#sorry this got. away from me. what was i even talking about

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[saltynsassy31]

Reblogging it cuz I want to save it with the art thag inspired me to write this lol

Anyway, here's a fanfic based on this au, I simply couldn't help myself XD

Obviously, the au belongs to @keferon

Go check them out!

~☆~

Swerve had heard of the mythical “human fish” at the aquarium. It wasn't exactly hard when everyone was talking about it - aside from the rising sea levels. He was always intrigued by it, but never really got the opportunity to see it for himself as he worked in a different department.

Until now, that is. He was called in to fix one of the generators near where the “human fish” had been placed, which was an easy enough job from what they described the problem to be. It would give him enough time to take a quick look around and get a glimpse of the creature all the news articles were talking about.

Swerve wasn't sure what he was expecting when he arrived. He had seen the pictures online, but still, nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. Walking down the hallway with his coworker, they passed by the tank of the mermaid (it was a mermaid, right? It sounded so surreal to even think about it) and couldn't help but take a small moment to glance at it.

It was half way out of the water, leaning over one of the “land” parts of its tank with its arms crossed, looking bored (could they even get bored? Probably, animals get bored, too, right?). 

The creature had a beautiful blue coloring to its scales and flesh, looking almost iridescent in certain areas. The fins on its head shaped perfectly like hair, the ones on the side of his face almost like wings. There was one strand protruding out like a graceful thorn. Aside from the piercing blue gaze of its eyes that turned to look at him tiredly, it was one of its most prominent features.

Least to say, Swerve was captivated.

He didn't realise he had been staring for far longer than he initially intended until his coworker called for him. “Dude, we don't have time for that. You can watch all the fish after we're done fixing the generator. Come on.”

Swerve quickly snapped out of it, turning around to follow his coworker in quick haste. “Right, sorry.” He paused. “It's just so…I dunno. Human-like.”

There was a small chuckle from the other. “I know. Weird, huh?”

Despite having been already scolded for getting distracted, he couldn't help but give one last glance at the creature - much to his coworker's annoyance. “Swerve, really? Come on man, we don't have all day.”

The creature stared back, unchanging in its hollow expression, simply looking as if it had nothing better to look at. Despite its cold indifference, Swerve smiled and offered a small wave of goodbye to it.

Seeing this, his coworker gave up all attempts to try and pull him away, figuring the other would simply follow once he was done playing around. Though, that didn't stop the frustrated grumbling that followed.

“Guh, are you a preschooler? I'm done waiting. I'll see you at the end of the hall.”

Swerve gave an absent-minded hum and nod, still observing the creature intently. He was considering following his coworker again, but those plans were briefly thrown out the window when he realised that the creature had taken notice of his action. For a brief moment, Swerve could swear he saw it contemplate something before it offered a half, tired smile and returned his wave.

It understood Swerve's action! It saw him wave, understood it, and returned the gesture! To say he was amazed was an understatement. The gasp that left him could only be described as star struck, a wide smile that took over all of his face, blinding the poor sea creature.

Swerve practically ran back to his coworker to report the news. “Dude! Dude! You won't believe what just happened! The mermaid, fish thingy, it–”

In his excitement, he missed the way the creature stared in stunned silence as he ran off. It rubbed at its eyes momentarily to wipe off the flash that was the human's smile before an amused huff left its gills. It smiled, softer this time. Laying its head against its crossed arms, it didn't look away from the spot the human had been in, long after he had already left.

That wouldn't be the last time Swerve had an encounter with the sea creature. He had been moved to keep maintenance of the general area of that department, which ment plenty more encounters with the mermaid. They were still few and far between, but he'd still wave, even if he didn't always get to stay long enough to see if it returned the gesture.

It sort of became their thing.

With time, he started to notice little things. How it would respond to praises with a certain air of pride, displaying behaviours of vanity and egoism at times. It also had quite the attitude if crossed. But it wasn't always like that. No, sometimes it was playful with some of the guests or workers that passed by - him included - always looking to make them smile. Swerve found it endearing.

It'd also pick up on patterns and behaviours fairly quickly.

One time he was walking around with one of his coworkers during lunch break, they were complaining something about scientists showing concern over the receeding waters and other climate change things that Swerve couldn't really be bothered to pay attention to. 

And either his coworker was oblivious of his obviously bored expression, or the sea creature was extremely attentive, because as soon as it managed to catch Swerve's attention, it smiled triumphantly and began to play some sort of charades. Wait, no. It was mimicking Swerve's coworker. And, if he was seeing this right, it was in a mocking manner.

He couldn't help the small snicker that left him, having to suppress a full blown laughing fit by biting down at his knuckles until it left marks. That seemed to satisfy the mermaid.

And also, finally, caught the attention of his coworker. “What's so funny? This is serious! Aren't you concerned at all for our future?”

Swerve had to compose himself, but that was made almost impossible by the continued mimicry of the creature directly behind his coworker. “S-sorry, sorry. Yes, of course, this is a very serious concern of yours…what are you concerned about again?”

He maybe should have felt bad for the way they exasperatedly threw their arms up, giving up in trying to converse with him, muttering something along the lines of “You're impossible!” But that was quickly shoved in favour of his amusement towards the fish currently still mimicking them.

Sometimes he'd go long periods of time without being able to see the creature, it left Swerve wondered if it could remember him. It looked pretty smart and seemed to understand things pretty well, to an almost unnervingly human level. He noticed that, whenever he returned, it seemed to be able to pick him out of any crowd and would offer him a brighter smile each time.

While one of his superiors explained to his group what they needed to do, they had stopped just a couple feet away from the tank that held the pretty, blue fish.

Swerve swears he was trying to pay attention, honestly! But the bright blue that reflected perfectly against the shine of the artificial lights simply caught at his eyes and it was impossible to look away.

When they had arrived, it was perched against another rock formation, swinging its tail back and forth as it stared at nothing in particular. He wondered if they gave it any form of entertainment or if it simply liked to stare mindlessly into the void. But the moment it caught sight of his team - and Swerve in particular - it lit up with energy, almost immediately jumping back inside the water and swimming closer to the glass that separated them.

Swerve pretended not to pay mind, not keen on getting in trouble again for not paying attention. And besides, it couldn't possibly be looking at him, right? It was probably just excited to see people after hours of solitude. But the longer he did that, the more saddened the creature looked. He couldn't disappoint the poor thing!

So, finally, he turned around to face it. They locked eyes for a brief moment. He couldn't quite describe the feeling, but it felt as if he was in the tank himself, floating with the creature in the vastness of the ocean, nothing else really mattering.

“Swerve!” The small bubble he had formed was harshly popped by his superior calling for his attention. He quickly turned back to look at his him, straightening his back and going stiff. “Pay attention when I'm speaking.”

“Yes, of course! Sorry, sir.” He sputtered out, relaxing just a tiny bit as he watched him let out an exasperated sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose. “As I was saying…”

Despite the way the call out left Swerve feeling hot in the face, he still found himself drifting back towards familiar blue. The striking, piercing eyes of the creature were patiently waiting for his, smiling.

Swerve smiled back, a little bashfully (which caused all sorts of conflicting thoughts to run laps around his brain). He rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, they continued to stare until the creature suddenly seemed…thoughtful? It was contemplating something, looking at the hand not currently resting against the glass of his confines.

Swerve tilted his head slightly, curious as to what it could possibly be thinking about. He watched as it turned to look back at him, a more shy smile displayed on his face before it did something that left Swerve stunned.

It waved.

It was such a small thing, such a small gesture, but it made Swerve's head spin and heart lurch. Up until now, it was always him who initiated the action, this was the first time he saw the fish do it instead.

He must have been staring for far too long because the creature suddenly became nervous and started to slow down its wave, looking away with uncertainty clear in its face.

“Swerve!” A booming voice called out, making him flinch. “Quit staring and get working!”

“Yes, sir! I'll be right over!” Swerve called back before quickly looking over at the mermaid and smiling, that big, bright smile that took over all his features, and hastily waved back before rushing after his group.

And, like always, he missed the way he left the fish stunned. But this time, it pushed itself backwards before swimming away with an electric spin, its own smile being all its face could show.

Okay so like. IMAGINE it starts pretty usual. Swerve hangs out in the Aquarium for whatever job related reason and accidentally makes friends with the weird looking fish hahah

But then the big Tsunami-flood apocalypse comes and everything is destroyed and water everywhere and all the buildings turn into sharp heavy deadly rubble and now Swerve has to team up with that weird looking fish because the end of the world contains A LOT of water and he never was a good swimmer

[sailornymph]

never knew i needed; bllk boyfriends

synopsis — realizing you’re the one

content warning — aged up characters, insinuation of mature themes

♡ chigiri hyoma

clenching his jaw, chigiri kept his head straight avoiding all of the flashing cameras, as he left the airport. he should’ve been elated, his team had yet another victory, and yet all he could think about was you. hours after the shared success, while the others left to celebrate, he paced the floor of his hotel room, trying to resist the urge to scream. he couldn't even remember how the argument started, something along the lines of you telling him he had to calm down on the field, getting a flag after shoving a player who called him a pretty boy, he didn't want to hear what you had to say, passing words with each other leading to him being called cocky and sassy, he found himself becoming angrier. he certainly was not sassy, and cocky? he was better than nearly every player on the field, he had every right to be cocky!

going down the escalator, he furrowed his eyebrows still thinking about the stupid argument. nearly an hour passed and while the situation was long gone from his mind, he couldn't bring himself to back down, when you suddenly hung up. he tried calling you back, ready to have another reason to argue, but to his surprise, you had turned your phone off. by the end of the night, he was left feeling like a fool, worried about the state of his relationship. noticing his mom and sister, but you where nowhere in sight, he released a nervous sigh, as he met them halfway. accepting their hugs, he didn't say anything, following behind them, as they went on and on about how great he did, and how they wished they could've came.

approaching the car, he nearly cried like a baby, when he saw you leaning against the car, your arms crossed. you clearly had told his sister and mom about the argument, their expressions giving it away. taking his bag, they got into the car, while being nosey trying to read his lips.

“hey,” he mumbled. rolling your eyes, you pulled him closer, kissing his lips, his arms immediately going around you.

“are you still upset with me, hyoma?” you asked, smiling as he slowly shook his head.

“n-no”

“i know you're one of the best, one of the fastest, but you're more than a football player to me, and your aspirations are also important to me. yes, you have every right to have that ego of yours, but you don't need to do that again, for your well being and the sake of your career,” you told him, crossing your arms.

staring at you for a moment, he could only grin. how did he get so lucky? just hours ago, you were the reason he was screaming like a madman and now he couldn't stop grinning at the sight of you talking to him as if you were his boss.

“i thought you were going to break up with me, you turned your phone off” he smiled, as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“no, i just didn't want to argue with you, when you didn't want to hear what i was saying”

“you're right, i’m sorry,” he said, laying his head on your shoulder. this felt strange, but right. you were the one, he never believed in other half’s, soulmates, or any of that nonsense, and then you came along.

“you’re sorry? just like that,” you said, finding him unbelievable. the way he was suddenly bending at your will was quite interesting. it was like the idea of you potentially ending the relationship changed something within him.

“i’ll be good, for you,” he flirted, as your face burned at his shamelessness, before he pecked your lips, reaching for your hand, and leading you to the car.

♡ nagi seishiro

nagi was very discreet, his eyes moving over to glance at you. sitting next to him, one leg crossed over the other, lightly bouncing it to whatever you were listening to. occasionally opening your phone, to respond to a text message, before continuing to listen to your music. boredly playing his game, he didn't even move as you accepted the key to the suite the two of you would be sharing. releasing a sigh, he placed his phone into his pocket, standing as you stood. grabbing both of your bags, he followed behind you, as he became aware of his surroundings.

his teammates were talking with their partners who came along — most of them telling the players about their plans to explore the city, while the team would get rest for their early practice tomorrow. looking to you, you didn't pay them any mind, entering the elevator, holding the door open until he walked in. suddenly, his mind was all over the place, he was unfamiliar with this kind of situation.

you had been together for about six months now, and it was your first time traveling with him. he didn't plan on going anywhere, playing his games, before going to bed — but if going explore was something everyone else’s partners did — he wanted you to enjoy that luxury, he just didn't know how to bring it up.

unlocking the door, you walked inside, leaving the door open for him to carry everything in. taking your shoes off, as you shut the door, you plopped onto the bed, lying back. sitting your bags on the counter, he sat next to you, catching you easily, as you climbed into his lap.

“would you like to join me in a shower?” you asked, smiling at his rosy cheeks. pulling him off the bed, as he nodded.

leading him to the large bathroom, you bit your lip at how appetizing he looked, wearing his tracksuit, and you felt excited at how amazing he would look with it off.

“y/n, you don't have to stay in the room when we travel, everyone’s partners’ usually will explore the cities-

“do you want me to leave?” you asked, as he towered over you in the shower, water dripping down his hair.

“no, of course not, i just don't want you bored while i am on my phone or asleep,” he said tiredly, pulling you closer into his chest.

