#maybe the only time hes okay with hearing his voice

[luveline]

Missing hotchner reader❤️❤️

hotch and spencer have to work together to look after you when things get really hard. fem, 3.3k

cw cptsd episodes and descrips of abuse

Adoption isn’t as permanent as people might think —they can give you back anytime they want. So when the oldest Hotchner started hitting you, it wasn’t that different to a previous placement, nobody was watching over you, and you were so afraid of losing your new brother that you didn’t say a word. 

You knew, reasonably, that if Aaron was to find out about how his father (your father) had been treating you, he’d report it to your caseworker or the police or somebody and you would be removed from the Hotchner household. And Aaron was the first person you’d ever met to care about you, really care, maybe even love, so you hid it all away and you told him that things were fine. You do it for years.  

You move out, you go to college. Aaron moves you into a nice apartment a few streets away from his own, and for a while, life is good. You meet his coworker, Spencer, and you get along. Spencer takes you on dates to cinemas and patisseries and he buys you cuddly plushies with hearts sewn into their hands at Valentine’s. By all accounts, things should be good. 

You can’t breathe, is the problem. Somebody has their hand raised to hit you again and you can’t do anything about it, you just have to take it, because you’re useless, because you deserve it, because you’re a drain on everything and everyone and you aren’t worth the trouble, you deserve the hit. You’re so sorry.

“I know,” someone murmurs quietly, a sensation on your shoulder. You wait for it to close around the back of your neck. “I know. It’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, barely, a breath of sound. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

But you did, you did, he was in a bad mood to begin with and you hit his glass of scotch right off the table, smashed glass and wasted drink and a bad mood made worse. He should’ve hit you by now. He’s waiting for you to sit up. He doesn’t like to hit the back of your head, but he will if you cower long enough.

“Honey,” the voice says, right by your ear, “I’m not going to hit you, do you hear me? I am never, ever going to hit you.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“I don’t care that you knocked the glass over. I don’t care at all.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Can you look at me? I promise,” —he emphasises until his voice burns— “I am not going to hit you.” 

Aaron sounds upset enough to force your gaze. You look at him through your lashes, ready to shut your eyes if this is a trick, but he has his hands flat in front of you and he’s completely still. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, so unlike himself, “I wouldn’t hit you over a glass. I wouldn’t hit you if you did it on purpose. I wouldn’t hit you if you smashed every piece of glassware in this apartment for fun.” 

He’s hit you for less. 

“Sweetheart,” he says again, waiting for a reaction you can’t give, “do you want me to go away?” 

It’s a good question. Do you want him to leave? Immediately, everything inside of you says No. He’s gonna hit you just like the last time you smashed his drink, out of the blue, ‘cos didn’t mean to doesn’t matter. But you don’t want Aaron to go. He’s the only person who’s ever loved you properly. 

“It’s okay, just hit me,” you say, staring at him, pleading with him not to even as you ask for it, “it’s my fault.” 

“Not gonna hit you,” he says, reaching for you now, even when you flinch, he holds you by the arms and he stares at you hard. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not okay. It won’t fix anything.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“No, you don’t.” Aaron rubs your arms in tandem, shaking his head, a trace of panic in his eyes you’d missed until now. 

It’s Aaron. Aaron’s never hit you. 

“You never deserve to have someone put their hands on you,” he says, practically murmurs, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

“I lied to you.” 

“I know. I know you did, honey.” He shakes his head gently. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I hit the glass over,” you say, And he hit me so hard I couldn’t hear right for hours. You still remember the way it shocked you, because you’d started to expect it but you were still surprised he’d bother with such a hard hit, that he could get that angry about it.

“I thought it was just me,” he murmurs, sorry, clutching at you like he needs you to listen. “I never should’ve left you in that house, but I thought it was just me. It was only ever… me.” 

You already know —you’ve had this conversation before. He’s apologised already. 

He cups your cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re not angry with me?” 

“No. I’m never angry with you.” 

You come to yourself in fits. You’re kneeling on the floor not far from the table, the mess of glass, half still intact and cupping a few sips of scotch. Aaron’s kneeling right next to you, still in his suit, hasn’t been home long, you were waiting for him. You used your key because you didn’t want to be home alone. Today’s been a bad day. You’ve felt stringy and strange for hours and you knew seeing Aaron would set it right. That Aaron would make you feel better through force of will. 

And then you’d knocked his drink off the table and both of you had startled, and he’d said, “Wait, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” but all your brain heard was You. 

You. What could be said to mean more than that? 

“You’re not gonna hit me,” you whisper. 

“Never.” 

“Can you help me up?” you ask, half apart from yourself. Your head is back, but your legs won’t cooperate. 

“Where do you want to go? The kitchen?” he asks, leaning so you can wrap your arms behind his head. He lifts you up with some effort on his part, adjusting you, and leading you together to the kitchen to sit you at the island bar. “Sit tight. I’ll clean the glass, okay? It won’t take long.” 

You don’t want him to go, but you don’t wanna say no. 

Time away from him is good, in a way. It makes you remember who you actually are outside of the bad memory. It hammers home that this is Aaron’s apartment, your big brother, your number one supporter. There’s a picture of you and Jack right there on the fridge stuck by an alphabet magnet. Aaron’s never hit you before and it’s not going to change now, because he is nothing like his dad. 

He’s never really seen you act like this, though, and you aren’t excited for what he has to say next. He has a penchant for seeing you at your worst and building you back up again. It shouldn’t be his problem, but it is. 

He brushes the glass into a dustpan and unloads it into a bag, which he trashes. You watch him wet a paper towel and wipe it across the floor for the shavings. 

When he’s drying his hands on a towel, you summon the courage to apologise. “Aaron, I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry.” 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t look much like the other Hotchner’s. He’s dark-haired like his mother, and he smiles with all kindness. You never saw anything so soft at home, not unless he was there to visit. It’s a wonder he ever bothered getting to know you, already living his life very much outside of the household, and shouldn’t he have moved on? If it were you, if there were another kid in the house right now, could you go back? Knowing how you were treated? 

“I love you,” he says. “You know that?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you think you could understand why I don’t want you to say sorry, or be sorry, because of that?” 

You smile weakly. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Because if Jack were in here today, and he had hit that drink over, you couldn’t have hit him. Could you?” 

“Of course not.” 

He’s mildly guilty for the example, you can tell, but it cements the sentiment in your mind and he can see that. “When you love someone, you don’t hit them. We just can’t do it.” 

“I just… just– you– I got all mixed up in my head.” 

“I know.” 

“Thought you were him,” you say tightly, quietly. 

“I know. Is that the first time you’ve had something like that happen? Like you weren’t sure where you were?” 

Your face crumples of its own accord, heat clogging your nose and throat and lining the backs of your eyes. “No… but it hasn’t been that many times…”

“The bad panic attack at work a few weeks ago, was that like this?” 

“No, that was just that I couldn’t breathe right. I– I had one with Spencer.”

Aaron frowns, but he speaks kindly, “When was that?” 

“A couple of days ago…” You stare at your hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I need to make sure you’re okay.” 

“He told me to tell you, but it– I thought he’d break up with me, after, but he hasn’t, so I’ve just been waiting.” 

“Honey, I don’t think this is the sort of thing that could make Spencer break up with you. He cares too much.” 

“You don’t understand, I– I begged him not to touch me, Aaron. I really scared him.” 

With Spencer, it was late. You asked him to stay the night on a limb, and you’d forgotten he was there sleeping beside you, met him in a dark hallway, where he asked what you were doing out of bed. It’s late. You shouldn’t be up. 

His hand had settled just behind your neck. He won’t touch you there anymore. 

“If there’s something you want to tell me–”

“I want it to go away,” you say. 

“It’s not going to be that easy.” He takes a big, deep breath. “You could’ve told me this was happening,” he promises. 

“I didn’t want you to know that I– lied so much. Sometimes I can’t believe I let him do it.” 

Your tone, quiet and calm and a juxtaposition to the ache in your chest, couldn’t hurt him worse. You're familiar with the pain on Aaron’s face, how it makes him do this sorry smile, how he tries hard not to give it away. “If anyone let him hurt you, it was me.” 

“What?” 

“I knew he was unkind to you. I knew he shouted. I didn’t try hard enough to get you away.” 

“Aaron–”

“If you’re going to blame someone, it has to be me.” 

It’s ridiculous. If you hadn’t had Aaron, you would’ve been completely miserable to the marrow of your bones. He’s the last person on earth you’d blame for the way you’re feeling now, so when a tear wells in your eyes, when it hits your cheek in a splash, you let him tut and wrap his arms behind you. 

“It’s my fault,” you insist, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

“No.” 

“It’s my fault, I hit the glass–”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” 

“I’m really s–sorry.” 

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. Just breathe. Just take a deep breath for me. I promise you I’m not mad about the glass.” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

He holds your forehead to his chin, clutching you to him, reassuring and a little too tight. “I’m not mad at you.” 

You can’t make yourself believe him. 

—

Spencer isn’t expecting to get waylaid by Hotch at Rossi’s dinner party. He can’t think of what he did wrong. You’re happy with him, clingy lately, which he loves, and as smart and sweet as ever, and work is great. Spencer’s a good agent and a better profiler. 

Hotch looks so serious that he follows him in silence, squeezing his coke neck like a lifeline. 

“I want Y/N to be assessed for PTSD, and I need to know that you’re going to support her,” he says simply. 

Spencer searches the backyard for you. You’re laying down in the grass with Jack, Henry, and Penelope. It’s getting late, barely any sunshine left, but nobody’s wanted to ruin the fun and call it a night yet. You don’t fuss as Jack throws himself sideways across your chest. 

“Did something happen?” Spencer asks. 

“She had an… event. She told me about a similar incident with you the other night. That she panicked and got confused about who you were.” 

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I– yeah. I caught her by surprise.” 

“That’s the only time it’s happened?” 

“Yeah. She’s told me a little about it.” 

“About the episode?” 

“Everything. And it’s obvious?” He enthuses it with apology, worried he’ll offend Hotch if he says something too blatant, but desperate to be honest. “Most of the time she’s this– she’s amazing, she’s like this light, and then sometimes it’s like she thinks I don’t like her? Like I don’t want to be near her, or like she thinks I’m gonna hurt her.” 

Hotch lets his eyebrows rise a little. “Yeah.” 

“She cried so much that I didn’t know what to do.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that part, she already told me you made her feel better,” Hotch says quietly. Neither of them mention what they know, how you’d begged Spencer to stay after the episode, how sorry you’d been, how desperate Spencer was to calm you down. “But if you can’t do it in the long run, you need to know now. I can’t start this with her and have you duck out halfway through. I know,” —Hotch gives him a fond smile, half-knocking the wind from him— “that you care about her, and I know it’s not my place to come to you on her behalf, but I’m going to do it anyhow, and you know why I am.” 

“What do you mean?” he says, though he knows. 

“I’m saying I think she’s going to get worse before she gets better. She’s not well right now.” 

“I know she isn’t.” 

“I trust you, Spencer. I care about you, too. But she’s going to be my priority, and if you can’t be there for her then it has to be done now... I’m worried she’s going to get really low.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says genuinely. Spencer’s not defensive, only urgent. “Hotch, I more than care about her.” 

Hotch nods. “Okay. Good, because I need your help. You have to vet these doctors for me, I have a preliminary list. I’ll send it to you.” 

“Wait, have you talked to her about this?” 

“I said we’d talk to a doctor. I promised I’d talk to you about it. She’s… I don’t know, she’s scared.” 

Spencer straightens up. You have nothing to be scared of with him, not his reaction, not his lack of support. He wishes Hotch had had more faith in him, but none of this is about him. Someone hurt you, and now you have to put yourself back together again. 

The kids have disappeared. Penelope’s climbing onto her feet and offering you a hand, but you stay laying down in the grass. 

“I really care about her,” Spencer says. 

Hotch clasps his shoulder. “Are you going, or am I?” 

“I’ll take this one, please.” 

“Sure.” 

Spencer trudges around the side of the yard, past the bench and the tables and the string lights on the patio to where you’re laying in the bluegrass, eyes nearly closed. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, nudging your hip with his shoe lightly. 

“No, sir.” 

Spencer sits down in the grass. He finds your wrist to hold. 

“You okay?” 

“Did Aaron talk to you about the doctor?” 

“Yeah, he did. You want to go?” 

“What do you think?” 

Spencer rubs your pulse. “I think it’s good. If you were having headaches, we’d go to the doctor.” 

“Headaches that make me not know who you are.” 

“Especially that kind.” 

You turn a bit and give him an amused smile. “Sorry I was too scared to say more about it.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Spencer brings a cautious hand to your cheek. He sees the flicker of hurt it brings —you don’t like that he’s careful how, but how can he not be, remembering the way he’d touched your neck and the wound it seemed to inflict in the dark— but he tries to caress it away. “I’m with you,” he says, “I care about you. I want to take care of you, as much or as little as you might need that from me.” 

Your eyes fall closed. “It might be nice.” 

“What would?” 

“To be taken care of by you.” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

You cover his hand with your own. JJ laughs across the yard, and Jack and Henry shout battle cries. Hotch says, “Jack! Not so rough, buddy!” and makes you laugh. 

“Did he intimidate you?” you ask. 

“No more than usual. He said I have to decide if I can do this with you.” 

You squirm and attempt to sit. If Spencer weren’t nervous about touching you, he’d force you back down. “He shouldn’t have.”

“No, he should. But I already decided.” Spencer finds your fingers, lacing them with his. “It wasn’t really a decision, actually. I want to do this with you, but only if that’s okay with you.” 

You nod slowly. “I already said it’d be nice if you took care of me,” you whisper, letting your face dip downward. 

He chances a kiss pressed to your temple. 

You laugh under your breath. “I know you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“Did you?” he asks, giving your back a rub like a wave. 

“It’s different. I knew what was happening to me.” 

“Angel, you didn’t have a choice,” he says, so quiet he’s surprised when you hear it. “I know you’re… What?” he asks, perturbed when you shake your head. 

“You and Aaron…” 

You never finish. Spencer can’t make you. He holds your shoulder until the tension under his hand unfurls, relaxing his touch when you decide to lay down in the grass again, quietly asking him to lay with you. 

“Be ready for Jack to use you like a trampoline,” you warn, taking his hand. 

He has a feeling Hotch will keep Jack away for a while. 

Spencer traces the back of your hand with his thumb, over and over. He’s sorry he didn’t know you five years ago, sorry you were alone, sorry someone put their hands on you. He’s sorry you learned to anticipate physical abuse in the wake of mistakes. He’s sorry he can’t take it away from you, ‘cos from the second you took his hand at that park a street from his apartment he’s been a goner, all you had to do was jump up on the lip of the fountain and trust him not to let you fall. He remembers how that felt, the zinging sparks travelling from the palm of your hand into his, the romanticism of two arms stretched apart and your slow circle. And when you fell in, you didn’t blame him, you just laughed and scrambled back out, squealing excitedly about your wet shoes. 

It’ll get better, he thinks. Even if it gets worse first. You’ll feel better soon. 

He turns his cheek into the grass and beckons you forward for a kunik kiss, nose pressed to yours, wanting to kiss you like he would if you were at home together, and knowing this is enough too. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“It’s getting cold.” 

Spencer agrees, but neither of you attempt to move. 

[oneofstarkskids]

girl back home

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1822 (new record?? 🤭)

genre: a lil bit of everything, but mostly fluff. you know.

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD ‼️

It was already February, and you were long overdue for some sunshine. The snow is always beautiful, especially with twinkling lights reflecting off of it. But those lights are gone now, and all you're left with is this chill to your bones.

You cling tightly to Bucky's arm, watching your steps carefully. "You okay?" He asks with a pink nose.

You can't speak without your jaw shaking violently, so you simply nod.

"I told ya' you should've brought gloves," he says with a know-it-all essence. The low temperatures must've been slowly freezing your brain cells because you didn't even make a snide remark.

The two of you finally reach your apartment building and make your way up to your floor. As soon as you're in the door, he takes your coat for you. "And you wanted ice cream," he snickers before hanging the coats and starting on a pot of coffee.

"I'll admit, I've had better ideas," you say before hurrying over to the messy pile of blankets on the couch, desperate for warmth.

After a few moments behind the counter, he walks over carrying your favorite mug. The one with the little yellow duck on it.

"Here ya' go, doll."

You give him a grateful peck on the cheek and grab the mug, careful not to burn yourself.

He moves to scooch in close to you, but his phone rings right on que. He sighs before pulling it out of his back pocket, "Hello?"

There's a pause and Bucky's face falls. "Not really a good time," he says with annoyance.

After a much longer pause, he nods as if the person on the other end can see him. "Alright, I'll be there."

He takes the phone away from his ear and hangs up. You give him that look.

"They're calling me into Washington. They want to have another meeting about the whole congress thing." Bucky trails off.

You nod, "Well, when do you leave?"

"Tonight."

The word hangs in the air for a moment as both of you contemplate the next move.

"And when are you supposed to be back?" You asked.

Bucky gave you an apologetic smile, "Valentine's Day."

You tried not to overreact. This was his job. It was important to him, and you wanted to be supportive. Besides, it wasn't like Valentine's Day was any more special than the other days when you got to spend your entire life with the man you loved.

"That's okay! We can work with that, we'll just celebrate later that night. Dinner, maybe?" You tried to be optimistic.

Bucky's demeanor changed, "You know, that's what I love about you?" He set his mug down on the coffee table and leaned over you.

"Oh, really?" You asked with the biggest grin.

"Mhm," he placed a soft kiss on your jawline.

You bit your lip to keep from grinning, "What else do you love about me?"

And Bucky did leave that night, with a dazed look and smirk on his lips. If that was how you said goodbye, he couldn't wait to see how you welcomed him back.

He kept in touch with you the entire time he was in Washington. Phone calls, FaceTime, endless texting. It was only for a couple days, but he never wanted to go a minute without hearing your voice.

But the plane ride there. It was hell. Not being able to see your eyes light up. Not being able to kiss those perfect lips. The guilt of leaving you behind began to weigh him down. Another fight he couldn't avoid.

The only moment he got a break from his self loathing was when he visited Sam. "Hey, buddy." The two patted each other on the backs.

"Got a knack for getting yourself in trouble don't you, Sam?" Bucky teased.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "If I recall, a lot of the trouble I've gotten into has been on your behalf."

Bucky laughed and nodded his head as if to say "touché".

"How's the girl," Sam asks, his smile reflecting his fondness for you.

Your beautiful boy just grins from ear to ear, "She's great. She's always great."

"Would you look at that," Sam says. "The man who never smiles just can't seem to stop."

Bucky shakes his head, still the flicker of a smile on his face, "She makes me...a better man."

Sam looks down at the ground. Grappling with his thoughts.

Bucky notices and turns to him.

"None of this," he gestures to Joaquin in the hospital bed, struggling to maintain stability, "is your fault."

"I don't know, Buck. I'm not cut out for this," Sam said. It wasn't something Bucky hadn't heard before. He knew his friend had always dealt with feeling unworthy of Steve's title.

"This shield was made for you, just as much as it was made for Steve. He wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't believe that himself," Bucky reassured him.

Sam let it sink in for a minute before cocking his head towards Bucky, "Damn. We're doing pep talks now?"

Bucky let out a laugh that was partially a scoff. He couldn't catch a break. "I meant it, Samuel. This was my last day here, and I had to make sure you knew that before I left."

Sam nodded, "Thank you, Bucky."

"I love you, Buddy." The blue eyed man said back.

"Now, I've got a plane to catch and a girl back home to surprise," He said with a skip to his step.

Sam watched him leave before muttering under his breath, "Damn soldier's gone soft."

The airport was packed with people. Long lines wrapped through the hallways. Bucky tried to push his way through. Tried to get an answer.

"What's going on?"

A stranger turned around, "They're delaying all the flights. Something about a security issue nearby."

Bucky found a group of people crowded around a television and squeezed in to get a better view. "President Ross reportedly transformed into what people are already calling 'Red Hulk' after massive White House meltdown." Footage flashed across the screen of what was indeed a cherry tomato colored Hulk surrounded by a burning white house.

The growl that erupted from the beast vibrated the speakers. Bucky's shoulders dropped in disappointment as he picked up the phone to call you.

You answered almost instantly, "Buck?" Your voice was weak with worry and it sounded like you were already expecting bad news.

"The flights are delayed, doll. Turn on the news," Bucky said.

"I've seen it," You replied softly.

"I don't know how long-" Bucky started but you cut him off. "Hey, don't worry about that. Just, get home safely. Please."

Bucky swallowed, "I will."

"I love you, James."

"I-" The line went dead. He quickly checked the phone to see what had happened. NO SERVICE.

Bucky was desperate to find a way back to you.

Meanwhile, Sam was getting his ass kicked by a giant blood clot. "Ross, listen to me. You know this place. You used to go here all the time with, Betty."

The creature that was once the president growled in his face.

"Alright, that didn't work."

Sam dove behind a car, narrowly avoiding another blow from the hell hulk. "You don't want to talk it out. Fine by me," Sam rolled away from the car just as the hulk smashed the gas tank.

The explosive vehicle flew towards the now Captain America, and with his improved vibranium wings from the Wakandan's he was able to slice the car in half.

His victory was short lived as the hulk grabbed him by the wing and ripped it off. Sam fell to his knees, feeling like he'd lost the war. At that moment, a spray of bullets bounced off of the angry monster's back. It turned around, focusing it's deep red eyes on the all too familiar Winter Soldier.

Sam was now an afterthought as the Red Hulk raced towards Bucky. The soldiers vibranium fist made a loud clank as it collided with the much larger one.

The high pitched whip of metal rang through the air and Sam's shield dug into the President's back. Bucky smiled like a proud father.

Together, Sam and Bucky were able to keep the hulk away from civilians and wear him out until backup arrived. But it was the memory of his daughter and the drive to be a better man that transformed his outer appearance as well.

Bucky was slouched against a police car as paramedics carried the President away. "What happened to the girl back home thing?" Sam walked over to him.

"Couldn't catch my flight. Besides, I figured you needed me more." Bucky said.

"Stop tryna butter me up," Sam shook his head. "I'll get you on a private jet, but you owe me."

Bucky extended his fist, starting off their handshake. "Take care, pal."

Sam finished it off, "Same time next week?"

You were curled up on the couch, exactly where Bucky had left you. It was Valentine's Day, and your husband was off to God knows where probably risking his life.

And the only thing you could do about it was sit here and wait. With a box of chocolates. And a few Ryan Gosling movies.

Then, you heard the rattling of a key in the door. It was so unexpected that you almost considered it had just been people that came to take you away.

Bucky pushed the door open, dropping his heavy duffel bags and extending his arms to you. You quickly jumped up, chocolates flying, and ran over to him.

The contrast between being out in the cold and now being in your warm embrace was a shock to Bucky's system.

He smelled like ash and sweat, but underneath that he smelled like him.

"I thought-" Your eyes involuntarily began to tear up.

He cupped your face in his hands and looked into your eyes with an intensity that made you blush, "I couldn't leave my best girl alone on Valentine's Day."

Your heart skipped a few beats and your face was permanently carved into a smile.

"Oh, almost forgot." He reaches into his pocket.

When he held out the palm of his hand, a silver chain with the letter B dangling from the end of it replaced the empty space.

"Bucky," you said, wiping away more tears to no avail. It was so much more than jewelry to you. It was proof that time after time, Bucky would find a way. That you were his priority and that would never change.

"It's beautiful."

He unclasped the necklace before gently turning you around to put it on you. "For the most beautiful girl," he said when he was done.

You turned around and kissed him, combing your hands through his hair. He looked into your eyes, feeling overwhelmed with joy.

"I've got something for you too," you smirked.

"You do?" He asked knowingly, kicking the door closed behind him.

"Mhm," you pulled him closer by his shirt. You were going to do more than just tell him how much you missed him.

[forcaleb]

bouquets, bracelets, and big plans — caleb

warnings — fluff, valentines day fic, caleb is so in love with you btw

notes — the yandere fic had to be postponed because its valentines day and i had to write a fluff fic teehee :) tags: @aomiiine @sydneybee @tojicide

today is the first valentine's day you celebrate with caleb. since reuniting with him, you’ve been planning a bunch of surprises for when he finally comes home to linkon for the occasion. you’ve already booked two seats at the movie theater for a film you and caleb have been dying to watch and made a reservation at a five-star restaurant.

however, a text from caleb shatters your plans.

caleb: sorry, pipsqueak :( turns out i’ve got a ton of paperwork to handle, so i might not be able to come home tonight T^T

caleb: forgive me? i’ll make it up to you tomorrow. promise.

you: that’s okay! i understand :) just don’t forget to get enough sleep tonight, or else.

caleb: okay, okay :)

caleb, being your soft spot, makes you forgive him easily, but disappointment still creeps into your heart. It’s always like this. caleb is rarely home, and when he is, it’s only for a short while.

sighing for the tenth time today, tara pats your back. “plans ruined?”

you nod, groaning as you cover your face with your hands. “yeah… he said he has too much to do tonight, so he might not make it home.”

“oh, y/n,” tara says, giving you a comforting hug. “maybe he’ll make it up to you tomorrow? he only said he might not make it tonight, right? so cheer up! he’ll definitely make time for you tomorrow.”

tara’s enthusiasm brings a small smile to your face. “yeah, you’re right. i shouldn’t be too disappointed. i know he’s busy. thanks, tara.” she flashes you a grin and returns to her desk.

just as you refocus on your work, your phone buzzes. the caller id surprises you—it’s caleb.

you answer quickly. “caleb? what’s wrong?”

“hey, pips,” caleb greets, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “are you done with work yet?”

“i’ve got a few more things to wrap up, but they can wait until tomorrow. why? what’s up?”

“mind heading home early?” his tone carries a hint of mischief. “i’m downstairs.”

“wait, what?!” you exclaim, standing abruptly. everyone turns to look at you as tara giggles in the background. “you’re downstairs? right now? why? i thought you said you’d be working tonight!”

“calm down, princess. just come downstairs, and I’ll explain,” caleb says before hanging up.

you stare at your phone in disbelief. “did he really just hang up on me?” you mutter, though a smile creeps across your face. “tara, where’s jenna? can i-”

“you can go, y/n,” tara says with a grin. “i’ll let her know where you went. it’s almost clock-out time anyway. have fun!”

you thank tara silently with a nod, grab your things, and rush to the elevator, jabbing at the button impatiently.

when you reach the lobby, you spot caleb’s car parked out front. he’s leaning against it, and when he sees you, his eyes light up. “hey, princess.”

“caleb!” you hurry to him. “what-? i thought you said you couldn’t come home until tomorrow! did you lie to me?” you cross your arms, pretending to be angry.

caleb doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he opens the passenger door to reveal a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bracelet from your favorite jewelry store.

“caleb…”

“sorry i lied,” caleb begins, handing you the bouquet. “but will you forgive me now?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “this took all evening to put together since it was a bit last-minute. and the bracelet… i had to-”

“you don’t need to explain,” you say, giggling. “i love the gifts, and i love you. even if you’d come without them, i’d still be happy just to spend the night with you.”

“since when did you get so cheesy?” caleb teases, and you pout, smacking his arm lightly.

“okay, okay!” he laughs. “i take it back. i love it when you’re cheesy.” then he grins. “i heard you made reservations, huh?”

you blink in surprise. “yeah… how’d you-” then it hits you. “tara told you, didn’t she?”

“mm-hmm,” caleb admits. “since we still have time before the reservation expires, want to head over now? i bet you’re hungry.”

“i’m starving,” you whine. “i was about to cancel, but then you called.”

caleb picks up the jewelry box from the seat and opens it, revealing a silver bracelet with an apple charm.

“how’d i know you’d pick the apple one?” he says, carefully helping you put it on. it fits perfectly.

“i knew it’d look beautiful on you,” he murmurs with a proud smile. he sturing for you to get into the passenger seat, he adds, “i promised i’d make it up to you, didn’t i?”

as he settles into the driver’s seat, caleb glances at you. “after dinner and the movie, i have something else planned.”

“what is it?” you ask, curious.

caleb’s eyes gleam with mischief. “you’ll see. let’s just say… it involves working out, if you know what i mean.”

your eyes widen. “caleb!”

[revelboo]

HII HAPPY VALENTINES DAYY I hope you a good one I was wondering for Valentine’s Day you could do one of iron hide and reader trying to celebrate it somehow, and since he’s an old man who isn’t a big fan of us I think I’d be a bit funny to see how he’d view our holiday!

Valentine’s Oneshot-Ironhide

Ironhide x Reader

• “Alright, I know I’m going to regret this, but what’s your problem?” Frowning at where you’ve seated yourself at the back edge of his desk with your back to the wall just frowning at him. Or frowning at that little thing you wear on your wrist that makes a faint, steady and annoying noise. And you’re frowning at him again. “Talk to me, darlin.’” Trying to make his tone at least a little less annoyed to coax you into just telling him, because the sulking is starting to irritate him.

