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parkerslatte · 2 days ago

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Not So Secret

Lee Minho Ver.

Lee Minho x 9thMember!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

SS Count: 3

Warnings: 9th member au. passing out. fatigue. fluff. minor injury.

Summary: After nearly passing out during a concert, Minho checks on Y/N backstage. What they didn't realise is the whole ordeal was caught on camera.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Hours before she was due to go on stage, Y/N knew that she didn’t feel right yet she didn’t say anything. Now it was minutes before she was about to step out on the stage to perform for thousands of people– she still didn’t say anything. Her breathing came out in deep breaths as she tried to calm her body down. Deep down Y/N knew that she was in no state to perform, her head was pounding and she was sure that if she sat down, she wouldn’t get back up.

A gentle touch on her elbow knocked her from her thoughts. Y/N immediately knew who it was as another hand firmly planted itself on her lower back.

“Are you okay?” Minho asked, his voice quiet and concerned.

Y/N turned to her boyfriend, a strained smile on her face. “Just nerves. You know how I sometimes get before we perform.”

The hand on Y/N’s lower back, pulled her closer to Minho as his voice fell an octave lower. “You can tell me if something is bothering you.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, trying her best to keep her voice steady. “I’m just nervous. It will pass soon.”

Minho didn’t look convinced as his hand fell from her back though he still remained standing close to her. The others only gave her a quick glance before deciding not to say anything– they all knew that Y/N’s nerves sometimes ran high before a concert.

However, what the others didn’t ignore was the protective stance Minho held next to Y/N. That mixed with the concerned glances he was throwing her way, everyone knew that there must’ve been something wrong. Except no one had any time to question it as they were due to go on the stage.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped forward, already dreading the next few hours.

***

The concert was going well, Y/N thought. Despite the pain rising in her body, she had managed to keep up with the choreography, her singing was still as beautiful as it usually was and fans hadn’t seemed to notice anything was wrong. The only thing that seemed amiss was that Minho would constantly come over to check on her. Of course he would achieve this subtly, the questioning glance turning into playful teasing in a split second– just as he usually did with the other members.

However, half way through the concert something seemed to shift. One moment Y/N was dancing fine and the next moment she felt her head hit the stage. Immediately the boys stopped singing as concerned and frightened whispers spread through the stadium. Y/N felt as if she couldn’t move. Her whole body was exhausted, the light now seemed too bright.

“Y/N,” Minho said as he gently cupped her face.

Y/N cracked open an eye to see Minho’s face washed over with concern in front of her. Chan hovered at her other side, the same concern written on his face.

“I’m okay,” Y/N said, though her voice was weak.

“No,” Minho said, his voice firm, “you’re not.”

“We need to get her backstage,” Chan whispered to Minho.

Before Y/N could even try standing by herself, Minho had picked her up and began carrying her backstage. The others stayed behind for a brief moment attempting to calm the panicked crowd down. The moment she was backstage, Minho sat her down so she was comfortable before paramedics swarmed around her.

Her stubbornness only caused her to push them away as they tried to find out what exactly was wrong. Y/N already knew. It was simply dehydration and hunger– and perhaps the beginning of a fever.

A cold water bottle was handed to her and one by one the paramedics backed away and Minho claimed his place beside her, a hand gently landing on her thigh.

“That was stupid of you,” he commented as the others gathered around.

“I was fine,” Y/N insisted, taking another long sip of the cold water.

“You collapsed on stage,” Minho said. Though he didn’t let it show with his voice, Y/N could feel his worry in the way the grip he had on her thigh tightened. “You clearly weren’t fine.”

Y/N looked away from Minho to the others who looked at her in concern. Clearing her throat, Y/N stood from where she was sitting, Minho’s hand the only thing making sure that she didn’t sway on her feet. “Let’s get back out there.”

Chan stepped forward and rested his hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re not going back out there. I knew that there was something wrong but I still let you go out there.”

“And that was my decision,” Y/N said, her voice calm, “not yours.”

“Rest here,” Minho said as he wrapped his hand around her waist. “I’ll be back as soon as the concert finishes.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’ll wait backstage. I still want to watch all of you perform.”

Minho didn’t look too convinced at letting her sit at the side of the stage, Y/N gently gripped his hands in hers. “Would it make you feel any better if I say that the moment I feel dizzy, I’ll come back here?”

“No,” Minho said. “But I know you’re going to sit and watch even if I disagree.”

His lips were formed in a small pout as he laced his fingers with hers.

“I'll be fine,” Y/N said. “Now let's get you back out on stage.”

Minho gave her hand and small squeeze as he gently wrapped an arm around her waist as they left the backstage area.

***

Y/N watched the boys perform from offstage with a small smile on her face. After having some water and a few snacks she didn’t feel as awful as when she first collapsed but she still wasn’t feeling great either.

Throughout the concert, the boys would sometimes run so she was in view and give her a wave or blow a kiss to her. The audience knew exactly what they were all doing.

But Minho was the one who would catch her eye the most. He never blew her a kiss or even offered her a wave, the soft smile on his face was one she knew that was only reserved for her and the people closest to him.

Once there was a break between songs and Chan spoke to the fans, Y/N stood off stage watching the boys with a soft smile on her face. As much as she loved performing with them, she always enjoyed watching them.

As Chan continued to speak, Y/N noticed Minho whisper something to Changbin before he slowly took a few steps back from the others. The others simply ignored him as he turned around and walked directly to Y/N.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took a few paces back just as Minho entered the backstage area.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked.

“Getting some water,” Minho replied as he gestured to the spare bottles of water on the table next to Y/N.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “There is already plenty of water on that stage.”

There was a soft huff of laughter before Minho’s lips were suddenly on hers as he kissed her fiercely. His hands cupped either side of her face. Y/N immediately reciprocated the kiss as her hand found his wrists, giving them a soft squeeze.

“What was that for?” Y/N questioned.

Minho rested his forehead against Y/N's for a brief moment before he engulfed her in a hug. “You scared me out there.”

Y/N's arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tightly. “I know, I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Minho replied, pulling away to look at her once again. “Just don't do it again.”

He pulled away and pressed another kiss to her lips. It was quick and fleeting but filled with the same love as always.

“You need to get back out on stage,” Y/N said as she took a step back. She picked up a bottle of water. “And don’t forget your shitty excuse.”

Minho quickly pecked her cheek before walking back onto the stage. Y/N watched him go from where she stood. Her head was still pounding so she sat down on the chair that had been provided for her, taking one of the spare bottles of water.

***

After the concert, Y/N picked up her phone and saw the influx of messages and notifications. They immediately caught her attention. With a sigh, she unlocked her phone and began reading through them.

The others slowly began to filter into the room, adrenaline coursing through their bodies. Felix was the first to greet her and the first to acknowledge something was wrong. All Y/N did was turn her phone around to allow Felix to see the amount of posts on social media she was scrolling through.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Y/N felt a presence behind her before she felt a gentle grip on her waist that tightened once he caught sight of the posts.

“I told you to be careful,” Y/N muttered as Minho read the articles over her shoulder. It was very clearly them, caught up in an embrace before Minho kissed her. There was no way to spin the story that it was someone else.

Minho looked up at her. She knew that he would never admit it, but she saw the sadness in his eyes that their relationship wasn't private anymore.

Y/N gently cupped his cheek. “It'll be okay. We'll figure out how to address it soon.”

Minho nodded as Y/N pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” she said as she silenced her phone and placed it in he pocket.

Minho fully wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist before muttering in her ear a reply; “I love you too.”

#lee know x reader #lee minho #lee know #lee minho x reader #skz lee know #skz lee minho #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #skz 9th member

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simpforpeterp · 19 hours ago

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bucky barnes x reader

The Complete Knock

summary: you and bucky broke up. but when you find out about the new avengers? you can’t resist telling him how stupid he looks to his face

warnings: hamilton reference if you squint. no smut but mentions of sex and an aftermath of sex

word count: 2.3k

“Jesus Christ!” Bucky hisses and turns around to pace for a second at the sight of you. You sit at his kitchen table with the chair turned to the door like he missed his curfew. “How did you even get in here?”

“The door.” You shrug as he fully comes in and closes the door.

“No fucking shit, I mean, how do you just spawn places when I least expect you to be there?” He groans.

“New power. Anyway, you look like a fucking idiot.” You cross your arms and look up at him.

“What else is new?” He sighs.

“The New Avengers? Really?”

“Look, it was an accident.” He scrubs a hand over his face, jaw tense like he’s biting back a dozen different answers and none of them are clean.

“How the fuck-“

“Valentina. We didn’t even know she was gonna say that and then she did and now we’re this team and-“

“Sam is pissed. You’re not gonna be The New Avengers for long, that’s for sure. I wish I could see what’s happening in that mind of yours to see why you didn’t just shut her down up there.” You challenge him further as he takes off his jacket and sets it on the counter.

“I thought breakups were supposed to mean we didn’t see each other anymore.” He mutters.

“Says the man who texts me every other night to f-“ You start.

“And that’s all it is.”

“That’s not what I’m here to talk about.” You shift, suddenly tense. “This team is bullshit, and you know it.”

“Is it? Or maybe you’re just looking for a new excuse to stay tangled up in my mess, like always.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Seriously. Take a look around and tell me who you think is in your apartment right now,” Your voice is firmer. “No, Bucky. I don’t want to be part of your team.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He laughs once, sharp and humorless.

You stand now, slow and deliberate, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor like a warning.

You’d been broken up for only six weeks. Six long weeks. And by the second week, he started texting again. Asking if you’d come over. Make him feel less empty. And it worked every time but when you left, he felt empty again because he lost the one good thing he had. The congressman bullshit pushed you away.

He was never home, never answering texts or calls. He got distant and you still don’t know why. And you know it’s wrong to keep coming back to him but it’s hard and you still feel some sort of ownership over his heart. Like it’s still yours. And maybe it is.

He hasn’t slept with anyone else. Hasn’t even looked at anyone else. He just goes to work and comes home again and again. But this isn’t about your relationship on the surface. It’s about work.

“Sam told you he was asked to reform the Avengers. And you, inventing a whole new genre of stupid, don’t say a word when fucking Valentina- the woman who you’ve fought with and have never ever agreed with once, calls your new team the New Avengers. What kind of bullshit is that, Bucky?” you snap, voice rising. “You knew what that name meant. You knew it would split the whole thing in half, and you still stood there and let her say it like it was gospel.”

His mouth opens, then shuts again. He doesn’t have an answer. Not one he’s proud of. You don’t wait for one.

“You think Sam’s mad because of some branding issue? He’s mad because you let her name you something you didn’t earn. Because we’ve been out here for years trying to clean up this mess and you just...cosign her vision like it’s fine?”

“I didn’t cosign anything,” he says, low and dangerous, stepping closer. “I was blindsided. You think I liked it?”

“I think you liked the silence,” you say, heat behind every word. “Because the second you push back, you’re responsible. And God forbid Bucky Barnes actually own something.”

That one lands. He flinches. Just slightly, but you see it. You keep going.

“You wanna lead a team? You wanna be in charge of second chances and redemption arcs? Then fucking act like it. Don’t let Valentina control the room just because it’s easier than picking a side.”

He looks away, jaw clenched tight, like if he lets go, it’ll all spill out. It’s hard for him to handle this. To handle you. You’re the only person who ever calls him out on his bullshit. The only person who says exactly what you mean, to his face, and with enough conviction that means you’re calling him out because you love him. Or loved him. He’s not quite sure anymore.

“This isn’t about me wanting to be tangled up in your mess, Bucky. I’ve already been tangled in it. What I want- what I wanted, was for you to be someone I could count on. And you proved over and over again that I couldn’t.” You take a breath, steadying.

Silence again. He finally meets your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. But here we are.” You almost laugh.

He takes a step forward, slowly.

“You still love me?”

You don’t answer. Not with words. You just stare at him, and something in your chest crumbles. He nods once, more to himself than to you, voice quieter now.

“I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

“I know.”

He takes another step, and now he’s close enough to touch. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare.

“I should’ve said something up there,” he says. “Should’ve shut her down. Should’ve called Sam the second it happened. Should’ve told the world that the real Avengers didn’t start with me.”

“You should’ve,” you echo, softer.

“And I should’ve fought harder for us.”

Your breath catches. He’s looking at you like the world’s already ending, and he’s choosing this moment to finally tell the truth.

“I didn’t know how,” he whispers. “But I wanted to.”

Silence falls again. He waits. This time, you don’t let it last.

“I didn’t come here to forgive you,” you say. “I came here to tell you to fix it.”

He nods, slowly. Like he hears you. Like he means to try. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. For now.

“Just stay.” He sighs as you start to put your clothes back on.

“Early meeting.”

“Stay.” His voice is rougher this time, low and tired and close to pleading.

You pause, fingers frozen on the hem of your shirt. You don’t look at him yet, because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll leave at all.

“Bucky…”

“I know,” he says. “I know what you said. I know this doesn’t fix anything. I know I broke it. But I just-” he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to push the ache out of his chest. “I sleep when you’re here.”

You turn then, slowly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands laced. His knuckles are still bruised from the last mission. His eyes look older than they did yesterday.

“I sleep when you’re here,” he says again, softer this time. “And I just want… one night.”

You cross the room before you can talk yourself out of it.

“I don’t want to be a band-aid.”

“You’re not.” His gaze lifts to meet yours. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

It’s not a promise. It’s not enough. But it’s the first honest thing he’s said in a long time. And it breaks something in you that was already cracked wide open. So you let your clothes fall back to the floor. And when he pulls you into bed, it’s quiet. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just still, for once.

His arm drapes across your waist. Your fingers trace the scar near his collarbone. Neither of you says anything for a moment.

“I know you’ll never believe me but I really didn’t want this,” He starts softly. “Do you seriously think I’d hear Sam tell me about restarting the Avengers and I’d just- I know I was a bad boyfriend sometimes but I like to think I’m not a bad friend.”

“I don’t know what I believe.” You shake your head.

“You know me.” He says as he looks into your eyes now.

“Do I?”

“Yes. I- yeah, you do. You know me. And I’m sick of taking orders from people I don’t want to. I’m sick of doing missions and things I don’t want to do.” He breathes out.

“So don’t. Don’t do any of it. Do what you want to do. You always say that, act like that. But you always go along with it because you think it’s noble or right but if you aren’t happy doing what you’re doing then what’s the point of it all? You’re Bucky Barnes, people’s expectations for you are already all over the place. You can afford to do whatever you want. Go off the grid, start a talk show, become a celebrity chef. I wish I could do that.” You tell him.

“Why can’t you?”

“Look around. The world is falling apart, lines are being drawn, and people are looking to me to be some sort of weird tie breaker. Asking me to pick a side. You or Sam.” You shrug.

The words hang in the dark like a challenge neither of you wants to face head-on.

“I never wanted it to be like that. I didn’t mean to turn this into a war.” Bucky’s brow furrows.

“Well, that’s the thing about wars,” you say quietly. “No one ever really means for them to start. They just…light a match.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at the ceiling like it might offer some sort of answer. His thumb brushes gently over your skin, absentmindedly, like grounding himself in the feeling of you still being there.

“You shouldn’t have to choose,” he finally says. “Not between me and Sam.”

“I shouldn’t,” you agree. “But that’s not how this works anymore.”

