#like WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE JUST WENT AND DID THAT?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY MEANT EVERYTHING TO HIM???

[hot-patootiee]

Part 2 of this. And can you tell I had issues with my ex? Like holy shit I’m having flashbacks writing this.

Nancy stands up and walks over to Eddie though, and gently pushes him towards the door.

“Go fix it.” She demands.

Eddie makes a confused sound as he is gently pushed out of the house, having to push open the door or be squished into it.

…

When Steve’s doorbell rings again, he’s getting a little annoyed.

He swings open the door and Eddie is there.

Steve begins to close the door.

Unfortunately he is forced to deal with his feelings, so Eddie puts a hand on the door and pushes it open.

“Did you think we were dating?” Eddie seems almost accusatory in his tone, which immediately annoyed Steve.

“What do you mean by ‘think’ Eddie? I asked you out, you said yes.” Steve was still trying to shut the door in Eddie’s face, but he looked more angry than sad. “Unless this is some sort of strange apology and declaration of love, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“It is! It is! Just don’t close the door.” Steve furrows his brows and lets the door swing open.

Eddie stumbles in, tripping over the entrance and nearly falling into Steve.

Steve stares at Eddie, waiting.

“I thought you were just experimenting and I’m so sorry for thinking your confession was a joke.” Eddie says sincerely, shifting slightly on his feet in discomfort.

“You think everything I do is a joke. Everyone does! Poor little Steve Harrington gets hit in the head too many times and now is incapable of a coherent thought.” Steve finishes with a self deprecating laugh. His eyes are shining and Eddie can see the rage festering in them, the resignation transforming into simmering anger.

Eddie opens his mouth to refute it, but is cut off instead.

“Was kissing me a joke too? Am I too stupid to know?” Steve moves into Eddie’s face, crowding him before pulling back suddenly. A strong gust reminds Eddie the door is open and anyone close enough could hear them.

“No, no of course not. Shouldn’t we close the door?” Eddie suggests.

“You’re the dumbass who didn’t close it. There is no we in that.” Steve sneers at Eddie’s implication at Steve being incompetent.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie murmurs, pushing the door hard and letting it swing shut. His shoulders are hunched, as if he was trying to placate Steve by making himself smaller.

“I thought you were different, I put up with everybody else calling me stupid all the time, because most of them are children, and I thought you, my boyfriend, was different. But, apparently, you think I’m too incompetent with my own feelings that you need to make the judgement for me.”

“I thought you were joking.” Eddie repeated, Steve was honestly beginning to hear the needle on the vinyl from how many times Eddie had been repeating himself.

“And when I kissed you, was I still just joking?” Steve probed.

“No, can you just let me explain for a second?” Eddie spat his words out quickly, knowing if he went slower Steve would continue to yell at him.

“No, because you’re charging in here with some half cocked apology to try to fix something, just because someone else pointed out that you should. You need to feel better, so you came over to apologize, without considering that I’ve been wallowing in my house for days because of something you did. Actually fucking apologize because you feel bad about putting me in pain, not because you want to stop being uncomfortable with your own actions.” Steve lectured, he massaged the bridge of his nose slightly in an attempt to alleviate his own frustration.

“What do you want me to do? How do I fix this?”

“Those are questions you have to answer yourself. Maybe apologize with something that screams ‘sorry for thinking our entire relationship was a joke’. If you come here with some fucking flowers or chocolate and think that that’s adequate, I will break your fucking guitar.” The wrinkles in Steve’s brow just became deeper as he threatened Eddie. His muscles trembled slightly as he reminded himself of how angry he was.

Eddie nods, looking slightly resigned.

“Oh, and your fucking behavior should change, treat me like a goddamn person. I pulled your ass out of hell, I’ve proved myself to be capable a thousand times over. Treat me like I am.” Eddie couldn’t help but focus on how Steve’s hands shook.

Eddie nods and begins to pull away from Steve, looking sad as he slowly moves to the door.

“What are you doing?” Steve looked genuinely puzzled, prompting Eddie to stop with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m leaving, I didn’t think you’d want me here.” Eddie shrugged, looking a lot like a kicked puppy as he whimpered. He then began to turn the doorknob to exit the Harrington house.

“What did I just say about making decisions for me?” Steve has his hip cocked and his hands resting on his waist in his signature annoyed mom look. Eddie freezes, unknowing of what to do.

“Come on, go to my room and wait, I just need to run the dishes.” Steve shoos Eddie, who quickly scampers up the stairs and slipped inside Steve’s room. He was unsure of what to do so he waited at the foot of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, but Steve finally pads into the room.

Steve pushes Eddie onto his back. Crawling inbetween his legs.

Eddie opens his mouth to express his confusion, but is interrupted by a firm “scooch” which spurs Eddie into backing up into the headboard. Steve follows quickly behind.

Steve tucks himself into Eddie’s collarbone. He settles easily, even though Eddie is still incredibly tense.

“Tell me the other thing you came here to say.” Steve demands.

“Oh darling I like you so much. I’ll stay with you forever, I’m so sorry for leaving.” Eddie rambles, like the floodgates holding him back had been released.

“Again?” Steve said quietly, barely louder than his breath.

“I like you a lot, Steve. I got the biggest crush on you. Never thought you’d ever like someone like me. I don’t deserve you.” Eddie ends with a damn near whimper, but Steve’s resolve didn’t change in the face of Eddie’s words.

“You’re right, you don’t. You left me and you were planning on leaving me again if I didn’t accept your apology. It’s been days and all I want is to be with my boyfriend.” Steve’s voice slowly tampered down to a whisper as he spoke.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Eddie murmured shamefully.

“Yea, no shit.” Steve snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Your formal apology better be fucking amazing.” Steve countered playfully.

“I’ll do my best.” Eddie pauses for a second. “What if it’s not good enough?”

“Then I break up with you.” Eddie deflates slightly. Steve continues though. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value me or respect me, I’ve made that mistake before.”

Eddie felt his stomach sink, but began to brainstorm on how to make it up to Steve.

Btw El and Will are making Brownies for Steve rn.

PART 3 IS HERE

Omg I’m such an ass, pt 3 coming soon if I’m harassed enough to do it.

Also, psa if you fuck up big, you need to actually show you’re sorry. Don’t apologize to make yourself feel better, apologize to make the other person feel better. Make an actual effort to not repeat your past actions. If someone doesn’t accept your apology, remember you aren’t entitled to their forgiveness. No matter how much society tries to act like you deserve it for simply apologizing.

Also if it isn’t evident, I was forced to accept a lot of apologies when I didn’t want to.

@stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

Rest of the mentions will be in the comments because fuck there is a lot of you.

[worstghost]

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

it was a weird situation that you were in, an impossible one really.

bob had confessed to you that he hadn't really kissed anyone, at least not sober. and he had this insane crush on some mystery girl and couldn't stand the thought of embarrassing himself with his lack of experience, so he never went for it.

and you, being a good friend, who happened to dream about kissing him, offered your services. you weren't a professional by any means, but he didnt need to know that.

once you pushed past his nerves and settled down on his bed, fingers twisting the tassles of his threaded blanket, you looked at him and waited for him to give you the go ahead.

let him take his time, spending it admiring his freshly washed hair and the bright flush across his cheeks. the way his eyes looked anywhere but you and then- he leaned in, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the blanket tight.

you couldn't help your smile, sliding your fingers closer and intertwining them with his as you met him in the middle.

you were careful, slow, just pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.

he let out a shaky slow breath of relief, tilting to the side and making sure the next time you came in it was a real kiss.

his boldness surprised you, but it wasn't unwelcome. you took it as a sign to keep moving, scooting ever so slightly closer and bumping his thigh with your knee.

bob jumped just slightly, pulling away until your noses touched. kissing was more fun than he remembered, not that he remembered much.

you smiled up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Wow..." he spoke so soft, breath fanning across your cheeks, mint like his toothpaste.

that made you giggle a little, biting your lip to stop it from coming out completely.

"Oh Bob. I haven't shown you anything yet."

he swallowed hard, watching you like he couldn't imagine there was anything better than what just happened.

"Here... do this." reaching for his hand, you brought it up to the side of your face, mimicking the motion yourself and brushing your thumb across his cheek.

he smiled so sweetly at you, your heart leapt. what a beautiful man.

"What?" his blush rose ever higher, hand shaking against your jaw.

did you say that out loud?

you decided to run with it, "You are, Bob. So beautiful. I thought you knew."

it felt like his room was getting infinitely warmer, your clothes too tight. keep going.

before he could respond you brought him down to your lips, it was easy, wherever your hand brought him, he followed.

this kiss was easier, more comfortable, he sighed against you and you could feel the flex of his fingers against your throat.

you held him tight, wanting to see if he'd let you show him more. your lips parted, swiping your tongue against his and he groaned.

bob immediately reciprocated, opening up for you and bringing you closer, letting your tongues meet in the middle. his free hand started wandering, sliding across your knee and settling on your thigh.

the heat radiating off of him was enough to have you panting when you pulled away.

his eyes were so dark, pupils blown, mouth dropped open in shock.

"Can you... show me more?" he was so uncertain, completely unaware of the fact that you were so fucking in love with him, the fact that you could spend the rest of your life like this and never be unsatisfied.

you didnt even respond, threading both of your hands in to his hair and sitting up taller to meet him in the middle this time.

he understood immediately and wrapped his arms around you, practically pulling you in to his lap as you connected again.

this one was messy, constant adjusting and tongues sliding against teeth and you truly wouldn't have it any other way.

bob started leaning back, it just felt natural to pull you with him, until you were straddling his thigh and moaning against his mouth.

god, his heart couldn't take this. he didn't know you'd offer to help like this. he was being hopeful when he talked about his mystery girl, hoping he could sense if you somehow reciprocated.

this was probably the best case scenario right?

even if you rejected him, he at least got this experience.

you pulled away, leaving soft kisses against his swollen lips, shushing him when he started to complain. you were confident he'd love this part, mouthing across his jaw and down his throat, scraping your teeth against his rapid pulse.

you didn't even react when his hands slid down to your ass, grabbing hard like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

the moan he let out was so soft, surprised and breathless and you wanted to hear it again and again and again so you sucked until he had hickeys down to his collar bone.

"Fuck- you're amazing..." he couldn't help the whine to his voice, embarrassed at how easily you've unraveled him.

finally, you sat up to meet his eyes again, panting and trying to get your mind back on track. this definitely went off the rails but god you couldn't have asked for a better way to spend your night. at the very least if you never speak again, you got a chance to make him feel good.

"Mm. Think I've taught you enough to ask her out?" no, you were hoping he'd ask you to stay and keep going.

bob looked shocked, biting his lip as he looked away. "There was no her... it was just you."

your smile was so big it made your cheeks hurt, "God, I was hoping you'd say that."

you didn't give him a chance to respond, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him right back in.

[allthetropes]

This utter breakdown in true literacy is becoming more and more obvious in even the comment section of AO3.

I'll be the first bitch on the block to admit, Dickens requires a degree of focus. I've a funny idea he was paid by the word. Mans goes on (and on, and on, and on). And some of the paragraphs are just WALL OF TEXT. I can see how you would struggle to concentrate on it.

But not understand? I was in uni studying to become an English Teacher in 2015. Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (cause I live in the Netherlands, though I'm a native speaker of English). We did Great Expectations in Lit1. While I reckon most of my class skipped most of the flowery, descriptive language, everybody who actually read the book understood it just fine. At the same time, native English speakers, raised in English Speaking Countries, couldn't do the same?

How many times have I seen comments on AO3 asking "what happened to x" when it was stated, very clearly in the text, what happened to x? How many times have I seen "I don't understand how we got from A to B" even though the journey from A to B was clearly marked in the text. And if it were just my fics, I'd think i was the problem, but I'm seeing it on some of the driest, most clear-cut fics in the world.

"Where did XYZ character go?" He's on holiday. Do you remember? In paragraph two, characters MNO and PQR were discussing the holiday pictures he sent from Barbados? From that you were supposed to infer XYZ was on holiday in Barbados. Not to mention 2 chapters ago, when the other characters waved him off at the airport, though I'd forgive you if you said you just forgot that bit.

"Wait, at the start of the chapter they were in the city, and then at the end they're in a cabin in the woods! You're a bad writer for your inconsistency and continuity problems!" Well you see, between the start of the chapter and the end of the chapter, the characters travelled from the city to the woods. Did you. Did you miss that? It was like 4 paragraphs about the train being late, and how the scenery changed as they got into the countryside, and the anticipation of the cabin in the woods. From that you were supposed to infer that the characters were travelling from the city to the woods. So that when they arrived in the bloody woods, you wouldn't be surprised. Because we spent time travelling there.

If a sentence reads, "The drive was long, and by the time he stepped out, the driver had time-weary lines across his forehead as he dragged himself towards the front door and put himself down on the pillow," this means nothing to them.

What they expect is, "The man stopped driving. The man was tired. The tired man got out of the car. The tired man went into the house. The tired man lay down on the bed." If they don't get the information laid out like that, their brain either skips over the information, or they can't make sense of it otherwise.

Which is how you can tell at exaaaactly what level books they stopped reading, be it because their parents stopped reading to them/enforcing them, or because they got access to electronics, or for some other reason. I remember going from picture books to short bedtime stories to Enid Blyton - but a lot of kids aren't getting to the Enid Blyton stage anymore. I know when my older brother got a PlayStation 1, the concept of reading (or art, or crafts, or drawing, or writing) went out the window for the rest of eternity, and all the Enid Blyton books he had went dusty on the shelves. Now he can't even sign his name with a pen if he doesn't practice a few times first, and 99.9% of his reading is video games and substack (and he's a huge conspiracy theorist and aspie supremacist but that may only be loosely related).

I know. English teachers are super annoying about it. "you need to read books, you need to read books" I know, you're tired hearing about it. I am begging you - begging you on my knees - to make "reading books" just a normal part of your day. I have peers who can't read anything longer than a stop sign. Do you think people who can't read more than six consecutive words are making wise financial, political, social, and health decisions?

If not for the children's sake, then for the sake of the rapidly diminishing quality of AO3 fics that have to cater to decreasing literacy rates, (...she said, knowing full well that the sanctity of AO3 will get people hauled off their asses to do anything) please keep reading.

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so many trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Peace in the Darkness (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader (ex-Black Widow)

Genre: fluff, lil bit of angst

Warnings: sickness because I've been sick this past weekend and life sucked, swearing, Bob being an anxious little bean, alluding to violence, but nothing else, really :)

Word count: 6623

All characters belong to Marvel. Also - Bob has my heart

If Bob paced any more behind Y/N’s door, he was sure to wear a track into the concrete floor.

            His hand had hovered over the panel separating him from whatever lay beyond, about twenty times in the past hour or so, yet just as his knuckles were about to meet it, he pulled back with a shake of his head and began his pacing once more.

            “I should just knock,” the man muttered to himself, blue eyes warily watching the door, hoping it would creak open without his interference, but alas, it remained as immovable as it had always been. “She’s not gonna mind. You’ve woken her up in the middle of the night before, and she wasn’t angry then. She won’t be angry with you.”

            And even still with those thoughts in his mind, Bob couldn’t get himself to do it, his anxiety overriding his motor skills.

            It wasn’t that he was incapable of action. He was. It was more so getting to the action where he faltered. His therapist, someone Bucky had helped him find, had told him even two steps forward and one step back was still a step forward.

            Like the first time he’d reached out for help after a nightmare, where he could feel the Void curling inside him, just waiting until his emotions reached a bubbling point so he could take over.

            “What did you do?” the therapist, a take-no-bullshit kind of woman, had asked. “To stop the Void from emerging?”

            Bob shrugged, knee bouncing up and down, not daring to make eye contact. “I uh – I went to Y/N. I just… I heard she was still awake and knew if the Void was gonna come out, someone had to… You know… be aware and take me – him – down.”

            “And who is Y/N?”

            Now that was a loaded question he wasn’t fully yet ready to answer, so he settled on the objective truth. “She’s my teammate. We live across the hall from one another.”

            “And how did she help?”

            “She…” Bob bit down on his lip. “She invited me inside her room and we just… talked. She had some music playing… I – I guess she helped me take my mind off it all and… stuff…”

            The woman hummed. “And why was she the first person you thought to go to when things got bad?”

            He wanted to say it was because she was the closest one to him, physically being right down the hall, that they were the only two people occupying the floor, but the truth spilt out before he could even contain it, “Because I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me. If – if I woke her up. She… she wouldn’t be upset I was there.” Because she was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to touch him, despite his powers and the Void.

            But just because she hadn’t been upset with him those few times he’d sought her out, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry with him that specific day. Otherwise, why hadn’t she stuck to her promise?

            The previous week, right before Y/N had been shipped out to Malaga on a mission, she’d promised him that once she was back, the two would go to a bookstore together, Bob’s supply already dangerously low.

            Now, though, three hours had passed from the time they’d set last night, and Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

            He’d let the first hour pass by, thinking maybe she had to catch up on some paperwork the team had to file after a mission. When hour two had come and gone, Bob had started to become anxious, but still, he told himself she was probably just resting, no doubt exhausted by the mission, and he would never be one to take away time she could be using to heal. But as hour three had started to roll, Bob couldn’t help the nervousness entering his body, and that was how he ended up behind Y/N’s door.

            Gently, he placed an ear against it, hoping to hear the slightest sound, maybe a soft movement of her feet padding against the carpeted floor, but the only noise invading the silence was the echo of his heartbeat.

            Bob sighed, head hanging low and fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as he turned around, ready to go back and wallow in self-pity, when Yelena’s raspy voice made him look over his shoulder.

            “Bobik? Everything alright?” she asked, the nickname Alexei had bestowed upon him, making warmth bloom in his chest. Not ‘Bobby’, a name that made him flinch, but a soft ‘Bobik’, a name that made him feel cherished.

            The blonde was decked out in her combat gear, clearly just having arrived from a mission, so the fact that one of her first instincts was to check in on him made his body flush. He was still trying to get used to the fact that people actually cared about him, not as an experimental subject, not as a wannabe superhero, but just about him. About Bob.

            “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, giving Yelena a tight-lipped smile, but he couldn’t control the way his hands wrung together, betraying the anxiousness he was feeling. “Everything’s A-Okay.”

