#it was going to happen one way or another

[firewasabeast]

Steady

not really a spec fic, but could fit in with things happening in 8x18. bucktommy. 1.8k. no real warnings, but Bobby's death is mentioned.

“How can I help you, Sir?”

“I’m here f- for Evan Buckley,” Tommy said, heart racing as he spoke. “I’m not sure what room he’s in or- or unit.”

The receptionist nodded, searching the name on her computer.

“I’m not seeing an Evan Buckley here.”

Tommy rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. He was usually so much calmer than this. “He goes by Buck. Can you try that, please?”

Another nod, more typing, then she shook her head. “Are you sure you’re at the right hospital?”

“Yes, I- it would be Presbyterian. Listen, he’s with the LAFD-”

“Oh, the building collapse?”

“Yes, so maybe he hasn’t been checked in yet or-”

She held out her hand, stopping him, “Sir, everyone who needed medical attention after the collapse has been checked in.”

Tommy felt like he was going insane. He knew Evan had to be here. He’d heard it from his coworker, who heard it over the radio. “They said Firefighter Buckley from the 118 was rushed to the hospital after that collapse. I guess he’d gotten trapped in there-”

Tommy had never moved so fast in his life. He’d been out of his flight suit and in his truck in less than five minutes. Had gotten to the hospital in record time too.

And now his hands were shaking.

Staying calm was part of his job. He had to keep himself steady to fly, had to know he was in control.

But he didn’t feel that way right now.

He felt like he was going to pass out.

“Did you… is- when you-” He didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know if he could. But the lady was staring at him like he was growing a second head. “The morgue.”

Her face softened. “Give me a second, I’ll check.”

He couldn’t do this. Each second felt like an eternity. They’d just lost Bobby. He was still waking up in the middle of the night thinking about it. Still having nightmares that it was Evan in that room, taking his last breath all alone.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she began, and he felt his heart drop, “our system is slow today. It’s taking a while to load.”

He leaned against the desk, resting his head in his hands. Breathe. “It’s okay,” he replied, voice calm despite the rest of him being a mess. “I just c-”

“Tommy?”

Tommy whipped around so fast it took a couple of seconds for the room to shift back into focus. He sucked in a breath when, standing in front of him, was, “Evan.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you o- oomph!” He was cut off as Tommy hurried toward him, wrapping his arms around him as tight as he could without hurting him.

“Tommy?” Buck sounded more concerned now. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Tommy released a shaky breath. “Nothing,” he replied, making no attempt to let Buck go. “Just… Just give me a minute, please.”

Buck was still for a moment, unsure. But after a few seconds, he relaxed, then returned the hug, practically melting into Tommy’s arms. “Take two.”

Tommy tucked his head into the crook of Buck’s neck, closing his eyes and breathing him in. He had changed into a clean LAFD sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, but hadn’t had time to shower. Dirt and soot and sweat clung to him, but Tommy didn’t care. All that mattered was that Buck was alive, and in one piece.

They stood in silence, in the middle of the emergency room entrance, holding onto each other. It wasn’t until the doors opened and a man clutching his wrist came walking into the ER that they pulled away from one another.

The concern that had been on Buck’s face before was now on Tommy’s, as he reached up and brushed a tear away from Buck’s cheek. “What’s wrong, Evan?” he asked. “Why’re you crying?”

Buck shook his head, letting out wet laugh. “I don’t know,” he replied, wiping across his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Tired, I think.”

“Here, let’s sit.” He took Buck’s hand, leading him over to the waiting room and sitting down beside him. There was a table next to him, with a box of tissues. He plucked two of them out and handed them to Buck. “I was told you got trapped in the collapse today,” he said. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” Buck answered, using the tissues to wipe away the tears that kept falling, no matter how hard he tried to get them to stop. “I mean, I- I was trapped, but I was fine. Everyone with the 118 was fine.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

Buck sniffed, clearing his throat. He risked a glance at Tommy as he blinked away a fresh wave of tears. “Why are you here, Tommy?”

“I was… A bad game of telephone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was told about the collapse through a coworker, who heard about it over the radio. Said you’d been rushed to the hospital, and I… I just left and came here.”

“You left work,” Buck questioned, lip quivering slightly, “to come check on me?”

Tommy nodded. “Of course I did.”

Buck’s head dropped as a sob ripped through him. “I’m s- sorry.” He apologized quickly, his voice trembling.

Tommy has his arm around Buck in an instant, a gentle hand running up and down the center of his back. “Hey,” he soothed, “you don’t have anything to be sorry for, Evan. Can you talk to me? Tell me what’s wrong?”

Buck shook his head even as he leaned into Tommy’s touch. “Doesn’t matter,” he answered, palms pressing into his eyes. He was desperately trying to get rid of anymore tears before they had a chance to fall. “S’not about me.”

“I think it is.” Tommy's free hand came up to give Buck’s a squeeze, carefully pulling his hands away from his eyes so he could look at him. “And it does matter. It matters to me.”

Buck tangled their hands together, an instant comfort. “It’s been… I’m not… I’m trying, Tommy, I’m really trying. I promise.”

“Trying what, Evan?”

“To be okay. To be- be what everyone needs. I’m failing though. I- I keep making it about me but I’m not trying to, I’m just trying to do what Bobby asked me to do but I don’t… I don’t know how to do it the right way.”

“I don’t understand. What did Bobby ask you to do?”

Buck sighed, biting at his lip to stop himself from breaking down again. “He told me I’d be okay. He said the others would need me. I- I’m trying to be there for them, I’m trying to be what they all need me to be, but I- Tommy, I’m so tired.” The breathe that escaped him felt like one he’d been holding in since the day Bobby died. His shoulders sagged, eyes dropping to stare at his and Tommy’s hands.

“What about what you need?”

Buck stilled, unsure how to process the question.

“I told you,” he settled on, “it’s not about me.”

“Why not?”

“Tommy, I…” He was uncomfortable all of a sudden. Tommy’s gaze burning into his temple, his hands suddenly clammy. He wanted to escape, wanted out of here.

Tommy held him. Steady.

“Evan,” he repeated, “why not?”

Buck swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I do this, Tommy,” he replied, his voice small. “I make things about me when it- it’s not just me. Everyone misses Bobby, I’m not special.”

“Well, I completely disagree with that,” Tommy said, not a second’s hesitation. “I know everyone misses Bobby. I miss him, and I hadn’t worked with him in years. But, what you two had… you told me he was the father you never had. That’s big, Evan. That… That’s a huge loss. You’re allowed to grieve it.”

And that's what, officially, broke him open. He curled himself into Tommy’s side, ignoring the way the armrest dug into his stomach, and he let himself cry. It didn’t matter that other people were in the waiting area, didn’t matter that Tommy was slowly rocking him back and forth like he was a small child. None of it mattered.

He felt Tommy’s lips press against the top of his head. Heard him softly repeating, “It’s okay, Baby. It’s okay.”

He wasn’t sure how long he cried. He figured it couldn’t have been too long, since Chimney hadn’t called him asking where he and the coffee were at.

But Tommy kept holding him even after his breathing had returned to normal and the tears on his cheeks had started to dry.

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you here, if you’re not hurt?”

“Oh, um.” Slowly, Buck peeled himself from Tommy’s grasp, automatically reaching out to take his hand again. “Maddie- she went into labor when we were trapped. Once we were free, I rushed over with Chimney to make sure he got here in time.”

“Oh my God!” Tommy exclaimed, eyes widening. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, yeah, everyone’s good. Um, the baby was born right after Chim got here. I had come over to emergency because the coffee machine here actually heats the water.”

“Ah, got it. Congrats, by the way, for being an uncle times two.”

Buck grinned and, God, Tommy would give everything he had to keep him happy.

“Thanks. It’s… he’s adorable.”

“So he looks like you then?”

That actually got a laugh out of Buck, which made Tommy smile. And then, he couldn’t help himself. He was tired of wondering if each time he ran into Evan would be the last time. He knew he needed to do something about it. “Do you wanna come over, to my place?” he asked, the words coming out in a rush. “Once you’re done here, I mean. I can fix you dinner. We can talk about Bobby, or how you’re feeling, or we can sit there in silence if you want.”

Buck bit at his lip, contemplating his next words. He looked up at him. “Tommy, i- if I come over, I- I’m not gonna want to leave.”

Tommy stared into Buck's eyes, thumb brushing back and forth over his knuckles. “So don’t leave.”

“Tommy-”

“I think we have a lot we need to talk about,” Tommy continued, “but I walked into this hospital today thinking I might be losing you and I can’t… I don’t want to lose you again, Evan. I’m not walking away.”

Buck was pretty sure he’d run out of tears to cry, but his eyes got glassy anyway. “Okay,” he answered. “Dinner sounds good, and talking."

"Good. That's... That's good."

“You, um, you wanna go meet Baby Boy Han?”

“Are you sure they feel up for visitors right now?”

Buck smiled. “Yeah,” he replied as he stood, pulling Tommy up with him. “They said anyone who’s family is welcome.”

[bjlipss]

— heaven;

cw: 18+, talks of erectile dysfunction, angst, hurt/comfort kinda, fluff, internal shame, smut, reader’s pussy so good it cures his psychogenic erectile dysfunction (jk jk )

nanami kento is twenty-seven, and he’s tired.

not just tired in the way most people are. not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix, or a strong cup of coffee, or even a weekend off. no—this is deeper. it’s marrow-deep, soul-deep. a weariness that clings to his skin like damp fabric, that coils around his spine and never quite lets go. he wakes up tired, works tired, eats dinner with aching jaws and leaves dishes in the sink because even that feels like too much. he falls into bed exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easy anymore. it never really did.

he tells himself it’s just the job.

and maybe that’s partly true. being a jujutsu sorcerer is not a career so much as a death sentence delayed. he’s seen too much already—too many curses, too many mangled bodies of young sorcerers who were brave and dumb and sixteen. too many higher-ups pretending to care, pretending it’s all for the greater good, while they sip their tea and send teenagers into war.

but it’s more than that.

nanami feels like he’s rotting from the inside out.

like the life he’s built has been sanded down into something sharp-edged and joyless. he clocks in. he clocks out. he does what needs to be done. he’s efficient, dependable, clean-cut and quiet. people like him. respect him. some of the younger ones even look up to him.

but nobody knows him.

and he’s not sure anyone has, for a long time.

so one night—after a particularly bad day, after a body too small and a scream too young—he tries. he thinks maybe what he needs is something simple. human. physical. something warm to remind him he’s still alive.

a woman from another division has been flirting with him for weeks. she’s pretty, soft-voiced, always smiling a little too long when they talk. so he takes the outstretched hand. they go back to her place. she lights a candle. she kisses him slowly.

he feels it at first—some spark of arousal, like muscle memory—but it’s distant. like watching fire behind glass.

his body won’t move with it. won’t rise. won’t react. he breathes harder. tries to push through it. thinks about her hands, her mouth, anything to stay there in the moment.

but nothing happens.

he goes soft before he even really gets hard.

the woman doesn’t say anything cruel. she gets dressed in silence, touches his shoulder like she’s sorry for him, not angry. she tells him not to worry about it. says it’s okay but there’s underlying pity in her words and shame on her face.

the next day, she requests a transfer.

he books a doctor’s appointment that same week.

and of course—because he’s nanami—he does it methodically. picks a reputable clinic, shows up fifteen minutes early, fills out the intake form with precise handwriting. he answers the doctor’s questions with cool detachment, as if he’s talking about someone else.

yes, he’s under stress. yes, his job is demanding. no, he’s not in a relationship. yes, he’s been feeling… disconnected. not unhappy, not exactly. just empty.

the doctor runs some tests. blood work, hormone levels, a general check-up.

the results come back two days later.

nothing permanent. not uncommon. the diagnosis is delivered gently, like it might break him—psychogenic erectile dysfunction, likely triggered by chronic stress, emotional burnout, maybe even signs of depression. his testosterone is on the low end of normal. cortisol is high. his body is in a constant state of fight or flight, flooded with survival hormones that leave no space for desire. no room for softness. for sex.

he listens. nods. thanks the doctor. goes home.

and doesn’t talk about it to anyone.

he blames himself anyway. even if it’s not his fault. even if it’s chemical, environmental, emotional—he feels lesser for it. less of a man. less of a person. like his body has given up on pleasure entirely. like his mind and his heart have withered into something that only knows function, not feeling.

so he avoids it.

he avoids women, avoids flirtation, avoids anything that might lead to a bedroom. he tells himself he’s too busy anyway. that morning wood was a bother anyways. tells himself sex is a distraction, a complication. that intimacy isn’t necessary for a man like him.

and then he meets you.

you arrive in nanami’s life without warning. not with fireworks or drama, not like most people who crash into his world demanding space and time and more than he can give.

he doesn’t fall fast. nanami isn’t built that way. but you come into his life quietly, like sunlight through half-closed blinds—slow and persistent, until everything is washed in warmth.

you don’t expect anything from him. you don’t push. you laugh at his dry comments, share your lunch with him, ask about his day like the answer matters. and without realizing it, he starts to linger longer when you talk. he memorizes the sound of your voice. he looks for you in a crowd, without meaning to.

you arrive quietly. like a steady rain after a long drought.

it starts with casual conversations in passing. the kind that linger in his mind longer than they should. he notices how you don’t rush to fill the silence. how you laugh with your whole body. how you speak with care, even when no one’s listening.

it’s not just want. it’s not even just need.

it’s love, blooming in slow, quiet ache.

and he begins to notice himself, too.

how his shoulders relax when you’re near. how the sharp, cloying edge of stress dulls a little when you smile at him. how, after weeks and then months, the ache in his chest—the one he thought was permanent—starts to fade.

he starts to want again.

not just sex, not the raw, thoughtless kind of release he’d once tried to chase like a cure. but something real. something soft. something he doesn’t think he deserves.

you.

but that desire terrifies him.

because the last time he wanted something like this, he was left feeling less than whole. and now, even with all the space you give him—all your patience, your gentleness—he still hesitates.

he thinks: what if i can’t give you what you need? what if you take it personally? what if you think it’s you?

so every time you lean in, every time your kisses linger too long and your sighs get needier, every time your hands slide up beneath his shirt or your voice goes warm and breathy in his ear—he pulls away.

softly. politely. like he’s putting up a boundary with words too careful to hold the weight of what he really means.

“early morning tomorrow,” he says.

“long day,” he says.

“let’s just hold each other,” he says.

and you don’t push. but he sees the flickers of confusion in your eyes. the slow-blooming insecurity in your silence. until one night—months in—you ask. gently. hesitantly. like you’re the one afraid of breaking something.

“is it… me?”

the look on his face could split stone. he flinches, hard—because no. never. because you are the only thing in his life that’s felt right in a very long time. and the idea that he’s made you feel anything less than wanted makes his throat close up.

he tries to explain, but his voice breaks halfway through. says something about the stress. the burnout. that it’s not permanent, that it’s not you, that it’s him. and you just nod, not asking for more, just sliding your fingers into his and resting your forehead against his chest.

he doesn’t sleep that night.

and then—some weeks later—something changes.

it’s a quiet night. rain patters softly against the windows. you’re sitting beside him on the bed, legs tangled under a shared blanket, your head on his shoulder.

he looks over at you—and the softness in your expression undoes him.

because when you say “i love you,” it’s not a declaration. it’s a truth. said simply. like breathing.

you reach up to touch his cheek, your fingers trembling. you’re afraid too—he can feel it. your voice is gentle, your body slow, like you’re asking permission with every movement. you kiss him, slow and steady, and for once he doesn’t pull away.

your hand slips under his shirt, fingers trailing down his chest, his abdomen, your touch featherlight.

and then—your palm presses lower, and he gasps.

he’s already half-hard.

your touch stills.

he looks down at you, wide-eyed, disbelieving. “wait,” he whispers. “wait—i—”

your hand shifts, tentative but confident, fingers curling gently around him. he’s warm and thick and growing harder by the second in your palm. his hips twitch into the touch, and a groan escapes him—honest, startled, and wrecked.

“kento,” you breathe, eyes flicking up to his. “you’re okay.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again. his hand shakes as it settle on your thigh as if to ground himself, his chest rising and falling too fast. “i—i don’t understand. it’s never—” he swallows thickly. “not in months. not like this.”

you press a kiss to his throat. “you’re not broken,” you murmur. “you just needed something real.”

his breath catches. his head falls back against the couch as he tries to absorb the weight of what’s happening—your hand on him, his body responding, his mind not swimming with anxiety or failure or shame.

only you.

your name falls from his lips like a prayer.

“keep going,” he whispers, voice rough with disbelief. “please—don’t stop.”

and when you lean in to kiss him again, he’s already pulling you into his lap, desperate to feel all of you, like something inside him has finally come back to life.

your hand wraps gently around him, and he groans like he’s in pain—but the kind of pain that’s thick with relief. his hips twitch, a raw reaction, and he stares down at you like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

you stroke him softly, just enough pressure to keep him grounded. he’s hard—really hard—and you feel the pulse of blood and heat against your palm, see the way his breath stutters with every pass of your hand. there’s something deeply vulnerable about the way he looks right now—wide-eyed, flushed, almost awed.

you lean in, press your lips to his throat. “you’re so responsive,” you murmur. “so sensitive. is this okay?”

he groans again, tilts his head back to give you more access. “more than okay. please don’t stop.”

you slide down his body, kissing a trail over his chest, his abdomen—slow and deliberate. he grips the sheets beneath him, knuckles white, trying not to lose control too fast. you settle between his legs, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“can i?”

he swears under his breath. “yes. yes, please.”

your mouth replaces your hand, and nanami breaks.

his hand flies to your hair, not to push or guide, just to hold, to anchor himself. his thighs tremble under you, breath coming faster now, a desperate hitch to it like he’s been waiting years to feel this.

“shit—i’m not gonna last long,” he gasps. “i’m—this is—you’re—”

he spills out your name like a secret, fingers tightening just slightly as you keep going, steady, loving. he tries to warn you again, but the words collapse into a groan, long and low and wrecked. he comes with a stuttered gasp, thighs clenching, whole body drawn tight like a bowstring before he collapses into the mattress, boneless.

you crawl back up to kiss him, and he pulls you into his arms like you’re the last soft thing in the world. he’s shaking.

“i didn’t know it could feel like that,” he whispers.

you smile against his jaw. “you mean good?”

“i mean real.”

but he’s not done.

after he catches his breath, after the shock begins to fade, he looks at you—eyes dark with something steadier now. want. and something clicks in him, something hungry and focused.

“your turn, darling,” he says, low and deliberate.

and the way he touches you then—slow and thorough, with trembling reverence and careful pressure—makes it clear he intends to make up for lost time.

he shifts you gently beneath him, hands slow and warm as they spread across your hips, your thighs. there’s a reverence to him now, a steadiness—it’s like some long-locked part of him has finally opened, and all that careful control he’s always worn like armor has melted away, leaving only want.

but not greedy want. devotional.

“you’ve been so patient with me,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee, your thigh. his voice is low, steady, like he’s trying to ground you both. “i want to return that.”

his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you open with almost unbearable gentleness. his lips follow the path of his palms, mouth pressing kisses to the softest parts of you, slow and unhurried.

“kento,” you breathe, already trembling.

he glances up—eyes dark, intent. “tell me what you want.”

“you,” you say, helplessly. “just you.”

he exhales like that undoes him.

his mouth finally finds you, and the first drag of his tongue is soft, exploratory, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. and then he does it again, more confidently, more hungrily, and your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard as your hips rise into his mouth. he moans when you do, the vibration sinking straight through your spine.

he eats you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. like your pleasure is sacred. his tongue flicks, presses, circles, learning every reaction you give him like he’s etching it into memory. and when you whimper his name, thighs shaking around his shoulders, he doesn’t stop—he slides a finger inside you, slow and deep, matching the rhythm of his tongue with deliberate care.

“you’re so wet,” he groans, lips slick. “i want to feel you come on my tongue. can you do that for me?”

you nod, gasping, your body already so close to the edge. it’s overwhelming—his mouth, his voice, the sheer intensity of how focused he is on you.

“you taste incredible,” he breathes. “you feel even better. i could stay here all night.”

you fall apart moments later, arching into him, his name torn from your throat as your release floods through you. and even then, he doesn’t stop—not until your body’s twitching, overstimulated, clinging to him.

he finally rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“i’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he says, breathless, reverent.

he kisses you again—slow, messy, sharing your taste between your tongues.

and then, once your breathing steadies, once you’ve gathered enough strength to look up at him with pleading eyes—

he moves over you like a shadow—controlled, careful—but the moment he sinks into you, that composure shatters. his breath stutters. his hands shake.

“fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “you feel—god, you feel unreal.”

you wrap your legs around his waist, arms holding him close. he’s so deep, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that feels like coming home.

“you’re so tight,” he murmurs, voice fraying at the edges. “i don’t think i can—i want to go slow, i should—”

you arch your hips, driving him deeper. “don’t,” you whisper. “don’t hold back.”

and that’s all it takes.

he growls—a low, desperate sound—and suddenly his hips are snapping into you, strong and fast, each thrust sending a sharp crack of pleasure through your core. it’s messy and hot and overwhelming, the weight of his body, the heat between you, the breathless groans spilling into your skin as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the empty years.

“missed this,” he pants. “missed the way it feels—you, around me like this—fuck.”

he kisses you like he needs to taste every gasp you make, teeth grazing your lower lip, tongue deep and messy. your nails rake down his back, and he shudders, cock twitching deep inside you.

“you’re perfect,” he groans. “you’re perfect.”

but even in his hunger, he doesn’t forget you—his hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. “want you to come with me,” he says, voice wrecked. “need to feel you fall apart.”

“kento—” your voice breaks, too close, body already starting to tense.

“that’s it,” he groans. “give it to me. please.”

you break with a cry, clenching hard around him—and the feeling of you, pulsing, squeezing, milking him—that is what finally drags him over the edge. he moans your name as he comes, hips grinding deep, spilling into you as his whole body locks up.

he doesn’t stop moving for a while—gentler now, drawn-out, like he can’t bear to leave your body just yet. his forehead rests against yours, both of you gasping, sweat-slick and trembling.

he kisses you softly. “i don’t know how i lived without this.”

you smile up at him, lazy and dazed. “without me?”

he lets out a breathless laugh, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “without you.”

you’re both quiet in the aftermath, tangled together in the warmth of each other’s skin, his head resting against your collarbone, his breathing deep and heavy. but slowly—slowly—you feel the unmistakable twitch of him still nestled inside, and your breath catches.

you shift slightly, just a roll of your hips, and he groans into your throat, voice deep and hoarse and still utterly wrecked.

“you’re insatiable,” you tease, breathless.

his voice is rough when he answers, low and reverent. “you have no idea.”

nanami lifts his head to look at you, and there’s something different in his eyes now—less disbelief, more possession. awe replaced with intent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s still trembling, brushes his thumb over your lower lip.

“i thought something in me had just… broken. like i’d worn myself down past the point of wanting. but you…” he leans in, kisses you slow, “you woke something up.”

he kisses you again—deep, slow, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owns it. and as he moves, you feel him swelling inside you, hardening with each gentle grind of his hips, still sheathed deep. the sensation pulls a soft moan from your throat, and he smiles—a real, almost smug curl of his lips.

