#then everything really comes crashing down

[wosospacegirl]

Matching stitches - Grace Clinton

Summary: Y/n can handle tough tackles and intense matches—but stitches? Absolutely not. After a head collision mid-match, the last person she expects to help her through it is Grace —her opponent.

Warnings: mentions of blood; hurt comfort; just a meet cute overall with a lot of found family and accidentally liking old pictures on ig hehe

Word count: 7k

MASTERLIST

..

The game was heated.

1-1 and both teams wanted to win.

Y/n didn’t see it coming.

She was close to the Manchester United goal, ready to assist either Alessia or Foxy. Leah had played a long ball to Y/n, who jumped as the ball got closer, ready to receive it.

As the ball came closer, Y/n felt the impact of a body against her, knocking her to the ground. She felt something sharp open her inner lip and hit her forehead.

She fell on the pitch, her back hitting the grass painfully. For a moment she couldn't breathe, her lungs aching from the impact.

“Fuck,” Y/n muttered.

The crowd fell silent.

Y/n could smell grass, blood and sweat. It was a mixture of smells that Y/n was used to, but at the moment it reeked.

Her whole body ached as if a knife were slicing through her lips and forehead. She tried to move her head, but that hurt too. She could not see who crushed her.

The Arsenal players came running as soon as Y/n’s hit the ground. A mix of familiar voices reached Y/n’s ear. They were all talking at the same time, but it was as if they made no sense, it was just a blend of words being thrown around.

“She’s fucking bleeding!” Y/n heard Leah’s voice. “Stop the game! Call someone!”

The referee hadn’t blown the whistle yet. Maybe they should because Y/n was not going to get up anytime soon.

Y/n felt lightheaded like she was going to pass out any time soon. She wanted to stay there on the pitch, the grass hugging her, even though it irritated her skin.

Okay maybe her brain wasn’t getting all the oxygen it needed. She felt dazed.

“There’s been a head clash here! Where are the bloody medics?”

Someone said Y/n wasn’t sure if it was Kim or Katie, maybe it was Jen. Oh no, Jen had retired a couple of seasons ago, hadn’t she? Wow, they really needed to get someone to help her out.

Her teammates, whether retired or not, sounded worried. Was it bad, maybe her injury was worse than she thought it was.

Y/n felt like she was dying, but her teammates usually just called her dramatic when she was tackled in a game.

Was she being dramatic right now?

She wasn’t sure. But she was tired though. And it hurt.

She wanted to rest. Maybe she should do that.

“No, don’t. Keep your eyes open,” Y/n felt the warmth of a hand holding hers, “They’re going to take you to the infirmary, okay?”

“Damn, she’s out.”

Was the last thing Y/n heard before everything went black.

..

“Y/n?”

Y/n forced herself to breathe. The air went in and out of her lungs, and her back didn’t hurt anymore, just the slight discomfort of being tackled and lying down on a hard surface.

Was she in a hospital? The bed she was in felt like a hospital bed. It was uncomfortable.

“Y/n, you need to open your eyes, I know you are awake,” the voice said again. It wasn’t familiar to Y/n, but it seemed to belong to an older woman.

Y/n tried to do what the woman asked her. She carefully opened one eye and then the other, but the lights in the room were too bright. She decided to close them.

Y/n didn’t remember exactly what happened. She was on the field playing, then someone crashed into her, and then she was out. She had a faint memory of Leah’s voice saying something to her as she was being carried off the pitch on a stretcher.

The first shock of pain hit her.

Y/n whimpered, bringing her hand to her lip and then to her forehead. Both places were wet and tender. Two very fresh bruises.

Medicine. Why hadn’t they given her some painkillers? If she was in a hospital, it must have been a bad one because she was in pain, her mouth tasted like iron.

Y/n tried to open her eyes again, the light was not as intense as before. She removed her hands from her face and looked at them, they were red.

Blood, fresh blood. She had been hurt and it hadn’t been long ago.

Why did it feel like days?

“Don’t look at it,” the older woman said, taking Y/n’s hands and cleaning them with a tissue.

“What hospital am I in?,” Y/n asked the woman.

“We're in the infirmary, the stadium’s infirmary,” another voice said beside Y/n. The voice was calm, not as energetic as the other women’s, and it was younger.

It was probably the person who had bumped into Y/n.

She was so disoriented that she hadn’t even noticed that someone else had been hurt as well. But if the pain on her face was any indication of how hard they had bumped into each other, the other player was probably in bad shape too.

She tried to turn her head around, but it hurt too much, so she just kept staring at the person in front of her.

Nurse Mary, the badge said. She had a kind, round face.

“Are you all right?” The younger voice said again.

Y/n tried to remember who the voice belonged to. She was being marked by Gabby George and Millie. T seconds before she was hit, but they were in front of her and the collision was caused by someone running to her side. So Y/n didn't see who it was.

Y/n turned her head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl, but the movement was too fast and nausea hit her stomach.

“Mary, I'm gonna throw up,” Y/n warned the nurse.

A few seconds later there was a bucket right next to her.

Y/n emptied her stomach. The vomit was mixed with blood from her new injuries and she just wanted to go home, put an ice pack on her face and pretend this day never happened, especially after throwing up in front of two strangers.

Nurse Mary patted Y/n’s back maternally. “It's okay, honey. You’ve got a concussion, it's normal to feel nauseous. Miss Grace here also had a concussion.”

Grace? Grace Clinton?

Great, she had puked in front of Grace Clinton. Not embarrassing at all.

Y/n had the vaguest recollection of seeing Grace in the tunnel as they walked to the pitch. She had her hair in a low bun and her shirt looked a size too big for her.

Grace was a midfielder for Man United, she was very young but very skilled. Y/n had never had the chance to talk to her before, but Leah had told her once that Grace was very calm on the pitch and that she should mark her, but not be too aggressive about it, as Grace herself had a chill style of play.

“You bumped heads during the game,” Mary continued. “It wasn’t too bad, so there was no need for an ambulance.”

Y/n felt like she had been hit by a whole bus, not just bumped heads. Clinton was strong, so it made sense that she was in so much pain from the collision.

“–But you Y/n got the worst of it, Grace’s teeth bit your inner lip open when you both fell,” Mary added.

Grace's teeth?

That explained why she felt like her lips were split open.

When Y/n opened her mouth to ask Grace if she was all right, a wet, cold cloth was pressed into her face.

“Ouch! Fuck, it hurts,” Y/n said angrily, but regret quickly struck her. She shouldn't be yelling at Mary.

“I-'m sorry, it just…”

“Hurts?” Mary finished the sentence for her.

“Yeah,” Y/n mumbled, accepting the cloth to her face, the coldness of it helping with the burning sensation and easing her pain. She stayed with the cloth for a few seconds before Mary took it away from her.

“You two sit nice and still, okay?” Mary said. “I need to get some supplies in the other room, but I’ll be back.”

“I’ll talk to your teammates, too, Y/n,” she said, turning to Y/n now. “They were quite a bit worried about you, especially the skipper.”

Before Y/n could reply Mary left.

She and Grace were alone in the small room, the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant filling Y/n’s nose. She hated it.

Y/n slowly sat up on the bed and finally looked at Grace, who was sitting on the bed next to her.

Her back was propped up against two pillows, she was still wearing her Manchester kit, stained with dirt and blood. Her hair was down around her shoulders, a few leaves of grass lying in between the strings.

Should Y/n tell her about the grass? Well, given Y/n’s situation, she wasn’t really in a position to judge. She hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, but she knew she was a mess.

Grace had a very soft, baby-like face, with delicate features, but right now she looked like she had come back from war. Her bottom lip was swollen, with a deep cut on it. Y/n couldn't see it properly because Grace was holding an ice pack against it, but from what she could see it was obvious that the girl’s lip was just also bruised.

“Your mouth–” Y/n said, pointing at Grace.

“Yeah, yours doesn't look too different either,” Grace said, removing the ice from her face. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember how it happened.” Y/n admitted.

“Tooney made a high pass, I tried to get it with my head and I didn’t see you were close,” Grace said with a sad smile. “They say we bump heads but I pretty much bit your lip off, too”

“it hurts,” Y/n said in a low voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“It's okay. Are you okay?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine, but we’re gonna have to get stitches though,” Gracie said casually as she leaned back on her bed.

Stitches.

Great.

“I don’t think I’ll need stitches,” Y/n said, trying to sound stoic. She couldn’t freak out in front of Grace Clinton.

She was terrified of needles and anything that had to go into her skin. She didn’t even have any tattoos for that reason. Y/n was most definitely not going to get stitches, nonetheless here in the Man United infirmary. If it was in Arsenal’s infirmary might be cool about it.

“Well, I can barely understand what you’re saying because of how much your lip is so busted, so I think you are going to need stitches,” Grace said with an amused smile on her face. “She’ll put a numbing cream on it, you won’t feel a thing, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” Y/n lied, her trembling hands betraying her. She quickly tried to hide them by sitting on her hands, but then her feet began to move anxiously.

Grace looked Y/n up and down, an understanding smile on her face. “You don’t have to act tough, it’s okay.”

Y/n felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. “I’m not acting tough,” she muttered, looking down.

She was a grown woman with a fear of needles. She felt silly.

Mary came in, a box written with suture materials on her hand.

Y/n went pale. Maybe she was going to throw up again.

“Okay sweeties,” Mary said enthusiastically, as if she enjoyed sewing people up. “Good news first: I found the anaesthetic cream,” she held up the small tube up as a prize.

“And bad news: we’ve got to be quickly because Y/n’s bus is waiting for her to leave, so let’s get going!” Mary continued.

Good to know that Y/n hadn’t been completely abandoned by her teammates in the middle of Manchester.

“Y/n, let’s get you stitched up first, yeah?”

Y/n gulped and opened her mouth, but she froze and couldn’t say anything. She looked frightened at Mary terrified and then at Grace.

“I can go first, Mary,” Grace said, holding up her hand. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay, then,” Mary said.

The nurse took the suture kit and walked in Grace’s direction. Y/n couldn’t see what Mary was doing because her body was directly in front of Y/n. The girl could only hear the nurse open the cream, and then it was quiet.

Mary started stitching Grace up. Grace didn’t make a sound or move. Y/n was in awe, she just couldn’t believe that she was being switched up and not shaking all over.

In less than 10 minutes Grace’s stitches were done. They were just on her lips, in the same place where Y/n would get hers.

The stitches were small, they looked raw and swollen, but the scar would be tiny.

“Okay, you’re good to go, honey, just make sure you don’t carry any heavyweight until your bruise is completely healed.” Mary patted Grace on the back as the girl got up from the bed.

Mary turned to Y/n and pointed at her. “Now it’s your turn, lie down on the bed for me please.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat again.

Okay, she could do it. All she had to do was breathe in and out.

Y/n tried to breathe, but the air didn’t reach her lungs. Her hands started to tremble. She shook her head and put her hands in front of her body, not letting Mary get any closer.

“I don’t want to,” Y/n said, trying to get away from Mary. “I’ll get stitches when I get back to Arsenal.” She was most definitely not going to do that.

Mary looked at her like she was a child.

“And are you planning to sit on a 4-hour drive to London with blood dripping from your forehead and mouth?” Mary asked patronisingly. “Don’t be silly, there’s no way a player like you is afraid of a few stitches, now lie down, I haven’t got all the time in the world and neither have you.

Okay, Mary wasn’t so nice anymore.

If Y/n hadn’t just had a concussion, she’d swear she’d seen the slightest frown on Grace’s face.

Y/n was embarrassed. She was a professional player and she was afraid of stitches, blood and needles. Y/n’s worst nightmare wasn’t to tear her ACL, but to suffer some kind of laceration during the game. And right now her nightmare had come true.

Her brain was already planning an escape route. There was nothing in her contract that said she had to go through with medical procedures if she didn’t agree with them.

And yes, her teammates would not enjoy spending 4 hours on a bus with someone bleeding, but what could they do? Put her on a train and send her off to London on her own.

If she could just get Mary to look away for a second, maybe she could reach the door and…

Y/n felt a dip in the mattress by her side.

“You guys won, did you know it?” Grace said, smiling at Y/n. “Cooney-Cross scored, 2-1 to Arsenal.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to distract me, I know it.”

“I just want to talk, really,” Grace said relaxed as if the infirmary was her favourite place to make small talk. “

Mary put the numbing cream first on her forehead and then on her lips. It stung at first, but then she couldn’t feel her skin anymore, as if it was anaesthetized.

Y/n breathed in and out again, trying not to panic. She would get stitches and she would be fine.

She closed her eyes.

“Who-who assisted Kyra?” Y/n questioned. If Grace was being kind enough to help her, Y/n would cooperate as well.

Mary’s cold hand found her skin. She didn't know if she was getting the stitches yet. Maybe not feeling them was worse than feeling the pain, at least she could understand what was happening.

“That Fox girl, I think her name is Emily, right?” Grace said. “Is she American?”

“Uhum,” Y/n said.

Breathe in and out. She just had to pretend there weren’t any kind of needles near her face.

“Now I’m going to do your lips, just keep them closed, Y/n,” Mary said.

If she was working on Y/n’s lips then maybe she was done with her forehead? She didn’t feel any pain, so it was probably good.

“I’ve always wanted to visit America,” Grace said, more to herself since Y/n couldn’t answer her. “I saw that Arsenal played in Washington last season, I hope Man United can play there too, it would be fun to travel with the girls.”

Y/n smiled, thinking about the trip. It was really a nice change of scenery to play in America. The crowd was different, the weather was warmer. It was a good memory.

“Try not to smile now, honey,” Mary said. “I’m almost finished here.”

“We’ve got a game in France next week, it’s just a friendly against Lyon, but it’ll be nice to get away from England’s winter,” Grace continued. “Not that the weather in France is any better at this time of the year. But still, I would rather be cold and eat a good croissant.”

Y/n wanted to smile at Grace again but remembered Mary’s scolding.

“And we’re all done here!” Mary said, clapping her hands. “Now you’re both free to go, I’ll email each of your clubs what we’ve done so they can include it in your medical report.”

Y/n opened her eyes and was met with Grace’s face. She looked pretty, even with the stitches on.

“Thank you, Mary,” Y/n and Grace said in unison as they left the infirmary. They were met with a silent and empty corridor.

Manchester United Stadium was pretty and clean, but it was way too dark to see anything. The hallways were gloomy and Y/n wasn’t a fan of the dark.

“Thank you for what you did there,” Y/n said, looking up at Grace, she couldn't really see her face, but Y/n knew she was there by the subtle touch of their hands as they walked. “You didn't have to, you’re probably late now and–”

“I know I didn’t have to,” Grace said as they walked through the corridors. “I just wanted to do it.”

Y/n honestly didn’t know where she was, she was just following Grace, hoping that the girl knew her own team’s stadium better she did.

“But you were scared and it was my fault that you had to get stitches at the end of the day,” Grace continued. “Besides, it was nice talking to you.”

Y/n blushed slightly. “You still think that even after I threw up in front of you and almost had a panic attack because of some stitches?” Y/n said half-jokingly, feeling a small shiver as their hands touched again

“Well, I did cut your lip open with my teeth, so I’d say we’re even,” Grace joked, turning left into a hallway that was less dark than before.

“It’s a very physical game, it’s bound to happen,” Y/n said smiling. “You don’t have to apologise.”

They walked on until Y/n finally realised where she was. She was near the changing rooms for the away and home teams. Next to the changing room was the media room, where the players, but mainly the technical staff, answered questions from sports journalists.

There were a lot of voices coming from the media room, it looked busy.

Y/n took a quick look inside the room and saw both Arsenal and Man United managers answering questions.

She wasn’t as sneaky as she thought she was, though, because in a matter of seconds a girl with a badge that said ‘Media’ was standing in front of her and Grace, mobile phone in hand.

“Hi girls, I’m Tara, I work for the Barclays Women's Super League’s Instagram and I was wondering if I could get a picture of you two together?” The woman asked nicely. “The fans are worried about your injury, so it would be nice to give a little update.”

“Would it just be a picture? Or an interview? We can’t talk much because of our lips,” Grace said, pointing at Y/n’s mouth and then at herself. “We just got stitches.”

“Just a picture to put on the Instagram feed,” Tara explained professionally. “If that’s all right with you, guys?”

Grace and Y/n exchanged a look and then nodded to Tara, who smiled and asked them to stand in front of one of the lights in the hallway.

Grace took a step closer to Y/n and gently placed her hand on Y/n’s hip. They smiled as Grace made the peace sign with her hand.

Y/n missed Grace’s hand after she had taken it from her body. It was warm, she liked it.

“Okay, that’s great! Thanks, girls,” Tara said after looking at the picture on her phone. “I hope you make a full recovery”

Tara left, leaving Y/n and Grace alone.

“We should probably go before more journalists come, I don’t really feel like talking to them,” Grace said.

“Well, we actually can’t talk much, anyway.”

They walked until they reached a door with the words ��Player’s car park” on it. Grace opened the door for Y/n and they were greeted by the Manchester night.

Y/n quickly spotted the Arsenal bus. She even forgot that her teammates were waiting for her, they must be tired of waiting. It was already late.

Y/n turned to Grace “Thanks again, for staying with me…and being so nice,”

Grace smiled, “You don’t have to thank me, it’s alright, I’m the one who should thank you, if it was any other player they’d be mad at me for the injury, it was reckless.”

“I don't think anyone could be mad at you,” Y/n said, looking into Grace’s green eyes

“Oh they could,” Grace joked, looking around the car park. “Sorry again for hurting you, I hope it heals soon”

“It will, I’ll take good care of it,” Y/n said.

“Good. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Grace said.

“Yeah, of course,” Y/n said, feeling warmth in her cheeks. Grace was pretty, very pretty.

“Bye them, have a safe trip,” Grace waved before walking to a car parked on the other side of the parking lot, Y/n assumed it was hers.

Y/n made her way to the Arsenal team bus, but when she opened the door all she could hear was her teammates yapping.

“I think I should go check on her,” Kim said worriedly. “She’s been there for an hour!”

“I already talked to the nurse, she said it would take some time to stitch her up, mate, be patient,” Leah said.

“And that’s why somebody should go with her, Y/n is scared of needles, how is she going to get stitched up alone?” Kim stated.

“Kim, mate, relax! You always fuss over us, Y/n's fine, I just spoke with the nurse.”

“Of course, I fuss over you guys, I’m the captain! And you, Leah,” Kim said pointing at the blonde, “should do the same, since you’re co-captain.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll go! You’re talking as if I didn't stand by the infirmary door like a dog until the nurse kicked me out,” Leah muttered as she walked down the steps of the bus.

As she walked down she came face to face with Y/n.

“Oh look who’s here,” Leah said smiling, stopping in her tracks, she turned around and shouted, “Guys, she’s here!”

Leah took Y/n’s hand and the two girls walked into the bus. It was mostly dark, with an annoying smell of the peanuts Katie was always snacking on.

When the girl saw Y/n they all smiled at him.r

“Hey girl, how are you?” Alessia said, getting up from her seat to give Y/n a hug. “I was so scared when you fell there was so much blood on Grace's face! And the referee took forever to stop the game.”

Leah put a comforting hand on Y/n’s back. “You fainted, I thought they were going to call an ambulance. Don’t do that again, please”

“Do that again? You’re saying it like I wanted to get my forehead and lips cut open,” Y/n mumbled, waving and smiling at Kim.

“Leah and Kim were so angry,” Katie said from one of the last seats, “I think the only reason Leah didn’t scream at Grace was because she was hurt.”

“Of course, I wanted to scream! What was she thinking, jumping on you like that?” Leah said, her protective side showing as she squeezed Y/n’s shoulder a little harder. “She knows better than that. If it had happened at Camp, Sarina would’ve benched her on the spot.

“Come on Leah, you’d never forgive yourself if you shouted at Gracie girl,” Beth said, “she’s a sweetheart when we play for England.”

“Plus, I don’t think she saw Y/n, she wasn’t even looking at her side,” Kim said, “But let’s forget about Grace, how are those stitches? Did you panic?”

“Yeah I kind of did, but Grace talked me through it,” Y/n said, sitting down in her usual spot next to Alessia, the blonde wrapping her arms around her.

“That seems like grace, she is like the nicest person ever,” Alessia said. “And she gives great hugs too.”

“Okay, now you’re all making me feel bad for getting mad at her,” Leah said, rolling her eyes and sitting down in her seat a few rows away from Y/n.

“So y/n, tell me, do you think the game was mind-blowing or what?” Kyra said teasingly, sitting in the row right behind Y/n and Alessia, Steph by her side.”

“Too soon to be making puns about her bruise, you menace,” Steph said, playfully smacking Kyra on the head. “At least wait until it heals.”

..

The Arsenal team have been on the road to London for two hours. Everyone was asleep, some girls had their sleep masks on, and others were wrapped in blankets.

Everyone except Y/n.

The pain in her lip and forehead was bothering her and she didn’t have any painkillers she could take, she’d have to wait until she got home to take some ibuprofen. The pain was the main reason why Y/n was awake and playing games on her phone next to a very sleeping Alessia.

Y/n had set the screen brightness to the lowest possible, the bus was completely dark, which made her feel furtive in some sort of way.

She was halfway through with her Sudoku when she got a notification on her Instagram.

Barclays Women’s Super League tagged you on their post.

Y/n quickly clicked on it and in a matter of seconds, the picture of her and Grace appeared on her screen.

“A tough game, but both players are on the mend! ⚽” read the caption. There were an awful lot of comments on the post already. Maybe people were really worried about them.

The picture was cute.

Well, Grace looked cute. Y/n looked awful, her kit was completely dirty with grass, blood and mud, her hair was in a messy bun, and you could literally see the sweat on her neck. Gross.

Y/n’s stitches looked awful as well, they were very red, swollen and just raw.

Of course, Grace didn't look much different from Y/n, neither of them had had a chance to shower before the photo, but still, for some reason, Grace still looked pretty in her Manchester United kit.

Y/n stared at the picture, then the picture stared at her back.

She clicked on the post and saw Grace’s Instagram handle. She clicked on it and started scrolling through Grace’s profile, but not in I'm-obsessed-with-you way, more like a you-were-so-nice-i-want-to-get-to-know-you-better way.

Her Instagram was like any other player's. Lots of pictures of her on the pitch, in training, and at camp, but not much about her private life, unfortunately.

Y/n didn't know why she felt so creepy while scrolling through Grace’s Instagram, It wasn’t like it was wrong or weird, they just met and y/n wanted to know more about her… see if there were any hobbies she was interested in in in, what places had Grace had been, and stuff like that.

Grace seemed like a very nice person through the lens of Instagram. She seemed very dedicated to football, loyal to a few of her friends, and funny but also private.

Y/n wasn’t much different, she also didn’t like to post much about her life outside of football on social media. She and Grace had this in common.

Y/n went back to the picture of them together.

Maybe she should comment on it. Something casual, something funny, but not bold.

Stitch up buddies! she wrote, but then deleted.

God, that was so lame.

Matching tattoos are overrated, so we got matching stitches instead.

That was good. It was casual, it didn’t sound like she was flirting.

She hit send.

Then she dramatically put her hands in her face. “Bloody hell why did I do that?” she whispered to herself, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

Would Grace think she was weird? She didn’t tag Grace on the comment, maybe the girl wouldn’t even see it and they’d just get on with their lives. Maybe she could delete it.

Y/n waited a few seconds before unlocking her phone again. She decided to finish her Sudoku, maybe it would help her fall asleep.

When she was almost done with a square her phone buzzed. She read the notification.

Grace Clinton replied to your comment.

Y/n’s heart dropped. She hesitated before opening the notification.

No one I’d rather get stitches with❤️

Y/n smiled as she read it, feeling like a giggling teenager with a secret crush.

Grace saw her comment and replied to it, and put a heart emoji next to it and it was a red heart emoji. Y/n stared at the comment for a few seconds before deciding she needed big help.

“Hey Less,” Y/n nudged Alessia, who was sleeping, face against the window, wrapped in an Arsenal hoodie. “I need your help.”

“Mm?”

Y/n place the phone on Alessia's barely awake face, she squinted her eyes because of the sudden light and pushed it away slightly, confused.

“What does a heart emoji mean?” Y/n asked,

“Huh?” Alessia said again, still sleepy.“What are you talking about?” She rubbed her eyes.

“A media girl took a picture of me and Grace after we got the stitches and they posted it, see here” Y/n showed Alessia the picture, but the girl still looked barely awake.

“Okay–?”

“So I commented on it, and Gracie replied to my comment!” Y/n did the same thing, showing Alessia the screen, but this time Alessia took the phone to read it herself.

“Oh,”

“Oh? What does "oh" mean?” Y/n said worriedly.

Alessia smiled at Y/n, a little grin on her face, something you didn’t normally see from Alessia. “Oh as in she used a red heart! That's good, oh.”?”

“Yes! That's what I thought, she could choose a blue one, right or even a yellow one?” Y/n said enthusiastically. “But do you feel like she picked it in a friendly way or…”

“What are you guys on about?” Kyra chimed in from the seat behind Y/n, just her face sticking out of the side of Y/n’s seat. “

“Y/n has a crush on Grace,” Alessia said in a low voice.

“I-What?! It’s not a crush, stop it,” Y/n denied, frowning. “It’s–I just think she’s cute, that’s all.”

“Oh wow, a crush, huh?” Kyra said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Are you star-crossed lovers? She bit a part of your lip and now she has a piece of your heart?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and pushed Kyra's face back into her row. “You’re so annoying, go back to your seat.”

“What are you going to do about that comment?” Alessia asked, ignoring the usual bickering between Kyra and Y/n.

“I don’t know. What do you think I should do, Less?” Y/n asked.

Alessia and Kyra were Y/n’s go-to girls for every problem she had, although she always leaned more towards Alessia when her problems involved other people.

“You should reply to it,” Kyra said, sticking her head back to Y/n’s row. “Drop a heart too, I dunno, but you can’t just leave it at that.”

“How do you even know what we are talking about? I haven’t even told you what she commented” Y/n turned to Kyra.

“I was eavesdropping,” Kyra admitted, “You guys were whisper-yelling.”

“No, we were not,” Y/n argued.

“Yes you were, you should be grateful that Kim sleeps with earplugs. Do you remember the last time we woke her up during a trip? She made Less cry.”

“She scares me sometimes,” Alessia said, looking into the void.

“Guys back to the real problem!” Y/n said, pointing at her phone. “Should I just like the comment and say anything? Or maybe I don't like it at all?”

“Can I take a look at it?” Kyra asked a pout on her face. “Please?”

“Yeah, of course, babe,” Y/n said, giving the phone to Kyra.

She was so bad at socialising and interacting with people in general, especially the ones she found attractive, like Grace.

She wasn’t even sure if Grace was into girls. Then again, she was a football player, so there was at least a 75 per cent chance—but still. Y/n bit her lip out of anxiety, but a sharp pain came, she forgot she had just got those damn stitches.

“Oh no,” Kyra whispered.

“What?” Y/n and Alessia turned their heads at the same time, not so much as whisper-yelling anymore.

