#that you are cared and in loving arms no matter what happens

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

More to it

I just love friends to lovers. ~900 words

Thinking about BSF!Jason Todd and how neither of you are willing to cross that line. You're both balancing on what's more and what isn't, both desperate for something you're not willing to name but so scared to risk losing it all.

What you have now is comfortable, safe, and if being more doesn't work? Could you ever go back to what you had? Is the reward really worth playing with fate?

It's honestly so dumb because it's obvious you're both a thread snap away from breaking the growing tension between you. You see the way his fingers twitch towards you when you walk past him, and he catches the way your breath hitches when he tilts his head down to meet your eyes.

You'd have to blind not to notice the way his gaze locks onto you from across the room. He'd have to be oblivious to not see how your knees go weak when he laughs at your jokes. You're locked in each other's gravity, drawn in by way your hearts slot together without the need for words.

Everyone already thinks you're together, even when you say you're not. There's no hiding the lovestruck look in either of your faces, the way he drapes his arm over your shoulder, the way you lean into his side like it's the only place in the world you want to be.

His family doesn't tease you as much about it anymore. Sometimes, you wish they would, even for the excuse to talk about it. There's no label between you other than he's your best friend. And maybe it doesn't need to be more. (But you'd like it to be)

Even strangers think you're together. The guy flirting with you is quick to turn on his heel with an apology on his lips at the sight of Jason. Worse is, you don't hate it. If anything, you like it.

There's almost a pride in it, how people fawn over how cute you and him are together. Neither of you ever correct them, even if you should, and it only continues to blur the line between friend and more.

But when you both finally break? You break hard. It's feverish, your fingers fisted into clothes and his hands cradling your face. You're not even sure what caused it or who moved first. You don't even bother to try to figure it out when he presses you against the wall to kiss you deeper.

It could have been the way you'd reached out to brush his hair back in the elevator to your apartment. Or it could have been the way he tugged his jacket over your shoulders when you started to shiver. Or maybe it was the way you both just stopped in the doorway of your apartment, lingering in the charged air and basking in the closeness the entryway provided.

It doesn't really matter how. What matters is that the kiss seems to pull the air from your lungs, and his heart is beating to the sound of your name. What matters is that when he pulls away to catch his breath, you chase him for another kiss.

Neither of you can focus on what happens next, because it's the warmth of your skin seeping into his and your fingers tangling into his hair that keeps you in the now.

Now, which is so big and so small all at once because his world is narrowed to the angle you tilt your head to kiss him again and you could care less what's happening outside of your apartment, outside of him.

He's your best friend, and you've always been his, but all it took is one moment to destroy any idea of ever being just friends again.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd and how he always kisses you in the doorway of your apartment because it's 'tradition'. Don't even think about trying to get out of it, not that you'd ever want to, his hand is already curled in the back of your shirt to tug you closer.

One kiss turns into five and it's probably for the best he kisses you like this when you're coming home because you'd never get anywhere if he kissed you like this every time you have to leave.

No one even bats an eye when he kisses the top of your hair or when you thread your fingers with his in public. There's a new softness in his eyes and voice, less of a weight on his shoulders, and your face never lights up as brightly as it does when he's looking at you.

It's instinctual, the way you seem to blend into each other's lives even more now. Your sheets smell like him, your things end up in his apartment just as often as his does in yours.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd, and how you laugh about ever being nervous to be more with him. It's not always perfect, but it's real, and him and you against the world just like it's always been.

There's still movie nights, still days you set out on your mission to find the best food in Gotham together. But there's also dates, also love-struck words, and needy touches.

There's still late night conversations, still whispered secrets and confessions. But there's also hopeful, hushed tones that talk about the future, a future together.

He's still your best friend, but you're partners too, so he doesn't stop himself when his fingers twitch with the urge to touch you anymore. You don't hide the way you seem to melt in his presence.

He's yours, you're his, and it was never going to end any other way than like this, souls entwined and smiles fond.

[aquaticmercy]

The Catalyst

Summary : In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, grief, cursing, non-sexual nudity. Lots of Angst. Fluff in the beginning and end. Multiversal Travel.

Word count : 8.9k

Note : This story is meant to resemble a What If? episode. It is an exploration of what would happen to you and Bucky if the other died. I will refer to the main universe (MCU) as Earth-616 because Marvel is stupid and has decided that it’s not earth-19999 anymore. The fic is inspired by the song of the same title by Linkin Park. Also, I hope this story makes sense? Enjoy!

Earth-616…

The bathroom was quiet, save for the soft gurgle of water and the occasional drip from the faucet. 

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, bare and bruised, watching you with a tired smile.

The gash on his forehead was deep, an angry red against his skin, and his chest was peppered with smaller cuts and scrapes, remnants of yet another mission gone south. You stood in front of him, tilting his chin to clean the wound.

“You’re lucky this didn’t need stitches,” you murmured, focusing on your work.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bucky said lightly, though you could tell he was exhausted. “I’m practically indestructible.”

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes at him, not finding any solace in his self-deprecating humour today. “No, you’re not, James.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gave you that lopsided, charming smile, the one that always made your heart flutter— even when you were mad at him.

“Alright, my love,” you closed the tap. “Bath’s ready.”

Bucky stood slowly, groaning as he stretched. Before you could move away, he pulled you back toward him. 

“Come take a dip with me,” he murmured. 

You looked up at him. “I drew this bath for you—”

“Please,” he interrupted.

You hesitated, only a moment, before nodding. “Alright,” you said. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for almost dying.”

He gave you a faint smile as you undressed.

The water enveloped you in warmth as you both sank into the tub. Bucky settled behind you, his legs bracketing yours, arms wrapping around your waist. You leaned back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Your fingers absentmindedly traced his metal arm, feeling the ridges of the plating.

You closed your eyes, but the memory of his bloodied face lingered in your mind. The fear you felt when he walked through the door earlier that day—bruised and battered but alive—still held onto you.

Bucky’s lips pressed softly to the back of your head, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’re quiet today,” he murmured, his voice soothing your worries

You swallowed hard, finger frozen on his arm. “You just really scared me tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, arms wrapping tighter around you.

“Just… be more careful, please?” you said quietly. “There’ve been too many close calls lately. If something happened to you…” Your voice cracked as you drew in a shaky breath. “If I lost you, I don’t think I’d know how to put myself back together.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, grip strengthening on you. “Don’t even think about it.”

You tilted your head back, resting on his collarbone. “I mean it, James,” you whispered. “You’re everything to me.”

“You’ll never lose me,” he said, his conviction absolute. “I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

“You’d fucking better,” tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “Or I’ll find a way to drag you back myself.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

“Good,” you said, snuggling closer to him. “Maybe that’ll keep you in line.”

He kissed the back of your head again. The water lapped gently around you, the warmth easing the knots in your muscles, soothing the subtle throb in your heart.

After everything you’ve both been through, you were just happy he was here— alive.

•

Somewhere in a distant reality…

In this universe, Bucky Barnes didn’t cry at your funeral.

The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, soaking through the black suit he wore, but Bucky didn’t shiver. He didn’t flinch when the first heavy shovelful of dirt struck your casket, the dull thud echoing in his ears like a death knell. He stood apart from the others, an immovable statue at the edge of the grave, his hands limp at his sides, trembling ever so slightly— His face might as well have been carved from stone.

The sound of weeping surrounded him—your friends, your teammates, people you had saved. Each sob seemed to pierce his skin, sharp as broken glass, but still, Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t cry.

Bucky didn’t cry when the ground swallowed you whole.

He didn’t cry when Pepper, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, rested a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t cry when Sam placed a folded flag in his hands, whispering, “She was a hero.” He didn’t cry when Clint, voice hoarse, muttered, “She saved so many lives.”

He didn’t cry when Tony, uncharacteristically subdued, raised a glass to your memory that night, his hand trembling just enough to make the liquid ripple, Bucky stayed silent. He stared at the drink in his hand until it blurred into nothing.

But when he sat in the shadows of his apartment later, something deep inside him twisted.

He couldn’t stop replaying your death in his mind. Your final words, whispered through cracked lips and choked breaths, were for him. “You’re going to be okay, James.”

You had died saving them— saving the world. You had grabbed the infinity stones away from Tony, you had snapped so he didn’t have to. You did it because you couldn’t let anyone else make the sacrifice— you did it because Morgan needed a father.

But Bucky needed you.

And you were gone.

He had no more tears to give. He had shed them in the days leading up to your funeral, in suffocating quiet of the aftermath. He had cried until there was nothing left inside, until grief turned into a cold, sharp knife that carved your initials into his chest and refused to let him rest.

So he didn’t cry anymore.

But when the world fell away—when the comforting murmurs of others faded and he was left alone in the silence of the apartment you had shared—something inside him broke.

Bucky didn’t cry anymore, but that didn’t stop him grieving.

Bucky grieved like a soldier.

It was disciplined, bordering on mechanical. He scrubbed your presence from the apartment with clinical detachment, packing your things with military precision. Your clothes disappeared into boxes he refused to label. Your toiletries vanished from the bathroom like they had never been there.

He didn’t touch the photos, though. He left them right where you’d placed them. He didn’t move the jacket you always left draped over the back of the chair, didn’t even bring himself to wash the cup you’d left on the counter.

At night, when the apartment grew unbearably still, he would sit in the dark and trace his fingers over the curve of your handwriting in the little notes you’d leave him—Don’t forget milk! He would fiddle with the frayed fabric of the worn shirt that still smelled faintly of your vanilla perfume. He held it in his hands for hours, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Every mission after that was a blur of adrenaline and violence. As soon as he got pardoned, he threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon, his mind a haze of desperation and anger, his body moving like a machine, like no part of him remained human.

He fought like a man trying to outrun himself.

He didn’t care if he made it back, didn’t care if he took a bullet—or fifty. Every blow he took was nothing compared to his own pain. 

But nothing— none of the wounds, none of the cuts he sustained— brought him closer to you.

And when the fighting was done, in between missions when the world didn’t need him, he disappeared, abandoning your shared apartment because it made him think too much of you. He retreated to a remote cabin deep in the woods, a place so far removed from humanity where no one could find him.

No one, except for Stephen Strange.  

—

It had been nearly six months since your death when Strange appeared on Bucky’s porch, his portal crackling in the fresh mountain air.

“Go away,” Bucky growled, not bothering to glance up from the knife he was sharpening. He had gone hunting again, determined not to rely on anyone else for his survival.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the glowing portal and onto the weathered wooden planks. His expression was grim, his tone desperate. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“What do you want?” Bucky’s voice was rough, his patience worn thin.

“It’s not about what I want,” Strange replied. “It’s what the multiverse needs.”

Bucky finally looked up, his blue eyes still sharp but exhausted. He’d been running on empty for months now. You weren’t there to steady him, to breathe life into the fragile space beneath his ribs when the nightmares were too much to bear. You weren’t there to wake up next to him. You weren’t there to pepper him with kisses when he thought he wasn’t good enough. You were gone.

“The multiverse can save itself,” he muttered, turning back to his blade.

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”

Bucky let out a scoff, his hands gripping the sharpening stone. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly, his words landing like stones thrown into water.

The desperation in his voice made Bucky pause. He set the knife down with care, leaning back in his chair to glare at the sorcerer. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Strange wasn’t the type to hold back words, but even he seemed to hesitate. And then he said it—the name. Your name. The one Bucky hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Don’t,” Bucky snapped, feeling like an arrow had struck his chest.

Strange pressed on, undeterred. “A version of her exists in another universe. But she’s… no longer her.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

With a flick of his hand, Strange conjured an image: glowing strands of the multiverse weaving together, spinning until a vision appeared. 

It was you—but… not you. Not his version of you. 

Your face was twisted, your body cocooned in violent energy. Behind you, planets crumbled, swallowed by the raw power radiating from you.

Bucky reached out, his hand floating near the image that magic had willed into life.

He couldn’t fully grasp it—this alternate reality where you were alive, suffering, destroying. It didn’t make sense, how this could exist. 

You were gone. You died in his arms. 

The heart that beat for him— he felt it stop beneath his fingertips. 

How could he possibly wrap his mind around this? That a fragment of your soul—some version of you—was out there, breathing, enduring. 

Alive. 

His throat tightened as he tried to speak, to force out even a single word, but he choked on his own tongue.

The multiverse. Or whatever Strange had called it. A few years ago, he’d have laughed it off as some nonsense, he wouldn’t’ve believed it. But after being snapped out of existence and then willed back into it by a handful of glowing galactic stones, Bucky Barnes, man out of time, knew better. 

Now, he’d believe in absolutely anything. Especially if it meant he was believing in a world where you still existed.

“She’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice laced with dread. “A being of grief, capable of destroying entire worlds. If she’s not stopped, she’ll collapse the multiverse.”

Bucky stared at the image, his chest tightening. Was this really you, destroyer of worlds, of universes? 

You couldn’t be capable of this. 

You were kind, you were incapable of harming an innocent soul. He remembered the day a poisonous spider had wandered into the room. You refused to kill it, carefully guiding it out to the garage.

But now, as the memories came flooding back, doubt began to settle. 

He had seen glimpses of another side of you, when you were alive. The fiery rage that consumed you after losing an old friend. The anger you brought into battle, wielded like an iron fist. It had been terrifying���a force of nature that no one could stand against. It was how you wielded the infinity stones long enough to do what needed to be done.

Now, looking at this image Strange had conjured, he wondered if that force had finally consumed you.

“You want me to go after her,” Bucky said flatly. He was certain of it. 

“I want you to stop her.” Strange nodded. “Talk to her. You’re the only one she might listen to.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Strange’s gaze was unyielding. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.”

The words hit Bucky like a hammer to the chest. He turned away, gripping the porch railing until his knuckles went white. “I can’t lose her again.”

Strange stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute. “She would want you to do it.”

Bucky’s voice rose, his eyes filled with tears he would not let Strange see. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“No,” Strange admitted. “But I’ve seen what happens if no one stops her. Entire universes will fall. Countless souls will die. If you won’t do it for her, then do it for them.”

—

Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He sat on the edge of his bed, the room blanketed in suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional creak of his wooden single bedframe as he shifted nervously. 

In his hands, his gun seemed to glow under the moonlight filtering through the window. 

He turned it over and over, fingers brushing the worn grip, the faint scratch on the barrel— one he remembered you making during a standard recon mission. You had scratched it, accidentally catching it with your knife. 

You apologised profusely, and he said it was no big deal. 

He then teased you for being too attached to your weapons— how your knives had little personal inscriptions, how you had cared for it like it had a soul. He, on the other hand, said that he felt indifferent to his weapons— said he didn’t want to get too sentimental. 

You laughed, saying he was too dramatic. "It's just a tool, James. You’re the one who decides what it’s for."  

Now, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to use it for. 

Strange’s words looped in his mind like a broken record: You’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.

The thought of pointing a gun at you made his heart drop. 

He once promised to protect you, to be your safe haven. And now, a sorcerer had tasked him with destroying you in another universe. How could he ever make peace with that? 

How could he pull the trigger on you?

But then another thought struck him: Strange was right. You would want him to. 

You would forgive him if he had to kill you.

You always forgave him, no matter how many times he swore he didn’t deserve it, because you would understand that this needed to be done. If the situation were reversed, you’d do what needed to be done— because that’s who you were.  

You were good— everything he aspired to be. 

If you were alive, if you knew you had turned destructive— you would kill the Catalyst yourself.

As the hours dragged on, Bucky tried to think of another way, to fantasise a different ending for the sick story he existed in. What if there was a chance— however slim—to reach that version of you without violence? To pull you back from the brink and remind you who you were? 

He knew he had to try, but he also knew what failure meant: countless lives lost, entire universes wiped from existence.

If he failed, this universe would be gone, along with all the memories of you. Along with your legacy.

Your sacrifice would be in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

The gun in his hands felt heavier now, the future hanging like a noose around his neck. The sun was just beginning to rise when he finally stood.

He had made his decision. 

He didn’t bother to pack much—just his knife, the gun, and the dog tags he always carried, the ones you had once traced with your fingers when you thought he was asleep. 

He knew he needed to do this mission.

Not for the world, not for the universe.

The multiverse could burn, for all he cared. He’s doing this because he knew you would want him to. 

—

When Strange arrived at the cabin, the swirling portal casted an eerie light over his mostly empty living room.

Bucky’s face went grim. He didn’t say goodbye to the cabin, didn’t look back at the life he had built in solitude. 

He never liked this cabin. Never liked this new life— he only went here because it was what you always wanted. You wanted to be away from the city, one with nature. You always wanted to build the rest of your life here. Back then, Bucky had agreed— but now it was just a reminder that he was living a hollow existence without you.

He stepped through the portal. 

The overwhelming surge of energy as he entered the alternate universe was nothing compared to the pain his heart endured.

The world he had stepped into felt like the aftermath of a nightmare.  

The sky was a sickly yellow, streaked with ash and smoke. The sun, barely visible through the haze, poured a dying light over the desolation below. 

Buildings lay in ruins, their remains clawing at the sky. The ground was a wasteland of debris, littered with the wreckage of battles fought long before he arrived.

Ultron's remains were everywhere. His drones twisted, mangled, scattered across the landscape, half-buried in dirt or wedged into crumbling walls, some buried under concrete slab. Their empty eyes stared at nothing— stared at Bucky with emptiness.

Bucky adjusted his grip on his rifle and took a cautious step forward. The air was thick, stinging with the stench of burning metal and organic decay. He moved carefully, scanning his surroundings.

This wasn’t his world, but it was familiar enough for him to navigate through. 

“Strange,” Bucky muttered under his breath, though the sorcerer had closed the portal. He pushed through, putting his Winter Soldier mask on “What the hell did you send me into?”  

—

It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. In this universe, Ultron had won, but not by slamming Sokovia into the Earth like an asteroid. Instead, his drone army had swept across the world, decimating everything in its path. 

He found more evidence in a hollowed-out bunker near the remnants of what would have been Central Park. His name was scrawled across a rusted memorial wall alongside hundreds of others. His dog tags—this world’s version of them—hung from a nail driven into the cracked concrete.  

Bucky stared at the tags for a long time. He could imagine the moment you had hung them there, your fingers shaking, your heart breaking.  

This was the universe’s cruel twist: in this world, he had died in the battle against Ultron. 

He had been the one ripped away from you.  

The rest of the story came from whispers, fragments of information he gathered from the few survivors he encountered. Most were too broken, too terrified, to speak more than a few sentences, but they all spoke of one thing: the Catalyst.  

“She wasn’t always like this,” one man had said, his voice trembling as he huddled in the corner of a makeshift shelter from scrap metal. “She used to be a hero. Fought against Ultron with everything she had. But when he killed Barnes—”  

His breath hitched, knowing the mask obscured him from this civillian’s view.

“—She lost it. Hunted Ultron down, tore him apart with her bare hands. But then she… she took his parts. Built something with it.”  

“Built what?” Bucky pressed, his stomach twisting.  

“Armour. Weapons. Something stronger than anything the Avengers had. But it did something to her—got in her head, twisted her. She’s not human anymore. Not really. Just anger and grief and—and…”  

“And power,” Bucky finished grimly.  

The man nodded. “She destroyed Ultron. Destroyed his whole army. But she didn’t stop. She just kept tearing down everything in her path. Now she’s… she’s…. If you see her, you run. You don’t fight. You don’t talk. You run.”  

—

That night, Bucky sat alone in the ruins of what would’ve been the Avengers tower. He stared at the fire he’d managed to build. 

The image of you—this you, the Catalyst—was burned into his mind. He’d seen a glimpse of it through Strange’s portal, but now the reality of it was just starting to sink in.

You had always been so full of life, so determined to make the world a better place. How could you be the very thing tearing it apart in this universe? How could you let grief do this to you?  

He clenched his fists. He should’ve gotten here earlier. 

This version of him had failed you. He should’ve fought harder, been faster, or something. Maybe if he had been, you wouldn’t have had to face Ultron alone. Maybe you wouldn’t have—  

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault.”  

He knew he could not control what this universe’s version of him did. But the guilt ate him up anyway.

—

The next day, he found the first sign of you.  

In the centre of the ruins stood a towering monument of burned metal, forged from the remains of Ultron’s drones. It was a grotesque structure, its sharp edges gleaming like shark teeth in the dim light.  

He looked around, realising this would’ve been the Rockefeller Center— where he had taken you on a date, ice skating in the cold winter with Christmas lights surrounding you. 

Bucky approached cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the details. The surface of the monument was etched with symbols—some binary, some human words. 

This wasn’t just a monument. It was a warning.  

She’s close, he thought, gripping his rifle tighter.

The ground trembled beneath his feet. Suddenly, a low hum rose in the air. He turned sharply, his heart pounding as the shadows moved around him.  

And then he saw you.  

You descended from the sky like a vengeful god, clad in sleek, silver armour forged from Ultron’s technology. It clung to you like a second skin, pulsing with an unnatural light. Your eyes glowed with the same energy, and the air around you crackled with raw power.  

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was you— but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was the face he loved, the lips that once kissed him goodnight, the eyes that soothed him after he woke up from one of his nightmares. Yet something was wrong. This wasn’t entirely the person that had been his world. This version of you was twisted— destruction incarnate. 

But he could not stop the leap of joy his heart made. At least you were alive.

“You’ve come to stop me,” you said, not even lifting your eyes. Your voice echoed unnaturally. It was layered, as if a hundred versions of you were speaking at once.  

Bucky stood his ground, heart pounding as you, —no, the Catalyst— stood still. The pieces of Ultron’s remnants shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, stitched together into a terrible masterpiece that trapped you like a tomb. Your face—once warm and full of life—burned with an inhuman intensity, flickering like a dying sun.  

“I’ve come to bring you back,” Bucky replied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. Slowly, he took off his mask.

Your expression flickered, just for a moment. As if he was a crack in the armour.  

You recognised the voice. 

“You’re— ,” you whispered, your voice layered and fractured, distorted by grief and the technology that had consumed you. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “You came back to me.”  

The words hit Bucky like a blow to the chest. I did, doll. He wanted to say. I will always come back. 

But he knew this version of you wasn’t his, so he swallowed hard, keeping his rifle lowered.

You froze, your head tilting slightly as you studied him. You weren’t satisfied without an answer. “James?”

Bucky’s heart twisted. For a moment, he saw a glimmer of the person you had been, the love you had shared. 

Kill me now, he thought, before I have to kill you. 

But he knew the cost of that. He knew failing would mean he had failed you. 

“I’m here to help,” he said softly. 

You stepped closer, unsure whether to reach for him— a fragment of your old soul begging you to stop this madness — or strike him down— an instinct the Catalyst had developed. Your glowing eyes traced every inch of him, lingering on the scars lining his face, the haunted look in his eyes. 

Your fingers twitched, and for a moment, you looked lost.  

“You’re different,” you muttered to yourself. “The scars… the way you stand”  

Realisation dawned, and with it, the fragile hope in your expression shattered. You took a step back, the electric storm around you surging to life again. “You’re not my James,” you hissed, your voice bitter.  

Bucky didn’t flinch. “I’m not,” he admitted. “But I know what he meant to you. What you meant to him.”  

“Why would someone else’s James come to me?” you demanded, your voice rising, the ground beneath you cracking with the force of your grief. 

“Because I couldn’t save you in my world,” he said, his voice breaking. “But maybe I can save you here.”  