“still so wet,” he murmurs. “still perfect.”

he pulls out slowly, and you feel the slick warmth of his cum spill between your thighs, but he doesn’t go far—he shifts down your body, spreading your legs again, and runs his tongue through your folds with a sound like he’s dying for it.

he devours you this time—not gentle, not worshipful, but needy. his mouth is hot and relentless, tongue stroking through the mess he made, sucking at your clit until your hips are jerking and your fingers are in his hair again, dragging him closer, closer—

you gasp his name, trembling under him, and he pulls back just enough to rasp, “you’re going to come for me again. i need you to. i want to feel it when i’m inside you.”

your stomach twists, tight with anticipation, and you nod, hips rocking helplessly into his mouth until you come again, loud and sharp and aching. nanami groans like your orgasm gets him off, like the sound of you falling apart is the only thing he needs.

he moves over you fast—lifts your leg, presses your knee back toward your chest, and sinks back into you with one rough, deep thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

“fuck—so good,” he grits out, already moving hard and slow. “so goddamn tight.”

this time, there’s no hesitation. he takes his time, but he owns every movement—drives into you with long, deep strokes that press your body into the bed, each one punctuated with soft, dirty praise.

“you feel this?” he growls against your neck. “feel how deep i am?”

you nod, too overwhelmed to speak. he’s everywhere—inside you, all around you—his scent, his voice, his heat. the steady slap of skin against skin is dizzying.

“i could stay here forever,” he breathes, one hand bracing your thigh up, the other moving down between your bodies. “feel you like this—tight and wet and mine.”

his fingers find your clit again, rubbing in circles that match his thrusts, and the pressure spirals fast—he’s hitting every spot, every angle, like he’s been memorizing your body since the beginning of time.

you come again with a sob, and this time he doesn’t stop—his pace picks up, thrusts more frantic now, deeper, rougher. wild.

“want to come inside you again,” he gasps. “want to fill you up, fuck it deeper—fuck—”

your name breaks from his throat as he drives deep one last time and comes hard, hips shuddering, breath gone ragged. he stays inside you, body shaking, arms braced on either side of your head.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

just breathing.

just feeling.

and then he collapses beside you, pulls you into his chest, still buried deep, still twitching with the last pulses of pleasure. his lips brush your forehead, your temple, your jaw.

“i didn’t know it could be like this,” he whispers. “not just the sex. this.”

you hum, pressing your lips to his chest.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you say.

and his arms tighten around you—like he believes it, finally. like you’ve given him something back that he thought was lost forever.

[starryhyuck]

unconditional. (m)

pairing: boyfriendsdad!jaehyun x afab!reader

words: 4.4k+

summary: the attraction you feel towards your boyfriend’s father is just a silly little crush… right?

genre: smut

warnings: morally corrupt jaehyun and reader, fingering, daddy kink, kitchen sex, bigdick!jaehyun, spanking, spitting, breeding kink, overstimulation, blowjob

You wish you could say that you and Sungchan were a match made in heaven.

Your relationship began like a fairytale, with late night conversations over the phone and a bouquet of flowers greeting you at the door nearly every weekend. Sungchan was such a gentleman that you couldn’t believe he was real. You raved to all your friends about him, telling them you’d be married by the end of the year.

As time went on, however, the spark you once had began to die out.

You knew you were torturing yourself by extending the relationship longer, unwilling to let go. You had grown close to his family, becoming almost a permanent fixture in his life. So after four years, you were pretty set on seeing this all the way through simply for the convenience of it all.

“Look at you two! So cute, I hope we see a ring on this lovely lady’s finger by next year,” Sungchan’s aunt coos, pinching your cheek while you smile tightly.

Sungchan’s arm tightens around your waist. “We’ll see.”

Family events are nothing new to you, but for some reason, this year feels a little more empty. You used to glance around and feel warmth bloom in your chest, but now, standing besides your boyfriend who’s started to distance himself, you want to go home and forget this even happened.

You find solace in the kitchen, sighing as you pour yourself another cup of eggnog. You eye the bottle of vodka next to it, silently dumping a healthy amount into your glass.

“Slow down there, tiger.”

A chuckle comes from your right, and you look to the side to see Sungchan’s father, Jaehyun. He grins as he takes the alcohol from you, twisting the cap and raising an eyebrow.

“What’s got you so worked up? Usually I’m the one being berated out there during the holidays.”

You laugh at him. Jaehyun’s always welcomed you with open arms ever since Sungchan first brought you home to meet him. He was so sweet that it made you understand why Sungchan said his father had to fight off women constantly. When Sungchan’s mother left the picture, you’re certain that Jaehyun’s phone blew up with endless requests from the beautiful single women in his life.

Still, despite this, Jaehyun’s never had a serious relationship since you’ve known him.

You asked Sungchan about it, but your boyfriend would shrug, stating that his father would wait an eternity for the right woman to come along.

“I’m a little on edge, I guess,” you reply, bashful that your boyfriend’s father caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. “Work has me spinning cartwheels for them.”

He nods in understanding. “Sungchan told me you got a promotion recently. I’m glad they’ve finally caught on to your potential.”

You flush at the praise. Sungchan hasn’t even congratulated you once, only relieved that you stopped complaining about not feeling appreciated. Your late night talks where you would share your hopes and dreams with your partner are a thing of the past.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeong,” you say.

He shakes his head. “I told you to stop calling me that. Makes me feel like an old man. Jaehyun is just fine.”

You giggle, ignoring the butterflies that swarm your stomach. “Thank you, Jaehyun.”

After dodging a few more conversations of you and Sungchan’s inevitable engagement, you retire to his childhood bedroom together. He exhales as he scrolls through his phone, one hand resting underneath his neck as he leans against the headboard.

“I’m going to play soccer with a few of my cousins tomorrow,” he remarks, not bothering to glance up at you.

You nod, well past the point of waiting for him to ask you if you want to join. “Okay. Sounds fun.”

As you lay in bed, huddled to the farthest edge of the mattress while a few pillows are stuffed between you and Sungchan, you’re consumed by the thought that you’re wasting your good years away in this doomed relationship. You sigh when you realize you won’t be slipping off to dreamland any time soon, pulling yourself out of bed and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

You’re surprised to see the lights still on, wondering if Jaehyun forgot to switch them off before retreating to bed. You receive your answer when you spot him sitting on the island, nursing a glass of wine.

“Did the family really tick you off that badly?”

He laughs when you enter, licking his lips. “I think I’m past the age where I need to explain my relationship status to relatives over sixty-years-old.”

You shrug, occupying the barstool next to him. “And I think I’m past the age where I need to explain why I’m not engaged yet to relatives over sixty-years-old. I’m always proven wrong.”

“You and Sungchan are far too young to be planning something so serious. They should give you a break,” he says as he rises to retrieve another glass for you, pouring until the red liquid fills up halfway.

“It’s tradition, I guess. Once you pass the four year mark, they say you should start dreaming about a huge ball gown and dresses for your bridesmaids.”

He raises an eyebrow. “But you don’t?”

You don’t want to start discussing your troubles with your boyfriend’s dad. It’s crossing a line you’re certain is written into law somewhere.

You brush it off. “Sometimes I do.”

The conversation lulls into a comfortable silence. Your nails tap against your wine glass, taking small sips of the drink even though you’d prefer something stronger at this point. Jaehyun opens his mouth to speak, and you think he’s going to excuse himself to go to bed, but instead he murmurs, “You and Sungchan haven’t been happy for a while. I can see it. You used to come over with starry eyes and clutch onto his arm until I thought it would fall off.”

You smile tightly. “We’re going through a rough patch.”

His lips flatten into a thin line when he replies, “If the spark is gone, there’s no use in reviving it. You’re beating a dead horse. I learned that lesson with Sungchan’s mother.”

Sungchan hasn’t spoken much about his parents separating. All he told you was that his mother was unhappy, and she and Jaehyun got pregnant too young to actually explore what life has to offer. It was an amicable divorce, and Sungchan was already about to enter college so it hadn’t impacted his life much.

His mother is barely around now, flying across the world and getting the chance to see what she couldn’t in her twenties. Sungchan and her call every Sunday, and you’ve only spoken to her once or twice over video.

“I-I want to love him. I want to love him as much as I used to,” you confess in a small voice. “We used to be so happy and I know we could be like that again if we tried.”

Jaehyun swallows. “Change is hard, I know, but you’re a beautiful girl. You’re dedicated to your work and any guy in this world would be lucky even to get a chance to speak with you. My son hasn’t appreciated your talents in a long time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, downing the rest of the contents in your glass. “I shouldn’t even be speaking about this with you! You’re his father, and- and-”

“And what?” He whispers, inching closer to you until you realize you’re only centimeters apart. “Just because I’m his father means I can’t recognize how extraordinary my son’s girlfriend is?”

The tension in the room wraps around your throat, tethering you to the man you once believed would become your father-in-law. You wish you could say it’s the alcohol clouding your judgment, but you’ve thought about having Jaehyun like this since the day you met him.

“Jaehyun,” you say, eyelashes fluttering. “We shouldn’t.”

“I’ve waited so long for the perfect woman to come along. Imagine my surprise when she walks through the door, hand in hand with my own son,” he chuckles. “The irony of it all.”

Your breath quickens, nearly about to deny him again before his lips collide with yours. Your hands fly up to his face, cradling his jaw while his tongue searches the inside of your mouth. His hands snake around your thighs, moving you until you’re straddling him on the kitchen barstool.

Knowing how wrong it is for you to be kissing your boyfriend’s father only spurs you on even more. You don’t know if that makes you a bad person, but you’re too lost in Jaehyun to comprehend the result of your actions right now.

“Jaehyun,” you moan. “We should stop.”

“Tell me you want to and I’ll listen,” he says when he trails kisses down your neck. Your hips subconsciously roll against him when his teeth sink into your flesh, marking you as his. “Tell me to stop.”

But you keep your protests to yourself, joining your mouths again in a fervent kiss. You haven’t felt passion like this since your first date with Sungchan. The electricity between you and Jaehyun bounces off the walls, buzzing in your veins until you’re drunk on him.

His fingers ghost over the waistband of your pajama shorts, tip toeing on the edge while waiting for you to give him the green light. You’re just about to tell him to take you when a thud echoes upstairs, forcing you apart.

You gasp, your mind clearing from the fog. “Oh my God,” you murmur, climbing off his lap. You comb your fingers through your hair and step away from him.

He calls your name gently. “Wait-”

“This is wrong. We should have never done this. I- I- I need to go.”

You dart out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, lips still tingling from Jaehyun’s touch.

—

“Uh, I’m heading out now. Are you going to stay in bed?”

You can’t look Sungchan in the eye, digging your face into the pillow as you nod. He doesn’t prod any further and you eventually hear the door click shut. You peek your head out to glance at the clock on the nightstand.

It’s approaching noon and you still haven’t risen from your spot, afraid of facing Jaehyun downstairs.

You know you’ll have at least some family members present to act as a buffer, but guilt creeps up your throat at the thought of what you did last night.

Your boyfriend’s father? That’s a new low, even for you.

Of course, Jaehyun is exceedingly handsome and beyond your wildest dreams, but you should hold some loyalty to your boyfriend of four years. He’s the man you’re supposed to marry, and you’re not sure how you’re going to face him after nearly riding his father.

Your bladder drags you out of bed, and you praise the heavens when you hear loud chatter occurring downstairs. Maybe you’ll get lost in the mix and before you know it, Sungchan and you will be departing for the evening with no mention of how attracted you are to Jaehyun.

“There she is,” Sungchan’s aunt laughs when you sit down on the living room couch. “We thought you had disappeared! I knew there was no way you joined those rowdy boys for a game on the field.”

You smile politely. “Not really my thing. It was just so warm under the covers that it made it hard for me to leave.”

She leans over to pat your hand. “Now that my nephew’s run off, why don’t you tell me the real reason why you two aren’t engaged yet? Why, you’re perfect for one another! A match made in heaven!”

A gruff call of your name echoes from your right, and you tense when you turn to see Jaehyun standing there.

“Can you come help me prepare lunch in the kitchen?”

“Oh, Jaehyun,” Sungchan’s aunt says with a roll of her eyes. “I was just getting quality time with her.”

He grits his teeth, jaw clenched as he stares at you. A strike of arousal burns through your core at the anger looming behind his expression. “You can speak with her later.”

You excuse yourself, tail tucked between your legs as you follow him into the kitchen. You’re startled when Jaehyun actually begins to take out the ingredients from the fridge needed to make lunch, handing you a cutting board and a knife to start chopping up vegetables.

He switches on the oven when he says, “Did you want me to forget about last night?”

You almost slip and cut off your own finger, swallowing as you reply, “W-What?”

He leans against the sink, hands folded across his chest as he gazes at you. The lust swirling in his eyes is enough to give him away to anyone walking by, and your doe-eyed expression isn’t helping your case of passing this off as a platonic relationship.

“If you want to forget about last night, say the word and I won’t mention it again.”

You chew on your lower lip. “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, Jaehyun.”

He glances towards the entryway, ensuring the rest of his family are still mingling in the living room, not bothered by whatever is happening in here. He slowly circles around the island until he’s right beside you, hands inching towards your waist.

He whispers, “Did you enjoy it?”

“Jaehyun-”

His grip tightens. “Because I was dreaming about tasting you the whole night. Had to fuck myself into my fist to find some relief.”

Your breath quickens. Your nails skirt over his abdomen, mouth watering at the visual of him laying in bed, one hand wrapped firmly around his length while thinking of you. You arch into his touch, core pulsating as his name leaves your lips.

“Jaehyun, I want-”

“What’s for lunch, dad?”

You spring away from Jaehyun, barely able to contain your shock when Sungchan casually walks into the room. You quickly preoccupy yourself with cutting the vegetables like you were meant to while Jaehyun smiles as if he wasn’t about to pounce on you.

“Kimbap. And I'm warming up the leftover pie from last night,” Jaehyun replies to your boyfriend. Sungchan has sweat dripping from his forehead, not bothering to look at you as he combs the fridge for a glass of water. “How was the game?”

“Same old, same old. Donghyuck has gotten dirtier than usual with his tricks,” Sungchan replies when he turns around. His eyebrows raise at you. “Oh, hey, babe. Didn’t know you were in here.”

“Just helping your dad,” you say with a forced smile. “Did you want me to add some tuna to your kimbap?”

He nods, rounding the island to kiss you softly on the forehead. “Perfect. Thanks, babe.”

When he leaves, you shut your eyes tightly. “We can never do that again.”

“Meet me here tonight.”

Your jaw drops. “We’re leaving tonight with everyone else-”

He steps forward, cornering you as one hand grips your hip, tugging your leg until it curls around him. He hovers over you, pushing his hardened member directly against your clothed core.

“Tell him you want to stay another day. Tell him you’re not ready to return to normal life. Then come downstairs and wait for me here.”

“…Okay.”

—

Jaehyun will admit he’s a little sadistic.

Lusting after you was never part of his plan, but the moment you walked through his front door, he knew he wanted you. He had waited so long to find the perfect woman after Sungchan’s mother left. He didn’t resent her, knowing how their marriage was the only way to satisfy the pressure they faced by getting pregnant so young. He struggled to date afterwards, never understanding the right thing to say and shying away from the women who only wanted to get him into bed.

But you were perfect. He felt like a dirty old man crushing on you, even though you were a grown woman who could make her own decisions.

He would speak to you late at night when Sungchan’s already drifted off to sleep. At first, he could tell how much you loved his son and it made him keep his distance. You and Sungchan were inseparable, and he swore that Sungchan heard wedding bells whenever he looked at you.

Over time, however, Jaehyun noticed that the spark between you began to fade. You would dance around each other at family gatherings, pretending to chuckle when someone would ask you about your future wedding date. Sungchan never looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky anymore.

Jaehyun was convinced you would break up before the next holiday, but for some reason, you stayed together.

Not that Jaehyun was complaining since he got to see you, but this just made it that much harder to control himself around you.

He looks at himself in the mirror, wondering how far he’s willing to take this without telling Sungchan. But then his mind strays, picturing you waiting for him, riddled with anxiety over whether or not he plans to show. He pushes his darkest thoughts away, relieved when he spots the kitchen light burning brightly downstairs.

When he enters, you exhale, “He’s going to hate me forever.”

He treads over, lightly kissing the corner of your mouth. “No, he won’t. How could anyone ever hate you?”

He feels the thump of your pulse when he brushes his lips over your throat. His hands slither down until he’s cupping your ass, squeezing the flesh between his fingers. Your nails dig into his shoulders, whimpering when his assault on your neck continues.

“J-Jaehyun-”

“I want you,” he groans, humping into you like a lovesick teenager. “I want to fucking ravage you all over this kitchen. I want to take you on every surface of this house so that I can think of you when you leave.”

You almost go limp in his arms at the confession. His resolve chips away when you lean in and whisper in his ear, “Take me then. Do your worst.”

The way you two move is messy, scrambling to rip each other’s articles of clothing off. He bends you over the kitchen counter, grunting when he pulls down your shorts and sees you bare for him.

“My son’s a fucking idiot,” he growls, running two fingers up your glistening petals. You shudder against his touch. “How can he keep his hands off of you? How can he not appreciate how perfect you are?”

You moan his name when he slides his digits into you with ease. He curls his fingers, watching your expression with lust clouding his vision. You’re everything he’s dreamed of, pretty and pliant and wet for him as small gasps fall from your lips.

He thrusts his fingers inside you, observing your body’s sensitivity to his actions.

“Haven’t been touched like this in a while, hm?” He asks while you blubber, barely able to catch your breath. “A pretty girl like you should be worshiped. He should be on his fucking knees for you every night until you’re begging for him to offer you a break. Call in sick just so he can fuck you the way you want.” You squeak when his other hand collides roughly against your ass. “But maybe you should be punished for being a bad girl. Look at you bending over for your boyfriend’s father.”

“Jaehyun,” you murmur, whining when he inserts another finger. “It feels so good.”

“I know it does,” he replies smugly, prideful in the fact that he’s the one making you feel this way. “You’re so tight. I don’t think I’m going to be able to fit my cock in this tiny pussy.”

“It’ll fit,” you whimper. “We’ll make it fit.”

He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw at how desperate you sound for him. All it takes is another curl of his fingers to have you clenching down around him, moaning as the band in your stomach snaps.

He’s fast to discard his pants, kicking them to the floor while running a hand up and down his length. You peer over your shoulder to assess his size, and his ego inflates when your eyes widen. He chuckles as he runs his tip over your slit, coating it in your wetness.

“Bigger than him?”

You swallow. “M-Much bigger.”

A sense of clarity strikes him. “Fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

His mind wracks through ways of how fast he can run to the liquor store down the street, but he’s thrown for a curveball when you say, “That’s okay.”

“Really?”

“I haven’t slept with Sungchan in a long time and he’s the only person I’ve been with for the last four years. I’m clean,” you explain, blinking innocently at him. “A-Are you?”

He rubs circles over your hip assuredly. “I haven’t slept with anyone in years either and I always used a condom.”

You bite your lip. “Then please, Jaehyun. Fuck me raw.”

Jaehyun thinks he sees the gates of heaven when he pushes inside you. You’re so warm and wet for him, stretching you out until your walls hug his cock snugly. Your jaw drops as he continues to press in, mewling when he’s only halfway.

“Why are you so fucking big?” You question, jumping when his hand spanks your ass again.

“Why are you so fucking tight? Christ,” he swears. “I’m gonna blow my load before I get a chance to savor you.”

It’s hot and fast as soon as he rams in and out of your cunt. You’re so lost in each other that you forget all about Sungchan. He leans over to trace his tongue over your lips, sloppily mixing them together until saliva runs down your chin. He ruts into you until your hips slam against the counter, surely leaving you bruises in the morning.

You open your mouth for him to spit down your throat, and he batters into your pussy even harder when you swallow for him.

“You know what’ll happen when I cum inside this tight cunt, don’t you?” He snarls in your ear. “You know what’ll happen when I stuff you full until I’m dripping down your legs?”

You exhale, “You’re going to breed me.”

He grins, licking the shell of your ear. “That’s right. I’m going to breed this perfect pussy and show everyone who you belong to.”

It must be the thought of your stomach swollen with Jaehyun’s child that sends you over the edge. You gush around his length, thighs shaking while he continues to pound into you. He grunts when he watches his cock disappear into your tight hole, your pussy forming a creamy ring around his base.

“Please, Jaehyun, please. Want you to breed my little pussy. I need your cum so bad, daddy.”

It’s the last word that causes him to spiral. A string of moans leave his lips when he spurts ropes of white into you, shuddering as the most powerful orgasm overtakes him. He swears he cums for at least a minute, emptying himself until he pours out of your cunt.

You giggle. “I’ve never seen anyone cum that hard for me before.”

He kisses your cheek. “Then they clearly didn’t know what they were missing.”

You continue to fuck well into the night, careful to keep your noises to a minimum in fear of waking Sungchan. Jaehyun takes you in the living room, on the stairs, and in his bedroom. You’re doused in sweat and cum by the end of the night, bouncing on him as he observes you gasping for breath.

He spanks you roughly. “Come on. I know you can do better than that.”

You bite on your lip to prevent your loud whimpers from spilling out. “I-I’m so t-tired, daddy. I can’t do it anymore.”

Your thighs slap against his skin as you rotate your hips, and he can identify the exhaustion seeping through your bones. It’s already been hours since you started, and he knows he should let you rest before Sungchan wakes up.

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, flipping you over gently and thrusting into you. “Let daddy do all the work, hm? Poor girl, I really wore you out, huh?”

“Daddy,” is all you’re able to reply with, especially when the pads of his fingers rub against your clit.

You squirm away from the oversensitivity, but he holds you in place firmly. “Take it all, baby. Take everything that daddy gives you like a big girl.”

He runs his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face so he can burn this memory into his mind for later. The sight of you spread out so neatly for him on his bed, dazed and delirious from your numerous climaxes is what he saves for when he’s lonely and thinking of you. This is an image he never wants to forget.

“Can you cum for me one more time, baby?” He asks, frowning when you shake your head. “I thought you were a good girl?”

“T-Too m-much, daddy,” you gasp. “It’s t-too much.”

His eyes narrow, angling his hips and pushing in until he finds the spot that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You spasm around him immediately, squirting over his cock and staining the sheets with your juices. Your body convulses from the force of the pleasure, and Jaehyun embraces you softly and coos in your ear until you regain your consciousness.

Your mouth drops open and he drops his knees on either side of you, pressing his cock between your lips. You suck eagerly, hollowing your cheeks out until he hits the back of your throat. He grunts, marveling at how well you take him before he cums on your tongue. You swallow every last drop, and he collapses on top of you as your limbs tangle together.

He hums, licking up the sweat on your neck. “Break up with him tomorrow. Then get your stuff and come back here.”

You laugh. “I need you to give me five business days until my body is ready to handle you again.”

He chuckles, digging his teeth into your skin playfully. “We don’t have to fuck. We can watch a movie, make dinner, lay in bed… I don’t care. I just want you here with me.”

Anxiety clouds your expression. “When people find out about us, they’ll make assumptions. No one is going to accept this easily.”

“That’s fine, I don’t give a fuck about them,” he replies casually, even though you both know that facing the music is going to become an upward trek. “Let’s just enjoy this moment together. I don’t want us to worry about Sungchan or my family’s judgment. Let’s be together and pretend we’re the only ones existing right now.”

So you and Jaehyun do exactly as promised, pushing away your real life problems in favor of falling for one another.

[monstersholygrail]

Option A or Option B

Shapeshifter bf x gn!reader— jealousy, possessive sex, rough sex, teasing, orgasm denial, edging, nipple play, aftercare

You and Shapeshifter bf are shuffling down your hall after spending a nice brunch together. Though the silence is deafening after what happened at the restaurant. The keys jangling is the only sound between you as you awkwardly open the door and walk in.