• “Do you even know what today is?” You ask and you hear him grumble ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ And no, it’s not right to take it out on him or to expect him to know or care about human holidays, but your little pity party has left you in a foul mood. It’s not like you haven’t spent Valentine’s Day alone before, but something about being stuck with him just makes it worse. “It’s Valentine’s day,” you mutter, hating the sullen whine in your voice.

• “And that should mean something to me?” Growling when you turn those big eyes on him, he runs a hand over his helm. Because those fragging eyes ruin his image as a hard aft every time. For Primus’s sake, he shouldn’t want to immediately cave and give you whatever you want when you look at him like that. Not when he knows you’re a lying, manipulative, little brat. “Alright, kid. Talk.”

• Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him for insisting on calling you kid when you’re an adult and have pointed it out to him multiple times, you shrug slightly. “It’s a holiday for lovers. Romance. Candlelight, dancing, that sort of thing.” Even though in your experience it usually meant cheap wine, slightly wilted grocery store flowers, and one of those $5 hearts with four chocolates inside. The sort of guys you’d hung out with only interested in making enough of an effort that they’d get lucky at the end of the day.

• Primus. Knows you insist you’re fully grown all the time, but you’re so small and act so young that he forgets. And now there’s guilt that maybe he took you away from a mate. Venting in frustration, he can’t look you in those eyes. Why does the idea of another human courting you bother him? Giving you gifts to coax you into mating, seeing you soften and offer one of those rare genuine smiles of yours that you rarely ever gift him with. That he tries so hard to win from you. “Yeah, well,” he grumbles, not sure what to say. “I’m not dancing with you.”

• Stiffening, you glare at him. “I didn’t ask you to,” you snap back. Like you’d want to date the big jerk. Okay, so maybe he has his moments. Maybe you like when he drapes a hand over you when you’re lying on him to sleep only because he’s warm and you’re cold. Or when he calls you darlin.’ And that crooked smile isn’t half bad. That willingness to smart off and argue with you. If he was human, he’d be a snack and you’d- no. No, no, no. You do not have a crush on the big, alien jerk. You can’t. He’s not even human. Horrified, you shut your mouth and slowly scoot around so your back is to him facing the wall as your face heats.

[zippidi-dooda]

Having fallen for Bakugou due to his loud, raspy voice, it comes as a shock to notice him lowering to a softer, attempting-to-be-polite tone.

All because he fell for you too.

It's very strange and noticeable at first. You've half a mind to think something's wrong with him. Then you start to get used to it. Reserved for you and back to normal when someone interrupts. It's very sweet, makes you melt, filled with a sugary syrup feeling bubbling over.

Sure, maybe the words he means to come out as a sentimental flirt sound slightly insulting and therefore strange in such a foreign yet tender tone.

But he truly means well!

You thought you enjoyed listening to any nonsense he had to spout. Practically laying with your head propped up by your hands, kicking your feet up, smiling as you tuned in to only him. But this change made you realize there so much more you wanted to hear from him. So much you wanted pay actually pay attention to.

With all his desire at becoming the best in every aspect he chose to pursue, there'd be no end to the intrigue he'd draw from you. New habits and actions he'd try out. Just for you!

Yes, you're very enthralled by him and eager to see what other changes he'll develop.

But sometimes you do miss those times he used to treat you like everyone else. Specially his overconfident timber.

You get it sometimes, when he comes close to blowing his fuse. It's just with you he tries harder to catch himself before barking like usual. Very endearing, yes. You're happy about that. Make him aware of it.

But now you need to make him aware of how much you love his callous self. Beg him not to worry about being coarse around you all the time. Hands on his shoulders, shaking him dramatically. Every once in a while would be okay right?

He's a bit put off, confused since his friends and parents told him that people's romantic interests don't like it when one is as brash as he usually is.

He tries to figure out the balance. How to be sweet as you like of him while also gnashing like you're asking of him.

It feels weird. Really weird.

Liking people is hard.

But eventually he finds that balance, paying close attention to all your reactions to find out what's good and what's not. Sometimes, if he's preening enough from all your positive feedback, he'll smirk out a tease just before charging into battle.

And you think you may just pass out from how fast your heart beats, the overload of glee you feel from little lines unnatural.

Just from the simplest things,

Who knew there'd be so much to love about him.

[ihyuka]

Of regrets and other tells | Choi Soobin

summary: Soobin has been building his acting career for years. Sacrificing his time and personal life in more aspects than one, holding onto a broken heart for over 5 years, and perpetually wishing his past relationship didn't end the way it did. Now, he's gotten an imminent return to his hometown thanks to a wedding, the high possibility of seeing his ex (Very possible because she's the groom's sister), and oh, it turns out the groom doesn't know he ever dated his sister. A recipe for disaster

word count: 11.5k

pairing: soobin x female reader

warnings: exes to lovers (sort of), brother's best friend, taehyun is our matchmaker bec he adores his friends, yeonjun is oblivious, tiny bit of angst, soobin is a sweetheart, they're Overthinkers, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, cute and soft love making, unprotected sex, they have feelings for each other, reader can be nasty at times (soobin isn't doing any better tbh), huh, i hope i'm not forgetting something☝️

note: happy valentine’s day! 💕 welcome to my blog!

this idea has been sitting in my drafts forever, so i’m really excited to finally bring it to life today. i’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments (and please be nice—this is my first time posting 🫣).

i hope you enjoy this story! it’s slightly inspired by those classic early 2000s rom-coms we all love. also, english isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes—i’m working on improving!

Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The first glance had him intrigued. The second? Addicted.

Here’s the thing—he’s known you all his life. He was always the kid befriending older guys at school, constantly seeking the company of those ahead of him. He loved it. Until, of course, life happened. One by one, his friends left for university, leaving him behind for one last year of high school. It wasn’t all bad, though—because that’s when he met you.

Yeonjun’s little sister. A friend of his. Someone his age who helped him adjust to a new social scene, introducing him to people and boosting his confidence. You were always there. Always helping. And now? Now he hasn’t seen you in years. He has a life in Seoul. He’s moved on.

Or so he thought.

Because the moment he sees you in that red dress, smiling, radiant, otherworldly—he realizes something painful and undeniable.

He’s so fucked.

And worse? He’s dated you before.

He’s so, so fucked. Yeonjun is going to kill him.

Soobin is hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He always is. It comes with the territory of being a high-profile actor. He’s gotten used to sneaking around, blending into crowds, avoiding unnecessary attention. Weddings in South Korea, though, are practically public events. The worst place to hide. He’s trying to be subtle—maybe if he stands still long enough, he’ll blend into the walls.

“Hi?”

He freezes. He knows that voice anywhere. Familiar, warm—like home. And like regret.

It’s you.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s standing there, towering over everyone, wearing sunglasses in the middle of December, looking every bit as awkward as he feels.

“Um, hi?” His voice comes out strained, awkward. God, why can’t this be easier? “How have you been?”

What a stupid question. He hasn’t seen you in five years. You both took different paths, built your lives apart. He dated you for two months, so why does it feel like he can’t breathe now that you’re standing in front of him?

“Good.” You smile. “Let’s not make this weird, shall we? It’s been a long time.”

You’re so over him.

And he’s regretting everything.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

And just like that, you’re gone. Someone calls your name, and you walk away.

Fuck.

That’s the only thing running through your mind, too.

Why did he have to be this attractive? You had a plan. Approach him, make small talk, prove to yourself you were over him. That was it. But the second you saw him? Plan out the window. He looked unfairly good—taller, broader, blonde. Blonde. What kind of sick joke was this?

And thankfully, mercifully, he didn’t notice the way you reacted.

God, you’re so fucked.

Soobin tells himself he’s fine.

He gave his speech as best man. He made people laugh. He shared embarrassing photos of Yeonjun for everyone’s amusement. He did his job.

But now? Now he’s pissed.

And he knows he shouldn’t be.

You aren’t his. You haven’t been his in years. Even if you were, he doesn’t own you. He understands that—logically. But watching some guy dance too close to you, hands lingering where they shouldn’t—his instincts are screaming.

He knows that look. The same one he’s giving you now. Hunger. Want. Need.

Maybe the guy is your boyfriend. Maybe he isn’t. All Soobin knows is that he hates him.

“Why aren’t you dancing with her if you want her so much?” Taehyun’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. Ever the straightforward one, Taehyun has had the front-row seat to Soobin’s misery for the past five years.

“I don’t deserve her.” The words come out bitter. Regretful. “I broke her heart.”

“Maybe. But she still wants you to try.” Taehyun doesn’t hesitate. “She’s dancing nonstop with Jihoon, but everyone knows he’s chasing her, not the other way around. This isn’t like her. She’s doing this because of you.”

Soobin swallows hard.

“Besides,” Taehyun adds casually, “she told Yeonjun about you two this morning.”

Cold dread washes over him. “What?”

Taehyun shrugs. “I overheard. You know that tree in front of their house? They were talking there.”

“So what did he say?” Soobin asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“No clue. I had to get to work.”

Soobin groans. “How do you just drop information like that and leave?”

“Because I trust you’ll figure it out.” Taehyun smirks. “Now go get your girl. She’s drunk, and she looks done with that guy.”

Soobin didn’t think it through.

You were drunk, and all he wanted was to get you somewhere safe. A chair—that was the plan. That should have been enough. But then you whined about wanting your bed, and Yeonjun, in a rare moment of brotherly responsibility, decided Soobin was the best person to handle it.

“The party’s ending soon, and I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow,” Yeonjun had said, handing you over like you weren’t his problem anymore. “Just drop her at her apartment.”

And that’s how Soobin found himself here—standing in your building’s dimly lit hallway at an ungodly hour, praying to every higher power that no one was following him. The last thing either of you needed was for the media to sniff this out.

Not that he was worried about himself.

It was you. You, who deserved a normal life. You, who had worked so hard to distance yourself from him, from his world. And yet, here you were, tangled up in his orbit again.

And here’s another thing: you’re just as bad as Yeonjun when it comes to alcohol. Soobin knows this. He also knows you have a soft spot for that fruity soju, the kind that creeps up on you before you even realize you’ve had too much. And he knows you’re probably going to feel sick soon, which is why, in the worst decision he’s made today, he stays.

You’ve been awake for an hour now, your body heavy with the aftermath of last night. The alcohol is gone, drained from your system, but the discomfort lingers—hunger gnawing at your stomach, the stale aftertaste of regret coating your tongue.

You should get up.

You should get water.

But the thought of stepping into an empty apartment makes your chest tighten.

The memory of his hands—gentle as he guided you to bed, careful as he removed your shoes—lingers. He was being nice. That’s all. He was being nice.

God, you still like him.

Five years, and you still haven’t gotten over a man. Two months were all it took for him to ruin you, to make every fleeting touch feel like a shock to your system. You’ve tried. You’ve moved forward. And yet, here you are, terrified of facing an empty space because for a moment—just a moment—he had been here again.

Your breakup had been your fault.

You tell yourself that, over and over.

You were young—barely nineteen, selfish, and desperate for attention. Soobin was chasing his dream, working himself to the bone between university and his company’s relentless trainee schedule. He had asked you to understand. He had begged you to wait. But you got tired. You fought. And the cracks in your heart never quite mended after that.

Soobin has only slept for four hours before deciding he should leave something behind for you—a quiet, impersonal gesture. Some homemade food. A note about how busy he is, how he can’t stay, but he hopes you feel better.

That’s the plan.

And that’s what he’s thinking as he stands in your kitchen, stirring ramen—the closest thing to homemade comfort he can manage.

But then you appear.

The dress from last night is gone, replaced by something that barely qualifies as pajamas. Soobin freezes, spoon clattering against the pot.

December. It’s December, and you’re walking around like this?

Jesus Christ.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. “I made ramen. I hope you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away, moving past him to grab a glass of water. He watches as you take a slow sip, the silence stretching between you.

Then, softly, “I’m sorry. For last night.”

Soobin shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” you insist. “I can handle my alcohol better now. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to.” The words slip out before he can stop them. Too honest.

You pause. Then: “Add an egg. They’re on the top shelf.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgment. Not quite forgiveness. But you move to set the table for two without another word, and Soobin understands. He’s staying.

There are things that need to be said.

And it’s not safe for him to leave. You know that. The cameras follow him everywhere. You’d never risk him like that—not after everything.

“It’s done,” he says, bringing the pot to the table. “But I should—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. Your voice is steady, decisive. “The cameras could be outside. Stay.” A pause. Then, softer, “Besides… we need to talk.”

Easier said than done.

The ramen sits between you, steam curling into the air. Neither of you moves to eat.

Soobin watches as you fidget with the edge of your sleeve, pressing the fabric between your fingers like it’s something to hold onto. It’s a nervous habit—one he remembers all too well.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“So… How have you been?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Too small for the weight between you. Too casual for two people who haven’t spoken in years.

Soobin exhales, forcing a small smile. “Busy.”

That much is obvious. His face is everywhere—billboards, magazine covers, TV screens. He’s the one people stop in the streets, the one whose name is whispered in admiration or envy.

But you nod like you don’t already know, like you haven’t seen his face staring back at you from the glossy pages of magazines while waiting in line for coffee.

You reach for your chopsticks, stirring the noodles absently. “And… are you happy?”

That question lands heavier. He doesn’t answer right away.

He should say yes.

He should tell you that everything worked out, that he got everything he wanted, that all the sacrifices were worth it.

Instead, he looks at you—the way you avoid his gaze, the way your fingers tremble slightly before you curl them into a fist—and he tells the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover quickly, schooling your features into something unreadable.

You look away, pretending to be focused on your bowl. “I thought you would be.”

Soobin swallows. “I thought you would be, too.”

That gets you. Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, but you don’t say anything right away.

Soobin leans forward slightly, watching you carefully. “You left first,” he says, quiet but firm. “I waited. I called. And then, one day, you just weren’t there anymore.”

You let out a slow breath, finally meeting his eyes. “And if I had stayed?”

The question is quiet. Almost a whisper.

Soobin blinks. “What?”

“If I had stayed.” You search his face like you’re looking for something—confirmation, maybe. Closure. “Would anything have changed?”

The answer sits heavy on his tongue.

Would it have?

Back then, he was young and hungry, chasing a dream he wasn’t sure he’d ever catch. He was terrified of losing you, but he was also terrified of failing—of choosing wrong, of looking back one day and realizing he had given up too much.

And you—God, you just wanted him. Not the future version of him, not the one he was still trying to become. You just wanted the boy who used to walk you home, the one who held your hand under the table, the one who promised to love you even when things got hard.

Soobin looks at you now, older, sharper, still devastatingly familiar.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

The room settles into silence again, but this time, it’s different. Softer.

Soobin watches as you finally take a bite of your ramen, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment at the warmth.

And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s too late.

But for the first time in five years, you’re sitting across from each other, sharing something that feels dangerously close to peace.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

“You should go.”

The words taste like regret the moment they leave your lips.

Soobin stills. His chopsticks pause midair before he lowers them onto the table with agonizing slowness.

His eyes meet yours, searching. “You really want that?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

A lie.

But you say it anyway, because it’s easier than admitting the truth—that his presence is unraveling you piece by piece. That sitting across from him like this, pretending there isn’t history between you, is torture.

Soobin exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Right.” He pushes his chair back, standing. “I should’ve known.”

He’s hurt. You can see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. And it makes you want to take it back—swallow the words down and tell him to stay.

But you don’t.

You stay seated, gripping your hands together in your lap as he walks toward the door.

He hesitates.

For a moment, it feels like the universe is holding its breath.

Then, his voice—low, steady. “Why do you always do this?”

Your head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Push me away.”

You freeze.

Soobin turns, expression unreadable. “I don’t get it. You let me take care of you. You let me stay. And now you want me to leave?” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Is this a game to you?”

Your stomach twists. “No.”

“Then what is it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping through. “Because I don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t think you do either.”

Your heart pounds. “I just—” You stop, exhaling shakily. “It’s not that simple, Soobin.”

“It could be.” His gaze softens. “If you let it.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand.”

The words cut through the air between you, heavy and full of something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to need you,” you whisper.

Soobin’s expression shifts. He steps closer. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Your voice shakes. “Because I’ve spent years trying to forget what it felt like to love you, and every time you’re near, I realize I never really stopped.”

Silence.

Then, Soobin exhales sharply. “You think you were the only one?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried,” he admits. “I tried moving on. I tried pretending you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me. But it never worked.” His voice drops lower, more vulnerable. “You never left me, _____. Not really.”

You feel yourself crumbling, breaking open under his words.

“So tell me,” he continues, stepping even closer. “Do you really want me to leave?”

You open your mouth—

But the answer is already written all over your face.

And Soobin sees it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his fingertips ghosting over yours on the table. “If you tell me to go,” he says softly, “I will.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

Then—

You flip your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“You should stay.”

Soobin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

And this time—

He does.

Soobin stays.

Neither of you says much after that. The weight of your confession lingers in the air between you, delicate and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any second. But neither of you runs.

Instead, you sit there, sharing ramen in comfortable silence, the steam curling between you like something unspoken. His fingers, warm and steady, never fully leave yours—not gripping, not demanding, just there. A quiet promise.

You don’t sleep much.

Even after the bowls are empty, after he insists on washing the dishes, after you both linger in the doorway of your bedroom—uncertain but unwilling to let go—you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.

Somewhere in the other room, Soobin is asleep on your couch.

Or at least, you think he is.

You don’t have the courage to check.

By the time morning comes, you’re still lying in the same position, arms curled under your pillow, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest.

You should get up.

But then—

A soft knock at your door.

You inhale sharply, heart stuttering.

Then, his voice, groggy, uncertain. “Are you awake?”

You swallow. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

You shouldn’t answer. You should pretend you’re asleep, give yourself time to think. But your voice betrays you before your brain catches up.

“Yeah.”

A pause. Then—

The door creaks open.

Soobin stands there, sleep-rumpled and unfairly attractive in the dim morning light. His hoodie hangs loose on his frame, his blonde hair a tousled mess. He looks softer like this—less like the untouchable actor everyone knows, and more like the boy you once loved.

Still love.

He hesitates, fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Can I…?”

You nod before he can finish the question.

And just like that, he steps inside, quiet, careful.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge, close but not too close. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, voice low.

You exhale, shifting onto your side to face him. “Me neither.”

A small, tired smile flickers across his lips. “Figures.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. Something old and familiar. Something neither of you knows what to do with.

Then, softly—

“Did you mean it?”

You freeze.

His voice is careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You know what he’s asking.

You could lie. You could say it was the alcohol, or the moment, or the past clouding your judgment.

But you don’t.

“Yeah.”

Soobin exhales, shoulders sinking like he’s been carrying the weight of that answer for years.

Then—hesitantly, slowly—he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers against yours on the sheets.

And this time, you don’t pull away.

Not when his fingers trace over your palm. Not when his touch lingers, warm and sure.

Not when he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it—

“Then don’t make me leave.”

The air between you is thick, suffocating. The moment you told him to stay, the balance shifted. The door remains closed, the walls pressing in, the weight of years apart and the lies you’ve told yourselves coiling tighter and tighter.

Soobin doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. He’s waiting. For what? For you to give in? For you to push him away again?

You don’t know. But you know this: you can’t breathe.

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“Do what?” Your voice barely makes it past your lips. Your fingers twitch in his grip, and that alone has his jaw tightening.

“Pretend,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the pulse point of your wrist. His voice is quiet, careful, but there’s an undercurrent of something dangerous. “Pretend that I’m okay. That seeing you doesn’t do something to me. That I haven’t spent the past five years wondering if you ever thought about me, too.”

Your breath stutters, but you force yourself to keep looking at him. “Soobin—”

“I should hate you.” His voice is steadier now, but his grip on your hand betrays him. Tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. “Do you know that?”

You swallow. “I know.”

“I tried.” He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and tired. “God, I fucking tried.”

“So did I,” you whisper. “I tried forgetting you, too.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “Did it work?”

“No.”

The word sits heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you move. The ramen has gone cold. The room feels smaller. Your heart is a hammer against your ribs, and still, he doesn’t let go.

Then, his eyes flicker downward—just for a second. To your lips.

And that’s when you do it.

You rip your hand from his and step back, breathing uneven. “This isn’t fair.”

Soobin looks at you like you’ve just torn something out of him. “No. It’s not.”

You turn away, hands trembling as you grip the edge of the counter. “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t just—just fall back into whatever this is.”

“What is this, then?” His voice is lower now, rough, frayed at the edges. “Tell me. Because I think about you, and it makes me fucking sick how much I still—”

He stops himself. He presses his lips together so tightly it looks painful. He takes a deep breath, then another. But it doesn’t help. You can see it. The storm in his eyes. The anger. The longing.

You shake your head, pushing down everything clawing its way up your throat. “You should go.”

“No.”

You whip around. “Soobin—”

“No.” He steps forward, and this time, you’re the one who freezes. He towers over you, his presence burning into your skin. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me back in just to push me away again.”

His voice drops lower, dangerously soft. “I stayed away for five years. I did what you wanted. I let you go. And now you tell me to stay, and then you tell me to leave?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He exhales sharply. Then, after a long pause, he whispers, “Neither do I.”

Another silence. But this one is different.

You open your eyes, and he’s right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes tremble, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back.

And you can feel it—

The breaking point.

It’s coming.

His breath catches. His fingers flex against the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles whitening like he’s barely holding himself back.

His silence is unbearable, but you don’t know how to fix it.

So you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand, mirroring the way he was holding you. Just a brush of your fingertips at first, testing, waiting—until he lets out a shaky exhale and turns his palm over to catch you.

Your fingers intertwine again, the simplest thing in the world.

Soobin's voice is hoarse when he speaks. "Tell me what you want."

"I don’t know," you admit. "I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can survive losing you twice."

Something flickers in his expression—something raw, breaking.

"I never wanted you to lose me."

"Then why did it feel like I had to?"

Soobin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over the ridges of your knuckles. His voice is unsteady when he says, "Because I was scared. Of ruining things. Of choosing wrong."

"And now?"

Now.

Soobin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifts your joined hands, pressing his forehead to the back of yours like he’s trying to ground himself. You can feel the unspoken words vibrating against your skin, seeping through his touch.

Now, he's still scared. But more than that—he doesn’t want to lose you again.

His lips part, breath warm against your skin. "I think I've been in love with you this whole time."

Your heart stops.

Then—before you can overthink it, before logic creeps in and tears this moment apart—you let go of his hand.

Only to reach for his face.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him in, and before you can fully process what you're doing, your lips brush against his.

Soft. Tentative.

The moment you start to pull away, Soobin makes a sound—low and desperate in the back of his throat—and suddenly, he's kissing you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

His hands are warm when they cup your face, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss, so he can drink you in like he’s been starving for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you have, too.

The past and the present blur together, all the years apart collapsing into this one unbearable, impossible moment.

And when you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, breaths mingling in the quiet night, you realize something terrifying.

Loving him was never the problem.

It was surviving it that scared you.

And now?

Now, you're not sure you care about surviving at all.

Soobin can’t stop kissing you.

It’s reckless. Messy. A raw, consuming need that shakes through him, leaves him breathless, leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your waist like he needs something to hold onto, something to tether himself to reality, because this—this doesn’t feel real. It feels like something forbidden, like something he shouldn’t have, but is taking anyway.

It’s crazy. It’s physically impossible for him to stop.

And you don’t want him to.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. His lips press harder, deeper, stealing the air from your lungs, but you don’t care. You’d let him. You’d give it to him.

Then you whimper. Just the softest, neediest sound—one you didn’t mean to make, one you probably don’t even realize you made.

How dare you.

Soobin groans against your mouth, low and guttural, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pressing you closer, closer, like there will never be enough space between you to satisfy him.

"Please," you breathe, and it’s wrecked.

His lips hover just above yours, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales sharply. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but there’s something else, something deeper—like he’s drowning in you and has no desire to come up for air.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, strained. Your name follows, dripping from his lips like a prayer. "You need to stop making those sounds." He swallows hard, his jaw clenched. "Unless you want another thing."

Another thing.

You shiver, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie, barely keeping yourself grounded.

But Soobin doesn’t stop. His lips keep finding yours between words, between breaths, and god—he kisses like he’s never going to get the chance again. Soft, then rough, then soft again. Like he’s caught in between worshipping you and ruining you.

And then you moan.

A real moan. Not soft. Not restrained. A full, broken, breathless moan.

And that’s it. That’s the end of his control.

Soobin curses under his breath, something low, something desperate. Then suddenly, he shifts—presses you down, his body covering yours completely. His hands, once hesitant, now move like they have a purpose, sliding up, gripping, mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

His lips are everywhere now—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—hot and lingering, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.

"God," he breathes against your skin. "You don’t—" He presses another kiss just beneath your ear, his voice unraveling. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You can barely think, barely form words. "Get what?"

"How long—" He exhales sharply, his breath fanning against your skin. "How long I’ve wanted this."

Your chest tightens. "Then why—"

"Because I was a fucking coward," he admits, voice thick, raw. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are unreadable—too many things crashing together at once. Lust. Longing. Something deeper. Something dangerous. "But I can’t be, not right now. Not when you’re—"

You kiss him before he can finish.

Because you don’t want to hear whatever doubt lingers in his words. Not now. Not when his body is so warm, not when his lips taste like regret and longing and every single thing you’ve ever tried to suppress.

Soobin groans into your mouth, deep and ruined, and it sets you on fire.

And the worst part?

You know this won’t be enough.

It never will be.

"Stop moving," Soobin growls against your neck. His voice is low, strained, barely holding together. His lips are hot where they press into your skin, and his hands—god, his hands—grip your waist like you’re something fragile, something he’s trying so hard not to break.

But you don’t make it easy for him.

You shift again, just the slightest movement, but it’s enough. Enough for him to tighten his grip, enough for him to press his hips just a little closer, enough for his breath to come out sharp, ragged.

"Or what?" you ask, breathless, teasing, your voice tinged with something dangerous.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark, heavy, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. And it’s only then that you realize just how close his face is to yours—how you can feel every unsteady breath he takes, how the heat between you feels unbearable, suffocating in the best possible way.

Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and when his gaze drops to them, his jaw clenches.

"Or you’re going to regret it," he murmurs, voice rough, thick with a warning you know he fully intends to follow through on.

But you don’t stop.

Maybe you want to push him. Maybe you want to see what happens when he snaps.

So you shift again, just the tiniest bit, your knee brushing against his thigh, your fingers ghosting over the fabric of his hoodie. Innocent movements, but not really. Not when his breath stutters, not when his fingers twitch against your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"Soobin," you whisper, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for, but you can feel the shift in the air between you. Heavy. Charged. Unforgiving.

His hand moves suddenly, gripping your chin, tilting your face up until there’s nowhere to look but at him. His thumb brushes the edge of your bottom lip, and his breath is uneven, his restraint hanging by a thread.

"Do you even know what you’re doing to me?" he asks, his voice low, almost desperate.

And before you can answer, before you can even think, his lips are back on yours.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, it’s not just desperate—it’s deliberate. It’s slow, like he wants you to feel every second of it, every inch of the way he kisses you, the way he presses against you.

Like he’s trying to prove something.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re about to find out exactly what happens when you push him too far.

You moan again.

It’s soft, wrecked, the kind of sound that makes his restraint snap like a thread pulled too tight.

The heat between you is suffocating. You’re burning, aching, every nerve in your body hypersensitive to the way Soobin touches you—like he needs to, like he has no choice.

His breathing is ragged, uneven, his grip on you tightening as if you might slip away.

"Fucking hell, ___," he rasps, voice dark, rough, filled with something dangerous. "Be clear. What do you want now? What do you fucking want?"

His forehead presses to yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth but never quite kissing you, torturing you with the distance. His fingers dig into your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"You," you whisper, the word breaking apart in your throat. It’s desperate, needy. You don’t care.

Something shifts.

Soobin exhales sharply, a curse slipping past his lips before he finally—finally—loses the control he was clinging to.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough, insatiable, as if he’s been starving for you and is only now letting himself feast. His hands roam your body, urgent but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you, trying to commit this moment to memory.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to drink you in. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and glistening.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you the way I do," he murmurs, his voice almost unsteady. "You make me so fucking crazy."

His lips trail down your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your skin, each one sending a shiver down your spine. His teeth graze your collarbone, and your breath catches.

"That red dress you wore yesterday—fuck." His voice is barely controlled, like the thought alone is unraveling him. "At your brother’s wedding… you have no idea what you did to me."

His hands slide lower, skimming the curve of your waist, gripping you like you belong to him. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing, tasting, worshiping.

"You were always beautiful," he breathes against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than lust. "You always were. But yesterday... yesterday, you were fucking stunning."

He pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against your chest. His hands settle over your ribs, thumbs grazing sensitive skin, just barely there, just enough to drive you insane.

And then he stills. Waiting.

"Can I touch you here?" he asks, his voice lower now, raspier, the last shreds of his restraint hanging by a thread.

You shudder. There’s no hesitation.

"Yes."

It comes out breathless, desperate.

The second the word leaves your lips, his hands move—slow, deliberate, fingertips dragging over your skin like he wants to savor every reaction, every tremor that runs through you.

Like he wants you to feel every single second of it.