“If I asked you to pick me… would you?” His throat bobs as he swallows.

You don’t answer. Not immediately. Your hand stills on his chest.

“I’d want to,” you admit. “But I don’t think I’d like the version of myself that would pick someone just because I love them, not because it’s right.”

He flinches, but he nods.

“I’m not asking you to compromise yourself,” he murmurs. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t know how to keep fighting when it feels like everything I do pushes you further away.”

“Then stop fighting against things. Fight for something. Something that matters. Someone.” You roll onto your side to face him, your voice softer now.

“You still think I’m someone worth fighting for?” His eyes flick to yours.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

That gets a small, almost broken sound out of him, part relief, part heartbreak. He shifts closer, forehead brushing yours. When he thinks about his future, he thinks about you. And he doesn’t know how to stop that. How to want anything or anyone else.

“I want you,” He whispers. “I still want you. All the time. All over me. You can think whatever you want but you knew me. You know me. So fucking well.”

“You broke up with me. You blamed it on the age gap. Do you know how shitty that felt?” You whisper.

“I just felt like I was hurting you every time I started to spiral. But after you found me that therapist, I- I think I’m doing better. And now, I find myself wishing I were yours again. I never wanted to belong to anyone after everything with the Winter Soldier shit. But nothing felt better than being yours. I fucking loved being your guy.” He whispers.

Your breath catches, and your hand finds its way back to his chest, right over his heart. You can feel how hard it’s beating. Like his body’s still bracing for you to pull away. You don’t. Not yet

“You were mine,” you whisper. “Every version of you. Even the broken ones. I never asked you to be perfect. Just honest.”

“I didn’t know how to be.”

“I know.”

His eyes close like that admission physically hurts. And maybe it does. Maybe this is what healing feels like, splintered and slow and wrapped in regret.

“I’d never had someone look at me the way you did,” he says. “Like I wasn’t a weapon. Like I was just…a man. Like I could be loved without it being out of pity or penance.”

“You are just a man, Bucky. And I didn’t love you because I felt bad for you. I loved you because you were mine, and I was yours, and I thought we could actually build something that lasted.” You blink hard, fighting the burn behind your eyes.

“We still can.” He brushes a thumb along your cheek, featherlight.

You let the silence stretch again, long enough for the weight of everything unsaid to settle between you.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?” His voice drops.

“Of doing this again. Of letting myself believe you’ll stay. Of choosing you and then watching you disappear when it gets hard again. I’m scared of people saying I’m stupid for taking you back.” You whisper.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say I won’t. He just shifts even closer, his hand curling gently around the back of your neck, grounding.

“I’ll earn it back,” he says instead. “Every day, if I have to. I’ll show up. I’ll stay.”

You search his eyes like you’re looking for the catch, for the part where this turns back into a dream. But all you see is sincerity. Raw, quiet sincerity.

“You don’t get to leave again,” you say softly. “Not after this.”

“I won’t.”

And you believe him. At least for tonight.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #thunderbolts #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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kiplex · 3 days ago

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Your boyfriend was so distracting. If you look up distracting in the dictionary, you're 99% sure there would be a picture of Caleb. You were trying to get some work done in his living room, typing away at your computer when he sauntered in wearing gym clothes. He has been really good at leaving you alone for most of the day, to give you your space to work but you could tell he was up to something the second he entered the room.

“I'm gonna drink some pre-work and then head to the gym." He says casually leaning against the door frame. You look at him. Man… Caleb Xia truly was God's favorite when it came to looks. You hate that he just looks so effortlessly beautiful. Your eyes scan his body, his hair is perfectly messy, his cologne wafts your way, his biceps on display, completely unbitten- it was almost too much to bare.

Your head snaps back to your laptop. You're almost done, you have to stay focused. Work now, bite your boyfriend's biceps later. " Yeah, whatever you want to do. ”He scoffs at your audacity. “Wow Pips, if I died, your last words to me would have been ‘yeah whatever’!” He shakes his head. "My girlfriend hates me.” He hangs his head in jest, but you can see that playful smirk hiding behind his facade. He wants to play games, fine you'll bite. "Caleb, that's not what I even said!? When have I ever said I hate you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. " Literally just now Pips, what do you mean?” You roll your eyes at him. “You are so dramatic." Caleb clutches his chest. " Wow just tell me to kill myself while your at it!” He wails, no longer even bothering to hide the grin on his face.

You shut your laptop and stand up in one fluid motion, crossing the room in big strides. "You're sooo annoying. Do you ever stop?” You huff, shoving him playfully, before tossing your laptop on to the couch. Caleb's eyes sparkle, reveling in the attention. "Ermm actually, this is the first time I've talked to you all day… soooooo…” "Yeah and in the span of a few minutes you've already managed to annoy me, that might be a personal record.” You must stay strong, you can feel your control slipping as your eyes rake over your boyfriend, who was grinning down at you like he'd won the lottery.

“Mmm not sure about that. I can get more annoying if you want." He wiggles an eyebrow at you and oddly enough that breaks your work minded demeanor. A hand flies to his cheek, you gently pinch the skin there. “One day!! That's all I asked for!!! I love you, but God living under the same roof as you is difficult. You have no idea how lethal you look right now, it's not fair; it's just distracting." You groan at him, your free hand softly poking him in the ribs. He laughs, as you continue to poke and prod at him, it's cuteness aggression at its finest.

He leans down, being a whole 2 heads taller than you, he towers over you. “Yeahhh and?" He drawls. You yank his head down farther, your lips ghosting over his. “I'm gonna do something about it." Your lips press against his, immediately you feel his smirk against your lips. Caleb 1, you 0.

Satisfied, you feel his entire body fold into yours as you kiss him with a little bit more urgency. He takes the opportunity to work his hands on your hips, pulling you in closer. “Am I still annoying you?” He asks, his hands toying with the hem of your baggy oversized shirt. "Because I can think of a lot more interesting ways to annoy you... Can keep you real distracted for the rest of the night…" He chuckles, his breath dancing across your neck.

Caleb may be a distraction, but maybe he can be welcomed one, just this time…

You can find my master list here!

My requests are also open!!

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reixtsu · 1 day ago

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Baby Saja reacting to reader on their period

When you first explain that you were on your period, he just blinked at you and started at like like (standing emoji) "So you're bleeding, and this happens every month?" He processes this for exactly two seconds before shrugging. "Gross. But okay." He doesn't really get who you feel so bad, but he understands a bit.

Stage one: Give your partner snacks.

He raids the snack cupboard and brings back everything. Like actually. Everything. Chips, chocolate, dried fruit, instant ramen and tteokbokki. "Pick what you want. Or I'll eat it." If you tease him about caring, he'd just deadpan and say, "No, I just don't want you whining that you're hungry later." (bro is already unwrapping your favorite chocolate bar/favorite treat.)

Stage two: Cold hands meets warm tummy

His demon body is always cold, so he is a living ice pack. He will flop across your stomach with zero shame. "I heard this helps." "Baby, you weight a ton-" "Shhh. I'm helping." When you shiver, he'll smugly say, "See? You forgot about the cramps."

Stage three: Entertainment duty

He insists on watching trashy reality shows or anime with you. If you try to get up, he'll drap himself over your thigh. "No. You're weak (Gojo that you???) Stay seated." Yes daddy- I MEAN- Oki if you want me to pookie bbg. makes sarcastic commentary over everything too. Like he has no filter. "That's way too cliche. Like, why did the movements go slow each time they looked at each other's eyes?"

Stage four: Fussy but sweet

He acts like your period is such a chore (it really is fr). "Ugh, fine, I'll get your heat back thingy." "Yes, I'll refill your water. Gosh, you're so demanding when you're like this." But he does it all without you asking twice. If you thank him, he just says, "Yeah, yeah. Be grateful." and proceed to turn his face away so that you wouldn't see the growing blush on his cheeks.

Stage six: Affection that slips out

When you're half asleep and whimpering from cramps, he'll quietly kiss you on the temple. "You're fine," he'll mumble softly into your ear. Make sure you don't tease him about it though because he'll just act like he didn't say shit. "Hm? What are you talking about? I didn't say anything."

Bonus:

Baby saja 100% uses your period as an excuse for more snuggle time. "You're sick. Cuddle time. Now." "Baby, I'm not sick-" "SICK"

#reixtsu #baby saja #baby saja x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys #the saja boys #kpdh x reader #kpdh #baby kpdh #my bbg <3 #period comfort

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lumosflairr · 3 days ago

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THE STARK PROTOCOL-PETER PARKER X STARK!READER

summary: when peter tries to admit his feelings for you and ask you on a date while your father is away, things suddenly dont go as planned and your father’s hologram catches you.

warnings: none!

word count: 2.3k

Peter knew it was a bad idea, But he couldn’t help it.

Liking you — falling for you — was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done. And he had done a lot of dumb things. Accidentally webbed himself to a moving train. Tried to fight an alien invasion with a half-charged suit. Tripped over Captain America’s shield during training.

But this? You?

This was a whole new kind of disaster.

Because you weren’t just anyone. You were you — Tony Stark’s daughter. The only person on the planet who somehow managed to be more terrifying, brilliant, and beautiful than your father all in one. You were magnetic in a way Peter didn’t stand a chance against. Funny without trying. Wicked smart. Eyes that saw right through him. Lips that curved into a smirk every time he got flustered — which was a lot.

And God, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

That kind of pretty that made him forget to blink. That made him short-circuit mid-sentence when you leaned over his shoulder in the lab or ruffled his hair when he was sulking. That kind of pretty that wasn’t just surface — it was woven into your voice, your laugh, the way you looked at him like he mattered.

And for a long time, he’d convinced himself it was fine. That he could just ignore it. That it was safer that way. Because Mr. Stark — Tony — had made it very clear how he felt about the idea of Peter getting anywhere near his daughter.

“I don’t want someone like you dragging her into this life,” he’d said once. Not cruel. Just firm. “She deserves normal. Stability. And you? You wear grief and danger like a second skin.”

And Peter… got it.

He did. He knew what it meant to live this life. He knew what it cost. He knew about responsibility. Sacrifice. Late nights, near-death experiences, and the weight of saving people who never knew your name.

But it didn’t stop how he felt. Not when you were around.

Especially not when you teased him the way you did.

When you sat beside him during team briefings and quietly passed him gum like he was going to combust under pressure. When you called him out in front of the team just to make him squirm, then winked at him after like it was your own private joke. When you stayed up late helping him fix his web shooters, fingers brushing over his every now and then, warm and steady and undeniably distracting.

It drove him insane — in the best, most excruciating way.

And tonight was no different.

The living room was quiet now — most of the team had scattered after dinner. Bucky and Sam were still bickering down the hall, and Wanda had disappeared with Vision, promising tea and calm. But here, on the couch, it was just Peter and you.

You sprawled across the cushions like you owned the place — which, okay, technically you did. Your legs were kicked up over the armrest, your top hitched up just enough to send Peter’s brain spiraling.

He sat beside you, tense and awkward, palms damp against his jeans. You flipped through the channels like none of it mattered, completely at ease.

“Wanda’s a goddess,” you sighed, settling on a rerun of something animated and ridiculous. “If I had her cooking powers, I’d be unstoppable.”

“You’re already kinda unstoppable,” Peter said, voice a little too high. “I mean — not like witch unstoppable — but you don’t really need paprika to be, uh, impressive. Or— yeah.”

You looked over at him, smirking. “Did you just compare me to paprika?”

Panic. “No! I mean, maybe? Not— not like a spice! I meant like, you’re— you know— great! Without the spice! Not that you’re bland, just—”

“Peter,” you said with a quiet laugh, “breathe.”

His mouth shut instantly, face flushing pink.

You tilted your head toward him, your teasing smile fading into something softer. The glow from the TV flickered across your face, casting shadows Peter was sure even the stars were jealous of. It was a moment — one of those this is it, do it now kind of moments.

So he swallowed his nerves and sat up a little straighter.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he started, scratching the back of his neck.

You quirked a brow, still watching him. “Finally confessing you stole my charger two months ago?”

“What? No! I mean, yes — but I was gonna return it! I just— I meant—”

You laughed, and it nearly broke him. He’d never get used to how beautiful you looked when you smiled.

“I was gonna say,” Peter said quickly, voice cracking just slightly, “I was wondering if you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

There. He said it. He actually said it.

His heart was racing. His whole body felt like it was vibrating from the inside out. He stared at you, half-expecting you to laugh or call him cute in that “oh sweetie” way you sometimes did when he was being awkward.

But you didn’t. You smiled — not teasing, not sarcastic, just… warm.

“Peter—” you started.

And then—

The TV blinked.

Static crackled.

The lights dimmed just slightly.

And suddenly — there he was.

Tony Stark.

In full holographic glory, projected in front of the screen like a ghost conjured by sarcasm and spite.

Peter’s blood ran cold.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” the hologram said, voice sharp and clipped. “Step away from my daughter.”

Peter nearly died.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Dad. Seriously?”

“I anticipated this,” Holo-Tony continued, ignoring you completely. “Exactly this. The minute you started ‘accidentally’ dropping by the tower three times a week, I initiated Protocol Stark #4.”

Peter’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I— this isn’t— I wasn’t— I mean, I was, but not like that—!”

“Do you have any idea,” Tony’s voice cut in like a guillotine, “how many high-level defense protocols I created to prevent this exact scenario? Hormone-fueled superheroes flirting with my daughter? Twelve. I built twelve.”

The hologram turned to look directly at Peter, as if it could somehow smell his panic.

“This is Protocol Stark #4: Don’t Even Think About It, Kid.”

Peter actually whimpered.

You were trying not to laugh, but failing miserably now. You shoved a pillow in your face to muffle the sound, shoulders shaking.

“I—I swear, sir, I wasn’t trying anything—well, I was, but—” Peter stopped himself. “Not like that! I respect her! And you! I mean—I respect her more obviously, not that I don’t respect you—”

“Kid,” the hologram cut in flatly. “Take a breath before you pass out and I have to activate Protocol #6: CPR from Hulk.”

Peter blinked. “That’s… not real, right?”

The hologram flickered slightly.

“…Maybe.”

Holographic Tony stood in front of the TV, glitching slightly at the edges, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite it being nighttime in New York. Somewhere behind him in the projection, palm trees and a luxury resort were just barely visible.

Peter froze. You dragged a hand over your face and let out the deepest sigh he’d ever heard from a human being.

Tony Stark tilted his head, calm and smug as ever. “Sweetheart, you know I run surprise protocol checks when I’m on vacation. You’re lucky I didn’t send the Mark 49.”

You gestured wildly at the screen. “You’re supposed to be on a getaway with Mom!”

“I am. She’s in the spa. I’m doing security sweeps. You know — relaxing.”

Peter looked like he was physically trying to sink into the couch cushions.

“I swear,” you muttered, “this is why we can’t have nice things.”

You groaned and turned to Peter. “Do not move. You’re not running away.”

“I wasn’t gonna run—” he whispered. “I was maybe gonna, like… web-launch out the window. Casually.”

You rolled your eyes and looked back at the screen. “Dad, seriously?”

Tony sighed dramatically. “Look. It’s not that I don’t like Peter.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, really?”

“I said it’s not that I don’t like you. I didn’t say I do like you.”

“Oh. That… yeah, that checks out.”

