#so this was kind of late but i was holding on so much to the toddler years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moon-ttokki-x · 3 days ago

Note

Your fic about safe is so amazing I'm inlove with it?? Could you do a similar one but with daddy issues like you're dating Han or Chris (idm which you pick) and you sometimes worry he'll leave you + Ur own issues, tw? Bipolar and depression? Whatever makes you comfortable to do at least

aha thank you so much ! i just titled this one 'depressed reader' but all of the main details are in the descriptions below >< also i couldn't decide between writing chan or han so i just kind of wrote both lol . . . hopefully this one brings you some comfort too, anon <3

hold me - bang chan x depressed!reader

pairing: bang chan x depressed!reader

summary: watching chan with one of his members makes everything you've felt lately rise to the surface.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort at the end, depression, hinting to bipolar disorder, heavy descriptions of relationship issues (i made it sort of vague so it applies to a lot of scenarios), descriptions of ed, deprecating and negative thoughts, breakdowns, attachment issues, chan is the sweetest most understanding person in the whole world, jisung is mentioned multiple times in this fic

a/n: sending love to all my readers ! you are all soso appreciated <3. divider from @ianrkives

You hesitantly open the door to the studio after knocking twice. When there's no reply, you quickly step inside and blink. The room is pretty much dark, the only source of light coming from a dim standing lamp in the corner.

Chan is seated at his desk, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of headphones clasping either side of his head. You can barely see him in the dark, only his face, hands, and the column of his throat visible out of the baggy black clothes he always likes to wear.

He doesn't look up as you enter and then quietly shut the door, too focused on the wavy, lilting lines and sequences of the song production software in front of him. You sigh softly and walk up to him, coming from the side so you don't startle him. Placing your bag down on the small table before the sofa, you place a couple of hesitant fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Channie?" You say quietly.

He's still squinting at the screen, somehow so focused he doesn't even see you right next to him. Or maybe it's the light from the screen; when you stare at a device for so long in the dark, it gets difficult to see anything else.

But he suddenly seems to sense your movement, and he must have realised it was you, because he wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the screen. His gaze is focused and almost intense as he scrutinizes every soundbar and beat of the music. You bite your lip.

You begin to worry a little then; have you disturbed him from his work? Maybe you shouldn't have come, or at least sent him a text telling him you were coming to the company studio. Maybe he would be more comfortable if you just left him alone.

Before your thoughts can descend on your head like a static black cloud, Chan finally slips off his headphones, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. His arm is still around your waist and so he tugs you with him a little bit, eyes roaming over your face as he stretches.

"Sorry," he says, sighing contentedly as his back pops a little. "Got so caught up, didn't realise I'd be here so late."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I figured."

Chan catches the hint of sadness creeping into your tone and he pulls you onto his lap, coiling strong arms around your torso. His unruly, ruffled curls tickle the naps of your neck and you squirm, letting out an involuntary giggle. Though the sound is happy, it immediately fills you with a creeping feeling of disgust, and you reproachfully close your mouth.

Chan doesn't seem to notice; he seems rather content to just keep you on his lap. He's absentmindedly singing something, and you stand up off of his lap suddenly, brushing yourself off. For some unknown reason, you begin to feel a bit embarrassed, like you used to feel around Chan when you didn't know him too well.

The man in question sits up a little straighter in his chair, smiling at you. "How was your day, baby?"

"Good," you say a little curtly. You're not sure where the tone is coming from, and you shove the feeling down before you can say something in a way you'd regret.

Chan hums thoughtfully and pokes you lightly in the stomach. "Just good, hmm? Usually I'd get a lot more than that... are you okay?"

"Yes," you say quietly, even though you feel anything but. You're grateful for the darkness then, because it means Chan can't see the tears beginning to prickly hotly at the corners of your eyes. You keep your voice strong and fight the urge to sniffle so as not to alert him. "Just had a long day. You?"

Saying those sentences almost makes you break.

Chan can never know what it's like; how it feels to be brushed off and ignored and attacked by someone who is supposed to love you. To feel like you don't really matter, or that your thoughts and ideas and dreams are just that; useless, empty words inside your head. And to be constantly reminded of how little your worth is, to the point where you're not sure what love is, or what it looks like.

Chan will never understand; he had a completely normal childhood, with a completely normal family and upbringing, and he's normal. Normal in the way that he has people to turn to, people who love and support him, and he's normal in the way that he doesn't scrutinize his own actions every single second of every single day.

And he will never know what it's like to be struggling with something to the point where it all just builds up inside your head like a messy pile of bricks. Where it all weighs down heavy on your mood and sends clouds of dust into the air, distorting and warping your emotions.

So far you've been able to control your mood swings around him; you'd succeeded in making Chan think that you're a person who likes to sleep a lot. In reality you just lie down and keep your eyes and mouth shut so you don't end up acting hypomanic or have outbursts at him. At least it's working; you would much rather keep it all inside than bare the most vulnerable parts of yourself to someone who might decide to turn away and leave you because of it.

You've learnt that keeping those thoughts and emotions inside is better, because then at least people stay. For some time, anyway. Lately you've been feeling like you're biding your time, waiting until the day where Chan finds out everything and decides to do what's best for himself.

When he decides to leave you.

"...And then Han decided he was going to try and do his makeup himself all of a sudden, and of course it was a whole mess. I had to clean sparkly highlighter out of his mouth. I mean, how does that even happen?"

You blink. Chan has been talking this whole time while you've been zoned out of your mind, pitifully burying yourself in your struggles. You climb out of the pit but for a moment and nod along, though he still can't see you because of the dark. You hope that he's just been talking about Han the whole time and not anything else, because if you missed something, Chan will definitely know something's wrong. You inwardly curse yourself for making a habit out of replying to every event and topic that comes out of Chan's mouth.

"Does he not know you guys have perfectly good stylists for that?" You murmur, carding a hand through his fluffy hair.

He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Apparently not."

You feel the slightest hint of mirth warming your heart as you notice the tips of Chan's rough, calloused fingers covered in the faintest hint of sparkles. But it quickly disappears, replaced by a cold, dead numbness that seems to encapsulate your whole being. Like icy water.

"Anyways," Chan stretches again, standing up. "How come you're here and not at home?"

Slightly taken aback at the blunt statement, you stutter a little. Chan's eyes go wide and he shakes his hands frantically in front of himself. "N-not like that! I'm glad you're here, it's just that it's really late and I thought you would be asleep by now..."

You blink at him, and then at the clock. He has a point; the white LEDs on the display read 1:43 am. Normally you'd be passed out in bed at this time.

"Couldn't sleep," you say. "I missed you."

And it's true. You did miss him. But suddenly you're looking straight through Chan to someone else and saying that last sentence to him instead. You clench your fists.

"Aww," Chan whines cutely, pulling you into a hug. "My baby. I missed you too. This new song track is killing me."

You pull back from the hug and kiss him on the cheek, partly because kissing Chan makes him go all red, and if you let him hug you any longer, you'll probably break down.

Chan does go red and you poke him lightly in the side, teasing gently. He chuckles and jerks away as you walk to the low table and pick up a bag. "I brought food."

"Oh, you're the best," Chan dives for the bag and eagerly digs through, clumsily kissing your cheek as he pulls the lid off one of the takeout containers. He sits down on the couch before pulling out a pair of chopsticks from the bag and heaping a mouthful of the food. He groans loudly. "This is so good."

"Tastes better after work, doesn't it?" You sit down next to him and lean back, looking at the ceiling. You cross your arms over your stomach to keep it quiet.

Chan nods eagerly and holds out his chopsticks. "Say ahh, Y/n."

You shake your head ruefully but Chan insists, moving closer. Relenting, you open your mouth and feel the warmth of the food against your tongue. It tastes so good, and for a second, you think about asking for more, but you realise that Chan needs it more. After all, he's been working all night.

Besides, if you ask for more of his food, he might think you're being greedy and look at you that certain way that someone else does.

In disgust.

You know in your heart that Chan would never do these sorts of things, but the doubt nags consistently at your consciousness, tugging your mood one way and then your emotions the next. The constant change between feelings is almost giving you whiplash and you exhale, closing your eyes and leaning back into the couch.

"Baby?"

"Mm," you say without opening your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" You hear him setting down his chopsticks, feel the tiny thud through the table as he sets the already-empty container down gently. Your heart drops to your stomach.

Keep it together. He doesn't know anything.

You sigh and sit up, your heartstrings twinging. "Just a lot to think about lately. Why?"

Chan nods, leaning back into the couch next to you. "It's just that you've been really quiet lately. I was wondering if something was going on..."

He ends his reply on a sort of question, like he's expecting you to open up to him about everything at once. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. How could he possibly expect you to do something like that? And so easily too...

You inwardly scoff. Nice try. You're not getting anything out of me, Chan. Better you don't know anyway. I know you'll change your mind about me.

But your heart takes control of your mouth, and maybe it's the constant sense of longing you seem to have around Chan, but you want to open up to him. Tell him everything, about your terrible past and terrible experiences, and all you are because of it. And a sudden, lingering sense of hope makes you believe that even after you tell him all of it, he'll stay.

Even if it's just for a moment.

"I, um.. I just had an argument with someone," you say vaguely. And it's not entirely the truth. But it's not exactly a lie either. The words shouted at you earlier flash through your mind, white and hot and painful. Like a fresh cut, a harsh, swift slice too deep and sudden to process. Where, for a moment, there's nothing, until the blood starts filling the white gap and then spilling over, like a gruesome parody of tears.

Chan turns to face you on the couch. "Argument? About what?"

You shift a little uncomfortably. Now you have to tell him. "About- just whatever."

"It's not whatever, Y/n," he says firmly. "Not if it's making you this upset."

And maybe it's the sudden realisation that Chan is so normal, with his normal family and mind and life that you feel a raging pang of jealousy fill you up from your toes to your head. You huff and turn away.

"It's nothing," you grit your teeth, fighting not to spit venom.

Stop it, Y/n. It's not his fault.

Chan blinks in surprise at your slightly harsh response but doesn't push you any further. You don't look at him, but you hear him sigh and get up to toss the empty takeout container in the trash. Your heart sinks and you wait for him to turn around and chide you for being so rude and stubborn. After all, he was just trying to help.

But he doesn't. He sits back down on the couch, and looks up at the ceiling, so that you two are lying next to each other in the exact same position. He doesn't talk, either.

You both sit in deafening silence.

You're grateful when the door opens with a haphazard bang and Han walks in, clad in an oversized grey hoodie and sweats. He's clutching a notebook in his hands, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. You know the story Chan told earlier was true because you can see smears of sparkly highlighter high on his cheekbones. He doesn't seem to be aware of the time, nor the dark state of the room, or the fact that you're so tense your shoulders feel like concrete.

You're grateful for the interruption until he walks over to Chan and promptly sits in his lap. Han murmurs a few lyrics to him, who seems unfazed by the sudden action, and questions about what he thinks could be changed with the song words. Chan replies quietly and his gaze flicks to you in the dimness of the room, but you just shrug, saying you don't mind.

But sitting there, watching Han sit so quietly and comfortably in Chan's lap makes your heart pang for some reason. He wasn't afraid, didn't ask if it was okay, just sat right down and made himself comfortable. Because you know for a fact Chan lets him do this.

And maybe it's the way Chan strokes an absentminded finger down Han's shoulder, or the way he speaks so softly, or the way it's so reminiscent of someone taking care of their child, but you find your eyes brimming with hot tears by the time Han gets up and leaves.

Chan turns to you, about to say something about the lyrics of the new track, but he stops short. A look of worry comes over his expression.

He scoots closer, placing a warm hand on your arm. "Baby? Are you okay?"

All you can do is shake your head, your eyes scrunching up as you fall into his arms. Chan holds you close, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the whole world. Little do you know, to him, you are.

You sob. The reality of everything comes crashes down on you and all you can do is wail and hiccup into Chan's warm, solid chest. You expect him to push you away by the time the tears have soaked through his shirt, but he doesn't. He holds you close and rocks you gently, shushing you and cooing as he wipes hot, sticky streaks off your cheekbones.

You can't help but cry harder. Your eyes almost sting from how hard you've scrunched them up, and your hands ball in the back of Chan's hoodie like it's a lifeline. And it is. You feel that if you let go, you might fall and never return.

"I'm here," you hear Chan whispering through the mess. "I'm here."

Again and again he says it, and every time he does, your tears flow a little slower, and he keeps saying it until your breakdown has reduced itself to a fit of hiccups and messy sniffles. Still he doesn't push you away, or snap at you to get over it, or that your tears mean nothing. He just sits and holds you.

When you finally look up, Chan is smiling gently, reassuringly, though a little sadly. He sees the look in your eyes and knows you don't want to talk about it, so he sits and rocks you softly on his lap. You squeeze your eyes shut and heave in a rocky breath.

Please just keep holding me, you beg him silently. Just for a while.

And he does. And he doesn't let go, not even when you whimper into his shoulder and soak the juncture of his neck with your misery. He kisses the salty wetness away and strokes the pads of his fingers across your face, where the skin is red and sticky.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I can't get it all out of my head, and- it's too much, and I can't-"

"Shh, baby. I've got you, okay? Just breathe for me."

You heave in a few breaths and continue clinging to him. He feels so warm and safe. All you want is to be surrounded by him, to breathe him in, have him tell you that he loves you.

He must have read your mind, because he leans close to your ear and whispers firmly.

"I'm not leaving you, yeah? I'm gonna stay right here, hold you til you're better. You mean the world to me, hmm? Do you know that?"

You shake your head sadly.

"Now you do. I'm not going anywhere," he says with such conviction that you almost begin to believe it. He wraps his arms closer around you and kisses your forehead, whispering fiercely.

"I promise."

a/n: masterlist

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angelltheninth · 1 day ago

Text

Through the Eyes of an Artist

Pairing: Rafayel x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, orgasm encouragement, being watched, toy use, clit stimulation, giving instructions, masturbation, body cum shot

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

Word count: 0.7k

A/N: I'm an artist too, I would do the same.

What an honor to be Rafayel's new model. You were all he could paint lately, his only inspiration. You were fine with that, you got to pose for him, wear all kinds of outfits, sometimes no outfits, you got to spend time with him, hours upon hours as he finished his painting. He would let you choose the frame of for the picture too.

Usually there was to be as little movement from you as possible. This time was very different. Having items with you was also something that happened often. On you, not in you, not riding something.

And what's more he still refused to tell you what his subject was.

"Spread your legs more. I need to see it clearly. I know it might be more difficult to ride but I promise to give you a long, rewarding massage after." Rafayel instructed you from behind the canvas, his eyes were the only visible part of him until you did as he suggested. Your legs spread wider on either side of the smooth, purple dildo, the tip catching your clit every time you rolled down. "That's it. Keep your face forward, don't hide from me."

You bit your lower lip as he looked at you intensely, taking in every part of you. Your parted lips, flushed cheeks, your nipples stiff peaks on your breasts, your hips rolling and clit puffy for him to see.

"You still haven't told me why you... want me to do this. Aren't I supposed to be still?" Although if he were to have you sitting on the dildo for hours it might have been worse.

"Not for this. I want to capture pure lust, pleasure, bliss. And you, your face when you have an orgasm, your body tense with pleasure, there's no better subject." He waxed poetically about this but as much as you wanted to believe him part of you thought this was just an excuse to watch you fuck yourself. A clever excuse, you'll give him that much.

You felt so exposed to him. It wasn't the nudity, you've had sex before, a lot when one of his paintings would win an award, but you never did things like this in front of him. It made you vulnerable.

"Hands at your sides. Or your breasts. I need to see." He instructed again and hummed as your hands grabbed your breasts, teasing your nipples with your thumbs. "Good girl. Keep going until you finish."

It wasn't only that you finished once, but four times by the time he set the pen down.

He was quiet the whole time, focused on his craft, but you knew your moans and your whimpers had an effect on him. From how he was sitting his bulge was very visible to you.

"It's still missing something." Rafayel sighed and leaned forward, cock stirring in his pants. He looked down at it, then to you, whose body was shaking from your last orgasm, a puddle beneath you, your leg and thigh muscles burning and pussy swollen from riding the toy. "Of course. The personal touch."

