Mr. Jeong.” 

You won’t fall for his charms. 

His voice. 

His eyes.

You won’t fall for his act.

He’s just like Jae. 

You won’t be stupid—Not again. 

Yunho’s gaze devoured you. His pupils were blown wide, jaw clenched so tight you could practically feel the restraint vibrating off him.

He stays silent. 

And then—

That smirk again. It’s like he can see through you. It’s as if he knew something you didn’t dare to say out loud.

Your fingers were the first too move—

Eyes still locked on one another. 

You reached for his dress shirt. Undoing one button. Then another. Slow, no rush. Your touch brushed against the heat of his skin with every pass.

When the fourth button slipped free, you shifted closer—your body brushing his. Your lips hovered over his skin, pressing soft kiss just beneath his collarbone—

Right over his heart. 

Your lips press kissing trailing up to beneath the ear. “Tell me,” you whispered, “does it still feel real?” 

Yunho threw his head back, making a soft thud with the she of the sofa as he fluttered his eyes close with delight. He let out a low, desperate groan that growled deep from within his chest. “Shit”. He whispered. 

You felt him twitch underneath you—for the first time feeling helpless. His hands flexed into fists, trying to restrain from touching you as he kept letting out broken, low groans. 

Your hands dragged slowly down his chest, fingertips gliding over his skin until they reached his thighs—thick and tense beneath your touch. 

You began to rub them in a slow, tormenting rhythm—up, down, up again—never rushing. Your thumbs brushed dangerously close to his throbbing bulge, straining against his slacks.

He inhaled sharply—he twitched as his chest heaved, head still thrown back as he now gripped the edge of the sofa.

You felt it—the way he was eager to know what you were going to do next. 

And just when you knew he was about to break—

You stood up and backed away—leaving him with the ghost of your touch.

He let out a wrecked, frustrated groan as he snapped his head up at you—pupils blown wide, completely dazed out as he panted hard.

His eyes tracked your every move like he couldn’t believe this shit. You really walked away from him. Fuck. 

You turned your back to him, hips swaying with a deadly rhythm. You knew his eyes were locked on you.

You ran a hand through your hair, then glanced back over your shoulder—just enough to catch him watching. And you winked—causing him to let out a scoff in disbelief.

Crossing the room, you approached the silver pole in the center of the mini stage. You turned, leaned your back against the cool metal, arching into it with feline grace.

It was cold against your skin but you didn’t flinch. This was your moment. 

You threw your head back, exposing the curve of your neck as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took. One hand slide up to your throat, letting out a moan as you squeeze it gently—

Then gliding both hands over your breast, looking at him as you give a soft, purposeful squeeze before trailing them down the sides of your waist with fluid motion. 

Across the room, Yunho shifted in his seat—feeling like his clothes were getting tight, air was thinning—he felt like he was suffocating.

He grabbed his drink and brought it to his lips, fucking taking a gulp trying to control himself. His eyes never left you—they were locked on you. 

Dark. Frustrated. Barely blinking.

You smiled to yourself, remaining quiet. 

Your fingers slid down the hem of your top, dragging the fabric upward—slow and teasing—peeling it off inch by inch until you finally lifted it over your head in a fluid motion, dangling in your hand until you dropped it beside you.

The soft lace of your bra hugged your skin perfectly. The swell of your breast showing the rising and falling with each breath.

You let him absorb every inch of you.

You then do a 180 twirl on the pole and face the mirror. Your vision adjusts on his eyes as you smirk—slowly, you bent forward, hands trailing down the back of your thighs.

They glide over the curves of your calves as your ass arches up high in the air. You stood up with a sensual roll of your hips. Then—

Your thumbs slipped into the waistbands of your shorts—dangerously dragging them down. 

Just slow enough to feel every inch of the fabric as it slid over your hips, down your thighs, past your knees… until they pooled around your feet in a soft heap.

You stepped out of them, now standing in nothing but a delicate lace bra and matching thong.

You felt him. There was no need to look at him.

The way the air had thickened—the way his breathing faltered behind you.

He was dying in that seat.

And you weren’t done yet. Nope. 

You turned your head—just slightly. Just enough to glance over your shoulder. 

The corner of your mouth lifted into the softest, cruelest smile when you saw the sight of him—

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Completely wrecked. 

Then you moved again—slow, dangerous, with a rhythm, turning around to face him.

Just then, you let your fingers trail down your stomach, throwing your head back as you bite your lower lip.

You lower and hover right at the thought of something completely unholy—

The music stopped.

Room fell into silence as you lifted your head and looked at him. 

No one spoke.

Until you did, giving him a smile, “We are finished here.” You say softly as you walk to the robe hanging on the wall. 

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there—shirt half unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath during the whole performance. 

Then his chair scraped back slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and raw. “What the hell just happened?” 

He wasn’t angry—just wrecked.

You turned your head to him, tying your robe, “A performance.” You said smoothly, walking up to him. “Did you enjoy it, Mr. Jeong?”

He remained silent and broken—wrecked, disbelief. He sat there fuming and aching, wondering where the fuck did time go. 

You smiled, politely, and reached for his cup. “I’ll get you another one, sir.” You offered as you headed towards the minibar.

It was a habit. You did it for Jae. You did it for clients. Nothing more. 

Yunho stood up and adjusted the buttons on his shirt, shaking his head as he let out a broken chuckle—he didn’t know if to laugh or curse. He turned his head to you and watched as you made his drink, ice clinking softly as you poured.

“How do you…” His voice was rough and low, “turn it off so quickly?”

You see glass down on the counter, feeling your hands shake as you try to calm down your rushing heartbeat. “What do you mean, Mr. Jeong?” You asked him, tilting your head in confusion.

There was a pause as he looked at you. He reached for his drink without looking at it—still trying to piece together what just happened.

He gives a small smile, slightly shaking his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” 

But there was something that flickered behind his eyes—something you couldn’t pinpoint. 

You slowly gave him a polite smile, stepping back. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Jeong.” 

But his eyes were still on you—quiet, unreadable.

“You know,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “you can call me Yunho.” 

You maintained a professional smile. “Of course, Mr. Jeong.” You said it softly—sweetly even. 

But it hit Yunho harder than a slap.

“I hope you have a good night.” You tell him as you walk around him, getting ready to leave the room as your heels click on the floor.

But then—

Thud

You froze mid-step.

The sound cracked through the room—loud and final. He had the final power move. 

Your heart jumped, slamming against your ribcage. You tell yourself to not turn around but—slowly, you did, internally cursing at yourself.

Two thick stacks of money sat on the bar’s counter. Tossed like they meant nothing, but to you it meant everything. Your eyes lifted to him.

He hadn’t moved. He stayed watching you. 

“I know why you’re here.” His voice was low. “That night outside of the club—I saw you and Jae.” 

Your breath caught as you slightly stepped back, eyes widening. “I saw you handing him all of your money.” He said as takes one step towards you.

You looked at the floor frantically—breathing a little bit heavier. You felt embarrassed right now, humiliated. Your eyes shot to him, “That doesn’t concern you.” You said in a cold tone.

He ignores your tone and steps closer to you. “You’re right, you’re right...” He shrugs and stops as he looks into your eyes. “But no one deserves to be treated like that.” 

You didn’t look away. 

Just stood there in silence. Letting his words wash over you. His words come back, getting you out of your thoughts, “This is what you’re going to do,” 

He reaches for one of the stacks and slides it across the counter towards you, “You’ll give this one to Jae.” He pauses and then he picks up the other stack and hands it to you, “And this one—you keep. Spend it however you want.” 

You stare at the money, feeling your pulse ring in your ears. “I can’t.” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

“You can.” Yunho said with his tone unwavering—expression unreadable. 

You shook your head, “No.” You said taking a step back, “I don’t want it.” Your breath was shallow as you turned around, feeling the room spin.

Your heart was racing, palms were sweaty. You placed your hand on your heart as you closed your eyes, trying to calm down the spinning in your head. You didn’t notice how fast you were breathing until Yunho stepped in front of you.

“Hey, hey.” He said softly as he took your hands, gently to ground you. “It’s okay.” 

Your eyes shoot to him. “You don’t understand.” You tell him as you swallow to moisten your dry throat, “Jae will find out. You don’t know the things he will do once he does. He watches everything—He’ll know. He’ll know I’m hiding money—“

“He won’t find out.” He cuts you off gently. He held your gaze as he cups your face, “This stays between you and me. Okay?” 

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded. Small.