Your bf is a jealous creature by nature, always concerned you find others more beautiful, that his original form isn't good enough for you. He offers constantly to change into someone else for you but aside from the rare roleplay in the bedroom you always reject the offer. You love him for him, you don't need him to look like anyone else.

But your bf isn't convinced, having been in one too many relationships where his partners ask him for this to be changed to that to be changed. The little things piling up after a while until he doesn't even recognize himself.

And he saw the way their waiter was looking at you, eyeing you down like a piece of meat. That he could almost handle but it was the looks you sent back to the waiter that pushed him into full on sulking mode. It was clear you found him attractive and your poor bfs mind began to spiral.

Him bringing it up to you only made his spiraling thoughts worse. And every minute of silence that follows is another nail in the coffin to him.

"You ok, baby?" You ask gently as you follow him into the apartment.

The minute the door clicks closed your bf is whirling around pinning you against it. His hands cup your cheeks and he drags you into a fierce kiss that has you melting into him.

It wasn't like your bf to be so rough but you got the sense that he needed this, needed you. So you let him manhandle you around the apartment, stumbling through your shared home without ever breaking the kiss. He guides you down onto the bed, straddling your plush waist and pressing his hard frame into your soft one.

Low growls rumble from his throat as he nips and licks into your mouth. His hands busy below as he jerks your clothes up to reveal your chest, massaging the skin and pulling moans from you before moving on. He only bothers to push your pants down to your knees before unbuckling his own pants and releasing his hard aching cock.

You moan as he sinks inside you with one solid stroke, your back arching into him. He sets a furious pace right from the start, one that has your mind practically melting with pleasure. His cock hitting all the right places inside of you while his hands pinch and play with your perky nipples. It's all too much and your eyes roll back from the intensity of everything he's making you feel.

But when you open your eyes, a terrible gasp leaves you as instead of your bf you see the waiter from the restaurant. For a second you think this is some twisted dream you're having on the ride home.

"This is what you really want, isn't it? Who you really want," your bf growls and while you realize what's going on, you still don't fully understand. His cock making your head all foggy.

"W-what?!"

"Did you imagine what it would be like to be with him and have him fuck you? It's never as good as you imagine, no. It'd probably be more like this."

In a matter of seconds your bf is taking away all stimulation in your core, making his cock small enough that you barely feel anything. An anguished cry leaves you as does the growing pressure of your climax. You desperately buck your hips, your bf being so mean to you that you can't help but whine.

"Or did you think it would be something like this?" He whispers harshly in your ear.

Your jaw drops as you go from nothing to stuffed full in the blink of an eye, your bf toying with you as he makes his cock grow. It's girth stretching you wider than anything you've ever taken. A wince pulls at your features and your bf immediately stops but he keeps thrusting, driving you crazy with it.

"T-too much!" You breathe, eyes wide. Even as you rock your hips with his, eagerly meeting his every thrust.

A dark chuckle falls right into your ear, his cheek pressed against yours and you're grateful for it. That way you don't have to look at the face of your waiter as your bf blows your mind with his cock. And you get the sense he feels the same despite the insecurities that fuel him.

"So this is what you want?" He asks, almost accusatory as he reads your body language.

You can only whine, his current cock returning the pressure to your core tenfold. Though you manage to shake your head. Yes, this feels nice, more than nice, but you want something more than you could ever want this.

"Just, nngh, just want you."

Your bf falters in his pace for a moment. Then he shakes his head like he almost doesn't want to believe it and starts fucking into you even harder, making you writhe on his massive length.

"Likely story."

He continues to plow you with his cock, making an absolute mess of you in a matter of minutes. Your arousal gushes out of you like a stream, the sheets staining with you need. Your bf moves this cock like he's had it all his life, mixing your insides with every swivel of his hips. His throbbing tip kissing your depths with ease.

You're practically putty in his hands, weak to how good he's making you feel. Your nails claw into his back, trying to ground yourself through the pleasure. Because even with all this it's not the same. It doesn't hold the same intimacy as he does when your bf uses his true face.

"Baby, pl-please!" You cry out, hips jerking as your hole clenches like it's sucking more of him in.

Yet somehow your bf knows exactly what you mean. Something about the look in your eye or the plea in your voice. It softens him instantly and has all his jealous melting away. You feel his cock shift back into the one you know and love but his pace never falters and it turns you more than anything.

He props himself onto his elbows, his true face now staring back at you and your clenching heat throbs around his length. Regret is written all over his face but he can't hide that hint of satisfaction over how hard he's ruining you.

"I'm sorry—“

You cut him off before he starts to ramble as you cup the back of his head and pull him down into a passionate kiss. You both moan as your lips meet and he never stops pounding his cock deep inside you.

He has you coming for him in a few skillful thrusts of his cock, your vision flashing white as you throw your head back and scream. Your bf watches what only he can do to you and the look of pure ecstasy on your face has him falling right over the edge with you.

Slamming down his cock he buries himself inside of you before splashing spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside your pretty fuck hole. He groans loudly into your neck as his cum fills you to the brim. The sense of being so damn full has aftershocks rolling through you and prolonging your release.

Your bf curls his arms around you, keeping you firmly connected to him as he rolls you both onto your sides. He caresses the back of your head so sweetly and you just melt into his embrace. Comfort and safety surrounding you like a warm blanket.

Yeah, you could never get this with anyone else. You know that without a doubt and now your bf does too.

[alchemistc]

"Do you have some time? I could use some help."

Tommy tips his head back against the side wall of the hangar, stares at the rafters, tracks the flight of a starling through the beams. "Not sure I can steal a third helicopter in a little over a calendar year without some consequences," he murmurs, because the sound of Evan's voice is still ringing in his ears and he's fairly certain he'd accept those consequences without blinking, if it came down to it.

Evan's sharp burst of laughter sounds brittle, stale.

"No, I uh - actually I could use some advice?"

Tommy pushes himself up from the overly casual lean. "I'm all ears."

"You're mostly nose and cheekbones, actually," Evan says, that lilt to his voice teetering on dangerous ground for just a moment before he clears his throat.

In the entirety of the six months they were together Tommy heard about thirty individual stories about the times Evan went to someone for advice. About work, about his personal life, about the barista at his local who might have had a personal vendetta against leggy brunettes.

Tommy'd considered it an ill omen that he never made the roster.

"I just, um. I just got off the phone with Chief Simpson?"

Tommy wishes he was there. Sitting next to him, across the room from him, on the other side of a window just looking at him. He sounds - small.

"He's not disciplining you, is he? Because I know a union rep who -."

Evan cuts him off. "He just offered me the 118."

Tommy swallows. Tommy mulls the words over. Tommy tries to think of a delicate way to ask if the rumor that Hen turned it down is true, then.

"And how are you...feeling about that?"

Tommy will be perpetually in Evan Buckley's corner, he knows. From a distance or up close and personal, Tommy will always, always want the best for him.

He's so fucking young. He's lived so many lives at this point Tommy imagines he must sometimes feel ancient, trapped in a body and a mind that hasn't quite caught up to his soul.

Tommy knows he's thought about it, before. Taking on that role, using the skill set Bobby taught him to make another house into a home. But he'd likely never thought about it in the context of not having Bobby a phone call away. Certainly never thought about replacing Bobby.

"I don't - I don't know. How I'm - how I'm feeling. It's - I just - I want -."

Tommy checks the time. Watches the starling flit across the ceiling towards the nest Donato had threatened to beat them all about when they mentioned trying to find a way to dislodge it. Twenty-seven minutes until the end of his shift. His replacement is already here, fucking around in the weight room, bag already stuffed in his locker and flight suit already laid out on the bench because Goggins has zero respect for anyone else who might need the locker room. Melton won't mind if he takes off early. Might even be pleased to shave two hours and twenty seven minutes of OT off the books when Tommy asks if he can leave, instead of staying late. "Do you want to meet up, somewhere?"

"I... Tommy." He's not sure what his name means, sounding like that, in this particular context.

"Wherever you want. I can be almost anywhere in an hour or less. This just feels like something you might need to wrap your head around for a minute and -." He has to be vulnerable, here. In a way he fucking hates. "And it sounds like you could use a hug. I'd - I'd like to give you a hug."

Evan had never exactly been precious, about how much he craved the casual touches as much as the intimate ones.

He has to wonder who got bumped, to make Evan call him. Why not Howie, Hen, Maddie, Eddie?

"Are - are you serious?"

"As a car crash. Time and place and I'll be there."

Hopefully it won't actually require him to steal another bird to make it happen, but he'd do it, no questions asked.

"Is it out of order to suggest your place?"

Tommy can feel his brows quirking. Is Eddie still in town? Why the hell isn't Evan going to him with this?

"It's incredibly convenient for me, actually."

It's short work to let him know about how long it'll be, that he doesn't need to bring anything ("Evan, I'm serious, just be safe getting there."), to start his search for Melton. He's halfway through a rushed goodbye when Evan blows out a breath.

"Thank you, Tommy."

It's unnecessary, but it hits him right in the sternum. He'd never needed the thanks, actually preferred most of the time to have the things he does for other people go unacknowledged - thanks for that one, dad - but the tenor of Evan's voice, the tremble on his name, makes Tommy want to break the speed barrier to get to him.

Fuck.

He's never shaking loose from this one.

"Hey, you call, I come."

It feels like glass scraping it's way up his throat and out of his mouth. It feels like the type of confession he can't take back.

"I...same. Just so you know."

He hadn't known that. It's...terrifying.

"I'll see you soon, Evan.*

He still sounds small, as he says goodbye.

Tommy would fight the whole damn world to never have to hear his voice sound like that again. Best he can manage now is making his way home as quick as possible.

Maybe it'll be enough.

Maybe.

[bubobubosibericus]

OK FINE I'LL WRITE ONE

I don't remember what happened, not really. I remember it being unexpected, and I remember the movement of the air around me being strangely comforting. But that is all. I don't know why emotions are all I remember of the before when most of the thing experiencing those emotions is gone, but that is how it is. When I woke up I was laying in a clinic. Blind in one eye, but otherwise okay, or that is what I presumed.

I was right in that I could no longer see out of one eye, but I was as far from okay as it is possible to be, and it wasn't really that I was blind in one eye. More that there wasn't an eye to be blind in anymore.

It was gone, along with most of the left side of my head. The doctors told me they had only kept me alive because they were amazed I was alive at all when they found me and wanted to run some more experiments on me before dropping the stasis field and burying me. Of course, that was before I woke up.

I don't begrudge them the experiments, really. I would have done mostly the same ones. Of course, I had my fair share of critiques of their work, but that was just academic. My left arm will never work again due to the bronze rods they stuck straight into my nerves but the information we obtained that way makes it more than worth the small sacrifice.

Looking at my reflection still feels strange, with the large, fragile mesh of iridescent crystal that has grown to replace most of where my brain had been so plainly visible, grafted into the mostly healed skin, starting at my cheek, going just barely over the bridge of my nose, and then all the way around to the back. Of course, the scars go much farther than that. I did not fall off the highest tower in the capital, but it had been plenty high to mangle my body quite severely.

I can use my right arm and legs now, but to get to that point a very skilled immortal craftsman had to meticulously shape the crystal into manageable chunks and I can feel it awkwardly being pulled on by my muscles with every movement I make.

We don't really know why I fell. Wizards have never been a species particularly know for their dexterity but I had been a veritable athlete compared to some of my far older peers. I had been well liked among them, too, of course, but the field of temporal research has always been prone to strangely mundane deadly accidents.

The story goes that the entire subject is cursed for attempting to manipulate the hands of fate, but I have never been convinced by those rumors. Power struggles are not rare among mages, and such a rumor might provide ample cover to get rid of potential competitors. I have no idea who did it, but I am convinced that someone did.

Thankfully saner heads prevailed over my preservation and I had been quietly moved out of the city long before I woke up. Out of the hands of whomever might intend to do me harm. I can never return there, but at least I can continue my research in silence here, in the mountains of ash. Also a place said by myth to be deeply accursed. I guess I just can't seem to learn my lesson.

But I just can't help it! the place speaks to me, and I don't mean that figuratively. That is another thing that has changed since the accident. I hear voices. Every place has its own. Most places have been fairly uninteresting. Places do not have complex desires. They want the same things the life on them wants and for most of them that is nothing more complex than to enjoy the light of the sun and the gentleness of mild rain on a hot day.

Not so with the mountains of Ash.

This place has a morose sorrow to it. The skies are blue and the rocks are plain, but it isn't the shape of the place. Something has happened here. It wasn't always like this, the voices tell me. Someone did something to this place. For the past year, I have been traveling in these mountains, and I have come to agree with the rocks. The mountains of ash are not cursed at all. they are simply like me.

Badly hurt, angry and sad. And most of all, they want to understand what happened to them like I want to know what happened to me. We have been helping each other out in that regard. I do research on what happened here, and in return, the mountains keep me safe and hidden. Sometimes, I get to see glimpses of what happened to them, and of what they were before. I see a great many-winged beast soaring overhead and a vast storm on the ground. I see castles collapsing and I see beautiful meadows that are no more. I see the burning dead and I can feel their anger and fear crash into me like a wave and then the sun breaks through the clouds a little faster than expected and I somehow know with absolute certainty that I am safe. It is as if the hills themselves are glad to finally share their woes with someone.

I am still no closer to knowing who took my brain from me, but at least I have gained a home.

When a mage is badly injured, magic sometimes "fills in the gaps"—growing an arcane hand or leg. You suffered brain damage that would have killed most. Magic filled in your mind.

[scarletmika]

Always : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

PART TWO OF Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Ex-Widow!Reader

Summary: Bob stayed with you, just as you asked, and life couldn't be better. But the past always has a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you try and push it away and leave it behind. Now, it's Bob's turn to save you.

Warnings: fluff, angst, idiots in love, violence, death, gore, mental health talk, language, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, Bob maybe SLIGHTLY OOC (he's making progress)

Word Count: 5,269 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: @violentrayof-sunshine you requested a part two, and who was I to say no!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

The team was sick of you and Bob, and it had only been 2 months since they’d broken into that room of rubble and fire to find the pair of you crying and wrapped in one another's arms. It wasn’t that they were sick of seeing you two together and being together so much as the added level of affection at any time of the day had John and Ava in agreement over wanting to hurl at every corner.

You both refused to talk about what had happened in that room after the bomb had exploded, choosing to keep it to yourselves so as not to worry the team. But whatever it is that had happened had changed the nature of your relationship with Bob forever, and the team was honestly thankful that it had finally happened. What they didn’t like was that Alexei got closest to guessing when you’d finally end up together, winning their entire pot of money they’d gambled months ago when they’d moved into the tower on that nature of your relationship.

Yelena saw it before anyone else did. It was almost instantaneous after they’d come back to the Watchtower from the mission, the way that Bob wouldn’t leave your side, and you didn’t seem to be pushing him away anytime soon. It wasn’t shocking, seeing you both together, but the sly hand holding under the tables didn’t go unnoticed by Yelena, and she couldn’t help but feel at peace knowing you both had found one another. You’d lived a hard life, she knew it best as she’d been there for all of it. Knowing you’d found someone you so clearly loved gave her peace.

It began that first full night back after the mission. You’d finished reports with the team, debriefing on what had happened but holding back the details of what went down in the control room. The sun had finally set, moonlight streaming through the windows of your room and highlighting the outline of New York City before you as you laid in bed. The ache in your bones was present now, more so than it was before, and you were already mentally preparing to tell Bucky that you were sitting out the next mission in favor of letting the feel of the explosion leave your bones. A soft knock on your bedroom door interrupted you as you slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, barely there. You didn’t hesitate to tell whoever it was to come in.

“I’m sorry…you’re usually up late so uh, I didn’t think you’d be asleep,”

The sound of Bob’s voice, still laced with hesitation after what had happened just hours before, brought a smile to your face. You turned your back on the windows, leaving the city behind you as you faced him instead.

“Just sore and tired from the mission, and the paperwork,” you joked lightly with him, voice like a whisper in the quiet of the bedroom. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bob hesitated for a moment, seeming to be dancing on the line of entering flight mode. He looked back at you, at the serene and calm look on your face before choosing to shut the door behind him, wringing his hands together as he took another step toward you.

“I…I didn’t want to be alone,”

“Then come here,”

There was no hesitation from you, so for once, there was no hesitation in Bob’s own actions. He crossed the room in a second, slowly and cautiously maneuvering himself down onto your own bed as you lifted the comforter for him, allowing him to climb in and rest his head on the pillow opposite of yours. You tucked the comforter back overtop of him, fingers gentle as they glided lightly back up his now covered arm, hand moving itself up to his cheek as you cupped it. He leaned into the touch as if on instinct, eyes never leaving yours.

“Hi,”

“Hi,”

“Nightmares?” you guessed in a hushed tone, and Bob nodded slightly, not trusting himself to truly answer with his own voice. Your thumb caressed his cheek, rubbing comfortably up and down the skin. “I get them too.”

“I wish they’d stop,” he whispered back, unable to look away from you. “Sometimes it’s uh, it’s dad. The screaming, the fights…the hitting. There’s uh, moments from when I was…still doing drugs. The vault too…I-I’m scared this time I’ll see…earlier.”

Sometimes, Bob did a good job of hiding how he was feeling. Around you, from the very first meeting, he was terrible at it. You could see it clear as day in his eyes, the terror in them and the slight tremor in his bottom lip as he spoke, the shaking of his hand underneath the covers.

You retracted your hand, not missing the way he chased after the grounding feeling of your skin on his. You took his hand instead in your own, bringing it to you chest and placing it over your heart. You held him there, both of you listening to the feeling of it beating in your chest, pumping blood through your entire body.

“I’m here, and that’s because of you. You came back from the edge,” he nodded very slightly at your words as you gave him a comforting smile in return. “The nightmares will always be there, they never leave. But they’re nothing but bad dreams, they aren’t reality.”

Bob’s eyes followed your intertwined hands, locking onto them for a moment as he listened to the steady beat of your heart once again.

“...how do you deal with yours?”

“I wake up,” it brought a very small huff of a laugh from him, which was all that mattered. You gave his hand a squeeze, bringing his eyes back up to you. “You tell yourself they’re just bad dreams, and then you push them away. They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”

There was a beat of silence in the room once again, a question hanging off of Bob’s lips as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, the flush that had appeared on his cheeks still obvious within the darkness of the room.

“...can uh, can I kiss you?”

Taking his hand still in yours, you brought it up to your own cheek, laying it there with a grin.

“From this moment on, you never have to ask again,”

There was no hesitation from Bob the second he had your consent, pulling ou to him and slotting his lips against yours. His movements were slight, cautious, but firm. The tremble in his lips was still there as you pressed back just as firmly to him, moving against him just as you had hours before as his hand managed to slip to the nape of your neck.

From that night on, neither of you ever slept alone again.

Bucky and Yelena were the first to know, having gone to wake you up for an early training one day, but instead opening the door to you and Bob tangled together in a mess of limbs as you slept. It wasn’t long until Alexei was celebrating upstairs over the news.

Bob’s bedroom soon became simply storage for his things, finding himself on the other side of your bed every single night. Curled around you with your back to his chest, his head resting against your collarbone, you name it and he’d fall asleep in any position possible as long as he was with you.

He thought the world of you. But it wouldn’t be long until he realized that you were never as “okay” as you seemed to portray yourself as. Sleeping together seemed to keep Bob’s nightmares at a bare minimum, but it hadn’t done much to stop yours.

Bob could still remember the first night he’d shot awake to your own screams. You were sweating profusely, heat essentially rolling off of your body. Bob scrambled under the covers, sitting up beside you as you ran your hands down his face, trying desperately to calm your breathing as you glanced at Bob quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” your breathing was still heavy, your heart beating out of your chest. “It was just a bad dream, I’m sorry.”

“...was it her?”

As awkward as Bob could be around others, he’d found a way to read you like a book in certain moments together, and now was one of them. The Mistress, the same woman from that day in your own personal shame room of hell, of course Bob knew it was her.

“She…wasn’t just a teacher in The Red Room. She was my mother,” you paused your own explanation, mulling over your words. “Well, as much of a mother to me as Alexei really was a father to Yelena and Natasha back then. At least he cared for them. Yelena got peewee soccer teams, got to go to school…I got hit, thrown around the room…she ruined my life in every way possible. Sometimes it’s hard to keep her out of my head.”

There was another beat of silence in the room, before Bob’s hand cautiously found yours. He threaded his own fingers through yours, giving your hand the lightest of squeezes in what he hoped was comfort. He’d grown used to receiving comfort from you and the others, but giving it himself wasn’t something he was used to.

“In the vault, Yelena tried to tell me that uh, that you just have to take that darkness and…push it down. It was…it was uh, you when you came into the Void that told me I couldn’t do that. Being with you, being around you…it helps me. I lean on you a lot, I know I do…y-you can lean on me too,”

No other words were spoken that night as Bob laid back down on his back and you slotted yourself into his side, head laid on his chest and letting the beat of his heart and the heat his body emitted lull you back into sleep.

For awhile, you never spoke of it again. The nightmares seemed to slow every night you and Bob spent wrapped up together, and you smiled around the team just as you typically did. On the outside to most, you were perfectly fine, but Bob could see through it. You were masking your thoughts and your pain, just as he always had. But you never pushed him to talk about things with you, so he didn’t push you to talk to him either about those dark thoughts that floated around your head.

Life moved on in the tower. Missions were run, dinners together were had, occasional movie nights even made their way onto the docket every week, once again courtesy of Alexei.

The first time the Red Guardian had managed to wrangle you all together in a shared space for a movie had been…chaotic. John and Ava argued over who could sit where, Yelena tried to convince her father that “old home movies of the glory days” did not constitute a movie night with the team, and Bucky shook his head quietly from the couch like a disapproving father.

One of the couches was already claimed by you and Bob. You’d slotted yourself into the corner by the armrest while Bob had found himself laid out across the cushions, his head finding it’s place in your lap as your fingers gently combed their way through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as he closed his eyes and leaned into the feeling.

“You look like you’re going to fall asleep down there,” your voice opened his eyes once again as he looked up at your grinning face, the noise beyond you two from your friends drowned out in the moment. “Careful, fall asleep during Alexei’s movie night and you might not hear the end of it.”

“I-it’s your fault,” he mumbled back in the moment, cheeks flushing. “Your hands…they feel nice.”

That familiar four letter word was hanging in the back of your throat as you looked down at him, practically dying to crawl out of you the longer you looked at him. Instead of saying it, you leaned in, placing the gentlest of kisses on his lips, before pulling back with a smile at the awestruck look that had crossed his face in the moments after.

“God, Alexei, you’ve taken so long to pick a movie the lovebirds have already checked out!”

“Ah ah ah! Don’t be so harsh on young love, Winter Soldier! Two very strong, capable heroes these two are, I think they are perfect together. Imagine the super babies that could be had-”

“ALEXEI!”

Bob could still remember your laughter that night as the entire team yelled at the Russian super soldier, the carefree smile on your lips. He wished that smile would never leave your face, no matter what.

He loved your smile most in the moments where you were alone, though. Laying on the common room couch together, one of your heads lying in the other’s lap as one of you had your nose buried in a book. Or the moments he watched you flit around the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you made something for the two of you to eat.