“i’m sure this city has many great places to visit, but i was going to spend time with you if that is okay,” you said, looking up at his dark eyes.

“you don't have to-

“i like our habits, it’s what makes our relationship so special to me, your games are a part of you, and i don't mind it,” you said, going on your toes to kiss his soft lips, before turning to face the water.

staring at you, he was unsure what this feeling was. love? not exactly, he knew he loved you for some time now, this was deeper. you were the one. he wanted to spend forever with you. he could be himself, the two of you could sit in complete silence and be full of contentment. he needed to cherish you, to provide the deepest most sincere form of love he could give.

allowing his hand to move between your legs, he pressed you even closer, as you moaned. it sounded like music to his ears.

“hm, marry me”

“seishiro, it’s a bit early to decide about something like that, you don’t think?” you looked up at him, with a worried expression.

“i couldn’t be more sure, i’d like to be with you forever,” he replied, his fingers determined as ever.

“i-if you win the game, then i will give you an answer,” you said, biting back to lewd noises.

“we both know we will be winning”

“fine, if you win, as soon as we are back in japan, i’ll marry you, but if you lose you have to wait a while longer”

“you should start looking at rings because we’ll be buying it as soon as we’re back home,” he smirked, kissing your cheek, before backing away to let you rinse off.

♡ bachira meguru

‘dude, you’re way too clingy’

‘for real, she’s going to end up leaving you for a real man if you keep acting like a baby’

‘yeah, she’s going to get the ick, then it’s over for you’

despite being at the lively social gathering, bachira was not feeling the scenery in the slightest. since he began dating you, three months ago, he had been getting a bit of negative attention. according to nearly everyone, except a few close friends and relatives — every time the two of you were seen, he was being annoyingly clingy. he had even seen it a few times on social media, he was being too clingy, he was too eccentric.

he didn’t want to run you away, he liked you, a lot! he hoped the feeling was mutual because he enjoyed your company. you just got him, unlike most people, his mother loved you, and he just couldn’t imagine how he had lived his life before, without knowing you. however, with all of this pushback, he found himself distancing himself from you. perhaps you did need your space sometimes, he didn’t have to sleep over every night. he didn’t have to invite himself to tag along when you were doing errands. but the space was killing him :( even hanging with isagi, it wasn’t the same as with you, he needed to learn to not be clingy.

“excuse me, have you seen bachira?”

“i think he was outside,” hearing your voice, his posture straightened. you were here? and looking for him? standing up, he excused himself, approaching your figure. you stood out like a sore thumb. while everyone wore their expensive clothing, you wore the cutest sundress.

“y/n,” he approached, his heart shattering when he saw the slight puffiness in your face. you had been crying.

“meguru,” you whispered, as his arm went around your waist, as he led you away into the nearest bathroom, locking the door.

“what’s wrong, y/n”

“meguru, are you cheating on me? or you'd like to break up?” you asked, making his eyes widen.

“what? i’d never cheat on you, and i certainly don't want to break up, is it rumors-

“then why are you avoiding me? i had to find out you were here through isagi. you don't come over, you don't call, and you're always busy. if i’m not what you want, just tell me,” you told him, frustratingly.

“you are everything that i want, and more. i don't want to run you away, being clingy. if i give you the ick, then it’s over for me”

“who told you that? that is not true, meguru. i love everything about you. i enjoy spending time with you and i don't feel like you are being clingy or giving me the ick, you're just being you”

“i'm sorry i had you worried, i am… in love with you, and i don’t want to lose what we have,” he shook his head, as his arms went around your waist.

“i love you too and you won’t, could i please have my old meguru back?” your eyes pleaded with his, and he knew immediately, that he could never hurt you like this again. he only wanted to see you smile, laugh, moan- within a matter of seconds he had vowed to himself to love you and bring you happiness, no matter what anyone thought of him or you.

not saying a word, he simply nodded, going to kiss your neck, going straight to your “sensitive spot” nibbling on your skin. as you began to giggle, trying to wiggle from his grasp, he held you close.

“what’s so funny dear?” he asked, as if he wasn't doing anything.

“you're tickling me,” you laughed.

“i did not, this is tickling,” he began to tickle you, before stopping. as your laughter ceased, he moved closer to you, softly kissing your lips.

“would you like to get out of here?” he continued.

“please?”

“do you think we could do that thing again, when we get to your place, in the shower?”

“meguru, i’m still suppose to be upset about you for basically ignoring me for weeks”

“but i love you and you love me and you look absolutely beautiful with my big c-

“don’t even”

“how about a foot massage?” he changed the subject, snickering, back to his usual self.

“now we’re talking”

♡ isagi yoichi

“yoichi,” you screamed his name from the top of the stadium, watching as he turned around, searching for you. as his eyes landed on your distant figure, he waved, watching as you came down the steps, joining him on the field.

before you could jump down the last step, he had already run over, catching you, spinning you around before letting your feet touch the grass.

“i’ve missed you,” he spoke, sighing. he wished you could travel more often with him, but you had only been together a few months now, and he wanted to respect your decision to continue working.

“i missed you too, am i interrupting practice? i didn't want to stay in my hotel-

“no, i was finishing up, why don't you sit on the bench, and we can go get a bite after?” he said, reaching for your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers as you nodded.

sitting down, you watched in amazement as he began to dribble the ball with his feet before he suddenly kicked the ball. gasping at how strong his kick was, the ball quickly flew into the goal. clapping, you cheered for him as if he'd actually scored a point. facing you, his face was red as he smiled, approaching.

“i’m just going to change and get my things,” he told you, mentally cursing himself for sounding like he was still a shy schoolboy.

“okay, i’ll wait here,” you nodded, watching as he left.

putting his things away, and grabbing his bag, the last thing isagi expected to see you doing when he returned outside, was attempting to dribble the ball. you tried to run, but you couldn’t move too fast, or you’d lose the ball. losing your balance, you fell, and hearing loud footsteps you yelped, seeing your yoichi drop his bag, and running to you.

“y/n, are you alright?” he hovered over you.

“am i hurt? no. embarrassed? extremely,” you said, making him chuckle.

“you were getting a bit of practice too,” he smirked.

“football has never been my forte, i’ve only been to a few games before and that’s including yours. the point i’m making is i’ve never wanted to get better at anything so badly. you love this sport and i’d like to understand what it means to be a striker, to understand you more,” you explained.

“come here,” he chuckled, helping you stand, placing his hands on your hips.

“you were doing good, and you’re at a perfect position to score, use whichever leg you’re more comfortable with, and kick,” he instructed, slowly backing away.

kicking the ball, you dropped your head in defeat as the ball flew, but then dropped and began to roll — still a good distance from the goal. jogging to get the ball, isagi brought the ball back, sitting it on the ground in front of you.

“you can do it, focus. concentrate on the ball and the goal,” he said, stepping aside. furrowing your eyebrows, you kicked the ball much harder than before, gasping as this time, it flew into the net, while not nearly as hard as yoichi’s kick, it still went in.

“i did it”

“you did it,” he cheered for you, picking you up, jumping around, before finally letting you down.

“it’s because of you, i’d like to learn more about what it’s like to be a striker”

“it means that much to you?”

“it means a lot to you and if i am with you, i want to see it from your perspective,” you said. something about your words made his stomach flutter in an unfamiliar way.

suddenly he could see life with you, beyond the present. marriage, children, and getting old together. he wanted to melt under your gaze, bend to your commands, and meet every desire uttered from your lips. his heart and mind were agreeing at the thought that the one for him had finally come along and stood in front of him, looking as perfect as ever.

“we can train as much as you want,” he muttered, blushing as you kissed his lips. pulling away, you turned your head in embarrassment as your stomach growled.

“let’s get some food in your tummy, princess,” he winked, jogging to get his back, before coming back, his fingers interlocking with your own, as you began telling him about a restaurant you saw earlier today.

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

A stern-faced woman peeks around the edge of the shelves.

"AHA! So you're the one who's been tracking mud through my library! Just what do you have to say for yourself, mister?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, miss," comes a voice from the ground; small and high, apologetic and lost and hollow all at once. "I've been a garden gnome for fifty years now and all of a sudden I find I can't stand it any more; didn't even know that could happen, really. Just wandered off the job in a daze this morning, no idea what to do, walked past this book repository here and figured there might be some answers inside. Must not have been thinkin' straight; my apologies again, miss. I'll carry me dirty boots and be out of your hair."

The librarian's expression softens as she listens, turning thoughtful, then mischievous as the gnome awaits a response. As he reaches down uncertainly to unfasten his footwear, she speaks with a teasing lilt.

"Don't think you're getting away that easy, buster!" she says with a smile. "We're gonna bag up those booties and send them to the cleaners, and you're not getting them back until you've helped me scrub every last particle of mud out of this carpet! And you'll have to listen to my old lady rambling the whole time! I'll talk your ear off about every subject imaginable; things you've never even heard of! Careers you'd never even considered! I used to be a farmer myself, you know. And a scholar, an adventurer, a dancer, a cobbler, a builder, a priestess, a journalist, a lawyer, a manager, a merchant, a maid, a mage, a knight, an oracle, a fool...yes, sonny, I've done it all and you're gonna hear about the lot! And if any of it interests you we're gonna drag you off into the stacks and you won't come out until you've got a solid foundation for it! Why, I might even keep you here until I can find one of my old contacts to introduce you to, just stay right there while I grab the supplies..."

As she rounds the corner the poor fellow looks more befuddled than anything, eyes wide as he tries to take it all in, but when she returns with an armful of cleaning chemicals, a sturdy leather bag and a rolodex, the gnome is smiling just a little bit too.

Local garden gnome is tired of what he does and wants to be something else. What could he be searching?

[worstgenerationloser]

Could you please do ace, shanks and benn defending their f s/o from a misogynistic man? I had to face one at work and he gave me the absolute ICK

,, Rushing to your aid! ''

Ace, Shanks, and Beckman x F! Reader.

Summary... how would your boyfriend defend you from a misogynistic man?

Contains... misogyny, mentions of harassment, depictions of bloody violence, and some slight fluff!

A/N: IM SORRY YOU HAD TO DEAL WITH THAT ANON💕 I hope since you sent in this ask the men have left you alone! If not I'll ward them away myself!! 🤺🤺

Portgas D. Ace

Ace doesn't register it completely, so at first he's confused on why this man is talking to you as if you were a baby (mostly because he's a dumbass)

Now, even if he wasn't aware the man was being misogynistic at first, he's still rushing towards you because there's literally a weird man talking to you the way you would to a little kid, and you definitely looked angry enough to tear off his head.

"Woah, what's happening here?" Instinctively and natural as breathing, his arm slips around your shoulders and his fingers move to gently graze your arm in an attempt to console you.

He doesn't like showing his temper much, but when people precious to him are involved, his angry heart bursts into flames. When the man speaks, his jaw drops out of pure disbelief. According to him, he was mansplaining how pirates operate to you. Which is weird, because Ace knows that you're definitely well versed in pirates... Considering you're his girlfriend.

He wanted to diffuse the situation, but it seems like this random needed a reality check.

"Hm... Good to know, but I'm sure it's irrelevant to her." His smile is wide and joyous, but the ominous shadow looming over his face is anything but.

"But she's clueless!", the man rambles on and bumbles about like a headless chicken, before he turns back to get one good look at Ace. Then it clicks in his pea-sized brain that maybe you know a bit more about pirates than him.

Ace looks a little scary when he's mad, you discover . But mostly cute.

"My girlfriend doesn't need to explain her knowledge to some random asshole who couldn't make a lasting impact on her life if he tried, you're way below her, buddy."

With gritted teeth, Ace tries to not light fire to the whole town, but only you seem to notice his body is literally smoking hot.

According to Ace, the guy ran a little too slow, and that's how he ended up naked covered in burn marks! The marines didn't believe him, though, and you two were left to flee.

"Can you believe the balls on that guy? It's not like you're unknown, either. Portgas D. Ace's kickass girlfriend! It's got a nice ring to it, eh?"

He nudges you a little too hard and sends you flying into a bush, but you appreciate the cute moments with him no matter how brief.

Red-Haired Shanks

Shanks learned many things during his time in the Roger Pirates, but one thing really stuck with him throughout the years. He can tolerate being spat on and kicked around, if his crew sees it as a threat then he's not gonna stop them from doing whatever it is they're planning, but he's not gonna ask them to go out of their way to deal with it.

But when someone disrespects his crew, and especially you?

Oh, he's pissed.

You think he doesn't realize at first, but he's keeping a very close eye on you two. He tries to keep his ass planted firmly into his chair per Beckman's request. Beckman is the mature one, and he's almost never wrong in the astute observations he makes. Despite this, Shanks has no self control and he's lobbing himself towards the bar where you sit.

Beckman shakes his head disapprovingly at his captain, because unlike him, Beck knows you can handle yourself.

The man in question harassing you seems to be a small time criminal with a bounty of 50,000... That doesn't deter Shanks, it might have egged him on even more because who does he think he is harassing you?