“I liked one of her pictures,” Kyra admitted, talking fast “I’m so so sorry Y/n, I just disliked it back, but she’ll get the notification anyway.”

Y/n went pale. Fuck no.

“Kyra!” Y/n said, taking the phone out of her hands.

“Was it an old picture?” Alessia asked, biting her nails and looking from Kyra to Y/n. “Y/n don’t freak out, it’s okay.” She put a hand on Y/n's back and patted it.

“I think it was from 3 years ago,” Kyra said. “I just wanted to see her profile! I’m really sorry!”

“I’m gonna eat broken glass,” Y/n said. No expression on her face.

Alessia put her arm around Y/n. “It’s okay, maybe she won’t even notice, she must get a lot of notifications all the time, she probably won’t see yours.”

“Yeah! Especially after a game, people go crazy when we play,” Kyra said guiltily. “I’m really sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“It’s okay, Ky,” Y/n said, leaning into Alessia's shoulder as Kyra’s hand patted her arm.

“I guess I’ll just never play against Man United ever again,” Y/n continued, biting her nails. “It’s not like football is my only talent, I can quiet it. That’s a good option.

“When’s our next game against United anyway?” Alessia asked, ignoring Y/n ramblings.

“In two months,” Kyra replied. “But it’s just a friendly.”

“Just so you know I’ll have a serious case of period cramps by then. Y/n said. “Renée will have to bench me.”

Y/n was in distress. Now Grace was going to think she was some kind of weird stalker going through old pictures of her. She wanted to hide away in her bed and never come out into the world ever again.

Y/n’s phone buzzed again, unexpectedly.

The three girls held their breath.

“I can’t look at it,” Y/n said, giving her phone to Alessia and burying her face in her shirt. “You look at it.”

Alessia took the phone as Kyra moved her head to see the screen.

“Oh she definitely noticed you,” Alessia said teasingly. “She just followed you! Yay! ”

“What!?” Y/n said, taking her face out of her shirt. “She followed me?!”

“And liked your last post about helping stray animals,” Kyra said, holding the phone to her face.

Y/n felt disappointed. “Really?

“No, I'm kidding, she liked a selfie, and an old one too, from 2021,” Kyra smiled as she jabbed from Y/n playful punch. “Congrats, she likes you back,”

“Now Y/n, you have to say ‘Kyra thank you so much, your mistake was a blessing in disguise, I’m so lucky to have you as a frie–”

“Who likes you back?”

The three girls turned their heads.

Leah was staring at them, arms crossed, frown on her face, her pillow tucked under her arm. She looked tired.

“W-what?” the girls said in unison.

“Did we wake you up? Kyra said, trying to give Leah one of her sweet smiles, but the frown on Leah’s face continued.”We’re sorry,”

“Yes you did, you’re out here giggling like schoolgirls,” she muttered. “But it doesn’t matter, at least Kim is still asleep. If she woke up we’d have a problem.”

They all looked to their left where Kim was in a deep sleep.

“Last time she woke up–”

“Yeah, we remember,” The girls answered Leah again in unison.

“But back to the point,” Leah said. “Who likes you back?”

The bus was silent.

“Oh come on, it’s the least you can do after waking me up,” Leah said, crossing her arms. “You know I never pry on your life, just tell me this once.”

Y/n looked at Alessia, then at Kyra, waiting for them to come in and elaborate a straight-up lie so she wouldn’t have to admit to Leah that she had a crush on the girl who sent her to the infirmary just three hours ago.

“I think Grace Clinton is cute.” Y/n quickly and defensively, crossing her arm and imitating Leah.

Leah grinned. “Grace Clinton, huh? Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. Do you have something for a girl who draws you a little blood? “

“Stop it, Leah, don’t say it like that!” Y/n blushed. “I think she’s cute and kind…and I’m not embarrassed about it.”

“I mean… yeah? Why would you be embarrassed about it? ” Leah said with the i-don’t-really-care-that-much usual tone in her voice, " She is a nice girl.”

“Yeah, she is,” Y/n stated, a little defensive.

Ok, maybe she should let her guard down, neither Alessia nor Kyranorr Leah were judging her for her little crush.

“She just helped me calm down with the stitches,” Y/n explained. “And she’s pretty.

“You should just ask her out whenever we have a game around Manchester or London,” Leah said casually. “You could take her out to dinner, or to some coffee shop you like.”

“You say that as if it’s easy to just ask someone on a date,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

Leah looked at her confused. “Well, it is easy. You just have to ask them. If they say yes you go on the date and if they say no you just say ok and move on.”

“Things just work that way because you are Leah,” Y/n said, defeated. “I'm not like you, I'm not naturally charismatic or good with other people”

“I think you’re quite charming if that’s any consolation,” Kyra said, winking at her.

“It absolutely does not, Ky, but I appreciate you throwing me a pity bone,” Y/n said desolated.

Leah held out her hand, palm open. “Give me your phone–I’ll fix it in like ten seconds.”

“What, no!” Y/n said, holding her phone close to her chest, and protecting it.

“Why not? If you’re too scared I can ask her for you,” Leah rolled her eyes.

“I think you should do it,” Alessia said. “Or else you’ll regret not doing something about it,”

“Yeah, and you’ll whine about it every girl's night,” Kyra said. “Do it, come on.”

“What if she says no?” Y/n whined.

“Then you’ll get over it,” Leah said bluntly. “Haven’t you ever been rejected before?”

“No!” Y/n said. “I’m never the one who initiates anything.”

“Bloody hell, you’re hopeless.” Leah pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Leah!” Alessia said in a more stern voice. “Don’t say that, you have to encourage her.”

Leah held Y/n’s shoulder and leaned forward so they were the same height.

“You can’t be a coward forever,” Leah said, using her authoritative voice. “You need to woman up, are you a chicken or are you a girl?”

Y/n was silent for a few seconds.

“A girl,” she mumbled.

“Exactly, a girl, so let’s do it!”

Y/n thought about it and hesitantly handed her phone to Leah. “Don’t be too bold or too flirty or too Leah about it,”

Leah rolled her eyes but took the phone.

“Hey, Grace. Coffee next time we’re in Manchester or London?” Leah said aloud as she typed.

“No, that's too direct!” Y/n said

“Oh fine,” Leah huffed. “Hi, let me know if you’re ever around London, we could grab something to eat, xoxo.”

“I don't use xoxo.”

Leah looked at Y/n impatiently and clicked on the screen with more force than necessary, deleting the last part. “ok, no xoxo.” she huffed again.

Leah finished typing but didn’t hit send right away. She picked up the phone, teasing Y/n: “Are you going to do it, or should I?”

Y/n takes a deep breath, grabs the phone, and hits send herself—a small victory for her confidence.

“She’s gonna say yes, I can feel it,” Kyra says dramatically as Alessia hugged Y/n.

Y/n stared at her phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn’t take it back now. Well, she could, but that would be humiliating. The message was out there, sitting in Grace Clinton’s DMs, waiting to be read.

“See?” Leah smirked. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Y/n groaned and buried her face in her hoodie. “I’m never doing that again.”

“Oh, babe,” Kyra cooed, patting her head. “You’re gonna have to survive until she answers first.”

Y/n peeked at her phone screen one last time before locking it. Maybe getting stitches had been less painful than this.

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[no-144444]

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | more to come...

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“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him. 

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.” 

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot. 

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner. 

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.” 

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up. 

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it. 

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.” 

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed. 

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject. 

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.” 

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm. 

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.” 

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

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Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low. 

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful. 

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.” 

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?” 

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?” 

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.” 

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book. 

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair. 

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book. 

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.” 

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?” 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled. 

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again. 

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“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.” 

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled. 

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.” 

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained. 

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?” 

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged. 

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them. 

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued. 

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.” 

They were both quiet. 

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.” 

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar. 

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.” 

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!” 

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed. 

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.” 

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected. 

“Cool,” he smiled. 

“Cool,” you mirrored. 

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

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𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍.2)

Choi Seunghyun x f!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: Here's part two! I feel like this part is slightly boring but I needed to write it to continue lol. I've also just been off the past few days and I'm trying to get back into the right mood so I'm sorry if this sucks. I'll try to have part 3 out ASAP!

synopsis: Y/n struggles escape her guilty conscience of the secret her and Jiyong carry. Meanwhile, Seunghyun is oblivious and head over heels for Y/n.

warnings: Language, angst, mention of sex, some fluff at the end

wc: 2.2k+

The shrill blare of your alarm yanked you from the depths of sleep, your body aching, your mind groggy with exhaustion. Your hand instinctively shot out, fumbling blindly until you slammed the snooze button, plunging the room back into an uneasy silence. A tired groan slipped from your lips as you shifted under the sheets, ready to drift back into oblivion—until you felt it.

A warmth beside you.

Your stomach twisted violently as you rolled over, your pulse spiking when your eyes landed on the figure sprawled out next to you. Jiyong.

His bare torso was partially covered by the sheets, the same sheets that reeked of sweat, sex, and the mistakes of last night. His face was relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. Without the cocky smirk, without the biting words, he almost looked…peaceful. Almost.

But the moment you registered the ache between your legs, the bruises forming on your hips, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your skin, shame crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Last night came rushing back in a flood of memories—Seunghyun’s gentle smile, the way he looked at you with admiration and patience. The way you had laughed, talked, felt like a real person again, not just some dirty little secret. And then Jiyong. His scent. His touch. His words whispered against your lips as he dragged you back into the cycle of ruin.

You squeezed your eyes shut. God, you hated yourself.

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed your phone, your fingers moving on autopilot as you typed out a text to your boss.

Can’t come in today. Migraine.

It was a weak excuse, but you prayed he wouldn’t question it. You never took a day off. Maybe he’d let this one slide.

Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Fine, but I need the final drafts by midnight tomorrow.

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. You set the phone down and turned to face the bigger issue at hand.

“Jiyong, get up,” you snapped, your voice ice-cold as you slammed your foot into his calf.

He groaned in protest, rolling onto his side with a sleepy scowl. “What the fuck, Y/n?”

“Get out.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the morning stillness like a blade.

Jiyong blinked at you, disoriented but quickly catching on. His smirk returned, lazy and infuriating. “Is that really how you treat the guy who made you cum three times last night?” His voice was drenched in amusement, in satisfaction. In ownership.

Your stomach churned, your skin burning with humiliation. You turned away, grabbing your clothes off the floor, yanking them on in a frenzy. Jiyong propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips.

“You look tense.” he teased, stretching his arms above his head, his toned stomach flexing. “You wanna fuck it out?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not coming in today. And this—this is over. So get up and get out of my house.”

Jiyong tilted his head, his long, fading orange hair falling into his eyes. The same hair you were responsible for touching up, though the thought of being that close to him again made bile rise in your throat.

“Why aren’t you coming in?” His tone was nonchalant, but there was something else lurking beneath it.

“I need a fucking day off—from you. From everything.” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “I had a nice time with Seunghyun last night. And then you just—you just showed up and ruined it.”

He scoffed. “Ruined it? You were begging me to fuck you, Y/n.”

You flinched. He always knew exactly where to strike.

“That was the last fucking time, Jiyong. I’m serious.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, his gaze flickered to the bedside table, to the black dahlia wilting from neglect. His smirk curled slightly.

“I helped him pick that out, you know.” He gestured lazily toward the flower. “Told him you liked dahlias. He doesn’t know shit about you, Y/n. Not like I do.”

Your breath hitched. “Still don’t know why you did that,” you murmured, your voice laced with suspicion. “Maybe just stay out of our business.”

His eyes darkened. “He’s my best friend. He comes to me for advice.” A cruel chuckle escaped his lips. “I mean, next time I could just tell him how to fuck you right—since I know all about that.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Don’t you dare tell him,” you seethed.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Your chest heaved. “Why do you even care, Jiyong?! You hate me. I hate you. This was all just meaningless fucking sex!”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Jiyong’s jaw tightened. His nostrils flared, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. For the first time, he had nothing to say.

“I like Seunghyun. I really do,” you continued, your voice shaking. “And I’d like to see him again. But I can’t do that if you’re still lurking around, so just—just fuck off! Find someone else to fuck!”

Something flashed in his eyes, something raw, something dangerous—but then it was gone.

“Fine,” he spat, his smirk returning, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve got plenty of girls. I don’t need you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Never needed you.” You mumbled, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. 

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh, but it was hollow. Without another word, he grabbed his clothes, yanked them on, and stormed toward the door. The slam of it rattled the walls.

The moment he was gone, your legs gave out. You sank to the floor, your hands clutching at your hair, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The weight of it all came crashing down, pressing against your chest like a thousand bricks.

It was over.

And yet—you knew it wasn’t. Not completely.

You crawled toward the bathroom, your limbs feeling like lead. The moment you stepped into the shower, you let the scorching water cascade over your skin, washing away the remnants of last night. You sat against the tile, knees pulled to your chest, silent sobs wracking your body.

You had never felt so disgusted with yourself.

Two hours passed before you finally emerged, your body scrubbed raw, but the filth of Jiyong still clung to you like a second skin. You numbly went through your routine, pulling on sweats and a tank top, throwing your sheets into the wash.

Your phone sat untouched on the counter. You braced yourself before picking it up, expecting an onslaught of messages—Jiyong’s wrath, Seunghyun’s confusion, your boss demanding answers.

Instead, there was just one.

Seunghyun: Hey, I heard you weren’t feeling good. Hopefully it’s not from the restaurant. I hope you feel better soon! It’s boring without you here.

Your chest ached. He didn’t know. Not yet.

No, it’s not from the restaurant. Just a headache. I had a great time last night!

You lied.

Not about having a great time with Seunghyun—you had. Those few hours with him had felt like stepping into a life you wanted so desperately to claim as your own. A life that was simple, warm, untouched by the filth of your past mistakes. But the reason you weren’t at work? That was a lie.

You weren’t sick.

You were avoiding the inevitable.

Jiyong knew how to be cruel when he wanted to be. And if he decided to open his mouth, your world would come crumbling down. Your stomach twisted at the thought of it. Everyone would know. Your boss, your coworkers, Seunghyun.

Seunghyun.

You didn’t even want to think about how he would react. The betrayal in his eyes, the disappointment. Would he hate you? Would he turn his back on you? On his best friend?

You pushed the thought away, forcing yourself into work. You needed a distraction, something to pull you away from the anxiety chewing at your insides. Music blared from the speakers, filling the silence as you lost yourself in sketching, your pencil moving in sharp, deliberate strokes.

You had finished Daesung’s outfit first, moving onto Taeyang’s and Seungri’s with ease. Designing for them was simple, almost soothing. You knew their style, their personalities, the energy they brought to the stage. It was second nature to you.

But then came the last two pages of your sketchbook.

Seunghyun and Jiyong.

Your fingers lingered on Seunghyun’s page, your pencil tracing meaningless details—adding unnecessary stitching to his jacket, shading in areas that didn’t need shading, elongating the shape of the silhouette. You knew you were procrastinating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to flip the page just yet.

You liked being on this page. Here, there was no shame, no regret, no mistakes. Just clean lines and the promise of something new.

But eventually, you had to move forward.

The moment you flipped to Jiyong’s page, your stomach clenched.

You stared at the half finished sketch you’d started, your fingers tightening around your pencil. Designing for him was always easy. You knew his style better than anyone, could predict his fashion choices before he even made them. But now, looking at this page, it felt impossible.

How could you design something for a man you wanted so desperately to erase from your memory?

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sketch. You kept it simple, precise—dark, sleek lines, something effortlessly cool and arrogant, just like him. Just like the man his fans adored. Not the man who whispered filthy things into your ear, not the man who knew exactly how to ruin you, over and over again.

But even as you sketched, his voice echoed in your head.

"He doesn’t know shit about you, Y/n. Not like I do."

Your grip on the pencil tightened. God, you hated him.

And yet, the memory of last night still clung to your skin. The bruises on your hips, the soreness between your legs. You hated how good he made you feel, how easy it was to fall into bed with him, how no matter how hard you tried to move on, he always found a way to pull you back in.

You shook your head, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste copper.

You just had to finish this.

Just as you were adding the final touches, the doorbell rang.

You jolted upright, blinking down at your sketchbook as if just realizing where you were. Pushing it aside, you stood, rubbing the stiffness from your neck before making your way to the door.

You weren’t expecting company.

When you swung the door open, the sight before you made your breath hitch.

Seunghyun.

He stood there, a bag of takeout in one hand and yet another flower in the other. This time, a purple tulip, its petals delicate between his fingers.

“Seunghyun!” you breathed, your voice laced with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I felt bad you weren’t feeling well today, so I thought maybe some ramen would help?” He lifted the bag slightly before extending the flower. “And, uh… I picked this from someone’s garden on the way here.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

"You stole a flower for me?"

He chuckled, his ears turning pink. "Borrowed. I’ll return it if they notice."

Your fingers curled around the stem, bringing the tulip to your nose as you giggled, the gesture so undeniably him. "This is really sweet, Seunghyun."

“If you’d like some company, I’m free.” He paused, suddenly unsure. “But if you’re not up for it, I totally understand.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No, I am!”

His face brightened at your enthusiasm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Come in.” You needed the distraction.

Seunghyun followed you inside, his presence filling your small apartment with warmth. As he placed the food on the counter, you searched for a vase, already feeling guilty about the black dahlia wilting in your bedroom.

Then, he spoke again.

“Oh, and this was outside your door.”

You turned just as he pulled a white envelope from his pocket, holding it out to you.

“I promise I didn’t look at it,” he added quickly. “I just picked it up so you wouldn’t miss it. Could be something important.”

Your fingers hesitated before taking it from him. It was blank. No address, no name.

Your stomach twisted.

“Uh, Seunghyun… do me a favor?” You tried to keep your voice steady. “Take all this to the living room? Pick us a movie to watch.”

“Sure!” He grinned, easily distracted. “What kind of movie do you want to watch?”

“Something scary!” you called back, waiting until he was out of sight before your fingers pried open the envelope.

Inside, there was something small, cold.

A key.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Not just any key. Your key.

Your heart pounded as you pulled out the folded note tucked inside.

You didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. The handwriting was unmistakable, messy and familiar, like it had been scribbled in a rush.

With trembling fingers, you unfolded it, your eyes scanning the words.

I won’t tell him.

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[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 10)

Synopsis: You're barely holding yourself together. Last night’s kiss lingers in your mind, turning every second around her into slow, agonizing torture. She carries on like nothing happened, while you're drowning in everything unspoken. But how much longer can you pretend before it all comes crashing down? 

Word count: 4.7K 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Angst, Unspoken emotions, Lingering tension, Mild language, Physical injury 

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. Groaning, you force your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. Without even checking the screen, you reach for your phone, already feeling the dull ache in your head. When you finally glance at it, you see Wanda’s name flashing. 

You answer with a weak, barely audible, "Hello?" 

Wanda, however, sounds wide awake—and annoyed. "Where are you? We’re at the beach having surf lessons." 

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. Just the thought of moving, of facing people, makes your exhaustion feel heavier. "I’ll pass," you mumble. "Not in the mood." 

Before she can protest, you end the call and, without hesitation, turn your phone off. You don’t even bother checking the time. What does it matter, anyway? 

With a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the pounding in your head. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, empty and unfocused. Last night lingers in your mind like a ghost, refusing to let you rest. That kiss. Or, more likely, the one Agatha won’t even remember. 

You couldn’t sleep last night, your thoughts running in circles, your body weighed down by something heavier than exhaustion. At some point, sleep must have taken over, but it doesn’t feel like rest. Just a momentary escape before reality came knocking again. 

You let out a humorless chuckle. You must look pathetic right now. 

Minutes pass in a haze before your doorbell starts ringing. At first, you ignore it, too drained to care. But when it keeps going—again and again, insistently—you sigh, already knowing who it is. 

Wanda. 

Dragging yourself out of bed, you still feel groggy as you make your way to the door. When you open it, Wanda takes one look at you—still in last night’s dress, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes—and immediately deadpans, "Seriously?" 

Before you can respond, she steps inside like she owns the place, not even waiting for an invitation. You sigh and shut the door, watching as she heads straight for the couch, making herself comfortable. 

"You’re still in that dress?" she calls you out, raising an eyebrow. 

You shrug, not really in the mood for her commentary. 

Wanda sighs, leaning forward. "Go change into a swimsuit. We’re having a surf lesson." 

"I’m not going," you say flatly, sinking into the couch across from her. "I’m too tired." 

She studies you carefully, her sharp gaze softening after a moment. "Are you okay?" 

"I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all." 

She doesn’t buy it. You can see it in her face, the way her brows knit together in concern. She gets up, stepping closer, her hands gently squeezing your arms as she lowers her voice. "What happened?" 

You force a weak smile. "Nothing." 

Wanda isn’t convinced. "Did Rio do something?" 

You shake your head. "No." 

A pause. Then, carefully, "Agatha?" 

Your stomach twists. You shake your head again, but it feels less convincing this time. 

Wanda frowns, her worry only deepening. She’s your best friend—of course she sees right through you. And the last thing you want is to make her worry more. So, despite everything, you take a breath and force yourself to say, "Fine. I’ll get ready." 

Your voice lacks enthusiasm, and Wanda knows it, but she lets it go. 

Upstairs, you step into the shower, letting the cold water jolt you awake. The chill does nothing to erase the weight in your chest, but at least it helps clear your head. After drying off, you slip into a red two-piece bikini, draping a sheer black kimono over it. To hide whatever exhaustion still lingers on your face, you throw on oversized black sunglasses, grab your tote bag, and head back downstairs. 

Wanda gives you an approving once-over and smirks. "Look at that, you’re a human being again." 

You roll your eyes but smirk back. "Shut up." 

With that, the two of you leave the villa, heading toward the beach. 

But as you walk, your stomach tightens. 

Because soon, you’ll have to face Agatha. And after last night… you don’t know if you’re ready for that. 

When you arrive at the beach, you spot Jen, Lilia, Alice, and... Agatha. The sight of her sends a jolt through you, and you fight to keep your expression neutral. Your stomach twists, your cheeks threaten to flush, but you force yourself to keep it together. You have to. 

As you approach the group, Jen is the first to greet you with a bright smile. 

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Alice teases, smirking. "We thought you bailed on us." 

Lilia chimes in with a chuckle, "Or maybe she just needed her beauty sleep." 

"Or," Jen interjects, a knowing glint in her eyes, "she was exhausted from taking Agatha home last night and making sure she didn’t pass out on the floor." 

Your body tenses at her words, though she says it playfully. It’s meant to be lighthearted—a teasing defense—but it only makes your chest feel heavier. 

Agatha, who had been quiet until now, tilts her head toward you. "Thank you." 

Then, with a smirk, she adds, "I just hope I didn’t do anything too reckless." She lets out a small laugh, like it’s a joke, like it’s nothing. 

Your breath catches for just a second. 

Reckless? 

She kissed you. She kissed you, and now she’s standing here, acting like nothing happened. Because, to her, nothing did happen. 

You muster a small smile and shake your head. "You didn’t," you lie. 

She watches you for a bit too long, like she’s trying to read something on your face. Your fingers twitch at your side. You’re the one to break eye contact first. 

Before anything else can be said, a voice speaks behind you and Wanda. 

"Alright, where we at?" 

You and Wanda turn around—and your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

She looks just as shocked as you. "Y/N?" 

You stutter, barely managing to get her name out. "Natasha?" 

Wanda blinks between the two of you. "Wait, you guys know each other?" 

Natasha smirks, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, we do." Then, with an amused tilt of her head, she adds, "I’m her ex." 

The group collectively gasps. 

"Our surf instructor is your ex?" Jen blurts out, gaping at you. 

You don’t miss the way Agatha shifts slightly at the revelation. You don’t dare look at her directly, but you feel the shift in her energy. 

The questions are about to start flying, but you shut them down quickly. "Can we just get to learning how to surf? Please?" 

Thankfully, that’s enough to steer everyone’s attention back to the lesson. 

Natasha walks you all through the basics, demonstrating movements on the sand before sending you off into the water. You do your best to focus, but it’s hard when Agatha is only a few feet away—and now Natasha is here, too. 

You feel Natasha’s gaze linger on you more than once, but you ignore it, keeping your head down and listening. 

Once the lesson is over, Natasha claps her hands together. "Alright, let’s see what you got." 

Alice, Jen, and Lilia eagerly grab their boards and head straight for the ocean. You and Wanda are about to follow when Natasha calls your name. 

You hesitate before turning back to face her. "Yeah?" 

She gives you a slow, amused once-over before grinning. "Long time no see, Y/N L/N." 

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Natasha Romanoff." You mirror her teasing tone. 

She tilts her head. "Well, didn’t expect to run into you here. What are you doing in Malibu?" 

"Bachelorette vacation," you explain. "Jen’s the bride—she’s the one who probably hired you. And I’m one of her bridesmaids." 

Natasha nods, processing that. "Makes sense." 

She’s about to say something else, but you cut her off. "I should go. My friends are waiting." 

She smirks but doesn’t push. "Go ahead, then. Try not to wipe out too hard." 

You roll your eyes, grabbing Wanda’s wrist and dragging her toward the water. 

Wanda, of course, is grinning like an idiot. "So. That happened." 

"Shut up," you mutter. 

You attempt surfing, but after multiple failed attempts, you give up, dragging your board back to the shore and opting to just swim instead. The ocean feels cool against your skin, a temporary relief from the weight in your chest. 

As you float in the water, you glance back toward the waves, watching your friends ride them with varying levels of success. Your gaze drifts, scanning the group, until it inevitably lands on Agatha. 

Your heart clenches. 

She kissed you last night. 

And she doesn’t even know. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and tear your eyes away from her, turning and swimming farther out. Away from her. Away from everything. 

But no matter how far you swim, the ache follows you. 

Because you’re the only one who remembers. 

After some time of swimming, your leg suddenly cramps, and a sharp pain shoots through your calf. Panic sets in as you struggle to stay afloat, your arms flailing against the relentless waves. Your breaths turn shallow, frantic. 

"Help!" you manage to choke out, your voice barely carrying over the noise of the waves. You try again, louder, but the water pulls you under before you can see if anyone hears. Your limbs feel heavier, exhaustion creeping in. The last thing you register is a blurred figure rushing toward you before everything goes dark. 

A rush of air fills your lungs as you sputter, coughing up seawater. The world around you is hazy, but the sensation of wet sand beneath your back is grounding. You gasp for air, blinking rapidly against the harsh sunlight. 

"Hey, hey—you're okay," a familiar voice soothes. 

Your vision clears, and the first thing you see is Agatha kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed in deep concern. Her damp hair clings to her face, and her breathing is still uneven. Natasha is on your other side, watching you intently, her lips pressed together in something like relief. 

Jen exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. "Jesus, Y/N, you scared the hell out of us. If Agatha hadn't noticed—" 

"Luckily, she did," Lilia adds, still looking shaken. "And Natasha got to you fast with CPR." 

Your chest tightens at their words. You slowly sit up, Agatha’s hands immediately steadying you. 