Bob loved you. He’d known it for awhile, even when he was so broken he didn’t believe he could be loved, or even give it. He felt loved by you, cared for, and he knew he loved you.

It’s because he loved you that he could clearly see that you were struggling inside. You’d never blame him, but that day in that HYDRA control room had done irreparable damage to you mentally, and he could almost see you beginning to come undone.

He saw it most when he watched you spar with Bucky or Yelena in the training room. He’d kept up with practicing control of his powers, but physical hand-to-hand combat was something he shied away from. That never stopped him from watching you, though.

Yelena ducked from the swing of your leg, sliding between your legs before landing a kick to the back of your knee. With a hiss of pain you dropped to your own knees, throwing a leg back and launching it into Yelena’s shoulder, giving you time to spin around and face her again as she bounced back to her own two feet.

Bob sat quietly in the corner, legs crossed under him as he wrung his hands together for something to do in his lap, just silently watching the two former Widows go hand to hand.

You made a lunge at Yelena, trying to knock her feet off the ground, but slipped, missing. Yelena took advantage, landing a swift punch to your jaw. You flew to your stomach, catching yourself with your hands on the ground as your jaw tightened from the pain.

“Sloppy, but you knew that. Come on, that mistake would’ve gotten you killed back in the room,”

Even Bob flinched at the comment, knowing what he knew about your past, having witnessed your greatest mistake with his own two eyes. Maybe Yelena couldn’t see it, but Bob did. The way your shoulders immediately tensed from across the room, how your entire body seemed to react to that statement, the memories you were probably enduring.

He knew the feeling of falling apart at the seams, having done it enough himself. He could see it happening to you right before his eyes, even if others didn’t notice, but he had no idea how a broken man like him could help the woman he loved.

Then, the mission came in.

“Intel suggests the base is held somewhere deep on the outskirts of Мирный, in the heart of Russia…” Bucky paused his explanation of the mission as the digital map behind him zoomed in on the coordinates outlined in the packet before him. His gaze flicked to Alexei for a second, before settling on the two former widows sat at the other end of the table. “Whoever is running it…they’d been kidnapping children, young girls, between the ages of 4 and 6. They’re…training them.”

Yelena managed to keep a straight face at Bucky’s words, even as her fists seemed to tighten. You didn’t do as good of a job at hiding it, everyone able to hear the sharp intake of breath from you. Bob could feel the way your hand tightened around his under the table as Yelena turned to look at you.

“Someone is trying to restart The Red Room,” you gave a stiff nod at Yelena’s words as you both came to the same conclusion. “Alright, what’s the plan? Dismantling, intel, what’s the job?”

“Rescue,” Bucky answered back, the digital board behind him showing the faces of a hundred or so young girls that were reported missing around the world. “They’ve got at least a hundred kids that we know of. Contain any agents around, if we can gather intel, then great, but they want us to go in and simply get these kids out of there. This is all hands on deck, no one is sitting this one out.”

You and Bob were alone before the mission, wheels up on the jet in less than ten minutes, according to Bucky. You adjusted the tactical gear that Bob had gotten himself into, the same one as last time, making sure that Bob protected for what was to come. While your hands were busy fidgeting with the buckles and straps on his tactical gear, Bob’s eyes never left your face.

“Are you…are you okay?”

“Well, someone is trying to restart the organization that ruined my life and many others, so…as good as I can be, I guess,” you tried to joke, stopping your movements as you looked up at Bob, hands sliding up until they rested on either side of his face. “I’m okay, I promise, it’s just…it’s a lot. Do me a favor, though? Let’s try not to have any Void related incidents today.”

“No promises,” you quirked an eyebrow at Bob’s words as he faltered. “T-that was supposed to uh, to be a joke.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, at the small smile that crossed his lips, and that four letter word was dying to spill past your lips and out into the open. You held it in, instead pulling Bob into you, molding your lips to his. His arms wound their way around you, albeit still cautiously, as you reveled in the small moment in the arms of the man you loved more than anything you ever had before.

The warehouse deep in the forests of Russia was quiet inside as the team moved through it. John and Bucky led the way through the falls, checking each and every room as Ava and Alexei looked over the files in front of them and gave directions to the area within the warehouse where the girls were said to be kept.

Yelena, Bob and yourself hung by at the back of the pack. Bob was quiet, simply looking between the former Widows as they glanced to one another every single time John or Bucky yelled out a “clear” after checking another room.

“Something is off about this, there’s no one here,” you commented quietly to Yelena and Bob. “Think they knew we were coming?”

“Maybe, but moving that many girls isn’t easy,” Yelena shot back as Bucky gave a nod back to the trio in the back, who moved to the next door. Bob stood behind you as you and Yelena raised your guns to the door, preparing to move through and check the room.

A single kick threw the door open, but the room was empty of anyone inside, just like the other ones were. You reupholstered your gun as Yelena took the right of the room, and you and Bob moved through the left side.

“It’s…kind of creepy down here,” Bob mumbled to you as you rifled through the papers on the desks before you, trying to find anything that could be useful to finding the girls. You laughed lightly at the comment.

“Well it’s not as creepy as The Red Room itself, but you aren’t wrong,”

“Widows, Bob, think we got something!”

John’s voice from the hallway brought the team back together. John quickly passed off the papers he found to you and Yelena as you rifled through them together.

“These are different from the intel we have on the girls,” Yelena shook her head, still flipping through the paperwork. “This talks about an entirely different holding cell for the girls, but it’s on the opposite end of the building.”

“We can’t be sure that information is even accurate,” Ava tried to argue back, looking around at the group. “Our intel clearly outlined they were being kept on the East end of the warehouse, there was nothing about the West end.”

“Easy, we’ll split up,” it was you that cut in, taking the papers from Yelena to look over the information. “You guys follow the original intel we received from Valentina’s team and Yelena and I will go and check out this new information.”

Bob bristled at the thought of splitting up from you, of not being with you for every second of the mission. He couldn’t help but think back on that fated HYDRA mission, of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there with her. In a moment of confidence, but what was probably pure terror in his heart, Bob’s hand shot out to grab onto yours as the team watched in silence.

“We- we can’t split up. What if- what if something happens and we- we aren’t there?” your face softened at the familiar look of terror glistening in Bob’s eyes. “What if…what if you get hurt?”

You leaned in quickly, not caring about your friends as you left a soft kiss on his lips, squeezing his hand once before backing away.

“I’ll see you in a bit, I promise,”

Not another word was shared between the ground as you and Yelena made your way back down the hallway toward the West end of the warehouse to check on the new information, while Bucky clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder, trying to bring him back with them toward their original goal. Bob couldn’t help that his eyes followed you until you fully disappeared down the hallway.

The former widows were quiet for a moment before Yelena cleared her throat, looking over at you with a smirk.

“So…you told Bob you love him yet?”

You barked out a laugh, shaking your head as you both entered back into one of the larger, open rooms of the warehouse. 

“Yelena-”

“I’m just pointing out how sickeningly cute you two are. It’s nice to see Bob come out of his shell around you,” she passed by you, gun at the ready as she checked the room, bumping her shoulder with yours just slightly. “It’s nice to see you so relaxed, too. You’re different around him, lighter. After the life we’ve had…I’m glad you’ve found someone to care about like that, to make the darkness a little lighter.”

You smiled to yourself at her words, adjusting your grip on your own gun for a second as you looked around the room, still moving across the floor.

“Let’s just save these little girls from living through hell like we did so that maybe I can tell him I love him-”

The sentence was barely out of your mouth before an alarm blared, all exit doors in the open room of the warehouse being shuttered immediately. Both you and Yelena whipped back to the doorway you’d just come through, shooting toward what looked like a glass doorway that had come down, but your bullets simply ricocheted off without leaving a single mark.

“How nice it is to see two of my star pupils again,”

You and Yelena whipped around again, guns still trained high as you turned to the woman now standing behind you. Yelena’s grip on her gun tightened as she glanced between the woman and yourself just ten feet from her.

You faltered the second you laid eyes on the woman, grip on your gun loosening for just a second as she stared across the room at you.

The Mistress. Your mother.

“What, no words for your long-lost mother?” there was a smirk on her face as your grip on your gun tightened again. The smirk left her lips as she glared straight at you. “Stand up straight, have I taught you nothing-”

“There’s no girls here, are there,” Yelena cut in, stating her words instead of asking. There was no doubt in her voice. “It was all a setup to get us here.”

“Well not you,” the Mistress pointed her finger toward Yelena, before trailing it to you once again. “More so for my daughter-”

“I’m not your daughter,” you sneered back, finger resting over the trigger of your gun.

There were shouts behind you, the rest of the team seeming to have heard the alarm and running back to find the pair of you. They were stopped behind the glass-like barrier that had been shut. You looked back, seeing Bucky, John and Alexei all trying to break through, but whatever it was made out of was something that it didn’t seem super soldiers could even break that easily.

Your eyes locked with Bob’s terrified ones, and your grip on the gun tightened again.

“What do you want with us?” Yelena called out to the Mistress, who shrugged her shoulders toward her.

“Well, I’m not exactly here for you,” before anyone could react the Mistress had raised her arm, the familiar glow around her wrist of what had been nicknamed “Widow Bites” lighting up before shooting toward Yelena.

You called out for her, throwing yourself between the woman as your gun stayed trained on her and Yelena, who was now writhing on the ground in pain, the electrocution from the device obviously having been increased from the groans that sounded from your closest friend. You could hear Alexei from behind the barrier call out for her.

“This is between us,” you seethed at the Mistress, every second in her presence fueling the anger deep inside of you. All those memories, all those years, all that pain.

“That it is,” she called back. “I needed to see my girl in the flesh. My little deadly assassin, my perfect project, turned into an Avenger. What a joke. This isn’t who you are-”

“You know nothing about me,” you sneered back at her as she laughed.

“I made you, I know everything about you. Just rejoin me, my girl. Train the next generation of Widows at my side,”

“They only place I want to see you is six feet under,”

The Mistress sighed, shaking her head as she reached into the waistband of her pants.

“So sad…my perfect project…and you turned out to be nothing but a mistake,”

The calls from your team, your friends, to stop went unheard as the Mistress pulled a gun, shooting toward you. You dodged with ease, launched forward and grabbed her around the waist, slamming her onto the concrete ground below you as you sat over top of her.

The team was stunned from beyond the glass, all they could see was the wailing of your fists into the woman’s face. She slashes at your arms with a knife from her waistband, but you never even flinched, grabbing the weapon from her hands and launching it across the room before resuming your punches.

“She’s losing it…” Ava whispered loud enough for the team to hear. “Who…who is that woman?”

Bob knew, but it wasn’t his place to tell. From what you’d all explained to him, what played out before them was eerily similar to that day in New York in the Void, in the shame rooms. The way that Bob wailed punches on the other side of himself, desperately trying to free himself from…himself.

You were trapped in your own head, in your own memories and your own pain. You needed him.

Bob shoved through his friends, not wasting a second in placing his hand on the glass no one could break. The second his fingers touched the glass it shattered on impact, thousands of pieces falling to the ground. And he didn’t waste a second before rushing to your side.

Your vision was blurred from your own tears by the time that Bob’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you backward off of the bloody, beaten shell of a woman now barely breathing below you.

“NO! No, let me kill her! Let me kill her!”

The rest of the team helped Yelena to her feet as they watched on as you screamed and cried, falling into a heap in Bob’s arms as he simply held you, letting you cry as the sound echoed around the room.

Hours later, and Bob was still pacing outside the medical wing of the Watchtower back in New York. You were just on the other side of the door with Yelena, and all he wanted was to be in the room with you. His hands wrung together, his pacing increasing by the minute until the door finally opened.

“She’s okay,” Yelena told Bob with a small smile, holding up a hand to stop him as he rushed up to her the second she was through the door. “Well, physically at least. But she’s okay. She’s asking for you, though.”

“...are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just go in there and see your girl,” Yelena placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, squeezing it with a smirk on her face, but there was a softness behind it. “And maybe…tell her, if you know what I mean.”

You were stood at the windows within the confined space of the medical wing, looking down on the streets of New York. You could hear the door open and close behind you, the footsteps crossing the room lightly, and coming to stand beside you. You knew who it was without a second thought, reaching over and taking Bob’s hand in your own.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,”

“W-well I’m pretty sure you all uh, you all have seen me worse than that, so…”

You let out a short chuckle at the comment, turning up to look at him as tears pooled in your eyes.

“All I saw was red…she called me a mistake and all I saw was red. I’ve spent so long trying to push it all away, push my childhood away and be this strong person…and all it took was seeing her once for my walls to come crashing down,” a lump formed in your throat as you swallowed it. “I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t push it away anymore, and I…I don’t know how to get better this time.”

Bob seemed to hesitate for a second, before shaky hands came up to cup your cheeks.

“J-just stay with me,”

You smiled, leaning into his touch.

“Stealing my line now-”

“Just stay with me because I…because I love you. A-and I need you,”

You froze for just a moment at his words, and you could see the momentary panic in his eyes before you surged forward into a kiss. It was light, sweet, and the fluttering within your chest mirrored the one happening in his own.

It was you that pulled away, but just barely. Lips just an inch apart, noses brushing as another tear ran down your cheek, but this time not in sadness.

“Always…because I love you too,”

[whre4wanda]

Watch Her

*Mature content ahead*

Mentions of abuse, blood, violence Exhibitionism, Strap on sex, fingering (Reader receiving), stalking, kinda rough and possessive sex, cum-filled strap, creampie

Summary- Your boss who happens to be extremely close to you, gets tired of watching your ex boyfriend stalk you.

Your pov:

Sitting next to Natasha in some fancy club was not what you had been expecting to do at this time of day. Especially since you'd knocked off about two hours ago, but Natasha had been persistent that you'd accompany her, claiming that you deserved to let go just a little. That and Natasha didn't exactly want to let you out of her sight.

You and Natasha had grown closer over time. Yes, some might have found that to be very "unethical" but who were you to care when your hot boss took a sudden interest in you. And Natasha was very interested with you.

Now, Natasha Romanoff was a woman of power — poised, unreadable, always in control. The youngest CEO in her firm’s history, feared in boardrooms and admired in tabloids. She didn’t chase things. Not often. Not ever.

Until you walked into her company as the new marketing consultant — Bold, brilliant, and radiant like sunlight piercing through bulletproof glass. And Natasha? She was ruined the second you laughed in her office for the first time.

However there had been one thing in the way during the process of you and Natasha getting to know one another. Your boyfriend. Believe me when I say that Natasha was not a fan of your boyfriend. She couldn't even believe you had one in the first place. When the older woman first laid eyes on you, her heart fluttered. Your beauty stunned her, not just that but your confidence too. She was a fool to think you'd be available, and surprised to see that you had a boyfriend. And anyone else would have believed that too but you were happy with your current boyfriend.

Well at least you thought you were, but things started going south very quickly in your relationship. It started with one slap to the face. You were both having a heated argument and unfortunately his palm connected to your cheek. Shocked to say the least, he apologized profusely. Told you it would never happen again, bought you the hugest bouquet of roses you'd ever seen then pampered you with love that entire week after. How naive you were to believe it would just be once.

One turned to two and two turned into ten. Slaps turned into shoves against the wall which later turned into punches. By that time you were deep in it. He'd hurt you out of anger, spite or even if his food wasn't warm enough. Anything enraged him and unfortunately you were his nearest punching bag.

You thought you were good at hiding it all, thought you were more careful but it turns out you weren't. Especially not around the CEO.

It was nearly midnight, and the building was mostly empty. Only the hum of security lights and the low whir of elevators echoed through the halls. Natasha was finishing up late in her cold office, glass of whiskey untouched, staring out over the city.

She told herself she stayed late for work but the truth was: she always stayed late when she knew you were working longer hours just to finish up paper work.

You — the woman with the quiet fire, the brilliant ideas, the natural charisma that left her speechless in meetings.

You — who smiled with your whole body even when your eyes didn’t.

You — who wore long sleeves even in summer.

Natasha wanted you. Badly. But you had a boyfriend. So she stayed in her lane. Distant. Professional. Tortured. Until the night she stepped into the wrong elevator — or perhaps the right one.

She’d meant to go to the garage. Instead, she hit the wrong button. Doors slid open on the admin floor… and she heard you. Quiet sniffles. A shaky breath. She stepped out slowly, heels silent on the tile. And there you were, standing by the vending machine, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, sleeves soaked with fresh tears.

Natasha’s breath caught.

“Y/n?” You turned too fast, startled. Tried to hide your face. But she’d already seen the smudged makeup. The trembling hands. The way your phone screen lit up with his name…again.

“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but your voice broke. And she was beside you in an instant.

“What did he do?” she asked, eyes dark and dangerous. You hesitated. But your silence spoke louder than anything. And when Natasha looked closer, she could see the faint bruise around your eye.

Natasha didn’t touch you — not yet. She just stood beside you like a wall, steady and still.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Her voice was low but gentle.  You shook your head. One tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you whispered.

“Especially not you.”

Her voice softened, but it cracked around the edges.

“Why not me?” You finally looked at her. “Because if I told you… I knew you’d never let it go. And honestly, I’m really scared.” She stepped closer then, slow and careful. “You’re right. I wouldn’t let it go.”

A small pause and then she spoke up.

“I’ve watched you try to shrink yourself for months. I’ve seen the light in you dim because of someone too weak to hold it. I wanted to stay away, I tried. But I can’t pretend anymore and I won't, Y/N. Not after this.” You exhaled shakily, leaning slightly into her surprisingly warm presence.

“If you want to leave,” she said quietly,

“I’ll help you. No questions. No judgment. Just say the word — and I’ll make sure you’re safe. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed someone.

That was five months ago. It took you two months to finally take her advice. And you left him. You packed your bags and left him behind and as scary as it was, it felt refreshing to finally be free from him. But he wasn't happy. Your ex was now adamant on getting you back. He'd show up at your new apartment, in attempt to apologize and somehow win you back. His pleas were always the same some variation of:

"I made a mistake."

"I never meant to hurt you, I was just angry."

"I'll get help, you deserve better. "

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

But those random visits or coincidental meetups soon became frustrating and borderline pathetic. And shortly after that, the stalking began. Everywhere you went, somewhere, somehow you'd catch a glimpse of him. You mentioned it to Natasha once, but you told her it wasn't bothering you that much. Besides, the admin work to file a restraining order would take too much time. And that's something you currently did not have.

Fortunately for you, the two of you became closer after your confession. Everything had been at ease for a couple of weeks. Work was good, Natasha was a sweetheart, and your ex was nowhere to be seen. That was until your ex drunkenly stumbled inside the club that you were at.

He'd been watching you from a far for a while now. He watched the way Natasha leaned in, whispering something in your ear that would make you blush or occasionally laugh. And when Natasha lead you up to some private room, he was enraged. The way her hand was just above your ass or when you intentionally moved her hand down to your ass, he was beyond pissed.

Natasha lead you into the VIP room that served as her office. She'd use this room to conduct business, or just to catch a breather but now she was determined to make you fall apart inside of it.

"I could've taken you home." She purred as your lips met hers but you scoffed.

"That would take long. I want you to fuck me now." You whined against her lips and she chuckled.

The private VIP room was dim and luxurious, the bass from the club below humming faintly through the walls. You and Natasha were lost in your own world—her fingers ghosting down your arms, her lips brushing yours, pulling you closer with an urgency that made your head spin.

Just when your hands tangled in her suit jacket, the door banged open with a violent thud.

You startled, pulled away from Natasha, heart hammering.

Standing in the doorway, swaying slightly, was your ex. His hair was a mess, his eyes glassy from too much alcohol, and worse — burning with bitter rage. Natasha's bodyguards were quick, already piling in, ready to escort the man out but Natasha stopped them.

"Leave." She told them and they did so, before closing the door.

"Nat, don't-" Natasha gives you a look that has you keeping your mouth shut in defeat.

"So this is it, huh?" he barked, staggering a few steps in.

"Throw away everything we had... just to be some freak's whore?" You flinched, the words slicing through you. Natasha’s body instantly moved in front of yours, shielding you, her entire frame tense and humming with restrained violence.

"Look at you," he sneered, voice rising.

"I should’ve known. Always acting so damn proud, like you were too good for me. Turns out you’re just a filthy little dyke who can’t get enough of being someone’s side piece."

Your hands shook at your sides. You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but Natasha moved first. Slowly, she shrugged off the tailored suit jacket, before she rolled up her sleeves, exposing the tattoos winding up her arms, her movements smooth, calculated and dangerous.

"You have about five seconds to get out of this room," Natasha said, voice low and vibrating with fury.

"Before I put you through that wall."

Your ex laughed — a disgusting, hollow sound.

"Oh, please. What, you think because you’re some tough bitch, you can scare me? She’ll get tired of you. They always do. She’s just another—" Crack.

Natasha’s fist cut the insult short, snapping his head sideways so hard he slammed into the side table, knocking over expensive bottles of champagne. He groaned, clutching his face, but Natasha didn’t stop—she grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him upright again.

"You come near her again, you even look at her again," Natasha hissed, voice deadly calm,

"and they'll be pulling your teeth out of your stomach."

"Fuck you. You'll get tired of her anyway. She's just a whore. " He spit out, his words laced with pure malice and disgust. He coughed up before mumbling another insult. Natasha's fist met his face once again and you could hear the crackling sound of a bone snapping, most likely his jaw. He laid limp now staring up at the woman.

"You're better off keeping quiet for the entire night." She mumbled.

"But you know what, you gave me a brilliant idea." She stands up, stalking her way towards you before pulling a chair out and placing it just a few feet away from him. He's angry, but you could tell he was in pain and the fear in his eyes was pretty much evident. He'd be too stupid to try stand up now. So he lay helpless on the floor, looking at the two of you.

The woman sat down before calling out your name.

"Why don't you come sit here for me sweet thing." Stunned, frightened and really turned on, you approached the older woman. You placed yourself on her lap like she'd requested and she hummed.

"Now I want you to look at him."

"Nat what are you-"

"Look at him detka. Don't ask questions, just look." And so you did. Your ex stared at the both of you in disgust and Natasha's arm slid around your waist.

"Now I'm certain he called you boring and dry, didn't he? But I think he's wrong. Oh so wrong." Her hands were now settled on both your thighs, and you were certain that your panties were probably drenched with your slick.

"I just think the bastard just can't please a pretty girl. And it's unfortunate too, y’know? He had such a beautiful little thing to cherish, touch… all of it. Couldn’t even manage to do that, could he detka?” She coos, fingers sliding across your smooth skin.

"What do you think about us giving him a show?"

"A S-show?"

"Well he did interrupt us, didn't he? Besides I'd like to show him all the things he can't have now. What do you say detka? It's all in your hands." You think about it for a moment. Hell you're too turned on to say no. So you nod your head.

"Yeah baby? Want me to fuck you in front of him?"

"Yes."

"Such a good girl. So obedient. Isn't she?" The question was directed to your ex and she only smirked at the defeated figure. Natasha's hand slid up to your button up shirt, where she proceeded to unbutton the silk shirt before her hands cupped your breasts.

A small moan of encouragement pushed her forward, Natasha's hands slid down to your thighs before bunching up your skirt. Her fingers felt cold compared to your warm skin. She slid her fingers across your covered pussy and you jerked forward from the mere touch.

"Responsive too." She cooed, her lips centimeters away from your neck.

"What do you want me to do?" She whispered and you could only grind your hips in response.

"Oh honey, we're here to give a show, you're gonna have to tell me what you want."

"I want you to..." A labored breath and Natasha bites your ear.

"Want me to what?"