For a moment, the storm faltered, the energy around you dimming. But then your eyebrows furrowed, hands curling into fist, your grief boiling over into fury.  

“You think you can save me?” you snarled, your armour shifting as weapons emerged from its surface—cannons, blades, and glowing surges of energy. “You think you can take my pain away, make it disappear? You have no idea what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”  

The first blast came without warning. Bucky barely had time to dive behind the concrete of a collapsed building as a searing beam of energy scorched the ground where he had stood.  

“Don’t make me do this!” he shouted, rising from cover and firing a warning shot. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off your armour.

“You came here to kill me,” you spat, advancing the attack with terrifying precision. “Just like everyone else!”  

“No!” Bucky’s voice cracked as he dodged another strike, rolling into a crouch and raising his hands. “I came here to stop this. To stop you.”

“And how do you think that ends?” you snapped, the storm of energy around you growing more volatile. “I know what I am. I’ve seen what I’ve done. There’s no stopping it.”  

You lunged at him, your speed too quick for him to process. Bucky barely managed to block your strike, your armoured fist colliding with his vibranium arm in a deafening clash of metal. The force sent him skidding backward, but he held his ground.  

“I know you’re still in there!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “I know you don’t want this!”  

“I didn’t want any of this!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of energy that knocked him off his feet. “But he left me! He—he died, and I—” Your voice cracked, and for a brief moment, the storm flickered, your grief breaking through the madness.  

Bucky scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. “He wouldn’t want this,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want this.”

Tears streamed down your face, glowing faintly as they fell. “I can’t stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “It’s too much. It’s too—”  

The storm surged again, and Bucky knew he was losing you.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping his rifle tightly. “I’m so sorry.”  

You raised your hands, energy crackling between your fingers, but instead of attacking, you froze. A look of clarity crossed your face—a moment of realisation.  

Bucky lowered his rifle once again.

“You can’t let this happen again,” you said quietly.  

Before Bucky could respond, you turned your gaze to the glowing core embedded in your armour—the source of your power.  

“No,” Bucky said, stepping forward. “Don’t—”  

“It has to end,” you interrupted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Promise me, James. Promise me you won’t let another version of me become this.”  

“I can’t—”  

“Promise me!”  

His throat tightened, and he nodded. “I promise.”  

A faint smile touched your lips, and then you placed your hand over the core. The energy around you flared brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you whispered.  

And then, a blinding light flashed before his eyes. You cried a violent shriek as you cast yourself into nothingness.

When the light faded, Bucky stood alone in the ruins, the air eerily still. Your body was nothing but ash, armour scattered across the ruins. The glowing core was shattered, its energy dissipating into nothing.  

Bucky dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he stared at the spot where you had stood. He had lost you all over again. 

He had failed you all over again. 

—

Bucky stumbled through the portal Strange had opened for him, his body worn, his breaths shallow.

“It’s done,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse. He dropped a silver shoulder piece, a part of your armour—a fractured piece of the nightmare you had become—onto the floor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, in the space between them. “She’s gone.”  

Strange nodded, but said nothing.  

Bucky glared at him, his grief rapidly turning into anger. “You knew, didn’t you?” he growled, “You knew she went mad because she lost me. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Strange met his eyes, “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”  

“That’s it?” Bucky demanded, his voice rising. “I’ve lost her twice now, Strange. Twice. And I—” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand across his eyes.  

No crying today. He’s grieved over you. He’s done. 

No crying, Barnes, he insisted again.

“I wish it ended here,” Strange said quietly. 

Bucky’s head snapped back sharply, his heart sinking deeper in the abyss it was already stuck in.

Strange hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “This wasn’t an anomaly,” he said finally. “In every universe I’ve observed, when you die, she becomes the Catalyst.”  

He stumbled back a step, shaking his head. “That… that can’t be true.”  

Strange’s gaze softened, but there was no comfort in his expression. “It is,” he said. “Her love for you is not only her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness. Without you, her grief consumes her. It changes her.”

“So what?” Bucky spat bitterly. “You’re saying she’s doomed to destroy the multiverse?”  

“No,” Strange said, his voice firm. “Not if you intervene.”  

“You want me to… to do this again?” Bucky froze, his blood running cold. “To watch her die again?”  

Strange’s silence was answer enough.  

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, raking his fingers through his hair, wanting to pull them out so badly. “How many times, Strange?”  

“As many as it takes,” Strange replied solemnly. “If we don’t act, the Catalyst will dismantle the multiverse, piece by piece. She doesn’t stop at her own world. Her grief is a hunger—a need to destroy everything, to erase the pain.”  

Bucky sank onto a nearby chair, burying his head in his hands. The thought of facing yet another version of you—of seeing your face twisted by grief again, of failing to save you again—was unbearable. 

But what choice did he have?  

“Are you ready for this, Sergeant Barnes?” Strange asked.  

“No,” Bucky admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his head, his eyes red. “But I’ll do it anyway.”  

— 

Every time Bucky stepped through another portal, he braced himself for the inevitable. Some universes were barely recognizable—worlds where humanity had advanced far beyond what he’d known, some were distant worlds ruled by psychopathic overlords.  

But in every one, you were the same. You met him. You fell in love with him— some evil villain decimated Earth, and this world’s version of Bucky perished in the fight.

When he was gone, your grief forged you into the Catalyst— destroyer of whatever force had destroyed earth, salvaging your victims’ weapons to make you more powerful.  

Sometimes your armour was made from Ultron, like before. Other times, it was pieces of Thanos’ gauntlet, or the living metal of Ego the Living Planet. In one universe, you wielded the shattered fragments of Mjölnir. 

You weren’t even close to worthy, but your grief was so powerful that you had bent enchanted Asgardian steel into submission. 

Each encounter started the same way.  

You mistook him for your James. There was always that flicker of hope in your eyes, that fragile moment where you thought he had come back to you.  

But then you noticed the differences—the scars, the way he moved, the subtle sadness in his eyes. 

And the hope turned to rage.  

“Who are you?” you would demand, furious. “Why do you look like him?”  

Bucky tried reasoning with you every time, pleading for you to stop, to let go of the grief that consumed you. But it never worked. The madness always took hold, and the fight always began.  

In the end, you always destroyed yourself. It’s as if he was doomed to watch— doomed to be a captive audience to your death— over and over and over again.

—

The first time Bucky killed the Catalyst, it nearly broke him.

He had spent weeks, maybe months, tracking you in this icy universe. In this universe, Frost Giants took over. Bucky had been killed somewhere along the lines, and you took Loki’s staff and matters into your own hands. 

When he saw you there, standing in a cloak of fur and leather, you radiated power.

And yet, behind the glowing eyes, he could still see you. The way you tilted your head when you studied him, the smallest flicker of hesitation before you struck.

He had prepared for this. Every movement, every breath, every strike was calculated, the result of months of relentless study. He’d learned how to predict the devastating surges of energy you unleashed, how to exploit the brief seconds when your guard faltered. You were stronger, faster, almost unstoppable—but almost wasn’t enough.

When he finally got to you, he only hesitated for a second before stabbing you.

No. What have I done?

A desperate wail tore from his throat as tears burned his eyes, spilling over like a shattered dam. He cried— for the first time in months— as he watched the light in your eyes fade. 

Bucky knelt beside your dying body, whispering useless apologies as he cradled you in his arms. You looked up at him. You didn’t look at him with grief. Not anger. Not hatred. Maybe relief. Maybe love. 

And then, as life drained from your eyes, the multiverse seemed to hold its breath.

You were gone.

Again.

He had finally convinced himself that he had to kill you. He could no longer endure your suffering. Every moment of your self-destruction had been nightmare fuel—your anguished cries, your desperate screams— It was unbearable. He loved you too deeply to continue watching you suffer.

Now, he was certain— ending your life, giving you a swift death,was the only way he could stomach this mission.

—

The Catalyst was powerful in every universe, but Bucky learned how to fight you better. Most times now, he was able to kill you, to put you out of your misery because he outmanoeuvred you, predicting your attacks like a ghost of every battle you’d ever had. Other times, he got there too late, and you destroyed yourself, unleashing a final burst of power so immense it annihilated your very existence. 

Those times were harder. 

Watching you choose to end it. Watching you fall apart in his arms, whispering words he couldn’t always hear.

Still, everytime, he took a piece of you.

He didn’t know why he reached out to gather the shattered remains of your armour. Sometimes it was a gauntlet, still glowing faintly with residual energy. A shard of the crystalline crown that marked your reign as the Catalyst. Sometimes it was Loki’s scepter. 

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was guilt. He tucked the fragments into his pack and walked away, feeling like he had salvaged a part of you.

At first, he thought it was a way to remember you. The woman you had been, not the Catalyst you had become. But over time, the collection grew into a monument to his failure. Each weapon, each ruined piece of armour was a reminder of what it cost to keep going. To try and save you. To survive you. To kill you.

And still, he couldn’t stop.

The multiverse demanded it. The Catalyst always returned, more powerful, and Bucky would be there, each time, with the weight of a hundred battles on his shoulders and memories of the woman he loved. He’d fight. He’d win. 

He’d lose you again.

And he’d carry another piece of you, knowing it would never be enough to make him whole.

So, over time, missions chipped away at him, piece by piece.  

He didn’t smile anymore. He barely spoke, even when Strange tried to comfort him. His humanity felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the endless cycle of loss.  

Once, in a rare moment of quiet, Strange tried to reason with him.  

“You don’t have to do this alone, Barnes,” he said. “I’ve talked to Clint, Bruce, and Sam. They said they’d help.”  

Bucky shook his head, his expression hollow. “It has to be me. I’m the only one she listens to. Even if it’s just for a second.”  

Strange didn’t argue.  

—

This time, he was so devastatingly close to saving you— it was the only time you had let him reason with you. The only time you had let him talk longer than a few seconds.

In this universe, you had taken the remains of Ronan the Accuser’s hammer, merging it with Kree technology to create an unstoppable weapon. You were a force of nature, cutting down armies and leaving entire planets in ruin.  

Bucky fought you for hours, trying to get through because he saw a chance. His body was battered and broken by the end. But as he stood over you, your armour cracked and your face visible beneath your helmet, you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint.  

Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “There’s still a chance—”  

“You’re still my James, aren’t you?” you interrupted, your hand brushing his cheek. “You love me in every universe, the way I love you.”  

“Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t leave me again.”  

Your smile was soft, bittersweet. “I never really left, James. I’m always going to be a part of you.”  

And then you were gone again, an agonising cry as you self-destructed.

He was alone again.

—

As long as there were universes to save, as long as there was a chance to save you, he would keep fighting—no matter the cost.  

Today shouldn’t’ve been any different.

He stepped through the portal with his usual grim frown, expecting to face another version of you consumed by grief, transformed into the Catalyst.  

But what he found instead… was peace.

The world was whole. The sky wasn’t scorched, cities still stood tall and bustling, and the air hummed with life. It felt… normal. 

And then he saw you.  

You were sitting at a small café on a sunlit street, your hair loose, a soft smile playing on your lips. There was no armour, no glowing energy, no storm of grief around you. You looked like the person he remembered—the person he had loved.  

He died in this universe, too— he knew as much. You had his dog tags around your neck, carrying a piece of him everywhere. 

It took time for him to piece together what had happened, but he eventually got it.

In this universe, Bucky had been the one who took the gauntlet from Tony. He had been the one who snapped the stones.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. 

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt something other than pain. He watched you laugh, the sound a beautiful melody he thought he’d forgotten. 

In this universe… you were happy.  

For days, Bucky stayed hidden in the shadows, watching you from a distance. It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He followed you through your routines—your morning coffee, your walks through the park, the way you waved at the children playing by the water fountain. 

You hadn’t become the Catalyst.  

Strange was wrong, Bucky thought, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. Not every version of you succumbed to grief. In this universe, you had found a way to move forward, to live.  

And maybe… maybe he could, too.  

The thought crept into his mind slowly. What if he stayed? What if he stepped into this world and introduced himself to you? Would you recognize something in him, a fragment of the love you had shared in another life? Could you fall for him again?  

Could he be happy?

Could the two of you put the pieces back together again?

For the first time in years, Bucky allowed himself to dream of a life beyond grief and guilt. A life with you, as he once had.

He imagined walking up to you at that café, asking if he could join you. You’d be confused, maybe a little wary at first, but he’d win you over. He’d tell you about the man he used to be, the battles he’d fought, the people he’d lost. He’d tell you how much he loved you still. And you’d tell him about your James, how similar he was to him. 

Maybe, in time, you’d fall in love with him again.  

But then he saw Steve coming home from a mission.

It was a perfect day— the sun was warm, the breeze gentle, the streets alive with chatter. Bucky stood at a distance, watching you in the park, his heart full of hope, something he thought he’d never feel again.

And then Steve Rogers appeared.  

He walked up to you with that shy confidence Bucky had known since they were kids. You stood when you saw him, your face lit up in a way that made Bucky’s stomach twist.  

Steve pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly, laughing as he spun you around.  

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs.  

He watched as Steve kissed you, his hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you kissed him back.  

It wasn’t fair.  

Bucky's knees nearly buckled, as he turned away. His chest caved in, feeling like his heart had been ripped out and crushed into a million little pieces. The fragile hope he'd clung to for the last couple of days was torn from him as quickly as it appeared. 

Your laughter echoed faintly in his ears, a cruel reminder that chased him as he stumbled toward the portal Strange had opened. His head hung low, his shoulders slumped. 

He was no soldier, no saviour—just a broken man, haunted by dreams that would never be his.

—

When Bucky returned, Strange's eyes lingered on him for too long.

Bucky wasn’t covered in bruises or cuts like he usually was, but somehow he looked…. worse. The exhaustion ran deeper this time, as if the scars were invisible. “You stayed longer than usual in this one,” Strange observed.

Bucky ignored his statement. “You were wrong,” he muttered instead. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unable to meet Strange’s. “She wasn’t The Catalyst in this one.”

Strange froze. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s happy here, after my death. W-with Steve.” He finally looked up, the emptiness in his eyes enough to make even Strange flinch. “She moved on, and she’s... she’s still… her.

Strange’s eyebrows softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his tone measured, regretful. “But this is the exception, the rule. The Catalyst is still out there.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, but it held no humour. Only defeat. 

He ran a hand over his face before dragging his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped under the weight of this endless mission.“I…” he started, his voice strained. “I’m never... I’m never gonna be happy. Am I?”

Strange had no answer for him. 

—

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed in Kamar Taj, staring at the collection of armour pieces he had gathered from the other universes. Each shard was a reminder of the battles he’d fought, the versions of you he had lost.  

And now, he had been cursed with the knowledge that not every version of you that lost him succumbed to grief.

The knowledge that you were happy in that world. That you had found love again, and it wasn’t with him. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many universes he visited, it seemed there was no version of him that could have you.  

It was cruel.  

You had once told him he was the strongest person you knew, but in that moment, he felt like anything but. He had fought armies of aliens, faced death over and over again, but this… this was too much.  

Bucky clenched his fists, his metal hand creaking under the pressure. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to let out the unbearable weight crushing his chest. 

Instead, he picked up one of the shards of your armour—a jagged, glowing piece from an Ultron world. He held it in his hand, his reflection distorted in its surface.  

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered, his voice cracking, insincere. “Even if it’s not with me.”  

Bucky placed the shard on his shoulder, the first piece of the armour. 

It felt right— like the power of a thousand suns starting to surge towards him.

He didn’t cry. 

He never did anymore.  

Because no matter how many universes he visited, how many battles he fought, how many versions of you he saved or lost, he knew one thing would never change:  

You would never be his again. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you kissing Steve, your laughter echoing in his skull.

Why should they have happiness, when he was condemned to grieve for eternity?  

Why should any universe be allowed to thrive, when his own existence was empty, meaningless?  

He began by rearranging the pieces of your armour he had collected from the other universes. Each fragment gleamed with a faint, residual energy— remnants of the immense power you had wielded as the Catalyst. He spent weeks forging his own armour.

What started as just your shoulder pieces extended to more. 

He reforged the chest piece a version of you got from the Kree, then a gauntlet you ripped off of Thanos when the Infinity Stones had been destroyed. It grew and grew until every piece of him was covered in fragments of you.

When the work was done, he stood before a mirror, clad in the armour of his own making. It was a haunting reflection of yours, humming with fragment stolen power. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.  

“That’s the point,” he muttered to himself, almost annoyed.  

When the destruction started, the first universe fell quickly.  

Bucky tore through its defences like a force of nature, his new armour amplifying his strength and speed. He dismantled its protectors—heroes and villains alike—efficiently. He left the cities in ruins, their skies dark with smoke, their people screaming in terror.  

No one deserved peace when he couldn’t have it.  

—

Stephen Strange felt the disturbance immediately. The multiverse’s fragile threads started to unravel as Bucky’s rampage spread across realities. 

At first, Strange couldn’t believe it.  

Bucky Barnes, the man who had fought so hard to save the multiverse, was now its greatest threat.  

Strange had hoped that by guiding Bucky, he could break the cycle of grief and destruction. Instead, reversed it. 

James Buchanan Barnes was now The Catalyst.

— 

Strange arrived in a quiet, dimly lit apartment in yet another universe. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and rain, and the sound of your muffled sobs echoed through the space.  

Yet another version of you sat on the floor, clutching a photograph of Bucky—your James—to your chest. In this universe, he was gone, just as Strange had calculated. 

“Get out, Strange.” you demanded, your voice hoarse when Strange stepped through the portal into your living room. Your eyes were red and puffy, so utterly defeated.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the portal and onto the ceramic tiles of the apartment. His face was grim, his tone measured. He called your name to draw you out from the grief, even if only momentarily

“What do you want?” Your voice was raw, your patience long gone.  

“It’s not about what I want. It’s what the multiverse needs.”  

You finally looked up, your eyes sharp with exhaustion. You had been running on empty for months. You didn’t have Bucky here to hold you. To kiss you when you needed him to. To ground you in this existence. “The multiverse can save itself.”  

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”  

You scoffed, turning back to the photo of Bucky you cradled in your arms. “You’ve got the wrong person.”  

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly.

The desperation in his tone made you pause. You set the photo down and leaned back, staring at the sorcerer with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

Strange hesitated for a moment before speaking. 

Then he said it: the beautiful name you haven’t heard in weeks— “it’s about Bucky.”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice a low growl.  

Strange pressed on, unflinching. “A version of him exists in another universe. But he’s not who you remember.”  

“What does that mean?”  

Strange conjured an image with a flick of his hand, the glowing strands of the multiverse twisting together to form a vision. It was him—but not your James. His face was twisted in anguish, his body surrounded by a swirling storm of energy. Planets crumbled in the distance, consumed by the raw power emanating from him.  

“He’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice heavy. “A being driven by grief, powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. If he’s not stopped, he’ll collapse the multiverse.”  

You stared at the image, his chest tightening. It wasn’t possible. Bucky was gone. He was dead.  

“You want me to go after him,” you said, your voice flat.  

Strange shook his head. “I want you to stop him. Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”  

“And if he doesn’t?”  

Strange’s gaze was unrelenting. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing him.”  

—

In the vast expanse of the multiverse, the roles have reversed but the tragedy remained unchanged. 

Somewhere, in a distant reality, Strange watched the threads of the timelines twist and tangle. He knew the truth, the one neither of you could see:  

That as long as one of you lost the other, the cycle would never break.

•

Back in Earth-616…

After some playful back and forth splashing, you both decided it was time to get out of the bath.

You stepped out first, shivering from the cool tile beneath your feet, grabbing a towel. Bucky followed, water dripping from his hair onto his chest.

He took the towel from your hands and draped it around your shoulders. He wrapped the fabric tightly around you, as if he was protecting you from whatever evil may want to reach you. 

Without warning, he pulled you into a hug. His lips brushed against your damp hair as you closed your eyes, sinking into the safety of his embrace.

After a while, you shifted in his arms, your hands finding another towel that hung from the wall behind him. 

The corners of your lips tugged up in a playful smile as you began patting him dry, earning a soft chuckle from your supersoldier boyfriend. He didn’t stop you— he never could when you insisted on taking care of him. 

So instead, he just watched you with that lovesick expression that made your heart do cartwheels. 

Neither of you spoke; you didn’t need to. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, and your fingers traced patterns along the scars that marked his skin. 

As much as you hated seeing him hurt, you knew that he was safe. And that’s all that mattered. 

Because, in this universe, you were so blissfully unaware of the fragility of this peace, the fragility of your emotions. You remained unaware that in countless other universes, losing each other had broken you both. Unaware that in most other realities, there was no escape from the sadness that came with the death of one and not the other.

But in this one, none of that mattered. Because here, in this small bubble of love, you would keep each other grounded.

So as long as you both lived, you would stay blissfully unaware of the horrors your variants had to endure.

-end.

[daisymbin]

48. "you’re the best part of my day."

seungcheol comes home after a long day at practice and gets to “turn off his brain” when he’s with y/n, allowing himself to be loved and doted on instead of feeling like he’s in leader mode all the time

this is so wholesome 🥺

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

fluff prompt #48: "you're the best part of my day."

the front door clicks shut, and you hear the familiar sound of seungcheol’s sneakers being kicked off in the hallway. you glance up from the couch, tucking your legs under you as he steps into the living room, shoulders slumped and face drawn with exhaustion.

“long day?” you ask softly, already setting down the book you weren’t really reading.

he nods, his movements slow as he drops his bag to the floor and shrugs off his jacket. “yeah,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “felt like it was never going to end.”

you stand and cross the room, wrapping your arms around his waist without a word. his body melts into yours instantly, his chin resting on your shoulder as he exhales a deep, shaky breath.

“i’m glad you’re home,” you murmur, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back.

“me too,” he whispers, his voice muffled against your hair.

you pull back just enough to look at him, brushing a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. “come on, let’s get you comfortable,” you say, taking his hand and leading him to the couch.

he follows without protest, flopping down with a heavy sigh. you grab the blanket draped over the armrest and tuck it around him, earning a soft smile as he leans back into the cushions.

“want me to get you something to drink?” you offer.

he shakes his head, reaching out to grab your wrist before you can step away. “just stay here,” he says quietly, tugging you down to sit beside him.

you oblige, settling in close as he pulls you under the blanket with him. his arm wraps around your shoulders, and you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“what happened today?” you ask gently, your fingers playing with the edge of the blanket.

he groans, tilting his head back against the couch. “practice ran late, and there’s just... so much to do. schedules, performances, making sure everyone’s okay. sometimes it feels like there’s no room to breathe.”

“you’re always looking out for everyone else,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “when was the last time you looked out for yourself?”

he lets out a dry laugh, but it lacks humor. “hard to do that when there’s so much on my plate.”

you sit up slightly, turning to face him. “cheol, you don’t have to carry everything on your own. you know that, right?”

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the weight he’s been carrying is plain to see. “it’s hard not to,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m supposed to be the leader. if i don’t have it together, who will?”

“you don’t always have to have it together,” you tell him, reaching up to cup his face. “it’s okay to lean on the people who love you.”

his lips curve into a small, grateful smile, and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “you always know what to say,” he murmurs.