“Okay.” He said in a whisper as he gave you a small smile. 

You didn’t notice it but this was the first crack in your mask—your first moment of trust in him. 

Then, without another word, Yunho lets go of your face and takes a step back, keeping that small smile before heading out the room. 

There was no glance over his shoulder—just straight out the room. 

You stood there for a moment. 

Frozen.

“What the fuck just happened?” You whispered to yourself. Your breathing calmed, everything steadied. How did he do that so easily? 

When you finally were able to move, your body moved on autopilot. You reached for the door, pulling it open—cool air from the club spilled in, brushing your exposed skin. Your eyes searched for him—why? You don’t fucking know why.

But when you did—

Across the club, already halfway to another private room. Two girls happily pull him inside as he gives them a smirk, one of them stopping to whisper into his ear as he wraps his arm around her waist for support. 

But then—

He looks back at you. A quick tilt of his head, barely noticeable.

Your stomach drops. You weren’t sure what that look meant, but you can’t deny what you felt from it.

Soon enough he disappears as the door closes. You stood there, still gripping the knob of the door. Slowly you stepped back into the room and shut the door, turning to leaning on it.

Your eyes then dropped to the money on the counter. Your jaw tightened. You didn’t move. Just stared at it. You didn’t want anything from him but—

You sighed as you pushed yourself off the door. As you approached the money, your hand hesitatingly grabbed them.

You hated yourself for a second. 

But this was the only choice you had.   

—

It was a new night.

The lights were blinding, bass pulsed through your body, crowd was loud—

One thing that stood out from everything was how you felt before you saw him. The way everything faded the moment your eyes locked on him.

Yunho.

In the VIP section again. Legs spread out, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily cradling a drink he hadn’t touched.

Watching you on stage. 

Your body moved on muscle memory. You knew this set like the back of your hands—hands know where to go, how your hips should sway.

But tonight, everything felt… different.

Something along the lines of intimate. 

Your eyes flickered in his direction when they were suppose to stay closed, hips rolling a second longer, fingers sliding across your skin a little too slow—

Hey, what are you doing? 

Stop it. 

You know better. You know better than to give him a show.

But you did.

Somehow, you always did.

He could feel every thought passing through your head, every skip in your breath—it’s like he can read you. 

And then— he smiled. 

The faintest pull on his lips. Like he owned the way your body shifted in movements.

Your breath hitched, turning your eyes back to the crowd as you ached your back against the pole. Fuck. Get your shit together. You think to yourself as you collect yourself. 

The music pounded as bills flew off of hands—loud cheers but you didn’t register it. 

Because one name cuts through your mind like a knife; Jae.

Your chest tightened. Suddenly the air didn’t feel electric—it felt dangerous. Your movements snapped back to routine.

You finished the set. 

But as you slid off the stage and stepped behind the curtain, heart pounding and knees weak, all you could think was that he saw it. He saw the way you messed up when you looked at him. Even deep in thought as you were up there. 

You just wanted to go home.

But—

You just wanted to know why the fuck you were heading towards Yunho.

What the fuck are you doing, Y/N? 

You kept telling yourself to stop. 

You told yourself to keep that distance. 

And yet–

One step.

Two steps. 

One after another. The sounds of your heels against the floor felt louder than the music.

He was still there, seated. Relaxed. Confident. Watching the next performance.

Always watching. 

You hate the way your stomach flipped inside at the sight of him. You hated the way your body reacted towards him. 

Why were you going to him? You don’t owe him anything. You don’t talk to him. You don’t trust him. You can’t. 

You should just stop and turn around, forget this even happened. 

Five more steps.

His eyes lifted and locked onto yours. Your breath stuttered. You were close now—no turning back.

Your mouth parted to say something—maybe a greet?  Come up with a half assed minuscule complaint that you can just deal with on your own? 

You had no clue.

But suddenly— Jae’s voice echoed in your head. “Don’t get any fucking ideas.” 

And for once, you agreed with the possessive, power-drunk asshole. 

You were not going to get any ideas, even if your body betrayed you.

Your throat closed around the words you didn’t even know what you were going to say. 

You clenched your jaw, swallowed the lump in your throat and just turned around. 

You didn’t even look back.

Yunho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gnawed on his lower lip, curious as to what you were going to do as he watched you disappear behind the curtain. 

—

It was later at night and the crowd had thinned out, lights were dimmed—and you were exhausted. 

You saw in the farthest booth—away from the noise, away from stares, away from him. You did check your surroundings and didn’t spot him anywhere. You sat down with a sigh of relief as you counted the stack of bills resting in your lap.

On autopilot. Barely present.

Your fingers moved, but your mind was miles away. You wonder if he left already or is in a private dance with some girls—not that you care.

Just focus on you and everything will be okay. 

You were halfway through rolling a band around a few bills when a shadow stopped at your table. You looked up and saw it was one of the new girls, standing in front of you with a cold bottle of water.

You tilted your head, “Oh?” You were confused as you reached out and grabbed it from your hands. “…Thank you?” You gave her a small smile.

“You’re welcome!” She said brightly with a little smile. “You… didn’t ask for one, right?” 

You shook your head slowly, confused. “No. I didn’t.”

She grinned like she knew something you didn’t. “I know.” She beamed. “Someone wanted me to give it to you.”

Your heart skipped, taken aback. “Who?”

But she just winked and turned, heels clicking as she walked away without another word. Your eyes flicked to the bottle and then you saw it—

A napkin—

Folded neatly beneath the water, pressed flat under the condensation. You peeled it free with careful fingers.

For your hard work tonight. —J

Your throat tightened as your eyes slightly widened. Your head shot up as you scanned the room with too much urgency. 

And you spotted him—

Outside of Jae’s office on the third floor—half in the shadow. He raised his glass to you. A silent acknowledgement.

You looked back down at the note, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered from his gesture. 

But you couldn’t ignore the fact that he saw you for you. Not as a toy or machine or dancer… but you.

And in all honesty—you didn’t mean to keep it. 

Seriously, you didn’t. 

It was just a napkin.

So how did it end up in your purse? 

You were sitting in your vanity, fully dressed in your sweats to go home, taking off the makeup before you left. Once you were done, you reached into your purse for your keys but felt something soft, causing you to take it out with furrowed eyebrows.

It’s crumpled a little now from being cooped up in your purse. You looked around and saw that you were alone in the room then read the simple words again.

For your hard work tonight. —J

You stared at it like it had something more to say. 

But it was just a note. 

He treats all the girls like this, maybe even more. 

But your fingers fold it gently—delicately—like something fragile. Like something worth keeping. You then tucked it back in your purse.

You reached over to turn off the light on your vanity but before you did that, you stared at your own reflection, whispering. “Get a grip.” 

With that you turned it off and headed on home.

Where you reread that note on the napkin a few times before drifting to sleep—napkin on your chest.

—

You were on bar duty that night. 

The bottles clinked as you restocked the top shelf, lips pursed in quiet annoyance as you felt a cramp forming in your shoulder from extending your arm too far. 

You stretched your neck to the side as you rolled your shoulder backwards to quickly release the pressure. Besides the pain in your shoulder—tonight was a good night.

First things first, no heels. 

Secondly, no drunk men harassing you or any of the usual chaos. 

But most importantly—No Yunho. 

It was just your and your space with the low hum of the steady music and peace.

But you spoke too soon.

“Hey,” One of the girls called out as she leaned over the counter, adjusting her top in the mirror behind the bar as she chewed her gum, “you got a booking.”

You blinked. 

Like hell you do. 

“I’m not on rotation.” You didn’t bother to look up—just kept polishing the glass in your hand.

She smirked, “Yeah, well, now you are.” 

You placed the cup down, her smirk quickly dropping as you looked at her. “Who is it?” You asked. 

She blinked innocently—too innocent. She shrugged, “Didn’t say.”

Bullshit. 

You can see the lie in your eyes.

But just as you were going to confront her, another dancer strolled in, heels dangling from her fingers like dead weight.

She tossed them on the bar as she sat on the stool, leaned her elbows against the counter and grinned at you.

“Whoever it is, paid in cash.” She paused, looking around and then leaned in closer to you causing the other girl to lean in as well to hear her. “They also tipped enough to cover someone’s rent for two days.” 

The other girl gasped as she popped her bubblegum. “What?!” She exclaimed as the other one just nodded at her words. “Bitch, you’re so lucky.” 

You gave them a deadpan look.

Lucky is something you are far from. 

