#sorry that just like- came to my mind unbidden

[aplaceforhumancorpses]

🍵༘PANCAKES🥯⊹ ࣪ ˖

„⤵ MILD ANGST and fluff! „⤵ 2 / (?) PARTS „⤵ JASON TODD X READER Jason is getting settled in his new home, after showing up at your door last night. Jason is a dead man walking, but he still needs you. Read PT 1 here! AFFECTION ROTS Reblogs much appreciated

The two of you eventually found the couch. You sat next to him, putting a throw pillow's distance between the two of you. Much to his disappointment. Jason was more clingy then he had ever been before. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. A few hours passed. You had both fallen asleep sometime after midnight. That morning he explained everything as best as he could to you, his death at the hands of the joker, the crowbar, the ressurection. Despite the granted confusion you followed as best you could. He told you everything. Everything that happened from the moment he died. He really missed you, despite the two of you being dumb in love teeangers. He still saw a future with you, and you were wary to admit you weren't sure you saw the same. He was diffrerent. Bigger, taller, stronger. And somehow more alive, than anything before. “I'm sorry." You managed to say. You felt like such a coward. You couldn't handle touching him, or holding his hand.

“I can't blame you. It'll take some time." He said sadly. You could see in his eyes that he was blaming himself. "You're doing great… I really am proud of you. Just wish we could've done all this… together, y'know?" he said the last part quietly, almost a whisper. You looked down, unable to hold eye contact.

"Things are a little bit different now. You know that right? I can't change my past. Even though I'd like to." You spoke slowly. "You know, it's gonna take some time. I don't regret our relationship. Never have."

”You're serious, huh?" he raised an eyebrow. It was nearly commical. You were devestating him with every word you spoke. "I wanted us to do this forever, you know? Like… forever. You've always been on my mind.. guess I should've known things weren't gonna stay the same. You're not fifteen anymore.." he mumbled.

He had a faraway look in his eye. You wondered how much of this story he had clearly made up inside his mind depended on you reciprocating his tender feelings. But you knew this was his way of trying to comfort you, despite his broken soul. He would give you time… "Do you remember our first date?" He suddenly asked. He smiled shyly, looking down at his lap. The image came unbidden to your mind, vivid and perfect. You remembered how much effort he put into planning. He was more thorough then any man. He was attentive, and a good listener. So why were you hesitant..? Maybe it was his dependency. “Um. Yes I remember- Um.. do you want breakfast?.." You said weakly, standing up and turning towards the kitchen, leaving him to his own thoughts. "I can make us something quick…" You heard him sigh in disappointment. When you finally turned around again, his elbows were on his knees. He was curled into himself. You knew he was trying to be strong. But it was hard to admire his strengths when he looked so pitiful.. It broke your heart. "I'm making pancakes.. Do you want some? They're grainy but- edible." You offered hesitantly.

“Yeah.. sounds good.” His voice cracked. He didn’t have a good relationship with food. After the truama of his death and even before that with the joker, he hadn’t been hungry at all. He never wanted food.. and when he did it threw it up promptly. Food always felt unsafe to him. And that included food cooked by you.. which seemed ironic, because he would have worshipped the ground beneath you if you asked him to.

He wondered if he watched the whole process of cooking from start to finish if he would feel better about it. He could trick his brain into understanding he was safe.

“God you’re so gorgeous..” He sighed. “I’m tired of falling for you all over again… s’not fair. Why can’t I have you?” You paused, setting the pan on the stove as it heated up. Melting the butter into a bubbly golden liquid. There was no denying he had changed a lot. He went from 4”6 to an even 6 foot. You could see the stretch marks that painted his hips whenever he lifted his arms up. Despite your ‘disinterest’ in him romantically, you would still take small peeks and glances whenever his shirt rode up, revealing some of the new muscle he had gained.

His sudden growth wasn’t unwelcome, it was just shocking that he had grown that much within the span of a few years. Especially considering he had always been smaller than you.

But you had accepted his advances with only halfhearted interest. Even if he was a handsome behemoth of a man today. But it was hard to deny the fact that when he looked at you like he did now, you felt a lingering warmth.

He hadn’t lost his charm. He still knew how to make you blush and smile. But maybe you were too afraid of losing what you shared with him.. again..

As you began making the pancake mix he kept his gaze trained on you and the food. He was obviously enthralled with it.. “I like strawberries.” He smiled softly, watching you work through the recipe. He’d always loved watching you cook. It reminded him of home.. it was vaguely reminiscent of Alfred. Even if he hated the Waynes he still missed having a family. “They remind me of you.” He continued. “Those soft, shiny pinkish red ones…” You nodded along to his words. He was always so sentimental.. “They smell like spring.” He added, smiling slightly. You felt yourself relax at his words. He could be sweet sometimes, despite the fact he was now, 10x his size, strength, and power. He was probably better at a lot of things now, you didn’t want to know what he would do to any of the failed relationships you had in your contacts still... But it was clear he still had that innocent side that you once loved. Jason was like weathered plastic in the garden, his old self was fading, but the spots where the sunlight hadn’t burned away the old Jason todd were still as vibrant and tender as ever. He seemed happier than usual too. His cheeks had begun to lighten up again, his skin seemed to glow from just having seen you again.

The food was ready, and you brought him over to the table. “I’m not an amazing cook, but I hope it’s okay….” You handed him the fork. He was silent for a while, staring at the plate in front of him.

“I uh.. I’m usually not so good with food but this does look really good I promise. It feels like I constantly have the flu. My mind is all fucking broken.."

"You deserve a break." You said, sitting opposite of him across the table. Your fingers intertwined tightly with your own beneath the table, under the table. You tried to suppress your nerves. He needed comfort and support now, you couldn't give him more. "You're here.. With me.. That's something." You said, trying to encourage him.

“I still want you. So bad..” He mumbled. His fork clinked against his plate as he set it down gently. You took a deep breath. You didn’t know what to say. You weren’t ready to talk about your problem with the matter of your relationship. You just wanted him to eat, and try to get better..

“Jason-“ You warned.

“Do you still love me?” He interrupted. He was trying to sound calm, but he was clearly agitated. The question threw you off guard. He looked at you with wide, desperate eyes. “Answer honestly. I need to know.” You hesitated.

“Yes.” You answered truthfully, not able to hide the hurt on your face.

“You don’t even want to touch me…” he muttered dejectedly.

“You died- I was at your funeral.. I don’t understand how your here right now..” you said firmly. “I’m just… confused, ok? I thought I understood everything..” You were trembling. You knew he saw, he understood. You didn’t know how to deal with the guilt gnawing at your stomach.. You hated seeing him this upset. “I miss you..” he whispered, staring at you with pleading eyes.

You lowered your gaze and shook your head. “I’m sorry- you.. Do you have a place to stay?..”

“Are you kicking me out?..”

“Well no- but I feel bad for making you sleep on the couch.” You explained. “You’ve done nothing wrong.. I’m sorry… do you want to stay?”

He remained silent and slowly ate the food placed in front of him. His lips forming into a thin line. He looked exhausted. But he was eating the meal you had made, albeit reluctantly and very slowly. It took him about 20 minutes, as he finished every bite without looking up or saying a word.

“Yeah. I want to stay here for a bit.” He replied after he finished chewing. You nodded, relieved. He pushed back the chair and stood up. He looked exhausted.

“I’ll get you some blankets.” You said quietly, walking back to your room to bring some out to him. While searching your closet, you heard soft footsteps behind you. Your body froze for a split second. Just Jason.. Just Jason…. Then you relaxed. You pulled out two fluffy blankets. You walked back towards him, throwing them over his shoulders. He let out a content sigh at the warmth. “It smells like you…” he mused. He looked so at peace. Like you had injected life into him for the first time since he got here.

He grabbed one pillow from your bed and squeezed it. He closed his eyes, feeling the soft material against his skin. You couldn’t help but smile softly. He looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky. A sense of wonder and relief washing over his features. He turned to the doorway, making his way to the living room.

The television flickered dimly on your TV stand. Your DVD’s stacked high, mostly disney and other classics. “I love you so much..” he murmured, looking around your home.

“I…” You paused. “Know.. you do..” you trailed off, not knowing how else to respond. It felt weird hearing those words come from him. You spent nights hoping to hear those exact words just.. one more time. Hearing them now..

“Where were you?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming guilt weighing down your chest.

“Oh y’know…” He shrugged. “Just…” he laughed awkwardly before sitting down on the couch. “Just running around doing shit. Nothing serious.” He admitted. “But I was able to find you eventually. I actually used to sit in the parking lot and stare at your apartment door, waiting for you to open it..” he looked embarrassed to admit that, scratching the side of his jaw. You chuckled lightly at that image. “You should have seen it, though! I sat there until my legs went numb and then I finally decided to walk away because I felt kinda creepy sitting there watching like that..” He grinned, remembering how pathetic and childish it sounded. “But, I had to see you last night. I had to talk to you... See how you were...” He said, sadly. “God…I’m really messed up.” He sighed, dropping his gaze onto the floor. You frowned as you noticed his mood swing.

“I missed you too-… I’m glad you’re back, and I’m sorry I’m being so cold.” You apologised.

He gave you an understanding glance, “you can be pretty difficult to read these days.. I just.. I hope you can understand my intentions. I still want you.”

“Night Jay.” You stood up, attempting to run away from the topic. “I have class in the morning. I gotta get some sleep. I have a presentation coming up.” You walked towards the bedroom, but stopped. You didn’t want to leave him alone yet. What happened wasn’t fair. “I’ll be back around 12 or so.. tomorrow.”

“Goodnight baby.” He sighed, laying down on the couch. You smiled at his nickname.

He stayed sleeping in his makeshift bed the whole evening, until 4 am or so when he slipped out from the blankets and into your room. He was just getting up to check on you, but eventually it became him… getting a closer look.. getting in bed. and passing out next to you. These blankets were big enough to cover him completely, no cold feet. There was barely any distance between you.

“Night..” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. He laid down facing away from you, but in his mind he was holding you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you. ...

[bogglle]

cuddles

[creamflix]

nanami kento x reader; no reader gender implied. established relationship, you're married. angst with hella comfort. bittersweet. — masterlist here ☆

book dates with nanami had always been your little ritual, even before you got married.

you’d weave through shelves hand-in-hand, exchanging thoughts on novels, old and new. it was a comfort, a reminder that in this life you’d built together, there were constants — small moments that anchored you both, familiar and cherished.

today, you spotted him tucked between two shelves in the classics section, his gaze softened, almost wistful, as he held an old, worn copy of the great gatsby. the sight brought a smile to your face at first; nanami had always appreciated literature that held depth, stories that took him back to places he hadn’t visited in years.

but as you got closer, that smile faded.

the way he stared at the book, fingers tracing over the faded cover, wasn’t the usual look of nostalgic admiration. it was something deeper, something… bittersweet.

“ken?” you called softly, stepping closer. he turned to you, surprise flitting across his face before he offered a gentle smile.

“ah,” he murmured, lifting the book slightly. “this one… it was a favorite of someone i used to know.”

your chest tightened, and an unbidden question rose up before you could silence it. “someone… from before?”

you knew he’d had a college sweetheart, a first love who shared his love for books and afternoons spent in quiet cafes. he’d told you enough about her to know she was a part of his past, someone who had helped shape him into the man he was now.

but it had never felt so tangible, so close, as it did now.

he nodded slowly, a flicker of sadness passing over his face as he held your gaze, catching the way your expression changed. “she loved this book,” he admitted, his voice low. “it was… special to her.”

your heart felt heavy, as if it was pulling itself inward to protect from a pain that was already spreading. “and… is it special to you, too?”

nanami’s gaze softened, and he took a step toward you, his hand reaching to gently cup your cheek. “she was my first love,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your skin in that comforting way of his. “i won’t lie to you about that. but that’s all it is, love — my past. you’re my present, my future.”

you tried to take comfort in his words, in the steady warmth of his touch, but the ache was still there, sitting heavy in your chest. “it’s just… you seemed so lost in it, like you missed that time with her.” you managed to keep your voice steady, but you could hear the strain in it, feel the vulnerability that came with laying this insecurity bare.

nanami’s brow furrowed, his hand moving to hold yours. “it’s not her i miss,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure. “those years… they were formative, yes, but i don’t regret leaving them behind.” he paused, his gaze searching yours, trying to reassure you in the only way he knew. “i’m here with you now, and that’s all that matters to me.”

you wanted to believe him, to let his words wash over you and erase the pang in your heart. but the image of him standing there, holding that book with such tenderness, kept replaying in your mind. it was a reminder that he had loved before you, deeply, and that some part of him had been shaped by someone else, someone whose memory lingered, no matter how much he tried to reassure you otherwise.

“i know you mean that,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at your eyes. “but it still hurts… it’s like there’s a part of you that i can’t touch, something that belongs to her.”

he exhaled, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a secure, steady embrace. “i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i never meant for you to feel that way.”

you could feel his sincerity, the way he held you with a kind of reverence that only nanami had, and it soothed you — partly. but the hurt lingered, like an old scar reopened, a reminder that while he was yours now, he hadn’t always been.

“it’s not your fault,” you replied, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “i just… i wish i could be the only one in your memories sometimes.”

he tightened his hold, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i understand,” he said softly, leaning back to meet your eyes, his expression pained yet resolute. “i wish i could make you see that my heart is with you, that you’re everything to me. if there’s any way i can show you that, tell me, and i’ll do it.”

you managed a small smile, but the ache remained, a reminder of the love he’d had before you, a love that had left marks you could never erase. even with his words, his arms around you, the knowledge of his past clung to you, making this moment feel bittersweet.

and as you both stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the bookstore, you realized that sometimes, love meant carrying these bruises, letting them settle beneath the surface where they could heal in time — if they ever did at all.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗜𝗙𝗨𝗟

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍��� x reader

SUMMARY: When things between Matt and Y/N start to heat up for the first time, insecurities about her own stomach and stretch marks make it difficult for Y/N to move forward.

WARNING: Body issues, self-hate, insecurities, smut (‼️), oral (fem receiving), fingering, mention of loss of virginity.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, casting a warm, intimate ambiance around Matt's bedroom. The familiar scent of his cologne mingled with the faint hint of fabric softener from the freshly laundered sheets, creating a comforting atmosphere. The soft hum of the air conditioning provided a gentle background noise, a steady, comforting presence that filled the silence.

In the center of it all, Y/N and Matt stood close together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Matt's hands were firm yet tender on Y/N's waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N's hands were restless, exploring the familiar terrain of Matt's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. The intensity of their kiss deepened, a fiery, unrestrained passion that had been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. The heat between them was palpable, an electric charge that crackled in the air, urging them closer, pushing the boundaries of their self-control.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?" Matt's voice was a low, teasing rumble, his breath hot against her ear. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, a cheeky grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

He knew exactly what she was doing, the way her hands were starting to roam over his body, exploring with a mix of curiosity and desire. His eyes were dark with arousal, the playful glint in them making her heart race even faster.

"Nothing." Y/N replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Her hands stilled, suddenly self-conscious, but the spark of desire in Matt's gaze was intoxicating. She felt a wave of heat flush through her, her body responding to his closeness, to the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Matt's grin widened, and he leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Are you sure about that?" He murmured against her skin, his hands tightening their grip on her waist, pulling her even closer. His touch was both reassuring and electrifying, a combination that made her feel safe and utterly alive.