“someone’s gotta take care of you,” you tease lightly, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

he chuckles, the sound soft and genuine, and pulls you closer until your head is back on his chest. “you know,” he says after a beat of silence, “you’re the best part of my day.”

your breath catches at his words, warmth blooming in your chest. “yeah?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah,” he says, his tone soft but certain. “no matter how stressful things get, knowing i get to come home to you... it makes everything worth it.”

you don’t know what to say, your heart too full for words. instead, you tighten your arms around him, holding him close as if to say, i’m here. i always will be.

his fingers trace absent patterns on your arm, his breathing growing slower and steadier. “you make it so easy to just... be,” he says, his voice laced with gratitude. “when i’m with you, i don’t have to think about anything else. i can just... turn it all off for a while.”

“that’s the idea,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“lucky for you,” you say, your voice teasing but warm, “you don’t have to find out.”

he laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest. “thank god for that.”

you stay like that for a while, the world outside fading away as you sit wrapped in each other’s warmth. for now, there’s no stress, no deadlines, no expectations—just the quiet comfort of being together.

and for both of you, that’s enough.

[obxsummer]

i still need you // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: late night conversations turn ugly, jj sets off on an adventure with his dad, and an SOS text leads to a life stopping moment for john b.

warnings: nothing you haven’t seen in obx before

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

--

JJ Maybank loved you. 

If everything else in the world was suddenly a lie, that statement would remain true. JJ Maybank loved you so much, he swore it was the only thing he was good at. 

He never realized how valuable it was to have someone so in tune with his every motion, his every thought and reaction. You were always there no matter what was going on, and you always knew how to handle it.

He was trying. He was trying really hard to give you that same effort, that same love and attention you gave him every time, but he had to admit that he was struggling. What was supposed to be a simple trip to the bathroom was slowly turning into the worst conversation of his life, and as he watched your walls crash in front of him, he didn’t know what to do.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question had you flying out of the hammock and back into the bedroom before you could even get a word out. JJ was standing in the bathroom doorway, Sarah’s capped pregnancy test in his hand. Your heart fell to your ass and you just stared at him.

“Babe?”

You shook your head, tears forming faster than you wished when you realized you’d been so unfair to him. “JJ, I gotta talk to you.”

“Are you pregnant?” He repeated the question much quieter, his tone still soft and careful as he approached. 

You shook your head again. “No. It’s not mine.”

JJ nodded, his gaze dropping to the two lines on the test as he stared at it. “Then…?”

“Sarah’s.”

There was a sense of relief that overtook him, but part of him was also sad. Starting a family with you is something JJ had been hesitant about, especially with his own paternal history. He didn’t know if he could fix the curse of his dad’s behavior. Both of his so called fathers' behavior, actually. 

“Would… Would you-”

“I can’t have kids.”

JJ blinked and looked up at you. “Huh?”

You crossed your arms over your chest protectively. “Because of everything… with- with Rafe. They said there’s…it’s not impossible but it’s extremely high risk and unlikely.” 

When he was silent, you knew this was a dealbreaker. You should’ve told him, given him a chance to run before he put a ring on your finger and gave all this effort to you.

“I know I should’ve told you, so if…if you want this back, it’s okay. I don’t blame you if you wanna act like this never happened, but I’m sorry and-”

“Shut up.” The command sent you silent as you stopped pulling the ring from your finger, eyes going wide in shock. JJ shook his head in disbelief and you were somehow so terrified of what he was going to say. This could very well be the end of everything you’d been through all because you couldn’t be honest with him. 

“You… you think I would leave you? Over this?” JJ’s emotions were getting the best of him now and he couldn’t pull his gaze from your teary one. “I have your initials inked into my skin. Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrugged. “I’m not… I’m just giving you an out. Incase you want it.”

“Why would I ever want that?” He was much louder now and you almost took a step back before reminding yourself that this was JJ, your JJ. “Why would I ever leave you over something you can’t control? Sweetheart, I love you more than anything. If you wanted kids, fine, we would have them. But if you didn’t, or you couldn’t, that’s okay. I’m not willing to risk losing you over some annoying ass toddler that messes up all my shit for a handful of years.”

He pointed the small pink stick in your direction, his own eyes wet as his frustration carried into his tone. You knew it wasn’t directed at your actions, rather the way your head had been handling everything, but it still felt weird. “Don’t you ever, and I mean ever hide something like this from me just because your head is telling you, I don’t want you. Because-”

The door slammed open at the worst opportunity possible, both you and JJ turning to see Sarah and John B looking back. You gasped at them, knowing everything probably looked and sounded so wrong. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s mine!” Sarah practically yelled, running forward to grab the test from JJ’s hand as she stood in front of him at her full height. “It’s mine, okay? And drop the fucking tone with her, JJ. You have no idea what she’s been through and-”

“Hey, it’s-” John B held a hand in front of you when you went to intercept Sarah. JJ’s eyes were wide at the words coming out of the girl’s mouth but he didn’t argue back with her. 

“Sarah, he didn’t-” 

She turned to hold a finger to you before continuing to lay into JJ. “If you so much as think about saying another nasty word to her, I’ll cut your dick off in your sleep. I swear to God, JJ, you have-”

“He wasn’t doing anything!” You blurted out when her threat became a little too realistic for your liking. “We were talking, okay and-”

“He was yelling-”

“Because I was being selfish!” You snapped at John B, frustration and emotion boiling over. “I should’ve told him everything a while ago, and I didn’t. This is on me, okay? Leave him alone.”

Three sets of eyes watched you carefully as you laid the most vulnerable pieces of you out for them to see. 

“It’s my fault,” You nearly broke there, a breathy hiccup escaping as you tried to keep it calm. “I don’t want the pity. I don’t need it. I should’ve fought back against him, tried to defend myself more but I-”

John B shook his head, his voice breaking as he whispered your name. 

You ignored him and looked straight at JJ. “He ruined the best thing I could ever give you. You deserved the chance to correct all the things your dad did to you, the things he put you through. All I wanted was to give you everything you never had, to be everything you never had because you deserve that and so much more. And I let Rafe Cameron of all people ruin me… I’m ruined for you.”

You felt like you were witnessing a slow motion car crash. All of your nightmares had consisted of one thing: losing. Losing JJ, losing your friends, losing yourself. You felt like it was coming to life in front of you.

“I can’t do this.”

Stabbing you in the heart would’ve hurt less than JJ’s statement, but you had to accept it. You gave him an out and he was taking it. Part of you wanted him to blame you because it would at least give you some confirmation on what he was thinking. All you could do was nod and look at the floor. You’d finally done it, you’d manage to push away the one person who knew you inside and out and you only had yourself to blame.

“I can’t sit here and let you think a single word of that is true.” JJ pulled at his hair. God, you looked so broken in front of him and he couldn’t believe this whole night was turning in this direction. He crossed the room to hold your face in his hands, heart breaking at the tears on your cheeks and the way you shivered from his touch.  “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re everything to me. I don’t give a flying fuck if you walked out of that whole nightmare with one eyeball and four fingers on one hand. You walked out and you’re still here. That’s what matters. You are and you will continue to be my entire world. I told you tonight, and I will continue to tell you every single day if that’s what you need.” 

“And you’re the furthest thing from ruined.” Sarah reminded you that she was in the room, John B crying behind her as they watched the scene from a small distance. “God, you’re literally perfect. A great boyfriend, a great brother, amazing friends. You’re so kind and selfless, and you’re so dedicated to each and every one of us in ways that nobody else is. I give you one look and you’re already on the same wavelength as me without a word. I’m not going to stand here and watch the future godmother and favorite aunt of my child think so negatively about herself when she is easily one of the best things in each of our lives.”

JJ was there to catch you when you sobbed, your whole body nearly collapsing in relief that he knew everything now, that you weren’t carrying what felt like the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

“I suck at sappy shit, everyone c’mere.” John B managed to pull a laugh out of the group, the four of you hugging each other tightly in the middle of your bedroom like the world around didn’t exist. Sarah, John B, and JJ had seen the worst pieces of you and still loved you unconditionally. It was time to get out of your head and embrace it, no matter how much you wanted to hide away. 

“Now that that’s over with… you’re fucking pregnant?!”

--

The chaos of the night finally settled down enough after JJ expressed his excitement for John B and Sarah. He didn’t hesitate to guide you to bed shortly after, mumble apologies being shared that tonight didn’t go differently, but you reassured him you had forever to celebrate it. Sarah eventually curled up next to you, the two of you in a fitful sleep for as long as you could while the boys stayed up to keep an eye on Groff.

Sarah was scrolling on her phone when you woke up a few hours later. She looked over her case to smile at you as you groaned loudly and stretched. 

“Are you and John B actually going to apply for a marriage license?” Your voice was raspy as you spoke, your eyes meeting hers as you shifted on your side to look at her.

She dropped her phone to the comforter. “I think so, unless he changed his mind from yesterday. That was the plan.”

You nodded, a small smile growing on your face. “Are you nervous?”

Sarah let out a breathy laugh. “Hardly. I just can’t believe all the shit that happened in the last 24 hours.”

The two of you conversed for a few moments longer before climbing out of bed to get ready for the day. While Sarah busied herself finding a cute white dress (one of her own, this time), you quickly changed and did your morning routine before settling in to help her curl her hair.

“Ready?” You asked as she slipped her shoes on and turned off the light. She nodded, grabbing your hand to pull you down the stairs. Cleo was eating a sandwich in the kitchen and looked up as you entered.

“Don’t tell me I’m losing another one today?” Her eyebrow raised in curiosity as Sarah practically skipped outside.

“We have to share the same last name for a little bit, right?” You winked in her direction, the pieces falling together before she shook her head jokingly.

JJ, Pope, and John B were already outside, apparently packing the Twinkie to head to Larissa’s grave with Groff. Your brother was literally pacing a path into the grass, his head snapping up as Sarah stepped off the porch with a tiny squeal.

“Let’s make this quick,” JJ was oblivious to the couple next to you and rubbed at his face to wake himself up. 

You hid your smile behind your hand as John B and Sarah stared at each other for a moment, both of them red in the face as she finally reached your brother’s side.

“Hey, we’re gonna get out of your hair, actually,” John B’s voice was so absentminded as he kept his eyes on Sarah, completely disregarding JJ’s confused look. He pointed in your general direction as he took her hand. “Love you, see you in a few. Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shifted into your fiancé’s shoulder, his arm falling around you as he took in the duo for the first time this morning. Pope gave you a confused glance to which you just held up your left hand and pointed to the ring on your finger. He nodded, much easier to communicate wordlessly with than JJ would be. 

“I, uh, okay?” JJ’s confusion made you laugh as Sarah and John B disappeared around the side of the house without a word, small talk being shared between the two of them as they made their way down the dock. He turned to look at you and clocked the smile on your face. “Something to share with the class?”

You shook your head, pushing up on your toes to kiss him. “Not in the slightest. You ready to go?”

JJ glanced between the Twinkie and the porch where Groff was getting to his feet. “How about you stay here with the girls and Pope? I… this is my mom. I feel like it should be personal, you know?”

You glared at him. “What did John B say?”

The way he took a step back already told you the answer. “No, nothing. Nothing, I just think I should give this a shot, on my own, you know?”

“JJ, I swear-”

He grabbed your shoulders carefully. “I love you. And if shit goes south, I can’t risk having you in danger with me not being able to help. So, please. Stay here, with them, and I’ll be back. Okay?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” You admitted quietly, your hand grabbing on his wrist. You weren’t so convinced by his reasoning and with Groff giving you weird vibes, you really didn’t like this idea. “Be careful? I know he’s supposedly your dad and all but…”

JJ nodded in understanding, his eyes catching on someone behind you. “Told you I’ll always come home to you, and I mean it. Love you, sweet girl.”

He kissed you softly, hand slipping from your shoulder to hold your neck gently. You hummed in satisfaction, your fingers grabbing his flannel to pull him slightly closer. 

“Alright, lovebirds.” Groff’s voice ruined your goodbye as he stopped next to you. Pulling away from JJ, you gave the man a sharp glare, unamused by his comments and whatever assumed power he thought he had over JJ. 

Rolling your eyes, you gave JJ one more kiss. “Love you, please be careful.” 

You stepped away from him to head back inside, but an unfamiliar hand landed on your shoulder, stopping your retreat. You turned back to Groff, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and removed his hand, pointing down at the ring on your finger. “I…um. I always wanted a daughter, Larissa did too. I’m glad you’ll be joining our family one day.”

The disgust on your face was very evident as you stared back at him, forcing a nod. “Yeah, considering you gave away your own son, I’m finding that hard to believe.”

Groff gave you a short nod before turning to climb into the Twinkie’s passenger seat as JJ slammed the door of the driver’s side. You shook your head as the van started and drove away, the sinking feeling in your stomach building with each passing moment. 

“You feel the same way I do about this?” Pope asked as he joined your side, the two of you watching the van disappear out on the road.

You sighed, “We shouldn’t have let him go alone. That man is the biggest manipulator if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“Now all we can do is wait and hope he comes back, preferably without that pathetic excuse for a man.”

--

While JJ busied himself adventuring with his dad, Pope and Cleo went out to grab gas for the boats with the remainder of the five grand down payment Wes Genrette had given. You and Kiara busied yourselves trying to get some items together for the potential trip to Morocco (if it happened) but mostly trying to downsize to what could be taken to Ward’s rental condo. The property was left in Sarah’s name, thankfully away from Rose’s evil claws, so your group could try to wiggle in as best as possible, but the three bedroom condo was no match for your family of seven, and soon to be a baby.

“I’m gonna grab supplies and shit from outside,” You said with a huff, brushing the sweat from your forehead. “Be right back.”

Kie was head first in making sandwiches and food to take along, so you dipped out of the room by yourself. The wind was refreshing, blowing across your skin as the two of you headed into the store area to collect your items. 

You grabbed a handful of first aid items, shoving them in your worn backpack with as much organization as you could muster. 

Humming along to the music on your phone, you moved fluidly to grab random supplies from the walls, figuring the store wouldn’t need them much anyway considering the property wasn’t yours soon.

Something moved in your peripheral and you turned to see the Twinkie parked outside again. A small frown formed on your face; you didn’t think JJ and Groff would be back that quick. Walking out, you glanced to catch sight of the blond boy but came up short. 

“Babe?” You called out, heading toward the driver side in case they were still talking inside. Except, they weren’t. Nobody was inside, actually. “JJ?”

You spun on your heels in hopes of him popping out, but still no sight of him. Setting your course to the house in hopes that he’d be there instead, you were met with Chandler Groff popping out of the side door in what looked like a hurry.

Stopping, you crossed your arms and glared at him. “Can I help you?”

He had the tube containing the scroll in his hand, and motioned toward it. “Uh, hi. I uh, I just came to grab the scroll to make sure it’s not just the artifact from the mausoleum.”

His rushed tone told you there was more to the story but you nodded. “Mhmm, um. Where’s JJ?”

“Oh, he stayed behind at the family plot. He sent me to retrieve this. I thought I’d give him some time alone, you know?” He took a few steps toward you, that you immediately repeated in the opposite direction to put some distance back. Any further and you’d be against the Twinkie and out of options.

You dug your fingers into your arm. “He certainly got his lying skills from Luke because I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

Groff laughed but you could tell it was forced. “Well, you hardly know me, of course you aren’t going to believe me. You can ask your friend in there… uh Kiara is it? She seemed fine with the idea.”

“Oh so you won’t mind if I just call him, then?” You reached into your pocket where your phone was still playing music.

“Yeah, yeah you should. You should call him. He’ll confirm. Go ahead.”

Your back hit the metal of the van as Groff continued to push into your space. You glanced down, swiping for the FaceID to activate and unlock before completely bypassing checking JJ’s location and instead pressing the lock buttom twice. Times like these you really thanked Sarah for helping you set up the shortcuts she did.

All it took was that one split second before Groff’s hands were shoving you and your head collided with the window of the Twinkie, glass shattering from the impact. Your phone slipped from your hands and you gasped, knees giving out as you grabbed your head in pain.

“Kie!” The scream tore through your throat but was cut off as Groff grabbed your throat and yanked you off the ground. 

Panic set in instantly, all of your senses blurring as images of Rafe flashed in front of you. You struggled to get air in your lungs and gasped, hands shoving and feet kicking like it would do you any good.

One last hit to your head, and the sweet dark relief took over.

Then silence.

--

You weren’t sure if you were awake.

There had been moments like this in the past when you were at the Camerons’, so blissed and drugged out that you couldn’t tell the difference from reality or hallucinations. Like a sensory tank, there was no light or noise. Just you and your racing thoughts and the loud thump of your heart in your ears.

Here you were, all over again. No sense of where you were, what had happened, or who was around. You could barely breathe and the hefty duct tape on your mouth stole your inability to speak. The sharp bite of pain when you tried to move was thanks to zip ties that were too tight, and you realized how utterly stuck you were.

The tears came first, followed by the hyperventilating. You tried running through the methods they taught you in therapy, the counting, the timed breathing. JJ’s voice was echoing in your head to keep your airways open and not clench your hands but JJ wasn’t here, you couldn’t move, and one of your main airways was not an option.

An attempted cry left your body, but you doubted anyone could hear it. It was so muffled and quiet that it might as well have been a whisper in a concert arena. 

You were going to die. You were going to die here, alone, with nothing but the thoughts in your head to keep you company. You hoped Kiara was okay. Hoped that none of your friends would be the ones to find you, if they even could. 

The tears were unstoppable now, small sobs escaping as you tried to pull air in your lungs but it was getting harder. It felt like someone’s hand squeezing around your throat.

Tighter, tighter, tighter.

Gone.

--

Kiara was a stranger to what it felt like being knocked unconscious. Hell, the closest she’s ever gotten was because of Pope nearly concussing her with an ore a couple of weeks ago. It was never from being punched in the head and colliding with the table.

The headache was killer, enough to send her vision swaying but she forced herself to her feet. “Ah, fuck.” Her fingers poked the area where the pain was radiating, but no blood came back so she considered that a good sign. 

“Kie!” 

John B’s scream was not a good one, and it was enough to get her moving out of the house to see him sprinting across the yard with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah close behind. 

“What’s happening?” Her voice was much quieter than she expected as the all moved toward her. Pope’s hands were gentle as they hovered her face, taking in the bruising on her cheek.

“What happened to you?” Cleo asked, wincing at the injury.

Kiara shook her head, “I can’t… just give me a second.”

“Where is she?” John B asked, eyes scanning the entire ground. He was on the verge of screaming or crying, or shit maybe he needed to throw up. “The SOS text came from her phone, fro-from the shortcut, where is she?”

“John B!” Sarah picked up the device in question that was resting in the grass near the van, the music still playing from it loud enough that she could hear.

The sight of your case made his heart drop. “Shit, stay here. Check the house,” He directed toward Pope and Cleo, practically sprinting toward Sarah.

“It seems fine,” She commented, “Music still on and everything. Maybe she did it accidentally?”

Except, John B wasn’t looking at the phone in Sarah’s hand. His eyes were locked on the nearly shattered window behind her head, a window that hadn’t been fucked up before. Sarah noticed his silence and looked over her shoulder, the broken glass answer enough that no you didn’t do this accidentally.

John B yelled your name again, nothing following his call, so he took off running into the shop with hopes that maybe you would be there. If Kiara was in the house, chances were, you weren’t.

Except the shop was empty, besides your backpack resting on the counter with various shit scattered around it.

“Is she in here?” Sarah asked as she ran up behind John B, her eyes scanning the room for any sight of you. “John B?”

“What the fuck?” You brother tugged at his hair and moved to where your bag was sitting as he tried to look for any clue, anything, that would tell him where you were. “No, no, no. We can’t do this again. I-I.. I told her I’d never let something like this happen, what if-”

“John B, John B, hey!” Sarah grabbed his face as gently as possibly. “Do not lose your shit. Not right now. She needs you, okay?”

His hands were fucking shaking and suddenly, this was too scary for him. Something had happened, and now you were missing.

“Look, look. I’ll get you a water and we can see if Kie remembers anything okay? It’s probably a miscommunication and-” Sarah turned toward the red Coca-Cola cooler that usually housed the ice for cold drinks and stopped short at the screw driver wrenched between one of the closures. “Did you lock this?”

John B pulled his hand from his face to look at what she was referring to. “What? No, we never…”

Sarah ripped the screwdriver out in a second, flipping the latch to unlock the lid so she could pry it open. “John B!”

The Routledge boy jumped forward to look and nearly threw up his breakfast. “Move, move!”

Reaching down, he grabbed ahold of your unmoving body, your skin so pale and cold that he didn’t know what to do. His knees hit the ground hard as he laid you down, hands moving to shake you. “Wake up, hey. Wake up!”

Sarah called your name, her touch gentle as she pulled the duct tape off your mouth, but you still didn’t move. “John B, she’s not breathing!”

“Pope, help!” 

Like a series of deja vu, John B’s hands went to your chest to push down harshly, the rhythmic movement too familiar for comfort. Sarah had been in this same position under his hands before, a gunshot wound to her hip and barely enough blood to keep her alive. John B never wanted to do this again, and he sure as shit never wanted to do it to you.

“Pinch her nose, and breathe in her mouth,” He gasped out in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay. “Pope!”

Sarah followed the directions, pinching your nose and opening your mouth to push air back into your lungs. She was shaking, barely able to see through her tears. 

A series of footsteps came seconds later, and Pope swore his whole world stopped at the sight ahead of him. You, his practically adopted sister, lying still on the floor as John B attempted CPR. Kiara nearly screamed, and Cleo stood in shock as Pope flung forward to take over the compressions with more confidence and precision.

“Go, again,” He directed to Sarah as John B tumbled back against the counter in shock. Pope started his compressions again, keeping his count outloud. 

Kiara stumbled to your brother’s side, wrapping her arms around him as they stared on, horrified. Cleo moved to grab scissors, her careful movement cutting the zip ties from your ankles as Pope continued to put pressure on your chest.

And then you coughed. 

And Pope fell into a fit of tears. Removing his hands from your chest, he fell back on his ass in what felt like exhaustion. 

“Aye! You okay?” Cleo was trying to keep a level head but the way her heart was pounding against her chest told her otherwise. She’d never been so close to losing someone, not like this. She carefully snipped the remaining ziptie and your hands instantly reached for Sarah, who cried into your hair and helped you sit up.

Despite your wishes, you couldn’t get your voice to work and opted for nodding instead. Your throat ached and your head felt like it was going to shatter into pieces, and you were so, so cold.

“Holy shit,” Pope choked out as he watched you blink and your own chest move air into your body. Your head was reeling at all of their concern and voices so you closed your eyes and continued to focus on just evening out the flow of air. 

John B ripped himself out of Kiara’s arms and next to Sarah the second he got a grasp on what the fuck just happened. “Hey, hi. You’re okay. It’s okay now.”

You reached out to grab John B’s hand, squeezing enough to let him know you could hear him and were responsive. Sarah’s warmth left your side a moment after and John B easily took her place, his arms cradling you against him like you were a small child as he cried into your hair. 

Wrapping your arms around him, you blinked your eyes open to see Pope sitting in front of you with Cleo rubbing his shoulder soothingly, Kie leaning against his side. He quickly brushed the tears from his cheeks but it already told you everything. 

You mouthed a thank you and cuddled in closer to John B’s chest, opting to just breathe breathe breathe.

You weren’t sure what the fuck had just happened, but it seemed like your friends were about to have one crazy ass story to tell. 

-- 

John B did not let you out of his sight. 