By the time Shanks has made his way to you, your harasser seems to have taken it upon himself to demean you for your appearance, pulling out all the classics like "bitch" "whore" , and "slut" to name a few. Shanks, of course, finds absolutely no amusement in this. I'm sure you can guess what happened next.

Your harasser tries to argue and degrade you a little more when Shanks steps up, not realizing how silent the bar has suddenly become. He didn't even realize the hundreds of eyes disappearing from him, not wanting to watch things unfold.

"You're drunk, I'll give you that one." Shanks barks out a laugh like he finds it funny, but up close you can see that gleam in his eyes.

Well... it's not like you could stop him anyways.

But you really wish he left the bar standing, at least. It certainly isn't doing good for his reputation as an emperor of the seas.

When Beckman scolds him as if he were a child on deck, he laughs like he'll forget about it in a day or two. But everyone knows Shanks will be doing it all over again in a heartbeat. He holds you extra close that night, trying to make sure your heart isn't tainted by the venomous words spat.

"I don't want anybody, big name or small, disrespecting people I hold dear to me."

His words are sweet while he whispers to you in bed... he's an odd man, but he's yours.

Benn Beckman

Two words. Broken. Bones.

Beckman does not play around with his girl, at all. He'll bash in heads day and night if someone even looks at you the wrong way, but he restrains himself because he's not a jealous young man anymore, so he likes to think.

Regarding everything else, he's cool as a cucumber, he prefers to let things wash over by themselves and only offers advice if he senses things will go astray. (as previously mentioned)

You're his girl, and a damn beautiful one, so he isn't surprised when some people try and scope you out, the same happens to him with many women, so why be so hypocritical about it? His heart is locked inside of yours for the rest of his life whether you want him or not, so he knows you won't run off with another no matter how much Shanks jokes about it.

If they're a little persistent, he might walk up to you and give you a few kisses so they get the message. But this man was definitely not "a little persistent."

Beck doesn't have a second to think of what he should do when he hears the utterances of vile comments slip from this man's mouth after you turned him down, because he's already right next to you quicker than his own head can wrap around. He's big, tall and scary, enough so to make someone shake with just a look.

"A grown man like yourself should know that ain't no way to talk to a lady." His voice is low, and he's talking nice and slow for your harassers ears only.

Beck heard it all, him hitting on you in an unceremonious way, all the way to demeaning you when you rejected him, spouting the same chewed up rhetoric that is "women are only good for bearing children" and whatnot. He can't let that pass no matter how capable you may be of handling it yourself.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" The man's words were proven to be a bad move before his lips could rest against eachother.

Following that, there was quite a sight. Somehow Beckman managed to twist the poor guy into some kind of abstract form of art, all bloody and fucked up with no more teeth left.

And of course he ushered you away after wiping his hands clean enough for you, because he's a gentleman, he didn't do it for himself, it was for you!

"M'sorry you had to see that, sugar." His whispers fill your head while he has you resting your head on his chest hours later, a few giggles coming from outside your bedroom door. Guess who?

"You know I won't let nobody disrespect you like that. You aren't mad, are you baby?" Beckman is a real sweet talker, so it's not like you could be even if you tried.

Plus, he looks super hot fighting.

END.

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated! ❤️If possible, leave a comment too!

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 8

Summary: Your ex fiancé Jared has the audacity to show his face again, and no less showing up at your boyfriend's house asking you to take him back...and that just won't do. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1.1k~ Warning: Mentions SA (didn't actually happen) a/n: barely edited per usual Requested by an anon 💜 Start from the beginning

"I got it" I call from downstairs, the doorbell resounding throughout the house with Jungkook yelling out a quick thanks from his office.

I open the door, forgetting to check the peephole and my face goes from friendly to shocked, not expecting to see his face again. 

Or at least hoping I wouldn't.

"Who told you I was here?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, a defensive stance necessary to greet the terror that is my ex fiancé.

"Jina kinda let it slip when she called me the other day. Told me you had shacked up with her dad" he says, looking behind me to see if he's around.

"He's in his office and my relationship with him is none of your business, so if you wouldn't mind" I say and start closing the door on him.

"Wait! Wait okay I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. What I meant to say is that I miss you. I miss us" he starts and I couldn't hold back the eye roll even if I wanted to.

"You should've thought about that before you put your dick in my best friend" I say, not pulling punches and he sighs as if I was the one who did him wrong, infuriating me even more.

"I guess I deserved that" he says, looking disheartened, an expression I had never seen from him before, catching me off guard.

"You deserve a lot of things and my time isn't one of them" I say and try to close the door again but this time he places his hand on it, preventing me from doing so.

"Come on baby, you know you're the only one I care about. It was a mistake. I never meant for it to happen" he says, his tone a lot deeper and condescending as if he was trying to coax me into his way of thinking.

"So you just magically undressed her and yourself, slipped, fell and came in her? Is that it? I would say that's a pretty big fucking mistake there" I scoff, giving up on trying to close the door since he's clearly not gonna go down easily.

"And don't call me that" I growl, gritting my teeth, the pet name falling from his lips as though he expected me to take him back without any opposition.

"Can I come in? I just wanna talk" he asks, and before I can answer I feel Jungkook's strong hand on my waist, a wordless sign saying he'll take it from here.

"Wanna run that by me one more time?" Jungkook says, his possessive touch and the clear height difference between them laughable, Jared's lame efforts of winning me back being futile at best.

"I just wanted to talk to y/n" Jared mumbles to Jungkook, acting as if he wasn't the bastard that impregnated his daughter and is clearly trying and failing to win back the woman that he now calls his girlfriend.

"You wanna talk to him Bunny?" he asks me, completely disregarding Jared's wants and leaving the decision up to me even though he would rather shoot the boy where he stands.

"No, not at all" I say and turn to walk away leaving Jared calling after me but Jungkook steps in his line of sight, completely blocking me out.

"A word of advice, don't come around here again if you value your life" Jungkook warns looking down on him, Jared clearly uncomfortable and not expecting this kind of treatment because he's fucking delusional. 

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?" Jared scoffs nervously, not knowing if Jungkook would truly be capable of something like that. "No, but I'm sure I could convince Jina to report you for raping her" I hear Jungkook say, his restraint wearing thin as this conversation continues. 

"That's not true, plus you have no proof even if it was" Jared scoffs while staggering back, knowing that something like that could ruin him. "I'm sure I could find some. You know, being in my line of work and all" Jungkook says, crossing his arms over his chest as if begging Jared to try him.

"I thought lawyers were supposed to present evidence, not twist it to fit a false narrative they've come up with" Jared says, trying and failing to call Jungkook out on his bullshit. "Then you obviously know nothing about lawyers or the law" he scoffs and takes a step towards Jared, further intimidating him. 

"Now I suggest you leave while you still can. I might not be able to keep my daughter from having to suffer through dealing with you but I sure as hell will keep you from y/n" he says, his jaw tense and posture stiff, visibly holding himself back, his patience with him wearing thin.

"She'll leave you eventually when she gets tired of your old ass" Jared spits out cowardly, his hand already reaching for the door handle on his car.  

"That's a risk I'm willing to take" Jungkook says, cocking his brow while walking the tiniest bit closer. Jared hurriedly tries to open his car door but fumbles with his keys as he's forgotten to unlock it in his flustered state.

Jared's pursed lips contract, clearly trying to hold back the insults he'd like to throw out in fear of Jungkook making good on his threats before sucking his teeth and getting into his car, speeding recklessly down the road. 

"He's gone?" I ask once Jungkook's come back in, sitting down and looking spent. "Yeah" he sighs, laying his head down on my lap, no doubt wanting me to play with his hair which I do on reflex. 

"Seeing him makes me so angry but I could only imagine how it makes you feel" he says while flipping onto his back and looking at me from his reclined position. 

"I've learned to let it go at this point" I say, giving him a soft smile. "Am I still repulsed at the thought of him? Yes, but I don't want to give him that power over me you know? Plus, no matter how horribly he went about it, he kept me from making the dumbest mistake of my life in marrying him and ultimately as a result led me to you" I say and caress his face, smoothing out the crease between his brows. 

"You know, for being so young you can be a hell of a lot more mature than me half of the time" he chuckles. "Only half?" I smirk, knowing we both have our moments. "Some of the time then, happy?" he says pinching my cheek while looking up at me adoringly making my nose scrunch. 

"I guess I'll settle for that" I roll my eyes, leaning down in the next moment to kiss him, the angle although awkward is no less meaningful and it's a kiss I know I'll cherish. One that reminds us both that no matter what life throws at us we know in our hearts that we'll make it. 

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[vivimura]

breaking up with riki ─ sfw, 0.935 k wc, i suck at angst but it was heavily requested this is the best i can vomit out i'm sorry

“you know what your problem is?" riki asked softly, but the furrow between his eyebrows was enough evidence of his irritation.

"your problem is you overthink everything." he spoke, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point it began to hurt. "you know what the future holds?" he asks, his voice gentle yet serious. "absolutely fucking nothing. all we got is the present, and right now, i like you. you like me."

you scoffed in disbelief, using every bit of strength in your fibres to bite your sobs back down. 

“oh, i overthink, do i? or, have you considered the fucking possibility that you don’t think enough, nishimura?” you spat out bitterly making the frown between his eyebrows deepen. the tears welled in your eyes made your vision grow blurry, but also frustrated you for reasons more than that. you hated that it made you look weak.

“life isn’t so simple. just because we like something, doesn’t mean that we can have it. it doesn’t work that way. we’re amazing together, but it’s just- so much work. i’m exhausted.”

"you think i don't fucking think?" he almost growls, his grip on your wrist finally loosening as if he realized he was holding it too tightly. "i think all the time. about you, about us, about how fucking hard this is. do you think it's easy for me?"

"it doesn't matter if you think or not, if you're not going to do something about it!" you yanked your hand away from his grip completely when you got the chance, a stray tear finally falling from your right eye. it disappeared when you used the back of your hand to harshly wipe it away.

"love shouldn't be something that makes me feel so drained and tired emotionally. this relationship,” you gestured to the air between your bodies, “just you-, it's so much fucking work!"

"that's work i'm willing to do-”

"-and i'm not!" you finally snapped and yelled. your eyes bulged when you took in the gravity of your own words.

silence lingered in the air for what felt like an eternity, but was just a few moments. there was a bead of sweat rolling down the side of your forehead, your heart beating so fast and loud that you could hear it in your ears. the look on riki’s face was indescribable.

his eyes widen momentarily, then narrow as he processes your words. his jaw clenches, a muscle twitching visibly. in a flash, he steps closer, his voice low and intense. "well, fuck me, you've finally said it out loud, haven't you?"

your hands formed tight fists, every raging thought bubbling in your mind suddenly disappeared for some reason. it felt like your knees would give out any second now, but you stayed there, as still and silent as a beautiful, teary-eyed doll.

he stared at your tears for an age, his face expressionless. his eyes flickered between your left and right orbs, as if trying to find some truth. some explanation. deep down, he knew he was fooling himself. he already knew.

he laughed bitterly at your silence and shook his head. "unbelievable. after all this time, all these fights, you're just... done? just like that?" he bites his lip harshly to hold back his own tears. he felt a strange emptiness in his chest, a feeling he hadn't felt before. "no more willing to put in the work."

not bothering to wait for your reply, he sighed heavily and turned away, his hand reaching up to run through his hair. "just-.. go home." his voice was flat, emotionless. it was an effort to keep his breathing steady.

you let out a shaky exhale and memorised his side profile as if you were seeing it for the last time. your eyes drooped down as your head bowed in utter sorrow, the soft gray carpet on the floor of riki’s bedroom came into your view.

it was the same carpet. one which you’d once talked on for hours straight, played games you loved, play-fighted, kissed each other and sometimes even more. it was beginning to feel like those things would be nothing but a memory anymore.

you wiped your tears away, turning around to pick up your purse from his bedside table with shaky steps. riki’s heart squeezed, but he just watched you from the corner of his peripheral vision. he watched your back, your shoulders slightly hunched as if you were bracing yourself for something.

when you turned around, riki almost broke down completely when he saw the look on your face. the quiver in your lips, the bags under your eyes. the spark he once saw in your eyes when he first met you now reduced to dullness and tears. he nearly opened his mouth to stop you, but his words died down. he knew he had to let you go.

you didn't dare to look into his eyes and walked to the door of his bedroom. your fingers trembled as you reached for the handle of the door. when you pulled it down and opened the door just a little, it felt so unreal that you couldn't tell if this was a dream.

the urge to turn around and say something, or just look at him was nearly eating you alive. but you didn’t trust yourself enough to run into his arms if you saw the state of him. you had to do this, for yourself. just as you were about to leave, you whispered a small, “b-bye,”

click, shut the door, and possibly the longest, most meaningful period in riki’s life.

mlist comment, reblog & follow!

[waytootiredforthistoo]

do we ever talk about the practicalities of being a muggleborn at Hogwarts? I mean, I know *i* do, but does it infest anyone else's brain?

right, cause we have one (1) train, and it stops in one (1) place. You're boarding the Hogwarts express in London, which is great if you live in/near London or you live with an adult who has magical teleportation powers, but what tf are the muggleborns supposed to do about that???