You scoffed as you rolled your eyes, wiping down the counter. “Well, whoever it is—“ you paused as you narrowed your eyes at them, “I’m not doing it.” 

The girls exchanged a look before bursting out into laughter—loud and unapologetic. “You say that like you have a choice.” The barefoot one said as she got off the stool and winked at you as she scooped up her heels.

They both walked away, not bothering to hear a response from you. 

You stare at the hallway then at the bar top. Let’s just get this over with. 

—

You should’ve fucking known. 

There he was.

Yunho.

Sitting in the center chair like it was and for him—legs spread, arms draped over the sides, head tilted slightly like he’d already been waiting for hours, but he didn’t care. He would wait for you. 

His gaze dragged up your body, slow and heavy. “Thought you weren't going to come.” His voice was low.

You raised an eyebrow, taking small steps to him, “I didn’t realize I was expected.” You replied in a neutral tone—but you could hear the tightness in it.

Yunho smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You hesitated—just a flicker—and his eyes caught it.

 Why does he have to say it like that? Why does he say things like this to you? Why does it affect you so much? 

You turned your back to him as you untied the robe, letting it drop to the floor. You could feel his stare on you as goosebumps arose on your skin. 

You stepped into the center of the room, “Then I hope…” you paused as you finally looked at him face to face, “I don’t disappoint you.” 

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak, just watched. There was no way to describe the emotions Yunho was going through as you looked him in the eyes.

You walked until you stood between his legs, lifting your hand up at him. 

His gaze flickered to it, a brow lifting in amusement but he didn’t move. 

He sat there, motionless. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make you suffer just a little. 

Was he going to accept it or not?

But then—

He reached out.

Sliding his large and warm hand into yours, fingers curling up. The contact sent heat spiraling up your arm. You gave him a soft smile—controlled and measured—gently tugging him up. 

He smirked as he rose up, letting you lead him. His gaze never left yours as you guided him to the center of the room. 

The look behind his eyes—it was something unreadable. It burned slowly, deep, and dangerous. You don’t know why his eyes felt different, compared to Jae. Compared to the many men you have met.

When you reached the spot, you stopped. His chest is a few inches from yours. Your hands slide up his suit jacket, over his firm chest. You then slide them down—until they paused just above his belt. 

You look up at him, eyes twinkling. Your arms reach over his shoulders as you hover over his mouth, “I want you to get on your knees.” You whispered. “Mr. Jeong.” 

A beat of silence.

You waited for rejection. For the challenge. For the smirk that always meant game over.

But what came instead—

Was surrender.

A slow shake of his head, that smile curling at the edges almost as if saying you have no idea what you’re doing. 

Then—

He stepped back twice, still looking at you, and he dropped to his knees. You smiled down at him as you took out pretty pink handcuffs from your back pocket as it dangled on your finger, “Hands behind your back.” You lightly teased. 

He didn’t hesitate or asked why. His hands slid behind him, interlacing at the small of his back as you began to slowly circle.

Your fingers traced across his broad shoulders—light, deliberate—like you were trying to memorize him through touch alone.

He stayed still. Relaxed.

Waiting.

You crouched behind him, your body close but not touching—hovering. Your lips close enough behind his neck as your breath fanned on it. 

One hand reaches forward, slipping around the front of his neck, finger played across his throat. The other slid up to jaw, gripping just enough to make his lips part.

In the mirror across the room, you saw his reflection—on his knees, chest slightly heaving as he waited desperately for your next move while you were in control of this moment.

You leaned in, your breath a whisper against the shell of his ear. “Why are you so quiet, Mr. Jeong?”

He didn’t answer. 

But the shiver that ran down his spine told you everything.

You smiled and pressed your thumb under his jaw, gently tilting his head back. “Always looking at me with loud eyes,” you murmured, “yet your mouth has gone quiet.”

You scoffed a quiet smirk against his cheek. You then reached down and with a soft click, you fastened the cuffs around his wrists. 

“Or is this what shuts you up?” Your voice dropped to something darker—dangerous. “A woman touching you like this? Someone who you can’t control?” 

And for a second—just a second, he didn’t breathe. 

Then he chuckled. 

Low and deep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he said, voice sounding strained but steady. “You think me being quiet means surrender.” His gaze lifted to the mirror, looking into your eyes, “But it doesn’t.” 

His lips parted in a slow, wicked smirk. “It just means that I’m watching you.” 

You could feel your heart drop. 

You let out a silent chuckle. 

You then stand up and circle back around to face him. You then raised your foot to his chest and pushed him back, his breath hitching at the impact to the floor.

“Still watching?” You asked him as you tilted your head to the side, smirking. 

His eyes just went feral. 

He couldn’t speak—you left him speechless. 

You, too, couldn't believe what you have done as you felt your hand tremble slightly—

What the hell just came over you? 

You dragged your foot off his chest and stepped over him. You sat down and straddled him—knees sinking to the cold floor on either side of him.

You lowered your hips just enough to brush his thighs—hard and straining with tension. You instantly felt his body tense under yours as he bit his lower lip—trying to keep his composure.

You started to roll your hips, slow and sensual. This wasn’t for pleasure—this was for control. You wanted to watch him fall apart.

But your mind was screaming at you. You better stop before things get worse. His back arched at the touch of you as he inhaled and exhaled sharply, trying to not break.

So you leaned in, grabbing his face gently to face you. “You think I mistake your silence for surrender?” Your voice was dangerously low. “You think that being quiet means power?” 

You rolled your hips—slow and deep, letting out a small laugh as he twitched under you. “It just means you’re trying not to beg.” 

Your hands slid up his chest, planting them there as your body rolled with a precision that was lethal. “Quiet men are always the loudest when they come apart.” 

You dragged out every movement like punishment, “Let’s see how long you last.” 

And just like that—

His groan cracked in the air, thick and broken as he threw his head back. “Fuck.” He whispered as his chest heaved, eyes shut tightly, body tensing. 

Fuck, indeed.

The way he looked under you looked so ravishing that you barely caught the moan that slipped out your mouth.

Shit. You swallowed down the rest that wanted to come out down and leaned in, your lips brushing his throat. “You look better like this.” Your voice murmured like velvet. “On your knees. In cuffs. Beneath me.” 

“Much better than the other night.” 

You felt it when the words hit him. 

He knows exactly what night you’re talking about. The night he left you in that confused state with his kind act, where he looked back at you and nodded as he was being dragged into the room by the two girls.

The night you told yourself you didn’t give a fuck.

“What a shame,” You kissed the corner of his lips, then whispered in his ear. “You don’t look nearly as desperate as them.” 

Fuck, the way his body reacted.

A low grunt caught in his throat as he tilted his head up slightly to look at you—he felt like he heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

Was this… jealousy? 

But you masked it with a smirk, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. You reached into your bra and pulled out a key—dangling it off one finger. 

“Someone should help you finish.” Your voice was laced with a playful tone but your jaw was a little too tense. You hovered over his lips, “I’m sure one of your girls would be happy to.” 

You then flicked the key off to the side and got off of him, heading to the door. He sits up slowly and glares at your figure, eyebrows furrowed—you struck a nerve. “Y/N, wait—“ he paused as he panted.

His eyes were burning with anger.

He doesn’t fucking want them. 

He wants you. 

Just before your fingers touched the handle, you paused. You turned around with a half smirk, “Thank you,” you said, “for your hard work… Mr. J.” 

You didn’t wait for a reaction. 

You walked out the door not bothering to look back at him. You didn’t slam the door, didn’t storm out—just remained calmed. 

Your eyes spotted one of his girls leaned against the wall—looking at the crowd. When she spotted you, she stood up straight, “He is waiting for you. Go.” You didn’t say it rudely, you said it like a command.

She blinked in surprise. “O-Oh. Okay.” She nodded as slipped past you, her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way to the room. 

And as she opened the door—

There he was under dimly red lights in the room, still kneeling—still cuffed. Glaring at you through the mirror. He felt wrecked, pissed—betrayed. 

You didn’t flinch. You turned and walked away, “Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.”

But you didn’t even believe those words. Not one bit.

—

Tonight, you were on bar duty again and you made damn sure it was going to stay like that. You checked the board twice—three times—just in case someone wanted to change things around. 

Tonight was actually a slow night—Thank god. You were mixing some liquor and syrup sweetener in the cocktail shaker, lost in thought. 

You grabbed two cups and placed ice cubes in each and popped open the top of the shaker, pouring the drinks in. You then placed them on the side counter for the girls to pick them up and at the same time—

A ticket came in.