After carrying you back to the house and directing Sarah to help you into your warmest sweatshirt and sweatpants, he looked to Kiara for answers.

The girl’s brainfog had thankfully cleared and she was about to recount Groff showing up, claiming he and JJ found the lens and needed the scroll. When Kiara asked where her friend was, Groff knocked her out, which meant her intercepted you next.

Nobody wanted to ask questions, but the SOS text on their phone screens was hard to pull their eyes off of.

When everyone had phones replaced following El Dorado, Sarah had made sure to set up a shortcut that sent an SOS text with a location to the group chat in case of an emergency. She hoped it would never be used, but she was so thankful you thought quick enough to use it in this situation. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if not.

“Here.” She handed you an warm cup of tea with honey in hopes that it would help soothe the soreness in your throat but the handprint outside on your skin told her otherwise. After helping you crawl under the covers, she sent a quick text to John B that you were settled before the group came tumbling in. 

Your brother instantly threw himself next to you near the top of the best, shifting so you could lean against him and he could keep a hand on your arm at all times. Kiara took your other side, sitting crisscross as she held an ice pack to her head. 

“Y’all are dramatic,” Your voice was practically gone as you joked with them before taking another sip of your tea.

“And you sound like you smoke six packs a day,” Cleo chimed back with a teasing smile on her face. “Save your voice, girly. We got you.”

You gave her a weak smile.

The next twenty minutes consisted of everyone sharing what the fuck had happened in the past few hours. Pope and Cleo nearly got wiped out by Kelce which caused them to collide with Sarah and John B who had been running from Topper and Ruthie. Kiara took a gnarly blow to the head like you did, and JJ was still absent from the group.

Splendid. 

“So, what? Groff left with the map and lens and JJ’s still with him?” Pope recounted as he started to pace the floor. 

Your calls to JJ had been ignored and considering he didn’t show up with the SOS text, you were really worried Groff had gotten to him. Your fingers moved across the screen to pull up his location again and you dropped it on the center of the bed so your friends could see his location pinging from the middle of the ocean.

Turning to John B, you tried to communicate with your hands that you all needed to leave, but he was unamused. “No, no. You’re not leaving this room, let alone this house any time soon. You hear me? Grounded.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the comforter to open your notes app and type away. 

Then you guys need to go. If something happens to him and I’m the reason you didn’t go, I’ll never forgive myself. 

You shoved the device in John B’s direction, watching as he skimmed the words before shaking his head slightly. Annoyed by his silence, you moved it over so Sarah could read it instead.

“She’s got a point, John B. We need to go.”

John B took a look around the room, everyone’s expressions matching Sarah’s as they read the message on your phone. He hated this, the thought of pulling you out of a safe space after he just nearly broke your ribs from the force of his own hands because you weren’t breathing.

“Fine, fine,” He admitted defeat when even Cleo nudged her head in the direction of the water. “Go get your shit. I need to talk to this one first.”

Your eyes were going to get stuck in the back of your head if you rolled them again so you just sighed and flopped against the pillows as everyone scattered. Sarah patted your knee through the covers, reassuring she’d grab your backpack and everything before slipping out the door, leaving you with your brother.

You quickly typed on your phone as John B watched you.

I’m not arguing with you via notes app, bro.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Don’t wanna argue. Just um…” He let out a breath, tears filling his eyes faster than he intended. “You really scared me, out there. And I don’t like the idea of you getting thrown back into danger, but the idea of leaving you here is even worse. So I need you… I really need you to promise me something.”

John B shifted to sit where you could see him easier and not strain your neck looking up at him. He grabbed the phone from your hand and let it fall, taking both of your palms into his. “I need you to promise me that you’ll stick with Sarah. And you won’t go throwing yourself in front of anyone if it comes to it. You… you both mean way too much for me to lose you to a stupid fucking treasure hunt. Okay?”

You squeezed his hands and nodded, because it’s really all you could do. So you did.

And now, you needed to find JJ… but nothing was ever that simple for you all, was it?

--

a/n: did i redeem myself??? also john b is not over what just happened and i think another crashout is coming

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[javier-pena]

okay in all seriousness, i think this is the single hottest fic i have ever read, it felt like i was reading something i would love to write if i was braver, i never ever wanted it to end, and i'm so so sad i can never again experience reading this for the first time

first of all, i love love love voyeurism, i actively need to challenge myself to NOT include it in fics i write because it's getting ridiculous but from now on i'll be able to tell myself "well, no matter what you do, it'll never be as hot as what ms covetyou did" and that'll hopefully help me to write some other tropes as well, because i'm still trembling when i think about what you did with this, it's just 😖 god i need to chew off my arm or something

ms reader is so so so fucking relatable!!!!!! if i could watch joel and tess fuck, that would be the highlight of my life omg, i too would be sitting absolutely still if they told me to just so i could watch ..... and i too would be thinking about both of them afterwards while i ... took care of things. but i also love how ms reader was included despite her just watching, especially when you wrote, "when you nod again, tess rewards you by pressing a kiss to joel's mouth, and you can feel as you almost chase it with your own lips" that was such a neat way of putting it!!!

unfortunately, i can't recall what happened during oral sex (m receiving) because when tess said, "maybe next time i'll let him come in me and you can clean me up, pretty girl" i must've blacked out and it took me about 10 minutes to regain conciousness. but i'll still be thinking about joel asking, "who you gonna come thinkin' about? me or her?" FOREVER

i'm also obsessed with the way you ended this fic, "you think joel miller is quite a nice man to be kissing here, in an old apartment block at the end of all things" at the end of all things????? that's so poetic god i love that!!!!!

nothing left to prove

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos, Joel x Tess x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyeurism (consensual and not), cuckolding/cuckquean, unprotected PIV, oral sex (m recieving), masturbation, praise kink, brief spit kink, little bit of choking (as a treat), bisexual reader, asshole Joel, no use of y/n word count: 5.8k summary: Some risks are worth taking.

A/N: this is the last in my planned oneshots for SWAT this month! if you have any uh... 👀 questions, comments or concerns, my ask box is open. I love you all, and thank you so much for welcoming SWAT back with open arms.

title from movement by hozier.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Like most things where Joel was concerned, you're not entirely sure what made you do it.

One minute you were walking down the street - the bustling midday crowd rushing from one job to another, stopping by street vendors if they were lucky enough to have the cards to trade - and the next, you were mindlessly heading in the opposite direction.

It's not like you didn't know not to follow him. He'd warned you before - men in his line of work were always the target of something, and following after him, even acknowledging him in public, made you a target too. It was dangerous, and it was stupid.

Still, you did it anyway.

Without thinking, you had turned and followed, hands tucked into your pockets and collar drawn up over your face in an effort to keep back the bitter chill of wind. There was something too enticing about seeing Joel swagger down the street with someplace he clearly had to be. Something so enticing you couldn't resist. Even from the distance he was rapidly putting between you, you could tell it was him. Your eyes were locked onto his broad frame as it parted the stream of footfall, and his long, heavy strides carried him further and further away from you.

It was a fight, walking upstream through a throng of people going the direction you should've been, but you made it out of the other side and hurried down the sidewalk after him, barely a few minutes behind if your shorter strides were anything to go by.

Out of nowhere, he slinked down an alley, stealthy despite his size. You stalled on the corner of the block once you reached it. In any version of reality you'd been taught to keep away from places like this if you knew what was good for you. Things lurked in the shadows that you didn't want to encounter, and yet, here you were, embodying stupid as you contemplate throwing yourself down a dark alley after a man who was nothing but trouble.

You're still going to do it, of course. Nothing could stop you now, even as you waited with impatient jitters in your hands for an older couple to shuffle past.

Then, the way is clear and you can finally slink down the same alley Joel had turned down not five minutes before. He could have been long gone, of course. That probably would have been for the best.

But he wasn't.

A familiar Texan drawl tells you as much. There's no tinge of threat to it, just casual chat from what you can piece together, so you slip further down the alley and into the shadows. You make careful steps, trying to be silent as you step over rubble, until you reach the mouth of another alley and tuck yourself tight against the wall.

You hear him clearer from here. Whatever he's saying in the darkness sounds positively encouraging, and then you hear the other voice. Softer. More delicate. More breathless too.

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you finally turn and peek down the alley to see the tall sillhouette of Joel pushing up against the much smaller one of someone else as they're pressed against the wall. He presses forward, and the gasp you hear tells you all you need to know. The rattle of his belt confirms it. Then, with a slow grind of his hips, he keeps on a steady pace as he fucks her right in the alleyway where anyone could watch - you're watching after all.

And you can't tear your eyes away.

The snap of his hips gets quicker, shallower, the longer you stare. His hand had long disappeared around her front, probably to rub tight circles over her clit as you peak around the corner of the alleyway. Her arms move, fists balling tight by her head, opening and flexing, gripping the worn brick as Joel works himself in and out of her from behind.

He's whispering too. No doubt talking filth in her ear, spurring them both on as he thrusts in and out of her wet heat. You're entranced by the muffled sounds of it all - the heavy rustle of his jeans, the soft whimpers, moans, and groans - and soon your core is clenching as you watch with debauched curiousity.

You stand there against the wall, watching, as minute after minute ticks by. And then, the biting wind comes back, this time carrying a high pitched moan towards you, and you try to focus on the shape of her in the darkness as she shakes against the wall, barely keeping herself upright as she comes around Joel's cock.

But, instead of plowing onwards, fucking her until she walks away with him dribbling down her leg, he delicately pulls out. You hear praise mumbled into her hair, where he kisses her, before he turns in your direction to tuck his still-hard cock back into his pants.

Your heart is pounding, you realize, when you throw yourself around the corner to hide from him. He hadn't seen you. Neither of them had. You were sure of it. Then when you hear the murmured sounds of thanks followed by footsteps, you peer back down the alley.

Only to watch as Joel's eyes flick up to yours in the darkness just as his fly zips, and you scurry away knowing you'll pay for whatever this was later.

The note had come through your door before you'd even got home that day. You knew it was from Joel before you even opened it, and when you finally did in the darkness of your room after stuffing it into your pocket so your dad wouldn't see, your heart had practically jumped out of your mouth.

my place. friday. hour before curfew. don't be late.

J.

So, here you were, a little before an hour before curfew in an apartment block across town from yours. Being here was risky - who knows how long you'd be inside - but it was a risk worth taking as far as you were concerned. You didn't even have to knock as you approached his familiar door - it opens as soon as your feet step outside of it to reveal a stern looking Joel Miller.

"Get your ass in."

He doesn't wait for you, doesn't usher you inside or pull at your clothes. He simply moves inside and stands there, back turned, arms across his chest, waiting for you to close yourself into his space.

Whatever you'd expected when you held that note, even going as far as touching yourself thinking about what was to come, the silent treatment never came to mind. Joel didn't do silent - not with you, anyway. He always had something to say and was always ready to make sure you knew it. Now, he was stood there, silent and stoic as ever. You watch the rise and fall of his shoulders for a moment, before an anxious ripple pulls its way through you and you're speaking to the back of his head.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"Y'ain't," Joel says, turning to look at you with a scowl on his face. "Knew exactly what you were doin' - you ain't fuckin' dumb, sweetheart. Or maybe you are, given how fuckin' stupid it is to pull that shit with me."

He steps toward you then, closing the vast distance between you in just a few strides.

"You've been gettin' bold. Bold means stupid, and stupid gets you killed. Now, I don't give a shit how you are with me in here. Out there you don't know me, you don't even look at me, and you sure as fuck don't follow me."

"Am I not allowed to -"

"No," he says simply, and you snap your mouth shut just as Joel pulls open your jacket and peels it off your shoulders, daring you to stop him as he stares daggers into your eyes.

"I didn't mean to -"

"Get caught?" he finishes, raising an eyebrow at you as he tosses your jacket to the side and kicks lightly at your feet to prompt you to take off your boots.

For once, Joel is wrong. Massively, glaringly, wrong. You did mean to get caught. You realized as much the second the smile spread across your face after reading his note. You realized too that you liked more than just the promise of Joel's threat to you when your fantasies of his stern words and rough hands had turned into watching that scene in the alleyway all over again.

And maybe he knows all of that too, because one second you're standing sheepishly in his living room and the next he's pulling you toward him and growling in your ear.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

You shake your head, breathing him in now that he's so close you're practically chest to chest.

"If you wanna watch so fuckin' bad..." he starts as he tugs you further forward, pulling you into him as he steps back and back until you find yourself in his lamplit bedroom.

It's different. Not noticeably, at first, but then you see it.

In the corner is a chair, dragged in from its usual place at Joel's the dining table. There's barely room to walk around it, but Joel hauls you over to it anyway and pushes down on your shoulders.

"You're gonna sit your ass there and watch," he says as your knees buckle and your ass collides with the chair. "Got it?"

Dumbstruck, you blink up at him. You don't know what's happening. You don't know what you're going to be watching, here in this room with no one but you and Joel. There's something very big, and maybe very obvious, that you're missing, but before you can search your brain for the answer, he's pinching your chin and forcing you into an exaggerated nod. 

"I said, got it?"

You continue to nod and trail your eyes after Joel as he strolls back out of the room, leaving you perched there on the edge of the seat. You're in half a mind to follow him, but then a knock on the door startles you and you listen out as voices carry through the open doorway. 

It's Tess. You're sure of it. You'd only met her twice, but she wasn't exactly a person you forgot easily, and your late-night fantasies certainly wouldn't let it happen either. They spend a few minutes talking while your mind runs away with itself, their soft voices too light for you to hear where you sit, forgotten, in Joel's bedroom.

Their hushed conversation turns to something else as you listen, and the heavy sound of clothing hitting the floor reaches your ears and it's all you can do to keep yourself rooted to the spot. You said you'd sit, sure, but from here you can't watch anything, you can just wait in anticipation as the sounds of groaning and clothing being stripped off gets louder and louder.

You see Joel first. It's impossible not to as he's pushed backwards into the room by Tess, shirtless and belt hangling loose around his waist. And then you see her, clothes seemingly intact and her lips attached to his, hands grappling with his shoulders and scraping red trails down his bare chest until the gasp you were trying to contain slips out from your mouth.

She looks to you, lips swollen and hand steadily trailing back up Joel's chest until it clasps softly around his neck.

"Didn't tell me I'd be sharing," she says, and you watch as she grips the thick column of his throat beneath her deceptively strong fingers.

He swallows, hard, just about stifling a groan. "You ain't. She's stayin' right there. Ain't you?"

With wide eyes, you snap your mouth shut and nod.

"That right? You like watching, pretty girl?" Tess says, her eyebrows high as she leans into Joel, his thick fingers finding her waist.

You nod again, taking them in as they press into each other, and try to bite down the pang of jealousy that creeps through you. It's not that you want them to stop. Not at all. You do want to watch. You've never been more certain of anything. You want to see them, you want to be here as they come apart. You'd give anything to trade places with either of them, too, you think, but mostly, what you want is to slot yourself right between both of them.

Instead, you're stuck here on this fucking chair, uncomfortable and antsy as their hands roam and she tugs down Joel's jeans.

"Likes doin' as she's told, too," he groans, as Tess's hand makes it way down to the front of his boxers and squeezes the lump you'd been desperately trying to avoid looking at.

"Sounds like someone I know."

She laughs. She laughs, and it's all you can do to keep yourself on that fucking chair, not throwing yourself on the floor at their feet and begging that they let you join in. They might even let you, you consider. But you also knew there wouldn't be the same satisfacation in that. You wouldn't be able to savor and hold onto every sound and movement, keeping it locked away in your mind until later, if you were too fucked out and silly with it to know which way was up and which was down. And fuck did you want to watch Joel do all the things to her you wished he'd do to you, the things you wish you could do to her too.

So, you were going to do as you were told. You were going to be good. And you were going to watch.

When you nod again, Tess rewards you by pressing a kiss to Joel's mouth, and you can feel as you almost chase it with your own lips.

"You're gonna sit there," she says, pressing another kiss to his mouth, "and you're gonna keep watching, pretty girl. And keep those hands right where I can see 'em."

Planting your hands on your thighs, you watch Joel kick off his pants, standing now in nothing but boxers. Tess presses him back, pushing until he stumbles into his bed and lets himself collpase down onto it and shift back until he's resting on his elbows. Your eyes dart between them. She's practically eating him alive, hooking her own fingers into her jeans and pulling them down as Joel palms himself over his boxers. Then, in one elegant move, she flicks her pants off and climbs over the bed onto him, spreading her legs wide as she settles herself down onto his stiff cock.

Joel bites his cheek, keeping his hands soft on her creamy thighs as she rolls her hips over and over his, grinding her cunt against his length. He doesn't move. Doesn't pull her shirt off or force her down harder with a bruising grip to her thighs. He simply lets her use him until she's panting on top of him, his toes twitching and curling as he stifles his own moans.

Falling forward, her hair briefly shields them from you. You can hear it though. The wet, appreciative sounds of their mouths working against each other, tongues lapping against one another while Tess rocks back and forth across his length where it's trapped between them.

"You're gonna fuck me, Texas," she growls into his mouth, flicking her hair to her other shoulder so now you can see the flush that's rising up Joel's neck. "And make it good."

He flips her with a grunt, rolling her over easily and slotting himself between her spread thighs. You're breathing heavy as you watch on with hazy eyes, imagining the feel of him between your own thighs, or her hair over your shoulder as she kisses you, making biting kisses into your neck.

And then, when your eyes focus on the room once more, his boxers are gone and you're staring at the back of Joel, completely nude, and it has you suddenly sitting up straighter. Even with his hand pressed somewhere between her thighs, drawing out soft moans from her, all you can focus on is his back.

You're not unfamiliar with it, of course. You've seen him nude before. But you've never seen him like this, splayed out over the top of someone with one leg hitched up as he slowly rolls his hips and grinds his bare cock over a clothed pussy. You've never seen the way his back ripples and his ass flexes with each rock forward, or the way he keeps his toes curled as he moves. You've never seen that silvery scar to his side either, visible only by the angle he's in in the lamplight.

You've never seen him with thighs wrapped around his waist either, pinning him down to another body while soft hands snake around his back. It could be you. But it's not. It's her, and that's somehow better and worse all at once.

Tess groans and tilts her head back, letting her grip around his shoulders slip to slide her own hand down between them, replacing his.

His own fingers are glistening when he pulls them away from her core. If you could move you'd lick them clean, taste her off of them, but you're stuck here watching, balling impatient fists on your thighs. And then, he's shifting into position, letting Tess tilt her hips until he's right there, and he presses forward, slipping into her wet hole with a groan.

"Fuck, that's it, make me come."

It's hot in here. You're listening to Tess say the filthy things Joel usually says to you, and it is so fucking hot in here.

So hot, you realize, that your cheeks are burning and your hands are sweating where they fidget on your thighs, and when Joel thrusts home, deep, and Tess cries out, you moan with them, and it's like they've just remembered you're there.

They turn and look at you, Tess's eyes catching yours first, but Joel soon following. But then she's dragging his focus back to her.

"She's being so good, Joel," she says as he tucks his head into her neck to press soft kisses there. "Thought she'd be rubbing her cunt by now but look at her, she's doing so good."

"So fuckin' good."

You groan when he says it. You can't stop it, or the way your hands flex and want to reach out for either of them.

"She likes that. She likes being a good girl."

And you do. Even as you spread your legs wide and try not to rock into the seam of your jeans and make yourself come.

Then, as if you had never made a noise at all, Joel is pulling out and pushing in deep all over again, drawing out moan after moan from Tess.

Just like that, you're back to being the dirty voyeur in the corner. Ignored and desperate, and one second away from pleading with them to let you have a taste of something, anything. You don't. By this point, as Joel's ass flexes into the space between Tess's thighs, you don't even need to. You can almost feel every movement, every inch, right from where you're sat, fully clothed over the other side of the room. You can feel the slow stroke of his hips between yours, feel her heavy breaths tickle your cheek, the hard grind against your clit. You almost gasp when she does, and you catch yourself rocking your hips to each roll of theirs.

"Fuck, that's it, Texas," she says, as he kisses her neck again.

It's not hard to see he's different with Tess. 

He's softer, less rough, but just as hard. He's as silent as you've ever heard him, that filthy mouth stalled in his head, but also as loud as you've ever heard him be. He's grunting and groaning and panting as he fucks into her, huffing in quick breaths and goading himself on with stacatto nods of his head, desperate not to stop, to keep going, to make her come, until he's groaning frantically, pushing through the pain and ache in his muscles.

And then it hits you that maybe he is like this with you.

Maybe Joel Miller is just as fucked out and loud now as he is with you. How were you to really know - you were usually too deafened by your own screams and focussed on the feeling of him inside you, to really notice much to anything else.

He shifts her, maybe the most he's dared lay his hands on her, until you're no longer watching from somewhere behind and instead looking from the side as Joel pounds down and down into Tess's cunt, her head thrown to the side, stealing glances at you as you worry your lip with your teeth. You're breathing so hard you're almost whining, nodding whenever Tess makes a particularly deep moan that you can feel push through your own chest, until Joel looks up at you and smirks.

"Fuckin' likin' this, huh?" he groans. "That's it, sweetheart, you wanted to watch. Fuck. Fuck. Keep watchin'."

You whine then. You can't stop it, and you don't care. You're ready to sob, could probably come untouched right here if you thought about it hard enough, but you don't. You don't want that. You want to focus on the way he fucks her, and the way she sounds as she meets every thrust, because you know it's all going to be over soon.

You know, because Tess is grabbing his hand, forcing it between her legs and threading her hand through his hair and pulling a moment later.

"There. There. Ohh -"

His arm flexes and moves between them, rubbing over her clit as he slips and slides inside her. You're leaning forward in your seat now, hands gripping the edge, ready to move whenever - if ever - they give the word.

And then, with an open mouthed silent scream, she tenses beneath him, the pulsating grip of her cunt making him stutter his thrusts but never the movement of his fingers, until she falls limp, delivering a swift punch to his arm to make him stop a moment later.

So, Joel stops.

Completely.

For the second time this week, you watch as Joel doesn't come inside someone else.

He holds himself deep in her as she floats down from whatever cloud he'd just launched her to, panting and wiping sweat from his forehead. And then, when she opens her eyes, he kisses her, and you're floating right along side them in the ether, entranced by the way she pulls herself out from underneath him, and pulls her clothes back on while he watches after her, cock stiff and neglected, covered in his own precum and her slick.

You expect her to turn to Joel, but instead she rounds on you the moment she's dressed, and cups your heated cheek in her palm.

"Maybe next time I'll let him come in me and you can clean me up, pretty girl."

And with a pat to your cheek and a nod to Joel, she leaves, shouting out behind her.

"Twenty minutes, Texas. Don't be late."

"Not gonna take twenty minutes," he growls, standing and rolling his shoulders while you still sit on the chair he'd pushed you into.

He's wild eyed, staring at you as you practically drool down your own chin at the sight of him. His thick cock hangs heavy between his legs, twitching as his muscles flex and contract. His fists ball tight by his sides, eyes dark as he looks down at you, sitting still and obedient and good right where he left you. You can smell the sweat on him, smell how much he smells like Tess, and you want nothing more than to roll yourself in the sheets they'd just made a mess off.

"Bring that mouth over here," he grunts, beckoning you over with two fingers that had been buried in Tess not long ago.