You heard him shifting behind the canvas, the distinct and familiar sounds of his belt and zipper. He walked over to you, his cock fisted in his hand and stopped just out of your reach. "You want my mouth?" Your pussy clenched around the toy again and you hissed, so sensitive around it.

"No. Keep doing what you're doing. You're almost done." He wasn't referring to the painting, but also to you. Rafayel's eyes roamed your naked body. "I'll paint you." Not with a paintbrush but with his cum. Rafayel moaned your name over and over, rubbing his cock and shooting thick, long ropes of cum across your chest, face and stomach too.

Unable to hold back your tongue dipped down to lick the tip, your lips kissing it once, a loud moan silenced against it as you came for the fifth time.

"Yes! Yes, like that, hold still now!" He didn't bother to put his dick back into his pants he quickly grabbed his brush and got to putting the paint to canvas, capturing you in that one perfect moment of pleasure. No one would see this painting, no one but the two of you.

#love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace imagines #rafayel imagines #love and deepspace headcanons #rafayel headcanons #love and deepspace smut #rafayel smut #love and deepspace fanfiction #rafayel fanfiction #lads x reader #lads imagine #lads headcanons #lads smut #lads fanfic #x female reader

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oldsoul007 · 12 hours ago

Text

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.”

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

“Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

“You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro x reader

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00valentina-writes00 · 21 hours ago

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How about sevika with a terminally sick gf. I really loved the one you wrote for vi

♡♥︎Sevika with a terminally ill girlfriend♥︎♡

♥︎ Sevika doesn’t show much, but she’s absolutely destroyed when she finds out. There’s a crack in her usually unflappable armor, a flicker of vulnerability she tries to bury beneath her usual hard edges.

♥︎ She doesn’t talk about it much, but she starts keeping tabs on doctors, researching treatments, and trying to get her hands on any illegal or experimental cures she can afford. She won’t let you give up, even if you’re already resigned.

♥︎ Her usual harshness turns into something colder. She doesn’t waste time with anything unnecessary. If she’s going to help you, it’s going to be in the most effective way possible. No sentimental words, just straight to the point: “I’ll fix this. You’re not dying on me.”

♥︎ When you start getting weaker, she gets more demanding. She pushes you to eat, to stay awake, to fight. She’s relentless because if she doesn’t see you fight, it breaks her apart

♥︎ There are nights when she stays up late, arms crossed, staring out at the dark streets of Zaun, thinking about ways to make you better. Even the shimmer she injects into her system doesn’t offer any comfort when she watches you fade.

♥︎ She spends hours researching obscure treatments, bargaining with shady figures, doing whatever it takes to extend your life, even if it’s just a few more weeks or days. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.

♥︎ At some point, she starts finding herself hovering at your side all the time. She doesn’t want to leave. Not even to sleep. It becomes a strange routine for her, a kind of forced comfort where the silence between you is full of things neither of you are brave enough to say.

♥︎ If you’re awake enough, she’ll push your hair out of your face, but she won’t look you in the eyes. She doesn’t know how to handle the emotions you bring out in her, and it terrifies her.

♥︎ She never asks you how you’re feeling or if you want to talk about it, because she’s afraid you’ll say that you’re giving up. She can’t handle hearing it from your lips, even though she knows deep down you’re right.

♥︎ She starts to get more agitated, snapping at people who are just trying to help because nothing feels like it’s good enough. If anyone says something remotely positive about your situation, she shuts them down hard. She can’t pretend like there’s hope when there’s none.

♥︎ When you can’t leave the bed anymore, Sevika starts bringing everything to you. Food, water, medicine, books to distract you—anything to keep you from slipping further into the darkness.

♥︎ She never shows her tears, but sometimes when she thinks you’re sleeping, she finds herself staring at you, face etched with raw pain, her jaw clenched tight to hold back the wave of emotions that threatens to drown her.

♥︎ Her temper is worse than usual. She’s quick to lash out at others, mostly because she’s so incredibly fucking scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not being able to save you. And she hates herself for not being able to fix it.

♥︎ She makes herself scarce around people when it gets worse. She’s quieter, more brooding, because the weight of her guilt and helplessness is too heavy to share. The only place she feels even a little bit in control is by your side.

♥︎ On the nights you’re too weak to speak, she holds your hand with a tightness that borders on painful. Her touch is demanding, like she’s afraid you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye.

♥︎ She doesn’t let you see her fear. Every day is a reminder of how much she’s failing you. And every time she sees that spark of hope in your eyes, it drives her mad because she knows she can’t keep it alive forever.

♥︎ As things worsen, she starts avoiding the topic of your death. It feels like a betrayal every time someone mentions it. She ignores the reality, pretending there’s a chance things will magically improve.

♥︎ When you do finally die, it feels like she’s been hit by a freight train. The finality of it leaves her in a state of shock, unable to process it. She doesn’t cry in front of you, not even when she closes your eyes for the last time.

♥︎ Sevika keeps busy after your passing. She throws herself into work, into anything that will distract her from the empty space beside her. She stops sleeping, drinking herself into oblivion, until her body can’t keep up with her broken heart.

♥︎ There are days when the memories hit her in waves. She can still hear your voice in her head, your laugh, the way you’d complain when she pushed too hard. And every time, it feels like a weight she can’t shake.

♥︎ People stop asking her how she’s doing because it’s obvious. She doesn’t need words anymore. The silence speaks for her. She’s the same outwardly—cold, distant—but internally, she’s unraveling, a mess of emotions she doesn’t know how to deal with.

♥︎ She tries to convince herself it’s better this way. You aren’t suffering anymore, and she can’t deny that you were getting worse. But she also knows she’ll never be the same again. That part of her is gone, taken by something she could never control.

♥︎ In the long run, Sevika doesn’t let anyone get close to her again. The wound you left in her will never heal, and she doesn’t think anyone could ever fill the hole you left behind. Not that she’s ready for that anyway

♥︎ But every now and then, when she’s alone, she lets herself think back to you. To the time you spent together, how you made her laugh, how you made her feel alive again. And she lets herself grieve the woman who was once hers.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #sevika x you #sevika imagine #sevika x y/n #sevika headcanon #sevika i love you #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika #sevika angst

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suguslve · 2 days ago

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‧˚꒰🍷꒱༘‧— DO I LOOK LIKE HER? part ii

synopsis: in which you, the new human transfer in Devildom realize bit by bit that you are only seen as a replacement for Lilith.

part i. part iii.

♰ pairings. obey me brothers x fem! Reader

♰ genre. angst

♰ word count. 2.2k

♰ a/n. haha...hey...i know its been so long since i posted part 1 but you can't blame me! i've been swamped with school and lost the motivation to write, so this is my apology pls accept it </3 enjoy reading and don't forget to lmk your thoughts! (p.s. im so sorry that lucifer's part was so short ehe)

Over time, you began to notice the small things, the subtle gestures that hinted at something you couldn’t quite grasp. The brothers were kind to you, undeniably so. They treated you with warmth and affection, and you had grown close to each of them, bonding in ways that made you feel at home in the Devildom. But there was something... slightly off about it all, something you couldn’t shake.

You had formed a close relationship with Mammon, finding it easier to bond and connect with him in comparison to his other brothers. It wasn't just that he was loud or impulsive, or that he often dragged you into crazy schemes—there was something in his eyes when he looked at you, something softer, more genuine. With him, you felt less like a replacement and more like a person—your person, but boy were you mistaken.

One random evening, Mammon had barged into your room, grinning like he always did, but in his hand was a bouquet of flowers. They were lilies. The kind with soft white petals and delicate purple hues that seemed to shimmer in the light.

“Here ya go. I just! found them on my way back home…” He handed them over to you, a soft blush painting his features. “They’re special….I guess.”

You gave him a soft smile before standing on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Mammon. They're lovely."

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little awkward. “Well, uh... Lilith used to love these, thought you’d like ‘em too.”

At that, your smile faltered, and your gaze lingered on the flowers. Lilith, huh? You question if the gift was really meant for you or if they were meant for her. You shook your head slightly and met his eyes again, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Thanks. But, um... I’m really tired, so if you don’t mind, could you leave?"

He looked taken aback but nodded quickly. "Oh, yeah, of course. Rest well, Y/N." You closed the door softly and immediately walked to the trash bin, you grabbed the flowers and tossed them inside. You hated lilies.

But the lilies were just the beginning.

Lucifer followed soon after.

He knocked on your bedroom door one evening, holding a small, ornate music box, intricate carvings polished to perfection. “This is for you.” he stated before opening it, a beautiful melody filling not only the room but the whole house as well. You stood there, in awe, yet something about it made your chest tighten.

“This belonged to Lilith,” he said, his voice soft. “She was enamored with it, bringing it everywhere we went and playing with it. I thought you might like it as much as she did.”

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your hand shook before taking the box. Lucifer nodded, his gaze lingering on the music box for a moment longer. He then bid you goodnight, walking back towards his room, you noticed the faintest trace of a sigh escape him, as though the act of handing over that music box had taken something from him. As soon as he left, you placed it on a high shelf, far out of sight.

Leviathan’s room was dim—the only source of light coming from his monitor. It was another one of your late night anime watching sessions and you had both stayed up all night binge-watching a newly released anime. You sat beside him, wrapped in a blanket he had tossed your way earlier, your eyes heavy with exhaustion but you were just too invested to stop.

“Okay, okay, this is finally the last episode.” Levi said, barely containing his excitement. “This is gonna be so good.” You chuckled at his enthusiasm, adjusting your position on the couch. “Alright then, hit play already!”

As the opening credits rolled, Levi shot you a glance before grinning. “You know… the main character kinda reminds me of you.” You raised a brow. “Oh? How so?”

Levi gestured toward the screen. “Just look at them! Their whole vibe—the way they act, the way they talk, even some of their features!—it’s just so you.” Curious, you turned your attention fully to the character in question. They had a quiet strength to them, a soft but determined presence. And yet, as the scene unfolded, your stomach twisted.

Because the character didn’t remind you of yourself. They reminded you of her.

The resemblance to Lilith was undeniable—the same gentle eyes, the same way they carried themselves, the way they spoke, even the way they looked all felt eerily familiar. Your heart sank as you realized what Levi was seeing.

He wasn’t seeing you.

You swallowed, forcing a small laugh. “You think so?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, completely unaware of the weight behind his words. “Yeah! It’s uncanny. Maybe that’s why I felt comfortable around you so quickly—it’s like I already knew you.”

Tears were threatening to fall from your eyes. So that was it. Even here, in a world separate from reality, you were still standing in someone else’s shadow.

Next came Satan.

It was a quiet afternoon, and you had wandered far from the House of Lamentation, seeking peace and quiet. Seated on a bench, you immersed yourself in a random book from the library, enjoying the peace.

A soft ‘meow’ pulled you from your reading. Glancing up, you spotted a small black kitten approaching, its green eyes warm and curious. Setting your book aside, you cooed at the tiny creature, extending a hand to beckon it closer.

You picked it up softly, making contact with its soft fur. The cat looked at you curiously before meowing once more. Your heart softened at it, and you placed it on your lap, petting it slowly. The cat’s eyes became more and more droopy, and soon after it fell asleep.

Smiling, you reached for your D.D.D. to capture the moment—only to pause at the sound of a quiet chuckle behind you.

Turning quickly, you found Satan watching you, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You’re good with cats.” Satan remarked, stepping closer before seating himself beside you. His voice was smooth, but there was something softer in it than usual—something almost fond.

You relaxed slightly, offering a small smile as you glanced down at the sleeping kitten in your lap. “I think this little one just likes me.” you said, running a gentle hand over its fur.

He watched the kitten with adoration, petting it softly as well. “You’re quite similar to Lilith.” he murmured and you froze at the mention of her name. “Animals were drawn to her, especially cats. She had this… certain gentleness about her.”

Your fingers stilled, the weight of his words settling over you like a familiar shadow. Here it was again. Another moment, another memory that wasn’t really yours. When will it end?

You were out shopping with Asmodeus, hopping from store to store. Your feet ached unbearably, but despite the discomfort, you found yourself enjoying the moment. He was going on and on about the latest fashion trends and gossip, and you smiled as you listened, entertained by his enthusiasm.

His rambling came to an abrupt stop when his eyes landed on a fragrance shop. With a delighted squeal, he grabbed your hand and eagerly pulled you inside.

The shop was filled with soft, ambient lighting and shelves lined with elegant glass bottles, each containing a different scent. The air was thick with floral, citrus, and musky undertones, blending together into something almost intoxicating.

Asmodeus let go of your hand and immediately darted from display to display, picking up bottles and spritzing them onto tester strips. Meanwhile, you wandered through the shop at your own pace, picking up bottles and sampling various scents, searching for a new one that suited you.

You had just found a light, floral fragrance that you liked when Asmodeus turned to you and gasped dramatically. “Oh! That one!” he exclaimed, holding up the sleek glass bottle. His eyes shimmering with excitement as he spritzed some onto his wrist. “You’ve got good taste Y/N! You know, Lilith also loved this scent! She used to wear it all the time—it was practically made for her.”

Your face fell at the mention of her name once more. God, why does everything have to be about her?

“You should buy it!” he insisted. “I just know it’ll smell amazing on you—just like it did on her.”

You hesitated, staring down at the delicate bottle. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.

“Go on.” he urged, smiling brightly. “It’ll be perfect on you.” Just like how it was perfect for Lilith.

Then it was Beelzebub.

You were sitting in the living room, scrolling mindlessly on your D.D.D. Your attention was then interrupted when you heard the main entrance open and close. Beelzebub walked towards you, a smile evident on his soft features, he was holding what looked like a basket of pastries, the sweet aroma filling the air.

“Hey Y/N! I was over at this new pastry shop earlier and look what I got!” He said excitedly, you smiled up at him before he picked one out of the bunch and handed it over to you. It was a strawberry flavored bread, your favorite. You took it from him, about to thank him before he beat you to it.

“That was Lilith’s favorite!” he said, his voice tinged with a rare gentleness. “I thought you’d like to try it.” You stared at the pastry on your hand, your appetite vanishing.

“Oh…Thanks, Beel.” you murmured, disappointment evident in your voice. He smiled up at you before heading to his room, surely to eat the rest of the pastries, while you sat there, staring at the bread before placing it in the fridge and walking back to your room.

The bread sat untouched on the refrigerator for days until they went bad, and you threw them away.

You sat hunched over your desk, your room dimly lit by the soft glow of your lamp. The assignment in front of you was due tomorrow, but the words on the page blurred together, your exhausted mind struggling to focus.

This had become your routine—staying up late, drowning yourself in schoolwork, anything to keep your thoughts from spiraling. The dark circles under your eyes had deepened over the past few weeks, proof of just how little rest you were getting.

But it wasn’t just the assignments keeping you up. It was them.

A soft knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts. Before you could respond, it creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Belphegor.

He rubbed his eyes, looking just as sleepy as ever, but there was something different in his expression—something more aware, more concerned. He didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of you, the exhaustion weighing heavy on your frame.

“…You’re not sleeping.” His voice was quiet, but certain. It wasn’t a question. You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I’ve got a lot to do.” Belphegor didn’t respond right away. Instead, he walked closer, something bundled in his arms. When he reached your side, he held it out to you. A thick, worn blanket.

You blinked at it, hesitant. “What’s this?” He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. “It was Lilith’s.”

Oh.

“She always used it when she couldn’t sleep.” he continued, voice softer now. “Said it made her feel safe.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at the fabric in his hands. Still, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the fabric. It was soft, familiar in a way it shouldn’t have been.

“Thanks.” you murmured, forcing a smile. Belphegor nodded, watching you for a moment longer before turning away. “Get some sleep.” he muttered before slipping out of the room.

You held the blanket close, staring down at it, your chest heavy with something you couldn’t name. You were being given another piece of her.

It wasn’t just the gifts that hurt—it was the way they looked at you. Like they were searching for pieces of her in you, hoping to fill the void she’d left behind. Each gift came with the same unspoken message: You’re not Lilith, but we wish you were.