You sighed as you looked over the order. You placed the ticket down and turned to the wall of bottles, grabbing one of them to turn around—

Only to nearly scream.

Yunho.

Sitting on the other side of the bar like he’d always been there. Legs spread as his elbows rested on the counter, watching you with a smirk.

Like nothing had happened.

As if you didn't cuff him and humiliate him with another girl walking in on him like that the other night.

Your breath caught, a soft yelp slipping out. You straightened fast, placing a hand over your chest as you slammed the bottle onto the counter—harder than you meant to. 

“Jesus—” You hissed out. “What are you doing? You can’t just sneak up on people like that.” You tell him as you get back to work.

He waited a moment.

Just tilted his head a bit and smiled at you. “Why?” He asked.

“Did she take the cuffs off too soon?” He teased in a low voice.

Your body stilled. 

Glass in hand as your lips parted but nothing came out. Your grip on the bottle tightened—but you kept your face expressionless. 

You then looked him dead in the eye and just dropped everything you were doing and walked away. You headed to the storage room, telling yourself to grab some random bottles to “stock up” but really, it’s just to get away from him.

You opened the door and walked to the wall of bottles, you went for the highest shelf but couldn’t reach it. Soon the air shifted as you saw his hand reaching out and grabbing it for you.

You turned around, fast, and stumbled back a bit, not realizing he was very close to you. He hands you the bottle and tilts his head, “Why do you keep walking away from me?” 

You tilted your head to the side and gave him a deadpan look, “If it was obvious, I’m working.” You gestured to the bottles behind you and in your hand. 

He steps a little closer. “So was I.” His voice was low, “But you know that’s not what I meant.” 

Your breath caught at your throat. 

You just shook your head, “I’m not doing this.” You said in a whisper as you left the room but he was hot on your steps.

“You keep walking away, but I know you don’t want to.” He tells you as you two walk down the private hallway. “I know you feel what I feel too.” 

You stopped in your steps and sigh, turning around to face him. “What makes you think that you know what I want?” You got closer to him, “What I feel?” 

He got serious as he closed the gap between you two. “Because I know how you sound when you do.” He lifts a hand and cups your face, “The way you react when we touch.” 

Your knees nearly buckled.

You closed your eyes at the warmth of his hands, letting out a soft sigh. No, no, no—

This can’t be happening.

You removed his hand and backed up.

There was a silent moment. 

Your eyes snapped at him. “What do you want from me, Yunho?” Your voice was a whisper, feeling like it nearly trembled. 

“You look at me in a way I can’t explain.” You said. “You show up one moment and the next you’re gone. You do things to me and it makes me feel like something is there.” You gestured between the both of you. 

You shake your head. “No matter how much I tell myself what we have is just transactional—just a fantasy… I almost start to believe the feeling. Which is the worst part.” 

You don’t know why you’re getting teary. You bring the back of your hand to your mouth as you clear your throat, feeling like you’re going to collapse. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me yet why am I getting like this?” 

You let out a scoff as you shake your head. You really can’t believe you are actually confessing to him. 

“But then you know what you do? You run back to your girls. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.” You spat at him. “Like none of this matters.” 

He flexed his jaw. “Is that what you think?” His voice was quiet—dangerously low. “You think none of this matters to me? You think this is about them?” 

You let out a disbelief laugh, “Are you serious?” You asked him, sarcastically. “No, really, are you being serious? Because I don’t think I have ever met anyone so stupid before.” 

“You say these things to me, you are always asking for me—you think— you think I don’t know you were asking for my name that same night?” You dropped the bomb on him causing his eyes to widen. 

“You give me money for myself. You call Jae out on his bullshit whenever I’m around, trying to subliminally talk to me—trying to reassure me that you see me for me.” 

“Let me explain myself—“

“Explain what? How you tell me things to make me believe that you are different from others and then turn around fuck whomever you want leading me to think you actually are the same as everyone else—?”

“That’s not what it is—“

“Then what is it?” Your breath hitched, chest rising with everything you were trying to bury. “Am I just a game to you? A power trip?” You asked him.

“No—“

“You don’t want me, Yunho. You just want control.” 

His eyes flickered between yours, brow twitching.

But you weren’t done.

“You want me quiet. Obedient. All yours—just like Jae.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Why?” You asked sarcastically. “Because judging from where I’m standing, you’re just like him.” 

And that landed like a slap to the face.

“Don’t ever compare me to that piece of shit.” His voice was low but filled with rage.

He was fucking hurt. 

You froze, swallowing that lump in your throat. “Then why are you working with him?” You said. “If you hate him so much—if you’re not like him—then what the fuck does that make you?” 

He just looked down, shaking his head in disbelief.

Your voice cracked. “You knew what he was. You knew exactly who he is—“ You slightly raised your voice, “And yet, you still chose to sit next to him. Become partners. Protect him. So let me ask you—“

You glared at him. “If you’re not like him… Why are you helping him keep me in a cage?” 

Now, it was his turn to talk. 

He steps closer, his dark eyes locked on you. “You want to know why I partnered up with him?” His voice was laced with something darker.

“Because someone like him is better as a partner instead of an enemy.” 

Honest. Brutal.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Don’t get things twisted with me. You handed him the keys to the cage.” Your stomach flipped. “You let him break you. Piece by fucking piece—until there was nothing left but obedience.” 

You looked to the side, not being able to stare at him anymore as tears were stinging your eyes. But he kept going. “You blindly gave yourself away… and stayed.” 

“And those girls?” He let out a bitter scoff, eyes burning into yours. “I never once fucked them. They were all background noise. Distractions. Faces I don’t remember. Touches that meant absolutely nothing.” His voice cracked—just slightly.

“Empty. Fucking empty. They didn’t mean shit to me.” He tells you as he looks between your eyes. 

You felt angry tears streaming down your face as you glared at him. “And what you saw was an act for the cameras.” He says. “To make Jae believe the girls are doing their part. I would never, ever make you think otherwise of my words. I would never disrespect you like that. Because what I feel for you is real.” 

“So,” he said, “don’t you compare me to that man that you chose.” 

Silence.

You looked back at him with tears streaming down your face. Behind that fury in his face—regret already forming but it was too late. 

You cleared your throat, feeling like your voice was going to tremble when you spoke.

“I really—ahem—“ your voice did crack, you sniffed as you stared into his eyes. “I really thought you were different.” 

His expression cracked—barely—but enough. His harsh words are repeating in your head. “But, I guess I was blind. Once again.” 

You sniffed once more, biting your lower lip. “Fuck you, Yunho.” 

You quickly run out the hallway and through the back of the club, pushing open the exit door as the air of the night hits your face. 

You placed your hand out to the wall for support as you walked towards the edge of the club—feeling like you’re going to just fall. You then leaned against the wall, placing your hand over your mouth and just broke down.

Quiet sobs that shook your shoulders as your other hand clutched your ribs like you could hold yourself together as you slid down the wall.

Inside—

Yunho just stood there. 

Replying the way you ran away from him—your words still sting him.

Just then—

“Yunho~” One of his girls cooed when the both of them turned into the hallway. “There you are. Are you coming to the VIP section?” She asked as she grabbed his arm.

The other girl caressed his arm, giggling. “Yeah, we miss you.” 

Yunho was just zoned out, looking at the floor. He then shakes the girls off and walks between them—they stumbled slightly back. “Leave me alone.” His jaw clenched. 

They gasped and blinked in confusion as they watched him walk away. But just before they could say anything—

He turned the corner.

He just walked up to the office and slammed the door shut, shoving everything off the desk as everything hits the floor. He stands over it with his chest heaving as he looked at the empty table.

He slams his fist on it and then leans on it, feeling like he, too was about to break down.

"Fuck." He whispered in defeat.

To be Continued.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Now , Forever

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader (set during CABNW)

Summary: Bucky ended things out of fear , thinking his dark past made him unworthy of love , but when he found her drowning her heartbreak in a bar, he couldn’t stay away.

Word Count: 2.5k+

Warnings: anstyyyy then ends happy , established relationship , exes to lovers , lots of drinking , smoking mentioned , depression mentions , alcoholism mentions , buckys past mentioned , blood mentioned , throw up/vomitting , hangover symptoms , medicine mentions , kisses i think thats all....

