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cheftsunoda · 3 days ago

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he put me first — ka12 (part two)

smau + blurbs

kimi antonelli x !estranged leclerc sister reader

yn always fell on the back burner for her family, never truly seen. her father was the only one who ever made her feel like she mattered. when he passed, the distance between her and her siblings—charles, arthur, lorenzo—only grew wider. she felt more like a shadow than a sister. desperate to escape the weight of monaco and the name that never really felt like hers, she left for italy with nothing but a suitcase and a tearful phone call to her godparents. that was five years ago.

a year into her new life in bologna, she met a boy. kimi antonelli—soft-spoken, kind-eyed, and utterly unlike anyone she’d ever known. they were just kids when they met, but something about him felt like home. they’ve been inseparable ever since. now, five years later, both 18 years old, yn and kimi have been together for three years. he’s the only person who’s ever truly seen her. but everything changes when kimi is offered a spot in formula 1. because standing on that grid? is her brother. and kimi has no idea who she really is.

fc : darianka on ig

part one here

present day (IG public)

its_yn

575,090 likes.

its_yn : short little trip to celebrate this sweet angel getting an f1 seat. so proud of you my boy.

tagged : kimi.antonelli

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kimi.antonelli : we are here to celebrate you as well, amore mio. the prettiest girl in the world<3

liked by its_yn

veronica.antonelli : i miei bellissimi bambini. divertitevi tantissimo. (my beautiful kids. have so much fun)

liked by its_yn and kimi.antonelli

antonelli_1807 : molto orgoglioso di voi due! (very proud of you both!)

liked by its_yn and kimi.antonelli

arthur_leclerc liked a post from its_yn

26s ago

kimi.antonelli

liked by mercedesamgf1, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63 & 1,1509,007 others.

kimi.antonelli : trip to celebrate my gf being so beautiful <3

its_yn : oml ur making me blushhhhh. love you to the moon and back.

liked by kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli : love you even more than that, pretty girl:)

username00 : idec that she is a leclerc- this is so fucking cute.

mercedesamgf1 : SO cute! Can't wait to see you both!

liked by its_yn and kimi.antonelli

georgerussell63 : Soak up all the vacation time now while you can, kid! Welcome Aboard.

liked by its_yn and kimi.antonelli

The late afternoon sun poured through the balcony doors, turning the whole room golden. The ocean breeze fluttered the gauzy curtains, and somewhere down on the beach, a kid was laughing. Kimi’s arm was draped around my waist, his skin warm from the sun, his breathing soft and steady beside me. It was quiet. Safe. One of those rare moments where the world felt like it had finally stopped spinning.

I had my phone in one hand, scrolling lazily through the comments on our latest posts — his vacation dump with me in it, my photo of the seashells he’d carefully lined along my thigh. It was the first time we hadn’t hidden. No cropping. No cryptic captions. Just… us. I smiled to myself, heat rising in my cheeks all over again when I reread his caption.

"Trip to celebrate my girlfriend being so beautiful."

And then everything stopped. Right beneath the hundreds of likes, just above a flurry of usernames I didn’t recognize, there it was. My stomach dropped. I refreshed the screen, heart pounding now.

charles_leclerc liked this.

I flipped to my post.

arthur_leclerc liked your post.

No. No, no, no. My chest tightened. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The soft, calm world we were wrapped in shattered in a second. I sat up too quickly, nearly kicking the blanket off the bed. My phone trembled in my hands.

“Woah,” Kimi said behind me, still half-draped across the bed. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. My mind was spinning, spiraling into panic.

He sat up slowly, reaching for my hand. “Babe?”

“They saw,” I whispered. “They know.”

Kimi frowned. “Who saw what?”

I shoved the phone into his hand, my heart in my throat. “Look. Look who liked them.”

He glanced down, blinking at the screen. “Charles Leclerc? And… Arthur? Wait—what’s the big deal?”

I stared at him. He blinked again. “Do you know them or something?”

A laugh — broken and tight — escaped my throat. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Kimi tilted his head, confused, concern starting to flicker in his eyes. “YN…”

I sat back on my heels, tugging the blanket over my legs like it could shield me from the weight of what I was about to say.

“They’re my brothers.”

He stilled.

“Arthur and Charles,” I continued, voice cracking. “They’re my brothers. I’m… I’m a Leclerc.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me like I’d knocked the wind out of him. I rushed ahead, the words tumbling now. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to change things. Because when I left Monaco, I left them. I left the name. The life. All of it. I was just the kid no one really noticed, the youngest who never quite fit in, and after our dad died…” My voice faltered. “I couldn’t breathe in that house anymore. So I left. And I never told anyone where I went. Until you.”

Kimi was still staring. Not cold. Not angry. Just… absorbing.

I tried to pull away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier. You must think I’m—”

His arms were around me before I could finish. Firm. Steady. Safe. He pulled me right into his chest and held me like I wasn’t broken or selfish or anything I feared he might now see me as.

“I don’t care what your last name is,” he said quietly. “I care about you. The girl I met on that street in Bologna. The one who listened to my rants about karting and let me put seashells all over her and laughs at my stupid bucket hats.”

I laughed, watery and shaking.

“You’re YN to me. And if your brothers are only just realizing how incredible you are, that’s on them. You don’t owe them anything.”

“I was scared they’d take this away from me,” I whispered. “That I’d lose you too.”

He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes. “They don’t get to take you from me. Ever.”

The weight of five years lifted from my chest like a tide pulling back. And in the middle of it all — ocean breeze, golden light, and this boy who never once let me fall — I finally, finally let myself breathe.

random fluff (yn and kimi enjoying the rest of their time before the season starts)

Maggie had her tiny hand wrapped around mine and Kimi’s, dragging us through the gates with all the intensity.

“It’s the big blue slide first!” she declared. “No time for baby rides.”

Kimi groaned dramatically beside me. “Why am I doing this again?”

“Because you love your sister,” I teased, “and because I promised you frozen mango slush.”

“Bribery,” he muttered.

“Highly effective bribery,” I replied with a grin.

We spent the afternoon soaked — racing Maggie down slides, clinging to inner tubes in the wave pool, and drifting through the lazy river while she babbled about turtles and pop stars and the time Kimi cried because he lost his water wings at six.

“Maggie,” Kimi gasped, scandalized.

She beamed. “She’s practically family, she deserves to know!”

My heart ached — in the best, softest way. When she finally passed out in the backseat on the way home, her curls tangled against my shoulder, I felt Kimi’s eyes on me.

“You’re good with her,” he murmured.

I glanced over, brushing Maggie’s hair off her face. “I think for the first time in my life… I actually feel like I belong somewhere.”

He didn’t say anything. Just reached over and took my hand, like he already knew.

Everything hurt. The shoot was dragging, the sun was brutal, and someone kept trying to convince me a fur bolero was a summer staple. I was seconds away from breaking into tears when the photographer called for a break. I dropped into a chair like it owed me something, balancing a water bottle against my forehead, trying not to scream.

“Long day?”

My heart stuttered. I looked up — and there he was. Kimi. Wearing my favorite soft white tee, curls messy from the heat, and holding a massive bouquet of pink peonies. My favorite flowers.

“What—how—Kimi?”

He just smiled like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Thought you could use a break. Also brought snacks and these.”

He pulled my cloud-print fuzzy slides out of his bag. I could’ve cried.

“My heels—”

“Yeah, I could hear you cursing them from the parking lot,” he said with a grin, crouching down to take them off for me.

I stared at him as he worked — this beautiful, quiet boy who just… showed up for me.

“You’re unreal,” I whispered.

He looked up, his fingers brushing over my ankle. “Nah. Just yours.”

Dinner with Kimi’s family always felt like home.

His mom had made too much food again, his dad was yelling (lovingly) about god knows what, and Maggie was next to me rating the fashion choices of her classmates on a scale of “icon” to “absolutely not.”

“You’re coming to my school day, right?” she asked, poking my arm.

I smiled, nudging her gently. “Obviously. I need to judge everyone who tries to talk to you.”

She grinned like I’d just handed her the moon.

Kimi leaned in from the other side of the table, whispering, “I think she likes you better than me now.”

I smirked. “She has standards.”

Later, we drifted outside into the garden, where fairy lights tangled in the trees and crickets hummed in the distance. Kimi pulled me toward the corner where it was just us, quiet and warm and glowing under the stars.

“You fit here,” he murmured, his forehead resting against mine.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ve never fit anywhere like this before.”

His hand found mine, our fingers lacing together in that way that always made me feel steady.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, and something in me finally, finally settled.

I leaned up to kiss him, slow and sure, while the world kept spinning — and for once, I wasn’t trying to outrun it.

I barely made it through the front gate before Maggie came flying at me in a blur of pink and glitter.

“YOU CAME!” she shrieked, wrapping her arms around my waist so tightly I almost lost balance. “You actually came!”

I laughed, crouching down to hug her properly. “Of course I came. I wouldn’t miss your big day for anything.”

She looked me over with wide eyes and a proud little grin. “You look like you belong in a movie.”

Kimi arrived behind me just in time to catch that, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I told her she looked like a model this morning, but I guess it means more coming from you.”

Maggie shrugged and grabbed my hand immediately. “She is a model. And also my best friend. You’re just my brother.”

Kimi let out a very dramatic gasp, but I couldn’t stop giggling as she dragged me inside, clutching my hand like she was scared someone would try to take me away.

The classroom was filled with nervous parents, squeaky chairs, and chaotic projects made of pipe cleaners and too much glue. Maggie introduced me to every single classmate like I was her golden ticket to popularity.

“This is YN. She lives in Italy. She models for like... real brands. She helped me pick out this outfit too.”

When the teacher came by, smiling warmly, Maggie puffed out her chest. “This is my special guest, YN. And that’s my brother, but mostly YN.”

I glanced at Kimi, who just lifted his hands like, what can I say? I squeezed Maggie’s hand and let her lead me to her desk, where she proudly showed off a drawing of me, Kimi, and her — with hearts scribbled around us and a speech bubble over my head that said “best ever.”

Something about it made my chest ache. The kind of ache that came from feeling wanted in a way I hadn’t in a very long time. Later, during story time, Maggie curled into my side without hesitation, resting her head on my shoulder and humming softly while the teacher read out loud. Her small fingers stayed tangled in mine the whole time. She didn’t even look at Kimi when he waved from across the room. I was her person right now. And that meant something. Afterward, as we walked back to the car, Kimi gently reached up and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. His eyes were soft, serious.

“She really loves you,” he said.

“I really love her,” I whispered.

“You’re… really good to her, you know?”

I looked down, smiling to myself. “She makes me feel like I’m someone worth being around. That’s kind of rare.”

Kimi stopped walking, pulling me in by the hand. “You are so worth being around, YN. You’re… it’s not just Maggie. It’s all of us.”

I blinked up at him, heart doing that messy, fluttery thing.

“I’m glad she has you,” he added. “But I’m really glad I do too.”

It was just after dinner when Maggie slipped onto the couch beside me, fresh from her bath and wrapped in a towel that was slightly too big, her damp curls still dripping against her shoulders. She leaned her head on my arm like she always did when she was working up to something.

“Mags?” I asked, smiling.

She looked up at me with those big eyes and whispered, “Can you sleep over tonight?”

I blinked. “Tonight?”

She nodded, fiddling with the edge of her towel. “I just feel better when you’re here. And it was the best day ever and I want it to keep going.”

I felt something stir in my chest — that soft ache again, the one I always got when she did things like this. It never failed to knock the air out of me that someone could need me this much. That I could be someone’s safe place.

“I’d love to sleep over,” I whispered back.

She squealed, launching herself at me with damp arms and the sweetest giggle, shouting, “Kimi! She said yes!”

He called back from the kitchen, “If she takes the good side of the bed again, I’m filing a complaint!”

“Too bad!” she shouted, already running down the hallway to get her stuffed animals ready.

I stood up, still smiling to myself when I heard footsteps behind me. Kimi’s mom. She gave me that soft, familiar smile and walked over, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“She’s so attached to you,” she said gently, nodding toward the hall where Maggie had disappeared. “Honestly, we all are.”

I looked down, a little flustered. “She’s… she means the world to me. All of you do.”

She reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear — something my own mother hadn’t done in years.

“You know,” she said softly, “I always wondered what it would be like if we had another daughter.”

I swallowed hard.

“And now I don’t wonder anymore.”

That did it — my eyes stung, throat tight with emotion I hadn’t expected.

“I never really felt like I had a family before,” I admitted quietly. “Not one that saw me. Not like this.”

She pulled me into a hug that felt like everything I had been missing since I was a little girl.

“Well,” she whispered, “then I hope you know we see you. We love you. And you’ve always got a home here, YN.”

I buried my face in her shoulder, trying not to cry like a baby. And later, when Maggie tucked herself into my side in her tiny twin bed, whispering sleepover secrets and asking if we could do this every Friday forever, I just held her close and whispered, “Yeah, baby. Every Friday. Forever if you want.”

Because I finally had something I never thought I’d have again. A family. One that chose me. One I chose right back.

I was sitting on the couch, half-listening to Maggie and Kimi playing quietly nearby. Maggie was building a tower with blocks, and Kimi was patiently helping her, his smile soft and warm.

Suddenly, Maggie looked up at Kimi with those big, serious eyes and asked, “Kimiiiii?”

He turned to her, smiling. “Yes, Maggie?”

“Will YN be my sister someday?”

Before he could answer, she tilted her head and added, “And will you marry her?”

My heart stopped. I froze, pretending to be engrossed in the magazine on my lap, but I was listening.

Kimi chuckled softly, brushing a stray curl from Maggie’s forehead. “Well, YN is already like a sister to you, isn’t she?”

Maggie nodded quickly, her eyes shining. “Yeah!”

“And marrying YN?” Kimi said with a grin, “That’s a pretty big question.”

Maggie smiled wide and looked at me. “I think you should! Because then we’d all be family forever.”

Kimi pulled her into a hug and laughed quietly. “I think that sounds like a perfect plan.”

He glanced over at me with that gentle smile that always made my heart flutter. Tears prickled my eyes.

Later, when Kimi caught my eye, he whispered, “Looks like Maggie’s already making plans for us.”

I smiled back, my heart full. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

its_yn

liked by carmenmmundt, kimi.antonelli, arthur_leclerc & 1,875,054 others.

its_yn : emptying out the ol camera roll

dior : we are in LOVE with you

liked by its_yn

its_yn : the feeling is mutual

mercedesamgf1 : photo dump game - ELITE

liked by its_yn and kimi.antonelli

username00 : they r so in love it is adorable

carmenmmundt : So so cute, YN! Can't wait to see you again:)

liked by its_yn

its_yn : same here! maybe we can beat kimi and george in padel again??

georgerussell63 : this never happened - she is LYINGGGG

liked by its_yn and kimi.antonelli

its_yn : whatever helps you sleep at night georgieeee

kimi.antonelli : if you adore her

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its_yn : dior her<3

username15 : god fuck they are too cute

kimi.antonelli : also maggie says thank you for including her in the photo dump

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its_yn : tell her next time it'll be all maggie no kimi

liked by kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli : BOOOOOOOO

(enough fluff lets dive into drama shall we)

We were sitting together in the quiet of the evening, the soft hum of the city below barely reaching us. The mood had shifted — heavier now. Kimi looked at me with a weight in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

“YN,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “there’s the F1 75 event coming up. It’s a big deal for me… for my career. And, well...I want you there."

My heart clenched. Just the thought of them made my throat tighten. The past I’d been trying to leave behind, the family I’d pushed away — all right there in front of me.

Kimi reached for my hand, his grip gentle but steady. “I want you to come with me. I want to be with you through this, but I know it’s going to be hard.”

I looked down, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s not just hard, Kimi. It’s… painful. Seeing them again, being around them when I’ve spent years trying to forget, trying to heal.”

He nodded, eyes soft with understanding. “I don’t want to push you. But I also don’t want to hide this part of my life from you. You’re important to me — I want you there, by my side.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. “I’m scared. Scared they’ll see me and remember everything I wanted to escape. What if they don’t understand why I left?”

Kimi’s voice was steady, filled with quiet strength. “Then I’ll be there. We’ll face it together. You’re not alone.”

I took a shaky breath and met his gaze, the love and sincerity in his eyes steadying me.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll come. But only if you promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“That we take it slow. And if it gets too much, we walk away. Together.”

He smiled softly, brushing a tear from my cheek.

“Deal. We face it on our terms. Together.”

For the first time in a long time, I felt the courage to confront the past — because I wasn’t alone anymore.

mercedesamgf1

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, georgerussell63 and 890,005 others.

mercedesamgf1 : A few of our favorite faces at the F175 event tonight!

tagged : georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, carmenmmundt and its_yn

username00 : WAIT— her and CHARLES are in the same room?????? this is not a drill.

username15 : not kimi looking like a lovesick golden retriever 😭 the way he’s holding her 😭😭😭

username20 : the way this was probably so hard for her but she showed up for kimi- they are endgame

username7 : okay but imagine being charles rn watching your estranged baby sister SERVE on your home turf

username18 : charles & arthur liked the post and they’re IN THE ROOM WITH HER??? can someone get me popcorn

username9 : someone film charles' reaction to seeing her. I just know his jaw dropped

username15 : it did. video on twitter

username9 : damn the cameras were messy tonight

third person pov

The night sparkled under the bright lights of the red carpet, filled with the hum of anticipation and flashes from cameras. YN stood beside Kimi, her hand securely in his, the two of them a striking image against the backdrop of the buzzing crowd.