            For a second neither of them moved or said anything, and just as Bob was about to venture down to his room, Yelena crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side and raising a single brow.

            All he could do was sigh. She was one of the few people it was hard to lie to, whom he didn’t even really want to lie to. “It’s just that… umm… Y/N and I were supposed to go to a bookstore a while ago, but she uh… well, I haven’t seen her all day… and when I asked around, nobody else has either. Ava even said she didn’t come up for breakfast, and she wasn’t in the kitchen for lunch, so…”

            “That does not sound like her.” Yelena’s nose scrunched as she went closer and knocked against Y/N’s door, a motion that came so easily to her, yet Bob had struggled for ages to even lift his hand. “Lubov moya,” she sing-songed in Russian. “Are you in there?”

             And once again, only silence responded. As the moment stretched, Bob slowly started to roll back and forth on his feet. God, why hadn’t he thought about how she could already have left the tower ages ago!

            But no, it wouldn’t be like Y/N to just leave him hanging or not let at least one person know where she was.

            Unless… unless she’d gone out to do something she didn’t want the others to know about… to tease her about… like maybe she’d gone on a date.

            “It’s – it’s alright,” Bob let out a strangled chuckle, as thoughts whirled inside his head. “She just probably forgot about it, or something more important came up.”

            But the ex-Widow just knocked again, ignoring Bob’s spiralling. “Legushka?” she called out, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a concerned yet teasing lilt.

            There’d been this one time John had called Y/N that, snorting as Alexei had translated the meaning of the word (froggy or little frog), and where usually she’d respond with an eye roll to Yelena or their sort-of-kind-of adoptive father figure, Walker received a bloody nose and grade-two concussion.

            Only Yelena had the privilege of calling her fellow ex-Red Room alumni such absurd names without any consequences. And, well, sometimes Bob could too, but he wrote it off on the fact that Y/N just tried to make him feel included, and no other reason…

            “Snookums? My little pookie-wookie?” Now, Yelena was just making things up as she went, no doubt hoping to get at least some sort of a response from Y/N, but when even that didn’t accomplish anything, with a grumbled, “alright, fine, be that way,” she crouched down, pulling out a picking set from her boot.

            Bob’s eyes widened in alarm, hissing at the woman, “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”

            “Well, we have to get in somehow,” Yelena just shrugged, the noise of metal softly scraping against metal invading his senses.

            “Not by breaking and entering Y/N’s room!”     

            The blonde let out a squeak of indignation. “I am not breaking and entering!” The lock clicked open. “For one – I didn’t break shit. And two – the door is open. Now it’s just entering.”

            “She is going to kill us, and I will not be coming to your rescue.”

            “Please,” Yelena replaced her picking tools back inside her boot. “We have too much history between us in the Red Room for her to decide this is the final drop. As for you…” Yelena smirked. “Let’s just say, I know things you don’t.”

            “Wait, what? What do you know? What things?”

            But she didn’t respond, only opened the door.

            Bob wanted to protest, wanted to say they shouldn’t be invading Y/N’s private space like that, wanted to shake Yelena down for whatever information she might possess. If it had anything to do with feelings he hoped Y/N might have for him. That most likely, there was a reason she wasn’t answering, even if she was there, and that most likely, she just felt bad about not wanting to hang out with him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so, which he was totally fine and cool with and –

            Yelena poked her head inside, and where usually, Y/N’s place was brightly lit by the daylight, her curtains drawn back to allow it to be illuminated, pure darkness greeted them, as Bob, shame curling in his stomach at such invasion, peered over Yelena’s head to take a glance.

            He associated Y/N’s room with peace.

            Cream colored walls, dark brown curtains with a plush carpet, emerald settees resting atop it and a large bookshelf taking up a whole wall with softly glowing nightlights in the shape of sprouting mushrooms would be plugged in during the night, and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars creating real and made-up constellations on the ceiling – that was the space he considered his true home.

            Every free inch was covered in some knick-knack or a souvenir, as she had a tendency to collect small things, but she also had a tendency to gift them to others.

            She was kind. Caring. Thoughtful. She was Bob’s safe place.

            Yet now it was pitch black inside.

            Yelena was clearly just as worried as he was, because when she looked up from her still crouched position, confusion marred her face.

            “Malishka?” she called out as she stood, slowly entering the room, Bob following as their eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting.

            He shifted his gaze around only to settle on a large moving mound on the bed, so with Yelena as the lead, they moved towards it, when finally a voice rasped from somewhere beneath the ungodly amount of blankets. “Malishka is dead. Come back tomorrow with a warrant. Or a casket.”

            Every single doubt that’d permeated Bob’s mind vanished at the realisation of what was really going on.

            Y/N hadn’t forgotten about the plans they’d made. She hadn’t found something better to do with her time or decided he was simply not worth her while.

            Y/N was sick.

            And by the sound of it, badly.

            Bob’s heart clenched at the thought. They all seemed so indestructible, but it was moments like those, where he was reminded that some of them, especially Yelena and Y/N – the two people he’d grown to care most about in the weird little team he was a part of – were simply humans. And humans could get ill.

            Gently, Yelena sat down on the side of the bed, her fingers rooting around the coverings before an opening was made, a pair of Y/E/C eyes squinting at the intruders. “Can you please close the door? My eyeballs hurt.”

            “Oh, shit!” Bob cursed softly, padding to the door and closing it, once again plunging the room into complete darkness. “Sorry.”

            He wanted to rebel against the black that now surrounded them, he wanted to panic and spiral, to have at least one of those nightlights be turned on, but somehow, through a sheer sense of will, he steeled himself against the rising tide. Whether it was because he knew light would hurt Y/N, or whether it was because he felt safe with the two women, despite not really being able to see anything that wasn’t an inch away from his face, Bob couldn’t tell. Well… he could, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, because that would make things real…

            “Can you please breathe quieter, Lena?” Y/N groaned from her cocoon. “My head’s pounding as is.”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Yelena cooed, placing the back of her hand against the other woman’s forehead to feel for her temperature. “I think you might have the flu, huh?”

            Y/N sniffled. “I dunno what I have, but whatever it is, I blame Walker.”

            Bob looked at Yelena, the man still hovering by the bedside table, not wanting to invade the space between the two. “Has John been sick?”

            “Not that I’m aware.” Yelena ghosted her hand over Y/N’s cheek before standing up and going to what he knew to be the bathroom. After a quick second, she returned with a wet cloth, laying it over her friend’s forehead. “But we can always blame him.”

            A delirious smile appeared on Y/N’s face. “We can, can’t we?”

            “Of course.” Yelena nodded. “Would it make you feel better if I went and beat him up?”

            “I think it would, yeah… Can you stab him too?” Y/N asked as an afterthought.

            “Anything for you, legushka moya.” Yelena brushed a sweaty Y/H/C strand from where it’d plastered itself down against her cheek. Bob’s heart ached at the tender motion, fingers twitching at his side with the want to do the same, but he restrained himself. “But tell you what, before I go and seek revenge on Walker, how about I go and make you some soup, and Bob will keep you company. Sound okay?”

            Instantly, it was like someone had turned the light switch off, Y/N’s smile dropped, and she harrumphed. “Bob can stay, but no soup.”

            “Soup always makes everything better! Besides, Bob said you didn’t go to breakfast or lunch. You have to get something in you,” Yelena scolded the woman. Despite them being barely a month apart, she acted like an older sister to Y/N.

            The sick girl just whined. “I’m not hungry. I’m achy and icky and gross, and I just wanna rot away in my bed.”                             

            “Well, you need to get food in you,” the ex-Widow countered, hands on her hips. “Do not move. I will be right back. Bob, please keep an eye on her.”

            “As if I could go anywhere,” Y/N scoffed, but it fell only on Bob’s ears, as Yelena had already made her exit.

            On instinct, his fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a nervousness taking over his body. After a moment of unsurety of what exactly he was supposed to do, a croaky voice whispered, “You should go, Bob. I know Lena said to stay, but I don’t want you to catch whatever wasting disease I have."

            An involuntary smile blossomed on his lips at her care about his well-being, despite being so sick herself. “I uh, I don’t think I can get sick anymore, so no worries there.”

            He noted the small frown on Y/N’s lips as she eyed him up and down. “Show off,” she muttered, but didn’t tell him to leave again, rather said, “ ‘M sorry about today, by the way. Should’ve at least gotten out of bed and told you I wasn’t fit to walk in civilised society. I’m sorry if I worried you.”     

            “No!” he said, trying to quell her guilt, sitting down onto the bed, and to his own surprise, brushing a finger down her cheek without even thinking. “No, no, no… you’re not feeling well, so don’t even worry about me. I’m just glad that, you know, you’re not bleeding out on the bathroom floor or something.”

            Bob’s whole being lit up when, despite Y/N being evidently unwell, she snorted, no doubt remembering how about a month prior when she’d returned to the Watchtower after a mission, she’d pretty much traumatized both Bob and John, as they’d found her half-dead on the kitchen floor, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, blood pooling around her at a rapid pace.

            “Seriously!?” John had scoffed as he helped Bob lift Y/N up from the floor, the two men supporting as much of her weight as possible as they dragged her to the elevator and then to the med-floor. “PB&J? That was gonna be your last meal?”

            “Hey!” Y/N protested. “It was the only thing I could manage to make before the wooziness set in. You know, from having been turned into a walking-talking shishkabob.” She chuckled deliriously, looking at the man who had the biggest crush on her in the world, yet she didn’t even know about it, and now she could potentially die. “Huh. Shish-ka-Bob.” Then she booped his nose and promptly passed out.

            Safe to say, he’d spent the next few days hovering in the med-bay, and when Y/N had been discharged, off-missions for a while, but allowed to rest in her room, he’d hovered in the hallway behind her door, just to make sure the things he saw during his nightmares, the images that the Void tried to tell him were real, actually weren’t.

            But Y/N didn’t know that.

            She didn’t know the true extent of what went on inside Bob’s mind or heart, didn’t know the real depth of the feelings he had for her.

            She didn’t know how much the nights she allowed him to spend in her room meant to him.

            She didn’t know how much the little trinkets she brought back for him as a souvenir from whichever corner of the world she’d been sent to, mattered.

            She didn’t know that if the tower suddenly caught on fire and he could only save three things, he’d rush inside the flames to take the three little cat figurines sitting on his shelf.

            It had been after she’d returned from a solo mission in Japan, Bob having pretty much worried himself sick, only to have her bound up to him, still dirt-covered and bloodied, but the smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. “Look!” She presented the white, red and gold porcelain cats. “It’s the three of us! Me, you and Lena! They’re so cute!”

            That night, he’d fallen asleep with the three little waving felines looking over him, golden night-light illuminating the statuettes.

            So, in a moment like this, where Y/N was the one who needed support, he could only hope and pray, she felt it from him.

            Gently, Bob brushed a palm against her forehead, taking off the wet towel that’d now warmed up to her skin temperature. But he hadn’t anticipated that, despite being bogged down by most likely the flu, her reflexes were still Black-Widow-quick, as her hand shot out from underneath the blankets, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand against the skin of her neck. “Oh, you are so warm,” she sighed, cuddling the appendage.

            “S-so are you!” Bob didn’t necessarily know what to do. “Alarmingly so, actually.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N puffed a breath, still not releasing the death-grip she had on his hand. “That’s probably the 103 fever I have going on.”

            Instantly, his anxiety skyrocketed.

            He knew he ran warm. He pretty much always had the AC on in his room, especially at night, as he was a complete contradiction of a human – he was abysmally hot all the time, mainly thanks to the Sentry serum, but he was most comfortable in a sweater and sweatpants while swaddled up like a burrito in a blanket.

            His heart thudded in his chest as Y/N snuggled closer to his touch, while he worried he was doing her harm. Yes, a fever was the body’s natural way of fighting off viruses or infections and whatnot, but a too high a fever was also dangerous, and he'd never forgive himself if he made it worse.

            “Y/N, you’re really burning up.” Bob chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can you please let me go? Just for a second,” he added on, as she whined when he tried to slip his hand away. “I’m just gonna get you a new cold compress. Please…”

            “But I don’t want you to leave!”

            “I’m – I’m not gonna leave,” he whispered, terrified that if his voice was any louder, any clearer, she might pick up on the emotion he was trying to suppress. “I promise, it’ll be just a second. I won’t even go outside the room.”

            For a moment, Y/N’s grip tightened on Bob, holding him closer than ever, but then, with a sigh of defeat, she released him.

            He was quick, just like he said he would. Even in pure darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light now, probably thanks to the Sentry serum, he dampened the cloth with cold water and wrung out the excess, getting back to her, in the time it took for Y/N to shift from lying on her side to being on her back.

            She’d somewhat untangled herself from the cocoon of blankets, and Bob had to stop mid-step as he noted what she was wearing.

            It was his sweater. Well, one of the many he had, but it was something of his nonetheless.

            And he could physically feel how something broken and cracked inside him got stitched together. Some deep, still-hurting part of Bob, that always managed to whisper a negative thought, how he didn’t matter, how washing the dishes and doing the chores was nothing compared to what everyone else in the tower did, fused back together, the Void’s incessant noise quietening. With just a simple glance at Y/N, who had found comfort in something of his when she was feeling bad, Bob felt a part of him heal.

            He didn’t comment on it, though, half-terrified if he did, she might think he was mad about it, when in reality it was the complete opposite. And an insatiable need had now settled somewhere in his chest, a want to see her in all of his clothes. And maybe nothing as well…

            “H-here,” Bob stammered out, before taking a deep breath and sinking down next to Y/N on the bed. Gently, he placed the towel along her forehead, and he couldn’t help himself as his thumb brushed along her jawline, tracing a small scar, no doubt from some mission. She leaned into his touch like a sunflower leaned towards the sun. “Is there anything I can get you?”

            “No,” she shook her head, and this time, when her hand met his, she intertwined their fingers, as if afraid he might disappear. “Just stay, please.”

            “Always.”

            And there really wasn’t anywhere else Bob wanted to be.

            The thought of spending the day at a bookstore, some ungodly sweet concoction that resembled a coffee only in spirit, in his hand, was only appealing because he would be going with Y/N there.

            “We’ll go when I get better, I promise,” she muttered, as if having read his mind while snuggling closer to the palm he’d placed on her cheek.

            “Books can wait.” Bob hoped his voice was low and soothing as he spoke, blue eyes still trained on the sweater that covered her body, his own feeling all fuzzy at the image. “Just rest.”

            When he didn’t get a response or even a little hum of acknowledgement, he looked up only to find Y/N’s features slack with sleep, her chest rising in slow and steady breaths.

            Bob wanted to curl up next to her, to have his hands wrap around her waist, and have her head rest on his chest as he buried his nose into her hair, because this was the highest degree of trust anyone could have in him. For Y/N to find peace and safety with him while she was in such a vulnerable state, catapulted Bob onto Cloud Nine. He knew darkness would always try to press in, try to find the cracks and strike when he was unawares, but this time he wasn’t afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Not when he knew he would have to be the one to step up, if only to protect the one he loved most in the world.

             He sat there like that, entranced with the sleeping beauty on the bed, a thumb softly grazing her cheek, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. He was so attuned to her and her sleeping form, that when the door cracked open, he was startled by Yelena coming in, a tray in her hands as she blew on a steaming bowl of soup.

            “Okay,” once more the blonde sing-songed as she walked inside the room. “I have chicken-noodle soup for our little sick-bug.”

            There was some grumbling from Y/N as she was brought out from her slumber, but despite all her protests, she rose into a sitting position, Bob’s hand on her back a steady help. She eyed the bowl with suspicion. “Who made it?”

            “Do not worry, Dad was nowhere near the pot. He might be lurking for the leftovers now, but this!” She lifted the bowl above her head like it was a diamond, “is all from yours truly.”

            Y/N sniffed the air. “Well, I guess it smells edible… not that I can smell much.”

            “Then this is exactly what you need.” Yelena slid the tray to rest on Y/N’s knees while Bob helped her adjust against the backboard of the bed and was rewarded with the most gorgeous smile ever. “Here you go, legushka. Now, I’ll go get some paracetamol and VapoRub, and by the time I get back, I expect that bowl to be empty. It will do wonders for your sinuses, trust me.”

            She didn’t argue, just let out a resigned sigh and nodded, taking the spoon in her hand. “You know, back in the Red Room, Mistress Vera said the best kind of medicine is a good beating. Will get you right back on your feet.”

            “Yes, well, that is why Mistress Vera is six feet under.” Yelena fluffed up a pillow behind Y/N before nudging her chin up with a finger. “As is the whole of Red Room.”

            “I mean right now, I think I’d rather get a good beat-“

            “Eat,” Yelena interrupted whatever she was about to say.

            “Fine, fine, Jesus…. You’re worse than Mistress Vera…”

            Slowly, without moving her gaze from Y/N, Yelena stood to hover over her. Even Bob could feel the menacing aura she exuded – an older sister ready to torment her younger one. “And if you don’t eat every single noodle, every single piece of carrot and celery and chicken, you will be wishing Mistress Vera were here. Understood? Legushka moya?”

            Though Y/N was bleary and tired, she was unwavering as the two Black Widows engaged in a stare-off. Unfortunately for her, though, she was the first one to break, as she rubbed at her teary eyes, probably because of the light that was filtering into the room from the open doorway.

            “Damn it, Lena, fine! I’ll eat the stupid soup!”

            “Good.” The blonde straightened out, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Because Bob will tell me if you don’t. Won’t you, Bobik?”

            His eyes turned so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his head.

            God.

            Oh god no.

            He was stuck between a rock and a hard place as Y/N glowered from below her lashes, sniffling, while Yelena cocked her head to the side.

            Ultimately, though, his loyalty to the blonde and wanting nothing but the best for the well-being of the woman he was in love with, no matter what she might say to counter the effectiveness of the soup, won out. “Yeah. I – I will.”

            Y/N scoffed, turning her head away from him as Yelena pressed a triumphant kiss to the top of her hair before leaving.

            “Traitor,” she muttered.

            Bob looked down at his hands, which he had resting in his lap as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I just want you to get better, Y/N…”

            “And I just wanna lie down and die, but neither of you is letting me.”