Soobin takes his time.

He isn’t just exploring you—he’s worshiping. Every inch of your skin is sacred under his touch, and he treats it like something to be memorized. His fingers drag over your ribs, featherlight, teasing. His lips trace slow, reverent paths down your collarbone, pressing kisses that feel more like devotions.

"I'm gonna take these off, okay?" he murmurs, fingers slipping beneath the straps of your bra.

You can only nod, breathless, as he peels the fabric away, eyes darkening at the sight of you. He exhales sharply, almost in disbelief, his hands hesitating like he needs a second to take it all in.

"These are so pretty," he whispers, voice rough. His fingers graze over you, barely there. Then firmer. His thumb flicks over one peak, and you shudder. "Fucking missed them. So much."

His lips replace his fingers, hot and wet and needy. He sucks, licks, nips—his mouth working you over like he's making up for lost time.

"God," he groans against your skin, his voice half-wrecked. "They didn’t look this full before."

The moan that leaves your lips is absolutely shameful—high-pitched, desperate, almost embarrassing. But you don’t care.

Soobin definitely doesn’t care.

He groans at the sound, his grip tightening as if he's trying to steady himself. But then he does it again—scraping his teeth lightly against you, his tongue soothing over the sting, sucking just enough to make you whimper.

"Shit," he breathes, voice shaking. "You're too good. Too fucking good."

He looks up at you, eyes burning. And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you're nothing but gasps and shivers and pure, unbearable need.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

Soobin’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give in. His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you still, keeping you desperate.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing, thick with something dark and knowing.

"You."

His lips quirk up slightly. "But you have me right now, hm?" His tone is deceptively soft, but there’s something else underneath—something dangerous.

"You know what I mean," you say, almost frustrated.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider. "No, I don’t," he murmurs. "Tell me."

Your cheeks burn. Your entire body burns. But you say it anyway, voice shaking with need.

"Please, I want you inside."

Something in him snaps.

"Oh? Me?" He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze dark, unreadable. "The man you wanted so bad to leave?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "Fuck you, Soobin."

He laughs, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your skin. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Ah, yes, babe, I’m fucking you," he whispers, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. His hands tighten their hold on you. "And you’re gonna take it—every inch—because you know damn well that you’ve been mine just as much as I’ve been yours."

His words send a shudder down your spine, a delicious ache curling in your gut.

"Mmm," Soobin hums, dragging his hands down your sides, his touch maddeningly slow. "Should I take my time with you... or not?"

Your body is burning, aching. You can’t take it anymore.

"Just do it," you snap, your voice needy, desperate.

He chuckles, tilting his head, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "That eager, huh? Then help me out, baby." His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts. "Take these off. Let me see that beautiful body of yours—fully naked."

Your fingers shake as you push them down, the cool air against your exposed skin doing nothing to cool the fire raging inside you.

"This is unfair," you mumble, looking up at him. "You’re still dressed."

That’s all it takes.

In one smooth motion, Soobin pulls off his shirt, then his pants, and finally, his boxers. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t tease. He just stands before you—bare, unashamed, strong.

And big.

Your breath catches in your throat. God. It’s been a while since you last saw him like this, but—oh, wow. Yeah. Big. He was always like that.

Your mouth parts slightly, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

He catches it. Of course, he catches it.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing his mouth to your ear. "Speechless?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Missed me that much, baby?"

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you flush against him. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

"You have no idea," you whisper.

You moan when he dares to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your aching heat, his breath hot against your skin. It’s unbearable.

Your patience snaps.

"Fuck you, Soobin," you nearly growl, frustration dripping from your voice. "Why the fuck—just please."

He looks at you, amused, entirely too in control. He loves this. Loves watching you unravel.

"Poor, desperate thing," he muses, tilting his head like he’s savoring every second of your frustration. "So fucking needy. Do you want me that bad?"

Your face burns. Humiliation and desire mix in a dizzying cocktail, but you can’t lie.

"Yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper.

Soobin hums in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, thumbs smoothing circles against your heated skin. "Mmm, I think I should have my fun first," he murmurs. Then, without another word, he drops to his knees before you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger.

His breath hits you first, warm and teasing, and then his voice—low and devastating.

"Has this sweet little hole missed me?"

Before you can even react, he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, sending a violent shudder through your body.

You cry out, hands flying to his hair. Oh, god. No, no, please—oh, don’t stop.

And then you lose it.

Soobin devours you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue working you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. The wet sounds, the low, satisfied groans he lets out against you—it’s filthy, overwhelming. His grip tightens, pressing you further into his mouth, making sure you feel every movement, every flick of his tongue.

"Let me worship this pussy," he groans against you, his voice muffled and rough. "It’s been too fucking long."

Your back arches.

"Fuck, you taste even better than I remember." His lips press against your thigh, only to return to where you need him most. "Mmm, let’s take our time with this, babe. Some good, long foreplay, yeah?"

You can’t help it—you start moving, rocking your hips against his face, desperate for more friction, more of him. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you barely register the strangled sound Soobin makes as you grind down against his tongue.

"God," you whimper, your breath hitching. "I’m—"

His fingers tease at your entrance, slow, lazy, completely unbothered by your urgency. "What? Gonna cum already, babe?" His voice is muffled, drenched in amusement, lips slick and glistening from you. "Mmm, you really are needy, huh?"

He presses a teasing kiss against your thigh before slipping a finger inside, just barely, making you jerk.

"Bet that boyfriend of yours doesn’t give you shit," he murmurs, voice laced with something sharp, something possessive.

"I don’t—" You gasp as he pushes in deeper, a single finger stretching you open just enough to make you shudder. "Fuck, fuck," your head tilts back, eyes rolling as he adds another. "I don’t have a boyfriend."

That makes him pause. You feel his smirk against your skin before he speaks.

"You don’t?" He croons, curling his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt. "No wonder you’re this fucking desperate. God, you needed this, didn’t you?"

"Soobin—"

"Wanna cum, babe?" His breath is hot against your core, his fingers still working you open. "Say it."

"Yeah," you pant, gripping at his hair, hips still rolling instinctively against his hand.

"Mmm," he hums, withdrawing his fingers just enough to make you whine, just enough to leave you aching. "Let’s edge you a little first."

"No—fuck you," you snap, your voice dripping with frustration.

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "You get so fucking mean when you’re horny," he muses, pumping his fingers in again, slower, teasing. "I like this coming from you."

And then he presses his tongue against your clit again, and all coherent thoughts disappear.

The coil in your belly winds so tight, so unbearable, that when it finally snaps, it sends you spiraling.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your voice breaks, and your entire body trembles as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your thighs clamp around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you convulse, lost in the euphoria of it.

Soobin groans against you, feeling everything—the way your walls pulse around his fingers, the way your body shudders under his grip, the way you completely come undone for him. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare stop.

He laps at you, drinking in every drop, his tongue relentless as he works you through the high, dragging it out, making your legs shake. His hands tighten around your hips, keeping you still, keeping you his.

"Soobin—oh, god—" Your voice is hoarse, wrecked, but he doesn't let up. His tongue flicks over your sensitive clit again and you jerk, body twisting, overstimulated and desperate.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans against you, voice thick with hunger. "Missed this. Missed you."

You whimper, pushing at his head, your body twitching, too much, too much—

But Soobin just smirks against your trembling thighs, eyes dark, voice husky.

"One more," he murmurs. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."

When you come again, it blindsides you. You weren’t lying—it was too much, your body was too sensitive, but somehow, it still betrays you, still obeys the relentless pleasure he’s forcing on you.

The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming—your thighs quake, your back arches, and your hands claw helplessly at the sheets, at him, at anything to ground yourself.

And then—fuck.

A rush of wetness spills from you in pulsing waves, leaving you breathless, wrecked.

Soobin stills for half a second, then groans, long and deep, as if you just gave him the most precious gift. His hands tighten on your thighs as he watches, completely mesmerized, watching how your body gushes for him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath you.

“Holy fuck.” His voice is thick, raspy, wrecked. "Look at you, baby." He doesn’t miss a single drop, drinking you in like he’s been starving for you, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered lust.

You whimper, trembling, overstimulated beyond belief. “Soobin—fuck, I can’t, I—”

He shushes you, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your inner thighs, letting you feel the way his lips linger. His hands caress your shaking legs, soothing and possessive at the same time.

“You can,” he murmurs against your skin. “And you did.” His voice drips with pride, with something dangerously close to reverence. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

And then, with a wicked smirk, he licks his lips, tasting you all over again.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?”

“No”

Soobin chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through the air between you. His hands trail lazily over your trembling thighs, teasing, never staying in one place long enough to satisfy.

"No?" He mimics your weak protest, tilting his head as if he’s actually considering giving you a break. But the smirk playing on his lips says otherwise.

Then he sees it—sees the way your eyes keep flickering downward, dark and hazy, locked onto him. The way your breath hitches just slightly at the sight of his cock, thick and hard, standing between you.

“Mmm, we should let this body rest, shouldn’t we?” His tone is soft, almost pitying, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You’re so sensitive, all worn out, we should stop—”

He pauses, trailing a teasing finger up your inner thigh.

“But,” he drawls, watching the way you squirm, “the way you’re looking at me right now? Fuck, sweetheart, you’re practically salivating.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters, but you shake your head weakly. “Mmm… no.”

His eyes darken instantly. “Liar.”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Want you.”

His grip on your thighs tightens.

You’re relentless now, pleading, your voice thick with need. “I really want you.”

Soobin hums, his fingers skating dangerously close to where you need him most, barely there, teasing. “Didn’t you just say you needed a rest?”

You nod, breathless. “Yeah…”

He raises a brow. “So what happened?”

You whimper, arching into his touch, impatient. “I—fuck—I want you,” you admit, your voice trembling with desperation. “It’s been too long. Please.”

Something in him snaps.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“You want me that bad?” His voice is dark, full of something you can’t quite name.

You nod rapidly, your whole body begging for him.

He chuckles again, low and satisfied, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your jaw.

“Then, baby,” he murmurs, “you better take what you asked for.”

And just like that—despite the way your body trembles, despite the way you're still reeling from the last two orgasms that left you oversensitive and dazed—he enters you.

It’s slow at first, agonizingly slow, as if he’s savoring the feeling of stretching you open, of feeling you take him inch by inch. Your breath hitches, a gasp spilling from your lips at the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

But then he snaps.

A sharp inhale, a guttural curse under his breath, and all that patience vanishes. His grip on your hips tightens—no hesitation, no holding back.

"Gotta fuck this pussy like she deserves to be fucked." His voice is rough, wrecked, tinged with something possessive.

He drives into you, deep and unrelenting, his hips slamming against yours with a force that makes your head spin. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin against skin, the wet, messy proof of just how much you need this, how much you need him.

Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you, dragging you closer, forcing you to take every inch. Every thrust sends a new wave of pleasure tearing through you, unbearable and yet not enough.

"So fucking tight," he growls, watching the way your body swallows him whole, clenching around him, greedy. "Like you were made for me."

You can't even respond—your words lost to the moans and cries spilling uncontrollably from your lips.

His hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Look at me," he commands, voice dark, dangerous. "You feel that? Hm? You feel how deep I am?"

You nod weakly, barely able to think.

"Good," he grits out, snapping his hips even harder. "Because I'm not stopping until I ruin you."

He does ruin you. Completely.

The sound of it—wet, obscene, filthy—fills the space, each thrust echoing between the walls like a symphony of pure sin. Your body is a mess beneath him, pliant and wrecked, reduced to nothing but sensation, but pleasure.

And Soobin devours you.

His lips find every inch of your skin—your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat—leaving open-mouthed kisses, sucking bruises that will linger long after this moment. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, worshiping. Every touch is possessive, claiming.

Your only response is to take it. To surrender to the way he stretches you, fills you so perfectly. It’s been too long since you’ve felt like this, since you’ve felt this full, this good.

"You feel that, baby?" he mutters against your jaw, his voice thick with lust, his thrusts sharp and punishing. "This is what you’ve been missing. What no one else can fucking give you."

You moan—a broken, desperate sound.

"Say it," he demands, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing down hard.

You jolt, eyes rolling back. "You," you gasp. "Only you—fuck—no one else."

He groans, burying his face against your neck as if the admission undoes him. And then he snaps, fucking into you like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget this, never forget him.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," you practically scream, your voice breaking, body trembling.

Soobin chuckles, low and taunting, never slowing his ruthless pace. "Oh, poor baby," he coos mockingly, his fingers slipping down between your bodies, finding your clit with wicked precision. He presses down, rubs slow, lazy circles—just to watch you squirm.

"You wanna cum that bad?" he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, eyes dark with something feral. "So fucking desperate. Look at you—shaking. You can’t even take it, can you?"

You whimper, your fingers clawing at his back, his arms, anything you can reach. It’s too much, too good, too perfect. Your body is fire, every nerve on the edge of combustion.

"So needy for me," Soobin groans, leaning down, his lips brushing over yours. "But you know I love it when you beg, sweetheart. So why don’t you be a good girl and ask me for it?"

Your pride and sanity shatter.

"Please," you gasp, wrecked and mindless. "Please, Soobin, let me cum. Please—"

"That’s my girl," he growls, and then he rubs harder, fucks you deeper, until you break—until you fall apart around him with a sobbing cry, your body seizing, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

And Soobin watches it all, drinking in every second, every sound, every tremor of your body as you unravel beneath him.

It takes him a few seconds—just long enough to watch you come undone beneath him, to feel your walls flutter and clench so tightly around him that his restraint snaps like a frayed wire.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. His fingers dig into your waist, hard, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt.

"Fuck—" he rasps, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he spills inside you, the heat of it making you shudder. He pulses, each wave of his release drawn out by the way your body still clenches greedily around him.

He pants against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. "Shit," he mutters, pressing absentminded kisses against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hand slides up your side, lazy, possessive. "You feel so fucking good—"

You're still trembling, body sensitive, spent, but you turn your head, catching his lips in a slow, messy kiss. He groans into it, hips rolling shallowly, like he can't stop, like he’s still savoring every aftershock.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your mingled breathing, his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his release still deep inside you.

Then, finally, Soobin exhales a small, breathless laugh against your skin.

"Yeah." He nuzzles into your neck, voice lower, softer now. "You're mine."

You smile, breath still uneven, body still trembling. "I always was."

Soobin exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep. His arms tighten around you, pressing your body closer, unwilling to let go just yet. He kisses you—slow, lingering, almost tender now. Like he’s sealing something between you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers lazily traced circles into your hip until everything faded into darkness.

You wake up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, golden and soft, warming your skin. The bed smells like him—clean and musky, something uniquely Soobin. His arm is still draped over your waist, heavy and possessive, fingers curled slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You shift slightly, your body sore in ways that make heat curl in your stomach. That definitely happened.

A low, sleepy hum comes from behind you. "Mmm, morning." Soobin’s voice is rough, thick with sleep. He tightens his hold, nuzzling into your neck. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You let out a soft laugh. "Nowhere."

"Good." He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. "Stay right here."

You roll over to face him, and god—he looks unfairly good in the morning. Tousled hair, drowsy eyes, lips still slightly swollen from last night. He blinks down at you, then smirks. "You look wrecked."

"Whose fault is that?" you mumble, stretching.

"Mine." He grins, completely unapologetic. "And I’d do it again."

Your cheeks heat, but before you can reply, Soobin rolls on top of you, caging you in effortlessly. His weight is comforting, his bare skin warm against yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask, even though you already know.

"Making sure you don’t regret it." He brushes his nose against yours, voice still thick with sleep, but his hands are already moving, slow and teasing. "And if you don’t, then I think I have some unfinished business with you, sweetheart."

It’s practically lunchtime when you and Soobin finally decide to leave the bed. Your body aches in the best way possible, but more importantly—your stomach aches for actual food.

You call for delivery, and right in front of you, like fate, they drop off food from your favorite restaurant just a few blocks away. Perfect.

Soobin busies himself preparing the table, setting out plates, pouring water into glasses, smoothing out the tablecloth like this is something the two of you do all the time. Like he belongs here. Like this isn’t completely new and terrifying.

Everything is so domestic, so effortless—it almost scares you.

You watch him for a moment before blurting out, "Soob, you’re truly an idiot."

He freezes mid-reach for the utensils, turning to look at you, confused. "Huh?"

You inhale sharply, then murmur, "We didn’t use protection last night… or today."

Soobin’s eyes widen. "Fuck." He looks absolutely stricken, like the realization just knocked the air out of his lungs. "Oh my god, I was too focused on— I mean, I was so into you that I just—fuck."

You cross your arms, watching him spiral.

"Babe, I swear, I’m clean." His voice is urgent now, panicked. "I got tested two weeks ago—I think I still have the document on my phone. You can check—"

You can’t help it—you laugh. "Lucky for you, I’m on birth control."

Soobin sags in relief, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Jesus." Then, his expression shifts to something more serious, his brows knitting together. "This is a thing for two—I should have been more responsible. I’m sorry."

You step closer, poking his chest. "Damn right you should have been."

His lips quirk into a sheepish smile. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raise an eyebrow. "How?"

Soobin leans down, voice dropping, teasing, "Well… I could start by feeding you before you get grumpy."

You roll your eyes but let him press a kiss to your forehead anyway. The moment should feel awkward, heavy even, but instead, it feels warm. Familiar.

You don’t even think before you say it. The words just spill out as you sit across from him at the table, food untouched between you.

"We need to talk."

Soobin looks up immediately, jaw tightening like he’s already bracing for the worst. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Before you say anything, I know." His voice is quieter now, a little rough. "I know how hard it was for you back then."

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

"Babe, I didn’t pay attention to you."* His eyes flicker with regret, dark and heavy with memories that still linger between you. "And I am so sorry. But I didn’t have the time back then—I had just made it into university, and I was juggling a full-on trainee schedule. I barely had a second to breathe."*

He looks down at his hands like he can barely stand to face you.

"At the time, I didn’t understand why you made such a fuss. I thought you were overreacting. But looking back… fuck, I was selfish. I was spending fourteen hours a day training, barely sleeping, and the little time I had left, I should have given to you."

His voice cracks, and when he looks up, his eyes are shining with something raw. "You were at university too, just as busy, and still… you made time for me. You always made time for me. You’d cook my meals, check up on me, make sure I ate something even when I got home at 2 AM—and I took you for granted."

Your heart clenches painfully.

"I will always be deeply sorry for that," Soobin continues, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there for you like you were for me."

His hand reaches out across the table, tentative, fingers brushing against yours.

"But I never stopped loving you. Not even once."

Silence stretches between you. The weight of his words sinks into your skin, deep and unshakable.

It would be so easy to let that be enough—to fall back into him completely, to pretend the past doesn’t matter.

But it does.

So you take a breath, steadying yourself, and finally, finally, you start to say everything you’ve been holding in for years.

"You really hurt me, Soobin." Your voice is quiet, but steady. "I don’t think you ever realized how lonely I felt back then. It wasn’t just that you were busy—it was that I felt like I didn’t exist to you anymore."

He flinches, like the words hit him straight in the chest.

"I’d wait for you. Every night, I’d wait. I’d cook you something, even if I knew you’d barely touch it. I’d leave you messages, even if I knew you wouldn’t answer until hours later. And I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it. That I was just being selfish for wanting more of you."

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. "But it wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t selfish. I just wanted to be with you."

Soobin grips your hand tighter. "I know. I know, and I was a fucking idiot. I don’t think I really let myself see how much it was affecting you. I was so focused on surviving every day that I just… I don’t know. I thought you’d always be there. And that was unfair of me."

He swipes a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "I can’t change what I did back then. I can’t undo the times I hurt you. But if you’ll let me—if you still want this—I swear I’ll spend every day making up for it."

Your chest tightens.

The truth is, you never stopped wanting him.

And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all.

You squeeze his hand. "I’m still scared, Soobin. I don’t know if things will be different this time."

"They will be." His voice is firm, certain. "Because I’m different. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the way his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through them again. You watch the way he looks at you—like you’re something he refuses to take for granted ever again.

"For the record," Soobin starts, voice quieter now, steadier, "my career will not be a problem anymore."

Your breath catches, but you let him speak.

"I don’t want to hide you. I never did, and I won’t—not unless you’re uncomfortable with how public it’s going to get. If you are, then I swear I’ll respect that. But me? I will always stand for you."

His fingers tighten around yours, warm and firm, like an unspoken promise.

"I will always be there from now on." His voice wavers just slightly. "I should’ve been there before, but I wasn’t. I don’t deserve you after all the ways I hurt you… but I love you, and I want to make you so fucking happy, babe."

A lump rises in your throat.

"You’re the only reason I keep working so hard," he continues. "Every day, I push myself so I can prove that it was all worth it. But the thing is… none of it means anything without you."

Your heart stutters.

"I have everything I ever dreamed of, but I don’t have the one thing I want most." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles. "You."

The word sinks deep, heavy with meaning.

You exhale shakily, watching him. Soobin—your Soobin—who once felt like a memory you had to let go of, is here, right in front of you, holding on like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

"Do you mean it?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His brows furrow like the question physically pains him. "Of course I do. I’d never say it if I didn’t."

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering determination, just love—raw and unshaken.

Soobin lifts his free hand, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "Give me the chance to make it up to you. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve."

You don’t realize you’re leaning into his touch until your eyes flutter shut.

And then, all of a sudden, Soobin is kissing you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—just sweet, meaningful. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His lips press against yours with a quiet reverence, like he’s savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of you. Like he’s afraid of letting go.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Could you be my girlfriend?" His voice is barely above a whisper, hesitant, hopeful.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze—soft yet so intense, like he’s holding onto every second.

"I can make my company release a statement," he murmurs, pressing a lingering peck on the tip of your nose. "They can say that I’m very much taken. That I belong to you."

Your breath catches, but Soobin isn’t finished.

"I have an event coming up—a fancy, over-the-top party, filled with industry elites, idols, actors, CEOs. Everyone who’s someone will be there." He swallows, brushing his fingers down your arm. "I can introduce you to the world."

Your heart pounds.

"You don’t have to," he adds quickly, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "I know this isn’t easy, and if you don’t want that kind of attention, I’ll keep us private. But I don’t want to hide you. Not anymore. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and that I—" He exhales shakily, eyes glistening with something raw. "That I’m yours."

Your lips part, but words don’t come.

Soobin doesn’t rush you. He just waits, watching you like your answer is the most important thing in the world. And to him, it probably is.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as Soobin watches you with hopeful, expectant eyes. The weight of his words lingers between you, thick with meaning, with promise.

"Yes," you finally say, your voice soft but sure. "I want to be your girlfriend."

Soobin's entire face lights up, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, like he's grounding himself in the moment—like he can’t believe this is real.

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t love the attention, and I know the media follows you everywhere... but if you want to release the statement, you can. I just—" You hesitate, chewing on your lip. "I don’t know about the party though."

His eyes search yours, carefully gauging your comfort. "We don’t have to go," he assures you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your palm. "I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. If you’re not ready, we’ll do things your way. The world can wait."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. "You’d really be okay with that?"

Soobin chuckles, tilting his head. "I waited this long to have you again. What’s a little more waiting?"

His words make your heart clench, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, full of quiet gratitude.

Soobin sighs into it, his hands finding your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "God, I love you," he breathes against your lips. "I’ll do this right this time."

And you believe him.

When Yeonjun finds out, it’s messy.

There’s yelling. A lot of it.

"How the hell did this happen, and I didn’t notice?!" Yeonjun practically explodes, his voice bouncing off the walls. His expression is a mix of pure disbelief and mild betrayal, his hands flying through his hair like he’s on the verge of losing his mind.

Then, in the middle of his outburst, realization hits. His mouth clamps shut, and his face shifts from outrage to something quieter—understanding.

Of course, he didn’t notice.

He wasn’t here.

He was studying in the U.S. when everything went down. He missed it. All of it.

His gaze flickers between you and Soobin, and for a long, drawn-out moment, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Then, without warning, his eyes lock onto Soobin’s with a silent threat—If she ends up hurt, I’ll make sure you regret it.

Soobin swallows thickly.

But then—almost unexpectedly—Yeonjun smiles.

It’s not exactly a warm, welcoming grin, but it’s something. A reluctant acceptance, maybe. A begrudging fine, but if you screw this up, I will personally end your life.

Soobin lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tension leaving his shoulders.

And then it clicks.

A memory. A conversation. Something that doesn’t make sense.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, completely thrown. "Babe... that day at the wedding… did you say something to Yeonjun about us earlier?"

You blink at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Taehyun told me he overheard you talking to Yeonjun about us.*"

Your face scrunches in confusion. "That never happened."

Soobin freezes. "What?"

"I never talked to Yeonjun about us before everything happened. Not at the wedding. Not before it. Never."

The realization crashes down like a ton of bricks.

"He probably lied to you," you murmur.

Soobin’s eye twitches.

Oh.

Oh, he’s gonna kill Taehyun.

And then, after that, he’s going to buy him one of those weird torture-looking gym machines he’s always obsessing over. That’ll shut him up.

Thank fucking god for Taehyun.

Let me know what you think about this hehe :D

[weird-is-life]

First date charm

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x singlemom!reader

Summary: You think that Bucky is too good for you

Warnings: fluff, mentions of food, like one swear word

Words: 1.1k

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

I'm so sorry, James... but I don't think I'll be able to make it to the restaurant today. Again, I'm really sorry, I don't think i'll be able to see you anymore. You send a text to James Barnes.

The babysitter cancelled on you last minute, and with nobody else to watch your son you had to cancel the date.

Yes, you were definitely bummed about it because the first day with him was pretty much perfect. He was such a gentleman, and it felt like you could talk to him about anything. And it was like you could see him in your future immediately.

But you can't escape the nagging feeling that Bucky deserves better than you, than a single mom with a kid. Even though it hurts you more than you can admit.

Bucky feels devastated when he reads your text. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He thought the things were going great?

It was Sam that put you two together, and at first Bucky wanted to throttle him for setting up the date without asking Bucky first.

But after the first date Bucky was more than thankful. You were so kind and lovely and beautiful, and on Bucky's mind all the time since the date.

So he doesn't know what's happened. He tries to call you like 3 times, hoping for more of an explanation than only that text. He even texts you a few more times.

He starts to get worried when you don't respond. He would be thankful even if you just picked up the phone to tell him to fuck off, but you don't, and it drives him crazy.

He waits for your response for 2 hours, debating on just going up to your apartment to see if you are okay.

But after the 2 hours it gets too much for him. His mind going to the worst possible scenarios. He can't help it. The years of trauma don't make it easy for him to live, and not worry.

He gets to your apartment pretty quickly, his motorcycle makes it easy to speed through traffic. He paces nervously in front of the building, maybe he shouldn't have come here.

He contemplates for a few more minutes, and then rings the bell. Maybe you will think that he's crazy psychopath for showing up at your doorsteps, but he has to make sure you're okay.

You don't expect anybody to ring the bell to your apartment as soon as you put your son to sleep. You definitely don't expect to hear Bucky's voice from the intercom.

His soft 'can I come up?' makes your heart flatter, and you buzz him in. He's up the stairs on your floor quickly. And of course, he has a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"James, what are you doing here?" you ask quietly. He looks so handsome for the cancelled date, and it makes you feel even worse.

"I'm sorry for showing up...You weren't answering your phone, and-and I was worried." He looks apologetically at you.

"My phone....oh-" you quickly dissappear into your apartment, searching for your phone.

Bucky doesn't mean to snoop, but with the door wide open he notices all of the toys and kids stuff. His mouth goes dry a bit.

"I'm sorry, James, I had my phone on quiet.....," you stop talking when you follow Bucky's gaze. His eyes roaming all over the things.

"What's all this? You have a kid?"  Bucky looks baffled, like he just saw a ghost in front of him.

"Yes." You admit, guilt for not telling him all over your face. You thought that Sam had told Bucky about Teo, but you realised on the date that he hadn't.

You wanted to tell him, you really did. But you just wanted to see how the first date goes first. And in between the first and the second date the thoughts of Bucky being too good for you settled in your mind.

I mean, he's so charming, and probably the nicest man you have ever met. He's also so so respectful. And god, he's so handsome as well, those piercing blue eyes? To die for...

"I wanted to tell you, Bucky. I just....you deserve someone else. Not me with a kid. I-I loved our date, but I know what guys think about women with kids. It's not very attractive...," you sigh. You have experienced rejections from guys because of Teo before.

"Wait, wait, wait, doll. Did I give you the impression that I'd care about such things?" Bucky almost immediately asks. "I don't care that you have a kid, I like you, and I loved the date with or without knowing that you have a kid."

"You say that now, but what about when-" he interrupts you before you can finish.

"Doll, I like you! How about we just take it one date at a time, yeah? Let's see where this goes?" Bucky tries to reason with you. He doesn't want to let you go without even getting to know you properly. Like fuck, he hasn't felt this kind of connection in a long, long time.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I'd understand if not, I really would," you try to give him a smile to convince him (and yourself) which doesn't really work.

Bucky slowly takes your hand into his, and squeezes your hand in reassurance, "I'm very sure. I like you, and I don't know If I should be a little offended that you thought I'd mind that you are a mom.."