Y/N bit her lip, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt a rush of conflicting emotions, a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

"I think I’m ready for, like, it, I just-" She started softly, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess herself. The admission hung in the air between them, a fragile, delicate truth that made her stomach twist with a mix of anticipation and fear.

Matt's expression softened, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more serious.

"What's going on, babe?" He asked, his voice gentle and concerned. He could sense the shift in her mood, the way her hands trembled slightly against his chest. "Hey, talk to me."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, her mind racing with insecurities. She had always been self-conscious about her body, the stretch marks that marred her skin, the way her stomach always felt bloated. She had never been intimate with anyone before, and the thought of baring herself completely to Matt was both thrilling and terrifying. The tears came unbidden, a rush of emotion that she couldn't hold back.

"I... I just..." She began, her voice breaking. She felt pathetic, standing there with tears glowing inside her eyes, ruining what should have been a perfect moment.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Matt panicked, his hands flying from her waist to her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled from her eyes. "You don't have to be ready now, sweetheart. If you're not, you're not. I'm not gonna be mad at you for that. Or for anything at all... Just, please, talk to me."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat momentarily, swallowing hard as she felt Matt's eyes search hers.

"I'm not... I'm not skinny."

Her low and soft words came as a shock to Matt, who seemed to lose whatever words of comfort his mind was forming, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly for a few seconds.

"Why... Why would you say that, lovie?"

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but Matt's touch was grounding, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"I have all these stretch marks, and my stomach is very bloated all the time, and I just... I'm scared you won't like what you see." She took a deep breath, finally looking into Matt's eyes. "I'm not blind, Matt. I see all those girls that you and your brothers are friends with and surround yourself with when you go out with other famous people. I have self-awareness, you know?"

Matt stared at her for long seconds, as if trying to figure out whether she was telling the truth or not, despite knowing deep down that it wasn't a joke.

"Sweetheart, you think that matters to me at all?" He shook his head, frowning deeply. "I'm never looking at them like that, I don't even care about their bodies or how they look. You're the one who matters to me-"

"Matt, my stomach is the worst thing about me. I’m this weird, gross, awkward dirty with all those marks that no one likes, always with this fucking bloated stomach." She sniffled, her hands leaving Matt's body and going to her own, closing into fists against her own stomach, pressing the sagging skin over her clothes.

"Baby, that's not-"

"And when you see it all, you're going to think I’m a gross disgusting monster and you’re going to go find some other girl with a more defined body size and with zero marks to love and fuck." She couldn't stop her word vomiting, her hands closing around itself more and more, pain radiating from her knuckles, but she ignored it.

"Sweetheart, I would never-"

"Matt, I try so hard to hide it all with all of these clothes and modeling girdle. I try so hard to pretend that I don't have any of these shit, and now you're going to see it, and you’re going to hate me so much."

She paused momentarily, sniffling while lowering her eyes to her lap.

"I just... I don't want you to be disappointed. I can't bear it." She finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

After Y/N stopped talking, Matt remained silent for a few seconds, waiting to make sure she had finished spilling what she needed to.

When she didn't start talking again, Matt didn't respond with words. Instead, he leaned in and captured her lips in a tender, reassuring kiss, his hand holding her chin softly. He poured all his love and understanding into the gesture, holding her close and letting the moment stretch out, giving her time to feel his affection.

Slowly, he began to trail kisses across her cheek, down her jawline, and along her neck. Y/N's breath hitched, but she let him continue, a mix of fear and longing coursing through her.

Matt's wet kisses reached her clavicle, his hands gently meeting the hem of her shirt. He tugged it up slowly, giving her every opportunity to stop him if she wanted to.

She didn't. Instead, she felt a surge of trust and desire, her insecurities momentarily forgotten in the warmth of his touch.

As he removed her shirt and laid her down on the bed, he kept his own chest close, shielding her body from his view to ease her anxiety.

He took off her cotton shorts with the same slow, deliberate care, his lips trailing lower down her body, never rushing, never pushing her too far.

When he reached the edge of her bra, his lips kissed gently between her boobs, his touch filled with reverence. His pace remained steady, unhurried, as he kissed just below her bra, feeling her breath quicken.

Sensing her nearing the edge of tears again with his proximity to her middle region, Matt's hand found hers across the white sheets, squeezing gently to offer reassurance. He kissed down her torso, pausing just above her belly button before kissing directly below it and across both sides of her stomach.

His own desires and intrusive thoughts surged, and he couldn't help but kiss the soft flesh of her stomach just above her leg, then moving to her hips, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin near her stretch marks, a small groan scaping his throat with her natural scent and taste numbing him.

Y/N's loud gasp made him stop abruptly. He sat back on the bed quickly, his eyes wide with alarm as he started to apologize nonstop.

"Fuck, I'm sorry!" He started desperately. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- you're just so-"

But his eyes met her stomach, and his breath caught, completely in awe of her beauty. He couldn't help but take in the sight of her body, the stretch marks she was so self-conscious about, the soft flesh of her stomach she seemed to hate so much, and he felt a surge of love and protectiveness. His tongue scaped between his lips, wetting them as he felt a warm feeling going directly down to his lower region, his sweatpants feeling too small all of a sudden.

When Y/N sniffled again, his attention went automatically back to her face, his eyes still wide combined with his blown pupils. He was about to start apologizing again when she spoke, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

"You're... You're looking at me like you still love me. Even after seeing all of this."

Matt's heart ached with tenderness. He moved closer, his hand still holding hers, and looked deep into her eyes.

"Sweetheart, I don't just still love you; I love you even more. Every part of you. These stretch marks, your body, everything. They're all parts of you, and I love you just as you are."

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of relief and overwhelming emotion. Her fingers hooked around the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling him down and into a profound kiss, pouring all her gratitude, love, and desire into it. Matt held her close, his hands gentle on her skin, squeezing her soft skin in just the right amount.

"You promise?" She whimpered against his lips, her tears dropping into their mouths and mixing with their saliva.

"Dove, you're the most beautiful person I've ever met, inside and out. Those stretch marks? They're just a part of you, a part of the person I love. And your stomach? It's perfect just the way it is. I wouldn't ever lie about that. I wouldn't ever lie about you."

"I just want to be perfect for you." She confessed, her voice trembling. Matt pulled away just a few centimeters, caressing her lips with his own, his hot breath hitting her face.

"You are perfect for me. So fucking perfect." He whispered, his voice filled with a fierce sincerity. "Every part of you. I love you, Y/N. All of you. Please don't ever doubt that."

"I love you too, Matt." She whispered back, her voice steadying. "Thank you for being so patient with me."

"Always." He muttered back before closing the small distance between their mouths again.

His hands roamed over her body with a reverence that made her heart swell. His touch was gentle but insistent, like he was mapping out every inch of her, committing her to memory. She could feel the heat of his palms through the thin fabric of her bra, and it sent shivers down her spine. He took his time, exploring her with a tenderness that made her feel cherished and adored.

When he finally reached the clasp of her bra, he paused, his eyes seeking hers for permission. Y/N nodded, her breath hitching in anticipation. Matt unhooked the clasp with practiced ease, and as the garment fell away, he let out a low, appreciative hum.

"Fuck, you're so pretty." He murmured, his voice thick with awe. He cupped her breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in a way that made her gasp. "So fucking pretty."

His fingertips started tracing the silvery lines that adorned her boobs skin. Each touch was light, almost ethereal, as if he were trying to memorize the pattern of her stretch marks.

Matt lowered his head, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the sensitive skin of her chest. Each touch of his lips was a declaration of his love, his devotion, and it made Y/N feel more desired than she ever had before. His tongue flicked out to tease her nipple, and she arched into him, a moan escaping her lips.

"Please." Matt whispered, his voice trembling with need. "Please let me worship you. Let me feel you."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the sincerity and desperation in his voice overwhelming her. She nodded, moaning her approval, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. Matt didn't need any further encouragement. He kissed his way down her body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

His fingers continued their journey, outlining each mark from her waist to her hips and ass with a deliberate slowness, his lips moving lower, kissing her stomach with an intensity that made her heart race.

He took his time, the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his lips against her skin sent shivers through her body, making her writhe below him.

When he reached the waistband of her panties, he paused again, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at her.

"Can I?" He asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

"Yes." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Matt."

With a groan of pure need, Matt hooked his fingers under the waistband and slowly pulled her panties down her legs. He took his time, savoring the sight of her bare skin, the way her body responded to his touch. When he finally had her completely undressed, he paused, his eyes raking over her with a mixture of awe and hunger.

"God, you're so beautiful, sweetheart." He said, his voice filled with reverence. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, right above her longer marks, his breath hot against her skin. "Fuck, I won't ever be able to get enough of you."

Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. She could feel the heat of his breath against her most sensitive area, and it made her ache with need. Matt kissed his way up her thigh, his lips brushing over her skin in a way that made her whimper.

"Please." He whispered, his voice filled with longing. "Please, can I taste you?"

Y/N's heart swelled with love and desire.

"Yes, please, Matt. I... I need it so bad." She whimpered, her fingers tightening in his hair as she pulled him closer. Matt let out a low, appreciative moan, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed a soft kiss to her most sensitive spot, his tongue flicking out to finally taste her.

"Shit, you taste so good." He murmured, his voice filled with awe. He licked her clit slowly at first before finally sucking it, his tongue exploring her with a need that matched her own. Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps, her body arching into him as he worshipped her with his mouth.

Matt's hands gripped her thighs, his fingers squeezing hard her soft flesh, holding her steady as he devoured her. His tongue flicked and teased, his lips sucking and kissing her bud in a way that drove her wild. She could feel the tension building in her core, the pleasure mounting with each touch of his mouth.

"Please, Matt." She whimpered, her voice trembling with need. "Please, I need more."

Seeing her reactions only egged him on more, and he, without warning, slowly inserted a long, slender finger into her needy hole. Y/N gasped loudly at the intrusion, shifting her hips slightly in an attempt to move away from the new and slightly uncomfortable feeling.

Matt let out a low, needy moan with her movements, his tongue delving deeper, his free fingers digging into her thighs to maintain her in place.

"I need you too, sweetheart." He murmured against her pussy, his voice filled with desperation. "I need you so fucking much."

Y/N let out a particularly filthy moan when he curled his finger upward, hitting a spot that just felt so fucking good, a new sense of pleasure invading her whole body.

One of his hands - the one that was gripping her right thigh - moved up her body, fingertips gently stroking her waist before running over her stomach. He made a point to feel every single inch of the skin there, his fingers squeezing all the flesh he could in a very gentle way.

Y/N allowed him to continue, feeling self-conscious but desperately not wanting him to stop what he was doing with her.

His tongue, lips, and finger worked in perfect harmony to bring her to the brink. Y/N's body trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built and built. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, the tension in her core about to snap, her hands desperately gripping his hair and the sheets, receiving a long groan from Matt.

"Matt." She gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close. Fuck-"

"Let go for me, dove." Matt whispered against her core, his voice filled with love and need. "I want to see you cum. I want to feel you cum in my tongue, yeah? Please."

With a cry of pure ecstasy, Y/N's body tensed, the pleasure washing over her in waves. Matt held her steady, his mouth never leaving her clit and his finger never stopping to pump in and out of her as he guided her through her orgasm. She could feel his tongue and lips moving against her in a very deep kiss, his hands holding her close as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

When she finally came down from her high, he pulled back, his eyes were dark with need, his chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. His lips kissed his way back up her body, his touch gentle and reverent.

He gathered her in his arms, holding her close as they lay together in the afterglow. Y/N's heart swelled with love, her body still trembling from the intensity of her climax.

"Baby... What about you?" She asked softly, her eyes drifting down to where he was clearly rock hard, his arousal evident.

Matt shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Today was about you." He said gently. "I'm okay, sweetheart. I wanted to make sure you knew how much I love you. How perfect you are to me."

Y/N’s heart swelled with love and gratitude. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands and pulling him down for a tender kiss.

"Thank you." She whispered against his lips. "For everything. I love you so much."

"I love you too, more than anything," Matt replied, his voice filled with passion. He kissed her again, pouring all his love and adoration into the gesture. "My pretty girl."

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[misswynters]

Fragmented Memory

[warning: pure angst and sadness, jace crying

[note | this is my first time writing pure angst… i think 💭 that’s crazy -anya

You woke up in the healer's tent, your head pounding and the world a blur. Faces hovered over you, but none of them sparked recognition. One face, however, stood out—a man with eyes filled with worry and pain.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, his voice trembling.

You searched your mind, but it was like grasping at shadows. "I... I don't know you," you stammered, guilt twisting in your chest as you saw his face fall.

"I'm Jacaerys," he said softly, tears brimming in his eyes. "We've been through so much together."

Despite his words, there was nothing—no spark of recognition, no comforting memory to hold onto. "I'm sorry," you whispered, hating the blank slate your mind had become.

In the days that followed, Jacaerys tried to rekindle your past by sharing stories and moments you had once cherished. He spoke of moonlit dances and whispered promises, but none of it brought back your memory. You tried to listen, to grasp at the fragments of your shared history, but it all felt distant and unreal.

One evening, as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of sorrow, Jacaerys sat beside you, holding your hand. "Even if you never remember," he said, his voice breaking, "I'll love you. I always will."

You squeezed his hand, a small gesture of comfort you couldn't fully comprehend. You wished you could be the person he remembered, the one he loved. But all you could offer was your presence, a shadow of who you used to be.

As the stars appeared, Jacaerys rested his head on your shoulder, the warmth of your body a bittersweet reminder of what you both had lost. He whispered stories of your past, of your first kiss under a starlit sky, of the promises you made by the roaring sea. His words were filled with love and longing, each one a dagger to your heart.

You could see the pain in his eyes every time he looked at you, the hope that flickered and died with each passing day. He spoke of your bravery in battle, of the way you held him when he cried, of the laughter you shared. But it all felt like someone else's life, someone else's love.

The next morning at the break of dawn, as the moonlight streamed through the tent, Jacaerys broke down, tears streaming down his face. "I miss you so much," he sobbed, his voice filled with anguish. "I miss us."

You held him, feeling his pain as if it were your own. You wished you could remember, to give him the solace he so desperately needed. But all you had were empty promises and a heart that ached for something you couldn't recall.

As the nights grew colder, you watched Jacaerys's hope slowly fade. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a deep, unrelenting sorrow. He stayed by your side, his love unwavering, but you could see the toll it took on him.

As the hours passed by, you looked at Jacaerys, his face etched with the lines of sleepless nights and endless worry. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice heavy with regret. "I'm sorry I can't remember."

He smiled weakly, a tear slipping down his cheek. "It's not your fault," he said softly. "I'll always love you, no matter what."

You pulled him close, wishing you could be the person he deserved. As you held him, you felt a faint flicker of something—perhaps a memory, or maybe just the ghost of a forgotten love. But it was enough to hold onto, even if it was fleeting.

In your mind, flashes of the battle came unbidden, chaotic and jumbled. You had ridden into the fray beside Jacaerys, your swords cutting through the enemy forces. The clash of steel and the cries of the wounded filled the air. It was in the midst of this chaos that it happened—a heavy blow to the back of your head. You had been thrown from your horse, the world spinning into darkness.

When you woke up, the memories of who you were, and who you loved, had vanished. Now, as Jacaerys held you, the echo of that fateful day lingered in your mind—a ghost of a past you couldn’t grasp, but one that had forever changed your future. Your heart aches and is missing something however you don’t know what that is. All you can hope is for your memory to come back, if that’s even possible.