"You okay?" she asks, her voice lower now, softer. There’s something in her expression—something that mirrors the look she gave you last night. It makes your stomach flip. 

You nod, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah… thanks to you." 

Agatha doesn’t respond right away. Instead, her gaze flickers briefly toward Natasha before she helps you to your feet. Natasha moves in beside you, a steadying presence as you find your balance. 

"Thanks, Natasha," you say, turning to her with another small smile. She nods, but you swear there’s a flicker of irritation in Agatha’s eyes when you look back at her. 

Jen sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. "Alright, let’s get you out of the sun for a bit." 

You all make your way back to where your belongings are scattered on the sand. Wrapping your kimono around yourself, you grab your tote bag, your body still trembling slightly from the ordeal. Just as you take a breath to collect yourself, Natasha steps closer. 

"You sure you're really okay?" she asks, her voice dipping slightly. 

You smirk, already knowing where this is going. "I’m fine, Natasha." 

She grins. "Well, if you start feeling lightheaded or anything, I can always give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation again. Just say the word." 

You laugh, shaking your head. "Appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll live." 

Natasha chuckles before shifting gears, her tone turning casual. "How about tonight? Let’s catch up over drinks." 

You hesitate. "I’d love to, but… I really just want to spend time with my friends for now." It’s not a complete lie, but it’s also not the full truth. You just aren’t interested. 

Natasha studies you for a moment, then nods knowingly. "Alright. You’ve got my number—call me after the vacation if you change your mind." 

You smile politely. "Nice seeing you again, though." 

She returns the smile before giving you one last look and heading off. You exhale, letting the tension roll off your shoulders. When you glance back at your group, Agatha is watching you, an unreadable expression on her face, but the moment your eyes meet, she quickly looks away. 

Your heart starts pounding all over again, and you know exactly why. 

After that, you all head to Geoffrey’s for a late brunch. You order a ridiculous amount of food, realizing just how hungry you are after skipping breakfast and everything that happened today. The conversation flows easily between the group, filled with laughter and teasing, but you’re hyper-aware of Agatha sitting across from you. You do your best to avoid looking at her, but you can feel her gaze on you from time to time. Every glance makes your skin prickle with something you refuse to name. 

Just when you think you’ve regained your composure, Wanda smirks and drops a grenade into the conversation. "So… how was your surfing lesson?" she asks, clearly enjoying herself. 

You groan, already knowing where this is going. "It was fine." 

"Fine?" Lilia echoes, raising an eyebrow. "You looked anything but fine when Natasha was giving you CPR." 

You roll your eyes. "First of all, I almost drowned. Maybe focus on that? And second, it wasn’t that dramatic." 

"Oh, come on," Jen cuts in, leaning forward with a grin. "You dated her. That’s pretty dramatic." 

"Yeah, and we broke up," you remind them, stabbing at your food. "Over a year ago." 

"Wait, how did you two even meet?" Alice asks, curiosity piqued. 

You sigh, deciding there’s no escaping this conversation. "Some club. A year ago. We were together for three months, and it ended on good terms." 

"And you didn’t know she could surf?" Lilia asks, amused. 

"Nope. No idea." 

They exchange glances before Wanda smirks. "Natasha still looks like she’s down bad for you." 

You shrug. "That’s not my problem." 

"First Rio, now Natasha?" Lilia teases. "What is this, a rom-com? Who are you gonna pick?" 

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Neither." 

Before they can push further, Jen claps her hands together. "Alright, enough of that. We’re going to karaoke tonight. Be at the main entrance of the resort at five. No excuses." 

Lilia practically vibrates with excitement. "Oh my God, it’s been ages since we’ve done this! I can’t wait." 

You smile, relieved that the topic has shifted. The conversation continues with lighthearted chatter, and soon, everyone finishes their meals and heads back to their villas to get ready for the night ahead. 

You’re back at your villa now, moving quickly as you take a shower, letting the warm water soothe the tension from earlier. After drying off, you throw on a black cropped tee, high-waisted jeans, white Nike sneakers, and grab your black Saint Laurent Le 5 à 7 Mini bag. Simple, comfortable, effortless—or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself. 

Just as you’re about to head out, your phone buzzes. You check the screen—Rio. 

Hey there... 

You stare at the message for a second before typing out a response. 

Hi. 

You cringe. That was so lame. But you don’t want to think too much about it, so you put your phone on silent and shove it into your bag before stepping out of your villa. 

When you arrive at the meeting spot, they’re all already there, waiting. Your eyes instinctively land on Agatha. She’s wearing a black blazer draped over a black silk camisole tucked into high-waisted jeans, paired with black boots. 

You swallow, pushing down whatever reaction threatens to surface, forcing yourself to look away. 

Lilia claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her feet. "Okay, now that we’re finally complete, can we go? I’ve been waiting all day for this!" 

Everyone chuckles, and soon you all pile into the van. You slide in beside Wanda, settling in, only for Agatha to climb in next, taking the open seat beside you. 

You freeze for a second. You’re sandwiched now—trapped between Wanda and Agatha. 

You subtly shift, trying to create even the smallest bit of space between you and Agatha, but she notices. 

"It’s fine," she says casually, her voice smooth as ever. "I have plenty of space." 

You glance at her. She offers you a small, knowing smile. You force yourself to return it, a tight-lipped attempt at nonchalance, before pulling out your phone as a distraction. 

Inside, though? 

You are dying. 

Every second feels like an eternity, every inch between you both—too little. Your heart pounds, your mind races, but you sit there, face impassive, acting as if nothing is wrong. Acting as if this isn’t absolute torture. 

After twenty minutes, the van pulls up in front of a karaoke bar. Jen hops out first, grinning as she leads the way inside. The receptionist greets you all warmly and escorts you to the private room Jen reserved. The space is dimly lit, with neon-colored lights casting soft glows across the plush seating and the large screen at the front of the room. A sleek karaoke machine stands ready, microphones resting in their holders. 

"Alright, drinks first or singing first?" Jen asks, plopping down onto the lounge sofa. 

"Drinks!" Lilia exclaims immediately, and the group laughs. 

You all place your orders—food, snacks, and, of course, more alcohol. The drinks arrive quickly, and soon, everyone is eating and chatting, laughter filling the space. Then, the karaoke begins. Lilia confidently takes the mic first, dramatically performing a power ballad, exaggerating every note just to make the group crack up. Jen follows, belting out an early 2000s pop anthem with so much enthusiasm that no one even minds when she goes off-key.  As the night goes on, the drinks keep flowing, and so does the music. Everyone is tipsy now, swaying to the rhythm, arms draped over each other’s shoulders. You don’t sing much, choosing instead to sit back and watch, occasionally taking a sip of your drink. But mostly, you watch Agatha. 

You try not to. You really do. But the way she laughs, the way she throws her head back when she sings along to someone else’s performance—it’s impossible to look away. You tell yourself it's just the alcohol making you sentimental. But you know the truth. You’re still thinking about last night. About the kiss. About the way her lips felt against yours, even if it wasn’t real. Even if she doesn’t remember. 

Then, it’s Agatha’s turn. 

She stands up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before grabbing the microphone. She scrolls through the song list for a moment, then selects something. When the opening chords play, your heart drops. 

Something by The Beatles. 

Of all songs, why this one? 

She starts, her voice softer than expected but effortlessly beautiful. 

"Something in the way she moves…" 

You swallow hard. It’s just a song, you tell yourself. But every word feels like a dagger, lodging itself deeper into your chest. The worst part? Agatha doesn’t even seem to notice. She just sings, swaying lightly to the melody, her voice wrapping around the lyrics like a gentle caress. 

"Attracts me like no other lover…" 

You grip your drink, staring at the condensation forming on the glass as if it holds the answers to your unraveling composure. Your friends are enraptured, some singing along, others watching Agatha in admiration. But she keeps glancing at you. Like she’s trying to gauge your reaction. Like she knows—no, she doesn’t know. She can’t. 

And then, the bridge. The part that absolutely ruins you. 

"You're asking me, will my love grow…" 

"I don't know, I don't know…" 

Your breath catches in your throat. You press your lips together, gripping your drink tighter, your knuckles whitening. You should look away, should laugh it off like it’s nothing. But you can’t. Because it’s not nothing. It’s everything. 

Agatha sings the next line, her eyes flickering toward you just as she reaches it. 

"You stick around, now it may show…" 

As if you haven’t been sticking around. As if you haven’t been carrying this ache for years, waiting for something, anything, to tell you that maybe—maybe—you weren’t alone in it. 

By the time the song ends, your eyes are stinging, but you refuse to let a tear fall. You quickly wipe at the corner of your eye before anyone notices. Before she notices. 

Agatha beams as she puts the mic down. "That was fun!" she says, completely unaware of the damage she just did. 

You feel like you’re drowning. You don’t know whether to leave, drink more, or just sit there and endure it. You stare at your drink, hoping the liquor will burn away the lump in your throat. 

A gentle nudge pulls you from your thoughts. Wanda slides in next to you, lowering her voice. "Hey, you okay? You’ve been acting weird all night. Actually, all morning too." 

You force a small, weak smile. "I’m fine." 

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she sighs and hands you another drink. "Here. At least pretend to have fun." 

You take it, offering a quiet thanks, but your mind is elsewhere. On a song you wish you hadn’t heard. On a girl who doesn’t even realize she’s breaking you apart, piece by piece. 

After a few drinks and multiple songs—mostly sung by Lilia—Jen finally notices that you’ve been unusually quiet. You haven’t picked up the mic even once. 

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Jen nudges you with her elbow. “You’re not getting away with just sitting there.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, waving her off. “Just enjoying the show.” 

“Lies,” Lilia interjects, grinning. “C’mon, Y/N, it’s your turn!” 

You shake your head, but then Agatha speaks up. “Yeah, what’s up with that? Don’t tell me you’re shy.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, playful but expectant. 

Alice smirks. “Maybe she just need the right song.” 

You hesitate, but the way everyone’s looking at you—especially Agatha, who now raises an eyebrow in challenge—makes it impossible to refuse. With a resigned sigh, you push yourself up from the couch and head toward the song selection screen. 

“Fine. One song.” 

You scroll aimlessly, then, without thinking, you pick Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli. 

The moment the opening chords play, something in your chest tightens. Why this song? You don’t even know. Maybe it just slipped out. But the second the melody fills the room, memories from last night flood back. The way Agatha had drunkenly sung it on the way back to her villa, swaying slightly, smiling at you like she really meant it. Then— the kiss. 

You steal a glance at Agatha. She’s not looking at you. 

Taking a breath, you start singing, your voice softer than usual. “You're just too good to be true… Can’t take my eyes off you…” 

The words sting. This used to be a happy song for you. Now, it’s a cruel reminder of something that only you seem to remember. Your voice wavers slightly as you push through the verse, trying not to think about how unfair this is. Agatha got to have that moment without consequences—without the weight of remembering—while you’re stuck feeling every second of it. 

You reach the next line, forcing yourself to meet Agatha’s gaze. “But if you feel like I feel…” 

It’s brief. Just a flicker of eye contact. Not enough to raise suspicion, but enough that something in Agatha’s expression changes. She wasn’t paying attention before, but now she is. Her head tilts slightly, lips parting just a fraction, as if some part of this is tugging at her memory. 

You reach the chorus, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “I love you, baby, and if it’s quite all right…” 

You try to smile through it, but your eyes betray you. There’s an ache in your voice that wasn’t there before. The others notice—Jen and Alice exchange glances, Wanda’s gaze sharpens slightly. She’s thinking. Wondering. Who was this song really for? 

Then, you see it—Agatha shifting in her seat, suddenly looking uneasy. She rubs the back of her neck, her fingers tapping against her knee like she’s trying to place a familiar feeling. Like something about this song is stirring something inside her. 

But she doesn’t remember, does she? You can’t let yourself hope. 

You finish the song, but there’s no relief. The room erupts in light applause, and Lilia nudges you with a grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.” 

Alice teases, “Damn, Y/N, that was kinda romantic.” 

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure.” 

And then— 

Agatha leans over, a smirk playing at her lips. “Didn’t expect you to pick that one.” 

Your stomach drops. Of course, she doesn’t get it. Of course, she has no idea why you picked it. 

You tilt your head, forcing casualness into your voice. “Funny, I could’ve sworn I heard you singing it first.” 

Agatha blinks, caught off guard for a second, before she laughs lightly. “Did I? Must’ve been the tequila.” 

And that’s when you know. 

She really, truly doesn’t remember. 

Your chest feels tight. You nod, forcing a small smile before muttering, “Gonna get some air.” 

You don’t wait for anyone to respond before slipping out of the room, the sound of laughter and music fading behind you. Because you cannot sit there and pretend everything is fine. 

You step outside into the cool night air, the neon lights from the bar casting shifting colors over the pavement. The distant hum of laughter and music filters through the walls, but out here, it’s quieter. Just the sound of your own unsteady breathing. 

You lean back against the wall, tilting your head up, blinking rapidly against the sting in your eyes. Your shoulders shake, but you don’t sob. You just let the tears fall, silent and unchecked, gripping your own arms like it’s the only thing keeping you together. 

The door swings open, and footsteps pause. A moment of hesitation before a familiar voice speaks—soft, careful. It’s Wanda. 

“…Hey.” 

You quickly wipe at your face, sniffling as you force a weak chuckle. “God. I—this is so stupid.” 

Wanda doesn’t reply right away. Instead, she leans against the wall beside you, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Just waits. 

Finally, gently. “It’s not stupid.” 

You let out a shaky breath, staring up at the sky. “You ever just—want to forget someone?” 

Wanda tilts her head, considering. “That bad, huh?” 

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve. And then, barely above a whisper, “She kissed me last night.” 

Wanda blinks. “…Agatha?” 

You nod, lips pressing together like you can still feel it. 

Wanda exhales, understanding dawning in her expression. “And she doesn’t remember.” 

A hollow laugh escapes you, one that holds no humor. “Nope.” 

Silence stretches between you. Then, Wanda huffs out a quiet, almost incredulous laugh, shaking her head. 

“Of course she fucking doesn’t.” 

You drag your hands over your face, frustration and exhaustion pulling at your features. “She was wasted. She—she grabbed me, and she looked at me like—like I was everything. And then she just—” Your voice catches, your throat tightening around the words. But you force yourself to go on. “She kissed me. And I—God, I wanted to kiss her back so bad, Wanda. But I didn’t. Because I knew. I knew she wasn’t thinking straight.” 

Wanda watches you quietly, her gaze unreadable, steady. 

You let out another laugh, brittle and strained. “And now she’s in there, laughing, drinking, acting like nothing ever happened. And I’m out here like a fucking idiot, crying about it.” 

Wanda doesn’t tell you that you’re overreacting. She doesn’t tell you to move on, to brush it off, to pretend it didn’t matter. 

She just sighs softly, then reaches out and pulls you into a hug. 

For a second, you don’t move. You hesitate, frozen. And then you break—burying your face in Wanda’s shoulder, gripping onto her like she’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. 

And maybe, for now, that’s enough. 

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @theonefairygodmother

[heyclickadee]

Same.

And—okay, @mrsnaildood, your tags

got me thinking, because I absolutely think there’s something going on here between these two lines, and it’s interesting.

(More under the cut—this got long because I can’t shut up):

My two cents—with the caveat that I’m very much hardline Tech lives, and hardline that we’re not quite done with the batch’s story, just with the part focusing on Omega’s POV—is that they’re sort of both right and both wrong, and that the answer is a third road situation we haven’t gotten to yet.

Because, well, the squad does keep functioning after Echo leaves. It takes them a bit to adjust, no one is happy about it, but they operate just fine once they get their heads around it. They even function okay without Crosshair. It’s never quite the same, they don’t like it, but they can squeak by because they can collectively step in and fill the job Crosshair had on the squad (not that they’re filling in for the person, just the role of sharpshooter) to enough of an extent that they can complete missions when they need.

So, yes, Tech is sort of right that the squad can keep going, unhappily but still, if they lose a member. Except then they lose Tech and everything immediately falls apart. And stays fallen apart for an extended period of time because he’s not there.

I mean. The train car crashes because it won’t Echo slow it down (could Tech have hacked in and forced a system response? Maybe). Omega almost dies and they have to go back to Ord Mantell to have AZ save her (Tech doubled as the team medic—maybe they wouldn’t have had to do this if he was there). Omega gets captured. Hunter and Wrecker can’t find Tantiss and look every bit like they’re letting themselves get hit by trucks for leads. They search for months. Omega has to get herself out. They have to go to an entire other planet to unlock a datapad and then do a job for someone who might know someone who knows something to find out what an m-count is. They have to take the most convoluted way to Tantiss and then spend the bulk of their time there getting their asses kicked.

(Edit: To clarify here because I just realized how this came across, I’m not saying that Tech is more important to the squad than the others, because he’s not. More that he serves a different function; he’s sort of the engine that keeps them going, and they lost him at a time when they were already stretched thin and when what they really needed was an engine.)

We don’t even really get a happy reunion of the known surviving members of clone force 99. Echo leaves again, Crosshair and Wrecker aren’t part of the, “Whatever we want, kid,” conversation and don’t appear in the epilogue, and when they come sit down under that tree

the two of them are still visually separated from each other and the group in the center. This isn’t a whole, united family (I know we’re talking about them as a squad right now, but more on this in a minute—they’re still as broken as they were back in Aftermath, just broken differently. (Also, sidebar, Crosshair is sitting against the darkest part of the frame. Man is just surrounded by shadow, which. Hmmm.)

Anyway, all this to say that Crosshair is also is also kind of right. They are broken without Tech. They’re not the same squad. If Tech is meant to be dead then the handling of that death is atrocious, because he’s never dealt with as a person (and we get no indication anyone has dealt with it off screen), but if he’s alive then the cumulative effect of really only bringing up the loss of his skillset without allowing anyone to step up and fill his roll—not even Omega, who wins against Hemlock with a combination of skills she learned from all her brothers and her own capacity for strategy and compassion, and very much does things her way—is to say that they need him.

And the really interesting thing is that no one really refutes these lines even though there’s definitely space for them to do so. Neither Wrecker nor Hunter tell Tech that he’s wrong, they tell him that he needs to go talk to Omega because he snapped at her, she needs help adjusting, and she doesn’t actually want to be alone. The pushback against Crorsshair’s line completely sidesteps the question about whether Tech is really gone or whether Clone Force 99 is dead without him, and instead focuses hones in on Crosshair trying to infiltrate Tantiss by himself—something that Wrecker and Hunter won’t let him do. And, of course, neither Tech nor Crosshair ever take their statements back. (Crosshair doesn’t take the statement that he deserves to die back, either, which again. Hmmmm.

But, to add another layer to this, neither Tech’s nor Crosshair’s lines are delivered as objective fact. There’s a lot of emotional charge and neither of them is exactly calm while saying them.

“This squad existed long before Echo was a part of it, and it will exist long after,” is one of the most heated line deliveries we ever get from Tech. He’s done with everything, upset about Echo, really doesn’t want to talk about, would like things to stop going wrong for two seconds, and frankly I think he couldn’t handle Omega going on at that particular moment on top of everything else. So he snaps at her in a way that shuts down the conversation.

“Clone force 99 died with Tech! We’re not that squad anymore!” is agonizing. It’s one of the most pained things Crosshair says, and part of one of his longest trains of dialogue, because it’s just the preamble to Crosshair declaring that he’s going to go into Tantiss alone because he, “deserves whatever happens to [him] in there.” The whole speech together is basically, “We’re broken because we don’t have Tech, and we don’t have Tech because of me, so I’m going to go get myself killed over it.” Whatever Crosshair actually believes about Tech’s fate, and whatever Tech’s fate actually is, Crosshair’s saying this in a moment of anger, his primary motivation here is to get Hunter and Wrecker to let him go in by himself, and he’s saying the most out of pocket, painful thing he can think of to do so. (He has a habit of doing this.)

So, all this to say is that part of what these lines do is inform us of Tech’s and Crosshair’s perspectives and motivations in these moments more than anything else. Tech is deeply upset about losing Echo (and, as it turns out, losing Crosshair), but they have to keep going, and he can’t solve the problem they’re in by shutting down over it. Crosshair doesn’t think there’s anything left to carry on, and he’s in despair because of it.

Which is where I think we get to the point where they’re both a little bit wrong.

Given Tech’s perspective I think there’s a chance that, whatever else he was thinking—I don’t think there’s a universe where Tech wouldn’t fight to stay alive all the way down, but he’d know that if he did make it to the bottom alive that he’d be separated from the rest of the batch for who knows how long—he thought the squad could carry on without him because he watched them function through losing Crosshair and Echo. That it’d be hard, that they’d hate every second of it, but that they could adapt and function and then they…don’t. No one ever really deals with losing Tech—not the same as being sad, and something that would have needed to happen on screen—and they’re immediately plunged into a situation where his exact skillset could have solved the problem in, like, two days.

(Sidebar: if it turns out I’m right and this story isn’t quite done, and we do get Tech back, one interesting thing they could do is push very gently back against the idea of clone self sacrifice, and make, “he wouldn’t let us save him,” something Tech has to learn, because he was sacrificing himself for his squad but what his squad actually needed was him.)

And then for Crosshair…the thing about Crosshair is that he’s a perceptive individual who picks up on people and situations in a remarkable way, except that perception is then filtered through a filter of cynicism and self-loathing that ends up taking genuine insight and bringing it to the worst conclusion. And that’s before we get to Crosshair’s habit of just saying things he doesn’t believe with the intent of pushing people away. “We’ve been a train wreck ever since we lost Tech,” isn’t wrong. “We’re permanently broken and nothing can be fixed,” is the Crosshair filter talking. Besides—if clone force 99 can never be fixed, then what did Tech sacrifice himself for? And he fell on a mission he personally pushed for to save Crosshair; how does Crosshair going and getting himself killed over it in any way honor that?

All this to say that I think these two moments are absolutely in dialogue with each other. “It’s difficult, but we have to carry on,” vs, “We’re broken and I’m going to let it kill me.” Or, well…, “Adapt and survive, or die with the past.”

There’s a push and pull between them, but it’s in a way that allows the tension between the two perspectives to never settle at any point of the show. As long as there is more story to tell, however, I think the real answer to which perspective the writing agrees with is going to come down to this exchange:

“But we’re more than that. We’re a family. Aren’t we?”

“Yes—yes. Of course we are.”

Imagine for a second that Tech comes back, we get the entire bad batch family together, and that we do come full circle to this. Basically, that, yes, Tech was wrong about this particular thing, clone force 99 hasn’t existed in a real way in a long time, and that it actually died long before Crosshair thought, too. Clone force 99 as a functioning military unit died with the Republic. They aren’t the soldiers that they were, and they’ve all been through too much to be able to be. But that doesn’t matter, because they’re more than that. They’re a family. They always will be. And they don’t have to stay broken.

And for what it’s worth, Crosshair and Tech are the only members of the squad outside of Omega who talk about it in familial terms. And we never do round out the family arc. So it might be something they’re planning on coming back to.

remember in S2 when Tech said "This squad existed before Echo was a part of it, and it will exist after."

and then in S3 Crosshair said "Clone Force 99 died with Tech. We're not that squad anymore."

i just think about this a lot.

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝟏-𝟖𝟎𝟎-𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐞 .ᐟ

summary — ben isn't willing to learn a lot about new, modern society and it's "made-up" words, but when it comes to you? he wants to finally give it a go.

cw — fem!reader x soldier boy, 18+ smut (mdni / wrap it up), phone/facetime sex, masturbation (f & m), fingering, jerking off, dirty talk, degradation, name calling (slut, whore, good girl, sweetheart, love, angel), daddy kink, self-tasting, swearing.

word count — 2,580 words

during your time babysitting the infamous supe, who had also somehow become your boyfriend, you had fallen into a comfortable routine of teaching each other things about your eras. his lectures talked about the high-roller parties and the actresses he got into scandals with, the golden age of cinema (aka the movies he starred in) and the high passion of a war-torn america. however his lectures soon progressed into how to properly enjoy a good aged whiskey and an assortment of pills.

whilst you diligently spent your time trying to educate and update him on everything he had missed over the past 40 years, or so, in the company of the russians. everything from slang, fashion and popular culture to the most important; how to use the phone and internet. no modern man could function without that and despite how stubborn soldier boy was, to his dismay, you were more. and no matter how much he denied loving it, he really did.

after weeks of pestering him, begging him to let you give him a crash course, he finally agreed. or rather yelled that "if it got you off his fucking case, then he would." so, you started off gently with a flip phone, which you thought couldn't be easier to use. no one breaks a flip phone. except for ben. he grunts and curses as he presses the keys multiple times, his attempt at typing before swiftly breaking the phone in two and chucking it into the corner of his living room with precision.

"the buttons were too fucking small." he defends himself before settling back into the couch and stared at the tv, ignoring the dumbfounded look painted across your face. the next day you skip into the living room with a new gift and smile widely at him as he rips open the packaging and scowls at you as he pulls out the newest smartphone.

"the fuck is this? portable tv? can't watch shit on this fuckin' thing! where would i put in the vhs?" he mumbles as he examines the device before haphazardly throwing it on the kitchen table, where you scramble after it. good thing you had gotten that deal on screen protector and hunters green phone cover, matching ben's suit.

"adapt or die, grandpa." you scoff. "this thing is gonna become your life after i've shown you how to use it." you wave it in his unimpressed face. "you can stream shit on netflix, watch your movie clips on youtube, listen to that awful shit you called music on spotify and, most importantly, order anything right to your door with amazon and uber eats." you pat his head and he swats your hand away before grabbing the phone and frowning at it. he sighs and looks up at you with those puppy eyes that harden under your hopeful grin.

"i don't know fuck about shit or shit about fuck, but what i do know is that those are all made up words." he lowly chuckles, brushing away his bangs.

"oh beeeen..." you sigh and sit down next to him. "listen, you'll be able to call or text me whenever you want." you flutter your eyelashes at him. "send videos... pictures." you trail off, tracing your finger over his veiny arms, hoping he'd get the message. but as he always does, he understands it at face value and just grimaces at you.

"why the fuck would i want that? not some snivellin' pussy who needs to talk to his girl all the time." he scoffs. with that, you snatch the phone away, stuff it in your bag and look back at him with a frown. the rest of the evening, unfortunately for ben, was spent with you giving him the silent treatment as he slowly grovels his way back into your good graces and begrudgingly accepting the smartphone all while you snuggle up to him and explain the ins and outs.

despite your best efforts and loudest protests, you were stuck at home as ben had decided for you that you weren't allowed to put yourself in harms way, not now that you were his girl. thankfully, teaching ben how to use a phone significantly eased your heavy heart when he went away on missions, now you didn't have to rely on butcher to tell you whether or not he was alive, and that prick barely checked his phone to begin with.

you lounged around in ben's signature blue new york giants button up alongside your go-to order for sushi and new girl, your favourite comfort show, blaring on your tv before you settled in for another uneventful evening; whilst ben and the boys got to have all the excitement and fun. as the evening dwindled on after watching god-knows how many episodes and doom scrolling on your phone, you found yourself reaching a new height of boredom and loneliness. you had gotten so used to ben that whenever you had a moment alone, your thoughts wandered to him immediately.

his distinctive earthy scent as he towers over you. your fingers graze over your white cotton underwear as you tease yourself. his cocky smirk as you whine and moan underneath him, at his mercy. you push against your bundle of nerves and you can't help but let a small whimper escape you. the way he fills you like no one else and fucks you like his hunger can't be sated. you slip your fingers under your waistband and lose yourself in the feeling of your fingers delicately rubbing over your needy clit. you hum in pleasure as you let your imagination take over and allow your fingers to explore yourself as you bite into your lip to quieten your whimpers when you quickened your pace.