She felt grounded — partly because of Kimi’s calm presence, but also because of familiar faces nearby. George Russell and his girlfriend Carmen were just a few steps away, friendly smiles and warm eyes offering a safe haven in the whirlwind of the event. YN had grown close to them over the past months, their easy kindness a balm to the unease that still lingered beneath the surface.

She gave George a bright smile when their eyes met. “Hey, you two,” she greeted, nodding at Carmen as well, who responded with a welcoming wave.

“It’s good to see you again, YN,” Carmen said softly, squeezing her hand gently.

Their presence settled some of the nerves curling in her stomach, but YN’s charm was far from quiet. As Kimi led her further into the crowd, she effortlessly shifted into conversation mode, engaging other members of the team with a warm, genuine energy that made them listen.

Toto Wolff offered a nod of approval when she approached, and YN met his gaze with steady confidence. “We’re glad to have you around, YN. You fit right in.”

She laughed lightly, glancing over at Lando Norris, who was teasing Kimi. YN wove effortlessly into the banter, her smile radiant, her laughter genuine. Drivers and team members alike were drawn to her warmth and quick wit. Yet, just beyond the glowing lights and the lively chatter, two shadows lingered.

Charles Leclerc and Arthur stood apart, eyes locked on YN’s confident figure. Charles’s voice was low, almost reluctant. “Look at her… she’s nothing like I remembered.”

Arthur’s gaze was sharp, calculating. “She’s grown into someone unrecognizable. Strong. Controlled. Far from the girl who left.”

Charles exhaled quietly, his eyes lingering on YN as she laughed with Kimi and their friends. “She’s so grown, so beautiful.” he muttered, almost to himself, a mixture of awe and something heavier in his tone.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “We need to be careful. She’s not just part of Kimi’s life now — she’s part of this world.”

Charles nodded, conflicted. “We thought we lost her. But now… she’s back. And she’s not the same.”

The buzz of the F175 event dimmed slightly as the ceremony broke for intermission. Waitstaff floated through the room with champagne flutes, soft jazz replacing the louder fanfare from earlier. Guests scattered into small pockets of conversation, the glow of chandeliers casting golden halos over them.

At the far side of the room, YN stood laughing gently with Carmen and a few designers from one of her recent shoots, her glass untouched in her hand, her dress catching the light like sea foam. She looked radiant—comfortable, even—but there was still a carefulness in her eyes. A subconscious vigilance she couldn’t quite shake. Across the room, Charles saw her.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Her back was turned, head tilted as she smiled softly at something George said. Her laughter carried just far enough to reach his ears, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. She sounded older. Lighter. Like someone who had learned how to live without them.

He didn’t move at first, unsure, torn between years of guilt and the fear that she’d look through him like he was a stranger. But then—his feet shifted. He started toward her. One step. Then another. He only made it halfway across the floor before a hand landed firmly on his chest.

Charles blinked, startled by the wall of quiet steel in front of him—Kimi Antonelli. The younger man wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t raising his voice. But the warning in his posture, the steady calm in his eyes, spoke louder than words ever could.

“Don’t,” Kimi said softly.

Charles frowned, trying to peer past him. “I just want to talk to her.”

“She’s not ready,” Kimi replied, voice quiet but firm. “And I won’t let you catch her off guard. Not like this. Not here.”

For a second, Charles said nothing. He looked over Kimi’s shoulder again, at his little sister—now grown into someone he barely recognized. She was smiling as she reached for Carmen’s hand, showing her something on her phone. Oblivious to the man who had tried, far too late, to walk back into her life.

Kimi stepped slightly to the side, his body still angled in front of Charles as if daring him to try again. “You’ll speak to her when she wants to. Not when it suits you.”

Charles met his gaze and realized something then—that this wasn’t a teenage crush. Kimi wasn’t some placeholder or passing phase. He loved her. Fiercely. Enough to protect her from ghosts she hadn’t yet chosen to face. After a long, taut pause, Charles nodded once and stepped back.

Kimi didn’t move until he had fully turned away. Only then did he glance back toward YN, checking to make sure she was still deep in conversation—safe, unaware, untouched by the storm just barely avoided.

He exhaled and headed back toward her, the tension in his shoulders softening the moment he reached her side. She smiled up at him, not knowing what he had just done for her. But Kimi didn’t mind. He’d wait until she was ready. And until then, he'd keep every shadow at bay.

f1gossipgirls

1,090,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, The Leclerc Family drama has officially made it to the paddock. Kimi Antonelli arrived to today's race with none other than his girlfriend, YN. (The Leclerc's estranged sister) The two were also accompanied to the track by Kimi's parents and his little sister. YN was seen walking Maggie around the paddock hand in hand when she was stopped by Charles Leclerc. We are unsure what happened at this time.

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your point of view

There’s a particular kind of hum in the paddock on race day—half electricity, half nerves. It starts low, building beneath your feet, curling in your stomach. I’d never felt it like this before. Not from the sidelines. Not as his person. The car door swung open and I blinked into the morning sun, blinded more by the flashing cameras than the light itself. I took a breath. Steady, practiced. This was part of it now.

Kimi was already out on the other side, waiting, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the way his entire posture softened when he looked at me. He circled around the car and held out his hand wordlessly. I didn’t even hesitate.

The moment our palms met, the world quieted just enough. Behind us, his mom, dad, and Maggie stepped out of the other car. Maggie immediately rushed toward me with a squeal, wrapping her arms around my arm like she always did when she was excited. I smiled, bending just enough to whisper, “Big day, huh?” and she nodded, wide-eyed. Kimi ruffled her hair before she darted back to their parents, full of energy.

We started walking together, the five of us, toward the entrance gates. His dad threw an arm casually around Kimi’s shoulder, and his mom slipped on her sunglasses and gave me a wink. It didn’t matter how many times I’d been around them—being with them like this, part of their rhythm, always made something in me ache with gratitude.

And then the noise really started. Cameras clicking. Voices shouting.

“YN! Is that Chanel?”

“Kimi, how are you feeling for your first race?!”

“Look here, just one photo!”

My hand instinctively tightened in his, and his thumb started tracing slow circles against my skin. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. He was here. We were here. And nothing else mattered. I smiled. Not for the cameras. For me.

Because Kimi was about to debut in Formula 1. His dream was becoming real. And I had the privilege of standing right beside him—grounded by love, protected by the family that had become mine, and stronger than I had ever been before.

The paddock was alive in that pre-race kind of way—buzzing, kinetic, almost too loud. But Maggie’s small hand wrapped in mine helped settle the static in my chest.

She tugged me toward every garage we passed, asking questions a mile a minute. “Is that George’s car? Do you think Toto remembers me?”

I laughed, heart lighter than it had been all morning. “One question at a time, Mags.”

Being with her made the chaos feel quieter. It reminded me of the good things. Of the family I’d built for myself. We had just turned the corner near the media pen, heading back toward the hospitality suite, when I heard it.

“YN?”

The sound of my name—his voice—made me stop cold.

I turned slowly, pulse spiking, already knowing who it was before I saw them. Charles and Arthur. They stood a few feet away in their Ferrari gear, both staring at me like I wasn’t real. Like I was a memory they hadn’t expected to walk out of the past and into this place. Arthur’s jaw tightened. Charles looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“You look…” Charles began, then trailed off. His eyes searched mine. “You look grown up.”

I held onto Maggie’s hand a little tighter, grounding myself. “It’s been a while,” I said, and I was proud of how steady I sounded. Detached, even.

Arthur stepped forward slightly. “YN—”

“Maggie,” I interrupted softly, crouching down to her level, keeping my tone light but urgent. “Can you do me a favor, sweet girl?”

She nodded instantly. “Of course!”

“Run back to hospitality and get Kimi, okay? Tell him I’m right here.”

Maggie’s eyes flicked to the two men behind me—her smile faltered, but she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, and then she took off, little legs moving fast.

I stood back up, spine straight. The silence between me and my brothers hung thick in the air.

Charles looked down at the ground before lifting his eyes again. “We didn’t know you were here. We didn’t know you were her.”

I raised an eyebrow. “No. You didn’t know anything, because you never asked.”

Arthur flinched. Charles looked like he wanted to close the distance between us but didn’t dare. “We… we saw the pictures. With Kimi. You’re happy?”

The question hit something soft in me, but I didn’t let it show. “Yes,” I said simply.

And just then—like he’d felt it—Kimi arrived. He barely glanced at them. His hand immediately found the small of my back, and he stepped in front of me, protective without saying a single word. Calm, steady, but unshakably firm.

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyes flicking between me and the two men.

I nodded. “Now it is.”

Choose your ending!

agreeing to try to mend things with your family- starts here

But even as I said it, I felt the weight of their presence in front of me—two ghosts I’d spent five years running from.

Charles stepped forward first, slower than I remembered him ever moving. As if the wrong step would make me disappear all over again.

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice rough and low. “I didn’t know how bad it had gotten. If I had…”

“But you did,” I replied softly. “You just didn’t ask.”

Arthur was beside him, visibly uneasy. He looked older too. The same face that used to tease me for stealing his hoodies now looked...hollow. Tired.

“I don’t have excuses,” he said. “We were wrong. We didn’t see you.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t let the silence crush me. Not this time.

“You made me feel invisible,” I whispered. “After Papa… it was like I disappeared and none of you noticed.”

Charles’s expression cracked. “We noticed. We just… didn’t know how to fix it. So we stayed quiet. And that was the worst thing we could’ve done.”

I blinked quickly, fighting the pressure behind my eyes. I wasn’t here to break down. I had Kimi. I had a new family. A new world. But that didn’t mean the old pain was gone.

Kimi’s hand moved gently to my waist, a quiet show of support, of presence. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him beside me, steady as ever.

“We’re not here to force anything,” Arthur added, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “We just wanted to say we’re sorry. And if—if—you ever wanted to let us in again… we’ll be here.”

The moment sat there between us like glass—sharp, fragile.

I could feel the heat of Kimi’s body behind me. His thumb stroked a small, grounding circle at my hip. My silence wasn’t hesitation—it was deliberation. For the first time, I was in control of this story.

“I’m not saying I forgive you,” I said finally, slowly. “And I’m not ready to start over. I don’t know if I ever fully will be.”

They both nodded, eyes glassy, but not pushing.

“But I’m not thirteen anymore,” I continued. “And I’m tired of carrying it all by myself.”

Charles took a breath, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to anymore. Not if you let us try.”

There was something achingly childlike in the way he said it. I didn’t recognize him in that moment—but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe we all had changed.

Kimi looked at me, silently asking if I needed him to step in. But I shook my head.

“Maybe,” I said quietly. “Maybe I’ll come to you. When I’m ready.”

Arthur’s face cracked into something that looked like hope. Charles nodded, biting the inside of his cheek, eyes shining with something close to tears.

“We’ll be here,” Charles said, voice thick. “Always.”

I gave a soft nod. And that was it. No dramatic hugs. No fairytale ending. Just an opening. An invitation to maybe, someday, walk through that door.

Kimi turned me gently, guiding me back toward the garage, his hand finding mine, fingers lacing together like always.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low in my ear.

I looked up at him, the boy who found me when I was broken and never once asked me to be whole. He just stayed. Loved. Waited.

“I think I will be,” I whispered.

And this time, I believed it.

you telling your brothers off like you always deserved to- starts here

But Charles didn’t move. Neither did Arthur.

He took one step forward, brows drawn. “YN, we—we need to talk. I know this is… complicated. But we didn’t know. And now that we do—”

“You did know,” I cut him off, voice quiet but sharp, slicing clean through the air between us. “You knew where I was. You knew how to find me. But none of you ever did.”

Arthur’s jaw tensed. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“It was,” I said, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. “It was as simple as calling. As asking. As giving a damn.”

Kimi shifted beside me, eyes locked on them, no longer just observing. His voice was like steel wrapped in velvet when he spoke. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

They looked at him, startled—maybe surprised he had something to say. But he didn’t flinch. He stepped slightly in front of me, body angled just enough to make his stance clear.

“She found happiness without you,” Kimi continued, voice calm, but colder now. “She found family without you. And now that she’s no longer a scared kid you ignored, you think she owes you a seat at her table?”

“Kimi—” Charles began, but Kimi didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You weren’t there when she cried herself to sleep. You didn’t hold her hand when she felt like she didn’t exist to the people who were supposed to love her. I was. My family was.”

My throat tightened.

He looked over his shoulder at me, making sure I was still okay to let him speak. I gave the smallest nod.

“So unless she asks you to be part of her life,” Kimi said, gaze back on them now, “you don’t show up at and ambush her in her new life that she built her peace in and act like you’re entitled to anything.”

Arthur said nothing. Charles looked like he was swallowing glass, but neither of them moved.

And then Kimi finished—quieter this time, but firmer than ever. “Walk away.”

There was a long, aching silence. Then, as if a switch had flipped, Arthur stepped back, wordless. Charles’s eyes flickered one last time to mine, and for a second—just a second—I saw it. Regret. But regret wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t enough.

They left. Slowly. Quietly. Like they finally understood they weren’t welcome in this chapter. I turned toward Kimi, my chest heaving slightly even though I hadn’t run a single step. He reached for me without hesitation, pulling me into him. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, his hand pressing protectively to the back of my head.

“You did good,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m proud of you.”

My eyes stung, but I didn’t cry. Not for them. Not anymore.

“Thank you,” I whispered back. “For being my home.”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “Always.”

And just like that, we walked back toward the pit lane. Toward our life. The one we built from the wreckage. Stronger. Better. And mine. All mine.

@strawberrylov-er @gxllumsriddles @coolpeanutchaos @nina481 @mbioooo0000 @yoihoshi-maki @honestlycasualarcade

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galaxywannabe · 1 day ago

Text

The Miscommunication Trope™

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting into the first real argument of your relationship, some misspoken words from Bucky leave you thinking that he's done. By the time he realizes just how badly he screwed up, will it be too late to correct his mistake?

Warnings: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Miscommunication; Crying; Arguing between romantic partners; Bucky is mean but he makes up for it; Happy ending; Reader identifies as a woman and uses she/her pronouns, but other than having hair that can be swept behind an ear I don't think there are any other physical descriptors; Please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: Almost 9.3k.....I'm sorry lol

A/N: Ummm....so. I'm fairly certain I promised this fic, like...3 months ago? In fact, I actually just went back to look and I first teased this fic on Febuary 19th, so um...lol? I made it! Listen, idk if it's even any good anymore but if I look at it for another second I'll scream, so please take it off my hands. Any and all comments or reblogs would be SO appreciated because this has truly been a labor of love, I didn't know if I had it in me. Also!! I have not forgotten @buckyinmyuniverse - you asked to be tagged in this wayyyy back when I first posted about it and I have FANTASTIC news for you babe: The wait is finally over!! I know you've no doubt been refreshing your feed for months looking for it (/j) but this whole time I was cooking this thing I remembered you asking for a tag. So, this one goes out to you. Hope you all enjoy! <3

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You and Bucky hadn’t ever been in a fight before, not really. You bicker, sure, usually over something lighthearted, usually resulting in an eyeroll and a “whatever you say, honey,” from Buck, but nothing serious, nothing that can’t be worked out through a civilized conversation. That was, until today.

You weren’t even trying to start an argument, you were just expressing your concern. He works too much, he takes more missions than anyone else, and it’s running him ragged, anybody can see that.

Obviously, you miss him when he’s away, but that’s not even the point - the point is that he’s taking on too much because he thinks he owes the world something, and that’s not sustainable, it’s not good for him. All you said was that maybe he’d ought to ask Fury to take him off the rotation for a while, or even just cut down on his assignment load, to give him some room to breathe. And Bucky got…defensive.

Obviously, you knew that was a possibility. Typical male pride of course prohibits silly ideas like “self care” and “burnout,” but on top of that is Bucky’s specific brand of guilt, the kind that makes him work himself into the ground no matter how badly his brain and body beg him to stop.

The defensiveness you were prepared for, but you were only coming from a place of love, your concern that of a devoted girlfriend, and surely he’d understand that, wouldn’t he? Except he hadn’t. He’d immediately dismissed your suggestion, waving a hand and continuing to type up his latest mission report with a laser-like focus.

“I don’t need a break, I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes trained on the bluish light of his laptop screen.

Again, you weren’t trying to argue. You certainly weren’t going to force him to take a break, you just wanted him to at least consider it, to remind him that it would be okay for him to rest a little, if he wanted to. The world would go on without his help for a few weeks, and there were other heroes available besides him.

“Honey, I know you might not need one, but it’s okay if you just want one. No one would judge you if-”

And then he did something he’d never done before: he snapped at you. He didn’t even look up from his screen, his fingers still a steady staccato on the keyboard as he barked out harshly.

“I said I don’t need a fucking break. I’m just doing my goddamn job, and I don’t need you breathing down my neck watching my every move the whole time I do it. I can take care of myself.”

You winced. Obviously, that stung, and if he’d bothered to look up from his computer screen, he might have seen that on your face. But you could tell he wasn’t as unbothered by this conversation as he was acting.

Despite his brusque attitude, your words were striking a chord with him, hitting a little too close to home. His shoulders were stiff as a board, bunched up around his ears in a telltale sign of defensiveness, and you understood, really you did.