That same night, as you stared at the collection of gifts scattered around your room, you finally broke. The memory of Lilith lingered like a ghost in the House of Lamentation, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape her shadow. And with every gift, every gesture, it became clearer—you were never truly seen. Not for who you were. Not for who you wanted to be. You were a ghost in someone else’s place, a cruel imitation of the sister they lost. Every kindness they offered wasn’t meant for you, no matter how much you laughed, cried, or screamed, it wouldn’t matter. They never cared for you. They cared for the pieces of her they saw in you.

You were her, in all the ways that counted. And you wondered if they would ever realize—if they would ever mourn you, the way they mourned her. Or if you were never meant to be anything more than Lilith’s shadow.

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 suguslve writes #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #leviathan x reader #obey me satan #satan x reader #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #belphegor x reader

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thequeenofcurses · 3 days ago

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Die With a Smile

summary: eren has a conversation with you at his cabin. f!reader x eren (slowburn kinda + angst + fluff + smut) wk: 3.4k

Eren woke up with a start, the world around him unfamiliar, yet strangely serene. The sunlight seemed too soft, too perfect, as if the day itself was holding its breath. He blinked, trying to shake the fog in his mind, but the more he tried to focus, the more it felt like he was being pulled into a dream. He looked around—no walls, no titans, no battlefield. Only the whisper of wind and the distant murmur of voices.

"Where am I?" he whispered to himself, his voice breaking the eerie silence. He stood, his legs unsteady, and began walking, following the voices, faint and familiar, calling to him.

He couldn’t remember what happened—why everything felt so surreal. The closer he got to the voices, the more it felt like he had wandered into something that wasn’t meant for him. A dream, perhaps? A dream that was slipping through his fingers, but still… it felt too real.

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow, a voice echoed softly in his mind. The words were gentle, familiar.

He reached a clearing, and there you were— standing in a field of flowers, your back to him. A smile on your face, like you had been waiting. No hesitation, no anger. Just your warmth, ever-present kindness.

"Eren…" you whispered, turning, your voice soft like a prayer. "You’re here."

He stepped forward, his heart racing, feeling a weight he hadn’t felt in years lift from his chest. It’s just a dream, he thought. It has to be. But it feels real.

"Y/n," he wondered, his voice shaking, "Is this… real?"

You smiled at him, your gaze warm and unwavering. "Does it matter? As long as we’re together."

Eren’s chest still felt tight, doubt in the back of his mind, but the smile on your face melted his doubts away.

“Let’s go to the cabin,” you suggested, tugging on Eren’s arm. You lead the way, occasionally stopping to look at the flowers and wildlife.

“Y/n… ” Eren starts. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” your eyebrows twist into a ‘v’ shape when you hear his concerning tone, but you patiently wait for him to speak his mind.

Eren opens the door to the cabin and ushers you inside. You plop down flat on the bed and he stands at the door, hands in his pockets, leaning against it.

“If the world was ending, what would you do?”

You’re taken aback by the sudden question. The unnerving question sends a chill down your spine, but you give it some good thought. If the world was ending, what would I do?

“Well,” you sit up. “If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you.”

Although Eren has been pretty distant and nonchalant lately, he can’t hide the look of surprise on his face from your answer. His green eyes widen, even if only slightly, but you still catch it.

“No.”

“What do you mean no!?”

“I mean I won’t allow it.” Eren stands straight, removing his hand from his pockets. He sauntered over to you, placing one hand on your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “You mean too much to me.”

“Tough shit, Eren.” You cross your arms. “You know Armin, Mikasa, and I – fuck, the entire damn scout regiment, would do anything for you.”

“That’s the fucking problem!” he spits out. You jerk your head away from his grip, crawling backward on the bed to get some space. “I don’t want you guys to throw your lives away for me!”

“Eren…”

“Don’t.” He growls, turning away from you, staring at the grass just outside the cabin window. “All I want is for you guys to be safe. And if we lose this war with Marley, if something happens to you guys, I don’t know if I can –”

You roll out of the bed and hug him from behind, cutting him off. You gently place your hand over his mouth.

“Shut up,” you hug him as tight as possible. “I know I speak for everyone when I say this, but wherever you go, that's where I'll follow.”

“What if– ”

Your hand shushes him again.

“Nobody's promised tomorrow.” Eren lets you turn him so he has to face you again. You faintly pry his right hand open with your own, interlocking your fingers with his. “So no matter what happens, we’re with you. I’m with you.”

Eren blinks back at your words, his free hand clutching his heart. He shakes his head, but his eyes betray him. The pools of water in green orbs finally overflow, slowly falling down his cheek.

“The future,” Eren’s lip trembles, his voice shaking. “This war… ”he trails off again. You use your free hand to cup his face and wipe off his tears with your thumb.

“I don’t care about the future,” you declare. Eren takes a step back, processing what you’re saying. “We’ve been living day to day for so long, ever since that damn colossal titan broke through our walls. All we’ve got is right now. We can’t afford to stress about the future.”

Eren brushes his long hair back with his fingers, out of his eyes, and nods. “You’re right.”

For some reason, your heart beats even faster when you look down at your interlocked fingers. Neither one of you have ever said it outright, but it was evident in both of your actions how much you two cared for each other. Eren was always the first one to defend you, not that you need it anymore.

When he found you, crying and alone during the fall of Wall Maria, he took you in. Quickly, Armin grew to like you and found you a strong asset when it came to killing titans. Mikasa was the hardest to win over, but once Eren proved you weren’t a threat to him or Paradis, she slowly began to like you. The four of you became inseparable friends, and climbed up the ranks in the Scout Regiment so quickly.

And every single time Eren’s life was in danger, you were always there for him.

And every single time you got into an overwhelming situation with titans, without fail, Eren was always there for you. His oversized attack titan form, always ready to protect you. You both habitually had each other’s backs.

Eren brings his hand up, the one interlocked with yours to give it a soft, warm kiss. I love her. And I won’t let anything happen to her – no matter what. Y/n, Armin, Mikasa. I will protect them. Eren’s thoughts ricochet around his head, flooding his mind. And our love's the only war worth fighting for.

For a moment, time stood still. No war, no titans, nothing to worry about. Just you and Eren. Eren’s heart rate rapidly went up. Even though he had mastered his whole indifferent act, you both knew he cared about you deeply.

'Cause you already know what you mean to me.

At least, that’s what Eren hoped.

You blink back, the moment starting to fade. Say it. Just tell her. No. The future won’t change no matter what I do. What’s the point?

Eren starts to loosen his hand from your grip, backing away from you.

“We should head back,” his voice was back to being cold and stoic. He reaches for the doorknob.

Your heart clenches in your chest. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t let him leave, not yet. You quickly wave your thoughts, ultimately deciding to take action.

“Don’t push me away, Eren!” you smack his hand away from the door handle. “Ever since that day, when Historia got crowned queen, you’ve acted differently. Please–”

Eren shakes his head at you. “You wouldn’t understand.”

You get within an inch of his face. “Then make me understand,” you plead. “I can’t just sit back and watch the guy I love push all the people who care about him away.”

“What.” He blinks in awe.

“I said, we care about you – ”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You said ‘love.’”

You turn your head down while your cheeks turn red at the realization. You subconsciously confessed your feelings for Eren that you’ve tried to hide for the past five years. Your heart drops to your stomach and you turn away. There’s no going back now.

Eren is the one to break the silence first.

“Y/n,” he starts. “Do you really feel that way?” His voice isn’t as low as it usually is. He sounds like he actually… cares. And for the first time in a while Eren’s smile reaches his eyes.

“Yes.”

You don’t know how Eren ended up shirtless or how you were in the bed wearing only your panties, but neither of you were complaining. This was a moment both of you had imagined on the few nights you got to sleep peacefully.

At some point, Eren lost the hair tie that normally keeps his beautiful hair in a bun, leaving his tresses to droop down. Above you, his mouth littered your neck with warm kisses. Those dazzling emerald eyes constantly flicking back to bore into your own.

Your hands wrap around his neck, landing in his hair. You pull him down until his lips taste yours. One. Two. Three soft kisses that were wet and sloppy.

“Would you believe me if I told you that was my first kiss?” Eren shyly admits. You smile at the confession and it warms your heart.

“Mine too.”

“Really?” he scoffs. “I thought you and Jean –”

“Ew! No, never!” you giggle at the thought, cutting him off. “It’s always been you Eren.”

“Good.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring your taste. “I feel the same.” And he really does mean it. In this world, especially being a scout, you can never know when your time will be up. Throw in a war with the rest of the world, and that just amplifies the fact any one of you could die at any time.

Eren gets greedy and you let him. He’s in between your legs, kissing you, getting better with each kiss. Your hands still tangling in his hair until they start to travel down his brawny chest. He involuntarily grinds against you.

“Touch me, please,” your voice is only a whisper, but he does just that. He kisses down your neck and his warm hands travel down your sides. He breathes in your scent like he’s addicted.

He hesitates when his hands hover just above your panties. “Eren?”

“Y/n,” he replied. “Are you sure you want this?”

You rise to your knees to be level with him. “I do,” you smile. Your hands find his’ and you hold him. “I don’t want to live with any regrets. I want to do this with you. I love you.” So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night.

The last words you hear are an “I love you too,” before his lips crash onto yours. The force of the kiss pushing you down into the bed. Eren’s above you again, taking his time to explore your body. He softly cups one of your breasts with one hand then slides down your chest with the other until he reaches your wet spot. You gasp and find yourself exploring his torso and then finally tugging at his belt.

Effortlessly you tug the belt off and Eren hastily slides the rest of his clothing off. You eye his semi-hardened length. I had no idea Eren would be so big… you ponder.

You knew Eren was nervous with it being both your first times, you were too, but the confidence he was exuding calmed you down. He kissed your neck once again down to your breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth consecutively.

Eren trailed down until he reached your panties, and took the hem into his mouth. He didn’t blink once, staring into your eyes as he pulled your panties down with his teeth. He jerked his head to the side to toss them into the mini-mountain of clothes you guys made.

Both his large hands found their way to your thighs, spreading your legs. He lowered his head in between them, loving the warmth in his new found home. He cautiously licks at your folds and you squeal.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “It feels good, I’m just nervous.”

“It’s okay. If you want to stop, just say the word.”

You answer him by pulling his head down into your legs again and he graciously laps up the wetness pooling between them. His warm hands on your sides. One. Two. Three. Four. He licks again and again and again. It’s so messy and sloppy and extemporaneous, yet you love every feeling of his warm wet muscle against you.

“So delicious,” he breathes in between his assault on your clit.

He experiments with pushing his tongue inside your folds and when you moan he knows he’s done a good job. It isn’t until he starts sucking on your clit when your legs begin to shake.

If you were a dam, you’d certainly be overflowing. His constant licking, lapping, and sucking had your mind going into overdrive. If he kept this up, you would soon cum all over his face.

“I-I want you to feel good too,” you stutter out. Eren pulls back to give you an honest smile.

“Honestly, I just want to be inside you already,” he says in a low, animalistic tone. “If–if that’s okay with you.”

You nod to reassure him then reach for his length. He groans, jerking his head back at the sudden contact. He places his hand atop yours and jerks his cock back and forth. He guides your hand to rub the pre-cum leaking from his aggravated, reddened tip.

It only takes a moment before he’s fully hard and then rubbing his cock up and down your wet folds.

“I’ve heard it hurts for women,” he divulged. “I can take it slow.”

Your heart fills overfilled with love that he would even consider that. You’ve heard many a number of horror stories from other women who hated their first time because it was so painful.

“Thank you.” He kisses you then lines up at your entrance. Eren takes a deep breath then slowly pushes in. You immediately wince in pain and shut your eyes and he stops his movement.

“Y/n, we don’t have to– ”

“I want to,” you interrupt. You open your eyes to find Eren’s jade ones. They’re so calming. Breathe. “Try again.” This time you hold his free hand while he uses his other one to sink into you. Inch by inch Eren finally sinks all the way into your pussy. It feels like you’re being stretched in two. Breathe. Breathe. You buck your hips into him causing him to groan in your ear.

“Fuck, y/n. You’re so tight.”

You buck your hips up again and Eren take’s that as a sign you’re okay to continue. He starts to pull out only to slide his cock back into you. The rhythm you set is moderate, but you both quickly find yourselves needing more.

“Faster, Eren,” you beg.

He pulls your legs further apart, giving him more space to thrust. He starts to go faster and faster until the only sound coming from the cabin is his full balls smacking against your clit and your adorable moans.

You wrap your legs around him trying to get him in deeper. Eren bucks away, fucking you so good. He suddenly gets an idea and that’s what leads him to use one hand to start vigorously rubbing at your clit as he ruts into you. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Eren’s green eyes start to turn black as if he’s turned into an animal.

He pushes both your legs up until they’re above your head so he can fuck you even deeper. His cock becomes so mean. He’s bullying your pussy, his cock reaching so deep to your cervix. You’re so fucking full.

Eren’s hair is sticking to his forehead, which is slick with sweat. His muscles are flexing with every deep thrust he makes.

“Y/n,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“I’m close too,” you confess.

“Let’s cum together.”

He kisses you, while his pounding never relents. Again. Again. Again. He slams into you over and over and it feels so good.

You can hardly breathe with the deep strokes he’s giving you. Your pussy has his cock covered in your slick and juices. It’s only a matter of seconds before he gives you that sweet release and you’re cumming on his cock.

Simultaneously, Eren gives you one last kiss before he declares, “I’m cumming baby.”

You’re both panting heavily. Eren’s eyes gradually change back from black to grassy green. He starts to soften and begrudgingly pulls out of you. “That was–”

“Perfect?”

“Perfect,” he agrees.

He lays down next to you. You blink back the grogginess of sleep trying to overtake you. You rest your head atop his chest while he holds you in his arms.

“I wanna hold you just for a while,” Eren mumbles, but you’re already asleep. And for some reason, he can’t stop smiling.

Eren swallowed, taking a step closer. He couldn’t deny the ache in his chest, the comfort he felt from just seeing you, from hearing you speak. Was this it? Was this peace?

A laugh came from behind him. Armin’s voice.

"Eren!" Armin’s face lit up when he saw him. "You made it. I knew you would." Mikasa following quietly behind.

Eren turned to him, a sense of relief flooding him. It’s not a dream. This can’t be a dream.

"Armin, Mikasa, Y/n… We… we made it, didn’t we?" Eren whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of joy and pain. "We survived."

Armin nodded, his eyes glistening. "We saved the world, Eren. We did it. We really did."

The weight of Armin’s words sank into Eren’s chest, and for a moment, the world around him seemed perfect, untouched by the chaos they had fought so hard to survive.

But as the wind picked up, Eren noticed something strange. Your smile started to waver, your features blurring at the edges. Armin’s laughter echoed like it was coming from a distance, fading.

"Wait—" Eren stepped forward, but the ground seemed to shift beneath him. "Where are you going? Don’t leave me."

The light around them began to dim, casting long shadows across the field. The flowers that had once bloomed so brightly started to wilt. The colors bled out, turning dull and muted, as though the dream itself was unraveling.

What’s happening? Panic gripped Eren’s heart. He reached for your hand, but you faded, your smile becoming a ghost of what it once was.

"I can’t hold on any longer, Eren," You whispered, your voice growing faint. "It’s time to let go. Goodbye."

"No," Eren breathed, his voice desperate. "Please, don’t go. I’m not ready… I don’t want to forget."

But your form disappeared into the light, leaving only the lingering warmth of her presence behind.

"Where did you go, y/n?" His heart pounded, and his breath quickened. He turned to Armin. "Armin, tell me this isn’t real. Tell me this is just a dream."

Armin opened his mouth, but his words were drowned out by a rising wind. Eren tried to hold onto the memory of Armin’s face, but it, too, started to blur. His laughter faded into the distance.

I’m losing them. I can’t lose them. Eren’s thoughts became frantic. His body trembled, and his legs gave way, but before he could collapse, he heard a faint whisper, almost like an echo. He turned, searching for Mikasa, but only saw her iconic red scarf turning to dust.

"Mikasa… Armin… Y/n…"

He reached for them one last time. "Don’t leave me," he begged, his voice breaking.

But they were gone.

The world around him turned black, the darkness swallowing him whole. The light from the dream faded completely, leaving only emptiness.