You let out a desperate sigh of relief as you slip to your knees right from the chair and make an upright crawl the short distance to Joel and his weeping cock. He smells just like you remembered she tasted like. Sweet, tangy, musky. And then, he nods down at you, and you take your first tentative lick of his slick coated length, and you're groaning, holding on to his thighs to steady yourself.

His hand finds the back of your head, stroking briefly at your neck, sending prickles across your heated skin. Despite the sweat, his hands somehow feel cooler than you, and the sensation of them on your skin somehow grounds you, holds you back from falling into a heap and sobbing, begging, screaming in frustration. You're so pent up, that all you can do is make strangled groans as you look up at him with teary eyes as you lick over and over his cock with a broad, flat strokes of your tongue.

"That's it, that taste good?"

It does. It tastes better than it ever has. Him and her, all together. You liked how you tasted off of him, but this was something else entirely, and all the while that soft promise of next time runs rampant through your mind, stalling your moan of agreement right as it pulls out of your throat.

"Shit," he curses as you gently lick a drop of cum weeping from his tip. "Good fuckin' girl. Like that too, don't you? Can't get enough."

With a groan, he's suddenly pulled away from you, and you whine at the loss, before he's crouching in front of you, grabbing you roughly by the face and kissing you, plundering your mouth with his tongue.

"Mm!"

"So fuckin' good."

You don't know if he's talking about you, or the taste in your mouth, but you preen anyway, eyes brightening when he stands up, gripping his cock firmly in one large hand. "She creamed all over my balls too, sweetheart. Don't want to miss a drop now do you?"

Eagerly, you lap at the soft skin of his balls, swirling your tongue and groaning as you clean the taste of her off of his sack. He's slowly pumping his cock, squeezing the tip, cursing, as you work your tongue over his delicate balls, massaging them with your tongue before sucking each one into your warm, wet, mouth.

You can't help but slip a hand between your own legs as you work your tongue back and forth over him. The taste of him and her together on your tongue is sending your eyes practically rolling in your head, making you groan as you lick from his balls up the length of him and attempt to suck him down and lick every drop of her you can from his skin. Over your jeans isn't enough though, the sensations too muted by the thick fabric, so with a pop you pull yourself from Joel, look him in the eye, and tug your jeans open. Fuck, if you haven't earned at least a little bit of relief, and you stare at him, daring him to stop you as your fingers slide down and find your sopping wet cunt inside your ruined panties.

He groans when your eyes lose focus, your finger sliding over the twitching bundle of nerves that had lay neglected by not one, but three people.

"That's it. Touch that pussy while you suck me, sweetheart."

You do, swiping your finger in slow soft circles as he guides the tip of his dick back into your waiting lips. "Can still taste her, huh?" he says, when you groan at the taste of him again.

"Mhm."

"Can't get enough of it can you. Fuck you're so fuckin' desperate. Look at you. Rubbin' that little thing with my cock in your mouth."

You suck and bob your head, twirling your tongue around to taste every inch you can reach of him. You're aching, panting, grinding into your own hand as you suck him. The heat in your core is searing you, making you sweat beneath your clothes. If you had a hand to spare you'd be tearing them off of you, but you need your hand between your legs right now, and without the other to steady you, you'll be falling flat on your ass in no time.

"Finish me first," he says, noticing your desperation and the way your hips buck into your own hand. "That's it. You can come after. Fuck, that's it. So close. You wanted that pussy so bad, didn't you?"

You groan around his cock, the many ways you wanted her pussy flashing through your mind as you slide Joel's cock between your lips, until he's yanking you back, making you gasp and your fingers stop the steady circles you were making over your cunt.

"You want this too, don't you?"

"Yes," you moan, watching as he starts to jerk his cock in his fist. You don't even think as you open your mouth wide, tongue out and waiting for him to make a mess of you.

"Good fuckin' girl."

He jerks his cock faster, your saliva and Tess's cum slicking up the movement of his fist as he brings himself closer and closer. He steadies one hand at the back of your neck again, suddenly spitting down into your waiting mouth, making you groan as his spit hits your tongue and slides into your mouth.

"Keep that there. Keep that right fuckin' there."

He pants, chest heaving above you as you look between his dark eyes and the dripping head of his cock. He's so close. You can see as his muscles tense and twitch, one hand resting on his twitching thigh, the other holding off, slowly jerking your clit, until you slip your hand underneath him, cradling his balls, and gently squeeze -

Milky white spurts shoot into your mouth, his tip pressing down onto your tongue so you can taste every drop as he milks it from himself, your own hand massaging and tugging lightly on his balls until he's empty, tapping the tip on your tongue and wiping away the last remnants of the release you hold in your mouth.

"That's it. Swallow it all sweetheart."

The bitter salt of him coats your mouth as you swallow, not a drop wasted.

"You still want it?" he asks then, nodding down to your open jeans. Your own hand has stilled between your legs, fingers that were moving steadily are still now, hooked into you while you waited as promised until after you made him come. Now, the after was here, and with swollen lips and glassy eyes you nod up at him.

"Go on," he says softly, and you pull your dripping fingers from your cunt to coat your throbbing clit. "That's it. Wanna see you rub that fuckin' thing. Who you gonna come thinkin' about? Me or her?"

"Both," you gasp, pressing your face into his bare thigh, your fingers steadily building up and up the pace. "Both of you. Looked - fu - so good."

His hand strokes your hair, holding you to him while you work your fingers between your legs.

"Yeah? You liked that? Just like watchin' so fuckin' much don't you."

"Ye-eah. But," you whine. "Wantedtojoinin."

He laughs then, soft and gently above you. You don't see it. Your eyes are pressed shut and you're breathing in nothing but the smell of his skin right where his thigh meets his groin. You're ready to lose yourself in it all now. You don't care what you look like or if he's looking at you. You just care that you're pressed to him with your fingers between your legs, finally getting closer and closer to relief you'd been aching for since you saw him in that alleyway.

"Know what this proves though, don't you?" he asks, and with a harsh yank of your hair he pulls your head so you're looking directly up at him, fingers working swiftly over your clit as you gasp. "You know how to be a good girl and do what you're fuckin' told after all."

You nod, letting the drop of your head tug your own hair even more. "Yes," you say desperately. "Yes, I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Then show me. Gotta show me how good you come thinkin' about my cock in that cunt."

"Uh-huh," you nod again, and suddenly the jerk of your fingers over your clit and the thought of watching Joel's cock slide up and down Tess's slit, tasting his cum as it drips out of her hole has you exploding against your palm.

You barely hold yourself upright as you come, eyes pinched shut and jaw slack, Joel's hand in your hair probably the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And then, when the last of your orgasm has run through you, your fluttering cunt finally ceasing its twitching, Joel gently releases you, and you slump down on your knees, falling to the side until you're curled on the floor, propped up by the end of his bed.

You rest your head on his mattress and sex rumpled sheets, blissful and floating as Joel finds his clothes around you. Then, he nudges you up, murmuring encouragement as you stand and shake the fuzzy feeling out of your head.

Joel spots your look of surprise at the darkness outside. Curfew is rapidly approaching now, and if you're not careful you won't be home in time before you're free game for any FEDRA asshole that you come across.

"Still got time," he says, passing your jacket as you stuff your feet into your boots and ushering you out into the dim corridor.

To your surprise, he follows you out, throwing a bag over his shoulder before noticing your curious look.

"Won't be around for a few weeks," he explains. "Got some stuff to do."

He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask. You don't move either, locked to the spot in front of the door as he locks it, and tucks his key away inside an inner pocket.

"And, just so we're clear, sweetheart. I don't expect to be sharin' you with anyone while I'm gone."

"You really need me to tell you I'm not gonna fuck anyone else?"

His raised eyebrow says it all, and you roll your eyes. You both know you won't, wouldn't, don't even want to, but to stroke his ego you say as much anyway, and he gives a satisfied nod.

You kiss him then, right out in the hallway before he can turn and leave, or push you away. Only, he doesn't. He never does. Never has. Probably never will. And, even out in the hallway where anyone could see, you think Joel Miller is quite a nice man to be kissing here, in an old apartment block at the end of all things.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," he murmurs into your mouth, and, before you know it, he's stalking away down the hall and, in a blink, he's gone.

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[jinxedbychaos]

vi x reader, where in childhood they were somewhat involved with each other . Like you can tell the love is there but they have yet to realize it themselves. And when they went to save vander, reader got hit in the head and loses their memory. And Vi is put in prison.

then Vi gets out, and they find each other. And Vi hugs reader and goes on a good “i missed you, there wasn’t a day i haven’t though about you” spiel, and reader just doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because in their mind this is just some stranger. But at the same time they feel like they know and care deeply about this stranger.

Forgotten

Vi x reader

Word count: 1,275

Warnings: some mentioned deaths (that's all I think.)

This is the first ever request I've ever done so I hope I meet the expectations of the person who send this request.

You and Vi grew up together in the the lanes. life wasn't easy, but you had each other, and that made it bearable. she'd always mess with you, messing with your hair, ruffling it playfully whenever she got the chance. You'd pretend to be annoyed, swatting her hand away with a huff, but secretly, you liked it. It made you feel warm inside.

After her fights, you'd sit her down and patch up her scraped knuckles, muttering about how reckless she was, She'd grin at you, acting like it didn't hurt, but you always knew better. You could see through her tough exterior, and she could see right through yours. Neither of you ever said what you felt, but it was there, in lingering glances, unspoken gestures, and the way your hearts seemed to beat in sync.

Then everything changed.

It happened when Silco made his move. Watching Benzo-your father figure, the man who had taken you in when you had no one else, fall dead right in front of you helpless to stop it, shattered you. The thought of Vander meeting the same fate was unbearable. And the idea of Vi having to endure the pain of losing him, too, was more than you can handle. You couldn't let that happen.

So when vi decided to go after him, you went too. You stayed by her side as the others followed, determined to save Vander.

You were right beside her when the explosion went off. The force of it knocked you off your feet, and pain seared through your entire body like fire. The last thing you saw before the world went dark was her pink hair splayed on the ground unmoving.

When you woke up, everything was gone. Vander. Claggor. Mylo. Vi. Even your memories.

All that remained were fragments, hazy feelings of warmth and safety tied to a face you couldn't quite place.

Years later-

Life without your memories felt hollow. The Lanes still felt familiar in a way you couldn't explain, like a melody you couldn't recall but keep humming anyway. you did whatever you had to do to survive, jobs you weren't proud of, choices you tried not to think about. You pieced together a new life, but no matter how hard you tried, it always felt incomplete.

And then she appeared.

You were carrying a crate of scavenged parts through the bustling streets, just trying to make it another day, when someone stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

"Hey" You began, irritation flaring. But when your gaze meet hers, the words died in your throat, she looked familiar.

The girl, no, woman stood frozen, her pink hair catching the dim light. Her wide eyes, a mix of disbelief and something far deeper, softened as they locked onto you.

"Y/N…" She breathed, her voice cracking.

The name sounded foreign to you, yet it struck something deep inside, a string you hadn't realized was there. Before you could react, she rushed towards you and wrapped her arms around you. The crate in your hands fell to the ground with a loud clatter, its contents scattering everywhere.

Her hold was tight, desperate, as if she were afraid you might disappear. "Gods" She whispered, her voice trembling "I missed you so much. There wasn't a day I didn't think about you. I-I thought you were dead after the explosion."

Her words pierced the fog in your mind, stirring emotions you couldn't explain. Images flickered in your head. flashes of pink hair, laughter, a hand reaching for yours in the dark. You didn't know her, not really. And yet…

The way her voice trembled, the way she held you like you were her lifeline. It felt familiar. Like home.

"I…" your voice wavered as you pulled back, stepping out of her embrace. The confusion and overwhelming emotions made it hard to think. "Y-you know me?" You swallowed hard, shaking your head, "I don't… I don't remember. I don't remember you"

Her expression faltered, the pain flickering across her face like a fleeting shadow. She took a shaky breath, forcing a small, fragile smile. "That's alright" she murmured, her voice trembling but steady enough to hide the heartbreak beneath it "We'll figure it out together. I'm not letting you go this time."

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. Vi tried to reconnect with you, sharing stories of your childhood together, each one laced with hope that might ignite a spark of recognition. sometimes, fragments of those memories felt familiar, like shadows of something long lost. But just as quickly, they slipped away, leaving you more confused than before. How could someone care so deeply for you when you couldn't even remember who they were?

And yet, there were moments. Her laugh carried warmth that tugged at something buried deep within you. the way she said your name felt like home, even if you didn't understand why. The fire in her eyes when she talked about protecting you stirred something unspoken, something that felt like it had always been a part of you.

Despite the confusion, you couldn't help but feel drawn to her. Maybe it was the tenderness in her gaze, or the way your heart raced whenever she smiled. or perhaps it was something deeper. Something you couldn't name but felt in every fiber of your being, like a truth just out of reach.

one night, sitting on the rooftop, the hum of the lanes below was a distant murmur in the silence between you. You sat side by side with Vi, the weight of unspoken thoughts in the cool night air.

"Vi…" you began, your voice quiet as you stared out at the city "I-I don't know if I'll ever remember everything. I don't know if I can be the person you remember" You hesitated, your fingers twisting together nervously "But I want to try. I want to be that person for you"

Vi turned to you, her gaze soft but unwavering, her expression a mixture of hope and understanding. "you don't have to be anyone but who you are now" she said gently, her voice steady "I just… I just want to be here with you"

Her words stuck something deep within you, cutting through your uncertainty. for a moment, you were overwhelmed by how much this woman. this stranger who somehow felt like home. Had given herself to find you again.

"Vi…" you murmured, your voice trailing off as her eyes locked with yours. The space between you seemed to shrink, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

slowly, tentatively, you leaned toward her, your heart pounding in your chest. She met you halfway, her lips warm and soft against yours. Her kiss was gentle yet filled with a quiet desperation, as though she had been holding back for years, waiting for this moment.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was a connection. A fragile bridge between the fractured pieces of your past and the uncertain promise of your future.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to steady yourselves. Vi smiled, her voice soft and teasing, though her eyes glistened with emotion "I've waited a long time for that, you know"

you couldn't help but smile back, a warmth blooming in your chest that chased away the lingering doubts "I think… maybe I've been waiting too. I just don't realize it"

in that moment, the weight of the past seemed lighter. What mattered wasn't what had been lost but the connection you were building now. one step, one moment at a time, together.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Hope you enjoyed reading :] don't forget to like.

I'm still working on some requests that should be out soon enough, if you want you can leave a request.

[madhatterbri]

Protector | D.P.

Summary: So what that maybe Y/N has been getting intimidated by Gunther and Ludwig and Damian handled business?

Author's Note: I still don't care about this GIF, but if I did, this is what the fic would look like.

Damian Priest Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @mrsarcherofinfamy @terrortwinunicorn @brideofinfamy @miss-kuki-nz @hotwheels1108 @new-zealand-chic @magicalbuttertarts @eringobragh420 @missbmc94 @surdelcielo

As always, requests are open! Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. ❤️

The first time Y/N noticed something was amiss happened a few weeks ago on RAW.

She was in catering to get some food for her boss, Adam Pearce. As his assistant, Y/N was expected to run around whenever he wanted or needed something.

After getting some of his favorites, the young assistant hurried to the door to bring him back his food. The doorway was blocked by none other than Gunther.

"Excuse me," she whispered. He was currently feuding with her boyfriend, Damian. When he didn't move, she spoke up louder. "I said excuse me!"

Some of the wrestlers in the room looked up. Gunther glared at her yet stepped aside. His lackey Ludwig followed. Both men looked down at her as she scurried off to Mr. Pearce.

Their intimidation didn't stop there. Week after week, they came up with new ways to make her scared. Each week, they worked.

The week after that, they bumped into her. Gunther and Ludwig were on either side of her. She dropped her clipboard and pen to the floor. There was no one else in the area at the time to witness it. Annoyed, she chalked it up to none of the three paying attention.

After that incident, she started to travel around the arena with anyone else. Her boss seemed to like how she hovered around him now. Before, he would have to call her and search for her. Now, it was like having a second shadow.

The men would simply stare her down when they couldn't do anything. Their gaze was intense. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand at attention. She didn't know what she did to them, but she would certainly find out.

Y/N couldn't find anyone to stick with. Everyone was too busy getting ready for RAW, leaving her to fend for herself. She turned a corner while looking for Seth Rollins and stopped. Ludwig stood before her, looking as stoic as ever. When she turned around, Gunther was waiting for her. The men stepped towards her. She backed into the wall behind her.

"What do you two want?" She hissed. Her tone sounded a lot more menacing than the fear she had inside.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow in shock. "Little missy finally has a backbone. No more hiding,"

"Damian is going to wipe the floor with the two of you at Survivor Series," she threatened.

Gunther laughed. "Quite the lovely boyfriend you got there, but he may not even make it to Survivor Series,"

Y/N moved to get away from him. Gunther put up his arm against the wall. With nowhere to turn, she stared up at Gunther. Tears filled her eyes. "I will just tell Damian,"

"Are you sure you want to make that decision? I wouldn't," Gunther spoke. A chill ran down the back of her spine.

"Fine, so he will just beat your ass at Survivor Series. It doesn't matter to me,"

Gunther smiled. "If he even makes it to then,"

He lowered his hand, allowing her to be free. She didn't stick around. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she rushed to the nearest bathroom. Before she could make it, Damian stopped her.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he paused when he saw her face. She cupped her cheek and wiped away a tear. "Who hurt you?"

Y/N wanted to tell him more than anything. She was afraid of what would happen to him if she did. Feeling hopeless, she lashed out at him. "Just leave me alone,"

Damian dropped his hand in shock. More fresh tears fell down her face. She pushed open the door and disappeared inside. The concerned boyfriend swore he heard sobs. When he looked down the hallway, he saw Gunther and Ludwig walking away and laughing. His blood boiled.

Damian waited for the perfect moment. He was signing autographs and thinking of a moment to strike Gunther and Ludwig. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to wait long.

Gunther snuck up behind him as he was signing his name. Still fueled by the fury of seeing her cry, a brief struggle broke out. Damian had Gunther laid out on the floor right in front of him.

"Let me tell you a little something, pendejo. You talk or look at my girl one more time, and we won't be waiting until Survivor Series. You got that?"

Damian didn't bother waiting for an answer. He patted his chest and walked away to find Y/N.

[suroweczka]

Would you still love me if I were an ant? Zoro x reader

Wtf did i write idk

Warnings: Other than being an ant (horrible disease, sending prayers to all affected) and reader being ridiculous and annoying, none, pure fluff😘😘

— The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over the room as you and Zoro lay in bed. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed, and you could tell he was teetering on the edge of sleep. But you couldn’t let go of the random thought that had wormed its way into your mind.

“Zoro,” you whispered, nudging him lightly.

He grunted, barely cracking an eye open. “What?”

“Do you find me attractive?”

His eye opened a bit more, and he frowned, confused. “What kind of question is that? You know I do.”

You smiled softly but couldn’t stop yourself from pushing further. “Okay, but... what if I wasn’t me? Like, what if I got turned into... an ant?”

His brow furrowed deeply, and he tilted his head to look at you fully, his confusion now complete. “An ant?” he repeated, his voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

“Yeah,” you said seriously. “If I somehow got turned into an ant, would you still love me?”

Zoro stared at you for a long moment, then closed his eye and groaned, rolling onto his back. “What the hell kind of question is that? No, I wouldn’t love an ant.”

Your heart sank at his blunt response, and you sat up slightly, glaring down at him. “So you’d just leave me? Break up with me? Just because I turned into an ant?”

His eye shot open again, glaring at you. “How am I supposed to love an ant? You’d be... an ant! I can’t talk to an ant, can’t train with an ant, can’t even drink sake with an ant!”

“But it would still be me!” you argued, crossing your arms. “I’d just be... smaller. And maybe a little squirmy.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “This is ridiculous. I’m trying to sleep, and you’re asking me if I’d date a bug.”

You huffed, lying back down beside him with your arms crossed. “Well, it’s good to know that if something terrible happened to me, you’d just leave me.”

Zoro groaned again, clearly trying to keep his patience. He turned to you, propping himself up on one elbow. “Alright, listen. If you turned into an ant after we’d already been together, I’d... I’d deal with it, okay? I wouldn’t leave you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But if I was an ant from the beginning, you wouldn’t even give me a chance?”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “How the hell would I even meet you if you were an ant? I’m not walking around staring at the ground looking for bugs to date.”

You pouted, turning your back to him. “That’s not the point, Zoro.”

He sighed, sitting up and leaning over you. His tone softened, though there was still a hint of exasperation. “Look. I don’t care what happens to you—human, ant, whatever. I love you. I’ve never given a crap about anyone else like I do about you. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered, and you’re the only one I want to be with. But I swear, if you keep me up with more dumb questions, I’m tying you to the mast tomorrow.”

You turned back to look at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your grumpiness. “You really mean that?”

He rolled his eye, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, I mean it. Now go to sleep.”

You finally relaxed, snuggling into his chest as you felt his arm wrap around you. “Goodnight, Zoro.”

“’Night,” he muttered, his voice already heavy with sleep.

As you drifted off, content in his arms, Zoro sighed quietly to himself. “miraculously dodged a bullet,” he muttered under his breath before finally succumbing to sleep.

[quicksilvrxx]

Hi friend! Idk if you still want to do this or not but I would LOVE age regressor content for Erik Lehnsherr from X-Men (like, him as the regressor) and/or age regressor Charles Xavier

No pressure but just wanted to ask bc I saw your post!

Hullo hullo, now, I have barely any thoughts in regards to regressor Erik and Charles but I shall try and suffice!

Headcanon: Little! Erik is often nonverbal and can commonly be found hiding behind Charles.

Erik knew he regressed, after what he had been through it was obvious his mind decided to revert him mentally to an age filled with love, care, and safety. However, he was never able to indulge in his headspace due to his constant movement of hunting down the scientists who hurt him and millions of others. That was until he met Charles Xavier, the first ever mutant he encountered and learnt he wasn't the only one with a mutation. It was the first time he had felt love, care, and safety, all positive triggers to his regressions.

The first time he regressed with Charles, he remained silent, following the man around without much purpose other than to stay with him for protection. It didn't matter what the telepath was working on, he persisted in staying by his side, staying silent through the questioning and concerned looks directed his way by Charles.

"Erik? Are you quite alright?" Were the first words spoken by Charles when he regressed for the first time in his presence. Erik always remembered his first encounters with people, always preferring Charles' compared to others. Despite his lack of words and sudden clingy nature, Charles chalked it up to a particularly bad day where memories plagued the metal-bender's mind and the man wanted nothing more than comfort. "I see.. well, stay as you would like, I don't mind the company."

And then, it happened several times after that, with Erik finding Charles and clinging to his side despite the weird looks from the other members of the mansion. Charles had grown used to the behaviour, continuing with whatever activities he was doing, whether it was a light bit of reading, a particularly challenging puzzle, or simply working on paper-work for a reason Erik still doesn't quite grasp. "Hm... imagine you want to tell someone how many books you've listened to me read you, so you write it all down. Well, that's what I'm doing except with more boring things like a house and car. We use special papers to keep track of things so nobody forgets and everyone knows what's happening. Oh, you still don't understand, do you?"