For Bucky, doing this job is the one way he can even attempt to atone for all the bad shit he’s done. Of course he felt uncomfortable with the idea of a break, he thinks he has to do these missions as some sort of self-imposed penance for the things he’d been made to do as the Winter Soldier.

So you didn’t judge him too harshly for lashing out. You understood the reason he worked so hard, and you knew what motivated him to continue going out there even when he was exhausted. You just wanted him to see that taking a break for his own mental health wasn’t a bad thing, that even if he was making amends he still needed to find time to take care of himself, too.

You took a deep breath and spoke in a calm voice, hoping to express your concern in a nonthreatening manner even as he still refused to look at you.

“Angel. I’m not trying to breathe down your neck or tell you how to do your job. I know it’s important to you, and I love how hard you work! It’s just that, super-soldier or not, if you want to continue to do this job, you’re gonna need to stop and rest at some point, honey. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m worried about you, love.”

Finally, he looked up at you, and your heart fluttered just seeing those baby blues you love so much. Until you clocked the scowl on his pretty face, and the hope in your gut curdled to dread. He was angry, you knew what that looked like, but in the six months of your relationship so far you’d never once seen that anger directed at you before.

It wasn’t frightening in a physical sense, not like you were scared for your well-being, of course not. But it deeply unsettled you, seeing the man you love looking at you like that. It made you want to apologize, though you weren’t quite sure what for. Before you could do anything at all, he spoke, his voice a cold, steel edge.

“You don’t know anything about what I can handle. I was doing just fine before you came around, and I don’t need you fussing over me at every turn just because I don’t sit around here all day scrolling on my phone or whatever it is you think I should be doing. I don’t need or want your hovering, so just stop, okay?”

There was silence. His shoulders heaved in the wake of his outburst, and you felt almost dazed, like this was some kind of mirage you could will away if you blinked hard enough. He’d never spoken to you like that.

Obviously, you’d hit a nerve, and while logically you understood that, it didn’t lessen the pain in your chest. You were just worried about him, why was he fighting like you were trying to strap him down and force him to quit?

While you tried to regain your bearings, breathing deeply and forcing back the stinging you felt building in your eyes, he slammed his laptop shut, standing and stalking towards your bedroom door. He’d come over to your place to work on his mission reports at your insistence because you’d wanted to keep him company, and now it appeared he was leaving.

“W-where are you going, what are you doing?” you’d squeaked, alarmed, following after him as he made his way to the foyer of your apartment and shoved his feet into his boots.

“I can’t fucking do this, I'm done,” he’d muttered in a gruff, hard voice, lacing his boots efficiently and standing back to his full height as he reached for the doorknob.

You shook your head, panicked, reaching for his arm and trying futilely to drag him back into your apartment. “Baby, please. I’m sorry, don’t go.”

But he just shook off your hold and stalked out the door, leaving you there as your eyes blurred with tears. After standing there in your foyer for several minutes, waiting for him to turn around and come back, you’d simply fallen to your knees and curled up right there on the polished wooden floor, bawling your eyes out.

That’s where you still are a couple hours later when your phone starts to vibrate incessantly in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe to answer a call from Natasha.

----------------------------------------------------------

“H-hello?” you croak into the receiver.

The second Nat hears you pick up the call she’s talking, looking distractedly through her closet as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Hey honey, listen, me and the girls were thinking about running to Target, and we wanted to- wait, what’s wrong?” Natasha’s cheerful voice quickly drops into something soft and concerned as she picks up on the sniffles coming through her tinny cell phone speakers.

For a few seconds all she can hear is you sobbing quietly, the way you struggle to slow your hysterical breathing so you can put together a sentence. “H-he left, Nat. He broke up with me,” you whimper, voice barely audible.

This stops Natasha in her tracks, her brow furrowed in deep confusion as she freezes with one hand reaching for her favorite sweater. What the fuck? Why in the hell would Barnes break up with you? Especially when she knows for a fact that on the last mission she had with him, he stopped into a jewelry shop in Germany ‘just to look’ at engagement rings? This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Honey,” Nat speaks into the phone again, her voice soft and soothing even through the crackly audio coming from your cell phone. “What happened, what did he say?”

You sniffle again, and clear your throat so she can hear your scratchy voice a bit better. “We…there was a fight, a-and I didn’t mean to, Nat, I swear, I was just worried, but…he said he can’t do this anymore, that h-he's done, and then he left. He didn’t take any of his things with him, but maybe he’s gonna come back for them, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nat…” As your sentence tapers off, your voice fades out, and a few renewed sobs float over the phone call into Nat’s ear, the sounds soaked in agony.

Oh, okay. Nat thinks she can see what really happened here just from your description, but that doesn’t make the sounds of your misery in her ear any less painful to hear. Likely, when Bucky had said he couldn’t do “this” anymore, that he was done, he’d meant the argument, the conversation, not your relationship.

But Barnes is your first real boyfriend, and you’ve never had a fight with him before. You were probably so confused and upset in the moment that you weren’t thinking about the context of his statement.

All you knew was that Bucky got upset with you for the very first time, and then he left. To you, that must certainly look like a breakup, and when Nat thinks about it from your perspective, she understands how you’d come to that conclusion.

She’d love to explain to you how you may have misunderstood, but as she listens to your hoarse crying over speakerphone, she knows you’re not in the frame of mind to process rational thought right now. Instead, she decides to focus on soothing you for the moment.

“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know why he’d ever do anything like that to you. I’m gonna get to the bottom of it, alright? In the meantime, I just need you to do something for me,” she coos, her voice comforting and warm.

You don’t answer, just sniffling occasionally as you sit there in silence. Natasha, interpreting your lack of response as an affirmation, continues on.

“Where are you right now?”

There’s more silence for a few seconds, the sound of you pulling deep breaths into your lungs as you regain awareness of your surroundings. Then:

“Uh. The floor. In my apartment,” you mumble, confused, like you’ve just now realized that fact.

Natasha feels an additional lash of anger at Barnes flood her system when you tell her that, but she works to keep her voice calm even has her knuckles go white around her device.

“Okay, well, I need you to get up off the floor and go to your bedroom, okay? I want you to get dressed in your comfiest pajamas and crawl into bed for me, and wait there while I handle this. Can you do that? Just close your eyes and try to rest while I figure everything out?”

More sniffles, a hoarse cough, and then, after a beat of silence, your voice crackles over the line.

“Yeah….okay. I can do that, Nat,” you croak, the sound of shuffling floating over the line as you stagger to your feet after who knows how long on the floor.

She smiles, relieved to hear your voice coming through a bit more calmly, even as her mind races with the next items on her to-do list. “Okay sweetheart, you do that, then. I love you, I’ll call back soon, okay? Go get some rest.”

After hanging up with you, confident that at least you’re not curled up on your apartment floor anymore, she pockets her cell and immediately stalks down the hall towards the elevator, Target trip long forgotten.

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Bucky knows he fucked up. As someone who fucks up just about everything, he’s intimately familiar with the process, and he can say, with 100% certainty, that in this instance he absolutely fucked up. He never should have snapped at you - his sweetheart, his girl. You were just worried about him, and of course you were.

Bucky knows damn well he works too hard, especially lately, and he’s been on the verge of physical and mental collapse pretty much every damn day for the past month, running himself into the ground. He’d even been thinking to himself before your argument that he should slow down, take a break before he gets himself killed. So why did he get so defensive when you’d suggested it?

He doesn’t goddamn know. Because he’s messed up. Because it’s one thing when he decides to take some time off, but another when someone else has the idea, like they think he needs it.

He can’t help it; for decades of his life, the slightest sign of weakness meant pain, meant the frigid blast of a firehouse to wake him up or the wandering scalpel of a Hydra doctor looking to find a defect. Not that that makes his outburst okay, by any means, but it’s an explanation, and hey, he’s working on it, really he is.

Still, he knew the second he walked out of your apartment that he’d fucked up, and so he’s spent the past two hours at his own place a few floors up, licking his wounds and gathering the courage to go apologize.

Because…yes, okay, he’s embarrassed by the way he acted. He’s ashamed of his own behavior, and he’d needed a minute to feel sorry for himself before he inevitably goes back down to your apartment and grovels for your forgiveness.

He figures you’re pissed beyond belief, and if giving you some time to cool off also gives him a little while to stall the complete destruction of his ego, well, then, he’ll take it.

He finished up his mission report, he took a shower, and now he’s preparing his apology speech, debating the merit of walking down the street to a bodega for some flowers, when his doorbell rings. Shit, maybe he’s already out of time and you decided to come to him.

When he opens his door, looking thoroughly contrite, it’s not your expected figure that stands in his entryway, but Natasha’s. And even given all his super-soldier reflexes and military training, he still staggers back a step in shock when she slaps him right across the face.

“Whoa, what the fuck, Nat?” he barks, rubbing at the heat blooming under the skin of this cheek.

Standing there in front of him with her arms crossed, she looks anything but remorseful, her fists clenched as if she has to deny herself the urge to do it again.

“Why the fuck did you break up with her, Barnes? Are you insane?! The one good thing in your life, and you threw it all away, why, because you got a little pissed off? Out of all the stupid, careless decisions you’ve made in your fucked-up life, I really didn’t think you had it in you to top all that, but Jesus…”

As she continues to rant at him, her face pinched with rage, Bucky struggles to make sense of the words she’s already spoken. Broken up with you? Why in God’s name would he ever do that?

What an absolutely absurd thing to accuse him of, given that everybody in this building knows how insanely in love with you he is, especially your own best friend. Why is she here playing some kind of prank on him when he’s supposed to be rehearsing his apology?

“I did no such thing,” he answers bluntly, interrupting her impassioned speech, his expression confused and a little irritated at the accusation.

Nat barely even blinks at this denial. “Oh really? Then why did I just talk to her on the phone, bawling her eyes out on the floor of her apartment, telling me that you did?”

Of course, Nat’s pretty sure that Barnes hadn’t really meant to break up with you by leaving during your argument, but she’s pissed at him either way for not being cognizant enough of your feelings to foresee your interpretation of his behavior.

To Bucky, Natasha’s words might as well have been a bucket of ice water poured over his head, the way they immediately freeze his joints with dread. He feels his stomach churn as if he might be sick, the horrifying mental image of you curled up on your wooden floors driving a stake between his ribs. When he’d left, you’d been standing. Sure, you’d looked upset, but surely not that upset…right?

He tries to think back to your emotional state when he’d stormed out a couple of hours ago, but truthfully he hadn’t turned back to see your face as he’d walked out your door. Had you been crying? He didn’t think so, but now he isn’t so sure, especially given the look of anger on Nat’s face. Why would you tell her that he’d broken up with you? As a joke, some kind of payback for his outburst?

“I….” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You talked to her? What did she say?”

Natasha almost feels sympathy for Bucky in this moment, standing before her looking so confused and slightly horrified. But then she thinks about her best friend sobbing on the floor because he’s an idiot, and that emotion vanishes, replaced with her plentiful anger.

“Well, it was kind of hard to hear her, what with all the sobbing and such. But when I finally was able to get her to speak, she said that there was a fight, and that you broke up with her and then left her there. She said you hadn’t taken any of your stuff with you when you left, and she wasn’t sure when you’d be back for it, but that she didn’t know what she was going to do,” Nat recalls in a hard voice, her gaze sharp and accusatory. “After that she started crying again, so I didn’t ask her any more questions.”

Another bruising blow to the tatters of Bucky Barnes’s heart. What did you mean, he hadn’t taken his stuff? Why would he take his things when he’d left them there on purpose so he had them to use when he was at your place?

Why would he take his belongings out of your apartment just because you got into an argument? This doesn’t make any sense, and the longer Natasha talks, the worse his growing sense of unease becomes.

Why were you crying? Sure, he expected anger, he’d been a huge swinging dick and he deserves some harsh words. But why is Nat saying that you were curled up on your floor sobbing? Why wouldn’t you be on the couch, or in your bed, or even down in the gym punching out your frustrations?

And why were you on the phone with your best friend moments ago talking like you didn’t expect him to come back? Surely you know he’ll be back, he practically lives in your apartment - his wallet and keys are still sitting in the dish by your front door, his favorite jacket hung on the coat rack. He looks at your closest friend desperately, his face drawn in stark lines of horror and regret.

“Natasha, please, I don’t know why she said all that stuff to you, I didn’t break up with her, I would never break up with her. We had an argument. She was only worried about me, but I got defensive like an asshole and said some shit I didn’t mean, so…I just wanted to get out of there, get some space before I lashed out some more, that’s all. I just needed a minute to cool off, I was always fully planning to go back, to explain myself and apologize. I don’t know why she…” he trails off, looking lost.

Nat sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her best friend is in hysterics, and it’s all because men are the dumbest creatures on this planet.

“What do you think that looked like to her, Barnes? You guys get in your very first fight, and after saying some mean shit to her you stomp out of there and go ‘I can’t do this, I'm done’. What do you think those words might have sounded like to her ears? You’re her first serious boyfriend, jackass! She’s never been in this situation before! She doesn’t know that it’s relatively normal for couples to argue, even if you definitely shouldn’t have snapped at her. She just knows you’ve never fought before, and the first time you do, you walk out the door. She thinks you’re gone for good, James.”

You could hear a pin drop in Bucky’s apartment right now, the sounds of bustling Manhattan outside his windows muffled by the blood roaring in his ears. He wants to be upset with you, to question how you could ever doubt his love enough to think he’d really just walk out after one disagreement. But in truth, given his actions and your lack of relationship experience, he doesn’t see how you could’ve come to any other conclusion.

Bucky thought he’d been regretful before Nat got here, but after hearing his behavior described in this new light, he’s got a whole list of emotions to add to the pile. Self-loathing, remorse, fear. You’re in your apartment right now, believing yourself to be single. All that time you two spent together, every memory and intimate moment, you think it’s over, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

Obviously, he needs to explain himself immediately, to tell you that he hadn’t meant to end your relationship in the slightest and that this is all just a giant misunderstanding.

But what if you don’t care? What if, after the way he acted towards you today, you’d rather accept his words as you’d thought he meant them and stay broken up, even knowing that wasn’t his intent? He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, noticing the way Natasha looks at him with concern in her eyes now.

He hadn’t ever really let himself consider that you’d turn him down before, when he was rehearsing his apology speech. You’re in a committed relationship of six months, you’re in love. Surely, even if he was a bit of an asshole, one transgression can be forgiven as long as he apologizes sincerely.

But that was back when he thought his only sin was his harsh words, back when he thought you were angry with him for his outburst.

Now that he knows what you’ve really been feeling, that you’ve apparently spent the past two hours sobbing on your wooden apartment floors waiting for him to come back and take his belongings, he’s not so confident that he can grovel hard enough to make up for this.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, god damn it, that’s the whole reason he left in the first place, to spare you from his undeserved anger. Now he might be about to lose you because of his own childish temper tantrum, and the terror of that thought feels icy in his veins as it travels straight to his heart, freezing it in place.

His body is moving towards his apartment door before he even commands his muscles to do so, single-minded on the only thing that matters anymore: fixing what he’s done. His hand is already turning the doorknob by the time a slightly startled Nat is able to catch up with him, her hand on his shoulder stalling him for only the tiniest moment before he’s barrelling ahead again.

“Don’t fuck this up. You love her, now go make it right,” she commands sternly, and Bucky just grunts his acknowledgment before bursting through his door out into the empty hallway, towards the elevator.

He doesn’t stop to voice his fears to Natasha, that it might be too late to make anything right, that he may have fucked it up beyond repair already. He just keeps moving, hoping beyond hope that he still has a chance.

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When he makes it to your apartment a few floors down from his own, it’s eerily silent as he pushes the door open. He’s never needed a key, FRIDAY has explicit orders to grant him entry, but for the first time ever it feels wrong entering your space unannounced, like maybe he should knock and wait for permission in light of what’s happened. He ignores the impulse.

You’re not crouched on the floor of your entryway like Nat said you’d been, so he supposes that’s a good sign, but it occurs to him then that he’s not even entirely sure you’re home. Bucky pauses to ask FRIDAY where you are, and is relieved to hear that you’re only in your bedroom.

He almost thinks he picks up a hint of annoyance in the AI’s voice when she responds to his inquiry, though, as if even the damn computer program is pissed at him for the way he treated you. It must be his imagination.

“Angel?” he calls out softly, making his way slowly through the apartment to your bedroom, noting the oppressive stillness of the place as he goes deeper. “Honeybun? Sweet pea?” he uses his softest, most gentle voice, disturbed to find your usually lively dwelling so silent.

The TV in the living room - usually playing some youtube video or episode of your favorite show - is powered off, and the lights are all off too, as if the sun had set and you simply hadn’t bothered to flick any of them on to combat the encroaching darkness. The place he’s wandering now is like a ghost of your apartment, no scented candles lit, no steaming mug of tea waiting for you at your usual spot at the coffee table.

It’s unnerving, to have a place usually so full of life be so startlingly empty all of a sudden. His slow steps and his soft voice calling out for you are the only sounds in the entire space, until he finally reaches your bedroom door and pauses to listen. For a moment there’s nothing, and he worries that perhaps you aren’t home after all, until he hears a soft sound coming muffled through the thick wood of your door.

He presses his ear against it to listen closer, brow scrunched as he waits to hear the sound again, and a moment later his heart shatters as it becomes clear that what he’s hearing is your soft sobbing, interspersed with the occasional sniffle.