“It’s that I’ve spent years keeping my daughter out of the line of fire. And you, my kid, are a walking magnet for building collapses, supervillains, and emotionally repressed wizards. I don’t want her caught in that.”

You cut in, arms crossed. “I help you build suits. I literally write code for the Tower’s defense systems. I helped reprogram F.R.I.D.A.Y. last month to keep Peter from faceplanting off the 46th floor.”

“Still fell, though,” Tony said, looking off-screen.

“Because you turned off my webbing mid-air to test a reflex protocol!” Peter blurted.

Tony shrugged. “I had faith.”

You threw your arms up. “So what is this? The jealous dad on a tropical beach pulling security holograms every time a boy gets within five feet of me?”

“Yes,” Tony said immediately. “That’s exactly what this is.”

You looked down at your StarkPad, already typing. “Initiating manual override of Hologram Protocol #4…”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Voice authorization: I’m an adult, and Peter hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

Peter choked.

Tony’s sunglasses slipped slightly down his nose. “What did she just say?”

You pressed one final key. The hologram flickered.

“Love you, Dad. Go drink something with a tiny umbrella in it.”

And just like that, the hologram vanished with a high-pitched glitch and a long beep.

Peter stared at you, shell-shocked. “…He’s going to murder me when he gets back.”

“He’s not,” you said, leaning into his side with a sly smile. “Not if I get to you first.”

Peter blinked. “Wait— is that a threat or a date?”

You tilted your head. “Why not both?”

He flushed scarlet.

“So…” he said, cautiously hopeful. “That yes from earlier? Still valid?”

You reached over, slid your fingers into his. “Absolutely.”

Peter exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for five months.

“You’re sure? No retracting? No drones? No flaming swords?”

You grinned. “Just dinner, dork.”

He smiled back, slow and bright. “Cool. That’s— that’s really cool.”

A pause.

“…Should I be worried about Protocol #5?”

You nodded. “Oh, 100%. That one’s face-scanning and armed.”

Peter looked vaguely ill.

“Worth it though,” you said softly, resting your head on his shoulder.

He smiled like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Yeah,” he said. “Definitely worth it.”

#lumosflair #x reader #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark #spiderman #tom holland spiderman

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enimsiyobeht · 10 hours ago

Note

hey hi hello!

Just coming from ot8!skz cockdrunk piece and, if it's no trouble, could ask for something similar with ateez?

It's fine if you don't wanna! anyways, have a nice time, drink water!

i was actually going to do this anyways but im glad someone wants it (and thank you for reminding me about water, i tend to live off of coca cola)

Seonghwa gets clingy when he’s cockdrunk. His body trembles, legs wrapped tight around your waist as if he can't stand to be even a centimeter away. His arms hook around your neck, forehead pressed to yours, mouth open and panting your name like a prayer. “So deep... don’t stop... don’t wanna think, just wanna feel you...” His hole flutters greedily around you even after he’s come, overstimulated but still begging for more with every shaky gasp and twitching thigh.

Hongjoong tries to keep control—until he’s cockdrunk. Then he’s a whining mess, legs trembling as he clutches your arms, his head thrown back with glassy eyes. “F-fuck... you’re gonna break me... I can’t even think...” Every time you thrust in, he stutters, pupils blown wide as if the sensation is short-circuiting his brain. He stares down where your cock disappears inside him like it’s unreal, like he's too full to function but can't bear for it to stop.

Yunho goes soft when he’s cockdrunk—in the way his muscles loosen and his mind turns to mush. You can feel his whole body tremble, can hear the broken little whines caught in his throat. “Please... more... d-don’t stop... feels so good...” Tears line his lashes as you pound into him from behind, his cheeks flushed, drooling onto the pillow as he pushes back for more. His size is no help; he folds under you, desperate to be filled, fucked, and used until he can’t remember his own name.

Yeosang gets quiet when he's cockdrunk. Too fucked out to form words, his moans come out in soft hiccups and whimpers. But his body says everything—twitching thighs, trembling fingers digging into your shoulders, and eyes glazed with lust. “More... again... harder...” Those few words slip from his lips like a spell, whispered with broken breath as he arches up to take everything you give. He’ll grab your wrist when you slow down, pleading silently for you to keep going until he’s shaking under you.

San doesn’t realize how loud he gets when he’s cockdrunk. The moans spill out uninhibited, high and gasping, your name a sob on his tongue as his nails dig into the sheets. “I-I can’t take it… f-fuck, too deep…” And yet he doesn’t stop pushing back, hole clenching around you like he needs it to survive. You hold him down as he thrashes through another orgasm, his legs kicking as you fuck him through the overstimulation.

Mingi goes pliant when he’s cockdrunk, all strength gone from his limbs as he melts under your touch. He cries when you bottom out, half-whining, half-laughing at how sensitive he feels. “Can’t... it’s so good...” He holds onto your biceps, nails digging in weakly as his hips jerk up to meet every thrust. He’s overwhelmed, undone, mindless—and you love every second of watching his big frame twitch and beg under you.

Wooyoung gets bratty and shameless when cockdrunk. He’ll taunt you until the pleasure catches up and he’s the one sobbing into the sheets, back arched, ass shaking. “You like this hole, huh? Then take it—ah, fuck, too much!” He grabs at anything he can—your arms, the sheets, the headboard—as you fuck him deeper, desperate moans tumbling out. His whole body pulses when he cums again, ass clenching tight around you like he never wants to let go.

Jongho grits his teeth at first, trying to stay composed. But when he gets cockdrunk, he crumbles beautifully. Moaning uncontrollably, body shaking, fingers bruising your back. “F-fuck me... please, I need it... need all of it...” His voice is cracked, broken by moans and the wet sound of skin meeting skin. You pound him harder, watching him fall apart beneath you, his thighs twitching with every deep stroke. And even after he cums, he begs for more—completely lost in you.

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mmeskywalker · 2 days ago

Note

Hayden tries to work sick on the set of Ashoka and gets sent home. Reader takes care of him plz and thank you 😊

|| I’m Right Here

summary: HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN isn’t feeling his best. his posture is slack, his words slur together, and sweat clings to his hairline as heat radiates off his skin — practically burning hotter than the red lightsaber he’s already dropped mid-scene. when the director sends him home from set, you’re right there with him.

a/n: this is such a cutie request! thank you for sending me it:)

warnings: none! on the shorter side, but still sugary sweet ❤️

you notice the second he walks on set that something’s off. his posture’s sluggish, eyes a little glassy, skin pale under the makeup. he brushes it off with a weak smile and a cough he tries to muffle behind his glove, insisting he’s fine—just tired, maybe a little dehydrated.

but then the director calls cut mid-scene because hayden stumbles, barely catching himself. his lightsaber clatters to the floor.

you’re at his side in less than a millisecond.

“you’re burning up,” you murmur, pressing your hand to his forehead. he leans into your touch like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

they send him home, of course. tell him to rest.

and you go with him.

because you’re not about to let him take care of himself when he can barely stay upright. not when he needs you. not when he looks at you with tired eyes like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs, trying—but failing—to sit straighter on the mattress. you’re immediately at his side, brushing the hair out of his face as you cradle his head onto the pillow.

hayden opens his mouth to say something, but you shake your head. “i have some of that soup you like cooking on the stovetop,” you sit by his side, using the back of your fingers to check his temperature.

still burning.

“you don’t have to talk. just rest,” you say softly, your palm settling on his cheek for a moment. he closes his eyes at the touch, lashes fluttering like he’s already half-asleep.

his voice is rough when he tries again. “you’re too good to me.”

you let out a quiet laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to his damp forehead. “yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your stubborn ass alive.”

he gives the faintest smile, barely-there but still warm. you adjust the blanket over his chest, tucking it in like he’s not twice your size and pretending he doesn’t secretly love it.

“five more minutes and then you’re eating,” you whisper, fingers threading gently through his hair. “even if i have to spoon-feed you.”

his brow lifts the tiniest bit, teasing even now. “kinda into that,” he chuckles, the low sound reverberating through his chest until he coughs.

you roll your eyes but don’t fight the grin tugging at your lips. “sleep. before i smother you with a pillow.”

“hot,” he hoarsely breathes.

you groan and shake your head, already reaching for the cool rag to lay across his forehead.

“don’t get up,” you warn with a warm lit to your tone, kissing the tip of his nose. as you stand, hayden’s fingers curl gently around yours, allowing you to pull away as you make your way to the kitchen.

“i’m just getting your soup,” you call softly over your shoulder, glancing back to catch the way his eyes stay on you, heavy-lidded and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

he doesn’t say anything, just watches you go with that soft little smile like you’re some kind of miracle.

you move quietly through the kitchen, ladling the soup into a bowl, the smell of garlic and herbs wrapping around you like a blanket. it’s the one he always asks for when he’s sick—though he never actually says he’s sick. just “a little off” or “run down.” but you always know.

back in the bedroom, he’s right where you left him—splayed across the mattress, flushed and sleepy, blanket tugged up to his chest. he blinks up at you like you’re the dream and not the other way around.

“hey,” you murmur, settling the bowl down on the nightstand. “think you’re up for a few bites?”

he nods, slow and lazy. “only if you sit with me.”

you smile, slipping in beside him, legs tucked under your body, spoon in hand. “i planned on it.”

he doesn’t eat much—just a few spoonfuls before his head lolls back against the pillow, murmuring a soft “thank you” that melts against your collarbone when you lean in to wipe his mouth with a napkin.

you set the bowl aside, curl back under the covers beside him, and he immediately shifts closer, chasing your warmth with a sleepy sort of desperation. his arm winds around your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt like he needs to feel your skin to settle.

you stay like that for hours.

the rest of the night moves slowly, gently.

he wakes a few times—once shivering, once drenched in sweat, once just to mumble your name until you soothe him back to sleep with soft touches and even softer words: “shh, it’s okay, my love, go back to sleep.”

you keep a cool cloth near the bed, change his shirt when it gets too damp, let him cling to you like a lifeline. when you step away to grab water or medicine, he stirs, eyes barely open, asking where you went with the smallest slur of panic in his voice.

each time, you return with a kiss to his forehead and a quiet promise: “i’m right here.”

by the time the sky begins to lighten, casting pale golden through the bedroom windows, hayden’s fever has dropped just a little, his breathing steadier.

he’s still curled around you, one hand loosely resting against your ribs, his face tucked into your neck like he doesn’t want the morning to take you away.

and you don’t move.

you stay with him, fingertips trailing gently through his messy hair, whispering nothing words into the quiet as he finally, finally rests.

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ak319 · 2 days ago

Note

Reader injured her arm or something and needs help putting her corset on and Arthur/John are too eager to volunteer to do it (And realize they have no idea how to do it)

🌹anon

┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list

𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 – "𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐭" (𝐇𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬)

Your arm was wrapped tight in a sling, nothing broken, just badly bruised and you were doing your best to dress without sobbing from frustration.

That’s when Arthur ducked into the tent, holding your breakfast plate.

He stopped cold when he saw you struggling with your corset.

You didn’t even look up. "Don’t say anything."

"I wasn’t gonna," he muttered. "...You need help?"

You sighed. “I can’t do the ties. Not with one hand."

He shifted, suddenly too casual. "Well, hell. I can do that. Ain’t hard."

You paused. "Arthur, are you sure-"

"You think I can’t tie a few little strings? Gimme that."

Ten seconds later, he was behind you, staring down at the absolute maze of loops, lace, boning, and ribbons like it had personally insulted him.

You tried not to laugh.

He muttered, "What the hell is all this?"

"It’s a corset."

He grunted. "Looks like a damn horse harness."

You rolled your eyes. "Just pull the ribbons tight. From the bottom up."

He tried. Truly.

But his rough fingers kept snagging the loops, pulling the wrong sides, somehow tying it into a lopsided bow at your shoulder.

"This thing got instructions?"

"It’s not a tent, Arthur."

"Well it sure as hell ain’t practical," he muttered, pressing his hand low on your back to keep you steady. His other hand tugged a bit more.

Too hard.

"HEY?!"

"Sorry," he grinned. "Just tryna make it tight. Can’t have you fallin’ apart on me."

"Then be gentle."

His voice dropped slightly.

"I am bein’ gentle,” he said, close enough to kiss your ear. "If I weren’t, this thing’d be on the floor already."

"..."

He chuckled and leaned in. "Ain’t no rush, darlin’. But next time, maybe skip the corset."

You didn’t see it, but the lopsided knot he tied at the top would stay crooked all day.

He was proud of it.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 – "𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐲, 𝐈 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐭" (𝐇𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭)

"You need help or somethin’ princess?"

John leaned against the tent post like he hadn’t been watching you struggle for five minutes straight.

"I’m fine," you muttered, one hand bracing yourself against the cot, the other trying to twist the corset shut.

"Didn’t look fine," he said, stepping inside and already reaching for the strings. "C’mon, move your hair. I’ll do it."

You turned, brows raised. "You?"

He grinned. "Yeah, me. You forget I got calluses and charm?"

"Pretty sure neither of those help with corset-lacing."

He waved you off. "Relax. I used to saddle horses. Can’t be that different."

It was that different.

He stared at the crisscrossing ribbons with the blankest expression.

"Why’s it got so many damn holes for?!"

“Because it’s supposed to fit snug--ow! YOU STUPID?!"

"My bad!" He panicked, hands fluttering like he just broke a vase. "I didn’t mean to tug like that."

"John, you’re tightening one side and loosening the other."

"Hell," he muttered. "These knots got a mind of their own.…I’m gonna need a tutorial. Or just... let me tear the damn thing off."

"John."

"Kiddin’," he said, tugging gently again. "Mostly."

Eventually, you ended up standing there, arms crossed, while he fumbled and cursed under his breath ,one ribbon caught around his thumb, another inexplicably looped into your hair.

"You sure this is how it goes?" he asked, utterly lost.

"I’m sure I’m regretting this."

He chuckled under his breath, kissing the back of your neck without warning.

"Don’t worry," he whispered. "You can just wear my shirt tonight."

#lovely anon #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x fem reader #arthur morgan x female reader #john marston angst #yandere john marston #john marston x fem reader #john marston x you #john marston x reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead 2 #red dead fandom

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pillow-coded · 2 days ago

Text

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 11

Summary: After a week of silence, Spencer finally comes back with hope. But Y/N’s guard is still up, and one broken toy shatters more than just plastic. Couple: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warnings: Angsttttt, big argument Word Count: 7.8k

A/N: I’ll post chapter 12 in a couple of hours, I’m sorry for the delay, it’s just been a busy day for me.

Series Masterlist

My whole life, I’ve been running away from anything that gets too overwhelming. Doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad—if it’s personal, I shut down. I could be standing in a warehouse, talking an unsub down with a gun to my chest, and feel completely fine. But the moment someone asks how I’m really doing, or what I want, or whether I meant that look, that touch—I run.

Like the pile of unopened mail on my kitchen counter—bills, medical forms, probably something from the Bureau about my insurance renewal. I know I should open them. I don’t.

Or like the time my old professor from Caltech left a message. There’s an open guest lecture slot, and he wanted me to consider coming back. Just for a day.

I listened to the voicemail. Then deleted it.

Never called him back. Never told anyone it happened.