His attempt at lightening the mood is successful. You chuckle at his words, and he gives you a smile in return.

You eye the bouquet of the flowers in his other hand,"are those for me?"

"Who else?" Bucky murmurs teasingly as he hands you the beautiful flowers.

"Thank you, Bucky. They are beautiful," you say sheepishly, "but I still can't go on the date today. There's nobody who can watch Teo." You tell him a little disappointed.

"No, that's okay, doll. I just wanted to make sure that we were okay, but more importantly that you were okay. I should go tho," he says, and leans down bravely to kiss your cheek goodbye.

He can see your cheeks go rosy instantly. The blush making you even more pretty.

"W-wait, Bucky," you catch his hand before he can turn away, " you could stay, Teo is asleep....we could order pizza or-or whatever you like." You almost face slap yourself for acting like some unsure teenager in love. Stammering over your words.

Bucky thinks it over for a few seconds before he smiles at you," I'd love to, and pizza sounds fantastic."

"Great, c'mon." You happily pull him after you inside the apartment while apologising for all the mess. But Bucky couldn't care less about that, he's just more than happy he gets to spend time with you again.

[sunflower1experiment]

The Doctor, will See You

Risk

It was quiet, you were quiet, it made him uncomfortable when you would acknowledge him with a nod and then walk past. Tending to the children, was it the fact that you lost this child or maybe you had finally accepted your fate. Whatever the plan was it was also affecting the toys too, Leith was less strict and more patient but the knowledge that you weren't actively seeking any forms of social bond made him worry. "Can you talk to me?"

Stella begs while holding your hand, you chuckle sadly. "No, stop trying and just work. Please."

Work, silence, feed, care, work, silence.....feed...?

Doey's neck stretches across his cell and ate some of the fruit you placed down, "You're feeding us? Why?" This was Kevin talking, the children were weary. You simply shake your head, "I'm doing this to tell you to live, keep rebelling, you're all smart and I...I'm doing what I can before I accept everything."

The boys stare at you through Doey, "What do you mean? Your voice isn't gentle, so why?"

"Kevin, Matthew, Jack...Doey. I don't think Harley or Prototype are good. So, I want you to take care of the children if things get...tense, you don't have to do it if you don't want to. Every choice you make. Make sure to forgive yourself, okay? You're good kids." Doey flinches when you place one more food into his hand.

It was, colorful, like him a pretty fruit with colors and a variety of different tastes. "Peach..." He ate it curiously, relishing the different essences of sweetness.

Catnap was well difficult to speak with, you knew he held high expectations for Prototype and also didn't see you as anything other than a scientist, an adult. One that betrayed him, the food placed down was smacked away, "It's okay. You have every right to be angry."

He sneers at your words, just because you were "one of the good ones"

"You are no better, you are a scientist, you still stood beside him." Nodding at his words you sigh sadly.

"Maybe that was a signal, loving him and then getting attached to you all. That no matter how hard I try, I was more loyal to playtime than I was myself. I so badly wish to take your pain away. Sadly, the only thing I can do is this."

What did you mean!? Catnap watches you leave, Dogday stares in horror, "Catnap, did Prototype...." No, what did you mean!?

Were you leaving? No, you had a plan, something they wouldn't know about. Mommy places the fruits and vegetables aside when you returned. After everything, the truth, and now you and Harley were no more. What were you planning to do exactly? "Is there a reason you're so, quiet, planning in silence?"

"The plan is to give you all strength, and then, gather evidence." Mommy's eyes widen, she slinks over with a curious grin. "Evidence?"

"You are evidence, but the files are too." So that is why you were quiet and so obediently tame, of course this is merely as scary as any job with a corrupt background but to be on top and stay while hitting rock bottom. Yet here you are, giving food while ignoring Harley's calls.

Huggy leans in when your phone rings for the third time, you hold his cheek so he could remain still. His sharp teeth chew on the pears you feed him, sometimes he'd stand guard while you worked. Listening to the apologies or gentle words he wished to hear, when the experimentations happened. Did you even know of the pain? the anguish? The suffering everyone experienced at the hands of Harley, Eddie and Leith?

He could only smile while staring at you, your apologies meant something but in terms of actioner it would fall flat.

"tHe hOur oF jOy....yOu sHoUlD join..."

"I can't...I have to give the evidence to the public, you understand...I'm not sure what this hour will be but if you all plan to escape then I'll do everything I can to help."

Prototype envies your determined futility; him and Harley were alike that way. Harley loves your bleeding heart while Prototype's plan was meant to break you, turn you to hate humanity and maybe just maybe you could collaborate with him. Not out of love, or concern to commemorate you and him becoming allies, but because he needed eyes, ears, hands, and the ability to touch.

He then notes the ringing phone, that was once again in voicemail. Harley was growing more desperate.

Each one went straight to voicemail, or he'd find you in your office. Expecting coffee from you or a small smile of assurance, where did he go wrong? The day he truly went wrong was probably the last time you and him would share such warm embrace.

What happened? The files were placed down, evidence upon evidence and a video file to upload the truth to the world. Now all there is the door, but it was locked. Your body tenses, and in the back of your mind you prayed it wasn't what you thought it'd be. Whether you loved him or not, it was still...

It starts with a crash, a gunshot, yelling, what did Prototype do, words of who will cover this up fill your ears. How will he cover it up, then you ran in and knelt to Harley's side, holding him by the face.

Whether Harley wanted to or not, that was what made Leith, and you clash, he was usually bemused with your interaction with the toys.

Yet nothing bemused him more than seeing your teary-eyed face standing before him.

TW// Blood, gunshot, (Here we see his perspective of what happened. Meanwhile Leith gets his perception while the hour of joy is its own chapter), cursing, gore minors do not interact if you get weary at the mention of blood

Harley, Harley Sawyer, head scientist of the projects, facing betrayal, curiosity, discovery, love, failure, and isolation. Holding no sorts of humility and discipline as stated by Elliot, he struggles to reach the top of the ranks in playtime co. Striding to become better than those nobodies he called coworkers, the ones with bleeding hearts, soft like Elliot or not even capable to reach his intellect.

Many experiments, failure or not he knew he was the one carrying this company to success, then it was Quinn...

Quinn, he should've listened when he knew someone was opting to take this child in. Experiment 1166, aka Yarnaby. The obedience it displays....or he displays, was enough to make Sawyer "take" him in. That was his first mistake, "That boy Quinn, I really want to adopt him."

In one ear and out the other, this man was foolish. To even form a relationship with someone who held more humility, more humanity than him. How dare he ruin the concept of enamor for his partner to be or to not be.

He loved you, of course he did, that's why he kept you close. Someone needed to keep this family together, Harley, Quinn Yarnaby, you. His mind wanders to the baby, two months in...and to see your locked door the fetus, the man wanted to yell at the scientist for not saving it. It could be of potential: What a sick twisted thought to have about your own child!

Harley breaths as he scraps the paperwork on the prototype, "sOmethiNg thE mATTER? DoCtor?"

"No, you and I both know that....So anything else you wish to express?" It chuckles, then taps the metallic fingers on the table. "You both loved each other so dearly, and you simply had to turn that boy into a toy....Criminals, sick, dying...Right? Potential toys. Or better yet Some sedation."

"Don't you ever use that voice against me! Damn it!" Harley slams his hands on the table, he hated that voice, because it belonged to you. Except you were crying, hugging his frame while he couldn't bear to see you making that pathetic sound. Even when the doctor had the audacity to find some sick amusement at Yarnaby's sounds....you were different.

It absolutely annoys Harley's soul knowing Stella held some form of kinship to you, the flowers expressed so many words. So, he tried as well, first it was a Clematis Jackmanii, you were enthralled by such beauty. Next the Iris, you returned this exchange with a Rosemary, so he got bolder, and he was before your office with a Tuberose. Your wide eyes and slightly startled demeanor rub him the wrong way until you show him a beautiful pink poppy. He holds it, silent....

That flower was now wilted, he was heartbroken or maybe he needed to try again. So, he foolishly offers a poppy flower. Your demeanor is unchanging, and your silence spoke so many words to him, truly the indifference you held to the doctor hurt more than any form of hatred.

All these puzzles and shifts to try and win you over again he simply moves onto work like you but not the way he'd expect. The incident, he simply had Boxy Boo cover his tracks, and he'd leave while everyone else was already home. Until he saw you, your eyes were wide the crashing, gunshots, what happened!?

But he could only focus on you, he tries to speak, then stops when you walk forward. Harley practically drops everything to hold you but then his eyes widen. There was blood on the floor, sounds of shouting and Leith's angry yelling while guards start to seize you.

"Harley! What did you bastards do!? What was that!?" Your voice fades as the guards move you towards the hallways, "Harley!!!"

Harley's breathing shortens, too much blood loss...he felt it track over his lab coat. It reminded him of your warmth, your lips and tender touch.

"Start the procedure."

Then the doctor awoke, calling for you, it made Leith tense with anger, Dr. Bruno White clears his throat. "Procedure complete....how, are you feeling?"

"White!? Where, what happened...I...Something is wrong, what did you do!? Which one of you higher up backstabbing traitors..."

"I gave the order." Leith cuts Sawyer off from his angry tangent, he sighs. "After so many chances and even a failed attempt of us nearly getting exposed. You really know how to handle your screw ups."

"Enough with your idle talk, why would we even get exposed?" Sawyer snarls at him, his patience wearing thin.

"Your partner had evidence, upon evidence! Everything was recorded, everything! You simply couldn't just leave it alone..." Leith sighs, "Luckily we dealt with him as per needed.

"You have no idea what you all are doing, you all need mine and my dear's intellect!"

"That is the exact reason why you're here and not food for Boxy Boo." Leith retorts while he looks at Leith's now isolated form. "Here's how we'll do this, you will give the other scientists answers when they need them, and to perform procedures as directed."

"You'll die for this Pierre! When I get my hands on you. You're a DEAD MAN!"

Harley wouldn't accept this, not when you were trapped somewhere, being treated with the same pain. Leith Pierre maybe, a greedy bastard but...would he hurt you.

He had to know, it was as if the world was against him for the final time. How many months went by is what he'd ask but he knew time was only relative in the eyes of the beholder.

That's when he hears him again, "Open the door!" Leith's angry voice fills his ears, you take some steps back. Holding your chest, he watches through the camera tapping on the screen. Anything to get your attention, Stella's cries fill his head. Why was everyone do damn loud!?

"I failed, for the final time." Your voice begins, he assumed you were crying, and he desperately hopes it was true. Yet when no tears shed, he was angry. At himself, those fools, you!

He notices you grabbing the lever, to release everyone, everything, even him. But that meant you would die too, "No matter how much I try to look, I was no better…if they kill me, I hope I can ease their pain…I’m so sorry children."

You can't be serious!? This had to be prototype's doing! Why didn't he see the signs sooner, damn it, damn everything to hell it was his fault! He held the blame, Leith Pierre held the blame, Stella, all of these scientists. Innocent, guilty....

"I really did love him." Harley stops moping with self-loath when you say those words, "I just wanted him to see that those orphans, the children. They were smarter than people realize..."

You pull the lever; closing the gate that guards the workers in the higher grounds. "Prototype wanted us to die but, not everyone deserves it. I tried to convince him and Sawyer..."

The doctor watches your determined glare towards the others, "I'm doing this for the sake of the children and the innocent. I don't care if this seems like some moral power play, it isn't I'm no better."

Everything played out so slowly, the gates were vain as they transported Huggy to the upper floor. Killing everyone, Mommy long legs follow afterwards in the train station playground, death, blood, bodies. The sick sounds of someone's body being torn apart, it made Harley watch in awe how they practically turn this play to hell..

Because of him and those backstabbing scientists, what exactly did you do? Right, you never did them, you were the one who interrogated the children and toys.

Always being sweet, and caring for them, feeding those damned beasts. That was your downfall and biggest flaw, you had that bleeding heart...

"....Hello old friend." The prototype says in a mocking manner, "I see even after everything, your love for that scientist has not changed. So, will the doctor be seeing them?"

Harley chuckles bitterly at its words of mockery and amusement, those fools lost control god knows how much later after he was turned. Now this "Hour of Joy" happens, all of his work in shambles..

But you, his perfect experiment. You weren't in shambles, not yet that is, maybe if he made you into something like him the toys would be more accepting. Unlike that Thomas Clarke fellow, he could make you his perfect experiment, the perfect partner. Without that awful bleeding heart, he came to adore so much, you'd be safe from manipulation. From Prototype, he sighs once more as he finally clears his head, "Make sure my dear partner doesn't die.."

Your fate was sealed that day.

[bokutoko]

2/14

character: atsumu miya (timeskip!atsumu)

wc: 1.4k

cw: valentine’s day (barf), alcohol, cussing, kinda sorta uni!au (uni!reader x msby!atsumu), slight feelings of inadequacy (reader), they kith💋, atsumu thinks the L-word

pt. 2(ish?) to 7/11

Valentine's Day... also known as your least favorite day of the year (besides your birthday, but that’s a whole different story). The holiday made popular by monetizing the idea of setting aside only one day out of the year to show how much you love your partner, with all the godforsaken life-sized teddy bears and dozens of balloons, and all the mediocre chocolate and overpriced flowers. A cock of shit was what it was—someone should not be loved just one day out of the year. 

Of course, its only significance to you was being a milestone to remind yourself how painfully single you were.

But you weren't bitter. Not at all. Not. One. Bit.

The kicker, though? It almost felt like you didn't even want anybody. The mere idea of dating someone—a person you probably didn’t even know at the time and probably (not so) secretly a piece of shit—made you so nauseous that swearing relationships off altogether seemed more tempting as the days passed...

But alas, the small, hopeless romantic peeking through the rose-tinted lenses of your heart unfortunately held out for something beautiful one day... Maybe not for a prince, but a knight in shining armor. Maybe not a man to sweep you off your feet, but instead one willing to help you pick up the pieces when it felt like everything was falling apart at your feet. 

"Maybe I'll just die an old spinster.”

"C'mon, it can't be that bad," Atsumu's Kansai dialect filtered through your headphones as you walked across campus to your morning class. He’d called, asking if you had any fun plans for the night, fully knowing you didn’t.

“There’s carnations and balloons all over campus. It looks like one of those my little ponies took a dump all over the place."

"But ‘m sure them carnations are pretty. Maybe you'll get one from a guy or somethin’."

"I think I'd rather die," you gagged.

A laugh filled your ears, and everything felt okay–what a nice sound to hear. But after feeling your heart do the thing, you quickly shook it off.

It was strange how for years now, it sometimes made you feel all weirdly warm and tingly when Atsumu laughed with you (even sometimes when he laughed at you).

It was best to not even entertain that notion.

"Well, gotta go, 'm at class," you sighed loudly for dramatic effect, "Maybe I'll go bitch to 'Samu later about my woes and personal vendettas. y’know, since you hate me."

Atsumu found himself smiling at your childish whining. "You mean ‘cause I'll be at practice?"

"Same thing."

“Fuck you too,” he grumbled with a scoff, not an ounce of actual annoyance in his voice, “Bye, nerd.”

A small smile made its way onto your face at his jabs. That was how it always was with Atsumu, ever since you two were in high school together. The both of you always shat on each other, knowing there was never any heat in your malicious words. It was nice, being able to feel safe with someone, to feel comfortable enough to be yourself and unapologetically bully your best friend.

As you prepped for lecture, your mind wandered, constantly circling back to your partner in crime. With every moment that passed, you quickly came to realize that Atsumu always only judged you a little bit with your (sometimes questionable) decisions, keeping it real with you while ultimately supporting you and being one of your biggest cheerleaders. Because all he wanted was to see you succeed. All he wanted was to see you happy.

You felt your face heat up just from thinking about him. 

For fuck’s sake—

While it was nice to attempt to delude yourself into thinking something could ever happen, you were easily able to convince yourself that this strange… crush was most likely unrequited.

This was Atsumu. Your Atsumu. He deserved the world.

And yet, you were just… you.

Time seemed to pass as slow as humanly possible: all your classes droning on, your exam sucking the life out of you, your professors assigning loads of busywork for the weekend ahead. The walk back to your cramped, overpriced shithole apartment was bustling with people: couples going on dinner dates, partners buying last minute gifts, and the occasional groups of galentines. Thankfully, your roommates all had plans with loved ones or already left for the weekend, so you had the entire place to yourself to sulk!

Turning the key and walking inside, you were slapped in the face with color. The common room area was decorated with a couple red heart balloons and… a pink “happy birthday” balloon floating around?

Your eyes honed in on Atsumu standing in the middle of the living room, holding another pink happy birthday balloon.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Y’have no idea how hard it is to find last minute stuff,” Atsumu sighed with a sheepish grin, "and I know it ain’t your birthday, but it was pink—a-and the color kinda matches, so…”

‘What was he talking about?’ he thought to himself, ‘oh god, please shut up.’

And the epiphany came crashing down upon you that maybe you never actually hated Valentine’s Day, you just wanted someone to love you every day, not just for one day of the year. You looked over to the chocolates on the counter and the flowers perched in a vase next to them—it was your favorite everything. On display before you was your favorite dessert, your favorite flowers, your favorite person—

“‘Tsumu…” you struggled to find the right words, “What is all this?”

He just shrugged, hiding the flush to his cheeks by scratching the back of his neck. “Ya’ve been all down in the dumps that you’re single ‘n shit, so i got some chocolates, some box wine, and ‘Samu’s hulu logged in so we can rot on the couch and watch anything ya want tonight.” 

Atsumu watched you break out in the biggest smile, almost splitting your face in two, and god, he knew he loved you.

You swiped a box of chocolates off the counter. “You know me too well.”

He returned your smile with one of his own, so handsomely crooked. “I know.”

As the hours passed, empty boxes of chocolates were scattered on the table, along with half-drank glasses from a second round of wine. The two of you devolved into sharing a blanket that was definitely too small for the both of you, resulting in you two occasionally tugging on it and grumbling, “gimme.”

“Woulda thought you’d have plans tonight,” you commented as an ad played on the TV, your voice attempting to sound as casual as possible.

He hummed, feigning nonchalance as well. “I do. I’m here, ain’t I?”

You actively couldn’t stop the snort that escaped you. “Be serious, ‘Tsumu.”

“What, can I not make my own kind of plans?” he huffed in reply.

“I meant a date, ‘Tsumu. Y’know, with a girl ya like.”

He hesitated, feeling slightly deflated by her response. “Yeah…?” His voice was uncharacteristically… soft. It may had just been the alcohol talking, but Atsumu wondered if the taste of your lips, now stained a soft pink, was any better than the vino you two shared.

The air in the room suddenly felt way too warm, and you could feel your face flush as you just silently stared at him, like you were some brainless neanderthal. You swallowed, only just now realizing how close the two of you were—no longer tugging on the blanket but practically cuddling. You felt the warmth of his thigh against your own, and you swore you could die right there on the spot, melting right into a puddle of goo. 

Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “Yeah.”

His eyes lazily bounced back and forth between yours, searching for something, and he let out a sigh. “Yer the smartest person I’ve ever known, but God, you can be so damn stupid sometimes.”

Before you had the chance to fire an insult back, you felt a pair of lips on yours, the movements gentle yet nervous. It was instinctual, bordering embarrassing, how fast you melted into the kiss. His tongue tasted of white chocolate truffles and red wine, the heady mixture causing you to let out the softest sigh in his mouth. Atsumu's hands gently cupped your jaw, his thumbs gently running along your cheekbones until his brain finally caught up to his actions.

He pulled away and watched you almost chase his lips, your eyes still fluttering with your skin bathed in the soft lamplight of the room. He quietly whispered, “Sorry, I–”

“Don’t you dare apologize, you dumbass. Just kiss me again.”

And you didn’t have to tell him twice. 

a/n: happy valentine’s day to all the happy couples and all the single people out there—single or not, here’s some atsumu to feed the delulu <33

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part iii)

summary: Joel’s delicate attachment to Leela and baby Maya deepens along with—her resistance, his denial, and the slow, inevitable way he’s always finding his way back to them. As they navigate a freak accident, Ellie sees it. He does too. Almost.

a/n: ah-woohooooo more of Joel being a thickheaded numpty, so enjoy! I would love to hear all your unhinged, lovely thoughts!

It had been a quiet few weeks for Joel.

Not the kind of quiet he liked—the stillness of early mornings, with the wind rustling the trees and a guitar strumming in his hands. No, this was the one that came after a storm, when the air was dense with the scent of rain and the world felt... upside down. Unsettled. The kind of quiet where the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to pick through the wreckage.

The kind of quiet that made a man think too much. It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating.

Since that night in the car, since he’d seen her unravel in real time, the tacit MO had changed. On more welcome news, Mal had stopped coming around. No thanks to him, of course.

Joel saw him through the window the first morning he returned to Leela's place. Mal was coming up the path with the same easy stride, hands in his pockets like he had a right to be there. God, just once, he wanted to knock the teeth off that goddamned kid.

Joel set down his hammer and exhaled through his nose. Bless Tommy for leaving the fun part to him. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped out onto the porch before the kid could even knock. The heavy door groaned on its hinges behind him, and he let it.

Mal spotted him and gave a lazy wave, stepping forward. “Hey, man. I’m just here to—”

Joel shifted in front of him. Not aggressive. Just there. An immense wall of quiet warning.

Mal stopped short, blinking up at him.

Joel wasn’t even trying to stand taller, but he didn’t need to. He just crossed his arms over his chest, let his shoulders square out naturally, let his stance say everything. He wasn’t fucking moving.

The kid hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh—is there a problem?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Joel said, voice even.

Mal frowned. “What?”

“I said, whatever it is, I got it.”

There was a pause. A moment where Joel could see the gears turning in Mal’s head, where the kid was piecing things together a little too slow for his liking.

“Okay, but Tommy said—”

“Yeah, well.” Joel leaned forward, just enough to be felt. Watched Mal’s jaw tighten, and watched him shift back on instinct. “Not anymore.”

That finally landed. Mal thankfully rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced past Joel, toward the house, then back, brows knitting together, trying to make sense of what was going on. What he'd done wrong.

"Uh... do you want help, at least?" he offered, cautious.

Joel let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh—if you could call it that. There was nothing warm in it. "You run along now."

Mal lingered for another second, like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. And like a kid being told off, he tucked his tail and left.

Joel didn’t bother to watch him go. Just turned on his heel, grabbed the door, and went back inside. “Fuckin' pest,” he grumbled under his breath.

The house was quiet—only the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of careful, steady footsteps.

He looked up and saw Leela was making her way down, one hand carefully bracing against the railing. She was in sweats and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled into a low-hanging bun. There was something different about her face today—sharper, cleaner, blanker maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing her in a better light now.

She caught him staring. "Was that Mal?"

Joel simply lied, "No."

She pressed her lips together. Not quite disappointment, not quite relief. Something in between. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Maybe later.”

Joel hooked a thumb through the loop of his tool belt, retrieving the hammer he’d slung there. He twirled it once, catching the handle in his palm.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a busy guy,” he said, keeping his voice light as he crossed her on the staircase. “Lots of shit to fix around town.”

More importantly, Leela didn’t ask why or how. Soon enough, she stopped looking for Mal. Didn’t even question when Joel started showing up every day instead with his old tool belt slung over his shoulder, standing at her door like it was the most unassuming thing in the world. She just looked at him—one glance, one unreadable flicker of those dark, tired eyes—and then moved on like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t there at all. Stiffing him, essentially.

And Joel knew that kind of distance. This gaping rupture, widened between people when something sore and hideous had been exposed. When someone had seen too much; known too much. Leela knew she’d overstepped, and now she was pulling back.

Joel knew that feeling. He’d done it plenty himself. That instinct to retreat, to pull the shutters down, to make yourself small. Hell, he’d lived it. Had become it.

So he let it happen. He let her pretend again. Didn't push, didn't say anything. He simply worked.

The nursery was coming together, slowly but surely. The pendant lights were fixed, casting warm pools of gold over the room. The shelves stood straighter, stocked with whatever Maria had been sneaking in—baby books, folded blankets, onesies, wooden toys. And the old fuchsia rug he’d found in Leela’s storage? It tied the whole damn thing together, like a relic of a forgotten life, all lived-in and warm for the baby girl.

Joel stood in the centre of it all, Maya cradled in his arms, rocking slightly on his heels. Not that she could appreciate any of this yet. A safe space of her own.

He had never been the kind of man who cooed at babies either. Hadn’t been that way when Sarah was small, hadn’t been that way in the years since. There was something about them—so soft, so fragile—that made him cautious, like he had to hold back, keep himself in check.

Maya made it easier.

"Hi," he whispered to her after her naps. "Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? C'mere."

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerized by the slow shift of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder. Her fingers curled absently in his shirt, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

She’d been a fussy one lately—tired, restless, wanting to be held more often than not. Lonely. And with a mama like Leela, who drifted too easily and got lost too deep in her own head, Joel figured it wasn’t a bad idea to show her around. Give her something new to look at.

“What do you think, baby girl?” he murmured, shifting her closer, his palm smoothing down her tiny back. “Did I do okay or what?”

Maya blinked up at him, her whole body stilling for a second before she let out a soft, breathy coo.

Joel grinned. “Yeah?” he chuckled. “That a yes?”

She wiggled in his hold, that gummy little smile coming alive, kicking lightly against his ribs, and Joel felt himself exhale—deep, easy, something loosening inside him. She liked it. The nursery. The lights. Him. Maybe none of it mattered in that little head of hers, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t fussing. She was looking at him like she trusted him, and God help him, but he wanted to deserve that.

He took her toward the shelves, kneeling carefully with her in one arm, balancing his weight as he pointed to the row of paint cans. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick a colour. What’s it gonna be, huh?” He tilted them slightly, exposing the faded labels. “We got white. Some kinda blue. Green.”

Maya reacted immediately, tiny fist stretching out, fingers grazing toward the muted green.

Joel huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? That your favorite?”

Her fingers brushed the side of the can, fascinated by the cool metal, a quiet coo slipping from her lips.

Joel hesitated for a second, then gave in. He really couldn't help himself. At that moment, he just had to. Slowly, carefully, he shifted her closer, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the soft crown of her unsteady little head.

She smelled faint and sweet as always, like baby powder and fresh linens, and he let himself linger for a second longer than he should have, feeling the heat of her through his shirt, the tiny weight of her against his chest.

Maya wiggled in response, not in protest, but excitement, legs kicking slightly.

Joel exhaled, something breaking loose inside him.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed another kiss to the side of her head, then another and another, half a laugh escaping him when she wriggled in delight, her little fists stretching open, her eyes squeezing shut like she could feel the warmth of it sinking in.

Maybe she could. Maybe she knew, in that small, primal way babies knew things, that Joel was someone safe. That he wouldn’t let her fall. That he really fucking loved her.

A rustle at the doorway made him glance up from a kiss. Leela stood there, her hand lightly braced against the frame, watching him.

Joel was caught off guard, leaning away from Maya a bit, settling her lower against his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low. “Just givin’ her the lay of the land.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. She only flashed a tight, fleeting smile before stepping forward, arms extending toward Maya. “You wanna take a bath with mama?”

Maya twisted in his hold, cooing eagerly now, little hands reaching for her mother. Even after everything, her mother was still her favourite person.

Joel let her go, careful as he passed her over to Leela. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and he ignored the way it lingered, how her fingers barely curled in his before she took Maya into her arms.

“She’s been good,” Joel muttered.

Leela nodded, running a gentle palm over Maya’s back. “There’s lunch downstairs if you’re hungry.”

Joel studied her for a beat, his fingers brushing idly against his tool belt. “…Did you eat something?”

She hesitated. Too long. Then nodded, slow.

He didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded back, watching as she turned on her heel, shifting Maya closer against her shoulder. She left him with another tight, fleeting smile before disappearing down the hall.

Joel breathed out a sigh, glancing back at the half-finished room. Maya’s soft, content coos still lingered in the air. The green paint sat on the shelf, waiting.

And for some damn reason, he felt lonelier than he had in a long, long time.

It had taken him eleven days. Too long for a man like him. But he hadn’t rushed at all. He should’ve, but he didn’t. Had he been the same old Joel—good ol’ Texas Joel—this would’ve been a job done in a heartbeat. A blink, and he’d be out of her way. He wouldn’t have noticed things. Wouldn’t have lingered like a moron.

Maybe it was because of the way Leela barely spoke to him anymore. Or that she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she checked on his progress in clipped words and hums, wouldn’t even glance his way when she passed Maya to him like clockwork, a silent, wordless thing between them.

Maybe because when she leaves him standing at the porch at the end of the day, the door closing shut in his face, it didn’t feel like closing a chapter. It felt like a fucking wall going up.

Joel found her in the kitchen that evening, standing by the counter, wrist-deep in soapy water. It was late, Maya was snoozing her little head off upstairs, the house dim except for the overhead light humming low above them.

She didn’t stagger when he entered, didn’t look at him either. Just kept scrubbing the hell out of a plate, though he was pretty sure it was already clean. He dawdled near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He should’ve left. Should’ve let the silence settle. But he couldn't just leave it alone.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Y’know, you got a dishwasher. It's half the effort,” he pointed out.