If I missed any let me know! 💖

A/N: im writing this half asleep and in one contiuos go , so sorry for any mistakes till i can proof read it! this little idea just popped in my head when rewatch CABNW and i just had to quickly whip something up. Hope you enjoy bbys :P

read my new series here! MY MASTERLIST

REQUESTS AND INBOX ALWAYS OPEN COME SAY HI OR DROP AN IDEA OR TWO! <3

The night Bucky ended things , you could feel it in your gut before he had even said the words. 

He was tense , shoulders tight as cable , his jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter and sticky. 

The apartment was a little too quiet , the air too still. 

You sat on the edge of the bed , fingers twisting in your lap waiting for the ball to drop.

“Bucky , what is it?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you at first. 

He stared at the plush carpeted floor, eyes shadowed and distant in deep thought. 

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides , the faint creak of the metal plates as his vibranium fingers flexed.

“I can’t do this ,” he finally replied , voice low and hoarse.

Your heart seized up. “What? What do you mean?”

He dragged a hand through his hair , his fingers trembling. 

“I’m not who you think I am. I’ve tried to be… someone better. But it doesn’t change what I’ve done. What I’ve been.”

“Bucky,” you whispered , your voice shaking and broken. 

You stood , crossing the space between you , reaching out to touch his flesh arm. “I know about your past. I know it’s hard for you. But I love you. I don’t care—”

“It’s not that simple!” he snapped , his voice breaking on the last word. 

He flinched like he’d struck you , his expression twisting and turning. “I can’t let you see it. If you did… if you really saw what I’ve done , the blood on my hands , the ghosts that haunt my mind , you’d never look at me the same again and I can't live like that.”

You swallowed hard , tears blurring your vision pouring out. “I already see you , Bucky. I see the man in front of me. I see the way you try every day. That’s who I love.”

He shook his head , shoulders slumping now. “You deserve more than this , more than me. I can’t keep pretending I’m not… tainted and bruised. I thought I could protect you from it , but I can’t.”

You stepped closer, your hands on his chest , feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palms. “Don’t do this,” you whispered. “Please don’t , you dont mean it right?”

But his hands came up wrapping around your wrists , gently but firmly removing yours from his chest. His eyes were wet now , his lips trembling. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to.”

And with that , he turned and walked out the door , leaving you standing there with your heart in your hands and the taste of his goodbye lingering on your lips.

You didn’t go home that night. 

Couldn’t. The apartment felt like an empty tomb without him , every shadow whispering his name. So you ran.

The bar down the street was loud and bright , neon signs flickering in the dark and glitter scattered around like promises you knew better than to believe. 

You pushed your way in , the music hitting you with a physical force , the beat so loud it rattled inside your bones.

You didn’t bother with grabbing a seat. 

You went straight to the bar , your voice barely a thread as you ordered a shot of vodka. 

The bartender gave you a once-over , something like concern flickering in his eyes, but he poured it anyway, sliding it over.

You tossed it back, the burn slipping down your throat a welcome distraction from the ache in your heart. 

You ordered another. 

And another. 

The edge of the bar was sticky under your fingertips , the smell of sweat and smoke heavily thick in the air.

The world started to blur around the edges. 

Faces became smears of color and simple shapes , laughter and conversation melting into the thud of the bass blaring. 

You ordered another shot , your hand shaking so badly the shot glass clinked against the counter.

Someone bumped into you , muttered an apology you didn’t hear. 

You didn’t care. 

Nothing mattered except the heat of the alcohol and the numbness creeping through your veins.

Just what you were wanting.

Your phone buzzed and lit up in your jeans pocket , a tiny lifeline in the noise and haze. 

You fumbled for it , your fingers clumsy and tingling , almost dropping it twice before you managed to answer.

“Hello?” you mumbled,  your voice thick and slurred , not even looking at the contact.

“Hey,” Sam Wilson's voice came through , calm but urgent. “Where are you?”

You tried to focus , tried to remember. “I’m… I’m at the bar. The one by the river. He… he left me , Sam.” Your voice cracked , a sob breaking free before you could stop it. “Bucky left me.”

Sam took a breath on the other end , calming himself. “Okay. Listen to me. I need you to stay right there. I’m coming to get you , okay? Don't leave.”

You clutched the phone so hard it could crack under the pressure. “Don’t… don’t tell him where I am . Please. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“I won’t,” Sam promised. “I’m just going to get you home safe.”

You didn’t remember hanging up. 

You didn’t remember much of anything after that , just the constant too loud music pounding in your buzzing head , the alcohol burning a hole in your gut and chest , and the feeling that you were already halfway to nowhere.

You slumped forward , your head resting on the bar top , the shot glass still clutched in your hand like medicine. 

You didn’t even fight it when the world went black around you.

When you woke back up , it was to the smell of stale coffee and paper. 

Sam’s office. 

The overhead light was dim , the soft hum of the city outside the only sound you could make out right now.

You tried to sit up , but your head felt like it was full of broken glass and bricks. A groan slipped past your lips , and you pressed a hand to your forehead , trying to piece together how you got here.

Your eyes caught a picture frame on Sam’s desk , Sam and Bucky, arms slung around each other, grinning wide and bright. 

It felt like a punch to the gut. 

In your fuzzy , still havely drunken mind , you couldn’t separate the photo from the real people.

You stumbled to the desk , your hands trembling as you reached for the frame. “Bucky,” you whispered , your voice small and raw. “Why’d you leave me? Why didn’t you let me fight for you , for us?”

Tears welled up , slipping hot and fast down your cheeks. You pressed the frame to your chest , your body shaking with sobs. “I love you,” you cried , your voice ragged. “I love you so much , please, don’t leave me.”

The picture didn’t answer. 

It just stared back at you , frozen in time. You sank to your knees , the frame still clutched in your hands , your tears dripping onto the glass.

And then , from the doorway , you heard a voice , soft , rough , but unmistakably real and him.

“I’m here.”

You looked up , your breath catching in your throat. 

Bucky stood there , his expression a mix of anguish and love , his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Bucky,” you gasped , the frame slipping from your fingers. “You’re… you’re here.”

He crossed the room in three long strides , dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands came up to cradle your face , thumb pads brushing away your warm tears. “I’m here,” he said again, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You threw your arms around his neck , burying your face in his shoulder. 

The scent of him , leather and pine soap and something uniquely his , wrapped around you , grounding you to the world.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” you sobbed. “I thought I lost you.”

“Never,” he murmured , his breath warm against your hair. “I was trying to protect you. But I was wrong. I can’t protect you by pushing you away.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket , holding him like you’d drown if you let go. 

Bucky didn’t say another word as he stood and scooped you into his arms. You let out a soft gasp , surprised by the effortless strength of his hold , but you didn’t fight it. 

You didn’t want to.

Your head lolled against his chest as he carried you out of Sam’s office. 

The cold night air bit at your skin , but it didn’t matter. 

All you could feel was the steady , sure beat of his heart under your cheek.

Sam and Joaquin hovered in the doorway, their expressions worried but relieved.

“Thank you guys,” Bucky murmured , his voice a promise as he shifted you in his arms. “I’ve got her.”

Sam gave him a small nod. “You know where I am if you need anything.”

Bucky just nodded , but his focus was entirely on you.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet and short.. 

You curled against him in the passenger seat of his car, the streetlights blurring past in streaks of white and golden light.. 

You felt the rough but also soft pad of his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand and knuckles , the last bit of tether to reality , in the here and now.

When you reached your building , he carried you inside like you weighed nothing at all. 

He kicked the door shut behind him , the soft click of the lock sealing you in with him , no more noise , no more neon lights , just you and him and the quiet of the night.

He set you down gently on the edge of your bed , his hands lingering on your shoulders as he knelt in front of you. 

Your eyelids fluttered , heavy with exhaustion and the last dregs of alcohol sinking in  , but you forced them to still be open.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby ,” he murmured , his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded , your breath hitching as his fingers brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. 

He reached for a washcloth in the nearby dresser , running it under warm water before wringing it out. 

He cupped your cheek with his flesh hand , tilting your head slightly as he began to wipe away the smudged mascara and left over makeup ruined by your tears.

The gentle drag of the cloth was comforting , his touch so tender it made your stomach do a flutter.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, eyes still closed. “So much.”

“I missed you too,” he said softly, his eyes full of intent on cleaning your face. “Every second.”

He set the now dirty washcloth aside , his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he moved to brush your hair. 

He found your black hairbrush on the nightstand , the bristles worn and familiar.

He worked slowly , carefully , untangling each knot with a patience that made you want to cry again but you were drained of all tears. 

Your eyes fell closed again , breathing in the familiarity of having him here with you , letting yourself relax under his touch.