            “But who’s gonna go to the bookstore with me if you die?” He gave her a small smile, hoping to elevate her sour mood.

            “I dunno, John?”

            Bob gave her a look, their gazes meeting. “You actually think John can read?”

            If Y/N had been eating the soup, no doubt she would’ve choked with how she threw her head back in a loud laugh, as Bob tried to steady the tray, the broth sloshing a bit out of the bowl.      

            “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, their fingers brushing as she held the platter and pulled it closer. “Didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Don’t be.” The smile on his face was probably ridiculous, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Laughter’s the best medicine or uh… something along those lines.”

            “You should tell Mistress Vera that. Might have to use a OUIJA board though.” Y/N winced as the hot liquid slid down her sore throat, slowly chewing on a piece of noodle.

            Admittedly, Bob didn’t know much about her time in the Red Room. He’d seen her shame rooms, just like he’d been privy to Yelena’s and the rest of the Thunderbolts’, as she’d been there when the Void had attacked New York, but once he came out of it, once they told him what he’d done, the feeling of having violated their privacy… he never asked either of them to talk about their time there.

            All Bob knew was that Mistress Vera had been Y/N’s handler, as she’d been trained separately from Yelena and her sister Natasha. Only after the original Avenger had broken her out of the trance induced by the mind-control serum used to keep the Black Widows under the Red Room spell, did Y/N join the two in helping them take down the organisation.

            “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry,” her words of apology brought him back to the present, away from the thoughts of what she’d had to go through as a child, where a sore throat wouldn’t have been healed by a gentle touch, but a brutal beating.

            His brows furrowed as he looked around, thinking she might’ve spilt the soup, but there wasn’t anything there. “Whatever for?”

            “The dark!” she said, like it was a crime she’d committed. “Bob, you can put in some of the nightlights. They’re by the plugs.”

            “Oh, that’s…” He shook his head, for once happy to be surrounded by mostly shadows because that meant Y/N couldn’t see the furious blush covering his face, while his longish hair obscured his smiling features as he glanced down at his hands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind actually.”

            “But you don’t like the dark…?” The sentence was more of a question than the solid statement it used to be.

            Bob shrugged, pulling down the sleeves of his sweater. “This isn’t that bad… and if it helps you feel better, your eyes to not hurt, I don’t mind.”

            “I don’t want you to ‘not mind’ things. Bob, if you’re uncomfortable, you should put in at least one nightlight. Seriously. They’re not gonna boil out of my skull or something.”

            “My comfort isn’t as important as your health right now.” He shifted on the bed.

            “Of course it is!” The offended squeak Y/N let out would have made him smile, had it not turned into a violent coughing fit.

            After she was done hacking her lungs up, Bob’s hand running up and down her spine, hoping to at least somewhat soothe the ache, he lifted the warm bowl of soup closer to her. “Eat. Or I will tell on you to Yelena.”

            “Stukach,” Y/N mumbled in Russian, glaring at him as best as she could. Alexei and Yelena had introduced him enough to the language (mostly swearwords, which they said were the most important words) for him to understand she’d called him a snitch, but if being a snitch would motivate her to eat and get better, so be it.

            With a fond gaze, he watched as she finally got some food into her, and once she was done, he took the tray away, placing it on the nightstand, a hand of his acting on its own accord as he brushed a finger along her cheek. “Better?”

            “Yes. But don’t tell Lena that. She’ll just be insufferably smug about it.”

            Shaking his head, Bob helped Y/N settle back into bed, tucking the blanket under her chin, but before he could even move a foot, her hand shot out, curling around his wrist once more.

            “Bob?”

            “Yeah?” He looked where the woman lay against the plush pillows, head slowly sinking deeper into the down.

            “Could you… umm… and that is only if you really can’t get sick… could you maybe stay with me? Just until I fall asleep…”

            He was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it’d done a full-blown gymnastics routine, somersaults and all, because it definitely wasn’t beating in its normal rhythm in his chest.

            “Y-yeah, of course, if that’s what you want.” Bob swallowed hard, nodding. “Just, uh… let me bring the tray to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back.”

            And with a small “okay” from Y/N as his dismissal, Bob scurried out of the room like lightning.

            The hallway light was blinding compared to the darkness of the room he’d just spent about an hour in, but for the first time in his life, he craved it. Because in that darkness was safety and peace. In that darkness lay a body, curled up on a bed, covered in his sweater, waiting for him, hoping he’d help her get better.

            He barely acknowledged Ava or Bucky, who called out to him, asking if he was alright, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and some of the pretzels Alexei had stashed behind pots and pans, hoping to hide his hoard. He wouldn’t mind, Bob reasoned. Y/N was like another daughter to him, and if she’d eaten the soup, despite all her protesting, maybe her appetite was gonna be coming back sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be stocked up on snacks. Besides, he could just blame Walker if needed.

            When he returned, he was instantly enveloped by Y/N’s scent as if it were its own form of blanket.

            “Hey,” Bob whispered, not wanting to break the settled peace. “I’m – I’m back.”

            He mostly heard rather than saw shuffling on the bed, but as his eyes adjusted, he noted Y/N had moved to the side furthest from the door, opening up some space on the bed.

            She’d done so before during the nights his mind had been restless, but somehow this felt much more intimate than when insomnia forbade him from sleeping.

            Slowly, as if afraid this moment would be ripped from him if he moved any quicker, Bob placed the waters and pretzels on the ground, sliding in next to her, turning to face Y/N with one hand under his cheek, the other on the mattress between them.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, the ghost of a smile on her face as her hand slid from below the blankets and rested atop his. “For taking care of me.”

            “I–I mean, I didn’t –“

            “You did,” she interrupted his stammering, tightening the grip she had on him. Gently, he flipped it palm up so that her fingers could slide between his. “And you still are. So thank you.”

            And once again, like he’d said before, he simply replied, “Always.”

            With that single word spoken, Bob watched as Y/N’s eyes drooped closed, her breathing evened out, and once again she was deeply asleep. Yet even when in dreamland, her hold on him never wavered. Not when she twisted out from the cocoon and scooted closer to him, not as chills overtook her body and Bob held her through them, not as the fever broke and a small sigh of relief escaped, her body slowly returning to a normal temperature.

            For the first time in his life, Bob had found peace in the darkness, all because of the woman lying in his arms. And when it came to claim him too, he gladly fell, knowing that when he awoke, she would be there, much like she’d be in his dreams.

***

BONUS

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is so cute!”

            It was a harsh whisper-yell that brought Bob out of his slumber.

            He peeked an eye open, noting the unmistakable shape of Y/N’s form in his arms. She was still sound asleep, her body curled around his like that of a koala’s, head tucked below his chin, while one of her arms had a death-grip on his waist, a leg thrown over his hip.

            One of his own arms was underneath her, completely numb. From the feeling of it, it’d probably been there for ages, but if this position meant she was comfortable and could have a good sleep, he’d deal with the pins-and-needles a hundred times over if necessary.

            Turning to look over his shoulder, Bob found the culprit or rather culprits of the noise as he was met with the faces of Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, Ava and John all looking at them through a gap in the door, the Red Guardian with a phone in his hand, no doubt taking pictures of the two cuddling.

            “You guys,” he mumbled, a blush of embarrassment crawling its way all over his body. “Can you pipe it down? Y/N’s asleep.”

            “How is Legushka?” Yelena whispered into the room. “Did the fever break?”

            “Yes!” Bob hissed, turning away from the team and curling tighter around the body he had in his hold. “Now, can you all please leave? You’ll wake her up.”

            “Sorry.” Bucky raised his hands in apology. “I told them not to disturb you. Come on! Out, everyone!”

            Obviously, he more than Y/N, would get mercilessly teased about it, but he could take it, if it meant a bit more time with her in his arms, but just when he thought he’d gotten away with it, Walker just had to shout a loud, “Yeah, fucking get it, Bobik!”, making Y/N spring up.

            She took a confused glance around at the room before her eyes settled onto Bob who was on her bed, red-faced and mortified.

            “The toad did it,” Y/N said, her tone serious as a heart attack.

            Bob blinked once. Twice. “What?”

            “I swear the toad did it,” she mumbled, evidently delirious from sleep and the flu, but slowly moving back to lay down next to him, curling into the man’s body like it was where she belonged. “The toad ate the last strawberry. Damn thieving amphibian…”

            Come morning, he would ask about the toad and the strawberry and if it had anything to do with Yelena’s nickname for her, but for now, Bob just pressed a light kiss against Y/N’s forehead, eyes slipping closed, listening to the melody of her breathing.

            One day, he would tell her how he really felt.

            One day, he would give his heart to her.

            One day, he hoped, she would trust him with her own.

             But for then and there, Bob was content with his present. With the peace he’d found in the darkness.

Tags: Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae A/N: we are so back baby, Tower fics incoming! Bob, my love, my life... you bet your ass I'm probably gonna write something where OG Avengers are still alive and living in the tower with Thunderbolts*!!! The chaos that would ensue is giving me life Tags are always open

[cutielando]

revolving door | lando norris

synopsis: in which he will do anything to win you back and prove to you he has changed

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: lando norris x ex-girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

The first time you walked away from Lando Norris, it had been raining.

Fitting, really, because everything about that night had felt like a storm—rushed words, emotions colliding like thunder against lightning, and the eventual crack that split you apart.

“I can’t keep doing this, Lando,” you had said, voice barely above a whisper, but somehow it still cut through the downpour. “I can’t keep being the girl you come back to when it’s convenient.”

Lando hadn’t said much then. Just stared at you with those sea-glass eyes, his lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

Maybe he knew you were right. Maybe he was tired of this cycle, too. Maybe he thought you’d come back—just like you always did.

And for a while, you really thought you wouldn’t.

But the thing about revolving doors is that no matter how many times you step out, you always end up back inside.

♡♡♡♡♡

It started again three months later, like it always did.

You had told yourself you were over him, that you were stronger this time, that you wouldn’t let yourself be pulled back into the orbit of Lando Norris.

But then he showed up at your doorstep, soaked from the rain, a bottle of your favorite wine in one hand and a ridiculous, sheepish grin on his face.

“Hey”

Just one word. One stupid, simple word, and suddenly, you were caught in the same cycle all over again.

You let him in. Of course, you let him in.

And it was good—for a little while. It always was. Lando had a way of making you forget why you left in the first place.

He was warm touches and late-night laughter, tangled limbs under white sheets, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

But then came the other side of the cycle.

The part where he got distant, where racing took priority, where texts went unanswered for days, where you sat in the grandstands watching him but wondering if he ever truly saw you.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t do it again, that you wouldn’t be his revolving door, but God, it was so hard when every time he came back, he made you feel like you were everything.

♡♡♡♡♡

“You’re mad”

You didn’t even bother looking up from your drink.

“What gave it away?”

Lando sighed, sliding into the bar stool next to you. His hand brushed against yours on the counter, a silent attempt at connection, but you pulled away.

“I had a race” he said, like that excused everything. “I had obligations”

You finally turned to face him, your jaw tight.

“And what about me? Do I not count as an obligation? Or am I just something you pick up when it’s convenient?”

His face twisted in frustration. “That’s not fair”

You scoffed.

“No, Lando, what’s not fair is me sitting here, wondering if I’m even a priority to you, while you’re off living your life like I don’t exist”

He ran a hand through his curls, his knee bouncing under the table.

“You know how much this means to me”

“And you know how much it hurts to be treated like an afterthought” you shot back.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you like he was trying to figure out the right words to keep you from slipping away again.

But you were tired—so damn tired—of always being the one waiting, always being the one to put in the effort.

So, you pushed back your chair and stood up.

“I can’t do this anymore, Lando.”

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “Wait—”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m done being your revolving door.”

And this time, you meant it.

Right?

♡♡♡♡♡

A month passed. Then two.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t look back.

You threw yourself into work, into friends, into anything that kept your mind busy.

You ignored the texts he sent—the I miss you, the I’m sorry, the Can we just talk? Because you knew if you answered, you’d be right back where you started.

But then, one night, you found yourself at a race. Not for him—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You were there with friends, just another face in the crowd.

And yet, somehow, his eyes found yours the second he stepped onto the podium.

You should’ve left. You should’ve walked away before he could find you.

But you didn’t.

You were standing by the paddock entrance when he appeared, still in his race suit, his hair damp with sweat. He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“You came” he breathed.

You folded your arms over your chest.

“I didn.t come here for you. Don’t read into it” you said, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

He took a hesitant step closer, watching your every move and gesture for any sign that you didn't want him closer. But he found none.

“But I want to read into it”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to stay strong.

“Lando—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted, his voice almost desperate. “I know I’ve screwed up. I know I’ve been selfish. But I swear to God, I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter.”

You looked away, because if you met his eyes for too long, you’d break.

“Then why did you?”

He exhaled shakily, looking down at the ground.

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought you’d always be there no matter what. And I was wrong”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding.

“And what happens when this cycle starts again?”

His hand found yours—gentle, hesitant. “It won’t. I swear to you, it won't ever happen again”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But could you?

Lando squeezed your fingers, as if sensing your doubt.

“I don’t want you to be my revolving door, love. I just want you to be my home”

And maybe, just maybe, this time… he really meant it.

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[itsoutrageouss]

Part six of Simon seeing reader cry for the first time. This one is really just Simon’s pov of you, and he’s heading into the jealousy stage… he’s low-key growing obsessed? Enjoy.

Simon was fuming. Not with you exactly, it wasn’t your fault you were such a delicate, pretty little bird- of course you’d get attention at a scummy pub like this. And it wasn’t like you were his territory, his to claim in some way.

But if the bartender didn’t hurry up making that drink you wanted so that the handsome stranger next to you could move on, he’d get up from the cramped booth and make it him damn self.

You clearly weren’t the type to just bring someone home. Or were you? Fuck, was that a sexist prejudice he just had? He runs a hand over his face, over the surgical mask he had put back up the minute that man approached you to try and mask any reaction he might have. He’s so used to his grimaces being hidden that he was scared he couldn’t control them.

Soap nudged his arm that barely moved as he laughed heartily at his own story. Simon didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t leave you. Aye, Soap noticed, shooting Gaz a knowing glance but none of them dared say anything because they were still having a good night.

Finally your hands grasped around a tall glass, ice rattling as you bid the man goodbye and headed for the teams designated table. Simon hadn’t been able to read your interactions; had you been flirting? Maybe politely declining? You’d be the type- Arh there he goes again giving you prejudices when you keep surprising him everyday about what ‘type’ you actually are.

You sit down with a small, flustered smile. Fuck, fuck, Simon’s hands tighten around his own pint, that otherwise sat untouched after you left. You blink up at him, looking like he’s the one that’s flustered you but he knows that isn’t true. It couldn’t be. He’s unmoving, eyes slowly dragging you over.

“What?” You ask, nervous, maybe a little defensive and he knows that you hate not being able to read him. He’s bristling, if he was a cat all hairs would be standing on end.

“Nothing.” His voice is terse, gruff as usual but it sounds like he has to force the words from his throat, willing his lips to move. You frown, and now he knows you won’t let it go- it gives a thrill through him: he knows you now. Knows what your expressions mean, what you’re feeling.

He sees your eyes drifting off, clearly in thought before your jaw tightens and your eyes fall to your drink. You look disappointed. That’s not what he expected really, and know he doesn’t know what to do. Jesus Christ why does he overthink everything when it comes to you now? It used to be simple before you bared your soul to him and now he just wants to keep you open for him.

He doesn’t know how to address this now. Why did you look like that? After that bath, where he’d asked you to touch him and gods you had touched him and he swore he died and went to heaven; after that, what was supposed to happen? Maybe you didn’t know either. You quickly schooled your expression and leaned a little over the table to join the conversation Simon had pushed into background noise. He didn’t like that one bit, putting your walls up now? Well he couldn’t have that.

“What did he want?” Simon tried asking casually as you leaned over, his mouth almost at your ear. You tensed, a micro movement but he noticed. You hadn’t expected him to adress it head on, perhaps, as you leaned back, diverting your attention to him again.

“My number” you replied and he felt his tongue sucking on his own teeth to calm down. He hummed in response.

“Did you give it?” He asked, trying to seem nonchalant, grateful for his mask as always. Your eyes twitched, expression lacing with some sort of offence or disbelief. He struggled to stay composed, heart rate elevating a little too fast.

You shook your head but it mainly looked like you were annoyed with him, more than it was an answer. Your eyes found the table, gathering yourself before looking up at him with a seriousness and intensity he hadn’t expected. “Of course I didn’t. Why would you think that?”

Shit, you seemed genuinely upset in some way. He was flustered, caught off guard. “I don’t know. Looked like you were having a good time.” He shouldn’t have said that, jealousy shining through his teeth and he knew it.

“Well I wasn’t” you said, quick but steady.

“You’re angry with me” he said it as a monotone statement because he didn’t want you to hear it for what it was.

“No- no im not-“ you sighed, running a hand through your hair that he eyed almost nervously. “I just don’t know why you would think that I would give him an ounce of my time” you mumbled, raising your brows shortly to indicate something. He swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t think it, I feared it” he admitted and it felt vulnerable enough that he had to look away, into the crowd of people. “Smiling like a schoolgirl when you came back, dove” he mumbled, a little to himself

“At you.” You corrected, trying to meet his gaze. “I found it funny that-“ he felt you lean closer so only he could hear, if anyone should happen to try and listen in. “-anyone would even try talking to me after I had my hands around your….”

He stiffened, shoulders moving a little, mask covering the blood surging to his cheeks at your next word. He had to clear his throat, make sure Soap didn’t hear. It was right, in that tub your hands had wandered a bit like he’d asked you to. Nothing more had happened than you feeling him up, leaving him on that gruesome but wonderful edge. Hearing what that meant to you, that that moment had solidified something between you the way it had to him made him wanna fucking moan. His eyes snapped to yours, a newfound confidence in them.

“Giggling at someone trying to take you home?” He said, his tone infinitely more lighter now. You merely shrugged, the offence from your face gone. Good.

He hummed, considering you for another second before huffing in dry amusement, shaking his head and finally lowering the mask again. He picked up the pint but your smaller hand gently pushed it to the table, earning his attention again.

“You don’t need to be jealous, Simon.” You said, oddly calm, brows scrunching subtly.