Leela gave a small huff. “Electricity’s scarce.”

Joel snorted. “So is water, darlin’.”

She finally glanced at him, just a flicker, then back to the sink.

He tapped his fingers against the counter, searching for something—anything—to keep her in this moment with him. “Made good progress today,” he said. “Maya... she tried to turn on her side. The nursery; well, I just need to fix up that dresser and—”

“Look, thank you. But I’m really tired, Joel.”

She said it without looking at him, her voice level, no bite to it. Just a statement. A locked door. He should’ve expected it, should’ve shrugged it off and moved on. Instead, something about the words, directed at him, sat wrong inside him. All that hurt-people-hurt-people-drivel that Maria used to say came back to bite him in the ass.

He hesitated, shifting his weight onto his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I should get going.”

She said nothing. Just shut off the faucet, dried her hands on a towel, and walked past him, close enough that the damp heat of her skin lingered for half a second longer than it should have. And despite fighting the urge to glance back at her as she left the room, he watched her disappear down the hall.

Joel stood outside her door for a long moment, which he had conscientiously locked, staring at the chipped paint of the doorframe, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked to the porch swing. It swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Was it juvenile to think maybe she’d prefer his company? Was it fucking brainless of him to crave somewhere to belong? A purpose? Was he meant to die alone in a strange house and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles? Maybe. Probably. But hell if he didn’t wish it anyway.

Joel didn’t want to admit it—not directly, not even to himself—but he wanted to talk to her. Not about anything in particular. Not about that night in the Maranello, or how her little, breathy laugh was possibly the best thing to hear after those roars and clicks of the world beyond, or why she’d started looking at him instead of through him.

He just wanted something. Because before, there had been something. It wasn’t like talking to most people, where you had to pick your words apart before they even left your mouth, where you had to navigate bullshit small talk or forced pleasantries. With Leela, it had been... easy. Unspoken. A warm kind of quiet, the kind where he didn’t have to think too much, where he could just be.

He'll admit it, just this once—he liked that about her. He liked that a moment didn’t have to be forced. That he didn’t have to overthink, that they had a rhythm, a delicate system between them, one that made sense even if neither of them ever put words to it.

But now?

Now, she barely looked at him. Nowadays, when she passed Maya to him, it wasn’t with that quiet, knowing ease or a friendly grin, no matter how tired it had been—it was mechanical, transactional, like handing over a set of keys. Like a reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he didn’t know what to call that. Didn’t like the way it made his instincts turn over, uneasy, in his chest.

All that lingering had finally paid off, and Joel had found his way in. He wasn’t going to show it, of course—wasn’t gonna give himself away like some fool—but damn if he wasn’t relieved.

After days of unending cold shoulders, after all that stiff distance, this was the first real opening he’d gotten. An excuse. A way to talk to her without forcing it.

He had been fixing a flickering wall lamp that had been bugging him for some time now, in the second-floor hallway, standing on a step stool when—

CRASH.

The whole house plunged into darkness. The light he’d been working on blinked out, along with the rest of them, and then—a groan. A pained, breathy, hitched groan from below. His entire body tensed before his brain caught up.

Then came the wailing. Maya.

Joel’s heart stammered, caught between two instincts. The damn near gutting sound of the baby girl's frightened cries and that groan—that voice—he'd distinctly heard from the basement.

Fuck. His feet moved before his mind did. He leapt off the stool, tools cluttering to the floor, ignoring the protesting ache in his knees as he tore down the hall to Maya’s room. She was red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, fists curled as she screamed, trembling from the shock.

"Hey, hey, Maya," Joel hushed, scooping her up into his arms, and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, sweetheart. I got you. I got you."

He shushed her, palm stroking warm circles over her back, bouncing her lightly in his arms. His heartbeat was loud, hammering in his ears, drowning everything out but the damn groan still hanging in his mind.

Leela.

She was down there, in that cursed basement, alone. And that sound had been awful.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips to Maya’s head before pulling back. More for himself rather than her.

“I'm right here, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” His voice was steady—measured—but his hands weren’t. His grip on her was a little too tight. They trembled a little.

Maya sniffled, her cries quieting just enough to slow his pulse, and he took that as his chance. Keeping her tucked to his chest, he made his way down the stairs, near flying, boots thudding against the wood.

His breath hitched as he reached the basement door. “Hey, you down here?” he called, shoving it open with his shoulder, jogging down to the dim space below.

Then he saw her.

Leela was slumped against the wall, obvious that she had been tossed into it, her silhouette barely lit by the glare of an emergency lamp in the corner. She was gripping her shoulder fiercely, rubbing it like she was trying to erase the pain. Her fingers dug in hard.

The remnants of her little "science project" upgrade lay scattered around her. Loose wires, metal scraps, a circuit board still humming with life. The main plug socket was connected. Was she fucking stupid? There was a baby upstairs, and she was ready to risk her home for that dumbass machine.

And her face—Fuck. She had gone pale. Eyes squeezed shut. Her chest rose and fell like she was working through an intense wave of pain.

“Christ.” The word came out more like a breath than anything. Joel took a step forward, but when his eyes landed on the tangled wires, something burned under his ribs.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out rougher than intended, fear clawing at his throat, disguising itself as frustration.

Leela’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could kneel down beside her. “Just a bit of bruising. Maya first.”

Joel clenched his jaw.

She was right. Damn it, he hated that she was right. Maya, now hiccupping soft little breaths against his chest, was the priority.

“Right,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was clear. He cast her one last look, making sure she was still upright, still breathing normal, before turning back up the stairs.

It took ten whole minutes to get Maya settled, and that was a miracle in itself. He'd resorted to pleading under his breath, but she had continued to watch him, eyes wide, refusing to let sleep take her like she knew something was wrong. She was perceptive. Just like her mother.

Finally, finally, her little lashes fluttered shut, her tiny hand still gripping onto his shirt.

Joel exhaled, relief going awash his tension. “Good girl,” he murmured, before unfurling her fingers from his collar, brushing a kiss over them and laying her back down.

Then he was sprinting again. Back down the stairs, faster than he should have been, hand gripping the railing tight.

Leela hadn’t moved much. She was still slumped against the basement wall, her breaths deep and restrained—like she was trying to breathe the pain away.

Joel came down to a crouch by her feet. “Hey.”

“I'm fine, Joel, really,” she assured quietly.

Though, he could tell she was pissed at herself. She hated being like this—vulnerable, hurting, unable to brush it off and acting like it didn’t happen. But Joel saw it. He saw her. How she'd tilted her head against the wall, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Leela truly was fine. Bruised, rattled—but fine.

Joel had checked her over once more, ensuring nothing was broken, no serious harm done, and he had to force himself to believe her when she said she’d be okay.

But her hands. Oh, Christ. The dim glow of the emergency lamp cast a dull shine over her skin, and that’s when he noticed—the raw, reddened patches along her fingertips. The unmistakable burn marks where the electricity must’ve bit into her.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply through his nose, scraping a hand down his beard as he stared at her fingers.

She must’ve seen the look on his face because she tucked her hands close to her stomach like she could make them disappear. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. She wasn’t wrong. And that made something in him burn even hotter.

“C’mon,” he muttered, nodding toward the stairs. “Up.”

Leela hesitated, but the way he stood—the way he waited—made it clear he wasn’t asking. So she sighed and pushed herself upright, and Joel stayed close, arms extended safely around her, watching the way she moved, the way her body reacted.

She didn’t stumble. Didn’t wobble. That was good. No concussion or broken bones. A knot in his chest loosened instantly.

Once they made it back upstairs, Joel had her sit at the kitchen table, lit up from the sunshine filtering through from the afternoon sun. He set a bowl of warm water down in front of her, the steam curling into the space between them. He grabbed a small tin of ointment after a bit of rustling through the cabinets, then a roll of gauze, then paused, eyes flicking to her.

She was watching him. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Joel breathed out, slow and even, then came back over, pulling a chair beside her. He reached for her wrist, gently, carefully, lifting her hands into his own. A silent ask. Permission. Lesson learned from the last time he'd touched her.

Leela tensed for half a second before sighing, letting him take them.

She was trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt. Like it was fine. But as soon as he dipped her fingertips into the warm water, she sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened just a little. He tried to squeeze everything he had felt these past few days into a single word—“Sorry.”

He worked, taking it slow, gently swiping away the dust and grime, watching the way her skin flinched under the heat. His thumbs moved gradually, steadily, like he was afraid to make it worse.

“Y’gotta be more careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Damn wires ain’t worth all this. Remember, you’ve got someone countin’ on you.”

Leela let out a soft, tired laugh. “I didn’t know I had a nanny now.”

Joel shot her a look. “You don’t. You got me.”

She blinked at that.

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. Instead, she let him work, let him take care of her, and trusted his instincts, and that felt like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge just yet.

Once her hands were cleaned, he dried them carefully, mindful of the more sensitive spots, before smoothing ointment over each burnt fingertip.

Leela twitched. “Ow.”

Joel grunted. “Ain’t gonna feel good, but it’ll keep it from blisterin’ too bad.”

He finished wrapping the gauze around her fingers, slow and precise, making sure they weren’t too tight. Leela stared down at her hands when he was done, flexing her fingers slightly, testing the bandages like she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Three fingers on each hand.

Joel blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the house.

It was quiet. Too damn quiet. God, he hated this. That unnatural kind, where something had been cut short too suddenly—like the whole place had been stunned into silence. The shot-out lights overhead blinked weakly before finally dying out for good, leaving nothing but the cold creeping in from every corner.

It was already setting in. The draft slithered through the cracks in the windows, curling around his ankles, and sinking into the wood beneath his feet. The thermostat had shut off along with the rest of the power, which meant no heat. Not with how damn cold it got out here. Jesus, he'd forgotten to tuck some extra layers around Maya.

His eyes swept the room. A busted power grid. A rattled woman nursing bruises. A two-month-old baby upstairs who didn’t know a damn thing about survival, who didn’t understand that warmth wasn’t something she could just take for granted.

And this woman—this stubborn, frustrating woman—was already trying to stand up like she hadn’t just been thrown into a wall.

"I'll go check it out. Don't worry, Joel, I know what to do," Leela offered, pushing herself up.

Joel shot out a hand, firm, stopping her before she could get any further.

"You ain't fixin’ shit, you hear me?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, but hell if he cared. "Sit your damn ass down. You're stayin' at my place till I get this sorted."

The prospect did not sit well with her. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the window like she was already searching for another solution.

She shook her head. "I can't—"

"That's not an option."

She looked at him then, her brows drawing together. And he knew what she saw—knew she saw that hard-set determination in his face, the part of him that had already made up his mind.

What she didn’t see—what he’d never let her see—was the way his chest was burning with something too tight, too damn close to fear.

Because he’d walked into cold houses before. Knew what happened when the temperature dropped too low. Had seen bodies frozen stiff in the middle of the night, curled up as if that had been enough to keep them warm. Had seen what happened when people thought they could tough it out. He'd rather never see or smell that ever again.

Now, Leela thought she could tough it out. But he wasn’t about to let her gamble with a baby’s warmth just to prove a damn point. And if she thought this was some kind of negotiation, she was dead wrong. Because he wasn’t giving her a choice.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, softening the edges just enough so he wasn’t barking orders at her like some kind of drill sergeant.

“Just for a while,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Till I can fix whatever the hell you fucked up down there.”

Leela didn’t answer right away, lips pressing into a thin line. But she wasn’t stupid.

She glanced up toward the stairs, toward where Maya was still sleeping. Then back at him. Joel could see the exact moment she gave in. Her shoulders slumped as she relented.

He nodded, standing up, already running through what needed to be done. “Good. I'll go bundle up the kid.”

X

Joel hasn't exactly planned to have company. Ever.

Maria and Tommy showed up sometimes. Ellie, too—though not without complaint. She claimed the place smelled like old people and swore visiting would tank her cool factor. But even when they came around, he never let them stay too long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before he was ushering them out the door with a gruff, Alright, get on, and some excuse about needing to be up early. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having people around. It was just—his place wasn’t made for that. He hadn’t made it for that.

It was single floor, nice and compact. He slept on the pullout couch in the living room. Not because he didn’t have that one really sweet bedroom, but because it was easier nowadays—closer to the door, closer to the window that faced the big white house across the street. His sink was a mess of dishes from last night, crusted over and rotting in the stale air. His cabinets weren’t stocked with food so much as they were with whiskey and coffee.

He came home. He ate. He slept. He woke up. Showered. Left. That was it. That was his life. It was enough and to spare.

So when Leela and Maya showed up at his front door, he wasn’t prepared. Not in the slightest.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, then.”

Leela ducked inside first, shaking the cold from her coat, eyes flicking around the place as if she were already judging him for it. And maybe she was. Hell, Joel sure as shit would. Because this—this eyesore—was how she was gonna see him. As some tired, deadbeat old man who hadn’t even tried.

Maya stirred against her chest, her little hands fisting in the collar of Leela’s coat.

Joel cleared his throat and reached for her automatically. He needed his calm here. “C’mere, baby girl.”

She squealed at the sound of his voice, squirming, her small fingers flexing, gripping the fabric of his flannel before she finally settled against him, warm and soft. Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, a strange kind of tightness unwinding from his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for something.

“She can stay with me,” Leela said softly, slipping out of her coat.

Joel shook his head. “Nah, you get some rest. You’re takin’ the room down the hall.”

Leela blinked, surprised. “And you?”

Joel busied himself with Maya, playing catch and release with her tiny fists, letting her grab onto his finger before slipping it away. “I’ll be fine. Got the couch.”

She frowned. “But you’ve got that bad back.”

Joel sighed, jaw twitching. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for noticin’.”

Leela’s mouth quirked slightly, just a little, but enough that it softened something in her expression. “You should take the bed, Joel.”

He hummed, shaking his head, shifting Maya a little higher against his chest. “You just shot into a wall and burned yourself, darlin’. I think you’re entitled to a bed.”

She tilted her head at him, her brow pinching together like she was trying to figure something out.

Joel stared back, more stubborn than apprehensive, his grip tightening just a fraction around Maya’s small body.

He wasn’t sure what it was, that look of hers. But damn if it didn’t make him feel like he was seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like she was really looking at him—not the grumpy bastard everyone in Jackson thought he was, not the fixer, not the old guy sleeping his way through life—but him.

Joel shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “Look, you’re takin’ the bed, that’s that. Maya can sleep next to you, so she’ll be closer.”

Leela was still staring at him, quiet for a long beat.

Then eventually she sighed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like that little something Joel had wanted. Like an inch of the cold between them had finally cracked, let some warmth in.

Look, of course, Joel had always known his house was too damn small. He just hadn’t felt it until now.

There was no privacy to be had, not really. The pullout couch in the living room faced the bedroom door, left cracked open just enough for him to see the gentle rise and fall of Maya’s little body curled against where Leela would sleep later. The bathroom was the only one in the house, meaning if she needed it in the middle of the night, she’d have to walk past him to get there.

Not much space. Not much distance.

So when he heard the soft shuffle of her feet against the wood floor, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have to look up from the guitar in his hands to know she’d wandered further inside, drawn toward the small corner of the living room where he kept his workspace.

It was a cramped setup—a shabby studio table shoved against the wall, two half-finished guitars resting on stands nearby. He’d only just started working on them, but it gave his hands something to do, something to create.

Leela’s fingers grazed over the unfinished wood, her touch featherlight. “I didn’t know you were this talented. A luthier.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Layin’ it on a bit thick.”

She ignored him, curiosity guiding her hands as she thumbed over the strings. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, not a real note, just a sound. She tilted her head, listening.

“Would you make one for me when you have time to spare?” she asked, glancing up. “I’d love to learn.”

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain.

Leela’s eyes found it too easily, drawn in like a moth to an old light. He almost wished he'd hid it away.

The picture that had survived time and death, sat on the corner shelf, tucked between a coil of guitar strings and a worn-out rag, the frame dull with dust he never bothered to wipe away. The glass was cracked, a thin vein running through the top left corner, but it didn’t matter. The image was still there. She was still there.

Sarah, grinning wide, her curls bouncing as she leaned into him, arms slung around his shoulders. Joel remembered that day. He’d taken her out to some shitty little carnival on the edge of town, and let her sucker him into one of those rigged ring toss games. She’d won a stuffed bear—cheated, more like, because the booth worker had taken pity on her—and held onto it the whole night like it was the greatest thing in the world.

She looked happy. They looked happy.

And it hit him—like it always did, like it always would—how long it had been since he’d last heard her voice. Since she’d called him 'Dad!' in that exasperated, teasing way of hers. Since she’d looked at him like he was the safest place she’d ever known.

Leela didn’t say anything. She didn’t even reach for it, didn’t let her gaze linger too long. Just acknowledged it, felt it, then moved past it, like she understood that some ghosts weren’t meant to be disturbed. Let them rest.

Joel swallowed. It wasn’t often that someone gave him that kind of space—left his past untouched, let him sit with it without trying to crack it open.

She leaned back against the edge of the desk, brushing her fingers through her hair again—one of those little habits of hers, nervous and absentminded. The strands were overgrown, frayed at the ends, and he knew she probably didn’t have the time to fix it, or maybe just didn’t care enough to. He should tell Maria to give her a trim.

But, she wasn’t wearing that pearl-buttoned nightdress tonight. This one was blue. Smooth. Loose-fitting. The frilled sleeves barely touched her shoulders, and it wasn’t anything special, not really, but—he liked it. That colour looked pretty on her skin.

The thought settled in his chest like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch.

Leela watched her fingers trail absently over the wood grain of the desk. “I owe you an apology, Joel,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Joel listened and didn’t speak, just let the words settle between them.

“For how I’ve been treating you.” She swallowed, gaze flicking up to him, uncertain but steady. “You’ve only ever helped me, and you're so good with Maya. I know it wasn’t fair of me to just… shut you out.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, jaw tensing, lips parting slightly before pressing shut again. There was something she wanted to say like it was dislodged deep, festering, in her chest.

“That night in the car…” She took a breath like it might help balance her. It didn’t. “It wasn't you. I had—before Maya, I was—there was—”

Joel knew that look. The way her throat bobbed, her fingers curling against the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto. Holding herself together. He didn’t let her unravel, just not tonight.

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to explain.”

Leela blinked at him, studying his face, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. So he shrugged, forcing a small, easy grin.

“Perks of havin’ me around. I don’t care for the details.”

A small breath of laughter escaped her. Real, unguarded, softening the edges of her face. He loved to see it on her. “That's a relief.”

Joel leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his knee, the dull ache settling in from the long day.

His voice was lower when he spoke. “It’s just nice to be there, y’know?” He wasn’t good at this—saying shit like this—but it began to get easier with her. “With Maya. And you. There's more purpose than just shooting things beyond the fence.”

Something flickered across Leela’s face.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

Joel’s chest pulled tight.

He looked at her. And he thought about that damn oak door, how she never locked it, how he’d always given her hell for it in his head. And how, for the first time, it didn’t feel like carelessness.

It felt like trust. Not in this boring town of survivors. But in the neighbour across the street who'd ferreted his way into their lives.

Leela took a slow breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “So, you don’t have to come around just to fix things next time.”

Her voice was softer now. And then—something else. A small, almost shy laugh slipped past her lips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say this next part out loud.

“Come to eat. To talk. To see Maya.” A beat. “And me.”

Joel felt it then—the shift. It wasn’t big, wasn’t some grand, earth-shaking thing. But it was there. He felt it.

"Maya loves you so much."

Joel glanced at her, unable to hold back the sympathy. He should’ve just let it sit. Should’ve just nodded, grunted something, and let the conversation move on. But instead, he said, low, “That bothering you?”

Leela hesitated, but only for a second. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Joel stayed quiet, watching her.

She let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “It’s just... I don’t feel like her mother. Not really.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the strain underneath, the sharp edge of something she didn’t want to say aloud. “I do everything I’m supposed to. Feed her. Hold her. Change her. But it’s just... a list to get through.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I thought it would be different. I know it's such an awful thing to say.”

Joel felt that like a punch to the gut. He knew what she meant. Knew how goddamn isolating it could be—to go through the motions, do the right thing, and still feel like you’re on the outside looking in.

“She’s yours, darlin',” he said after a moment. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—at making sense of feelings, at giving comfort. He was trying. “That’s what matters. Sometimes it's not a magic switch, you can't just flip it on and feel it. Sometimes, you grow to love someone. Over time, energy, effort.”

Leela scoffed, quiet, barely there. “That all it takes?”

“No,” Joel admitted. “But it’s good enough.”

She finally looked at him then, something cautious in her expression, something raw. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to say anything else. Just let the silence stretch, easy and open, not asking for more than she was willing to give.

Leela swallowed, nodding slightly, like she was tucking the words away, considering them.

The space between them, once weighed down by hesitation, by careful sidesteps and unspoken rules, felt… lighter. Like the tension that had settled into the cracks between their words was finally easing, letting some warmth slip through.

And that? That did something to him.

His throat worked around something unspoken, and he rolled his shoulders back, shifting from feet to feet, like he could physically shake whatever the hell was loose inside him. The words that wanted to come didn’t.

Instead, he settled on something simpler. Something safer.

“You should get some rest.”

Leela’s gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded, flashing a grin. “Sure,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel held her gaze for a moment longer. His fingers flexed at his sides, a familiar itch settling in his chest, the kind that always came when he stood in doorways when someone was walking away and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow or stay put.

He watched her retreat into the room, disappear behind the cracked door, and stand there for a moment before finally turning away.

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

X

While on the road, Joel had spent years sleeping in places that barely counted as beds. Hard ground. Rusted truck seats. Creaking, sagging mattresses in abandoned buildings where one wrong turn meant waking up dead. Even now, safe inside these walls, inside this town where people thought fences and routine were enough to keep the bad out, behind homes with locked doors—well, should have locked doors—he never truly slept deep.

Always on alert. Always half-ready. Even in the comfort of a home he could call his.

Joel lay on the couch, stiff as the thing itself, staring into the rough fabric. He wasn’t asleep—he never really was—but he kept his back turned anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, a courtesy or some form of privacy in a house too damn small to actually have any.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the warmth of the fire to ebb. Long enough to hear the wind pick up outside, rattling at the windows. Long enough to wonder if Leela had finally managed to fall asleep.

He exhaled through his nose and, without really thinking about it, rolled over onto his side, eyes shifting toward the bedroom.

Leela was out cold.

Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, but strands had escaped, curling softly against her cheek. One hand dangled into the mattress as if she’d fallen asleep patting Maya and never quite finished. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, deep and steady, her body given over to exhaustion.

Joel frowned as his eyes drifted lower. The blanket had slipped, barely covering her waist, her legs left bare to the chill of the night. One knee peeked out, the curve of it catching the dim, murky light of the bedside lamp. He felt his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing at his side. Wasn’t she cold?

But then his eyes landed on the baby in front of her, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased right out of him.

Maya was not asleep. Flat on her back, legs kicking sharp, barbed movements, her tiny fingers flexing in the air, opening and closing like she was trying to grab something invisible. Every so often, she let out a soft little coo, her breath light, testing, careful not to wake her mother.

Joel squinted. Lifted his head a little. Maybe she was just shifting in her sleep.

Nope, the kid was fully awake. Big, round eyes blinking up at the ceiling, mouth open in a little round ‘o’ of discovery, her hands reaching for her own damn feet, like she’d only just realized they were attached to her.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He could just leave her be. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t fussing. She'd fall asleep on her own.

But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

Ignoring the slow, persistent cramp in his back, he shifted, pressing his hands into the pullout and pushing himself upright. His knees popped when he stood, and he winced, rolling his shoulders as he made his way into the bedroom. The floor groaned under his feet, but Leela didn’t stir. She was too far gone, too lost to the bruises and the exhaustion pressing her under.

Maya, on the other hand—beamed up at him, wiggling harder, completely unbothered by the late hour, her tiny hands batting at the air.

Joel sighed through his nose and crouched down beside the bed. He held up a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh,” he murmured like she had any damn understanding of the concept.

Her fists continued to flail, little feet kicking the air, and he sighed, leaning down to scoop her up. She fit into his arms easily, the way she always did—small and naming the nook to herself, all warm skin and bundled sleepiness. Sleep fired right out of his system.

“You're gonna wake your poor mama,” he whispered to her.

Shifting Maya against his chest, he glanced at Leela again. She hadn’t moved a muscle, fast asleep. But the blanket had slipped low, barely covering her waist, her arms left uncovered to the cold.

Joel hesitated for only a second before leaning over, taking the edge of the comforter and tucking it around her, careful not to wake her. The fabric pooled at her shoulder, and she sighed quietly in her sleep, sinking into the warmth of the bed, but not waking.

Good. She was finally catching up on sleep. When was the last time he'd seen that girl rest? Never. She'd always woken up the earliest, wandering between her papers and blackboards in the living room.

Maya let out a content little hum against his shoulder, and Joel blew out a breath, stepping back out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room. He wasn’t going to bother putting her back on the bed. She was too awake for that.

Instead, he plunged back onto the couch, settling into the cushions and adjusting her against his chest. She curled into him easily, her featherlight weight pressing against his ribs. She hummed again, a soft, breathy little thing, and then—one of her fists landed against his sternum with a dull thump.

Joel huffed, peering down at her. “You tryin’ to knock the wind outta me, trouble?”

Maya lifted her head to blink up again, dark eyes round and glassy in the dim light, looking like she had something important to say. Then her fist lifted again, this time smacking more of a lazy pat than anything with real intent.

He narrowed a playful glare on her, shifting her a little higher against him. He poked at her cheek. “We got some problems, or is this just your way of lettin’ me know you’re still awake?”

She didn’t answer—fucking obviously—but she did something close to it. Her mouth rounded in a small, exaggerated ooh, and her fingers fumbled against his shirt before one of them caught onto his.

Joel felt the soft, clumsy pull of her grip, then the unmistakable wet warmth of her mouth closing around the tip of his finger.

He grimaced, but not in any real discomfort. “Great, there you go. You're lucky you're so beautiful.”

Maya suckled lazily, brows furrowing like she was concentrating really hard on the task, and Joel exhaled, letting her gnaw as much as she wanted.

Joel stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, careful circles against her back.

She was a happier baby now. Not screaming. Not crying as much. Just there. Comfortable and safe.

He swallowed against the feeling mashing against his ribs. His jaw unclenched, let his head fall back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. And he let out the longest breath known to man.

It had been years—years since he’d felt this weight, this warmth, this need pressed against him. It was a different life, a different world, but somehow, it wasn’t. His body still knew this, still remembered the rhythm of it, the quiet intimacy of a baby trusting him enough to just be here, curled up against his chest, with no fear, no hesitation.

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Loved this.

He wasn’t thinking about the past. No, he wasn’t. But if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted him.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a fight as his hand instinctively curled around Maya’s small back, protective, ready. His other hand curled into a loose fist at his thigh.

The door eased open with a quiet creak, and a familiar silhouette stepped inside.

Ellie.

“Joel?” she whispered, peering at him in confusion.

Joel just stared at her. Not because she was here—she was always stopping by when she damn well pleased—but because for the first time in his life, he was the one who forgot to lock the damn door.

Maya shifted against his chest, making a soft noise, her tiny fingers still curled around his. Joel gave her a small, reassuring bounce as if she’d needed one.

Ellie, meanwhile, was still standing there, taking in the sight of him on the couch, a whole baby in his arms, and the bedroom door cracked open just enough to hint at the woman asleep inside. The pretty neighbour that had Joel all riled up.

Her eyebrows lifted and mouth twitched as she crossed her arms. “This isn’t a hostage situation, right? Am I an accomplice now?”

Joel sent her a flat look. “Whatever gave that away?”

Ellie then continued to stare at him and at Maya.

It was the kind of look Joel had gotten used to over the years, the one where she tried to figure out if she was hallucinating. Because she’d seen Joel Miller do a lot of things—wrangle Clickers, nurse a cold one, fix up a rifle—but sitting on his couch, cradling a whole-ass baby like that? It was a new one. Like unlocking a new character in a video game.

Her lips pressed together, eyes still flicking between him and the kid, and then—she snorted.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, shaking her head, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. “I wish I had a camera to capture this gold.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, get on with it.”

Grinning, Ellie plopped herself down beside him, the whole couch shaking, immediately leaning in close to peer at Maya. Almost as if she was the first infant she'd seen in her life.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice going all high-pitched and ridiculous. “Hiiii.”

Maya blinked at her, unmoving, her fists curled safely in her mouth, her tiny brows furrowing as if she were trying to figure out just who the hell this new person was.

Ellie wiggled a finger in front of her. “Here. Go on, grab it.”

Maya did not. She just kept staring, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, utterly mystified by the sudden intrusion.

Joel huffed. “Guess she ain’t impressed.”

“Guess she’s got taste, you dick,” Ellie shot back. Then, her face softened, a little smirk curling her lips. “She’s fucking adorable. Look at those eyes, damn.” Joel barely had time to process the warmth that spread through his chest before Ellie tacked on, “So, definitely not yours.”