Because going back to Caltech would mean confronting who I was before. Before the BAU. Before the trauma. Before addiction hollowed me out and stitched me back together wrong. And I’m terrified that version of me doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe it’s like the way I dodge the entire subject of Cat Adams with such precision it should be studied.

The case is closed. She’s in prison. That should be enough.

But the other day, when Garcia casually mentioned a stray cat outside her apartment—I froze. My entire body went still. It was just a phrase. A cat. And still, I heard her voice.

I’ve never told anyone what Cat really said to me. What she made me do in that visitation room. How it made me feel—less than human. Like a puppet with strings I didn’t know I had.

JJ knows, She was there that day, and unfortunately, saw what I think is the worst part of me. She’s tried to make me talk about it a couple times, says it’ll be good for me. I just keep it all locked away, convinced silence is strength. Pretending I’ve moved on. Pretending it doesn’t crawl under my skin at night.

I told myself I wouldn’t run from them. Not this time. That I’d let myself want something soft. Something good. That maybe I could stay.

But last week proved I haven’t changed at all.

Because the second her lips touched mine—I ran.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

I shouldn’t have left. That’s the part I keep circling back to—not the way she looked at me, not the shift in the air between us, not even the fact that I pulled back like a coward. It’s the leaving. The silence I left behind.

One second, her breath was on mine, and the next, I was halfway down the hallway, keys in hand, pretending like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just come inches from either ruining everything… or finally admitting to myself that maybe, just maybe, I deserved them.

It’s been a week, and I still can’t stop thinking about it. About her. About the way her eyes flicked down to my mouth, like she’d been waiting. About how I should’ve just leaned back in—cupped her cheeks—and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.

We haven’t talked much since.

She wasn’t texting or calling, which I was going crazy without. You’d think I would’ve texted myself, but I was too ashamed of what I’d done to do anything about it. Too ashamed of the way I ran. Of how easily I reverted to old patterns—retreat, repress, pretend.

I kept rereading our old messages like they might offer a roadmap back to whatever we were before. Before I let silence answer for me. Before I turned my back on something that felt dangerously close to real.

Every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped—stupidly, breathlessly—until it wasn’t her. And then I hated myself a little more for hoping.

I tried to distract myself. I worked late, cleaned my apartment, reorganized my books. But nothing helped. Not really.

Then Maddie called.

She got Y/N’s phone somehow and managed to dial me—probably by pure chaotic magic, the way only five-year-olds can.

“Hello?”

“Spencer!” Her voice was so bright. So completely unaware of the tension humming underneath everything. And it undid me.

“Hi, princess,” I said, already smiling. “How are you?”

“I miss you!”

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

“Can you come to my house to play Princess Hospital with me? Mommy said she’s busy.”

“You have to ask your mama if I can go, Mads.”

“I did. She keeps saying tomorrow.”

That made my heart sink.

Not getting texts or calls from her was already enough to keep me pacing, checking my phone like an idiot. But this—hearing that she was deliberately pushing me off—was worse. It wasn’t just silence anymore. It was avoidance. Distance. Intentional or not, it felt like rejection. And it hurt more than I expected it to.

And Maddie, in her sparkly, sugar-spun innocence, didn’t even know she was delivering the final blow.

“Maddie, I told you not to grab my phone, sweetie…”

I heard her voice in the background—closer with each word, low and tense and unmistakably hers. My pulse picked up instantly.

“Who did you call?”

There was a pause. A soft shuffle. Then nothing but static and breath.

And then—

“Spencer?”

She didn’t sound mad. Not exactly. Just surprised. Guarded.

“Hey,” I said quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—Maddie just… she called me, I—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in. Too quickly. Too politely.

That made it worse somehow.

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” I tried again, even though the apology felt clumsy in my mouth. “I can go—”

“No. It’s okay. Really.”

Another silence.

I could practically hear her deciding what kind of boundary to build between us.

Then, finally:

“She really wants to see you.” She paused briefly, “So… if you’re free tonight, you can come over.”

She didn’t say I want to see you too.

She didn’t say much at all.

But I clung to it anyway.

“Okay,” I murmured. “I’ll be there.”

I almost wanted to cancel.

But I didn’t.

Because even if she wasn’t waiting at the door, even if her smile didn’t reach her eyes, I’d still show up.

All I could do now was try to stay.

So I grabbed the stupidly over-wrapped box I’d been holding onto all week—Maddie’s favorite glitter pen set and a plastic tiara that looked absurdly like the one she wore last time. I told myself I brought it for her, but maybe I just needed an excuse to come back.

The drive felt longer than usual. Every turn, every red light, every street sign was too familiar, too full of memory.

The streets I used to look forward to driving through—the ones I’d memorized like a favorite book, now just felt like approaching a cliff edge I’d built myself.

By the time I parked, my palms were sweating against the steering wheel. My chest felt too tight. I checked my reflection in the mirror, fixed my hair even though it wouldn’t help, and grabbed the bag.

I hesitated at the door.

There used to be a rhythm to this. Three soft knocks. Maddie shouting before the door even opened. Y/N smiling like I belonged there.

This time, it was quieter.

I knocked.

One breath.

Two.

And then— The door opened.

Y/N stood there, hair pulled back messily, sweater sleeves pushed up. She looked like she hadn’t slept much.

Her eyes flicked over me, then to the gift bag, then back again.

“We were just setting up the operating room,” she said.

A smile. Small. Careful.

“She has glitter flu,” she added.

I nodded, trying to mirror her ease, even though everything in me felt brittle.

“I brought backup supplies,” I said, lifting the bag slightly.

That made her smile a little more. Barely.

“Come in,” she murmured, stepping aside.

So I did.

Because no matter how quiet things had gotten—how tense or off or unfinished—this still felt like the only place I wanted to be.

Even if I didn’t know where I stood anymore.

“Spencer!!!!”

Maddie’s voice cracked through the room like a firework, shrill and delighted and entirely unaware of the undercurrent between her mother and me. She came barreling out of the hallway in mismatched socks and a pink tutu, a toy stethoscope slung around her neck like a badge of honor.

“You’re late! The unicorns are already in surgery!”

I barely had time to brace myself before she threw her arms around my legs in a glitter-dusted hug.

“I brought backup,” I said, holding out the gift bag.

She gasped like I’d handed her a golden ticket. “Extra supplies! Mommy, he brought extra sparkles!”

Y/N gave a small smile from across the room. Quiet. Guarded. Still hard to read.

I wanted to hold onto Maddie’s excitement. Let it fill the spaces that had grown sharp and quiet. I dropped to my knees beside her, letting her pull me toward the couch where her hospital setup had completely overtaken the living room floor.

“Dr. Sparkle, reporting for duty,” I said softly.

Maddie giggled. “You’re gonna help me save Princess Glitter-Belle!”

So I did.

“Mommy, are you gonna play with us?”

Y/N looked up from the couch, where she was curled with a book she clearly hadn’t turned a page of in the last minute of us setting up the makeshift hospital.

“Oh honey, I’d love to… but I’m tired,” she said gently, offering Maddie a small smile. “I think I’ll only watch this time.”

Maddie didn’t question it. She just shrugged and went back to diagnosing Princess Glitter-Belle with a severe case of Rainbow Rash.

But I noticed.

Y/N usually threw herself into these games, made up entire subplots, played the Evil Queen or the Royal Nurse with accents and flourishes Maddie found hilarious. But tonight, she barely looked up. She just held the book like a shield, nodding along to our make-believe surgery like it was background noise.

I glanced at her more than I should’ve. She didn’t meet my eyes, but I knew that she was aware of my glances and stares.

And I don’t know why, but that hurt more than if she’d been outright cold.

It was like being near her was the punishment. Like this was the consequence of me running away from her attempts at a connection beyond of what we had.

“Princess Glitter-Bella,” Maddie began, her voice suddenly full of urgency, “she ate too many glitter muffins and came into the hospital very early this morning. She asked for the best doctor at the hospital. She’s been waiting all day, Dr. Sparkles. What will we do?”

I forced a smile. Played along.

“Well,” I said, adjusting my invisible glasses with exaggerated seriousness, “she just has to drink some pixie dust.”

Maddie gasped. “We ran out!”

She looked at me with big, panicked eyes, holding her stuffed unicorn to her chest like a nurse awaiting orders.

“Then…” I paused, pretending to think, “we’ll have to make some from scratch.”

“How?”

I leaned in and whispered, “Three sprinkles. Two butterfly kisses. And a secret from someone’s heart.”

Maddie squealed. “I have the sprinkles!”

She darted off toward her art bin in the corner.

And for a second, I looked up again—back toward Y/N.

Still on the couch. Still holding that book. Still not looking at me.

And I couldn’t help it.

All I could think about was what she could possibly be thinking.

“Dr. Sparkles, I brought the sprinkles!!” Maddie announced, breathless and triumphant, holding up a tiny plastic cup filled with glitter.

I smiled at her enthusiasm, but it didn’t quite reach all the way.

“Good,” I said, adjusting my voice to sound steady, warm. “Now we just need the butterfly kisses and the secret from someone’s heart.”

Maddie paused, tilting her head like she was genuinely considering it. “Can I give the butterfly kisses?”

“Of course,” I said.

She leaned over to kiss the stuffed princess doll right on the forehead, giggling to herself. Then she turned back to me with all the seriousness a four-year-old can muster.

“Okay, but… what about the secret? Are you gonna tell one?”

I looked at her. At the innocence in her eyes, the kind that didn’t know what it meant to keep things locked away.

I felt something heavy stir in my chest.

I could’ve said anything—made up a new rule, changed the subject. But my voice came out quieter than I intended.

“I think…” I glanced up again. Toward Y/N. Still quiet. Still turned just slightly away.

“I think sometimes the secret stays a secret,” I murmured. “Even if you really want to share it.”

Maddie didn’t seem to notice the shift in tone. She just shrugged. “Okay! We can just use my secret.”

She leaned in close and whispered something into the doll’s ear that I couldn’t hear.

Then she looked at me and beamed. “Now she’s gonna feel all better.”

God, I hoped so.

Because I wasn’t sure I could say the same for myself.

“Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom,” Maddie chirped, already getting to her feet, tiara bouncing with each step.

“Alright, sweetie,” Y/N said softly, setting her book aside. “Do you need help?”

Maddie shook her head, determined. “Nope. I’m big now.”

We both watched her disappear down the hall, the echo of her little footsteps fading around the corner.

And then—quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful. The kind that prickles under your skin.

I stayed where I was on the floor, suddenly aware of how still everything had become. The living room, the leftover glitter, the space between us.

She was standing now, by the edge of the couch. One arm crossed loosely over her stomach, the other hanging at her side. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sweater like she didn’t know what to do with them.

I looked up at her, and for the first time all evening, she looked back.

Really looked.

Her expression was unreadable. Not angry. Not cold. Just… tired. Worn down by something I couldn’t quite name.

I swallowed.

“Y/N…” I said her name softly, a question tucked into the sound.

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped from mine. Then she shook her head—barely, like she was shaking something off.

“I’m fine,” she said.

That lie sat heavy in the space between us.

“You’re not…” I speak out, which was strange for me. This was usually the part where I hid within myself. “You’ve barely spoken to me since I got here… you’re just sitting there, not even reading—”

“Who says I wasn’t reading?”

“You’ve been on the same page for five minutes now…. I just kinda thought you’d join in to the whole… glitter pink hospital.”

“I’m just feeling under the weather.”

She said it too smoothly. Too quickly. Like she’d rehearsed it. Like maybe she’d planned to use that excuse no matter what I said tonight.

I let out a quiet breath, sat back on my heels. Tried not to let the sting show too much.

“Oh,” I said, nodding like I believed her. “Right.”

A beat passed. Two.

I picked up one of Maddie’s stuffed animals and turned it over in my hands, like maybe if I focused hard enough, it’d stop the pressure from tightening in my chest.

“I just thought…” I swallowed, still not looking at her. “I thought maybe something was wrong. With us.”

The silence that followed that word—us—was louder than anything Maddie had said all evening.

I finally looked up.

She was already looking at me.

And she didn’t say a thing.

“Dr. Sparkles! a new patient has arrived! she needs urgent care!”

Maddie’s voice rang out from the hallway like a lifeline thrown too early.

Y/N blinked, her gaze breaking from mine in an instant. Whatever had been forming behind her eyes—whatever she might have said—was gone.

Swallowed by the sound of little feet padding across the floor.

Maddie charged back into the room, cradling a stuffed giraffe in her arms like it was on its last breath.

“Her name is Princess Longneck. She fell off the castle tower and broke her magic glitter dress!” she said breathlessly, placing the giraffe between us.

I looked at it. Then at Y/N.

She was already backing away, returning to the couch, to her book, to safety.

Back to pretending.

“Better get to work,” she said, voice too light, too even.

I turned back to the giraffe. Nodded.

“Of course,” I murmured. “We’ll do everything we can.”

But my heart wasn’t in it anymore.

Not with Y/N sitting just a few feet behind us—quiet, guarded, clearly still hurting because of me. Because I ran.

I should apologize. I should kneel in front of her right now, tell her how sorry I am. That I panicked. That I left because the moment felt too good, not because it didn’t mean anything. I should tell her I haven’t stopped thinking about it, about her, about the way her eyes flickered shut like she was waiting for—

“How can we help her?” Maddie ask, tugging on my sleeve.

I didn’t hear her.

I was too busy wondering if it’s too late. If she’s already decided I don’t belong here anymore. If the door I walked out of last week is the one I won’t be walking back through.

“Dr. Sparkles!”

I blinked. Maddie was staring up at me now, wide-eyed, her bottom lip starting to wobble.

“You’re not listening,” she whispered. “Princess Longneck’s really sick, and you’re supposed to help.”

“I…” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I got distracted.”

She frowned. “But you never get distracted.”

I smiled, weakly. “I know. I’ll do better.”

I reached for the giraffe again, but my hands felt heavy. Everything did.

Across from us, I could feel Y/N’s eyes on me. And for the first time tonight, I didn’t look back.

Because I didn’t think I could handle what I’d see.

“Maybe you need some snacks. I’ll go get my brownies!”

Maddie got up and scrambled to the kitchen.

Y/N followed a beat later. Quietly. No words, just a soft shuffle of feet and the rustle of her sweater sleeve as she pushed herself off the couch.

Except… I didn’t know where she went.

I didn’t hear the fridge open. Didn’t hear Maddie call out to her. Just silence. Like she’d slipped out of the room—maybe the apartment—altogether.

And she left. She really left.

I sat there on the rug, surrounded by plush animals and glitter band-aids and cardboard crowns, and I just—

I didn’t want her to go.

I wanted her here. I needed her here.

I needed to look at her. Talk to her. Say something real and hear her say something back.

I needed to hear her voice, her laugh—the kind of laugh she used to give me, effortless and warm, the one that always made me feel like I wasn’t too much.

I needed to know I hadn’t ruined everything.

I stayed sitting there on the rug, unmoving, while Maddie’s voice drifted faintly from the kitchen. I couldn’t make out the words—just the rhythm of her excitement, the clinking of something plastic—but Y/N’s voice was missing from it. And somehow that absence felt louder than anything else.

She was still here. Somewhere. Maybe only a room away. But it didn’t matter. It still felt like she was gone.

I missed her.

God, I missed her—and she hadn’t even left the house.