“Im not” he was quick, too quick and you both knew it. He swore under his breath and picked up his pint again as he saw the winning streak across your face.

But he knew that this meant. If he was jealous of someone else trying to pick you up, he’d have to do it himself or his feelings wouldnt have a valid place to settle, no value. Ugh just his luck, now he was basically forced to take you home himself…

Series masterlist

[oureddie]

is anyone else's brain just one big

what do we need him for? what's your problem man. what are we measuring here buck. you can have my back any day. i love kids. i love this one. they weren't my type. i thought you just dressed alike. buck gave me a heads up. does this boy crush on eddie mean you're finally ready to move on from abby. uh, you should meet his kid, though. i can see the pollen. i can hear it. ooooOOOOooo you made him cry. you dont find it son, you make it. you two have an adorable son. why are you in hospital jail. i got you. dear buck you are an awesome firefighter love christopher. GET UP your life isn't over just bc you arent a firefighter anymore. says the firefighter. there's nobody in this world that i trust with my son more than you. BECAUSE YOU'RE EXHAUSTING. did you ever stop and think for a minute what that could do to US. a total impulse buy, not like you at all. c'mon eddie if you're not gonna be honest with frank at least be honest with me. i could still take you. you think so? i know. wanna go for the title? uhhhh this is eddie's house im not really a guest. just wait until he gets to the 'i dont have to do what you tell me' phase. aren't you still in that phase. you hungry? wanna grab a bite after we drop him? weeeee have visitors cap. eddie!!!!!no!!!!!nonononnonoedddie!!!! CLAWS AT THE GROUND. you wanna do a rope rescue??? of course you do. i mean that wont happen to US. to abby. his fiance is ABBY. welp. at least it's not a tsunami. hey man you might want to talk to your kid about playing fair. buck can we go to your house and play video games. uhhhh sorry kid i think we might be kicking it old school for a while. he's on the phone with dr. copeland, emergency therapy session. what do you have to apologize for? did you say anything that wasn't true? yeah she's worried about me *drop kicks a punching bag* yeah can't imagine why. i had to do it. i know you did. trauma bag? yup. sorry whhaaaatttt was that? check. do you ever replay a conversation in your head and worry you sound like an idiot? have you met me. it's like the universe is scREAMING at you and you refuse to listen. the universe does not scream. am i interrupting book club. you're late. there was construction on sunset. had to take a detour. buck. buck you have to help chris is- right here. you sure that's a smile? that's the same face buck makes when he's gassy. but just be sure that you're following YOUR heart. *gets sniped* eddie- eddie i need you to hang on. are you hurt? where's buck? he's got a harder job tonight. the team feels off without eddie. he doing okay? better than me. i kind of lost it when i told him you got shot. hey since we've got a minute... uh is everything alright. it got me thinking. what would happen if i hadnt. so i went to my attorney and changed my will. so someday, if i uh, didn't make it, christopher would be taken care of. by you. don't you need my consent. my attorney said you could refuse. but you know i wouldn't. but you knew i wouldn't. because evAN. you act like you're expendable. but you're wrong. good idea. eddie really shouldn't be exerting himself right now. this isn't me an eddie bagging a turkey in south pasadena. he takes christopher there all the time, got the place memorized. my kid loves her. is that enough. ice goes on the eye bud. *gets kidnapped and held hostage together* my abuela would eat this up. she loves a good telenovela. oh cuz uhhh you don't? i know you watch them with christopher. that's how we practice our spanish. look man you don't need to pretend with me. buck you need to move on, i have. eddie get away from the door im coming in. what are you afraid of. that im never gonna feel normal again. buck already took him to school, figured you could use the sleep. chris drew this? uh, that one's mine i misunderstood the assignment. cuz he got the help he needed, and that started with you. i just wish i could- fix it? yeah. what are you offering? right now? bobby's famous lasagna. buck, you dont even have a couch. bUUUUCK where the hell are you going. you can live without a

spleen- right? she's gonna be ok. how did the age of absolutely turn into alfalfa smoothies? give me one second let me grab eddie. YO. i dont know. feels weird to congratulate him. alright cowbody go get em. BUCK!!!!! do more! i just feel like she sees me. sorry about this. yeah it's gonna suck. uh hey do you have any plans for the weekend? i was thinking about go-karting, place in the desert, supposed to be a blast. welcome back to the world of the living buck. you were missed. actually i was kind of hoping you would. i just dont want him to uh- end up like me? you didn't end up like you. hey cap, need a lift? you took the chevelle? how'd you talk him into this he always says no to me. like sea monkeys! in fact, i havent been able to uhhhh yeah since i found out. yeah. well i uhhh wish i could help with that! this doesn't change a thing between us. i thought you couldn't bring a date to a bachelor party. UBBBEEERRR!!!! we don't need a key we're firefighters. he's crockett he's tubbs. actually im crockett and HE'S tubbs. eddie who's kim. does that poor woman know she's a dead ringer for your ex wife. oh eddie. what you always do. talk to him. i dont wanna break down the door buck i want him to open it. well uh, he probably won't. ok well why does it have to be me? you're the fastest runner. we beat the bees! im guessing it's probably an allergic reaction of some kind. to what bad juju? you owe me five bucks eddie. i never watched glee. give it back im serious. we know you're serious that's what scares us. whatareyoulookinateddiehehehe. he knows how to stay, unlike some people. yup, i am freddie fakeman, you would do that for me? you and for christopher. mmmmm like it's nothing. it's not nothing. look i know this whole thing between us has been messy and hard. you do matter to me. i know. eddie would never do anything illegal eddie has a silver star!! you're his dad. he doesn't have a mom. if you don't damage him who will? dad up!! sorry i had to go to the airport to pick up this one. said i was gonna get groceries. it's fine. doesn't seem fine. the trials and tribulations of evan buckley. a tragedy in 97 acts. you've been spiraling since the funeral and nobody knows how to talk to you about it. i don't know buck i wasn't there. eddie- jerk. airport and texas are not the same. they don't even have the same amount of letters. heard some dick was being mean to you, thought you could use a little cheering up

or is that just me rn

[n3ptoonz]

'Political Animals'

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky/F!Reader

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit; pre-Thunderbolts, ADULTERY! (reader has a wack husband), COCKY BUCKY COCKY BUCKY, PLOT HEAVY, dirty talk, desk sex, reader is the secretary of state, cunnilingus, fingering, refers to your vag in third person (i can't stop doing this), squirting, f!multiple orgasms, cum as lube, exhibitionism if you squint, use of "baby" and "sweetheart", use of titles, breeding kink if you squint, inspired by the show he was in called political animals :3c, half proofread

Word count: 3.1k

The Congressman has known you for a while now. Even before he stepped into the political realm, he knew who you were and actually looked forward to crossing paths whenever possible. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't have a crush on you. He was a sucker for people who fought tooth and nail for what was right.

However, it was just a little under a year until your term was over, and there were lingering rumors about you running for president against the very man you work for. It was bold, but that's what drives this nation, no? Everything was on hush-hush, especially because you know your husband--if you could really call him that--would throw a fit if he merely heard about it.

Politics was your life. You lived and breathed diplomacy. You were practically nothing if you weren't leaping at the opportunity to help those in need by any means necessary.

Two soft knocks came to your office door before your assistant poked his head in.

"Madam Secretary," he prompted with a small smile. "You have a visitor. He says it wasn't an appointment but he wanted to speak with you."

Your head tilted as you tried to think of who'd show up to the White House unannounced like that. "Did he give you a name?"

"Congressman Barnes." he answered. "The one with the metal-"

"I know who he is," you said with a growing smile, secretly glad you weren't busy this time around. "Send him in."

You've interacted with him a handful of times when you went down to the Capitol. Not only for trying to get a bill passed/when handling foreign affairs, but sometimes you went down there when you were invited to events. Usually by the Congressman. He was always an interesting man to you, given his past and how he ended up here with buttoned up assholes. However, he warmed up to you almost instantly.

"Madam Secretary." he said, his voice practically bounced off the walls over that door shut, snapping you out of it as you stood to shake his hand.

"Congressman. What brings you by?" you asked him and gestured for him to take a seat in front of your desk. "I didn't peg you as the kind of guy who shows up unannounced."

"Force of habit." he shrugged and tried to put humor to how it was true, he was used to just rolling up on people without saying anything. "Old habits die hard."

"Right," you sat back down and leaned forward on your elbows while watching his eyes. You didn't miss the way his eyes darted back up from your covered chest to your face. "That still doesn't answer my question."

What was in the air today, nobody knows, but Bucky was feeling it. He hadn't openly flirted with someone since Sarah, and that might've just been out of spite to Sam for fun. But you were real deal. He had to tread lightly but make it known he wasn't a punk.

"Maybe I just wanted to visit. I was in the neighborhood and thought 'Why not stop by the White House?'"

"Barnes." you half-warned. You hated the cat and mouse game, you didn't have time for all that. He said your surname, married surname and caught the subtle cringe in your face when he said it.

Noted.

"Well, I just wanted to know...is it true?"

You gave him a puzzled look as if you didn't already know what he was talking about. "I don't follow."

He narrowed his eyes at you and rested his chin on his fist. You're lying to him. Did you not trust him with such sensitive information? Was it not official yet? Were you having second thoughts?

"Madam President." he dared with a slow blink at you. A warmth crept up your neck as those words fell from his lips. It was your first time hearing it be said aloud other than you or your supportive assistant entertaining the idea.

You chuckled lightly and shrugged. "I don't know where you heard that. Perhaps journalist gossip isn't a reliable source, Barnes."

"Bucky." he stated.

You blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"Just 'Bucky' is fine when we're alone." he insisted. This was a dangerous game he was playing and yet he didn't feel an ounce of shame or fear. Your brows furrowed at his tone and leaned back into your chair.

"I'm married."

"Happily?" he asked in a softer tone. And there it was, that timeless charm and wit that never left. The same charm that had the ladies swooning and fanning themselves in the 40s. He still got it.

Bold. Real bold, Buck.

You huffed an incredulous laugh through your nose and sighed. He's got you there, you had to admit. But you won't do that out loud. That was highly unprofessional. Even if you had thought about it at least once...tw...enty times...

You'd be lying if you said you didn't develop a little something for the man. He brought a fresh vibe to the political scene. A former deadly assassin joins congress and obviously doesn't know what the hell he's doing. It was... honestly kinda cute. And you'd be remiss if you didn't take note on how handsome he is. That slick back will do it every time.

"You're bold," you said looking him up and down. "Bucky." saying his nickname subconsciously felt like you stepped into a room you didn't know you had access to. Like the door was open the entire time. It was like a silent acceptance of some sort, but you didn't know of what.

The side of his mouth quirked upwards in satisfaction. He's got you.

"I mean, I'm just letting you know you'd have my vote." he said as he stood up and pretended to smooth out his blazer. "If the rumors are true, of course."

You stood up with him but neither of you moved. The tension in the room was suddenly palpable.

"And if they aren't?" you said. Not to burst his bubble, but you can never be too sure about someone using your title to get ahead.

"Then that'd be a damn shame. Who's to say you wouldn't have a leg up when trying to get a bill passed?"

You let out a genuine laugh. Not at him, but you really weren't expecting him to say that. So confidently too.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just, I mean your heart's in the right place but that's not how it works."

Bucky didn't take any offense to it at all. He was aware he was just firing off whatever he could to get a reaction out of you. That and he was still fresh in that chair, so it was fair that you knew way more than him.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice somehow getting lower and smoother with one word uttered. "Mind showing me how it works?"

Never in his time has he ever used his charm, let alone openly flirted with a married woman who was clearly not happy in her marriage. He took a shot in the dark with a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

The ball was in your court. Though this wasn't that hard of a decision considering the fact that you've been cheated on before and had to suck it up for appearances. You slowly rounded your desk, dragging your finger along the edge and letting your clacking heels fill the deafening silence in the room.

"Well," you began as your eyes glided up his chest, and you were just now noticing his muscles straining against the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You stood in front of him and lightly tugged his tie towards you. A hint of a smirk on his lips as he let it happen.

"First, a bill is introduced and assigned to a committee for review," you said while undoing the tie and tossing it onto your desk. Then you went to undo the buttons while keeping your eyes on him. "If approved by the committee, it's voted on by the House. If passed, it moves to the Senate."

Bucky shrugged off his blazer along with his shirt and took a step forward so your butt hit the front of the desk, leaving him in a white tank top. He leaned forward with his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you there as you sat on the edge with him between your legs.

"What happens if it's not passed by the House?" he asked as he took your hand and slowly kissed your palm a couple of times.

"Then you're shit out of luck." you caressed his cheekbone as you replied. "But the Senate can then consider, amend, and vote on the bill. If the House and Senate pass identical versions of the bill, it's sent to the President for approval."

"And that's where you come in." he murmured. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "The gracious and headstrong Madam President of our nation, passing laws for the greater good."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's fuckin' sexy is what it is," he whispered before capturing your lips. Your soft laugh turned soft moan when his cold metal hand met the hot skin of your thigh under your skirt. The hand that rested on his cheek snaked around to the nape of neck to pull him closer, if possible.

He pulled away and licked his lips, looking drunk on just kissing you. His left hand pushed your skirt up further while his right spread your thighs. His eyes never left yours as two fingers glided over your slit through your panties. You inhaled sharply as your thighs naturally spread more in response to his touch.

It was clear to the both of you that it had been such a long time since you've been touched like this. With an already high demanding job and a shitty husband, you were stuck with occasionally sitting at a certain angle in your chair after hours.

"Oh, poor thing," he muttered and kept rubbing, silently daring you to look away. "Too many nights of being left to your own devices, hm? Look at how she weeps to be taken care of properly." he whispered, earning a soft whine from you, given that you were wetter than you thought. A simple rub up against you like this made the pit of your stomach tight.

Bucky hooked his fingers around the band and pulled them down with ease before sinking to his knees. He kissed up your legs and removed your heels. The only thing on his mind was if he was going to successfully get you to cheat, forget about your shit husband even for a little while, he was going to make it worth your time. Make it so if you ever decided to fuck your man again, it'd be spoiled by the fact that it wasn't him. Should you ever cuddle up with him again, you'd wish it was Bucky.

Once his mouth was attached to you, you rolled your hips and shuddered. The soft prickling of his beard between your thighs was something you didn't know you craved until now. He groaned in satisfaction, both hands gripping your thighs and hooking them over his shoulders.

He was genuinely getting off to the taste of you. The subtle twang of today's efforts dripping off you. The contracting of your folds against his tongue was signaling that you were close already and he had just got started.

"All this? For me?" he said as he licked up more slick. "Baby, you shouldn't have." he continued and added a finger to get you there faster.

You gasped and laid back onto your desk, exhaling shakily. The balls on this man to call a married woman any kind of pet name was beyond you, but that was thrill. And you loved it.

"My apologies," he leaned upwards for a second to see you clutching your torso as a means to focus. "Madam Secretary. I'd never take that away from you." he added, along with another finger at a steady rhythm.

You moaned out your own name, a choked gasp following after. He smiled and dove back in between your legs, licking and sucking to see what it's like when you come undone.

With your own hand over your mouth, you moaned loudly under your palm as you came. You were a tad embarrassed that you were squirting all over his face, but he just wouldn't stop and let you ride this out.

When your body finally calmed and became less tense, he backed away and pulled his fingers out slowly. He stood up and wiped his face while his other hand quickly undid his belt and pulled his pants/boxers down just enough so that his dick sprung free. He nodded, impressed with how much you came and that he was able to do such a thing. He lifted your left leg from your knee and used your own cum as lube.

Your name rolled off his lips so naturally as he made sure all of your essence covered the shaft, but he was done playing games. Bucky took the liberty of wrapping that leg around his waist and used the leverage to push himself inside you, bottoming out so you could adjust. The man was girthy and long. It felt he was splitting you open, leaving the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

You couldn't remember the last time you had sex with your husband, but it definitely was nothing like this. And Bucky was definitely way bigger than he ever was.

"You okay?" he asked softly and soothed you by rubbing circles on your thigh. He hovered over with a look of concern and wasn't going to do anything else unless there was a verbal confirmation.

You nodded, "Yeah," you said and reached up to pull him towards you by the shoulders. His arms were on both sides of your head as he watched you grab the tie you tossed earlier to wrap it around the back of his neck. He smiled softly at you before he moved his hips, liking the way you think.

Bucky leaned down and left kisses along your jaw and neck, relishing in your hushed noises of pleasure so that nobody could hear outside. Thanks to your assistant, he doesn't interrupt if you're speaking with someone and warns others not to.

"Mm...that son of a bitch is lucky I didn't meet you first," he whispered and nipped at your earlobe. "He doesn't deserve you," he added with your name at the end. One of your hands came up to lightly tug on his hair. He chuckled in response.

"Too soon?" he asked, half-serious.

He was about to say something else when your phone rang. Your cellphone. You both lifted your heads and looked over by the computer, but he grabbed it quicker than you could. Your eyes widened in horror when he answered it.

It was your husband.

He leaned up and said his name aloud so you were fully aware this was really happening. The truth is, he knew everything about him. He knows about his cheating scandals and all. So, when he saw the name, he just couldn't help himself.

Old habits die hard.

"Yes, hello. The Madam Secretary is not available at the moment as she is currently busy with a meeting right now." he said, putting your phone between his ear and his shoulder. He quickly covered your mouth with his metal hand and started thrusting into you again. There was a tsunami wave worth of emotions running through you right now, but it was all being overridden by the angle he was hitting and the sudden quickened pace. He spoke on the phone like it was nothing, smiling down at your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes rolling back. Your muffled moans gave him goosebumps.

"Uh, I could try to get her on the line if you'd like," he said as he looked down again, trying not to chuckle at you snapping back to reality. "No? Ah, ok. I'll let her know you'll be here in thirty minutes. She should be finished in...one second, please," he muted the microphone and uncovered your mouth for a brief moment to kiss you, taking in your frustrations and embarrassment at the muted cellphone being right next to your head.

You could just cry. The wave of guilt only made you want to unmute and let him listen in on what he couldn't do.

"Time's ticking, sweetheart," he muttered against your lips. "Cum with me. Come on. Don't wanna leave him hanging, right?"