Oh god and the isolation of it all?

can't phone, no normal post. I'm so sorry but my landlord would boot me out if I brought a fish into my apartment. I KNOW those muggleborn families in flats couldn't have owls coming in and out at all hours

hell, most apartments don't have fireplaces, so that's floo right out

do you just not speak to your parents for 4 months at a time? You're 11! You've just been taken away from everything you've ever known! That's awful!

and there don't seem to be any services for incoming muggleborns. Like, we've got muggle studies for upper year wizards, but why is there no wizard studies for new muggleborns? Like, even just a once a week first semester class going over shit like, 'this is how you tie a tie' and 'this is how owl post works' and 'this is how you open an account at Gringotts'

I don't know. it just seems like a full nightmare for me to imagine an 11 year old having to try to navigate a whole new society on their own

[sturniololuvz]

hii could you pls write abt the triplets and their sister living in boston and justin comes to visit and they basically leave out their sister and then just much angst and then fluff please?

okayy!

“Forgotten in Boston”

Sturniolos x sister

Y/N had always known that the bond between the triplets and Justin was different. He was their older brother, someone they looked up to, someone they hadn’t seen as often since he moved away. So when he came back to Boston for a visit, she knew they’d want to spend as much time with him as possible.

She just didn’t expect to be left out completely.

It started small—little things like the boys making plans without asking if she wanted to come. At first, she brushed it off, thinking maybe it was unintentional.

But then, it became obvious.

“Yo, let’s hit the North End for dinner,” Justin had said earlier that day.

Y/N, sitting on the couch, perked up. “Ooh, can I come?”

Chris barely glanced at her as he grabbed his jacket. “It’s kinda like… a brother thing, you know?”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be back soon,” Matt added quickly, ruffling her hair as he walked by.

Nick tossed her the remote. “You can pick a movie for when we get back.”

And just like that, they were gone.

Y/N sat there, gripping the remote, her chest tight.

It happened again the next day. And the next.

Every time she tried to join in, it was always the same excuse. “Brother time.”

As if she wasn’t their sibling too.

By the fourth day, she’d had enough.

They had just come back from some stupid arcade, all laughing about inside jokes she wasn’t part of. Justin was throwing an arm around Matt’s shoulders, Nick was talking about some game he won, and Chris— the one who always made sure she was included—was just as wrapped up in it as the rest.

She stood up from the couch, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “I’m going to bed.”

Chris blinked. “It’s, like, seven?”

“Yeah, well, there’s not much else for me to do alone,” she snapped.

The room went silent.

Nick frowned. “What?”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You guys have completely ignored me this entire week. Every time I try to spend time with you, I get shut out because I’m not part of your ‘brother time.’ Do you even realize how shitty that feels?”

Matt opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“No, actually, don’t answer that. Because I already know—you don’t realize, because you haven’t even noticed I’ve been sitting here alone every single day.” Her voice cracked, and she hated it.

Chris looked like she had just punched him in the gut. “Y/N…”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Forget it. Just enjoy your time with Justin.”

And with that, she walked to her room, slamming the door behind her.

It was maybe an hour later when she heard the soft knock.

“Y/N?”

She stayed silent, hugging her pillow.

Another knock. “Can we come in?”

More than one voice. She sighed, wiping her eyes before mumbling, “Whatever.”

The door creaked open, and the triplets walked in, looking… guilty.

Chris sat on the edge of her bed first. “We’re dicks.”

Nick sighed. “Huge dicks.”

Matt nodded. “Like, the biggest dicks.”

Y/N huffed out a small laugh, even though she was still upset. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, looking down. “I didn’t even realize we were leaving you out. I swear it wasn’t on purpose.”

Nick leaned against her desk. “We just got caught up in seeing Justin again, and—fuck, that’s not even an excuse. We just… we messed up.”

Matt sat next to her, nudging her shoulder. “We’re really sorry, Y/N/N. We feel like shit.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, picking at a loose thread on her blanket. “It really sucked,” she admitted softly.

Chris exhaled. “I know.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we make it up to you?”

She raised a brow. “How?”

Matt grinned. “You get to pick what we do tomorrow. Anything. No complaints, no excuses.”

Chris nudged her. “Even if it’s something super girly and we look stupid.”

Y/N sniffled, but a small smile crept onto her face. “Even if I make you guys get pedicures with me?”

Nick groaned. “God, please, anything but that.”

Chris laughed. “Nope, no complaints! That’s the deal.”

Matt sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if they put rhinestones on my toes, I’m blaming you.”

Y/N let out a real laugh this time, and the tightness in her chest started to ease.

Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We love you, you know that, right?”

She leaned into him, finally feeling like their sister again. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I love you guys too.”

[delightfulhidingnook]

His Best Knight, The Queen

(Dark Cacao Cookie x Reader)

Chapter 1

You are one of the best warriors that Earthbread has ever seen, practically a master with nearly any weapon, though you mostly preferred your bow and arrows, best to try to keep enemies as far away as possible. Hailing from the Milk Tribe, you travelled back and forth from the Coffee village delivering stuff, gathering essentials and just helped in any way you could depending on where you were, all your good deeds ended up turning you into a sort of local hero. At one point you had made a friend, Affogato Cookie, he would tag along in your travels and even ended up hailing a hero title of his own as well though he didn’t do much, all the dirty work was yours alone. But you also did consider his company to be work plenty so you were happy to share the local hero title with him, he ended up being what you would consider a best friend.

It didn’t last long though, after having not seen him for a while during your trips to the Coffee Village you began asking around, eventually you were able to find out he left the village, no one knows where though. You were a bit sad, he left without saying goodbye, no doubt to go make something of himself, he always did talk about wanting more and having a place in life, you decided to be happy for him and wished him all the best in his adventure. Your loneliness however was cut short as well during one of your wood gathering trips, after cutting down a tree you heard a very high yelp and a small black blur running from the fallen tree to behind the next tree over. You pull out your bow and carefully approach where the creature had hidden itself, upon closer inspection you find yourself face to face with a dark fur cremewolf cub, poor thing was wounded, the tree probably fell on its paw.

“Aaaaaaww, sorry little guy, I didn’t see you, here, let me patch you up.”

You grab a branch and rip off a bit of your own cape to attach a splint, but as soon as you get close, the little fur ball bites you, letting out a small growl.

“Ow I’m trying to help you jerk!!”

The puppy barked, it's eyes filled with fear, an idea popped into your head, luckily you always pack a lunch before you leave, you pull out a covered bowl, it's still warm.

"You like Hot Jelly Stew?" You opened up the bowl and nudge it toward the small cub.

In no time at all, the small critter takes the bait, scarfing down the stew and allowing you to attach the splint to the little guys paw. Afterwards you let him finish the rest of the stew while you went back to cutting the fallen tree into logs. By the time you finished, the puppy had disappeared, leaving behind only the bowl. Assuming the cub went back to it's family you packed up and left to the Coffee Village to drop off the wood.

You ended up seeing the puppy again and again in the woods but every time after eating it would disappear, you ended up remembering to bring two bowls of stew and you ended up eating together. One day you notice the splint is gone, probably chewed off no doubt, you decide to put your hand out to pet young cremewolf. It growls at your hand in warning and you retract your hand and point at the cub.

"Stop being dramatic I wanna pet you!"

You reach your hand out slowly and pet the small cremewolf, your hand moves to the back of its ears and the cub seems to enjoy it, leaning into your touch, tail wagging.

“Aaaaaaawww you’re not so bad, just a little sweetie pie, yes you are, is that what I should call you, sweetie, oh yes you like that name don’t you.” Your voice devolved into baby talk as you pet the cub.

You became closely bonded, Sweetie eventually joined you everywhere you went, people seemed stunned to see that you tamed a dark fur crème wolf, they were deemed untamable. But Sweetie carried his weight as he got bigger, and bigger, eventually becoming your trusty trained steed, the Milk village was even kind enough to build him a special sled to make hauling easier. Both of you made your way through the snowy woods and in the distance you could hear the familiar roar of the two dragons.

“Aw, those jerks again, they’re so annoying!”

You looked over where you could see the two dragons, your eyes suddenly widened as your gaze wandered to the edge of giant icing ridge, you squinted, there was a person.

“Who the hell is stupid enough to go toward the dragons while they’re fighting?!?! Ugh, come on Sweetie, we gotta stop an idiot.” You held onto Sweeties fur and with a bark he changed course toward the icing ridge.

The wind blew harshly, cold air and snow swirling violently as the two beasts clashed. The mysterious figure was holding his own in a fierce battle between them wielding nothing but a single giant sword. You were almost up the ridge, who does this idiot think he is, battling the dragons, he was gonna get himself killed. You pulled out your bow, the guys back was totally exposed, before the black dragon could come up on his six, you shot it, the beast roared in pain, pulling back. But with another swing of his sword, the mysterious figure seemed to call down lightning, you hopped off of Sweetie, pulling him down as the figure let out a critical attack.

Suddenly the wind was still, there was a warmth, the sun, had come out, the dragons had been defeated, you were suddenly faced with a giant purple blade only a few inches from your face.

“Who are you?” Asked the strange figure.

You look up and are met with purple eyes, like amethysts, he had long, black hair with a single white streak in it. Sweetie growls, warning the unknown warrior to back away, you get up and signal for Sweetie to sit before raising your hands in defense.

“Not a foe, just came here to make sure you were alright, not everyday you see a stranger stupid enough to come up here and just defeat two dragons by himself, but I mean I helped a bit too so you can thank me later.”

“Did you now?”

“Black dragon was gonna come up behind you and crumble you back into flour if it hadn’t been for me, you’re lucky I was passing by on a delivery.”

It suddenly came to your realization that this delivery would be very much late “Aw dang! I totally forgot about the delivery I was making!!”

You hopped back onto Sweetie and reached a hand out to the mystery warrior man. “If you’d like you can hop on, Sweetie and I don’t mind giving you a ride into the Coffee Village.”

The stranger nodded quietly and took your hand, hopping up and taking a seat behind you.

“Alright Sweetie, mush!!”

As you made your way down the mountain and back on track toward the Coffee Village, you turned toward the silent stranger.

“You’re not much of a talker are you? But people are gonna want to know your name after what you did, I’m Y/n Cookie, how about you?”

“Dark Cacao Cookie.”

“Well, please to make your acquaintance Dark Cacao.”

And this was the beginning of a whole new adventure.

[brain4stew]

Can you do reader who's just socially awkward like REALLY REALLY awkward at doing convos and whenever they tried they felt forced and talk like an npc,reader likes to observe people from afar,even spooking some others whenever reader pops outta nowhere..(with noobs,007n7,twotime,builderman's reaction to it) it aint even mysterious it's just straight up SAD(me fr)

OMG NO, I FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS… With having social anxiety and all that…

BUT ANYWAY, I’ll see what I can do with your request!

(Again, I don’t know the characters exact personalities and so on, so they might, if not most likely will be OOC!!)

That being said, headcanons/something is under the cut!! ;

(Noob)

• Ah, Noob… The little scared guy… He’s confused by you at first, but shrugs it off as you being weary of people. (Which is somewhat true.)

• Noob has tried to talk to you, countless times, but became embarrassed after your responses…

• In the lobbies, he sees you in the corner of his eyes, and quite literally jumps a little and flinches. (Why are you just standing there, staring, from a distance??)

• In rounds, of course Noob is still on edge, due to the killer. But also because of you, as you scared them countless times, appearing out of literally thin air. (WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?!)

• Overtime, they found out you were just extremely awkward and anxious around people! (They automatically assumed you had social anxiety…)

• Noob took it upon themselves to help you, and stay by you. (Even if you spook the ever living spirit out of him.)

(007n7)

• He was concerned and confused by you. Why don’t you interact as much? (Not that he minds it, he already had a kid that has WAY too much energy…)

• He has talked to you a few times, (mainly him talking to you about C00lkidd, while you listen to him), but that’s basically all, as he, got embarrassed by your responses and so.

• Eventually he understands you, and stays by you, just as a silent reminder that, you aren’t alone.

• In rounds, he’s anxious, cautious and nervous. But, he goes to find you, just to see how you’re doing. (Father instincts alert…)

• He carries a medkit with him, (which he spawned by coincidentally…) in case you need it. (What about Elliot, good sir?? 🤨)

• You are constantly doing generator’s, to decrease the time of the rounds. (And because you want the money.) You even body block some of the killers attacks, when they’re going for Elliot. (You end up severely injured… But, Elliot is thankful for you body blocking him, and he heals you when he has his pizza ready.)

• After each round, 007n7 INSISTS on taking care of you and your wounds. Scolding you and telling you to be more careful. (Atp he sees you as a reckless child… Like C00lkidd… Smh.)

• 007n7 basically just… Adopted you in his mind. Even if you don’t talk much, or interact with anyone that much.

(Two Time)

• They understand you QUICKLY.