Bucky pushes your door open ever-so-carefully, cursing under his breath at the slight squeak of the wood on its hinges. It’s hard to see anything in your room, even with his perfect super-soldier eyesight, as the lights are off in here, too, the curtains closed to limit even the soft moonlight coming through the windows.

His instinct is to flick on the light so he can see you better, but he doesn’t want to startle you, and besides, you obviously prefer the lights off or you would’ve turned them on yourself when it got dark. Instead he just steps further into the room, squinting his eyes as he can just barely make out the lump under the covers where you lay, curled in a ball in the center of your mattress, crying quietly.

He knows you must have heard his entrance, must realize he’s standing at the side of your bed right now, but you make no move to acknowledge him, continuing to sob softly as he watches on, heartbroken.

“Oh, darlin’...” he sighs, pulling the covers back a bit to expose your head, kneeling with one knee on the mattress so he can get a closer look at you.

You sniffle pitifully as you feel the cool air of the room on your face, extra cold against your cheeks where they’re wet with tears. Your vision is too blurry for you to actually see him, but you know who it is, know the scent of his cologne and the familiar touch of his fingers on your face as he brushes your hair back to see you better.

Your stupid, traitorous nervous system reacts immediately to his presence, your panicked breaths slowing and your tears subsiding, a warm wash of comfort moving through your chest along with an instinctive sense of safety.

Your body knows nothing of the events of the past few hours, that he isn’t yours anymore, that he isn’t here to comfort you. It just instinctively calms under his attention, unaware that it is fleeting now, sure to be gone in only moments.

As the man you love wipes the tears gently from your face, his touch so sweet and soft it inadvertently causes more of them to fall, you force your hoarse voice to speak, the sound a barely audible croak even in the silence of your room. “Are you here to get your things?”

Bucky’s own eyes sting at your words, at the miserable tone to your voice as you say them, and he shakes his head vehemently, though he’s not sure you’re even really seeing him right now.

“No, baby, of course not. Why would I take my stuff, huh? I left those things here so I could use them when I’m visiting my girl, you know that,” he counters in a painfully soft voice, like he thinks speaking above a murmur will shatter you. Maybe he’s right about that, you do feel awfully close to shattering.

You feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind your eyes, and you close them for a moment, struggling to craft a coherent thought through all the heartbreak clouding your brain. Why is he here speaking nonsense when you’re in the middle of trying to mourn him? Does he not see that it’s cruel for him to be here with his comforting touch and his sweet voice, knowing that those things are lost to you forever now?

“I’m not your girl anymore…” you mumble brokenly, the very act of having to speak the words into existence pulling another sob from your chest.

Despite yourself you nuzzle your cheek into his palm as he cradles your face, desperate for his affection. If you’re never going to feel his touch again, you’ll bask in every opportunity while you have it, savoring the familiar warmth even as you question why he’s offering it to you in the first place.

Your face is pinched in concentration, like you’re trying to commit the sensation to memory, and Bucky’s heart might as well be in shards by his feet at this point, the way you seek out his touch like you’re starved for it. Like it hasn’t only been hours since he last gave it to you, like you’ll never have the chance to feel it again.

“Yes you are, baby, you’re always gonna be my girl. You’re mine, honey, just like I’m yours. Forever, haven’t I told you that?” he speaks desperately, like he’s pleading with you to agree with him, and although you’d love to, you have very recent evidence to the contrary.

“B-but, you said…” you trail off in a whisper, unable to repeat the words. You don’t need to anyways, you both know what he’d said. That he can’t do this. Can’t be with you anymore.

Bucky’s quick to interrupt you, needing you to understand that that’s not what he’d said, or, at least, not what he’d meant. “Baby, I didn’t- I’m sorry I said it like that, and I understand why you took those words the way you did. But that’s not what I meant to say, sweetheart, I swear.”

He huffs and slides a frustrated hand through his hair, suddenly unable to bear having this conversation with you while you lie curled up alone in your bed, looking up at him blankly with your shining eyes.

Before you can speak another word he peels back the covers some more, making room for himself as he slides into the bed beside you, pulling you up and onto his chest so he can hold you in his arms. The tears on your cheeks immediately soak through the soft cotton of his T-shirt, but he doesn’t care, cradling you tightly against his chest and rubbing slow, comforting circles onto your back.

You want to say something, to express your confusion at his incongruent behavior, but you can’t, not with his arms around you and his scent in your nose. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out are more shuddering sobs, your body limp in his hold, completely helpless against the comfort he offers.

Even if he shouldn’t be, he’s here. He’s here, and he’s holding you like you’re something precious again, and even if you know that there must be some mistake you can’t stop yourself from completely melting into his embrace, any semblance of your remaining composure crumbling completely.

Bucky just coos softly, murmuring gentle assurances in your ear and holding you, solid and steady as you weather the storm of your heartbreak. Despite having spent the better part of the past two hours bawling your eyes out, the crying starts anew with him here, his comforting presence both a relief and a reminder of what you’ve lost, what you’ll be missing when he walks out that door again.

You two lie like that for a while, though whether it’s for a few minutes or several hours you can’t say, time stretching into infinity as you cry into his chest. As the tears finally subside once again, your body exhausted and your throat sore, your mind belatedly registers his words from before. He’d been saying something, hadn’t he?

“What…” your voice comes out scratchy, so you clear your throat to be heard better - though Bucky couldn’t have missed a word out of your mouth if he tried, focused on you as he is. “What do you mean, that’s not what you meant? You broke up with me.”

Bucky shakes his head immediately, bringing his mismatched palms up to cradle your face, sweeping your hair back behind your ears so he can see his beautiful girl. God, it’s torture watching you cry, but he seems to have broken through to you somehow, and he’s not going to squander this opportunity to explain himself.

He can’t suppress the urge to lean down and drop a tender kiss to your forehead, though, your tear-stained face so pitiful he could cry right along with you if he didn’t have something more important to be doing at the moment.

“I mean, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I never intended to break up with you. How could I? Leave my girl, my princess? Don’t you know you mean more to me than every other person on this planet put together?” He speaks calmly but firmly, his gaze steady on yours as he practically begs you to believe him. You have to believe him.

You frown, confusion pulling your brows together as you take in his desperate expression. His words make your heart flutter with hope, but you don’t understand, can’t make sense of the reality he’s trying to assert when you know you heard otherwise only a couple of hours ago. It’s all a bit much for your heartbroken brain to handle, and you just blink at him blankly, completely lost.

“I don’t understand, Buck. Y-you were so upset, and then you left, and you said ‘I can’t do this, I'm done.’ I thought you meant we were done, that you can’t do us anymore.” you recall in a miserable voice, searching his eyes for answers as you desperately try to understand.

He nods empathetically, his thumbs brushing at the tears on your cheeks even as more continue to fall to take their place. “I know that’s what I said, sweet girl, and I know how it sounded to you, but that’s not at all how I meant it, I swear. I just…” Bucky sighs, his features plastered with remorse, his eyes falling from yours in shame.

“I was being an asshole. I knew, even as I was doing it, that I was being an asshole, that I couldn’t stop being an asshole, so I just…I wanted to get away from you before I lashed out any more, that’s all. I knew if I kept trying to discuss things with you right then I was only going to say more shit I didn’t mean, so I tried to put some space between us, just until I could cool off and be rational again.”

Bucky pauses, sighing deeply and stroking your cheeks. His eyes are swimming with guilt so deep it hurts your chest just to look at it. He looks almost as torn up about this whole ordeal as you do, which, although his pain isn’t something you revel in, does make your heart beat a little faster with hope. Would a man who doesn’t want to be with you anymore still look at you with that much guilt over having caused you pain?

When he speaks again his voice is low and strained with emotion, apologetic. “Darlin’, I…I am so sorry for the things I said to you today. I didn’t mean a single damn one of them. I love that you look after me, I love that I have someone waiting for me when I come home, making sure I’m not pushing myself too hard. I need you there to do that for me, because we both know I’m too proud and stubborn to take a break on my own. I got defensive, and I lashed out because I felt threatened, and that is not okay or fair to you. If you can’t forgive me for those things I said, I understand.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes closing as hot tears sting the backs of them, fighting to escape. “But you need to know that when I told you I couldn’t ‘do this,’ I sure as hell didn’t mean you, or us. All I meant was that I couldn’t keep having that conversation with you, that I needed to get away before I hurt you worse. That’s all it was. When I left your apartment today, it was to get some space because I knew I was throwing a temper tantrum. In no way, shape, or form was I breaking up with you, or trying to end what we have. I couldn’t do that, it’s not in my DNA to do that. I’m simply not capable of it, and you have to know that. Even if you decide you’re better off without me, I need you to know that. Please.”

You stare down at him in the wake of his speech, watching as he blinks rapidly to keep tears at bay, and you’re so god damn confused in this moment that you wish he would give you a timeout, let you process everything he just said before you have to respond to it.

Could it possibly be true? That he’d never meant to break up with you, that he still loves and wants you? Could this all just be some massive misunderstanding on your part?

The possibility has hope fluttering warm in your chest, but you suppress it. Better to make absolutely sure first, before you let your heart get obliterated for the second time today. Letting yourself have this hope only to quash it moments later might actually break you for good.

“You weren’t…I mean, you didn’t want to break up with me?” you whisper hesitantly, afraid to let yourself believe it even though you’re desperate to.

Bucky’s heart cracks in his chest as you ask that so timidly, like just voicing the question is opening you up to a whole new potential world of hurt. He shakes his head firmly, his metal hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull, his fingertips massaging your scalp gently.

“No, babygirl, never. Not in a million years. Even though we were arguing, it was the last thing on my mind, trust me. I’ve never wanted to break up with you, not for a second. I love you,” he reassures you smoothly, his voice low and calm, exuding certainty.

You have to sniffle hard to hold back a fresh round of tears at those three simple words, ones you never thought you’d get to hear from him again. Jesus Christ, if you never cry again it’ll be too soon. Your gaze is particularly frail and fragile as it meets Bucky’s, some of that hope you’d been suppressing earlier making itself known in your features, tentative but present.

“So…you’re still my boyfriend?” you ask in a tiny murmur, like maybe this is the part where he pulls the rug out from under you and announces he was kidding about the whole misunderstanding thing.

Bucky’s features tighten a little at your question, and dread pools in your stomach rapidly, fearing the worst. But his words aren’t quite the heartbreaking blow you’re expecting, more like a puzzling wrinkle.

“If you want me to be, yeah, baby, I am.”

Your brow furrows, confused. What the hell does that mean? Suddenly, you recall a few other parts of his speech just now, parts that had been immediately overshadowed when he’d said that he still wanted to be with you. Now that you think about it, he’d also said a bunch of stuff along the lines of ‘If you can forgive me,’ and ‘If you decide you’re better off without me,’ hadn’t he?

What the hell was that all about? Why’s he talking about whether you want to be with him? Like you haven’t been literally bawling your eyes out for the past two hours at the prospect of having to live without him? How does that make any sense?

“Of course I want you to be. You think I was curled up on the floor sobbing because I was happy to think that our relationship was over?” you ask incredulously, frowning at him.

He chuckles a little at that, the sound vibrating through you as you lay on his chest, but it’s strained, his expression vulnerable. Although you attribute this misunderstanding mostly to your own mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion, Bucky is riddled with guilt for both his abrupt exit from your apartment and the things he’d said leading up to it.

In his eyes you went through a lot of pain today, and every inch of it is his fault. If he’d stopped to explain his meaning, or, hell, if he hadn’t gotten so damn defensive in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. His girl wouldn’t have spent hours of her life sobbing on her hardwood floors if he’d just stopped to breathe like his therapist taught him to. His pale irises swim with shame as he gazes up at you.

“No, no, I just…I said some horrible things to you today, darlin’. And just because you were upset to think that I’d broken up with you doesn’t necessarily mean that all is forgiven, I know that. I understand if you’d rather keep us apart after the way I acted,” he murmurs defeatedly, like he’s already prepared himself for a thorough scolding.

Which is absolutely goddamn ridiculous, in your eyes. You snort, brows raised in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? All is forgiven, Buck, all is so past forgiven. I don’t care about the shit you said. You’re here, you’re still mine, that’s all that matters now. Forget the fight, forget all of it. I’ve got you, that’s all I care about.”

You say it so simply, like it could be so easy. Like his indiscretions are just wiped clean in the face of your pure relief. But he knows that they aren’t, they can’t be. It’s not that easy, as much as he’d like it to be. He fucked up, and he deserves what’s coming to him.

He tries to reason with you, his expression pained. “Baby, you can’t just-”

“I absolutely can, actually,” you interrupt, looking unamused, stern. “I’m the one you said those things to, so I think I have the right to determine how I feel about them, don’t you?” You keep your eyebrows raised, challenging.

You watch as he mulls those words over a bit, licking his lips anxiously. It takes him a moment to decide how to respond, and when he does his words are slow, strained. Like maybe he doesn’t want to say them, but he feels like he has to.

“Yes, you do. It’s ultimately your decision, of course it is. I just…before you decide to blindly forgive me for this, I want you to really consider how you feel, okay? I know your instinct is to forget all about it because you’re just relieved to have me at all right now, but…I messed up. I hurt you, I said hurtful things even if I didn’t mean them. You didn’t deserve that, least of all from me, the man who’s supposed to love and protect you. You’re allowed to be upset about it, and if my actions made you realize that you don’t want to be with me anymore, then…you’re allowed to feel that way, too.”

His voice cracks on that last word, and your heart aches painfully in your chest at the sound. In this moment, you’re realizing with horror that Bucky truly believes he deserves to be broken up with tonight. With the unshed tears clinging to his lashline and the devastated look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be dumped, that in fact that’s the last thing he wants.

But it’s obviously what he thinks should happen, the punishment he thinks he’s earned for the inadvertent heartbreak he put you through tonight, and that’s just…unacceptable, to be honest.

The man would forgive you if you literally drove a stake through his chest, for Christ’s sake, yet he’s expecting you to kick him to the curb? What, because he got a little snippy with you? Because you jumped to the wrong conclusion and convinced yourself he left you? You would almost be insulted that he could think such a thing of you if you didn't know where the fear comes from.

You've seen them firsthand: the deep layers of self-loathing that have bogged him down since long before your relationship started, the inherent belief he carries that he is irreparably flawed and unworthy of love. He doesn't feel like he deserves you on his best day, so when he screws up, no matter the size of the infraction, he expects to be cast aside.

You reach out with one hand to cradle his cheek, his stubble gently scraping against your thumb as you caress his skin. Your expression is caring but firm, your eyes holding his as you speak in an even voice.

“I need you to understand that I don't expect you to be perfect, James. I don’t expect that you will always say the right thing, or have a perfectly even temperament in every situation because hell, none of us do. You’re allowed to fuck up sometimes, sweetheart, and you still deserve to be loved even when you do.”

His brow furrows as you speak, his instinct to reflexively deny the forgiveness you’re offering. “But I hurt you,” he interjects, the look on his face so miserable it tugs at your chest.

You nod your agreement, though your expression is still full of compassion and love. “Yes, you did. I won’t even begin to address the break-up fiasco because that was a complete misunderstanding on my part, but yes, the things you said before you left really stung me. Do you know why I’m going to forgive you anyways, though? Why, even if this happens again, I’ll probably forgive you a hundred times over?”

You pause for effect, giving him the opportunity to respond. Honestly, as upset as you’ve been these past few hours, it’s all begun to fade in the face of this man you love trying to convince you he’s not worth it. When he just looks at you helplessly, his eyes tracking your speech with rapt attention, you smile and continue.

“It’s because I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, Bucky. Let me ask you something: when you snapped at me today, did you do it because you were trying to find the absolute meanest thing you could say at that moment? Did you say it because you wanted me to feel bad?”

Looking a bit startled at the suggestion, Bucky shakes his head mutely. He hadn’t really even been conscious of the words at all until after they’d already blurted from his mouth, and even then it didn’t fully sink in until after he’d calmed down. You smile, satisfied by his immediate denial.

“No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t say that stuff to be mean, to hurt just for hurting’s sake. You were feeling ambushed and defensive, and you lashed out. Is it ideally how you’ll always react when I try to express my concern for your wellbeing? No, of course not. But is it a realistic thing for a person to do who’s not used to being cared for? Absolutely, it is. And it’s just something we’re gonna have to work on, baby. I’ve never done this whole relationship thing before, and you’re trying to do it for the first time in 80 years with a hell of a lot of additional trauma thrown into the mix.

“We’re learning, and it’s not always gonna be perfect or easy. Maybe before this becomes an issue again, we’ll think up some ways for you to politely tell me ‘I’m feeling overwhelmed by this conversation, please back off and we can come back to it later.’ Or maybe we’ll discuss how I can voice my concerns to you in the future without triggering your defensive response, how I can come off as less accusatory and make the discussion feel more safe for you.

“We’ve only been doing this for six months, and as real as it is, as much as I love you more than anything, we’re gonna face a hell of a lot more than this one hurdle if we want to keep doing this thing in the long term. So, yeah, tonight has sucked, pretty much every minute of it was a disaster, but you know what? It’s over now. You apologized, we’re gonna try and do better next time, and…that’s the end of it. Clean slate. All I want to do with the rest of my night is finally stop fucking crying, and eat a burger the size of my head. Preferably, with my boyfriend next to me the whole time, trying to steal my fries when I’m not looking. Do you think you could help me make that happen, Buck? Please?”