Your mouths moved in sync and your tongues danced to a dangerous tune. Bucky fucked you like his life depended on it.

That tight feeling inside you both snapped at the same time. Bucky pulled out in time, letting his cum hit the tiling so it didn't get in the carpet. You trembled beneath him, pouring everything you had into this kiss that kept the entire office from rushing in here.

After a few seconds you tried to make yourself calm down, pushing Bucky off you and quickly sitting up on the edge of your desk as you grabbed your phone. He playfully scoffed and snatched your phone from you. But before he unmuted, he leaned in close to your ear and said,

"Should've given you my babies." seeing your genuine look of shock.

He unmuted cleared his throat as he stuffed himself back into his pants. "Hello? Yes, she's finished now. I've delivered your message to her and she can speak now. Alright. No problem, sir."

Bucky handed the phone back to you with a wink before grabbing his clothes and putting it back together. Once he got his shirt and blazer on, he went to grab his tie that was still in your clutches. He couldn't fight the urge to plant a soft kiss to your temple while you were on the phone before he put it back on. He also cleaned up the mess he made with a tissue from the box on your desk, tossing it in the nearby trash can. When he took the entire box and handed it to you, he snickered when you snatched it from him to clean yourself up, effectively shooing him away while trying to hide a smile.

The Congressman put his hands up in defense before giving you a small salute, leaving you alone. Once the call ended and you got yourself situated, you put your heels back on and quickly walked over back to him, giving him a tender kiss and fixing his hair.

"Now go. I have an election to think about."

[f1girliefics]

The Winner Takes It All

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a painful breakup with Lando, who chose racing over your relationship, you meet again at a glamorous Monaco party.

The night you see him again, Monaco shimmers around you like a cruel joke.

Champagne glistens in tall glasses, the harbour sparkles with luxury, and Lando stands in the centre of it all, draped in victory and smiling like your heart doesn’t still ache when you breathe his name.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

You were invited out of formality.

A neutral face in the sea of past acquaintances, old team members, and PR-safe connections.

No one knows how deep it ran. How late the fights went.

How your name once slipped from his lips softer than any prayer.

You're standing by the railing, tracing the rim of your glass when his voice breaks through the music.

“You look good.”

You turn slowly. He’s dressed sharp, just like always. But his eyes—those familiar stormy things, carry guilt like luggage he can’t set down.

“You won,” you say, your voice gentle. Tired. “You got everything you wanted.”

There’s a pause. Just the sea wind and distant laughter.

“I thought I did,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought… maybe you’d understand. That it was just what I had to do.”

You laugh, low and bitter. “Understand that you chose the race over us? That I became background noise to podiums and points?”

“I didn’t think it would hurt you that much,” he murmurs.

You look at him, blinking through the sting. “I was in your arms and then suddenly… I wasn’t. You made your mind up."

He leans against the railing beside you. Quiet.

The silence between you stretches, filled with everything you never said.

“I don't wanna talk,” you whisper, the words tumbling out with years of held-back tears. “Because it makes me feel sad.”

He flinches.

You keep going, voice low but steady. “You see me as someone new. Someone who can handle it, who won't cry, who won’t fall apart.”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and pained.

“You said we had fun. That we were good once. But that’s not enough, is it?”

“Stop,” he says, almost desperate. “Don’t say it like that.”

You shake your head. “Isn’t that how it is? Someone wins. Someone loses. And I was left standing.”

“Damn it, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

The ache between you is heavy.

Thick with memories, your hoodie wrapped around your frame during cold nights in the paddock, his hand finding yours under tables, whispered I love you "s between red-eye flights.

He finally speaks again, quieter. “She doesn’t know me the way you did.”

“Then why did you let me go?”

“I thought I had to,” he whispers. “I thought love could wait.”

You look at him for a long moment.

“Some love doesn’t wait. Some love doesn’t survive being made to. But tell me, does she kiss like I used to kiss you?”

Your breath catches, just for a second. Because maybe he still wonders. Maybe he still dreams in your voice.

But it’s too late. Too broken.

You turn away from the party, from him, from what you used to be.

“Goodbye, Lando.”

“Wait-please.”

You stop, halfway down the steps.

“I thought I had everything,” he calls after you. “But none of it means a thing without you.”

You don’t look back.

Because maybe this time, the winner isn’t the one with the trophy.

A/N: This piece was based on the song with the same title by ABBA. Sorry for the heartbreak girlies! 🙈

[sabrinajenre96]

Title: Double Trouble

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Wife!Detective!Reader

Genre: Humor, Fluff, Light Angst

Rating: T

Word Count: ~1,800

---

Tamara didn’t mean to buy a stolen car. In her defense, it looked like a good deal, and the guy was very convincing.

Which was why Lucy was now hunched over her desk, typing furiously into the DMV and criminal databases. “Okay, we’re close,” she mumbled, narrowing her eyes at the screen. “Original registration says... Jack Butler.”

Angela leaned over Lucy’s shoulder. “Jack Butler? That sounds fake.”

Nyla, sipping her coffee nearby, snorted. “Everything about that car was fake. What does he look like?”

Lucy clicked to open the owner’s DMV photo.

And froze.

So did Angela.

“What the...” Angela blinked and leaned in. “Is that—?”

“Tim?” Nyla finished.

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “That’s not Tim.”

Angela tilted her head. “No. That’s Tim... if he spent a lot more time drinking beer and getting tattoos.”

Nyla let out a low whistle. “That’s Tim with a daddy bod and a lot of ink. Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

At that moment, you passed by with a coffee in hand. “What’s going on?”

Angela waved you over. “Y/N, you need to see this.”

You leaned in, eyes landing on Lucy’s screen. You nearly dropped your coffee. “Oh my God. It’s like someone cosplayed your husband after watching Sons of Anarchy.”

The group burst out laughing.

“That’s not him,” Lucy said again, but even she sounded unsure.

---

Ten minutes later, Tim walked into the bullpen. He immediately noticed the group of women all looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

He narrowed his eyes. “Okay... why are you all looking at me like that?”

Angela turned away, giggling. Nyla smirked.

Lucy bit her lip and gave an innocent shrug.

You sipped your coffee, eyes twinkling. “No reason. You just... ever think about getting a full sleeve tattoo, babe?”

“What?”

Angela nearly choked on her gum.

---

When Jack Butler was finally brought into the precinct and tossed into an interrogation room, the group gathered behind the two-way mirror—Tim included.

Jack leaned back in the chair like he owned the place, arms covered in tattoos, a smug grin on his stubbled face.

Tim scowled. “He looks nothing like me.”

“Oh please,” Nyla said. “You two could be twins... if your twin got into a motorcycle gang and stopped doing pushups.”

Angela laughed. “He’s you, Tim. Just... the alternate timeline version.”

You grinned. “So we’ve got Tim... and Dim.”

Everyone cracked up—except Tim.

“Really?”

You kissed his cheek. “Sorry babe. But that was a really good setup.”

---

Hours later, another surprise.

Jack’s girlfriend was brought in.

None of them were prepared for her.

Red and black hair, tight black jeans, heels that could kill a man, blood-red lipstick, a silver nose ring... and a face that could stop traffic.

Lucy’s mouth dropped. “Oh my God.”

Angela blinked. “Is it just me or... does she look like—?”

“Y/N,” Nyla confirmed. “If Y/N went full bad girl.”

Tim, now just as intrigued, smirked. “We need to show her this.”

---

“Hey babe,” you said, walking into the observation room. “What’s with the mystery call?”

Tim pointed at the mirror.

You turned—and saw her.

Your mouth opened. “Is that...?”

“She’s Jack Butler’s girlfriend,” Lucy said.

You stared. “She looks like me. If I got possessed by Harley Quinn and lived at a dive bar.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, smug. “Still think it’s funny?”

You blinked. Then tilted your head. “Okay, you know what? She’s sexy. Dim’s got taste.”

Tim's smirk vanished.

You turned toward him, smirking back. “But you’ve got taste too. I mean—look who you married.”

Angela snorted. “If I wasn’t married and completely in love with Wesley... and Y/N and I swung that way... I’d have stolen your wife.”

“Hey!” Tim glared.

You laughed and slid your hand into his. “Relax, husband. You’re the only Tim for me.”

Tim pulled you close, muttering, “Damn right. That’s my wife.”

Nyla grinned. “Aww. I love a happy ending... even if it started with identity theft and a stolen car.”

[myfictionaldreams]

Hiiiiii

Hope you are doing well🥺 ✨🦎

Sooo I thought about this one:

Natasha and Sam are helping the reader to defend herself with some weapons like a gun and a knife…

But Steve and Bucky don’t know this until she has to use those new skills…

Probably the hottest thing they have seen?

Their girl manhandling someone who hurts HER boys? Hell yeah

~ 🦎

⁀➷ Sweet & Armed // Mafia!Stucky x F!Reader

Summary: In a world of danger and dominance, she’s the soft center — until the day she proves she can bite just as hard as they bark.

Requested by: 🦎 -- Thank you for your request! I've also mixed this with your first request for the reader to do something nice for the boys. I hope you like it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome, attempted kidnapping, violence, mild injury (bruised hand), protective stucky, domestic fluff, poly, dom/sub, double penetration, anal, praise kink, sir kink

Words: 4.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The morning was peacefully quiet in the Rogers-Barnes estate—calm in the way only highly protected, 24-hour security could buy. Somewhere out of sight, a small army of guards monitored every inch of the surroundings.

But inside the homely kitchen, nothing stirred except for the soft hum of an old Sinatra vinyl playing low in the background, and the occasional bark from Dodger as he chased shadows across the polished floors.

You were barefoot, wearing only one of Steve’s soft white Henleys that dragged below your thighs, and a smile that only deepened each time the smell of cinnamon and warm sugar drifted from the oven. A few days ago, the recipe book you found had been shoved behind a row of aged Scotch bottles. The corners of the pages curving with age, handwritten notes smothering the recipes, add to the original recipes.

You’d found the jackpot with these books—the margins were filled with directions from Sarah Rogers and Winifred Barnes.

A surprise you were jumping on the spot to tell.

The dough under your fingers was sticky as you prepared another batch of treats. One tray was baking, and the other was already cooling. The boys would be up soon from the creaking of slow steps on the floor above your head.

As you were licking cinnamon sugar off your fingers, you turned, only to jump slightly as a low voice drawled from the doorway.

“Well, ain’t this a damn sight, Sweet Mama.”

Bucky Barnes stood shirtless in grey joggers, his hair a smidge longer than his usual buzz cut, facial hair freshly trimmed. He leaned against the doorframe, blinking sleepily, and still somehow looked like a sin.

You gave him a sheepish smile, hand on your chest, “You scared me.”

His blue eyes dragged down your legs, over the flour dusting your thighs. “My bad, doll. Didn’t realise angels made breakfast too.”

Before you could roll your eyes, he was behind you, wrapping both arms securely around your waist, his flesh hand warm and his vibranium one cool against your stomach. He nuzzled into your neck with a pleased groan.

“You cooking rugelach? My mom used to make this exact recipe. Damn near forot the smell.”

“I found an old book, I think it was hers.”

Bucky went still.

“You did?”

You nodded, wiping your hands on a towel and pulling it from the counter to show him. He stared down at the page and fading writing, then looked back at you with an emotion that didn’t often cross his handsome face.

“This…” he cleared his throat. “This means a lot, sweetheart. More than you know.”

Before you could reply, Dodger trotted into the kitchen, his wet nose nudging against Bucky’s leg, begging for scratches. “Good morning to you, too, Dodge. Have you been helping Mama bake?”

Just then, Steve’s heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs. Moments later, he was filling the doorway. “Something smells good.”

Bucky steps aside as Steve enters, tall, golden, and freshly showered. He pauses mid-stride, eyes landing on you standing barefoot surrounded by pastries, and his entire expression softens.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?”

You blinked. “What?”

He crossed the room, cupping your face in his warm palms, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You. Looking like this. Making my ma’s cookies.” Steve turned briefly to Bucky. “You see this? This is wife behaviour.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Bucky smirks, stepping closer until you’re sandwiched between their bodies. Sighing into their hold, you spend a moment just breathing them in, thankful for moments like this where even simple actions could have so much appreciation from your boyfriends.

“Are we still on for that picnic later? I thought I could bring some of these treats along.”

Bucky’s the first to move away from the hug, moving over to the sink to fill a glass with water. “Yeah, Sam and Nat will be here around noon to load the car.”

“Dibs, I’m taking the bike”, Steve adds.

“Like hell, I own the bike, Steve,” Bucky snaps back, nearly choking on his water.

“Yeah? I ride it better.”

Dodger barked once, as if to cast his vote.

The argument might’ve gone on forever, if not for the moment you walked past them hours later, your sundress fluttering just enough to reveal the curve of your thighs as you bent to pick up your bag. You didn’t mean to do it. But you felt their eyes snap to you like magnets.

Steve’s voice dropped. “Forget the bike.”

“Yep, forget the bike, I’m riding with her.”

Bucky practically tackled Steve out of the way to the car to hold the door open for you, a move that had the blonde rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath for not thinking of it first. This was all after 10 minutes of arguing who would sit next to you, just to decide that there was plenty of room in the back seats for them to be on either side of you.

So there you were, with warm sunlight beaming through the tinted windows, the hum of the radio lowly playing in the background, and the subtle crackle of a secured radio line in the front seat where Natasha and Sam kept one ear tuned into security updates.

Steve and Bucky’s shoulders and thighs pressed firmly against yours, each had a hand resting possessively on your bare thigh, having pushed the flimsy material up slightly to be skin to skin.

“You smell like cinnamon. Are you sure you want to go outside today? I kind of want you all to myself. I don’t know how Buck’s feeling.”

Bucky's hand gently squeezes your thigh, smirking, “I’m trying to be a team player, Wilson’s been begging like a little princess for this for months.”

Sam, who was driving you all, calmly lifted his little finger towards his boss and best friend, causing a laugh from all three of you.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you say softly, leaning your head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Insanely in love with you. Not the same thing,” Steve corrects, kissing your temple for a couple of long seconds.

The car bumped gently as they pulled off the main road into a hidden field surrounded by tall forest and protected by surveillance drones overhead. You knew the place well. It was one of the few safe zones that hadn’t been compromised, a place where they could let their guards down just enough to breathe.

Blankets were spread across the trimmed grass, and the warm scent of late spring was in the air. Sam unpacked the drinks while Natasha laid out sandwiches and extra ammo clips with equal ease.

“Sometimes I forget how equipped you are. Where do you even hide these things?” you ask, nodding to the assortment of weapons.

Natasha smirks, flipping her red hair over one shoulder, “You say that like I didn’t grow up doing tactical training in sunflower fields.

Sam hands you a bottle of lemonade. “Enjoy the moment, boss lady. Days like this don’t come often.”

You nod thoughtfully.

For a while, everything is right. Bucy sat behind you with his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, tracing slow circles on your stomach as Steve fed Dodger bits of jerky and talked shit to Sam about his choice in baseball teams. Natasha laughed in a way you rarely heard, leaning in occasionally to give teasing digs to all the boys, but never you, she was always a girl's girl.

You were about to reach for another cookie when a football thudded into the blanket near your hand. Steve grins, “C’mon, baby. You ever tossed one of these?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you throw people.”

“Sam motion,” Steve shrugs, stretching. “Less screaming.”

You stand, wiping crumbs off your dress. “Okay. But if you make me run, you can walk home.”

That earned a while from Sam. “Boss lady’s got jokes now, huh?”

You return Sam’s earlier gesture with a middle finger, laughing whilst walking across the field. Each person had an exaggerated stance. Bucky was cocky, steve overly technical, and sam too smooth for his good. Natasha opted to watch from the blanket with her shades on, though you knew she wasn’t really relaxing; her eyes never stopped scanning the treeline.

Everything was perfect, until Bucky started with a ridiculous overhead throw, the ball whizzing past your head and landing a significant distance away in the field.

“Sorry, Doll!” but from his shit eating grin you knew he wasn’t that sorry.

With a deep sigh, you walked to the ball and, with more energy than necessary, threw the ball to Sam, which only landed halfway because everyone was so far away now.

Eventually, it was back to Bucky, who grinned and threw the ball past where you were standing, past even the field and into the edge of the forest.

Turning with a huff at your boyfriend's antics of showing off his physical skills, you disappear between the trees. Sunlight breaks into thin beams as the sounds of laughter fade behind you. The ball wasn’t too far away, easily spotted, and tangled in a bed of wildflowers and fallen branches.

You reached for it. And froze. The hairs on your neck lifted a second before instinct kicked in.

A presence behind you- too close, too quiet. Your fingers curled around the ball, but you didn’t turn just yet. Instead, you took a steadying breath, tucking it to your chest and walking quickly back toward the clearing.

And that’s when the air changed. Just as your foot broke the tree line, the sun's heat smoothing your face, you just knew.

There was someone behind you. Before you could fully react, an arm hooked toward your waist. You dropped the football and twisted hard, driven more by instinct than thought.

From the field, everything happened at once.

Steve;s gun was drawn, cock. “Drop her-NOW!”

Bucky was already moving, low and fast across the field, but you’d somehow managed to be so far away from the others with the little ball throwing that it would still take him more time than necessary to get to your side.

And what’s worse is that you were directly in front of the attacker, and there was no clean shot.

“Don’t move!” Natasha barked, her voice sharp, her gun drawn and pointed. “Sugar, pivot! Use your elbow! Disarm!”

The man’s grip tightened, but your training kicked in, Natasha’s orders reminding your shocked body to move. You ducked low, slamming your heel into his shin, and drove your elbow back into his ribs. As he flinched, you spun, knocking the gun from his hand, and delivered a clean, closed-fist punch to his jaw, just like Sam and Nat had drilled into you.

Pain burst through your knuckles, but you followed through. The man dropped, stunned, his nose gushing with blood, eyes dazed.

Your chest heaved as you staggered back, knuckles throbbing.

The unknown man groaned on the ground at your feet.

Natasha let out a low whistle from across the field. “Hell of a takedown!”

Bucky is suddenly there, hands cradling your injured hand whilst easily able to kick out his leg, booting the man straight in the head, knocking him unconscious. “You okay? Talk to me, Doll.”