Once Erik accidentally knocked over a vase and Raven had teased him that Charles wouldn't be happy with him and he would no longer be Charles' favourite anymore. He had held back tears as he listened to her words, unable to differentiate the difference between a joke and seriousness. He had gone and hid himself somewhere in the mansion, somewhere Charles wouldn't normally look as to avoid a scolding. It didn't matter though, Charles found him and frowned until he learnt that Raven had teased him about the broken vase. Erik would never admit it but he had leapt into Charles' arms when the telepath had confirmed he was still his favourite.

[dustcrumbs]

Dear Dustcrumbs. with HorrorDust, what would happen if Dust goes to needles and harder doses of dugs?

I would like to know Horrors reaction if he found Dust passed out on the floor on the brink of death. And then seeing it happen again literally the week after that.

Horror would be more prone to outbursts towards the other members. If he even spots a sign of irritation or stress from Dust. Horror makes it his priority to keep him distracted and focused solely on him. Because he is trying everything to prevent Dust from feeling the need to take any substance.

Anytime Dust leaves Horrors sight, he picks at his skull and scratches at his eye socket. He's always so paranoid on where Dust is and what he's doing because he CANT trust him.

Horror quite literally begins to cling onto Dust like some pathetic puppy. Always whining in his ear and constantly pawing at his knees whenever they sit down (not literal, but ykw, I mean).

Whenever Dust is found on the ground, barely breathing. Horror always keeps his head over his chest, making sure his heart is beating and his lungs are pumping. He can't call Nightmare for help unless it's an emergency. Since Dust practically begged him not to call him unless he wasn't moving at all.

And as the good stupid dog he is. He obeys.

Dust always feels guilty for forcing Horror to stay with him and constantly tries to distance himself from him. But Horror continuously clings onto him and seeks affection or the need to care for Dust.

No matter how much times Dust screams at Horror and curses him out, Horror will be the first to apologize. And it just pisses Dust off, that Horror has little respect for himself. He hates how Horror let's him push him around.

But Horror can't really be mad at Dust. All Horror sees is just a pathetic sad man, and he can't get angry with someone he adores. He'd rarely lash out, and if he does. It's usually having breakdowns when he's with Nightmare or Killer.

Horror is just a mess, and he desperately wants to be loved the same way he did. But Dust is constantly on the brink of death or too focused on getting high than to sleep with Horror for one night.

They really go more into the

"I'll love you like a dog"

"So I'll treat you like one."

But ending on a good note!!!

Dust would always cuddle and nip at Horrors shoulder, affectionately, whenever Horror seemed upset.

And if Dust had ever seen that his drugs got Horror injured. Then he'd abruptly stop and ask Nightmare for restrictions on himself or help to stop.

Ex: Dust lashes out at Horror and quite literally begins choking him, till the very last breath. He snaps out of it after Horrors whimpers faded away and him clawing at Dusts arms had went still.

Dust would obviously check if Horrors alive before he clings onto the big man, desperately apologizing before calling for Nightmare. Then he'd beg for some solution and ask if he could be locked up away from Horror or smth

And Nightmare is like

"Woah, what if we jsut put you in therapy vro"

And dusy is like

"Please."

And boom!!

Him and Horror cuddle, drug free, nicotine free, alcohol free, trust.

They kiss and Horror no longer tastes the bitter taste of beer anymore

(Horrible summary but shh)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: All you wanted was for Ben to have a nice Thanksgiving, but when your daughter brings her new boyfriend over, all hell brakes loose! This one-shot takes place in You Call It Madness But I Call It Love universe! Reader is described as "Curvy."

Tropes: Fluff, Awkward Situation Over The Holidays, Bringing A Boyfriend Home For The First Time.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. There is some swearing, Heated Kiss (a few), Sexual Innuendo, Implied Sex, Flirting, References to Sex (it happens quite a bit), Ben loves his wife, Ben REALLY loves his wife. Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). SOFT Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy might be a little OC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: Truthfully this is a lot of fluff and soft Ben, having a proper family Thanksgiving (well sort of). Really, just Ben showing how much he loves his wife... AND I had this completely unhinged idea forever ago, but everyone say thank you to @anna6307 for reminding me to write it. ❤️

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy POV

Ben reaches out his arm to your side of the bed as he wakes up without opening his eyes, but his hand finds cold empty sheets instead of your soft warm body.

His eyes blink open, the light from the open windows at the foot of the bed brilliant as he looks out at the view of the backyard, seeing the peaks of the thick trees that point upwards to the sky and just a glimpse of the sea beyond, sparkling in the early morning light.

It was Thanksgiving, Ben's first since he came back from Russia and despite his numerous insistences that "it wasn't a big deal" you weren't listening to him.

Honestly, what was new? Ben thought to himself with a sigh.

Holidays for him were always bittersweet.

When he was a child and in his teen years he spent the holidays at the elegant parties your parents threw in your family home sneaking eggnog and sips of whiskey from the flask in his coat while the two of you avoided his plastered father, and while he was with you he had a good time, but it was the quiet that came when he went home to the cold shell of his father's house that left a chill behind.

Truthfully, Ben would have just stayed at the boarding schools during the holidays if he hadn't been so eager to get back to you. He liked going to your family's parties, liked standing next to you and taking the brunt of your mother's disapproving glances. When he wasn't there he knew that she turned those looks on you and knew that she was less likely to make a comment about how you looked when he was a worthy target, and he was more than happy to take it, if it meant that he would get to see you smile and enjoy yourself.

Ben didn't care much for holidays, hadn't since his mother died, but he knew how much you loved them and he knew that you had sacrificed that love for them when you came with him to become a supe.

Your mother had banned you from your home the minute you told her that you weren't going to marry Howard and that you were going with Ben, and despite your father's insistences, your mother refused to let you return for Thanksgiving and for Christmas. Which meant that you were left with nowhere to celebrate and nowhere to go for the holidays you loved so much.

Ben did everything he could to make sure that the two of you celebrated in your own way. The early Thanksgivings were spent eating turkey sandwiches in Central Park, while Ben tried his upmost to make you smile, but the later ones were spent at the lavish parties that Legend threw. And no matter how many women tried to pull Ben away from you, he stayed beside you making sure that you were having a good time, but even at those parties you never seemed as happy as you had when you were back home in Philadelphia or when it was just the two of you.

It always made a sick feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, because it made him believe that you regretted coming with him.

But today would be different.

It would be the first Thanksgiving that Ben had spent with you since he left. You told him that Rosemary, Lou, and you always spent the holidays in the house in Maine and Ben didn’t complain. He liked the house and he liked how happy you seemed there, how you seemed to leave any anxiety you had back in the city.

And despite all the other Thanksgivings the two of you had spent at Legend's blowouts soaked with booze, Ben saw that you were genuinely excited and happy this year to celebrate, and it made him feel like he'd done something right for once.

But of all the things that Ben had learned about you after he came back, the fact that you liked to cook and knew how was still astounding to him. Sure, he had some dated ideas about what women's roles were, but when you'd still been a supe with him in the past Ben hadn't seen you cook once. The only time you'd gone into the kitchen in the past was to make coffee.

And hearing that you were going to cook Thanksgiving dinner almost made Ben start to look for pigs flying around outside.

He and you had come to the house in the Maine countryside early to get everything set up while Rosemary, Lou, Ryan, and Rosemary's new boyfriend were coming today to stay for a week. Ryan's school didn't give him the full week off, and Rosemary's boyfriend was working up until Thanksgiving day.

Ben frowned when he thought about Rosemary bringing home a man with her for Thanksgiving. He already didn't like the thought that Rosemary was bringing some random guy around Lou that Ben didn't know anything about and despite Ben not being around for forty years, he didn’t like the thought of some creep dating his daughter. Ben might not have been a huge influence in Rosemary's life, but the thought that some asshole was just screwing around with her made Ben furious. He knew exactly what men wanted from women and like hell some dipshit was going to get it from his daughter.

When he told you that you'd kissed him on the cheek and told him that he was "being cute" and that Rosemary was old enough to make her own decisions. But at least you hadn't seemed too keen on meeting the guy either.

When Ben had asked you if you knew anything about Rosemary's boyfriend, you'd said that Rosemary hadn’t told you too much, wouldn't even tell you his name because she didn't want you to "stalk him" so all you knew was that he worked at Supe Affairs, and that he was nice. Lou had piped up and said that whoever this guy was brought by flowers for Rosie each time he showed up and always made sure to bring Lou a sunflower because he knew how much she liked them.

Ben had tried to get Lou to tell him who this guy was or at least what his name was by bargaining with ice cream, but Lou had refused, said that she "made her mommy a promise" and that she "wasn't a snitch." Ben was proud of her for holding her ground like that and took her out for ice cream, but it didn't make him any less frustrated when he tried to figure out who it was that Rosie was bringing here for Thanksgiving.

Ben was racking his mind trying to remember a moment that he would have seen her and her boyfriend together at work, but Ben hadn't seen Rosemary talking to anyone new at the office, just the team.

Not to mention, Ben didn't want to be trapped in the house with the guy, listening to him rail Ben's daughter. There were moments where Ben wished he didn't have supe hearing, and that certainly seemed like a moment he wouldn't want it.

Rosemary felt the same way of course. She also had supe hearing and had woken up in the middle of the night the last time she stayed with Ben and you at the Maine house and had witnessed something that she said was "grotesque." Personally, Ben was no longer embarrassed about that kind of thing, not to mention he liked how loud you were and how loud he could make you, but you certainly hadn't been able to look your daughter in the eye for a week when you realized exactly what she'd heard.

And then you had made the rule of no sex while Rosemary was around.

Ben hated that rule and it was difficult for him. He didn't like going too long without touching you, not to mention he liked it immensely when you touched him, so last night Ben had tried to get it all out of his system and give you a little bit of stress relief from all the meal prep and cleaning. He hated seeing you so stressed.

Of course the rule also meant that Ben could tease you as long as he wanted to. And that usually lead to you dragging him out to the car to run “errands,” when the two of you ended up parked a few miles away running errands in the front seat of his car.

The window was open, allowing the chill in the wind to creep through the opening, the leaves on the trees beyond were burnished gold, red, and orange, and Ben could hear the crashing of the waves along the rocky shore.

He enjoyed being here as much as you did. Walking along the shore holding your hand, barefoot while the waves lapped at his feet, sitting on the couch in the den with you in his lap listening to music, watching you paint in the screened in back porch that you'd turned into your studio while he read his newspaper, and falling asleep with his body curled protectively around yours pressing kisses into your bare shoulder as you drifted off with a soft smile, holding on tight to the arm that was wrapped around your waist. He didn't think that his life would ever look like this, sure he'd thought about what it would look like to be with you, but he didn't know how he'd gotten it and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Ben turns his gaze to your side of the bed to confirm what he already knew, that you're not there and he sighed.

Ben didn't like waking up without you, he also hated going to sleep without you, but waking up in an empty bed only made him think of all the mornings that he spent away from you, the mornings when he was away on a film shoot and to remedy how much he missed you he called just to hear your voice, other mornings when he'd wake up to a cold bed after whoever he'd slept with had left, and other mornings from his youth where he was away at another boarding school and he missed the weight of your body next to his.

Usually as you slept, you would subconsciously curl into him, and he would wake up with you on his chest, your head over his heart, your left arm curved over his torso to hold him closer to you. He liked that, because even if you woke up before him you didn't move. Instead you would stay there, pressing a kiss over his heart, running your hand up to stroke his cheek, or push his hair back because you know how much he likes it. It was a nice way to wake up.

With you there, smiling at him, looking at him as if he's all you see, as if you can see through him, through bones and flesh into his soul. And you never look away no matter how much you see. You accept him as he is, all the parts that Ben worked so hard to hide from the rest of the world like his father taught him, the other parts that he isn't proud of, and yet you love him.

You'd worn many titles over the years. His best friend, his teammate, the woman he loves, and now his wife. And at every stage, every ascension to a new name place, Ben still didn't deserve you and everything you did for him.

He never had and he knew that he never will. He'd never met someone so happy to love him, so eager to give him all of you even after all the shit he'd done to you, and so excited to spend the rest of your life with him. Ben's eyes drop to the ring on his left hand and he smiles to himself. It had been three months since the two of you stood in front of a small group of people, you radiant in white and holding a bouquet of lavender listening to him make a promise to love you and protect you for as long as he lived and him listening to you promise the same thing. It was the one thing the two of you should have done ages ago, but all Ben cared about was that he had you, that he wasn't going to lose you ever again, and that you were his and wanted to be his for the rest of your life.

And he couldn't have been happier. Ben had never been this happy in his entire life and he knew that it had everything to do with you.

Funny, if someone had asked him in the past if he was happy he would have said yes without hesitation, but now he knew that he wasn't. This was happiness, being with you, spending the rest of his life making up for the past, making you smile, and feeling the unconditional love you had for him each day as you eased any worries he had about expressing too much, when he'd spent his life expressing the bare minimum of emotions that he usually locked away.

But waking up in bed without you made him unhappy.

He frowned and sat up, the blankets falling away from his bare chest with the movement as he looks around the room for signs that you were there, but the bathroom door stands ajar and the bedroom door is cracked open.

Ben focuses his hearing and hears you downstairs banging around in the kitchen. He sighs again.

How long has she been down there?

He thinks with a groan getting out of bed and trying to find his sweatpants. Ben wasn't sure where you'd thrown them when you ripped them off of him last night, but after he finds them halfway under the dresser he makes his way downstairs. His fingers run through his hair, brushing it back away from his face, his bare feet padding down the hardwood stairs.

The smell of turkey, fresh bread, cinnamon, and cloves wafted up the staircase and there was a warmth in the large open kitchen that came from the oven and from the wide open bay windows above the sink where the rising sun bathed the room in a honeyed glow. Ben could see you swaying to music where you stood at the sink, trying to wash some of dishes that were stacked high over the lip of the marble countertops.

You had flour smudged on your right cheekbone, and stuffing in your hair that was tied back from your face with a bandana and you were wearing one of his oversized shirts and the pair jeans that Ben loved on you, the ones that hugged your curves just the right way to drive him crazy.

Truthfully, Ben was happy that you were getting more comfortable wearing things that actually showed your curves again, especially after all the years you'd spent being swaddled in monstrosities of lace, choked by shape-wear, and stuffed into clothes only created to hide the curves that drove Ben mad whenever he saw them. Even in your years as a supe, you'd been hesitant to wear anything form fitting, still feeling the cold disapproval of your mother almost decades after she'd been put in the ground. If anything Ben liked how curvy you were, he liked that you had just a little more that he could hold on to and squeeze.

And like hell Ben was going to let his wife feel insecure in her own body, especially in one that made him feel like he was a damn teenager again whenever he got his hands on you.

There were remnants of potato peels, bundled plastic wrap, and tops of carrots scattered like fallen leaves over the kitchen island. Not one piece of countertop was spared by the destruction of your preparation for Thanksgiving, only sweeping chaos left behind in your wake.

Ben expected that. Your art studio back at the apartment was the same way, and whenever he teased you about it, you'd only roll your eyes at him and say that "there was no point in a creative space without having a little chaos."

The speaker in the kitchen is blasting one of your favorites, "You're All I Need To Get By" by Aretha Franklin. Ben personally didn't like her work, thought that she catered more to a feminine audience, but he knew how much you loved her. He had taken you to a private concert once for one of your birthdays, sat through the entire thing trying not to  grimace, but each time he almost did, he'd look over at you and see how happy you were and he'd smile instead.

You were singing it to yourself, swaying your hips along with the melody in a way that reminded Ben of exactly what you'd done with them last night.

He couldn't understand how he got so lucky and again he wondered how he ended up here with you.

Ben leaned against the doorway to watch for a few minutes, trying not to make a face when you'd screech. You were never the best singer in the world and Ben had been subject to your singing more than once in all the time he'd known you, more often on nights when the two of you would go out for drinks at the bar down the street from your childhood home in Philadelphia. You would belt songs as loud as you could on the drunken walk home, wobbling on your feet, while Ben tried his best to keep you walking in a straight line and keep you steady to avoid you falling on your face and busting your lip open on the curb.

He steps forward into the room, creeping up behind you, reaching out to grab you when-

"If you're trying to scare me that's not going to work." You say, scrubbing at one of the stainless steel bowls in your hand with a scrub brush.

Ben snorts and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. You smelled like him again. "Didn't think you'd be able to hear me over the screeching."

"What screeching?"

"You trying to sing."

"I don't think you're exactly Frank Sinatra."

"Fuck, I miss that bastard. And the Rat Pack, we had some good times-"

"Yes. I remember something about you destroying a suite in Vegas and me sweet talking a cop to get you out of it." You hesitate, pulling your hands out from under the warm water. "Sinatra was quite the charmer, voice like velvet, not too bad looking and-"

"Just like me."

You laugh and lean back into his embrace, while Ben begins to sway you to the music. "I'm not too sure about that."

"Hmm." Ben sighs into your shoulder. "Why weren't you in bed when I woke up?"

"I'm sorry." You turn to kiss him on his bearded cheek, lingering for a minute longer in a way that makes Ben feel his heart thud an extra beat.

"What time did you get up?"

"5."

"Why the fuck have you been up for six hours?"

"Because I had to start cooking."

Ben can see the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin, settling over your shoulders, at the thought of how much you had to do. He didn't like it so he began to press his lips along the slope of your neck, feeling you sigh and relax in his arms as he pulls you closer against his body.

Fuck, you felt good.

You were always warm and soft in all the places that Ben was muscular and hard. You always fit so perfectly against him, in a way that made Ben refuse to believe that anyone else did. You were his in every possible way, had been his in every way since you were kids even if he was too afraid to admit it.

"I had to chop the carrots, boil the potatoes, make the pumpkin pie, stuff the turkey-" You continue with a sigh.

"You've been talking about stuffing that damn turkey for two days. Why don't you let me stuff something for a change?" Ben murmured, beginning to kiss down your throat, and moving his hands that were on your waist up under the oversized shirt you were wearing, trailing over your warm skin.

"You're a disgusting old man." You groan, but Ben can hear the smile in your voice without opening his eyes.

"You knew that when you married me Sweetheart." Ben smirks.

"Unfortunately."

"I think it's what you love most about me."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's how humble you are." You laugh at your joke and Ben squeezes you in response.

Ben moves his hand higher underneath your shirt stopping just below your bra, nibbling on your earlobe. "Come on Sweetheart, I want to have you one more time before Rosemary shows up."

"Ben-" You groan, your hands braced against the counter he'd pinned you against. "I can't I still have to-"

"By the time you finish arguing we could already be getting to the fun part."

You smirk at him over your shoulder. "Maybe I think the arguing is the fun part."

"Oh really?" Ben feels his smirk grow and this time he doesn't stop his hand from reaching past the edge of your bra and you gasp softly.

Ben couldn't get enough of the way you responded to him when he touched you, the sounds you made into his mouth when he made love to you, the little gasps, cries, and moans of his name that he replayed for himself whenever he was away on a mission and the ones he loved to recreate when he returned home to you. "Are you saying that you didn't have fun at all yesterday? Or last night?"

"No-" You say, trying to keep your voice even, but Ben can feel the tremor that courses through your body when the memory of what the two of you did comes roaring back.

"You're lying." He breathes into your throat. "You know I can tell when you lie."

"Ben really-"

Ben fits his lips over your mouth,  swallowing whatever excuse you were going to say whole. “As much as I like you in my clothes, I think it’s time you take this off.” He tugs at the bottom of your shirt.

"Ben I've still got to-" You try again, but this time Ben begins to suck a mark just under your jawline, next to the other one he left last night.

He liked doing that, as if the ring on your finger wasn't enough, Ben felt a primal urge to mark you so anyone who sees you knew that you were taken, and that you were his. He also knew that you liked it too. He could practically taste how much you wanted him against your lips, could feel it buzzing through your skin everywhere he was touching you. Ben loved that after all these years, he still had the same effect on you.

You sigh, reaching back to tangle your still wet hand in his hair. "You're fighting dirty." You say in a pout.

"By now you should know it’s the only way I know how sweetheart." Ben laughs against your skin, and he can feel your resolve begin to waver.

You groan again, tightening your hands in his hair and pushing your body back against his chest as his hands roam over the curves he loves so much.  "Fine." You mutter in utter defeat. "You get ten minutes, but if anything burns, Benjamin I swear I'm going to divorce you."

"I'd only convince you to marry me again doll." Ben chuckles. "And I only need 7."

*Exactly 27 minutes later*

Reader POV

"I'm going to get the divorce papers as soon as I take this turkey out of the oven! You said 7 minutes Benjamin!" You shout reaching for the oven mitts that you left haphazardly on the counter before Ben dragged you back to the bedroom.

Well, dragged is a relative term given how he carried you up the stairs with your mouth locked with his and your hands tangling in his hair.  And you might have complained about how long the two of you were upstairs, but you don't think that you would ever complain about anything Ben did to you.

You couldn't. Not when you still couldn't quite feel your legs and could feel your heartbeat thudding hard against your ribcage while you tried to catch your breath.

You take a step on shaky legs towards the oven, but Ben intercepts. "Let me do that doll." He gives you a knowing smirk that makes you weak in the knees. "Wouldn't want you to drop it."

"I hate you." You mutter under his breath when Ben reaches in to pull out the turkey, not bothering to put the over mitts on. You didn't need them either, but you liked using the oven mitts, they made you feel normal.

"I love you too sweetheart." He winks as he puts the turkey on top of the crowded stove. "Looks good."

"I love how surprised you are that I can cook."

"You weren't exactly Julia Child before I went to Russia." He says surveying the different foil covered dishes on top of the stove.

"I had to learn how to cook after I had Rosemary, toddlers get kinda hangry if you don't feed them, but Melanie helped. Taught me everything I know. I owe her so much." You smile at the memory of the older woman who welcomed you into her home when you felt so lost after Ben broke your heart and was taken to Russia. The woman who was more of a mother to you than your own flesh and blood. It was Melanie who brought you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you in the wake of what Ben had yelled at you at the premiere after you walked in on him and Countess.

Something that you no longer stung as much as it had. Ben had made it up to you, and despite how many times you told him not to feel guilty over what had happened, and that you had forgiven him, he refused to stop making it up to you everyday. And you'd never been so happy in your entire life.

"I do too." Ben murmurs pulling you close to him again and dragging his fingers over the plains of your face to push back your hair.

You knew that he still felt guilty for not being there when Rosemary was a kid, but you believed that the relationship that he was building with your daughter was making it better. Although it had a rocky start, Ben and Rosemary were getting along a lot better than they had been. You attributed that to how close they were working together, but you knew that Ben was becoming more optimistic about their relationship.

 "And why couldn't Rosemary help cook some of this shit? Why does it have to be just you?" Ben frowns.

“She’s bringing some things. I just didn’t want to make her bring too much because she’s got Ryan and Lou.”

“And that asshole.”

“We don’t know he’s an asshole.” You snort.

“He’s a guy.”

“You’re a guy, Ben.”

He frowns, and you couldn’t help but think that it was cute how protective he was acting. “So? He’s probably some pompous jerk.”

“It’s her life. And trust me, after everything that happened with Charlie, Rosemary is definitely making sure that  he’s not a creep.”

“But why won’t she tell us who the fuck he is?”