He looks stunned in the wake of your speech, silent for several moments as his brain struggles to grapple with the reality of your easy forgiveness. He blinks at you hard, like he truly can’t believe that you’re not running in the opposite direction right now, burning every trace of your life together and cursing his name the whole way.

But the truth is, you’d already made up your mind to forgive him the second you realized he hadn’t meant to break up with you in the first place, and Bucky must see that, too, because the fight in his eyes is slowly dimming into something more fragile, vulnerable.

His gaze fixes on yours in the dark, searching for some hidden shard of resentment or anger that you may be holding back for his sake, but he doesn’t find it, there is no such thing for him to find. You just smile weakly up at him, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day but no less sincere, and when he blows out a slow breath through his nose, you know you’ve got him.

He’s definitely not done badgering himself about the mistakes he made today, not by a long shot, but he must see your weariness on your face, your desperate need to move on from this at least for the moment, so he nods slowly, his flesh hand rising to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can make that happen. Whatever you want.”

Your smile brightens, the relief so stark in your features that it brings a lump to his throat, and when you press your lips against his he makes a silent promise to never put you in a position like this again, to never let his bullshit drag you down or put your relationship at risk like he did today.

He’ll go to therapy twice a damn week if he has to, you deserve better than his temper tantrums, than cruel words spoken out of a defensiveness he doesn’t need anymore. Not with you.

Half an hour later finds you perched in his lap, draped in one of his hoodies and talking and laughing at your favorite diner like there never was an argument, like not a single tear was shed today. He hates that the joy on your face is most likely motivated by your sheer relief that he’s still yours, but he can’t complain about the sparkle in your eyes, nor the way you lean back against his chest as you sip your shake.

Obliging your request, he steals some fries off your plate while you gesticulate wildly through a story, a warm flutter going off in his chest when you pretend to squawk in protest. He soaks in every second, every twitch of your lips and brush of your hand against his, reminding himself what he could have lost, what he perhaps deserved to lose after his actions today.

He’ll make this up to you, he knows he will - he’s sure Natasha will have plenty of suggestions for how he can start. He thinks back to that little velvet box he’s got buried deep in the back of his sock drawer, a sharp pull tugging at his heart as he realizes he almost lost his chance to give it to you at all. He resolves right here and now, basking in the warm light of your infinite patience for him, that he won’t take that box out until he’s earned it.

He hates to wait even a second longer, itches to lock you down with every passing moment, but he won’t ask you to make that kind of commitment to him until he’s sure he’s the man that you need him to be. As he presses a firm kiss to your temple, swiping another morsel from the edge of your plate with a smile, he swears up to his Ma that he will work hard to deserve you, even if you seem to think he already does.

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic

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fleurbly · 13 hours ago

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SOME HELL TO TAKE US TO HEAVEN

summary: the silence between you and him breaks the night you seek the gardener's touch, but it's remmick who finds you— bloodstained and defiant. blood stains everything, and remmick's claim is darker and more relentless than ever.

warnings: infidelity (just a smooch on the lips dw), angst, explicit content, sex in front of a corpse, blood kink, breeding kink if you squint, themes of: jealously, obsession, and possessiveness, violence (very subtle), oh and did i mention finger licking smut.

pairing: remmick x reader

w/c: 7k+

MINORS DNI, DNI IF TAGS AFFECT YOU

You don’t remember what day it is.

It never matters.

The curtains are always drawn. The clocks are always quiet. The house is too big, too clean, and too still—like it’s waiting for something. Or maybe mourning something that already happened.

You move through it like you’re underwater. Every step soft, every room colder than the last. The halls stretch on forever, filled with portraits you don’t recognize and furniture no one ever uses.

Servants pass you in silence. Eyes down. Hands folded. Like they’re scared of you. Or worse—trained.

You don’t speak. You don’t sleep.

You just… exist.

And Remmick?

He watches you like he’s still afraid you’ll disappear. Like he hasn’t already taken everything that made you you. He walks beside you, sits across from you at the long dining table, always close, always quiet. Pretending this is normal. Pretending you’re his.

But you remember the moment it all changed.

The pleading. The bite. The way his hands shook when he held you down and said, “I won’t let you go.”

You didn’t want forever.

He gave it to you anyway.

Now you wake up in silk sheets and live in a world you never chose. A beautiful, lifeless cage. A body that doesn’t age. A heart that doesn’t beat.

And somewhere deep down, past the numbness, past the quiet—

You’re starting to feel angry.

You sit at the long dining table, the weight of the silverware pressing cold against your fingers. The breakfast on your plate sits untouched for minutes, the eggs turning gray and the toast hardening. You drag your fork around the plate, making little circles but not really eating. You don’t remember the last time you felt hunger—or anything much at all.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. Only the faint rustle of curtains in the breeze and the distant creak of floorboards remind you it’s alive.

Remmick is across from you, staring in that calm, quiet way he always does. It’s been weeks—maybe months—since either of you spoke more than what was necessary. The silence between you is thick and cold, like a wall neither wants to break.

You stare down at your plate again, wishing you could disappear into the cold marble beneath your feet.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“We brought in a gardener,” he says, voice low and rough like it’s no big deal.

You lift your head, surprised. “A gardener? That’s pretty dumb, don’t you think? Bringing someone new here when we ain’t even allowed outside.”

He shrugs, like it don’t bother him none. “Agnes wanted it. Said the place’s been dead quiet for too long. Said we needed somethin’ living around.”

You know Agnes. The old woman who’s been here forever, watching you both with eyes that never miss a thing. She’s the only one who knows everything. She knows what Remmick did to you—how he stole your life and made you this.

You stare at Remmick. “You know Agnes knows what you did. She knows you forced me into this. You took my life and left me stuck.”

His eyes darken. “I did what I had to. I ain’t about to lose you—not again.”

You shake your head bitterly. “Well, hiring a gardener so I can watch someone else live while I’m trapped here? That’s just cruel.”

He doesn’t say nothing else. Just leans back and watches you, calm but burning underneath.

You stare at him a moment longer, the silence stretching between you like a thick rope pulling tight.

Finally, you break it. “Does Agnes even know what it’s like? Being stuck in this place, livin’ forever like some damn ghost? Watchin’ the world move on without you?”

Remmick’s jaw tightens. His eyes flick away, then back, like he’s fighting some words. “She knows more than you think. Been around long enough to see what all this does.”

You scoff, bitter and sharp. “Yeah, well, seeing ain’t the same as caring.”

He leans forward then, that rough voice low and steady. “I care. More than you know. Don’t mean it ain’t hell, but it’s hell with me by your side.”

You want to yell at him. To tell him he can’t fix this, that you don’t want his kind of ‘care.’ But the words catch somewhere deep, tangled with the pain and anger you both bury.

So you stay quiet.

Remmick’s gaze softens for the briefest second, then hardens again like he’s pulling himself back from something.

“Look,” he says, voice rough but honest, “I’m tryin’. Maybe not the way you want. But I’m here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You want to believe him. You want to reach across the table and grab whatever’s left of him. But all you do is swallow the lump in your throat and stare at the cold silverware in your hands.

Outside, somewhere beyond these walls, the gardener moves through the grounds. A reminder that life still breathes—even if you don’t.

You stand in the darkest corner of the big, empty room, where the sunlight never quite reaches. The curtains block most of it, but thin slivers sneak through, carving pale lines on the floor and dust motes drifting lazily in the air. It’s cool here, the only place you feel safe from the harsh, burning world outside—because you know you can’t touch it.

Outside the window, the gardener moves through the sprawling gardens, wiping sweat from his forehead and rolling up his sleeves. His skin shines faintly, alive and warm in a way you’ll never be again. You watch him carefully, fascinated, like he’s a mystery you don’t quite know how to solve.

He’s new. Someone who’s not bound by the silence or the rules of the house. Someone who probably hasn’t been told to never speak to you or anyone else. And maybe, just maybe, someone who reminds you what it feels like to be mortal.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the windowsill, gripping it as if it might hold you in place. You’ve never felt this strange mixture of jealousy and hope. You don’t know what he’s thinking. You don’t know if he sees you.

The house feels heavy around you, like it’s trying to pull you back into its cold grip.

Curiosity pushes you forward, and before you know it, you’re moving quietly down the marble staircase, your footsteps silent against the thick rug. You slip through the halls, careful to stay in the shadows, your heart hammering in a way it hasn’t in years.

You round the corner near the kitchen just as the gardener comes through the back door, pushing his shirt up over his head to wipe the sweat from his neck. His skin gleams faintly, muscles flexing with the motion.

You don’t mean to make a sound, but your sudden breath catches in your throat, and you startle him.

He spins around, eyes wide and alert, the shirt falling back into place.

You hold up your hands, trying to calm him. “Sorry… didn’t mean to scare you.”

He blinks, recovering quickly. “Uh… no worries. You’re…?”

…someone who’s not usually seen,” you say, lips curling into the ghost of a smile. “But I live here.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or testing him. “Didn’t know anyone was home. I’ve been out there all morning.”

“I noticed,” you say, voice softer now. “From the upstairs window.”

He rubs the back of his neck, still a little out of breath. “Guess I should’ve waved.”

That almost makes you laugh. Almost. You step closer, just enough so you’re no longer tucked behind the hallway wall, but still safely out of reach of the sunbeams stretching across the floor.

“You’re the new gardener,” you say, like you’re confirming it for yourself.

He nods. “Yeah. Nate. Got the job through an old lady—Agnes, I think?”

That name makes your spine stiffen.

You nod once, slowly. “She’s been here a long time.”

“She kinda runs the place?”

You huff under your breath. “Something like that.”

He looks at you again, this time longer. Not in a rude way, just… curious. Trying to place you. “You don’t look like staff.”

“I’m not.” You glance past him at the open back door. Bright light spills in, touching the edge of the stone floor. You don’t go near it.

He follows your gaze, then looks back. “You alright?”

You pause. It’s not a question you get asked. Not by anyone real. Not for years.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just… not used to new faces.”

“Well,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans again, “guess we’ll have to fix that.”

You don’t answer, but you don’t turn away either.

And when he walks past you toward the hallway, whistling low under his breath, you feel something strange stir in your chest.

Something close to warmth.

Something dangerously close to wanting.

You’re still watching the hallway where the gardener disappeared when a voice, low and surprised, cuts through the silence behind you.

“Well, I’ll be.”

Your body tenses. Slowly, you turn your head.

Remmick stands just behind you, arms crossed over his chest, leaning lazily against the doorway like he hasn’t been watching this whole time. Like he didn’t just catch you somewhere you never should’ve been.

He raises an eyebrow, eyes cutting toward the door.

“You lost or somethin’, sweetheart?”

You blink, mouth parting. “I was just…”

“Just what?” he asks, stepping further into the hall, boots soft on the rug. “Wanderin’? Sightseein’? Didn’t know this dusty corner of the house got so interestin’ all of a sudden.”

You don’t answer. You don’t lie, either.

Remmick watches you a moment longer, then tilts his head slightly.

“You’ve been actin’ strange,” he says, quieter now. “Since the new hire showed up.”

You look back toward the door. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah?” His voice drops, soft but sharp. “You sure? ’Cause I ain’t seen you downstairs in… what, months? And now you’re standin’ here like you’re waitin’ on somethin’. Or someone.”

You clench your jaw, gaze fixed on the sliver of sunlight crawling across the tiled floor.

“I’m not waitin’ on anyone,” you mutter.

Remmick steps closer, slow and deliberate. Not enough to crowd you — just enough to remind you he’s always near.

“Agnes said you been quiet lately,” he says. “Quieter than usual. Though then once this boy shows up, and suddenly you’re wide awake. That ain’t nothin’, darlin’. That’s somethin’.”

You finally turn to face him. His expression is unreadable, calm, but watching you like a hawk.

“You spying on me now?” you ask, voice cool.

He chuckles under his breath. “You really think I ever stopped?”

You hate that he’s probably right.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway feels too still. Like the house is listening.

You fold your arms, lean back against the wall. “You jealous?”

Remmick’s mouth twitches, but not into a smile.

“I don’t get jealous,” he says. “I get curious. And right now, I’m real curious why you’re suddenly watchin’ a man who don’t even know what you are.”

You look away, throat tight. “He doesn’t matter.”

His voice lowers. “Then why’re you still starin’ at that door like he’s comin’ back?”

You don’t answer.

And Remmick doesn’t push.

After a long moment, he sighs, voice low and rough. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” he says, stepping closer, eyes sharp. “But if I were you, I’d stop. Before I cut off your little… interactions with him.”

You turn to face him, eyes hard.

“Cut me off?” you repeat, voice steady. “You think you can control who I talk to now?”

He shrugs, but there’s something dangerous in his calm.

“I don’t have to control you. You choose to stay here. In that room. Away from everything. Away from me.”

Your jaw tightens.

“Maybe I choose it because it’s the only place I don’t have to feel your breath on my neck.”

Without another word, you turn sharply on your heel and stride away, each step fueled by the fire burning beneath your skin. Your anger drowns out the heavy silence, your heart hammering louder than your footsteps.

Remmick’s voice cuts through the still air, rough and urgent, but you don’t look back as he yells out your name angrily.

It had been more than a month since the gardener arrived.

Since Nate arrived.

Time slipped strangely in this place — too fast when you wanted it to slow down, and agonizingly slow when all you wanted was change. You had been watching him from windows, from shadowed hallways, from the corners where the light didn’t reach. And during that time, Remmick had… changed.

He wasn’t gone. Not really. He still lingered in doorways, in mirrors, in the space just behind your shoulder. But he spoke less. Watched more. Distant — or something like it. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe what he was to you. Not a lover. Not anymore. Not since that last touch that barely felt like one. Not since you started counting the silence between his visits.

You thought maybe he was pulling away.

Or maybe you were.

It’s late when you go downstairs. The house is quiet, like it’s sleeping. You like it that way. No voices. No eyes. Just your bare feet brushing against the cold wood as you make your way to the kitchen. You weren’t expecting to see anyone. You weren’t wearing anything special — just the same worn shirt and shorts you always wore to bed, your hair a little messy, your eyes tired.

You reach for a glass, the tap whispering as you fill it.

Then you hear a soft sound — a shuffle behind you.

You turn slowly.

And there he is. Nate. Standing near the far end of the counter, like he’s been there a minute or two but didn’t want to scare you.

“Oh—sorry,” he says quickly, hands lifting a little. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You blink, heart giving a strange little lurch. “No, it’s okay,” you say. “Just… didn’t think anyone else was up.”

He gives you a small smile, eyes flicking down, then back up. “Could say the same about you.”

He looks warm, even in the dim light. Hair tousled, shirt a little wrinkled like he’d been tossing in bed, or hadn’t gone at all. He leans back against the counter, arms crossed lightly. He’s looking at you in a way that makes your skin feel too tight.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say.

He nods. “Same.”

The silence stretches between you again, but it isn’t awkward. It’s just… charged. You sip your water, but your hands feel shaky.

You shouldn’t be here.

Not with him.

Not like this.

He moves before you can think too hard — steps just a little closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to feel it. That tension. That pull. That thing inside you that’s been curling tighter and tighter the longer you go untouched.

“Do you… like it here?” he asks, voice low.

You glance up at him. “This house?”

He nods.

You shrug, setting the glass down. “It’s not really a matter of liking it. It’s just where I am.”

He watches you for a second, then says, “Doesn’t feel like you belong here.”

That makes you laugh, soft and dry. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. You just… feel too real for a place like this.”

You don’t know what happens next. Maybe it’s the way he says it. Or the way he looks at you like he actually sees you. Or maybe it’s the memory of how long it’s been since anyone reached for you like they meant it.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re stepping into him — and kissing him.

It’s not gentle. It’s not planned.

You just grab the front of his shirt and pull him in like you’ve been starving for it. His mouth is warm, surprised at first — then hungry. You taste sweat, sleep, something earthy. Something real.

Your body presses to his, your fingers curling into the fabric like it’s the only thing holding you together. His hand finds your waist, fingers tentative but firm. You let yourself sink into it — dizzy, warm, burning. You don’t even realize your eyes are closed until the kiss breaks and you’re left panting.

You step back a little, your heart thudding loud in your ears.

“I…” you start, but the words fall apart.

You don’t know why you did it.

To feel something?

To forget how cold Remmick has become?

To punish him for every time he looked through you like glass?

You shake your head, unable to meet Nate’s eyes.

“I don’t know what came over me,” you whisper.

And it’s true.

But you already know it’s too late to take it back.

And then —

A creak.

The subtle, dragging sound of worn shoes on wood.

You look up, heart jerking into your throat.

Agnes is standing in the doorway.

Half-shadowed, half-lit by the hallway lamp behind her. She says nothing. Just… stares. One hand curled loosely around the hem of her shawl. Her face unreadable. Pale eyes watching like you’d stepped into a play she’s already seen before.

You jump, hands instantly pushing Nate back.

Too late.

Agnes doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

Just stands there, unmoving.

The room feels suddenly colder.

You open your mouth. No words come.

She still doesn’t say anything. Just… slowly turns and walks back into the hall.

Like she never saw a thing.

But you know better.

You felt her see it.