PING!

"fuck." you groan in annoyance as you pull your hand away from your aching pussy and reach out for your phone. you had been waiting to hear how the mission went from ben and finally, it seemed he had a second to spare for you. you scoff inwardly as your eyes glance over his message, as if you hadn't been waiting anxiously for hours to hear from him and this is what you get.

bennie boo<3: wyd

you: why are you texting me like you're a horny teenage boy and not my boyfriend??? you: try again and maybe i'll actually talk to you

as the grey tick turned to blue, indicating that ben had read your message, you can picture the theatrical way he would roll his eyes and huff at your tone of message and you can't help but giggle.

bennie boo <3: my beautiful princess with a disorder bennie boo <3: talk to me, wyd

"asshole." you whisper to yourself as you knew that ben sent that message with a smug smile plastered across his face, anything to get you riled up. you don your own sly grin as you type truth about what you were doing.

you: touching myself and thinking of u, ofc???

"bennie boo <3" flashes across your phone and you laugh out loud, that man never denied himself of any pleasures and you knew he'd be desperate to see you fall apart for him. you let him suffer for a few seconds, keeping him on his toes as you laid down in your bed, readjusting your top so the valley of your breasts peeked out underneath his top and checking your makeup before answering.

"what took you so fuckin' long?" his rough voice floods your ears and your smile automatically widens.

"i miss you too, ben." you sigh.

"yeah, yeah. whatever, you know i miss you. blah blah." he sighs on the other end. you can hear his bed sheets rustle as he gets comfortable in his motel bed, still wearing his supe-suit trousers and his usual white, tight wife-beater. his shield, guns and supe-suit top were strewn around the room and a 6-pack of warm beer stood unattended on his nightstand.

"how did it go?" you sigh as you mindlessly twirl your hair, imagining your big, tough boyfriend lazily lay on his bed, his strong hands wrapped around his phone and the other around him.

"cut the bullshit." his voice was strained. you had him exactly where you wanted him. it was almost too easy. you shook your head and giggled into your shoulder before feigning ignorance.

"what do you mean, babe? i'm just aski–"

"don't fuckin' make me repeat myself." he interrupts. "touchin' yourself without my permission? you're in some fuckin' trouble, you know that, don't ya sweetheart?" you heard the familiar sound of his zip being pulled down and a soft sigh followed swiftly. "what were ya doin', love? huh? touchin' your pretty pussy and thinking of me?" his tone softens as he coaxes your sins out of you like a trained priest at confessional.

"mhm." is all you can manage as ben's shallow breathing is all you can think about.

"yeah? want to show me how, baby?" he chuckles darkly. before you can answer, you hear him swear and furiously tap on the screen before whispering to himself "which fucking button... motherfuckin' technology." you cover your mouth to hide your laughter, but ben hears and breathes out a tirade of curses as he struggles. you press the camera button and there he was. tired, frustrated and as handsome as ever as he lets his eyes glide from your face down to his top that practically swallowed you up and let out a loud groan. "fuuuuck, baby." he runs his hand over his face, freshening himself up.

"i'm wearing those cute panties you got me, you know. the ones with the lil bow on front." you admit as you tilt your phone down and teasingly pull up the top and reveal them to him. so white and so pure; a contrast to the wet patch that was pooling in them as you watched his tortured face. your fingers dance over the top, fiddling with the bow and circling your clothed clit. you keep your eyes focused on him as you notice his composure falter and his phone slightly shake as he slowly jerks himself off.

"take them off. now." he dictates, his tone rough and his voice hushed. you waste no time in peeling them off, pulling them down your legs and revealing a string of cum between your slick folds and damp underwear. ben sighs heavily as his eyes rest on your needy pussy as it begs for your attention, for your touch. "fuckin' touch yourself for me. show me what you did. be a good girl for daddy, c'mon." you lick the tip of your middle finger before connecting it your yearning clit and rub it in swift and quick circles as you watch ben's lip twitch and his eyes widen with desire. he furiously taps his screen again. tap, tap, tap. followed by a harsh whisper of "how the fuck do i turn this shittin' camera around?!" suddenly, a filter appears over ben's face and a groan, that came from a place of utter exasperation, pulls you out of your pleasure. a loud laughter erupts from you as ben's face had been transformed into a dog's and his anger was only escalating by the second.

"babe," you say through gritted teeth to contain your laughter. "press the left button and then the middle one." you calmly explain, only getting a grunt from ben in return before he turns the camera around and you stop in your tracks. his muscular hand wrapped his already-leaking thick cock, each vein prominent and the tip a deep shade of pink. his experienced fingers graze over his tip and he shudders at his own soft touch before he leisurely rubs it and resumes his iron grip at the base.

"yeah, that fuckin' shut you up, didn't it? cock-hungry whore." he sniffs as he jerks himself off, each stroke slow and calculated. "touch your pussy for daddy, baby. wanna see." your fingers return to your clit and in unison, you both let out pained whimpers as you wish it was one another's hands on your bodies. "how does it feel baby, hm? wish it was daddy's hands instead, don't you?" he spoke with a playful lilt before spitting into his hand and continuing his lazy pace as his piercing gaze watches you toying with your swollen clit.

"yes, daddy. i wish you were here, filling me up. fucking me like the good girl i am." you whine as you unconsciously buck your hips and apply more pressure to the frantic pace on your glossy bundle of nerves.

"good girls don't touch themselves." ben states matter-of-factly.

"daddy," you huff. "i was always thinking of you, though." you snivel as your fingers slowly glide down and slide with ease into your weeping cunt. with a loud moan you push them all the way in and curve them to hit the spot. a tirade of curses tumble past your lips at the sensation.

"so fuckin' dirty, oh my god," ben mutters through a soft exhale. "fuck yourself on those fingers, slut." you thrust them into you at a feverish pace, searching for your much-needed release as ben urges you on, encouraging you. "c'mon, show daddy how much you miss him. show me how wet you are, show me." you pull out your fingers and he marvels at them, covered in your slick. "yeah, baby. put them in your mouth, tell daddy how good you taste." you flip the camera and obediently wrap your lips around your glossy digits, batting your eyelashes at the camera as you suck on them, moaning at the taste.

"god, i taste so good, daddy." you hum around your fingers as your tongue dances over them. "wish you were here to taste me." you pout.

"when daddy comes home, he's gonna fuckin' devour you, baby. just you wait, you won't be able to think straight when i'm done with you." a soft groan tumbles past your lips as your fingers find their way to your entrance and massage themselves against your soft, velvet walls. bens pace picks up and all you can both hear on the line is your muffled whimpers and ben's shallow breathing. as your peak finally draws closer, you throw your head back in pleasure and grimace as your muscles tighten and clench.

"i'm so close..!" you whine.

"cum for me, bab–" ben's voice suddenly cuts off and you whip your head up in surprise. you freeze immediately and drop your phone in disbelief. he forgot to charge his fucking phone, again. you curse under your breath, clean yourself up and grumble in frustration as you turn your attention back to your tv show, unsatisfied. ben, on the other hand, had lost his shit, chucked his phone into the wall and sending it through to the neighbouring room. hughie peeked his head sideways and stared through the phone-shaped hole in his wall at a fuming, half-dressed ben.

"give me your cock-suckin' phone!" ben yells as hughie just stares before slowly nodding and handing it to him through the hole with a hidden smirk. "wipe that smirk off yer fuckin' face, asslicker. i swear to god." ben growls before settling into his bed, typing in your number and waiting impatiently for you. finally, after the third ring he hears your soft voice. "let's finish what we started, angel." he murmurs with a shit-eating grin as you giggle on the other end.

a/n: this is kind of the second part to perv!reader x soldier boy that you guys loved so much <3 HUGE shoutout to @emeraldcrs (ily!!) for the idea, i had so much fun with this and enjoyed making it a bit funny too, hehe -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth (comment or inbox me to be added)

[woso-story]

Sleepover

Alexia Putellas x Mila x Esmee Brugts x Kika Nazareth

Mila sat on the couch, legs swinging as she hugged her plush lion close. Her big green eyes sparkled with excitement as her mothers finished getting ready for their long-awaited date night.

"You'll have so much fun at Alexia's, carino," Mapi assured, crouching to tuck a stray curl behind Mila’s ear.

Mila pouted. "I wanted to go to Tia Caroline," she mumbled, her arms crossing dramatically.

Ingrid chuckled, ruffling her daughter's hair. "Tia Caroline is busy tonight, but you get to have a sleepover with Esmee and Kika too."

At that, Mila’s face lit up. "Really?!"

"Yes," Mapi smirked, exchanging a look with Ingrid. "But you have to behave."

Mila nodded vigorously. Well, as much as a four-year-old could promise such a thing.

---

A short drive later, they arrived at Alexia’s house. Mapi rang the doorbell, and they barely had time to register the noises coming from inside before the door flung open.

"KIKA!" A blur of excitement rushed toward them as Kika greeted them, practically bouncing in place. Behind her, Esmee grinned before both of them swooped down and grabbed Mila.

"Hi, hi, hi!" Mila giggled as her two ‘aunties’ lifted her and ran inside.

"Mila, behave!" Ingrid called after her, but the moment had already passed.

Mapi chuckled, watching Alexia step into the doorway, already looking overwhelmed. "Good luck," she teased.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Alexia deadpanned before shaking her head. "I love having Mila over, though she’s probably better behaved than the other two."

As if on cue, a loud crash echoed from inside.

"Everything is fine!" Esmee called, her voice suspiciously cheerful.

Alexia groaned, rubbing her temples. "You two should go before they destroy my house."

Ingrid stifled a laugh, thanking Alexia once more before she and Mapi left for their dinner, while Alexia braced herself for a very long night.

---

It didn’t take long before things got out of control.

Alexia walked into the kitchen only to find Mila sitting on the counter, happily munching on snacks that were meant for later.

"Mila…" Alexia sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "Those were for movie night."

Mila pouted, her lower lip jutting out.

"Don't give me that look," Alexia said, already losing the battle. "Fine, just… go play in the living room. But no running!"

Esmee grabbed Mila’s hand. "Come on, let’s go!"

The three girls disappeared, leaving Alexia exhaling deeply. "Why did I agree to this?"

She ordered pizza and went to check on them, only to find… nothing. No sign of them.

"Girls?" she called out. Silence.

She checked the bathroom. Empty.

Then, a rustling noise.

She turned toward the closet. Slowly opening the door, she found Mila sitting inside, eyes wide.

Alexia sighed. "Mila, what are you—"

"I found her!" Kika suddenly shrieked behind her.

Mila huffed. "You ruined my hiding spot, Ale!"

Before Alexia could respond, Mila tagged Esmee and bolted, the game instantly turning into a high-energy chase around the house. They leaped over the couch, dodged furniture, and at one point, Esmee stumbled into the bookshelf, sending books crashing to the floor.

Alexia massaged her temples. "I’m never babysitting again."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Finally. Pizza.

She barely got the food to the kitchen before the girls swarmed in, each loudly debating their pizza choices. Once everyone settled with their slices, they finally calmed down, curling up on the couch for a Disney movie.

Alexia sighed in relief. "Finally, peace."

Little did she know, the night was far from over.

---

One movie turned into two, and at some point, Alexia dozed off. Big mistake.

Mila, eyes twinkling with mischief, reached into her bag and pulled out colorful pens. She turned to Esmee and Kika. "Help me!"

Snickering, they joined in, drawing on Alexia’s face as she slept. Swirls, hearts, mustaches—Mila giggled as she proudly admired their masterpiece.

Satisfied, she turned to Esmee and Kika, both dozing off too. Mila smirked. Time for more fun.

She crept upstairs, looking for something exciting. In Alexia’s bedroom, she found a walk-in closet—boring. Then, she spotted the bedside table.

At home, she wasn’t allowed to open drawers in her parents' room. But Alexia never told her not to.

Opening the first one, she frowned. Weird-looking things she didn’t understand. Not interesting.

The second drawer, however… handcuffs!

Her eyes sparkled. She had seen these in movies—bad people got them! A perfect prank formed in her little head.

Giggling, she tiptoed back downstairs and carefully clasped one cuff around Esmee’s wrist and the other around Kika’s. She giggled again. This was the best idea ever!

After brushing her teeth (because her mama always told her to), she snuggled into the guest bed with her plush lion, falling asleep almost immediately.

---

Alexia woke up groggy, blinking at the ceiling. Something felt… off. She sat up, rubbing her face—then froze.

Why did her hand feel… painted?

Then, groans from the couch.

Esmee and Kika stirred, glancing at each other. Confusion turned to shock.

"Why are we—WHAT?!" Kika yanked her wrist, realizing she was handcuffed to Esmee.

"What the hell?!" Esmee tugged back.

Alexia groaned. "No way…"

Just then, Mila trotted down the stairs, all smiles. "Good morning!" she chirped sweetly, completely innocent.

Alexia pointed at her. "You. What did you do?!"

Mila just giggled. "I pranked you!"

Esmee and Kika groaned, still struggling with the handcuffs, while Alexia dragged a hand down her face, realizing she needed to hide certain items better.

---

Later that day, Alexia brought Mila home.

Ingrid opened the door, and before she could even say anything, Mila burst inside. "Mama! I had the best night ever!"

Mapi, hearing this, came over. "Did you now?"

Mila nodded excitedly, running to tell Mapi everything.

Meanwhile, Ingrid took one look at Alexia’s exhausted face and raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Alexia sighed, stepping inside. "Your daughter handcuffed Esmee and Kika together."

Mapi burst out laughing. "That's my girl!"

Alexia groaned. "Yeah, well, no more sleepovers with all three of them together." Then she added, “And I’m putting certain things out of reach from now on.”

Ingrid chuckled, patting Alexia’s back. "At least you survived."

"Barely," Alexia muttered.

But as chaotic as it was, she couldn’t be mad. After all, she adored Mila. Even if she was an absolute menace.

[inseobts]

hello!!! could you write one about how after a fight the crew had, zoro being turned into a kid and how chaotic it would be? nothing weird just some platonic fluff if it makes sense 😭

Baby-Zoro Chaos

zoro x reader (platonic)

a/n: it's not really after a fight but I thought it would have been funnier like this lmao hope you'll like it (ฅ́ ˘ฅ̀)♡

words count: 1.0k

tags: platonic, child zoro, humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The argument is loud. Deafening, even. Voices crash over each other like waves in a storm, and it’s absolute pandemonium. Nami’s scolding Luffy with all the fury of a woman who has had enough of everyone's nonsense, Sanji’s throwing rapid-fire insults at Zoro, and you, poor, exhausted you, are trying (and failing) to restore some semblance of order before things spiral completely out of control.

Zoro, of course, refuses to back down, his arms crossed, his expression bored but somehow still managing to radiate pure stubbornness.

“You’re a walking disaster, Mosshead!” Sanji shouts, jabbing a finger at him, his other hand dramatically planted on his hip.

“Tch… shut up, cook” Zoro grumbles, like the human embodiment of an eye-roll.

Before another insult can be launched, before the chaos can climb to its inevitable crescendo, a blinding flash of light explodes.

Everything and everyone stops. Frozen mid-argument, blinking furiously, the crew barely has time to process what just happened before Luffy, ever the first to state the obvious, shouts “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You turn to look toward Zoro and Sanji to see what they did, and there you instantly forget how to breathe.

Zoro is… small.

Not just small. Tiny. Miniature. Pocket-sized (not really but really close).

His usual towering, muscular frame is gone, replaced by something impossibly round and chubby. His oversized clothes hang off his tiny form like a poorly fitted costume, his green bandana slipping down over his ridiculously large, confused eyes. He stares down at his own tiny hands in horror.

Zoro opens his mouth to demand an explanation, to yell, to curse, but instead of his usual gruff voice, a high-pitched squeak escapes his lips “G-guh!”

The room is silent for all of two seconds before Luffy collapses onto the floor, absolutely howling with laughter.

“ZORO, YOU’RE A BABY! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!” Luffy shrieks, slamming his fists against the ground as he wheezes.

Everyone else trying to hide their laughs.

Zoro, whose sheer presence is usually enough to strike fear into enemies, now looks like a furious, grumpy cherub. He stomps his tiny foot, but instead of an intimidating display of anger, he wobbles, loses his balance, and tumbles forward in the most unceremonious, helpless little roll.

“ZORO!” you yelp, lunging to catch him, but he’s already on the floor, his tiny fists flailing in frustration.

“Grah!” he shouts, or at least, tries to. What actually comes out is a high-pitched, indignant wail that only makes Luffy laugh harder.

Luffy scoops Zoro up with absolutely zero hesitation “I’m carrying you now! You’re my new little buddy!” he announces, swinging Zoro around like an overexcited kid with a new toy.

Zoro, whose entire being is built on strength and dignity, is now reduced to a tiny, helpless baby being manhandled by a rubber idiot. His eyes are practically shooting laser beams of rage “Goo-goo, gah!” he shrieks, flailing his tiny limbs in protest.

“Oh my god, I am never letting this go,” Sanji says, wiping a tear from his eye “Look at you, Marimo. Acting like a little brat already.”

Zoro turns his furious, oversized eyes on Sanji and, for a brief, glorious moment, tries to scowl. But the attempt is absolutely ruined by the way his lip trembles.

“Gaaah!” he cries out, trying to push against Luffy’s chest. Unfortunately, his tiny hands are as threatening as wet marshmallows. The realization that he has lost all his usual strength hits him like a ton of bricks.

His face scrunches up. His frustration mounts. And then—

A wail erupts from his tiny lungs, loud and dramatic “WAAAAAAAH!”

“Oh my god, he’s... he's crying” Usopp gasps.

You rush forward and scoop him into your arms before Luffy can swing him around again “Shh, shh, Zoro, it’s okay” you murmur, gently rocking him, but Zoro is having absolutely none of it. He kicks, he squirms, he shakes his tiny fists in a rage.

Sanji, grinning like he just won the lottery, leans in “Aw, poor little Zoro. Did someone get all cranky?”

Zoro’s face turns an even darker shade of red. He lets out an absolutely furious, nonsensical string of babbling that sounds suspiciously like an attempt at cursing. His chubby little arms flail toward Sanji, but his baby coordination betrays him, and he just ends up smacking himself in the face.

Luffy loses it all over again, slapping the floor as he cackles “HE HIT HIMSELF! OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN!”

Zoro, still struggling in your hold, lets out another furious wail before hiccupping mid-cry. His tiny body trembles as he sniffles, his pride in absolute tatters.

You sigh, stroking his soft green hair “Okay, let’s focus, guys. How do we fix this?”

Nami, who has been suspiciously quiet, finally steps forward. She looks at tiny, blubbering Zoro and tilts her head “Do we even want to fix this?”

“YES!” Zoro shrieks, though it comes out as “BAAABYYY!”

Chopper, ever the doctor, has his hooves on his chin, deep in thought “It could be temporary. Or maybe it’s a curse? Or a weird Devil Fruit power?”

“Well, until we fix him, he’s our new baby,” Luffy declares, grinning “I’m gonna take such good care of him.”

“Grrr!” Zoro whines, but his tantrum has tired him out. His little head droops against your chest, his energy spent. His tiny fists clutch weakly at your shirt as he lets out a small, defeated sigh.

“Looks like he’s finally calming down” you murmur, rubbing his back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji smirks “Just don’t let him near sharp objects.”

You glance down at baby Zoro, his big eyes fluttering closed as he drifts off into an exhausted nap. Even like this, tiny and helpless, there’s still something undeniably Zoro about him. Stubborn, strong, and unwilling to back down—even if his body has completely betrayed him.

Luffy grins and reaches out, poking his tiny cheek “He’s so squishy.”

Zoro grumbles sleepily, too tired to protest.

You sigh, looking at the ridiculous scene before you “We’ll figure it out...” you say, though, deep down, a part of you knows that until you do, things are going to be absolute, unhinged chaos.

But then again, when is life with the Straw Hats ever anything else?

[quesocheeso]

"You could never be Shadow the Hedgehog" IS A WICKED LINE, especially coming from a kid who's mom is literally your hero and mentor's Shadow(the Hedgehog)! Also unlike MK, this kid isn't running around with "motherless" behavior like a HOOLIGAN LMAO. Fr tho MK do you own no other clothing? You dress in the same thing every day, even train, work, and chill in the same outfit, like a damn cartoon character. 🙄

Wonder how he'll react when he finds out MK actually comes from a loving home with two dad's. Is free noodles actually married in this au? That'd be the Icing on the fucking cake. "Motherless² ass nerd" or more jealousy bc his dad's can't get their shit together.

I feel a potential child of divorce crash out stewing. "You already have your dad's. Why are you stealing mine!? Why are you ripping them apart more! Papa doesn't love us anymore, and it's all YOUR FAULT!(because if it's not, then we're not good enough- I'm just not good enough)"

Monkey in the middle ass kid

That last paragraph really did hit me like oh god what have I done to this poor kid😭

I was gonna say they can all have complicated dads who should be in a relationship but are not, but bro those last liners? They changed my mind real quick

Yes free noodles are married and happy, MK has a happy family

Now let’s have him watch this 13 year old crash out with the impending sense of guilt that he helped that happen

(Don’t mind me as I write down that dialogue,,, anon on what crack were you when you wrote that good job fr😭😭)

Can you imagine MK trying hard to convince this crying kid that his dad definitely, full heartedly loves him, that his dads may not be together but they’re not together because they’re dumbasses who everyone can tell love each other but are too stubborn to see it

And above everything this kid, this kid who keeps curling in on himself making him look even more smaller and vulnerable, IS GOOD ENOUGH, no matter what anyone thinks, he has always been enough and his worth is not dictated whether someone loves him or not, but just him being here and alive makes him enough.

I’m crying at the club gang

Also

I’m definitely using Motherless^2 ass nerd at some point😭

[luvfae]

GHOST OF US

summary: you run into your ex inside the games

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: angst, typical squid game stuff, death, swearing, drug addiction

The second you saw him, your heart stopped.

It wasn’t just the familiar face—it was the memories, the pain, the betrayal that came rushing back all at once. Su-Bong.

You ducked behind a group of players, keeping your head down as the crowd milled around after the massacre of Red Light, Green Light. Blood still stained the dirt. People were sobbing. Some were in shock. And then there was him.

He stood out like he always did—shoulders squared, chin high, an air of unbothered arrogance even in the face of death. He was scanning the crowd, as if looking for someone.

As if looking for you.

You turned, ready to slip away, but it was too late.

“Oh my god! Señorita!”

His voice rang out, loud and unabashedly thrilled, like you were old friends who had just run into each other at a café instead of exes trapped in a nightmare.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest in an embrace that was far too warm, far too easy.

“Is that really you, baby?”

You shoved at his chest, barely managing to put space between you. “Get away from me, Su-bong.”

“Baby, it’s Thanos now, remember?” He grinned like that name didn’t make your stomach churn.

“Of course, I fucking remember that stupid fucking name.” Your glare was sharp, your chest heaving.

His grin only widened. “So feisty. Just like I remember.”

You wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream. But more than anything, you wanted to get the hell away from him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you bit out, turning on your heel.

But before you could disappear into the sea of players, his voice stopped you.

“I missed you, you know.”

You froze.

He said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t ruined everything.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you walked away, ignoring the way your heart pounded, ignoring the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.

But what you didn’t realize was that Thanos wasn’t going to let you slip away so easily.

Not this time.

The second game was hell.

The Six-Legged Pentathlon had left you gasping for air, your legs burning, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. But you survived. You and your team had scraped through by sheer will, and when the final whistle blew, relief crashed over you like a wave.

Thanos spotted you before you saw him. His eyes lit up, and in seconds, he was running toward you, arms outstretched like a lover reunited after war.

“I’m so glad you made it, babe.”

You barely had time to react before he was right there in front of you, grinning like an idiot.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

He pouted but didn’t back away. “Come sit with me, Thanos will protect you.”

“I said fuck off!”

But he didn’t. Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you close, his touch hot against your skin.

“Baby, no,” he cooed, eyes locking onto yours like he could sweet-talk you into anything. “I’ve been calling you since we broke up. You’ve been dodging my calls.”

You snorted. “I blocked your number, you idiot.”

His smirk faltered. For a second, just a second, you saw something raw flicker across his face.

“Baby, I was going to jump off the Han River Bridge.”

You stiffened.

His grip on your wrist didn’t tighten, but you felt it like a noose around your throat.

“I couldn’t go on without you,” he continued, voice too light, too casual for a confession like that. “Then some dude gave me a business card. Same one you got, I assume. And now we’re here together. It’s like fate.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m here because of you. I’m in debt because of you, Su-bong.”

His gaze softened, but you weren’t sure if it was guilt or something else.

“You were really going to jump?” you asked, the words barely a whisper.

He nodded. “I was, babe. ‘Cause I lost my fucking perfect angel baby, and you were the only thing worth living for.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Don’t be so stupid, Su-bong,” you muttered. “You have plenty to live for.”

His lips curled, something dark and amused in his expression.

“Like what?”

You froze.

You actually didn’t know.

He lost his fame. Had no money. His family had cut him off.

He had nothing.

“Exactly,” he whispered, smiling down at you like it was funny.

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.

The room buzzed with murmured conversations, but none of it reached you. You sat alone, barely touching the bland rice and cold soup in front of you, stomach twisting from the weight of the day. People had died. Some in an instant. Some screaming.

And yet, here you were, expected to eat, expected to sleep, expected to go on like it was normal.

A shadow loomed over you before a tray clattered onto the bed.

“You look lonely, angel.”

You tensed at the voice, at the way Thanos slid into the bed beside you like he belonged there. He nudged your tray toward you, his eyes scanning your untouched food.

“Eat,” he ordered.

“I’m not hungry.”

He clicked his tongue, grabbing your spoon and scooping up some rice. “Eat,” he repeated, pushing it toward your lips.

You glared at him, but when he didn’t back down, you reluctantly took a bite. It tasted like nothing, but he watched you chew, satisfied, before setting the spoon down.

“That’s my girl.”

You hated how warm his voice was, how easily he slipped back into old habits.

Hated how, when your vision blurred with tears, he was the one who pulled you against his chest.

“I got you, baby,” he murmured, stroking your hair. “I got you.”

That night, he stayed close.

His arm was draped over your waist, his body curled protectively around yours. You weren’t sure how you ended up like this—whether it was his doing or yours. Maybe both. But in that moment, as the room buzzed with tension and quiet sobs, you let him hold you.

Just for tonight.

The next game was Mingle.