[a/n: i let out a tear…

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @spn-obession @beebeechaos

banner: @cafekitsune

[moonstruckme]

Divots

summary: James shows you the practical uses of your stretch marks

cw: reader deals with body insecurities, the barest suggestion of smut

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

James Potter is always touching you, and you can’t figure out how to feel about it. 

He’ll wrap an arm around your waist, or play absentmindedly with your fingers, or brush a casual touch against your face, and your heart will swell as your stomach twists itself into knots. James is a tactile person. You’ve seen him exchange casual touches with his friends, with his teammates—hell, sometimes even with random classmates. That kind of closeness doesn’t come naturally to you, though some part of you seems to crave it; all it takes is James brushing his hand against yours and you’re fighting the urge to rub up against him like a cat, even as your brain buzzes with nervous static. 

So the feeling isn’t entirely unfamiliar when you’re doing homework in his room and James' hand finds your thigh. Every nerve in your being fires up instantly, but you do your best not to tense. One glance at James lets you know he’s done it without noticing, the entirety of his focus still on the parchment in front of him even as his thumb starts to rub a slow, soothing back-and-forth on your leg. 

You try to remember to breathe, letting yourself acclimate to the sensation, and return your attention to your own work. Except, not really. Every movement of James' large hand makes a mockery of your feeble attempts at concentration. The barest pressure of his thumb as it sweeps over your thigh, the way his pinkie finger makes a tiny indentation in your fat, the tiny shifting of the ligaments in his hand as he adjusts his grip. It’s almost imperceptible, but not to you. Right now, you doubt a speck of dust could blow by without you noticing it. 

Times like this, you envy James for the security he so obviously feels around touching and being touched. Being with him—being loved and admired by him—has helped you make slow progress in feeling better about yourself, and you resent the years you spent dreading someone feeling the chub of your thighs or seeing the softness of your stomach. James makes physical contact look so easy, you know it’d never occur to him that anyone else could struggle with it. He’d been nothing but sweet and respectful when you’d startled at his hands on you during the first couple of weeks you’d been dating, promising to take things more slowly, but he’d only thought you were jumpy. James probably couldn’t fathom that every time he palms the fat around your ribs or hauls you towards him gripping your hips, images of his disgust with you form, unbidden but crystal-clear, in your mind’s eye. 

You’re trying to shove those images back into the cobwebby recesses of your consciousness they came from when James fingers start to toy absentmindedly with the divots in your inner thigh. 

You inhale sharply.

James turns to you, his eyes moving from your horrified face to the movement of his fingers on your leg. 

“Oh, sorry,” he laughs. “I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed you.” He gives you an apologetic squeeze, and you flinch slightly, instantly sorry as James’ eyes widen and he removes his hand. “Shit, am I hurting you?”

His eyes rove your legs, searching for bruises or something else to explain your pained reaction, and you’re so used to him looking at you that by now it shouldn’t bother you, but between his fingers on your warped inner thigh and the awkwardness that’s resulted from your reaction, it’s too much. His gaze feels like it’s scorching you.

“No,” you say quickly. “No, I’m sorry, I’m fine.” 

James’s eyes move back to your face,and relief has you thinking more clearly despite his befuddled expression. He tilts his head like a puppy. “Sorry, Jamie, it’s just—” you suck in a bracing breath, knowing he deserves an explanation but also knowing there’s no way this isn’t going to be humiliating. “No one’s ever touched my stretch marks before, and I kind of flipped out. Sorry.” 

James blinks. “I haven’t touched them before now?”

“No.” 

“Well, that’s been a mistake.” 

“James, don’t.” You can’t look at him. You want nothing more than for this conversation to be over, and it’s your fault it’s happening at all. If you’d just been able to keep your reaction in check…

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” James’ tone is jovial, but there’s a bit of challenge in there. It’s not one you intend to rise to meet. “They’re lovely.”

“They’re…” Ugly. Blemishes. Proof that you’ve never had the kind of perfect, athletic body James does. “They’re embarrassing.” 

“Angel, no,” James sounds so heartbroken you wonder if he’s somehow heard everything else you’d really wanted to say, and then his hand is under your jaw, encouraging your head up until your eyes meet his, warm and brown and lovely. “They’re just you. You know this scar?” he rolls up his sleeve, revealing the tiny white line on his arm from when he’d fallen off his broom and his bone had jutted out his second year. 

“Yeah,” you say warily. 

“Do you think it’s embarrassing?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow, immediately defensive. “Of course not. But that’s different.”

“It’s not,” he says, with a firmness you don’t expect from him. “You think I give a shit if you’ve got some marks on you? They’re just proof that your body’s been lived in. And I happen to like you and your body, so have some respect, please.” James grins. You’re softening, and he knows it. “Plus, they’re great for traction.” 

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

Wordlessly, he grips your thighs in two big hands, digging his thumbs into the stripes along the insides, and yanks you into his lap. You release a squeal, and James swallows it readily, pressing his mouth to yours as he lets the tops of his thumbnails skim gently over the indents in your skin. You blame it on the friction, but that’s where the warmth starts; in the flawed insides of your thighs, making its way to your core until you’re molten and brainless under James’ touch. 

“See?” he murmurs against your lips. “They’re not just for looks, they’re useful too.”

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare to this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[asciendo]

We Can't Be Friends

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: inspired by Ariana Grande's "We Can't Be Friends" Music video where you have your memories of Mingyu erased.

The café buzzed with quiet conversation and the hum of an espresso machine, a backdrop to your usual routine. You were halfway through your book, the faint aroma of roasted coffee beans mingling with the crisp pages, when a shadow loomed over your table.

“Remember.”

The voice was thick with desperation.

You looked up, startled, to find a man standing in front of you. His eyes, warm and brown but clouded with emotion, bore into yours as though searching for something only he could see. He knelt before you, gently cupping your face with trembling hands.

You flinched but didn’t pull away, caught between confusion and the odd, inexplicable comfort of his touch. “Remember what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please,” he begged, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His gaze was so intense it felt like he was trying to imprint himself into your memory by sheer will. “Please remember me.”

Your heart quickened, but your mind was blank. “I… I don’t know you.”

His face crumpled, and he let out a soft, broken sound that made your chest ache. His hands dropped from your face, but he didn’t look away. “Why did you do it? Why did you—” His words were strangled, his head bowing as tears spilled freely.

“M-Mingyu…” you stammered, his name leaving your lips unbidden, like muscle memory. The sound of it felt familiar, yet foreign.

His head snapped up, hope flashing in his eyes. “You do know me!” he cried.

You recoiled, the moment feeling suddenly too close, too raw. “I don’t,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “I—I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, and for a moment, it looked like it might snap entirely. Then he broke the silence.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice shaking but earnest. “Please, just… outside, on that bench.” He gestured to the lamp-lit seat just beyond the café window. “I know how this looks, but I’m not—I swear, I’m not dangerous. I just need a moment. Please.”

Your instincts screamed at you to refuse. Stranger danger, the countless episodes of crime shows you’d consumed over the years—it all pointed to leaving, now. But there was something in the way he looked at you, a vulnerability so raw it made your stomach churn. Against all reason, you nodded.

Relief washed over his face as you gathered your things. He led the way outside, stopping at the bench under the soft glow of a streetlamp.

The two of you sat in tense silence until you finally broke it. “So… do I know you?”

His head turned toward you, and you noticed the way his jaw tightened, the slight tremble of his hands. “Yes,” he said, barely audible. “We know each other.”

You frowned, trying to recall where you might have seen him. His tall frame and scruffy black hair weren’t exactly forgettable. “From where?”

He hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You… you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” Your voice was steadier now, but your heart was racing.

He took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with tears. “My name is Mingyu,” he said finally, as though the words carried the weight of the world.

You repeated it under your breath, testing the name, searching for any spark of recognition. Nothing came.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “I really don’t—”

Then he said it. The nickname only your parents called you. The sound of it froze you in place, and your breath hitched.

“H-how do you know that?” you demanded, scooting back on the bench. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Mingyu’s face was a picture of heartbreak. “Because you told me,” he said simply, his voice trembling. “You told me everything.”

You stood abruptly, panic taking over. “No one knows that. No one. You—you need to stay away from me.”

“Wait!” He rose too, hands outstretched in surrender. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just—I wanted you to see that we know each other. That we—”

“I don’t remember you,” you interrupted, your voice sharp and pained. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

You turned and walked away, leaving him behind under the glow of the streetlamp, his broken sobs trailing after you.

Mingyu stumbled into the shared dorm late that night, his face blotchy and tear-streaked. The familiar warmth of the living room, filled with the faint scent of takeout and the quiet murmur of a TV show, barely registered. Wonwoo was seated on the couch, glasses slipping down his nose as he looked up from his book.

“Gyu, what happened?” Wonwoo’s voice was calm but laced with concern as Mingyu dropped into the chair across from him.

Mingyu buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. “She doesn’t remember me,” he choked out. “She really doesn’t.”

Wonwoo put his book aside and leaned forward. “What do you mean? Did you talk to her?”

Mingyu nodded, his voice breaking. “I saw her at the café. I tried… I begged her to remember, but she didn’t. She looked at me like I was a stranger.” He sniffled and wiped his face, but the tears kept falling. “Why did she do this, Wonwoo? Why did she—erase me?”

Wonwoo’s expression softened. “You two went through a lot, Mingyu. You knew it was heavy on both of you.”

Mingyu shook his head violently. “She broke up with me, I get that. But I didn’t think it was so bad she’d erase everything about us.” His voice cracked as the memory surfaced. “She said after we broke up, she couldn’t see me anymore—it hurt too much. But I didn’t think…” He trailed off, his hands gripping his knees. “I need her to remember, Wonwoo. I need her back.”

Wonwoo hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe you should go to the clinic where she had it done. See if there’s anything left behind.”

Mingyu looked up, desperate hope flashing in his eyes. “Do you think they’ll let me?”

“Maybe not,” Wonwoo admitted, “but I have some leverage.”

The next day, Mingyu and Wonwoo stood in the sterile, white reception area of the memory clinic. The nurse at the front desk eyed them warily as Mingyu pleaded his case.

“I just need to see what she left behind,” Mingyu said, his voice raw.

“I’m sorry, sir. That information is private,” the nurse replied firmly.

Wonwoo stepped forward, his tone cool and authoritative. “I’m the son of Governor Jeon,” he said, sliding his ID onto the counter. “I’m asking nicely. Please grant us access.”

The nurse hesitated before sighing and motioning for them to follow.

In a small room, they were handed a box of belongings: a stack of photographs, small trinkets, and a worn notebook. Mingyu’s hands trembled as he picked up the notebook, recognizing it instantly.

“It’s her journal,” he whispered, staring at the cover.

“You’ve come this far,” Wonwoo said gently. “You should read it.”

Mingyu hesitated before flipping it open. Each page was filled with her thoughts—her love for him, her pain, the arguments that drained her.

“I feel like I have to beg for his love. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want it to end.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He dropped to the floor, clutching the journal, his sobs filling the room. “I hurt her so much,” he whispered. “I knew things were bad, but I didn’t know she felt this way.”

Wonwoo sighed, picking up the journal as a piece of folded paper slipped out. He opened it and froze. “Mingyu…”

“What?”

Wonwoo handed him the note. In her familiar handwriting, it read: “I’ll wait for your love.”

Mingyu’s breath hitched. “She’s waiting for me?” he whispered, hope flickering in his eyes. Then his face fell. “But why did she want to forget me?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe waiting for you was too hard. Maybe it broke her, Gyu. And… you didn’t exactly wait for her either.”

“I dated other people to try to forget her!” Mingyu snapped.

“Imagine what that was like for her,” Wonwoo said softly.

Mingyu sighed, defeated, but suddenly stood. “I need to find her. I need to make her remember.”

Wonwoo grabbed his arm. “Gyu, don’t push it. If she remembers, it’ll bring everything back—including the pain.”

Over the next few days, Mingyu tried everything to trigger your memory. He “accidentally” bumped into you at the café, called you by your nickname, even lingered outside places you used to frequent together.

One day, as you passed the bookstore where you first met, it hit you. The flashback was vivid: Mingyu clumsily knocking over a stack of books, his embarrassed grin as you helped him pick them up. You froze in place, overwhelmed as the memories flooded back—every laugh, every kiss, every fight, every tear.

You began to cry, the weight of it all too much to bear. Without thinking, you turned and ran, searching for him.

You found him walking toward your apartment, his face lighting up when he saw you. “You remember,” he whispered.

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t come any closer.”

Mingyu froze, his heart sinking. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know I hurt you. I just want to fix this.”

“You hurt me,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I used to think you were someone who’d never hurt me.”

“I know, baby. I know,” Mingyu sobbed. “Do you still love me?”

You hesitated. “I can’t.”

“Please,” he begged. “You erased me because you couldn’t let me go. Then don’t let me go now.”

Your sobs grew louder as he stepped closer. “I waited for you,” you whispered.

“I know,” Mingyu said, his voice breaking. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you. Please, just give me one more chance.”

You looked up at him, your heart warring with itself. Mingyu held his breath, all his hope pinned on your answer.

You stared at Mingyu, your mind and heart a chaotic storm. “I don’t know if I can,” you admitted.

“I’ll wait,” Mingyu said softly. “Even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You didn’t respond, turning and walking away. But this time, you didn’t erase him—you carried the memory with you. Whether you’d return to him someday, only time would tell.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 3, Unbidden - Pt. 3*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence/killing, mildly predatory!Bucky (but Dear Reader is INTO it), poorly translated Russian, mentions of past trauma, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT -Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here- (fingering, protected PIV), bad jokes (it's me, okay?) As always, if I missed something, please let me know.

Word Count: 2.9k

Previously On...: You woke the morning after the party to find Bucky had already left for his first Avengers mission. However, he's left you a note promising to tell you something very important when he comes home.

A/N: WARNING! SMUT! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! The entire part is smut and I am not sorry.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917

The mission was only supposed to last a handful days, a week, tops, but he'd been gone for close to two weeks, and you hated it. He was with Steve and Sam, off to God only knew where, doing God only knew what, and as there was no need for your tech skills, you'd been left behind. It was almost disconcerting how difficult it had been to be sleeping on your own again, and you found yourself sneaking into his room late at night after you'd been tossing and turning for hours, just to hold onto his pillow and inhale the familiar scent of cedar and leather.

On the thirteenth night, you were lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling. A glance at your clock told you it was almost 2am. You were debating whether or not you should go across the hall to Bucky's room to try to steal a few hours of sleep there so you wouldn't be completely useless tomorrow when there was a knock on your door. You bolted upright-- no good news came at 2am, and especially not in person.

You quickly padded to the door on bare feet, heart pounding and mind reeling at the thought of what could possibly be waiting on the other side-- had the mission gone horribly wrong? Had something happened to Bucky? God, you didn't even know what you would do with yourself if something bad had happened to him... The last thing you were expecting to find on the other side was the man, himself, leaning on the door frame, breathing heavily, tac-suit disheveled and bloodied.

You flung the door wide. "Buck?" you whispered. "What happ--" With a single step forward and without a word, his mouth was on yours, hands grasping your face and pulling you toward him in desperation. There was nothing gentle or romantic about the kiss-- it was ravenous and frantic, as though your lips were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

You gasped against his mouth and pulled away, stumbling back a few steps to put some distance between you as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. He was staring at you with an intensity that made you feel the urge to squeeze your thighs together. There was a hunger in his eyes you had never seen before, and it was directed at you.