ADD DIVIDER HERE

Dinner sat cold between you, untouched like everything else lately. The quiet in the room wasn’t peaceful — it was heavy, like a weight pressing down on your chest. You could feel Remmick’s eyes burning into you from the other side of the table, watching, waiting. He wasn’t moving, just sitting there, hands clenched on his lap, jaw tight.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, slow, and rough with anger— that drawl twisting his words like a knife. “You don’t have much appetite these days. What’s eatin’ at you, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You kept your gaze on your plate, tracing the chipped edge with your finger, your stomach knotting with guilt and something else. He leaned forward a little, eyes sharper now, darker— like he was trying to burn the truth out of you.

“Agnes told me. She seen you, didn’t she?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Saw you with that damn gardener. Told me every goddamn detail.”

You finally met his eyes. “She doesn’t know what she saw.”

His laugh was cold, bitter. “Don’t play me for a fool. I’m not blind, and I ain’t stupid.”

You shook your head slowly, stubborn as ever. “I didn’t plan it. But it happened.”

His fist slammed the table, rattling the dishes. “You kissed him.”

“Yes,” you said, voice steady even though your heart felt like it might burst. “I needed something real. Something you stopped giving me.”

His eyes burned brighter, fury laced with jealousy. “You think you just walk up and take what you want? What makes you think he’s better than me?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and met his gaze head on. “We used to be something, Remmick. But you… you turned me into someone I didn’t even recognize.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he snarled, voice shaking with barely contained rage. “I’ve been here. Every damn day.”

“Not really,” you snapped back. “You’ve been here, but you’ve been gone. You stopped touching me, stopped looking at me like I mattered.”

He stood up suddenly, boots thudding on the floor, pacing like a caged animal. “You think I don’t want you? You think I’m not burnin’ up inside watching you slip away?”

You stayed seated, jaw tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said. “But it happened. I was starving for something real. And you—you left me starvin’ in this goddamn house.”

He stopped pacing, stepping close enough that you could see the wild fire in his eyes. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and fierce. “And don’t you forget it.”

You lifted your chin, cold and defiant. “Then maybe you should’ve acted like it before this got so damn far.”

The silence stretched between you— thick and electric. Neither of you moved, caught in the eye of a storm that was only just beginning to rage.

The tablecloth whipped off the long wooden table with a sudden, violent yank. Plates, glasses, silverware—all smashed onto the floor, the crash echoing like gunshots in the stillness of the room. Your breath hitched, heart pounding loud in your ears, while your eyes darted between the shattered mess and the man standing right in front of you.

Remmick wasn’t just angry—he was a storm about to break. His gaze burned through you, dark and wild, and before you could even think of moving, his hands shot forward and grabbed the arms of your chair with a grip so tight it almost hurt. His fingers curled around the wood like iron clamps, pinning you there.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sheer force of it. You were trapped, caged, held in place not just by his hands but by the fierce, furious energy radiating off him. He wasn’t letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

He leaned down slightly, his face close enough that you could see every flicker of rage and desperation in his eyes. His voice dropped low, rough like gravel scraping against stone.

“Where d’you think you’re gonna go, huh?” he growled, his breath hot against your cheek. “Out that door? Back to him? Like you could just walk away from me like I’m some damn ghost?”

Your chest tightened, lungs struggling to draw a steady breath under the weight of his stare. You wanted to pull away, to push him off, but his grip was relentless. It was like he was physically tethering you to this moment, refusing to let you slip away.

“You think you can just throw all this away? After everything?” His voice cracked, raw with jealousy, pain, and something dangerously close to obsession. “You think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you... fall apart in someone else’s arms?”

The heat of his anger was suffocating, but beneath it, you caught something darker—something broken. A twisted kind of love that wasn’t tender or soft. It was jagged, sharp, and fierce, and it clawed at your skin.

“I’m not lettin’ you go,” he snarled, voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper now, like a threat wrapped in a confession. “You’re mine. You don’t get to just walk outta here and pretend like nothin’ happened.”

Your mind reeled, heart pounding like a wild drumbeat. You’d never seen this side of him before—so raw, so brutal. You wanted to fight back, to break free, but there was something about the way he held you, caged you, that made you freeze.

For a long moment, you just sat there, breathing hard, caught in the storm of his fury and the tangled mess of your own guilt and stubbornness.

Suddenly, he pulled back. Like your skin had burned him.

Remmick ripped his hands off the chair and staggered back a few steps, running both hands through his hair hard— fisting the hair, tugging like he needed pain to ground him. He paced, turned halfway from you, then spun back like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to yell or throw something.

“I can’t even stand to look at you right now,” he spat, voice rough and shaking with rage.

You flinched, just barely. But he caught it.

“Oh, now you flinch?” he barked, laughing bitterly. “That’s rich.”

His boots scuffed loudly against the floor as he paced again, one hand bracing on the back of a chair like he was trying to hold himself up. His chest heaved with shallow, furious breaths.

“You—you went behind my back,” he said, louder now, like each word was being dragged out of him. “With him. Like I was some fuckin’ ghost to you. Like I didn’t matter.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already shaking his head.

“Nah. Don’t. Don’t give me some half-assed excuse. Don’t act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doin’. You knew what it would do to me.”

He turned to you again—his expression cracked open, not soft, but shredded. Angry and hurt and unhinged all at once.

“Get outta my sight.”

You didn’t move.

“I said go,” he snapped, voice breaking. “’Fore I say somethin’ I can’t take back. Because right now? Right now I don’t even know what the hell’s stoppin’ me.”

You stood slowly, your legs shaking under you, but you held his gaze. Even as his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. Even as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

He looked at you like you were everything he’d ever wanted and the one thing that could destroy him in the same breath.

You stood there, hands trembling at your sides — not from fear, but from everything boiling under your skin. You stared him down, jaw tight, pulse hammering in your throat.

He wanted you gone? Fine. But you weren’t walking out without saying what needed to be said.

“You wanna act like this is new?” Your voice was sharp now, cold, slicing through the tension like a blade. “We were already done the second you turned me, Remmick.”

That stopped him cold.

He froze mid-step, back to you, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. You could practically see the heat rolling off him as the silence stretched—tense, waiting, dangerous.

He turned around slow. Eyes wide, lips parted like he couldn’t believe you actually said it. “You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and lethal.

You didn’t hesitate.

“We. Were. Done,” you repeated, voice louder now, throat burning. “The moment you made that choice for me. When you took everything I was and twisted it into something that only fit you.”

He laughed—but it was wrong. Broken. Hollow and dark and shaking with disbelief. “So that’s it? That’s what I am now? Some monster who ruined you?”

“You didn’t ruin me,” you snapped. “You lost me. Big difference.”

That did it.

He exploded.

In one motion he kicked the chair nearest him hard, sending it crashing against the wall with a loud bang that echoed through the room. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands—like he wanted to break something or scream or grab you and make you feel how much you still belonged to him.

“You think I didn’t feel that night?” he shouted, voice fraying. “You think I didn’t carry it with me every goddamn day since? I never wanted to hurt you!”

“But you did,” you said, voice low now. “And you keep doing it. With silence. With anger. With this—” you gestured between you, the broken plates, the broken everything. “This isn’t love, Remmick. Not anymore.”

His chest heaved, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap.

And then he did the worst thing of all.

He said nothing.

He just looked at you—ruined and furious and helpless—and didn’t say a damn thing to stop you as you turned to leave.

It had been a month.

Thirty long, bitter days where silence settled in like mold, clinging to the walls, seeping into the floorboards. If it was even possible, the house felt darker now. Quieter. Not just in sound—but in weight, in presence, in everything it used to hold.

You hadn’t seen Remmick since that night. Not properly, at least. You felt him, though. Somewhere in the house, pacing the halls like a storm with nowhere left to strike. His boots echoed sometimes through the upstairs hallway in the dead of night—slow, heavy steps that always stopped right outside your door. But he never knocked.

Surprisingly, he never did anything about Nate either. Never went after him. Never brought it up again. That made it worse somehow—like he was waiting for something. Or maybe punishing you by doing nothing at all.

You avoided Nate like the plague. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let yourself. Not when everything between you was soaked in guilt. Not when Agnes had seen. Not when it had blown your world apart.

And Remmick? You hadn't spoken a single word to him.

Not one.

Agnes knocked every evening, soft little taps against the wood. Sometimes she even called your name, her voice muffled, strange, unreadable.

You never answered.

You only opened the door once the hallway was empty, grabbed the plate of food in silence, then set it back out hours later—cold and barely touched. Some nights you didn’t eat at all. You weren’t even sure you were hungry anymore.

You were more of a ghost now than anything else.

No longer someone loved. No longer someone feared.

Just… someone who had ruined everything.

You knew it was your fault. There was no denying it now, no softening it, no excuse to spin. You’d kissed Nate. You’d let it happen. You didn’t stop it. You’d looked at him like he saw something in you, something good. And you liked it.

But liking it didn’t make it right.

Liking it didn’t take back the way Remmick had looked at you that night— like you'd broken him in a way that couldn’t be put back together.

The walls of your room felt tighter now. Smaller. You spent your days staring out the window, watching a world that moved on without you. The curtains stayed drawn most of the time, and the air smelled like dust and rain.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Maybe you were just waiting for something to change— anything. But the silence held. And so did you.

The house was silent that night. Not just quiet— silent. The kind of stillness that felt too heavy to be natural. It clung to the walls, to the floor beneath your bare feet, and hummed in the corners like it was waiting for something to break.

Everyone was probably asleep.

Probably.

But you knew better.

Remmick was out there somewhere. Watching. Listening. Waiting. He always was.

You stood in the middle of your room for a long time before moving, staring at the door like it might open on its own. Like someone might be out there, daring you to step through.

But nothing happened.

Still, something tugged at you. Hunger. Thirst. Anger. Everything. It was all wound tight inside your chest like a coil ready to snap, and you were tired of pretending it wasn’t.

So you opened the door.

The hallway was dim, only moonlight from the windows painting long lines across the wooden floor. No footsteps. No voices. Just that same thick silence.

You didn’t look around. You didn’t need to.

You already knew he was there. Somewhere in the dark. Watching. Always watching.

But you didn’t stop. You walked down the hallway, each step slower than the last, until you reached Nate’s door. You didn’t knock.

You just turned the handle.

He was sitting on his bed, still fully dressed like he hadn’t expected to sleep. Like maybe part of him had been waiting, too. His eyes widened the moment he saw you, surprise flickering fast across his face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, cautious.

You didn’t answer. You stepped inside, closing the door gently behind you with a soft click. Nate stood up slowly. “Hey,” he said again, softer now. “Did something happen?”

Your eyes met his, and something in your stare made him pause. You weren’t the same as you had been a month ago. There was something darker behind your gaze now—something that didn’t flinch.

“You were right,” you said calmly, walking toward him. “That night in the kitchen. You saw something in me. And I think I liked it.”

He blinked, clearly unsure if this was real. His shoulders tensed. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Remmick, but—”

You cut him off with a smile. But it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was sharp.

“Remmick doesn’t matter tonight.”

Nate stared at you, jaw clenched. He didn’t move as you stepped closer. You stopped only when you were a breath away, your hand lightly grazing the front of his shirt.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” you whispered, voice honey-slick and low. “You’ve been thinking about it. About me. About what could’ve happened if we hadn’t been caught.”

His breath hitched. “You’re not like this.”

“Not like what?” you asked, tilting your head. “Honest? Hungry?”

You leaned in closer, brushing your lips near his ear. “Desperate?”

Nate’s hands hovered in the air like he didn’t know whether to touch you or push you away. “You’re upset. You’re not thinking straight.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “I’ve never thought clearer.”

He swallowed hard, eyes scanning your face. Your expression didn’t waver. There was nothing soft left in it.

You reached up and placed your hands gently on his chest. Your fingers moved slow, deliberate, dragging across the fabric. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and unsure.

He exhaled shakily. “Why are you here?”

Your hands stilled. Then you smiled again.

“Because you wanted me here.”

And he did. That much was obvious. But something deep in his gut started to twist. Unease. Fear. He opened his mouth to speak again, to say something, anything—

But your hands were already moving.

You leaned in, close enough for your lips to graze his jaw.

Then, just as your voice dropped to a whisper:

“I’m sorry.”

Your mouth met his neck.

And then you bit.

Blood was everywhere.

It soaked the sheets, dripped onto the hardwood, splattered across your arms, your throat, your collarbone. Nate’s body lay discarded on the floor, neck torn open, eyes still wide in shock. The warmth of him was already fading, pooling dark beneath him like ink bleeding from paper.

You stood over him, chest heaving, hands shaking—but not from regret. Not fear.

No.

From something colder. Hungrier.

The silence in the room was thick—until it wasn’t.

You didn’t hear the door open.

But suddenly, he was there.

Remmick.

He stood in the doorway like a shadow made flesh, his tall frame swallowing the moonlight, eyes locked on you—not the body, not the mess, just you.

And he looked...

Ravenous.

Not angry.

Not shocked.

Devoted.

His boots tracked slowly through the blood, staining the soles, leaving red prints behind. He stopped right in front of you, barely inches away, breathing heavy like he’d run through hell itself.

His eyes roamed over your face—bloodstained lips, crimson smeared down your chin, the violence still fresh—and for a second, it looked like he might drop to his knees.

Instead, he laughed.

A low, broken sound, hollow and ragged. His fingers twitched at his sides.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, the faintest drawl coloring the edges of his words. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You said nothing. Didn’t need to.

He stepped closer, hands grabbing your face—rough, trembling.

“You ain’t got no idea what you’ve done to me,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours, voice cracking with raw, fevered need. “I watched you. Saw you take him apart. Lord, I ain’t never wanted anything more than I want you right now.”

Blood still dripped from your skin, slick and warm. His thumb brushed your lower lip, smearing the crimson like it was sacred.

“I thought I was losin’ my mind before,” he whispered, grip tightening, “but now? Seein’ you like this?”

He laughed again, sharp and wild.

“I’m done for. I’m gone.”

His mouth hovered near yours—not to kiss, but to breathe you in.

“You don’t even understand what you are,” he hissed. “You think this is guilt? That you’re some kinda monster?”

His eyes traced the blood on your throat like it belonged there. “This here? This is power, darlin’. This is love.”

You didn’t move.

You didn’t flinch.

Something deep inside, long buried and dark, started to believe him.

He leaned down, lips grazing your ear, voice dropping low and rough, the accent thickening like smoke curling in the dark.

“I wanna ruin you,” he said. “Wanna worship you. Watch you tear the whole damn world apart and know you’ll come home to me when you’re done.”

His fingers curled tighter under your jaw. No restraint left in his eyes.

“You don’t get it, do ya?” he whispered. “You just became mine. Again. And this time? This time I ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Your breath caught, tears burning behind your eyes. Your voice cracked, trembling as it spilled out, raw and ragged:

“Remmick... I’m sorry. So damn sorry. For everything. For breakin’ you. For runnin’... For not bein’ yours when I should’ve been.”

Your words were soaked in blood and pain, each one heavier than the last.

And the worst part?

You didn’t want him to let you go either.

Remmick’s breath hitched at your words, a flicker of something almost tender flashing through the madness in his eyes. His grip loosened just enough for you to breathe, but not enough to let you go.

“Damn right you’re sorry,” he murmured, voice thick with something fierce and possessive. “And hell, maybe that’s all I ever needed to hear.”

He pulled you closer, the heat of him burning through the blood and the cold, every inch of you drawn into the storm of him.

His breath hot on your neck, growls, “You’re mine, and I’m gonna make sure no one ever forgets it.” You know Nates corpse is lying nearby, a grim reminder of the darkness that binds you.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess, ain’t ya?” Remmick’s voice is a low drawl. He pushes you back onto the bed, the warm, sticky wetness of the crimson sheets seeping through your clothes. His body covers yours, his weight pressing you into the hard surface. The mattress groans under your combined weight, but the sounds of the bed are drowned out by your mutual ragged breaths.

His hand tear at your clothes.

You don’t resist. Your body aches with need.

He tosses the shredded remnants aside, his eyes roaming over your naked form, taking in every detail. You’re covered in blood, your skin slick and glistening, your mouth and chin stained with it. He groans, his cock hardening against your thigh.

Nate’s lifeless eyes seem to watch you, but you don’t care. This moment is yours. Yours and Remmick’s.

Remmick’s mouth claims yours in a brutal, hungry kiss. His tongue invades, claiming, possessing. You melt into him, your body molding to his, your senses drowning in his scent, his taste, his touch.

You don’t know when he’s lowered his pants, though somehow in between you could feel him, feel his length.

His hands grip your wrists, pining them above your head. Remmick’s kiss turns ruthless, his teeth scraping against your lips, drawing blood. He licks it away, gowling low in his throat. His body grinds against yours, his cock hard and insistent.

You try to move, but his grip is like a vise, unyielding and dominant. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin.

You feel the rush of blood in your veins, the heat of your arousal, the desperate need for release.

He moves lower, his lips and tongue exploring your breasts, your stomach, his touch driving you wild with need. You arch into him, your body begging for me, your hands straining against his hold.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he says, his voice rough with command, that slight drawl only making it hotter.

His mouth finds your inner thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. You shiver, your breath hitching as he bites down, hard enough to leave a mark. He soothes the sting with his tongue, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place.

His mouth moves higher, his tongue tracing the line of your pussy, his breath hot against your flesh. You moan, your hips lifting off the bed, your body begging for more. He teases you, his tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers spreading your lips wide. You can feel the anticipation building, the pressure in your core, the tightening of your muscles. He brings you to the edge, then pulls back, leaving you panting and frustrated.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

He smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips, and then he’s moving, his body sliding up yours, his cock pressing against your entrance. He looks down at you, his eyes locked on yours.