You nodded, heart still racing.” I’m fine. I-he grabbed me, but I just moved, I don’t know what just happened.” You say a little out of it, the adrenaline thumping through your veins.

“You moved like someone trained by a fucking assassin.” Steve’s now at your side, checking the rest of your body, sounding both impressed and furious as he makes sure also to kick the man in the ribs, earning a wheeze. “You tell us everything, right fucking now.”

Sam and Nat appear on either side of you. “She’s been training with Nat and me for six months.”

Steve’s head whips around. “What?!”

“She asked. We said yes. Don’t act shocked, it’s saved her life, hasn’t it?”

“Holy shit,” bucky said, breathing hard as he stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “You- goddamn, hot mama.”

Steve lifts your hand, inspecting the angry swelling along your knuckle, checking each finger for movement. “You’re still hurt.”

“It’s just a bruise,” you try to justify, a little nervous that they’d found out about your training. It wasn’t like you were doing it for any specific reason other than safety. I hoped it wouldn’t get to a point where you’d have to use it, but with the type of jobs your boyfriends had, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“You punched someone, I mean, actually punched someone with those soft little hands-”, Bucky murmurs affectionately.

“And she won,” Natasha added, amused. “Flawless technique. You should see her with a blade.”

Steve looked like he needed to sit down. Or bend you over a table.

Instead, he kissed your throbbing palm reverently. “We’re gonna fix this. And then we’re gonna talk. And then…”

The blueness of his eyes darkened with the lowering of his eyelids, but it was Bucky who finished his sentence for him: “...we’re going to show you exactly how proud we are.”

The ride back was quiet. It was not cold but heavy, like the air was thick with unsaid things. You remained sitting between Steve and Bucky, your bruised hand resting on your lap, bandaged lightly from the first aid kit.

The clean-up team arrived just before you’d all left. The man was presumably taken back to the office and held there until Steve and Bucky began questioning him until they were satisfied with his answers.

Bucky hadn’t let go of your other hand. Steve’s fist was so tightly holding onto the door handle that you’re actually worried about it snapping off.

You’d been the one attacked, the one who fought back, but they were the ones unravelling.

No radio was playing, just the road humming beneath the tires, and the sound of Steve exhaling too often through his nose.

Glancing at Bucky, staring contemplatively out of the window, you nudge your shoulder against his to get his attention. “I’m really okay. It’s just a bruise.”

He didn’t answer at first, then quietly, “You shouldn’t have to be.”

Something low in your stomach tugs.

“I should have seen him,” Steve demands. I shouldn’t—Jesus, I'm trained to notice shadows moving wrong, and I let you walk into the woods alone.”

“Steve-”

He shook his head, jaw flexing, the door handle groaning as his grip tightened. “I swore to protect you, that's all I ever wanted. I dont give a damn about the name, or the territory, or the money. Just you and Bucky.”

“You do protect me. Both of you do, all the time,” you say softly, trying to sound reassuring.

His eyes darted to your injury, “You had to protect yourself.”

“I'm glad I could.”

Bucky interrupts as his fingers graze your chin, turning your face towards his, “That's not the point, Doll.”

You reach out, cupping Bucky’s jaw with your uninjured hand. “I love that you want to keep me safe. I love it so much, but it scares me sometimes. But I can't sit in a tower and wait to be reduced every time.”

The car rolls to a stop directly outside your home. Bucky opens your door, helping you out, his hand gentle on the small of your back. Inside, it is quiet. Even Dodger is tamer than usual, seemingly sensing the tension. Natasha and Sam have stayed behind to brief the others, leaving just the three of you—well, four, including Dodger.

Steve had his hands on his hips, staring down at the kitchen table where you’d once baked. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

Bucky moved towards the kitchen cupboard, returning with another first aid kit.

“Sit, baby. Let us clean you up properly.”

You perched on the edge of the counter as Bucky gently unwrapped the makeshift bandage, revealing the swollen skin of your knuckles. Steve hovered beside him, unable to stop touching you from your shoulder, your thigh, and the back of your neck. He needed to reassure himself that you were here, breathing and warm.

Bucky applied a cold compress, so delicately you barely felt it, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Was it Sam who taught you that follow-through technique?”

You nod, “Nat taught me how to use a knife, but I just didn’t have one today.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Steve’s hand curled tighter on your waist. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“But you didn’t freeze. You didn’t falter. You fought.” Bucky meets your eyes, his voice low and full of emotion.

You nod slowly, staring down at your hands. “I just knew what to do.”

Bucky kisses the inside of your wrist. That part of you? That fire? It's ours too. Don’t ever be ashamed of it.”

Steve took your face in both hands, brushing his thumbs under your eyes. “We were wrong. You’re not fragile, you’re so fucking strong, baby girl. But you shouldn’t have to be.”

Your voice cracked, and your eyes tingled with fresh tears. " I don't want to be strong all the time. I just don't want to be helpless either.”

“You’re not. You never were,” Bucky reassures, his hands now resting against the outside of your thighs.

Steve’s forehead carefully rests against yours. “Let us take care of you now. Let us make it right.”

Your lips parted. You could feel the tension changing, twisting into something deeper, darker. Something ravenous and entirely earned.

You swallowed, breath shallow. “Please.”

They didn’t need another word.

Steve kissed you first. Right there in the kitchen, with your bruised hand still bandaged and Bucky pressing cold packs against the bruising. Steve dipped his head and took your mouth like it belonged to him, which, truthfully, it always had.

It was tender at first, filled with warmth and able to speak every emotion running through the man's head. But his control snapped when your other hand curled into his shirt, and a whine slipped from your lips.

“You just have no idea what you do to us,” he muttered, sliding his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin. “Seeing you like that, owning that bastard. God, baby. You don't even know.”

Bucky's fingers brushed your sensitive inner thigh as he stepped between your legs. His voiceis  more guttural. “You don’t get it, do you? You flipped that switch, sweetheart. We’re fucking gone for you now.”

You were dizzy with the way they looked at you, as if you were something they worshipped.

“Bedroom. Now,” Steve demands with a gruffness to his voice, eyes stormy with hunger.

Bucky effortlessly swings your body into his arms without hesitation, and you squeak in surprise, gripping his broad shoulders. Your response has Dodger barking in the background. “I can walk, you know!”

“Too slow,” Bucky grins, kissing your cheek. “You took down a grown man with a gun, but this is our domain, doll.”

They laid you on the bed like something sacred. The curtains were drawn, and the dim evening light cast golden halos around them both. Steve stripped first, pulling his shirt off over his head, then Bucky followed. Their muscles flexed under old scars, symbols of the life they’d led, the war they'd found and the kingdom they ruled.

“Allow me”, Bucky smirked, reaching for your dress and ripping it down the middle, leaving you in just your bra and panties. “Been wanting to do that all day.”

“Hey, I liked that dress!”

“Yeah? I’ll buy you 20 more. Now, I want to make you feel so good that you forget you ever had to use that hand for anything other than holding on to us.”

You shiver, nipples hardening beneath the material of your bra.

“Colour?” Steve asks softly, removing the last item of clothing on his body—his boxers.

Whilst staring at his hard, throbbing cock that pointed in your direction you responded, “green. So fucking green.”

Steve grins, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Good girl.”

That praise shot straight through you, warmth flooding between your thighs. Bucky joined him, his metal hand cool against your stomach as he slid it lower, spreading your legs apart.

“So wet for us already, doll. I can see that wet patch through your panties. Just from hearing we’re proud of you?” he questions, gently teasing your inner thighs as your hips move towards him.

You whimper, “always wanna be good for you.”

“You are,” Steve breathed, kissing down your chest, his facial hair rough against your sternum as he squeezes your breast through your bra. “You’re our good girl. Always. “

With a simplicity that was to show off his strength, Steve tore through the centre of your bra, your breasts slipping free, your underwear following the same response until you’re naked beneath them.

Steve covers your chest, his thumb and finger rolling one nipple whilst his tongue flattens against the other. With his big, bulky body covering your torso, you’re unable to keep an eye on Bucky, but you can feel him, especially the way his body now squeezes down between your thighs, legs resting over his shoulders.

You felt buckys tongue first, slow, flat licks up your slit, savouring you like a reward. His fingers held your hips down as you squirmed, moaning softly as your fingers grip Steve’s biceps, just for something to hold onto.

Bucky’s moan is your underdoing, just the raw, grunt of the tone, and the vibrations adding just enough pressure against your clit as his mouth circled it. He was moaning like you were the weetest thing he’d ever tasted. “She’s dripping, Steve. Every moan and word, she's squeezing around nothing. Our girl here tastes so fucking good.”

“Hmm, how about we wreck her, Bucky?” Steve's voice is ragged as he watches your body tremble and react to the man between your legs. “I want to see her fall apart, just for us.”

Hearing them talk about you like this, whilst you’re pressed down into the mattress, taking the pleasure is enough to have your eyes rolling back, your pussy tightening before wave after wave of your orgasm pulses deep in your core.

“That’s it, baby girl, you’re doing so well for Bucky, coming all over his face like that. You look so beautiful letting go,” Steve encouraged, his fingers continuing to tweak your nipple, only adding to the heightened stimulation of Bucky’s tongue.

“Sir-oh my god, sir!” you cry out, body trying to arch into the touches but unable to with their hulking forms holding you down.

“Say it again,” Steve’s eyes flare, widening as he licks his lips.

“Sir!”

“Fuck, Doll,” Bucky chants, groaning as he sucks on your clit hard, coaxing another whimper from you.

“Come here.”

You’re not even in control of your body anymore with the after orgasm glow, but thankfully, Steve is moving you for you. With ease, he’s turning you over as he slips underneath your body, so you’re now straddling his waist. Your thighs are shaking, trying to hold up your weight, so you slump chest to chest against Steve, leaning into his warmth as his hands soothingly stroke up your spine.

“Colour?”

“Green”, you say without hesitation.

“What do you say now, baby? You want both of us? Want to be filled front and back?”

Your whimper is pathetic as you nod repeatedly, shifting your hips back until the tip of his cock is captured between your bodies as you grind down against it.

Cool metallic fingers press into your arse cheeks, massaging the muscles as you continue to rub yourself against Steve. “Gotta go slow, yeah?” Bucky’s voice drifts from behind you as he kneels further down the bed between Steve’s legs. “Gotta stretch you open first, make sure you are nice and ready for us, Doll.”

You hear Bucky reaching into the bedside drawer, followed quickly by cold lube squirted onto your tight hole. Slicking up his fingers, he starts with one, working it up to the knuckle before pulling out. Each time he slowly enters, you can feel your arse trying to relax before tightening as another wave of arousal bursts through you.

“Please, sir, I can take it! I need you inside me,” you beg, kissing over Steve’s pecs.

“Just wait, baby. I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky encouraged you, adding another finger as you’re grinding down onto him.

A third finger is inside you, and you’re reaching back to Bucky, trying to pull him closer.

Thankfully, he does as he eases his fingers out of you. “Shh, you’ve got to take Steve first, okay?”

“Yes, sir”.

Bucky reaches between your bodies, gripping Steve’s cock and manouvers hislength until you’re able to slide back onto it. Your cries of pleasure are nearly drowned out by Steve’s as his hands hold onto your hips, controlling your movements, keeping you still as his dick throbs inside your cunt.

Then Bucky is there, laterhing his cock in more lube and pressing his hips against yours. Slowly and deeply, he inches himself in. The stretch is perfect; you can feel it everywhere. So much, but never too much.

“Doing so good, baby girl. So perfect taking both of us. Breathe. You can take it. You were meant to take us,” Steve’s voice is gentle but authoritative, keeping you calm as you didn’t realise you’d been holding your breath.

Their movements were so fucking slow, perfectly slow to begin with, letting your body adjust to being full. Then you’re taking over, rolling your hips, their cocks inching in and out.

“Fuck, this tight little hole feels so good, always so good for us. You’re milking us both,” Bucky gasps, his fingers flexing on your hips where his fingers are linked with Steve’s.

Your mouth is hanging open, a constant string of explicits and cries as all you can do and want to do is lie there and take their cocks, being as close to them as you can get.

“That’s it, I can feel you squeezing us, Doll. Come for us,” Steve encouraged, rocking his hips into you with firmer strokes.

The orgasm hit like lightning, a burning tingle starting between your legs and spreading through your limbs. It doesn’t slow down either. The pulsing of your cunt goes on and on as Steve and Bucky just keep on fucking you.

“Please-” you whisper into Steve’s chest, body limp and beautifully sated.

“You want our come, baby?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer as he grunts with another thrust of his hips up into you.

“Yes, sir. Please!”

“Good girl, take it all,” Bucky shouts, his hips speeding up until he’s as deep as he can go, pausing and trembling, heat seeping into your insides as he cums. Steve, holding tightly to your waist, thrusts and thrusts until he, too, holds still.

They held you there, bodies pressed tight to yours, still buried deep but with their come mixing with your juices.

And then they were gentle again. Bucky cleaned between your thighs with a warm towel, drying the area afterwards to ensure you weren’t too sore.

Kissing your bruised knuckles, Steve makes sure you’re mentally well, that you aren’t feeling too spaced out, but you’re perfectly present and happy.

“We’ve got you now.”

“You’re ours, baby.”

[wendichester]

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 outta love³,

summary. dean's falling out of love.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. angst

wordcount. 874

notes / warnings. shout-out to the amazing @candy-coated-misery0731 for coming up with the idea for this third part ehe // depiction of depression, self-isolation, reckless behavior (implied alcohol use and dangerous hunting choices), angst-heavy

ᯓ★ read part 1, part 2

Dean’s still standing in the kitchen long after the door shuts. Your jacket is gone. Your voice—those last few words—isn’t. They linger like smoke, wrapping around his throat until it’s hard to breathe.

"You didn’t love. Not enough."

The thing is—he did. Still does.

But love, it turns out, doesn’t mean a damn thing if you’re too much of a coward to show it.

He stares down into the coffee cup in his hand like it might tell him what to do. All he sees is the reflection of a man who let you walk away. And didn’t stop you.

You don’t cry at first.

That would feel like surrender.

Instead, you move through the days like a ghost. You check into a shitty motel two towns over, the kind with peeling wallpaper and towels that smell like bleach and smoke. You take a job on a hunt that someone else passed on, something nasty and a little too complicated to handle alone. You don’t care.

You pack light. Work fast. Sleep less.

Every bar is your new church. Every bottle, a communion. Every night, a prayer you don’t even bother aiming at the sky.

It’s not revenge. Not exactly.

It’s survival, minus the will to survive.

Dean keeps your mug in the cupboard.

He tells himself he’ll put it away tomorrow. Then another tomorrow. Then a week passes, and it’s still there, untouched, waiting.

Like the rest of him.

He hunts, sure. Goes on a salt-and-burn with Sam. Slays a few demons. Takes a hit or two that hurts worse than it should.

Sam doesn’t push at first. But one morning, he finds Dean staring blankly at the bunker wall like he’s watching something that isn’t there.

“She’s not coming back,” Sam says gently, not cruel, just… honest.

Dean flinches like the words cut. They do.

He doesn’t answer. Just walks out and doesn't come back till well after dark.

You don’t answer his texts.

You see them. Every single one.

The first ones are soft, almost careful.

Just checking in. You okay? I’m sorry. I miss you.

Then there’s a few angry ones. Guilt-sharpened. Defensive.

You think I didn’t love you? That’s bullshit. I never meant to hurt you. You just—left.

You ignore them. Leave him on read.

Because none of it matters now, does it?

Intentions don’t stitch up wounds. And I’m sorry won’t build a goddamn time machine.

Dean dreams about you.

In some, you’re smiling. In others, you’re bleeding.

He wakes up sweating, heart pounding, always reaching for the empty space beside him before he remembers.

It’s colder now.

He’s colder now.

He tries to bury himself in work. In whiskey. In routine.

He tells himself you’re probably fine. That you needed to get away. That maybe it’s better this way.

He doesn’t believe it.

Especially not when Sam gets wind of the job you took solo. One that went south. One that left your name on the list of local injuries reported at a hospital just outside Tulsa.

Dean doesn’t wait.

He gets in the car and drives.

You’re bandaged when he finds you.

One arm wrapped. Lip split. Your jacket stained in places it shouldn’t be.

You’re sitting outside the hospital, smoking a cigarette like it might keep your heart from caving in. Something you picked up recently, because who cares?

When you see him, your body doesn’t even flinch.

Your soul does. But the body? The body’s used to surviving disappointment by now.

Dean pulls up fast, slams the car door like it offended him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barks.

You exhale smoke, eyes dull. “Wasn’t.”

He stops. Looks at you harder.

“You almost got yourself killed.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered.”

Those words shouldn’t leave your mouth with that tone. Not with that flat, dead air behind them. But they do. And Dean looks like you just tore out what was left of his heart.

“Don’t say that.”

You blink at him slowly. “Why? It’s true, isn’t it? You already mourned me. Might as well make it official.”

Dean steps back like your words are bullets.

“You don’t mean that.”

You don’t answer.

Because part of you does. Or did. Or wants to.

It’s easier than saying, I didn’t know how else to feel alive without you.

He doesn’t leave.

Not this time.

He leans against the car, hands on his hips, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself together with molars alone.

“I fucked up,” he says eventually. “I know that.”

You don’t respond. Just watch the smoke curl from your cigarette like it’s more interesting than the ruins he’s standing in.

“I was scared,” he says. “And I thought I was protecting you by pulling away. But all I did was make you feel alone. I know that now.”

You flick ash to the ground. “Little late.”

“I know.” His voice breaks. Just enough to cut through. “But I’m here now. If you want me.”

You don’t look at him. Can’t.

Because the worst part isn’t that he’s here.

It’s that a part of you—God help you—wants to fall into him all over again.

And that part?

That part still believes he could be your home, if only he knew how to stay.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[littlelamy]

       for some reason you don’t even remember calling him. one minute you were sucking down your third spiked strawberry snowcone—because the pink ones were your favorite, and also because they went down too easy and tasted like nothing except melted popsicle—and the next, your head was spinning, heels were off, and your phone was pressed to your ear, rafe’s name glowing on the screen.

“bun?”

you must’ve got his voicemail the first time. because now, on the second try, he answered.

you hiccuped. “hi baby.”