"Bucky," you breathed as his eyes roved over your body from head to toe and back again.

"Is that my shirt?" The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. You looked down. You were wearing one of his shirts, having gone and pulled it out of his dresser one night when you were sick with missing him. Unfortunately, it was all you were wearing. You certainly hadn't gone to bed expecting post-midnight visitors.

"Yes?" you managed to squeak out. He stepped further into your room and, without even turning around, kicked your door shut in one fluid motion.

"Pocket," he practically growled --and dear God, why was the sound of his voice making you wet?-- "I missed you. So. fucking. much. You have no idea." He was on you again, this time his hands going under your ass and hoisting you up as he kissed you.

This is a bad idea, you thought as you found yourself kissing him back, opening your mouth to let in his tongue. This is a terrible, very bad idea. Yet you wrapped your legs around his waist and carded your hands through his hair as he walked you back to the bed. Future!Pocket can deal with the fallout tomorrow was your last cognizant thought before you let yourself give in fully to the sensation of your best friend's lips on yours.

When he got you to your bed, he laid you down, so gently you could scarcely breathe. He rested his body next to you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands gently stroked your face, your arms, your sides.

"Bucky," you moaned as his hands found their way under the hem of your shirt to caress your hipbone, "what is this?"

He leaned down, trailing feather-light kisses along your jawline, your neck, your collarbone. "Two weeks," he murmured in between kissing you. "Two weeks without touching you, feeling how soft you are. All I could think about was how you danced, with Sam's hands all over you. Thought I was going to go crazy. And then all that violence. Killing bad guys is still killing, and I still hate it. Needed to come home and feel something good. Needed to feel you." You felt him slide his hands under the waistband of your panties, skimming his way across your pubic bone until he was cupping your mound. You hitched a breath at the contact, hips inadvertently pressing up against his palm on their own accord.

"We're friends, Buck." You let out a low moan as his fingers began inching slowly lower, toward your center, just out of reach of where you were surprised to find you wanted him to be. You knew if you told him to stop, he'd do so in an instant, but the look of wanting in his eyes, of the absolute need he had for you had short circuited your brain, and you were willing to give him anything he asked for in that moment.

"Mmmm," he hummed as he slipped a single finger between your folds, teasing you, testing you, seeing how far you were willing to let him go as you squirmed beneath him. "Best friends. And we can still be best friends in the morning, but I need this now, Pocket. Pozhaluysta."

It was the please that did you in. There was something about the vulnerability in his voice, the desperation, that had you opening your legs to him, a silent invitation.

He smiled at you, so beautiful and pure, that you couldn't resist leaning up to kiss him again, and as you did, he ran a finger through your slick, coating himself in you, before plunging it inside you up to his knuckle.

You gasped at the unexpected intrusion, arching your back and pressing your chest against his. The feeling of his thick finger inside of you was exquisite. The number of times you had been intimate with someone simply because you wanted to be, and not because you were forced to, were few and far between, and if you were being honest with yourself, if you could have picked an ideal partner, it would have been Bucky.

"You're already so wet, doll," he whispered, nibbling on the soft skin of your neck, just at your pulse point. He was going to leave a mark, but it felt so good that you couldn't care. Yet, the feeling of having his finger inside of you paled in comparison to when he began pumping that finger, strokes long and slow, the palm of his hand grinding on your clit as he worked you. After a moment, a second finger joined the first, and then a third, and he curled them as he stretched you, hitting that soft, spongy part of you that had you seeing stars.

"Bucky," you panted, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him closer as you gasped for air. "I'm-- I'm--"

"That's alright, doll," he whispered, the pace of his thrusting increasing as he brought you closer to the edge. "I want you to come for me, okay? Can you do that? Can you come around my fingers? God, you look so beautiful. Prosto otpusti menya, kukolka." Just let go for me, doll.

You couldn't even form a coherent word for him right now if you tried, in any language, so you just moaned and writhed, letting your body speak for you until you were coiling, coiling, coiling-- snapping and breaking, falling apart into a million pieces of light, internal walls fluttering around his fingers as a wave of euphoria washed over you, pulsating through every inch of your being with a ferocious intensity.

He kept working you through your release, prolonging the sensations, drawing out your whimpers and moans as your limbs shook with the aftershock.

"Good girl," he whispered, standing up, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. "Such a good girl for me, and so pretty when you come, too."

You laid there, motionless as you tried to catch your breath. Did that really just happen? Did you seriously just get off on Bucky's fingers?

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, you opened your mouth to ask Bucky what this was going to mean for your friendship, but before you could get a word out, you were struck dumb by the sight of him before you. He had stripped himself of his tac-suit and was standing on the side of the bed in just his boxer briefs. You'd seen him shirtless before, he'd slept in only sweats often enough, but this was an entirely different level. The man was built like a marble sculpture. Even the jagged scars on his shoulder where flesh met metal were beautiful.

Bucky seemed to be moving in slow motion, and you weren't sure if he was being deliberate in his movements, or if you were just so rattled by the orgasm he had given you that time had become distorted, but you watched as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down over his thick thighs, until he was stepping out of them.

Your eyes followed his hand as it came back up and took a hold of his shaft, giving it one, two, three long, strong strokes.

"Yebena mat'," you whispered-- holy shit-- and he smirked at you; he always loved it when you spoke Russian to him. You'd always guessed Bucky was fairly well endowed, but you never imagined anything like this. He was long and thick, with a prominent vein snaking up the underside of the hard length of him as his hand traveled from base to tip, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum behind. His size alone was enough to make you shudder with need, and that combined with the way he moved around it -- like he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was doing it for -- made you feel as if you'd been thrown right back into that place of euphoria all over again.

Bucky closed the distance between you, his breath hot against your skin as he loomed over you. Your heart raced, anticipation coursing through your veins as he gazed down at you with intense desire in his eyes. You lifted yourself up, eager to explore every inch of his sculpted body with your hands and lips. As his hand ran along his length, you couldn't help but bite your lip in anticipation. "I don't know whether to be scared or excited," you whispered, aching for him in a way you'd never known.

With a soft smile, Bucky kissed the tip of your nose before retrieving a condom from your bedside drawer-- how did he even know where you kept them?-- and rolling it on his length. "There's nothing to be scared of," he reassured you in a low voice. "I promise, Pocket, I'm going to make you feel so good." And with that, he entered you, filling you completely and igniting a fire within you until you were begging to burn. His movements were skillful and deliberate, each thrust pushing you closer to an edge of ecstasy that seemed perpetually out of reach. With every stroke, he broke down your barriers until you were grinding against him in pure bliss, lost in a world of pleasure you could never have imagined he would create for you.

"You take me so damned well," Bucky grunted into your ear. "The perfect little Pocket for my cock to sit in."

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, pounding into you relentlessly, pushing past all your reservations and making you beg him for more. You never knew you could crave someone like this until now, and it was intoxicating. Pleasure coursed through your body as he took you to new heights, and you couldn't help but scream his name as he took you to the brink of ecstasy over and over again.

He kept thrusting until the very last wave of his own release was complete, before collapsing beside you. You laid there, breathless and panting, your head spinning with a million different thoughts and feelings. You couldn't believe that you'd just had sex with Bucky Barnes. You'd just had sex with your best friend.

Bucky shifted so that he was lying beside you, resting his head on the swell of your chest. "You okay, Pocket?"

You nodded, unable to muster up the words to express what you were feeling. Hell, you could barely process what had just happened between you.

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," he said, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. "But I... Just... Thank you, Pocket. You have no idea how much I needed that. How much it means to me."

"We should talk about it, though," you said softly, almost regretting it as soon as the words left your mouth. But when it came to physical intimacy, you had too much emotional baggage to just act like this was nothing.

Bucky held perfectly still at your words. He wasn't looking at you, so you had no way of knowing what he was thinking, but you needed to be honest with him.

"That was..." you blew out a breath, "amazing. Seriously, well done. Five stars." You felt, rather than heard, him chuckle against your skin, and some of the post-coital tension between you dissipated. "But, I need to know what your expectations are going forward, Buck."

He tilted his head up to look at you, his eyes wide and open. "I don't have any expectations of you, Pocket. This can be a one-time thing, and we can pretend it never happened, or we can explore it. See where it goes. Whatever you want."

Whatever you wanted. What did you want? You loved Bucky with your whole heart. Probably more than you'd ever loved anyone, but did you love him like that? You'd never even stopped to consider it. You were attracted to him, obviously. You weren't blind, after all. But you were so damaged. You'd spent your entire adult life divorcing sex from your emotions, building a wall between the two. What if you tried this, and in the process, destroyed the best thing you'd ever had?

"I don't know how to do this, Buck," you whispered, and you knew he understood. Though your traumas weren't identical, they shared a foundation: forced into submission as your bodies were used for the whims and desires of others, against your will.

"Hey," he crawled back up to your face, planting small kisses along the tear stains on your cheeks. Shit. When had you started crying? "It's just you and me, okay? Just us. This," he motioned between your two bodies, "is something extra, a bonus. You told me a long time ago what your limits were, and I respect them. I understand them, and I'm not trying to make you go past them. We can have... what did Sam call it? A friends-with-insurance situation."

A snort escaped you as you swatted at him, relief washing over you at the knowledge that he knew you so well, that he wasn't pushing for more than you could give him right now. "It's 'friends with benefits,' you geriatric stooge." And then it hit you and you started to laugh.

"What?" Bucky asked suspiciously, propping himself up onto his metal elbow to look down at you.

"I just fucked a centenarian. Is that considered elder abuse?"

"I'm pretty sure I was the one doing all the pounding, so I think you're safe on that front," he said with a laugh.

That sound. God, you loved that sound. It was like a weight being lifted from your chest. You turned into him, resting your head against the hard planes of his chest.

"I don't want to ruin what we have, Buck," you confessed, your voice small and scared. "You're the most important thing in my life, and if I fuck up our friendship, I don't know what I would do."

He took a finger and placed it under your chin, tilting your face up until he met your eyes. "We're not going to fuck anything up, Pocket, I promise. This can be just sex, just another way for us to make each other happy." He ran his hand through your hair, cupping the back of your skull. "You always do such a good job of taking care of me, of making me feel good. Let me return the favor." He leaned down and kissed you again.

This kiss was softer, without the hunger he'd poured into the first time he kissed you, but no less consuming. You felt his tongue brush along the seam of your lips, so you opened your mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He tasted like wintergreen gum.

"Just making each other happy," you whispered when you separated for air. "I can do that."

And in that moment, you actually believed it.

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[n7sloth]

Sorry for the long story. Skip if you don't care about religious stuff.

In roughly 2012, I was living in Chicago. At that time, I didn't consider myself religious. I'd been born Catholic, confirmed Protestant, weakly tried to dabble in witchcraft I didn't really believe in in my early 20s, and by 2012 I was 32 and just didn't believe in anything.

But some part of me *wanted* to, if that makes sense? I felt like something was missing. But nothing seemed to vibe.

So in summer of that year I was walking up the street headed to Millenium Park to just go and people watch for a bit, and I passed two nuns and a priest.

No, this post isn't what you're thinking now. But there's a point here. The point is that it was still summer, albeit late, and it was hot and humid. And here were these two young women and a young man, absolutely covered neck to toe in black, and the women had small head coverings. I felt stifled on their behalf. But here they were, laughing together and walking as if they didn't notice.

I wanted that sense of importance. I wanted something to mean enough to me that I was willing to be that uncomfortable. Does that make sense? Not that I wanted to suffer, but that it wouldn't *feel* like suffering, because I *believed* enough.

That bothered me for a few years. Then, kind of unbidden and unprompted a few years later, a little voice in the back of my mind suggested I look into Judaism. I spoke with a Jewish friend, but I didn't know what to ask. How was someone raised at minimum secularly Christian supposed to know what questions to ask to unlearn what I'd been taught?

I kinda got frustrated and let it go for another couple of years.

In 2021ish, during lockdown, I found a woman on TikTok who was live streaming her synagogues services (with their permission) and I fell in love. Everything about it felt like coming home; plus the music was just gorgeous.

In 2022 when isolation relaxed a little and some in-person services resumed, I found a Reform temple nearby and started attending services. I was immediately welcomed and treated as a friend and equal, even without being Jewish yet. I took intro to judaism twice, and in late 2023, I was invited to be a founding member of the temples first Pride group, for representation, education, and inclusion.

I was so honored. Of course I joined. We went through the process of being officially vetted and voted on by the Board, and became an official group. In June of this year, for the annual Pride Shabbat service, I was invited to be part of a small Q&A panel to help provide insight and education on how to support your queer brethren.

And then the rabbi left. And a new one came in.

Suddenly, one of my friends in the Pride group was denied membership into a women's group because her spouse wasn't Jewish and "it might make others uncomfortable". (She is in a straight/straight-passing marriage.) Other board members were present and heard this, and said nothing.

She brought it up to the new rabbi, who declared that the board had final say and could do as they pleased. So she left the shul entirely.

Later, another member reported that the board didn't "trust" the Pride group, because they "didn't know what they were up to". Despite having officers that could easily have answered any questions.

So I left, too. I no longer felt safe and welcomed. But I didn't want to give up, either.

I reached out to the rabbi who leads the shul i started with - the one I joined on TikTok. And while I haven't heard from her personally yet (because my dumb ass emailed during the High Holy Days) I'm still excited. Because at least I'm trying. Plus I've signed up to attend two of their HHD services.

Im not giving up on this. I *will* find someone who accepts me for who I am and is willing to teach me. This is what I've been chasing for 10 years now. I just want to come home.

[writer-in-theory]

TW: mentioned past homophobia (steve's dad), steve uses the q slur to refer to himself once (quoting his dad), this is a happy ending i promise y'all

When Steve sent the invitations, he never expected his parents to actually attend. He never expected them to actually see the envelopes, even. It had been a fleeting moment of impulsivity that had led to him sending them at all, figuring it would be better to get the hurt out of the way before the ceremony came and passed without either of the people who gave him life in attendance.

And yet, when the wedding ceremony was over and the party was starting, he saw her.

His mom.

She wasn't sitting in the front row of chairs where the rest of their family was. Eddie had tried to convince Steve not to leave two chairs open beside Wayne for his parents, but he needed to see it for himself. Those empty chairs needed to be front and center, a reminder that the only people worth caring about were the ones filling their assigned chairs. Steve's mom wasn't sitting in hers, but she was there, stood in the very back where Hopper was keeping watch over the whole thing, daring anyone who disagreed with the scene to get anywhere near them.

Maggie Harrington wasn't dressed as prim and proper as she could've been, the only way Steve had ever seen her. No, today she was in a simple sundress, hair flying wildly around her shoulders in a way that reminded him with painful clarity of where he'd gotten his appearance from. The same brunette waves, the same doe eyes now staring at him like she'd never seen anything so wonderful and terrible before.

Even as everyone got up from their chairs to convert the outdoor space into the after-party, she stayed at the edge of everything, exactly as she'd been on the fray of his life since he'd left Hawkins at 19 and never looked back.

"Go talk to her," Eddie spoke, notching his chin over Steve's shoulder from behind, wrapping his arms around his middle and interlocking his fingers over Steve's belly.

"I don't know what to say." Visions of the night he'd left flashed unbidden in Steve's mind—all the shouting from his dad, the crying from his mom, him begging his mom to say something, anything. Eddie picking him up from Robin's house after he'd called, promising they could go anywhere they wanted. They'd left for Chicago the same night, and Steve had never looked back.