“There you go,” he murmured , his voice a soothing rumble. “Almost done.”

When he was finished , he gathered your hair in a messy ponytail , his fingers deft as he laid it over your back. He tied it off with a small black band , his knuckles brushing against your collarbone in a way that made your skin tingle.

“Better?” he asked, his lips curling into a small smile.

You nodded , blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He pressed a barely there and oh so quick kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you into bed , okay?”

He helped you out of your rumpled and dirty day clothes reeking of cheap vodka and that smokey club smell , swapping them for one of his old t-shirts that you loved so much. 

It hung loose on your frame , the fabric soft and word against your skin. When he was done , he tucked you in , smoothing the blankets and duvet around you with a care that stole your breath.

He paused for a moment , just watching you. 

His eyes traced every line of your face , every dotted freckle , and the soft curve of your lips , even the faint flush on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I hope you know that.”

“I love you too,” you murmured , your voice thick and raw with sleep. “Don’t leave again. Please.”

He brushed your fly aways back from your face , his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek bone . “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not this time, not ever again.”

You drifted off to sleep with his hand in yours , the world fading around you like the last echoes of a bad dream.

You woke to the sharp , twisting pain of a hangover in your gut and piercing dull pain in your head , your mouth overly dry. 

You stumbled to the bathroom barely making it , half-blind with the bright morning light streaming through the window.

Before you could even get your mind together , Bucky was there. 

He knelt beside you as you vomited into the toilet , his hand steady and warm on your back , his other hand gathering your hair away from your face to keep it clean and out of the way.

“It’s okay , I'm right here ,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just let it out.”

When you were done and spent , he wiped your mouth with a damp corner of a  towel and helped you rinse your mouth and brush your teeth. 

You leaned against the cool tile wall ,  breathing ragged, but he didn’t move away. 

He stayed right there the entire time , his thumb brushing over your temple.

“Here,” he said , holding out a glass of cool water. “Small sips not too much.”

You took it with shaking hands , the cold liquid a relief against your parched and raw throat. 

You managed a weak smile of thanks , your eyes bleary as you looked at him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said , your voice barely audible.

“I wanted to ,” he said simply. “I love you.”

Tears welled up again , but this time they were soft , gentle. “I love you too,” you said , your voice breaking. “I don’t want you to run anymore.”

He cupped your face in his hands , his thumb brushing away the single tear that slipped down your cheek. “Then I don’t,” he said. “We face it together.”

He pulled you into a hug , his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the world. 

You clung to him , your face buried in his shoulder , breathing him in.

“You’re it for me,” he said softly, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re my forever.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining. “You’re my forever too.”

He pressed his forehead to yours , the soft morning light catching on the tears in your lashes. “Then let’s start that forever right here , right now,” he murmured.

In the quiet morning , with the world slowly waking around you , you knew that no matter what came next , no matter how dark the nights , how heavy the memories , you’d now face it together. And that was all you both needed.

-end 🌷

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[gladiatorofturtles]

I don't want to steal your thunder or take attention away from your awesome grandpa, I just wanted to add that my brother is a transman and our grandpapa also accepted him immediately and never made a mistake about his gender. He was also Irish Catholic (he also lived through WW2 as a teenager <3) and deeply, deeply religious (went to mass everyday once he retired, and his brother was a Jesuit priest) and do you know what he said when he found out my brother had been afraid to come out to him because the church is against trans people? He said, "Oh petsy (this was a nickname he used affectionately with all his fave people), of course the church is wrong."

Most people have no problem with trans people. For good reason, they're just people, like everyone else.

My 90yr old Irish Catholic grandpa doesn’t miss with my gender. He’s never gotten my name wrong, or my pronouns, never even faltered over it.

It’s all so natural too: son, big man, young man…

We’ve never talked about it. He’s the only one who hasn’t pushed for details. He just accepted it and carried on because it’s not a huge deal.

It’s so comforting.

[kerink]

what id love to see more of is post-series fics where bill moves in with the pines that explore how like. bad that is. i don't mean like re-traumatizing or anything but i mean like.

what kind of lesson does this teach dipper and mabel? bill harassed and abused them for months, nearly killed mabel. bills been stalking and abusing ford for decades, kidnapped him, tortured him. if ford lets bill back into his life what message does that send the children about navigating abuse? about how to respond to your abusers bullying themselves back in? about honoring your emotions and fears and acknowledging how the trauma changed you?

dipper so uncomfortable and afraid having bill back around all casual and open. dipper hiding how he feels because he wants to impress ford and he knows ford's been through way worse than him at bill's hands and ford's acting like it doesn't matter at all. would dipper internalize that to mean his feelings don't matter? dipper mistaking the way ford has compartmentalized and disassociated and grown resilient against some of the worst things a person can go through for strength.

mabel not having anyone she can talk to because ford doesn't want to talk about what he experienced, at least not more than very surface level, and certainly not to mabel. but ford's the only one who understands what she's been through and ford's pushing his own feelings away. would mabel internalize that as ford pushing her away? and then mabel trying to confide in dipper, but he's busy trying to repress, just like how great-uncle ford taught him.

would stan see how the kids have changed and force ford to leave? if you're going to let that demon keep haunting you then you have to get away from them. does he know that ford landed at bill's feet when he went through the portal; would it kill stan, to throw his brother back into bill's arms for the sake of the kids? would stan perceive ford tolerating bill as ford choosing bill over him them? would he internalize it as ford thinking his sacrifice still wasn't good enough?

would anyone be able to see how ford was being abused? how triggered he was? how far he's regressed? how bill knows how to play him like a piano and get him to do and be whatever he wants him, even if ford thinks he's fighting back? would it be like weirdmageddon part 3 again, only this time instead of just stan it's the entire family too far in their own trauma to see he needs saving? would ford internalize it as him still not being worthy of a place in this world? as his acceptance being conditional and tenuous? would he see his family turn away from him and would it make it easier to swallow the lies bill is force feeding him?

would it become a self-fulfilling prophecy that doomed their happy ending? would bill be the only one to come out on top?

[bugju1c3]

fanart for @wolfertinger666 ! first is heavily referenced from the mini version of him on the ref sheet so i could get me shapes down :3 also i did mistake his moles for dimples initially but i corrected it in the second img ^_^

[noo-ox]

"Theo, whose cat is that?"

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

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

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Animagus!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Female Reader, Soft Theo, Cat Animagus, Animagus Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Theo are enjoying a quiet evening that is interrupted by others who are confused about the cat with Theo, but soon the cat reveals their true identity.

Author's Note: I'm not going to lie, I've been obsessed with animagus fanfics while writing this. Theo is also the fan cast version of him. Sorry for any grammar or any other mistakes in the fanfic. If any of the Italian is wrong, I'm sorry. Pictures from Pinterest, and this is also on AO3. Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoy it. <3

AO3 Link

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

“Theo,” groaned (Y/N), as they walked down the long hallway.

“Yes, love?” he asked, turning his head towards the girl. He chuckled, noticing her eyes were slightly closed and a yawn escaped her mouth. “Tired,” he said.

She hummed in response. Both of them stopped in the hallway. He gently pulled her bag off her shoulder and placed it on his shoulder. He then draped his arms across her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. (Y/N) rested her head against his chest. They started to walk again, Theo leading the way.

Comfortable silence filled the couple as they walked. Surprisingly, not many classmates were walking around. A few minutes went by, and students started to appear, walking in the opposite direction, then (Y/N) and Theo. Some would give them questionable looks but wouldn’t speak their mind, just minding their own business. As the students walked away, Theo stopped in his tracks soon after (Y/N) followed right after.

“Love,” he muttered, glancing down and noticing her eyes were closed. A small smile appeared on his face. “Do you want to get on my back?” he asked, watching as her head tilted up towards him.

“Why?” she questioned, her voice filled with confusion. Her (E/C) eyes opened.

“So, you can sleep for a bit,” he suggested. His eyes softened while looking at her.

She nodded her head. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Theo shifted the weight of his and (Y/N)’s bags so they were on his chest. (Y/N) walked behind him, and he reached out his hands in a silent invitation. Her arms coiled around his neck and hoisted herself onto his back. Theo adjusted his grip while securing her thighs to him.

“You good?” he asked, turning his head towards her.

“Yeah,” she muttered into his ear as she laid her head on his shoulder.

His lips curved into a smile. He quickly adjusted again, then started to walk towards the Slytherin common room. Soon enough, Theo could hear her quiet breathing in his ear. He shook his head but continued to walk towards the room.