His scoff came out before he could stop it. “Oh, real funny, kid.”

Ellie chuckled, finally settling back against the couch, still watching Maya like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “How come they’re here?”

Joel didn’t go into the details, never liked to. About Leela’s bruises, about how she’d been too damn stubborn for her own good, about how he’d practically had to drag her in here to sleep in his bed.

Instead, he just muttered, “Blackout. Gonna head back in the morning and check it out.”

Ellie hummed like she knew there was more to it but didn’t feel like prying.

For a while, they just sat there in silence, and Joel simply let himself watch. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. The cold pressed against the windows, creeping in through the cracks, but in here, it was warm—quiet, steady. Both in him and around him.

Ellie leaned in closer, her breath puffing softly against Maya’s round little cheek as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face. “What about this? You like this?” she murmured, tapping her tiny nose, and making a series of stupid clicking sounds.

Maya blinked, floored by this, her wide eyes tracking Ellie’s every move like she was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.

It took another few moments, but then—finally—Maya’s tiny fingers reached out, wrapping shyly around Ellie’s outstretched one. Not tight, not possessive, just curious. Testing.

Joel felt that feeling again, twisting deep in his ribs, imperceptive and calm and unnameable. He could get used to that feeling. It plugged every scar, physical and mental, until his shoulders felt ten times lighter.

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

And for the first time in a long time, that muddle just… settled. It was late, too late in life for this kind of thing. But hell, cut him some slack.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring into the last of the fire, watching as the embers pulsed and flickered, struggling to stay alive. His hand absently smoothed over Maya’s back, following the slow rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the tiny weight of her against his chest. She was still. Not fussing. Just there.

Ellie shifted beside him, stretching her legs out, resting her arms against her knees. She wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence. She just sat there, watching him in that way of hers, like she saw more than she let on.

“So,” she finally said, voice casual. “How’re things between you and…?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just flicked her chin toward the bedroom.

Leela was still dead to the world, sunk into the kind of sleep that didn’t let you turn over, didn’t let you dream. Her hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, fingers curled loosely against the mattress. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself rest like that, without one ear open for some threat, without her body coiled tight, waiting for the next hang-up.

Joel looked away. He shifted slightly, adjusting Maya, keeping his voice even. “There’s nothing between us.”

Ellie hummed like she wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, no shit.” She stretched her arms behind her head, smirking. “She’s way out of your league.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head. “No argument here.”

He didn’t need Ellie to tell him that. He was thickheaded, but he wasn't blind. Leela was… Leela. Stunning in that exotic way, compassionate as a human, insanely intelligent. And him? What was he exactly, a cut-throat? A fighter? A relentless fucking human who just refused to die? Twenty years ago, a woman like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less a second glance. A girl like her, back in the world before, would’ve had a whole life ahead of her, a whole set of possibilities. Not this. Not him.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been. Maybe that’s why this didn’t make any sense.

He tensed his grip on Maya and felt the way she instinctively burrowed against him, curling her little fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She cooed again, watching his mouth move to form words.

He could be something for her. If Leela wanted it, he could carve out a space in Maya's life, be her constant, be her safety net. Hell, be this baby girl's father. He would compromise in a blink. That was different. That was right.

But having Leela herself? That was something else entirely. That was dangerous. That was selfish. There were too many ways it could go wrong. Too many ways it would end badly.

Not because of him, or her, or anything either of them did—just because that was the way life went. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing anymore. Wasn’t built for it. He was too damn old, too set in his ways. And even if she—somehow—wanted this, wanted him, what then? How long until he fucked it up? How long until he lost it?

The way he always did.

He swallowed hard. “I’m too old for her,” he managed to mutter.

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You're fucking kidding. The world ended. There is no standard. And you still care about what, an age gap? Brownie points? Jesus, Joel. You've been through too much to care.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just kept his gaze on the fire, jaw tight.

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about how it looked or what people would say. Hell, no one would care. He wouldn't care. They were past that kind of bullshit.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still impossible.

Because Joel knew himself. He knew what it was like to want something real, to care about someone so much it hollowed you out from the inside. And he knew how fast it could all go to hell.

It was about the fact that she still had so much time. That she could still find someone real, someone better. That she deserved more than a haunted, greying man, who could barely sleep through the night, combing through his days, who lived waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And she deserved better than a man too tired, too worn down by life, to give her more than what little he had left.

Ellie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Y’know…” she started, then stopped.

Joel glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly.

She didn’t go on right away. Just drummed her fingers against her knee, staring into the fire, her face unreadable. For once, she wasn’t running her mouth, wasn’t making a joke to cut through whatever was settling between them. She was thinking. That alone put him on edge.

Finally, she said, “It’s different. These last few weeks. Even Tommy sees it.”

Joel frowned, not at the words themselves, but at the way she said them—slow, cautious, like she wasn’t just talking to him but trying to make sense of it for herself.

Ellie had always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he wanted. But this—this was different.

She flitted her gaze toward the bedroom, where Leela was still out cold, her body barely stirring under the blankets. Then to Maya, curled up against him, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt, her soft weight pressed into his chest. Finally, she looked back at him.

She didn’t spell it out. Didn’t need to.

Joel swallowed, shifting slightly where he sat, adjusting Maya’s weight in his arms. His hand smoothed down her back, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced toward the bedroom too, toward Leela, who hadn’t moved an inch. Yes, it was different.

But Ellie wasn’t done. She hesitated, rolling something over in her head before finally letting it out.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Joel’s breath caught.

Ellie had always been his reason for waking up in the morning, the one thing keeping him tethered to whatever life he had left. And she knew that. Knew it in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought with tooth and claw to prove she didn’t need him to keep her standing. That he had his own life. But now, sitting there, she wasn’t mocking, wasn’t teasing. She was just… saying it. And she was goddamn right.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just pushing forward because he had to, wasn’t just surviving out of habit. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

He had something to come back to. Something steady. Something small and warm and his, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it yet.

He looked down at Maya, at her tiny, trusting weight in his arms, at the way she twitched slightly in her sleep, lips parting around a breath. His hand smoothed over her back again.

Ellie saw the moment it clicked. The way his face shifted, just slightly. She smirked, satisfied. And that her good work here was done.

Then, just like that, she clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well,” she said, voice slipping back into that familiar teasing lilt, “guess I’ll let you get back to your hostage situation.”

Joel rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch as Maya nuzzled against his chest. The kid was out cold now, her little fist still tangled in his shirt.

Ellie was already heading for the door when she threw out in a whisper, “Oh—almost forgot. Maria asked me to tell you to bring your girl by the dam sometime this week.” She smirked, holding up air quotes. “Said she’d like ‘inventor insight.’”

His expression deadpanned. “Maria ain’t letting her go anywhere near machines.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Ooh-kay. Controlling much?”

Joel gave her a warning look. “Ellie.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll just tell her myself.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already seeing how that would go. If Leela knew Maria was interested, she’d want to help. She’d go, eager to prove herself, eager to be useful. And then she’d get herself hurt again, pushing past whatever limits she had, just like she always did. That wasn’t happening.

“She’s stayin’ away,” he muttered. “She’ll go, then want to help. Overdo it. Get herself hurt or worse.” He gave Ellie a pointed look. “Better not.”

Ellie let out a sharp laugh, all evil intent. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing between you two?”

“Ellie,” he hissed, too fast, too sharp—just as Maya stirred slightly against his chest, her little face scrunching. He froze, holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d wake.

Ellie’s smirk was damn near insufferable.

“Denial,” she sang out, drawing out the word like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Joel sent her a flat look.

Ellie just wiggled her fingers in a wave and made for the door once more. “Night, old man.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet house, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Joel exhaled slowly, his hand smoothing absently over Maya’s back again.

Denial. Maybe. He wasn't ruling it out yet.

X

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And to those in the reblogs: thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

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[concretejunglefm]

Oooh, if you're up for writting mutual masturbation also with Noah, I wouldn't mind that at all (not stepbro tho, just Noah lol).

Or if not that, then maybe face sitting with Noah so this request doesn't go to waste muhehe bye

CW: mutual masturbation, dry humping, men whimpering and rambling ig?

NSFW below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Mutual masturbation with best friend!Noah?

The same best friend you have no problem sharing a bed with. It’s not like he’d notice if you started slowly grinding against the pillow you’ve placed between your thighs for comfort, because there’s just a slight dull ache you need to satisfy before you can really fall asleep. You can hear his breathing and it's soft enough to convince you he’s asleep anyway, until…

“What are you doing?” Noah’s voice pierces through the room, causing you to freeze and halt any movement you’re making.

“Nothing.” You lie, hoping he won’t notice it.

“You were rocking the bed.”

Damnit. You thought you had been more discreet, but apparently, that was not the case.

“If you need any help—”

“No, I don’t,” you huff, while he chuckles. It’s not the first time he’s offered, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep declining his offers.

After a moment, you hear him ask, “What do you need?”

You’re hesitant when you roll over and onto your back, a bit tentative because the last time this happened, you both promised it would be the last time. Apparently, that rule has been broken. “You know what…” you mumble.

The light from the TV you’ve left on as a source of light and background noise to help you fall asleep illuminates the room just enough to make out his face. “Okay,” he nods, and this time there’s no witty remark on the tip of his tongue. You watch as he slowly pushes down the covers, exposing his bare, tattooed chest while his hand deliberately sinks deeper beneath them and into his boxers.

You watch the way the covers move above him as he strokes himself, first to full hardness before he begins fisting his cock in the manner he would when he’s alone. That's what you'd asked to see the first time it occurred; a genuine masturbation. You wanted to hear the actual sounds made when someone lets themselves go, nothing fake like in a porn video, and he willingly provided it to you then, just as he was doing now.

You roll onto your front, keeping the pillow tucked between your thighs. You rest your head against the pillow at the top of the bed and continue watching him as your hips roll to grind against the one between your thighs, dragging yourself along it.

Noah is quick to align with your wish; he whimpers and rambles about how much he wants and needs you, even looking down at you as he speaks. While you convince yourself that it’s all part of your fantasy, you can’t help but notice the hint of desperation in his voice, suggesting that this isn’t just for show.

When you know he's reaching closer to his climax, your hips grind harder, and you can’t suppress your moans. Your gaze rises to his face, and you find his eyes already fixed on you, as if he’s utterly captivated by you. You dare to touch him, running your hand across his tattooed chest. With your touch, he finally succumbs to his release, and you’re overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure in that very moment, too. It makes you whine as you buck against the pillow, your nails digging into and scratching across his chest.

Neither of you moves; instead, you bask in the blissful afterglow for a moment longer. Noah’s free hand gently lifts to yours, laid upon his chest, and slowly strokes along your arm. It’s a tender touch, the only one you ever share after a moment like this. Then, you feel the soft press of his lips against your crown as he whispers, “I’ll clean up.” Slipping himself from beneath the covers, he walks over to the bathroom, while you remain in place for a moment longer.

[hhughes]

https://www.tumblr.com/bedsyandco/765140858987331584/more-atreader-content-pretty-please

Yes yes yes to Jack getting injured and having to see her

I feel like he would try to play it off as not that bad when it is really bad

note: forgot how much I adored writing these two. thank you for sending in for them nonnie <33

jack winces as he adjusts his position on the bench for the sixth time since he sat down. as if he could simply shuffle away the sharp pain shooting up his shoulder.

“jack” he hears his coach’s voice behind him and he glances that way just in time to see keefe gesturing behind him. telling jack to go down the tunnel and let one of the trainers check him out.

“i’m good coach. just winded. but i’ll be good in a few minutes” jack argues, trying to keep himself from wincing as he stretches his shoulder in a weird way to keep eye contact with the older man.

keefe doesn’t buy it. not for a second. “go down the tunnel, hughes. it’s an order not a suggestion”

jack sighs, rubbing his face, but he knows better than to keep arguing. he hobbles down the bench, unclips his helmet, and makes his way down the tunnel. his shoulder is killing him, but the last thing he wants is to get pulled from the game.

the second he gets close to the end of the tunnel, he sees you waiting, arms crossed, a knowing expression already on your face.

“you were winded, huh?” you ask, tilting your head.

jack groans. “don’t start.” he doesn’t bother asking how you knew he said that, since you weren’t on the bench when he uttered the lie. he knows by now that you have eyes and ears everywhere.

“oh, I will start.” you motion for him to sit and he starts taking off his jersey “because I saw that hit. and I saw you favoring your left side for the last five shifts.”

jack mutters something under his breath but doesn’t fight you when you move closer, fingers already prodding at his shoulder. the second you press against the joint, he tenses, sucking in a sharp breath.

you nod, unimpressed. “yeah, totally just winded.”

jack gives you a weak smile. “mind reader, huh?”

you roll your eyes but soften a little, carefully rotating his arm to test his mobility. his jaw clenches when you lift it above shoulder height.

“jack,” you say, gentler this time. “you have to be honest with me. you can’t just push through everything.”

he exhales through his nose, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling. after a moment, he mutters, “it’s not that bad. just sore.”

you level him with a look. “sore or shooting pain?”

jack hesitates. too long.

“jack.”

he sighs, finally meeting your eyes. “…both.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your frustration show. not at him—well, okay, maybe a little at him—but mostly at the situation. you know he just wants to play.

but you also know if he keeps pushing, he’ll only make it worse.

“you’re sitting for the rest of the game,” you tell him firmly, already reaching for the ice pack.

jack groans, dragging a hand down his face. “come on—”

“non-negotiable,” you cut in, pressing the ice to his shoulder. “you need to rest. i’ll re-evaluate after the game, but I swear, jack, if you argue with me one more time—”

jack huffs, shaking his head, but there’s a tiny smirk on his lips. “you threatening me, doc?”

you glare at him. “not a doctor.”

he grins, but after a moment, his expression softens. he reaches up—his good arm this time—and taps your wrist lightly.

“c’mon i’m fine. i can finish the game. there’s only like six minutes left anyway” he pleads

you exhale slowly, pressing your lips together. “yeah, and I’m sure your team is more than capable of playing without you for six minutes.”

jack scoffs, shaking his head. “look, I can’t just—”

“I don’t remember when you decided my professional opinion was optional, hughes,” you cut in, tone sharp. “I wasn’t asking.”

jack gives you a look, jaw clenching like he wants to keep arguing. you can practically see the stubborn thoughts running through his head—how six minutes isn’t a big deal, how he’s played through worse, how he thinks he knows his body better than you do.

you lean forward slightly, lowering your voice. “if you want, I can take this to your coaches and have them be the ones to pull you. would that make you feel better?”

his nostrils flare. “you wouldn’t.”

you hold his gaze, completely unphased. “try me.”

jack groans dramatically, throwing his head back. “God, you’re impossible.”

“you’re impossible,” you counter, pressing the ice pack more firmly against his shoulder. he hisses, shooting you a glare, but you don’t budge.

a moment passes before he exhales, finally relenting. “fine.”

you nod, satisfied. “good. that’s all you had to say in the first place.”

jack mutters something under his breath that you definitely don’t catch, but he doesn’t move to get up again. you take that as a victory.

still, as you start writing up his injury report, he nudges your knee with his own. “y’know,” he mumbles, his voice a little quieter, “you could just say you care about me.”

you pause, glancing at him. his eyes are teasing, but there’s something softer underneath.

you shake your head, suppressing a smile. “don’t push it, hughes. and put your shirt back on,” you order

“why is it distracting you” he smirks and lets out a laugh as you throw his jersey over his head before making your way out the little room

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

╔══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╗

buff guy

╚══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╝

ʚ Part 8 ɞ

❥ CW: chubby fem reader x buff guy, fluff, picnic date, kissing

❥ A/N: happy belated Valentine's day! If you didn't have a good day, maybe Guy can cheer you up :3

"Where would you like to go this weekend?" he asks, leaning against the coffee bar as you make his drink. You hum in thought.

"I dunno. Where do you wanna go?"

"I don't know. I'll go wherever you want to go." You roll your eyes, but you still smile.

"Well, then it seems like we've got a predicament."

"Seems so."

You huff, sliding his finished drink to him and leaning against the counter across from him. You're smiling at each other, searching each others' faces.

"Move along, Romeo," your coworker says. "We got a line."

"Okay," he sighs, leaning further across the counter to kiss you quickly. "Text me where you wanna go and I'll make it happen."

"I'll think about it," you reply, sticking out your tongue at him. He smiles, grabbing his drink and leaving the coffee shop. You return to work, finishing the rush before standing around with your coworker.

"Do you have any date ideas?" you ask her. She hums, looking up at the ceiling.

"Don't know. Movies and dinner are always good."

"Yeah, but we've already done that a couple times."

She hums again, swaying side to side.

"You could go on a hike, spend some time outdoors. Oh! Maybe a picnic? Now that's romantic."

You nod slowly, imagining it.

"Yeah... that would be nice..."

You propose the idea to Guy that evening over the phone.

"That sounds nice," he tells you. "I'd love to go on a picnic with you."

"You would?" you ask, soft and sweet.

"Of course. Any time spent with you is time well spent."

"You're a sweetie."

"Only to you."

You roll over in bed, snuggling into your sheets.

"I can pack the food and whatnot."

"At least let me pay."

"No. You pay for everything. Let me do stuff for once." He grunts unhappily.

"You're stubborn."

"Don't act like you don't like it." He sighs.

"I do. I like a strong-willed woman."

You giggle, and you imagine him smiling at you.

"What time should I pick you up then?" You hum.

"How about you come by at eleven thirty? That'll give me time to pack everything."

"I feel like you're doing everything and that makes me feel bad."

"But I wanna do this. You already pay for all the dates. This is me returning the favor." You hear him sigh.

"I understand, but it still bothers me. Please let me do something." You roll your eyes.

"How about you get us a nice wine for our picnic?"

"What about dessert?"

"I can handle it." He sighs again.

"Stubborn."

"You literally just said that you liked it," you giggle, and he laughs with you. "Oh, and dress up nice. Wear something that gives off cottagecore vibes."

"'Cottagecore'?"

"Look it up and you'll understand."

"Why should I dress up like that?"

"So we can match and be cute together, duh!"

"You want to match with me?" His voice is soft, hopeful.

"Of course I do! It'll be fun if we wear cute outfits together."

"I'll do it, then. I want to make you happy."

Saturday arrives and you're getting dressed. You choose a bustier sundress you've had for a few seasons, with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, riddled in a floral pattern. Your makeup is light, cute, gentle. You spray yourself in your favorite perfume before heading to the kitchen. It's there that you pack your picnic basket. It came as a set with dishes, glasses, and silverware, as well as a red and white gingham blanket to sit on. You close it, smiling when the basket is shut with ease.

Right on cue, a knock is at your door.

"Coming!" you call, putting on your sun hat, slipping into your white sandals and grabbing your picnic basket before heading to the door. You open the door, smiling when you see Guy standing there.

He's handsome, very handsome, wearing a rural styled outfit including tan pants and a cream button-up shirt. He turns to face you, eyes going wide, but he doesn't say anything.

"How do I look?" you ask, a bit unsure but still striking a pose. His hand goes to his chest, pressing into his sternum.

"You look stunning," he mutters, as if he's breathless. You feel your cheeks warm as you smile, looking down at the ground.

"You think so? I tried my best to look cute."

"You're more than cute. You're..." His eyes glaze over your body, reaching your face once more. "You're breathtaking."

You touch your cheek, trying to cool yourself down.

"You're so sweet."

"I mean every word, dear." He scratches at his chest before clearing his throat, taking a step forward. "May I give you a kiss?"

"On the lips?" He nods. "Of course."

He leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips against you gently. You kiss for a few moments before you pull away, much to his dismay. You smile shyly.

"We should go." He takes a deep breath, taking a step back.

"You're right. Let me take that for you."

You hand him the picnic basket, and his eyes widen when he grabs it.

"This is pretty heavy; you're strong. What all did you pack?"

"You'll see!" You push against his shoulder. "C'mon, let's go! I want you to see the arboretum!"

"Okay, okay." He grabs your hand tenderly, letting you close your door before he pulls you along to his car. He opens the car door for you, putting the picnic basket in the back seat. Once he's in the car with you, he drives off.

You give him directions to the arboretum, and once you arrive, he parks at the entrance. He opens your door for you, getting the picnic basket and a cooler from the back. You take his hand and guide him through the landscape, pointing out the pond, the butterfly house, and the nature center. The two of you take a paved path through the area before you find a tree that you love, tugging him along into the grass so you can nestle down for lunch. He helps you set up the blanket, putting stakes in the corners to keep it in place. You finally sit down together and open the picnic basket.

"Okay, so I got excited and prepared a lot," you laugh, pulling out containers of food. "I made some caprese sandwiches, so it's got tomatoes and mozzarella and basil. I also made two salads, a cucumber salad and a Mexican street corn salad. I brought hummus and pretzels, because I love snacking on those, and I also brought some grapes. And last, but certainly not least, I made some homemade brownies with chocolate chips." You set all the food down in front of the two of you, looking at him hopefully. He's staring at everything you've prepared, his mouth open slightly. Eventually, he looks at you, awestruck.

"I love you." You curl into yourself shyly, twiddling your fingers. "You don't have to say it back."

"I know," you reply. "I appreciate you telling me how you feel."

"Of course. I want you to know how much you mean to me."

"Well, thank you."

He leans in towards you, pressing a kiss against your cheek. You tuck your chin into your chest, smiling, happy. When he pulls away, you tap his arm.

"C'mon. Let's eat and chat."

You pull out the plates and silverware, distributing food onto each plate as he pulls the wine from the cooler. He pours two glasses, handing one to you and taking the plate you made for him.

"Bon appétit," he says, holding his glass up to you. You tap your glass against his, taking a sip and humming.

"Oh, that's good," you say when you pull it away.

"I'm glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn't like it."

"No, I do! You made a good choice."

"Thank you."

You finally dig into your food, and you giggle when Guy takes his first bite.

"Oh my god," he mumbles, taking another bite of something else, tossing his head back, savoring each bite. "Y/N, this is so good."

"I'm glad you like it! I was trying everything last night and hoping you would like it today."

"I could eat all of this by myself; that's how good it is." You smile at him.

"You flatter me."

"I don't flatter you nearly enough." You chew your food, shimmying a little closer so that you were next to him.

"I wanna know more about you," you say, finishing your cucumber salad.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, how's your relationship with your parents? What was your life like up until now?"

He chews for a moment, shoveling the last of the Mexican corn salad into his mouth before putting his plate back down.

"My childhood was pretty good at first. My dad is a lawyer and my mom stayed at home. My mom met my dad at law school, but she dropped out when she got pregnant with me. The beginning of my life was nice, but when I was in middle school, my mom was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer." You pause your eating, putting down your plate to listen. "She fought a good fight, but she ended up passing away. Then it was just me and my dad, and my dad was always busy with work so I mostly took care of myself."

"Oh, Guy. I'm so sorry." He puts his hand over yours.

"It's okay. I've made peace with it." He rubs your hand for a moment before pulling it away. "I went to college, got me business degree. Then I got some experience and eventually became the CEO at the company I work at now. I've been there for about four years. My relationship with my dad isn't the best. We call each other from time to time but we don't really visit. He has a new wife and kids that I've met probably once or twice. We're not very close." He looks up at you and sees you pouting, so he gives you a soft smile. "Don't feel bad for me. My life is good, really good after I met you. I'm happy."

"I still feel bad." You rub your hand over his forearm. "I'm sorry your mom passed away, and I'm sorry about your dad. He sounds like an ass." He laughs at that, loud and boisterous.

"Yeah, he kind of is. But it's whatever. I've got a lot going for me on my own, so I don't need him." He looks at you, his eyes gentle. "I think my mom would have liked you. I wish you could have met her."

"I wish I could have met her too."

He takes a deep breath, grabbing his plate again.

"Enough about me. I want to hear about you now."

You roll your eyes but begin to speak. You divulge information about your childhood, your troubles and triumphs, your path in life. Your tone shifts between somber and thoughtful to happy with remembrance. You continue to eat as you speak, giving him smiles every now and then. He listens intensely to every word, nodding as you speak, letting you know he's listening. By the time you're done, he's finished his plate and wine.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me those things."

"Of course. You just told me about your life, so it's only fair that I tell you about mine." You point to his plate. "Would you like some more?"

"Yes, please."

You take his plate, filling it up again and handing it back to him. He thanks you, already digging in to his plate.

"So," you continue, leaning towards him, "let's get to the serious stuff." He slows his chewing and stares at you. You give him a serious look. "Are you a conservative?"

He barks out a laugh, covering his mouth and shaking his head.

"Hell no."

"Oh thank god," you breathe a sigh of relief. "I was so worried."

"What would make you think I was a conservative?"

"I don't know! I don't know a lot about you and so I started getting worried! But I'm glad you're not because if you were, we would have to break up."

"Agreed." He takes a bite of his second sandwich. "I'm assuming there's some follow up questions to that."

"Thoughts on people who are different from you?" He shrugs.

"I don't really care what other people do as long as they aren't hurting anybody. What people do with their own life is their business."

"Oh my god, you just keep getting better and better." He laughs.

"Well, I'm glad you like me more now."

"I like you a lot, Guy." He breathes deep, looking away.

"When you say stuff like that, I just fall for you even more."

"Awww, you're so cute!"

You finish your food, setting your plates down in the basket before sitting back next to each other.

"You wanna do something?"

"Like what?" he asks. You lean back on one hand, patting your lap.

"Lay your head down on my lap." His eyes go wide, eyebrows arched.

"Really? You'd let me?"

"Sure! I think it would be romantic."

He seems to be in disbelief, but he smiles, situating himself before laying back against your legs, sighing when his head meets your thighs.

"Your legs are the best pillow I've ever laid on." You giggle, reaching for the grapes and bringing them closer, holding one up to him.

"Would you like some?"

"Yes please." He opens his mouth to receive the grape, chewing it when you plop it in his mouth. He closes his eyes, smiling as he chews.

"I think I'm in heaven," he mutters, finally opening his eyes to look at you.

"You think so?" you ask, grabbing another grape and bringing it to his lips. He takes it between his teeth, careful of your fingers before pulling it away and nodding.

"This has to be heaven. Why else would an angel be feeding me grapes?" You laugh, tossing your head back.

"Oh, buddy, I'm far from an angel."

"To me, you are. You're perfect."

"I wish I was perfect. If I was, I'd be taller and skinnier."

"Don't say that." He grabs your hand, holding it to his chest. "I don't care what other people think. To me, you're the best thing in this world. I genuinely can't imagine anyone better."

Your heart is racing, your breath coming in slow and steady. Your fingers fiddle with his shirt and you clear your throat.

"How are you not roasting in that shirt? I'm so hot." He furrows his brow, confused, but then you unbutton the top buttons on his shirt, fanning it out to expose his chest. He rolls his eyes and smiles.

"If you wanted an excuse to see my chest, you could've just said so."

You blow a raspberry at him and he laughs, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing your palm. You're romanced by the action, but you're embarrassed. So you grab his cheeks in one hand and squish them together, moving his head back and forth playfully.

"Noooo," he cries out half-heartedly, eventually chuckling and pulling your hand from his face. He keeps your hand close, kissing your fingertips, looking up at you lovingly. You feel butterflies in your stomach as you let him kiss you tenderly.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks.

"What is it?"

"Do you see a future with me?"

You hum, nodding.

"Yeah, I do. The more I learn about you, the more I like. I could definitely see a future with you, as long as you don't change suddenly or do something bad."

"What's something I could do that would be bad?" You look up at the tree above you, admiring the leaves while you think.

"If you cheat on me, or if you turn out to be a completely different person and you were lying to me the whole time. I would hate you forever if you did that."

"What kinds of exes did you have in the past that would make you worry about that?"

You shrug.

"Shitty ones. As long as you're not like them, you should be fine."

He hums, holding your hand with both of his, staring up at you.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" You giggle.

"Well, I'm glad you think so."

"I'm just telling you the truth, Y/N. I'm not exaggerating or anything: I'm being honest."

"I know you are." Your free hand finds his head, scratching deep at his scalp. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and smiling. "Little puppy..."

"Is that what you're into?" he asks, opening an eye to peek at you. You scoff.

"No, not for me. Are you into that?" He shrugs.

"I've tried it before and wasn't really into it."

"Oh, now you've gotten tell me the details." He laughs, sitting up with a soft grunt.

"It was fine, I mean, the woman I was with was okay. It just... she wanted me to put her in a cage and it just killed the mood for me."

You laugh a bit too loudly, holding your stomach and leaning into his shoulder.

"Oh my god, that's great. That's hilarious. Was it an actual dog crate or what?"

"Yeah, it was. She put fairy lights around it too."

You're both laughing now, leaning into each other, rocking back and forth. Your laughter dies down and you realize his hand is on the back of your neck, holding you close. You make eye contact with him, the two of you pausing before crashing your lips together. The kiss is sweet but hungry, anxious, as if you've been waiting for it all day. Your arms wrap around his neck and you sit up on your knees to reach him better. His arms move around your waist and he holds you close, lowering the two of you to the picnic blanket. You're still kissing, but now it's quick pecks on the lips, laughing at the silliness of it all.