I fought for this. I fought for them. Eren’s last thoughts were consumed by the question he couldn’t answer.

"Was I dreaming about…?" he whispered into the nothingness, his voice lost in the void. "What was I dreaming about?"

And with that, everything faded to black.

A/N I don’t mean to yap, but EVERY single time I hear this song, I want to burst into tears (it’s so damn good). It reminds me of AOT so fucking much. Like there’s almost no way LG/BM didn’t write this song about Eren 😭 I know you obviously can interpret music anyway you want to, but i genuinely believe they wrote this about Eren T…T Anyways, I’m gonna go cry again, because AOT is a masterpiece and all my favorite characters are dead 😣

<- masterlist | aot masterlist

#aot x reader #attack on titan #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren x reader #eren aot #eren smut #eren x you #eren fluff #aot fic #aot eren #aot x female reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager #eren yeager x reader #divider by cafekitsune #angst #aot fanfiction #eren x y/n

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arxiwon · 2 days ago

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If you | lhs

— Inspired by BIGBANG’s "If You" | Angst | Breakup | Regret | Heavy Emotions Word Count: ~1.8k

Sypnosis: Heeseung never thought he’d lose you—until he did. What started as unspoken words and silent nights turned into an irreversible distance, one he never tried to close until it was too late. He let his pride win, let his fear hold him back, and in the end, he let you walk away without a fight. But regret is a cruel thing, and as the days stretch into months, he realizes the weight of everything left unsaid. Then, one night, he sees you again—laughing, glowing, moving on with someone who isn’t him. It’s in that moment he understands the true meaning of loss. Not the kind that happens instantly, but the kind that happens slowly, painfully, with every second you spend happier without him. Now, alone in the remnants of what once was, Heeseung is left with nothing but his mistakes and the aching truth: you were never coming back. And no matter how much he whispers it into the silence, "I'm sorry" will never be enough.

The apartment still smelled like you. It was a cruel thing—how your scent still clung to the sheets, to his clothes, to every space you had once occupied. Three months had passed, yet nothing had changed. Not the untouched mug on the kitchen counter. Not the half-empty bottle of perfume you left behind. Not the ghost of you in every quiet corner of his life.

And yet, you weren’t here anymore. And you never would be again.

Heeseung sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his trembling hands. He had spent the last ninety days replaying the night you left over and over in his head. Every word he said. Every word he didn’t. Every mistake he made. The way your voice had cracked when you told him you were tired. The way your eyes had dimmed when he pretended he didn’t care. The way you had waited—waited for him to stop you, to say anything—only for him to stay silent.

He had let you walk away.

And now, he was paying the price.

"We need to talk." You had said those words so softly, so carefully, as if bracing for impact.

Heeseung had known what was coming. He had seen it in your exhausted eyes, in the way you kept wringing your hands like you were trying to hold yourself together. And yet, instead of reaching for you, instead of fixing what was breaking, he had leaned back against the couch with a sigh, as if he was bored of this conversation before it even started.

"Here we go again," he had muttered.

And just like that, he had lost you.

You had stiffened, the last shred of hope in your expression shattering right in front of him.

"I can’t do this anymore, Heeseung."

A part of him had panicked, screaming at him to move, to do something, anything, but his pride had won. His fear had won.

So he scoffed. Crossed his arms. Forced himself to look unaffected when, in reality, his heart was begging you to stay.

"Sure. Walk away. That’s what you’re good at, right?"

Your breath hitched.

For a split second, he saw it—the hurt, the hesitation. The way you were silently pleading for him to take it back. To say something real for once.

But he didn’t.

And that was it.

You nodded. Swallowed hard. Picked up your coat with hands that were trembling slightly. You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he had broken you.

"Goodbye, Heeseung."

It was quiet. Simple. Devastating.

And then, you were gone.

Just like that.

He had told himself you’d come back. That you were just mad, that you needed time, that eventually, you’d miss him too.

But the weeks passed.

Then the months.

And you never called.

Never texted.

Never even looked back.

And Heeseung? He had never been good at chasing.

So he let the days drag on, let the silence stretch between you like a canyon that was growing too wide to cross. Even when he missed you so badly it made him sick. Even when he found himself staring at his phone, fingers hovering over your contact, typing out messages he’d never send.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you still think of me?"

"I’m sorry. Please come back."

But in the end, he never pressed send.

Because the truth was, he didn’t deserve to.

And then came the night that crushed him completely.

He hadn’t meant to see you. He hadn’t meant to witness the moment that would finally destroy him.

But there you were—in the café that used to be yours and his, sitting across from someone else.

Heeseung had frozen in place. His breath had caught in his throat. His heart had felt like it had been ripped straight from his chest.

Because you were smiling.

A real smile.

The kind he hadn’t seen in so long. The kind he had forgotten you were even capable of. The kind that wasn’t for him anymore.

And that was the moment he knew.

You had moved on.

You had let him go.

And he—he had been a fool to think you’d wait.

That night, for the first time in his life, Park Heeseung allowed himself to cry.

Not the quiet, restrained kind.

But the kind that left him breathless.

The kind that clawed at his throat, shaking his entire body.

The kind that made him realize—this was it.

This was what regret felt like.

And it was unbearable.

The days that followed were nothing but an endless loop of what-ifs.

What if he had just held you tighter?

What if he had just swallowed his pride and begged you to stay?

What if he had just told you how much he loved you before it was too late?

But "what if" didn’t change the past.

And it wouldn’t bring you back.

So all he could do now was exist in the emptiness you left behind.

He didn’t reach out. He didn’t show up at your door. He didn’t beg for another chance.

Because it wasn’t his choice anymore.

It was yours.

And you had already made it.

So he let the rain hit the windowpane, let the city blur around him, let his regrets drown him completely.

And in the solitude of his empty apartment, he whispered the only words that mattered—the only ones he never had the courage to say when you were still there to hear them.

"I’m sorry."

"I still love you."

"And I wish you were here."

But wishes didn’t change reality.

And Heeseung?

He had lost his chance.

Forever.

#enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader #enhypen heeseung #enhypen hard hours #enhypen soft hours #heeseung fluff #heeseung angst #heeseung x reader #heeseung enhypen #heeseung lee #kpop au #kpop fanfic #kpop #enhypen headers #heeseung #enhypen

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punkrockmlchael · 19 hours ago

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How They Are As Boyfriends - Corroded Coffin Version

Masterlist | Corroded Coffin Masterlist

These boys have been on my mind lately so here's how I think they are as boyfriends, all four boys in one spot! Once again thank you to my lovely besties @keeryhours + @the-witty-pen-name for help; I love you both so much, smooches

Modern AU ; Includes: Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Grant (Freak) - also these are with gender neutral reader!

Warnings: Mentions of Drinking and Smoking (Weed), Some Mentions of Sexual Innuendos but nothing major, this is mostly fluff, though. As I've stated before: These boys deserve more love than they receive and I am here to give it to them and feed you all with the fluff in the process woooo!

Eddie:

(Word Count: 339)

Eddie is very touchy

No, like, so touchy. Touch starved. He always needs to be touching you in some way, shape or form. He has no concept of personal space at all, it's kind of funny

You're literally walking from the front door to his van? He's holding your hand, making sure to give you a nice little squeeze of your hand and a hug before he opens the door for you

He has an entire photo album of you in his camera roll. They include candid pictures he's taken of you, pictures he's taken of you while you're not looking, some, uh, spicy pictures of you

He loves to love you and your body, he'll spend hours kissing you and over your body while cuddling just because he loves you that much

Eddie likes to leave little notes around the house for you to find later. They usually are to tell you how much he loves you and how hot you are. Occasionally though he leaves you notes about how he "forgot" to take the trash out asking if you can

Oh, you and Eddie always get high together and order like two pizzas and breadsticks (the pizza guy knows your names at this point)

And, let's just say all of that food gets eaten each time, also, you also know the pizza guy's name and, Matt is pretty chill. Eddie ha even offered him some weed as a tip once (Matt said yes)

Eddie's kisses have two spectrums: he can be so soft and sweet and lovey and gentle with you but he can also be really passionate and needy when he wants you

Referring back to the first statement, Eddie's love language is physical touch... need I say more? But, he also is a huge gift giver and not necessarily in a "here's this really expensive gift" more of a, "hey I was walking through the park and I saw this rock it was kind of shaped like a heart so I grabbed it for you"

Jeff:

(Word Count: 340)

Jeff is pretty private about his personal life but he loves to show you off

Anytime you go out together for dinner, for drinks, for anything really he is always snapping candid pictures of you for his Social Medias

He'll usually caption it something cheesy and lovey like "dinner with this beauty, love them so much"

Jeff also loves to cook so you when you're not out and about getting dinner, you're usually at home making dinner together. You've told him countless times he needs to make a TikTok account for cooking but, again, he doesn't want to share too much of his personal life

He makes this really good pasta dish that his mom taught him, he made it for you the first time you came over and your swore to yourself that if you didn't marry him, getting that recipe was going to be a must

He is the type of person to tell you that he loves you multiple times a day, sometimes at the weirdest and most random of times. No, like, he'll call to remind you to bring the trash to the road because he forgot and he's ending the call with "thanks, baby, I love you"

He can get kind of handsy from time to time. Usually when kissing, like, there are times when his hands will roam down to your ass just to give it a little squeeze because he loves hearing the noises that'll come out of your mouth

Jeff's kisses are always soft and sweet. Whether it's a quick kiss before starting your day or a kiss to, uh, initiate something, he always makes sure his kisses are so soft and so sweet because he loves you so much

Jeff's love language is quality time. He loves being around you and spending time with you, even when doing different things. He's trying to learn a new riff on the guitar? Cool, you're sitting in bed reading your favorite book while he sits on the edge of it messing with his guitar

Gareth:

(Word Count: 371)

Gareth is an attention whore, point blank period. He loves to be the center of your attention, specifically. Little kisses, littles hugs, hand holding, he is a slut for all of that with you

He also loves to make you laugh and will always crack jokes, even if it's not really the time for a joke

He really loves when you play with his hair, too. If you're sitting on the couch he will come lay his head on your lap and force your hands into his hair, making you comb through the fluffy knots and scratch at his scalp gently until he is purring like a cat and falling asleep in your lap

Gareth will always finish your fries or any part of your meal that you can't, he doesn't even play the boyfriend tax because he knows he'll get some of your food

Gareth can't cook to save his life but somehow he knows how to bake? He claims he used to help his mom bake when he was younger and that's how he learned but you're still suspicious when you come home to freshly baked cookies

He sometimes drums on your ass if you're laying on your stomach in bed or on the couch

He gets kind of upset when you call him Gareth and not baby or babe or, as he says, "super hot and talented drummer who is a sex god"

He tells you he loves you every night before bed and every morning when you wake up

Gareth's kisses are sloppy and needy. And that's not because he's a bad kisser, the opposite, really. He just is always so excited to kiss you that they turn desperate and needy

Gareth's love language is a mixture of physical touch and quality time. He loves spending time together and he understands that sometimes you have separate things to do but he loves knowing you're still there. He's playing Call of Duty? You're laying in his lap playing on your switch making sure your Animal Crossing Villagers are happy. You're in the kitchen making dinner? Yeah, he's behind you with his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. He's kind of clingy as previously stated

Grant (Freak):

(Word Count: 408)

Grant loves to take you out and spoil you. He loves dates and he loves taking you on dates. He even surprises you at least once a month, leaving a note telling you what to wear and when to be ready before he’ll take you to a restaurant you e been eating to try or a restaurant that you’ve been talking about for ages

He also is always thinking of you, not necessarily in a sexual way. No, he just loves making sure you’re happy. When you get coffee together and you’re stuck between two flavors he’ll make you order first so he can get the other one you were thinking of so you can still try it (and if you like his better, he’ll switch coffees with you)

He actually really likes to draw and doodle so from time to time when he’s writing with the boys or chilling while making a dnd campaign he’s usually doodling you little pictures (you keep them all, you have a special folder full of his drawings and doodles)

He always makes sure he’s holding your hand in crowds, and he always make sure you’re in front of him in crowds so he doesn’t lose you

He blushes a bright red when you call him babe or baby, which is funny, because he calls you baby more than your actual name

Grant always has the best snacks. Like roadtrips with him is the best because he thinks of all the snacks you’d want

He gives the best hugs, honestly, look at him. He just loves to wrap you up in a hug and hold you close to him, especially if he knows you’ve had a bad day. He will hold you so close and not let you go

Grant’s kisses are always so passionate. It could be the quickest kiss in the world or a make out session but it doesn’t matter, either way, he is always making sure there is so much love and passion into each and every kiss he gives you

Grant's love language is words of affirmations. He's never really had many people compliment him in his life so anytime you thank him, or compliment him or even just tell him you love him he turns into a complete stuttering mess. No, really, all you have to say is “awe, baby you look so good in that..” and he’s blushing, stuttering and dragging you to the bedroom

corroded coffin tag list: wanna be added? comment + let me know! @keeryhours ; @the-witty-pen-name ; @pupwrites ; @the-unforgivenn

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loveandleases · 2 days ago

Note

Randomly got hit with nostalgia because "Again" sung by Hadley Fraser popped up in my Playlist and now I'm wondering, on the off-chance that MC met the ROs while still with Chris (if Chris is still cheating or not with Jade is up to you), would any of them try to talk to MC at/right before the wedding (preferably before and not objecting during the ceremony, but I'm not opposed to mess) to talk MC out of it and be with them (the RO, that is) before its too late? Damn you Hadley Fraser--

I had forgotten about that songs existence until you mentioned it. (I actually have canon scenarios for Cam, G, and Kara.) ❤️ Cam - Oh you know he is just looking for that moment, to get MC alone truly. To see that this wedding isn't what they wanted, that Chris isn't who they want. Cam is ready for it mess and all. If he did it before the wedding it would go something like this:

If his voice isn't giving away his nerves, then the shaking of his hands as he holds theirs is. His eyes are darting, never settling on one part for too long. Afraid that once he does he'll lose this burst of bravado. "You can't marry Chris."

"Wh... what do you mean I can't?"

Cam's grip on yours tightens, fingers intertwined hoping that, after all these years, you understand—this isn't selfishness. This isn't him trying to stake a claim.

"It's your choice, at the end of the day. But I'm asking you here... I'm," his voice falters, as he closes the distance and places his hand to your jaw. "begging you. Don't marry Chris."

"Cam I can't just... I-I need a reason. You can't just beg me not to and not say why."

Logic—of course you'd ask for logic. He wishes you wouldn’t, because it makes this part harder. And much more embarrassing.

He's not good with words, or at least he doesn't think so. (he's wrong.) Cam’s breath comes quick, his chest rising and falling faster than your racing heart. But before you can question what he's doing he steps closer. Tilting your face so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

"They say it’s good luck to kiss the bride/groom on their wedding day." He mumbles against your lips, just enough to speak but not enough to stop.

"Maybe... but I'm not getting married."

"Then good fucking luck indeed."

💙 G -The real question is whether they would have been invited at all.Chris would never have allowed it, but G would have found a way in anyway. Former friend, former lover—it didn't matter. It was still an important day for MC.

But G couldn’t sit through a wedding. Not this one. The thought of MC marrying Chris—a person so different from them, so full of hate—was unbearable.

So, G arrived early. Far too early. A note in hand, because they knew if they tried to say it out loud, MC would freeze. They’d get lost in pleasantries, in what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

They waited until MC stepped out of the dressing room. Then, with a final glance at the words they couldn't bring themselves to speak, they left the note behind.

I won’t tell you everything it says. But I can give you a line from it.

💚 Kara - Internally, she would be at war with herself. Because she cares about MC—but she cares about Chris, too. And the Kara before the breakup is not the Kara you will come to know. Back then, she wouldn’t have realized that Chris wasn’t the person she imagined them to be.

So, she would suffer through it. Convince herself that loving MC from a distance was better than not loving them at all. She would force a smile, wish them good luck—

And regret it.

(similar to Angelica in Hamilton.)

💛 M - They are far too shy for the kind of attention that comes with interrupting a wedding. So, they would act weeks in advance. They would ask careful questions, fishing for insight into MC’s relationship with Chris—trying to see if they’re truly happy.