• They don’t interact much with others either, nor do they talk much.

• Sometimes, they get their courage up a bit, to stand a bit closer to you… (Before they eventually go away out of embarrassment and worry.)

• In rounds, they immediately go to find a medkit for Elliot. They found one of course but uh… You accidentally scared them, as you were doing a generator nearby. (Insert their tail stiffening and their pose being a bit… Cartoonish.)

• They stood by you for a while as you were doing your generator, in case the killer is nearby. (They accidentally scared you too when you were done…)

• After many rounds, Two Time gathers up their courage again, and actually talks to you, for quite a while. (You both somehow, and strangely enough have lots of the same interests, and worries and so.)

• Two Time decided that you’re their #1 *cough* sorry *cough* #2 best friend there and then. They enjoy your company, even if you both don’t talk much or interact much.

(Builderman)

• Builderman… Let’s just say that he has information about everyone, hell, even the killers. He is of course, the 2nd(?) in charge of the game Roblox anyway.

• He’s not that surprised that you don’t talk much, or interact with anyone. He has your information after all.

• However, he did not expect you to accidentally jump scare him, as you were watching him fix a device.

• In rounds, he’s putting down his Sentry when he’s doing a generator nearby, or he puts it somewhere where the killer will get distracted by another survivor.

• He also puts down a dispenser where it’s somewhat hidden, yet easy to maneuver around, in case of the killer being nearby and attacking.

• You did… Accidentally scare him when he was doing a generator… He actually thought you were the killer, due to how quiet you are.

• He did gesture for you to do the generator with him, so it’s less time to fix it, and the time can be decreased quicker.

• He did occasionally ask you for some help due to him being… Well… Old. And forgetting how to fix the generators, which, you actually helped him with. (Even if you just silently poked your finger at the generator, and drawing an “invisible air line” for him.)

• After rounds, he asked you if you wanted to learn how to heal survivors after rounds, and to fix devices, and items a like. Which, you accepted.

• You actually opened up to him after a while, seeing him as a comfort person. Someone you can actually trust and talk to, and not be too worried about. (Well, unless you worry about his health and age due to how old this guy is…)

I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK LIKE WHAT SEEMS LIKE AGES. MY BRAIN IS LEGIT JUST MUSH AT THIS POINT.

[evilmenenjoyer]

Punishment

Pairing: professor Hwang In-ho x student fem!Reader

Summary: You find a creative, albeit unconventional way to get out of the trouble you're in at university.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: sexual content (minors dni), age gap (legal, reader is implied to be in her early to mid 20s), spanking, corporal punishment, masochism, power dynamics, crying, unresolved sexual tension.

–––

You can tell something’s off the second you walk through the door, when your cheerful “Hello, Mr. Hwang!” is met with a short, courteous “good evening” from the professor.

It’s not rude. It’s not even particularly harsh. It just lacks the usual warmth you’ve come to expect from him, the tiny smile on his lips that always greets you.

Being called to see the strict Mr. Hwang In-ho after class usually meant bad news, leaving most students nervous about what they could’ve done wrong. But not you. You’ve lost count of how many times you stayed in this classroom for hours after class was over, discussing a book he had assigned for class or literature in general. Some days you’d help him grade tests and homework, when you noticed he had too much work on his back. And some days, the ones you cherished the most, you’d talk about things unrelated to class or literature – politics, your interests, your personal life. His personal life.

Saying you were smitten with him was the understatement of the century. You tried not to pay much attention to the crush you developed on him, hoping it would go away if you just ignored it for long enough, but it only seems to be getting stronger.

“You wanted to see me?” you ask, closing the door. It’s generally frowned upon for a student to be alone with a professor with the door closed, but Mr. Hwang never objects. The fact that he’s willing to bend the rules for you pleases you a little too much.

“Yes.” His tone is the same as before, not softening now that it’s just the two of you. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you wonder what is it that’s got him in such a bad mood, if something happened in his life. “I have something to show you.”

He pulls out a piece of paper, setting it on his desk facing you. You approach, your footsteps slightly more hesitant than usual around him.

“Do you recognize this passage?” he asks, pointing to the highlighted paragraph.

You lean in to read it, an analysis of the similarities between classic English and South Korean literature. You recognize it immediately.

“I wrote it. That’s from my latest assignment.”

“Yes.” He’s still not looking at you, rummaging through a pile of papers. Did he not like the assignment? The thought alone upsets you. You worked so hard on it; not only for the sake of keeping your straight-As, but also to impress him. Maybe even more so to impress him. “How about this one?”

He sets another sheet of paper in front of you, one of the paragraphs highlighted in his same blue marker.

As you read it, your stomach immediately drops. It’s your paragraph, almost word-by-word, with a few differences that are too minor to even count.

“This is from Emily Jones’s paper. I believe the two of you are friends.”

You want to find Emily and strangle her. You told her to change stuff and not just copy from you. Did she really think someone like Mr. Hwang wouldn’t notice? That he’d just let it slide?

“I was the one who wrote the original,” you say. “I didn’t–”

“Oh, I know that. I’m very familiar with your writing style, and Ms. Jones isn’t nearly as gifted as you. I knew something was wrong the second I read it.”

You could play the victim, say Emily copied from you without your knowledge, but you know instantly it wouldn’t work, not with Mr. Hwang’s dark eyes right on you. Even when you’re not in emotional distress, the man can read you better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry.” You lower your gaze in shame. “Emily needed help, and I– she’s in the same exchange student program as I am, I know how much she needed the grade.”

“You could’ve helped her study, not let her copy off you.”

“There wasn’t a lot of time. She came to me last-minute.”

He sighs. “Well, I will have to fail both of you.”

“What?” It should be expected, but the words still sting. He knows how hard you work for your good grades. “But my essay was good.”

“It was great. Worthy of an A, if only you hadn’t helped another student with plagiarism. In fact, both of you should be reported for it.”

“Mr. Hwang, please.” Your eyes are practically begging him for mercy, the pitch of your voice getting ever so slightly higher as your desperation grows. “I can lose my scholarship and my spot at the exchange student program. Do you want me gone?”

You can see something flash across his eyes – regret, maybe, or perhaps that warmth you’ve been missing since you walked in here –, just for a split second before they’re back to normal, even more hardened than before.

“Cheating was your choice, not mine. You should’ve thought of the consequences.”

“What if– what if I wrote a new paper?” you bargain. “For half the grade. I can get it done in just a couple of days!”

“The paper is not the point. The point is how my most promising student would waste her talent to help a classmate cheat, and betray the trust I put in her.”

The praise doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but it fades away so quickly, like trying to hold on to smoke.

“It was a mistake. One that won’t happen again.”

“I’m very sorry, Ms. ____.”

You watch helplessly as he gathers the papers and organizes them back into a folder, the muscles of his arms tensed. He looks angry, but also upset. Disappointed. That sends you into an even bigger panic than a bad grade, or the potential of losing your spot at this university. It grows inside your chest, overwhelming, prompting you to say possibly the worst thing you could’ve come up with in this situation.

“What if I just take a whooping?”

He pauses. For a moment you’re both silent, still as statues as you process your own words, what you just asked for. Heat rises to your face so fast it makes you dizzy.

“What?”

You want to run away from this classroom. You want to go to the airport and take the next plane back to your country, classes and scholarship be damned.

However, now the words are already out, hanging heavy between the two of you. You can’t just back down, show him you spoke without thinking. You force yourself to nod, praying to the gods of every religion you know that your cheeks aren’t red enough that he can notice it.

“Yeah. It’s a good punishment,” you say. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not allowed. And because we are not in the 1930s.”

“You know in a lot of places corporal punishment in schools is still legal.”

“And Seoul isn’t one of them.”

“Please, Mr. Hwang.” You lower your eyes, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to rush to the surface. “I know what I did was wrong. But I’d never– willingly betray your trust. I just want to get my punishment, and for things to be back to normal.”

Above all, you want him to stop looking at you like he is right now. Like you’re just any other student, like he doesn’t admire you for your passion and intelligence. Like you haven’t been spending almost every evening after class with him instead of hanging out with your classmates, trying to make friends your own age. Like you don’t mean anything to him.

Mr. Hwang regards you for several long moments. You try to hold his intense gaze, to figure out what he’s thinking, but both tasks are impossible.

“Would you really put yourself through that for a grade?” he asks.

You shake your head slightly, but that stubborn determination doesn’t leave your eyes. “It’s not just a grade.”

His respect for you. The friendship you two have tentatively built over the past few months. That’s what you truly fear losing.

The seconds tick, stretching for so long it feels like torture. It’s so silent in the room you wonder if Mr. Hwang can hear how fast your heart is beating in your chest.

“Okay,” he says finally, sharply. “Fine.”

“Really?” You’re unable to keep the surprise from your voice, from your face, even though you try.

“If you think you can take it.” Something about his voice as he says it, the low baritone of it, sends a new rush of warmth to your body; this time descending directly between your legs. 

“Of course I can.”

No, you probably can’t, and you’re well aware of that. But his words sound like a challenge, and a feeling claws at your chest – perhaps your pride and stubbornness, or simply embarrassment, or something else entirely that you’re not sure how to name – stops you from taking the words back.

“Alright then.” He gives a short nod, and you’re unsure if it was meant for you or for himself. “Bend over the desk.”

Why is it that a simple order for him makes your insides twitch like you’re about to pass out? Your legs shake as you take a step closer to his desk, looking down at the papers and folders neatly on top of it. Drawing in a breath, you bend your upper body down until your elbows touch the dark wood.

It’s only then that you notice your compromising position. Emily had joked with you about how the length of your skirts had gotten shorter with every visit to Mr. Hwang, and today’s pick was a plaid skirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination as it was. With you bending down like this, you can feel the fabric follow the movement, exposing even more of you to the professor.

The noise of his belt being removed only makes it worse. You shut your eyes, trying not to picture him letting his pants drop to the floor, trying not to think about how much you wish this is what was happening.

“Are you ready?” he asks, giving you one last chance to back down. You should take it.

You shut your eyes and nod your head. "Yes."

There’s a whistle in the air, and you let out a gasp as the first blow lands across your ass. Fuck. You’d seen it coming, and the fabric of the skirt absorbed much of the impact, but it still spreads the first hints of pain over your skin. Another blow directly under the first one, exactly where it should be. You clench your jaw, your mind flying back to childhood memories, to the last spanking you received at eleven years old – well over a decade ago, and yet you feel much more helpless now, a third blow of the belt making you jump in your spot.

The next one breaks the pattern, hitting on a diagonal angle right on top of the other three. It’s harder than the others too, sharper, slicing even deeper into your already stinging skin. You cry out, unable to hold it back, unable to catch your breath in time not to cry out again when the belt comes down on your ass one more time.

He sets a rhythm of harsh, punishing blows. They’re precise and calculated, deliberate, like he really means each and every one of them. Of course he does – when Professor Hwang sets his mind to something, he doesn’t quit until the job is done, down to the littlest details. And right now, he seems intent on making sure no spot of your ass is left untouched by the belt. He gradually picks up speed, until you’re unsure when one strike ends and the next begins.

It fucking hurts. It hurts so bad you don’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed when the fabric of your skirt slides up and out of the way, leaving your bottom and your underwear exposed to him.

The pain is even worse when the leather belt makes contact with your bare skin; sharp and blazing hot, like he’s setting fire to you. You’ve bitten the inside of your lip hard enough to draw blood, but that doesn’t stop the sounds being ripped out of you, whimpers and cries and something that sounds way too close to Mr. Hwang’s name.

He pauses, his breaths heavy behind you. You collapse against the desk, elbows no longer strong enough to keep you propped upwards. With your ear pressed against the surface, you can hear your own heard that thumps wildly inside your chest, all your senses concentrated into a single point in your body.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks.

His tone isn’t judgmental, but your mind still echoes his words from just a few minutes ago: if you think you can take it. You’re not giving up now.

“I’m fine,” you snap, way too breathless for the statement to have any real impact, although your stubborn defiance is certainly there. “Just fucking finish it.”

His hand, warm and broad, finds its way in between your shoulder blades. He leans in, puts his weight into it, keeping you firmly pressed down over the desk. For some reason, your instinct isn’t to squirm away but to push into the heat, but you can’t move much one way or another under his grip.

“Then stay still.” His voice is so much closer to you, making you wish you had the strength to lift your head up and chase for his eyes.

Half a breath after the words are out, he strikes you again; this time with his other hand.

You sob and buck against the desk, the legs of it scraping against the floor. You can’t tell if his palm is better or worse than the belt. The pain isn’t as biting, but it’s broader and warmer, sending more fire into your already burning flesh. And it’s then that you realize you’re pushing into it, arching your back as best as you can, tilting your ass up to meet the assault. Basically offering it on a silver platter, presenting it to him and his ferocious, punishing hand.

And you’re wet.

You can feel it soak your panties, so much that you’re sure Mr. Hwang will be able to see a wet spot on them if he looks for it. Humiliated tears rise to your eyes, leaving you in a tumbling sob, desperately seeking relief but not wanting this to ever stop.