The moment the rules were explained, panic set in.

You scrambled, moving through the crowd, grabbing onto shoulders, onto sleeves, searching for anyone—anyone—to take you in. Every door shut too fast, groups locking themselves in just in time.

The number dwindled.

Four.

Then three.

Then two.

And suddenly, you were alone.

Your chest heaved, your eyes darting around the room, searching, pleading—

A rough hand grabbed your wrist.

Before you could react, you were being yanked, dragged across the floor, shoved into a room.

Two people inside barely had time to protest before Thanos kicked them out, slamming the door shut just as the final buzzer went off.

Silence.

You were safe.

Alive.

Because of him.

Your breath came out shaky as you looked at him, his chest rising and falling, his grip still firm on your wrist.

“You saved me.”

“I’ll always save you, señorita.”

You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

Back at the bunks, Thanos sat beside you in silence.

For once, he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t smirking. Just… waiting.

Then, finally—

“I’ll get clean.”

Your head snapped toward him.

“I’ll do it for you,” he said. “I miss you. You mean more to me than any drug, and I fucked up so badly last time.” He exhaled, his hands curling into fists. “Give me another chance, baby. Please.”

You stared at him, searching his face for lies, for manipulation.

But all you saw was desperation.

“I’m not making promises in here,” you said quietly. “I could be dead tomorrow.”

He flinched.

“But if we make it out alive,” you continued, “I’ll consider giving you a second chance. But one wrong move, and I’m gone. Forever. Understood?”

“Understood,” he nodded.

And for the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—he meant it.

That night, he was killed.

A fork. A fucking fork to the neck in the bathrooms.

You heard the commotion. Heard the shouts, the panicked gasps. But by the time you got there, he was already slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him.

You stood frozen at the entrance of the bathroom, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air.

Thanos’ body twitched, his fingers weakly grasping at the wound in his neck, as if he could stop the blood from spilling out. His breaths were shallow, his eyes unfocused, struggling to find you in the dim light.

You should’ve walked away.

Should’ve turned your back, let him bleed out, let fate finish what it started.

But your feet carried you forward.

You crouched beside him, pressing your trembling hands against his chest as if that could do anything.

His lips curved into the smallest smirk. “Angel…” His voice was nothing more than a breath.

“Shut up, Su-bong,” you hissed. “Save your fucking strength.”

His eyes softened, a sadness settling in them that you weren’t ready for.

“Wasn’t… supposed to end like this,” he murmured. “Not before I—” He coughed, blood slipping from the corner of his mouth. “Not before I proved it to you.”

Your throat tightened.

He meant getting clean. He meant being better.

But now… now he was dying.

And you couldn’t stop it.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Who did this?”

Thanos’ bloody hand grasped yours.

“Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Just… just get out of here, okay? Win this thing.” His grip weakened. “Live.”

Your breath hitched.

And then, just as suddenly as he had crashed back into your life, he was gone.

The rise and fall of his chest stilled. His fingers went slack. The light in his eyes flickered out.

You stared.

There was no relief. No satisfaction.

Only a hollow ache, one that settled deep inside you, twisting and festering like an open wound.

You reached out, brushing a hand over his bloodstained cheek, your vision blurring.

You should’ve hated him. Should’ve felt nothing.

But instead, you felt everything.

And you hated him for that too.

With a shaky breath, you stood up, stepping back, leaving him there.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

[treatbuckywkisses]

It's happened she LITERALLY did this for ME🥺😭 

the warning............ already has my stomach tense as fuck🫠

Thor is such a sassy king in this LOLL dramatic man with power 😮‍💨

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning. LMAOOOO YOU GO BABE !!!!!! 

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you. My God shutup this whole encounter between them is literally the most freaking precious thing EVER☹️☹️

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life. Em I'm SICK this is everything☹️❤️

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar. THE LOVE THEY HAVE IM SCREAMING 😭😭

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk. I just gasped so loudly.............what a bitch 

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her. YESS STANDING ON BUSINESS BABY 

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture. this is so realistic😔 poor baby I'm feeling so bad for her rn

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else? UGH EM the writer that you are !!!!! Seriously!!! The self doubting and silent spiral is so me lol so I can confidently say you wrote this out so well ❤️‍🩹 

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you. Their love 🥺🥺🥺 I will never be over them 

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling. I'm going to cry over this forever 

YOU'RE MY FUTURE YOU'RE MY EVERYTHING BE SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW EM 

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.  How actually dare you write this

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.” A SLEEP CONFESSION I'M SO SICK HES SO FUCKING PRECIOUS 

A male paramedic was shot.  ........I know you did not do what I think you did.......... 

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart. No.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.   No simply no what the fuck hey what the hell 😃 em what the fuck! My heart is in my asshole right now you're so evil what the fuck is this babe!! (This is really written so beautifully but I'm mad at you currently) 

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore. STOP??????????? DON'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT WHAT THE FUCK. 

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh. I'm literally sobbing RN

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed. Me fkin too 😭😭😭😭😭 

So I'm basically feeling all stages of grief RN but mostly denial🫶🏻 I simply refuse to believe you would do this to ME SPECIFICALLY?????? HOW DARE YOU😭😭😭 YOU GIVE ME ALL THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS SO WONDERFULLY AND LOVEY AND SOFT AND PERFECT AND THEN TO RIP IT ALL AWAY SO FORCEFULLY LIKE I'M THE ONE BEING SHOT WHAT THE HELL EM RESPECTFULLY WHAT THE FUCK. talk about a twist bc I was in denial from the beginning I really was thinking you'd make it Steve to throw us off but no she had to go and pull the trigger on my fucking man I'm so sick rn I'm going to bed until bucky wakes up.

In Situ

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 8 | Series Masterlist

In Situ - meaning in the natural position (ie. Bucky’s place next to you)

Summary: You ask Bucky to accompany you to the hospital's fundraising gala.

Warnings: strictly 18+, unprotected soft loving sex, creampie, graphic depiction of gunshot wounds & significant bleeding to a major character, a bit of angst as they struggle to reveal their feelings, will we finally get an ‘I love you’??, certain ex-fling of Bucky’s makes an appearance, this part has a bit of everything, fluff, angst, smut all rolled into one; I will apologise in advance you have every right to hate me given the ending of this

Word count: a whopping 10.3k (buckle up)

A/N: this part is dedicated to the wonderful @treatbuckywkisses and @yenzys-lucky-charm, I haven’t updated this series in so long and I genuinely thought no one would care about it being incomplete but you both have left such sweet comments on the other parts that inspired me to continue with my vision for paramedic!bucky, so I hope you both enjoy my darling friends 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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It’s the start of a very long shift when the person you least want to encounter, Dr Thor Odinson, approaches you with a glowering expression which looks like the most accurate embodiment of ‘I would rather be anywhere else’.

You would rather quite literally be in any other room of the hospital than in trauma room 2 right now, but as your direct superior, you have to constantly take direction from the same man who tried to compete with Bucky for your affection, and then blacklisted you at work after you turned him down.

“Before you say no to this, I need you to know this is a requirement of your employment here and you cannot get out of it, no matter how much you might want to.” Thor states with the same amount of joy as if he were inviting you to a funeral. His hands fidget almost unconsciously with a sealed envelope as he speaks, before offering it to you with a firm, outstretched hand. “Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

You consider him for a moment, his eyes not quite meeting your examining gaze and nervously grinding his back teeth. Taking the envelope, you notice your name written in messy, scrawled handwriting on the front.

“Not sure why I wouldn’t want to, whatever you’re inviting me to sounds like the absolute time of my life.” You jest in an effort to diffuse the tension between you. Thor, however, doesn’t seem to find it funny as rather than a chuckle, you elicit the most forced eye roll you’ve seen in a while.

“It’s a fundraising gala, mostly for the research labs associated with the hospital, but part of the proceeds go to supporting patients without healthcare who otherwise would not afford our help.”

Though the thought of contributing to those of the community who are less fortunate, and find themselves in the unfortunately common situation of being in debt to a healthcare system which was designed to further cripple the already vulnerable, the lack of enthusiasm Thor is conveying during the conversation makes you wary of what important information you’re likely missing about the event.

“You’re allowed to bring a plus one.” He adds with a rising inflection, almost as if it’s a question rather than a statement.

Silence falls between you two, and for a moment you fully believe Thor is waiting for you to confirm whether you will be bringing Bucky as your date, which would just make this uncomfortable encounter even more awkward, but thankfully he speaks again before you need to say anything.

“You’ll be representing the ED, and more importantly the hospital, at this event. You and whomever you bring better be on your best behaviour, I don’t want to have to write you up again.” A smirk curves on your face as he walks away. Although there is a finality to his voice in which you know you won’t get out of this work event, Thor has reminded you of the very public display of affection Bucky showed you in the emergency room which had earned you an official warning from hospital HR.

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning.

* * *

The night of the Gala, Bucky knocks on your front door, feeling rather uncomfortable in this taut suit with the unnatural feeling of the shoulder pads compressing against his already broad shoulders.

He tries adjusting them as he waits, he wants to look his absolute best for you, to rival even a fraction of the radiance he’s sure you will exude tonight. But they feel even more out of place now he’s fiddled with them and regrets the decision until he hears the pattering of your footsteps behind the door.

“You have to close your eyes before you come in.” You call out to him in a playful voice, without opening the door. “I’m not ready yet.”

Bucky’s positive that in any state of undress or stage in the process of getting ready you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world, but a warmth spreads through his chest at the notion you’re wanting to look your best for him.

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you.

Bucky hears the lock click as it opens and a small giggle, before the light pressure of a pair of lips on his.

“No peeking.” You request as you take his hand and lead him inside. Bucky knows your place like the back of his hand already and doesn’t need his eyes open to know that you take him towards the couch. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” With each beat of Bucky’s heart his anticipation of seeing you only grows. He’s seen you in every way imaginable, naked and writhing for him, vulnerable with sickness, beaming with pride and joy, and yet every time he sees you he is continually flawed by how stunning you are in every scenario.

“Buck, you can open them.”

Bucky is simply lost for words. Never in all his life has he been in the presence of someone so utterly breathtaking. Looking at you now, practically radiating golden light, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and your body looking downright heavenly in a form fitting dress which compliments the colour of your eyes, Bucky believes angels do actually exist.

“You are so beautiful.” He manages to stammer out once he’s picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Not as handsome as you in this suit.” You grip the lapels of his jacket to pull him even closer to you, straightening his tie in an action that overwhelms Bucky with a need to kiss you.

“What, this old thing?” He attempts to brush off your flattery, because next to you, there is positively no way anyone could compete with your beauty.

Bucky gulps the excessive saliva pooling in his mouth as his eyes roam your frame once again, because he can’t help but literally drool over how stunning you look - can’t believe that he gets to be the one who walks into the gala tonight with you on his arm.

The only other time he has felt this utterly floored by someone’s appearance was the first time he laid eyes on you as you strolled across the ER on that now historic day when he could not believe someone in scrubs and a lab coat could look so breathtakingly beautiful.

“You are genuinely the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life.

You kiss him in the breath after he finishes speaking, in that luscious, sensual way that no one else has ever kissed him and evokes a warm, fuzzy, almost life-ruining devotion, dare he say love, in his chest.

“Let’s just stay here tonight.” Bucky mumbles against your lips, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress and slowly unzips to let the fabric fall from your décolletage.

He can feel you smile against his lips but then you bruise his heart by pulling away and saying “As much as I would prefer to spend the whole night naked here with you, I’ve already been told I cannot miss this event.”

However, they aren’t words which scare Bucky away from a challenge, he dives back into the kiss, the tip of his tongue tangling with yours. He thinks he has you convinced when your hands start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck - you know how much he likes it and do it constantly to turn him on, but then you pull back and Bucky sighs.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” He responds with a chuckle. You’re the only woman who’s ever had him whipped before, and Bucky’s not sure you realise how powerful the hold you have over him is.

“I promise, all we have to do is last an hour at this thing, and then you can take me home and have your way with me.”

* * *

You walk into the Gala, which is already packed with hospital staff dressed to the nines, hand in hand with Bucky who, in your opinion, looks magnitudes more handsome than any of the other men all dressed in black suits.

You turn to him and he’s already looking at you with that sparkle in his eye, like you’re absolutely perfect, just as you are, and there is nothing about you he would ever dream of changing.

“What?” You ask when those twinkling eyes don’t look away, but instead study your features as if there’s words left unsaid on the tip of his tongue.

“Just imagining pulling you into one of the on-call rooms, tearing this dress off you and tasting every inch of you.” Bucky shifts his hand to rest on the small of your back, his breath warm against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, we have done some of our best work in there.” Bucky hums in agreement, both of you taking a second to remember the first of many visits to the on-call room which left you with shaking legs, but was also the first time either of you acknowledged that your feelings were deeper than simply hooking up. “I think you need to grab us both a drink to quench that thirst of yours, James.”

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar.

While Bucky is busy with that task, you instead make your way over to the other side of the atrium to take a look at the items available for the hospital's silent auction. You have to chuckle to yourself looking at the prices listed on the bidding sheets - as if anyone with medical school debt could afford to pay for even one of the allusive holidays or artefacts they had obtained for the fundraiser.

But you suppose your job tonight isn’t to bid on the items themselves, but to shmooze the wealthy guests in attendance into bidding with their spare millions.

Searching out one of the items at the lower end of asking prices, you decide to put an almost embarrassing low bid on an all expenses paid weekend to Mexico, that you know someone will outbid you on, just to say you participated in the night without needing to lie through your teeth.

You stroll through the busy hall, keeping your eyes peeled for Bucky near the bar but it seems you’ve lost him in the packed crowd. It’s usually fairly easy to spot your tall, broad boyfriend, and your heart sinks a little that you’re forced to walk aimlessly around the event as everyone else is wrapped in conversation.

“Doctor, lovely to run into you like this.” You hear a voice you’ve heard before but cannot place from behind you. And though you can’t actually see their face, the tone of their voice contradicts their words - they don’t seem pleased to see you at all.

Turning around, a face that evokes prickly apprehension in your chest comes into view. She’s hauntingly beautiful, the type of beauty which artists spend hours trying to commit to canvas and which is just not attainable for regular people like yourself. She holds herself like she’s closing out a Victoria Secret fashion show and is fully aware of the enchanting effect she has on any man who sets eyes upon her.

“Jacqui… I didn’t know pharmacy staff were invited to this thing.” Even with her disagreeable inflection, you do your best to sound pleasant.

“Oh well you are when you’re heading up the department.” She boasts, with a little wobble of her head which you mostly think is to draw attention to her shiny, voluminous blonde hair.

So is she just here to rub her new job title in your face?

“Congratulations, I didn’t know you got promoted.” You try to sound genuine even though you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I saw you walk in with Barnes. Where did he scamper off to?” You are now actually very glad to not have found Bucky in the crowd earlier. Something about the way she is trying to control the curiosity in her voice, and that she was actively watching the two of you together, makes you cautious of her intentions.

“Not sure, I was just looking for him.”

There’s a long pause where both of you refuse to be the next one to speak. You just want this conversation to be over. But you aren’t that lucky.

“How long have you two been together now?” The inquiry is almost punctuated with sharp spite, and though you don’t want to indulge her line of questioning, there’s a voice in the back of your head that’s telling you you need to defend your Bucky from whatever that time is implying.

“A couple months.” Is the defensive response you retort - it’s technically correct, though you’ve only been official for a month of that.

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk.

Where the fuck was this coming from?

“I trust him implicitly.” You attempt to control the absolute bewildered facial expression that’s trying it’s very best to overtake your features.

“Oh you poor, naive thing.” She says with a tone you use when delivering bad news to patients' families. “Men don’t change, they just hide their true nature from you. Wait a few months, he’ll be back to his fuckboy ways, guys like him can’t resist cheating. I guarantee it.”

Most men are like that, at least in your experience. But Bucky has never given you any cause to believe he would treat you like that. Just because he had a reputation of casually sleeping around before meeting you, doesn’t mean once he’s in a relationship he’ll be unfaithful.

You can’t imagine the sweet man who walked into your place tonight with his eyes closed, waiting for your consent to see you fully dolled up in your gown and then proceed to call you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, would ever cheat on you.

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her.

The look in her eyes appears like you’ve challenged her, but you don’t want to think about the connotations of that right now. Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heel, needing to get as far away from her as quickly as possible.

Rippling anxiety bubbles in your chest that in your experience only Bucky’s touch can soothe. You frantically search for him in the sea of black suits, trying to also keep half an eye out for Jacqui so you don’t accidentally run into her, but he is again nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is Bucky? Your mind practically screams as you bump into a strapping chest, but this one unfortunately belongs to the one and only Thor Odinson.

God, could he have worse timing?

You plaster on your best smile, trying your best to keep a calm facade as he introduces you to two older gentlemen he appears to be chaperoning for the night.

As wealthy and influential as they are, having made their billions from a tech empire started with a little trust fund from their families' generational wealth, you can’t find it in you to care at the minute. You just want to find Bucky. Need him to hold you until the tornado of anxiety dissipates in your chest.

But Thor doesn’t allow you to slip away unnoticed, instead he prompts you to talk up the work the team does in the emergency room, speaking about the people you save from all walks of life, from those without health insurance to the affluent who can afford the life saving medical procedures others fail to receive.

Knowing their donations tonight could mean the difference between many getting life saving medicine and not, you summon the will to engage in conversation, trying to push down the acidic bile bubbling in your stomach that had risen as result of your interaction with Jacqui.

The sharp taste remains on your tongue as you’re now caught in philanthropic discussion, silently cursing Thor who stands beside you for ever inviting you to this damn gala in the first place.

It’s at least fifteen minutes later when you finally excuse yourself from their presence, the two men having pulled out their cheque books, much to Thor’s delight, preparing to make generous contributions that would have the hospital naming wards after them.

You hate to think what trouble Jacqui could get up to in that time frame. But you don’t have to wait long to find out.

Finally, after searching near the whole hall for Bucky you find him. Goddess like Jacqui by his side.

She stands there, supermodel tall, blonde bouncy hair, beautiful, toned legs on display through the slit in her dress, a flirty smirk curving on her face, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ears like a schoolgirl with a crush.

The nerve of her, approaching Bucky at all, but especially after the words spoken between you earlier.

Just seeing them together, the most exquisitely gorgeous woman flirting with the man whom you love and confirmed less than half an hour ago to her you are in a relationship with, makes your insides tightly twist with jealousy, as if someone were wringing out a wet towel.

Half of your mind is telling you to stalk over there and possessively claim your man in front of everybody, but the other half, the insecure side which believes Bucky could do so much better than you, who would want someone as beautiful as Jacqui by his side, and which is currently winning the battle in your mind, wants to run off crying into the furthest corner of the hospital.

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture.

Bucky smiles, not quite his signature cocky smirk that never leaves his face when the two of you are together, but it’s definitely a smile nonetheless and your heart sinks through the pit of your stomach.

Men don’t change. He’ll be back to his fuckboy ways.

You’re not sure why you’re letting Jacqui’s words penetrate your mind, burrow into the deepest crevices and allow them to make a home there. You suspect it’s because at one point in time Bucky thought she was desirable enough to take home and do unexplainably filthy things with. Does he still have that same attraction for her?

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else?

Practically paralysed in place as you watch their interaction, it feels like your heart has stopped beating all together when Jacqui strokes his arm. But buoyant relief comes near milliseconds later when Bucky brushes her off. That’s your man.

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you distinctly see him mouth the words ‘I have a girlfriend’, which relieves some of the tension in your tightly wound heart.

Bucky frantically searches around the room, and appears to have found what he is looking for as his eyes settle on your face.

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you.

But when your mind catches up to all the drowning emotions swirling in your chest, an uncontrollable sob bubbles up your throat and tears sting your eyes. You’re not even upset with him, but the fear of what Jacqui had been planning on trying with him still manifests as a choking lump in your throat.

The physical distance between you throughout tonight has let doubt and hesitancy creep into the only small space in your heart Bucky’s affection has not yet touched. Jacqui planted the seed and it’s already bloomed into a large tree, branches crowding space in your tightening chest.

The last thing you remember seeing is Bucky taking a large stride towards you, before your hands fly to cover your mouth and you take off, walking as quickly as you can in your heels, to where you know the nearest on-call room is.

* * *

Prickling panic fills Bucky’s lungs.

Has he inadvertently just ruined the best thing in his life?

Jacqueline’s voice calls his name as he chases after you, watching as you weave between guests and make your way to the nearest exit, which only takes you deeper into the hospital.

He was naive enough to think Jacqueline’s intentions were innocent when she approached him for conversation, just two colleagues catching up at an event that neither of them were fully participating in, but he was sadly mistaken.

He’ll never make that blunder again.

Watching you shuffle into the nearest on-call room, Bucky takes it as a positive sign that he’s not the one you’re upset with, at least not completely, when you don’t slam the door in his face but instead leave it open knowing he’ll follow you inside.

Bucky stays by the doorframe for a split second, watching as you work to steady your breathing, hands wiping the corners of your eyes, but the overwhelming urge and the need to comfort you wins out and he can’t help but hastily rush to your side.

“Darling…” He starts to say but when you look at him with big, wide eyes that are filled with tears, his mind goes blank and all he can think about is holding you.

You turn into his chest, face nuzzled into his lapel, and his arms instinctively close around you.

It’s the little sob which escapes your lips that does Bucky in completely. He hates to see you upset, but never in the months of knowing you has he been privy to this amount of genuine distress. He’s seen some not so great days, shaking frustration, even teary eyed with sadness, but never breaking down weeping.

He would move heaven and earth to ensure you never feel this way again.

He places a feather light kiss to your hairline whispering, “I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

Though it was not his intention, his words provoke more sobs to escape your throat and Bucky pulls you ever closer. He’s practically holding up your entire body weight, and decides you’ll probably be much more comfortable on the bed this on-call room provides.

Even seated, you cling to him like he’s your lifeline, and Bucky can’t ever imagine letting go. He’d drown if it meant holding you safely out of the rough, relentless rapids currently flooding your mind.

As a paramedic, he’s so used to taking action, launching into a crisis with the equipment to be able to provide aid, to prevent further suffering. But right now all you need is his presence, to be the anchor grounding you to this world as a reminder that you have someone in your corner fighting for your happiness.

He hates not being able to do more for you.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bucky asks after minutes of comforting you without words.

God, you feel so stupid. Crying at a work function because one of your boyfriend's ex-flings decided to flirt with him.

But it’s more than that - it’s the disrespect, the fact that she seems so entitled to Bucky’s affection simply because at some point in his history he slept with her, regardless of if she hurts you along the way to get to him. Do all the women at the hospital look at you like you’re an inconsequential ant they can step on to get what they want?

It doesn’t help that she's also the most stunning, physical personification of a man’s wet dream you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not you Buck, it’s her.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just continues rubbing his large hand up and down your back, which tells you he’s confused by your statement. Perhaps you’re not making any sense in this outburst of emotion, you can barely keep your thoughts in a logical stream let alone expressing them eloquently.

“Jacqui, she… I told her we were together, she knew I was your girlfriend, and she still had the nerve to flirt with you.”

“I didn’t flirt back.” Bucky says defensively, and as much as you adore him, it’s making you frustrated having to spell it out for him how her actions have made you feel when your throat is aching from pure emotion.

You take a deep breath, allowing oxygen to diffuse into the deepest alveoli of your lungs, calming the constant stream of anxious thoughts, and letting you regain control of the tears falling from your eyes.

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling.

“I don’t know if it’s jealousy or insecurity. I genuinely don’t care how many women you were with before me Buck, it’s just a number, it doesn’t matter.” You sit up and look him in the eye, needing to convey just how vigorously you believe your statement. “It’s just… it's a soul crushing feeling that people in the hospital, people I have to work with every day, use the fact that you’ve slept with them to make me feel uncomfortable. That somehow because they know what you look like naked it diminishes our relationship and then they feel entitled to flirt with you and try and fuck you even though they know you’re dating me.”

The misery in Bucky’s eyes is almost tangible, and maybe it’s just an illusion from tears in your own, but seeing you hurting makes him start to cry too. His large hands engulf both of yours and his thumb strokes the backs of your hands resting comfortingly in your lap.

Previous partners have always brushed you off, gaslit you or raised their voice and called you crazy when you expressed an ounce of self-doubt or insecurity, but Bucky listens to each of your words with a determined focus, taking the weight of them on himself, as if they have just as much significance to him as they do to you.

“Darling, I’m so sorry Jaqueline made you feel that way. She had no right. But you need to know there is not a single woman on the face of this earth that could tempt me away from you, no matter how hard they try. No one has ever had me like you do.”

The panic beating of your heart starts to calm when Bucky places gentle kisses to your knuckles. His eyes brim with trepidation, as if he’s just realised how fragile relationships can be and he’s desperately trying to hold onto you, preventing you from ever letting go again.

“I can’t change my past, as much as I might want to, but all I know is you’re my future.” Tears trickle out of the corners of your eyes, but now the reason being due to happiness at Bucky’s sweet confession.

What did you ever do to deserve him?

“My life before I met you was dull, black and white reruns of the same shit each day. Since I met you, everything is in vivid colour. If I could go back in time and wait for you, I would. If I knew you were around the corner, there wouldn’t be any other women. But to me, you’re the only woman that matters. It’s so profoundly better with you because I-, because I care about you beyond comprehension. There were never any feelings with anyone else. You are the only person I have ever felt this way for. You have nothing to be insecure about or anyone to be jealous of, you’re the only woman in my eyes, and I-, you’re my everything.” For someone who constantly says he isn’t very good with words, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to make you fall even more in love with him. They are perfect words. Precisely what you need to hear from the man who has quickly become the reason for your being.

There’s a buoyancy in your chest as those familiar eyes, so blue you could drown in, examine your face for any non verbal cues of how you’ll react to his words.

“You really feel that way James?” You ready yourself, inadvertently grinding your teeth, waiting, hoping, wishing for him to say those three little words that will take your relationship to the next level.

But that hope pops like a bubble floating in the wind.

“Darling, I would never lie to you.” He punctuates with a kiss to your lips, slow and fervent, full of meaning. The look in his eye tells you he wants to reveal more, but it passes in a blink. “C’mon, let me take you home, and I’ll show you just how much I care.”

Bucky’s firm hold on your hand never leaves yours as he leads you back through the gala. You notice some glance at you, but all you’re focussed on is your boyfriend, his head held proudly high, not giving a damn what other hospital staff are whispering under their breaths.

* * *

Bucky slowly unzips the back of your dress, the material slowly falling away from your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips kiss down the path of the zipper, starting between your shoulder blades, careful not to miss a single inch of skin as your dress bunches around your stomach and hips.

“You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” He whispers against your skin, in such a sure tone you can’t help but believe him. His hands roaming over the base of your spine before gently pulling your dress over your hips. “Can’t believe I got to be the man who walked in with you as my partner.”

Bucky turns you around to kiss you once you’re bare for him. The passion, zealousness of his lips feels like you’re drowning in a tender devotion he could not articulate with just words themselves.