You press your lips together into a tight line. You’d also thought it was weird how close lipped Rosemary was being about the guy she’d been dating, but whenever you tried to bring him up she refused to talk about him. You didn’t understand why she was being so secretive, but the last time you'd asked her why she wouldn't tell you she said that she didn't want you to "scare him away."

Honestly, it's like she thinks I'm Ben or something. And I was nothing but supportive about Charlie and look what happened to him!

But you trusted her to make a good decision, figured that everything that happened with Charlie made her more wary about who she fell into bed with.

You fight the wave of nausea when you think about Rosemary having sex with her boyfriend.

Please let them not have sex in the house.

You think with a shudder.

The last thing you wanted to hear was Rosemary and her boyfriend having sex in the bedroom next to Ben and yours. It had been embarrassing enough when she heard Ben and you the last time, before you instituted the rule that Ben barely followed.

To be fair you hated that rule as much as he did.

 Of course, you knew they were sleeping together. Whenever she'd come home late from a date and practically floated into her apartment on nights Ben and you babysat, you could smell him all over her.

What was even weirder was that the smell was familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

But you liked seeing how happy she was, she deserved that after everything that happened with Charlie.

“I don’t know, she probably doesn’t want to say so you won’t show up and do whatever this is that you're doing." You reply.

"And what the fuck do you think I'm doing?"

You smile and pinch his cheek, making his frown deepen. "Being absolutely adorable."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? You are. I love it that you're going full protective dad mode." You smile.

"Don't tempt me doll."

"Oh baby." Your smile turns more into a smirk, working your hands up his bare chest and feeling a groan vibrate through the palms of your hands. "We both know how much you love it."

Ben's eyes darken in a way that reminds you of exactly what the two of you had just been doing that almost resulted in the burning of the turkey.

You arch up to kiss him, but right before your lips touch his, you pull back. "Go get dressed. I'll be up in a bit to change before they get here-"

"I was going to wait for you to do that." Ben's eyes are still dark when you turn to the stove to find the meat thermometer.

"Why?" You ask leaning over the turkey to inspect it.

Ben pulls your body back into his. "Because I figure you're going to need a shower and I thought we might as well save some water."

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you sweetheart." Ben's lips press against your ear, the warmth of his breath making goosebumps skitter over your arms. "We both know how much you love it." He murmurs using your own words against you.

One of these days, he's going to make me spontaneously combust.

But you did love it. You loved every minute you spent with him, loved the way he looked at you, loved the way he touched you, and loved the way Ben made you feel loved. The way you imagined this life with Ben when you were younger, was nothing compared to the real thing.

"Give me thirty minutes." You whisper kissing him once more.

"I'll be waiting."

Reader POV

You fidget with the collar of the oversized black sweater, hoping that the edge is thick enough to cover the collection of marks on your neck that Ben left behind, while listening to the car come to a stop at the end of the long driveway outside the house.

Ben catches your hand to pull it away from the top of your sweater. "Why bother hiding it Sweetheart?" He purrs with a smirk, his dark hair still wet from the shower and hanging into green eyes that shine with mischief. Just as they did when you were kids, and even after all of these years, it still does the same thing to you. It still makes your heart beat an extra beat, still makes a warm tingle travel down your spine, and still makes your chest just a little tight.

"Because I'd like to not be covered in hickeys when I meet Rosemary's boyfriend for the first time."

He shrugs. "It's not like Rosemary doesn't know what we were doing before she showed up. He might as well learn early. And you never try to cover the marks you leave on me-"

"Because most of the ones I leave on you aren't as visible when you're wearing this many clothes." You roll your eyes, but give his hand a squeeze where it still holds yours. "And aren't I a little old to be having hickeys?"

"You're never too old for something like that doll." Ben leans down towards you, the mischief flickering into something else, morphing into the love that he'd shown you the minute he came back into your life. "Especially not when you keep me young."

"Well, you are older than me."

"Only by a few months."

"It makes all the difference. How does it feel to be old and rickety?"

Ben chuckles under his breath. "You didn't think I was old an rickety earlier."

The front door knob jiggles, stopping whatever you were going to respond with when Lou comes running into the room like a shot out of a cannon.

“Grandpa!” She crows and runs past you to leap into Ben’s arms.

As adorable as you thought it was how much that Lou loved Ben and how much Ben loved her, you couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous that Lou didn't say hi to you first. But the look on Ben's face when he hugs his granddaughter back makes all of that go away.

You remember how afraid you were to tell Ben about Lou and Rosemary, but each time you saw how genuinely happy Ben was to spend time with his granddaughter made your heart feel like it would burst. Because all you saw was the man you loved and the boy you grew up with. There wasn’t one shred of the persona Ben adopted as Soldier Boy and it made you love him more.

“Hey Louie.” Ben smiles picking up Lou so he’s not bending down. “How’s my favorite girl?”

“I missed you Ben!” Her little arms hug around his neck tight.

“Guess she didn’t miss me.” You mutter under your breath giving Ben a pointed look.

He only smirks at you over Lou’s shoulder.

“I missed you too grandma!” Lou says, her own supe hearing picking up what you whispered. “I just figured that Ben needs more hugs.”

“And why is that?” You laugh.

“Because you’ve been here longer and Ben has missed out on so many.” She reasons hugging Ben tighter.

The look in Ben's eyes when she says that shifts to something softer as he holds her close to him, hugging her back as tight as he dares. “Thank you honey.”

Ryan comes in next, holding a brown paper bag that must hold the sides that you asked Rosemary to bring with her, but she and her boyfriend still haven't made an appearance in the kitchen.

"Hey grandma. Happy Thanksgiving." Ryan smiles. "Where should I put this?"

"Just on the table is fine, but can I have a hug. I'm feeling a little left out." You joke throwing another glance at Ben and Lou.

Ryan hugs you half-heartedly. He was getting into his teen years, so things like hugs were always going to be a little awkward for a while, but you didn't care.

You liked that he was adjusting to his new life. He'd made a few friends at the school he attended, and Butcher would come by to make sure that Ryan was still doing his homework and to hang out with him.

You felt a little bad that Butcher would be spending Thanksgiving alone, you'd asked Ryan to invite him to come with them so Butcher could have a place to go, but Ryan had said that Butcher had "plans" and you'd missed the smile that Ryan hid when you turned away.

"Where's Rosemary?" You ask him when he pulls away.

"She's getting the bags."

"And you're not going to help her?" Ben raises an eyebrow at the teenager.

"But she's a supe-"

"That doesn't matter, go on." Ben nudges his head in the direction of the front door, a stern look on his face.

"But-"

"Don't argue with Ben." You say, gently pushing Ryan towards the door.

"Fine." Ryan mutters.

"I can help too Grandpa!" Lou cries, squirming so Ben knows that she wants to be put down.

"No sweetie." Ben puts her down, but she keeps a tight hold on his hand. "The only thing I want you to worry about is giving your grandma a hug."

Lou grabs on to you so tight that you're sure there's a bruise somewhere, but you don't care. You love your granddaughter even more than Ben, which was saying a lot, and Ben didn't need to know that.

I mean… he already knows.

"Happy Thanksgiving Grandma." Lou breathes.

"Happy Thanksgiving baby." You say, holding on to her.

You were happy to see your granddaughter, but you could feel the thrum of anxiety beneath your skin. You were a little nervous about meeting Rosemary's boyfriend. Maybe it was because you knew absolutely nothing about him, but for some reason it was making you more anxious than making a giant dinner for your entire family.

"Hey mom. Hey Ben. Happy Thanksgiving." Rosemary smiles at the two of you, holding a giant multicolored cornucopia of flowers. You'd told her that you wanted a centerpiece and despite being an artist for most of your life, Rosemary was better at merging together different flowers and textures to create truly awe-inspiring centerpieces.

You didn't know she did it, but each time she managed to surprise you with something that altered your brain chemistry.

"Happy Thanksgiving." You pull her in for a one armed hug. "Wow you've really outdone yourself with this one." Your eyes skate over the Sunflowers, red Daisies, orange Mums, and dark blue delphiniums in her other hand. There was a strong smell of cinnamon in the air, coming from the looped cinnamon sticks that she had woven in around the blooms.

"Thanks." She beams.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Ben asks, leaning against the counter. He'd be the picture of casual if you couldn't see the frown on his face, that he didn't even bother to hide.

"He's helping Ryan with the bags." She steps around you to move the centerpiece into the dining room, squeezing Ben on the arm as she walks past.

It makes you smile to yourself. Rosemary and Ben still had a long way to go before she was up for hugging him, but you could see that she was trying to get more used to him being around. You think that Ben marrying you helped. Not that Rosemary was old fashioned, but you think it solidified something in her head that Ben wasn't going anywhere and that he wasn't going to leave you again. You also think that Rosemary seeing the gentle way Ben was around Lou helped too, that Rosemary saw another side of him other than the side she'd seen in all those ridiculous movies, music videos, and pictures of Soldier Boy she'd seen growing up.

But you could also see the way it was making Ben feel better. When they first met he had been so discouraged by that way Rosemary treated him, but now when they spent time around one another you could see how happy Ben was and it warmed your heart.

You wanted Ben to feel like he belonged, it was his family too, not just yours. And every day you saw how Ben was starting to believe that more and more.

Ryan comes back into the room, loaded down with bags, but the man who comes in through the front door behind him isn't Rosemary's boyfriend, it's Billy Butcher.

He stops just inside the doorway, looking from you to Ben with an odd expression, as if he's not sure what to say.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ben frowns at the man.

Ben barely tolerated Butcher, after missions he would come home and complain to you about something that Butcher ordered him to do. Personally you never thought that Butcher had Ben do anything that sounded like something Ben should complain about, but you knew that Ben had always had a problem following orders.

Weirder still was that Ben often said when he exploded on Butcher, it was Rosemary who would step in to try and calm Ben down. You didn't know why that was.

Honestly, you didn't hate Butcher, but you were wary of him. You thought he knew too much about your family and were often worried that he would sell all of you out for the right price. It did make you happy to see Ryan so happy with Butcher, but you weren't sure if you could trust him. He was one of the only people who knew what Lou could really do, one of the only people who knew what your power really was, and one of the only people who knew that Lou was the one who took down Homelander.

But at the same time you were happy that he was there. He was the closest connection that Ryan had to his mother, and you were glad that Ryan could have another person in his life who loved him. You'd seen what had happened with your own son and what happened to him when no one loved him. And you didn’t want that to happen to Ryan.

You elbow Ben hard in the stomach.

"What'd you do that for?" Ben asks.

Butcher clears his throat to say something, but you speak before he can.

"Please ignore Ben. I'm so glad you decided to join us. I was worried that you were just going to spend Thanksgiving holed up in your apartment. Ryan always talks about you when you're not here."

"Uh-" He clears his throat again and it's the first time that you’d ever heard him sound nervous.

You smile widely to make him feel more comfortable, taking his awkwardness as a reaction to what Ben said. "It's a good thing too, because I think I made way too much food."

"Right." Butcher clears his throat. "These are for you." He holds out a large bouquet of Lavender wrapped in crinkling brown paper towards you.

"Oh wow. Thanks." Surprise flits across your mind when you try to reason why Butcher brought you flowers, but you still take them. Ben seems to also consider this because, he frowns at the flowers as if he's debating whether or not to throw them away or if he should take it as a threat.

"Rose said they were your favorite." Butcher cracks an awkward smile.

The nickname makes you pause.

Rosemary hates it when anyone else other than us calls her by a nickname…

"And this is for you." Butcher holds out a bottle of whiskey towards Ben, who takes it, also confused by Butcher's sudden generosity.

"Thanks." Ben grunts, but he doesn't smile.

"You didn't have to bring us anything." You look down at the flowers, inhaling the fragrant blooms. "I mean, the invitation out here for Thanksgiving was not contingent upon gifts."

"I thought it was a good idea." Rosemary says, reentering the room with Lou following behind her. Butcher glances at her like a lifeline.

"Why?" You ask hesitantly.

A sick feeling begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach. You had a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, but you were still holding out for a miracle.

Ben looks past Butcher towards the front door of the house, looking for the boyfriend who was supposed to be getting the bags out of the car, but no one appears in the doorway. "How long does it take to get bags out of the car? Is your boyfriend hiding outside like a fucking pussy or something?"

Rosemary steps even closer to Butcher and this time she takes his hand.

Oh. My. Fuck.

"No. He's right here. Mom, Ben, You guys both know Will." She smiles up at him the same way that she used to smile at Charlie, when she was head over heels and nothing could drag her away. Her whole heart open and you can see the flicker of the same feeling reflected in Butcher's eyes when he glances at her.

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, the awkward silence hanging over you all like a anvil choosing a target.

If Rosemary had come in here and announced that she was pregnant with an alien's baby you would have been less surprised than what she has just admitted. It was so far out in left field that you felt half-way to China. You had no idea how on earth this had happened or why it had happened.

There's a high pitched cracking noise, followed by an audible smash, as pieces of what was the whiskey bottle rain down from Ben's hand. He'd crushed the whole thing by just flexing his fingers.

"Surprise!" Lou grins ear to ear, swinging from Butcher's other hand, unable to read the room.

There's an awkward silence hovering over the room in the wake of their confession. Honestly, you're not sure what you’re feeling. Sure, you felt a little bit betrayed that Rosemary kept it from you for so long, but the feeling racing through your veins was unnamable.

"Lou go upstairs with Ryan." Ben growls in a low voice.

You had no idea how to respond to this. The only voice in your head was screaming "WHY HIM?"

Because really, why Billy Butcher?

"But-"

"Listen to Ben sweetie." You say in a tight voice, your eyes not leaving Butcher and Rosemary.

Rosemary's smile falters for a minute, as Lou goes up the stairs and no one speaks again until you hear her bedroom door close.

"No." Ben states calmly, wiping his hand with one of the dish towels.

"No, what?" Rosemary asks confused. She's still holding on to Butcher's hand, who looks as confused as she does.

"No. You're not allowed to date this British Fuck!" Ben shouts.

"Calm down mate-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" He takes a step forward and you hold out your arm to stop him. The heat of his skin is burning through his clothes where your arm makes contact with the front of his shirt. "And get your hands off my fucking daughter!"

"You cannot tell me what to do Ben! I am a grown woman and-"

"I don't give a single fuck. You're not going to date this Son of a Bitch." Ben's eyes narrow, pointing with one finger.

"And I don't give a single fuck what you say! I'm forty years old and you don't get to tell me who I can and cannot date." She shouts back.

"I am your father-"

"You're just the guy who got my mom pregnant!"

"Hey!" You shout interrupting the retort that is about to come out of Ben's mouth. "We're not going back to that."

"But he's being absolutely-"

"Rosemary." You clear your throat, interrupting her. "How long?"

"I don’t see why that matters-"

"How long?" You say again, interrupting her.

"Four months." Rosemary replies.

Butcher still looks like he's unsure what to do or what to say.

"Four months…" You nod methodically, and then you lose your last shred of composure. "Four MOTHER FUCKING MONTHS?!" You shout. "Are you insane?"

"Mom-"

You hold up a hand. "No. No. You had your chance. You've been sneaking around with William Fucking Butcher for four months! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I knew you would react like this."

"React completely justified to finding out that you're dating the guy who has killed countless people and tortured others to-"

"Look who's talking!" Rosemary spits.

Ben's body goes taunt next to you and you can practically feel the air heat with the force of his anger.

"Don't you turn this around on Ben!" You snap. "We're not discussing him right now. We're discussing you and him." You make a wild gesture at Butcher who looks even more uncomfortable now that you've started shouting.

Probably was just expecting Ben to freak out.

"I don't care-"

"Well that appears to be seen." You sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying very hard to make the images of Butcher and your daughter rolling around in bed together dissipate.

They weren't and there were so many.

"I can't believe that you did this. That you're-" You can't even get the words out of your mouth.

"Will you just listen to me for one fucking minute?!" Rosemary screams over you.

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" Ben seethes.

"And don’t you talk to Rose like that you arrogant wanker!" Butcher mirrors taking a step forward.

"That's it!" Ben tries to step around you, but you shift to intercept.

"You're not going to kill him in my kitchen." You say to Ben.

"Thank you-" Rosemary begins to say.

"Let's take him outside and kill him there." You continue.

"Good idea sweetheart. Less mess." Ben agrees.

"No!" Rosemary is now standing between Ben, you, and Butcher, shielding him from the two of you. "I love him and I'm not going to let you touch him!"

Her words make you freeze.

Sure, Butcher was hot and sexy in a rugged unwashed sort of way but you'd never believe that Rosemary had fallen in love with him. You weren't even sure that Butcher was capable of falling in love with anyone else after everything that happened with his wife and yet here he was standing in your house, in your kitchen, holding on to your daughter's hand, looking into your daughter's eyes as if he had fallen for her.

Since Charlie, Rosemary hadn't been on one date, hadn't spoken about anyone or made a comment about someone that she met at work. Before Charlie, Rosemary had only had a handful of dates. He was her one big love, the one that she fell head over heels for, the one who swept her off her feet, and then shattered her heart.

You had not once seen Rosemary look as happy as she did in the years since Charlie, except on nights that she spent coming home from a date with Butcher. You wanted her to be happy, you wanted her to find the same love that Ben and you shared, you wanted her to find someone who understood her completely the way that Ben understood you.

"Mom." Rosemary breathes. "You once told me that love shouldn't be a burden or something that I'm ashamed of. That it's not prideful or selfish, it's about giving pieces of yourself to someone else and receiving pieces of them so the two of you become something wonderful together." She sighs. "I spent months pushing Will away because I didn't want what happened to me before with Charlie to happen again. I-"

Butcher's hand finds hers when he senses how upset she is, and the motion makes your throat thick, but you let her keep talking.

"I thought that I was in love with Charlie, that he loved me, but I wasn't. And when Ben came back I struggled for a long time to understand why you let him back in after everything that happened, after he said those things and did those things to you. But then I fell in love with Will and I understood." She looks at Butcher with a half-smile. "I love him. And sure maybe he annoys the shit out of me and maybe he has the maturity of a teenage boy and-"

"You're not exactly making me feel better love." Butcher murmurs.

"And maybe he's not the most patient man in the world." She snorts with a shake of her head. "But I love every part of him, even the parts that make me want to throw him out the window. And I understand now why you couldn't let Ben go. Because I'm not going to let Will go. And if the two of you hate that, then it's too damn bad. Because he's not going anywhere."

"I'm not." Butcher re-affirms. "Even if the two of you throw me out I'm going to keep coming back."

"Like a damn cockroach." Ben murmurs under his breath. He'd drifted closer to you, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body against your back, a comfort right now.

"Exactly." Butcher flashes a shit eating grin.

You can’t help but respect him for that. His confidence in the face of certain death was admirable, and you could see some of the traits that Rosemary found so lovable. In fact, you could see a few of them in the man you loved with all your heart.

The four of you stand in complete silence listening to the what she just confessed, her words still ringing in the air of the warm kitchen.

"Mommy can we come down yet?!" Lou shouts from upstairs.

It breaks through the awkward tension and makes you smile.

"Fine." You say after a minute, extending your hand towards Butcher.

He takes it surprised, his other arm wrapped around your daughter's waist.

You yank him forward. "But if you break her heart, I'm going to make you wish you were never born. Understand?" You smile as widely as you can, with Ben glowering over your shoulder for effect.

"Yes ma'am."

When they go upstairs to put the bags away you sigh heavily and lean back against the counter, your head spinning. Ben is almost deathly silent, watching the two of them go, with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You ask him.

"Nothing." He shrugs, his dark hair falling forward into his face. "Just thinking of all the ways I can kill him if he breaks her heart."

"Good. We can make a list together and compare notes."

"And just when I think I can't love you anymore, you go ahead and say something like that."

"It’s a gift." You snort, placing your hand over Ben's heart and looking into his green eyes. "Well, I wanted your first Thanksgiving back to be memorable, but I didn't expect it to be like this."

"Honestly, I thought that it would end in a fight."

"The day is still young."

"It wouldn't be a normal day for us without a few surprises."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right."

"Always am."

"No you're always full of sh-"

Ben pulls you in for a kiss, his hands curving up over your hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt against your skin. "Happy Thanksgiving Sweetheart." He murmurs into your mouth.

"Happy Thanksgiving Ben."

A/N: Again, just a little holiday fluff from the fam!

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments, are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series/universe, please let me know! 😊

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[rachelsfav-queer]

Maybe A Boy?

Wednesday hears the dorm room door open and her anxiety spikes for a moment before she forces herself to settle down again. Her roommate enters with her usual excitement, entirely unaware of the inner turmoil that Wednesday is experiencing, with no idea why she’s feeling it.

Enid: Howdy, babycakes! Sorry I took so long, I swear that the Werewolf Bio teacher intentionally drags on her lessons just to annoy us, ugh! But, I’m here now and I’m all yours for cuddles!

Wednesday feels a warmth pass over her at Enid’s bright and optimistic nature, beyond grateful for the strange way she’s always capable of settling her mind even when she has no idea she’s doing it. It’s a talent to be this comforting, it has to be. But it doesn’t wipe away what she needs to do unfortunately.

Wednesday: I appreciate your offer, Enid, but… we need to talk first. Or, I mean- *sighs* I need to tell you something first.

Enid’s demeanor becomes serious at her girlfriend’s tone, immediately picking up on the burning tension in the smaller girl, and concern builds up inside her.

Enid: Oh, okay! What’s up, Willa? Is… everything okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?

Wednesday: *looks up at Enid, looking away* I- I know. It’s just… this particular matter is one that… I’m anxious will change things, between us specifically, in an irrevocable way.

Enid: *furrows brow* What do you mean, Wends? What’s going on, are you hurt? Is someone… is someone threatening you?

Wednesday: *shakes head* No, no! Nothing like that, it’s just… I fear that when I tell you this, you may look at me differently and… *quietly* it may shatter our relationship together.

Enid stands up and slowly, carefully walks over to Wednesday sitting at her desk and kneels in front of her, taking both her hands gently.

Enid: Willa, babycakes. Look at me. *waits* Good, now listen to me, okay? Very closely.

Enid: Whatever it is that has you so scared, I promise that it won’t be that bad, okay? Okay, cause we’re gonna talk about it and we’re gonna discuss how it affects us. No matter what it is, I’m never gonna just leave you without a chance to explain, okay? I promise.

Wednesday nods, tears brimming her eyes at her girlfriend’s tone, full of love and genuine care. The seer breathes in deeply, closing her eyes and breathes out. When Wednesday opens her eyes again, she sees Enid still kneeling in front of her, waiting oh so patiently, with a kind smile that gives her the boost she needs.

Wednesday: Okay… Enid, I- I don’t feel like a girl. I think I identify as… maybe a boy.

What happens next sends Wednesday for a loop, as Enid jumps up and hugs her so tight as she exclaims…

Enid: Oh, baby! Oh, is that it? Oh, Wednesday, baby! I’m so proud of you, thank you for telling me! *pulls back suddenly* Oh! I should ask, what are your pronouns, baby boy?

Wednesday’s brain malfunctions for a second from the… everything, but catches up soon.

Wednesday: O- oh, um… h- he/him, please?

Enid: *hugs Wednesday tightly again* Okay, baby boy! Oh, my sweet boy! I’m so proud of you, Wednesday. I’m so sorry you were so scared to tell me this, but I promise you that it changes nothing between us, okay? I still love you exactly the same as I did yesterday and the day before. Oh, Wends. I’m so proud, baby boy!