"Hi is a good start," Eddie teased gently, pressing a kiss to Steve's jaw before stepping back from him. "You can do it. I'll be over with Gareth and the others when you're done."

It was Eddie's quiet support—his husband's support—that pushes Steve's feet to action. Before he could begin to think of what to say, he was standing in front of her. There was too much to say, nothing at all that could rise to his lips, so he said the first thing his mind could supply.

"You didn't RSVP."

His mom winced, hands raising then stopping, fingers clenching as though she physically stopped herself from touching him. "I know, Steven, I know. I'm sorry."

This was too much. It was all too much and Steve wished he'd never sent the invitation, that he'd just listened to Eddie's fucking advice because he always seemed to know Steve best, better than even himself. "Most people RSVP for events. It's the polite thing to do, proper etiquette and all. You taught me that."

"Steven, please," his mom tried again, voice wobbling enough that some of the anger began to leech out of him. And that, well that made him more angry. What right did she have to show up on the happiest day of his life? To choose now to make him confront everything he'd fought so hard to forget? "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything. I want my son back."

"It took you five years to realize you missed me? That's really great, Mom, we should really give you the Mother of the Year award for that one."

"Steven," his mom finally snapped, and again her expression could have mirrored his own, that familiar flash of uncontrollable anger and hurt across her eyes before it was reined back in to a disquieted coolness. "I am trying. I am doing the best thing I can to be the mother you needed back then."

"You think I wasn't trying?" Steve's voice was eerily calm, an even-tone that clashed loudly with the tears beginning to blur his vision. "Do you think I didn't spend my life trying to be the son you wanted so badly? I did everything perfect, exactly what you and Dad expected and it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not once you found out what I am, right? The sports were fine, and the friends, and even retaking my SATs so I could go to college, but none of it could ever make up for the queerness could it?"

"Steven, stop it," his mom begged, tears falling down her own face now. They were drawing a crowd in the way his fights used to in school. No one was outright staring, but all of them lingered nearby, ears turned to listen, eyes glancing by every so often to catch the scene. He'd like to think they were waiting for him, waiting to see if they needed to step in.

"Oh, I'm sorry, how could I forget Dad's exact words? It's fine if I don't act on it, if I find some woman I don't love and settle down. It's fine if I become like the two of you, marrying for reputation and making my kids fucking miserable."

That did it for his mom. He could see the moment the switch flipped, when the tears turned into something harder, more focused. "Steven, I did not come here to be berated. I came to apologize, for everything."

And that, well, that was new. Harringtons don't apologize.

"I shouldn't have let your father say all those things, I shouldn't have let you leave. I didn't...you can't understand, but I was scared," she tried, reaching out for his hand and wincing when he took a half-step back to evade her touch. "But losing you, not knowing where you were or if you were happy...that was the worst thing to ever happen to me, Steven."

"Good," Steve forced out through the tears, though he's not sure he believed it. He wasn't sure what he believed. "You should've said something then, not five years later."

"I know, I know that, and that is going to weigh on me for the rest of my life. But Steven, Steve, let me try again, please," his mom begged, and God he wanted to tell her to stop because Harringtons don't beg, they demand, but she kept going and going and it reminded him of himself. "It took me too long but...I got there. I'm here. I'm here, Steve, and I promise I'll try to be the mom you always deserved. I understand we can't get that time back, we can't have what it should've been from the beginning, but please, I want to see my baby's life."

Steve wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream and throw something and tell her to get out. He wanted to spit every vile word he could come up with at her, to make her hurt the way his dad had made him hurt. And yet, this was everything he'd ever dreamed out, all those nights when he'd cried in Eddie's arms for his parents, for them to see the life he'd built for himself.

"I can't just..." Steve sighed, looking up to the sky as if the clouds might provide him with an answer. "I can't trust you, right away. I need time, Eddie'll need time he...he's pretty protective, you know."

"Good," his mom answered, pulling a small, tearful laugh out of Steve. "You deserve to have someone looking out for you like that."

"Do you..." Steve sighed, fighting the urge to mess with his hair lest Nancy kills him for it. He glanced to Eddie, seeing him with his chin tilted back as he laughed joyously across the space, hand gripped around a champagne glass. "Do you want to meet him?"

The smile that warmed his mother's expression was worth all of it. Steve had never seen her so open, so emotional. Maybe she really had changed, really come to every realization he'd wished she'd made five years ago.

"I'd like that very much."

It would take time. There would be good moments and bad, some where Steve wondered if any of it would work out and some where he'd laughed with his mom more than he ever had as a kid. Slowly, not-so-gracefully, they found a way to make it work. She came over for weekly dinners with him and his husband (who asked more than once if her pull in the Indiana statehouse could get them an official license), she called once a week and asked about his friends, his studies, the kids he worked with at his job.

And before Steve could even blink, he had his mom back.

[cerismo]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

masterlist

PART 8 . . .

⭑.ᐟ characters . . . toxic!rafe x toxic!fem kook!olivia wilson

.ᐟ.ᐟ genre . . . angst to fluff. slowburn.

꩜ .ᐟ warnings . . . cussing. arguing

ᝰ.ᐟ mo yaps . . . damn you guys i’m so sorry for how long this is… lemme know yall opinions on rafe. ALSO i just realized it’s only 10 pics allowed bro 😔 btw school is tomorrow guys so i dont know how my uploading schedule will be i’ll try to make it like 3pm

Liv entered her house, the weight of the day pressing down on her as she climbed the stairs to her room. Her mind was still spinning from everything that had happened with Rafe. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something between them had shifted. She found herself replaying their conversation, the way he had looked at her, and the unexpected softness in his voice when he had thanked her. It was all so different from the usual back-and-forth banter and the heated arguments that had defined their friendship for so long.

As she reached her room, she collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Were they really on the verge of something more, or was she just imagining things? They had been friends forever, but lately, it felt like there was something else simmering beneath the surface, something neither of them had been ready to acknowledge. She let out a long sigh, trying to push the thoughts aside. There would be time to figure things out later. Right now, she just needed to decompress.

But as she lay there, her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She reached over to check it, half-expecting another text from Rafe. Instead, it was from Sarah.

Sarah: Hey, are you okay? I heard everything. Do you want to talk?

Liv hesitated for a moment before replying.

Liv: I’m fine. Just a lot to process. Rafe is really going through it with his dad.

Sarah: I know. It sounded pretty bad. How’s he holding up?

Liv: He’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell it’s eating at him. We talked for a bit, but I don’t think anything’s going to change unless he stands up to Ward.

There was a pause before Sarah’s next message came through.

Sarah: You know, I’ve been thinking… You two have been through so much together. Maybe it’s time you both admit that there’s more to this than just friendship.

Liv’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t ready for this conversation, not now. But Sarah had always been perceptive, and it was hard to dismiss her words.

Liv: What are you talking about?

Sarah: You know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone else can see it, Liv. You and Rafe are more than just friends. You always have been.

Liv stared at the screen, her mind racing. Was it really that obvious? She had always known there was something more between her and Rafe, but she had never allowed herself to fully explore it. It was too complicated, too risky. They had been friends for so long, and she was afraid of ruining that.

Liv: It’s not that simple, Sarah. We’ve always been this way. We fight, we make up, and then we move on. That’s just how we are.

Sarah: Maybe But don’t you think it’s time to break the cycle?

Liv didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to dismiss Sarah’s words, to brush them off as just another one of her friend’s attempts to play matchmaker. But deep down, she knew Sarah was right. There was something between her and Rafe, something that had always been there but had never fully surfaced. Maybe it was time to face it head-on.

Liv: I don’t know, Sarah. I need time to think.

Sarah: Take all the time you need. Just don’t let fear hold you back. You deserve to be happy, Liv. And maybe Rafe is part of that.

Liv sighed, setting her phone down. Sarah’s words lingered in her mind as she closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. But they kept coming back, unbidden and relentless. Maybe it was time to stop running from whatever it was she felt for Rafe. Maybe it was time to finally confront the truth.

————

The next morning, Liv woke up to the sound of her phone buzzing incessantly. She groggily reached for it, expecting more texts from Sarah. But when she saw Rafe’s name on the screen, she sat up, her heart racing.

“Hello?” she answered, trying to sound more awake than she felt.

“Hey,” Rafe’s voice came through, sounding tired but relieved. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s fine,” Liv said quickly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “What’s up?”

“I… I stayed the night in my car,” Rafe admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “I just couldn’t go back home after what happened with my dad.”

Liv’s heart ached for him. “You should have come back. You know you’re always welcome here.”

“I didn’t want to impose,” Rafe said, but there was a softness in his tone that told Liv he was grateful for her offer.

“Rafe, you’re never imposing,” Liv said firmly. “You’re family.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Liv could almost picture Rafe’s conflicted expression.

“Thanks, Liv. I needed to hear that,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you come over now?” Liv suggested, trying to lighten the mood. “We can grab some breakfast or something.”

“Yeah,” Rafe said after a moment. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be there in a bit.”

————

By the time Rafe arrived, Liv had made coffee and was idly scrolling through her phone, trying to keep her nerves in check. When the doorbell rang, she jumped up, nearly spilling her coffee in the process. She set the cup down and hurried to the door, opening it to find Rafe standing there, looking a little worse for wear but managing a small smile.

“Hey,” she greeted, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hey,” Rafe replied, stepping inside and glancing around as if expecting to see her mother lurking somewhere nearby.

“She’s out, on a business trip,” Liv said, reading his thoughts. “It’s just us.”

“Good,” Rafe said, visibly relaxing. “I don’t think I could handle the mom interrogation right now.”

Liv chuckled, leading him to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Rafe said, sinking into a chair at the table.

She poured him a cup and handed it to him, sitting down across from him. They sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments, the tension from the previous night still hanging between them.

“So,” Liv finally said, setting her cup down. “How are you feeling?”

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Like crap, honestly. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, Liv. I feel like I’m just… stuck.”

Liv nodded, understanding all too well. “Maybe you need to take a step back, Rafe. Stop trying to live up to your dad’s expectations and start figuring out what you want.”

“I don’t even know what I want,” Rafe admitted, his voice full of frustration. “I’ve spent so long trying to please him that I’ve lost sight of everything else.”

Liv reached across the table, placing her hand on his. “Then maybe it’s time to find yourself again. To figure out what makes you happy.”

Rafe looked at her, his eyes searching hers as if trying to find the answers he needed. “What if I don’t know where to start?”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Liv said softly. “I’ll be here, every step of the way.”

For a moment, they just sat there, their hands still clasped together, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Liv’s heart was pounding, her mind racing with thoughts she had tried so hard to suppress. But as she looked at Rafe, she realized she couldn’t deny it any longer.

“Rafe,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Rafe’s eyes flickered with curiosity, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. “What is it?”

Liv took a deep breath, her heart in her throat. “I… I think I’ve been lying to myself. About us. About how I feel.”

Rafe’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and confusion crossing his features. “What do you mean?”

The tension between them was palpable as they stood in the kitchen, their hands still clasped together. Liv's heart raced as she confessed her feelings, her voice trembling slightly. “I think I’ve always felt something more for you. But I was too scared to admit it, even to myself.”

Rafe’s eyes widened with shock, his grip on her hand loosening. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, the silence between them stretching on uncomfortably. Liv’s heart sank, fearing the worst, but she held her breath, waiting for his response.

“I’ve felt it too,” Rafe finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked away, as if gathering his thoughts, before adding, “But we can’t do this, Liv.”

Liv’s brow furrowed in confusion, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you mean?”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his expression hardening. “I mean, this—whatever it is you’re feeling—it’s not real. We’re just caught up in the moment. It’s probably just some leftover feelings from when we were kids, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Liv’s eyes widened, hurt flashing across her face. “Rafe, don’t do this. You know it’s more than that.”

But Rafe shook his head, forcing himself to stay firm. “No, it’s not. You’re just confused, Liv. And honestly, I’m not interested in making things more complicated than they already are. We’ve been friends forever, but that’s all we are. That’s all we can ever be.”

His words were like a slap in the face, leaving Liv reeling. She stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears as she tried to process what he was saying. “You don’t mean that.”

Rafe forced himself to look her in the eye, even though it hurt more than he could ever admit. “I do. This… whatever this is, it’s not going to happen. We’re not right for each other, Liv. You need to move on.”

Liv’s heart shattered at his words, the rejection cutting deeper than she’d ever imagined. She felt a surge of anger and pain, and before she knew it, she was pushing him away, her voice shaking with fury. “Get out.”

Rafe hesitated, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him, but he knew he couldn’t stay. Not after what he’d just said. “Liv…”

“Get out!” Liv repeated, her voice cracking. “I don’t want to see you right now. Just go.”

Rafe’s face tightened with regret, but he forced himself to turn away and leave. He didn’t want her to see how much it hurt him to do this. As the door closed behind him, Liv stood there, the silence of the house pressing down on her.

Tears streamed down her face as she reached for her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed Sarah’s number. She needed to talk to someone, someone who would understand.

Sarah picked up after the first ring, her voice bright and cheerful. “Hey, Liv! What’s up?”

Liv tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, a sob escaping instead.

“Liv? What happened?” Sarah’s tone instantly shifted to concern, and Liv could hear the worry in her voice.

“Sarah,” Liv managed to choke out, her voice trembling. “I need you.”

“Okay, I’m coming over,” Sarah said quickly. “Just hang tight, Liv. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Liv nodded, even though Sarah couldn’t see her, and hung up the phone. She sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears continued to fall. She had always known her feelings for Rafe were complicated, but she had never expected him to shut her down so harshly. It felt like her heart had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole where their friendship used to be.

She didn’t know how she was going to face him again, how she could ever go back to the way things were. But for now, all she could do was wait for Sarah, the one person she knew she could count on, the one person who would understand just how much this hurt.

————

Liv sat on the floor of her bedroom, her back against the bed as she hugged her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her body shook with the aftermath of sobs. The room felt unbearably quiet and cold, and the only sound was her ragged breathing.

The door creaked open, and Liv looked up to see Sarah stepping inside. Sarah’s expression softened with concern when she saw the state Liv was in. Without a word, she crossed the room and sat down beside her best friend, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

“Liv, I’m here,” Sarah whispered, pulling Liv closer. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Liv leaned into Sarah’s embrace, her body trembling with a fresh wave of tears. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat, coming out in broken, choked sobs.

“Sarah, I—” Liv’s voice cracked, and she buried her face in Sarah’s shoulder, her tears soaking the fabric of Sarah’s shirt. “I was so wrong. I thought… I thought Rafe felt the same way, but… he doesn’t. He told me it wasn’t real, that it’s all in my head.”

Sarah’s heart ached for her friend as she gently stroked Liv’s hair, trying to soothe her. “Oh, Liv. I’m so sorry. He really said that?”

Liv nodded, her tears falling faster now. “Yeah. He said… he said it was just leftover feelings from when we were kids and that we’re not right for each other. He made it sound like… like I’m crazy for even thinking there could be something between us.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched in anger at Rafe’s words. She knew her brother could be stubborn and difficult, but she hadn’t expected him to be so harsh with Liv, especially when she knew deep down that Rafe did care for her. But this wasn’t the time to voice that; Liv was already hurting enough.

“Liv, you’re not crazy,” Sarah said firmly, holding Liv a little tighter. “You’re not imagining things. You’ve known Rafe for forever; you know how he is. He’s always been afraid of his feelings, and he probably panicked because he didn’t know how to handle what he was feeling.”