I missed the way she’d lean on the doorframe and smile at whatever nonsense Maddie and I were doing. I missed how she’d chime in with some absurd diagnosis of her own—“I think this princess has a case of sparkle fatigue. Only solution is snuggles and juice.” I missed the way she used to look at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. Like I was something she was still trying to figure out but wanted to understand.

I missed her voice. Her laugh. Her eyes when they softened. The way she always offered tea when I came over, even though I always said yes and barely drank it. I missed the quiet conversations we’d have after Maddie fell asleep—the ones that made the world feel smaller, safer.

And I missed the feeling I used to get in this apartment. That maybe, for once, I belonged somewhere.

It was stupid. It had only been a week.

But it also hadn’t. Because this wasn’t just about time—it was about what it had started to feel like. What she had started to mean to me. What Maddie had started to mean.

I had this picture in my head, this fragile daydream of what it could’ve looked like if I hadn’t run that night. If I’d just stayed. If I’d kissed her.

Would she be curled next to me now instead of retreating behind rooms and walls?

Would her eyes still light up when she saw me?

Would she be sitting on this floor, a toy tiara crooked on her head, laughing at whatever diagnosis Maddie threw out next?

Instead, she was gone.

Still within the walls of this home—but unreachable.

And I hated myself for being the reason why.

“Spencer?” Maddie’s loud voice cut through my thoughts.

She was standing in front of me, holding a small plastic plate with a brownie crumbling at the edges, her brows furrowed with something like worry. I realized—she must’ve called my name a few times already.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I said, sitting up straighter, forcing my voice to be light. “What were you saying?”

“I brought you the brownies,” she said, her voice small now. Like she was unsure if she’d done something wrong.

“Right,” I nodded quickly. “Thank you. That was really sweet of you.”

She smiled, but it was softer than usual. Dimmed. Like even she could feel something was off.

She placed the plate carefully beside me and sat back down, fidgeting with one of her stuffed animals in her lap.

“Princess Longneck said you seem sad,” she mumbled after a moment, not looking at me.

That hit harder than it should have.

I looked down at the toy in front of me, the half-finished surgery, the glitter scattered like shrapnel around the living room carpet. Then up, toward the hallway where Y/N had disappeared.

I forced a smile for Maddie’s sake, even if it didn’t reach all the way.

“Tell her I’m just tired,” I said gently.

But I think we both knew that was a lie.

The past week felt like moving through water—thick, slow, impossible to breathe in. I kept telling myself it didn’t matter, that it was just a simple rejection, a moment that passed. But my body didn’t believe me.

I’d reach for my phone and stop myself. I’d think of something funny to tell him, something Maddie said, something small and inconsequential—and I’d freeze. Because I didn’t know if I was still allowed to share those things with him anymore.

It wasn’t the rejection itself that gutted me. It was the aftermath. The space he left in the room when he walked out. The fact that he never looked back. The fact that I did.

I got up from the couch, no explanation, I just needed space. A breath. A wall between us so I could stop wondering if I’d imagined everything we were building.

But I didn’t go far.

I stood just around the corner, back pressed against the kitchen entryway, listening to them. Listening to him.

I needed to know if he was still himself. If he was still ours.

And for a moment, it almost felt like before.

Until I heard the edge in Maddie’s voice when she said, “Princess Longneck said you seem sad.”

I leaned in slightly, just enough to glimpse them from where I stood.

Spencer looked like a man unraveling slowly—still trying to smile for her, still showing up, but barely holding the seams together. I wanted to reach out. I almost did.

Then he said, “Tell her I’m just tired.”

But it was obviously not that.

He was just as bothered as I was over the events of last week.

“Why are you tired? Is it because of your superhero job?”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, barely audible. The one he did when he was trying to mask how close the words landed.

“Did your mommy tell you about that?” he asked.

“She says we don’t see you a lot because you’re out there fighting bad guys… is it true?”

A pause.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “It’s true.”

I swallowed hard.

I had said that. Weeks ago, when Maddie had insisted on seeing him every single day of the week. It was meant to be a comfort. A distraction. Something whimsical and heroic.

From my spot in the hallway, I could hear the silence building again.

Then Maddie asked, “Do you miss me when you’re gone?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Long enough that I had to close my eyes and brace myself for what he might say.

“More than you know,” he finally murmured.

And it cracked something in me.

Because I believed him.

Even after everything—after the kiss, after the distance, after a week of cold space and half-sentences—He was still here.

“Did you miss mommy?”

My breath caught.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood frozen in the hallway, fingers curling tighter around the edge of my sleeve.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, all I could hear was the faint hum of the fridge behind me, the light clink of Maddie fidgeting with her toys.

And then, barely above a whisper:

“Yeah. I did.”

That was all.

Simple. Unadorned. No explanation. No hesitation. Just yeah, I did, spoken like a truth he hadn’t meant to say out loud. Like something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head but never dared to release until now.

His voice had that quiet pull to it—soft, reverent, full of something that sounded too close to longing. Like he wasn’t just answering Maddie’s question, but mine too. The one I’d been too afraid to ask: Did any of it mean something to you? Or was I the only one who felt it shift?

And maybe I was reading into it. Maybe I wanted to. But I could still feel the echo of it ripple through me, slow and deep, settling somewhere beneath my ribs—warm, sharp, uninvited. That kind of ache you get when you realize you’ve been holding your breath for days and didn’t notice until someone says something kind enough to make your chest hurt.

I hadn’t even seen his face, but I heard him. I heard how careful he was with it. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to miss me, but couldn’t stop himself from doing it anyway.

I stayed there, still pressed against the wall, heart knocking hard against bone. Not moving. Not daring to breathe. Because if I did—if I stepped around the corner and looked at him now—I didn’t know what I’d do. I didn’t know what I’d say. Only that I wanted to. That I missed him, too. And maybe I always would.

before I could step back in or say anything at all—

Snap.

A small, hollow crack echoed from the living room.

Maddie gasped. “You broke it!”

“You broke Princess Longneck’s tiara!”

I stepped out from behind the kitchen wall just in time to see it unfold.

Maddie was standing in the middle of the living room, clutching the now-cracked stuffed animal to her chest, staring at Spencer like he’d done something unforgivable. He still held the small plastic tiara in his hands, one piece barely clinging to the other. His face—God, his face—was already tight with panic. Regret.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said gently, crouching down, holding the pieces up. “I was just trying to straighten it, and it cracked. But it’s okay—we can fix it, I promise. I’ll find glue, or tape, or—”

“No!” Maddie’s voice came out shrill, close to the edge. “You weren’t paying attention! You weren’t even listening!”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and her tiny frame started to tremble—breath hitching, shoulders rising. She was unraveling fast.

And Spencer was trying. God, he was trying.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, sweetheart, let’s take a breath, alright? Can you do that with me? In and out—just like we practiced—”

He’d done this before. He’d helped her through bigger meltdowns than this. In grocery store aisles and crowded sidewalks and quiet nights when she couldn’t sleep. He knew the drill. And normally, it worked.

But this time—it wasn’t.

And I could see it in his posture. The way his shoulders pulled in tighter. The way his voice cracked at the edge of too much.

“Maddie,” he said, a little louder, a little firmer, still trying to hold onto the moment. “It’s just a toy. We can fix it, or I’ll buy you a new one”

Wrong move.

She flinched. Her lip trembled. “It was a big deal to me!”

And then—

“Madeline, that’s enough.” Spencer snapped. Not a yell. But too loud. Too sharp. His voice cut the air like something final.

She froze. The tears stopped, suspended. Her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes flooded all over again—but this time, she didn’t scream.

She just looked… hurt.

And for a second—just one breathless second—everything stopped.

Time slowed. The room blurred at the edges. And all I could see was Maddie’s face, crumpling in confusion. All I could hear was Spencer’s voice still ringing in the air, too sharp, too unlike him.

How could it be that the same man who fell asleep on my couch with my baby curled against his chest—the same man who once sat on the kitchen floor with her for hours just to convince her that monsters weren’t real—was now the reason she looked like that?

How could he go from tracing butterflies on her back during a meltdown to snapping her name like it was something to be ashamed of?

I blinked, stunned still. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew he hadn’t meant it. I knew that. But that didn’t matter. Not when Maddie was standing there like that—silent, shaking, shrinking in front of him.

Not when the air between them had turned from safe to something sharp.

And in the space of that one breath—I moved.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

My voice cracked through the room like a whip—sharp, louder than I intended, but I didn’t care. It cut through the silence, through the tension, through the part of me that still loved him. Because Maddie was crying. And he’d made her cry.

Spencer turned slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d really heard me. His eyes were wide, stunned—like I’d knocked the breath out of him. He stood up from the rug, stiff and uncertain, still holding the broken tiara in one hand like a white flag he didn’t know how to wave.

“It was an accident,” he said, voice quick and uneven. “I didn’t mean to break it—I was distracted, and then she—”

“You don’t get to raise your voice at her.”

The second the words left my mouth, the whole room changed. The air thinned. Maddie sniffled once behind me, and then—

She bolted.

A blur of pink and glitter and tears, sprinting down the hallway toward her bedroom.

“Maddie—!” I called out, but the door slammed before I could even take a step.

The sound echoed behind us. Then… silence.

I turned back to him. Slowly. Deliberately.

“You don’t get to raise your voice at her,” I repeated, quieter this time, but firmer. Sharper. “I don’t care how frustrated you were. I don’t care what broke or what she said. That is not how we do things in this house.”

His hands dropped to his sides, the tiara slipping from his fingers and landing on the rug with a dull plastic clatter.

“I wasn’t yelling,” he said again, but this time his voice had no conviction. “I was trying to help. She was spiraling and I just— I didn’t know what to do.”

“She’s four,” I snapped. “She’s allowed to spiral.”

“I know that—”

“Do you?” My throat was tight. My heart pounding. “Because that didn’t sound like someone who knew what she needed. That sounded like someone who lost his patience.”

Spencer’s mouth opened—then closed.

And in that beat, that terrible beat of silence between us, I realized what I’d known since the second he raised his voice:

Something had cracked.

And it wasn’t just a tiara.

Spencer took a small step toward me, like he didn’t realize he’d done it. Like his body was still trying to close the distance even while his words failed.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” he said, softer now. “I didn’t even raise my voice that much—just enough to get her to stop.”

“Yeah, well, she did stop,” I shot back, eyes narrowing. “Did you see her face? You scared her, Spencer.”

He flinched. Just slightly. But I saw it.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said again, and it sounded like it hurt him to say it. “I panicked. I was trying everything else and nothing was working—she was crying and screaming and I thought maybe if I just—”

“What?” I cut in, voice low, bitter. “If you just snapped, she’d listen better?”

He looked at me then, really looked. His mouth opened, but the words caught somewhere behind his eyes.

“She was spiraling,” he repeated, helpless. “I just wanted to help. I’ve read about this, I’ve seen how to—how to regulate when a child’s in distress—”

“Yeah?” I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “And how’s that working out for you?”

He blinked.

“I’m trying,” he said finally. “I know I messed up, okay? I know. I’m not saying it was the right way to handle it. But I love her. I care about her. I’m doing my best.”

And for a second, I wanted to let that be enough.

But I couldn’t.

Because my daughter was behind a closed door, crying.

And the man standing in front of me—the one who’d held her, protected her, made her laugh on the worst days—had raised his voice just enough to undo all of that.

And then I heard myself say it. Quiet. Fractured.

“You’re not her dad, Spencer. So stop trying to be.”

The words hung there. Heavy. Irrevocable.

His face didn’t change right away. He just stood there, eyes locked on mine like he hadn’t quite heard me correctly. Or maybe like he had—and was still trying to believe I’d actually said it.

I watched it hit him in waves.

The first was shock. Then something like heartbreak.

He blinked once. Slowly. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

And for a second, I hated myself.

Because I hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not with that edge. Not like I was pushing him out of something he’d never been properly let into in the first place. But I had. And it was already too late to take it back.

Spencer dropped his gaze. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curling into nothing.

“Right,” he said softly. Barely more than breath. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, tight and mechanical, like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I should go.”

“No—” I stepped forward, the word catching in my throat, but he was already moving.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. And this time, he didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound anything. Just… tired. Hollow. “I get it.”

He walked to the door without looking back. No dramatic exit. No slam. Just the quiet click of the lock behind him as he slipped out of our home like he’d never been part of it at all.

And I stood there, heart in my throat, hands shaking, staring at the door like it might open again.

It didn’t.

And for the second time in a week, he left without a word.

Only this time… I was the one who pushed him.

I didn’t move.

Not for a second.

Then another.

The door had already closed. I heard it. I felt it. The finality of it echoed in my bones, louder than his footsteps ever could. But my body wouldn’t register it yet. I just stood there, like if I stayed still long enough, maybe time would rewind. Maybe I’d hear his voice again. Maybe I’d stop myself before the words left my mouth.

But they had. And he was gone.

My chest felt tight—like something was sitting on it, pressing down inch by inch until my breath was nothing but a whisper. My arms hung useless at my sides. My fingers trembled. My legs didn’t feel like they belonged to me anymore.

And then—

I sank.

Slowly, like the floor had given out beneath me. I folded at the knees, lowering myself down as if I could disappear into the carpet, into the glitter, into the wreckage we’d both left behind.

I pulled my legs to my chest, arms around them.

Not to feel small—though I did.

But to feel contained. Like if I didn’t hold myself together, I’d come apart.

My hands were shaking. My throat ached. My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.

I didn’t know what I had just done.

Didn’t know if it was right. Or irreversible. Or both.

I kept replaying it—his face when I said it, the way he blinked like it stung, the way he didn’t even argue. The way he just left. The one man who’d actually stayed for once in our lives—walked away without me stopping him.

And I let him.

I told him to stop trying to be something he never claimed he was.

But wasn’t that the whole thing?

He never had to say it out loud. He just was. Every time he showed up, every time he read bedtime stories, every time he tied Maddie’s shoes or picked glitter out of her hair without complaint—he was.

And I’d ripped it away.

Because I was butt-hurt over him not calling us a family at the planetarium—when we weren’t. Not really. Not officially. Not by name.

But God, did it still sting.

Because I was hurt over the rejection of my kiss. Even if he hadn’t meant to reject me. Even if he’d looked like he wanted it just as badly. He still left.

And I’d taken all of that—all the bruises I didn’t let heal, all the hope I refused to admit I had—and I used it like a blade.

I said the one thing I knew would cut him where he couldn’t cover it.

You’re not her dad.

Because saying that felt safer than asking why he didn’t kiss me.

Because pushing him away felt easier than waiting around to see if he’d do it first.

Because love, when you’ve been hurt enough times, doesn’t always come out gentle.

Sometimes it claws its way out—sharp, defensive, mean. And by the time you realize you’ve drawn blood… they’re already gone.

And now he was gone.

I buried my face in my knees, but no tears came at first. Just that silent pressure behind my eyes, the kind that builds and builds and doesn’t know where to go. My body didn’t even know how to cry properly—I just sat there, paralyzed. Hollowed out.

But Maddie was still crying.

Behind a closed door, down a short hallway, in a room filled with stuffed animals and tiny tiaras and stories I’d promised her would never end like this.

I had to move. I had to.

For her.

I was her mother. I had to be the one who stayed steady, even when everything inside me felt like fire. Even when my chest felt carved out. Even when I couldn’t breathe.