“where are you?”

you giggled, “at the bunny barn!”

he tries to remember where you told him you were going before you left earlier, “you mean your sorority house?”

“uh-huh,” you slurred, flopping back onto a bean bag chair that someone must’ve dragged into the yard. the sky was spinning or maybe your tummy. “we’re celebratin’. spring..something. i dunno. my sisters said i had to drink because i’m a legacy and legacies are fun!”

rafe exhaled hard on the other end. you could picture him already—shirtless, pissed, leaning over his steering wheel with that annoyed twitch in his jaw. “are you inside or outside?”

you squinted. “both..i think i’m outside the inside. the grass is cold, but my toes are pink.”

“stay put..i’m coming.”

“you’re coming?”

you gasped, “like right now?”

“yes, right now.”

you clutched the phone tighter, legs kicking a little. “ohmygod you’re my hero. you’re gonna rescue me like a hot knight with pretty eyes..rafe?”

“yeah?”

“don’t hang up. m’gonna forget where i am if i close my eyes.”

“i’m staying right here, bunny. just talk to me.”

“okay,” you breathed. “um. i saw a duck. it was waddling near the keg. i named him tater tot. do you think he wants a pledge pin?”

you don’t remember what you said after that, only the smell of jungle juice, the imaginary feel of warm grass on your thighs, and the sound of rafe’s voice cussing someone out in the distance.

“bunny,” someone's rough and sexy voice growls out. you blinked, slowly opening your eyes. rafe was standing above you, chest rising and falling under a thin white tee, hair messed up like he’d driven with the windows down. he crouched beside you, knelt on the lawn, scowling so hard and beautiful. “you called me drunk,” he said, low. “you never call drunk.”

“i misssed you,” you whispered, arms stretching up like a little kid who wanted to be carried. he didn’t hesitate and scooped you up, tucked your face into his shoulder as he started walking back toward his truck.

“i only had four drinks,” you mumbled.

“i can tell.”

“they were pink and sparkly.”

“of course they were.”

you nuzzled into his neck. “are you mad?” he didn’t answer for a second.

then mumbled out, “i’m not mad.” he pauses, a lazy smile spread on your face, but the smile is gone in an instant. “i’m fucking furious.”

you whined, “aw rafe, don’t yell at me.”

“i’m not yelling.”

“you’re growling. your mad growl.”

“you called me at midnight, drunk and alone. barefoot in the fucking grass with god-knows-who leering at you. what if i hadn’t picked up?”

you sniffled, “but you did.”

“yeah,” he muttered, setting you down gently in the passenger seat. “i did.” your thighs stuck to the leather. your short dress had bunched up even higher. you tried to tug it down, but your coordination was shot.

“baby,” rafe warned, already buckling you in, “if you flash me one more time in this dress, i’m putting you over my knee the second we get home.”

you pouted, “i just wanted to see my sisters.”

“and now i’m seeing way too much of you.” you hiccuped instead of replying.

he climbed in on his side, started the engine, and peeled out of the lot with one hand on the wheel, the other gripping your thigh. he was glowing under the bright dash lights. jaw clenched, knuckles tight, mouth twitching every time you made a little drunken noise. even though he's gorgeous, and you wanted to cry.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. he didn’t look at you, but his thumb did stroked your thigh.

“you should’ve called me sooner.”

you blinked, “so you aren’t mad?”

“i was never mad at you,” he snapped. “i’m mad you were out here without me. mad you thought it was okay to party at some house full of girls in tiny dresses without backup.”

you blinked down at your tiny dress. “do you not like this one?”

his hand slid higher. “i love it.”

you smiled, “then why are you being so grouchy?”

“because i spent twenty minutes picturing you passed out on the lawn while frat boys took pictures.”

you giggled, “nooo, i was fine. tater tot was guarding me.”

“who the fuck is tater tot?”

“the duck.” he stared at you as you grinned. teeth still pink from the snowcones consumed throughout the event.

he groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

you leaned over, kissed his shoulder. “but i’m cute.”

“dangerously.”

he carries you inside when you get home. you protest a little, mumbling something about being able to walk, but then your ankle wobbles and he says “uh-huh, bunny, sure,” and keeps carrying you bridal style all the way up to your room.

he sets you down on the bed, starts unlacing your sandals.

you stare down at him, in awe. “you’re so good to me,” you whisper.

“not good,” he mutters.

“yes, you are. you take care of me even when i’m annoying.” he pulls off the second sandal, tosses it aside. you tug his shirt. “rafey?”

“yeah?”

“will you stay?”

he doesn’t hesitate, “yeah, baby.” he helps you out of the dress. wipes off your sticky makeup with warm water and one of your strawberry-shaped cotton pads. pulls one of his old t-shirts over your head and tucks you in.

he’s quiet the whole time until you’re curled up, half-asleep, whispering into the collar of his shirt. “i didn’t kiss anyone.”

he stiffens, “what?”

“at the party. i didn’t flirt. i didn’t… i mean, some people were being silly, but i just waited for you..like a good girl.”

his hand strokes your hair, “i know.”

you peek up. “you do?”

he nods, “mhm you’re mine,” he says. “even when you’re drunk and stupid and barefoot in the grass. still mine.”

you smile. “even when i smell like jungle juice?”

“especially then.”

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[dollyfiles]

how sweetheart!reader and single!dad!rafe’s first date went

sweetheart!reader mlist

cw: fluff, mutual pining, heavy tension, teasing, kissing

when rafe opened the front door, you were standing there with a tin of cookies cradled in your arms and a soft, hopeful smile painted across your face. your signature red lipstick caught the porch light, and your vintage sundress swayed lightly in the breeze.

but yet your eyes weren’t on him. they flicked over his shoulder almost immediately, scanning the hallway behind him with that familiar sparkle he’d grown to adore.

he leaned one arm against the doorframe, taking in the way your brows knitted just slightly in confusion. “you lookin’ for somethin’ back there?” he asked, lips tugging into a teasing grin.

you blinked and turned your gaze back to him, caught red-handed. “what? oh—no. i mean…” you laughed softly, holding up the tin in your hands. “maybe just a certain little girl who usually tackles me before she makes it past the diner door.”

rafe chuckled, stepping aside to let you in. “well, if it makes you feel better—she definitely would’ve. but tonight’s just us.”

you stepped inside, your heels clicking gently against the floor as you glanced around, still half expecting to hear lizzie’s excited squeal bouncing off the walls.

“just us?” you repeated, with the faintest note of surprise, and just maybe—though you’d never admit it out loud—a pinch of excitement and relief.

rafe closed the door behind you and gently took the tin from your arms. “don’t worry. she’s with aunt sarah tonight. movies and lots of popcorn. lizzie picked it herself. she told me, and i quote, ‘i gots to give you time to be nerviss, daddy.’”

your lips parted with a laugh, “she didn’t.” clasping your hand over your mouth. “she did,” he said with a smirk. “and even winked at me.” you shook your head fondly. “she’s a menace. a brilliant one.”

“wonder where she gets it from,” he murmured, casting you a look that made your cheeks go a little warm. rafe had just popped the lid off the cookie tin, about to sneak one, when something in the air shifted.

sniff.

his head jerked toward the kitchen, eyes wide. “crap—the sauce!” rafe set the tin down with a loud thud and made a beeline toward the stove, you right behind him in a trail of soft perfume and concerned curiosity.

“need help there?” you asked, half-teasing, as he hurried to stir the contents of a bubbling pot before it could start sticking.

“no. no—i got this,” rafe muttered, grabbing a spoon and giving the sauce a few gentle swirls, sighing in relief as it began to bubble less. “god, that would’ve been embarrassing.”

you leaned a little over his shoulder, peeking into the pot. “wait, is this the sauce?” he glanced at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “what sauce?”

“the one lizzie told me about, like, five separate times. apparently it’s life-changing?” rafe laughed, “you tell me..”, dipping the spoon and giving it a quick blow before holding it out toward you. “c’mere.”

you leaned forward without hesitation, your lips brushing the edge of the spoon as you took a careful taste. your eyes widened. the sauce was rich, warm, and comforting, like it had been simmering all day just for you.

“okay,” you said slowly, licking a bit of tomato from your bottom lip. “wow. i didn’t expect it to slap this hard.” he raised his brows at you, “oh, it slaps?” rafe asked, grinning as the term was quiet unfamiliar to him. “is that a good sign?”

“a really good sign!” you nodded, mock serious. “it slaps. it dances. it waltzes across the tongue. who taught you how to do this?” he shrugged, pretending to look modest.

“a man learns a thing or two when he’s cooking for a tiny food critic who cries if there’s too much oregano.” you laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “i get it now. she definitely wasn’t exaggerating.”

you two stood close now—close enough that your arm brushed his as he reached for a fresh sprig of basil, and close enough for you to smell the warm spice of his cologne, woodsy and clean, while only the soft sounds of the simmering stove filled the comfortable silence.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

after dinner, the dishes sat forgotten in the sink—rafe insisted he’d take care of them later. the soft glow of a lamp pooling gold across the hardwood floors, and the gentle hum of an old record player filling the space with something low and romantic.

rafe returned from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine, handing one to you as you curled up into the corner of the couch. you had kicked off your heels, tucked your legs beneath you, and looked as if you’d belonged there all along.

the man settled beside you, not too close—at first. but something about your warmth, the faint scent of sugar and lipstick, pulled him in like gravity. he could definitely get used to this.

“can i ask you something?” you said after a moment, nervous fingers playing with the little heart pendant around your neck.

“shoot.”

you hesitated for a second, yet your curiosity took over. “what’s it really like? raising her on your own?”

he looked into his glass for a long moment before answering. “hard,” rafe admitted. “some days, it’s just bone-tired exhaustion. others, it’s the best damn thing in the world. she gives me purpose. but…” he paused. “sometimes i wonder if i’m enough.”

your expression softened. you turned toward him fully, your bare knee brushing his thigh as you shifted. “you’re more than enough, rafe. i see the way you are with her. she’s lucky. real lucky.”

he looked up at you then, something raw and surprised behind his eyes. “you really think so?”

“i know so,” you said gently. “and… i know what it’s like to grow up without that kind of love. you give her what most people only dream about.”

rafe reached out, fingertips brushing over your ankle, trailing slowly up to your calf as you remained still, eyes locked on his. the touch wasn’t rushed. it was reverent.

“you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured. you let out a soft laugh, heat rising in your cheeks. “you keep saying that.”

“because it keeps being true.”

his thumb swept slow circles against your skin, sending little sparks up your spine. you leaned into his touch, your glasses nearly forgotten now, resting on the coffee table. the music played on, while the distance between you two shrank with every word unspoken.

rafe glanced at you sideways, “you know,” he said, voice low and husky, “i didn’t expect any of this.” you tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “any of what?”

“you..” he said. “after a long day… hell, after the kind of months i’ve had. i didn’t think i’d meet someone that made a hard day feel like it didn’t win. you looked at my daughter and made her laugh when i couldn’t. you… made me feel seen.”

that last part landed deep in your chest.

“and i certainly didn’t expect to want someone like this again.”

your breath caught in your throat. there it was—that ache, that buzz just beneath your skin, the kind that made your heart beat too fast in your chest. your legs still draped across his lap, your hand sliding down to rest gently on his arm.

“i didn’t expect you either,” you admitted quietly, your voice thick with something softer than nerves. “you’re the kind of good that doesn’t come around often.”

rafe shifted slightly on the couch—leaning in just a little, the space between you two shrinking like gravity was pulling you in. you sighed, laughing, “actually you’re kind of ruining me for diner regulars everywhere, you know that?”

he grinned, brushing his fingers gently up your thigh and pulling you closer by your hip, “good. that’s the plan.” you arched a brow, lips quirking into a soft, teasing grin. “oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he said, and his voice had dropped into something just shy of a whisper. you leaned in closer now—just a breath away from his mouth. “and are you gonna do something about it?”

your faces were close now. close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, see the flecks of shine in his eyes beneath the lamplight. your gaze dipped briefly to his mouth, then back up.

neither of you moved.

not until he did.

rafe leaned in, slow, giving you every chance to pull away—but you didn’t. your lips met his with the softest brush, barely there. like a question. until they connected fully.

you kissed him with a kind of sweetness you hadn’t realized you were carrying for him all this time. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him closer as the kiss deepened—warm and aching, full of every look, every laugh, every almost-touch you hadn’t dared to cross until now.

his hand found the back of your neck, steady and grounding, while your knee shifted, drawing you even closer into his lap. the wine was forgotten. the room was forgotten. all you could feel was his mouth on yours, and the soft hum he made when you tugged him in just a little more.

when you finally pulled apart, your eyes fluttered open first, dazed and soft. “well,” you said, breathless and grinning, “now i’m definitely glad lizzie’s not here.”

rafe laughed, that low, husky sound that made your toes curl. “oh, i’m sure she’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“hm, i don’t know,” you said, voice syrupy sweet. “i think she’d be more mad you kissed me without her here to supervise. she’s been invested, you know.”

rafe huffed a laugh, turning to look at you with mock offense. “you makin’ it sound like i need her permission or somethin’.” you smirked, raising a brow. “don’t you?”

he stared at you for a beat, then groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “hell, you’re right. i do.” you giggled. “told you. that girl’s been three steps ahead of us since day one. if she finds out you made a move without her blessing, you’re gonna be in timeout.”

rafe’s eyes darkened just a touch—playful still, but with that unmistakable shift. that slow pull of heat curling between the two of you yet again. he leaned in a little closer, voice low and smooth.

“then we can’t let her find out…” he murmured.

before you could fire back, he caught your mouth in another kiss—this one deeper, more lingering. it wasn’t rushed or desperate, but it carried a weight of everything unsaid. a kiss that hummed with quiet need, with the warm buzz of wine and slow-burning tension. your hand slid into his hair without thinking, his fingers brushing over the bare skin of your thigh, sending a shiver through you.

when you finally broke apart, breath mingling in the soft space between you two, you let out the faintest laugh, resting your forehead against his. “she’d definitely know something’s up now,” you whispered. rafe grinned, lips still grazing yours.

“then we better behave for the rest of the night.”

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @beausling @rafecami @rafesheaven @rafeysbrat @rafesangelita @drewsephrry @rafesbowbunny @rafessecret @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @lacyydollette @nemesyaaa @bruisedfig @rafekisser @tinythebunni @rcsbabydoll @rafesgreasycurtainbangs

[popcornpoppypop]

I'm So Glad We Aren't Brunch People

Summary: Robby comes home from a shitty day to you having another headache. You both lean on each other for survival.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff. Mentions of patient death.

A/N: This was an anon request, I hope it's what you were looking for! I'm working to get through the other requests right now, but I have heard the call for more Abbot x single mom!reader, I promise!.

When Robby walked into the house and was met with complete darkness, he knew exactly what was going on. He dropped his bag, kicked his shoes off, and went in search of you. He tiptoed into the living room and found a familiar shadow on the couch. He walked over and crouched down next to the sofa.

“Hi.” Your voice squeaked out from under your blankets.

“Hi. Bad one?” He asked, his voice soft as he brushed a few stray hairs from your face.

“Yeah. Head started pounding at 4pm. Can’t get it to stop.” You sighed.

“What did you try?” He asks as he absent-mindedly massages your neck.

“Um, caffeine, ice packs, ibuprofen. I got too tired to try anything else.” You said moving to sit up. Robby helped guide you, fixing your blanket.

“Should I go get McDonald's fries and a coke? Have we reached such drastic measures.” He smiled.

“No, I mean we’re at that point. I don’t want you to leave.” You looked up at him with big puppy-dog eyes.

“I need to shower, I stink, and that isn’t going to help.” He sighed.

“Alright, I guess.” You pouted.

“You can join me if you want.” He chuckled. “Might help you relax a little.”

“Yeah, okay.” You said as you got to your feet, the pounding in your head making you nauseous.

“Yeah? Alright.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you shuffled into the bedroom.

“How bad was it today?” You asked as you turned the shower on.

“Oh, it could have been worse.” Robby shrugged. He started peeling his scrubs off as the steam filled the bathroom.

“That’s a non-answer. Those are forbidden, your rules.” You smirked, your pajamas falling to the floor.

“Damn that therapist.” Robby shook his head. “Well, lost a patient. Worked on him for three hours. Just a 19 year old kid. Broke up a fight at a frat party, they beat the shit out of him. Too much blunt force trauma.” Robby sighed, the image of the boy stuck behind his eyelids.

“I’m sorry.” You rubbed your hand up and down his back.

“Yeah. Let’s wash this day off.” He grabbed your hand and kissed it.

You both climbed into the shower, the hot water beating against your skin. The steam making your chest relax, the tension starting to leave your shoulders.

“Glad you talked me into the stupid massive shower head.” Robby smiled.

“I told you it was a good idea. Turn around.” You ordered as you poured soap on the loofah. Robby obeyed, letting you scrub his body. He let himself relax, let himself grieve under the hot shower and your soft touch.

“Better?” You asked, your left eye twitching as the pounding continued.

“Yeah. You don’t have to take care of me when you’re sick.” He said, squeezing shampoo into his hands and forcing you to turn around. His fingers massaged into your scalp, his nails scratching ever so slightly. You let out an involuntary moan as you relaxed into his touch.

There was nothing sexual in any of it. It was simple, romantic domesticity. It was leaning into each other for survival and enjoying it.

“Lean back.” Robby detached the shower head and rinsed your hair. The water making your hair heavy and pulling your head back.

“I like when you wash my hair.” You hummed. You wrapped yourself around him as the water warmed you both.

“All you have to do his ask.” He murmured into your scalp, leaning into you as much as you were into him. Your skin felt like it was meant to be next to his.

“How’s the headache?” He asked, pulling away and holding your face in his hands.

“Eh. Better, not gone.” You shrugged.

“I think the cold eye mask is in the freezer.” He noted, “water’s going cold.” He said, turning the shower off.

“Might have to call it an early night.” You sighed.

“I’m not going to argue with that.” He said, grabbing a towel and handing it to you.

“I feel bad. You worked hard all day and I can’t be up with you. It feels selfish.” You shook your head as you dried yourself.

“Not selfish. You’re taking care of yourself, which is important to me. I don’t want to be awake anymore anyway.” He said as he wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Today was too much for both of us, I guess.” You said, walking into the bedroom and rifling through your dresser for something to sleep in.