You smile back, a slow, seductive curve of your lips, and he groans, his body trembling with restraint. You can see the muscles in his arms and chest straining, like he’s barely holding back.

With a single, brutal thrust, he enters you, filling you and completing you.

You moan, your head falling back, your body arching into his, your senses drowning in the pleasure of his touch. He moves slowly at first, his hips rolling, his cock sliding in and out of you, his body driving you wild with need.

The room is thick with the scent of sex and blood, the air heavy and oppressive. Remmick’s body is slightly slick with sweat, his muscles tense as he hovers over you. “Fuck,” he hisses, his voice laced with a mix of lust and suddenly with anger. He leans down, his breath hot on your ear.

“You think you can just walk away from me? Think you can take what you want and leave me hangin'?"

He thrusts hard, his hips slamming against yours, his cock driving deep into you. You gasp, your body arching off the bed, your nails digging into his back. His voice is rough, his accent dripping with sex and dominance. "You're mine, and I'm gonna remind you of that every fuckin' day."

He pulls back, his cock almost leaving you, before slamming into you again. The bed shakes, the headboard banging against the wall. You moan, the sound raw and primal, your body trembling with the force of his thrusts.

His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving bruises. He’s relentless, his body pounding into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. You can feel the pressure building, the heat in your core, the tightening of your muscles.

"You like that?” he growls, his voice a low rumble. "You like it when I fuck you hard? When I remind you who you belong to?"

He leans down, his teeth grazing your neck, his tongue licking the sweat from your skin. You shiver, your body arching into his touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"You know I do," you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "You know I crave it."

He groans, his body trembling with restraint. "That's right, you do. And I'm gonna give it to you. Every fuckin' day. Every fuckin' night."

He sits up, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wide. He looks down at you, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every detail. You’re covered in blood and sweat, your skin glistening. He groans, his cock hardening even more, if that's possible. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe and hunger. "So fuckin' beautiful. So fuckin' mine."

He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a brutal, hungry kiss. His mouth trails down your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin, leaving love bites that will most definitely bloom into bruises. You can feel the rush of blood in your veins, the height of your arousal.

He moves lower, his lips and tongue exploring your breasts, stomach, your hips, his touch driving you wild with need. You wanted more.

His fingers trailed low, his thumb circling your clit, his touch light and teasing. He wants you with need. You moan, your hips lifting off the bed, your body begging for more. He chuckles, a low, dark sound. It was too much for you all of a sudden.

You try sitting up, to ease the intensity, but he pushes you down, his hand pressing against your chest. “Nah sweetgirl, your gonna take me.” He moves his thumb away from your clit, his relentless thrusts increasing.

“You wanna come, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice a low growl. “You wanna come all over my cock. You wanna milk me dry, don't you?” You nod, your body trembling, you could barely make a word out.

He pulls your legs up slightly, his cock hitting depper if that was even possible. You moan, your voice echoing in the room, your body shuddering with the intensity of your release.

He follows soon after, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills his seed, his groan of pleasure a symphony to your ears.

“I love the way you sound,” he says, his body collapsing on top of you. “I fucking love the way you feel. All tight and wet. All for me.”

He cups your jaw, his thumb brushing away Nate's dried blood. “You’re mine,” he states darkly. ��And I ain’t ever lettin’ you go. You hear me? Never.”

And you don’t answer—not with words. Your breath shudders against his, your eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, like you’re drowning in him.

He leans in, his lips ghosting over your cheek, your temple, not kissing—claiming. His voice is low, hoarse from want and something deeper.

"You remember that," he whispers, breath hot against your ear. "Every time I touch you tonight… every sound I pull from your throat… every time I make you come apart beneath me—remember."

His hand slides down, leaving a trail of blood and heat in its wake.

"You said sorry," he murmurs, like it’s a vow now. "But you don’t gotta be sorry, darlin’. Not for who you are. Not for what you did."

And he reminds you of that, over and over, well into the night—until the walls know his promises by heart and your body forgets it ever belonged to anyone else.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #remmick sinners #remmick fanfic #remmick fic #remmick smut #remmick x reader #remmick #jack o'connell

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prettycalla · 3 days ago

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|| such small words ||

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader

Summary: Eddie thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Word count: 2k

Tags and warnings: Established relationship, mentions of self-esteem issues and body image issues, Eddie's a sweetheart (duh), Eddie's POV, slight angst with fluff and a happy ending.

(Honestly I wrote this for me, but hopefully other people enjoy it too! Title is from Creatures in Heaven by Glass Animals.)

Eddie Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

Eddie's not the best for remembering things, if he's completely honest with himself. He's constantly losing his wallet, never seems to know what day it is, and loses track in conversations all the time. He thinks he'd lose his own head if it wasn't attached to his body.

And then he met you, and suddenly he's determined to remember everything. He has a calendar now, and a notebook to write to-do lists in, and post-it notes plastered all over everything.

He never wants you to feel as if you've been forgotten, and he'll go against everything he is as a person to make sure that never happens.

For one, he takes date night very seriously. Every two weeks, you make a point of doing something together - just the two of you. You alternate who makes the plans, and this time, it's Eddie's turn.

There's a band playing at the Hideout tonight. Eddie had seen them a few months back and gotten a copy of their tape after the show. He'd had it playing on the stereo one night when you were over at his place, and you'd really liked it, so he'd made the suggestion of the two of you going to see them together.

It helps that Eddie knows everyone who works there, and knows which seats are the best for acoustics (and which ones aren't completely busted from years of overzealous metalheads).

You aren't just as into the metal scene as he is, but you like a lot of the music and seem genuinely interested when he goes off on one of his (many) tangents, and honestly? That's more than good enough for him.

He's sprawled out on the couch, flipping through a magazine while he waits for you to get ready. He doesn't mind that you take so much longer than him, because really, his routine for going out is making sure that he's clean. It's not that he's lazy, he's just comfortable in how he dresses. And he knows you like him no matter what - you've told him enough times - and while sometimes he has a hard time believing it, he's learned that you don't have any reason to lie to him. He trusts you.

He checks his watch. You're running a little later than usual, so he decides to give you a few more minutes.

When you still haven't come out of your bedroom, he tosses the magazine aside and hauls himself out of the too-comfortable position he'd let himself slump into.

He stands outside your door, hesitant. He doesn't want to disturb you, but he knows how worried you get when you're running late for something.

He hears something clatter to the floor, muffled through the wood of the door. Then another thing. And another.

He takes a little breath and knocks.

"You doin' okay in there, sweetheart?" he calls.

No reply. He tries again.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

Nothing.

Deciding that whatever gets thrown at him for walking in on you half-naked will be worth it to make sure you're okay, he slowly opens the door.

"Before you throw something at me, I did knock, so-" he starts, trailing off when he sees you.

You're sitting on the floor, your head pressed to your knees as you hug your legs close to your chest. The room around you is a mess, clothes and shoes scattered everywhere, all over the floor and across your bed. Drawers lie open haphazardly, and clothes hangers lie in a heap next to your closet.

You're sitting in an oversized T-shirt, tucked into it as much as you possibly can be.

Eddie calls your name softly. You just shake your head in response, refusing to look up at him.

Not one to be deterred, he finds an empty spot on the floor next to you and sits down, crossing his legs.

“Hey,” he says gently. “What’s wrong?”

He hears a muffled little sniffle, and his eyebrows knit together in concern. He hates seeing you upset.

"Baby," he murmurs. "Talk to me."

You shake your head again, and he decides not to push you any further, just sits quietly next to you for a while. More than anything, he wants to pull you into his arms and hold you until whatever it is that's bothering you disappears. But he knows that's not what you need right now, and so he waits.

He knows you'll always talk to him when you're ready.

It takes a while, but eventually, you lift your head slightly. Your eyes are red-rimmed, your cheeks blotchy. You've been crying for a while, from the looks of it. His heart hurts just looking at you.

Eddie leans in a little closer to you. Not quite touching, but enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from you. He holds his tongue between his teeth, giving you the time you need.

"Nothing fits," you whisper hoarsely.

You gesture vaguely to the chaos scattered across the floor.

"It's all too big or too small. None of it's right."

Eddie takes a quick glance around the room, before turning his attention back to you. He wants to ask why it matters, but even he knows how that sounds.

"I just-" you start to say, before your words catch in your throat.

Your eyes are watering again.

"I just wanted to look nice for you," you whisper.

It all tumbles out of your mouth in a rush before you burst into tears, and Eddie's had enough of trying to hold himself back. His arms are immediately around you, holding you tight while you let it out.

"It's okay," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It's okay."

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in Eddie's arms while he whispers little nothings to try and soothe you.

Eventually, your shoulders drop and you slowly slump into his hold. Your sobs quieten down to little sniffles, and only then does he risk pulling away ever so slightly to look at you.

"You mind if I say something?" he asks, still keeping his voice soft and low.

He likes to ask now when you're feeling like this. Before, he would just go off on a tangent until you were even more anxious and overwhelmed than you already were. He never meant to upset you, it just hurt him so much to see you like that, and he needed to tell you how amazing you were. He still does, the urge never leaves him. But he knows now that it only does more harm.

So he waits. And he asks.

You nod, giving him the okay.

"I know how you think about yourself," he says. "God knows I don't get it, but I know how it makes you feel."

He gently takes your face in his hands, dark eyes roaming your face. Your eyes, your nose, your mouth, every part of you is perfect to him.

You won't meet his gaze, and he knows you're embarrassed. You hate him seeing you like this.

"It's okay if you don't wanna look at me, I understand," he says. "Just listen to me, okay? I want you to know something. I've said it a million times, and I'll say it a million more times if I have to."

You shake your head slightly.

"Eddie, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he insists softly. "Aren't you always telling me I'm allowed to express how I feel?"

You reluctantly nod. He smiles at you then.

"Well then, you're gonna let me say what I have to say," he says, his tone still light and quiet.

He takes another little breath, to steady himself.

"I think you - yes, you - are the most beautiful thing in this world. And I'm not saying this "because I have to", or whatever bullshit that mean little voice in your head's gonna tell you. I'm saying it because I want to. And because it's the truth."

He gently wipes at your tears with his thumbs, not daring for one second to let you go.

"I don't care what you wear, or how your hair looks, or if you've got food all over your face, okay? Because you're fucking gorgeous, no matter what. Yes, even when you've been up all night with one of your projects. Yes, even when you're drooling all over me in your sleep."

A tiny laugh escapes you at that, and Eddie's heart feels like it's about to burst. He's so in love with you.

He hopes someday he'll find the courage to tell you.

"We don't have to go anywhere tonight, okay? We can just stay home and order some food in and, I dunno, watch The Muppets for the 800th time."

"But it's date night," you tell him worriedly.

Eddie just shrugs. "Yeah, and? I don't care what we do, so long as I'm with you."

He lightly taps your nose, making you laugh again, and God, he could easily become addicted to that sound.

You bite your lip, before you finally nod. Eddie smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"C'mon, let's get up before my old man knees start giving me shit," he jokes, holding his hand out to you.

You take it with a smile, letting Eddie lead you into the living room. He makes a big fuss out of pulling a blanket around you and setting up the VCR.

"Eddie, I can't get too comfy. I gotta clean my room, it's a mess," you tell him.

Eddie shakes his head.

"Nope, you're not going anywhere," he replies firmly. "Look, how about this? I'll go clean it up, and you can rewind the tape that I obviously just shoved back in the box the last time we watched it. Deal?"

You don't answer right away, and Eddie holds his hand out to you.

"Deal?" he asks again, insistent.

You can hardly keep the smile from your face as you shake his hand.

"Great! Won't be long, I promise," he says.

He leaves you to your task, heading back into your bedroom. It's not as bad as you seem to think - at least, compared to his mess at home. Some clothes on the floor? Please. This is a cake walk.

He might not tidy it quite the way you would, but after a couple of minutes, you can at least get into your bed without having to toss anything out of the way, and the floor's no longer a tripping hazard, so it's practically spotless in Eddie's eyes.

Thankfully, you're still in the same spot when he returns to the living room, the VCR paused and waiting. He knows how hard it is for you to relax sometimes, especially after being so vulnerable like that. It takes a lot out of you, and while he knows he can't fix it, he can at least be there and help you through it.

He shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his shoes, climbing under the blanket with you and pulling you close to him how he likes, with his arms around your waist and your back against his chest.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" he asks, pressing a little kiss to your cheek.

You shake your head.

"Good. Hit play, I'm dying to know what happens," he says with a little squeeze to your waist.

"You know what happens," you retort, but you do as he says anyway.

You lean your head back against his chest, pulling the blanket up to your chin, as the upbeat opening music starts to play. Eddie threads his fingers through your hair, only half-focused on the movie.

He still can't believe he gets to hold you like this. That you're really with him.

He makes a promise to himself. That he's not gonna wait forever to tell you how he really feels.

You deserve to hear those three little words.

And somehow, in spite of all his worries, all his insecurities, he thinks you'll say them back.

Taglist: @punkrockmlchael @hikohyuuga @iitsmandii @medievalharlot @glassbxttless @getaapologist @fandom-princess-forevermore @robinbuckleywife @samslvrgirl @cheesesandwichsanto

(You can join the taglist here! If you wish to be removed, please let me know!)

#some soft eddie is good for the soul #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie/reader #eddie/you #angie writes #prettycalla writes

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mylovesstuffs · 2 days ago

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OT13 reaction to having a cute, strong s/o who also loves to eat

Requested by @moonygrim : Hi Celeste 😊, I hope you’re doing well 💕.

I saw that your requests were open and decided to send one in.

So I was just wondering if you could write a reaction to Seventeen having a strong cute SO who maybe likes to eat a lot. I know it’s a little of a weird one but I thought I would send it anyways since seeing something like that would mean a lot to me.

Thank you 💕.

A/N: tysm for trusting me with something so personal. representation matters, and i’m honored to help you feel seen through this one 🫶🏼 you deserve to be adored just as you are, muscle and all 💜 /// the requester included some personal experiences, which i chose not to share publicly out of respect for their privacy. the prompt above is the main request

Head-over-heels in awe of your strength [and your appetite] — Seungcheol, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

These boys are starstruck. No other word for it. Seungcheol practically glows watching you lift something heavy without breaking a sweat. He calls you his ‘supergirl’ and brags about how ”his girl carried the groceries like they were feathers.” Mingyu is so whipped it’s ridiculous. You flex once and he’s making heart eyes, mumbling, “You’re so cool, what the heck.” If you’re both at a buffet? You’re tag-teaming! Dokyeom LOVES that you eat with joy. He’s always encouraging you to get seconds, and if you ever say “I think I ate too much,” he’s shaking his head like: “No such thing. Let’s go for dessert” 🍮 And Dino's a baby in love. He looks at you like you hung the moon, especially when you slightly lift him up jokingly or beat him in arm wrestling. That’s his dream girl.

Totally smitten, totally supportive — Jeonghan, Hoshi, Woozi, Seungkwan

Jeonghan low-key teases you at first, “should I be the little spoon tonight?” but it’s all affection. He genuinely finds your strength super attractive and hot and secretly loves it when you protect him from fans or push open a jammed door like it’s nothing. Woozi’s too chill to say much, but he’s proud and kind of turned on. His eyes linger when you’re focused, the small smiles when you eat with gusto — it’s all there. Seungkwan is OBSESSED. You’re his superhero. He’ll film you carrying heavy bags just to show people how cool you are. And when you’re eating happily, he's literally matching your pace and feeding you bites of his plate. Hoshi’s your #1 cheerleader, “LOOK AT HER BICEPS!!!” he’ll yell in the group chat after you open a kimchi jar he couldn’t. He’ll act all dramatic but only because, he’s so, so into you.

Extremely respectful of your body and your confidence — Joshua, Jun, Wonwoo, Minghao

Joshua’s the type to look at your arms while you’re lifting something and ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ say, “You’re really strong,” with the kindest, most genuine admiration. He loves that you’re strong and soft; his safe space. Wonwoo finds strength incredibly sexy. You might be stronger than him, and he loves that. He’s quiet, but if you ever express insecurity, he’ll look you straight in the eye and say, “you’re beautiful. Exactly as you are.” and shut all that nonsensical stuff in your head. Jun will 100% ask you to teach him workouts. You two will have gym dates, and he’ll compliment your form every time. He loves your body and the way you love food, it’s all part of what makes you you. Hao sees your strength as elegance. He’s inspired by your control, your discipline, and how at peace you are with yourself [because he doesn't let you you live with insecurities]. If someone makes a comment about your build, he’ll politely but firmly shut it down, “she’s stronger than your fragile ego. Let’s go babe.” [UFF, I LOVE HIM 😌]

Obsessed in the most Vernon way — Vernon

Vernon’s reaction is understated, but make no mistake: he’s in awe of you. You casually carry something heavy or pop open a stuck bottle cap, and he just blinks like, “wait. That was kinda hot.” He admires your strength silently, but with so much pride. He doesn’t gush, but he just shows it in lowkey ways: asking you to spot him at the gym, letting you finish his fries because you love them, or wordlessly handing you his hoodie when he notices you’re cold after a workout. And if anyone ever says anything rude about your build or appetite, he’s not shouting and screaming and challenging to fight him, but he’s sharp. He’ll cut in calmly, firmly, “she’s literally perfect. You good?”

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snowneedsanap · 2 days ago

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Feed a guppy, will ya miss?