But I couldn’t stand yet.

So I sat there a moment longer—shaking, burning, breaking.

Letting it hurt. Letting it ruin me.

Because maybe it had to.

And then I’d get up.

And knock on Maddie’s door.

And tell her it was okay to cry.

Because someone had to say it.

Someone had to make sure she didn’t burn with us.

That thought steadied something in me.

Not enough to fix anything. Not enough to stop the ache. But enough to breathe again—just barely. Enough to unclench my fists and feel the carpet under my palms. Enough to look up at the hallway and remember who was waiting for me at the end of it.

I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve, even though I wasn’t sure when the tears had started falling. I hadn’t noticed. They’d just… happened. Like the body finally catching up to everything the heart had been screaming.

My legs felt stiff as I unfolded them. My knees popped when I straightened. My hands trembled when I reached for the wall to steady myself.

But I stood.

And then I walked.

One foot. Then the other.

Down the hall where the light was dimmer. Where the door was closed. Where the silence on the other side felt thicker than anything I’d just left behind.

I lifted my hand. Let it hover just an inch from the wood.

My fingers curled in.

Then I knocked. Gently. Barely audible. Like I was afraid I’d break her, too.

“Maddie?” My voice cracked on her name. “Can I come in?”

Silence.

I closed my eyes. Pressed my forehead to the door.

I could hear her breathing on the other side now. That small, sniffling rhythm she always made when she was trying to be brave. Trying not to cry out loud.

I turned the knob slowly, pushing the door open just wide enough to see her—my baby girl, curled on the far corner of her bed, tiara long gone, hair mussed, fists wiping furiously at her cheeks even though the tears hadn’t stopped.

“Oh, honey…”

I crossed the room without thinking, without breathing. Just moving.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t look at me—just let out one of those tiny hiccupped sobs she always tried to hold in when she thought being strong meant staying quiet.

“you can cry, it’s okay.”

Her lip wobbled at that. And then she did. Just let go, quietly, her little body shaking with each breath she tried to hold in. I sat down on the edge of her bed and reached for her, careful and slow—just an open arm, a silent promise that I was there when she was ready.

And she came.

Maddie leaned into me like something in her had finally given permission. Like my arms were gravity, and she’d been floating for too long. I pulled her into my lap and curled around her, tucking her head beneath my chin. She was warm and trembling and heartbreakingly small.

I exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.

“I didn’t mean to be bad,” she whispered, voice so soft I almost didn’t catch it. “I just… I really liked the tiara…”

My heart cracked again.

“You weren’t bad, baby,” I said, rocking her slowly, forehead to her hair. “You were sad. And mad. And that’s okay.”

She sniffled again. “Spencer yelled.”

“I know.”

“Is he mad at me?”

“No,” I said instantly, my throat tight. “He’s not mad at you, sweetheart. He just panicked.”

“It was just a toy,” she hiccupped, “but I really liked it…”

“I know, baby. I know.” I kissed the top of her head, breathing her in like she was the only real thing left in the world. “It’s okay to be upset. You loved that tiara. It’s okay to feel sad.”

She nodded into my chest, her tears dampening my shirt. Her arms wrapped tightly around my waist like she was afraid I’d vanish too. And I let her hold me like that. Let her cry it all out, without rushing her, without trying to fix it.

“Please tell him to come back, Mommy,” she whispered. “I don’t want him to leave.”

And there it was.

The final blow.

The one that left me breathless.

I looked at her—my baby, my entire world—and I wanted to say yes. I wanted to promise her that I’d fix it. That he’d walk back through the door and everything would be okay again.

But I couldn’t.

So I held her closer, eyes stinging, and said the only thing I could:

“It’s late, sweet girl. Maybe tomorrow.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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lila-lou · 2 days ago

Text

✨Build for stayin´✨

Summary: You get your period early in a new relationship and try to tough it out, expecting the usual awkwardness. Instead, Beau shows up with patience, comfort, and zero judgment — turning a bad night into something unexpectedly tender.

Pairing: Beau x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2625

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

You had been dating Beau for only a few weeks now, barely enough time to even figure out his favorite pizza topping, let alone show him the messier, more complicated sides of yourself. You were younger than him by quite a few years, and every guy you had ever been with before had handled the idea of a woman’s period like it was some sort of alien invasion. Some were disgusted, others just plain ignorant. Either way, you had learned to keep it to yourself.

Which was exactly what you were trying, and failing, to do tonight.

It had started back at the grocery store, not long after Beau picked you up after his shift. One minute, you were fine, holding his hand and teasing him about his obsession with the hot bar chicken wings. The next minute, a cramp hit you like a sucker punch, and your mood nosedived straight into the floor.

You had tried to cover it up with a tight smile, but you ended up snapping at him when he took too long picking a pasta sauce. And then again when he insisted on carrying all the bags, like he thought you were made of glass or something.

Now you were curled up on Beau’s couch, your arms wrapped around your middle, feeling like absolute crap. He was somewhere in the kitchen, clattering around like he was making dinner, but you couldn’t even focus on what it was. All you could think about was how much you wanted to cry for no reason and how badly you wished the earth would just swallow you whole before you embarrassed yourself any further.

You winced when another cramp twisted through you, and a frustrated noise escaped your throat before you could stop it.

Beau must have heard, because the next thing you knew, he was standing in the doorway, a worried look in his green eyes. “Hey”, he said, voice low and gentle, like you were a spooked horse. “You okay, darlin’?”.

You immediately sat up straighter, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack your face in half. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired, that’s all”.

Beau didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you like he could see right through all your bullshit. “Did I do somethin’, sweetheart?”, he asked, voice even softer now. “Piss you off somehow?”.

You clenched your jaw, the shame curling tighter than the cramps in your belly. “No!”, you snapped, sharper than you intended. “God, Beau, not everything is about you”.

The words hung between you for a second, too heavy, too harsh, and immediately you wished you could reach out and yank them back.

But Beau didn’t flinch. He didn’t look angry or wounded. He just nodded a little, like he understood you were hurting even if you couldn’t say it out loud. Like he wasn’t going to take your mood personally.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to you, slow and steady like he was approaching a wild animal. His big hands slid onto your thighs, grounding you, his thumbs rubbing gentle, mindless circles against your jeans.

“Alright”, he said, so calm it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to let fall. “Ain’t about me. Got it. Still doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you sittin’ here sufferin’ by yourself”.

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him you didn’t need him fussing over you, that you were fine, really, but he squeezed your leg gently, cutting you off before you could spit out more bullshit.

Beau stayed crouched in front of you, his thumbs still stroking slow circles against your jeans, his gaze never wavering from your face. So steady. So heartbreakingly patient.

And God help you, under that steady warmth, that unconditional way he stayed when every part of you expected him to back away, you cracked. The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could even think about stopping it. Then another. And another.

You dropped your head into your hands with a broken little sound, trying to muffle it, but it was too late. Your whole body shook, a miserable, cramping, tear-stained mess.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart…", Beau's voice was barely above a whisper now. You felt the couch dip beside you as he shifted up, one arm sliding around your back, the other hand tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. Not to trap you, but to make sure you knew he was still right here.

And in that moment, watching the way you folded under something invisible, something hurting you deep inside, a thought slammed into him hard enough to steal his breath.

She's either pregnant… or she's on her period.

Beau blinked at you, heart thudding painfully against his ribs. The rational part of him knew it was way too soon — hell, you’d barely been dating long enough to know all each other's quirks. But another part of him, a deeper, quieter part, ached with a fierce, stubborn kind of hope. A baby. Your baby.

He shook the thought off for now, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Right now, you needed comfort, not crazy daydreams about what might be.

He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, so gentle it made you hiccup another sob. "You’re alright, darlin'", he murmured, pulling you into his chest. "I got you. Nothin' you can say or do is gonna scare me off, y'hear?".

You curled into him without thinking, your hands gripping the soft fabric of his flannel shirt like a lifeline.

Beau rocked you slowly, his hand warm and steady on your back, his mouth brushing the top of your head in the softest, most reassuring kiss. He didn’t push you for answers. Didn’t make you explain. Just held you tighter every time a new sob wracked through you, riding it out with you like it was his own battle to fight.

After a few minutes, once your sobs had quieted down to little, shaky breaths, he leaned down, his mouth brushing your temple, his voice rough and low.

“You can tell me what’s goin’ on, darlin’”, he whispered, like it was a secret meant just for you. “Even if the damn pasta burns to hell on the stove”.

You let out a wet, broken laugh against his chest, the tiniest sound, but he caught it, like he caught everything about you, and you felt his lips curve into a soft smile against your hair. “You’re more important than dinner”, he added, rubbing a slow, soothing hand up and down your back. “Way more”.

You sniffled, scrubbing at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, feeling raw and embarrassed and yet… so stupidly safe you could hardly stand it. “It’s stupid”, you mumbled, still not quite able to meet his eyes.

“Doesn’t sound stupid if it’s got you hurtin’ like this”, Beau said, firm and certain. “C’mon, honey. Hit me with it”.

You breathed out a shaky sigh, twisting your fingers in the hem of his shirt, clinging to him like you needed to borrow his steadiness for just a minute longer. “It’s just…”, you hesitated, the words thick in your throat. “I’m on my period. It just… started. Earlier. At the store”.

There. You said it. Braced yourself for him to pull back, wrinkle his nose, make some awkward excuse to leave the room like every other guy you’d ever known.

But Beau just hummed low in his chest, like you’d told him the most natural thing in the world. Like you’d said the sky was blue or the grass was green. “No wonder you’re feelin’ like hell”, he said, pressing another kiss into your hairline. “You shoulda told me sooner, sweetheart. Could’ve saved you all this sufferin’”.

You huffed a breath, part laugh, part disbelief. “Yeah, well. Not exactly romantic”.

Beau chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear. You felt it rumble through his chest before he even spoke. "Hell, darlin’, romance ain’t just flowers and fancy dinners", he said, his voice dipping into that teasing drawl that always made your stomach flip — even now. "Sometimes it’s holdin’ your girl while she bleeds like a stuck pig and still thinkin’ she’s the prettiest thing in the room".

You let out a half-horrified, half-hysterical laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. "Beau!".

He caught your hand easily in his much bigger one, lacing your fingers together with a soft, shameless grin. "I'm just sayin'", he drawled, all fake innocence. "Still crazy about you, bleedin’ and all. Might even be a little hotter now, if I'm bein’ honest".

You groaned, burying your face against him again, but this time it was from sheer mortification — and the tiniest spark of affection that warmed your aching chest.

Beau laughed again, but it faded into something softer as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. His hand stroked up and down your spine, slow and soothing. "Alright, honey", he murmured against your hair. "You stay put. I’m gonna grab that sad excuse for pasta off the stove before we set off the smoke alarm. And", he added, pulling back just enough to wink down at you, "I’ll grab that warm water bottle Emily left last time she was here. Think she even left one of those fuzzy covers on it too".

You blinked up at him, your heart clenching so hard it almost hurt. Somehow, in the space of a few minutes, Beau had turned your worst nightmare into something bearable. Into something safe.

"You don’t have to", you whispered, still half in disbelief that he was being so… him.

Beau squeezed your hand gently before standing up, towering over you in the soft lamplight, looking like the most solid, dependable thing in your whole world. "Darlin’, when I said I was yours, I meant all of it", he said, voice gruff with something that sounded dangerously close to love. "Good days, bad days, ugly cryin' days. You ain't gettin’ rid of me that easy".

With that, he ruffled your hair affectionately, earning another tiny glare you didn’t really mean, and disappeared into the kitchen, already muttering something about how he was gonna owe you a proper meal once he salvaged whatever disaster was happening on the stove.

Later that evening, you found yourself exactly where you never knew you needed to be. Curled up against Beau on the couch, a thick, soft blanket wrapped around both of you like a cocoon. The warm water bottle, tucked snugly against your stomach, radiated heat that dulled the worst of the cramps, and Beau’s hand resting lazily on your hip did more to calm you than any medicine ever could.

The TV flickered quietly in front of you, playing some old western movie Beau had picked — because, in his words, “it’s a classic, darlin’, and it’s got horses, so really, it’s a win-win”.

You weren’t even really following the plot. Between the throbbing in your stomach and the way Beau’s chest rumbled under your cheek every time he spoke, it was impossible to focus on anything else.

Because, of course, Beau wasn’t just watching the movie. No, he was explaining every second of it to you — in that deep, lazy, ridiculously sexy voice of his.

“Now, see”, he murmured, his thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your hip, “he’s only pretendin’ to sell out the ranch, but what he’s really doin’ is settin’ up a trap for the bad guys. Smart as hell, that old cowboy”.

You hummed a soft sound of acknowledgment, more to let him know you were listening than anything else. Honestly, you couldn’t have cared less about the ranch or the bad guys or whatever double-cross was happening on the screen.

You were too focused on the steady rhythm of Beau’s voice, the way it wrapped around you, low and warm, sinking into your skin like sunlight.

“And that fella there”, Beau continued, tapping your side lightly to get your attention, “he’s the muscle. Ain’t got two brain cells to rub together, but he’s loyal. Important to have people like that around. Folks you can count on”.

You tilted your head up slightly, just enough to catch the way his mouth quirked into a soft, crooked smile. “Like you?”, you teased, your voice still rough from crying earlier but lighter now.

Beau chuckled, the sound sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. “Nah, darlin’. I’m the whole damn package. Brains and brawn”.

You snorted, the sound muffled against his chest, and he laughed again, full and real, before dipping his head to press a kiss to the top of yours.

You tucked yourself even tighter against Beau’s side, your fingers fisting lightly in his shirt, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek making your eyes grow heavier with every second.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the quiet murmur of the TV and the soft, lazy sweep of his hand over your side.

Then, just as you were starting to drift somewhere between awake and asleep, Beau’s voice rumbled low against your ear — casual, but with a certain hesitation you didn’t miss.

"Y'know", he said, his fingers playing idly with the hem of your sweater, "earlier, when you started cryin' like that… part of me thought you might be tellin’ me you were pregnant".

You blinked up at him, startled, but Beau kept his eyes on the TV, pretending like he hadn’t just dropped a small bomb into the quiet room. He laughed, a little forced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Crazy, right? Only been a few weeks. Would’ve been somethin’ though".

He said it like it was a joke, but you weren’t stupid. You heard the way his voice went a little rough at the edges. You saw the flicker of something tender, something real, flash across his face before he masked it with another easy grin.

Your heart twisted painfully, sweetly, in your chest.

Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his jaw, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your palm. Beau immediately leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself, his eyes finally dropping to meet yours.

"I’m not", you whispered, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone. "Pregnant, I mean".

"I know, sweetheart", he murmured, so soft, so damn good. His hand slid over yours, holding it there against his face. "Ain’t sayin' I expected it or anything".

You hesitated, heart thudding, the words bubbling up before you could stop them. "But someday…?", you asked quietly.

Beau's smile softened into something so tender it nearly broke you. "Someday", he promised, his voice a rough whisper. "If you want it. If you want me".

You swallowed thickly, emotion burning behind your ribs. You nodded, just a small, shaky motion — but it was enough.

Beau leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. "Rest now, darlin'", he whispered against your hair. "I got you. Always".