You don’t need to break away from the kiss to push his jacket off, unbutton his shirt, nor unbuckle his belt. He’s as hard as a rock, standing at attention ready for you as soon as his trousers hit the floor.

“My darling girl…” He practically growls in your ear when you cup his balls with one hand as the other starts stroking him, using your thumb to spread the pearly bead of precum over his tip whilst placing kisses to his chest. “This will be a very short, one act play if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve barely touched you Buck.”

“Mmm, I know. That’s just how much you turn me on.” The signature smirk he shoots you turns your stomach to mush, and makes you feel like you’re the dazzling sun at the centre of his universe.

Bucky’s large hands pull you down on the bed, on top of him. He sits you on his thick thighs, tongue sweeping into your mouth, hands exploring your every curve.

You wish you could live in this moment forever, relishing in how much care Bucky holds you with, but still manages to make you feel like you’re the sexiest woman in the solar system.

It hits you square in the chest when his soothing, wide blue eyes look up at you with a familiar tenderness that gives life to butterflies in your stomach, that you would do anything for the man underneath you, the man you love.

“What do you want, darling?” Bucky asks between breaths as he sucks on your hard nipple, his tongue swirling, doing magical things that could make you cum just like this. “What do you need?” He adds, switching to your other breast, which makes it hard to control your stream of thoughts - but there is one thing at the forefront of your mind that you don’t have to consider to know you need desperately.

“You.”

He lets out a groan around your nipple and you suspect thrusts his hips up involuntarily, just to feel closer to you.

“I need you Buck.” You repeat, tucking your finger under his chin and bringing his lips up to tenderly touch yours, as the urge to kiss him overcomes you. If it were up to you, the remainder of your life would be spent with your lips locked with his.

“How?” His stubble scratches the tips of your fingers as you cup his face. The desire brimming in his eyes, the hunger to ravish every part of you, the yearning to have you so close to him you can’t tell where you end and he begins, leaves you breathless.

“Just like this, please.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but your imploring tone inspires Bucky on, not wanting to waste a single second more where the two of you are not joined.

Your forehead rests against his, his eyes boring into yours as he simultaneously uses one hand to assist you lifting yourself to hover over him, and the other to line his tip up to your dripping entrance.

An obscene sound from the back of your throat topples from your lips as you sink down on Bucky's cock. He doesn’t take his adoration filled eyes off you for a single second, even to blink, as he fills you up completely. A whine escapes his lips once you’re seated on his thighs, appreciating how your pussy is swallowing his entire, impressive length.

“You enjoy sitting on your throne?” You can tell he’s trying to tease, a mischievous twinkle in those deep blue eyes, but his voice quivers slightly, almost as if it’s strained, which you know him too well to realise is a dead giveaway for just how aroused he is.

How aroused he is by you.

That fact alone is enough for you to start grinding against him, hips moving back and forth, working up a rhythm that has you seeing stars and him groaning your name.

Both of his large, calloused hands are resting on your hips, helping you keep the tempo, making sure each rock of your hips results in your clit being stimulated against his pelvis. His lips find your collarbone, teeth scraping your delicate skin, the sensation of which clears your mind of any coherent teasing response you could have come up with.

“Fuck, look at you fucking yourself on me. You’re a fucking dream.” Bucky’s mouth is one of the most arousing parts of him, not only for what his lips and tongue can do to your body but also for the salacious words he speaks in that gravelly tone which turns you on just as much as his body does. “That’s it, fuck me darling, this cock is all yours.”

“Buck you’re so deep.” Is all you can think, all you can feel is how his length is nestled within you, how much he fills you up. You’re bursting because of how satiated you feel with him inside you, but Bucky’s musky, woody scent, as well as his warm, tender touch surrounds you from the outside, you feel like he’s everywhere all at once, and it brings you right to the brink of coming undone.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” In this moment you want to give him everything you have, give him everything he’s asking for and more. His voice is gentle the next time he speaks, a murmur just for you, and matches the softness in his gaze. “It’s okay, I got you. Let go for me.”

Bucky sucks the pulse point on the side of your throat and it’s the complete end of you. You shudder, feeling safe caged in his arms as ecstasy fires up from the base of your spine through every neuron in your body, your toes curling, fingers scratching down Bucky's back - you can even taste it on the tip of your tongue as you scream his name.

Your legs shake uncontrollably, unable to continue your pattern of movement grinding down against him, but Bucky takes matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around your waist and fucking up into you to prolong your high.

Once you’ve finally stopped seeing stars, your vision coming back into focus, all you can see is the adoration, pure captivation as he looks up at your sweaty form trying to catch your breath.

“That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

No one’s ever looked at you like this before, as if you’re the only girl in the world, the only person that matters to them, the one who holds their fragile heart in the palm of your hands and trusts you not to break it.

A dangerous thought flashes through your mind - do you dare tell Bucky that you love him for the first time right now, in the middle of the throes of passion. You have always wanted to let him set the pace of the relationship - he was the one who wanted to take it slow, not rushing into anything, but you can tell by the blooming warmth spreading through your chest, you have never loved someone more than you love him right now.

Bucky reaches up and affectionately brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and before you can think twice about if you truly want to confess your devotion in this moment, he’s kissing you again.

Before you can even recognise what he’s doing, his toned arms have engulfed you in a tight embrace, and without pulling out of you, he flips you onto your back, making sure your head rests gently on one of your pillows. His body weight presses you deliciously into the mattress, it feels like being tucked in securely with a weighted blanket that just so happens to look like a Greek god.

“Need to feel you cum on my cock again, it’s so fucking addicting.” Bucky practically growls in your ear, his breathing heavy. His long chestnut hair falls into his eyes, but it doesn’t prevent him from gazing at you with a tangible combination of awe and lust.

The thrust of his hips is downright sinful. You feel the longing absence of each inch of him as he pulls out, only for him to split you apart again as his hips snap forward. Bucky starts out slow, his fingers intertwine with yours, forcing your hands above your head, but when he starts placing open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw, his strokes pick up momentum.

James Barnes has you in a trance, caged in by the sheer size of him, each languid, sensual thrust into you tightens the knot twisting into shape at the bottom of your belly.

He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. As his shining pupils fixate on the pleasure contorting your face you ponder if he is possibly thinking the exact same way about you.

The moans dripping from his lips, mixed with grunted curses, along with the telltale crease in his forehead, and the fact that his teasing mouth can’t come up with anything coherent is evidence of how close he is. But you know Bucky’s generous heart better than anyone, perhaps even himself, and you are sure he’ll be determined not to cum before you.

One of his large hands continues to pin your wrists down as the other moves to wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Then he has the fucking audacity to rub the pads of his fingers over your clit in tight circles. You’re so done for.

“Bucky, oh fuck… yes, just like that.” You manage to stammer out, barely able to move with his weight pinning you beneath him, knowing your body is hurtling towards an inescapable, forceful orgasm, and all you can do is feel as Bucky plays your body like a fiddle.

“Please, need you to… I can’t last like this.” You can feel the desperate, animalistic timbre of his deep voice in your chest and his hot breath against your neck. “Darling please.”

And then you shatter.

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.

Bucky speaks your name as a prayer, a vow, a promise. Over and over again. A reminder that you are who he is coming apart for.

It almost makes you dizzy how lost he is in the feel of you, how his hands spread you open as far as your legs will flex, but then you hear the wanton whimper as he spills his orgasm inside you and it’s almost enough to make you cum again.

As your heart rates slowly return to normal, Bucky lays down beside you, cupping your face tenderly as his tongue slips once again into your mouth. You would have thought given the display of passion just produced he’d have had his fill of physical affection, but he continues to surprise you.

Who would have guessed that Bucky ‘doesn’t go on second dates’ Barnes would now be clinging to you like a koala, not being able to get enough of your touch.

* * *

“Sweet dreams Buck.” You whisper in that tired, yet sickly sweet tone that Bucky associates with the contentment of falling asleep beside you.

”They’ll all be about you.” He responds with a delicate kiss to your forehead, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down the expanse of your back.

“Then I wish you nothing but dirty dreams.”

He rarely dreams of anything else nowadays, but it makes him smile nevertheless that your minds think in such similar ways.

You really are the girl of his dreams.

Even more than that, if there was an expression which captured just how significant you had become intertwined in his life after a relatively short period of time. His brain could not have concocted someone as perfect as you, even in his wildest fantasies.

He holds you close to him in the total darkness as your breathing slows, but there are too many thoughts racing through Bucky’s brain for him to fall asleep.

Tonight was perfect. Complete, utter perfection. Not that he expects any less of a night spent with you.

So why, even after building the courage all week ahead of the gala, (and if he was honest with himself, since the week he swapped to be on the night shift with you), had he yet to utter those three magic words?

Steve would say there was one final wall around Bucky’s heart he had yet to pull down for you, to reveal his deepest darkest vulnerability that he could barely admit to himself, let alone the flawless woman who consumed his every waking thought.

The insecurity he had been plagued with since he was fourteen years old and his father had wished death upon him.

The fear that he is innately unloveable.

Just because he loves you in a way that influences his every decision, impacts every aspect of his existence, and alters the chemistry of his brain, doesn’t mean you are as hauntingly consumed by devotion as he is.

And even though the rational part of his brain tries reminding him you would not have shown such patience and stuck around as he clumsily attempted to manoeuvre being in a relationship for the first time if you truly did not want to be with him, that nagging insecurity is always at the back of his mind like a fog that won’t clear, doubting whether after everything he has endured, if he is deserving of being loved the same way he adores you.

But at some point Bucky knows he needs to find the bravery to take that leap, even if your possible rejection would be his ultimate downfall.

“Darling?” Bucky whispers as quietly as he can into the still night air. You don’t stir, nor do you respond, which is exactly what he’s hoping for. “Darling, are you awake?” He questions slightly louder so that you couldn’t help but hear him considering his proximity.

You continue to rest peacefully, lips slightly parted and breathing steadily, which is precisely how you always appear when sleeping beside him, but given the gravity of what he is about to reveal to you, Bucky has to be absolutely positive you’re in a deep slumber.

“Chicken butt.” He says randomly, hoping that if you are feigning sleep this will cause a crack in your rather convincing facade. But to his delight, your expression doesn’t change in the slightest, no muscle in your face so much as flinches, and Bucky is finally convinced.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself even though he knows you’re unable to hear him.

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.”

You provide no response, features stay perfectly still, breathing rate doesn’t change. Which is of course exactly the reaction he’s hoping for while you rest, but he can’t stop his mind from wondering what your reply might be if you were awake; if you’d profess the words back to him, or if instead you’d recoil, shying away possibly because Bucky was moving too quickly.

Nevertheless, Bucky knows better than most that life can be painfully short, everyone has their expiration date, and you need to tell the people in your life how much you care about them before it’s too late.

“I love you.” He repeats with a smile and a kiss to your bare shoulder. Though he is navigating the all consuming, anxiety riddled, life ruining feeling of falling in love for the first time, Bucky knows with absolute certainty that he would go through it all again, one hundred times over, if it meant getting to spend his life with you.

But now for the difficult part - he has to say those three life changing words when you’re actually awake to hear them.

* * *

When the irritating ringing of your alarm wakes you up the following morning, a wave of disappointment washes over you. The night before with Bucky had been nothing short of memorable; complete with overflowing emotion, devotion, and no hint of apprehension from the man who had previously told you himself he wanted to take the relationship slow.

It was the most tangible display of pure love you have ever beheld.

But now, you lay alone in a web of cold sheets, Bucky’s place beside you unnaturally empty. When he has an early shift, typically he wakes you before he leaves, and at the very least gives you a kiss on the forehead, if not a much more intimate show of affection. But today, you have no recollection of being woken, no memory of his pillow soft lips on yours.

You find it takes a much more determined effort to get out of bed without an energising kiss from your Bucky.

The gala is the talk of the hospital, those who did not receive an invite interrogating everyone who attended for all the latest gossip. You hear your and Bucky’s names dropped a couple times in passing conversation, but all that does is remind you of the night before, and Bucky proclaiming his devotion to you while extracting a pleasure from your body no one else has been able to produce.

Tonight, you promise yourself, those three small words that have been tugging at your mind for the last month, tonight you’ll tell Bucky.

His declaration of wanting to take your relationship slowly was all the way back before your second date, before you officially became his girlfriend, before you held him as his mother underwent life saving surgery, before you knew of his traumatic past, before he switched to the night shift just so he could see you more often, before last night where he told you you are his everything.

Regardless of if he says the words back, you need to tell him. Need him to know that he is the love of your life, that synapses in your brain have reformed so your train of thought always comes back to him, that he has rewritten the molecular code inscribed in your cells so that they crave him like water, drawing him in like osmosis.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your pager going off, calling an all hands on deck emergency.

The ER is a frenzy of nurses clearing trauma rooms, doctors discharging patients who have already been seen to and Dr Strange shouting at surgical staff to prepare the operating rooms.

“There was a shooting at the mall. Police and paramedics are on scene, but it sounds bad.” Wanda fills you in as you both wash your hands and put gloves on, getting ready for the volume of blood and carnage that comes with gunshot wounds.

Dr Strange gathers the emergency medicine team together to brief you all on what you’re about to face. His face is stoic, having treated too many disasters to even seem phased by the decimation of so many lives.

You have not mastered that, but you also like having your humanity, caring about people is what you do best.

“So far we know of eight victims being routed here. There will most likely be more. All G.S.Ws, five women, two men and a child, about eight. One of the men was a paramedic on scene.” The last sentence out of his mouth gives you pause.

A male paramedic was shot.

“A paramedic? Did they say who? Give a description?” All eyes turn to you and no one needs to say it aloud to know exactly what you’re thinking.

“No, that’s all the information we have at this time. They should only be a few minutes out.” You’ve never known Dr Strange to be very sympathetic, but the look he shoots at you is what you assume to be the most compassion he is capable of.

The nagging part of your brain that always finds a route to the most devastating scenario, no matter how unlikely, is screaming so loudly you cannot ignore it.

What if that paramedic is Bucky?

There would have to be thousands of paramedics in a city of this size, what would the chances actually be that Bucky is the one paramedic in critical danger at this very moment.

But the universe has always found a way to be cruel to you, with the exception of when it brought devilishly handsome Bucky Barnes into your life. But what could be more cruel than introducing you to unconditional love and then destroying your heart by taking it away just as swiftly?

Wanda, sensing your paralysing worry beside her, comfortingly strokes her hand up and down your upper arm. “He was working the morning shift today, his shift will be well and truly over. He shouldn’t have been working when the shooting happened.”

“Yeah… he was on morning shift today.” Reminding yourself how you woke up in bed alone. Your lips tremble as you attempt to talk yourself down from the ledge of sheer panic. But your best friend can tell this fact doesn’t convince you.

“Call him.” Wanda instructs with a level voice, only a small glisten in her pupils gives away that she too is worried for his safety.

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably as you locate his contact in your favourites, accidentally dialling your mum first before you see the picture you have of the two of you together set as his contact pop up as it starts ringing.

Time stands perfectly still, the bustling hospital which is always full of movement, the constant beeping of patients pulse oximeters, announcements sounding over the PA, it all goes dead silent and all you hear is the ring tone of a phone call which Bucky isn’t answering.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

It goes to voicemail, his voice filling your ears but it’s of no relief because it’s only a recording.

You press his contact again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth time you’re forced to listen to his infuriating voicemail, you leave a panicked message. “Bucky I’m so worried about you, please ring me back as soon as you get this. There’s been a shooting. Please, I need to hear your voice, hear that you’re alright. Please.”

You thought he’d pick up the phone and relieve you from this torment, but now knowing he hasn’t answered after multiple calls, you’re more convinced than ever it’s him that’s been shot.

“Wanda if it’s-”

“You can’t think like that.” But that's all you can think about. Your job, the duty you have to these patients who are en route to the hospital, none of that comes close to the need to know Bucky is unharmed.

The world starts moving in slow motion as the first of the patients arrives. Time runs like molasses, but the anxiety in your chest turns up one hundred fold, as if flashes of lightning strike your chest one after another.

A woman gets pushed in on a gurney, light brown hair stained with blood, and even from the sight of how the paramedic needs to hold her skull flap to her head to prevent her brain being exposed, you know she won’t make it as much as the surgeons will try to save her.

There’s a child, not much bigger than Sasha who you treated the day you first met Bucky, that gets pushed through next. In complete juxtaposition, she’s sitting up talking to paramedics, arm in a sling, but mostly looks unharmed.

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart.

Chestnut hair and an EMT uniform.

You’d know those thick, wavy locks anywhere.

“Bucky!” You don’t even recognise your own voice with how much terror it is consumed with. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

In a flash you’re by his side, keeping pace as they wheel him deeper into the hospital, your lungs and throat scorching with distress.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.

Not your Bucky. They can’t take your Bucky.

“Buck, can you hear me?” Your hand cups his cheek, and he’s as cold as ice. His eyes are shut so he can’t even look at you to give you one last chance to memorise the astonishingly blue irises which have been your source of solace since meeting him.

A mask covers his mouth and nose, delivering rescue breaths. You try to place a block in your mind to stop it from retrieving the medical knowledge you have spent years memorising - you don’t want to know how catastrophic a situation his body must be in to be needing rescue breaths.

“I love you, James. You hear me? I love you!” It almost ends your existence when he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even so much as flinch at your confession. You hope any part of him that is still alive inside the casing of his cold body manages to hear those words.

Dr Strange and Wanda have to physically restrain you from following the team treating Bucky and prevent you entering the operating theatre.

Dr Strange’s voice sounds like a hum, too far away to make sense of even though he’s pushing you away from the OR. All you’re focussed on is keeping your eyes on Bucky for as long as you can.

Is this the last time you will ever see him alive?

It’s only once he is out of sight, that your brain starts to catch up to the realisation of what has actually happened.

Bucky was shot. A bullet ripped through his skin, tearing muscle and fascia, lacerating his organs, possibly fatally wounding him.

Bullets are designed to kill. To end the life of the organism the gun barrel is aimed at. There is no mercy from a gunshot wound, you had seen too many to believe better.

A guttural cry forces its way out of your parched windpipe without you being able to prevent it, your kneecaps sting as you fall to the ground. Hot, large tears cascade onto your cheeks as Wanda’s arms engulf you.

Any second now, James Buchanan Barnes’ heart could be taking its final beat and you wouldn’t be any wiser. His lungs would stop breathing, preventing oxygen from binding to hemoglobin in his blood and reaching his brain. Everything else would shut down quickly from there.

One second he’d be here and the next he wouldn’t.

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore.

You had seen it too often, heard from bereaved family members time and time again how quickly it had all happened, but it wasn’t until this very moment that you understood the magnitude of that sentiment.

How could he go from telling you yesterday night that you were the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on to now possibly his cold, lifeless body laying on an operating table with his soul having crossed over to the afterlife?

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh.

Never see his dazzling sapphire eyes as they regard you with overwhelming affection.

Never feel that warm rapture blooming in your chest when he’d proclaim himself as yours and kiss you in the same breath.

He’ll never get to know you love him.

It feels as though you are tumbling wildly down into an abyss, waiting for the inevitable crash at the bottom that would either end this eternal suffering or that sudden jerk, the lurch as you wake up from this cruel nightmare.

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed.

Oxygen would be the gift you’d allow yourself once your love was awake and talking again; cracking stupid jokes with his signature cocky smirk and flirting with you like you were on your first date again.

And if he were to pass into the next life, taking your heart with him, then you would simply refuse to take another breath until you were reunited with him once again.

Part 10 coming soon

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @Dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @aya-fay @lowkeysebby @redbarn1995 @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky

[yeotozaki]

"SHATTERED SILENCE" IZZY STRADLIN

(this one has been in my drafts for months...I really over exaggerated with this one 😭)

Izzy Stradlin had always prided himself on his calm demeanor. The one who didn’t get rattled, the one who let things roll off his back, but tonight, everything felt different. The studio session had been long, draining, and he hadn’t been able to shake the exhaustion that clung to him as he walked through the door. He was hoping for peace, a quiet moment to unwind. But instead, he was met with you, standing there in the living room, arms crossed, eyes cold with frustration.

The second you saw him, the air in the room seemed to shift. "Where the hell have you been, Izzy?" Your voice wasn’t just angry—it was raw, trembling with a pain he hadn't expected.

Izzy paused, irritation bubbling inside him. "I was at the studio, Y/N. I told you I’d be there."

"You've been 'at the studio' for days, Izzy!" You snapped back, your voice shaking with emotion, the hurt evident in every word. "Days. You promised me it wouldn’t be like this, that you wouldn’t vanish into your band, your music, and leave me here to just wait for you!"

Izzy’s stomach churned. "I didn’t vanish, I’m right here," he muttered, but his own words felt hollow, empty. It didn’t matter that he had just come from working for hours; he could see the pain in your eyes, and it was like a knife to his chest.

"Yeah, well, where the hell have you been?" you shot back, your voice cracking with frustration. "You’re physically here, but you’re never really here, Izzy. I don’t even know who you are anymore. I don’t know who I’m even talking to anymore."

Izzy could feel his temper rising, but he pushed it down, trying to keep his cool. But something snapped. "I’m doing the best I can, Y/N! I can’t be everything to you. I’ve got a life, I’ve got a career, and I’ve got my own shit to deal with too!"

The words left his mouth faster than he could stop them, and as soon as they did, he regretted them. He saw the way your face fell, the light in your eyes dimming. You flinched, stepping back from him, as though the words physically struck you.

"You’re right," you whispered, so softly that Izzy almost didn’t hear it. "You can’t be everything to me, Izzy. But you promised me, you promised me you’d be here when I needed you. And where are you? Where have you been all this time? I’ve been so damn alone!"

Izzy felt his chest tighten, the weight of everything crashing down on him. You were right. You had been alone. And he had been too caught up in everything else to notice how far he was pulling away from you. He wanted to say something, to fix it, to apologize—but the words tangled in his throat.

"You don’t get it, do you?" you continued, your voice rising. "You’ve been so caught up in your own world, in your own head, that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you. You don’t see me anymore. You don’t see us."

Izzy's frustration boiled over. "And what the hell do you want from me, Y/N?" The words were sharp, louder than they should have been. "I’m doing what I can. You think I want to spend all my time away from you? You think I want to be stuck in this chaos, but this is my life! This is what I do!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he saw your face change. The anger melted into something far worse—disappointment. Hurt. You stepped back, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes, and Izzy realized then that he had crossed a line, one he couldn’t come back from.

"You think this is all just your life, Izzy?" you whispered, the pain in your voice cutting deeper than anything he had ever heard. "You think you’re the only one living it? I’ve been here, waiting, trying to understand, but I’m not going to keep begging for your attention, your love. You’ve made me feel invisible for so long now. And I can’t do it anymore."

Izzy’s heart pounded in his chest. He had never felt so damn lost. "Y/N—"

"Don’t," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Don’t you dare act like you care now. I don’t even know if you do anymore. Maybe I’m just a convenience to you when you’re done with your band and your career. Maybe that’s all I ever was."

A chill settled in the room, the silence hanging heavily between you two. Izzy tried to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. He could feel it—the distance between you, growing wider with every second, every breath.

You wiped your eyes furiously, but you didn’t let him stop you. "I’m done, Izzy. I’m done waiting. I’m done being an afterthought. I can’t keep doing this."

Before he could even process it, you turned and stormed toward the door. "Y/N, wait!" Izzy called out, his voice panicked, but it was too late. The door slammed shut behind you, and in that instant, Izzy felt something inside him crack.

He stood there, frozen, heart heavy in his chest, as the weight of everything hit him. He had yelled at you, made you feel small, and in doing so, he had pushed you away. He was so damn selfish, so caught up in his own world, that he had ruined everything.

The apartment felt suffocating, empty. The quiet that followed your departure was deafening, and Izzy’s heart ached as he realized that, for once, his music, his career, his distractions… none of it mattered anymore. You were gone.

Izzy sank onto the couch, his mind reeling, his hands trembling. He should have done more. He should have cared more. But now, it was too late.

And all he had left was the painful, bitter echo of his own mistakes.

[yuechihua]

the boy who chases the wind.

summary: After the taste of bitterness, there will come sweetness. Even after everything his master has lied to him about, Harumasa can't help but cling to those words.

notes: 7k, author's notes, spoilers for Harumasa's backstory, character study, one mention of drinking alcohol, depictions/references of panic attacks, depictions of piercing ears

i.

They abandon him to die, the faculty flooded with red lights and screeching sirens that hurt his ears, stampeding feet and panicked voices.  

Or perhaps they don’t abandon him; they forget him, but forgetting is still just a kinder form of death.

Harumasa should feel something, anything, but the panic around him feels like the distant crash of waves against the ocean shores he’s never seen. It’s there, he knows, but it’s not something that belongs to him. If he’s pulled away by the tides, then he was meant to drown.

He waits, hands folded on his lap in his hospital bed, medical supplies glowing scarlet with each pulse of the alarms. The only thing that he has, the only thing that’s truly his, is a yellow headband that he keeps tucked under his hands.

A boy like him is worth nothing more than the people who use him: this is a truth that has been ingrained in Harumasa’s bones, a lesson that’s been taught to him over and over, from the very beginning.

And he would have been okay with being a tool. As long as he is useful, he is in some capacity loved. 

“If you’ve experienced enough bitterness, then other parts of life can be sweeter.”

Isn’t that what his master taught him? But then, his master is gone. Has been gone for the past few days, and now the facility is in disarray. 

His master, who snuck him books and stuck him with needles that left behind purpling bruises, who taught him archery and injected him with clear fluid, who gave him cake on his birthdays and told him to endure during the worst of his flare-ups.

Perhaps Harumasa hasn’t been as useful as he should have been. Or perhaps, he’s no longer useful at all, and his master has left him for better experiments.

The only thing Harumasa has left is this headband. He could throw it away, but every time the itch to do so tremors through his fingers and he picks up the fabric, he can never bring himself to follow through.

Footsteps echo down his hallway, which sound heavier than the footsteps of the staff he’s come to know, and his door is wrenched open. People in suits and equipment and helmets, people he’s never seen before, stare at him with confusion, and then horror.

“There’s a child in here,” someone murmurs in disbelief. “They’ve been… on children… Those sick–”

A man in front raises his hand, and the murmurs fall silent. He strides to Harumasa, and peers down at him, a strange tenderness in his eyes. 

“You’re safe now, kid,” he rumbles, in a rough, low voice. “We’ve got you.” He reaches out a thick, gloved hand. “Do you want to come with us?”

And what else can he do? Harumasa takes the man’s hand. If he is useful, then he is loved. If he is needed, then he can live. And if he’s worth nothing at all, then he should just let go. But is that really all there is for him?

 “Yes,” he whispers. His throat is dry. He swallows, and speaks again, louder. “Yes.” He grips his master’s headband. Is the sweetness promised to him waiting just past this? “Yes.”

ii.

He pierces his ears in the high school academy dorm bathroom, bloody tissues strewn across the counter, catheter needle sliding into the tender flesh of his ear with a laughable slice of pain. 