Liv shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No, Sarah, he was really clear. He told me we’re just friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. I thought… I thought there was something more, but I was wrong. I’ve been fooling myself this whole time.”

Sarah pulled back slightly to look at Liv, her eyes filled with empathy. “Liv, I know this hurts, and I’m so sorry he made you feel this way. But don’t let what he said make you doubt yourself. You’re not wrong for having feelings. You’re not wrong for wanting more.”

Liv’s breath hitched as she wiped at her eyes, her voice breaking. “But what if he’s right? What if I just imagined it all? Maybe I was just desperate for something that was never really there. I feel so stupid, Sarah. I should’ve known better.”

Sarah shook her head, gently cupping Liv’s face in her hands. “No, Liv, you’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest, strongest people I know. It’s okay to want love, and it’s okay to be vulnerable. But you didn’t imagine anything. Rafe’s just too scared to admit his own feelings, and instead of facing them, he pushed you away. That’s on him, not you.”

Liv’s lip quivered as she tried to hold back another sob, but it was no use. She broke down again, crying into Sarah’s shoulder. “It just hurts so much. I feel like I’ve lost him, Sarah. Not just whatever we could’ve been, but our friendship too.”

Sarah’s own eyes welled up with tears as she held Liv tighter, her voice thick with emotion. “I know, Liv. I know it hurts. But I’m here for you, okay? No matter what happens with Rafe, I’m always going to be here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Liv clung to Sarah, her sobs gradually subsiding as she drew strength from her friend’s comforting presence. “Thank you, Sarah,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” Sarah replied softly, brushing a stray tear from Liv’s cheek. “We’ll get through this together. And whatever happens with Rafe, you’ll be okay. You’re stronger than you think, Liv.”

Liv nodded weakly, her heart still aching but slightly less heavy knowing she wasn’t alone. As she sat there with Sarah, she realized that, while her feelings for Rafe were undeniable, she couldn’t let this crush her completely. She had to find a way to move forward, even if it meant doing it without him.

For now, though, she was content to stay right where she was, wrapped in the warmth of her best friend’s embrace, letting the pain slowly start to heal.

————

The past two weeks had been agonizing for Liv. Every time she passed Rafe, she couldn’t help but glance his way, hoping for even the slightest acknowledgment. But he never looked at her, not once. It was as if she didn’t exist to him anymore, and that hurt more than anything. The cold shoulder from someone she’d been close to for years left her feeling lost and abandoned.

Rafe, on the other hand, had thrown himself into work, trying to make the best of the opportunity his dad had finally given him at Cameron Development. Ward had extended a tentative olive branch, and Rafe knew he couldn’t afford to mess this up. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, Liv’s face kept creeping into his thoughts. Every time he passed her and forced himself to look away, it felt like a tiny piece of him was crumbling inside.

Liv had tried everything to get over him. She’d spent hours pacing her room, talking herself into and out of the idea that she was better off without him. Sarah and the Pogues had been her constant companions, trying to cheer her up and convince her to move on. But the weight of Rafe’s rejection lingered in her chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone forget.

The invitation to the party had been the last thing she wanted to accept, but Sarah and the others had been relentless, hounding her for days until she finally caved. Maybe, she thought, if she tried hard enough, she could make Rafe see what he was missing—or at least convince herself that she could move on.

————

The night of the party, Liv stood in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. She’d spent extra time on her makeup, making sure she looked perfect. If Rafe was going to see her tonight, she wanted to make sure he couldn’t ignore her. She wanted to prove to him—and herself—that she could move on, that she didn’t need him.

She had a plan, one that had been forming in her mind since she’d agreed to come to the party. JJ had always been a close friend, and if anyone could help her distract herself from the pain, it was him. Maybe if she made a move on JJ, Rafe would finally feel something—anything—other than indifference.

The party was already in full swing when Liv arrived with Sarah and the Pogues. The music was loud, the house packed with people dancing and laughing. Liv could feel the nervous energy in her stomach, but she pushed it down, plastering a smile on her face as she greeted her friends.

JJ, ever the charmer, was quick to offer her a drink and keep her laughing. He had no idea what Liv had planned, but he was more than happy to keep her company, making sure she was having a good time.

As the night went on, Liv started to feel a little more relaxed, a little more like herself. She caught glimpses of Rafe across the room, talking to a few of his friends. He looked good—too good—and her heart twisted every time she saw him. But he never once looked her way, never acknowledged her presence.

Finally, Liv decided it was time. She was done waiting for Rafe to notice her. She turned to JJ, her heart pounding, and leaned in close. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the music. “You wanna dance?”

JJ grinned, clearly pleased by the attention. “Of course,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.

They moved to the music, their bodies close, and Liv tried to lose herself in the rhythm. She could feel JJ’s hands on her waist, his breath on her neck as they danced, but all she could think about was whether Rafe was watching.

And he was. From across the room, Rafe had spotted them, and the sight of JJ’s hands on Liv’s body sent a surge of jealousy crashing through him. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his emotions in check, but the anger was building, bubbling up inside him until he couldn’t contain it anymore.

He pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes locked on Liv and JJ, and before he knew it, he was right in front of them. The music seemed to fade as Rafe grabbed JJ by the shoulder, yanking him away from Liv with a force that made everyone around them stop and stare.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe spat, his voice low and dangerous.

JJ stumbled back, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Chill, man. We’re just dancing.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think you can just put your hands on her like that?”

Liv stepped in between them, her heart pounding. “Rafe, stop,” she demanded, her voice sharp. “What are you doing?”

Rafe ignored her, his gaze still fixed on JJ. “You know damn well she’s not yours to touch.”

JJ’s expression hardened. “And who the hell are you to say that? You made it pretty clear you didn’t want her.”

The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t back down. He took a step closer to JJ, his eyes blazing with anger. “Back off, JJ. I’m warning you.”

But before things could escalate further, Liv shoved Rafe back, her own anger flaring. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe?” she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. “You literally turned me down and told me to move on, but when I try to, you just get all fucking jealous? Why is that?”

Rafe was stunned into silence, the weight of her words crashing down on him. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He didn’t have an answer, not one that he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Liv shook her head, tears of frustration and hurt welling in her eyes. “You don’t get to do this, Rafe. You don’t get to push me away and then act like you care. If you didn’t want me, then why are you here now, trying to mess this up for me?”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his mind racing as he searched for something—anything—to say. But all he could do was stand there, his emotions a tangled mess inside him.

Liv took a step back, her voice quieter now, but no less filled with pain. “Just go, Rafe. I’m done. You made your choice, and I’m making mine. Leave us alone.”

JJ stepped forward, his gaze still wary, but his hand reached out to take Liv’s. Rafe watched as Liv allowed herself to be led away, his heart shattering with every step she took. He wanted to stop her, to say something that would make this right, but the words wouldn’t come.

As Liv walked away, Rafe felt the full weight of what he’d lost—and what he might never get back. He had pushed her away, thinking it was for the best, but now all he could feel was the gaping void she’d left behind.

Liv, meanwhile, forced herself to keep walking, her hand gripping JJ’s tightly. But as soon as they were out of Rafe’s sight, she let go, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilling over. She turned away, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

“Liv…” JJ began, unsure of what to do, but Liv shook her head.

“Just… take me home,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

JJ didn’t argue. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leading her out of the party and into the night. As they walked, Liv’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, sadness, regret. But beneath it all was the deep, unshakeable pain of knowing that Rafe didn’t feel the same way she did, and that maybe he never would.

Back inside, Rafe stood alone on the dance floor, the echoes of their confrontation still ringing in his ears. He had thought he was doing the right thing by letting Liv go, but now, as he watched her leave with someone else, he wasn’t so sure. The jealousy, the anger—it was all too much, too confusing. But one thing was clear: he couldn’t get Liv out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

And now, he might have lost her for good.

————

The next day dawned with a gray sky, the overcast weather mirroring the heavy mood that had settled over both Rafe and Liv. Liv had barely slept, her mind replaying the events of the night before on a relentless loop. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Rafe’s face—his anger, his jealousy, the way he’d looked at her when she confronted him.

She had woken up feeling like she’d been hit by a truck, her eyes swollen and puffy from crying herself to sleep. She didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to face the world and the reality that Rafe Cameron didn’t care about her the way she’d thought—hoped—he might.

But the world moved on, even when you felt like it shouldn’t. Liv eventually forced herself up, took a shower, and threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. She needed comfort, and the idea of trying to look put together felt impossible.

Downstairs, Sarah was waiting with two cups of coffee, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. “You’re coming with me today,” she announced, handing Liv one of the cups.

Liv groaned, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. “Sarah, I can’t. I just want to stay in bed and forget about everything.”

Sarah shook her head, sliding into the chair across from her. “Nope. I’m not letting you do that. You need to get out of your own head for a bit. Besides, I have errands to run, and you’re coming with me. We’re going to distract you with some much-needed retail therapy.”

Liv sighed, taking a sip of the coffee. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Sarah was relentless when she had her mind set on something, and Liv knew there was no getting out of this. Maybe it would help, she thought, if she could just stop thinking about Rafe for a few hours.

Meanwhile, across town, Rafe was having a morning of his own. He had barely slept either, his mind plagued by the memory of Liv walking away from him at the party. The gnawing feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away, and he couldn’t shake the image of her with JJ from his mind. The jealousy had taken him by surprise, and it scared him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to care this much.

But he did care, more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Ward had noticed his son’s distant demeanor over breakfast, but he hadn’t pressed the issue. Rafe’s relationship with his father was still tense, even after their tentative truce. Ward had given him the opportunity at Cameron Development, but the pressure to perform—and not screw up—was ever-present.

“Got a meeting with the contractors at noon,” Ward reminded Rafe as he stood by the door, ready to head out. “Don’t be late.”

Rafe nodded, barely registering the words. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Ward hesitated for a moment, eyeing his son. “Rafe, you’ve been distracted. Is there something going on?”

Rafe shook his head, forcing himself to meet his father’s gaze. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Ward didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go. “Good. Just make sure you’re focused. This deal is important, and I’m counting on you.”

As his father left, Rafe sank into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. He knew he needed to get his head in the game, but every time he tried, his thoughts drifted back to Liv. He kept replaying their argument, hearing her voice accusing him of jealousy, and he couldn’t deny that she was right.

But what was he supposed to do about it? He’d already pushed her away, convinced himself it was for the best. He didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve the mess of feelings he had for her. But seeing her with JJ had stirred something in him that he couldn’t ignore. And now, all he could think about was how he’d lost her.

————

Later that afternoon, Liv and Sarah were out at the mall, wandering through the stores. Sarah chatted away, trying to keep Liv’s mind occupied, but Liv was only half-listening, her thoughts still stuck on Rafe. Every now and then, she would catch herself scanning the crowd, almost hoping she might see him, even though she knew how ridiculous that was.

“Liv, come on,” Sarah nudged her, holding up a dress she’d found. “This would look amazing on you. What do you think?”

Liv blinked, pulling herself out of her daze. “Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s cute,” she said absently, though she didn’t really care.

Sarah frowned, dropping the dress and turning to face her. “Okay, enough of this. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Liv sighed, leaning against a rack of clothes. “I’m just… I don’t know, Sarah. I’m trying to move on, I really am. But every time I think I’m getting somewhere, I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Sarah’s expression softened. “Liv, I know it sucks. But you can’t let Rafe get to you like this. He’s not worth all this pain you’re putting yourself through.”

Liv bit her lip, tears threatening to spill over. “But what if I was wrong, Sarah? What if I just imagined everything? Maybe he never felt the same way, and I was just deluding myself.”

Sarah shook her head, pulling Liv into a tight hug. “You weren’t wrong, Liv. I’ve seen the way Rafe looks at you. He’s just too damn scared to admit how he feels. He’s an idiot, but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

Liv clung to her friend, the tears finally breaking free. “He told me it wasn’t real, Sarah. He said I should just move on, but I can’t. It hurts so much.”

Sarah held her tighter, letting her cry it out. “I know, I know. But you’re stronger than this, Liv. You’ll get through it, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Liv pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just… I wish things could go back to how they were. Before all of this.”

Sarah smiled sadly. “I know. But sometimes, we can’t go back. We just have to keep moving forward.”

Liv nodded, though it didn’t feel like much of a comfort. She knew Sarah was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. She wasn’t sure how to move forward when every step felt like it was leading her further away from Rafe—and the life they used to have.

————

As the days passed, Liv tried to take Sarah’s advice to heart, but it was easier said than done. Every time she saw Rafe around town or passed him in the hallways, her heart would ache, and she’d find herself sinking back into the same spiral of confusion and hurt. The distance between them was unbearable, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to bridge it.

Rafe, on the other hand, was struggling just as much, though he refused to let it show. He threw himself into his work at Cameron Development, determined to prove to his father—and maybe even to himself—that he could handle the pressure. But no matter how hard he worked or how many deals he closed, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of emptiness that had settled in his chest.

Two weeks after the party, the tension between them was palpable, a thick fog that neither of them could see through. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to make the first move, but neither was brave enough to take that step.

On a particularly gray morning, Liv woke up with a knot in her stomach. The weight of everything that had happened in the last few weeks felt heavier than ever. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Rafe in days, and the silence was driving her mad. She couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in a limbo where nothing made sense.

She spent the morning pacing her room, trying to decide what to do. Should she call him? Should she just let it go? Every option seemed fraught with the possibility of more pain, and she wasn’t sure she could handle that. But doing nothing felt even worse.

Meanwhile, Rafe was sitting in his office at Cameron Development, staring blankly at the stack of paperwork in front of him. He’d been doing his best to focus on his work, but today, it felt impossible. His mind kept drifting back to Liv—her face, her voice, the way she’d looked at him the night of the party. He couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d made a huge mistake.

By noon, Liv couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Rafe’s number. Her finger hovered over the call button, her heart pounding in her chest. What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he just ignored her? The thought was terrifying, but she couldn’t keep living in uncertainty.

Before she could change her mind, she hit the call button and held her breath, listening to the dial tone. It rang once, twice, and then—

“Hello?”

Rafe’s voice on the other end made her heart skip a beat. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak, but then she forced herself to respond. “Rafe… it’s me, Liv.”

There was a brief pause, and Liv could almost hear him trying to decide how to react. “Hey, Liv,” he finally said, his tone guarded. “What’s up?”

Liv took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Can we talk? I… I can’t keep doing this, Rafe. We need to figure this out.”

Another pause, and this time, she could hear the tension in his voice when he replied. “Yeah, okay. Where do you want to meet?”

Liv glanced at the clock. “The beach? In an hour?”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll see you there.”

When she hung up, Liv felt a mixture of relief and dread. She had no idea what she was going to say, but at least they were finally going to talk. It was a step forward, even if it felt like she was walking into the unknown.

————

An hour later, Liv stood on the beach, the wind whipping her hair around her face as she stared out at the ocean. The waves crashed against the shore, and for a moment, she let the sound of the water calm her nerves. She had always loved the beach, and even now, it was the one place where she felt like she could breathe.

Rafe arrived a few minutes later, his hands shoved into his pockets as he approached her. He looked different—tired, maybe, or just worn down by everything that had happened. But then again, she probably looked the same.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet away from her.

“Hey,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

They stood there in awkward silence, both of them unsure of where to start. Finally, Liv took a step closer, her eyes searching his for any sign of what he was thinking.