You pull away, looking down at him. He's smiling, his eyes squinting up at you.

"You're the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me," he admits, hands smoothing over your back.

"Oh yeah? The most wonderful thing?"

"Mm-hm." You giggle, shaking your head.

"You're crazy."

"Only for you."

You slip off of him but stay tucked into his side, letting his arm drape over your form. Your hat is discarded, your hair now a mess. You try soothing it but it doesn't seem to do much.

"I like seeing you like this," he says, nodding towards your hair. "You're always so picture perfect; it's nice to see you disheveled."

"Oooh, so you like seeing me disheveled, huh? Sounds like you're thinking about something particular." He smiles, looking away.

"I wasn't, but now I am."

"Naughty."

"You started it."

You rest there for a few minutes, enjoying the cool breeze as it flows over your bodies. The sun begins to move, peeking through the shade and hitting your forms. It warms you up just enough to be comfortable.

"This is really nice," you finally say, focusing on the birds chirping in the trees.

"It is. I wish I could stay with you like this forever." You hum in agreement, wiggling upwards to kiss him on the cheek. He turns his head and meets your lips with his, kissing you again. You share some chaste kisses before pulling away, staring at each other.

"What do you want to talk about?" you ask, propping yourself up with your elbow, looking down at him. He hums in thought.

"I'm not sure. What do you want to talk about?" You shrug, glancing over the landscape as you think.

"We talked about family and politics. Are you religious?" He shakes his head.

"Not really."

"Yeah, me neither." You hum as your finger twirls over his chest. "Do you want kids one day?"

"Hmm, maybe. Not for a while though."

"How many?" He thinks again.

"No more than three. I want our child to have siblings so they're not alone, but more than three is too much."

"Our kids? What makes you think that we're having kids together?"

He pouts, his expression turning solemn.

"You don't want to have kids with me?" You giggle at his sad tone, patting his chest. He rolls his eyes. "You gotta stop teasing me so much."

"You love it." You rest your head against his chest, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if I want to push out more than two kids though."

"Two would be fine, as long as you're okay with it. If you don't want to, we can always adopt."

"You want to adopt?"

"Yeah, I've always thought it sounded nice, giving a child in need a good home. I've always imagined adopting some older kids so they have a good home before they turn into adults."

"That's very noble of you." He shrugs.

"It's just something I've always wanted to do. Would you be interested in that?"

"Sure! Maybe not a lot at the same time though. Like if we have our own kids, maybe we could wait until they're grown-ups before we adopt other kids." He smiles.

"I like that plan."

Silence falls over you again. You listen to the wind pick up and shuffle the leaves in the trees. You glance at the skyline and see clouds approaching quickly.

"Uh-oh," you say, sitting up. "Looks like it's gonna rain."

Guy grunts, sitting up and pulling out his phone.

"Yeah, it says here that it's supposed to rain in the next hour or so." He puts his phone away and looks at you. "Would you like to go?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'd hate to get caught in the rain."

He nods, getting up with you. You pack all of your things and head back to the car, heading home.

"I had a really nice time with you today," you say when you reach your door.

"Yeah, this was really fun. Thank you for going out with me."

"Of course." You motion for him to come closer. He obliges, and when he is close enough, you get up on your tip-toes to kiss him. He sighs into you, hands finding your shoulders and squeezing as he deepens the kiss. You lick over his lip and he gasps, about to pull away, but you put your hands on both cheeks and keep him there. You lick over his lip again and he opens his mouth for you, letting your tongue move in and press against his. He moans softly into your mouth as your tongues swirl around each other. His hands smooth over your back and down to your waist, pulling you up against his body. His figure is firm and steady, keeping you supported as you make out with him.

After a few moments, he pulls away, despite you trying to hold him in place. He licks over his lips, clenching and unclenching his fists as he holds them above his head. You pout.

"You don't wanna kiss me no more?" you ask in a pitiful tone.

"It's not that," he replies, taking deep breaths as he rubs his hands over his face. "I don't want to lose control."

"You know," you begin, taking a step closer to him, encroaching on his space, "at some point, I'm gonna want you to lose control." He scoffs, looking away.

"You can't say things like that. I'll go crazy if you do."

You get a sneaky grin on your face, taking another step and bringing your face close to his. He won't look at you, staring off into the distance. You can tell he's holding himself back, which makes you giggle.

"You're silly," you whisper, giving a quick peck to his cheek. He huffs when you pull away, taking a couple steps back to give him some space again. "Some guys would jump at the chance to go to the next level."

"Yeah, well..." He looks at the ground, shuffling his foot. "I want to do things when you really love me."

"Oooh," you nod, nibbling your lower lip. You glance around, thinking. "Well... if things keep going well, it'll happen eventually."

"I don't want to force you to love me," he says, scratching his jaw, "but I don't want to be intimate with you if there's no love behind it."

"I understand." You reach out for him, and he hesitantly takes your hand. "Thank you for being honest with me about how you feel. I respect your decision."

"Thank you."

It's silent for a moment before you step closer.

"Can we keep kissing though?" He chuckles and nods.

"Yes. I can't give that up." You giggle, propping yourself up to kiss his cheek again. When you go back down, he kisses your forehead, smiling down at you. "Can I call you tonight?"

"I'd like that."

"Okay." He releases your hand, giving a small wave before he makes his way down the stairs and to his car.

As you go inside, you feel sad that you're returning to your empty apartment, wishing he was still with you.

[paperclip-skz]

I think I Fell in Love

A continuation of Deep Talk

fem*Reader x Changbin

*WARNING*

WC: 2.6

Contains: oral (F receiving), over-clothes stimulation, fingering, teasing, unprotected sex (don't), rough dom, nicknames; I'm sure I missed something

Deep Talk

Two days had passed—two restless days since you had seen Changbin.  

You both didn’t sleep together after that night. You both got really close, but something in him snapped and he stopped before things progressed any further. Even though you desperately wanted him, you respected that he wanted to wait, and he left only a few moments after the fact. 

You tried texting, calling, and even reaching out to his flatmate just to make sure he was okay. You both never went a day without at least texting each other a few times; it felt strange, almost like he was ignoring you.

The pang in your heart felt like a bat against glass. You hated the thought that he might regret a single moment of what you two shared. Maybe you went too fast, or he didn’t feel the same, or he realized something about you that made him turn away, and your head spun. 

You walk into work on a glorious Monday. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, but you are the very essence of doom and gloom. You nod at your coworkers as you make your way to your desk when a friend stops you in your tracks. It’s the new intern—what was his name? Jinnie? Hyunjie?

“Hey, Y/N!” he says with a smile that reaches his eyes. He’s quite pretty, you think, his buzz-cut blonde hair shining in the light.

“Hey… you,” you respond with a smile.

“Hyunjin,” he says with a knowing smile. He’s only been around for a week. You sigh with an apologetic relief. “There’s something on your desk,” he winks.

Your brows furrow in curiosity. What could it be? With quick steps, you make your way over to your little desk and see something that makes your breath hitch.

Right next to your computer, glimmering in the light and brightening your entire cramped space, is a small vase of bright white calla lilies—your favorite. In front of it sits a small note.

I can't stop thinking about what happened, I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to apologize for how I acted, in person. How about dinner at my place tonight at 7? I want to make it up to you—just the two of us.

You could almost hear him whispering those tantalizing words, his voice wrapping around your ears like a warm embrace. The note. The flowers. It all made your heart swell, and the ping of anticipation made your whole body come alive. You couldn’t wait for dinner. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was coming at seven. She had to be. You wouldn’t stand him up…right? 

His head snapped to the door, the sound slicing through the ambient noise of sizzling meat and crackling flames on the grill. That little knock, soft yet distinct, was one he recognized instantly, and it sent a jolt of electricity through him. Eagerly, he strode to the door, the aroma of spices mingling with the rich, savory scent of the meat wafting through the air, teasing his senses.

As he opened the door, a broad smile spread across his face, radiating warmth and welcome. But the instant his eyes landed on you, that smile faltered, replaced by a look of awe. You were stunning, a vision in his favorite dress—one he had lovingly helped you choose. 

He couldn’t shake the memory of you stepping out of the dressing room, a nervous excitement dancing in your eyes. The deep, luxurious red velvet clung to your figure, wrapping itself around your waist in the most flattering way, making your curves all the more enchanting. The skirt flared gracefully just above your knees, giving it a playful bounce with each movement. 

The dress sparkled under the soft light as if it had been kissed by the stars, while the delicate pink roses woven throughout the fabric added an element of charm; they danced along the hem and brought an air of innocence with the dress’s alluring design. As he stood there, captivated, his heart raced, and he felt a wave of admiration wash over him. You looked like a dream, the kind of dream he never wanted to wake from. Yet, despite the overwhelming urge to express how breathtaking you were, he kept those words locked away, choosing instead to let his eyes convey the depth of his wonder.

He could sense you getting nervous from his stare; he had to say something, do something. “Um-” he stuttered, his palms becoming oddly sweaty. “You look” he gestured to the dress, but all he could let out was a sigh and a small smile. 

“I look?” he nodded to the dress.

“Breathtaking” Suddenly, the memory of your lips against his came rushing back his hands clenched at his sides; he could still feel how your tongue swirled around his cock like you were devouring him; he itched to touch you. Not yet, not yet, he chanted to himself. 

You smiled, a blush that couldn’t be hidden by make-up adorned your cheeks. He stepped aside to let you in. 

You stepped into his apartment, smelling the irresistible smell of cooking meat. “My god, that smells amazing,” you groaned, and Changbin had to physically stop himself from moaning. He wanted to make you groan again. He wanted to make you moan…

“Have a seat, I’ll serve you a plate,” he said. 

And he did just. You both ate and talked about each other's day, not yet venturing into the topic you both were dying to discuss. He didn’t want to ruin the moment just yet; he wanted to hear your laugh. 

He waited as long as he could until he got up to take your dirty plates away. The laughter in the room was draining. “Bin,” you say. Your voice soft. “Can we talk about the other night?” 

His smile faded, and his shoulders slumped. He nodded as he set the plates in the sink. Then, he rounded the corner, leaning his back against the counter to steady himself and look you in the eye. 

You looked so hurt. So worried about what he was going to do. “I’m sorry I ran out the other night. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve-”

“Not if you were uncomfortable. I won’t be mad at you for not wanting to sleep with me. That’s okay. I just want to know why?” 

Your words leave him breathless. Thats what you're worried about? Him not wanting to have sex with you? That’s what had your mind spinning? My god, he royally fucked up. “No, no, no. thats not- shit” he rakes his hand through his hair. 

You step out of your chair, making the move to comfort him, reaching out a hand. You touch his shoulders, trying anything to ease his stress. Your touch is so soft and gentle. This isn’t right; he’ll ruin you. 

“What's wrong? Talk to me, Binnie, please,” you're begging. My god, you're begging him. He’s going to lose the last bit of control he has. 

“It's not that I didn’t want to have sex with you. You don’t know how badly I want to take you to my bedroom right now and show you just how badly I want to fuck you into next week.” he pauses, and your eyes go wide. “But,” he holds your shoulders, “You're the one girl I’ve always wanted to do right by; I didn’t want to take you to bed without a proper date and ask you the proper question first. It was bad enough I took advantage of you that night; I didn’t- I didn’t want it just to end. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

His chest heaves with each breath. It's out. Everything he wanted to say, you know now. But you don’t say anything; you stare at him like he’s growing another head. He’s shrinking under your stare. " Say something,” he demands. 

Your mouth moves to say something, but nothing but a sigh leaves your lips. “I knew it.” his eyes bruns with the threat of tears. “I knew you wouldn’t feel the same.” 

His head hurts. He’s holding all his strength so tears don’t fall, and his whole body aches to be held. He’s so engrossed by his dooming thoughts that he doesn’t see the surprise on your face or how your eyes go wide with the realization that he’s shutting down. 

Suddenly, you grab hold of his face with both hands and slam your lips against his. Both of you pour every bit of emotion into that kiss. Your lips move along one another, saying a hidden sentence. Changbin holds the back of your head, deepening the kiss, demanding entrance past the barrier of your lips. 

Changbin takes complete control, gripping you like you might vanish before him. You swing your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. You pull away for a breath, staring in Changbin’s eyes, tears glassing over your vision. “I’ve loved you from the day I met you. That night you kissed me was the best night of my life. I never wanted it to end.” 

His piercing gaze travels from your eyes to your lips, sweeping over your entire face as if he had just experienced a surge of adrenaline. Your smile—the one that lights up the room—makes his heart shatter into a million blissful fragments. It’s that radiant smile that he treasures above all else, a beacon of joy in his life. Your eyes twinkle like stars caught in a clear night sky, and the intoxicating scent that clings to you drives him to the brink of madness, awakening a whirlwind of desire within him, but he could watch you smile all day and not complain. He would watch you smile because you didn’t want this end, this want’ going to end. He was going to keep that smile on your face for as long as he could draw a single breath.

He kisses you one more time, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you around in his hold. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. “Then why don’t we pick up where we left off, hm?” he smirks. 

…..

Heat bubbles in the pit of your stomach, twisting a turning, a sheer excitement that you can’t ignore. Changbin carried you all the way to his bed, the dirty dishes forgotten. 

With a gentle fall, he threw you onto the bed. Your arms flying above your head. Your dress rode higher on your thighs, exposing a sheer piece of lacy fabric between your legs. You could visibility see Changbins eyes darken. 

“I want you laid out like my own personal feast,” he growled. Then he pounced. He braced himself on either side of you, ravishing your lips, then your neck, leaving love bites in his wake. Your hands flew to anything you could grab: his hair, his arms, his waist, desperately trying to cling to him in any way. 

Changbin’s kisses trail lower and lower until he kisses the inside of your thigh. He lifts the skirt of your dress, revealing the lacy material you wore just for him. He kisses the fabric, the light touch making your whole body shiver. “Binnie”, you moan, itching to touch him.

“Shh, shh, let me take care of my pretty girl,” he says, his hot breath making you clench. His words didn’t go unnoticed. The idea that you were now “his girl,” that you are his and he is yours, made your whole body sing with a new desire. 

Changbin hooks his fingers around the apex of the fabric, pulling it to the side to reveal your soaking sex. The first lick of Changbin’s tongue sent you reeling, feeling the burning firelight. He moaned in approval as he saw your body arch in pleasure. His hands slid to your thighs and then to your waist, pinning you in place. Your hands searched for anything to grab hold of; they started in his hair, pulling him closer to you as his tongue plunged deeper inside you; then they searched for the edge of the bed to grip the edge of the world that you were very near to falling off of. 

He licked and kissed, alternating between your folds, your clit, and the inside of your walls. The noises you let out were pure animalistic, and he showed his undying approval with a sheer determination to send you barreling over the edge. 

His fingers joined in, moving in tandem with his tongue. He kept a consistent motion, his tongue twirling your bud like he was playing with candy while his fingers pumped inside. It was all too much. Your whole body caved in on itself as you felt your climax shudder through you. 

“Bin,” you rasped. 

You needed him. Now. 

He stood up from the edge of the bed, your body panting along with his breaths. “Your mine” he whispered to himself, but your whole body scattered in goosebumps, and that burning desire returned to the pit of your stomach. 

Without delay, you hurriedly pulled the dress over your head and threw it across the room to a neglected corner. Meanwhile, Changbin began unbuttoning his pants and tossed his shirt off. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Broad shoulders with defined muscled arms. Thighs so strong it was no wonder he could pick you up so easily, and the prominent length between those thighs…..you wanted him. You needed him. You didn’t care if it was up against a wall or on the kitchen counter; you needed him. 

He collapsed on top of you, bracing himself and crashing his lips to yours. The kiss, open and passionate, a mix of teeth and tongues in a beautiful symphony. You locked your legs around his waist,t pulling him closer. You hiss as his tip slid against your sensitive bud. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers which sends chills against your bones. He nudged at your entrance and finally slid in…and in….and in. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and thoughts and words died before they could form. He started slow, deliberate, delicate. You clawed at his back until you were sure marks would appear in the morning. His face contorted into a mix of pain and pleasure; he was holding back, and you knew it. “Please, Bin,” you begged. 

“Say it,” he pleaded. You knew what he meant. 

“I’m yours,” you said, gripping his bicep and moving your hips in tandem with his thrusts. “I’m yours,” you repeated. Again, he pulled out only to connect with your hips. Again. Again. “I’m yours,” you moaned loudly as his thrusts were faster, deeper. 

“You're mine. And I’m yours,” he whispered against your ear. Release ripped through your body with one final thrust, shaking your entire beginning. Changbin groaned as he felt you clench around his length, and then you felt him twitch inside you. 

…..

The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow on the disheveled sheets that tangled around you both. The world outside felt distant, fading into a gentle background hum. The only sounds in the room were the rhythmic breath you shared and the occasional soft sigh that slipped from your lips.

With a tender touch, Changbin brushed a wayward strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering against your skin for just a moment longer. His gaze was earnest, filled with something that made your heart flutter and your stomach twists with anticipation. “I think I fell in love with you,” he confessed softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You met his penetrating gaze, feeling a rush of warmth flood through you. “I think I fell in love with you, too.”

[eclipixels]

Payback

Sylus x reader

Content: You don't like Sylus allowing other girls to flirt with him, so you take matters into your own hands to get back at him

A/N: pt.1 pt.2

[2,911 words]

      You sat with Sylus at the bar, your head resting against his shoulder, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air around you. The two of you had arrived earlier than most, and now, as you watched the slow trickle of people filtering in, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Sylus had been right, you should have waited a little longer before coming.

      With a soft sigh, you sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?" you murmured, your fingers lightly squeezing his arm before you slipped away toward the restroom.

      The momentary break was meant to be nothing, just a quick trip before returning to his side. But when you emerged, your heart nearly stopped.

      A woman stood dangerously close to him, tilting her head in that familiar, flirtatious way as she batted her lashes. The dim lighting of the bar only made the moment more intimate, more insufferable. Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she leaned in, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you weren’t meant to hear, something that sent a searing pang of jealousy straight through you.

      Did you really believe him when he told you that you were the only woman he wanted? That he never entertained temptation? That he never strayed, even when countless women threw themselves at him?

      You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But watching this unfold, watching him stand there and allow her to linger, to bask in his presence without a single sign of dismissal—it gnawed at you. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t flirting back or even paying her much attention. The fact that he didn’t push her away, that he allowed these moments to exist at all, was what truly got under your skin.

      And who could blame her for being drawn to him? Sylus looked effortlessly breathtaking in his tailored black Versace suit, the sleek fabric clinging to him in all the right ways. He exuded confidence, mystery, an untouchable charm that made heads turn the moment he stepped into a room. If you were in her position, wouldn’t you want a man like him to look at you the way you wished he only looked at you?

      But why? Why couldn’t he make it clear that he was unavailable, that there was no room for anyone else in his orbit? The questions burned in your mind, threatening to spill over into words you weren’t sure you were ready to say aloud.

      Because no matter how much you trusted him, doubt had a way of creeping in like a shadow in the night. And right now, standing there, watching her linger in his space… that shadow felt all-consuming.

      "You okay?" a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find yourself looking at some guy. Tall, effortlessly good-looking, with a broody, mysterious air that made him stand out.

      "I'm completely awesome. Just having the time of my life," you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. "I mean, you agree, right? I am awesome. You know what? Don't even answer that."

      He gave you a small smile, the kind that was just barely there but still managed to be annoyingly charming. "As much as I’ve heard about you, you're more than just awesome."

      Your drunken mind barely registered the comment or who exactly had been talking about you. But if he had heard things, well, hopefully, they were good things. He had this whole mysterious, darkly intriguing vibe, and if you weren’t so hopelessly in love with Sylus, maybe—just maybe—something could have happened.

      "Do you wanna dance?" you asked impulsively, tilting your head at him.

      His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, his voice polite yet firm.

      Seriously, what was it with men not wanting to dance with you today? You were an amazing dancer.

      "And why exactly wouldn't it be appropriate?" you teased, grabbing his arm before he could protest and pulling him toward the dance floor. Not that you were trying to make Sylus jealous or anything. But, you know, if it happened organically, you wouldn’t be opposed.

      "Just relax. It's just a dance," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. You giggled as he let out a small breath, clearly debating whether to just go with it or keep resisting.

      Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the music shifted into something slow and romantic, one of those songs you'd never heard before but could already tell was meant for lovers lost in each other’s arms.

      Perfect. Just perfect.

      You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see if that woman was still talking to Sylus.

      "You know," your dance partner said after a moment, "I learned how to waltz once. It’s been a few years, though."

      You chuckled, tilting your head at him. "Oh yeah? Think you still got it?"

      He smirked slightly. "Guess we’re about to find out."

      For a fleeting second, you felt Sylus’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his stare. But you ignored it. To hell with him.

      The two of you danced so flawlessly, so effortlessly, that the energy in the room shifted. People took notice. Whispers spread, eyes turned. But you didn’t care. For the first time tonight, you were simply having fun.

      Then, with a fluid motion, he twirled you around, sending a rush of exhilaration through your veins before pulling you back into his arms. And finally, the grand finish—a dip, deep and dramatic. The moment lingered as you locked eyes with him, your breath slightly ragged from the movement.

      A slow smile spread across your face as you straightened up. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

      "I'm glad I could make that happen," he replied, his own smile warm and genuine.

      Before you could say anything else, the sound of clapping caught your attention. You turned to see Wanda and Tara grinning at you, their faces full of approval and amusement.

      “You were amazing!” Tara cheered, her excitement practically radiating off her.

      Your dance partner chuckled, then took a small step back. “You should go join your friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any trouble for you.”

      And just like that, he turned to leave.

      A frown crept onto your face. His words confused you. What kind of trouble? He was fun to be around, easy to talk to. You had a feeling that if nothing else, the two of you could have been good friends. But he was gone before you could ask.

      The thrill of dancing, the lightness of the moment—it all started to fade as the weight of reality crashed back down. For a little while, the music, the movement, the laughter had made you forget. Forget about Sylus. Forget about the ache in your chest.

      But now? Now, it all came rushing back.

      You forced a smile as you said goodnight to Tara and your other hunter friends. They wanted you to stay, to shake off the sadness, but you were drained. Completely and utterly exhausted.

      All you wanted was to be alone. To cry in peace.

      And you didn’t care how you got home.

      Stepping outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning inside you. But as if the universe hadn’t tormented you enough tonight, there he was—Sylus, leaning against his motorcycle, waiting.

      The last person you wanted to see right now.

      At least he wasn’t with her.

      "What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

      At the sound of your voice, he turned his head, his expression unreadable—until his eyes met yours. Then, just like that, his gaze hardened.

      "The real question is, what the hell were you doing in there? With that guy?" His tone was sharp, laced with something that almost sounded like jealousy.

      God. The sheer audacity.

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It's called dancing, Sylus. You know, that thing people do when they're having fun?" You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. "And honestly? The hypocrisy is commendable. Really."

      His brows furrowed. "The hypocrisy? What’s gotten into you, Y/N?"

      Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the adrenaline crashing. Maybe it was the way your heart still ached from watching him with her. But something inside you cracked.

      "You know what? You’re right. I knew what I was getting into with you," you admitted, voice shaking, "but I can’t do it anymore."

      His expression faltered for the first time, but you didn’t let him speak.

      "Is this even a relationship to you, Sylus? Or am I just someone you’re fooling around with until you get bored?" The words came out harsher than you expected, but you didn’t care.

      For a moment, silence hung between you like a storm waiting to break.

      Then, something in his face changed. The sharpness faded, replaced with something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

      Hurt?

      "Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Of us?"

      You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.

      "Is that what you think I’m doing?" He took a step forward, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Just stringing you along until I get bored?"

      The way he said it made your chest tighten, but you wouldn’t let him turn this around on you.

      You stepped back, refusing to let your resolve waver.

      "That’s how you made me feel today, Sylus," you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had held in. "You made me feel used. You made me feel small—like I was nothing compared to her. Like she mattered to you, and I didn’t."

      Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back the lump forming in your throat, but the words wouldn’t stop now.

      "You can’t let the most gorgeous woman in the room flirt with you, throw it in my face, and then expect me to just stand there and not care," you choked out, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, broken, angry.

      Sylus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe he hadn’t been ready for this confrontation, but neither were you—you hadn’t asked for this heartbreak.

      "She means nothing to me, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "And she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in the room."

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah? That’s funny, considering how easily you let her hang all over you."

      His jaw tightened. "Don’t use that tone with me, Y/N."

      And that—that—set you off completely.

      "Fuck off, Sylus," you spat, stepping back, fire burning behind your eyes. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act jealous then get mad when I get the same way."

      As soon as the words left your mouth, Sylus closed the distance between you in an instant, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and possessive. He had heard enough. He couldn’t lose you like this. He wouldn’t let it happen.

      You wanted to fight back, wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him for how much he had hurt you tonight—but you didn’t. Instead, you gave in. You kissed him back with just as much fire, all the jealousy, anger, and pain pouring into the way your lips moved against his. You wanted to rip his hair out, but at the same time, you wanted to fuck him senseless.

      His hands gripped your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. He walked forward until your back hit the wall, trapping you between the cool surface and the warmth of his body. A sharp gasp left your lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His mouth was on you in an instant, lips and teeth marking you, sucking deep enough to leave bruises. His marks.

      He wasn’t the only jealous one tonight.

      Watching you dance, hearing you laugh so freely with that guy—it had made something primal snap inside him. He wanted to be the one spinning you around, holding you in his arms, making you smile like that. He wanted to be the man who made you happy.

      His hands slid under your dress, gripping your ass roughly as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against you. You gasped at the friction, a moan slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, rolling your hips against his, desperate for something to ease the ache between your legs. You were frustrated, upset, and so fucking turned on all at once.

      Then, before you could stop it, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

      Sylus stilled.

      He heard the soft, broken sob escape your lips, and his chest tightened. His hands, which had been gripping you so possessively just moments ago, suddenly softened their hold. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing evened out.

      His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek before he pressed a tender kiss there, his lips lingering. And then, slowly, he set you back down onto your feet.

      The loss of contact made you shiver, but you weren’t ready for this moment to end—not like this.

      “I'm so absolutely sorry for how I made you feel tonight.”

      “I just wish you would push those women away, why don’t you do that?” Your lips quivered. His heart broke, how could he make you feel this way? He was mad at himself.

      “I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you already knew I loved you.” He admits, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner how much it hurt you.

      “Still, it hurts seeing them flirt with you and you do nothing.”

      “I am sincerely sorry my love, I promise, I won’t let it happen anymore.” He closes the distance between you two. He wraps his arms around you tightly "you're my weakness y/n, I never wanted to have one but then you came along.”

      “You’re mine, okay?” You say firmly.

      "I am yours. So beautiful you are, the prettiest. I love the dress princess" he kisses your forehead

      "Thank you love, I got it in your color" you smile.

      "I know but It would look better on the floor” He grins wickedly. Oh my god, you really are stuck with him now.

      “Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily, though,” you said, your voice firm, your expression stern.

      Sylus paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. “What do I have to do?”

      You took a step closer to him, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Beg.”

      His brows furrowed, and he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What? You can’t be serious.”

      You leaned in, your gaze locking with his, a challenge in your eyes. “You heard me. On your knees. Beg me to forgive you.”

      His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately comply. “Y/n–”

      Before he could say anything else, you shoved him gently but firmly, guiding him to the ground. The sudden action had his breath hitching, but he quickly found his footing, settling on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with something between defiance and desperation.

      His thighs flexed as he kneaded his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Please forgive me, darling. I am so fucking sorry.”

      You raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the apology.

      Sylus let out a soft groan, his hands resting on his thighs, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m so, so sorry.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with regret.

      And still, something in you wanted more.

      The sincerity in his eyes pulled at something deep inside you, but you weren’t ready to let him off that easy. "I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how much I mean to you. I want to know that you won't let this happen again."

      His breath hitched as his hands moved to the floor for support, his body leaning slightly toward you as if instinctively reaching for you, aching for you. “I won’t let it happen again, I swear to you. I won’t make the same mistake. Please, Y/n, forgive me. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

      You could see the desperation in his eyes now, the plea for you to believe him.

      "That’s better," you said, nodding slowly. "But words are just that. Show me."

      He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back up at you, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to give you all of him. And he did just that, all night long. You drained the life out of him, not stopping until you were satisfied.

[ramp-it-up]

Answer Love’s Call

Summary: James Bucky Barnes WAS an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and he fell in love. He is about to propose. But something is off. You need time to come to terms about what this love will mean in the future. And how in the world you will deal with it.

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Okay, we're at Christmas. 😅 Hey guys. This one is close to my heart. Some of this is very personal to me, as a high functioning person who might be a little bit different. I hope you enjoy this.