But M notices the truth early on. MC has settled. The spark that usually lights up their eyes when they talk about their passions is dimmed. When they’re with Chris, that glint is nearly snuffed out. The luster of who they are fades.

But not when they’re with M.

And in a fleeting moment, M realizes it. A split-second of shock. Because for all their intelligence, M can be painfully dense—especially when it comes to love. Their thoughts slip out before they can stop them. They tell MC how much they care. How they know they can make them happy. That they don’t want to change who MC is, only help them shine—if MC will let them.

(Expect several pages in their dedication section about the one time they were brave—and how, for once, it worked in their favor.)

💜 Isaac - They didn’t want to admit their feelings for MC. They fought it for so long. And part of them would have kept fighting—because Isaac doesn’t believe they’re good enough for MC. But they don’t believe Chris is good for MC either.

It’s a brash decision. An impulsive one. But on the wedding day, Isaac makes a mess of things. Because the second they see MC, standing there, more beautiful than they ever imagined, they crumble.

They told themselves they’d be okay with this. That they could live with it. (They couldn’t. They just chose to lie.)

So they say it. That it’s a mistake. The whole relationship is a mistake. If MC is going to be with someone who doesn’t deserve them, then they should choose him. Choose Isaac.

They’re not promising MC a life of luxury. Chris has money, influence. But Isaac? Isaac has heart. A broken thing that only felt whole when MC walked in. When they saw Isaac—not just the mess, the flaws, the defenses—but the person beneath. And they took that mangled wreckage and held it together. Made it worth something.

So if MC has to settle—then settle for him.

(And if Isaac found out Chris was cheating with Jade? MC would know before they walked down that aisle. And if MC chose to leave Chris at the altar with nothing but a note to be read in front of the guests? Isaac would be more than happy to do the honors.)

🖤 Ardent - He doesn’t believe for a second that MC is happy. He sees through them the same way they see through him—always has. He knows how terrifying it is to go against expectations, to walk away from the choices you thought you had to make. The ones you were led to believe were the only option.

There’s a knock on the door. You assume it’s the food you ordered, so you open it without thinking. But instead of a delivery, it’s Ardent—cheeks flushed, panting, rain clinging to his skin and flattening his hair against his forehead.

"Can I come in?" he asks, breathless.

"Did you run here?"

He doesn’t answer. Just steps past you, scanning the room. His gaze lands on the wedding invitations stacked on the coffee table—still blank. The wedding creeps closer every day, yet you haven’t filled them out. You haven’t invited anyone.

"Sorry about the... mess." Your fingers brush the embossed lettering, as if touching them will make it real. Before you can shove them out of sight, Ardent takes your hands.

"I need to talk to you."

No one likes hearing those words. And judging by the knot in your stomach, you’re no exception. But you nod, maybe out of shock. Maybe because he looks... hesitant. Scared, even. And that’s not like him.

You motion to the couch, watching as he sits, his rain-damp clothes soaking into the fabric. You can already hear Chris complaining about it.

But that’s not what surprises you most. It’s the way Ardent speaks—soft, careful. Like he’s afraid of breaking something. You’ve always compared him to a bull in a china shop. That’s who he is. That’s who you’ve come to—what? Care about?

The same man who held you when he told you about Chris and Jade. The same man who nearly broke when you said you wanted to give Chris another chance. Because your parents called it a mistake. Because they told you Chris cared. Because they needed you to forgive him. Not for you—for them.

"You're scaring me, big guy. Why are you here so... late?" Focus on that. Not on how your fiancé isn’t home. Not on how they haven’t answered your calls.

Ardent rests his elbows on his knees, threading his hands together under his chin. He watches you—every movement, every breath. Every glance at this hollow room.

"You're not getting married, are you?"

"What? Of course, I am."

He scoffs, raking a hand through his wet hair. Droplets fall from the strands, darkening his shirt. "You're not."

"Yes. I am." You hold his gaze, sharp and unyielding. But then he stands and grabs a handful of the blank invitations.

"Put those down. That doesn’t mean anything—"

"It means everything." His voice booms, unfiltered and raw. Loud. Unapologetic. Angry. Like you. Only, you’ve been holding it back. For what? For who?

"Whether I'm getting married or not is none of your business. It’s not like you care." And there it is. The truth beneath everything.

You want him to care.

"Is that what you fucking think?" He drops the invitations, letting them scatter across the floor. He doesn’t care about the mess he’s making—not of this, not of anything—as he pulls you toward him. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and searching. "You really think I don’t care? That I want you marrying that fucking idiot? That I’m just gonna stand by while you waste your life with them—hell, start a family with them?"

He’s close. Too close. But he won’t cross that line. Neither will you.

"I've cared for so long. You're just too much of an idiot to see it." His breath is warm against your skin, while his is so cool from the rain outside.

You swallow hard, words catching in your throat. "Are you saying..." You fight for air, for clarity, for something—someone—that is only yours. "Are you saying you don’t want me to get married?"

His nod is small, barely there. But you feel it, forehead resting against yours.

"I don’t want you marrying Chris. I don’t want you here in this place. I don’t... fuck, I don’t want you having a family with anyone but me. Is that... okay?"

His hands trace along your jaw, slow and reverent, mapping the lines like he’s memorizing them.

"More than okay."

#love and leases #cam #ardent #g #m #kara #isaac #i have no idea what i was doing with ardents it just went there

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fanbasetwo · 1 day ago

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Ꮺ . , THROUGH UPS & DOWNS , L.CY !

PAIRING: bf ! anton × gf ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: you always managed to pull yourself up out of breakdowns or sadder parts of life but you never once imagined someone creating a fuss to take care of you through your downs. [REQUESTED] . . . . . . GENRE: #comfort core, fic. WORD COUNT: 1k [LIBRARY]

You and Anton have been together for years, long enough to trust him with everything—well, almost everything. Moving in together felt right at the time, but lately, you’ve been questioning whether that was a mistake. Some days are good, some are bad, but the worst ones? The ones like today? Those are the hardest because you don’t even have the energy to pretend you’re okay.

Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how many job applications you send, no one seems to want you. Maybe it’s that sinking feeling that you’re not just struggling—you’re a burden. No, scratch that. You are a burden. Full stop.

Still, you push yourself to keep going. Just one foot in front of the other. You grip the door handle, take a shaky breath, and step inside.

Anton is there, standing in the middle of the living room like he’s been waiting for you. His face lights up when he sees you, but that stupidly proud smile of his only makes everything worse. How the hell can he still look at you like that when you’re contributing nothing?

“Hey…” His voice is soft, but his brows pinch together in concern. “You look—uh, kind of out of it. You okay?”

And that’s it. That’s the last fucking straw.

Your bag slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud as you practically throw yourself at him. Your arms wrap around his torso, your face burying into his chest as the sobs hit you full force. Ugly, shaking, can’t-breathe kind of crying.

Anton doesn’t even flinch. No awkward hesitation, no stiff pat on the back like he’s comforting a coworker or some shit. His arms immediately close around you, holding you tight like he’s physically trying to keep you from falling apart.

“Hey, hey… Shh, I got you,” he soothes, rubbing slow circles into your back. “It’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But all you can focus on is how your breathing is coming in short, shaky bursts, how your fingers are gripping his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

What fcks you up the most, though? The fact that he doesn’t care. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes your chest ache. You’re standing here, falling apart—messy, broken, so not okay—and yet, he’s holding you like you’re still worth something. Like he’d do this a thousand times over if it meant you didn’t have to go through it alone.

And maybe… just maybe… that’s enough for now.

“C’mere, let’s sit and talk, yeah? Nothing’s wrong, especially when I’m here.”

Anton doesn’t wait for you to agree—he just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and you cling to him like a damn koala, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. He settles onto the couch, pulling you onto his lap, but before you can bury yourself back into his chest, he gently tilts your face up, wiping away your tears with his thumb. Not that it does much, since they just keep coming.

You sniffle, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t find a job… And I don’t want to stay financially dependent on you. I don’t want to be a burden. Everybody’s so mean. Jiah won’t even talk to me anymore because she thinks it’s embarrassing to be seen with me.” Your voice cracks, but you force the words out anyway. “Are you… Are you embarrassed of me too?”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his hands steady on your waist, his eyes soft but serious. And then, instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. Slow, deep, like he’s trying to get you to shut up in the most effective way possible. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your heart stumble in your chest, and when he finally pulls back, you’re breathless and blinking at him like an idiot.

Anton smirks a little, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “First of all,” he starts, his voice firm but warm, “just because you aren’t getting a job right now doesn’t mean you’re dumb. It just means there aren’t enough of them. That’s not your fault. Second, you are not a burden to me. But since I know how much this is bothering you, why don’t you look for something temporary? Editing, content writing—there are tons of online jobs that could work until you figure out what you really want to do.”

He pauses, letting that sink in before he continues. “And Jiah? That’s her problem, not yours. She should be embarrassed of herself for acting like that. I’m just proud that my baby spoke up about it.”

It’s a lot. A mix of advice, comfort, and pure tonie logic, but somehow, it actually helps. You feel… lighter. Like maybe the weight on your chest isn’t crushing you as much.

And just when you think you couldn’t feel more relieved, he adds, “Besides, I’m gonna marry you anyway, whether you’re ‘successful’ or not, no matter what other people think.”

You blink at him. “Wait, what?”

Anton just grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he didn’t just casually say something that could actually give you a mini heart attack. “You heard me.”

Your heart is a mess—pounding, fluttering, tripping over itself—but his hands are steady as he cups your face, wiping away the lingering tears with his thumbs. His touch is so gentle, it makes your chest ache in a different way.

“Does it feel better now?” he murmurs. “Now you know… sharing is way better than keeping it all bottled up?”

You sigh, letting your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. “Yeah,” you admit, voice quiet but honest. “I think… I think I’ll share every time I feel sad from now on.”

Anton hums, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “You better,” he mutters. “Because I’ll always be here for my pretty girl.”

He tightens his arms around you, rocking you gently like it’s the easiest thing in the world to hold you together when you feel like falling apart. And for the first time in a while, you actually believe it.

join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

SENA’S NOTE : this is the second and third idea mixed together and might not have been a perfect execution of the request.. but I believe it's still better than posting nothing.. so thank you for requesting. ;0;

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studiogrimm810 · 2 days ago

Text

Full Moon

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: after a cramming for finals, a late night walk back to your dorm leads you to discover what sam really left behind before coming to stanford

warnings: werewolf attack, description of creature and it being killed, kinda bloody but not too graphic

word count: 1,971

A/N: quick one shot with minimal editing becuase i LOVE this idea :,)

———————

Finals week. God, you could just scream. You had just logged in another 10 hours at the campus library and despite the lack of knowledge you still felt you had, you had to go back to your dorm and at least try and get some rest.

All week you’ve been taking any time you could find to study- in between classes, on your walks to and from destinations on campus, and even sneaking in some note cards during the particularly boring classes. And after all of that hard work, you still felt it wouldn’t have been enough if Sam hadn’t been helping you out. You always considered yourself a smart student- prepared and logical- but Sam was a kind of smart that made you question him sometimes. It just came to him so naturally and if he wasn’t so damn sweet and helpful, you’d almost hate him. He’s one cocky attitude away from being a rival that you don’t have the time for like you did in high school.

Walking back to your dorm, the sky is dark, freckled with stars and dotted with a vibrant full moon. It had rained earlier today so you side-step a worm or two on the sidewalk and avoid the puddles. The air smells nice, clean, and refreshing. You savor this moment because you know once the rush of finals is over, you're stuck in your dorm for the holidays. You weren’t close with your family and that often left you alone during school breaks. That was something you and Sam had in common, you two never discussed it in detail much but you both understood the isolation of the lack of family in your lives.

This is your third year at Stanford and you couldn’t believe how long you had gone without knowing Sam Winchester because now you couldn’t imagine life without him. You missed him tonight for a study sesh but he said he had other matters to attend to and you were too wrapped up in a study-fried frenzy that you didn’t think to ask if everything was okay. It was too late to call him now, but you made a mental note to check with him between classes tomorrow.

Halfway to your dorm now, your exhaustion is really getting to you. The walk is peaceful, but almost too peaceful, and it only makes you more sleepy.

Until it’s not.

A loud crash echoes from up an alley between two lecture halls and you jump. Life on campus was almost boringly bland and uneventful, so you're more startled by the loud noise than afraid. You duck your head down the path and call out.

“Hello? You okay?” You ask, worried that maybe a night shift staff member was hurt. When only complete silence returns your beckon, you decide that it must be fine given the alley looks empty. Also because your prior sense of blissful ignorance is now frozen into a jagged unease of anxiety that gives you goosebumps.

You take a few steps back and bump into someone, letting out a small yelp at the contact. You spin to face Sam.

“Sam? What’re you doing out this late?” You ask, clutching your chest and laughing off your spook to try and seem calm and collected. His eyes scan over your frame and his face is serious- more serious than you’ve ever seen it. His hands reach out to hold your shoulders and he looks behind you, into the alley.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks, bringing his attention back to you. Your brows crunch in confusion.

“I-I’m fine. It’s stupid,” you chuckle nervously, catching your breath. “Just thought I heard something.” You swallow with a confident nod.

“Get back to your dorm- lock the doors,” he says, leading you away but you shake your head, working against his steady, but firm, shove.

“No- what? What’s wrong?” You ask, taking a step back so he isn’t holding you anymore. You miss it already.

“Please, just trust me and go back,” he practically begs. There’s something you’ve never seen in his eyes before- fear. He’s afraid.

“Sam, are you okay?” You search his face for any hint at his immense distress.

A low growl from the alleyway makes you look behind Sam, trying to see what’s going on. Sam goes stiff, turning back to the alley and tucking you behind him.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered over his shoulder, his hand on your arm to hold you in place.

Scraping footsteps echo from the alley and out emerges this creature. You gasp, gripping the back of Sam’s jacket and you feel just how tense he is. The creature looked human, a large row of dog-like teeth lined its lips and its eyes were a sickening mix of neon yellow and green. God, and its mouth was smeared with crimson red that made you gag.

Sam reaches behind him, pulling a shiny, silver blade from a sheath on his belt loop. Your eyes widen at the size of it and he readies it in his dominant hand. The creature growls and pounces but Sam is quick and meets it in the middle, fighting the creature with a skill you’d see in some action movie a dad would boast over.

You stumble back a few steps, watching in horror. The creature is winning, throwing Sam across the walkway and he skids in the damp grass, landing with a grunt. You call out for him, keeping your eyes on Sam and wanting to go and help him but your feet are planted in place. You still can’t comprehend what this creature is or how it’s even real.

But it is, and it snaps its head to you, snarling as it slowly progresses to you. Its chin slick in bloody slobber, growling as it gets close enough to close the distance with a leap. The creature grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall of the alley.

The impact makes you go dizzy and you try to catch your breath.

You struggle, doing your best to hold it back but the creature is unnaturally strong. You cry out, putting all of your weight into trying to keep the creature back but its snapping jaw gets closer and closer. Suddenly, the creature is ripped off of you and a burst of pain erupts in your elbow as you land into the cement.

Sam is wielding the blade again, this time having the upper hand, yet covered in mud that dampens his clothes. You wish you looked away before Sam sinks the blade deep into the creature's chest with a scowling grunt. He yanks the blade back out and stands to his feet, huffing and staring down at the creature for a moment before turning to you. Your eyes are locked on the creature, barely even registering Sam’s presence, that is until he starts towards you and you instinctively flinch back.

He stops in his tracks and holds up his hands in a steady manner. There’s blood splattered on his face and his lip is bleeding. He’s hurt. There’s something else though, his face is twisted- pained. He looks like someone just kicked his damn puppy and is now mocking him for it.

You didn’t mean to flinch, it’s just that with what you saw and how you were attacked, you were scared. But not of Sam.

Never of Sam.

“You're bleeding,” he says, looking down at your arm and sure enough there’s a scratch that has ripped your favorite jacket. The blood is steadily flowing though, more than you’ve ever seen seep out of your own body. You close your eyes and turn away, trying to settle the dizziness.