"Fuck me."

"Oh detka." She hums before her lips press against yours. It's soft, gentle until it's rough, her hands roaming across every access of skin she'd come across.

You're grinding down on her thigh and her fingers are pressing into your covered pussy, before they're suddenly inside of you. You gasp from the unexpected stimulation before a moan escapes your lips.

"There you go, making such pretty sounds for me." You're slowly riding her fingers, panties getting in the way of her movements but she doesn't care. Anything to make you feel good.

Your attention is caught by your ex-boyfriend, who lays helplessly on the floor still battered and bruised. He growls and spits out a disgusted protest as he watches the debauchery play out.

"Oh baby, did he make you feel so good?" She asked, purposefully thrusting her fingers upwards as you ride those same fingers. Your breath catches in your throat and Natasha tuts disapprovingly.

"Answer me."

"N-no, never."

"Never? Well I'll be damned." Natasha stops her movements before those slick coated digits are placed inside her mouth.

"Tastes so divine too." Natasha says with a cocky smile before she easily maneuvers you to the glass table that wasn't far away from the chair. Pressing you down onto the cool surface, her fingers pull at the fabric of your panties.

"I really hope you don't like these." Before you can even respond, she's ripping the fabric apart before her fingers slide inside of your pussy, this time reaching spots you didn't even know of.

"Well don't you have the prettiest pussy ever." Your eyes roll back, it felt so good, the way she had her fingers buried inside of you made you melt into the table.

Your moans turned her on, and the way your hips began moving along with her fingers, well she was now obsessed.

“Oh, fuck, Nat!,” you whimper, clawing at the edge of the table.

“This all for me detka?” She asks smugly, rubbing her fingers against your sensitive bud again. You simply nod and she hums.

She slides another thick finger into you, grinning triumphantly as you release a wanton moan. She curls her fingers inside of you, slowly pushing them in and out of you. Her fingertips brush against the overly-sensitive and velvety walls inside of you. You nearly choke on your own voice as it feels like a live-wire is coursing through your veins.

“You had all of this ass and a sweet pussy to play with at any given time. But you wanted to act like a selfish bastard and lose it all, didn’t you?” She mocks him, narrowing her eyes at the man while her fingers work inside of you. 

It's true. Your ex knew that. You were practically the epitome of perfection and now here you were, being fucked by a woman, moaning louder than ever, compared to all the times where he had been fucking you. He thought he was good but he was clearly mistaken. Never had he seen such a dazed out expression on your face and this made his stomach twist in disgust and sadly, embarrassment.

"Shes so beautiful isn't she?" She asked while her fingers gently scrape through your hair.

"Tell her that she's beautiful. Now."

"S-she is beautiful." He stuttered before averting his gaze downwards and Natasha hums.

"You hear that baby, you're very beautiful. Now I want you to go ahead and cum for me yeah? Make a mess on my fingers." she mumbles, sliding a third finger into you and fuck you could practically see stars. Her other hand presses into your lower back as she presses her fingers into you faster– harder.

The wet sounds coming from your thighs are obscene, borderline filthy yet uncommon to hear since he never managed to get you to this level. Ever.

"So beautiful" Natasha's wide eyes were fixed on the way your pussy swallowed her fingers.

"So good, come on cum for me." Your body stilled as you finally came on her fingers. Five minutes. That's all she needed to have you tumbling over the edge.

"And I bet you never made her cum so quickly did you?" She mused before pulling her fingers out of your now dripping cunt.

"Now, I'm gonna show you how to really treat a girl right, I think you need the lesson on how to fuck hm." Too dazed out to really care about what she said, Natasha unzipped her slacks before taking out the strap that had been in the confinement of her slacks. Large and girthy, she slid the silicone toy across your pussy and you whined, hands gripping the glass table beneath you.

She eased the toy inside of you, before pulling out and thrusting back in . It had you breathless.

"Oh baby, does that feel good?" You mumbled something incoherent and Natasha smirked.

"I've got you dumbed down so quickly huh?" She snapped her hips until the toy was buried to the hilt. You moaned and it was so fucking loud yet so intoxicating.

"Fuck, you're just so tight. So snug. What a fool you were for not appreciating such a beautiful pussy. " her thrusts has you gripping the glass table for your dear life, your lips falling apart as you let out a silent moan.

"I didn't tell you to look down did I? Watch her. Watch how I fuck her or I'll blow your fucking brains out." You knew it was possible, Natasha was very impulsive and it was honetsly questionable how the thought seemed to arouse you even more. Your ex begrudgingly watched as Natasha fucked you.

Pupils dilated, mouth hung open, hands holding onto the table, Natasha brought you up so you could look at him as she fucked you.

"So pretty right? I bet you never got to see this face much. Does it feel good detka?" You nodded but she was having none of that.

"Tell me."

"Feels so good."

"Can you feel me?"

"Y-yes fuck yes, I feel you everywhere." you exclaimed, hips jerking forward as she snapped her hips even faster.

"Better than his dick?"

"S-so much better." The squelching sounds should be embarrassing, but yoh can't find it in you to care when she was fucking you this good.

"You hear that? That's how good I fuck her." The woman grinned before her eyes trailed down to where her strap repeatedly rammed into you. Mesmerized is what she is as she watches your ass recoil, the sight is one she never wants to forget. In fact, if she had it her way, she'd make sure that she got to see it every single day.

"god, a fake dick has you running away from me huh? Has your pussy gushing out like that but he couldn't do that hm? Pathetic." She said with a chuckle. You're babbling, you're drooling and soon you're very much falling apart on the faux toy. Natasha continues to rut inside of you until you feel a warm liquid inside of your pussy from Natasha's strap. She watches in amazement as the sticky substance spills out of your pussy, it's a beautiful sight to see.

"A real dick could never make you feel like that, only mine can yeah?" it's possessive and it has you clenching around nothing.

Your body is limp as you feel her massage your thighs.

"Get out." She commands and within a second, your ex stumbles out of the room before the woman has her attention back on you.

"You okay detka?" A small nod before you're pushing your ass back against the toy.

"More."

"More?" She asks with a chuckle and you nod your head vigorously.

"Oh detka, I have all the time in the world to make you fall apart."

_________________________________________

Yeah I had a lot of fun with this one!

Ann~

[inseobts]

HAII, I heard your request is now open again and I wanted to request this!

wherein the reader has feelings for (any character you want!) and they friend zone her, and she gets the hanahaki disease!😁 they don't tell anyone until they're almost at the brink of death. well, you can choose if the reader lives or not but the character you choose will happen to realize they do have feelings for the reader and they were only confused at the beginning!

it's kinda like angst sorry😅 But I really want to see something like this from you, since you are an excellent writer! ty smmm

Petals in Silence

zoro x fem!reader

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim’s romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

a/n: wrote about this for one of my old kpop fanfics so I got really exciting to write this again for a different media

words count: 4.0k

tags: illness, angst and fluff, chopper and law being good doctors, unrequited love, slow burn, emotional hurt

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The first time you cough up a petal, it’s early morning.

You’re brushing your teeth in the bathroom when something tickles your throat. You cough once, then harder.

A soft, white petal drops into the sink.

You blink. Stare. It’s delicate. Real.

“What the hell…?”

You look up at the mirror. Your reflection stares back, pale and confused.

You cough again.

Another petal.

“No. No, no, no.”

You quickly wash the sink, flush the petals, and press a trembling hand to your mouth. You’re breathing fast now.

“What is this?” you whisper.

You sneak into the library on the ship when no one’s around. Robin might be there later, but right now it’s quiet.

You pull out an old medical book. Then another.

Finally, you find it.

Hanahaki Disease: A rare, fatal illness caused by unrequited love. The infected cough up flower petals as feelings deepen. The only cures are returned love… or surgery that erases all memory of the beloved person.

You reread it five times.

Then you sit back, stunned.

“No way...” you say out loud “That’s not real.”

But the pain in your chest disagrees.

You press your hand over your heart. It feels like something is blooming. Slowly. Cruelly.

You whisper the name you’ve been hiding in your heart for so long “…Zoro.”

You try to act normal during dinner. You sit beside Luffy and across from Zoro. You talk with Nami, laugh with Usopp. But you keep sneaking glances at him.

Zoro’s sipping sake, listening to Sanji rant about proper cooking technique. He doesn’t even look your way.

That tiny ache in your chest grows just a bit stronger.

You excuse yourself early and go to bed.

Later that night, Zoro finds you on the deck. You’re alone, staring at the sea. You don’t notice him until he speaks.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You flinch a little “Oh yeah. Just thinking.”

He steps beside you. Arms crossed “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m fine” you say quickly.

“Didn’t ask if you were fine,” he says, tone flat “I said you’ve been quiet.”

You don’t answer. You look away, afraid you’ll start coughing again.

“Anyway,” he says after a moment, “don’t push yourself too hard. You get weird when you're tired.”

You smile, small and sad “Thanks, Zoro.”

He nods and walks away, like nothing’s wrong. Like your heart isn’t trying to kill you.

You start avoiding him.

Not in a big, obvious way. Just enough to keep the pain small. Manageable.

You leave the room when he enters. You sit farther away at meals. You laugh at his jokes less. You pretend you’re busy when he trains, even though you used to watch him every day.

Still, he notices.

“You mad at me or something?” Zoro asks one afternoon.

You blink “What? No.”

He raises an eyebrow “You’ve been weird. Distant.”

You shrug “Maybe I’m just tired.”

He watches you, arms crossed “You’ve said that a lot lately.”

You force a smile “Guess I’m always tired.”

You walk away before you start coughing again.

Later that night, you’re alone again on the deck. Same spot. Same stars. Same sea.

Your chest feels heavy tonight. Your throat burns.

You cough hard. Petals. So many.

They spill from your mouth, red and white, soft and cruel.

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stop the sound, trying not to cry.

This is getting worse.

You fall to your knees.

It’s too late to stop it now.

The next morning, you can’t take it anymore.

You find Chopper in the infirmary. You pull him aside, whispering.

“Can I ask you something… privately?”

He looks up at you, curious “Of course. What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard “Do you know anything about… Hanahaki disease?”

His eyes widen.

“What?” he says “Why? Who—who has it?”

You don’t answer. Just pull a crumpled petal from your pocket and place it in his hand.

His face falls.

“Oh no… Y/N...” he whispers.

You don’t speak.

He looks at you with tears in his eyes “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

You give him the weakest smile “I didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not him.”

Zoro finds you the next day.

“You’ve been ignoring me” he says bluntly.

You sigh “I haven’t.”

“You have. What’s going on?”

You look at him. Really look at him.

Strong. Focused. Brave. And not yours.

You take a deep breath.

“Zoro,” you say softly, “do you see me as… anything more than a friend?”

He frowns “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer.”

He looks confused for a second, then says, “You’re a great friend. You know that.”

Your heart cracks right there “I see.”

He tilts his head “Why?”

You shake your head and step back “No reason.”

“Wait—”

“I have to go” you whisper, already walking away.

You cough again as you turn the corner. This time, petals fall from your hands like snow.

You visit Chopper again the next day. This time, you don’t bother hiding the blood on your sleeve.

He panics the moment he sees you.

“Y/N, sit down, right now.”

You do.

He shines a light in your throat, listens to your breathing, checks your heartbeat. His hooves are trembling.

“Your lungs…” he says quietly “the flowers are growing faster.”

“I know.”

“You’re in the second stage. If this keeps up—”

“I know, Chopper.”

Silence.

You break it first.

“Is there any way to slow it down?” you ask, voice thin “Just a little?”

Chopper hesitates “I can give you medicine to ease the pain. But it won’t stop the petals.”

You nod. That’s enough. For now.

He wraps your wrist where you’d scratched it raw from coughing.

“You need to tell the others” he says softly.

“I can’t.”

“Y/N—”

“No.”

He looks at you, torn between doctor and friend. But he nods.

For now, he’ll keep your secret.

At lunch, you barely touch your food. Sanji notices right away.

“You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” he asks, kneeling beside your chair with a plate in hand.

You blink “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Nami says across the table “You look like a ghost.”

Usopp leans in “Have you been throwing up or something?”

Your grip tightens on your fork “Just tired.”

“You keep saying that,” Luffy mumbles with food in his mouth “You said that yesterday, and the day before that, and the—”

“I said I’m fine!” you snap.

Silence falls.

You don’t look at anyone. You stand quickly, chair scraping back.

“I’m sorry. I just... I need some air.”

You rush out before they see your hand fly to your mouth.

You cough behind a crate on the lower deck. Violet petals. Tiny thorns. Blood.

You shake as they fall into your palm.

Someone walks by above you, and you press your mouth shut until your lungs burn. You can’t let them hear.

You slide down to the floor, heart pounding.

You can’t keep this up much longer.

That night, Zoro knocks on your door.

You don’t answer.

He opens it anyway “Hey. We need to talk.”

You sit on your bed, facing the wall.

He walks in slowly “You’ve been avoiding everyone. Something’s wrong.”

You don’t move “I’m just tired.”

“That’s not gonna work anymore,” he says “Your voice is weak. You’re pale. And you’re breathing weird.”

You say nothing.

Zoro narrows his eyes “Did someone hurt you?”

That makes you laugh. It’s a broken sound “No. Not someone.”

He waits.

You finally turn toward him, eyes glassy “I think I’m sick, Zoro.”

He steps closer “Sick how?”

You look down at your hands. But you don’t answer.

Not yet.

He understands and leaves you alone.

It’s been weeks.

You’re coughing more now. Petals come in waves, in your sleep, in the middle of meals, behind closed doors. You can barely hide it anymore. Chopper’s running out of ways to explain your pale skin and shaking hands.

Then one afternoon, Law steps onto the Sunny.

The crew cheers, it’s been a long time since you’ve seen the Heart Pirates. But you don’t move from the railing. Your body feels too heavy.

Zoro notices.

So does Chopper.

Later, Chopper finds you in the infirmary, Law just behind him.

He stares at you for a long moment, then sighs “Chopper told me everything. Including the petals.”

Your breath catches.

Chopper looks hopeful, desperate even “He thinks he can do the surgery. It’s risky, but it might work.”

You go cold “The memory one?”

Law nods “I can remove the infection. The petals. You’ll survive. But you’ll forget everything tied to the person who caused it.”

You don’t even have to think.

“No.”

Chopper gasps “What? Y/N, you’re dying.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper “I don’t want to forget him.”

Law watches you carefully “You’d rather die than let go?”

You nod.

There’s a pause. Then Law gestures for Chopper to leave the room.

He does, slowly.

Now it’s just you and Law.

“I don’t do emotional attachments” he says, leaning against the wall “But even I know this is stupid.”

You laugh bitterly “Yeah. It is.”

He folds his arms “You sure he doesn’t feel anything for you?”

“He made it clear,” you say, staring at the floor “He sees me as a friend. That’s all.”

Law raises an eyebrow “You asked him?”

“Of course, I'm dying... I asked if he could ever see me as more. He said I’m a great friend. That’s it.”

He doesn’t reply for a moment. Then quietly, he says, “You should tell him about the disease.”

You look up sharply “No. That’s the one thing I won’t do.”

“Why?”

Your voice cracks “Because I don’t want to be loved out of pity. I want it to be real. Not because I’m dying.”

Behind the cracked door, someone stands frozen.

Zoro.

He hadn’t meant to listen. He was just walking by.

He wasn’t trying to find you. Not on purpose.

But now your words are echoing in his head, and they won’t stop.

“I don’t want to forget him.”

“I want it to be real.”

He feels like something is unraveling in his chest.

Suddenly, memories flood in. You watching him train. Laughing at his jokes. Smiling when you thought he wasn’t looking. Bleeding silently.

And him, brushing you off. Pushing the feelings down. Because love was a weakness. A distraction. Something he couldn’t afford.

But now you're dying, and it’s his fault you’re alone.

He presses his hand to the wall beside the door.

“Idiot” he whispers.

He doesn’t even know if he means you or himself.

Zoro doesn’t sleep that night.

He leans against the railing of the upper deck, sword resting by his side, your words stuck in his mind like a thorn he can’t pull out.

“I want it to be real.”

“I don’t want to forget him.”

He tightens his grip on the hilt.

He doesn’t understand everything about emotions... hell, he usually avoids them altogether but he’s not dumb.

He heard enough to know what this is.

Enough to know you’ve been dying quietly, and everyone’s been hiding it from him.

The next morning, he finds Chopper in the kitchen, alone, fiddling with a pile of vitamins and bandages.

Zoro crosses his arms and speaks flatly “What’s wrong with her?”

Chopper freezes “W-Who?”

Zoro just stares.

Chopper sweats “You mean…uh…Nami? I think she had a cold last week—”

“Y/N” Zoro says, voice sharp “Don’t play dumb.”

Chopper drops the spoon in his hoof “Oh.”

Zoro leans in, towering over the small reindeer “I heard Law talking to her. I heard enough. Now tell me everything.”

Chopper swallows “I-I promised not to—”

“Chopper.”

“I—I mean—she’s—”

He folds immediately “Okay! Okay! It’s Hanahaki!”

Zoro stiffens “Hanahaki…?”

“She’s been coughing up petals for weeks. She’s in stage two, probably. Her lungs are already getting worse. If she doesn’t get surgery, she’ll—” Chopper gulps before continuing “She’ll die.”

Zoro goes completely still.

“And it’s because of—” Chopper shuts his mouth with both hooves.

“Because of what, Chopper?”

“I—I can’t say that part—”

Zoro crouches down, voice low “Is it because of me?”

Chopper's eyes fill with panic.

“That’s a yes.”

“Zoro...”

He stands up suddenly, knocking over a chair. His jaw clenches.

Chopper reaches out “Please don’t get mad at her! She didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t want to make you feel bad—”

Zoro turns away, fists clenched “She’s dying and she’s worried about me?”

“She loves you,” Chopper says quietly “But she’d rather die than force you to love her back.”

Zoro doesn’t answer.

He just stands there, breathing hard and then he walks out.

Fast.

Not toward you.

Not yet.

He needs to get his head straight because for the first time in a long time, Zoro is afraid.

Not of losing a fight.

But of losing you.

You’re sitting alone in the small reading room on the Sunny, legs tucked up beneath you, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. A book is open on your lap, unread. The words blur. Your head throbs.

You’ve been coughing all morning. You can taste iron in the back of your throat.

You hear the door open and close behind you.

You don’t look up “Chopper, I already took the medicine—”

“It’s not Chopper.”

Your breath catches.

You look up.

Zoro.

Standing there, arms crossed. Shadows under his eyes. A strange look on his face — like something sharp and unfinished.

You blink slowly “What do you want?”

He walks forward. No swords. No usual swagger. Just…Zoro.

“I know” he says.

Your stomach drops.

“I know everything. Hanahaki. The petals. That it’s because of me.”

You go still.

“I didn’t want you to find out,” you say quietly “Not like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want your pity.”

He sits across from you. His eyes are unreadable.

“You didn’t want to tell me... but you told Law?”

You wince “Chopper dragged him in. Said he could save me.”

Zoro stares at you for a moment. Then “You turned down the surgery.”

“Yes.”

“Because you didn’t want to forget.”

“Yes.”

Silence.

You speak first “I asked you once if you saw me as anything more than a friend. You said no.”

“I said you’re a great friend,” Zoro says “But I didn’t say no.”

You freeze “That’s not what it felt like.”

He leans forward “I didn’t answer you honestly. I didn’t want to answer.”

You whisper “Why?”

His voice is low “Because I was scared it would mess everything up. You’re... you’ve always been close. If I let myself feel something else, I thought it would get in the way.”

“Of your goal,” you say “Becoming the world’s strongest swordman.”

He nods once “I told myself there was no room for anything else.”

Your hands are shaking in your lap.

“And now?” you whisper.

Zoro hesitates. For the first time in forever, he looks unsure.

“I don’t know,” he says “But when I heard what you said to Law… that you’d rather die than forget me… I realized I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“I don’t know if I deserve this,” he says “But I want to try. If you’ll let me. I should’ve said it before you ever started coughing.”

Zoro’s confession echoes in the small room.

You sit there for a long moment, stunned, heart beating so fast it hurts more than your lungs.

But the pain in your chest doesn’t stop. In fact, it starts to burn.

That isn’t supposed to happen.

“I…” You swallow hard, forcing your voice to stay calm “Can I ask something?”

Zoro looks at you, still tense “Yeah.”

You grip the blanket tighter around your shoulders “Do you actually mean it? Or are you just saying that because you don’t want me to die?”

He flinches.

You nod slowly “That’s what I thought.”

Zoro opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

“It’s okay. Really. You don’t have to feel guilty. I’m... glad you care. But you don’t have to pretend to love me. That would hurt more.”

His jaw tightens “I’m not pretending.”

You give him a sad smile “Zoro... if this was real, the petals would’ve stopped by now.”

You cough hard. A violent shake rips through your chest, and something wet and warm fills your palm.

You look down.

A full, red flower lies there, soaked in blood.

Your fingers tremble as you wipe it away, turning your face from him.

“See?” you whisper.

Zoro doesn’t say anything.

He just leaves.

He storms through the Sunny like a blade cutting through mist.

Straight to the infirmary.

Chopper and Law both look up from the counter.

Zoro slams his hands down “Why isn’t she better?”

Chopper blinks “Wh-What?”

“I told her. Everything. I confessed. So why is she still coughing up flowers?!”

Law stands slowly “Did she believe you?”

“What?”

Law narrows his eyes “Hanahaki is rooted in emotion, not logic. You can say whatever you want but if she doesn’t believe it in her heart, it won’t stop.”

Zoro’s throat goes dry.

“She thinks I said it out of pity...” he mutters.

Law’s voice drops “Then her body still thinks it’s unrequited.”

Zoro swears under his breath.

Chopper tugs at his sleeve, eyes big and worried “Zoro, she’s getting worse. No matter what I give her, the petals will start to grow into her lungs. They’ll wrap around her ribs. After that...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Zoro steps back.

He’s never felt so helpless.

“I’ll fix it” he says, turning toward the door.

Law raises a brow “How?”

Zoro doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know yet. But he’s sure of one thing, this time, words aren’t enough.

The sun is setting. Gold light spills over the deck of the Sunny.

You sit alone again, wrapped in your blanket, watching the sea blur into the sky. The petals are getting worse now, they come up more easily, more violently. You can feel them in your lungs even when you're not coughing.

You don’t know how much time you have left.

You don’t hear Zoro approach.

He stands beside you silently for a few seconds. Then, without a word, he sits down.

You look at him. His expression is unreadable. Focused. But his eyes are storming.

“I’m not good at this” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

He pulls something from his waist. A worn cloth. He unfolds it slowly.

Inside is a small charm. Hand-carved wood, shaped like a sword crossed with a flower.

Your breath catches.

“I made it back on Wano,” he says “Took me three days. I almost threw it out. Thought it was stupid.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just the charm.

“I didn’t know why I was making it. I told myself it was just something to pass the time. But I carried it with me every day since.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

Zoro finally turns to you.

“Because I didn’t just come here to say something this time. I’m here to prove it.”

He places the charm in your lap.

Then Zoro kneels.

Your heart skips “Zoro—what—”

“I’m not asking you to believe me because I said I care,” he says, voice rough “I’m asking you to believe me because I was a coward, and I missed my chance, and I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continues “Not because I feel guilty. Not because you’re sick. Because I’ve loved you longer than I was willing to admit.”