Several minutes went by before they finally arrived at the dungeon they called their home. He muttered the password and walked in. His feet carried him down the stairs, but as he descended, he looked around the room.

The Slytherin common room was eerily silent. No one was in the room. The only sound filling the room was the crackling of the fire. A green couch sat in front of the fire, waiting for anyone to come and sit.

Theo walked over to the area, and in a low voice, muttered, “Amore (love).” He nudged her thigh. “Can you wake up for a second?” he asked.

She stirred, opening her eyes. “What is it, Theo?” she grumbled, sleep lingering in her voice.

“Can you let go so I can place you down,” he asked, tilting his head towards the girl.

She hummed. “What if I just let go and I fall on the couch?” she asked, looking at her boyfriend.

His laugh echoed throughout the room, along with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you, love.”

“So, is that a no?” she teased with a lazy smile on her face.

“Do you want to?” he asked, making sure she was okay with it.

“Yes, Theo,” she replied, her head a little forward, with a smirk on her face. He shook his head.

“Fine,” he muttered. He walked towards the side of the couch and stood so his back was towards it.

(Y/N) looked, glanced over and let go of his neck. Theo let go of her and she fell onto the couch. A giggle filled the room. Theo turned around and noticed his girlfriend was lying down, with messy hair and a bright smile on her face. A smile crept onto his face as he watched the scene, wishing he could take a picture of the moment.

She then sat up and patted the seat beside her. “Come sit, Theo,” she said, looking up at him.

He sighed and followed what she said. Theo went over to the couch, sitting down right beside the girl.

“Sooo, what are you going to do?” she asked with a playful smile on her face.

“Probably read, and you are probably going to take a nap, right?” he said, giving her a smirk.

“Yep,” she said with a thumbs up. “But I’m taking a catnap, though.”

He hummed, reaching down into his bag, digging around trying to find the book. He found it and pulled it out, but when he looked beside him, a cat was there sitting and looking up at him.

At this point, almost everyone in the castle was asleep besides some stragglers walking to their dorm. The common room was filled with the sound of crackling fire and the soft rustle of pages being flipped. With each page, Theo was pulled into his own world.

A sigh escaped his lips as he turned a page. He sat in front of the crackling fireplace in the common room. Flames illuminated his face, casting dancing shadows around the room.

He sat on the dark green couch, one foot over the other. A book rested in one hand while the other gently stroked the cat curled up on his lap. A low hum filled the cat’s ears, comforting the fluffy, white, and gray feline, lulling it to a deep slumber.

Both of them sat in comfortable silence, but were soon disturbed. Suddenly, the main door swung open with a bang, followed by rushed footsteps and low chatter.

Theo flinched at the noise, his peaceful expression, which he once had, disappearing as he heard the group. A sigh left his mouth. He could almost hear his girlfriend’s voice, ‘Told you so, Theo,’ if she knew what was happening right now. He closed his book, about to rise, but a voice stopped him.

“Nott!” shouted Draco, walking closer him. “Leaving so soon?”

“I was just about to go to sleep,” he retorted, glaring at the platinum blonde as he relaxed back into his seat again. Draco’s laugh echoed through the room. The cat, Theo was petting, twitched in its sleep.

“Can you be a little quieter?” Theo suggested, covering the cat’s ear, hoping it would help muffle the sound.

Draco walked closer, standing right beside him near the arm of the couch. “Now, why would I do that?” Draco challenged with a smirk. He peered down, his eyes widening slightly as he noticed the cat curled up on Theo’s lap. “Theo, whose cat is that?”

“Why does it matter to you, Draco?” the brunette said, glaring at him as if his stare alone could kill.

Draco froze in his spot. “Well, I’m just wondering because, after all, you could have kidnapped the poor cat from someone,” he remarked, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“And why would you care?” Theo challenged, his arms instinctively moving to scoop up the cat, wanting to hide away in his dorm, but decided not to.

“I’m curious. This,” he gestured towards the cat and Theo, “isn’t normal for you, Theo. What I’m seeing right now is quite odd,” he teased with a slight sneer.

Theo rolled his eyes. “Is it really that odd to see me with a cat?”

Another set of footsteps echoed through the room, drawing closer to the two boys.

“Well, yes, Theodore,” Pansy answered, her voice laced with amusement. “Who would have thought you, Theodore Nott, would allow some random cat to sit on your lap? On top of that, you’re also petting the poor creature,” Pansy said with a smirk.

Theo felt a twitch under his hand. “Can you two keep it down? You’re going to wake her up.”

“'Her', what do you mean by 'her'?” Draco shouted, his voice echoing through the room. If anyone were in the room, heads would snap in the direction of the group.

“I told you to lower your voice, did I not?” he commanded, his voice grew louder despite his efforts, glaring at the two. The cat yawned, but didn’t move from her spot. Her bright, (E/C) eyes slowly opened, peering up at the boy she was napping on.

Theodore’s attention completely shifted, his gaze fixated solely on the cat. “Hello, amore mio (my love),” he cooed, gently taking his hand off her.

The cat sat up, stretching her limbs and arching her back. She turned her body so she was facing Theo, along with the other two. Her head tilted, as if confused by what was going on.

“I’m sorry, they woke up, cara (dear),” he muttered to her, scratching her head. A loud purr filled the room. The corners of Theo’s mouth curved upwards, his eyes softening as he watched the cat.

Both Pansy and Draco glanced at each other, not knowing what to do. Should they speak up and interrupt this tender moment, or should they just allow it to happen and then interfere? But neither one of them noticed something very familiar about the cat.

Her (E/C) irises stared deep into both Draco and Pansy’s eyes, as if she could peer into their very souls. Draco felt like he was staring at someone he was familiar with, who was usually with his friend.

“Why do the cat’s eyes look like your girlfriend’s,” Draco spoke up, staring right at the cat.

“Because this is my girlfriend,” Theo confirmed, turning his head to look at Draco. Draco let out a laugh.

“Oh, come on now, you must be delusional or something, Theo, because last time I talked to her, she said she was going to sleep,” Pansy responded, shaking her head and letting out a giggle.

The cat jumped down onto the floor. Before any other words could be exchanged, the feline disappeared, replaced by their dear friend.

“I wish you guys had listened to Theo,” she groaned, her voice still thick with sleep. She crossed her arms, looking at the three of them, but her eyes were fixed on her boyfriend. “I told you we should have gone to the library, or even to your dorm,” she scolded.

“I know, but I wanted to sit near the fire, and I knew no one else would be here at this time of day. Clearly, I was proven wrong by you, love,” he admitted, a pink hue creeping up his neck to his cheeks. “Even if we did go to the library earlier, we would have been kicked out.”

She tilted her head, annoyed. “At least it would be quiet, and you could read without being disturbed.” Theodore shook his head at his girlfriend.

“(Y/N), why didn’t you tell us about being an Animagus?” Pansy spoke up, breaking the moment between the couple.

(Y/N) shrugged, her eyelids droopy and lazy. “I thought you knew, because I’m always with Theo all day,” she responded.

“Well, I never really see you in this form,” Pansy retorted.

(Y/N) looked down at her shoes, then quickly back up as if she remembered something. “Now that I think about it, whenever I do change, Theo usually puts his jacket on me,” she said, a sheepish look crossing her face.

Theo just leaned back on the couch, watching the conversation between all of them, but mostly his girlfriend. His eyes lingered on her, taking note of her movements.

Both Pansy and Draco glanced over at each other, then (Y/N) with a confused expression. (Y/N) quickly noticed the stares from her friends in front of her.

“The only reason he does this is because I didn’t want people to know. I also hate when there’s too much light when I’m trying to sleep,” she defended herself.

“Figures,” Pansy mumbled, looking at her friend with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” (Y/N) questioned, tilting her head. 

“Well, now that you mention it, Theo usually talks quieter when his jacket is placed on his lap, covering something underneath, so I guess it was you then,” she replied.

(Y/N)’s mouth opened slightly, but then closed. “Yeah, that’s probably me then.”

“It is you,” commented Theo with his arms crossed, with a smirk. 

“I wish we knew this sooner,” admitted Draco.

“And why is that?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her head towards him.

“Oh, think about how much information we could get from sneaking around,” Draco said, looking at the girl.

She shook her head. “Even if you asked me to do that, I wouldn’t have,” she responded. “But now both of you know.”