Harumasa is alone, as he always is. The years ghost by, barely touching him. He grows older. His scars fade, but never completely. He does well in academics, does well with people. They love him, or they think they love him, the slouchy, easy-going genius. Love letters pile in his lockers. People ask to meet him after class, determination sparking in their eyes.

He always turns them down, as gently as he can. They deserve to give their affection to someone who’s capable of loving them back. 

In the bathroom mirror, his own face stares back at him. His uniform is unbuttoned at the top, his hair messy (in an artful way, he likes to think). Dark circles bruise under his eyes, and his ear is bright red as he pushes the needle through to the very tip, placing the earring at the top of the needle until it pops out from the other side and the earring is left in his lobe.

He pushes the earring back in, and admires his handiwork. 

It should hurt more. But the pain is as easy as it always is when it comes to needles.

Here, then, is a body, his own. Marked by his own hand and not others, for once. Will this make him more real?

Harumasa has always had this nagging knowledge, pooling in the back of his mind, a stagnant puddle. He is no person, no life; only the purest form of hunger, a constant, endless roving desire for survival. He does not know what comes after. There is no after, only a desperate clawing for another day. Isn’t that what a tool is reduced to, after years of rusting?

He will die one day. His fate had already been decided the second the doctor gave him his diagnosis. He was expendable once, and he is expendable now. What does living really mean, when every minute is precious and trickles towards a predetermined ending?

In the mirror, his master’s headband stares back at him. A relic of the past that he hasn’t been able to let go. A reminder of things he can’t forget.

Harumasa picks up another sterilized needle, and slides it into his other earlobe, marked by a small yellow dot. The pain, as it always is, is his oldest, most familiar friend.

iii.

Did he survive just for life to pass like a dream?

He graduates with honors, top of his class, with recommendations from the most difficult to please professors.

“He’s a genius,” people marvel when they see him, and he hides his calloused hands behind his back, adjusts the choker over his scars, and smiles. 

Easygoing, playful, an incorrigible slacker: he’s been careful to craft how other people perceive him, but it’s still easier than expected. No one has ever truly looked at him, or maybe they prefer this palatable version of himself. Easy to love, easy to envy, easy to tolerate.

He’s recruited to Hollow Special Operations. He joins Section One, their sterling recruit. No one complains when he walks in with rumpled uniforms and an unbuttoned shirt. No one complains much of anything, in fact. It’s quiet and dull, the pay is nice, and as long as he produces results, no one says anything about his constant leave requests.

At home, Harumasa sits alone at his table, takeout cartons crowding in front of him, watching whatever cheap movie he’s rented for the week. If he never goes into work again, if he ran away into a Hollow or walked into the sea or his heart simply gave out, how long would it take someone to notice, and then to care? 

Life could pass like this forever, but one day, a transfer request is slipped on his desk, and suddenly, he is no longer Asaba Harumasa, Section One Executive Officer, but a member of Hoshimi Miyabi’s elite squad of Section Six, personally recruited and handpicked.

It’s easy enough to find her, the city’s youngest Void Hunter, heir to a family with a lineage so prestigious it makes his head spin, leaving behind a trail of frost in her wake. People fall silent in front of her, respectful or fearful of a genius, though her status has never done much more than stir his curiosity. 

They’re a little similar, Harumasa likes to think, in some ways.

Miyabi is alone, inspecting her new office, every surface polished and shining to the point it hurts his eyes, the room smelling of something empty and clean. It’s ripe with possibility, of newness, of an unsullied ideal that makes his heart ache.

“Hoshimi Miyabi,” he says, voice filled with a careful laziness. “Or is it Chief now? You’re my boss, right?”

She turns, and even that movement is ridiculously elegant, her steps light and poised, not a single wasted gesture. Even death would be rendered beautiful by her hand. “I’m not officially your chief until tomorrow. The paperwork hasn't finished processing.”

“Right, right, but functionally, you’re my boss, aren’t you? Say, Chief, you wouldn’t mind if I took a few days off after orientation, right?” he says. “Or are you going to expect us to go into dangerous Hollows right away? I don’t know if Section One has told you, but I’m a little fragile. Are you sure you want to trust me?”

She tilts her head, another efficient gesture, and her eyes seem to swallow him whole. It’s a little frightening, how she stares directly at him without any hesitation or fear, like there’s nothing he can truly hide from her.

“I chose you,” she says, “not because of what other people say, but because Section Six needs you, Asaba Harumasa. I trust what I see with my own eyes.”

He knows all about what it means to be needed. But somehow, Miyabi’s expectations don’t feel suffocating. 

“All right,” he says, voice as light as possible. Miyabi’s ear twitches, and he knows she isn’t convinced by his lackadaisical demeanor. But it’s enough that she allows him this pretense. “Then I’ll look forward to working with you, Chief.”

She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t need to. It’s enough that she keeps her cool gaze on him, and Harumasa is seen.

iv.

To Harumsa’s surprise, he’s not the only recruit to Section Six. There’s Tsukishiro Yanagi from the New Eridu Defence Force, and you. It only makes sense that Miyabi would recruit people she could trust, and people with such impressive achievements in their careers, though you stand out as an oddity in that respect.

Your resume is impressive, certainly: top academics, honors, prestigious internships, and glowing recommendation letters from professors who can’t stop raving about your skills. But you have virtually no combat experience on the field, so you’re still a risk, one Miyabi has willingly taken, for whatever reason.

Besides, genius is nothing special to him. You remind him of every bright-eyed recruit at the academy with something to prove, and it’s only a question of how your dreams and ideals will survive when faced with the pressure of the numbing work, the relentless threats, the difficult decisions.

You approach him in the very first week, presumably on Miyabi’s orders, with a mission dossier in your hand.

“We’ll be working together, starting from today,” you tell him. Your uniform is ironed to flat perfection, not a single crease in sight. It’s a far cry from his own rumpled clothing and the jacket tied loosely around his waist, which you scan with a critical eye.

“Glad to hear it,” he says. “What are we working on today, partner?” 

You flick through the sheets of paper. “Meetings, as always. Some reports and a joint training session with Section Four. Oh, and a venture into Hollow Zero for a routine check-up.”

“We have to do all of that? I don’t have the stamina to keep up.”

“Well, it’s what’s expected of us,” you say. “We’d only be assigned so many tasks if they trusted us to handle them well.”

Your posture is stiff, your shoulders tense. You don’t like him, Harumasa realizes, or you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. And maybe he isn’t, but your reaction makes him want to poke at you, just to see how you’ll react. He has a feeling you’d react just like a cat, hiss or scratch him and run away, but, unfortunately for you, he has a fondness for cats.

“In that case, do you think you’d be okay handling it by yourself?” he says, voice as innocent as he can make it. “Since I’m technically your senior, you can think of it as me having high expectations for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tsukishiro is around if you need any help,” he says. “I’d offer, but I’m a little too frail for all of that work, you know? I might have to take a day off tomorrow if I do.”

“I’m not going to push your work off onto someone else, and I’m also not going to do it for you! You’re an Executive Officer!”

“Don’t be so serious. You won’t last long here if you don’t relax a little,” he teases.

You’re silent for a few moments. Has he gone too far? But before Harumasa can say anything, you stride forward until you’re close enough to grab his wrist. Your grasp is tight enough that he can’t slip away, but still gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt. It’s a thoughtful touch.

“I don’t care what excuses you want to make,” you snap, “and you can do whatever you want in your free time, but we are going to fulfill every piece of this agenda together. I’m not letting you go until we do!”

“All right,” he says hastily, because you look like you’re one second away from slapping handcuffs onto him so he can’t escape. “I didn’t take you for someone who cared so much about your job.”

You tilt your head at him. Your hand is as warm as a spring day. “Well, the entire city is counting on us. There are so many people out there who need us to protect them.”

Underneath your cool tone of voice, he can sense it: your genuine desire to be needed. To do something real. That is something, he thinks, he can understand.

“I guess we can’t let down all the good people of New Eridu, partner,” Harumasa says. “I’m all yours, just for today. So, where to?”

v.

The best remedy for work reports, Harumasa finds, is folding them into paper airplanes and sailing across the room, trying to see how many can land in the trash can. As it is, only several have made it in, and the rest have crashed across the office floor at various intervals.

He aims another airplane in a lazy arc and it only makes it halfway through the air before Yanagi strides into the room and plucks it out of the air with expert precision. She unfolds it and shakes her head at him, smoothing it out in her hands before placing it back on his desk. “Asaba, don’t fold your reports into airplanes.”

“I’m finding a good use for them,” he protests.

“They’re already useful as mission reports. I have a few updates for you,” she continues. “I scheduled your doctor’s appointment for next week.”

“Deputy Chief,” he whines, but she ignores him. 

“You get to take a day off work to attend, but it will count towards your monthly leave requests.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t sound so pleased. We have a meeting later today, one which you aren’t allowed to skip. And this is an interpersonal request, but I want you to stop teasing your deskmate so much,” she says. 

“Who on earth are you talking about?” Harumasa says in an oblivious voice.

“You know who I’m talking about. You’re going to drive them half-mad if you keep this up!”

“It’s fun, though.”

“Fun for you, not for them.”

“I think they enjoy it. Do you see how they get all stiff and they wrinkle their nose? They’re like a cat,” he muses. “Maybe they need a mouse toy for their desk.”

“If you do that,” Yanagi says, voice worldworn, “Then I think I’m going to have to clean bits and pieces of you out of the office tomorrow.”

He laughs a little at that, but Yanagi’s expression doesn’t change. Though he’s had brief run-ins with Tsukishiro Yanagi when he was still a part of Section One, this is his first time working with her in such close proximity for an extended period of time. Her accomplishments in the New Eridu Defense Force are startlingly impressive, and, in all honesty, she’s the only reason Section Six runs as well as it does. 

You do your fair share of work, sure, but Miyabi, and Soukaku, Yanagi’s ward who joined a little after everyone else, create their own fair share of trouble. And he does, as well, if he’s honest.

Yanagi is overly serious, and yet, so unwilling to admit to her own achievements. She’s the sort of person who he, contrary to what some may think, admires. She’s the type who thinks of others before herself, and it’s hard to truly dislike her when there’s no genuine malice to her actions. Unlike Miyabi, Yanagi’s type is easy to understand.

But there’s also the risk that Yanagi will eventually burn herself out if she assumes that overwork is the only way she can keep up with everyone else.

Ah, well. That only means he has to pick up more of the slack than he intended for Section Six’s hardworking Deputy Chief.

“Tsukishiro,” Harumasa says instead. “Why’d you have to make my appointment?”

She adjusts her glasses, pushing them further up her face. “If I didn’t, you would have put off making it until the last minute. That’s a bad habit, Asaba. You need to take care of your own health.”

“If you think so, then my next leave request—”

“I will not be accepting it for you,” she says immediately. 

“I thought you cared about my health!”

“I do,” she says. There it is again, the seriousness in her voice that makes it hard to look at her sometimes. “I want all of you to stay healthy. Which is why if you skip your next medical appointment, Asaba, then I’m going to reject all of your leave requests for the month.”

“You’re so unfair, Deputy Chief,” he says, fingering the work report she’s placed on his desk. It’s still creased from where he’s folded it.

“Only when I have to be,” she says. “Now, don’t let me hear you’ve skipped this appointment, or I’ll make more follow-ups for you. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, I do,” he groans.

It’s a strange feeling. None of his coworkers in Section One would have cared for him as much as this. It’s strange, but not bad.

vi.

Harumasa can’t quite put it into words why he can’t leave you alone.

It’s your reaction, sure. You’re serious and straightforward and responsible, and when you snap back at him, it only makes him want to push at your buttons again.

It could also be the novelty of how you never avoid his eyes, and refuse to hide your distaste for his actions, like so many of his coworkers had done in Section One. No one in general talks so openly to him like this, outside of those in Section Six.

“Your weapon makes no sense. You’re going to slice off your fingers pulling your bow one day,” you would tell him. “And I know you’re the one drawing cats on my work reports! Cut it out!”

Or maybe it’s the need in you, the deep, drowning need, familiar to him as if it’s his own. To be loved, or to be needed, or to be useful. If he looks too close, then he’ll sink too far into it, too far into you. 

So as fun as it is to mess with you, Harumasa knows to keep his distance. It’s easier this way, and better for the both of you.

And perhaps everything could have continued like this, a string of warm days and aimless teasing, until a venture into a Hollow with the entire section, one that should not have been different from any other.

There’s a swarm of Ethereals around, more than usual, and it takes all of your respective concentration to cut through their numbers. So perhaps, in the thrum of intense battle, he doesn’t react as quickly as he should before an ink-black monster is on him, roaring, wild strikes aimed at his neck.

Harumasa jerks back, shoots several arrows in rapid succession through its headless core, and then he feels it. A weightlessness around his neck, a strange nakedness.

His choker coils on the floor, a shining black snake.

He tries to suck in a quick breath, but he can’t quite manage it.

His choker. His neck. He can feel the itch of scars, of phantom injections, of the Hollow’s corruption weighing down, and he slaps his hands over his neck, a wild attempt to protect himself.

But there’s no point. Black spots swim in front of his eyes. He’s useless. He needs to move. The sound of metal and corrupted claws are so distant. Is everyone trying to keep them away from him? He has to move. He has to. 

Pick himself. Keep going. It’s what he’s always done, so why can’t he now?

Something warm lands on his head, solid and comforting and real, pressing against the back of his neck. You’re in front of him, white work shirt fluttering as you smooth your jacket down the side of his face. He’s cocooned, and the world shrinks down to just this: you, and him.

“Harumasa, look at me.” A rustle of fabric. Your gloves flutter to the dirt below, stark and black. And then— warm hands. The warmest hands he’s ever felt, cradling his face, bringing his wane face to yours. 

A smear of blood across your cheek. Sweat beading across your forehead. But your eyes are beautiful, steadfast and luminous. Like the moon, lighting his way home.

“You’re okay,” you say, voice so quiet, as if it’s meant for no other ears than his. “You’re okay, I promise.” 

He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything, but stare at you, sweat trickling down his face.

“Look at me. Tell me what you see right now.” 

He swallows, the gesture thick and unnatural. “I see…” 

“Yes?” 

“You.”

“That’s right. And what else?” 

He feels stupid, childish, as his voice comes out in a slow wheeze. “The… sky. The ground.”

“And can you smell anything?”

“Blood. Sweat. Dust.”

You don’t move your hands from his face, and even if you had, he would have chased after your touch without a shred of reticence. But you keep your hands steady, your voice soothing, as you run through questions about what he can sense. He answers you without hesitation, until his breathing steadies and the world is no longer spinning.

You keep your jacket wrapped around him as you bend down and grab his choker, pressing it into his hands.

You must be curious, surely, about his reaction, his sudden uselessness in the Hollow. But you never speak. All you do is take his hand and guide him out somewhere less crowded, less noisy. The others have already moved on, a decision that they seemed to have made with you while he wasn’t focusing.

But your hand is warm. So warm, as warm as it was on the day he first met you. Like this, he would follow you anywhere.

vii.

Harumasa wakes with pain radiating from his chest like a starburst, limbs weak, nausea crowding the back of his throat. Sweat coats his body, a migraine pulverizing his brain into useless mush. 

Harumasa can barely breathe, let alone stand. It’s all he can do to fumble for the pills scattering his nightstand, swallowing them dry out of desperation. It takes the slightest edge off his pain, just enough that he can reach for his phone and construct a blithe message to Yanagi about not coming into work and cashing in one of his sick days, before losing it among his blankets.

He passes the next hour in and out of consciousness, a fitful sleep eluding him before the pain jolts him awake.

In a way, he’s grown used to functioning with a certain amount of pain. His weak lungs, his unstable heart. People can adapt to anything, and even constant pain can become mundane. But other days, his illness flares with an intensity that leaves him immobile.

In moments like this, curled among his blankets, knees pulled up, unable to do more than wait, Harumasa thinks about the life he’s built: the parents who he no longer remembers. The haze of pain of his youth, sterile white hospital walls and perpetual needles. His master, who patted his head gently and then abandoned him. The academy, where he passed aimless days. Graduation, where no one was there to give him flowers. Section One, which was cold as a grave, full of grim orders and blank coworkers. Crowds of pills in his cabinet and on his bedside, several which are for daily use, taken every morning and every night at a consistent time, and the others for managing moments when his pain is unbearable.

But there’s also Section Six, who welcomes him like he’s coming home every time he opens the office doors. The stray cat who hops onto his windowsill everyday, who hisses at him but can be coaxed with bits of canned food to lick at his fingers. You, who has held him with a touch so tender it makes him want to stay by your side forever.

Harumasa is still going to die. He’s long made his peace with this, the knowledge that everything must come to an end. No matter what he does, it only prolongs his inevitable ending. But until then, he is still alive.

It might not have been the best life, or even a very good one, but it’s his, one’s he fought for with every bit of his blood and tears to keep and hold. He’ll survive, swallow every bit of bitterness for even a hint of sweetness in his future.

Every year, the probability of his survival lowers. So every birthday, he thinks, is a miracle. Every moment longer he has is an opportunity he can’t waste.

Like his master’s headband, which he still wears even now. There are things he can’t let go, that he will cling on to no matter what.

This is what living is, a taste so sweet it makes him crave more.

viii.

Moonlight spills into the office by the time Harumasa is ready to go home, several hours past the time he usually clocks out of work. 

He stands, stretches, and does a slow circle around the office. Everyone else has already left, Miyabi and Soukaku dragging Yanagi out before she could pull her third all-nighter at the office. It’s empty—or at least, he thinks it is before he finds you, flung along the couch hiding near the back of the office, head resting on the armrest, cheek pressed into the smooth fabric. 

You must have fallen asleep, and he hadn’t even noticed. It’s funny how that works: he’s perpetually aware of your presence, the most accidental brush of your skin against his making his nerves spark, and at other times, he’s lulled into a gentle peace in your presence, letting his guard dangerously low around you.

He pads over to the office lighting and flips it off, so the room plunges into sudden darkness, lit only by the liquid silver light of the moon puddling on the floor. You must be exhausted, running back and forth all the time, voluntarily working overtime alongside Yanagi.

Dedication to your job, perhaps, a noble profession that serves as a guiding light for the people of New Eridu. Are you aware of the corruption that lurks beneath the surface, the stink of ill intentions? Or is it something that guides you to do better instead?

He drifts back to you, pulled like the tides by the moon. You look peaceful, younger, moonlight softening your face and pooling in the hollow of your throat. If he folds his legs underneath him, there’s enough space on the couch for him to lay his head next to yours, close enough he can see the breath fluttering in your throat, the light exhalation and sign of life.

His hand just barely grazes along your jaw, but he can’t bring himself to touch you, not fully, though he can still feel the heat emanating from your skin. 

It’s obvious what you think of him. He’s irritating, a slacker, someone who only gets in your way–but there’s an edge of fondness in your voice now. The teasing and exaggerated eye rolls has become your new routine. Lately, you’ve started to doodle cats with little pouts on his papers, or bring back an extra cup of bitter black coffee for him when you’re out running errands.

Sometimes, he imagines what it would be like to grow older by your side. He’s always been fascinated by the wrinkles of the elderly, the gray hair, the worn joints, the various markers of a life well-lived and loved.

But he doesn’t have the luxury of aging, and he can’t envy what was never his.

You make him feel afraid of things he’s never been afraid of before. One day, you will only remember him from the yellowing pages of a photo album. He will stay the same forever, in the bloom of youth, while you drift further and further from him. You will always recognize him, but the face he sees now won’t be the one you will always have. You will change, and time will unmoor him from you. 

He can’t pull any closer than this. This is the safest distance, this easy fondness, the meaningless flirtations. Never any step closer, into a space where the two of you could be hurt. 

What is it that you want? A love? A family? A dream? He wants you to have it all, to indulge in every desire, every joy. Your life is a miracle, the greatest miracle he knows.

ix.

“Harumasamasa, you’ve gotten a lot of letters and gifts again! Is there any food in them? Is there?” 

Soukaku bounds up to him, all overeager, enthusiastic excitement and expectant eyes. He tosses several packages at her, wrapped in cheerful colors, which she catches with startingly precision. “Just a few chocolates and cookies,” he says. “They’re all yours, Soukaku.”

“Yay!” She tears into them with abandon. It’s a ritual they’ve developed over the months, where, when he’s flooded with sweets from fans he never knows what to do with, Soukaku is the one to sweep them up. It’s better than letting them go to waste.

Harumasa flips through a few letters as she talks, all personalized notes and careful handwriting on cute stationary, declarations of love and admiration and gratitude. Soukaku and you get your fair share of fan mail, though no one can beat Miyabi when it comes to the mountain of love letters on her desk. 

It’s part of the job, the fanservice, but it doesn’t mean it’s one he enjoys. You’re careful with your letters, and he doesn’t know what Miyabi does with hers, but this simply feels like a repeat of school: confessions he can’t accept, that pile up uncomfortably in the corner of his room until he throws them away because there’s nothing else to do with them.

“You don’t look happy, Harumasa,” Soukaku says, her cheeks stuffed with chocolate.

“Hm? Why wouldn’t I be happy? All these people love us so much,” he says. Soukaku is sweet and earnest in a way that makes him cognizant of how he interacts with her; Yanagi has done her best to protect Soukaku, so it wouldn’t be right for him to ruin those efforts. The world can be cruel and kind in equal measure, and she deserves to believe in that kindness before anything else.

“Because you always tell others to do whatever they want with your letters.”

“But I won’t have any room to nap if I let all my letters pile up! Besides, it’s not good for me to accept letters from people whose feelings I can’t cherish properly, right?”

Soukaku tilts her head like a puppy. “Does that mean you would be happy with a letter from them?” She points at your desk, situated right next to his, with its clean surface and neatly stacked files and supplies.

Harumasa hands her another package of chocolate, which Soukaku tears open. Every once in a while, she has a flash of sharp insight that reminds him why Soukaku has been allowed to join Section Six. 

“I don’t think there’s a reason they need to write me a letter,” he says. “We talk every day.”

Soukaku pops several chocolates in her mouth, swallowing it in one giant gulp. “Nagi says sometimes it’s easier to say things over letters, because there are things you can’t say right when you try to say them out loud. So maybe they would be happy if you sent them a letter, too.”

“Do you think we need to talk, Soukaku? Me and them?”

She brings her fingers together, fidgeting with them over and over, eyes shifting away. “You look sad when you’re talking to them and they can’t see, so I thought maybe there’s something you can’t say. And sometimes you look like you’re going to go somewhere far away, and I get scared you’re really going to leave, Harumasamasa. And I really like you, so I don’t want you to leave us. So…! That’s why you should send each other letters!”

His heart aches at her voice, earnest and slightly afraid. Though Yanagi has kept the precise details of her past quiet, he knows enough about what happened to the Onis to guess at what she’s gone through. And she’s young, still so young.

“I’m not going anywhere, Soukaku,” Harumasa begins, placing a hand on her hair and ruffling it. “I promise, okay? I won’t leave you or anyone else behind. So don’t worry.”

She sniffles. “Okay. You’ve promised. So you can’t break it.”

“I won’t break it,” he says. It’s a lie, but what could he say otherwise, when she looks at him with such a hopeful expression? Soukaku’s is one heart he can’t break.

x.

They’re half an hour into the party before Harumasa decides it’s been long enough that Yanagi can’t be mad if he escapes for some air.

The party is some private, stuffy affair with the City’s elite, all elegant crystal and tailored silk and calculated words that make him yawn. He knows what these sorts of people are like, and what they expect, so it makes him laugh under his breath to see them flustered at Soukaku’s cheer, uncaring of their games, and Miyabi’s blunt words, cutting through their pretenses.

You and Yanagi are the ones socializing and trying to keep things professional, but from the tight set of your smile and the way you clutch your wineglass like you’re considering using it like a weapon before you set it down, a break is in order. The person you’re talking to is also leaning far too close, and you keep angling your body away from him, a hint he can’t seem to take.

You look like a dream under the soft, warm lights, in an outfit he knows you agonized for hours before deciding on something tasteful and sleek.

Harumasa materializes right next to your elbow, cat-like grin on his face, hands shoved in his pockets. His tie is slightly askew, his collar popped open, his choker shining. He’s not in the most elegant suit in the room, but it’s his best one.

“I need them for a moment,” he says, smiling. “Pardon us.”

The person you’re talking to blinks. “But–”

“Official HSO business. It’s very urgent. And private,” he emphasizes, hand drifting to settle on your waist, pulling you infinitesimally closer to him.

“It’s true,” you say, jumping on the lifeline he’s offered you. You give a half-apologetic shrug. “I have to go now. The Hollows wait for no one.”

With that, the two of you are gone, striding across the room. He hasn’t lifted his hand from your waist, and you haven’t moved away. Neither of you speak until you’re out in the hall, where a sudden hush descends, lush carpet and imposing artwork muffling the sound of voices and muting the golden light.

“Let’s go there,” you say, pointing to a set of frosted glass doors, draped by lacy curtains.

He obliges, and steps out onto a balcony, a cool breeze sending the curtains swirling behind the two of you. Moonlight gilds everything in silver, and you break from him as you step up to the stone ledge, taking a deep breath. Below, the city lights glow in the distance, spreading out before you like a paradise.

“I needed this,” you say. You rest your elbows on the balcony.

He steps closer to you, until you’re side by side. “I thought so.”

“Thanks.” You smile briefly at him, a look that’s more open and genuine than the one you had given your previous conversational partner. “I know we need to do this for funding and PR, but it gets exhausting.”

“Well,” he says, “You’re part of HSO. People can’t be too mad at you if you take advantage of that. There’s only so much they can say to one of the city’s heroes.”

You laugh. “I know. I’ve seen you do exactly that, you slacker. You’re hardly up to dress code. Did you even iron your suit?”

“I didn’t see the point,” he says.

“I knew it. But like you said, it’s fine. You’re part of HSO. People call you a lazy genius, you know? You have a reputation that precedes you.”

“I didn’t know you talked about me like that to other people.”

You open your mouth as if you’re about to make another joke, before closing it, contemplating him. “No, I’ve just heard what people have said about you. I mean, to be honest, I thought that way at first. But then I noticed you actually work hard. A lot harder than you want other people to notice. Besides, we’re partners. I’ll have your back, and you’ll have mine.”

“You’re unexpectedly open tonight. What was in your drink?” he says. “Isn’t this the part where you tease me or make some jab at my work ethic?”

“I want to be honest with you sometimes,” you declare. “And I’m also a little tipsy. So don’t get too used to any compliments.”

It’s unbearable, sometimes, to see you like this. He wants to hold you like something he cannot have, something he doesn’t deserve.

“If we’re being honest, then I want to show you something,” he says. Harumasa touches your hands, and brings them to his neck, the movement slow and deliberate, until your fingers brush against his choker.

His heart quickens, the familiar bile rising in his throat. You’re close, too close, and he can feel the old wounds flare until his choker, igniting that familiar fear even at your gentle touch. It’s pain and pleasure, mixing together in a way that makes him feel light-headed.