Wednesday can hardly believe what’s happening, his brain struggling to compute this reaction with the one he feared would come. It takes him a moment before he raises his arms and wraps them tightly around Enid’s waist as tears begin rolling down his face unbidden, though now tears of relief and joy.

Wednesday: Th- thank you, mi- mi loba! Thank you! ¡Gracias! ¡Gracias, gracias! *crying harder*

Enid starts rubbing her hand up and down Wednesday’s back while her other moves up to lightly scratch his scalp, doing everything she knows comforts her boyfriend the most.

Enid: *gently, quietly* Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Wednesday. There you are, my brave boy. It’s okay, let it out. I can only imagine how scared you must’ve been, baby. But it’s okay now. You’re okay. You’re more than okay, you are so brave and so strong and I am so proud of you, Wednesday. Just let it out, that’s a good boy. I’m so proud of you. Shh, shh, shh. My brave boy. *rocking back and forth*

Eventually, Wednesday’s tears slow down and his breathing returns to normal again. He pulls out of Enid’s warm embrace and looks up at the wolf with stars in both their eyes, and in that moment, Wednesday wonders how he ever thought that Enid Sinclair, of all people in the world, would ever reject him for this. A rare, but oh so very wide smile spreads across his face and the sight makes Enid giggle.

Enid: There’s that wonderful smile I love so much. Oh, and those precious dimples that I literally cannot get enough of! How did I get so lucky to get the most perfectly adorable boyfriend in the whole world?

Wednesday blushes suddenly and tries to look away, bashful.

Wednesday: *grumbles* I’m not adorable.

Enid: *hums* Hmm, you say that… while also looking the absolute most adorable I’ve ever seen you, so… jury’s out on that one? *giggles*

Wednesday blushes brighter and tries to hide his face in his hands, but is stopped by his girlfriend’s much stronger, yet still gentle hands as Enid pulls his face up to look at her, a wide smile still on his face.

Enid simply stares lovingly at Wednesday for a long moment before she whispers…

Enid: My pretty boyfriend.

Wednesday preens under the attention and the whispered words, his eyes fluttering shut as his face burns bright red, yet he’d rather be nowhere else than sitting under the careful gaze of Enid.

Wednesday: Can- can you call me that again? Please? Just… call me your boyfriend? Anything with boy, please?

Enid: *smiles widely* Of course, my pretty boyfriend. My brave boy, my good boy.

Wednesday shudders at the last petname and his thighs squeeze together as a spark shoots down between his legs and a soft, tiny moan escapes his lips. Enid’s eyes widen and she smirks at the reaction she knew would come.

Enid: Oh my! That got you excited, hmm? You like that, baby boy? You like being my good boy?

Wednesday whimpers softly and nods, as much as he can with his face still held by Enid. His eyes never leave hers, and vice versa, both wholly transfixed on the other. Enid giggles again…

Enid: Hmm, I’ve got a few ideas for how you can be a good boy for me, Wends. *bends down and whispers in his ear* Get on the bed, pretty boy.

Wednesday never rushes to obey as quick as he does right then.

End <3

(A/N: Hope y’all enjoyed this! I loved writing it, especially that little bit at the end lol 🤭 I recently became obsessed with transmasc!Wends after reading a fic that was like, loosely related to the idea lol. If anyone wants to read it, I’ll post the link lol. Anyway, I hope this will get some of y’all as obsessed with this as I am lmaoooo)

[kyokutsu-sama]

Coming back to my love

Rengoku x f!reader|Fluff, angst fic

A/n: Since I can't accept his death, that's I decided to recreate a scenario where he fights against Akaza but here he survives. He'll never be death for me.

Tw: mentions of blood, violence, wounds and suggestive content (mentions of nsfw)

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You didn't accept that. There was no way you would let him go. Of all the missions he had done before, this was definitely the one that scared you the most. You couldn't explain why, but it was as if a strange sensation ran through his body just thinking about it. Rengoku was a hashira with a natural talent and was very skilled at what he did, but you were so confuse and ended up ignored all that. He had already put you at ease and assured you that he would come back to you no matter what happened or how injured he got.

"Everything will be fine, you just have to trust me, my love." The flame hahira held your face with his warm hands

"No Kyo, I don't think you should go. I feel something dangerous." You looked down, feeling the fear on your heart again

"All missions are dangerous but I am strong. I will survive and I will protect everyone who goes with me and then I will come back to your arms." He said, bringing his face closer to yours until his forehead was touching yours

"Do you really have to go?"

"Yes, I was called for this. It is my duty as the flame Hashira. You understand that too, right?"

"Yeah...I do, my love." You spoke in a melancholic and reluctant voice. "But still--"

"Shhh." His finger went to your lips, silencing you. "It's alright, don't worry. Let me comfort you, okay?" He whispered with a gentle smile that softened your heart

And he did, he always did. When you cried, he hugged you and promised that everything would be okay, and it does. And when you laughed, he made you laugh even more because your smile was what motivated him and what was most valuable to him.

He loved you and loved you very much. And all those he loved, he protected with his own life.

He laid you down on the mattress, getting on top of you, covering your entire figure. His warmth comforted you so much, his big, bright and captivating eyes analyzed all of your naked and sweaty skin, memorizing your every expression, every corner of yours.

He leaned in so his face was close to yours, your panting breaths mingling before he kissed you passionately. Your hands ran through his yellow and red hair as the slowness of his lips dominated you.

"I love you." He whispered against your lips

"Kyo, please..." You whimpered, feeling a little tear run down your face. "Stay with me, don't go..." You hugged him, placing his head in the crook of your neck

You hugged him so tight as if you wanted to keep him there forever, as if you didn't want him to leave.

You weren't as strong as him and you didn't have his willpower either, but you would do anything, anything it took to protect him and keep him safe. He would do the same for you without thinking twice, you just wanted to return the favor to him.

"I'll go, but I'm coming back to your arms..." He whispered, breathlessly, in your ear. "To the arms of my love. My only love."

You sniffled and sob at his words. Rengoku left the crook of your neck and wiped your tears with his thumb and planted a few kisses on your lips and then kissed your forehead. The way he cared for you was special. It was gentle and sweet.

The next morning was a little calmer, but there was still some uncertainty and fear on your part. You went down to eat the breakfast he had made while you were sleeping. He wanted to return the favor of when you made food for him to take on missions. You couldn't help but find him cute once again, for all the care and love he gave you. He was the perfect husband and the one you loved the most.

But after that tasty meal, came the hardest part. Saying goodbye to him before he left on his mission.

Already at the entrance of the house ready to leave, he hugged you so tightly that you even started to cry. You didn't mean to do it but your feelings were so strong that you were afraid of never feeling that tight hug again.

"Do you promise that you'll be okay and that you'll take care of yourself?" He whispered

"I'll only do it if you promise that you'll come back to me safe and sound." You said with some sniffles and sobs

"I promise but I want you to assure me of this first, okay?"

"Alright, I'll do it."

"I trust you, you are strong and a wonderful woman." He said, pulling away from the hug and holding your hands

"You always say such beautiful things, you make me blush." ​​You looked down with an embarrassed smile

"Maybe because I love you and I don't hide my feelings from you." He smiled, wiping away your tears. "Don't cry, my dear. I just want to see you cry but with joy when I get back, okay?"

"Yes." You nodded with a little smile

All these words and images passed through his mind while he was trying to cut off the head of the upper moon three in a battle that seemed to last forever. The flame hashira thought the mission was over the moment he saved the lives of 200 people on that train. He promised to save everyone there and he would do it until the end. And not only did he promise that, but he also promised you that he would come back.

"I have to go back..." He thought. "You must be waiting for me.Hold on a little longer, Y/n." Hashira stuck his sword deep into the demon's neck, who also seemed to be resisting until the end

The fight was taking a long time until the sun came to help Hashira in that battle. The upper moon ended up managing to run away desperately, leaving him behind.

Everything seemed to be over, he fell to his knees completely devastated but he was still smiling because he felt alive even though death had been so close to him for a second. His abdomen was open on one side and was dripping so much blood that it could even stand out on his black uniform. His hands were worn and trembling, His left eye had a large wound and he couldn't see on that side due to the punch and also the blood that was dripping there, making it even more difficult.

He was so exhausted but he, still with a drop of energy left in his heart, got up and stood up.

His three tsugukos looked at him, with eyes full of tears, when they saw him still so determined.

"You fought well, young men. I'm proud of your work here." He said in a voice that almost didn't sound like his own. His typical loud, excited voice."But now, I have to... I need to... I promised..." He didn't finish his words and fell completely weak on the ground, making the broken sword fall right in front of him

"Rengoku-san!!!" Tanjiro shouted when he saw him fall

The trio thought that was his death, but it didn't take long for the kakushis to return and take care of the rest. Shinobu was among them and it was she who went to check on Rengoku.

According to her observations, he wasn't dead, but he was in a very pitiful state.

It was lucky that he got out of there alive.

You were on the porch of the house waiting for Rengoku, who seemed to be late since so many days had already passed since the day of his expected return. You thought he had discovered some new place and wanted to stay there for a few days before returning. Probably eating all kinds of food that place had to offer. You even smiled at the idea.

However, his crow arrived with the news that he had been taken to the butterfly mansion due to his serious condition, resulting from the last battle, which made you lose the sparkle in your eyes and the smile you were giving just now.

You just got up and ran there as fast as you could. You knew from the beginning that this would end badly.

"No, this isn't happening... It's just a bad dream." You thought to yourself

You arrived at the butterfly mansion and ran in desperately looking for your husband.

"Where is he? Kyojuro!?" You shouted his name

"Is everything okay? Do you need help, Y/N?" Shinobu asked when she saw you so disoriented and anxious

"My husband, where is he? I heard what happened. Is everything okay with him? Has he recovered? Where is he?" You asked countless questions, in tears of despair, but she calmly held your hands and you stopped for a moment

"Take it easy, Y/N. Everything is fine now. He was badly injured when we found him and unconscious, but he is better now. His wounds are treated, but it will take time to heal, obviously. He was also very shaken and even after he regained consciousness, his words were not very clear. He only woke up last night because all these days he was under care and resting to make sure that the wounds would not open because they were very considerable hemorrhages. It could have been fatal, but Rengoku really is a highly qualified Hashira. A normal person couldn't withstand those attacks." Shinobu explained the situation to you and you could only cry and cry when you heard all that. "I'm sorry if we didn't give you news sooner, but the situation got out of hand and only when things calmed down were we able to give you the news." She apologized

"Please take me to him. I need to see him so much."

"But don't try to force him too much, okay? He's still fragile." She asked and you nodded

She showed you the way, but before you entered the room, she stopped you for a moment, holding your sleeve.

"Y/n, don't forget to congratulate him too. I heard he saved 200 passengers who were on that train. No one died because of his efforts."

You stood paralyzed in front of the door after those words. Your pride and love for him only grew more when you saw how far he went to fulfill his duty.

You slowly turned to her and curved your lips in a proud smile.

"There will never be another Kyojuro Rengoku in this world. Only him. My husband." You said, before entering the room and closing the door

You saw him lying on a bed in the back and went over to him. You sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him as he slept, his hands still warm as ever. He was still your usual Flame Hashira but he looked so devastated at that moment that even you were speechless.

Your fingers ran over the bandages on the left side of his face and you saw that his left eye had been injured and he was probably blind on that side. You wanted to see the wounds he carried under those clothes but you thought your stomach wouldn't be able to handle seeing the suffering of a long battle that almost took him away from you.

"I was so scared for you, so much. I was so worried. You said you would come back soon but things got out of control and you must have suffered so much..." You closed your eyes and more tears ran down your face. "You were so strong and brave until the end. I am so proud of you. Thank you for coming back to me." You kissed his hand over and over again

"I promised, my little flame..."The sleepy and weak voice left his lips and you looked at him promptly. "I said I'd be back to the arms of my only love." He gave a little smile and you were left open-mouthed when you saw him awake

"Kyo! You... You woke up. Thank goodness." You said, feeling the tears, which were now tears of joy, fall down your eyelashes. "I missed you so much." You said, leaning in to hug him

"Hey hey, be careful with my wounds, love. They might open." He warned and you quickly leaned back a little, thinking you had tried too hard

"I'm sorry, honey, but I just wanted to see you and to be in your arms." You said and he smiled

"I know, I thought about you a lot when I was on this mission too. All I could think about was going back to your arms again."

"I told you, I told you it would be very dangerous. Why are you so stubborn?"

"I did what had to be done, I fulfilled my duty and my mission." He said, looking into your teary eyes. "Are you proud of me, my love?" A tear ran down his right eye

"I've always been proud of you, my angel." You said leaning down and resting your forehead against his. "I am proud of your work as a hashira and for being a great warrior but above all, for marrying you. I love you." You whispered sweetly against his lips and he smiled feeling his heart soften

"Even if your husband no longer has his left eye and has wounds all over his body?" He asked jokingly and you chuckled softly

"You look handsome in all the ways, you will always be beautiful in my eyes. I didn't fall in love with your appearance but with the beauty of your brave and strong soul." You nudged his nose with yours. "And you know what? When these wounds turn into scars, you'll get even hotter." You said and he burst out laughing

"Oh, you didn't say that."

"Why not? Are you laughing at me for telling the truth? You'll agree with me, believe me."You said and you both burst out laughing

*Bonus scene*

Three months after the incident, he retired. Well, let's just say he didn't retire completely because he still kept up with the situation and was always willing to help in whatever was needed. It may not seem like it, but convincing this man to retire was harder than it seems. Both you and Master Ubuyashiki talked to him and he ended up accepting. Uzui also thought it was a good idea for him to stay out, at least that way he could have his best friend alive by his side. Even if he later ended up retiring and joining the club as well. But Kyojuro quickly assured him that he would always be available to go on a mission and fulfill his duty once again.

That afternoon you were both at home. You were in the room tidying up some things while Kyojuro was just getting out of the shower. He was wearing a towel around his waist and you looked back and saw him. The large wound that was there before had healed and was now just another one on his body.

You approached him and he smiled as he dried his hair with the smaller towel.

"See this here?" You caressed the scarred skin gently

"The scar?" He gave you a questioning look

"I told you a few months ago that when it healed, you'd looked hotter..." You said and he chuckled softly

"So?"

"So, I guess I was right. In fact, you've gotten even hotter than I thought." You bit your lower lip and he laughed

"You're feeling a little flirty today, aren't you?" He held your hands and kissed them."You make me fall in love with you again like the first time."

"You said before you left on that mission that you don't hide your feelings for me. So why do I have to hide my feelings for you?" You said, bringing your hands to his shoulders, caressing the damp skin with your fingertips. "You're my love, forever my flame hashira."

"I guess I can't call myself the flame hahira anymore." He gave a little smile

"It doesn't matter, and you know why? Because you left your mark in this position and I don't think anyone else can take on that role and do what you did. I said this before and I'll say it again, there will be no other like you."

"You're definitely making me fall for you again."

"Is that bad?Because look," You jumped into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist."I will gladly do it again and again, just as I will gladly kiss your scars and make you proud of them."

"Well that sounds good to me" He agreed, smiling at you

"Good, since we're both in agreement, let's go then."

[daisymbin]

Hi!!

Can you please write a drabble for jeonghan using the fluff prompts #23 and #39?

hi love!! I'm sorry again, my mistake 😓 if I had checked my ask earlier that I could ask which prompt so you don't have to wait so long 😢 hopefully this slightly longer fic makes up for it!!!! thank you for waiting 😽🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hannie's m.list

fluff prompt #23: "you stayed up all night taking care of me?" +

fluff prompt #39: "you talk about me in your sleep, you know?"

jeonghan woke up to the soft hum of sunlight filtering through his blinds and the faint rustle of movement nearby. his head throbbed, his mouth felt like cotton, and the events of the previous night were a blur. blinking against the bright light, he groaned and shifted slightly, immediately regretting the motion as nausea crept in.

“you’re awake,” a familiar voice said, cutting through the fog in his brain.

he turned his head toward you, sitting in his desk chair with your arms crossed, looking both relieved and annoyed. your hair was slightly disheveled, and your tired eyes met his.

“morning,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “what happened?”

you raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “you got drunk. like, really drunk. i had to bring you home because you kept whining that you felt sick.”

he winced, his memory offering little more than flashes of the night. “oh.”

you stood up, walking over to his bedside with a glass of water and some painkillers. “and then you wouldn’t stop complaining, so i stayed up to make sure you didn’t choke on your own stupidity.”

“you stayed up all night taking care of me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to unpack.

“someone had to,” you replied, handing him the glass. your tone was matter-of-fact, but the way your eyes lingered on him, soft and full of concern, made his chest feel strange.

he sipped the water, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped. “did i… do anything embarrassing?”

you leaned back against the wall, crossing your arms with a smirk. “oh, plenty. but my favorite part was when you started talking in your sleep.”

jeonghan froze, his hand hovering mid-air. “what?”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah, you talk about me in your sleep, you know?”

his heart skipped a beat. “what did i say?”

your smirk widened. “you don’t remember?”

“obviously not!” he shot back, feeling his face heat up.

you tilted your head, pretending to think. “hmm… let’s see. you said my name a lot, for one. i lost count after the fifth time.”

his stomach flipped. “just your name?”

you leaned forward, your grin turning teasing. “oh, no. you said other things, too.”

jeonghan groaned, covering his face with his hands. “what kind of things?"

last night

you had just managed to guide jeonghan into his bed, his arm slung heavily over your shoulders as he half-stumbled, half-leaned on you. “come on, jeonghan. you’re almost there,” you huffed, trying to keep him upright.

“you’re so strong,” he mumbled, his words slurring. “like… really strong. you could probably carry me, huh?”

“i’m already carrying most of your weight,” you muttered under your breath, ignoring the way his words made your cheeks warm.

as soon as his head hit the pillow, jeonghan let out a long sigh. you thought he’d drift off immediately, but instead, he mumbled, “you’re so nice to me. always so nice.”

you froze, hovering by the edge of his bed.

“you smell nice, too,” he added, his voice muffled by the pillow. “like… flowers or something. but not too strong. it’s just… perfect.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you slowly lowered yourself into the desk chair, unsure if he was fully asleep or just delirious.

“wish i could tell you,” he mumbled, his voice so soft you almost missed it. “wish i could say how much i…” he trailed off, his breathing evening out as he falls asleep.

you thought he was done for the night, but then, an hour later, he added, “want to take you out sometime. somewhere nice. you deserve that. wanna take angel out on date.”

angel? but that's his nickname for you...

your heart raced and ached at the vulnerability in his voice. you sat there in silence, watching his peaceful face, the weight of his words settling over you.

“you’re too good for me,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “but i’m selfish. i want you to be mine.”

[-]

“so,” jeonghan said now, dragging you back to the present, “what exactly did i say?”

you shrugged, playing it cool despite the way your heart raced. “oh, just that you think i’m nice and smell like flowers.”

he blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process your words. “i said that?”

“mmhm,” you hummed, biting back a grin.

“and…?” he prompted, clearly fishing for more.

“and you said you want to take me out sometime,” you added, your voice casual but your cheeks warm. "on a date." you added softly.

jeonghan stared at you, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. “sounds like me.”

you rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest.

he shifted closer, resting his chin on his palm, his grin playful but his voice quieter. “so, how about it? i’m free this weekend. dinner, your pick. i owe you for, you know, saving my life or whatever.”

“is this how you ask someone out?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“well, it’s not every day i find out i confessed in my sleep,” he countered, a nervous laugh slipping through. “but… you’d say yes, right?”

you faltered, his unusually earnest tone catching you off guard. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

jeonghan’s laugh was immediate, light and relieved. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

“don’t make me regret it,” you warned, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“trust me, you won’t,” he said, his confidence returning. “and for the record, i’d totally carry you to bed if the roles were reversed. just saying.”

he grinned, leaning back against the pillows with a smug expression. if his heart was racing, well, that was for him to deal with later.

“jeonghan!”

his signature smirk firmly in place. "what’s wrong? cat got your tongue, or are you just mesmerized by me again?" he teased, his voice low and honeyed as he moved closer. the confidence he exuded was disarming, but you caught the flicker of something softer in his eyes — a nervousness he couldn’t quite hide.

you rolled your eyes, though your pulse quickened as he closed the distance. "you wish," you muttered, but your breath hitched when his hand brushed against your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“oh, i know,” jeonghan said, his grin widening. yet, as he cupped your face more firmly, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, his playful facade cracked. his throat bobbed in a swallow, and you noticed the way his eyes darted between your lips and your gaze, like he was trying to decide if he was allowed to take this leap.

“you’re awfully quiet now,” he murmured, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. “nervous?”

“are you?” you shot back, emboldened by the faint tremor in his hand.

“terrified,” he admitted, almost inaudibly, before he leaned in.

the first press of his lips against yours was tentative, a soft, testing thing that quickly gave way to something hungrier when you didn’t pull back. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his confidence returned in the way he kissed you—playful, teasing, with the occasional nip at your bottom lip that left you breathless.

you fisted the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself as the heat between you grew. his smirk returned when he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. “i told you, you can’t resist me.” but his pink cheeks betrayed him, revealing just how badly he’d wanted this.

[47lake]

me and you

“why can’t you see me?” she looked deep into your eyes, you knew the way you were treating her was wrong. she didn’t deserve this. “billie.. i’m sorry.” she backed away and ran her hands through her hair, “no, you’re fucking not or you’d stop, you can’t have both. you have to pick.”

you’d been seeing billie and another girl back and forth for a while now, you could tell billie was starting to get fed up and tonight she cracked. “i just don’t know what to do billie!” you looked at the floor, watching her face made your heart ache too much. you couldn’t take seeing the emotions painted across her face. “what does she have that i don’t? hm?! why can’t you just be with me?” she looked so heartbroken, you just wanted to hold her, why couldn’t you just let your guard down. you watched tears fall down her cheeks and glitter across the floor. you hated that you made her feel like this. your last relationship made you so scared to try again, you know billie wouldn’t do that to you, you just got so scared. every time you thought about a relationship with her its always so sweet at first, then you’d remembered the way your ex used to treat you. the way she would force you into doing whatever she wanted, not listening to, let alone caring about your opinion. she didn’t give a shit about you, but you stayed. why did you stay? you wished you could forget it all.

“i don’t care about that other girl at all. i don’t care! i only care about you! you’re all that matters to me bil.” she looked into your eyes, trying to read your face. “then why do you keep her around?” you crossed your arms and looked around the room, searching for an answer. “i’m just scared, not of you, just of anything. you know what happened last time.” her face fell, remembering the way you’d show up to her house in the middle of the night with dark bruises across your skin, red eyes and tear stained cheeks to match. holding you as you cried in her arms, just trying to keep you safe the best she could.

“i understand, just let me show you what love is supposed to be, please?” she reached out to hold your hands in hers, you laid your head on her shoulder. you missed the way it felt to be close to her. “okay, forget the other girl. it’s just me and you.”

a little different from the rest of my posts and a little more out of my comfort zone! hope you guys enjoy none the less, send reqs to my inbox🖤

[extravagantliar]

the mirror honestly is the one piece of solid canon on his back that is good. Giving up something that was so long a part of your life to yield to the next and kneel down for those who have come before us and those who come next. Yes this queer with back pain is very happy about this and the most silent character is queer.