And with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, his arms holding you safe and warm, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself dream. Of someday. Of always. Of Beau.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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#jensen ackles #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen #beau x reader #big sky

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queencaptainbarnes · 3 days ago

Text

To Lose Both

Summary: Bucky & Steve never could find out what happened to you in the future, but when a mission causes them to go to the past, they see you again from afar.

Steve and Bucky were strapping on their gear, getting ready to leave. The mission was definitely out of the ordinary, but everyone else was already off on their own assignments, and Fury made it clear this one had to stay under the radar.

Neither man knew exactly how to feel about the plan. Tony swore it was foolproof — easy, as long as they didn’t get caught.

Right. Easy.

“You ready?” Steve asked, glancing up from where he was tightening his boots.

Bucky adjusted a strap across his shoulder, then held out a hand to help him up. Steve took it, standing beside him.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “This plan seems like it could go sideways. Especially since it’s us going back.”

“We can pull it off. It’s gonna be weird, though…” Steve’s voice was steady, but even he wasn’t fully sold on the idea. Still, they didn’t have many options.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bucky grumbled, and the two of them made their way into Banner and Stark’s lab.

“If it isn’t the stars of the show,” Tony called out as they entered. “You boys ready?”

His enthusiasm didn’t do much to ease their nerves. In fact, it made Bucky visibly more annoyed.

“I guess,” Steve muttered, eyeing the machine they were about to use. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“Nope,” Tony replied without missing a beat. “But since when have we ever had a solid plan that was also a good idea?”

Steve shot him a look — unimpressed.

“You’ll be fine, Cap,” Tony said with a shrug. “Not like you’re going somewhere you’ve never been.”

“This isn’t the same, Tony,” Steve replied.

Tony sighed. “Look. Fury thinks the blueprints you’re stealing are being used for some kind of future weapon — one they’re testing on undercover agents. Torture-level stuff.” He tapped rapidly on his iPad. “If you two aren’t up for the job—”

“We didn’t say that,” Bucky cut in.

Tony raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Okaaay. Step up on the platform.”

Steve climbed on first, Bucky right behind. They watched Tony retreat behind the control panel.

“This better not backfire, Stark,” Bucky muttered.

Tony rolled his eyes, glancing up. “Feel free to leave him on the side of the road with a sign that says ‘Free to a Good Home,’” he said, smirking.

“Tony,” Steve warned.

“Relax. Just kidding.”

A moment later, both men felt it — a strange tingling, like tiny electric currents crawling over their skin. Steve shivered and stepped a little closer to Bucky.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Tingly. Like… light electrocution.” Bucky cleared his throat, trying to shake off the dull headache forming behind his eyes.

Suddenly, the lab disappeared.

They were standing in what looked like a storage closet. Dusty. Dim. Musty.

“Smells old in here,” Bucky muttered.

Steve cracked open the door, peeking out into a hallway buzzing with people walking by.

“Hopefully Tony put us in the right place,” he whispered.

“This was a stupid plan. Why did we agree to this?”

Steve smirked faintly, glancing over his shoulder. “We’ve gotten away with worse.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You Avengers really push your luck.”

“I think now’s a good opening.” Steve slipped out into the hallway, Bucky right behind him.

“The tracker Tony gave us is working — I’ve got a signal.”

They moved down the hall, heads low, blending in. No one gave them a second glance.

“Here,” Steve whispered, stopping in front of a door labeled Tech Labs. He pushed it open slowly. The room was empty.

“Wow. Not even one guy,” Bucky said.

Steve checked the wall clock. “It’s noon. Probably out to lunch.”

“That’s terrible security.”

“It’s the past, Buck. They weren’t too concerned about it back then.”

“Little do they know half their staff are Hydra.”

Steve sighed. The knowledge still stung. The very organization Peggy helped build had been rotten on the inside all along. He’d tried to move on — rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him hope — but some wounds still ached.

The lab was filled with tables cluttered with vials, blueprints, and notes Steve didn’t begin to understand. Tony’s tracker led them to a locked filing cabinet in the far corner. The signal beeped rapidly.

“Find it?” Bucky asked.

“I think so. Keep watch, will ya?” Steve pulled out a lock-pick kit and knelt in front of the cabinet.

“Why don’t you just break it open?” Bucky asked, keeping his eyes on the hallway.

“That wouldn’t be very subtle, would it?”

“It’d be faster.”

“We’re supposed to be quick and quiet, Buck,” Steve muttered, focused on the lock.

“Whatever. They could’ve asked Natasha and Clint to do this.”

“They’re on a mission in Peru. Why are you so against this, anyway?”

“I just wanna get out of here before someone we know shows up.”

“Like who?” Steve asked, pausing. “We don’t know anyone here. It’s simple. In and out.”

A click — the lock opened. Steve grinned as he stood, pulling out a file labeled in red sharpie.

“Told you. In and out.”

Bucky turned to him but froze, eyes widening. Then his expression shifted — something between shock and sadness.

“No way…” he whispered.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, but before he could get an answer, Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down behind one of the lab desks.

“Hide. Now.”

Steve was about to question it, but then he heard the door burst open — slamming against the wall.

“You’re being absolutely unreasonable!” a woman shouted.

Steve went still. That voice — he knew that voice.

Peggy.

Her heels clicked against the lab floor as she paced. Another pair of shoes followed closely behind.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” Peggy said. “You’re throwing your life away—”

“My life? My life ended the day my brother died!” the second voice snapped.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

Y/n.

His sister. Her voice — filled with pain, defiance, life. He hadn’t heard it in decades.

He glanced at Bucky. His friend was frozen, expression unreadable, eyes wide.

“Y/n,” Peggy started, but she was cut off.

“He’s dead!” Y/n’s voice cracked, like it physically hurt her to say it. “And I was so happy when he didn’t get enlisted the first time.”

Steve furrowed his brow, leaning in slightly.

“The second time…” she continued, her voice softer. “I never told Steve, but the day before I went to the recruiter’s office, I begged the guy not to let him enlist. Told him he wasn’t what they were looking for. I practically begged him.”

Steve inhaled sharply, barely a sound — but Bucky heard it.

Peggy was quiet for a moment. “Y/n… your brother was a hero. Captain America meant so much to so many people—”

“I don’t care!” Y/n yelled, slamming her hand on the table. “He was my brother first. He didn’t need to be Captain America to be brave. Or kind. Or funny. He already was… and now he’s gone.”

Steve felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs.

“Y/n,” Peggy said gently. “What you’re trying to do — it’s dangerous. You could die trying to find—”

“I have no one left, Peggy,” Y/n said quietly. “Part of me died the day Steve told me Bucky was gone. And the rest of me died when Steve didn’t come home.”

There was a pause, and then her voice steadied — cold, determined.

“If Howard is going to find my brother, then I’m going to find the man I love. I’m bringing them home. Both of them.”

Steve looked over at Bucky again.

His friend’s breath had stilled. His eyes were glassy.

“You won’t find Sergeant Barnes’ body, Y/n,” Peggy said carefully.

“I’ll find something,” Y/n muttered. “I have better luck than Stark. Maybe even better instincts.”

“If Steve knew…”

“He’d hate me,” Y/n said. “For being bitter. For trying to keep him from enlisting. For not being the supportive little sister he thought I was. But you know what? I’d rather him be alive and hate me… than die thinking I never cared. That I was just pretending to believe in him.”

Peggy stood there��silent. The weight of Y/n’s confession filled the room like fog — thick, heavy, and hard to breathe through. Steve sat still, back against the cold steel leg of the table, fists clenched. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think straight. Every word she said echoed through his chest like a thunderclap.

He’d never heard that side of her pain.

He had always assumed she was proud. Supportive. Heartbroken, yes, but never this. Never so filled with regret. And the truth hurt — because she wasn’t wrong.

Beside him, Bucky was equally shaken. She was here. Alive. Breathing. Close enough to touch.

But unreachable.

Peggy finally broke the silence. “You’re not alone. Not really.”

Y/n let out a hollow laugh. “It feels that way.”

“I know it does,” Peggy said gently, “but I’ve read Howard’s reports. Even if we find something, there’s no guarantee it’s them. If you go digging into this, you could be putting yourself in danger — and for what, Y/n?”

Y/n’s voice dropped, quiet now, but more powerful than ever. “For closure. For hope. For a chance that maybe they’re not really gone.”

Steve swallowed hard, heart hammering in his chest. You’re not wrong. You were never wrong, he thought. She was right to be scared. Right to want to protect him. And God, how he wished he could’ve told her he understood now.

Y/n exhaled deeply. “I’m doing this with or without your help, Peggy.”

A pause.

Then Peggy sighed in reluctant defeat. “Then I’m coming with you.”

The sound of movement above them made both men freeze again. Heels on the floor, rustling papers, the squeak of a chair pushed back. Then footsteps — two pairs — walking away.

Steve didn’t move until the door clicked shut.

Even then, he stayed frozen, trying to process what he’d just heard. He slowly turned toward Bucky, whose face was unreadable. But his eyes were shining with something between heartbreak and longing.

“She was talking about you,” Steve whispered.

“I know,” Bucky replied, voice low and distant. “She… loved me. I never knew how much until now.”

“I didn’t know how much she hated me being Captain America,” Steve added, his tone filled with pain, but not anger. More like sorrow.

Bucky finally moved, rising to his feet and offering a hand down again. “She didn’t hate you. She loved you too much.”

Steve took the hand and stood. “We need to finish the mission. Then…” He glanced toward the door. “Then maybe we figure out a way to come back.”

“You mean to tell her?”

Steve nodded. “She deserves to know. Everything.”

Bucky looked toward the door for a moment longer, as if he could still see her standing there. Then he looked back to Steve.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

And with that, they slipped out of the lab, the stolen blueprints tucked under Steve’s arm, the weight of the past heavier than anything they’d expected to carry.

But maybe now… they had something else to fight for. Something more personal. Something worth rewriting the rules for.

#steve rogers fanfiction #marvel #marvel studios #steven grant rogers #captain america #captain america mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky x reader #marvel mcu #mcu fandom #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #steve rogers x sister reader #my writing #short marvel story #marvel one shot

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clya4 · 1 day ago

Text

Freak Therapy

-> READ FIRST SESSION HERE.

pairings: Eddie Munson x oc

summary: She signed up for a psychology internship expecting to babysit a few lost teenagers. Instead, she got Eddie Munson: Hawkins’ finest metalhead, three-time senior, and all-around expert in making life difficult. For eight weeks, she’ll try to “fix” him. He’ll try to survive her. Spoiler alert: neither is ready for what happens next. Eight sessions. One freak. Zero chance this stays professional.

general warnings: Mild age gap (she’s a psychology intern, he’s a three-time senior), eventual smut, sarcasm levels off the charts, slow-burn tension hotter than Eddie’s guitar riffs, questionable professionalism, emotional damage (yours and theirs), occasional nerd references.

if you want to be added to the official taglist for this fic then please let me know in the comments ⋆.

Session two - Eddie’s POV

I tried...really, but the human brain is a cruel, horny little traitor.

One week. That’s how long I’d tried, and failed, not to think about the shrink. About the way she’d looked at me like she could see straight through my bullshit. About how she’d laughed, just a tiny bit, when I’d made her crack during that first session.

I was stuck in the cafeteria, sketchbook balanced on my knee, poking at yesterday’s meatloaf reheated into today’s mystery slop. Around me, the usual crowd roared and banged their trays like orcs.

I’d almost finished shading the wings on one of the “monsters” she’d asked me to draw, even though it felt stupid as hell.

The next second, Gareth dropped into the seat across from me.

“Look at this, boys! Our glorious dungeon master, studying at lunch? Are pigs flying outside or something?”

Jeff took a seat too, grinning.

I smirked. “It’s not homework, dipshits. It’s...art therapy. School’s forcing me to talk to some shrink so I don’t flunk out again"

Dustin nearly spat out his drink. “ART therapy? Holy shit, what, you gonna start painting sunsets next?”

Jeff snickered, but it wasn’t mean. “Well, if it keeps you from repeating senior year a third time, go for it, man.”

I shot him a middle finger, lazy. “Appreciate the support.”

Gareth elbowed me, eyes gleaming. “So, did they assign you some crusty old dude with elbow patches or like... some grandma in a twinset?”

I pretended to focus on the page. “She’s fine.”

Handerson perked up like a dog. “Fine like...old-lady fine, or fine fine?”

I shook my head. “No. She’s…she’s young.” I hated how awkward that sounded.

Jeff perked up. “Young? Like very young?”

“Christ...I dunno, mid-twenties,” I grumbled.

Gareth smirked. “Dude’s got a crush on his shrink.”

Eddie slammed the pencil down dramatically. “Yeah, I’m so in love with being dissected like a frog. Dream come true."

They laughed, pounding their trays like idiots and went back to tearing apart their fries, debating whether Steve Harrington’s hair was a government conspiracy, or something equally stupid.

I snapped my sketchbook shut, half-proud, half-disgusted with what had crawled out of my brain.

I stretched my neck, eyes drifting toward the big glass windows across the cafeteria...and there she was.

Miss Cole, walking through the hallway...looking about a million years too good for Hawkins High. Hair half-up with those soft strands doing criminal things around her cheekbones, clipboard in hand, all serious business.

For a second I just sat there staring, heat pooling in my gut, because fuck, she looked like she could ruin a guy in about fifteen different ways.

Jesus, Eddie, pull it together.

Jeff followed my line of sight “Holy shit, Munson, that’s her?”

I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. "Yeah"

Dustin nearly choked on his fries. "What?! Man, I’d go nuts on purpose.”

Jeff whistled low. "I’d draw anything she asked me to. Hell, I’d let her dissect me.”

I snorted, but inside, yeah - fuck, same.

Gareth cackled. “Forget that, I’d let her electroshock me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “You assholes done?” I hissed, standing up, grabbing my bag. “It’s a government-sanctioned mental cavity search." I shot back. “And there’s nothing cool or fun about it”

They all howled anyway, loving every second of my misery, while I trudged toward the door.

Second session. Round two.

God help me.

The door was already half opened. I stepped into her little office, she was sitting behind her desk, flipping through a stack of notes with her “serious” face on, the one that looked like she was trying to solve a murder case instead of babysitting my sorry ass.

“Hey"

She glanced up and gave me that calm, polite therapist smile that made me wanna jump out the window.

“Hi, Eddie. Come on in.”

I dropped into the chair across from her, trying not to look as antsy as I felt.

"Back for round two, huh? ”

She gave me a tiny smile and nodded toward my sketchbook poking out of my backpack. “Did you bring your drawings?”

I sighed “Yeah.”

I pulled it out, flipping to the latest page before sliding it over, fighting the urge to snatch it right back.

The monsters were ugly, yeah... rows of eyes, but none of them looking forward, each one gazing somewhere else. Its teeth were cracked and mismatched, like a busted piano.

She studied it with that soft, almost careful focus, eyes scanning the pencil lines like she was searching for hidden code.

“They have a lot of eyes.”

“Yeah. So they can see everything.”

“But they are not looking at you,” she noted quietly, tapping her pen against the margin.

I swallowed, forcing a shrug. “Guess they are busy.”

She met my eyes, and for a second I felt… transparent. Like she was picking apart every piece of me.

“Busy ignoring you?”

I huffed a laugh without responding.