“What w-was that?” You keep your eyes screwed shut.

“Werewolf.”

You scoff.

“Jesus,” you groan, sitting up fully and leaning against the wall, your arm really hurts now. You finally reopen your eyes and Sam is taking cautious steps towards you.

“Can I take a look at that?” He asks, pointing to the wound, his hands still braced. You nod because of course he can.

“Please,” your voice cracks. You’re bad with blood and he knows it too. He’s quick to crouch down next to you, grabbing your arm to inspect the gash. You swallow down a whimper, trying to steady yourself against the cold brick behind you.

“You’ll be okay, shouldn’t even need stitches,” his words exhaled with his previously bated breath. “Look at me,” his hand cups your cheek to pull you towards him, holding gently to allow you to dictate when you want to move your head.

As you face him, your eyes crack back open and you catch a glimpse of the creature's lifeless form on the pavement.

“No, no,” he uses his hand to guide you fully to him, “don’t look.” His eyes are softer than usual, like melted pools of hazel. He’s worried about you, that’s obvious, but he looks so torn too.

“How did you know?” You ask and his thumb brushes away a stream of tears you didn’t realize were flowing. His gaze dips down like he’s ashamed but he seems to settle on something as he returns his eyes to yours.

“Family business,” he echoes the simple explanation of when you asked why he ran from home. Your shock and fear morph into confusion and a little annoyance.

“Wait- this is what your dad and brother do? The same ‘family business’ your dad ‘trained’ you for? What the fuck is wrong with him? How the fuck is that- thing even real,” your eyes catch a glimpse of the corpse again and your fear starts to return. “Why is that real,” you whisper, your heart racing. It starts to drizzle.

“We should go,” he urges gently, looking around to make sure no one new is nearby. Your eyes close again and you shake your head.

“God,” you groan, the pain in your arm really taking over your train of thought.

“C’mon, I’ll get you fixed up,” he says, standing and raising you with him. His arm snakes around your waist and you can almost guess that the reasoning isn’t just to help you walk but to keep you close to him out of whatever protective instinct took over during the fight. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay,” he says and you can also deduce it’s for his benefit.

Your legs are shaky as Sam leads you away from the scene, keeping you secure and going slow enough for you to not get too disoriented.

“So,” you start, “you’re telling me that you ditched me to hunt a werewolf? If you’re sick of explaining appellate advocacy you coulda’ just said so,” you chuckle awkwardly. He scoffs and meets your laugh, the sound rattling through his chest and you can feel the rumble into your side.

“Shut up,” you can almost hear his eyes roll. His hold on you lightens up and you can feel some of the tension melt away. But the dead look in the eyes of that thing burns back into your eyes and you feel sick.

“Thank you- for being there,” you say seriously.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Sam’s thumb absentmindedly caresses your hip.

“Still debating that,” you shove lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks, flashing a canine that you get a glimpse of as you look up at him. “I’ll explain as much or as little as you want to hear.”

Yeah, you’ll have to mull that over a bit too. But right now, as Sam leads you by your hips and the throb of your arm makes you bite your lip so hard that now you're bleeding in two separate places, all you can even fathom is each next step your feet take.

Rationality will be your friend tomorrow. Tonight, you plead plausible deniability.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @checkedoutghost

#supernatural #sam winchester #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #spn fandom #spn fanfic #supernatural angst #supernatural x reader #sam winchester hurt/comfort #supernatural hurt/comfort #sam winchester one shot #supernatural one shot

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mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

Text

NO WHERE TO RUN— mob! bucky barnes x single mom! reader

WARNINGS: injury, character death, blood, mafia, guns.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain and blood. You weren’t sure which one belonged to you.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts as you tightened your hold on Alex, his small body curled against your chest, blissfully unaware of the danger that chased you through the city streets. He was still sleeping, the rise and fall of his tiny chest the only thing keeping you grounded.

You could still hear the gunshots echoing in your ears, the shouts of men hunting you like prey. The safe house your late husband had left you? Compromised. Every other contact who owed him a favor? Silent, too afraid to take your call. You had nothing, no one.

Except for him.

Bucky Barnes.

You’d only ever known him as an associate of your husband—a man whose name alone struck fear into the worst kind of people. You remembered the way your husband spoke of him in quiet tones, not as a man, but as a force. One that could kill without blinking. One that could protect just as easily.

And right now, you needed protection.

Your car barely made it to the iron gates of his estate before the engine sputtered its last breath. You winced as you moved, the sharp throb in your wrist reminding you of your injuries. A broken wrist? A head wound? It didn’t matter. You didn’t have time to assess the damage.

You stumbled to the front door, rain soaking through your clothes as you pounded against the heavy wood.

Nothing.

Fear twisted in your gut. What if he wasn’t here? What if he sent you away?

You tried again, your good hand slamming into the door. “Bucky!” your voice cracked, desperation lacing every syllable. “Please—I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Silence.

Then, the sound of a lock sliding open. The door swung inward, revealing him.

Bucky Barnes stood in the dim light, clad in dark sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, a gun loose in his grip. His sharp blue eyes flickered between your face, your injuries, and the sleeping boy in your arms.

Something in his expression shifted.

He didn’t ask why you were here. Didn’t demand an explanation.

Instead, he stepped aside. “Get in.”

The warmth of Bucky’s house was suffocating compared to the cold rain outside. It took everything in you not to collapse the second you stepped over the threshold.

Your legs felt weak, your head pounding from the injury you hadn’t had time to assess. But Alex—Alex came first.

Bucky shut the door behind you, locking it with swift, practiced movements. He set the gun on a nearby table but didn’t take his eyes off you.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was low, unreadable.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though the sting of your wrist said otherwise.

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Up close, he looked just as tired as you felt—like he hadn’t had a peaceful night’s rest in years. His jaw tightened as his gaze flickered back to Alex, still fast asleep in your arms.

“You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, adjusting Alex’s weight against you. “They found us. I don’t know how, but they did.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. He didn’t have to ask who they were.

You let out a shaky breath. “I had a safe house. It’s gone. I tried calling everyone—no one would help me.” You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Come on.”

You blinked. “What?”

He motioned for you to follow him. “The kid needs a bed. You need to sit before you fall over.”

Your legs nearly buckled at the mere suggestion. Wordlessly, you followed him down a long hallway, the lavish house eerily silent. He led you to a bedroom—one that looked untouched, as if no one had stayed in it for years.

“You’ll be safe here.” Bucky reached for the covers, pulling them back. “Lay him down.”

You hesitated. Alex had been through so much upheaval already—you didn’t want him waking up in another unfamiliar place. But your arms trembled from holding him for so long, and your body screamed for rest.

Gently, you laid him down, brushing damp curls from his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his tiny fingers curling into the blanket.

You let out a slow breath, relief washing over you.

Bucky was still watching.

He noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the exhaustion in your movements. He muttered something under his breath before disappearing into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a first aid kit.

“Sit,” he ordered.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he shot you silenced you instantly. With a quiet sigh, you sat on the edge of the bed.

Bucky crouched in front of you, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle as he inspected your wrist. His brows furrowed. “It’s not broken, but it’s sprained pretty bad.”

He reached for a bandage, wrapping your wrist with practiced efficiency. “And your head?”

You grimaced. “I don’t know. Feels like I got hit with a damn brick.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh—almost amused—before sobering. He tilted your chin up, his fingers grazing your temple. His touch was cool against your feverish skin, and for a brief moment, you forgot how dangerous this man was.

His blue eyes flickered to yours. “You’ll live.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thanks.”

Bucky stood, tossing the first aid supplies back into the kit. “Get some sleep.”

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky—”

“I’m handling it,” he said firmly. “Whoever did this, whoever came after you—I’ll take care of it.”

You stared at him, uncertain. “Why?”

Bucky held your gaze. “Because your husband may be dead, but his enemies aren’t.” He glanced at Alex, still sleeping peacefully. “And now, they’re yours.”

A chill ran down your spine. You already knew that. But hearing it aloud made it real.

Bucky turned for the door, pausing only once. “No one’s gonna touch you or the kid. Not while you’re here.”

Then, without another word, he left.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady sound of Alex’s breathing beside you. The unfamiliar silence of Bucky’s house pressed in around you—too different from the cramped safe house you had called home for the past few months.

Your body ached, exhaustion weighing you down, but your mind refused to rest. The last twenty-four hours replayed like a cruel movie reel behind your eyes. The shattering of glass. The pounding of boots against the floor. The gunshots.

You had barely gotten Alex out in time.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through you. If you hadn’t left when you did… You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the thought away.

Instead, your mind drifted to Bucky. He hadn’t hesitated to let you in. Even after months—years—of nothing but small talk and distant pleasantries, he had taken one look at you, seen your son in your arms, and made his decision.

It didn’t make sense.

Bucky Barnes was many things, but charitable wasn’t one of them. He was dangerous, ruthless—your husband had made that clear. A man you don’t cross unless you have a death wish.

And yet, he had let you into his home. Promised you protection.

You exhaled slowly, turning your head to look at Alex. He was curled beneath the blankets, his little hand gripping the fabric in his sleep.

Whatever Bucky’s reasons, you had no choice but to trust him.

For Alex’s sake and your sanity.

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep the next morning.

You blinked groggily, pushing yourself upright, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles. Sunlight streamed through the partially drawn curtains, bathing the room in soft gold.

Alex stirred beside you, his tiny body stretching with a whimper before his eyes fluttered open.

“Mommy?” His voice was small, confused.

You forced a tired smile, brushing curls from his forehead. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. We’re safe.”

He rubbed his eyes with tiny fists, looking around the unfamiliar room before pressing his face into your side. You held him close, whispering reassurances, your heart aching at the fear still lingering in his little body.

A knock at the door made you tense. Bucky’s voice followed, low and firm. “You up?” You swallowed, glancing down at Alex before answering. “Yeah.”

The door creaked open, and Bucky stepped inside. His presence filled the space immediately—broad shoulders, sharp blue eyes taking in the two of you. He was dressed differently now, dark jeans and a fitted black shirt, his holster visible beneath his jacket. His gaze flickered to Alex, who peeked up at him shyly.

Bucky hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Breakfast is ready.” You blinked. That was… unexpected.

Still, you nodded. “We’ll be right there.” Bucky lingered for a moment before nodding and disappearing down the hall.

You released a slow breath, running a hand over your face. This was real. You were here, under Bucky Barnes’ roof, relying on him for protection.

And whether you liked it or not, this was your life now. For however long it lasted.

The kitchen was quiet when you entered, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filling the air.

Bucky was already seated at the large, dark wood table, his eyes never leaving the newspaper spread out before him. The sound of Alex’s small footsteps had him glancing up, and for a split second, his gaze softened as he looked at the boy.

Alex immediately rushed to the table, his small legs carrying him toward the food, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air.

“Can I have some?” Alex’s voice was hesitant, but his wide eyes never left the plate of eggs and bacon.

Bucky’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Sure, kid. Sit down.”

Alex clambered onto the chair, still clutching your hand for a moment before letting go to grab a fork.

You stood near the counter, watching the scene unfold. There was something strange about this moment—something that felt surreal. Bucky, the man who had built his reputation in blood and fear, now offering a simple breakfast to a little boy who barely understood the weight of the world.

You glanced at Bucky, but his attention was on Alex now, pouring him a glass of juice, making sure he had enough food.

It made your stomach tighten, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing—if this was all some strange dream.

Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You look like you could use a coffee.”

You nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky rose to his feet, moving to the counter, and then handed you a cup of coffee without a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you accepted it, and for a brief moment, the weight of his gaze made your breath catch.

“Any plans today?” he asked after a beat, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.

You shook your head, taking a careful sip of the coffee. “No. I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

There was a pause before Bucky spoke again, this time his tone more guarded. “You should stay out of sight. Let me handle things.”

You met his gaze, the words hanging heavy between you. “Handle what, exactly?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flickering over to Alex before focusing back on you. The unspoken words seemed to hang in the air, too heavy to ignore.

“I’ll deal with the people coming for you,” he said finally, his voice flat but edged with something colder. “I’ve got things covered.”

The sharpness in his tone took you by surprise. Something inside you tightened, a mix of irritation and confusion rising. “I don’t need you to handle me, Bucky.” You couldn’t keep the edge from creeping into your voice. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw something dark flash in them. His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed even. “It’s not about that.”

You placed the coffee cup on the counter, your gaze hardening. “Then what is it about?”

Bucky’s mouth tightened into a thin line, and he looked away for a moment, clearly wrestling with something. “You’re not the only one who’s got enemies.” His voice was softer now, almost pained. “You’re in my world now. Whether you want to be or not.”

You could feel the weight of those words settle between you, each syllable heavy with meaning. He was right, in a way. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Alex, sensing the tension in the air, suddenly spoke up, his innocent voice cutting through the silence. “Can I have more juice?”

The moment was broken, but the tension lingered. You both looked at him, your minds momentarily distracted from the unspoken conflict. Bucky’s expression softened again, just as quickly as it had hardened. “Yeah, sure, kid. I’ll get you more.”

You watched him move across the room, the sharp lines of his body still unreadable, his every movement deliberate. Despite his softening demeanor with Alex, something dark lingered in his eyes—a reminder that he was still Bucky Barnes, the man whose name alone could silence rooms.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. The truth was, you were at his mercy. And somewhere deep down, you weren’t sure if that scared you more than the men hunting you.

Later that evening, when Alex was tucked into bed, Bucky remained in the kitchen, his fingers tracing the rim of his empty coffee cup, lost in thought. You stood at the door for a long moment, watching him, feeling the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. The quiet was too loud, the silence between you two stretching thin, reminding you of everything you couldn’t say.

You had snapped at him earlier—something in you just broke when he’d spoken like that. But now, in the stillness of the house, you realized that maybe he hadn’t been wrong.

You needed to apologize.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door to the kitchen.

Bucky didn’t look up immediately, his attention still fixed on the cup in his hand. His silence made your pulse quicken, but you stepped inside, a quiet apology forming in the pit of your stomach.

“I—” You swallowed, feeling the weight of your own words. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Bucky set his cup down, finally meeting your gaze. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—some tension in his jaw, a flicker of something that hadn’t been there before.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “You’ve got a lot to deal with.”

You shook your head, taking a hesitant step closer. “That’s not an excuse.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“I’m just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. You felt utterly vulnerable in that moment, like you were laid bare in front of him, and it made the ground beneath your feet unsteady. “I’ve got my son to protect, and I’ve never had to rely on anyone like this. Like you.” You trailed off, feeling the weight of the admission.

The air between you both felt thick, and Bucky didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched you with an intensity that made your skin prickle, but it wasn’t harsh—just… expectant.

You forced yourself to keep speaking, even though your throat was closing in on you. “It’s just… I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. My husband handled everything. He always kept us safe.” The words came out quieter than you’d intended, and you hated the way your heart thudded painfully at the mention of him.

For a brief moment, Bucky’s eyes softened, though there was still that distance between you—something unspoken, unresolved. He didn’t seem to push further, which gave you the space you needed to say more, even though it felt like pulling apart pieces of yourself you weren’t ready to show.

“He kept us safe,” you said again, this time barely above a whisper. “And now… he’s gone.”

The pain in your chest tightened, and you felt your throat constricting, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill, but you blinked them away, shaking your head. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

You couldn’t stop it any longer—the raw emotion slipped out, your breath hitching with the weight of it all. You didn’t know what you were more afraid of: the fact that your life was no longer in your control, or that Bucky was the only person who seemed to see through all of it.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, anything, to break it. Instead, he simply stepped closer, the space between you shrinking in a way that made you feel exposed, but not unsafe.

Bucky didn’t speak right away, but the subtle shift in his demeanor—something softer in his eyes—told you he understood more than you thought. He finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “I don’t expect you to trust me overnight, or for you to be okay with all of this.” His eyes flickered briefly to your hands, clenched into fists at your sides. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and serious.

You nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I know.”

But even as you nodded, there was a part of you that wanted to pull away, to run from this—from him—because the more you relied on him, the more you feared what it meant. You were already in too deep.

Bucky stepped back just a little, giving you the space you needed, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was no pity in his eyes—just a strange understanding.