“M-Mr. Hwang.” The next strike hits you way too close to your core, the tiniest bit of friction that feels like heaven. You hiccup another cry, tears falling down and pooling over the smooth surface of the desk. “Please, I–”

You don’t even know what you’re pleading for anymore, but the word continues to leave your lips, over and over. His fingers come down hard over the sensitive spot where your ass meets your thighs, and you wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you – if he knows you’re on the brink of an orgasm just from this, that if he touches over you even for one second it might be enough to push you over the edge. He keeps going, alternates between one cheek and the other, his open palm covering as much skin as it can.

His hand travels down lower once again, warming your thighs to the same blistering heat as your ass. “God,” you breathe. You hadn’t noticed how hard your fingers are gripping the edges of the desk, your knuckles white, as if holding on could somehow save you.

He pauses again, and you can’t tell if you’re relieved or disappointed. You feel yourself throb inside your panties, wet and hot and neglected.

“Count them,” he orders.

You wince as his hand hits a sore spot, on top of skin that had already been hit too many times. “O-one.”

He lashes again and again.

“Two, three– fuck! F-four– fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t count anymore.” You’re unable to think straight at this point, unable to do anything other than cry and feel and want.

“God,” he sounds wrecked as well and you can’t understand why; you’re the one who feels as if you’re fighting for your life. He watches you, and you can’t decide if you’re embarrassed at your own state, the tears on your face and your ass that’s probably bright red by now, exposed to the professor, or if you’re too desperate for a release to think about that.

“It’s okay.” His hand lands on your hip, but doesn’t strike you again. It only caresses, his touch feather-light and delicate, a stark contrast to the harsh blows. “You did good.”

The light touch is enough to make you moan, breathing a deep sigh of relief. His touch feels unintentional, like he’s mesmerized, not fully aware of what he’s doing as he simply as he tries to ease the sting from the spanking. But when he drops down to press a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his body heat enveloping you – that can’t be accidental.

You lean into his touch as best as you can, and that’s when you feel it; something hard press against your core through layers of clothing, his cock a perfect, undeniable point of heat against you.

Both of you let our a simultaneous moan when you rub yourself back against his length. You want nothing more than for him to split you open, to push into you without a warning, without giving you time to adjust. Not that you’d last a long time, but you’d let him keep thrusting into you, having his way with your body until he was satisfied.

His hand slides under your bodies, inside your underwear.

“In-ho,” you sigh, a weak sound.

The sound of his name seems to pull you from whatever trance he’s stuck in. He stops, fingers just inches from your clit, like he’s only just realizing he’s on top of a student in his classroom. You try to lift yourself up, to rub against him again, but he doesn’t move.

He pulls away from you, and you feel like you could cry again in sheer desperation. Instead, you just stay there against the desk, wondering what the fuck just happened.

After a few moments, he lifts you up gently by the arms, turning you around to face him. He smooths out your sweater, but he doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

“You can go now, Ms. ____.”

You look at him in disbelief – first at his face, then at the tent that’s still very much apparent at the front of his pants.

“But–” you stammer. “Don’t… don’t you want me to–?”

He’s back in professor mode, organizing his papers that had turned into a mess. Still not fucking looking at you. His hair, usually neatly combed back, is now all over the place, and he looks like he’s about to break down himself.

“I’ll take care of the… assignment issue,” he says. “Go back to your dorm. It’s getting late.”

You don’t dare to disobey, even when tears rush to your eyes once again. Maybe it was all just about the assignment to him, and you got it all wrong. Or maybe – the thought hurts before it’s even fully formed in your mind – he regrets everything you’ve done.

It’s a short walk to your dorm, and you’ve never been more grateful that your roommate is not around. You throw yourself into your bed, hissing as your ass lights up in pain. It brings up all the memories back at once; the crack of the belt in the air, his warm hand stinging on your skin, the outline of his cock pressed against you.

You’re still soaked when you bring your own hand past your skirt and into your panties, not bothering to actually take them off. Two fingers slide inside, instantly finding a spot that melts your insides and makes you clench around yourself. Your other hand grips your own hip, intensifying the pain there.

“Mr. Hwang,” you moan, just to say it out loud. Your thumb brushes over your clit, just a hint of a touch and you’re gone, coming so fucking hard around fingers you do your best to pretend are his instead of yours, just at the thought of him doing this to you.

You come down slowly, so dazed you can barely open your eyes, but it doesn't bother you. Your ass has gone from searing hot to a dull, lingering ache, sure to keep you hurting for days to come. Good. You fall asleep thinking about it, thinking of his voice and his hands on you, trying to live in those moments for as long as you can.

[thetepes]

Let's get one thing clear, you have no idea what my opinions on addiction in general are.

I am talking specifically about someone who is an admitted child abuser who seeks out child and animal abuse content for pornographic use and has been escalating in just how open they are about it and the material they are looking for.

My tough love approach is reserved for this abuser and abusers of children and animals like them. This isn't about theory.

I live with addiction inside and out. I've lost people to addiction. I've dealt with it, my family has dealt with it, my friends have dealt with it, and I have shown nothing, but patience and support to them because in my community there is no support from any governmental body that we have access to because Roma don't get that privilege. You don't get to take that from me because you decided to make assumptions about me and my person. You don't get to take my years of not just dealing with it, but the years I spent studying the psychology of it to better help me, my family, and my community. The words I used are the same words my therapist used for me when I was getting addiction treatment and treatment for dealing with family who have addiction. It's outdated, yes, but sometimes you really do have to put yourself first and realize you can't be the person to save them.

You could have taken the time to look at what I was actually talking about and why I'm so severe about it, but you didn't. It was one click away and everything about them is tagged. You didn't look because it doesn't matter to you. You cared about getting to be right and getting to be that person in the reblogs that educates some woefully uninformed person on Tumblr dot com.

I am not a native English speaker, I used the word that I knew people would understand. That is the best I can do. The people I need to reach out to and get to understand that this person can not and will not stop this behavior and will not click automatically to the words compulsive sexual behavior disorder and I would have to sit here and explain what that is and then I'd get accused of diagnosing someone and the entire point of my commentary would be completely lost, like it is to you even though I know about the addiction model and I know about CSBD and I know they're still arguing over whether or not addiction plays into it. It's also wrong to diagnose someone like that, isn't it? Isn't that also harmful? Or does that not matter here?

Sometimes to communicate effectively with one another we don't use the specifically correct word, especially when nonnative speakers are in play, we use the best words even if they're a tad general that we have and now you've come in, policed the language, spoken down to us, spoken over us and admitted you're trying to drive a wedge between us - two POC trying to get eyes on an active predator who has already harmed children with a platform and connections. I used the words I knew, I gave the advice I have been taught. I'm sorry that isn't good enough for you.

Your response is bad faith because you came in and made assumptions about me and my person without so much as considering there was a reason I was being so severe and now I have to sit here and watch you parade like a peacock and get reblogs with the most inane mind numbing takes in the tags while my actual message and the damage this person is doing goes completely ignored and I am once again spoken over because I didn't choose just the right words to soothe your semantic ego enough to let me speak.

So you got to be right, I guess. Congratulations. This isn't a debate.

Addiction is a disease that destroys the body and mind. They need mental health support from a professional. It is not my or your place to treat them with gentle hands when they demand we enable them.

The only thing you can do for people suffering from addiction realistically as a layman is take care of yourself and encourage the person to get help.

Enabling them makes it worse and that's what these people want. They don't want help, they want enablers.

[redrose10]

Here is the third and final part of this one. Sorry for the delay! It’s not my best work, but it’s been a really tough couple of weeks with my parents both having emergency surgery for separate things within a week of each other and I didn’t want to get too far behind so I tried to get this done when I could. I still hope you like it! Warning, it’s a little darker than I normally write.

Part 1 Part 2 (the other parts are in my master list. Tumblr is being weird and not letting me add the links so I’ll update that later).

*******************************************************

Yoongi x Female Reader. Soulmates.

Warnings: Violence, murder, guns, threats, death, angst

In all of your past lives you were always the one that got the short end of the stick. The one that was lowest on the totem pole with no money and no power while Yoongi always lived grandeur lives filled with wealth and glory.

But here you were pointing a loaded pistol at a blindfolded Yoongi as he kneeled down on the ground before you. His life was in your hands and the tables had turned…significantly.

With shaking fingers you pulled down the blindfold watching as he blinked a few times to adjust to the minimal light available.

“What’s wrong princess? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”, he smirked.

In less than a second you had the gun cocked and pointed inches away from his forehead. You expected him to flinch or turn away, maybe even beg you not to but he did none of that. Instead he leaned in resting his forehead directly against the barrel of the gun. “Do it.”, he demanded, “Do it princess. I’m tired.”

You wanted nothing more. It would actually bring you great joy to take his life as punishment for the centuries of hell he had put you through.

“Y/N.”, Baek said walking up next to you, but you ignored him. Instead you stared into Yoongi’s eyes. He acted tough like he didn’t care, like life didn’t matter to him. But you didn’t spend thousands of years with someone without learning a bit about them. Like the way his jaw tensed when he was upset or the way he blinked too much when he was scared. From looking him over you could see that he was not as confident about dying as he wanted everyone to believe and for some reason, a reason you absolutely resented, you pulled the gun away tucking it into your back pocket because you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Get up.”, you spat instead.

“Not until you say please.”, he teased.

You leaned in right next to his ear, “Please get up and follow me right now or I promise I will put a hole the size of a 9mm bullet in your forehead.”

“I like it when you talk sexy to me.”, he said only infuriating you more, but he did get up this time trying to shake off the hands of the men still holding onto him.

“You all can go. I’ll take this one to the boss myself.”, you proclaimed.

“No I don’t think so. What gives you the right to make changes to the plan?”, one of the men questioned.

“Because.I.Said.So.”, you said before pulling the trigger of your gun. The man dropped to the floor motionless. You had just killed the boss’s little brother. “Anyone else care to challenge my orders?”, you shouted waving your gun around. The group of men all shook their heads and slowly backed away to exit the warehouse.

“You good?”, Baek asked with his own hands up in defense. He was concerned about your erratic behavior.

“Yeah.”, you nodded, “I’ll handle this one myself like I said.”

He was unsure about leaving you, but wanted to be able to walk out of there alive so he breathed a sigh of defeat before heading back out to the waiting car.

“Move.”, you hissed at Yoongi wanting to get both of you to safety. Word about your unplanned kill had surely gotten back to the boss already and you knew he would be looking for an explanation.

“Make me.”, he grinned and refused to follow after you. You took out your gun firing one shot inches away from his feet creating sparks as the bullet grazed against the concrete. He jumped before quickly stepping over to you, “Alright alright Jeeze.“

You were on high alert as you made the short walk back to your car.

“Can you untie me please?”, Yoongi asked after you opened up the passenger door for him.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No Yoongi.”

“Please I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

“Get in the car now. When we get somewhere safe I’ll untie you.”

He was hesitant, but still got in the car and you slammed the door shut after him.

“Where are we?”, Yoongi asked looking around the small dilapidated apartment. “My safe house.”, you answered. A studio apartment a couple hours outside of the city that you bought under an alias and paid for in cash. It wasn’t much. But it gave you somewhere to hide when/if you needed it.

You put down two cups of instant noodles on the table and invited him to sit next to you. When you realized he wasn’t eating you finally untied his arms noticing the way the rope had cut into his skin leaning is raw and bleeding. “I’ll get you something to clean that with.”, you said trying to get up but he stopped you. Instead the two of you ate in awkward silence.

“How did you end up becoming such a badass?”, he questioned when your meals were done.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Out of necessity I guess. How did you end up in this position?”, you questioned.

“Out of necessity.”, he chuckled but when you didn’t laugh he continued, “My brother owed a debt to someone he referred to as The Boss. He paid it off in full, but they claimed he was short so they murdered him on our front porch. I made it my life mission to find the guy who ordered him dead and kill him myself.”

“Yoongi he’s going to kill you.”, you said.

“Not if I get to him first.”, he scoffed.

“No.”, you shook your head, “You don’t understand. It’s not just one guy you have to get. The boss has people all over the word. People who are sworn to protect him at all costs. You will die Yoongi.”

“Then why did you save me tonight? Hmmm? If I’m going to die anyways why let me live another night?”

“Does it matter? I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to know why you were there.”

“Okay…well you know now and I know that you have an arsenal of loaded guns in that bag so go ahead and kill me now.”, he said, “Isn’t that your job now? To be a murder?”

You glared at him, “Why are you playing this game? Do you enjoy the thrill of it? An adrenaline junky?”

“Yes and yes.”, he responded earning an even deeper glare from you. He continued, “I know what you really want. Why you saved me. And I’m not going to fall in love and marry you Y/N. Not in this life time. I have more important things to accomplish.”

You stood up with a deep sigh, “Well lucky for you Min Yoongi, I don’t give a fuck about that any more.”