She flipped the page slowly, looking at another sketch, one with twisted claws, like it was reaching for something.

“These are incredible,” she said.

“Detailed, creative… you really put a lot of thought into them.”

“Yeah, well. It’s easier to draw a monster than talk about the real ones, right?”

That got a sweet empathetic smile out of her, just a quick one.

Then someone knocked on the door. She sighed, politely excusing herself and stepping out into the hallway, leaving the folder half-open on the desk.

I stared at it.

Nope. Don’t do it.

…Don’t do it, Munson.

I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair

Of course I did it.

....screw it, I snatched up her notebook.

The first note was:

Back to Hawkins, Day 1. Let’s survive this.

I flipped through the pages, searching for the crap she’d written about me.

“Edward “Eddie” Munson.

Exceptionally creative, uses humor to mask emotional discomfort. Personality suggest themes of social invisibility and fear of abandonment.

Possibly charming despite efforts to appear detached.

Enjoys being provocative, borderline endearing, annoyingly so.”

I snorted, almost loud enough to get caught.

Charming. Okay, princess.

Then my stomach did something weird, seeing the last line, squeezed between clinical observations:

“May be more sensitive than he wants to admit.”

I closed the folder fast, heart pounding, trying to play it cool before she came back in.

She slipped through the door a second later, apologetic, smoothing her skirt as she sat back down.

“Sorry about that. Where were we?”

I forced a grin, arms folded.

“Talking about my deep, tragic monster trauma, I think.”

She raised a brow, pen ready again. “Let’s dig into that, shall we?”

She studied them with that thoughtful, calm face of hers, the pen tapping against her lower lip. “Tell me about these,”

I blew out a slow breath, trying to look bored. “The big one’s like… everyone around me. All those eyes, you know? Always watching”

She nodded, scribbling something down. I caught a glimpse of a word, maybe isolation or neglect, classic shrink talk.

“And the little one?”

I shifted in my seat. “That’s… I dunno, I guess that’s me. Always reaching, always trying to…connect, or be heard, or…something”

She leaned in, eyes sharp. “Does that feeling come up with your parents?”

My stomach clenched a bit. I hated talking about this crap. “Don’t live with them,” I said, voice tight. “I’m with my uncle in a camper. He’s cool, but he works a ton, so mostly it’s just me talking to the moldy coffee pot.”

Marissa’s mouth curved, sympathetic but a little sad. “That sounds lonely.”

“Yeah, well,” I forced a grin, “good thing I’ve got a couple of flesh-eating imaginary buddies to keep me company, huh?”

She actually snorted at that. “Charming.”

“Hey, you said it, doc.”

She flipped the page back toward me. “Okay, so the big one’s the world that won’t see you, and the little one is you, trying anyway.”

I stared at her, stunned that she’d nailed it so fast. It rattled me, way more than I wanted to admit.

She held my gaze, steady and kind of terrifying. “But right now, I’m seeing you. How does that feel?”

My mouth went dry. I forced a grin anyway, because that’s what I did. “Weird,” I shot back. “Like being under a microscope. Or, you know, poked with a stick.”

She raised an eyebrow, not buying the act. Of course she didn’t. That was her job.

I sighed, shoulders sinking. “Okay. Maybe it’s… nice. Freaky, but nice.”

She nodded, as if that was the most normal thing in the world, and made a note. God, the fucking notes.

Before I could spiral, she leaned forward just a fraction. “Eddie… it’s okay to let people see you.”

Yeah. Sure. Like that had ever worked out. I rubbed the back of my neck.

“You’re really good at this, you know,” I mumbled “Reading people. Guess that means no one ever bothered to read you, huh?”

That stopped her for a second, a tiny, genuine flicker of surprise in her perfect therapist face. I’ll take that as a win.

“Touché,” she said finally, voice a little softer.

Silence fell, heavy but not awful. And for the first time, it felt like maybe we were both a little less alone.

She cleared her throat and smiled, pulling her walls back up.

She looked so collected it was almost inhuman. Then she tilted her head and asked me, calm as ever,

“Do you think you’re good at reading people too, Eddie?”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, sometimes.” I let a beat hang in the air “Only the ones who don’t really belong anywhere.”

Her pen stilled.

I leaned in, smirking. “Like you.”

She froze, eyes darting up to mine. I shrugged, acting casual, even though I liked watching her squirm.

I tapped the table, amused. “I figure you’re kinda… in between, just like me. Not really from here anymore, but not from wherever you went, either.”

The pause that followed was glorious. She blinked, speechless for a second - rare for her - and that felt like winning a jackpot.

But that was also when I realized I’d screwed up.

Because she never told me she’d left Hawkins and come back.

Her voice was calm, too calm. “Eddie… how did you know I’d been away?”

Shit.

I felt the heat creeping up my neck, and tried to play it cool. She waited me out, patient as a cat.

Finally, I sighed. “Look, you left your notes right there, okay? I might’ve… peeked.”

Her brow arched, dangerously elegant. “You read my notes on you?”

I gave a one-shoulder shrug, guilty as charged. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Why?” she asked, level, not angry. Just… curious.

That threw me. I’d expected her to bite my head off, but she didn’t.

I scratched the back of my neck, fumbling for words. “Morbid curiosity? Wanted to see if you were planning to lock me up or just call me an asshole in fancy psychology terms.”

She studied me for a moment, eyes softening in a way that made me want to look away.

Then she nodded, calm as ever. “Thank you for being honest.”

Which, honestly, was about a thousand times scarier than if she’d thrown the notebook in my face and called me a nosy bastard.

I was still trying to figure out if she’d roast me alive when she closed her notebook and went, totally casual, “So for next session, I’d like us to play together.”

My brain, and my traitor cock, glitched so hard I think I physically twitched.

Play? Play like, therapist-loses-her-license play?

My mouth kind of fell open. “Uh-play?" I croaked, about as graceful as a dying frog. "Like, what… play… how… in what sense?”

Yeah, real suave, Munson. Pure seduction.

She smiled, all professional, totally unbothered. “Dungeons & Dragons,” she clarified, and I swear I almost passed out from relief and disappointment at the same time. “I want to see these monsters you’ve created in their world. It might help you feel safer opening up if we use your own language.”

My own language. Jesus. She was speaking straight to my dark twisted little heart.

I swallowed, trying to look cool. “So… you wanna… be one of my players?”

She nodded, like this was the most normal thing ever. “Exactly. We’ll build a short scenario together, using your creatures. You’ll show me how they move, what they do, what they want.”

My brain was basically screaming she wants to play my campaign, holy shit, but I tried to keep my face neutral.

“Wow,” I managed to choke out. “Okay, Doc. Uh… fair warning, I don’t usually let civilians into my games.”

She arched an eyebrow, totally unimpressed. “I’ll do my best to earn my place, Dungeon Master.”

Oh fucking hell.

Cue my heart exploding out of my chest.

She did not just call me that.

Yep, dead. I was dead.

Next session was gonna be wild.

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sunsetmade · 4 hours ago

Note

Can I request a rafe cameron fluff with prompt 3 and could u make the reader like badass? But in the end it's up to you!

Hope you enjoy!

Pitbull Girlfriend

Rafe Cameron x Sassy! Reader

Prompt: “You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

It was supposed to be a simple grocery run.

No chaos, no drama—just a quick stop for snacks before the weekend kicked into high gear. Chips, Red Bulls, some frozen pizzas, and whatever else they could shove into Rafe’s half-empty pantry. He’d already mentioned a few people might stop by the next night, which was usually code for a full-blown Outer Banks house party by sundown.

She didn’t mind. She tagged along for things like this all the time. Not because she cared about snack runs—but because she liked being around him, even when it was mundane. Especially when it was mundane. She liked the rare moments when Rafe was relaxed, arm slung around her shoulders as they wandered the aisles, bickering over cereal brands and tossing things into the cart like unsupervised teenagers.

That, and she knew damn well he’d forget half the list if she didn’t come.

They were halfway through the store, standing by the chilled section, when she tossed a tub of his favorite vanilla yogurt into the cart. She was just reaching for oat milk when she heard the familiar echo of obnoxious laughter.

Topper. Kelce. And a couple other washed-up Figure Eight boys who still dressed like they were seniors and acted like every grocery store was a frat house.

Rafe’s energy shifted the second he saw them. His spine straightened, chest puffed just slightly, and that smug grin curled over his mouth. It was subtle, but she knew that look—the one he wore when he slipped back into the golden-boy persona he thought he’d buried. Cocky. Careless. A little bit dangerous.

She stayed by the milk, watching them out of the corner of her eye.

“Yo, Rafe!” Kelce shouted across the aisle, already laughing like he’d just hit a blunt in the parking lot. “You bringing your girl shopping now? What, she keep you on a leash or something?”

Rafe didn’t miss a beat. Grin wide, eyes gleaming with mischief, he threw an arm lazily toward her.

“Yeah, man. She likes to keep me on a tight one. Real bossy. Bit of a pitbull, honestly.”

The guys roared with laughter like he’d just won Stand-Up Comedian of the Year. Topper smacked Rafe on the back. Kelce wheezed and pointed at her like she was some circus act.

She froze.

A carton of oat milk balanced in her hand, body rigid as his words echoed in her ears.

Pitbull?

Her jaw clenched as she slowly turned, staring at him through narrowed eyes.

He caught her look, and for a brief second—just one—his smirk faltered. But then it was back, bigger, cockier, like he thought she might let it slide. Like he thought it was funny. Like he didn’t just completely humiliate her in front of people she barely tolerated.

She started walking. Purposeful. Cart rattling as its wheels fought against the old linoleum. The oat milk landed in it with a dull thud as she marched toward him.

Rafe straightened a little, that trademark smugness still hanging on his face like a badge of honor. But she saw the flicker in his eyes—he knew he was in for it.

“You wanna say that again, Rafe?” she asked, voice low, deliberate, dangerous.

He held up his hands in fake surrender, still grinning. “Baby, come on—”

“No. Don’t ‘baby’ me.” She cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slice through concrete. “Did you just call me a pitbull? In front of them?”

Kelce opened his mouth, probably to throw in another dumb comment, but she snapped her eyes to him so fast he flinched.

“Don’t speak. You already used up your daily brain cell.”

Topper coughed on a laugh. Kelce looked wounded.

Rafe, traitorous bastard that he was, snorted.

But she wasn’t done.

“You think you’re funny?” she demanded, turning that fire back on him full force. “You want to crack little jokes for your friends, fine. Be the cool guy. Be the clown. But don’t use me as the punchline. Not in front of them. Not in front of anyone. Not ever.”

Rafe was still leaned against the cart, arms crossed now, head tilted like he was watching his favorite show. He didn’t look sorry. Not even a little. If anything, he looked fascinated. That stupid glint in his eye made her want to smack the smug off his face.

“You think you’re charming, Rafe?” she continued, not giving him a second to respond. “You think I follow you around like a dog? You think it’s cute to call me a pitbull because I don’t take your shit? Because I keep you in check?”

His mouth twitched.

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “You really think you’re getting away with this, don’t you?”

Rafe shrugged a little, casual, unbothered. “Well, you are kinda scary when you’re mad. And bossy. And really, really hot.”

She blinked.

Rafe tilted his head and gave her that smile—the one that always got him out of trouble, the one that made her insides twist against her better judgment. “God, you’re sexy when you’re mad.”

She blinked.

“…What?”

“You heard me.” Rafe’s voice dipped into that lazy, drawling cadence that always managed to push her buttons. He was smiling now—slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every ounce of her frustration, letting it melt on his tongue like something sweet. “That little glare? The hands on your hips? Yeah. Real sexy.”

She stared at him, momentarily stunned. Her mouth parted slightly in disbelief, like her brain was buffering.

He looked dead serious. And dead amused.

She finally dragged her gaze to the rest of the group.

Topper looked like he was caught in the crossfire of a domestic he wanted no part of. His brows were halfway up his forehead, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or bolt. Kelce? Avoiding eye contact like it was radioactive. The rest of the group had suddenly found the chip aisle extremely fascinating and were now loitering there like a pack of guilty teenagers.

“Rafe—” she warned, the word sharp, but he cut her off again with that same infuriating softness in his voice.

“Seriously,” he said, stepping just a little closer, like he couldn’t help himself. “You could curse me out all day and I’d still be looking at you like this.”

She opened her mouth, ready to fight again—but nothing came out. No snark, no threat, not even the solid, scathing line she’d been rehearsing in her head.

Because Rafe wasn’t laughing at her anymore.

He wasn’t trying to show off. His smile wasn’t cocky now—it was warm, disarming. There was something in his eyes, something steady and focused, like the storm she’d brought with her had only made him more certain of her. Like he loved it. Like he loved her.

His fingers brushed over hers, slow and tentative. She tried to pull away, on principle alone—but he caught her hand gently, his thumb skating over her knuckles like she was breakable and precious and his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. Quiet enough that no one else could hear. “That was a dumb joke. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t respect you. You know I do. You know I—” He exhaled, almost laughed at himself. “You know I’m yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, not quite letting him off the hook.

“And?”

“And I’ll make it up to you,” he added quickly, his grip tightening just slightly, thumb still moving over her skin. “Later. With that overpriced wine you like. Maybe those bath bomb things you hoard like gold.”

She raised a brow. “Which ones?”

He straightened like he’d been preparing for this exact pop quiz. “The lavender fairy dust one. The sparkly one that makes my entire tub smell like a cupcake exploded.”

Her lips twitched, traitorous and amused.

“Still not forgiven,” she muttered, but her voice had lost its bite. Her shoulders had relaxed. Her fingers hadn’t left his.

“I wouldn’t expect to be.” He grinned, infuriatingly smug. “But you being mad at me? Kinda keeps things spicy.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smallest smile tugged at her mouth now. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“You’re the one who keeps showing up at my house,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you’d live on frozen pizza and Red Bull if I didn’t.”

“And,” he added shamelessly, “because you love me.”

She stared at him, expression flat, but her mouth twitched again. “Debatable.”

That earned her the grin again—the one he only ever gave her. Crooked, wide, a little boyish around the edges but burning bright behind his eyes. The kind of grin that said you’re it for me, even when he was being impossible.

And maybe she was still annoyed, and maybe his friends were absolute idiots, and maybe he deserved a day or two of payback for calling her a pitbull—but right then, in the middle of the grocery store, Rafe looked at her like she was the only damn thing that existed.

He leaned in close, eyes dragging slowly over her face, voice low and husky.

“But for real…” His breath skimmed her cheek. “You are so sexy when you’re mad.”

She shoved him with the cart before he could get smug again, grumbling, “Get your snacks and shut up.”

He let out a pleased laugh, mock-saluting as he trailed after her.

“Yess, ma’am.”

And as they wandered toward the chip aisle—him brushing her lower back like he couldn’t stop touching her, her still muttering under her breath—something warm settled between them. Familiar. Solid. Safe.

Because for all the ways Rafe Cameron got under her skin, he saw her. Every sharp edge, every storm cloud, every line she drew in the sand. And he didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn away.

He loved her with the kind of reckless admiration only Rafe could pull off.

Even when she was furious.

Especially when she was furious.

Because that’s when she burned brightest.

And he’d never been the kind of guy to look away from a fire.

#outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfics #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #obx x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe angst #rafe fluff #rafe x you #sunsetmade

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