This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after both Worth the Fall and the Steve Rogers fic Peach VII.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! LOTS of angst, Frumoasa is spiraling, y'all, running away, a sexy ex, jealous, spiraling Bucky, a doctor's visit surprise, Frumoasa realizes she is not nero-typical, a beautiful mountain chalet Christmas, Steve x Peach, extended family, an icicle surprise, and Bucky helps Frumoasa relax, hard. Dom/sub elements, references to bdsm, use of 'Daddy,' oral (m receiving) spanking, anal play, attempted edging, raw p in v, praise kink, breeding kink, yeah. :)

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

The day after the gala, you woke up with your head pounding. You were over warm, and your heart was beating fast, although you could hear Bucky’s steady breathing beside you. 

You turned and watched him for a moment, his handsome face relaxed and also, strangely, confident.

He looked so sure, so steady.

But the day before proved that you didn’t necessarily know what was coming next and that made your stomach rumble and twist in knots.

It might have been too much champagne, or it might have been the rollercoaster of emotions from the entire day before.

Your thoughts were all over the place about you and Bucky. Next week, you would be at the cabin in Vermont for the holidays, and he was planning to propose there.

Maybe? Maybe not?

The uncertainty was eating at you. Your mind was swirling.

Bucky stirred, his hand instinctively reaching for you. You let him pull you close, and you kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. 

Your body, as always, responded to him. Hell, the day before you’d practically attacked him. Something about the way he looked lately was making you feral. 

“Morning,” you responded.

He opened those beautiful eyes still heavy with sleep and peered at you through his eyelashes.  

“You good?”

You hesitated. You could tell him, you thought. You could spill every crazy thought running through your mind. But you didn’t

So you gave him the easy answer.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiled, content with your answer, and closed his eyes again. 

You two had tumbled into bed after the gala, very much under the influence. If Bucky had been fully awake, he would have noticed that you were not, in fact, good. 

You kissed his forehead and whispered that you were getting up to pee, which earned a grunt, a nod, and side smile.

You went to the kitchen and some tea to soothe your headache and some eggs for your stomach and then sat at the bar and ate, staring out onto the landscape of New York City at Christmastime.

You had time to really sit with your thoughts. You hadn’t lied to Peach. She and Steve were perfect together; and they’d done what felt right, what made sense for them.  

But what they did made you spiral, because in your head you had more time to get used to them really being together. You’d give a million dollars to harness what Peach had, that spontaneity. 

Bucky Barnes pulled that out of you, but right now you were feeling unsafe, out of control.

You were wrapped up in too many feelings: the drug of loving Bucky, the extreme high of sex with him, and then your own anxiety and intrusive thoughts.

Steve and Peach were headed to Atlanta today and then on to Vermont to spend a few days on a mini-moon before everyone arrived on the 23rd. 

Your phone, which had been plugged up on the bar, started to vibrate, and you saw that it was your mother. You also saw that she had called twice before. 

You knew she was calling about Steve and Peach and you just couldn’t do it at the moment.

You silenced the call and then walked through the bedroom into the closet and grabbed one of the expensive luggage pieces that Bucky’d bought you.

Maybe a few days at your place would help you sort things out.

—---

In the middle of packing, you turned to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression pure frustration.

Your eyes skimmed down his bare chest, following the trail of happiness between his pecs and down those abs that you ended up licking the day before, down his delicious belly button to disappear under the waistband of the grey sweats slung low on his hips.

There was more deliciousness in there, of that you were certain.

Suddenly, you wanted to fuck him stupid again, and you wiped the corners of your mouth to make sure you weren’t drooling.

“Frumoasa, what’s going on?”

His voice was tight, controlled, but barely.

You shook your head, feeling crazy. You gripped the t-shirt (of his) you’d been packing in your hands.

“I just... I need some time,” you admitted. “Before Vermont.”

His jaw clenched and those eyes blazed. 

“Time for what?”

“To think,” you said simply, not looking him in the eye.

Bucky exhaled sharply, stepping forward, crowding you. 

“If something’s wrong, just tell me. We’ve got to communicate.”

You swallowed, finally meeting his blue, blue eyes. 

“I just need to figure some things out first.”

His frustration emanated from him for a minute, and then, suddenly, he reached for you, pulling you against him. You melted against his hard body, like always.

“Do you want to go to Connecticut? Right now?… Because if so…” 

His voice was softer now, his fingers carding through your curls. But what he said made you panic.

“No! It’s not that, Bucky…”

“If you’re doubting us….”

His voice was plaintive now and your breath caught as his scent and his warmth surrounded you. You wanted to fall into him, to let him chase away every uncertainty. 

But you needed to stand on your own two feet.

“I just need space,” you whispered, even as your hands reached up and clasped around his neck, unwilling to let go.

Bucky’s forehead rested against yours. 

“You say that, but I can tell that you don’t want to leave,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

Your heart thundered. 

“Bucky. I need to. Please.”

His grip tightened for just a moment before he released you, stepping back. 

“Then go,” he said, voice emotional. 

He turned and walked out of the door, giving you a wide berth as you finished packing. 

You cried as Nico drove you to your brownstone, and went straight to bed when you got there. You were emotionally exhausted.

—-

Bucky sat in his living room, spiraling, not knowing what to think.

Bucky agreed to you leaving, because what else could he do?

It didn’t make sense. The day before had been so much fun. You’d had great sex, and you looked amazing for the gala. Then there was the happy surprise about Steve and Peach.

He knew that you were over the moon for those two, but something was going on.

Had he taken too much time to propose?

But you’d only been together for a little over three months. He couldn’t help that Steve and Peach were crazy people who did crazy things.

Bucky was surer than sure that he and you belonged together. 

Now you just needed to come to the same realization. 

And he wasn’t going to force you.

—--

You stayed inside the entire next day, Sunday, feeling lethargic. Normally you’d be brunching or cooking with Bucky, relaxing and doing something fun.

You missed him and wondered why you weren’t with him.

At that moment, your phone rang. It was Bucky. 

“Hey,” you said softly, tucking a knee up to your chest as you curled up on the couch.

“Hey,” he echoed. Damn, his voice did things to you. 

“How are you?”

A lump formed in your throat at the longing in his voice.

“I’m okay...”

Silence. 

Then he asked, “Are you eating?” You blinked, surprised. 

“What?”

“You get caught up in your head when you’re stressed,” he said, his voice quiet.  “I don’t want you forgetting to take care of yourself.”

Damn you loved this man. He knew you so well.

“I’m fine, Bucky.”

“I sent something over.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Nico with a delivery bag, the scent of thai food in the air. Your chest tightened as you looked up at Nico.

“Bucky...” you whispered into the phone.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “Just eat. And call me anytime. I love you, Frumoasă. I miss you. I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hung up and tears slipped down your cheeks as you took the food from Nico. You gave him a hug and said goodbye and then held the warm container in your hands behind a closed door. 

One thing was for sure, James Buchanan Barnes still knew exactly how to love you, even when you were running from him.

—-

The next few days were busy. You had to tie up year end things at the Center to prepare for the three week holiday shut down. You threw yourself into it and tried not to miss Bucky too much even though you two shared brief check-ins.

But your thoughts were scattered, your headache wouldn’t go away, and your stomach was unsettled. Plus, your emotions were on a rollercoaster. 

You made a doctor’s appointment for Thursday. You didn’t want to bring a bug to the cabin to spread to everyone.

On Wednesday you got a visit from an old friend.

Around noon, you turned around to a different version of blue-eyed and tall, dark, and handsome.

“Terry!”

Your last ex-boyfriend was standing in your place of work. 

“Hey girl. You looking good.”

You flushed at that smile and the way he eyed you was reminiscent of times gone by. And that voice. That was a thing once upon a time.

“Terry, What are you doing here?”

He sucked his teeth and shook his head at you.

“I can’t get a hug?”

You swatted at his arm and obliged, as Nico pulled out his phone to call Bucky outside.

—--

As soon as you walked in your door that afternoon your phone rang.

“Is that why you’re pulling away from me? You have another man?”

You pulled back and stared at your phone. Then you realized. Fucking Nico.

“Bucky, what the hell–”

Bucky interrupted you.

“I had to know you were safe, and then I’m told that you had a date with this guy Richmond.I wavered between coming to kill him immediately and letting you make your choice and tell me yourself, but I couldn’t wait.”

“Bucky…”

“Just tell me the truth, Y/N!”

“You gonna let me talk?”

Bucky was silent.

“The truth is I had lunch with an ex who also was a good friend to talk about his upcoming wedding.”

There was silence on the line. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

You sucked your teeth.

“Anything else you wanna know, James?”

“Frumoasa, I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t Bucky. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Bye.”

You hung up and cried, yet again.

You didn’t know what was happening.

—---

The next day, you sat on the crinkly paper in your Doctor Phillips’ office in complete shock.

She reached out and shut your mouth for you because it was hanging open.

“But….I’m on birth control.”

You looked at her as if she had three heads. She smiled indulgently at you. 

“You know that’s not 100%. Have you had unprotected sex with anyone?”

You giggled, thinking just how much unprotected sex you’d had with Bucky. Then you started crying. She handed you a tissue, used to emotions with things like this.

It all made sense now.

The nausea you’d brushed off, the exhaustion, the moods, the uncertainty, the fear knotting in your stomach. You should have known. 

It wasn’t just about you and Bucky.

It was about this.

A baby.

“Well, speaking of sex, I have a kind of... A delicate question.”

When you asked, you’d managed to shock doctor Phillips, but she soon recovered.

—-

Your mother was silent for a long time before whispering, “Oh, sweetheart...”

“Please don’t tell Peach,” you added quickly. “I don’t want to interrupt her honeymoon.”

You also knew that she would tell Steve and he would tell… 

“Bucky doesn’t know yet.”

Another long pause.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him?”

You swallowed. 

“I don’t know how. We argued the last time we spoke. And I don’t want him to marry me just because I’m pregnant.”

“Honey, he’s gonna marry you no matter what. And you’re never going to get away from that man now that you’re carrying his child.”

You chewed your lip, still unsure.

“You think so, Ma?”

“Baby, I know so.”

As you spoke, you received pics of Steve and Peach looking deliriously happy in Vermont, glowing with happiness. They’d sent it to both of you. You cried on the phone with your mother and came to a decision. 

When you hung up, you started packing. 

—--

On Friday afternoon, you landed in Stowe and Nico was there to pick you up.

You were glad to see him despite the drama with Terry. The 30 minute drive was quiet and serene, beautiful on snow plowed roads. 

When the chalet came into view, you gasped.

It was picture-perfect, nestled deep in the Vermont mountains, blanketed in fresh snow. Twinkling lights lined the porch railings and they made Bucky, who was standing on the front porch waiting for you, look mysterious.

It was idyllic.

As you exited the SUV, Bucky came down and extended his hand to help you up the snow covered stairs. You looked up at him and he was staring at you with those ice blue eyes. 

—-

You stood there, looking up at him, and and Bucky thought, fuck, she’s gorgeous. It was like he was seeing you for the first time again. His eyes traced the thick curves that made his blood run hot, and those eyes that are wide and still uncertain made him a little weak.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you and it felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. 

He didn’t know why you ran from him earlier in the week, but damn, he was certain that he would run through any wall for you. 

Bucky bit his lip and his hands instinctively balled into fists as he took you in.

Your sweater accented your full breasts and he swore he saw the thick, stiff peaks of your nipples through it, making him thirsty. Your jeans molded thick thighs and wide hips that make his cock throb. 

There was something about you today that made him want to take you down, but he was going to follow your lead. He needed to see where your head was at.

—

Bucky’s breath made vapors in the cold air and his eyes locked onto yours as he grabbed you, pulling you into his arms.

“You came back to me,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough. “I’m sorry about the other day, Frumoasă. I’ve been crazy since you left.”

You pressed your face to his chest, a lump forming in your throat. 

“Yeah, that was crazy, but I get it, Bucky.”

You pulled back and looked up into his eyes.

“I had to come. I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

His hands cupped your face, his lips brushing yours, slow and searching. 

“Then don’t leave me. Ever again, Frumoasă.”

You nodded and clung to him, sniffling. 

He pulled back and looked down at you.

“Let’s get you out of this cold.”

Inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air, and the chalet was decorated for the holidays with a huge tree with a massive stone fireplace. The view in the waning afternoon sunlight was of the mountains, and it was gorgeous.

“Wow, Bucky.”

He was taking your coat as you took in the sights. Of course the place was top notch.

“Where are the happy couple?”

Bucky chuckled.

“Their chalet is down the road. Rebirth owns this property and there are three other chalets just like this.”

You thought you were used to how rich Bucky was, but this rocked you. This was quite a world you might be committing to.

“Yeah, they need privacy. Probably fucking each other on every available surface.”

Bucky laughed. And then raised his eyebrow at you, eyes dark.

“It seems the thing to do.”

You grew warm and cleared your throat as he licked his lips. 

“Where is my room?”

Bucky gave you an ominous look and moved closer.

“Oh, we have more than enough rooms for everyone, Frumoasă. But I’m not spending one more night away from you.”

Your body reacted despite you, causing you to stutter.

“B-but my mother–”

“--Almost insisted on it when I spoke to her earlier this week. She told me she spoke to you the other day. They are only here for one night, it will be fine.”

You followed him into the master suite, your wheels turning.

“What all did Karen have to say?”

Did Bucky know? He couldn’t know. Your mom wouldn’t do that.

“She just told me you’ve always had a habit of pushing people away when you feel like you’re losing control.”

You sighed in relief. She hadn’t told him.

“I wasn’t trying to go behind your back,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to understand. Because I love you. And I want to fix it.”

You sighed and relaxed a little. Bucky still wanted you. You took his hand.

“Nothing is broken, Bucky. I’m sorry I ran from you. I was questioning myself. Not you.”

“Okay.”

But he looked uncertain. Could you have decided that you didn’t need him after all? That you didn’t want him?

You started to walk away to find the bedroom and Bucky pulled you back to him by catching one of your hands. He pressed himself against you and looked down into your eyes.

“Frumoasă,” he said, his voice almost pleading. 

“Tell me you still want us.”

“I still want us. I need us, Bucky. You’re right. I was feeling out of control, but yesterday I realized that what may be coming for us is some beautiful chaos. And if you’ll help me, I’m ready for it.”

You looked into his beautiful eyes, and then your fingers pulled on his sweater and your lips met his.

The kiss was almost brand new, the tension between you arcing like electricity. He kissed you back with everything he had, his hands roaming all over your body.

It was heated. It was urgent as a motherfucker. 

And it was everything you two hadn’t been able to say.

“Later, we will talk about control.”

Bucky ran his thumb over your lips as he looked like he had delicious sensual plans for you later. He let you go just as your panties got ruined.

—--

That afternoon, your mother and Ray arrived just after Steve and Peach came over to make pizzas in the custom pizza oven for dinner. After that, you all decorated the Christmas tree around the fireplace. 

It was picture perfect, with you and Peach drooling over Bucky and Steve in their fair isle sweaters. You had a lot of fun, and you drank water all night long. You caught up with Peach, warm in the glow of the love of everyone most important to you. 

Bucky watched you, curious about what was different about you, but didn’t say anything. 

By the time the night was over, you crashed, sleep overtaking you almost before your head hit the pillow. Bucky didn’t complain, he just held you close, thankful that you were back in his arms.

On Christmas Eve morning, some ventured out to ski and snowboard. You pleaded a headache and Bucky didn’t question you, but he filed that away for later. You and your mom stayed inside as you warned everyone else to be careful. You shook your head at Peach’s daredevil antics, but Peach was gonna Peach. 

Nico was celebrating the holidays in another chalet with his family and had the week off.

You and your mom talked about a lot. And a lightbulb went off in your head. Your mom was teary and you were amazed that it took over 30 years for you both to realize. But it was going to be okay.

That night snow blanketed the trees outside, and the fireplace crackled as everyone gathered around the fireplace after dinner. Bucky stayed close, touching you almost always, even if it was just his hand on yours. The proximity to him was what you needed, and you wanted to just burrow yourself in his chest. But you had to tell him.

Steve and Peach were in their own world, stealing kisses by the fireplace, by the tree, lost in their honeymoon bliss. You watched them, their happiness so effortless, so light, and you knew that you could be there too, with Bucky. 

Every time his hand brushed against yours, you felt the pull. Every time he looked at you like you were his whole world, you wanted to close the distance.

For the first time in days, you felt like maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

After Christmas Eve brunch, you curled up with your hot cocoa and a book by the window by which Bucky and Steve built a snowman earlier. 

Peach wouldn’t let you live your life in peace, because she insisted on recounting the time you two got into a fight over homework when you were eleven. Your mother was joining in, supplying details to Ray and Steve and to Bucky, who was paying attention, stealing glances at you and absentmindedly fiddling with his phone.

“And then she says, ‘How dare you ask me if I need help, I don’t need your help—’”

A loud CRACK interrupted Peach’s story, and a resounding thunk echoed from the eaves of the cabin.

Everyone jumped, looking toward the porch as a massive icicle snapped from the roof, crashing into the snow.

“Whoa,” Peach said, blinking. “That thing could’ve killed someone.”

You looked at Bucky. And he looked pleased with himself. You were instantly suspicious. 

“Oh, wow,” he said, standing up and walking toward the door. 

“That’s crazy. Totally random.”

Steve scoffed and Peach shot him a look. They knew something. 

“Bucky…”

He ignored you, opening the door and crouching down in the snow, picking up the icicle like it was some priceless artifact. 

He brought it inside and placed it, dripping wet on the table. Everyone gathered around to see that there was something inside that looked like a lump of coal.

Bucky looked at you gaping at it, and then: he broke it in half.

You gasped. Because inside, tucked into the hollowed-out core, was a small black velvet box. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Bucky turned to you, his eyes soft, full of something so deep and certain that it stole the air from your lungs. Your entire body went still. And it was just you and Bucky. 

His warm smile and the way the love in his eyes as he popped the box open to reveal a breathtaking and huge emerald cut diamond ring that looked like a block of ice and sparkled like the snow.

Everybody went silent.

Bucky exhaled, then spoke, his voice steady but thick.

“For years, I thought I had everything I needed,” he said, the words warm despite the crisp night outside. 

“But then you came along. And suddenly, nothing felt full unless you were in it. Not my house, not my days, not my arms.”

Everyone leaned in, watching and waiting.

Bucky took a deep breath, then, finally, sank to one knee.

Your heart stopped.

“You are… “ Bucky stopped, choked up. “…The love of my life,” he said, pulling out the ring and looking up at you with that devastating certainty. 

“And I want forever with you.”

You let out a choked laugh, “You hid my ring in an icicle?,” you whispered.

Bucky grinned up at you. “Damn right I did.”

“Y/N/L/N, Will you marry me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob escaped you. And then, without thinking, you threw yourself at him, knocking you both back onto the floor.

“YES!” you shouted, kissing him senseless as the entire family erupted into cheers.

“That was the most ridiculous, perfect Christmas proposal ever!” Peach was full on sobbing with joy as she said it.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back and gave him a hug as he helped him up.

You and Peach and your mom were cooing over the ring as the men watched.

“You better take care of that little girl, James. She’s special.”

Bucky looked at him, emotional.

“Yes, Sir. That’s my mission in life.”

——

After Bucky and Steve drove your parents to the airport to be in Brooklyn for Ray’s grandkids’ Christmas morning, you and Peach had a good long talk about everything but the baby. You had to tell Bucky next.  

But you did tell her about your other realization.

“I always knew you thought differently. It is just so cool the way you can see things from different angles. But yeah, you don’t do surprises well.”

“It just feels so freeing to finally be able to name what I was feeling sometimes. Being labeled as gifted didn’t help anyone from noticing that my mind probably is atypical.”

“Girl, none of us is typical, but yeah. Being labeled as gifted sucked sometimes. But sometimes it’s kinda hot. Tell me about your praise kink and I’ll tell you about mine.”

Peach grinned at you as you laughed. Bucky and Steve walked in right at that moment.

“Oh shit, Steve. Seems like we came back just in time.”

You shook your head as Bucky came and sat on the couch between you two and reached into the bowl of popcorn you’d been sharing. Steve just reached for Peach and she floated up into his arms.

“On second thought I think I’ll let Steve tell me about it in our chalet. Oh!”

Peach was up and over Steve’s shoulder as he hauled her out of the door. You giggled and waved at her as she swatted his ass with one hand and waved back at you.

Bucky was looking at you with a scorching hot gaze, and you leaned over to kiss him, licking the butter off of his lips.

“What were we saying about a praise kink, my beautiful good girl?”

You shivered and bit your lip, but scooted away from him on the sofa. You couldn’t be distracted.

“Can we talk about that later? I’ve got something to tell you.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, then did somersaults. Had you been too embarrassed to tell him no earlier? Were you going to dump him? He nodded and took your hand, twisting the huge rock on your finger. He was unable to form coherent words, he was so worried.

“Bucky…I’m pregnant.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He pulled back slightly, mind spinning as the room seemed to shift around him. 

Pregnant. Buck stared at you, unable to process.

“I didn’t know until yesterday,” you whispered, your eyes filled with emotion.

“It explains a lot about what I’ve been feeling. And I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Bucky dreamed of getting you pregnant, but this was a detour from his plans. And he knew how you felt about surprises. 

“My sweet, sweet angel Frumoasă. I’m sorry I didn’t realize…”

Bucky took your hand again and pulled you toward him so that you rested in his arms. He kissed you on the top of your head. He knew one thing: it was you and he and your family for the rest of his life. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You okay with this? I know this wasn’t in your plans–”

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. And he smiled. That’s when you knew everything would be alright. 

“Okay? I’m over the moon, Baby. I love you. Nothing changes that. We’re starting something new. A family. And I’ll be by your side for every step.”

He looked into your eyes and saw relief, but anxiety was still there.

“Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And this time, I’m not going to let you go anywhere.”

“Are you sure?” you were breathless at his certainty.

He leaned in, kissing you softly but passionately. 

“I’m sure,” He whispered against your lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“There’s something else, Bucky…”

You told him your suspicions and Bucky was unmoved.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. But you have a beautiful mind, Love. I told you that I love the way you think the first time I met you.”

The way Bucky beamed at you with acceptance was so fucky sexy. You need him inside you like your next breath. Your kiss told him that.

“I see.”

Bucky stood up, you in his arms. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

He walked into the beautiful bedroom with the huge picture window looking out onto the winter night. There was lots of moonlight reflected into the room from the snow, even with the lights off.

He laid you on the bed and you rolled away from him, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. He gave you an incredulous look as you fiddled with it.

“What are you doing?”

You bit your lip, a little bit afraid. God you needed that feeling. To turn your brain off. 

“I asked Dr. Phillips a few specific questions about sex during pregnancy.”

Bucky stared at you.

“About rougher sex…” You gulped as he raised his eyebrow. “I forwarded an article.”

Bucky walked around the bed and took his phone in hand, glancing at it, and then at you, a smirk on his face. You scrambled backward and scurried into the bathroom.

“Gonna take a shower, be right back.”

You tried to turn your brain off as you went under the hot water jets. But what you truly needed was in the next room.

You came back in and Bucky was standing by the bed, in just his jeans, shirtless. The fire was roaring and he looked cold. You shuddered as he pointed to the furry rug by the bed.

You obeyed, shedding your robe and kneeling, eyes cast down. You saw his bare feet come to stand in front of you.

“You are trying to control things again, Frumoasă, sending me an article about BDSM during pregnancy. You need to learn that there are times that I’m in control in the bedroom. And I decide what happens and when.”

He reached down and tipped your chin up, looking at you with narrowed steel blue eyes.

“Now, I will teach you that lesson so that you should remember it. And although this room is sound proofed, and we are alone in this house, you need to keep quiet.”

You just stared at him, mind going almost completely blank.

He tapped you on your jaw lightly.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky smiled at that, but then the sunshine went away. His smile dropped.

“And you don’t cum until I tell you to.”

Holy fuck.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky’s eyes shuttered at your hoarse tone, but he stayed strong. His hands went for his zipper and you wiggled, your wetness seeping down your naked thighs. He smacked you in the face with his cock and you suppressed a giggle.

“Stay still.”

You looked up at him, eyes twinkling now.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now be a good girl and open your mouth. Let me see that throat.”

You do as you’re told, opening wide and saying, ‘ahhhhh.’

Bucky stroked himself right there in front of you as you drooled for him.

“That’s a sweet little slut. Suck me just a little bit, baby. That mouth last week was heaven.”

He rubbed the tip of his flared head along your lips and then groaned as those lips closed around him. You sucked it like it’s the best lollipop you’d ever had. 

“Fuck!”

His voice was deeper now, and it made you even wetter.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed around his cock because you were in heaven. There was just this. 

Just now.

You tried to take him deeper, but he didn’t let you, dragging you up gently by your arm. You stood as he sat on the edge of the bed, and then reached for you, gracefully depositing you across his lap due to his strength. Your breasts just happened to end up atop his hard cock as his large hand caressed your ass.

“You deserve a spanking for leaving me, Frumoasa. Three on each side. Count. And that is the only sound I should hear.”

You were disappointed at so few, but you knew he was going easy on you. Yet you didn’t try to push him. Not tonight. 

Bucky spanked you hard, three times on each cheek, and you counted dutifully, your voice growing more ragged with each crack on your ass.

“Goood fucking girl. You took those so well.”

He reached down into your wetness with two as you squirmed on his lap because of his teasing. You wanted him inside you so bad.

“Fuck, you’re soooo wet.”

His voice was full of lust and you felt his cock pulse pre cum onto your nipples. You pussy was clenching and pulsing like crazy.

Bucky smeared your juices up and around your anus, careful not to penetrate, but driving you mad as the rough pad of his fingers played outside. You wantonly tried to push back on him, but he didn’t let you.

Bucky tsked.

“Remember, you are not in control right now. I am. That is what you need, my Love.”

His words hit you like a mack truck and your orgasm came without warning, crashing over you as your sensitive cunt clenched down around nothing.

“Damn, Frumoasă,” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I barely touched you. But I told you to ask permission. You’ll answer for that later.”

You shivered as Bucky shifted, picking you up and depositing you on your back, spreading your legs and looking at your glistening center. A thin web of his precum connected his cock to your tis, and he took himself in one hand as he smeared his fluid around your nipples. 

You shuddered and bit back a moan. You were so sensitive.

His eyes were glued to your wet center as you watched his hand almost blur on his cock. You arched your back.

He tilted his head as that tongue snaked out against his lips.

“…Are you…?” His eyes slid down your body and back up to your eyes.

“Cum for me again, Frumoasă.”

You did are you were told, arching as he rubbed your nipples and twisted them gently.

“Damn. So responsive. For me. So good.”

He was climbing on the bed, kneeling between your open legs now. Then he was on top of you, kissing you, his tongue twining with yours as his cock rubbed against your cunt. Finally, he plunged inside you. 

“Yesssss,” you hissed. Every thrust made you writhe beneath him. Bucky’s cock was perfect, filling you just right. 

Your eyes sought his. 

“Can I make noise now?”

Bucky covered your mouth in another deep kiss. 

“Yes, Frumoasă. Let me hear you.”

His hands slid down to cup your ass, holding you close as he increased his pace. 

“Tighter,” you whimpered. “Harder.” 

“All for you,” Bucky promised. Your pussy fluttered around him. 

“Don’t let me go,” you pleaded.

 “Never,” Bucky soothed, stroking your thighs. “I’ll never let you go.”

You writhed as he held you down firmly, driving faster. 

“Bucky!” 

You grew more frantic beneath him, and he lengthened his strokes, anchoring your arms to the pillow. His cock throbbed inside you, causing you to cry out.

He leaned down and blew on your nipples and you keened, then he captured your lips, and you kissed him back like you were starving. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You deserve everything I give you. I’m going to tell you again and again how good you are.” 

You squirmed, thrashing beneath him, and his grip tightened on your wrists. 

“You’re my favorite girl. You’re beautiful and perfect. You’re so good that I’m going to give you all my cum.” 

“Say it again,” you begged. 

“My good, good girl,” he whispered

“I’m going to come inside you, because that’s where I belong. We’re going to make lots of beautiful babies, Frumoasă. Now cum around my cock.” 

You let out a wail. Your mind went blank as Bucky thrust deep inside you, pouring all his cum into you.  

All you could see and feel was him. 

Finally, he pulled out, looking utterly dazed, and kissed you on the forehead. 

“I fucking love you, Bucky.”

His arms came up around you.

“I love you too. I love everything about you. You’re going to make a wonderful mother.” You were sated, excited and calm now.

“We should tell Peach and Steve.” 

“Later,” you said at the same time, and burst out laughing. 

“But let’s not wait too long,” you said. 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky murmured. 

“After I make you breakfast?”

He kissed you on the nose.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Daddy.”

You climbed on top of him, resting your head on his chest. He stroked your back as you felt his cock perk up again.

“Daddy…”

You sat up on him, rolling your hips. Bucky looked at you, his eyes on your swaying, and yes bigger breasts.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…”

You moved to get off of him.

“You’re right, you can’t have a heart attack now, we’ve got a child to think of.”

Bucky grabbed you and hauled your leg over his so that you were straddling him again. His grin was wide.

“Get that ass back here…”

It was almost Christmas morning, and you had every gift you wanted, right there in that bed.