She walked closer to Theo. “I’m going to sleep,” she said, kissing the top of his head, then walking in the direction of his dorm. Theo turned his body, watching as she walked away.

“I will see you guys later,” she replied, waving her hand lazily. Before anyone could tell her anything, she disappeared in a blink of an eye.

“I swear your girlfriend is odd,” Draco commented, crossing his arms.

Theo got up, grabbing his and his girlfriend’s belongings. “Well, I love her so I don’t really care about your opinion.” Draco’s eyes widened, while staring at the brunette.

“Love looks so odd on you, Nott,” Draco retorted, grumbling.

“When you get a girlfriend, let me know how that goes. Because I would do anything for (Y/N),” he responded, walking away from the two.

“You’re whipped,” Pansy commented with a smile. “But I’m going to be honest, you look good being in love.”

“And I agree with that,” he agreed, turning around. “Well, I’m off.” He walked off, bags slung over his shoulder, book in hand, towards his dorm.

Silence filled the room, besides the fire crackling in the background.

“There they go,” Pansy said, breaking the silence, still looking at where Theo had disappeared.

“Yep,” Draco responded, taking Theo’s place on the couch.

“You’re not going to bed yet?” questioned Pansy.

“Not yet,” he responded.

A sigh escaped the girl. “You have to admit, Theo looks good being in love. Plus, both of them complement each other.”

“I never said they weren’t good together.”

“Whatever you say, Draco.”

Every step Theo took felt like minutes being wasted instead of being in his girlfriend’s embrace. A sigh filled the corridor, but he could see the door leading to his room.

He gently grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. The door opened, but the room was pitch black. Snores filled the room from his roommates. His hand went to his back pocket, finding his wand, then raising it.

“Lumos,” he muttered, an orb of light appearing at the tip of his wand.

‘Where is she right now?’ he thought to himself, without reasoning or thinking for a second. ‘Probably lying in bed asleep,’ he responded to himself. He felt like hitting himself with a book for being stupid, but he brushed it off.

“Nott, turn that off,” groaned one of his roommates, who wasn’t asleep.

“Sorry,” he replied, walking further into his room. He set the bags on the floor near his bed and his book on the bedside table. He was about to drag himself to his closet until his eyes noticed movement under the covers, moving towards the end of the bed.

‘There she is,’ he concluded, walking to his closet and grabbing his clothes.

“Nott, I told you to turn that off,” his roommate yelled again.

“Be quiet before you wake someone up. Let me change, and after I walk to my bed, I will,” he responded, heading into the bathroom.

As Theo was changing, a soft scratch caught his attention from outside the door. He turned around, about to open the door, when he saw familiar paws slide beneath it. He gently pressed his foot on the paw. The paw quickly pulled away. He then stuck his foot underneath the door again, feeling the familiar paws press back. A chuckle escaped his mouth.

He pulled his foot away and opened the door. There, sitting innocently in the middle of the threshold, was (Y/N) in her cat form, as if she hadn’t done a thing. Her bright eyes stared at him with innocence. She walked in and jumped onto the counter.

Theo grabbed his toothbrush and ran it under the faucet, dampening the bristles. He squeezed some toothpaste and began to brush his teeth, but he felt piercing eyes on him. glanced down, meeting her eyes.

“What?” He questioned, muffled from the brush in his mouth.

(Y/N) tilted her head at her boyfriend. She then stood up and brushed against his bare chest.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips turned upwards.

A few minutes went by, and Theo finished getting ready for bed.

“Do you want me to carry you?” he asked, looking down at the cat. All of a sudden, she leaped onto him. Luckily, he caught her in his arms.

“Don’t do that. I could’ve dropped you,” he scolded, turning off the lights and walking in the dark to his bed. After all, he could navigate to his bed with a blindfold on.

Theo walked to his side of the bed. He pulled back the covers and got in. Soon enough, he felt a soft fur lying on his chest. He looked down and noticed a mound on his chest, then a head sticking out.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now. Sorry if I disturbed you, cara (dear),” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, meant only for her. (Y/N) moved closer to him, nuzzling his chin. He kissed the top of her head.

“Good night, I love you,” he muttered, closing his eyes. (Y/N) let out a meow, then did the same as she laid her head on his chest. Both of their breathing became synchronized, slowly easing into a dream state.

[lunanerdderg]

Fsr i thought i already reposted this but apparently not

NOW OVE COME TO RECTIFY MY MISTAKE

THIS INCREDIBLE ARTWORK NEEDS TO BE SEEN AND APPRECIATED

V2 IS PERFECT AS ALWAYS (sassy like meeeee :3)

LOVE THE POSE

Ppl who read my blog know i go CRAZY over a good V2 art with a good pose

I do know its from the original game in clair de soleil BUT LIKE I LOVE THE WAY THE ARTIST DEPICTED IT OK

The rendering is amazing :3

Hey I finally redrew that meme I did ages ago

(please don't go digging for it it's awful)

[sweetcalebb]

Computer Science Major Zayne

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚ headcanons ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

zayne, who codes better than he talks, but god—absolutely meltsss for you in soft, subtle ways.

INSPIRED BY @xyzvoid

tysm for letting me use ur concept!! ur gamer!caleb also gave me this idea for CS!zayne <3

—

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne will make apps for you. he'll sit in his dorm, hoodie rolled up to his sleeves, brows pinched together in annoyance because he can't find what's wrong with his code. he should be doing his assignments, but how he can't forget that offhand comment you made about how messy your notes are. two days later, you get a link from him. it's your own custom-made app that color-codes and sorts them for you.

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne will let you study with him while he works on his code. he normally doesn't let anyone see him like this—because honesty? he looks a little wrecked; the complete opposite of him in public, typing like he's trying to punish the computer for his mistakes. and when you tease him, saying he looks like he's fighting with his laptop he lets out a low, "i am." but there's a subtle smile playing on his lips.

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne's never been one for affection, but for you, he'll make an exception. like sometimes, when he's in the middle of debugging, or writing some paper on the program he's using, he'll pull you into his lap, rest his chin on your shoulder, and murmur, "don't move. you're warm.”

⋆⁺₊❅。 to everyone else, zayne is an intimidating, composed computer science prodigy. to you? he's just a sweet, awkward, nerdy boy (still scary smart). because when he's alone with you, he's grumbling under his breath, glaring at his computer screen like it's personally offended him because he can't crack an assignment. and when he's done, he'll crawl into your arms. won't say a word, just lay there.

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne's screen saver is a candid picture of you taking a nap on his shoulder. you hate it, but he loves it. it's his absolute favorite and he refuses to change it. sometimes, it'll distract him. he knows he should be doing work, but instead he'll sit there like a love-sick fool, eyes roving over the picture like he hasn't seen it a hundred times.

⋆⁺₊❅。 he doesn't care how much work he has left to do. he'll always find time to help you with yours. doesn't matter what class is it either. chemistry? he's patiently walking you through the formulas even though he just relearned the material last night. anatomy? he's skimming your textbooks and then letting you practice on him—turning into your own personal life-size diagram.

⋆⁺₊❅。 just like he isn't one for physical affection, he also isn't one for loud, sappy 'i love you's. no, he builds you a game. a whole game. based on some throwaway comment, like, 'i wish i was a bird'. days later, he's built you a short five-minute game where you play as a bird and at the end there's some sweet little note. it's short, but it's there.

⋆⁺₊❅。 he doesn't say anything, but he's positive he works better with you around. even when you're a little too distracting for your own good, how could he not work better when after every section of his code he finishes, he's pulling you in a slow, lazy kiss, then pulling back like nothing and working again?

⋆⁺₊❅。 sometimes, when you're feeling a little playful, you'll sneak up behind him while he works. you'll trail your lips up his neck, across his jaw, and then finish on that spot behind his ear he loves so much. he’ll mutter a rough, “don’t distract me." it has no real bite though, because before you can even apologize, he's turning around and slipping his hands underneath your shirt, pulling it up, then kissing up your stomach. soft, reverent open mouthed kisses.

⋆⁺₊❅。when zayne's finished with an especially grueling assignment, you'll offer to help him.. unwind. he'll say something short and quiet, like, "no, you don't have to." but he doesn't stop you, just watches with lidded eyes as you kneel down between his legs, tug his jeans down with his boxers and take him into your mouth. he breath hitches. "f-fuh—" he bites his lip to stops himself (bc for some reason he doesn't like cussing in front of you). he breathes out, "you really don't—nngh-" but he can't help it anymore. his hand is hovering over your head, hips twitching. "please don't stop."