Your eyes well with tears. You shake your head “But... Zoro... why didn’t you—”

“Because I thought I couldn’t afford it” he says “But I realized... what’s the point of becoming the world’s strongest swordsman if you’re not there to see it?”

Your lungs seize.

You cough.

A petal falls into your palm.

Just one.

Small.

Thin.

You stare at it.

Zoro sees too. And for the first time you see hope in his eyes.

It’s slow.

You still wake up coughing sometimes but not with blood anymore. Not with full blossoms tearing your throat raw.

Now, it’s just a few pale petals, thinner than paper. Some mornings, none at all.

You’re healing.

And every time you wake up, Zoro is there.

Not hovering. Just close. Training. Napping with one arm slung over a chair. But always there.

He doesn’t say much. He lets his presence do the talking.

One night, you sit outside the infirmary, wrapped in a jacket that’s obviously not yours, too big, too warm. Smells like steel, sweat, and something familiar.

Zoro’s jacket.

He comes up beside you, leaning against the wall.

You glance at him “Still watching me?”

“Still making sure you don’t keel over,” he says “It’d ruin my day.”

You laugh softly “Chopper says the petals might stop completely soon.”

He nods “Good.”

You look at him “Do you remember what you said? On the deck. About… me seeing you become the world’s strongest swordman?”

Zoro doesn’t look away “Yeah.”

“Do you still want that?”

“More than ever.”

You swallow “And… do you still mean it? What you said about loving me?”

Zoro turns to you fully.

“I’ve said a lot of things I didn’t mean in my life,” he says “But that wasn’t one of them.”

Silence.

Then you reach out, fingers brushing his hand.

“Zoro?”

He meets your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

His answer is a quiet but firm “Yeah.”

You lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away.

He doesn’t.

His lips are warm. Dry at first... hesitant. But then you feel him tilt toward you, just a little. And his hand rises to rest on your back.

It’s not perfect. It’s a little clumsy. But it’s real.

And when you pull back, breathless and flushed, you cough but not a single petal falls.

Zoro watches you, eyes searching.

When he speaks, his voice is low “Guess that’s one way to test if it’s real.”

You smile “Feels pretty real to me.”

It’s been days since your last petal.

Chopper checks your lungs every morning now with his stethoscope and a hopeful smile, and every time he hears nothing but clean, healthy breathing, he squeaks in joy and flails his little hooves around.

You owe him everything.

Which is why you're now crouched outside the kitchen with a stack of pink cupcakes, a tiny hand-sewn thank-you card (drawn with crayons), and one extremely annoyed swordsman beside you.

Zoro crosses his arms “I still don’t get why I have to be here.”

“Because you helped me live,” you say, balancing the cupcakes with exaggerated care “And Chopper basically didn’t sleep for a week watching over me. We’re doing this together.”

Zoro grumbles “I could’ve just said thanks.”

You grin “And yet, here you are. Holding a party hat.”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“You will wear it.”

He grunts again but doesn’t argue further.

You knock on the door.

“Chopper! Can you come out here for a sec?”

He waddles out, sleepy-eyed, blinking up at youmand freezes.

His eyes go huge.

The cupcakes are stacked with pink frosting, each topped with tiny candy flowers. The card is messy and full of stickers, and you made sure to draw you, Chopper, and Zoro in crayon (Zoro has three swords and a frowny face, just for accuracy).

Zoro groans beside you.

“Thanks for helping me” you say brightly, holding it all out “We love you, Chopper.”

Chopper’s cheeks go red “Wha—whaaa?! I—I—I was just doing my job! Y-You didn’t have to—!”

Zoro, looking like he’d rather be stabbed, mumbles, “Thanks, you tiny doctor.”

Chopper makes a noise. A mix between a squeak and a sob.

He bursts into tears, flinging his tiny arms around your leg and Zoro’s knee at the same time.

“I’m so happy you’re not dead!!!”

Zoro looks at you, completely frozen.

You just smile, slip the party hat onto his head, and whisper “Told you this would be worth it.”

[salem-s]

11 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, angst, fluff if you squint. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 4.4k. i think this is my shortest one yet? ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. one more chapter left after this one EEEEK!! ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER japanese denim by daniel caesar

The long run doesn’t feel so nice. 

It’s finals week, and its implications do nothing to aide the dull ache that’s weighing in your gut. The grueling hours spent studying and hunched over desks only pile onto your list of problems, and that’s only the physicality of your issues. Besides the permanent kink in your shoulder from your poor posture, your body is depleting due to the emotional stress that strains your heart.

Even though he’s right next door, you don't see or hear Rafe since his cold departure.

You want to believe it’s a good thing, it’s what you wanted, it’s quite literally what you asked for. But you can’t help but long for him, knowing he’s just on the other side of the wall, wondering if he’s feeling just as awful as you.

But there’s nothing.

You only heard him once while you were studying, and the second you heard another girl’s voice with him, you bolted out of the dorm and beelined to the library. 

So you don't study in your room anymore. 

Not that it changes much, because you don’t even spot him on campus or lounging on the quad with friends. There are no late night texts, no loud music blasting through the thin walls, no presence at Elliot’s house. Nothing. For such a tall person, you’re shocked at his ability to lay low.

Because you’re certain that he purposefully avoids you.

You know he knows your schedule since he used to coincidentally be walking home from class at the same time, even though he never had classes in the same building as you. He used to just happen to open his door at the same time as you with a backpack slung over his shoulder, simply stating he’s going to the library but the company on his walk would be nice. Once he even loitered outside your academic building after you had had a tough exam, claiming the grassy patch adjacent to the building is the best place to lay.

Now Rafe does none of that. He’s a ghost. 

The only time you caught a glimpse of him was at a nearby coffee shop. Seeing him nearly kills you.

You'd been stopping in to refuel to cram study for a final later that day, nearly spilling your espresso infused drink on his nice white shirt on your way out. Bumping into him sent a shiver down your spine, the physical contact a pure shock to both of you as you stood motionless in the crowded cafe, eyes only trained on each other.

It was hard to even find words at the sight of his pretty eyes, ones that looked tired despite the surprise look on his face.

But the shock came and went as Rafe had been cordial, offering a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and side-stepping out of your way without his usual Rafe-like banter. He was walking away from you before you could really say anything to him, the only word in the entire exchange being a meek, “Sorry,” on your end that was said too late, as he was already out of earshot by the time you found the words.

You weren’t sure what you were sorry for this time.

Almost spilling your drink on him. Accidentally elbowing him in the ribs. Shutting him out. Putting him through an emotional wringer. Pushing him away at every opportunity you can.

Needless to say, you've been spiraling. 

Especially when Lorenza gives you a call a few hours before your coding exam, mainly to check in and make sure your cut is healing alright (it's practically gone, but the reminder still stays). You converse as normal, lamenting about all the projects and finals you have going on and that you're seeing your friends later.

Lorenza asks if that includes Rafe.

And hearing his name makes you go quiet. And she takes that as the hint to continue talking about him, asking if you've talked to him since the day you got back. When you tell her that, no, you haven't had time to talk to him about anything, she hums over the phone, almost scolding you wordlessly for letting it get this far.

"Probabilmente anche sta soffrendo," Lorenza tells you, stating it like a fact.

You respond that, no, he's not hurting. That he's probably fine, and that you're fine too. You're both just busy with schoolwork and personal lives and everything on top of that.

"Hai parlato con lui?"

No, you tell her, you haven't talked to him.

"Allora come lo sapresti?"

You offer no response. Because you don't know how he is. You wouldn't know if he's hurt or not because you haven't talk to him, nor can you find the gall to do so.

Her incessant pestering makes your face flush and your heart slump to your gut, settling some uneasy feeling there for the remainder of the day. Because she's right: you know you need to talk to him, even if it's just to check in and see how he is, because he deserves, at the least, an apology for how you've treated him.

It's all you can think about during your exam.

Yet finally, after day and night of burying your head in textbooks and nearly crawling through your computer screen to figure out your codes, it's your last final, and it comes and goes regardless of how much you think about Rafe during it.

It's the last Thursday before everyone’s forced to leave for winter break, one of the last few days you'll get to see your friends before the New Year, so despite your aching shoulders and pounding headache, you accept the invitation to drink and party at Elliot’s off campus house. 

Lorenza's words echo in your head all afternoon. He's probably hurting, too. You hope that isn't true, you hope he's just been burying himself in schoolwork and being distracted in a good way to keep himself busy. You hope he doesn't have any sleepless nights. You hope he's seeing other people to get back to a sense of normalcy.

You think about the possibility of seeing him at Elliot's, since they're best friends and all. You think about all the things you could say to him, how many I'm sorrys you can utter before he'll believe it. But you know yourself, and you'd probably never get the words out at the sight of him. Part of you really doesn't want to do it tonight.

But the other part of you also hopes Rafe's there. Maybe force him into a room so you can apologize to him (that is, if you can find the words).

When you arrive, your friends embrace you endearingly. First come the congratulations for finishing all of your finals, then the drinks are immediately second.

Marianne doesn’t waste time pushing a cocktail in your hand and throwing an arm over your shoulder, guiding you deeper into the party where your closest friends (amongst a lot of others you don't care for) mingle and laugh and sing. 

Although your mind drifts for the better part of it. You can’t help but continuously scan the crowd in search of him, feeling that stupid nagging pull in your chest the longer the party goes by without him. The nagging eventually morphs into guilt.

Did he know you were coming and that’s why he’s not here? Are you driving a wedge between your friend group because of your blatant insecurities?

"Hey," Marianne whispers to you after an hour. “You’re goat-staring.”

“Hm?” You snaps out of your trance, unaware you've been staring at that same speck on the wall for ages. “Oh.”

Your friend doesn’t let the act go unnoticed, darting her gaze around you cautiously before leaning in close. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean you’ve barely spoken about the–”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, giving it your all to fake a smile. “Honest. I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

I can't not think about it, you want to say. Especially because he's not here.

Marianne simply raises her eyebrows, wordlessly prompting you for more. 

But you don't give into her instigation. “I’ll tell you about it soon, I promise. Just…not tonight.”

That’s all it takes for now. 

Because no shit the whole Rafe situation has been a damper to your conscience ever since your last morning together, no debates there, but the thought of rehashing it from the start makes your head spin. You try and blink away flashes of him: his pained expression on the dance floor, the image of him and Yara in the closet, his pretty face inches from yours coaxed in sunlight. He’s a plague in your mind, infesting your every waking thought. It’s draining. It’s emotionally exhausting. You forget how to not let your mind drift back to him, him, him.

To make your head spin further, you attempt to rise from your zombie-like state and join the party. You take a shot, open another drink, dance with Marianne and catch up with your friends.

For the most part, it serves as a nice distraction, even if you can't really get drunk.

But there’s a big gaping hole in your heart: the guilt that he, Rafe, is nowhere to be seen.

It’s odd without him, the room feeling incomplete without his presence, his laughter, his jabby one liners. It’s rare for him to miss a party, let alone one this big and festive, and there’s a harsh pull in your chest, because you feel responsible for his absence. Maybe you being here made him uncomfortable, so he opted to stay back. 

“Hey, Bear.”

Elliot is suddenly at your side, beaming and using your inside-joke nickname (you debate the semantics of why Paddington's marmalade sandwiches don't seem to mold once), after finding yourself staring at another indent on the wall. Your eyes glance at your watch, frowning at the time passed.

Have you really been sitting and sulking and thinking about Rafe for that long?

“How’d your coding sesh go?”

You shake the sulking demeanor away and take a large sip of your drink. “I’m just happy it’s over.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad?”

You wince. It could’ve, and it was. Throughout the entirety of it, your thoughts kept lingering back to a certain someone. 

“Ah,” Elliot says, waving it off nonchalantly after you don't respond. “T’s all bullshit, anyway. Besides, it couldn’t have been worse than my statistics final. I think I left three questions blank.”

You quirk a brow. “Didn’t you say it was open note?”

Elliot simply shrugs, and you laugh, rolling your eyes at your friend. 

“I stand corrected, then.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation, Elliot being the friend you clicked with the best out of all of Rafe’s friends. He’s like the mayor, knowing everyone and being friends with everyone, making sure to chat with every single person who comes to his house even if he doesn’t know them. He’s a great guy to have in your corner, because despite being beloved by everyone, he’s especially protective and appreciative of his favorites. 

He makes time for you and Marianne despite the line of people out the door waiting to say hello to him. Elliot has his priorities set. For now. 

“So, what gives?”

The two of you sit on the stairs twenty minutes later, tucked away from the crowds but still immersed in the pounding bass and echoed laughter. Your backs rest on opposite walls, you sitting one step above him.

Partially, you came here in the first place to stand guard so randoms don’t walk upstairs (as that has happened once, where a guy in a frat down the street mistook this for his house and slept in Elliot's bed without anyone noticing him walk in). But the estrangement from the chaos is nice, and you rarely get to be with Elliot one on one without someone needing him for something, so you stay. 

Yet your conversation was going so well, lighthearted about something your other friend Sydney said to him the other day. But not anymore, as now he's looking to you expectantly for answers, answers you're not ready to give.

You frown. “What?”

Elliot gives you a pointed look. “Bear,” he deadpans as if it’s obvious, scoffing at your deflection.

All you can do is shrug, prompting him to say more.

“You go to Italy with my best friend for a week and neither of you are saying anything about it?” He throws his hand up. “What the hell happened?”

How much time does he have? Because there is a lot of ground to cover on the simplicity of what happened. What happened was you underestimated his best friend to the point where your real feelings clashed with your fake feelings and the concept of instigating something more made you experience symptoms of a heart attack.

Right. As if it’s easy.

So you settle for the safe response.

“Nothing…happened.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Try and convince me next time.”

You rolls your eyes and dismiss his comment by taking a sip of your drink. The tequila feels stronger than before, now that you have the partial liquid courage to spill the truth. 

To your knowledge, your friends don’t know about your arrangement, or at least you don't think they know. Sometimes you and Rafe wouldn’t be subtle with your lingering touches and glances at parties, sometimes disappearing together for about ten minutes and coming back as if nothing happened, sometimes your bickering banter would turn flirty with toothy grins and prolonged eye contact. 

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if they figured it out. But it’s not like it’s happening anymore. 

“Clearly something happened,” he sing-songs, taking a sip of his drink, almost instigating you. "You're sulking."

You're not falling for it. "Well, it already seems like you know."

He narrows his eyes. "I may know...some things." Then he adds quickly, "Why? What do you know?"

"Elliot."

"Bear. We can play this game all night."

You let out a sigh so gutturally deep that it elongates the silence between you.

Based on the faux quizzical brow and the slightly knowing gleam in his eye, Rafe must've told Elliot the bare minimum of the story, probably eager to hear your side of the coin and play his favorite role: therapist. This wouldn't be the first time you've lamented to him about your problems, and vice versa.

But this is different. This is his best friend. Rafe and Elliot. Elliot and Rafe. Conjoined at the hip since freshmen year when they were randomly assigned roommates. Under any circumstance, it feels wrong to essentially shit-talk that person's best friend, regardless if you need to get it off your chest or not.

You can't. Not right now.

So instead, you opt for a simple shake of your head, wordlessly pleading for him to drop it.

For a moment, Elliot secedes begrudgingly, but also with understanding. The two of you sit in your manual silence, quietly sipping your drinks and letting the attempt to story-tell sit idly in the air. Frankly, you'd love to get his input, but you already know what he'll say to you, what he'll suggest you do.

And right now, you're not sure you can stomach the thought of running back into Rafe's arms, not when you're absolutely sure he wants nothing to do with you anymore.

After a moment of silence, he bites. “He told me about you two.”

Your heart skips.

Well, that confirms your earlier suspicions.

He continues quietly, more direct. “Before you went on the trip. How you’d see each other sometimes.”

Sometimes doesn’t even cut it. There’d be times you'd see each other everyday, other times you'd go a week or two with nothing. It felt like everything and nothing all at once. 

You look down at your friend, unable to find words. 

But Elliot’s always been chatty, always knows how to fill a silence. “I don’t want to know…everything,” he grimaces at the insinuation. “But I just want you two to be alright. You’re both stubborn as fuck and your miscommunication tendencies drive me insane, but you guys will figure it out. Whatever it is.”

Your mouth reacts before your mind. “Doesn’t matter what it was. I fucked it up.”

“I doubt that.”

“I do,” you say softly, dejected. “All I do is push people away.”

Elliot shrugs. “Well, that might be true. But some people need a shove.”

You snort unattractively. “What? Like you and Sydney?”

The blush that rises to his face makes him nudge you with his knee, turning away as a sheepish grin rises on his lips.

“Stop trying to change the subject. I’m charging by the hour, so get it all out now.”

You find it in yourself to chuckle, “Shut up.”

But it quickly simmers into silence, a raw ache settling in your throat at the verity of it all. There's nothing to fix, nothing to heal, minimal things to mend. Well, if anyone's good at a pep talk, it would be Elliot, and frankly the tequila feels hot in your chest, hot enough for you to talk about it only for a little bit.

Playing with the loose hem on your shirt, you avoid his awaiting eyes, heart heavy with the burden of the last few weeks. It feels like it hasn't been light in forever, hasn't been full or bright. Whenever it gets soft enough, flashes of events that happened under the Sicilian sun come to your mind at the simplest reminders: the color lilac, any mentions of red wine, whiffs of cologne that smell like his.

Sometimes when you see the same shade of blue as his eyes, it makes your heart skip.

You blink away the image of Rafe in your mind.

“It wouldn’t have worked between us anyway. He’s already seeing new people and I can’t–”

“Woah,” Elliot sits up and looks up at you in disbelief. “Where’d you hear that?”

You frown at his sudden seriousness. “Uh, I heard him Monday night with a girl in his room. Not to mention he was letting this girl at the wedding cop a feel–”

“You mean Yara?”

The name makes your heart sink. 

Last week’s mishap flashes in your mind, and the thought of Elliot knowing makes your skin crawl.

Rafe really told Elliot about her? About it all? The image of them together in the closet burns fresh in your memory, and you hate the way your skin feels like it's on fire at the reminder.

Not trusting your words, you nod, both confused and hurt. 

But instead of confirming your worst fears and indulging the horrors of your conscience, Elliot simply scoffs with a chuckle and slaps a hand to his forehead, almost in disbelief and frustration at the same time, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. 

“My god, Bear,” he all but laughs in your face. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Your face runs hot. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me."

Normally, you'd tell someone off if they blatantly called you an idiot, especially right to your face. But this is Elliot— who rarely ever bullshits anything and always speaks from the truth of his heart, no matter how brutal it may be. You know that he knows something you don't.

When you don't respond, he snorts again. "You’re an idiot. You really think he’s bumming around with other girls?”

The question makes your jaw slack. 

“Uh, yeah?”

Elliot’s mocking laugh only pisses you off further. 

You slap his leg. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

It takes him a moment to come down, for his voice to return back to normal, and he even has the audacity to wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye, taking a long, calculated sip from his beer to prolong your impatience. 

A hand raises to slap him again and he quickly stops messing around. “Elliot.”

Elliot shakes his head again in disbelief and lets out a long breath. “Alright, alright, easy.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re awfully bossy for someone who was literally sulking two minutes ago.”

You raise a hand to slap his leg again, and Elliot wheezes a laugh.

“I yield,” he jests. “I can confirm the Monday girl was Adriana, she’s a good friend of mine. She’s in his photography class and was dropping off his prints he left in lecture by accident. I know because we talked about it literally yesterday. Apparently, she’s in the same dorm as you guys.”

You reel. Photography class? Prints? 

“A lesbian, by the way,” Elliot adds pointedly. 

You hate how considerably lighter your shoulders feel, but mask the relief with a scowl. “Whatever. He still was shacking up with Yara.”

Elliot rolls his eyes so hard you can see the whites of his eyes as his lashes flutter from the intensity of it. “He was looking for you.”

You freeze, but shake it off. 

Her hand on his tie, eyes peering up to him. His hand ghosting over her bicep as if about to touch her. The mere centimeters between their bodies.

Swallowing the image, you frown with a flicker of irritation. “They were in a closet together, so he wasn’t doing a very good job.”

“No, he wasn’t,” he admits gently. “But in his defense, she told him she knew where you were. Apparently he was desperate to follow.”

Your heart skips at the thought of Rafe running around trying to find you after rejecting his proposition. Perhaps if things went differently - as in, you didn't go into that bathroom and instead went somewhere where he could find you - you can't help but wonder what he would've said to you. If he would've apologized for alarming you, or telling you it was a prank, or whatever else he might've done.

But that's a fairytale. It isn't what happened.

"You didn't see them," you say quietly before you can take it back, hating how jealous it makes you seem. "They were-

“He pulled away the moment he could think straight. Said it felt wrong.”

That makes your chest pull. 

“What felt wrong?” You whisper brokenly. 

Elliot shrugs, as if he’s not saying the most heartwrenching antidote. “She wasn’t you.”

I want you.

The words echo in your head, the same words that have been playing on repeat on the back burner of your mind, words that have plagued you because you thought them to be deceitful. They only make your chest ache at the reminder of what happened right after, hearing the words while seeing the image of the two of them together in that closet. The two separate images contradicted each other so heavily, only made the sting of it all worse. 

Only you.

But now it’s different, hearing the side of his story from his closest friend makes all of the pain fade away.

Why would Rafe lie to his best friend?

“For Rafe, it’s different with you,” Elliot says, quieter but firm. “Before he told me you were fucking, he found ways to talk about you, like, all the time. Obviously it didn’t take long for me to put two and two together, but I figured I’d wait for him to tell me.” Then he grins up at you. “Believe me when I say all the time. It was actually infuriating. He even found a way to bring you up during Fortnite, once.”

You manage a ragged laugh. 

Because the anecdote nearly kills you.

You think back to all that time spent silently pining over him, waiting to express your blatant admiration for him until you were both under cotton sheets and able to indulge in vulnerability without any alarm bells ringing. You remember all of the parties you went to and spent a considerable amount of time stealing glances of him across the room, hoping your selfish looks weren’t too obvious. You think about all that time you spent thinking he’d never feel the same about you, about anyone, ever.

“But,” Elliot adds cautiously, more seriously, “we both know how he feels about you. So all that’s left is how you feel.”

Oh, how you want to punch him.

Leave it to Elliot to worm his way into the conversation to gradually get to the real juicy details. He does this: loosens you up, gets you laughing, then hits the million dollar question that, really, is unavoidable. He’s good. 

“I can’t,” is all you say. 

Obviously, Elliot doesn’t allow that. “You can’t what?”

There’s a million answers to that question. “I can’t be who he wants.”

“And what does he want?”

I want you.

You groan. 

Only you. 

There’s no way you can put that into words. “I’m not the kind of person people date, Elliot. I don’t turn heads or make jaws drop. I’m the person you fuck when you’re a little drunk and bored, that’s all. I can’t do more than that. That's all I know.”

“Well, I would argue not,” Elliot responds. “Dating doesn’t exist on this cookie-cutter template, which is what you’re making it out to seem like. Sure, chemistry in bed obviously helps, which you have, yuck–”

You roll your eyes.

“—but it coexists in everything else.” He takes a sip of his drink, calculating his next words. “Rafe told me you guys went on a date.”

Your cheeks flush at the memory, how nice it was, how easy the conversation felt despite dipping into personal territory, how handsome he looked in the moon and candle light, how perfect he was later in bed. It makes you flush.

You cover it with a cough.

“It was for show. It was my birthday and he wanted to impress my nonna.”

“Was your nonna there too?”

Words die in your throat. 