“Rafe,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know how we got here, but I hate it. I hate that we’re not talking, that we’re avoiding each other like we’re strangers. I miss you. I miss us.”

Rafe’s expression softened, and for a moment, Liv thought she saw a flicker of the old Rafe, the one who had been her best friend for so many years. But just as quickly, his guard was back up, and he looked away, his jaw clenched.

“I miss you too, Liv,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I don’t know how to fix this. I… I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Liv took another step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re not going to hurt me, Rafe. We’ve both made mistakes, but that doesn’t mean we have to keep hurting each other. We’ve been through too much together to just… let it all go.”

Rafe looked down at her hand on his arm, and for a moment, Liv thought he might pull away. But instead, he reached up and placed his hand over hers, his touch warm and familiar.

“I don’t want to lose you, Liv,” he said quietly. “But I don’t know if we can go back to how things were.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Liv said, her voice soft but determined. “Maybe we can figure out something new. Something better.”

Rafe looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and fear. “Do you really think we can do that?”

Liv nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “I do. But we have to be honest with each other. No more games, no more pushing each other away.”

Rafe hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay. No more games.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the tension between them finally starting to ease. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start—a fragile truce that they would have to work hard to maintain. But for the first time in weeks, Liv felt like they might actually be okay.

They walked along the beach for a while, talking about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other’s company. It felt almost like old times, and for the first time in a long time, Liv felt a glimmer of hope that maybe they could find their way back to each other.

But the next day, reality came crashing back down on them.

Rafe had to return to Cameron Development, where the pressure from his father was ever-present. Ward wasn’t satisfied with Rafe’s progress, and every day felt like a battle to prove himself. And then there was the tension with Liv, still simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to boil over again.

Liv, on the other hand, was struggling with her own demons. Despite the tentative peace she and Rafe had found, the uncertainty of their future weighed heavily on her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still unresolved between them, something that needed to be addressed before they could truly move forward.

But for now, they both tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the fragile connection they were trying to rebuild. They weren’t quite there yet, but they were trying—and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

tagged: @flouvela, @monroesturnns, @pankowblues, @venusxsturnio

[causeitsagame]

UNTITLED ANGST PROMPTFIC THE THIRD (out of four, I am guessing)?

Sequel to this and this, and will make zero sense without them.

-----

"So as I have said, all this time," Peko quietly finished, "Fuyuhiko has not given up our location."

Hajime's heartbeat thudded irregularly in his chest. It was exactly two months later, and he'd demanded the long-promised explanation even before anyone could eat.

Since they'd left the islands, he'd settled on one awful outcome as the most likely path. Fuyuhiko had promised to distract their would-be captors; he'd do anything to protect the knowledge he held; he'd said a rescue would be pointless after two months. One week after fleeing, a horrifying potential explanation for all of that had erupted into Hajime, unbidden: a suicide pill.

He spent the next weeks trying to think of absolutely anything besides that worst-case scenario. Over and over, he'd failed. When the day finally arrived, he'd grabbed Peko early as possible, wanting to collapse that quantum state of "dead" and "alive" into some known truth, whatever it was.

Never had he considered something even darker than Fuyuhiko offering himself up to die.

Hajime's jaw hung open at Peko's explanation, useless. No words came. It felt like his throat was swelling shut.

"And you did not stop him?" Sonia demanded, teary-eyed.

"Stop him?" Peko's eyes were just as glossy. "It was his idea. His choice to make. His decision that saved all of us."

Kazuichi looked lost, like some young child. "You both lied to me. I wouldn't… I wouldn't have sent the plane."

Peko's gaze drifted slowly downward. "It was the only way. He knew that, and so did I. If any of you pretend otherwise, you're diminishing his choice and his sacrifice. I won't allow you to dishonor him like that."

"Fuck that," Hajime spat. His blood surged hot as nightmarish memories crowded his mind. He remembered exactly what it had been like to be slowly sanded away to fit inside someone else. "And fuck you."

Peko looked back up and met his gaze with bloodshot, hollow eyes.

Hajime regretted the words as soon as they clawed out of him, but he swallowed hard and said nothing.

For a while, there was silence. A measured voice eventually broke it. "Ultimately, this was Fuyuhiko's decision. Peko is not his keeper. This has been a heavy burden for her to bear, I'm sure." The Imposter's face was solemn and determined. "But now, the rest of us can help. Hajime, it's fortunate that you negotiated that two month timeline. We'll put it to good use, now."

Sonia nodded slowly and lifted a shaking hand to her chest. "I'll start listening for any directions we might pursue. Kazuichi, can you please work on enhancing the ship's surveillance?"

He nodded, still bewildered and heartbroken over how he'd been used months earlier.

Inhaling, Sonia turned. "Ibuki, when I begin listening to those streams, will you help me work through the static?"

Ibuki looked up from where she gnawed on her thumbnail and nodded.

With clearly feigned confidence, Sonia forced a smile onto her face. "Then everyone, let us all do our very best with all of the tasks before us. Teruteru, I know you will have a wonderful meal for us to start our day. Let us do that first, and then get to work."

In silent unison, nearly everyone filtered out of the meeting room on the ship they'd adopted as their new home. The remaining duo took a while to say anything.

"I'm sorry," Hajime eventually mumbled.

"Perhaps I should have spoken up earlier." Peko gripped her wrist. "I am supposed to be making my own decisions, after all." After a heavy pause, she looked toward him. "You can't go."

Hajime's jaw set. "I have to."

"You were the main factor behind his decision. If we all only faced death, he might not have left. Simple death probably isn't worth these extreme measures."

It felt like the room's shadows abruptly deepened. For an instant, Hajime was back across the Pacific, feeling himself be stripped away. "So, if not for me, Fuyuhiko wouldn't have…"

"No. I really don't think so." Peko's gaze softened with understanding. "I know you want to help. But it's like he said, months ago: if you get captured, everything he's gone through will have been for nothing."

"But… I won't, they won't get me. But I'll get him."

"What do you think he'd do if you said that to him?"

Hajime tried imagining that, and could only picture soul-deep betrayal if he even made the attempt. "I just…" Biting his lip, he looked toward a porthole. Through it, he could see the cliff face that their ship was anchored along, helping to hide it in this small, tucked-away bay. "It's my fault. Something worse than death, and it's my fault."

"We'll get him back."

Hajime felt the ship tilt under his feet. They'd gotten used to living on the waves, but he was suddenly dizzy as it moved. He again remembered the unspeakable claustrophobia of feeling like his entire existence was closing in, followed by endless, useless freedom after that existence shattered. Will we?

It took another sixteen days until the question was answered. C O L L E C T E D, came each letter with agonizing slowness. The obscure data route was undetectable, but the speed meant that they hadn't been able to update everyone else on their progress.

Hajime's heart leapt as he saw Peko's transmission. Finding Fuyuhiko meant he'd been alive to find. And even better, she wouldn't have sent that until she, the Imposter, and their target were safely back on the helicopter they'd acquired. (From an abandoned Canadian base along the coast, and modified to remove absolutely all tracking elements.) "Mikan, get the infirmary ready."

The rest of the group was waiting behind him, unable to see the small communications screen. "For everyone?" Mikan risked asking in a tiny, tremulous voice. "Or did the mission… did things not go…?"

Hajime turned, grinning like he'd almost forgotten how to do. "For everyone."

Relief ran through them in a messy, joyous surge. They allowed themselves a few rounds of hugs before Mikan demanded to be let through, with the sort of confidence that only came to her for a patient's sake. Hajime's own relief practically felt like it had hollowed him out, and his hands shook as he moved to follow her there.

As the two of them worked on preparing the small infirmary, Hajime's mind skittered away from considering what state Fuyuhiko would be in when he arrived. His mind didn't allow him to view today as anything but amazing, and so every darker thought that piped up was quickly squelched. "He might hate how cold it is, up here," Hajime cheerfully said as he took inventory of their medical supplies. "Of course, he complained about how hot the islands could be."

"He might like it more here," Mikan agreed with a bright nod. The infirmary was on the other side of the ship, and its portholes looked out over water and onto the evergreen forest beyond. It might be Canada out there, or might be Alaska, but there were no still-living towns for a hundred miles in either direction. Unless someone knew exactly where to look, the Remnants were undetectable. There was food out there, too: berries and fish and meat and various other things that only Teruteru and Hajime could name.

It didn't feel like a home, but it had been okay. Maybe it would feel like home when all of them were together, again.

The two of them needn't have rushed. The helicopter had a long path to fly, and needed a stopover at an abandoned base in the Aleutians to refuel. Slow letters appeared again as the next dawn touched the trees: A L M O S T T H E R E.

"Stay in the infirmary!" Hajime ordered Mikan as he ran for the landing pad at the back of the boat. "I'll bring him in!"

The message had taken long enough to arrive that he could see the approaching helicopter when he ran outside. Hajime threw an arm halfway over his eyes to block the whipping gusts from its blades, but unlike the rest of their group, he kept walking forward against the wind. He could see the Imposter at the controls; Peko must be at the back of the craft with Fuyuhiko.

He's here, Hajime thought, and felt his eyes swim with sudden tears. We got him.

When he could finally slam the helicopter's door open and see inside, Hajime's heart twisted with mingled joy and fear. Yes, Peko was in the back of the aircraft, tenderly holding a slender figure wrapped in a blanket, but that figure was absolutely still. It took Hajime a moment to process that Peko's expression would look very different if she were holding a corpse, and he forced himself foward.

His heart twisted again; this time, only with agony.

Fuyuhiko's exposed skin was a mass of overlapping bruises and cuts, new and old and poorly healed. The scar over his bad eye had been further mutilated; there was probably no going without an eyepatch, now. And beneath everything, his skin was sallow and dry, with cavernous hollows under his eye sockets and cheekbones. One arm extended out of the blanket, and its wrist was awkwardly, painfully prominent. Fuyuhiko had never had weight to lose, but they'd stolen it from him, anyway.

Hajime looked at all that, and at the ragged red tips to all of Fuyuhiko's fingers, and felt a crimson wash pass over his vision. Focus on him, he thought, and balled his fists until they hurt. Think about them later. "I'll get him to the infirmary."

"Careful," Peko whispered. Her cheeks were marked with tear streaks, some fresh.

Hajime's arms shook as he slowly picked up Fuyuhiko. Despite his care, Fuyuhiko hissed as soon as his torso twisted even a bit. Probably broken ribs, Hajime thought, and began cataloguing the injuries as he walked forward. Limited movement prescribed for that. Significant dehydration; IV fluids. And…

The group split as he approached. Gasps and soft cries welcomed Fuyuhiko back to them, but everyone had more sense than to make any noise louder than a whisper. If he hadn't needed to limit the jostling that Fuyuhiko's ribs received, Hajime's arms would have shook by the time he stepped back into the ship's interior.

As he walked into the infirmary, Hajime whispered, "We got him."

Mikan's eyes filled with tears, and she moved for her supplies.

Fuyuhiko still hadn't come to, but faint groans and uncharacteristic whimpers suggested that consciousness was just below the surface. At one of those soft, vulnerable sounds, Hajime's heart seized anew. He couldn't help but kneel next to Fuyuhiko's shoulder, so their faces were close. "Hey. It's okay. You're safe."

That seemed to work, at least a little, so Hajime tried again. "It's okay. You're back with us. I'm right here and I'm going to help you. It's okay."

Fuyuhiko's good eye slit open. His gaze roamed slowly around the infirmary and eventually settled on Hajime, though he seemed to have trouble focusing. "Where's Peko?" The question came out as a cracked, tired sigh.

"We'll get her," Hajime promised, and nodded to Mikan. She nodded back and darted out of the infirmary. If Peko had been the one to actually carry Fuyuhiko to safety, he could only imagine what a relief she must be to see. They should have thought of that and insisted that she come along right away, despite the infirmary's tight quarters.

Fuyuhiko tried to run his gaze around the infirmary, again, but even that appeared to exhaust him. "Who're you?"

Hajime's heart skipped a beat. The optimism he'd used to brick off Peko's explanation of Fuyuhiko's horrifying plan began to develop thick cracks. "It's Hajime. Remember me?"

Fuyuhiko stared back at him, still unable to focus his vision. "You…"

Hajime barely kept himself from grabbing Fuyuhiko's hand to try to encourage him. Mikan hadn't bandaged the many, many wounds there, yet. "Yeah. Me."

"You must be all sorts of fucked-up," Fuyuhiko managed. "Looking at you feels like a whole burnt-out library."

Hajime's arms felt to weigh a ton apiece, suddenly. They hung heavy.

For the first time, Fuyuhiko's eye managed to focus, but he wasn't looking at Hajime. The relief and trust he'd hoped to see directed at him were finally there, but aimed only for the woman walking through the infirmary door. "So. What's the situation?"

"You're safe, young master," Peko whispered.

Hajime shook his head. Young master? He'd gotten her to stop saying that soon after waking up.

Fuyuhiko studied Hajime as critically as his barely-there energy stores would allow. "You mind?"

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be as bad as Peko had described. It couldn't be that bad, not really. Not when he was back and alive. "Mind?" Hajime dumbly echoed.

"Private conversation."

"I. Sure. Okay." Numb, Hajime stood and stepped past Peko. She brushed down his arm with quick sympathy, but then stepped in to take the spot he'd vacated at Fuyuhiko's bedside.

Perhaps Peko didn't realize that he could still hear from there, or perhaps she didn't care. Maybe she even wanted him to hear. "Young master, these are the people I mentioned. You can trust them all."

"…You sure about that?"

"Yes. I am."

"'Cause I must've burned them out for a reason."

"You did. You were protecting them all, because you care very much. You even went back to memories of meeting them, it appears. Doing so much was very." Peko's calm wobbled momentarily, as did her voice. "Very brave."

"I get that. But." Fuyuhiko took a long pause. "I didn't burn out a chunk of stuff that was just about me. That way, I'd still know what year it was, and shit like that."

"That makes sense."

Fuyuhiko took a longer pause. "So I remember what I did."

Peko was silent for a while, in return. "Things are different, now. Very different."

"If these people know me… did they do that kind of shit, too?"

More silence. "Things are different, now."

"What about the guy who just left?"

Holding his breath, Hajime flattened himself more against the wall, like they'd somehow notice him eavesdropping.

"Hajime? What do you mean?"

"I look at you, and I know I burned out a lot of big memories starting in high school. I looked at that fat guy, and I burned out anything big, too. But that guy just now… everything. I burned out every goddamn thing I know about him. Why?"

Hajime's knees weakened, and he barely kept himself from collapsing where he stood. It took him a second to realize that Mikan, unable to hear the quiet conversation inside the room, was asking if he was all right. He ignored her.

"He was who you were most concerned about. You found it absolutely unacceptable for him to be at any risk of capture."

"He's who got me all fucked up, then? That guy?"

"Young master, that's not… the situation is very complicated. It is not Hajime's fault."

"Sounds like it is. Heh." The soft noise earned a hiss of pain.

That, Mikan was able to hear. With an apologetic look toward Hajime, she murmured something about needing to interrupt them and walked into the infirmary.

After a moment, Hajime walked away with slow, heavy steps, again feeling like his existence had been shattered.

His mind spiraled, veering between Fuyuhiko's horrific injuries, those dismissive words, and his own memories of existence burning away. With each such cycle, he spiraled tighter and lower, and everything began to overlap into a screaming, endless chorus. Soon, the doctors who'd stolen his own memories were the faces torturing Fuyuhiko, and they thanked Hajime for showing them the way.