He watched as you walked off to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Once in the comfort of the shower with the hot water pouring down you did allow yourself to finally cry for the first time in a while. Did you cry because you killed one of the boss’s little brother out of anger at someone else and now there was going to be a target on your back? Yes a little. Did you cry because maybe Yoongi was right and seeing him did bring up those old feelings that maybe the two of you could fall in love and finally put an end to your centuries long soulmate chase? Yes more than you originally planned.

When you finally exited the bathroom Yoongi was sitting against the wall staring outside the window. He only turned to look at you once he felt the floor shift as you sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry I upset you Y/N. I uh I shouldn’t have brought up the soulmate thing again.”, he said with a tight lipped smile.

“It’s fine.”, you whispered, “I gave up on that a long time ago and just accepted it.”

“You know I have always cared for you Y/N…even if it didn’t seem like it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his statement, “Caring about me doesn’t solve anything Yoongi. You’re never going to love me the way I want you to and that’s it. We’ll be playing this game for eternity.”

“Y/N.”, he sighed, but was cut off when the door to your apartment suddenly slammed open. The two of you scrambled to get up as fast as you could backing into the corner. A familiar sight slowly walked into the room.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry.”, Baek whispered looking at you with a deep sadness in his eyes, “Just go peacefully. Please don’t fight it.” Your heart sank because you knew what he meant. He was the only person you had given the address of your safe house to and you knew that his life had been on the line for him to give you up. You couldn’t exactly blame him. It was common in this business.

Six men with guns drawn walked into the little room. Neither you nor Yoongi put up much of a fight, you both knew there was no use at that point.

The warehouse you arrived at was very similar to the one you had been in earlier. You and Yoongi were thrown down on the ground making you wince at the impact. You looked over to check on Yoongi and he was already looking in your direction to check on you as well.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”, the boss said as he walked in puffing on a large cigar.

“My dear dear Y/N. You were my best. My most reliable. I’ve always had a soft spot for you, kind of like the daughter I never had. So you can imagine the heartbreak I felt earlier finding out you murdered my brother. And over this…this lowlife delinquent.”, he said pointing over to Yoongi. You felt a burning sensation in your shoulder as the boss put out his cigar against your skin.

“Don’t touch her.”, Yoongi gritted through his teeth trying to break free.

“Awww how adorable.”, the boss laughed, “You don’t want me to hurt your little soulmate.” You felt like all the air in your lungs left your body and Yoongi froze. “That’s right. I know everything. And now it all makes sense why you didn’t bring him to me earlier like I asked.”, the boss said turning his attention back to you, “Y/N, was it worth it? Was risking your own life to save someone who does not care about you at all worth it?”

“That’s not true.”, Yoongi spat, “She has nothing to do with this so leave her alone. This is between you and me.”

The boss grinned, “You know Yoongi, Originally I thought you were just some troublemaker punk. But now that I see you clearly, I remember you quite well actually. I remember you answering the door with a basketball in your hands. I remember the way you ran off to get your brother. And I remember the look on your face after I shot and killed him simply because I wanted to right there on your porch.”

You watched as Yoongi thrashed his body trying to escape the grip of the men that were holding him back. He cursed and hurled insults at the boss and tears began to fall down his cheeks at the memory of his brothers murder.

“Here’s the thing.”, the boss said walking back over to you, “I believe in an eye for an eye. Yoongi, I killed your brother…Y/N here killed my brother because of you. So technically we should be even, but…my brother was a loyal, hardworking, sharpshooter who brought great value to my business while your brother was a loser with a gambling addiction who brought nothing but shame to your family so I don’t really think they were on the same level meaning we’re not even. So…”, he smiled pushing the barrel of a pistol into the side of your head, “I think I may just take another life to really make it even.”

You closed your eyes preparing to die when you heard Yoongi speak up, “Take me instead.”

That’s when you looked up to see him staring at you. His eyes were filled with guilt. You could see it. He continued, “If you want to kill someone then kill me. I deserve to die. She doesn’t. She deserves to live a long happy life with someone who loves her back even if they aren’t her soulmate this time around.”

“I like you Yoongi.”, the boss smirked, “It’s too bad you betrayed me because you would’ve been a great addition to my crew.” He walked over to Yoongi. “I don’t normally accept deals I didn’t offer, but this one seems fair.”, he pushed the gun against the side of his head, “Any last words?”

Yoongi looked at you, “I’m sorry Y/N. I’m sorry for the past. I’m sorry for the present. But in the future I promise to make it right. I promise we’ll find each other and I promise I’ll give you…give us a chance in the next life.”

The sound of the gunshot was one of the most deafening things you had ever heard. You squeezed your eyes shut unable to bare the sight of what laid in front of you, but you could hear a bunch of footsteps moving in your direction. You felt something being placed in your pocket before arms picked you up off of the ground.

“24 hours Y/N. I’m going to give you 24 hours to run as far away as you can and never return.,” the boss whispered in your ear, “You’re lucky.”

When the silence returned and you knew you were alone you finally opened up your eyes again. You reached behind you grabbing the gun that had been gently tucked into your back pocket, a parting gift from Baek, and you started walking for the door.

You were going to continue Yoongi’s work and make it your life’s mission to take down the boss. You were not going to run and hide. Not only were you not a coward, but with your soulmate gone you had nothing but time until you moved onto the next life.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Wildflower-Part 1

Jay Halstead x Reader (Nicknamed Wildflower)

You and Jay suffer through a loss and trauma. He leaves then when he does return he discovers a secret that you have been trying desperately to hide

Talk of death, depression, killing someone, sex, pregnancy, abortion… I think that’s it??

You stood next to Jay, your hand in his. He wore his dress uniform. You’d only seen it a few times in the years you’d known him, you fucking hated seeing it because you knew what it meant. After today? You would never be able to look at it again.

The black dress you wore was going in the trash the moment you got home. You didn’t want it hanging in your closet as a reminder. Your eyes were glued to the grey coffin in the front of the church. You could vaguely register the fact of Mouse’s mother and sister crying, his father consoling them. You should try to comfort them, you needed to, hell he’d want you to but the words wouldn’t come out. The photo of him staring back at you would haunt your dreams when you closed your eyes. 

When Jay had come to the station house to tell you, you knew something was wrong. Boden called you into his office, Jay was there. You could tell he’d been crying already. “Jay?” your stomach knotted, had something happened to Hailey? You hadn’t responded to a call. Him and Boden exchanged a look “I’ll step out and give you two some privacy” when Boden walked by you he patted your shoulder gently then closed the door behind himself. You watched him walk out then turned to Jay. “What’s going on?”

He walked across the floor to you and stopped just close enough he could touch you but he didn’t. You could see the slight tremor in his hands. “Jay, please say something.You’re fucking scaring me” you whispered. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping himself around you before saying “His unit got hit Wildflower. He’s not coming home this time” you felt your knees go out from under you but Jay’s arms held you up “No Jay” you sobbed and he kissed the top of your head “I’m sorry sweetheart”

The priest’s voice made you flinch. You weren’t even sure why. Was it the fact that you were normally the only person outside of his mom and dad that called him Greg? Was it hearing him talked about in past tense? Was it knowing that you never told him how you felt and made Jay keep the secret too? Was it feeling Jay pull away from you even as his fingers curled around yours? It had been the three of you for years, with one gone could the other two remain best friends? You’d lost people before but never felt like you were burying a piece of who you were before now.

You knew things were getting bad for Jay. His and Hailey’s marriage was strained to say the least. He wouldn’t go into full details with you but he’d gone into enough for you to know that the way intelligence was forced to handle certain things was just starting to weigh on him a little too hard after Mouse’s death.

_________________________

You didn’t realize just how bad things were until he brought up the prospect of going back into the army one night when he came over.

You sat there, staring at him for a moment before shaking your head “Get the fuck out of my place Jay” “Wildflower” he tried and you shook your head “No, no you don’t fucking sit there and tell me you’re gonna go back in after we haven’t even hit six fucking months after his death! You don’t do that! Not to me!”

He reached for your arm but you jumped up off the couch, shaking your head “No, go home and talk to Hailey. Maybe your wife can talk sense into you” you pointed to the door and he sighed “I didn’t bring this up to hurt you sweetheart. I just want to be honest with you” you wrapped your arms around yourself as you faced him “Honest? Honest? Jay, I had to look at that casket and know that he’s never coming back. Now you want me to face the same with you? How the fuck is that fair?”

“It’s not, none of this is fair” he agreed so you nodded “At least you can see that. Now I’m gonna repeat myself one more time, please get out” he stood up and nodded “I’ll see you later” and stepped closer to you, when you didn’t flinch away he pressed a kiss to your temple then walked out.

A couple weeks passed and you hoped maybe he’d gotten the idea out of his head but you were watching a movie, curled up on your couch when he called. You picked up your phone off the coffee table “Hello?” you heard him take a deep breath before he said “We need to talk, you’re gonna hate me but I can’t do this over the phone” you already knew what it was. You felt tears start to form in your eyes “You took the job in Bolivia” you didn’t make it a question but he still answered “Baby, I can’t stay here. Not right now anyways”

You swallowed hard “When do you leave?” “Tomorrow morning. I wanted to come see you tonight” “Ok”

______________________

When Jay knocked you opened the door and stepped back to let him in. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes. “Will you say something Flower?” you shrugged “What is there to say?” he finally raised his eyes to meet yours. The black shirt he had on making them a bright blue that night. His eyes always mesmerized you that way. It depended on what color he was wearing on what shade popped out the most, the blue haze or green. You’d freaking color matched his eyes once to seafoam.

“Yell at me, call me a selfish asshole..anything..just don’t be silent” he spoke and you nodded, tears falling down your face. “What did Hailey say?” he held up his left hand to show you his wedding ring was missing “We signed the papers last week” your eyes widened “How bad was what happened when you were undercover Jay?” he flinched at your question and you let out a breath “Why didn’t you talk to me?” “and tell you what? You want me to tell you that your best friend killed someone in self defense but given the circumstances Voight had to cover it up? You want me to tell you all the shit that we’ve had to cover up over the years? You want me to tell you all the shit I’ve done that would make you look at me like I’m a fucking monster?”

“YES JAY YES” you yelled and he stepped back “What?” you waved your hands around “YOU TELL ME! EVERYTHING BECAUSE AT THE END OF THE DAY I CAN NOT FIND IT IN ME TO CARE WHAT YOU DID BECAUSE YOU WALKED AWAY FROM IT AND THAT IS WHAT MATTERS TO ME! MY BEST FRIEND IS STILL DRAWING BREATH! BUT NOW YOU’RE WALKING HEAD FIRST INTO WHAT KILLED MOUSE AND I HAVE TO STAY HERE AND FACE THAT ALONE AND I AM SO FUCKING PISSED OFF AT YOU  BECAUSE OF IT!”

He took a step towards you and you let him pull you against his chest and you finally broke, sobs wracking your body “I can’t see you in a casket too Jay. Losing him wrecked me. Losing you is going to kill me” “I’m going to come home” he whispered and you shook your head “Don’t fucking say that because he said that and he didn’t fucking come home!”

“I will do everything I can to find my way back to you” he whispered and you pulled back from his chest to look up at him. You both stared at each other for a heart beat before his lips were on yours. You snatched away from him and his eyes widened “I’m sorry” “Don’t be” you whispered before pulling him back down to you. One of his hands moved to the back of your neck, holding you to him as his other hand gripped your hip tightly. 

When the need for air pushed you away from each other his lips worked their way from yours down your neck “We shouldn’t be doing this” he spoke into your skin. You nodded, tilting your head back to give more access to more skin. “I know” his hands slid under your shirt and when you felt his calloused fingertips tease at your sides you let out a light gasp as he pulled his hands up, bringing your shirt along with it. You leaned back from him long enough for him to pull the shirt over your head and toss it. “You’ve always been so damn beautiful”  he spoke and you shook your head “Please stop talking” and tugged at his shirt, begging him to take it off.

He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it down near yours. You grabbed his hand and walked backwards to the couch. When you laid down on it, pulling him with you he cut his eyes up towards your bedroom. You shook your head “I want you now. You’re leaving tomorrow, I need you right now” he groaned lightly “You can have me” as he crawled up your body, connecting his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

You fumbled to get your leggings off your hips as his hands went to his belt. He kicked his jeans away then helped you to pull your leggings off and tossed them to the floor before settling himself between your legs “Are you sure?” he asked and you could feel the head of his cock teasing at your entrance even as he asked. “Please, if this is the last time I see you..let me have all of you Jay and have all of me” he nodded as he lined himself up with your entrance and slowly sank in, both of you letting out a low moan at the sensation of him filling you.