“I get it,” he said simply. “You’ve been through hell. And I’m not going anywhere. But you don’t have to apologize for that.”

The warmth in his words settled over you like a blanket, comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how long you would be here. But in that moment, you allowed yourself a brief glimpse of hope—just long enough to believe, maybe, that this strange partnership with Bucky Barnes could be the only thing that kept you both from falling apart.

The quiet between you and Bucky lingered, comfortable yet tinged with the weight of unspoken things. The rawness of the conversation hung in the air like smoke, dissipating only when Alex’s voice called out from the hallway.

“Mommy?”

You jumped, heart leaping at the sound of his small voice. Bucky’s eyes flickered to the door, his expression softening at the mention of your son.

“I’ll check on him,” you muttered, stepping away from Bucky. You hadn’t realized how much you needed the distraction.

But before you could reach the door, Bucky’s voice stopped you.

“Hey,” he said, quieter than before. When you turned, he met your gaze, his eyes steady, almost earnest. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I meant what I said.”

Your throat tightened at his words, and you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The emotions from earlier were still raw, but there was something in Bucky’s voice—something reassuring—that made you feel like, for once, you weren’t being forced to carry it all by yourself.

You took another breath, forcing your shoulders to relax before you opened the door.

Alex was standing in the doorway of his room, clutching his blanket, his wide eyes filled with concern. He looked so small in that moment, his little face drawn with confusion and worry.

“Mommy, I had a bad dream,” he whispered, holding out his arms to you.

You knelt down to his level, pulling him into your arms and pressing him close. The familiar warmth of his body soothed you, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here,” you whispered, kissing his forehead. He sniffled, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we? Is this home?”

You hesitated. For all the comfort Bucky’s house offered, it wasn’t home. But you didn’t want to break his fragile sense of security, so instead, you simply nodded.

“For now, it is.” Alex nodded back, accepting your words as if they were the truth. “Okay.”

You stood with him in your arms, glancing back over your shoulder at Bucky, who had followed you quietly into the hallway. His gaze was distant, but there was something soft in the way he looked at Alex. Maybe it was the protector in him, or maybe it was the understanding of how fragile the situation was.

“I’ll stay with you, okay, buddy?” you said, gently rocking Alex as you walked toward the living room.

Alex laid his head against your shoulder, his breathing slowing as he started to drift back to sleep. You carefully settled onto the couch, arranging him in your lap, and began to stroke his hair in slow, soothing motions.

Bucky stood in the doorway of the living room, his expression unreadable again. But when he spoke, there was no harshness, no distance. Just a quiet authority that felt strangely reassuring. “I’ve got this. You don’t need to worry about him.”

You looked up, meeting his eyes, and for the first time since you had arrived at his home, you saw the faintest flicker of something deeper—something not quite protective, but not entirely cold either. Bucky Barnes wasn’t a man used to offering comfort, yet somehow, he had given you just enough of it tonight.

“I trust you,” you said quietly, almost without thinking. Bucky didn’t respond right away. Instead, he simply nodded and turned, disappearing back into the hallway, leaving you alone with Alex.

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you settled into the quiet of the house. It felt almost like a dream—the kind where everything was out of your control, but somehow, you found yourself believing in the possibility of a new beginning.

But you couldn’t forget the danger, the enemies still after you. You couldn’t forget the world that lurked just beyond these walls, the world that could swallow everything whole if you weren’t careful. And yet, here, in Bucky’s house, you felt an almost inexplicable sense of safety.

Maybe you weren’t ready to let your guard down completely. But for tonight, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that this fragile promise of protection could hold. Tomorrow, you would face whatever came next. But tonight, you let yourself rest.

The tension in the house seemed to thicken with each passing day, but tonight, it felt different. There was an electricity in the air that you couldn’t quite place. Something was coming.

You had been trying to settle into some semblance of normalcy, your daily routine now revolving around keeping Alex safe, keeping yourself safe. Bucky had been doing the same, moving through his days with a calm authority, managing his affairs with the quiet, practiced efficiency of someone used to walking on the edge.

But tonight, you could feel the change. You could feel the weight of eyes on you—like something had shifted, and the calm was about to break.

It started with a knock on the door.

You froze, instinctively pulling Alex closer to you as you heard the sound. It was too quiet—too deliberate—too calculated. The knock came again, a firm, steady rap that made your blood run cold.

Bucky had been in the study, his presence somewhere in the depths of the house, but you knew—you knew—he’d heard it too.

You didn’t need to look to know he was already in motion, the sound of his boots thumping lightly on the hardwood floor as he moved toward the door.

You stayed in the living room, with Alex in your arms, your breath shallow. The tension in the house had reached a breaking point.

Bucky didn’t hesitate when he opened the door.

The men on the other side were unmistakable—an all-too-familiar presence you had hoped never to encounter again. Their suits were sharp, their expressions cold, and their posture spoke of a deep, dangerous familiarity with the world of violence they inhabited.

The man in the front, the one with the scar that ran down his jaw, was the first to speak. His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. “Bucky Barnes,” he said, as though testing the name, letting it roll off his tongue with a hint of challenge.

Bucky didn’t flinch. His jaw was tight, his stance unwavering. “What do you want?”

The man smirked, stepping forward with the kind of casual confidence that spoke of a dangerous familiarity with confrontation. “We were just wondering when you were going to address the elephant in the room, Barnes. You’ve got a guest, and she’s not exactly keeping a low profile.”

You could hear the insult hanging in the air, like a blade just waiting to drop.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained controlled. “I told you before, you stay away from her.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “She’s not your responsibility, Bucky. She’s just another casualty of your little world. And soon enough, she’ll learn that.” He stepped even closer, his presence menacing. “You can’t protect her forever.”

The atmosphere shifted immediately. The weight of his words sank in, and you felt the tension in the room grow even thicker. This wasn’t just a conversation. This was a warning.

“I don’t need you here,” Bucky said, his voice low, hard, like a warning itself.

The scarred man tilted his head, his smile growing wider. “You sure? Because I’m thinking we should have a chat. You, me, and your little guest inside.” His gaze flickered to the side, locking on you, and you felt the chill run through you.

Your grip on Alex tightened, and your stomach twisted. The threat was real. They weren’t just here to talk—they were here to make a point.

Before you could react, Bucky stepped forward, blocking the doorway completely, his body rigid with tension. “Get off my property.”

The man’s expression faltered for just a moment—surprise, maybe, at Bucky’s firm refusal—but it quickly turned to something darker. “You don’t want to do this, Barnes.” His voice lowered, turning to a deadly whisper. “You really don’t.”

You could hear the underlying threat in his words, the unspoken violence that lingered in the air. It was as though the world outside had finally caught up with you—and now, Bucky was standing between you and the chaos.

But Bucky didn’t budge. “Get off my property.”

The scarred man’s eyes flashed with anger, but before he could take another step, another voice cut through the tension.

“Did you miss the part where I said, no one is welcome?”

Bucky’s voice was cold, low—a warning that echoed in the room. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing the edge of the door. His posture was subtle but unwavering, ready to act, as though he could end this right then and there.

The men outside exchanged glances, and for a moment, you thought they might back down.

But then, the scarred man gave a subtle nod, and the tension snapped like a wire stretched too tight.

“You’ll regret this, Barnes.” The man’s voice was venomous. “And you know where to find us when she inevitably disappoints you.”

With one last dangerous look, they turned and walked off the porch, their retreat slow and deliberate. Their footsteps faded into the night, but the feeling of their presence lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Bucky stood still for a long moment after the door shut. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the way his hands clenched by his sides. His gaze was sharp, distant, as if he was already calculating his next move.

You didn’t know what had just happened, but you knew one thing: things were escalating.

And you were right in the center of it.

Bucky finally turned to you, his eyes softening just slightly as he met your gaze. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. It had been too close—too real. The fear bubbled up again, sharp and biting. You had no idea how much longer you could rely on Bucky, or if you could even trust him.

The silence in the house was suffocating after the men had left, and though they were gone, you could still feel the weight of their presence lingering in the air. Your pulse was still racing from the encounter, and Alex stirred restlessly in your arms, likely sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His little face, still partially buried in your chest, looked up at you with wide, confused eyes.

“Mommy?” His voice was small, filled with the innocence that hadn’t yet learned the weight of the world you were trying to shield him from.

You ran a hand through his hair, trying to offer the semblance of normalcy. “It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, forcing a calmness into your tone even though your heart was hammering in your chest.

But the moment you heard Bucky’s boots thud against the hardwood floor, you knew the quiet was about to break.

He appeared in the living room doorway, his expression carefully neutral, but his body tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap. His eyes immediately sought out you and Alex. For a brief moment, there was something almost protective in the way he looked at you both, but it quickly disappeared behind his usual steely facade.

“Everything okay?” he asked, though you knew the question was more of a check than a concern for the state of things.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. ��They’re gone,” you said, your voice betraying the uncertainty you still felt. “But they made it clear—they won’t stop.”

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, just studied you for a moment before walking further into the room. His eyes flickered to Alex, who was now clinging to you, sensing the change in the atmosphere.

“Listen,” Bucky said, his voice quieter now, but with a sharp edge that made it clear the situation wasn’t over. “They’re testing me, testing us. But they won’t get through me. They won’t touch you or him.”

His words were firm, but there was something unsettling about them too. The threat was very real, and you knew that Bucky wasn’t someone who made empty promises. He had a reputation for dealing with things in his own way—and it was never pretty.

You glanced down at Alex, who had finally settled, but the unease still clung to you like a second skin. “How long can you keep this up, Bucky?” you asked, the question slipping from your lips before you could stop it. You didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to seem weak or dependent. But the thought of your son caught in the crossfire was a fear you couldn’t ignore any longer.

Bucky looked at you with those sharp blue eyes of his, the ones that saw everything and nothing at the same time. His expression softened for just a moment, but it was gone before you could fully process it.

“I’ll protect you for as long as it takes,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt him.”

But the words didn’t comfort you the way they should have. They felt more like a promise wrapped in a threat, like a trap you were being lured into without even realizing it.

You didn’t want to feel like a liability, like you were a weakness that Bucky had to protect. But the reality of the situation was unavoidable.

Before you could respond, there was a sudden noise—a car engine revving outside. Then the unmistakable sound of tires screeching against asphalt. Your heart lurched in your chest.

Bucky’s eyes darted to the window before he stood, his body taut with readiness. “Stay here,” he instructed, his voice sharp.

You didn’t have time to protest. He was already moving, heading for the door with that same calculated grace that made it clear he was no stranger to danger. As he disappeared into the night, you took a deep breath and pulled Alex closer to you, praying that this wasn’t going to be the night everything fell apart.

Minutes passed. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as you waited for any sign, any noise to tell you that Bucky was okay. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the sensation of the world closing in around you.

Then you heard it. The sharp crack of gunfire in the distance.

Your breath hitched, and Alex flinched in your arms.

“No, no, no…” you muttered under your breath, clutching him tightly.

You heard footsteps then—closer, faster. Your pulse raced in time with the rhythm of your own terror. The door slammed open, and Bucky was standing in the doorway, blood staining his shirt but his face still hard, still determined.

“They’re getting bolder,” he growled, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He wasn’t fazed by the sight of the blood—if anything, it only seemed to fuel his anger.

“What happened?” you asked, rising to your feet despite your legs feeling weak beneath you. Alex was still in your arms, his small hands gripping your shirt. You could feel his heart thundering just as much as yours.

Bucky took a slow, measured breath, looking over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. “They tried to hit me. Not just me… you.”

You stared at him in shock, the weight of his words crashing down on you. “What do you mean, me?”

“They’re escalating,” Bucky muttered, his voice colder than ever. “They won’t stop until they’ve broken me, broken you—broken all of us.”

His words were chilling, and the air in the room thickened with the weight of them. You had been living in this world of danger for days now, but it hadn’t truly felt real until now.

Bucky stood tall, his eyes still sharp, though they betrayed the rage simmering beneath the surface. “I’ll end this. But I need to know you’re ready. I need you to be strong.”

You met his gaze, feeling the cold weight of responsibility pressing against your chest. This wasn’t just about you anymore. It wasn’t just about your son. The stakes were higher, and Bucky was right—if you were going to make it out of this alive, you needed to be prepared to fight.

You nodded, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I’m ready.”

For the first time since you had entered Bucky’s world, you felt the full brunt of the storm on the horizon. Things were changing, escalating, and there would be no more hiding from the danger that had followed you here.

The tension in the house was suffocating. Every second felt stretched to its breaking point, and while Alex slept soundly, curled up on the couch beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Something big.

Bucky had retreated into his study shortly after the altercation with the men who had tried to break in. The house was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that screamed impending danger. Bucky was making plans, preparing his men for what was about to come. His words had been clear earlier—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But that was all he had told you. Everything else was left in the dark, locked away behind the walls of his world that you were now a part of. And it made you restless.

You were so used to being in control of your own life, making your own decisions. But here, in Bucky’s house, everything had shifted. You had no idea what was happening around you, and Bucky had made sure of that. He didn’t want you to know, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he wanted to protect you. He wanted to keep you from seeing the darker side of the life that had already claimed your husband.

You could feel the distance between you and Bucky growing. It wasn’t that he was shutting you out—it was more that he was trying to shield you, to keep you from the ugly truth that his world was built on. And you hated it.

The door to the study opened suddenly, and Bucky stepped into the living room. His expression was unreadable, his movements controlled. He’d been making phone calls, organizing, strategizing—but when his eyes landed on you, there was a flicker of something else—something soft, something almost protective.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, studying you as if he were weighing whether or not to let you in on whatever was coming next. But then he shook his head slightly and walked toward you, a determined look in his eyes. He needed to keep you in the dark. The less you knew, the safer you’d be.

“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice low and steady, as if everything was fine. “I’m going to need you to be strong for what’s coming.”

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if you should be relieved or frustrated by his words. Strong? You wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but you already knew. It wasn’t about you being strong emotionally—it was about you surviving what was coming. And you weren’t sure if you could.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your tone sharp. “I’m not a child, Bucky.”

He softened slightly at that, but it wasn’t enough to break through the walls he had put up. “I know you’re strong,” he said quietly, his gaze flickering over you and then to Alex, who was curled up on the couch, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. “But I need to keep you out of it. You don’t need to see any of it.”

You could feel the frustration building inside you. Why couldn’t you know? Why was Bucky keeping you in the dark like this? You were the one who was in danger now, and you had a right to know what was happening, to understand the full picture.

“Why won’t you let me in?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. He didn’t want to answer your question. He couldn’t, because if he told you the truth, there would be no going back. He couldn’t risk pulling you deeper into the mess that had been your late husband’s life. The people after you weren’t just looking to make a statement. They were looking to destroy everything that Bucky had built. Including you.

“You don’t need to know everything,” he said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it now. “Not yet.”

Your heart ached at the way he was treating you like you were fragile, like you couldn’t handle the truth. But you understood, in some way, why he was doing it. He wanted to keep your innocence intact. He didn’t want you to have to face the things he had seen. The things that had turned him into the man he was.

Bucky had seen enough bloodshed, enough pain, to last several lifetimes. He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want you to feel the weight of the violence that had haunted him for so long. He wanted to protect you. And the only way to do that was to keep you in the dark, to keep you away from the danger that had been set in motion the moment your husband had been murdered.

He crouched down in front of you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “I know this isn’t easy,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “But I need you to trust me. I’m doing everything I can to protect you.”

You swallowed, your anger bubbling up again, but you held it back. For Alex. For your son. You couldn’t afford to make a scene, not when Bucky was doing everything in his power to keep you safe.

“I trust you,” you finally said, though the words felt heavy in your mouth. They felt like a lie. How could you trust him when you didn’t even know what was happening around you?

But the look in Bucky’s eyes told you everything you needed to know. He wasn’t going to tell you. He wasn’t going to pull you into this world of blood and betrayal, even if it meant keeping you in the dark forever.

For a moment, there was a silence between you, thick with unspoken words. Then Bucky stood up, brushing his hands together, as if to shake off the weight of the conversation.

“I’ll check on Alex,” he said, his voice back to its usual steady tone. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”

He left you standing there, alone with your thoughts, the room growing heavier as the minutes ticked by.