“Well, no–”

“So?” Elliot looks like he’s seconds away from crashing out. “What gives? You’ve been on dates, you hang out all the time–”

“—With other people—”

“Sure, but you’re still in the same room. You bicker like an old married couple and always have to play together in pong. You guys are friends... who like to fuck. Dating is all of that.” Elliot then smacks his lips. “Well, plus the exclusiveness. But everyone basically knows, anyway.”

You hate how easy he makes it sound, as if the days and weeks of doubt meant nothing.

Although as much as you want to keep arguing, keep defending your case, you're getting tired. Your heart fucking aches.

All you can think about when you go to bed nowadays is how much you miss being in his arms, miss his sweet praises and how his hands roam all over your body, practically owning it at this point. The singularity, the possessiveness, it makes you both ache and quiver, the feelings pushing and pulling like a phantom ache in your heart. 

“No one has ever wanted me like this.” Your voice wavers. “It scares the shit out of me.”

Elliot frowns. “If you felt nothing for him, it wouldn’t scare you.”

You straighten your posture. 

The urge to detach yourself from the situation is strong, but the compulsion to run to him is stronger now that you know the truth, the real truth, and can only hope that his offer still stands, can only hope that a meek apology will be enough for him to come out of his radio silent hole. 

Elliot senses your brain clicking its gears into place, a suppressed smile failing to be subtle. "You getting it now?"

You look to him, brows furrowed and eyes glossed with worry. "How can he even forgive me? I-I- He was nothing but nice to me and I..."

Trailing off, your heart pounds as your mind races. The whole trip, Rafe was more than accommodating to fit the role you needed him to fill, even going above and beyond to make sure you had what you needed in times where you were rendered speechless. He bought you a plethora of beautiful things that he absolutely didn't need to do. He checked in on you when you shut down and tried to shield you from the horror that is your family.

I want you.

And you pushed him away. You told him that you didn't feel the same, that you could never feel the same, hoping that would be enough to deter him. But, no, he came back time and time again, and helped you when you needed it the most. He didn't need to. He didn't have to. But he did.

Only you.

"I'm sure if you just talk to him," he says slowly, as if he's on the verge of crashing out, "everything will make sense."

“Is he coming tonight?” You try really hard not to sound desperate, heart pounding.

But Elliot sees right through you, grinning and shaking his head. “He’s in his room. I think he’s the only one on campus with an exam tomorrow morning.”

It doesn’t matter. He could be in another state and frankly you think you'd still find a way to see him. 

“Go.” 

Panic rises like bile in your throat. “But what if he doesn’t–”

“He does,” Elliot reassures gently. Then, he nods towards the door. “Go.”

That green light is more than convincing, rising to your feet on wobbly legs as you clumsily step over his body, barely hearing Elliot’s whoops behind you over the sound of your bass-thumping heart beat.

You have no plan. No onset motion of what you’re going to say to him besides an apology. No guarantee that he still feels the same way or would even want you anymore. No idea how the interaction will go.

But, for once, the excitement outweighs the fear. And for you, that’s more than enough reason to listen to your gut, to go get him.

Without hesitation, a glance to your friends, or your jacket, you race out of his house and into the cold.

Ready to make it right.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes next chapter is the last one LMFAO sorry for the blue balls.

[chronicowboy]

Eddie calls Chris after the kitchen incident. Buck locks himself away in his room, and Eddie can't blame him for it really. Wishes he had a door he could close on himself. Wishes he could pack it all away into one room and let it drown him. Just for a little while. But he doesn't. Because this isn't his house anymore. It hasn't been for a while.

Instead, he sits on the couch in the dark, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, and he tries to pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong. Like he doesn't know. Like he didn't walk into the kitchen itching for it. Wanting to feel something, anything but the grief and the guilt and the desolate helplessness he hasn't been able to escape since the call came in.

He'd just wanted—and maybe it was unfair, but Bobby was gone, so what the fuck was fair?—he'd just wanted Buck to hold him. To ask him what it was like finding out over the phone, so Eddie could fall apart. And Buck would pick up his pieces and stitch them all back together. Fix it the way he always fixes things. And then Eddie would have been solid enough to do the same for Buck.

But no. The blunt, bludgeoning stones of their grief had caught each other, sparking in the charged air of the kitchen and catching light. Neither of them stood a chance.

Eddie sighs. Scrubs a rough hand down his face. Glances back at the hallway. He could get up, go knock on Buck's door and say he's sorry, say they can figure this out together. He could. Except Eddie's not sure he can. He's not sure he knows how to fix this. Can it even be fixed? They lost Bobby. And instead of finding comfort in shared grief, they used the sharp edge of it to sever their bond, rip a chasm in the ground between them.

He doesn't know how to fix this, and for once, he thinks Buck has no idea either.

Eddie catches sight of the time on his watch, curses as he lunges for his phone on the coffee table. It's an hour past the time he normally calls Christopher to check-in. Fuck. He can only hope his parents haven't herded Chris up to bed yet. He hits the call button and brings it up to his ear, leg bouncing as he waits for—

"Hey, Dad." His voice is so soft, so steady it brings tears to Eddie's eyes almost instantly. He squeezes his eyes shut, screws up his face, takes a deep breath.

"Hey, Chris." His voice, however, is rough and trembling, broken.

"You okay?" Chris asks, sweet baby, Eddie wishes he was here, wishes he could send Chris down the hall to knock on Buck's door and give him the hug Eddie so wishes he was gentle enough to offer. But no, his hands were made for pushing and shoving and hurting.

"Eh." Eddie laughs wetly. "Been better, kid."

"Want to talk about it?" God. Yeah. Yeah, he does. Except, this is another thing he's not sure he knows how to do. Doesn't know how he ended up on this couch alone in the dark and desperate for something he can't even put a name to.

"I messed up." He sighs, sniffs, shakes his head. "I really messed up with Buck, bud."

"He'll forgive you." And it's immediate. So goddamn sure. There's a faith to it that Eddie thinks he's never felt in his whole life. If he was standing, it would have brought him to his knees. "What happened?"

"I told Hen I finally got hired by EPFD, and she told Chimney, and Chimney told Ravi, and he let it slip to Buck before I had chance to tell him." Eddie should have known. A family of fucking loose lips. "He was hurt, and then he brought Bobby into it, and I just... Snapped." He huffs out a breath, bites down on the lump in his throat, lets it bleed bitter guilt down his esophagus.

And that was it really. That was why it had taken him two weeks to book a planet ticket. Because he couldn't face coming home—back to LA—just to look in the eyes of the people who were there. He knew he'd find no blame there, but still. He wondered if somewhere inside themselves they'd think he didn't deserve his grief half as much as they did because he was the one who left.

He'd hoped when he got to the airport, when Buck had got him home, when all was said and done, Buck would read the guilt on him plain as day. Would wrap him up and tell him that it was okay, that he was allowed to feel it, that this grief was theirs, and they'd shoulder it together. But Buck had been bouncing around houses carrying out psych evals and holding himself together with that shitty off-brand tape that never stays down at the corners. And Eddie's hands were only made for breaking, so what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

"I don't know how to fix this, Chris." Eddie bites at his lip, sits back, looks up at the ceiling to stop the tears from rolling. "I wish you were here. I think you'd be able to fix him with just a hug."

The silence that comes down the line has Eddie's heart leaping. He's pushed too far. Too soon. This is still the city he left. Still the house Eddie tarnished forever.

"Actually, I've been thinking..." Christopher clears his throat and gets quiet in that mousy way that means he's not quite sure how to say it. "I thought, maybe, maybe I could come home?"

And Chris starts rambling about how Buck and Eddie need him and how he misses Bobby and everyone else and how he'd like to see them again, but Eddie's back on the floor of his bedroom with a hand pressed over his mouth, choking on silent sobs.

Home.

"And I know you're pretty broke right now and plane tickets are super expensive and you'd never let me fly on my own but—"

"Chris," he croaks. Christopher's mouth snaps shut. "Chris, do you mean it?"

"Yeah, Dad. You were there for me when Buck was in his coma. Now, I want to be there for Buck now Bobby's—gone."

"God, kid, what the hell did we do to deserve you?"

"Beats me," Chris mumbles cheekily. Eddie barks a laugh.

"I love you, you know that?"

"I love you too."

God. He's never gonna get used to that.

"Pepa's still visiting Abuela, right?" Chris hums in assent. "Right, okay, so I-I'll call her and see if she wouldn't mind flying home with you tomorrow and then I'll book you tickets and we'll figure it out, okay?"

"The three of us will figure it out," Chris tells him. And somehow Eddie knows that he's not talking about Pepa.

[lieslab]

Right now, I wish you were here with me

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Summary: After an argument, your boyfriend assumes you left for good.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Honestly, I really wanted to write more for this request, but every time I tried to write certain scenes, I felt so sad. I think we've all seen clips of Han when he's not feeling the best and that makes me want to cry. It turns out, I feel like a horrible person when I try to write sad Han. I'm afraid this is as good as you're going to get until I figure out how to wrangle my emotions 🥲 (I am so sorry)

_ _ _

Tucked between the ventricles of Han’s heart, he always feared losing you. Without you, there would be no him. When he fell in love, it happened so quickly. So fast, he didn’t know how to live without you. He wasn’t just fond of you, it was much deeper than that. Nobody would know him without knowing you. 

Last night’s argument shattered his heart. The two of you were exhausted in your own different ways. At the company building, he’d been dancing his heart out and recording like crazy. On the other hand, you had been staying over later and later for work. Not because you wanted to, but because your boss requested you to work some overtime. 

Exhausted and tired, neither of you felt good lately. The time shared between the two of you, it became limited. Date nights fell away. The space the two of you carved out for one another, it became harder and harder to keep. 

Meals for two shifted into meals for one. You ate cold leftovers at your job. Han grabbed something warm from the building’s canteen. Meals were eaten between tasks and with bleary eyes. Hung heads. Pulled muscles. It never ended. 

When you arrived home, both of you were exhausted. Housework felt overwhelming. It all spiraled out of control. Bodies ached. Brown eye bags morphed into a plum purple. Love between the two of you started to become secondary. 

It’s not that you hated Han Jisung and he didn’t hate you. Life was much more difficult when life tugged you in two different directions. Instead of making your relationship work properly, the two of you were barely coasting along. 

Your days off consisted of housework. Sometimes Han was called back into the studio for one reason, or another. Occasionally, your boss called and seeked your input on something back in the office. 

So where did the two of you find time for each other outside of that? You still loved one another. Your hands reached out in the middle of your hazy sleep. You grabbed the fabric of his shirt in the darkened room. 

After getting up from the bathroom, Han would grab your waist and tug you back in his arms, right where you belonged. His head tucked into your neck, the warmth of his breath would lull your half-asleep self back into a blissful sleep. Two bodies in harmony, but the love sprinkled between the two of you became few and far between. 

It came to a boiling point the previous night. You asked Han something. A grumbling and grumpy mess, he mumbled a response. You were already at your wits end and when he didn’t respond properly, you snapped. He angrily yelled back. Between the two of you, it rolled into something unbearable. 

Both of you separated and seeped in your own hurt. The argument tore through the elephant in the room. Maybe things were falling apart and it wasn’t meant to be. Two different people, two different directions, and if you couldn’t fix it now, you’d never be able to fix it again. 

You fell asleep first. Exhausted and curled up on the far side of the bed, Han thought he might cry. Your arms tucked around your body and you curled into yourself, clearly hurt and upset by his words from earlier. 

It stung his heart. He didn’t mean to take his anger out on you. You didn’t mean to buck heads from your exhaustion. Two people at their wits end, it didn’t bode together well. 

He cautiously slipped into the bed. He stared at you for a brief moment, longingly wanting to grab you from behind and tug you to his chest, but he didn’t. The idea of tugging you close to him and you pulling away half-asleep, he couldn’t stand it. 

Instead, he shifted around and faced the closet. His back to you, neither of you looked at the other. He sniffled and pawed at his nose with the back of his hand. Maybe tomorrow, the two of you could talk and try again. 

~ ~ ~ 

The previous evening’s argument drifted away from the haze clinging to his brain. Han reached out with shut eyes, trying to find your body and pull you closer to him. When his arm met an empty bed and cold blankets, his eyes groggily opened. “Baby?” He croaked. 

You didn’t respond. Your side of the bed sat with tangled blankets and an imprint in your pillow. Worried, he got up and glanced over at the shared bathroom. The door sat open and the room laid in darkness. 

“Babe?” He shoved himself up and sauntered out into the living room. From the halls, the living room, and the kitchen, you weren’t there.

He panicked, calling your name louder. Your usual shoes weren’t beside his. His heart hammered in his chest and he rushed back into the bedroom. With a shaky hand, he searched everywhere on your dresser. Your car keys and wallet were gone. 

You were gone and his heart burst. 

~ ~ ~ 

As you worked, you checked your phone like usual. You couldn’t help it. You were used to sneaking and responding to Han’s messages, but they never showed up. You frowned, worried that he was still upset about last night’s argument. You never met a word of it, but as time went on and he didn’t text, your worry grew stronger. 

When you could leave, you packed your stuff up quickly and hurried home. You shoved the key in the lock and twisted, trying to get inside as quickly as possible. You kicked off your shoes, nearly tripping over them in the process. 

“Jisung?” Your voice echoed throughout the living room. The TV stayed off. The kitchen didn’t buzz with the gurgle of the rice cooker. Everything felt too still. “Jisung?” 

You rushed to your shared bedroom. Your heart bloomed with worry and you shoved the door open. A human-sized ball laid with multiple blue blankets covered over their body. “Han?” 

You hurried over, grabbing the blankets and yanking them off. Beneath them, your boyfriend’s teary eyes met yours. “Why did you do that?” 

“What?” 

“Why did you leave me? I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to get upset. Please don’t break up with me.” His bottom lip trembled and it broke your heart. 

“Leave you?” You reached out, gently brushing away a fallen tear. “Baby, I’m not going to leave you. I forgot to leave you a note this morning. I was late for work and left in a rush.” 

“Huh?” 

“I must not have sent you the text earlier. I swore I texted you. I waited for a text from you all day, but you never sent me anything.” 

“I-I thought you were mad at me because of last night.” 

Your face fell and guilt sunk your heart. Strands of your hair shook as you shook your head. “No! No! No! I’m so sorry. I swear, I’m not leaving you. Last night was stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset over something so petty. I’m sorry.” 

“You're not mad at me?” 

“No. I can never be mad at you for long. You’re my biggest weakness. I thought you knew that.” You sank to your knees, so you were even with his face near the mattress. “You’ll always be a weak point for me.” 

“I thought I fucked us up forever.” 

“I’m really sorry. I’ll do better, so this won’t happen again. I shouldn’t have started a fight last night. It was so pointless.” You leaned forward, letting your lips press against the warmth of his forehead. 

His eyes fluttered shut. Love swaddled him once more. He reached out and gently grabbed your upper arm. “Lay with me?” 

You pulled away and shoved yourself onto the bed with a knee. You flopped over his body and laid beside him. He shifted, rolling over so he could face you. Your limbs tangled over one another and you gripped him tight. His faint sniffles cut through the hum of the ceiling fan. 

No matter how exhausted and tired you were, you could never give these little moments up; not even if you tried. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325

Masterlist

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[bullet-prooflove]

Mood: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis @gabsgabsvaz @fadeinsol

Summary: Jack reacts badly when you surprise him with a trip to Germany.

Companion piece to:

Tummy Tingles - Jack feels his first flush of desire since Maria's death.

Go Your Own Way - Jack struggles with his feelings for you.

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Balance - Jack reveals his feelings for you but they come with complications.

Three Days (NSFW) - Jack spends three days making you his.

Messy - John doesn't mind getting a little messy when it's with you.

Off Limits - An awkward start to the day leads Jack to make a claim on your affections.

The Go Bag - Your relationship with Jack takes a turn when you discover another go bag in his car.

Nadine - Jack's sister in law is a real piece of work.

Hawaii - Jack discovers who he really is when you book a trip to Hawaii.

Silk (NSFW) - Jack loves the sight of you in silk.

Sucker - Jack pulls out all the stops in order to win an important race.

Boston - You reflect on the past after your ex-husband makes an appearance on a trying day.

This God Damn Fucking Day - Jack steps into the fray with things get messy between you and you ex-husband.

Misdemeanour - Jack's forced to step in when you get arrested because of your ex-husband.

Fishtail - Jack helps you decompress in the aftermath of your ex-husband.

Love Language (NSFW) - Jack has his own unique love language.

What Puts You On That Ledge - Jack finds away to pull you off that ledge.

Champagne Gold (NSFW) - Jack never thought he'd marry again.

Masochist - You and Jack have an indepth understanding of one another.

Seven Shades of Fucked Up (NSFW) - You know exactly how to get Jack off.

Part of the Job - Violence has always been part of the job, but this time it hits a little too close to home for Jack.

Pittfest - Jack's day turns into a nightmare when he recieves a notification from the hospital regarding a mass casuality event.

Snapband - Jack's worst fear comes true during a mass casuality event.

Blood (NSFW) - Jack takes care of you in the aftermath of Pittfest in his own special way.

Life Raft - Jack reaches out when he sees that you're struggling.

Bread - Jack finds his own way to cope with almost losing you at Pittfest.

Overcompensating - A problem with Jack's prosthetic leads him to overcompensate during his shift.

Good Boy (NSFW) - You use alternative methods to get Jack to agree to take care of himself.

A Goddamn Miracle Worker - You always know the perfect way to take care of Jack.

Jack’s in a mood. He’s been in a mood ever since you woke him up and told him you need to get your asses to the airport because you’re flying to Ottobock’s clinic in Munich to get his new prosthetic leg fitted. He sits in the window seat of the plane, his arms crossed over his chest with a pout on his features that reminds of the early days of your relationship, when you thought your colleague hated you.

“You shouldn’t have surprised me like this.” He informs you, shoulders drawn up as he stares at the back of the seat in front of him. “I’m serious, you shouldn’t have-”

“I’m not apologising for solving a problem that is literally effecting your day to day existence.” You inform him as you flick through the magazine you picked up in the airport. “So suck it up buttercup, this is happening.”

“It’s not fair of you to use your connections like this when there are hundreds of people ahead of me on the waiting list. Why is my need greater than theirs?” He argues and you toss the magazine into the empty seat next to you before you turn to face him.

“Because your current leg is slowing you down Jack. You know it and I know it.” You erupt, gesturing at the space where his prosthetic resides as months of frustration seeps out of you. “There’s going to come a time when it fails you, when you can’t get to that patient quick enough or you can’t do what you need to do and that is going to haunt you, it’s going to eat you up from the inside out and I do not want that! I don’t want you blaming yourself for a faulty piece of equipment that should have been replaced months ago!”

“It’s still not right.” He grumbles, collapsing back into his seat with a huff and staring out the window. "I don't deserve special treatment."

“Well you can spent the next nine hours being super mad about it or you can lift the armrest and we can nap together so we’re fresh when we get to the other side.” You inform him, removing your headphones and sleep mask from your carry on.

His jaw clenches, the corded muscles in his throat prominent as he swallows hard, his gaze fixed on the clouds outside.

“I don’t need a nap.” He tells you putting his elbow on the armrest, keeping it firmly in place. It feels like a slap in the fucking face, just like he intended.

“Fine you wanna be an asshole, be an asshole.” You say, jamming your headphones into your ears. “I’ll still be here when you decide not to be.”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[roanofarcc]

MEDDLING KIDS

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader (requested)

summary: when your fellow thunderbolts find out you have a crush on yelena, they make it their mission to tease you about it (and maybe help you out a little along the way too)

warnings: some self-depricating thoughts from reader; crushes and meddling teammates; bucky is team mom

word count. 2.1k || masterlist

It started out as admiration, a simple feeling of awe for Yelena Belova. She was awe-worthy, an ex-window with skills and strength to take down attackers, a natural leader with a dry sense of humor, and a secret softie with an urge to protect those she cared for - whether they were a grown man or a rescued guinea pig. 

Somewhere along the way, as the team formed and moved into the Watchtower, your admiration shifted into something else. You found yourself growing affection toward the blonde, laughing at her jokes that weren’t even that funny, offering to help her with errands to simply be around her, and stuttering when she tossed out the occasional compliment. It was a disaster waiting to happen, you knew that much. 

A crush was one thing, but having one on your roommates/teammates was another. Yelena was hard to read and was so focused on the team that she hardly talked or did anything else. You doubted she time to entertain your feelings. And you doubted she felt the same way.

You were too in your head about it; you knew that. But it was hard not to be when you were constantly around her with a complicated back and forth of your crush and self-doubt. 

“You’re doing it again,” Ava said, eyeing you from across the kitchen table. She begrudgingly enjoyed a breakfast made by Walker, stabbing her eggs with a roll of her eyes as he served you and her plates with a cocky grin. 

���What?” you asked, averting your gaze down onto your plate. 

“Staring like a love-sick school girl,” Ava replied. “And before you try to deny it, don’t.” 

You closed your mouth, swallowing your objection as you sank back in your seat. Walker took a seat at the table, everyone else having already eaten earlier. “Are you talking about her crush on Yelena?” he asked. 

“Oh, my God. Say it louder. I don’t think they heard you in Jersey!” you snapped and buried your head in your hands, mortified. Your crush on Yelena was supposed to remain between you and your mind, no one else. But your new teammates prided themselves on being nosy. Okay, and maybe you weren't the most subtle. Still, they could’ve done you the favor of staying quiet about it. 

Walker laughed. “Come on, it’s kind of obvious. Even Bucky’s mentioned it, and he ignores us most of the time.” 

“I’m going to throw myself off the balcony,” you muttered, sinking lower in your seat. 

Ava even smiled, and you momentarily wished for her and Walker’s bickering over the current topic of conversation. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just Yelena, not a shark. I don’t think she’ll bite, unless you ask her to.” 

“I’m not asking her anything,” you hissed, glaring at the two. “This is not one of those crushes where you admit it to the other person, okay?!” 

Ava furrowed her brows. “You have crushes where you don’t tell the person how you feel? What’s the point?” 

It was Walker’s turn to be confused. “You tell people you have a crush on them?” Ava nodded like that was a super easy and normal thing. “That’s crazy.” 

“What do you do about it, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” Walker replied with a shrug.

You gestured to him. “See! Exactly. I’ll do nothing, and eventually it’ll go away.” 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I expected this kind of emotional constipation from Walker, but not from you. But if you want to die alone, be my guest.” 

The heavy footsteps from combat boots sounded, pulling your, Ava, and Walker’s attention. Much to their humor and your horror, Yelena strode in with her training bag slung over her shoulder and hair tousled from her session. You busied your hands with your mug of coffee and tried to ignore the heat that flooded your face. 

“Who is dying alone?” Yelena asked, dropping her bag on the floor beside the counter and pouring herself a mug of coffee. 

Ava and Walker exchanged glances with you, then with each other. Before you could get ahead of whatever they were about to say, Ava shrugged Yelena’s question off coolly. “Doesn’t everyone?” 

Yelena raised her brows, biting into a piece of toast that Walker had left on a plate on the counter. “Wow, that’s a cheery morning conversation. Do I need to call Bucky and have him up your time at therapy, because I can totally do that.” 

Ava glared playfully at the blonde before phasing beside her, plucking the piece of toast from her grasp, then phasing back into her seat. 

“You bitch,” Yelena said with a grin. 

You thought the conversation would turn onto something else, maybe a new mission or something unrelated to you and your feelings. But you had missed the mischievous glint in Walker’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair and looked around the group. 