Your head dropped back on the couch and he brushed kisses across your exposed throat “You ok?” you swallowed hard “Yeah” you gave yourself a minute to adjust then shifted your hips down against his. He grunted from the feeling then cut his eyes at you “I got you sweetheart” he rolled his hips into yours and you let out a low moan of his name. “Fuck, that’s gonna stick with me” he mumbled as he found a pace that quickly had your nails biting into the flesh of his back. Tears were forming in your eyes and you weren’t sure if it was from the pleasure coursing through you or the knowledge that this was goodbye.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt him looking at you as your orgasm crept up on you. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth “Open your eyes baby. I want to see you” you slowly opened your eyes and saw he had tears in his eyes too. He smiled and crashed his lips against yours as his hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit easily and pushing you over that edge. When you came, walls clenching down around him it pushed him over that edge as well. He buried himself in you with a deep thrust, moaning  your name out as he filled you, pushing some of it back out as he continued to lazily thrust into you to work you both down from the high. His lips never left yours until you had to pull away to get air, then he kissed the corner of your mouth and moved down to your neck and chest.

“You will see me again wildflower” he promised into your skin. You shook your head, nails lighty scraping his back “You’ve got to tell me goodbye Jay. Please” he leaned up to look at you and you could see he was hurting as bad as you were “I’ll tell you goodbye before I leave here, ok? For now, I’m holding my best friend” you nodded “I’m good with that”

Jay had been gone two months when you found out you were pregnant. With the birth control you were on mixed with your job your periods were touchy at best so you didn’t think anything of it until you started hurting in weird places. Then came nausea over smells you normally loved. The point that pushed you to take the test was when Stella asked if your boobs had gotten bigger.

______________________

You sat on the floor of your bathroom staring at the test for two hours after you took it. What the fuck were you supposed to do? Jay was gone, he was nowhere in this equation. Hell his divorce was probably not even filed good when you got pregnant. You had three options. If you were still early enough along there was abortion, you’d overheard Stella and Kelly talking about looking into an adoption agency so that was an option then there was the option of keeping it.

Could you raise a baby alone? If you kept it you’d have to eat a lot of questions that you couldn’t answer. This was too much of a distraction for someone over there, Jay couldn’t know. Then on top of that..He was married to Hailey up until a week before he left. What if people assumed he’d been cheating on her? What if they thought he left to avoid being a father? What if…no, there would be no what if. If you kept the baby you wouldn’t let Jay’s name get dragged through the mud because no one would know it was his. You’d do it on your own. You just had to decide what road you were going to take.

You had just laid Leah down for her nap and was headed to the kitchen in an attempt to wash up her bottles and maybe eat a tiny something. A knock on the door froze you in your tracks. No one was supposed to be coming by today and it was your day off. You sighed as another knock landed “Jesus, I’m coming”! You called out, hoping that Leah would sleep through the noise.

You unlocked the door as another knock landed “Keep your freaking pants on” you snatched the door open and froze dead in your tracks. Jay stood on the other side of the door. Were you still asleep? You had to still be asleep. He’d been gone for over a year.You reached up and pinched your arm, flinching when it actually hurt “You’re real” you breathed and he half smiled “Yeah. Can I come in?”

You waved a hand down his body, considering he was still wearing his army uniform and had his duffle slung over his shoulder “Did you come here straight from the airport?” he nodded, a smile slipping onto his face  “I wanted to see you. You never wrote me back, you wouldn’t answer my calls. I wanted to make sure you were ok”

“I’m fine Jay, I’ve um…I’ve just been busy” you knew the excuse fell flat even before his smile fell.  “You were too busy to send a letter or an email?” he asked and you opened your mouth to give some excuse, hoping to get him to leave but Leah chose that moment to wake up.

Her tiny cry seemed to echo through your apartment. Jay’s head snatched in that direction and you dropped your gaze, fuck. “I’ll be right back” maybe if you could get her back to sleep quick enough you could convince him she belonged to a friend?

______________________

The moment Jay stepped off the plane he knew he needed to see you. Every thought was filled with you. Why hadn’t you answered the phone? Why hadn’t you emailed or sent a letter? Was it because of what happened before he left? Did you hate him now? Had something happened to you? 

He stepped out of the uber and walked up to your door. He didn’t have your number, your old one didn’t work. He hoped you still lived here. He knocked twice before he heard your voice. The door snatched open and his heart skipped a beat when you were standing there in the doorway. You looked tired, your hair was a little different but you were still just as beautiful as always. Still his best friend. You stared at him for a moment before pinching your own arm, then you flinched “You’re real”

You thought you were asleep. Had you dreamt of him like he’d dreamt of you? He felt a small smile slip onto his face at the idea “Yeah. Can I come in?” you waved a hand at him and asked if he came straight from the airport. Of course he had. You hadn’t had any contact with him since he left.  “I wanted to see you. You never wrote me back, you wouldn’t answer my calls. I wanted to make sure you were ok” 

“I’m fine Jay, I’ve um…I’ve just been busy” you stammered and he felt his face fall. “You were too busy to send a letter or an email?” you seemed like you were about to say something else but then the clear sound of a baby crying filled the air. His head snatched towards the sound. A baby? You wouldn’t look at him when you said “I’ll be right back”

Like hell. You turned to walk towards your spare bedroom so he stepped in, dropping his duffle and closed the door before following you. When he got to the spare bedroom he froze. It wasn’t a spare bedroom anymore. There was a crib in the center of the room, a small white dresser, a glider rocker and a lamp. This was a nursery. 

You turned to face him with a tiny baby curled up against your chest. She was wearing a pink onesie and tears filled your eyes. She couldn’t have been over a couple months old tops. The math added up. “Is she..is she mine?” he asked and you nodded, gaze falling as you swayed slightly side to side, trying to soothe the baby.

He stepped into the room, trying to make his brain catch up with what was happening. You had a baby. You had his baby. That last night before he left, you got pregnant. That was why you hadn’t talked to him. “Can I hold her?” he asked, eyes glued to his little girl. His little girl. He had a babygirl. You nodded, swallowing hard “Of course Jay. She’s your daughter” he heard your voice shake when you spoke.

You walked over to him and when you transferred her into his arms he could feel the fact that you were shaking like a leaf. “Her name’s Leah Jay. I’ll give you a minute” you gave him a tiny smile but he could see the tears streaming down your face. 

“Sweetheart?” he tried and you shook your head “I need a minute and you need to meet your daughter” you walked out of the room so he looked down at her, his little girl. “Hey Leah. I’m um..I’m your daddy” he looked around then walked over to the rocker and sat down.

She was so small but looked healthy. She cooed slightly and tucked into his chest. He felt his heart swell. How did he love someone this much that he just met? He was a dad. He had a daughter. He felt tears start to slide down his face “I’m so sorry babygirl. I didn’t even know your mommy was pregnant”

How had this happened? Well he knew how this happened but fuck. He had a daughter. You’d gone through a pregnancy and delivery alone. Well not alone, your friends wouldn’t leave your side but he hadn’t been there. He’d abandoned his best friend when she needed him the most. He kissed Leah’s forehead gently “I’m so sorry baby” 

_____________________

You barely made it out of Leah’s nursery. You slid down the wall just out of Jay’s sight with a hand over your mouth so he wouldn’t hear your sobs. He wasn’t supposed to find out, especially 

not like this. You could hear him talking to her, apologizing and that ripped your heart out even more. You never wanted him to be guilted into being a father, you never wanted him to have to face the fact that he’d gotten you pregnant before his divorce from Hailey was even finalized. 

You closed your eyes, trying to calm down. She would need to be changed, fed. He couldn’t do it. You needed to get back on your feet, you needed to keep pushing like you always did but this? Fuck you never wanted this. You never would’ve hurt Jay for anything, especially not after you both lost Mouse.

You took a deep breath, wiped your hands down your face and slowly stood before walking back into the nursery. Jay was sitting in the rocket, just staring at her. “She’s pretty isn’t she?” you asked and he looked up, a small smile on his face even though you could see the tears he’d already shed “She looks like you”  you shook your head “She um probably needs a diaper and I know she needs a bottle”

“Oh, ok” he stood up slowly and walked over to you. You could still feel your hands shake when you reached for her but you were calmer than you were. You cut your eyes up at him and he held your gaze “Can we talk?” “Let me get her back to sleep” you whispered and he nodded “Ok” and leaned down to kiss her forehead before saying “I’ll wait in the other room” you knew he was giving you breathing area and you appreciated it. You nodded “Ok” and watched him walk out.

Once it was just you and her you took a deep breath. You could do this, you had to do this.

You walked out of Leah’s nursery to find Jay looking at one of the photos on your wall. “It’s from his going away party” you answered and he nodded “Thought so” a heavy silence fell between the two of you. 

You had always been close with him and Mouse. When he helped Mouse get clean and the job with intelligence you three got even closer. Along the way you developed feelings for Mouse but by the time you worked up the nerve to tell him, he decided to rejoin the rangers and you couldn’t stand in the way of how he wanted to live his life. You never would’ve thought that way would’ve ended his life also.

“When did you find out you were pregnant?” Jay asked, breaking the silence. You ran a hand across your hair “Um a couple months after you left. You know how weird my periods have always been. It took me being sick for a couple weeks in a row before I finally gave in and took a test”

He nodded and you waved a hand towards him “You need some different clothes” he looked down and laughed lightly “Yeah. My stuff is in storage, along with my truck” you nodded “Why didn’t you go to Will’s first?” he shrugged “Wildflower, I missed you. You’re my best friend and the last time I saw you..” he trailed off so you smiled “We had spent the previous night together then you hopped in an uber and deployed?” he laughed lightly  “Yeah”

“I need to do some things while she’s asleep. You’re welcome to hang around but I’ve got to get it done” were you trying to dodge him? Maybe. Did it change that you needed to get the stuff done? No. 

He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off, leaving him in just his uniform pants and short sleeve tan shirt. Yeah that wasn’t distracting.  “Can I help with anything” you shook your head “It’s just normal stuff Jay. I’ve got to wash bottles, do laundry and I haven't eaten”

He nodded “Guessing your laundry room hasn’t moved. I can do that” you shook your head “You literally just got home. Hell have you eaten?” he shrugged “I’m fine” you laughed and shook your head “Stubborn ass. Let me get the bottles washed and I’ll figure something out”

_____________________

Jay stood a few feet from you, leaned against the counter. “What last name does she have?” he asked and you sighed, this was going to be a hard conversation “Mine. Jay, no one knows she’s yours. You’re not on the birth certificate and she has my last name. You have no responsibility to her. I’ve made sure of that so no one could drag your name through the mud considering I got pregnant before your divorce was final”

He was quiet while you finished washing the bottles so you turned to see he was staring at you “So you hid her?” you shook your head “No, I just didn’t tell anyone who she belonged to. Jay don’t make any big life decisions right now. You just got home. We lost Mouse not long before you left then everything with that undercover and your divorce. Just don’t do anything rash”

He looked confused for a second “Like what?” you waved a hand in the vague direction of the nursery “Don’t rush to tell anyone” “She’s my daughter” he sounded hurt. You nodded “I know that Jay and you can see her but don’t ruin your future, ok?” “Are you listening to yourself? How would that baby ruin my future?” he asked and you shrugged “Do you know what people would say? Just promise me for now, you won’t say anything”

He held your gaze “I’m not ashamed of her or you” “I know you’re not Jay but I am asking, as your friend and as her mother. Keep it between us for now. Please?” he nodded slowly “Fine” 

“Now, I haven’t gone grocery shopping but I can make grilled ham and cheese?” you offered and he smiled “Good with me”

_______________________

“What’s your plan now?” you asked, sitting across from Jay at your two seater kitchen table. He glanced back towards the nursery before saying “Um I got a job in private security. Less risk, more money” “That’s good Jay. I’m glad” you told him and he nodded “I’ll be staying with Will until I find a place” you laughed lightly “Well if I still had a spare room I’d offer it but ya know” you were trying to lighten the mood but he didn’t seem to agree. “How is everything?” 

“Fine, I still know the same people. Still work at fifty one. Only thing that changed was Mouse was dead, you were gone and I and gave birth to her” he held your eyes “Why did you keep her?” your eyes widened “Wow” and you stood up but he was always faster than you and before you could get two steps he was on his feet with his hand wrapped around your wrist gently “I didn’t mean it how it sounded. I’m happy you kept her. She’s everything but you never even wanted kids?”

“I was spiralling Jay, when I found out I was pregnant..I wasn’t doing good mentally or physically. I considered abortion. Hell I considered adoption because Stella and Kelly hadn’t found a baby yet” “But?” he asked and you shrugged “But I decided to keep her. It’s not been a walk in the park but I’ve made it this far and will continue to”

“You’ve always been so damn strong” he told you and you scoffed “Easy to be strong when you don’t have another choice” 

You talked Jay into taking an uber to Will instead of getting Will to come to your place. You stood at the door as he gathered his duffle “Can I come see her?” he asked and you nodded “Hold on” you walked into the kitchen and found a sheet of paper and pen. You wrote your number down and held it out to him “Here”

He took it and smiled “Ok. I’ll see you later Wildflower” you smiled “See you later Jay” you closed the door and took a deep breath. Ok that happened and somehow you made it through it. You just hoped he’d keep his promise and not tell anyone, you’d been her only parent this long. You had it, you could continue having it.

Jay was a good man, he deserved the best. 

@desimarie12

@nevaehstreater18