How long could you stay in the dark? How long before Bucky would have to let you see the truth?

The question lingered in your mind, unanswered. And as you looked over at Alex, you realized you would have to wait until Bucky was ready to tell you what was really going on. Until then, you could only trust him… even if that trust felt like a fragile thing, teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

Part Ten: The War Begins

The night was still, almost suffocating in its silence, as Bucky stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by his men. The weight of what was to come was heavy in the air, a tension that was both palpable and dangerous. Outside, the world seemed unaware of the storm that was brewing on the horizon. But inside the walls of Bucky’s home, everyone knew.

Bucky’s phone had been buzzing constantly in the last few hours—alerts, messages, calls. His men were positioned around the perimeter, and he’d been in contact with Steve and his other allies. The call had come through early this morning, but now, as the final preparations were underway, the stakes were higher than ever.

They were coming for you. And they weren’t going to stop until they had you.

Bucky had refused to tell you anything. He couldn’t. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he wanted to protect the fragile life he had built around you. He wanted you to remain untouched by the horrors of his world, even though you were already inextricably tied to it. The fact that you were still alive meant more than anything to him.

But now, as Bucky prepared to face the enemies who had been hunting you for weeks, you realized something.

You weren’t going to sit idly by any longer.

Alex was asleep, and the house was quieter now. But it wasn’t a peaceful quiet—it was the kind that heralded a storm, one that you weren’t sure you could weather.

The door to the study creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Bucky’s presence filled the room like a shadow, his energy dark, powerful, and cold.

“You can’t keep me in the dark forever,” you said, your voice shaking only slightly, but the resolve in it was unmistakable. You had been watching him for days—preparing, planning, organizing—and now, you knew it was time to face the truth.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His silence was heavy as he stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing on you as though he were calculating something. You could see the internal struggle in him, the push and pull of wanting to protect you, but also knowing that you were already a part of this world. A world you couldn’t escape.

“It’s not safe for you to know everything,” he said finally, his voice low and controlled. His eyes locked with yours, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in them—a desperation, a rawness. “This war… it’s bigger than you realize.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking deep. But you weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

“I don’t care,” you replied, your voice steady now, each word deliberate. “I want to know. I need to know, Bucky.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze piercing. For a moment, it was as though the world around you vanished. You were standing in the eye of the storm, and it was all coming for you.

“They’re coming,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might give it more power than it already had. “They’ve been waiting. They think they can use you against me, use you to break me. But I won’t let them.”

You took a step forward, defiance in your eyes. “I’m not afraid.”

Bucky’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. His touch was warm, but the grip that followed was firm—protective, as if he was trying to hold you in place, to keep you safe from everything that was about to happen.

“You should be,” he muttered under his breath, though it was more to himself than to you.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a distant noise. The low growl of engines, the metallic scrape of weapons being drawn. The war had begun. And you could feel it in your bones.

“They’re here,” Bucky growled, his voice a warning, a promise, and a threat all wrapped in one.

Within seconds, the house was in motion. Bucky barked orders to his men, and chaos erupted. The sound of boots pounding on the floors, voices shouting, doors slamming shut as they locked down the perimeter—it was as if the walls themselves were vibrating with the impending violence.

Bucky turned to face you, his eyes filled with determination. “Stay here,” he commanded, his voice low, unyielding. “Do not leave this room.”

But you couldn’t stay behind. Not now.

You grabbed Alex’s small hand, your heart racing, as you whispered, “Stay close.”

Without another word, you moved, stepping away from Bucky’s watchful eyes, toward the stairwell, the hallway. You were moving almost instinctively now, drawn to the sounds of conflict that were growing louder, closer. You didn’t know how you would survive what was coming, but you knew one thing: you weren’t going to be a passive spectator in this war.

Bucky’s men were already in position, taking out anyone who had the audacity to cross the threshold of Bucky’s carefully built empire. He was ready to fight back—prepared to destroy anyone who threatened the life he had started to build with you and Alex.

But it was bigger than that.

As the first shot rang out from the outside, echoing through the empty hallways of the mansion, you knew this wouldn’t be over in a single night. The war was only just beginning. And Bucky was leading the charge.

You could hear Bucky’s voice barking orders as the first wave of enemies collided with his men outside. He wasn’t just fighting for survival anymore. This was personal.

He wasn’t just defending you. He was fighting for his world—his life.

And you were a part of it now.

The war outside raged on, a cacophony of gunshots, screams, and the relentless thud of boots stomping across the mansion. Bucky had made sure you were safe, hiding in a small back room with Alex, but the tension between you was undeniable. You had insisted on staying by his side, on fighting this alongside him, but Bucky had other plans.

“Stay here,” he ordered again, his voice hard as steel. “I need to know you’re safe.”

Before you could protest, he was gone, slipping out of the room with a look of determination on his face, the door closing with a quiet click. You stood there, fuming with frustration, hands clenched into fists at your sides. This was your fight, too.

You turned to Alex, whose wide eyes were filled with confusion and fear. You pulled him into your arms, doing your best to soothe him, rocking him gently, trying to make him feel safe.

But you knew, deep down, that no one was really safe. Not now. Not here.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside the room. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, silhouetted by the dim light filtering through the cracks in the curtains.

The man’s face was partially obscured by a mask, but the glint of a weapon in his hand made it clear that he was a threat. You immediately stood, instinctively pulling Alex closer to you, your heart pounding as fear coursed through your veins.

The man grinned as he stepped closer, his boots silent on the floor, his eyes locked on Alex. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

“No!” You snapped, pushing Alex behind you protectively, your hands trembling but defiant. “Stay away from my son!”

The man ignored you, his hand shooting out to grab Alex. But Alex wasn’t going to go down that easily.

In a burst of unexpected bravery, your little boy sank his teeth into the man’s hand, biting down hard, his small body squirming with all the strength he could muster. The man’s yell of pain was short-lived, but it was enough to push him into a blind rage.

He swiped at Alex, knocking him backward into the wall with a sickening thud. The sound of Alex’s cry ripped through you like a knife, and in that moment, everything else faded away. You felt your heart shatter, and something inside you snapped.

“Alex!” you screamed, rushing to him in a frantic blur, your hands trembling as you gathered him up into your arms. His cries were deafening, tears streaming down his face as he whimpered in pain.

Your fury exploded in an instant. Your vision narrowed, the world tilting as adrenaline flooded your body. You didn’t even think as you rushed at the man, all of your fear and desperation for your son turning into pure, unrelenting rage.

With a guttural shout, you shoved the man back, using every ounce of strength you had left. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders and with a ferocity you didn’t know you had, you pushed him toward the railing.

He stumbled, trying to catch himself, but you were already too far gone. With a scream of fury, you shoved him harder. He lost his balance, arms flailing as he fell backward. There was a sickening thud as he crashed onto the floor below, unconscious and crumpled, completely out of the fight.

The house fell into a heavy silence, and for a moment, you stood there, panting, your chest heaving with the remnants of your fury. The only sound that filled your ears was the soft, broken sobs of Alex in your arms.

You dropped to your knees beside him, cradling him tightly against your chest. His tears soaked your shirt, his tiny hands gripping at you as though he were afraid you might disappear, too. You shushed him gently, rocking him back and forth.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to calm him. “Mommy’s here. You’re safe now.”

Alex’s sobs slowly started to quiet, his body going slack in your arms as he buried his face into your chest, exhausted from the shock of it all.

You kissed his head, your own tears blurring your vision as you held him tight, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. You didn’t know how much longer this war would last, how much more you could endure. But in that moment, with Alex finally calm in your arms, you knew one thing: you would protect him. No matter what.

And you weren’t going to let anyone—no matter how powerful they were—take that away from you.

But then, a sudden noise from the hallway snapped you back to reality. The front door had been kicked open, and the heavy footsteps of men filled the house again. They weren’t done.

You stood, clutching Alex close to you, your breath ragged as the fight for survival wasn’t over. Not yet. Bucky wasn’t here. You were alone. And you had no idea how you would get through this.

But you would. For Alex, you would.

You wiped your tears away, set your jaw, and prepared for whatever came next.

And now, you were in it—no longer hidden behind Bucky’s protective walls, but standing right in the middle of the fight.

The house trembled as the attackers outside began their final push. Every second felt like an eternity as you held Alex close, trying to steady your breathing. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, but it wasn’t enough to mask the overwhelming fear that clawed at your chest. The house had never felt so fragile, so exposed. The walls that Bucky had carefully built around you now felt like they were closing in.

You glanced down at Alex, his small body curled against yours, his breathing still shallow but calming. He had stopped crying for now, exhausted from the ordeal. But you could feel the tremors running through him, the fear he still couldn’t fully process. You would have given anything to take that fear away, to return to the days when he could sleep soundly, without nightmares or danger.

You had to keep moving. There was no time to waste.

Slowly, you stood up, keeping Alex securely against you, your hands still trembling. The sounds from the hallway grew louder, closer. You didn’t know how many of them there were, but it didn’t matter. You would do whatever it took to protect your son.

Your footsteps were quiet, deliberate, as you moved toward the staircase. Every instinct screamed at you to hide, to retreat, but you couldn’t. Not anymore. You couldn’t hide from this. You had already lost too much.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, peering around the corner. The lights from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows through the windows, revealing figures moving below. The man you’d knocked down earlier was still on the ground, but there were others—too many others.

You didn’t know where Bucky was or how close the danger was, but you couldn’t waste time waiting. You had to move. For Alex’s sake, you couldn’t hesitate.

But as you turned to look for an escape route, a sharp voice cut through the tense silence.

“Drop the kid.”

You froze. A figure emerged from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. A gun was held tightly in his hand, aimed directly at you. The mask covering his face did nothing to hide the malevolent aura surrounding him. This wasn’t just some random thug. This was someone with a purpose.

“No,” you said, your voice low but steady. “I won’t.”

The man smiled, the motion unsettling and cold. “You don’t have a choice.”

He took a step forward, and that’s when you made your move.

You didn’t even think about it—you acted purely on instinct. With one hand, you held Alex closer to you, protecting him as best as you could. With the other, you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy vase from the hallway table—and threw it with all the strength you had. It shattered on the floor, distracting the man for just a split second.

In that moment of vulnerability, you bolted. You ran as fast as you could, hearing the man’s boots slamming against the floor behind you, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Every step was a battle. Your mind was racing, calculating the safest path, looking for an exit, anything that might get you out of this nightmare.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached the end of the hall, but just as you were about to turn the corner to the main staircase, you heard another set of footsteps—closer, heavier.

Panic flared in your chest as you realized you were being cornered.

Alex whimpered against you, sensing the danger as you turned sharply, running down a narrow hallway toward the back door. It was a gamble, but it was your only chance.

You reached the door, yanking at the handle, but it didn’t open. The lock was still engaged. You cursed under your breath as the footsteps grew louder behind you.

“Mommy, no,” Alex whispered, clutching your neck tightly.

You spun around, desperate. You could hear the footsteps now, the sound of them growing closer. The man was almost there.

Then, as if on cue, the door swung open with a sudden force, the lock giving way.

You didn’t hesitate. You ran into the yard, your breath ragged, legs burning as you pushed yourself harder. The cool night air hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the terror rising in your chest. You had no plan, no backup. You were on your own.

As you neared the back gate, you heard shouts from behind, the thudding of boots drawing nearer.

“Stop her!”

But you weren’t stopping.

You pushed through the gate and into the alleyway, glancing back only once to see if anyone was following. You didn’t see anyone, but you couldn’t afford to be caught. You moved quickly, your mind a whirl of thoughts, trying to figure out where to go.

Your options were limited. You couldn’t go to Bucky’s usual places. It wasn’t safe anymore. Not with everyone after you.

Suddenly, the sound of an engine revving in the distance caught your attention. You spun around, and to your surprise, there was a car pulling up. A familiar face was behind the wheel.

Steve Rogers.

You didn’t have to think twice. You ran toward the car, Alex still tightly pressed against you.

“Get in,” Steve shouted as he rolled down the window. “We don’t have much time.”

Without a second thought, you climbed in, placing Alex in the back seat before slamming the door behind you. Steve floored the gas pedal, and the car sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

As you looked back toward the mansion, a dark sense of dread settled in. You knew this wasn’t over. It was just beginning. But for now, you were alive. And that was something.

Steve glanced over at you, his expression hard, but his eyes full of understanding. “Bucky sent me. He’s got your back. We’ll keep you safe.”

For the first time in days, you allowed yourself a small breath of relief. But deep down, you knew the fight wasn’t over yet.

Part Thirteen: A Moment of Calm

The night was eerily quiet as the car sped toward the safehouse. Steve’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror occasionally, scanning the empty road, making sure no one was tailing them. Alex had fallen asleep in the back seat, exhausted from the chaos and fear of the past few hours. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on you, but at least you were safe—for now.

You couldn’t help but think of Bucky. You hadn’t seen him since you’d run, and the fear for his safety gnawed at you. You hadn’t been able to stay with him, hadn’t been able to fight beside him, and you hated yourself for it. You knew he would have wanted you to stay hidden, but you weren’t the kind of person who could sit idly by, not when your family was in danger.

But you couldn’t deny the relief that rushed over you now that you were away from immediate danger. Your heart still raced in your chest, and your hands were cold, but the worst was over… or so you hoped.

The car skidded to a halt in front of the safehouse, and Steve killed the engine. “Stay here with Alex,” he instructed, his voice firm, but there was a softness in his eyes. “I’ll get Bucky. He needs to know you’re okay.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You had so much to say, so many emotions swirling inside you, but for now, you just needed to breathe.

Minutes later, the sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet night. You recognized the rhythmic pace of Bucky’s boots before you even saw him. Your heart leapt in your chest as the door to the safehouse swung open, and there he was—alive, unharmed, and looking as determined as ever.

The moment you saw him, the dam inside you broke.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even hesitate. You rushed into his arms, your chest heaving as you pressed yourself against him. His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you close, holding you like you were the one thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the weight of everything finally started to sink in. You had been so terrified—terrified that you might never see him again, terrified that you might lose him like you’d lost your husband.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his hand stroking your hair gently as he whispered in return, “I’m fine. I’m here.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw something there that made your heart flutter—a softness, a tenderness that you hadn’t realized he had been hiding. It was a rare moment between the two of you, when the walls came down, and everything else faded away.

Steve, ever the observant one, leaned against the doorframe with a knowing smirk on his face, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at the two of you and cleared his throat, giving you both a moment.

“Guess that’s my cue to get out of here,” Steve said with a wink, pushing himself off the doorframe. He gave Bucky a nod. “You’re good now, man. We’ll be in touch.”

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off you as he nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks, Steve. You’ve done enough.”

Steve’s smirk widened, and with a final glance at the two of you, he left, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

And then it was just you and Bucky. The world outside had disappeared—no more gunshots, no more enemies, just the two of you standing in the quiet aftermath of a battle you had barely survived.

Bucky took a deep breath, his hands brushing against yours as you stepped closer to him. The air between you thickened, tension building like a storm about to break.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice rough, the words laced with emotion that he rarely showed. “I should’ve kept you safe. I should’ve kept you out of all of this.”

You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips. “You did keep me safe. You kept us safe. And I—I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while you fought. I couldn’t just—”

Before you could finish, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep and urgent. It was everything—everything you had been holding back, everything you hadn’t said, everything you had been afraid to feel. His hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as if to make sure you were real, as if he hadn’t believed until now that you were really here.

You responded just as fiercely, your heart hammering against your chest as the pent-up emotions spilled over, releasing in that single moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Bucky rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short bursts.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his words raw and honest, stripped of all the walls he usually put up. “I thought I could just keep you safe, keep you out of all this, but… it’s not that simple. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, not again. I’m not leaving you.”

You felt the same—a warmth flooding your chest as you pressed your palm over his heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath your touch.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m scared, Bucky. But I don’t want to be scared anymore. Not if we’re in this together.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes locking with yours, filled with determination. “We are in this together. And I won’t let anything come between us.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, holding each other, the world outside forgotten. It didn’t matter what had happened or what was still to come. All that mattered was the quiet, steadfast promise you had made to each other.

Together.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe it.

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