“You know how Alexei’s been hounding us for a movie night?” he said, oddly and out of the blue. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ava said, stretching out the last word suspiciously. “Walker and I were thinking about it, and we…well, we kind of feel bad for shutting him down every time.” 

Yelena looked surprised. “You two feel bad about rejecting movie night? Do you have fevers?” 

“No, we just, we’re trying to be more of…” Ava glanced at you, a stupid smile playing on her lips. “Team players.” 

“Yeah,” Walker added, sharing a similar look. “A movie night won’t kill us.” 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, trying to figure out what the hell they were up to. 

“How about you?” Yelena asked, drawing your attention. 

Under the table, Ava kicked your shin hard. You bit your lip and nodded before finding your voice. “S-Sure. That sounds fun.” 

With a shrug, Yelena agreed. “All right. I’ll tell Alexei movie night’s on tonight.” She left the kitchen, focus drawn to her phone as she texted her dad, who had probably forced his way into a morning jog with Bucky. Once she was out of the room and earshot, you glared daggers at the two at the table. 

“What was that?” 

They just smiled, gathered their dishes from their downed breakfast, and left. 

“Uh, where is everyone?” You entered the living room dressed in your pajamas and carrying a blanket. You expected to see the rest of your team arguing over seats or popcorn bowls, but the only person there was Yelena, seated in the middle of the sofa with a large bowl of popcorn in her lap and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

She shrugged, tapping on her phone. Her brows furrowed as she read something on the screen. “Those little assholes all bailed,” she said. 

You mentally cursed at Ava and Walker and started forming some kind of plan to get back at them. “All of them? This was Alexei’s plan, and Bob doesn’t even like to leave the tower.” 

“I know,” Yelena hummed. “But I guess something came up.” She seemed much more indifferent about the team bailing than you, but that was likely due to the fact that you knew Ava and Walker had set you up to be alone with Yelena. How they got the others to agree, you had no idea, but they had. 

You shifted from one foot to another, toying with the blanket in your hand. “Well, I guess movie night’s off then.” 

Yelena looked at you oddly. “Why?” 

“Because no one’s here?” 

She pointed to herself, then at you. “Are we not here?” You rolled your eyes in response, and she smirked. “Come on! That means we don’t have to fight with everyone to pick a movie.” She patted the spot on the couch directly next to her before starting to flip through movie options on the screen. 

Ignoring the quickening of your heartbeat at being alone with Yelena without at least one team member there to prevent any awareness you may cause, you joined her, leaving a good amount of space between the two of you. 

You two settled on a movie rather quickly, and Yelena placed the popcorn bowl in the space between you. For a while, you sat in silence and focused on the film. You tried to ignore the little voice in your head that was in override at your current situation. If you didn’t want things to be weird, you had to bury your crush. Yelena was your friend, your teammate, that was all. 

It wasn’t until the movie was nearly over that Yelena broke the silence. “Are you okay?” 

You looked at her, slightly startled by the question. “Yeah. Why?” 

She shrugged, eyes focused on the screen. “You’ve seemed weird lately.” 

“Oh,” you said quietly. Have you been weird? Around Yelena, maybe. You know you didn’t interact with her as much as you had when you first met, but you didn’t think she’d notice. 

“I guess I should have asked you if you even wanted to watch a movie, huh? I’m not always the best at that. Blame my dad for that.” 

You studied the side of her face, gently illuminated by the glow of TV. Your chest ached; your feelings bubbled against your will. With a sigh, you shook your head and forced yourself to focus on anything else. 

“No, I wanted to,” you said. 

It was her turn to look at you. You felt her eyes and couldn’t help but meet them. A small smile rested on her lips as she moved the empty popcorn bowl onto the coffee table before scooting closer to you. There was still a space between you, a friendly space, but your heart beat faster anyway. 

“Good,” she said, snatching half of your blanket from your lap and tossing it over her legs as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “If I’m being honest, I was kind of glad everyone bailed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do like those assholes. I really do. But I felt like we hadn’t gotten a chance to, you know, hang out.” 

“You wanted to hang out with me?” The words slipped out before you could even think about it. You had a hard time understanding why Yelena would want to hang out with just you. It wasn’t that you didn’t think you two were friends, but you assumed you were just the kind of friends that exist in a group. 

She stared at you like you had said the most insane thing. “Duh? You are…nice.” 

The softness in her tone unfurled some of the tension and nervousness in your body. “I think you’re nice too.” 

“The others can be nice, but with you I am…I don’t know…comfortable.” She paused as her words sank into you, sending your mind into a whirlwind of confusion. Then, she laughed, deep and raspy. “Sorry, that sounds crazy.” 

“No,” you said quickly. “It doesn’t.” 

Yelena held your gaze for a moment longer before she dragged her eyes back onto the screen. You did the same, a dizzy feeling comfortably wrapping its way around your head. Her words were the only thing you thought about as you began to doze off on the couch, mind filled with her pretty smile and intense gaze. 

Tip-toeing into the tower’s living room, Ava and Walker led the charge. They stopped, peaking around the wall that held the TV. 

“I told you,” Ava whispered, digging her elbow into Walker’s side. 

He wanted to retort with a snarky comment, but refrained, smiling fondly at the sight in front of them. 

Even Alexei managed to stay quiet as he fumbled for his cell phone and held it up. “Oh, this is getting framed for New Avengerz Christmas card,” he said in the quietest voice they’d ever heard from him. He snapped a photo, almost giddy. 

On the couch, with a movie long since over, you and Yelena slept sharing a blanket, your head resting on her shoulder, and her arm draped lazily around you.

The sight was sugary sweet, even enough for Bucky to crack a smile. 

“They look so cozy,” Bob whispered.

Alexei tossed an arm around Bob’s shoulders, causing him to tense up momentarily before relaxing. “That, my boy, is young love.” 

Bucky chuckled softly. “All right, let’s not push it. And-” he looked pointedly between Ava and Walker. “Less meddling, okay?” 

With a roll of her eyes, Ava replied, “Yes, mom.” 

The group broke apart, leaving you and Yelena to spend the rest of the night sleeping together on the couch. 

As they made their way toward their bedroom, Walker knocked his shoulder with Ava’s. “We’re not actually stopping meddling to get them together, right?” 

She eyed him, smirking lightly. “Not a chance.”

[loucifersbitch]

when the levee breaks bucktommy | G | 1.5k | warnings: MCD

It hits him out of nowhere on a random Wednesday in June.

Bobby is gone. He's really gone forever. Buck is never going to see him again. Never talk to him, never share another meal, never hug him. Nothing ever again.

Buck is walking home from the grocery store on a random Wednesday in June when his knees buckle and he nearly goes down. He braces his forearm on the facade of the nearest store, eventually pulling himself into an alley before any of the pedestrians near him feel the urge to call 9-1-1. It's not an ideal place to have a breakdown, but it's what he's got right now.

Setting down his bags of groceries - carefully because he bought eggs - he leans his full bodyweight against the sturdy wall, trying to hold back the tears prickling behind his eyes. This couldn't happen when he was home by himself? Breaking down in public is not exactly what he had in mind for his day off.

He clutches at his chest, grasping his shirt with one hand while his other goes for his phone. Who's he even supposed to call though? Maddie and Chim are busy surviving the newborn stage, Hen and Karen have taken their kids on a roadtrip through California, Eddie is at the beach with Chris. He's not calling Athena, that's for damn sure. He gasps as a sob tries to work its way out. He needs to get out of here. He has to get home somehow and quickly. He needs -

"Evan?"

At the gentle tone, Buck takes a shuddery breath, looking toward the entrance of the alley to see Tommy. He's clearly trying to make himself smaller and unassuming. Buck knows the breadth and width of him intimately.

"Are you okay?"

He's not. Not even a little. But that's not Tommy's problem. Buck is always too much, too loud, too impulsive, too clingy, too…Buck. Tommy shouldn't have to deal with that.

"I -" his voice cracks.

A sob breaks through. Then another and another, and soon he's fully crying, breaking down like he hasn't since the night Bobby died. The night Bobby told him he loved him, that he'd be okay, that the team were going to need him.

Except they didn't. They didn't need him. They don't need him. And he's not okay. Nothing is okay, and it never will be again because Bobby fucking died. Bobby left him here to just…what? Go on with life? Keep going every day like there's not a giant Bobby-shaped hole everywhere he looks? Somehow keep living even when everything feels like it's falling apart, like he's failing everyone he loves?

"I know. I know," Tommy is saying. Had Buck said some of that out loud? "I'm so sorry, Evan. I know. It's not fair. None of it is fair. I'm sorry."

At some point, they had sunk to the ground, Tommy holding him tightly. Buck's breathing starts to even out as Tommy keeps talking, keeps holding him, holds him together at all the places he feels like he's about to break apart.

When Buck is able to breathe mostly normally again, he lifts his head from Tommy's shoulder, sniffling as he wipes at the tears left on Tommy's henley.

"Sorry about that," Buck says, embarrassed for many reasons. "I don't know why -"

"Hey," Tommy cuts in, kind but firm, "you have nothing to apologize for. I miss him, too, and I didn't think of him as a father."

"I know, I just feel silly breaking down like that on you. I should be over this by now. Not feeling so many things."

"Evan, you have the right to feel everything. Losing a parent - even someone who was a father figure - is a big deal. Especially when you're as close as you were with Bobby. Okay? You never have to be sorry for missing someone you loved."

Tommy starts to move his arms like he's going to let go, but Buck catches his hands, placing them back where they were.

"Not yet," Buck says, half joking, half serious. "Need you to hold me together a little longer."

"I can do that," Tommy smiles softly. They sit for a moment holding each other quietly before Tommy says, "You know, grief isn't linear. You don't go from one stage to the next boom, boom, boom. It's not simple or easy, and you'll probably repeat stages a few times. And that emptiness you feel? It never really goes away. That person was a part of you, and that will never change. But all the other people you love who also loved him can fill in the gaps. You'll see bits and pieces of him in other people, and sometimes that helps, sometimes it makes it worse. But the people we lose are never really gone as long as we keep them right here," Tommy finishes, pointing at Buck's chest where his heart is thumping quickly.

"Wow," Buck says after a moment, sniffling again as he tries to hold back a fresh wave of emotion, "when did you get so smart about grief?"

Tommy barks a laugh and says, "It comes free when you lose your mom as a kid and then sign up for active duty as soon as you're of legal age."

"Ah," Buck nods. "Makes sense." This is not the right time, and he knows that, but he can't help asking, "Will you come over?"

He realizes too late how that sounds when Tommy raises an eyebrow and smirks at him.

"Not like that," Buck amends. "I just want your company. And maybe we can talk?"

Tommy's face softens.

"Okay. That sounds nice actually."

They finally get up, releasing their hold on each other long enough to dust themselves off and collect Buck's groceries. Tommy grabs his hand before they exit the alley. When Buck looks down, Tommy shrugs.

"In case you still need the support," he says.

As they walk the last few blocks to Buck's house, he asks, "What are you doing on this side of town anyway?"

Tommy's shoulders tense almost imperceptibly, but Buck notices before he can come up with an excuse.

"Tommy, were you hoping to run into me?"

"No, I just - um - I like the kombucha at that froofy health store you always go to. Running into you is just a bonus."

"Uh-huh, and how often do you buy kombucha?"

Buck knows he's got him when Tommy winces.

"Two, maybe three times a week. Sometimes four."

"Tommy," Buck laughs, "you could've just called."

"It wasn't the right time," he says, squeezing Buck's hand. "It didn't feel right to ask about us when you were going through something life-changing."

"Mm, you have a point." Buck squints in the afternoon sunlight, but looks at Tommy seriously when he says, "But I had already decided I want to be with you before Bobby died. That hasn't changed."

He isn't expecting Tommy to stop in his tracks, or to turn toward him and kiss him, surprising him like he did the first time they kissed. It's just as soft and sweet as that first time, but now it's familiar too.

"What was that for?" he asks when they pull apart.

Tommy starts walking again, dragging Buck along.

"I love you," Tommy says, nonchalant, like he didn't just empty Buck's brain and then make him trip over his own feet.

"I - I'm sorry. What?"

"I said, 'I love you,'" he repeats, eyes sparkling mischievously when he looks back. "I figure there's no point in not saying it. You should know. Even though I think you already do." He looks at Buck pointedly, and Buck nods because he does. He does know. "So I thought I should say it."

They continue walking, and Buck's house comes into view.

"I love you, too," he says. "You should know I love you, too."

"I do," he squeezes Buck's hand again.

"Is there anything you don't know?" Buck laughs.

"Hm," Tommy hums, thinking. They reach the front door, and while Buck grabs for his keys, Tommy says, "I guess there's one thing I don't know yet."

"Oh? What's that?" Buck asks as he opens the door, stepping through.

The house is a little messy. Buck knows he needs to pull himself out of his funk and do some laundry and sweep soon, but that can wait for a moment.

Tommy hangs back, not crossing the threshold.

"Tommy?" Buck prompts. "What don't you know?"

Seeming to steel himself, Tommy huffs.

"What I don't know is, do you want me to stay just for some company? Or do you want me to stay…longer?"

He looks nervous, and it's understandable. Buck doesn't let him stew for long. He reaches out a hand, hoping Tommy will take it and step through the doorway. There's a moment when Buck feels a pit open in his stomach.

Then Tommy takes his hand and steps inside, steps into the mess with Buck.

"I want you to stay forever."

[straw-berrysoju]

STUDY BREAK (18+)

Synopsis: A late-night study session with your sexy, sharp-tongued study partner turns into a game of control when he quizzes you with pop questions, punishing wrong answers with teasing touches and threats. What was supposed to be studying quickly becomes an erotic lesson in submission and power.

Themes: study partners, college setting, psychology majors, study sessions turning into intimate encounters, power play, teasing and edging, control and submission, sexual tension, public risk, control, obedience

Pairing: seungcheol x female reader (both psychology majors)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, power imbalances, public setting (library), oral sex, fingering, edging and orgasm control

Word count: 1920

Minors dni!

_______________________________________________________

It’s close to midnight when Seungcheol finally shows up.

He’s ten minutes late, again, with his hoodie pulled low and his hair still damp from a shower. You pretend you don’t notice the way he smells—like soap and warm skin and something a little too clean for the things running through your head.

“You already started without me?” he asks, throwing his bag on the chair across from mine.

“You were late,” you say flatly, not looking up.

He laughs, the deep kind that vibrates low in his throat. “Someone’s cranky.”

“I’m focused.”

“Mm. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

The words are offhand, but his gaze lingers. There’s something about the way he says it—how casual his voice is while his eyes roam over you like he already knows what’s going to happen.

You cross your legs under the table, gripping your pen a little tighter.

He takes his seat. You start reviewing. At first, it’s normal—terms, definitions, case studies. But then…

“Define operant conditioning,” he says, leaning in just slightly.

“Reinforcement or punishment used to increase or decrease a behavior,” you reply automatically.

“Good girl.”

You freeze.

He says it so softly you're not sure you heard him right. But when you glance up, he’s looking at you—really looking.

“You—what did you just say?”

Seungcheol smiles. “Just giving feedback. Positive reinforcement.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Call you a good girl?” His voice drops. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s distracting.”

“Interesting,” he says, folding his arms behind his head. “Because it looked like you liked it.”

Your pulse kicks up. The room is too quiet. Too private. It’s the end of the semester, and most of campus is asleep or wired on caffeine in another building. We’re in a back corner study room, half the lights off, no one walking by.

You should shut this down. You should get back to your notes. But then his foot slides under the table and touches yours. Light. Testing.

“Want to play a game?” he murmurs.

Your hand stills. Your mouth is dry. “No games. We’re behind.”

“Then let’s multitask.” His eyes flash. “For every correct answer, I reward you. For every mistake…” He smiles slowly. “You get punished.”

You know you should say no. Should roll your eyes and go back to reviewing. But your thighs are already pressing together under the table, breath catching in your throat.

You glance up. “How are you defining ‘reward’ and ‘punish’?”

His gaze drags down your face, your chest, your legs.

“Why don’t we find out?”

You swallow hard and nod once.

He leans back in his chair, arms folded, legs wide.

He smiles like he’s been waiting for this.

“Question one: What’s the difference between positive and negative reinforcement?”

You blink, recite from memory. “Positive reinforcement adds a stimulus to increase behavior. Negative reinforcement removes something to increase behavior.”

His smile deepens. “Good girl.”

The words slide under your skin like silk.

You’re not prepared for the way his foot slips under the table, brushing your calf, sliding up, slow and deliberate. You suck in a breath.

“That’s your reward,” he says. “Next.”

You barely have time to recover.

“Question two: Define punishment in behavioral terms.”

You hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. “Punishment… decreases behavior. Positive punishment adds an unpleasant stimulus. Negative removes a positive one.”

His foot presses between your legs, nudging your knees apart.

“That hesitation cost you.”

You stiffen.

He leans forward, dark eyes locked on yours. “Don’t close them. Keep your legs where I put them.”

You obey, your breath catching when his toe presses lightly against your inner thigh.

“Third question. Define fixed ratio schedule.”

You’re panting now, trying to think. “It’s… reinforcement given after a specific number of responses.”

“Correct.”

This time it’s not his foot—it’s his hand, sliding under the table, fingers skimming the bare skin just above your knee. You’re hyper aware of every brush, every shift of his knuckles.

“Shorts?” he murmurs. “Or skirt?”

You meet his gaze, throat dry. “Skirt.”

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes briefly, like he's holding himself back. “You really are trying to test me.”

His fingers drift higher.

“Fourth question. Describe the concept of learned helplessness.”

You try. You swear you try. But all you can focus on is the heat of his palm against your thigh, creeping higher, tracing the crease where your leg meets your hip.

“W–when an individual… is exposed to inescapable negative stimuli, they stop trying to escape, even when a solution is present.”

His fingers pause just short of your underwear.

“Very good,” he murmurs. “So smart.”

You’re aching. Slick between your thighs. And he hasn’t even really touched you yet.

His thumb strokes along the waistband of your panties. The featherlight touch makes your breath hitch.

“Next one,” he says. “Ready?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Name two famous behaviorists.”

“Skinner and… Watson.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, and this time he rewards you with a single, slow stroke over your clothed core. You twitch in your seat, biting your lip to keep from making a sound.

“Oh, you liked that.” His fingers repeat the motion. “You’re so wet already, baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You shift in your seat, thighs tightening. “Cheol, we can’t—”

“We can,” he cuts in, voice a command now. “No one’s coming in this late. And you’re the one begging for attention with those pretty little skirts.”

“I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off with a soft, dark laugh, leaning in. “You wore lace under that skirt to a study session. You wanted to be touched.”

Your cheeks burn. He’s right.

And when his fingers slip past the lace this time—bare skin to bare heat—you forget how to breathe.

He groans, the sound deep and quiet. “Fuck. You're soaked.”

“Cheol—”

“I told you.” He sinks a single finger in, slow and teasing. “Get the answers right, and I’ll give you what you want. Get them wrong…”

He pulls his hand away. Cold. Empty.

“…and you’ll have to beg.”

You whimper, chasing his hand instinctively.

The smirk he gives you is pure sin.

“Last question. Get this right, and I’ll make you come right here, right now.”

You stare at him, shaking slightly, thighs slick and trembling.

“Define conditioned stimulus.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. His hand hovers just above your cunt, waiting.

“One…”

You panic. “A—a previously neutral stimulus… that, after association with the unconditioned one, triggers the same response.”

His hand sinks back down. Two fingers this time. Crooked just right.

“Correct.”

And just like that, you fall to pieces—back arched, breath ragged, his name on your lips like a secret sin.

You try to stay quiet, really, you do.

But when his fingers start pumping in and out, slow and steady, curling just right, it’s impossible to keep still on his lap. Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the friction, grinding down as your thighs tremble around him.

“Fuck, you’re needy,” Seungcheol growls against your neck, voice barely above a whisper. ���Dripping all over my hand in a goddamn study room.”

You bite your bottom lip, tasting skin, trying to suppress the moan clawing its way up your throat.

His free hand grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back just enough so he can watch your face as he fucks you with his fingers. “Let them hear if you want,” he says, eyes dark. “Or be a good girl and stay quiet. Either way, you’re not leaving this chair until I feel you come.”

You dig your nails into his hoodie as your body shakes, that coil in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. Every press of his thumb against your clit sends sparks flying. You’re soaked, whimpering into his shoulder, thighs clenching around his wrist as he works you through it.

“Cheol—please—”

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be loud. Be messy.”

You do. You fall apart right there in his lap, teeth sinking into his collarbone to muffle the broken gasp that spills from your lips as your orgasm hits hard and fast, making your whole body go tense and weightless at once.

By the time you catch your breath, your panties are ruined, and his fingers are glistening.

“You made a mess,” he smirks, sucking one finger into his mouth with a filthy groan. “We’re not done.”

He doesn’t give you time to recover. Doesn’t let you fix your hair or adjust your skirt. He just grabs your bag, presses a kiss to your cheek like you’re some innocent girl he’s walking home, and guides you out of the library with his hand on your lower back like he owns you.

When you finally reach his dorm, he doesn’t even turn on the lights. He locks the door, pins you to it, and kisses you like he’s been waiting all semester to ruin you.

And he does.

He strips you slow—fingers tracing every inch of skin he uncovers like he’s studying you now—and when he finally peels your panties off completely, he brings them to his nose with a groan, then pockets them like a trophy.

“You’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice rough as he pulls his hoodie off and sinks onto the edge of his bed, jeans undone, cock thick and hard in his fist. “Nice and slow. Show me how much you really learned tonight.”

You climb onto him, thighs sore, cunt still throbbing from earlier. His hands grip your hips as you sink down, and the stretch steals your breath. He’s thick. Hot. Heavy. Every inch of him fills you up perfectly.

You start slow, bouncing gently, rolling your hips the way he taught you to move, but Seungcheol clearly has other plans.

“Not like that,” he snaps, slapping your ass. “You teased me all week wearing those short skirts. Begging for my attention in those tight little study group outfits. You don’t get to take it slow.”

He grabs your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them with one hand, while the other grabs your throat—not tight, but firm enough to make you moan.

“Now fuck me like you mean it.”

And you do.

You ride him hard, your thighs burning, tits bouncing, moans filling the dark room. His cock hits every sensitive spot, thick and perfect, dragging over your walls until you’re crying his name like a prayer.

“Touch yourself,” he growls. “Let me see how pretty you look falling apart on my cock.”

Your fingers find your clit, and with just a few messy circles, you’re unraveling again—legs shaking, cunt clenching tight around him as you come with a sharp cry.

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and then he’s flipping you onto your back, hooking your legs over his shoulders and slamming back in, fucking you deep, hard, relentless. “One more,” he pants. “Give me one more.”

Your head lolls back, brain fogged with pleasure, body wrecked and begging. “Cheol—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, biting down on your collarbone. “You will.”

You come again—shaking, sobbing, nails digging into his back as he finally lets go with a low, guttural growl, spilling inside you and holding you tight as he rides out every wave.

After, he doesn’t speak for a while.

Just pulls you into his chest, kisses your forehead, and strokes your hair as you lie tangled in the sheets, spent and dripping.

“Guess we’re doing another study session tomorrow,” he murmurs.

And the smirk in his voice makes you shiver all over again.

_______________________________________________________

Author's note: this smut may or may not have been a reaction to Scoups' met gala look. Sorry not sorry. I also may have gotten a little carried away and started writing the second part of this oneshot but I'll most probably not upload it.