Hajime started running. He barely made it back outside and to the ship's railing before he doubled over and coughed up a stream of bile. A large, strong hand gripped one shoulder while a metal one gripped the other, and both men asked if Hajime was all right.

"No," Hajime said dully, staring into the distance. He wasn't.

Because Fuyuhiko was right. And he'd been right, when he said it to Peko.

This was his fault.

[weirdestbooks]

A Concerned Father (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Oneshot for the Consequence of Loyalty

America had been worried for his son ever since he received the news that Kentucky had been captured. His states had been held prisoner before, but never so early in the war and never by a savage monster like Japan. 

Well…one had, but America was trying not to think about the similarities. It only made him more panicked, and that made it hard to do much about…about anything.

Thankfully, modern warfare came with new rules and regulations for prisoners of war, so theoretically, his son was supposed to be safe.

America still wanted to know for sure.

That was where International Committee of the Red Cross and her daughter, International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, came in. Both women were allowed to visit POW camps and provide aid, so if anyone was to give him news about his son, it was them.

Or at least about the conditions of the camp he was in. Based on the lack of fuss from Japan about capturing an American state, it seems that Kentucky might have been able to hide his identity. 

So America contacted them and was, thankfully, able to arrange a meeting in DC about it. Thankfully, he hadn’t been officially sent to war yet. It would be much harder to do if he had.

“ICRC, IFRC, I know you are both busy, but thank you for meeting me,” America said.

“Playing nice with other countries is half of what we do,” IFRC said as her mother looked at her, raising an eyebrow. IFRC just shrugged in response.

“You can tell she’s young,” James commented.

“She was born in 1919, that’s…like twenty years ago,” Caleb commented.

“Like I said. Young.”

“We’re happy to answer any questions you have. Our people can take care of things on their own for a little while, and we would rather have countries trust us and be willing to work with us than…ban us from their nation,” ICRC said. America nodded.

“I’ll still try to make this quick. Now, this is technically supposed to be confidential information, as we aren’t sure they know who they have captured, but as of April, my son, Kentucky, has been a POW in the Philippines. I was wondering if you knew anything, at least not about him, but about the condition there that could soothe my worries,” America asked. ICRC and IFRC exchanged looks.

“That’s not a good sign,” Lydia said, worry painfully clear in her voice.

“I wish we could, America,” ICRC said, and America felt his breath catch in his throat. “But we can’t.”

“Why not? The 1929 Geneva Conventions should force them to allow you in,” America said, panic in his voice as he gripped his arm tightly, fingernails digging into the skin. He felt like the ground was shifting under his feet, memories of another war and another son gone missing leaping unbidden into his mind.

“It’s going to be okay. It’s humans, not countrypeople, and Japan would have brought it up by now if she knew about him. Breathe. You’re okay,” Lydia said, her voice gentle and calming and helping to stabilize the shaky ground beneath America.

America exhaled slowly, feeling his racing heart calm a little.

“Japan never signed them, and she has seen it fit to ban us from providing any sort of aid to POWs in Japanese-occupied land. She’s not the only one who has been giving us trouble. Germany has his Red Cross society refusing to cooperate fully with me, and since we are based in Geneva and backed by my mother, we’ve become…sensitive to her politics. She wants to be neutral, which has made my people want to do the same. My hands are tied,” ICRC said, sadness and regret in her eyes. 

It was so painfully clear that she wanted to help, wanted to do more, wanted to support the POWs in Japanese-controlled land, but she couldn’t.

“If Grand-mère wasn’t so insistent on being neutral, we could—” IFRC said before she was cut off by her mother.

“It’s not Mère’s fault. It is her right not to be involved in war,” ICRC said before turning to America and smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. I hope your son is okay, and I will give you any information I have, but as of now, I know just as much as the rest of the world—nothing.”

America bit down a concerned sob, fingernails starting to draw blood as he fought to keep himself together.

Michigan. This was too much like when he lost Michigan, and he couldn’t see one of his states like that again. Sure, Japan couldn't put Kentucky under martial law, but there was no sign of the war ending soon, and Japan was still on the offensive, taking more land and colonies. She had God knows how much time to hurt him.

What if that was why she hadn’t said anything? Was she keeping it secret so she could take Kentucky away from the Philippines and hurt him? Philippines was a puppet, so she wouldn’t have to worry about controlling him.

America could feel his walls crumping as his mind spiraled further into worse-case scenarios—scenarios that seemed more likely than anything else.

He couldn’t see another son turned into a slave of the enemy.

“America, he’s going to be okay,” Lydia said, empty promises, empty words. America bit his tongue, drawing blood as he held back the urge to answer her.

“You’re going to worry them,” James commented, “You haven’t answered, and you’re drawing blood. I can take it if you can’t.”

Eager for a chance to stop thinking about it, to hide how broken he was from two organizations whose job was aid and healthcare, America relented, letting James take control.

James exhaled slowly, releasing his arm from America’s vice-like grip. He had his own worries about Kentucky, but he wasn’t as likely to collapse at news like that. America lost almost everything that he had based his identity and worth on after his war of independence and made his states his everything.

He loved them so much that their being hurt destroyed him. It didn’t help that Kentucky had been a border state and, therefore, was a state that America loved deeply for refusing to leave him, a strange and perhaps unhealthy love and almost adoration of his son, who had simply done the right thing.

America and his relationship with many states had been different after that war, and it made America all the more sensitive to news about his states.

“Thank you anyway,” James answered, smiling at ICRC and IFRC in an attempt to convince them that America was better than he was.

“Are you sure?” IFRC said, stepping forward, a seriousness in her eyes that had not been there before. James nodded.

“I am. I…back in 1812, I lost one of my states to Britain. He didn’t come back the same, and I had no idea what was happening to him until he came home. This brings back…uncomfortable memories, and I can’t help but fear that Kentucky will come back hurt too,” James explained, hoping the explanation would be enough to sedate their curiosity and prevent them from looking closer.

ICRC didn’t look convinced, but IFRC backed off.

“Do you think she knows something is wrong with us?” Caleb asked.

“I think she is a mother and a nurse who sees someone hurting and wants to help,” Lydia said. James could almost hear her frown.

“I’m sorry. I…this must be hard for you. I promise, I will see what I can find,” IFRC said. James smiled, ignoring ICRC's eyes on him.

“Thank you.”

[reviiely]

!!!!!!!

The MayDaisy !!! Still as good as the last time I read it from your universe ! Thank you so much for all the crumbs !!

If you don’t mind, could I ask that you expand a bit more on Skye and May’s reactions to Skye getting powers ?? Like if Skye was worried about how May would react, or if May was worried that her little girl was gonna turn out like that little girl in Bahrain ???

Hi Anon! I'm not sure if you're the same one from yesterday, but you're welcome all the same.

Now to the main event: Skye's powers and how they come to light!

I don't especially feel like writing this, mostly cause I'm still a little blocked and I'm not really sure how it would go, but here's the next best thing (AKA me forcing the words out and hoping it sounds fine).

--

(2x11: Aftershocks)

(In the quarantine room.)

"Hey."

Skye glanced up from her hands. "Hey," she croaked. "What's up?"

May slid inside the glass box. Skye wanted to protest, but the words died in her throat when she saw Fitz nod at her from the outside. May tapped her hand. "Feeling like you’ve been in that glass box your whole life yet?" her mother asked her. "You doing okay?"

Skye nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I- I just…" She sighed. "I feel isolated and exposed at the same time. Being a caged animal is no fun." She cracked a small smile. "I'm used to it."

"I wish you weren't." May held onto her hand gently, like she was afraid that Skye had changed in that chamber, like she'd become glass. In a way, she kind of had. "Fitz said that you had something to tell me."

Skye didn't need to look up to see the engineer sitting by the door, effectively guarding them inside the soundproof box. Instead, she looked up at May.

"Please don't be... I don't know, mad, or something. " I don't want you to leave. "I didn't hide this from you. I barely... I found out from Fitz maybe an hour ago." Please don't be mad. Please, please, don't be mad. Please don't hate me. Please don't hate me because I changed. Please don't flinch. You never flinch. Skye swallowed. "I, uh..."

May tilted her chin up so that their eyes would meet, gazing at her, through her, and Skye knew that the jig was up. May could read her like an open book. May knew that something was wrong with her. May knew.

Skye's eyes burned. Her lungs burned. She squeezed her eyelids shut as tears came unbidden to the surface, and she clutched May's hand like a lifeline. She couldn't breathe.

Please don't hate me. Please don't go.

"Hey, hey, angel..." May's quiet voice came to her like a light in the fog. "Hey. Can you take a deep breath for me?"

She gulped in air, but it only made her more dizzy. She held onto May tighter.

"Can you open your eyes for me?" The world was too bright. She hated the lab. She hated how pristine and bright it was. "Good, thank you. Can you name me five things you can see?" Stupid fucking bright lights, stupid lab, stupid powers, stupid brain. "Skye?"

"Fitz, the lights, the lab..." She squinted. "The potted plant over there. You."

May tapped her hand twice. I love you. "Okay," she said, "what's four things you can touch?"

They went through the exercise, and only when Skye finally forced some water down her throat, did May let them talk about it. Her. Her powers.

"So." Skye swallowed slightly. Cracked a smile. "Where were we?"

"Don't." May gave her that look. "Don't do that."

Skye let out a small breath. "Well, what do you want me to do?" she demanded quietly. "What do you want me to say? 'Sorry for having a panic attack, please hold, I'll be right with you'? 'I have weird powers that make things explode and I have both survivor's guilt and regular guilt about killing one of my closest friends'? 'I feel like a murderer and like I'm truly, truly, my biological father's daughter'? Do you want me to say that?"

The silence between them hung heavily in the air. Skye's chest was heaving. I fucked up. I fucked up. This is bad. Fuck.

When May didn't say anything else, Skye dared to look up, finding her mother just staring at her. No heat. No anger, no sadness, just her eyes boring into Skye's soul. Skye knew that look. It was the one May got whenever she was thinking about Bahrain. She used to babble happy conversations to that look, trying to ease it away from her mother's face in time for dinner.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For becoming this way."

May's face slowly melted back into her careful neutral. She tapped Skye's hand, once, twice. I'm sorry. I love you.

"Don't be sorry," May said after another moment. She held onto Skye as tightly as she could. "You're still who you are, powers or no powers."

"I'm different now," Skye protested.

"That may be true, but that's not all there is to you, is it?" May studied her expression. Skye felt her eyes rove over her face. "You're not just your powers. You're my daughter. You're Phil's daughter. You run this base. You're a genius in CS. You're one hell of an agent." May squeezed her hand again. "You're still you. Now with added..."

"Danger," Skye finished.

"Impact," May countered. Skye could see her mother wavering. She hated it, hated that she was the cause of it. "Once we get these powers of yours under control, they're just another tool in your toolbox."

"I'm a ticking time bomb."

"You're more than just a ticking time bomb."

"I'm still a ticking time bomb, even if I'm more than that."

Skye tried to pull away, but May held firm.

"You can learn how to control them," her mother said firmly. "And you will. I have faith that you will."

"What if I can't?" Skye asked. There was a buzz underneath her skin, like everything had been freshly slapped and blood was rushing to the surface. She wondered what that meant. "What if I hurt people? What if I..."

Repeat what happened down in the underground city, destroy lives and people and beliefs, turn into the girl that you have to take out to save everyone else, force us into a second Bahrain. What then?

"We can get through this," May said, knowing everything that passed through Skye's mind. "I trust you."

Skye knew her mother wasn't lying to her, but it seemed as if that she had misplaced beliefs. It wouldn't be the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

"Okay," she said anyway. "I trust you, too."

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 17 - Forgiveness

Things had been nonstop since Whumpee had returned to his team. From the whirlwind rescue mission to the point where they had been clear enough of danger to give Whumpee the medical attention he had desperately needed, it was all a rush, a cacophony of flashing lights and gunshots and his teammates’ voices and his own aching wounds and spinning head and inability to stay fully conscious. This was the first time that Whumpee got a bit of peace and quiet.

Well, almost. One teammate still stood at his bedside, chewing their lip and wringing their hands, unable to look Whumpee in the eyes.

Whumpee knew why. Whumper had filled him in on just how he had been able to find and capture him in the first place. But he didn’t want to bring it up first. He’d wait for Teammate to break that ice.

It took them a while. Several times they opened their mouth as if ready to speak, only to close it again with a nervous grimace. The longer it went on, the more awkward the silence became between them. Whumpee was almost ready to give in and break it himself, when finally, in a strained squeak, Teammate blurted out, “I’m sorry!”

Once the first words were out, it was like flootgates had been thrown open. Teammate barely paused for breath as they apologized over and over. They sobbed as they explained that they had thought they were making the right move, how Whumper’s offer in exchange for the information that had taken Whumpee down was too good to refuse. How they hadn’t known how much torture they were setting Whumpee up to endure, how they’d been so sure the team would been able to rescue him much sooner than they did. How terrible they felt. How they would understand if Whumpee hated them forever.

Whumpee listened to it all, letting Teammate’s crying echo in the otherwise silent room. He had known that this confrontation was coming, and wasn’t sure how he was going to feel when it did. He still didn’t quite know what he was feeling. The pang of betrayal was still there, and a sense of dread filled his gut at being here alone with someone who had hurt him so badly, but Teammate’s sorrowful apology almost made Whumpee feel guilty himself, for being part of putting them in that pitiful state. At one point Teammate took his hand in their own, and tears came unbidden to Whumpee’s own eyes.

Overwhelmed - that was probably the best word for his state of mind.

He didn’t interrupt for the longest time, not until Teammate’s speech devolved into whispered, blubbering apologies repeated over and over like a mantra, barely coherent through the tears. When he was finally ready to speak, he took a long, deep breath and, voicy shaky and soft, said, “I - I get it. I mean, I don’t - I’m not saying I would have done the same, in your shoes. But I get why you did it. I understand.”

Teammate’s jaw dropped. “You - you do?” they stammered incredulously.

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re, um - I know you. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t… wouldn’t do something like that, if - if you didn’t have a very good - ”

“Oh, god, don’t. It doesn’t matter what my reason was, I never should have done it! You didn’t deserve this, any of this. I am so, so - ”

“I know,” Whumpee cut them off. “I know, I believe you.” He took another steadying breath. “The important thing is, I’m back now, right? So now, just need to focus on healing, and - and moving past this. Hey.” He looked Teammate right in the eye. “I forgive you. I do.”

Teammate responded with a wordless cry as they wrapped Whumpee in a hug, not tight enough to further agitate the healing injuries, but enough that they could nestle their head into Whumpee’s shoulder as the tears came flowing even harder than before.

Whumpee, for his part, patted them gently on the back, whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Teammate probably believed it.

Whumpee certainly hoped they did. It was taking every ounce of his willpower not to scream and shove Teammate away. To keep patting them consolingly instead of moving their hand up just a few inches to grab Teammate’s neck and try his damnedest to snap it in two.

But he had to wait. He had to let his body heal, and let things get back to normal among the team, let Teammate think everything was okay between them. The fact that they thought things could ever be made right, that what they did was anywhere near forgivable, was laughable. Naïve. And Whumpee wasn’t naïve, not anymore. Whumper had made sure to beat that quality out of him long ago, leaving only desolation in its place.

An opportunity would come later, he knew, to make Teammate suffer as much as he had. And the only way for that to happen was for the betrayal to truly sting, to come from someone they had trusted, had embraced as family.

He just needed to bide his time.

@augusnippets