“But we get to end it together.” He kissed your forehead as he left the bedroom.

“And we don’t have to go anywhere tomorrow, thank god.” You huffed, pulling on your pajamas.

“I plan on doing nothing for the next two days.” He came back in, handing you the cold eye mask. He pulled on fresh underwear and climbed into bed.

“I second that decision.” You sighed as you laid next to him.

“I’m so glad we aren’t brunch people.” He chuckled as he turned the bedside lamp off.

“I mean, I like brunch. I don’t want to get up for it is the problem.” You smiled as you settled your head on his chest, pulling on your eye mask.

“I’ll make you some French toast.” He kissed your head.

“You might have to pick up my Zofran prescription tomorrow.” You chuckled.

“I picked it up yesterday, you were half asleep when I handed it to you.” He laughed, the vibrations shaking his chest.

“My hero.” You sighed as sleep slowly took over you.

[lieslab]

I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend accuses you of cheating and leaves for his tour without a proper farewell.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: We're diving into angst head-first. No mercy. Requestee, you specifically requested a little angst, but I might have added far more than that. I had a vision and it expanded into something crazy. Please do not hunt me down and disembowel me. I swear on my life, you get that happiness you craved towards the end <3

_ _ _

“Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that, Chan! How many times do I have to tell you we’re just friends?” 

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. In the kitchen, he leaned back against the granite countertop. “Because going out to your coworker for lunch with your guy friend is surely all it is. Do you know how much it hurt to go into that cafe and find you hugging a random guy?” 

“I already told you I was having lunch with a coworker!” 

“You never said he was a guy!” 

“Excuse me for not fucking telling you the sex of every friend I have! What’s the difference?” You slammed your mug on the table. Coffee splashed out and stained the bar counter. “You were all over Yuna in your last TikTok dance!” 

“All over her?” His eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? We’re idols! I was just doing the dance like it was supposed to be done!” 

“That’s practically the same situation!” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” His voice raised. “How fucking dare you accuse me of-” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, when did you ever become a jealous dickhead that stopped trusting me?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably when I walked into my favorite cafe to get a drink and found my significant other in the arms of another guy!” 

Your hands slapped the countertop hard. “How many times do I have to say we’re just friends? That’s all we are, Chan! I’d never cheat on you and you know it!” 

“Do I? Do I really?” He glared. “Because last I knew, significant others talk to each other if they’re going out with the same sex, so they know cheating isn’t occurring!” 

Your face fell at his accusing words. Tears burned behind your eyes and you tried to swallow the harsh lump building in your throat. No words came out. The two of you couldn’t see eye-to-eye on this. 

You didn’t think going out with your coworker for lunch would harm anything. You picked a nearby cafe, figuring it’d be fine. You didn’t think it’d cause issues with Chan. Coincidentally, he left the company building to grab a drink around the same time. When he walked in, he found you hugging your coworker. 

That’s all it was and that’s all it ever would be. Your coworker transferred to a new department in the building and the two of you hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks. Lunch was the same time for the entire company. You both went to the cafe to catch up on company drama. 

You didn’t see Chan, but he certainly saw you. You pulled away from your coworker, talking and laughing. That same wide smile, the one you showed him. Jealousy ignited. He didn’t bother getting his drink and instead, he turned back around and fled the scene, unable to handle the hurt. 

That rolled into tonight. Tomorrow morning, he’d be leaving for tour and he’d be on the road for months. Between planes and vehicles, it’d be a while before the two of you would see each other. Halfway through his tour, you booked a week off work, so you could visit him and attend a few of the concerts, but it was so far away from now. 

Tension grew between the two of you. His jaw clenched and his tongue pressed against the interior of his cheek. He waited for your response, but your silence seemed to confirm everything. He nodded and his tongue clicked. “I’m leaving.” 

“What?” You croaked. “What do you mean? You don’t leave until-” 

“I’m going to stay at one of the dorms tonight.” 

“C-Chan…” You weakly uttered. “Please don’t do this.” 

He shook his head and walked past you. Your bottom lip trembled and your heart hit the bottom of your stomach. Wheels rolled and down your hallway, Chan walked by with two large suitcases. Both of them, he packed the night before, with your help. 

You called his name again and stepped forward. You stopped when he shot a glare your way. Through your tears, your soul went concave. You sniffled, silently pleading for him to say something, but he didn’t look back again. 

The last thing you saw was his back. His black suitcases disappeared into the hall and the door slammed shut, causing you to flinch. More tears slipped down your cheeks. 

He didn’t even bother to say a proper good-bye, or lock the door behind him; merely two more knives into your bleeding heart. 

~ ~ ~ 

On the plane the next morning, Chan slumped in his seat with his hoodie hood tucked over his head. During this morning’s airport departure, cameras flashed and filmed. Dispatch employees zoomed in eager to get content. 

Staff members of JYP walked with their own luggage. Bodyguards lingered around, making sure space stood between reporters and everyone. In a single file line, the guys walked through the airport and into the correct gate. 

A black face mask covered Chan’s face and a matching beanie sat on his head. Some of the guys dressed nicer for the occasion, but he didn’t. Not this morning and certainly not after last night’s argument. As he walked with his eyes cast on the floor, he briefly wondered if you were watching at home. 

Some fans filmed the scene live and maybe you were back home watching, or maybe not. Maybe you were tucked away in your shared bed. Hair strewn out and limbs sleepily tossed in every direction. His heart ached at the thought, but last night’s anger came back with vengeance. The thought dissolved as quickly as it appeared. 

Last night, he took himself to Changbin and Hyunjin’s dorm. It was the closest to your shared apartment and he wanted to get some decent sleep before the flight. Instead, he ended up tossing and turning on their couch most of the night. 

He got up in the darkness and tried the recliner instead. By the time he fell asleep and woke up to Changbin shaking him, he’d only captured about three hours of sleep. He didn’t shower, or brush his teeth. Instead, he drowned his morning breath in the bitter taste of hot black coffee. 

He didn’t let himself feel anything until he was on the plane. Hurt collided with anger and it fizzled into something monstrous. Razor sharp teeth, pointed claws, and it oozed with a rotten-stenching green substance; envy. 

Last night, it hurt you. 

He hurt you. 

And the worst part? He couldn’t make up for it. Not the way he wanted to. Not the way he needed to. He should have let you explain, but he let go of the reins and let jealousy have its way with you. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the tears slipping down your cheeks. Your bright eyes dulled for the first time. He didn’t see it, but he imagined you flinched when he slammed the door shut. There wasn’t a goodbye. 

The entire thing made him feel like shit, but he couldn’t take it back. He didn’t want to be the first to reach out to you. It’s not like he could make a call on the plane right now, anyway. Too crowded and not enough space. He couldn’t hang out in the bathroom and tell you everything he needed to say. 

So instead, he drowned in self-pity with a hand around his phone. The flight would take hours and hopefully, by the time he landed, you’d text him first. You’d build half of a bridge and he’d build the other, so you could walk hand-in-hand once again. 

“Channie, hyung?” 

He didn’t respond to Han’s voice. Tucked beneath his hood, his airpods blasted music. Han sat beside him full of worry. Usually, Chan tried to keep them all in line at the airport, but not today. When he brought up Chan’s silence, Hyunjin told him the two of you were in a disagreement. 

“Channie, hyung?” He reached over and gently tugged on Chan’s hoodie sleeve. 

Chan’s head shifted. He pulled out one of the airpods and looked over. Red-rimmed eyes and brown bags stared back at the younger man. Han reached out with a bag of trail mix. “Are you hungry?” 

“No thanks.” 

“Are you sure?” Han’s frown deepened. “You don’t look okay. Do you need something to drink? You can wave over one of the flight attendants.” 

“I’m okay for now, Han.” He pushed his airpod back in his ear and slumped back in the seat. 

Han sighed and pulled his trail mix back to his chest. He reached in, grabbed one of the pretzels, and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, he hoped Chan would feel better soon. 

Tour would be miserable if their leader was unhappy for the entire tour. 

~ ~ ~ 

As the days slipped by, you didn’t text, or call him. He didn’t contact you, either. Thousands of miles away, it started to hit him hard. His jealous outburst caused him to lose you. 

He tried not to let it bother him. He put on a brave face for the guys and the fans, but after their third stop, he finished the concert and went directly into his hotel room. He didn’t drop by Han and Minho’s room to talk with the rest of the guys. 

Not only was he physically exhausted from the dancing and singing, but he was exhausted from the emotional aspect. He pretended to be brave, but deep down, he was the most frightened he’d ever been in his life. Losing you meant losing a piece of his soul. 

As someone who lost and gained a lot of things in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could lose you. You were gold in his heart; the arteries that made his heart beat, you were his pride and joy. Giving you up meant certain death to the parts of his hearts he opened to you. 

Face down in a cotton pillow, he let out the tears he tried to hold back. He tried to be strong and tried to pretend it was fine, but nothing worked. Everything oozed out; the betrayal of your actions, the fear of what might be, the brewing fear that he wasn’t and he’d never be good enough. 

Because if you were content with hugging another man, smiling at another man, what would become of him? You meant everything to him and if he failed at keeping you next to him, who was he supposed to love? Didn’t that mean he wasn’t good enough? 

He lived a life laced with a silent fear. Deep down, back in the depths of his brain, a little voice whispered and insisted he wasn’t good enough. His group members couldn’t smother it. The records they broke, the accomplishments they achieved, it didn’t matter. His insecurities grew with him. 

That’s what happens when you spend your life being nit-picked and torn apart by adults when you’re younger. When the JYP staff dubbed him not good enough, not dancing as well as he should be, not working hard enough, not practicing his vocals enough, he’d never be good enough; their words haunted him like a ghost. 

They said they were helping. They wanted him to achieve every goal and he did. He was. They gifted him hand-wrapped disappointment and expected greatness. They got it, but he sacrificed his sense of belonging in the process. 

In the mirror, there were still days he couldn’t recognize himself. Blearily in the studio and practicing different notes, his voice changed, but his self-esteem didn’t. Not even millions of fans could improve that self-doubt. Not when so many of them easily shunned and back-stabbed him to align with their opinions. 

You did. You used to. He clung to your words, trying to believe them. When you spend your entire life forgetting to believe in yourself, it takes so long to bring back your self-esteem. Every hope you whispered, every little compliment, he clung to them with chewed nails and the desperation of a neglected and starved man. 

It was different coming from you. Strangers could idolize him and they always would, but you saw him. Every part of him. The pieces that lay broken and defeated behind the scenes. The anger and silenced voice on the things he couldn’t change. The wants and desires, you viewed it all raw and authentically. 

So why did it seem like you gave up on him so easily? You just reaffirmed the words from the past. He wasn’t good enough. Not talented enough. Not good looking enough. 

Never. 

Not. 

No. 

Nothing. 

The pillow caught his tears when you couldn’t. It heard every whisper and the hotel wall’s soaked with his bitter misery and silent desperation. Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone better and far more desired? He crumpled to the shell of who he used to know. 

The belief that he meant something, it didn’t need to be spoken by fans. He didn’t need it to come from his parents and siblings. Not from his group mates, or other friends. He needed to start believing it himself, but he didn’t know how. He always relied on you to help him see through his fractured self-image, but now you’re gone. 

What does the last survivor on earth do when the sun implodes? The moon clouds over and the tides cease. The stars burst, painting the cosmos with the final glow of a supernova; the last breath of dying stars.

In his damp pillow, his eyes squeezed shut. Sobs locked themselves in his chest. He couldn’t push them out, even if he wanted to. Staff members had hotel rooms on either side of him. He couldn’t break down and let them hear how broken he became.   

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the dark room. Outside, cars cruised downtown. Hums of their engines and the occasional honk of a horn. A gentle rain sprinkled the tin hotel roof. The heavens grieved alongside him. 

Just as his breathing started to slow and his eyes shut, a knock sounded at his door. He thought he was hearing things, but it remained consistent. A steady thrum, another presence lingered outside his dark cave of self-pity. He shifted, turning away from the door, and trying to sleep, but it didn’t stop. 

With a huff, he finally shoved himself up and padded over to the door. His bare feet brushed over the carpet and he wiped his bleary eyes. He jerked the door open, preparing to tell one of the guys to leave him alone, but to his surprise, he found you. 

You stood with a plastic bag full of items and a suitcase behind you. The bags beneath your eyes matched his. Draped in a hoodie and sweatpants, you stood without a word. He blinked a few times, wondering if he was actively dreaming. 

“Hi…” You trailed off when he didn’t speak. Your weight shifted to your opposite foot and your eyes found the floor. “I-I can go back home if you want me to, but I couldn’t just…” The lump started to form in your throat. The exact same feeling washed over you that occurred the night of your fight. 

“This was really stupid,” you whispered more to yourself than to him. “I wanted to make things right. I didn’t want to do it over the phone, so I worked out a schedule with my boss. I only have a few days, but I-” 

He cut you off by lunging forward and wrapping his arms around you. You gasped as you were lifted off the ground. Air removed itself from your lungs and Chan jerked you back into his room. Your fingers didn’t let go of your suitcase, so it rolled with you. Inside, he jerked your suitcase in, shut, and quickly locked the door. 

“C-Chan, I-” 

“I’m sorry,” he squeezed tighter. “I was so stupid and insecure. I shouldn’t have yelled and I should have heard you out. You were just trying to explain and I refused to let you. I assumed things and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Can’t breathe,” you weakly whispered. 

“Oh, fuck. Sorry!” His arms loosened around you and you slipped back to the floor. You sucked in a deep breath and relaxed. He reached out and gently cupped your cheeks. “Are you okay?” 

You sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. I forgot how tight your hugs can be. I feel like it’s been forever since I hugged you. I talked to the guys, they helped lead me here. I didn’t know where to go exactly.” 

He frowned and his arms wrapped around you again. This time, he clung to you with care. He tucked you beneath his chin. “God, I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I meant what I said the other night. I really didn’t cheat on you, Chan. I couldn’t. I never told you I was having lunch with my coworker because I didn’t think it was a big deal. We’ve been friends since I started working there and he transferred to another department, so I-” 

“Shh. You don’t have to explain yourself. I should have trusted you instead of jumping to conclusions. It’s not your fault I overreacted.” 

You slipped your hands behind his back and gently wrapped yourself tighter around him. “I missed you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t call, or text. I was getting ahead on my work, so I could come speak to you in person.” 

“I’m not dreaming, right?” 

“No, I’m here. I’m really, really here.” You pulled back and glanced up. Before he could react, your lips were on his. The soft kiss said everything the two of you didn’t say out loud. 

Lip-locked with arms around one another, the hurt eased. His hands slipped down to your hips and he carefully held you, like he was afraid you’d pull away and never be seen again. Desperate fingers twisted in the fabric of your white hoodie. 

When you pulled away to catch your breath, he hesitated to open his eyes; worried that this really was only merely a dream. When his eyes fluttered open, you were still there and staring at him. You sucked in a deep breath and let go of his body. 

Stepping back, you grabbed the plastic bag you previously held. “I wanted to get you flowers, but I know you’re on tour and traveling with flowers might be difficult. So instead, I got you a bag of your favorite candy. I stopped at a Korean convenience store before I came to the hotel earlier.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Uh-” You blinked and shrugged, “since a little after lunch. I’ve been hanging out in Felix’s room and mingling with the guys. They’re all really worried about you. Han texted me the day you left and said you weren’t acting like yourself. I couldn’t let you suffer for the entire tour.” 

His face softened and he reached out to grab the bag. “What kind of snacks?” 

“The unhealthy kind. I know you try to eat healthy on tour, but I went to the concert earlier. I think all that jumping and dancing deserves some fuel.” 

He chuckled, causing one of his dimples to poke out. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this. It means a lot to me. Actually,” his eyes found yours, “this means everything to me.” 

“I couldn’t let you believe I’d cheat on you. Your my entire world and living without your messages was tortuous enough. I couldn’t stand the silence without your goofy phone calls.” 

“Should we lay in the bed and eat snacks while watching Netflix?” 

“Do you have to be up early tomorrow? Because I don’t want to-” 

“Nah, nah, nah.” He waved away your worry. “That doesn’t matter. Besides, I don’t have to be at sound check until the afternoon. Come on, lay with me.” 

He placed the goodies on the bed while you took off your shoes. Before you could get to the bed, he pounced on you. His arms pinned yours to your sides. Wet kisses speckled every inch of your face, causing you to giggle like crazy. 

“Chan, what are you-” 

“I’m catching up on all the kisses I’ve missed out on! I’m practically a touch-starved man.” Another kiss to the tip of your nose. “Maybe I’ll kidnap you and force you on tour with me.” One more to the side of your head. 

You laughed harder. Happiness ran through his veins. In a fit of excitement and pure fun, his fingers brushed against your ribcage, causing you to shriek into a laughing fit. 

“Hey, no!” 

“Hey, yes!” His fingers moved quicker. You squirmed and laughed harder. You struggled beneath his grip, causing him to laugh just as hard as you. 

A squeal left your body as he picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. Before you could get up, he straddled you. Cooing and tickling, he beamed as you laughed until tears filled your eyes. 

He kissed your lips and when he finished, he pulled away, smiling proudly. “Look at you, you’re all red and out of breath now.” 

“It’s all your fault.” 

“You’re so cute.” 

“Apparently,” you playfully huffed. 

He smiled fondly and wrapped his arms beneath you. His head went to your chest and he squeezed you. “I’m so happy you’re here. We could watch Netflix, or we could just stay here like this. I think I hear your heart fluttering.” 

You went to speak, but it cut off with a yawn. Jet-lag started to catch up with you from earlier. “Yeah, maybe. We could stay here and just-” You cut off with another yawn. 

“My sleepy little baby is so tired.” 

“A little.” 

“Get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a final kiss into the center of your temple. “I love you so much.” 

“Love you.” You sighed and your eyes fluttered shut. His heart melted as he watched you wind down. You were always adorable when you drifted off to sleep. 

He leaned down, pressing his ear to your thumping heart. “Sweet dreams, honey.” Relief flowed through his veins and his own eyes slipped shut. 

Tomorrow morning, he couldn’t wait to be this grabby and possessive all over again. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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