You brush your fingers along the slick material, all the way to the back of his choker, right at the clasp that keeps them together. You hold your fingers there, waiting, staring into his eyes, but he doesn’t look away, and so with a single snap, his choker flutters away. The weight is gone, and his neck is bare.

Harumasa lowers his eyes to the ground, bending his neck like a lamb to slaughter. You brush back the hair on his neck, fingers ghosting along his skin. His breathing is shallow as your fingers explore every tender, sensitive inch of him. 

It’s too much. It’s too much—and then your fingers are gone as you kiss his neck, a ticklish, fluttering feeling that sends his nerves alight with liquid flame. His old scars flare against the brush of your soft lips, wounds aching, ripped open anew.

There’s the faintest edge of teeth as you nip against his skin. He wishes you would sink your teeth in deeper, marking him as yours. You could do anything you wanted to him, anything at all. Your violence would be salvation, your touch a blissful cruelty.

He tries not to make any sound as you place another kiss along his bare, slender neck. It’s too sensitive, and he can feel every inch of your touch. It’s painful, and he wants you to kiss him until he’s numb and afraid and you are all he can remember.

Something familiar clicks around his neck. His choker. The weight of it grounds him, and Harumasa lets out a slow breath. When he looks back up at you, you look uncharacteristically hesitant and nervous.

“Was it too much?” you murmur, fiddling with your fingers.

In response, all he can do is take one of your hands in his own. Hands that have saved him, over and over, in ways he can name and ways he can’t.

You’re quiet as Harumasa brings your fingers to his lips and wets the tip of them with his tongue, gentle as nothing else. He can taste the sweetness of your skin, and feel the slight tremor of your hand. To anyone else, you would be stone, efficient, responsible, impenetrable. 

It’s a beautiful part of you, as every part of you is beautiful. But to Harumasa, who holds any part of yourself that you offer with a greedy intensity, you are love itself, and so he will know you like nothing else.

You let out a little gasp as he laps at your fingers again. He nibbles at your forefinger, a teasing edge of teeth. You’re sweeter than life itself, and he could get drunk off of you, again and again. 

There are things he’s afraid to say, things he can’t give you. He is afraid, always afraid. Afraid of you, afraid of the day this choker will fall from his neck forever and he’ll turn into something you can’t recognize, afraid of the tears he’ll make you shed. 

He has never been someone who could accept love, who could live with an ordinary relationship, with an ordinary happiness. This is as far as he can go, and this is enough for a man who has never had anything before this. To stay by your side, to treasure every moment with you, to be accepted so wholly. 

Life is cruel and life is kind, but this is a life all his own, one he has built and chosen for himself. No matter what happens after, Harumasa will always remember this: the sweetness of this life of his.

[solaris-amethyst]

💫It’s okay to be sad💫

✨Pairing: Jongho x afab!reader ✨Prompt: When sadness takes over boyfriend Jongho is there with kind words and sweet gestures. ✨Genre: fluff, not really angst but sadness? non idol au ✨Word count: 1.6k ☀️Authors note: Not my best work but bad days = a need for fluffy fics catered to yourself so yeah this is purely self indulgent for myself and what I needed to hear after this day.

Today had just been a day where sadness was just overwhelming you. Any misstep or mistake at work made the tears well up in your eyes and the lump in your throat grow tighter. It felt unbearable especially when you hade made a mistake which had caused a person in a higher position to be annoyed at you.

You knew that most people could spot you weren't happy today, not that it was hard to spot, your eyes were glossy with tears and slightly red and your nose had turned a bit read as well from blowing your nose over and over again in the bathroom. Someone had even mentioned they could see it through your entire body language, they had told you you didn’t look well and that they were worried for you, one person even suggested you’d call in and take the day off tomorrow to focus on yourself.

You hadn't done many mistakes at all today but the ones you did make made you feel like the whole world would crash and your thoughts running wild with anxiety and overthinking every single interaction. Despite everyone who noticed you were upset reassuring you that there was nothing to be worried about or feel upset about it don’t make the feeling go away. For some reason the sadness only grew. So once your shift ended you had hurried to change into your regular clothes before hurrying back home as quickly as you could not wanting to spend another minute at work.

Feeling tired and suffocated.

The walk up to your and your boyfriend's shared apartment was slow, a feeling of exhaustion taking over your body as you open the door. It felt good despite the overwhelming feeling of tiredness and emptiness in your entire body to finally be home in a space where no one would judge you.

As you open the door you can hear your boyfriend Jongho shuffling around in the kitchen as he hums a tune.

"Y/n darling? Is that you?" You hear him say in a giddy voice as he rounds the corner to come greet you. You take him in, his cheeks are round and slightly rosy and his brown hair is slightly curled giving him that teddy bear look you adore.

"Hello my love." He says with a gummy smile but when he spots your face, the red eyes and the unshed tears his smile drops.

"Are you upset? Has anything happened love?" He takes a step towards you with worry and he waits patiently for you to hang your jacket and take off your shoes before taking your hands in his. Gently caressing them as he allows you to take your time to speak if you want to share whatever it is that is bothering you.

"It's just... you know one of those days where your emotions run wild and everything feels like shit and the smallest mistake feels enormous." You tell him, your voice thick with emotion as you once again fight the tears from falling down your cheeks.

"I understand sweetheart. It's okay to have those days you know? I have them as well. Is there anything I can do for you? To make it feel better?" He asks gently and you shrug not knowing what could make it better.

"Not really."

"Can I give you a hug? I give really good hugs you know." He offers gently and that's something you can't say no to.

Jonghos hugs are always comforting and they feel safe and that's what you need right now. Comfort and a safe place so you nod at him and he is quick to bring you in for a hug. Hugging you tightly as he kisses the side of your temple.

"It's okay to be sad love, you can let it out." He murmurs and you can feel the tears fall from your eyes as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him back just as tight.

Jongho holds you for however long you need, only ever pulling back when he feels you moving indicating you feel that you have had enough. You stand there for a good 10 minutes as you cry and snivel into his shirt and when you break the hug you try and clean his shirt to which he tells you it's okay and not to worry about it, he can always throw it in the wash later he says.

"Was there anything at work that made you feel even worse?" He asks and you nod.

"Yeah I couldn't find some meat for an order but when I asked last Friday I understood it as the kitchen was taking care of that and the potatoes and I didn't have to do anything. But apparently that was wrong of me to think when that's what she said when I asked her. And then I couldn't find it at first so I looked every where over and over, I looked in the meat fridge, the freezer, the vegetable fridge like everywhere! And I could feel her growing annoyed with me, mentioning that I should have said something during Friday if I couldn't find it and you know then she found it two seconds later when she started searching because it was under the cheese but in that basket it looked like it was only cheese and I don't know it just felt like I made a huge mistake because I misunderstood what she meant and then I personally felt like she was annoyed when I tried to explain why I thought she meant that way." You ramble on and you're not entirely sure Jongho understands the situation but he nods nonetheless.

"Well, if she said that the kitchen takes care of it she should have specified what exactly or just told you that this particular thing they didn't take care of so you'd know. I wouldn't say that's something to blame on you my love. This whole thing where you're packing orders, it's a lot, it's easy to miss a product when they arrive with a bunch of other things and I'd say it's logical that you'd assume there was only cheese in that basket. And you guys fixed it before that order had to go out right?" He asks and you nod as you wipe a tear from your cheek. "Then there is no reason for her to be annoyed. Yes, perhaps it is annoying and scary of not knowing what to do if you're missing something and the time the order is going out is soon but at the same time we're all humans and we can all make mistakes. Wasn't this the same person who by mistake put the wrong date on one order and then on another put too little of the food they had actually ordered?"

"It was." You mumble looking down and Jonghos hand goes to gently grasp your chin to make you look at him.

"Then it is not the end of the world. Even the sun has spots, we all make mistakes that's what makes us humans and now both of you have learned something from this situation. I can promise you that she's not annoyed at you and if she is that's a very dumb reason to be." He tells you and you nod leaning in to hug him again which he gladly lets you do, allowing his arms to come around you once more.

"How about we have a cozy evening you and I? You go and hop into the shower, you can sit under the scalding hot water and I run down to the supermarket and buy your favorite ice cream and snacks and drinks and then when I get back I can join you in the shower for a bit to relax under the warm water, you know we can sit and cuddle under the stream. Then when we get out we'll get dressed in our warm pajamas and fluffy socks and we'll order pizza and watch Pongo or something. Would that make it slightly better?" He asks as he leans his head on yours and you nod.

"I'd like that."

"Then that's what we'll do. And if you still feel sad I can help you call in sick tomorrow and we'll spend our entire day tomorrow cuddling together."

"You'd do that for me?" You glance up towards him and you find him looking at you with adoring eyes.

"I'd do anything for you my love."

"Thank you Jongho, I really needed to hear that after today. I don't know, I feel so bad for feeling so sad and all." You tell him sniffling.

"Don't feel bad, sometimes we just need to allow ourselves to feel sad, the only important thing is we talk to someone about it and don't let ourselves stay in the negative feeling for too long. Sadness is sometimes a good thing as well but for now we'll focus on making it less intense, it doesn't have to go away entirely just less intense so we can enjoy ourselves together." He says earnestly before giving your tearstained cheek a kiss.

"I love you so much."

"I love you more. Now go get into the shower, I'll join you once I'm back from shopping and then we will just cuddle the night away."

He gently pushes you towards the bathroom with a smile as he goes to put on his shoes, telling you he won't be gone too long. You can't help but feel a bit calmer after speaking to him, the sadness still present but not as overwhelming as it's been since you woke up early this morning.

And perhaps after today, it will only be a small pool of sadness within you as love takes its place in the form of your loving boyfriend and all the things he does for you.

[viric-dreams]

Charlotte Pryce told no one the day she was leaving for London. That's not to say that no one knew of her intentions. It was the source of enough strife between her and her mother. Why would she ever leave Cardiff? Who would possibly care for her, a widow of three? Does she expect to remarry down there? It's foolish of her to leave everything behind for no good reason. And if she leaves, insists on her willfulness, she would be leaving it all behind.

She left enough in the end--anything from her husband's estate that couldn't be liquidated, the furniture, countless keepsakes, a carefully burnt letter, her mourning garb. Her best wishes to her parents and her siblings, that maybe one day they would understand. She left it all and boarded that ship with three kids and two trunks to her name. Whether her mother wouldn't or couldn't understand was no longer her concern--she knew what London had to offer her, had to offer all of them: Freedom. A chance to be more than someone's wife, someone's daughter. A chance for her children to have that same freedom one day. That they wouldn't be tangled in their family's web of influence--swayed by the money they used as a bridle. For it was never so direct. The influence it bought in her life was a subtle one--guiding her behaviour. One that she's made peace to do without.

Everything has its price, however, and one only gets so far by one's own means. She'd connected herself with an organisation--one that takes newcomers under their wing and seeks to give them a place to stay. Charlotte may have principles, but not pride. But what she hadn't accounted for was the man waiting for her on the other side of the desk.

Robin. Not the one from her memories--his hair is streaked with grey. There's a sharpness etched into his features entirely absent from their youth. His eyes glisten in the lamplight, threatening to spill over into a mirrored emotion clawing at her chest. Of course he'd be involved in a scheme like this. Her brother was never able to keep his hands out of the social sphere--the very thing that set him forward on the path by which fate had doomed him. He looks at her as if she's going to vanish the moment he blinks, revealing the name she'd written on that form a cruel trick of the mind.

His name is half way out of her mouth before he embraces her, a string of hurried words falling from his lips and--yes. It really is him, and how she missed him. Yet even as they separate--as he turns to meet her kids in person for the first time, no longer names in a letter, tells them how surprised he is, how glad he is to see them in London--that warmth turns sour. She knew he was in London. She knew it was possible that they'd run into each other. But now? The promises fall like stones down an empty well, echoing darkly as they crash against the ground. That she shouldn't worry--he has the perfect place set up for them--that his own home is large enough to accommodate. And they can live together, just like summer holidays. Wouldn't that be grand? Something invisible tightens its claws around her chest. Did she not come here to shake free from her family's grasp, and the inevitable terms and conditions that come from their generosity?

But Robin's different. He hardly counts as family--not after what they'd done to him, how they'd pushed him out and all but banned his name. But he's family in the way that matters, the way he tells her--people who stick together, no matter what. And after she'd stuck with him--been the only one to write after all of these years--it's the least he can do. Maybe it would be different. She missed him, after all. It's certainly what's best for the children--a stable home, another family member around to care for them, the extra money able to be invested in their needs.

She takes her trunks and follows him to their new home.

[frostedclock-writes]

Crimson Magnolias

Final Part

Warnings: Rated M for a mature audience, Dates, Jealousy

-----

You glanced around the restaurant. Simple, elegant. Pale white walls with marble and that rose gold that made everything look a soft shade of reddish pink thanks to the natural light in the Pride Ring. Your heart was stuck in your throat. Alastor pulled the black velvet chair out for you, he looked at you expectant as you stood frozen for a moment as your brain tried to process this was really happening. You gave a small laugh under your breath to release your nerves. When you had comfortably gotten into your seat, Alastor pushed you closer to the table before taking his own seat.

Classical violin and piano music played from somewhere in the room. It was soft and subtle, the gentle murmur of sinners talking amongst each other mixed with it. A bottle of rye whiskey sat at the table with two empty glasses, it looked like a beautiful amber color.

Alastor cleared his throat, he seemed to mess with the placement of his fork. " I thought this place would be an entertaining place for an outing."

" It's... It's a beautiful place...." You try to relax, you stop the fidgeting with the little cinched fabric of your dress near your hip. " Really, you didn't have to do this. "

Alastor laughed. No laugh track or filter. He shook his head like you had said something ridiculous. " Oh, I know I didn't HAVE to mon cher. " His red eyes settled on you and smiled, not his usual stretched grin, he picked up the bottle of rye tonfill the glasses. " I wanted to, simply. "

" I - oh, " you felt your cheeks flush and you hope you didn't look like a gobbsmacked teenager.

Thankfully, the waiter came over to divert the attention from something other than you. Menus were about to be placed down when Alastor tutted and stopped the imp dressed in a button up and slacks. The imp paused and oulled the menus away and looked to Alastor, their thin red tail twitched.

" What will we be having?" They spoke evenly but they didn't want to meet Alastor's eyes.

" Tarragon Chicken dish, two of them. " Alastor stated and made a motion like he didn't want the waiter lingering around. The imp seemed like he would prefer to not stand near an overlord's table for longer than necessary.

You couldn't blame them. Most would find your situation terrifying. A dinner with the notorious Radio Demon, a man known for his sadistic methods of taking down his competition. Though, you supposed none of them had caught Alastor doodling as he was two knuckles deep in rye and Paul Whiteman on the record player.

You made a chuckle. " Alastor, how did you find a restaurant like this down here in hell? This part of the entertainment district is not typically your cup of tea, but I never thought there was a restaurant like this here. "

" Oh, I pulled a few strings. Old favors. You would be surprised at how many chefs have made it down here. " Alastor took ahold of his cup, a small laugh echoed by a laugh track.

You take a drink of rye, the flavor was stong and rich, more than the other bottles you've had since coming down here. You look at the bottle closer. The labeling was so familiar, and then you realized with your heart skipping. A bottle from home. New Orleans. How did Alastor manage that?

He did all this for you?

You kept that thought in mind as the dinner arrived quickly to the table. You made a small laugh and you looked at him with a soft gaze. " I haven't had this meal since before the stock market crash. " You admitted. " And I would ask how you got ahold of this bottle, but I know you will just say you called in a few favors. "

Alastor made a small hum in his throat and he picked up the cloth napkin and placed it so it would catch anything that might make a mess of his shirt and pants. " It's one of the first bottles we shared together. Though, it is a vintage just a tad past our time, but nonetheless. " He shifted and his expression was unreasonable past his smile. " I thought it was appropriate. " He took a drink.

You picked up your knife and fork, you began to slice the chicken -or the closest thing to real chicken one could get down here. It felt a bit surreal. Different yet the same sitting with him like this. Comfortable yet you still felt the nerves digging in. You fell silent as the clanking of metal against porcelain mixed with the melody of the room.

You felt something against your skin and you blinked as you glanced up and you saw Alastor reached over swiped the bit of rue that had gotten on the corner of your lips. Shit. Shit. You had to keep your breathing even. It was so gentle. He made a chuckle and raised an eyebrow at you as he moved the cloth napkin back into place.

" Something wrong?" He asked. Though he seemed amused as he began to cut his next chunk of meat.

Teasing.

He's teasing you.

But it was different than when he would tease you before.

Your shoulders relax. " Oh, nothing. " You let a gentle smile come to your lips. " Oh, I saw that Sir Pentious got to keep the egg creatures. " You commented as you took a bite of chicken. " And he actually seems to be listening to the silly lessons that Ms. Charlie seem to be giving him. "

For a moment Alastor looked like he was thinking for a moment then snapped his fingers, " Ah, the man who ruined my coat. "

You snorted a laugh and covered your mouth with your hand. " Yes. The man who ruined your coat. "

Alastor shrugged a little with one shoulder. " Doesn't matter to me very much if her lessons actually make a difference. Infact, with him actually putting his whole heart into it, it will be even more savory when he fails. "

" As twisted as that is, I agree with you. " You mess around with the chuck of chicken, swirling it around in the rue. " What's the point of hell if you can just.... Get out with good behavior. Not that I get my kicks from it exactly. "

Alastor chuckled. " It's just an amusing notion. " He hummed as he took the last bite of chicken and then wiped the corners of his lips of. His large stretched smile returned shortly after. He reached over and picked up the bottle and refilled your cup. " But no, not your cup of tea. "

" Not exactly no. " You laugh gently. " But I understand.... In a way.... I guess. " You smiled and you take another drink of your glass of whiskey. " Though I found that I like that I can't exactly figure why you do things."

" I think I feel the same. " He looked at you, his soft smile hidden behind his glass. " You, Mon Cher, are an engima. A puzzle at times. And apparently very good at hiding things from me, which I thought was an impossible task."

You chuckle and smile, playful and coy as you lean a little across the table. " Maybe you weren't as good as you thought. "

Alastor made a small laugh, and he slowly drummed his fingers on the glass as he set it down. " Oh ho ho... Bold today." He stood up and with one arm tucked behind his back, his other hand extended out to you. " There is one thing you can't deny I am the best at. "

You felt heat rose to your cheeks and you put on a smile as you take his hand. " Cooking?"

" Cheeky. " He pulled you to your feet, all the way till you brushed against his chest, he looked down at you with a laugh and a crooked smile.

" You started it. " You retort as you try to keep your heart from leaping out of your ribcage. You earned a small laugh.

Alastor lead you out to the dancefloor, polished hardwood and the tapping of heels and hooves mixed with the music already being played. His hand was warm as it held your delicately, he spun you in your heel so you were facing him and his other hand rested on your hip. Your free hand went to his shoulder and the soft silk fabric of the black and red pinstripe jacket glided under your touch.

The song slowly fades to a new one. It was soft at first then it began to swell as Alastor began to guide you across the floor in a slow waltz. His other hand slid from your hip to your lower back as he pulled you in closer. Your step in lined with his as you felt the sway of his body with the music.

"Y/N ...." Alastor's voice was gentle in your ear with a slight hum of static under it. " You know I have always enjoyed your company. "

You look up and meet the red eyes of the Radio Demon. A man who used to just be a radio host in New Orleans. To you, just Alastor.

" This.... " He took you and twirled you as the music rose and then pulled you in as it fell to a lower note. " Feeling you invoke inside me... " He leaned down, his breath ticked your ear. " And with you keeping such a good hold of your own feelings, it made it easy to write it off for the most part. Though I can't simply ignore someone like you slipping away from my grasp. "

" Alastor...."

He pulled from a little bit from your ear and looked at you with a tilt of his head and a gentle smile. " I could get used to you like this, you are so free with your expressions now. "

" You enjoy teasing me. "

" Oh, yes... I find that, " his hand went from your lower back to your chin, his thumb right under your lips, "It is wonderful to see that shade of red on your cheeks. Those little looks all saved for me. " He smelled a bit like the rye whiskey. " I wonder what other expressions you have in store for me. Little noises you possibly might make."

You felt your breath caught in your throat.

Oh, the thoughts that ran through your head.

" Might I cut in? Seeing as you already cut in on my date, I might as well get a chance to dance with her. " A condescending laugh echoed.

A record scratch came from Alastor as his eyesight broke from yours . " Oh?"

Vox.

Shit.

Vox stood a few feet away, arms tucked behind him but his stance was firm. He wore pressed black pants with a light blue around the bottom hem of the slacks, his white button up and pure red vest was obviously freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. He stared at Alastor with narrowed eyes on his monitor.

" I don't believe I will, old friend. " Alastor held you in place and he stained his smile as he looked at Vox.

Vox made a laugh, hard and short. " Old friend. Funny. " He offered one hand out. " But I believe the lady has the choice."

" She already did make her choice. You should have stayed in your little tower. " Alastor laughed and he tapped his hoof.

" You didn't even want her until she was going to come to me. Just admit that you don't want me having something you think is yours."

You looked at Alastor for a moment then back to Vox. For a moment you felt your gut twist. Did Alastor really just didn't want Vox to have you? That couldn't be all....

Vox looked at you with a grin. " Y/N , you know that you don't want to be someone's second choice. You wouldn't with me. You enjoyed your time with me at the tower, I could show you the future. I could show you a lot more than this washup. "

" I... Vox, I..." You began.

Alastor slapped the hand away. " She isn't a second choice. " He made a sharp laugh and the lights in the restaurant flickered. " You are ignorant if you believe that. "

Vox growled and tucked his hand back behind his back.

You felt the air crackle a little between them. You tap Alastor's arm. He slowly lets go of you but you could feel the hesitation. You turn to Vox and give him a slight smile. " I did enjoy our time.... And I am sorry I cancelled on you. Though, Vox, I really don't think I would fit with you and the others at the tower. Even though I know you would try to make me feel at home. "

" I ...." Vox blinked and his stance shifted, he seemed a loss for words. You could feel Alastor's hand on your shoulder. Tight, almost to much.

" You need someone who's a bit more up with the times, Vox. I don't think someone who holds into so much would be a good partner for you. " You took a few steps to close the distance and kissed the edge of his screen, you took a step back and felt the gentle pull of Alastor as he tucked you against his side. It made your heart flutter in your chest. You look up at Alastor. " Let's go back to the hotel."

" As you wish, Mon Cher, I think that would be a more appropriate place to finish the evening. " Alastor gave a look you couldn't see to Vox as he began to gently guide you off the dancefloor.

The shadows swallowed you and Alastor like 'lava' being broken up in a lava lamp. It was always weird when you were suddenly teleported like this. Alastor couldn't go far distances but he used his powers to take you outside of the restaurant. You saw a gleam of a bottle in his other hand that didnt hold you firmly against his side. He must have snagged the rye from the table before the two of you absconded.

Alastor tapped his cane and a pitch black town car -much like he owned beforehand - formed, it glowed an eerie green under the wheel wells. He opened up the door for you and finally let his grasp of you go.

" We aren't walking this time?"

" No, I would rather not any more interupptions to our evening. " Alastor closed the door as you got safely inside.

He walked around the vehicle and climbed into the driver side. It had been a long time since you seen him behind the wheel. 1932? It must have been around then. You kind of missed it, the nights on the town after having to many bottles at Mimzy's. Driving with no destination as Alastor spoke of how he had planned to make it big in New York next. Practicing night and day to be able to hide his accent for the city folk up north. He talked of hunting in a new forest as well, but now you know the truth of that matter.

Alastor leisurely drove through the steets of Pentagram City, the hotel a growing monument between the curving streets. You felt something rest on your knee, you glance from the unsightly scenery of hell down to your leg. Alastor's hand rested gently on your knee of your crossed legs, his thumb rubbed gently across the joint. You let a small breath out, you had been holding it as soon as you had felt his hand.

" Would you prefer Louis Armstrong tonight or Duke Ellington? I will play anything you want over the broadcast. "

" I, oh, well I suppose Armstrong. "

He made a small hum. " Then I know the perfect album."

He pulled into the circle drive of the hotel and got out. Alastor strider around the front of the vehicle, twirling his cane around before he reached your door and opened it up. He tapped it lightly as he helped you out of the car, which melted like it never existed. Alastor took your arm and linked it with his as he escorted you into the hotel. You blushed deeply as you noticed the group of residents residing in the hotel has chosen right now to be doing one of their bonding exorcises.

Angel Dust was the first of them to notice the two of you making your way up the hotel steps. He wolf whistled. " Oh don't the two of you look all fancy~ "

You felt the heat in your cheeks. Alastor didn't falter in his steps. Though you now you were going to get shook down for details later as you and Alastor made your escape to the next floor of the hotel. You were thankful most wouldn't venture to Alastor's domain of the hotel. At least you wouldn't have to endure the comments from Angel or Charlie asking a million questions in a single minute. You could deal with that later.

Alastor opened the door that lead into the broadcast tower, he let you in first before closing the door quietly behind him a few things looked different than the last time you had seen it. A few record albums had been laid out on the desk with the equipment. A second chair had been placed just a little adjacent to his usual seat. You hadn't the time before the date to see into the broadcast room.

Alastor walked past you with a hum in his throat, he set the bottle of rye down on the table next to the albums and picked one up. You walked over next to him and peered over his shoulder as he placed the record into the phonograph. You smiled softly and listened as the soft tones of a saxophone began to play and fill the room and the airwaves of hell. Alastor's hums became part of the melody as he turned and with one hand behind his back and the other offered to you.

You look at his hand then to his face, hoping to read his expression as you placed your hand in his. " Hmm?"

" I still wish to finish the dance that was so rudely interrupted. " He pulled you in swiftly and he chuckled. " Though a bit more our speed yes?"

You made a laugh as his fingers lace with yours. Was that your heartbeat or his? His smile was soft as he moved you to the music, the tapping of your heels and his hooves in sync with the beat. You could hear his breath as he pulled you in against his chest and swirled your upper body in a half circle of a dip. His hands felt large as the spread oun your back and kept your weight up.

You felt a bubble of a giggle escape as you felt his hands slide to your hips and pick you up with ease and slid you between his legs and back up into the air. Your arms slid around his neck as he settled you down lower, you had to stand on the tips of your toes as the song came to its more gentle end. Your breath was a bit ragged. Your heart felt like it was in a fight with your ribcage, it beat hard and fast as his forehead settled against yours.

"Alastor...."

His name barely left your lips when you tasted a sharp blend of copper and whiskey. His lips were softer than you thought, they pressed almost chastely against yours at first- as if Alastor was nervous of the experience to begin with. His fingers glided up your forearm and gently grasped around your bicep. You gently kissed him back, your own nerves making your skin tingle a little. You felt a sharp prick after a moment, a gasp came out of your throat and you pulled back. You licked your lip and a little bit of blood came to the surface of your bottom lip.

Alastor had a smirk on his lips as he licked the bit of blood from the end of a sharp tooth. He spoke in such a way that reminded you of a dull hum of a radio broadcast left running.

"Mon Cher.... How I adore you."

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