The Merman's Cove // Poly!Mermay!141 x Afab!Human!Reader // Ch. 1

Tags // Reader is Afab with she/her pronouns, this is eventually a poly ending but starts with a Kyle/Johnny fic for the beginning, the boys are feral hunters, reader doesn't like fish, I don't care if it isn't MerMay anymore I want Mermen, Reader is human interacting with feral beasts of the deep, protective mermen, biting, marking, clawing, Reader def has daddy issues, will later build on once I get to writing ok loves<3

A/N // possibly smut? i am still a baby writer you guys. I don't know, this is hopefully my first longer fic and it catches on b/c I'm going through a mermaid phase.

Buying or really stealing a bucket of mackerel from your father's fishing boat was a daily habit since you remembered, since he would take you to the cove where the sea otters stayed. Their chirps and squeaks, clawing and pawing to the slippery and small fish was the only tolerating part of handling fish. Ever since living on a port city that thrived off of it's fishing exports, you could never quite enjoy the delicacy the locals enjoyed. The texture, the olfaction, the taste, you could never get over. No matter if it was grilled, baked, stuffed, raw, or cooked, any sort of fish could never be to your liking.

So, imagine to your father's surprise, as an owner of his own fishing company, when his own daughter doesn't enjoy the food he catches and how he smelled at the end of the day coming back from sea. When you were younger, he would shower right as he got home to then prepare chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese right when you came home from elementary school. But as you grew and he spent more time out at sea to pay for your primary education, he would never even have the chance to see you nor even have you smell him to know that he was home.

When things hardened and after you graduated from primary, you decided to help his business by working in his store, no where of the sea and their smells and harm, and surely you kept it that way. But today, and with most days, it was raining. The small Irish island was notorious of their rough seas and torrential rain, but today was a light drizzle. With said light drizzle, and the fact that the island was home less to 400 people, all spaced out too, no one was out. Grabbing a bucket from yesterdays catch of mackerel, you sought out to the comforting cove with the smelling fish bucket to the even more smelly cavern with the salty sea otters. Making sure to watch your step, your slowly made your way to the watery and rocky seats you've known. Throwing a slippery mackerel in to attract them, despite them not already being here was offsetting, you threw one it and it plunked right in. Within a blur and not breaking the surface, a whir of black and deep green snatched the dead fish. Immediately knocking the bucket back and leaning down over the rock's edge to get a quick glimpse, of what you've thought could've been a tuna, but definitely was not the coloring, you peered down into the dark waters. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of bright blue, starking humanoid eyes were staring right back.

As you stared into the murky waters, wondering what sort of fish could possibly be larger than the size of a shark but also not break the surface tension.

A splash of cold water broke your attention, making you take a step back and wipe the nasty salty sea water off of your face. You blink a few times to make sure nothing is in your eyes, you look back to the waters to see a head with green iridescent scales aligning the scalp, pointed high with one large fin down the middle. It's hair was, odd, the sides were shaven and had given it the appearance of a mohawk. It's eyes pierce to yours, a glare sending a shiver down your spine.

It was humanoid. No, it was a merfolk. The one your father always warned your about, whenever he would tell you stories out at sea, where he would see half fish half women, but you would always laugh and call him delirious, tell him to take his vitamin c pills so he doesn't get 'scurvy' like a real pirate.' What a joke.

What a joke you seriously thought when this merfolk stared you down. You felt choked, bewildered, and creeped out to find out that your father's stories were somewhat, factually true. Barely moving a muscle, the merfolk dives back in. In a flash, the same shadow you saw snatched the dead mackerel swam by. Then, it's head popped back up, closer. It eyed the metal bucket by your side, where it's dumped contents laid out by your side. Without words but understanding, you threw another fish. The merfolk jumped out and caught it with it's razor teeth, almost full body propelling itself up. Toned with white scars that had never healed properly, a strapped leather weapon to, to his chest, you realized. It was a merman.

Wanting to know more about this merman despite your father's previous warnings, you threw in more mackerel. It went back in for more, swiping each one. Peering down over the edge, his head moved back up. Then he swam closer to get a closer look too it seemed, to where you saw a large fish hook in the corner of his right gills. They pulsate from the lack of water but also the pain from the metal imbedded into the flesh. Frowning, but also having experience with unhooking and releasing, so you motion for him to move closer to hopefully remove it without anymore pain.

Begrudgingly, he swims forward. Swiftly without another blink, the hook is removed without anymore harm to the flesh. Smiling, you throw the rest of the fish to him. He stares at you, shocked as you removed the hook effortlessly. His siren eyes stare a while before you catch on, where you then realize you have befriended a fear of your father's.

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sturniololuvz · 3 days ago

Note

Can you make a really angsty fic about the triplets and the sister getting into an argument

since some people want regular fics here yall go!!! ima do some in between my series !! because i’ve gotten so many rude and mean things in my inbox ! and i feel like i don’t deserve it , but ill do what makes yall happy!

⸻

“You Lied to Us”

It was past midnight when Y/N crept through the front door, hoodie up, shoes in hand, praying the hallway didn’t creak.

She made it three steps.

The lamp flicked on.

Matt was on the couch. Chris leaned against the wall. Nick sat at the counter, arms crossed, staring straight at her like she’d shattered something between them.

“Where were you?” Matt asked flatly.

Her heart thudded. “Out.”

“Try again,” Chris said, voice cold.

“I was with friends.”

“Which friends?” Nick asked. “Because you told us you were at Mia’s. And she posted from her house four hours ago. Alone.”

You blinked. “You were checking her story?”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Chris said. “Were you with him?”

The silence told them everything.

Matt stood. “Are you serious right now, Y/N? After everything we told you about that guy?”

“He’s not like that with me.”

“That’s exactly what every girl says right before getting hurt,” Nick muttered.

Your voice rose. “You don’t know him!”

“We know he’s twenty,” Chris snapped. “And you’re sixteen.”

“Almost seventeen.”

“That doesn’t make it legal,” Matt barked. “And it sure as hell doesn’t make it right.”

Your throat tightened. “I just wanted to feel like I had control over something in my life.”

Chris stepped closer. “So you lie? Sneak out?”

“Because you never listen!” you shouted. “You guys treat me like some little kid, but you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to be the youngest, to be smothered, to have every move watched!”

Nick stood, quieter than the others but clearly hurt. “We watch because we care. But I guess that means nothing to you.”

You looked down, guilt suddenly catching in your throat.

“I’m sorry I lied,” you whispered. “But I needed to breathe.”

The silence hung heavy.

Finally, Chris exhaled. “You could’ve told us. We might not have liked it, but at least we’d know where you were.”

“We were scared something happened to you,” Matt said. “I was about to call the cops.”

You blinked back tears. “I didn’t think it’d matter that much.”

“It does,” all three of them said at once.

And just like that, you were crying.

Nick was the first to pull you in. Chris wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and Matt rested his chin on your head like when you were a kid. You stood there for a long time, in the silence of a house too full of love to stay mad for long.

⸻

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxra-cxm @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris @pizzapocketpocketpizza @strxn-2 @xxxxxxlovesstuff

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt stuniolo fanfic

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alienseasfanfics · 2 days ago

Text

Frosting - Oneshot

Check out my Bucky Barnes x f!traumatized!reader fic here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x any!reader (though you're shorter than him, but not much.)

Overall Summary: It’s late and Bucky comes home tired to find you waiting with a surprise birthday cake. What starts as awkward nerves quickly melts into a quiet, tender moment full of shared smiles, gentle touches, and a first kiss that changes everything. Sometimes the smallest gestures mean the most.

Tags: Fluffy, just fluffy. I barely alude to his past/present.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: You eat cake, it's vanilla (I will not have vanilla slander, he likes vanilla in one sense only and that is in cake).

A/N: I found this deep within my drafts from 2022. I'm currently disliking all the stuff I have currently, so I just copy-edited this. 2022 Alien knew how to write fluff. It's more difficult for 2025 Alien, lol. 2025 Alien would not be as PG either.

Feel free to send in requests! They may take a while but I will write something with it. Bucky/Loki/Stardew Valley x Reader.

His sliding door opens softly. You don’t look up until you hear his customary grunt as he sits down.

“Hey.” You say as you close your book and look over the short partition separating your two balconies.

“Mornin’.” He says, scratching his stubbled jaw with a metal hand. Bucky’s looking you over, looking at your book, just looking. You let him. It’s how he really says hello. With how much he stares, you stopped feeling self-conscious long ago.

He never judges. Makeup or no makeup, ratty t-shirt or nice dress, it never mattered. His eyes meet yours again, and you smile. He doesn’t smile back, but he eases in his chair.

“How’d you sleep?” You ask.

“Fine enough. You?”

“Well.” He nods at your answer, looking out over the busy New York street below you. His damp hair gleams in the rising sun, drying slowly.

He always seems freshly showered when you see him, as if he’s obsessed with being clean. You wonder what kind of shampoo he uses. Is that weird to wonder about your platonic neighbour? Probably. But you always wonder things about him; like what his favorite food is, or he dreams of at night.

You know it’s nothing good. His muffled yells through your shared bedroom wall have woken you up with a heartache more than once.

But the truly selfish questions come to you after that. What he smells like. What his metal arm would feel like holding you. What his lips would feel like on your skin.

Usually, you can hold back these thoughts. Ever since he first came out onto your half-shared balcony a year ago, you’ve been keeping in your words, worried that if you ask them that he’ll be scared off.

Instead, you sit on your distant chairs, and look at each other, and talk. Usually you more than him.

Every morning, you come outside and sit with a book, or a hot drink, or with nothing at all, and he comes out only a few minutes later. Freshly showered and looking at you like he cares what you’re saying. Or, on those rare late nights; dirty, covered with ash and blood, but hearing you all the same.

That’s why you need to know more about him. You care what he’s saying, even when he doesn’t say anything at all. The way his eyebrow raises when you complain about your coworkers, or when the corner of his lips turn up into a smirk when you tell a really good joke.

But today, those little bits aren’t enough.

“Bucky?” you say, and he raises an eyebrow as a silent “go on”. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Hmm.” He mumbles, looking back over at you with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You say, incredulous.

“I’d have to think about it.”

“Think, then. I don’t have work today. You have all the time in the world.”

“All the time, huh? You going to wait around here for that long?” He says, raising an eyebrow again. You shrug in return, heat filling your cheeks. He smirks, then scratches his chin again.

“Vanilla cake.” He says after a few minutes. You smile. It’s so...fitting.

“A classic.”

“Yeah. My mom made me that cake for every one of my birthdays. Until I got sent off, of course.” He clears his throat and looks away from you, back to the cityscape that stretches out into the risen sun.

“That’s very sweet.”

“It was. My sister hated vanilla. I got to have it all to myself.”

“Typical brother behavior. So selfish.” You say. He looks back at you, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“I was a great big brother, thank you very much.” He says.

“I bet. Just one that never let his sister have any cake.”

“It was my birthday!”

“Fine, fine. I guess you shouldn’t be expected to share on your birthday.”

“Damn right. She can get her own cake. Freeloader.”

You laugh, and he smiles with you. The sight of his face, happy, fills your heart with pride.

“When is your birthday anyway?” You ask, and his brow furrows.

“What day is it today?”

“March 9th.”

“Hmm. Tomorrow.” He says, casually.

“What?!” You jump forward in your seat a little. He’s still smirking, but one brow knits in confusion.

“I completely forgot about it.”

“Your birthday is tomorrow?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are you going to do anything for it? Go out with friends? Coworkers?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“There’s no one alive left that knows the day. Except for you now, I guess.”

You blink, speechless.

The only one alive, other than him. And even then, he almost forgot.

You know about his backstory, as much as you ignore it for his sake. After bumping into him in the hallway as you moved in, you were intrigued by the metal arm. He kept it hidden in his signature leather jacket, but you still saw the glint from his wrist. A customary search on the internet satisfied enough of your curiosity on that front.

A man bent into a weapon. A far cry from the man you talk with every morning, who sits and listens to you and your rambling. Who gently offers advice, or a dry joke. Who showed his metal arm in the gleaming sun after you never said a word about it, or his past, or his present.

That first day, when he rushed out of his apartment in a huff, gripping the railing of his balcony and taking deep shaky breaths, you knew that you would never bring it up. His screams that night had awoken you already, leading you out here.

You don’t remember what you said, but he sat down, taking deep breaths as you rambled. Ever since, you meet in the morning. Every day, you yearn to move closer to him. Hope to help calm him down when he’s fighting against the chains of his past, to make him smile in the light of a new sun.

And now, you know his birthday. Another piece of him, offered so casually, though you know better than to ever believe it’s a casual detail.

Now that you think about it, his chair has been moving closer and closer to the shared partition for a while now. He’s basically a couple feet away. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Hello? Are you on Earth?” You snap out of your thoughts to see him standing now, looking at you. You smile up at him. He smooths his hair back.

“Now I am. Are you going somewhere? It’s barely seven.” You say.

“I have to go in early. A few big...meetings.”

“Oh. Are you going away again?” Your heart sinks. The mornings during his ‘assignments’ always feel so cold and dull.

“Not yet. I’ll be back tonight. Then tomorrow, I’m gone for a couple weeks.”

A couple weeks? That’s basically a lifetime now, after having met him.

“I’ll miss you.” The declaration slips out. He stills, keeping his gaze locked on you and his hand on the back of his neck, silent. When he doesn’t respond, heat rises to your cheeks again, and you break eye contact. “Who else will listen to my stupid rants?” You try to save the moment.

“You could talk about the Earth being flat and I wouldn’t call it ‘stupid’.” He says, voice low but tone light.

You laugh again, looking back up at him. He has the ghost of a smile on his face, but once you blink it’s gone and he’s at his doorway.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” He moves to go inside, but stops at your words.

“You promise?” You say, softly.

His shoulders tense, but he nods.

“I promise.” He steps back inside his apartment, the screen shutting softly. You watch the sun for a few moments longer, half-hoped dreams and thoughts running rampant in your head. You don’t realize you’re going inside, getting dressed and pulling your shoes on, until you’re grabbing your wallet.

Doubt starts to creep up, but Bucky’s smile beams in your head, and you know it’s better to take a chance rather than doing nothing at all.

- -

It’s very late when Bucky finally comes back home. The light in his living room clicks on, flooding the balcony with an orange glow. You sit nervously on your porch chair, pretending to read as you hear the soft sounds of him taking his shoes off, putting things away, finally coming up to the balcony door, and sliding it open.

“The hell are you still doing awake? It’s almost midnight.” He says gruffly from the door, his own exhaustion sneaking through.

“I wanted to do some late-night reading.”

“It’s pitch black out here.”

“There’s enough light to read.”

“Do you have night vision? You have to tell me if you have night vision.”

“I don’t have night vision.” You roll your eyes, laughing.

“Good. I do too much embarrassing stuff in the dark. I’d have to explain a lot.”

“Now I’m worried about what you’re doing in the dark.”

“Certainly not reading.”

Your gaze lingers on him. He’s dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, barefoot and ready for bed, leaning in the sliding glass doorway. Backlit by the warm glow of his kitchen, he looks inviting. Like home. Your heart skips a beat when he smooths his hair back. That one piece always falls in his face, tempting you to put it back for him.

“How was your day, Buck?” You ask. He shrugs a shoulder.

“Fine. Long. I’m happy to be home.”

“Are you tired?” You ask. He raises an eyebrow.

“Kind of. Why?”

“Stay there.”

You get up before he can say anything that will make you lose your resolve, rushing inside your apartment. Quickly, you assemble everything, hands shaking as you try to flick the lighter on. Finally, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself. It’s Bucky. What is he going to do? Laugh at you? You shake away the thought, letting better dreams and unconscious instincts soothe you.

You’d rather be embarrassed than never try for that fantasy.

Your hand is steady as you light the candle and take up the cake in your hands, walking through your balcony door, and to the partition that separates you both. You look down at the vanilla cake, talking nervously.

“I tried to get 109 candles, but then I thought it would be too much fire and that it would singe your hair off, and I didn’t really want that. Or for the icing to melt. So I only got the ten. It’s vanilla on vanilla. I got it from-”

“This is for me?” He says, breathlessly, and suddenly close. You stop rambling, looking up to see he’s only a few inches from you, looking down at you with wide eyes. Only the wall separates you, but he’s almost leaning over it and toward you. Gripping the cake plate harder, you try not to lean in to him as well.

You’ve never been this close to him. Through the smell of the candles and sweet icing, you can still smell him. Soap and cedar; clear and clean scents that feel so natural to be on him. And even worse, his eyes. So watchful and warm from afar, but are deep pools that you fall in as you look deeper in. You quickly lose any words and just nod, inching the cake towards him.

“You got me a cake?” He asks again, whispering as if to himself. His brow furrows in confusion down at it, like he doesn’t believe it’s actually there.

“Of course I got you a cake. It’s your birthday.” You whisper back.

“You did this for...me.” It’s not a question, but a statement. One he doesn’t believe in, judging by his incredulity.

“Of course I did."

He steps closer, hips pressing against the wall, and you gasp a little breath. He eyes flick up to yours, the candles reflected in them, and you shakily smile.

“Bucky, I promise. It’s all for you. You don’t have to share. But, you do have to make a wish.”

“What?” He whispers.

“The candles, Buck.”

“Oh. Right.” He slides his eyes off of yours, looking at the candles for just a second before blowing them all away with one quick puff. You laugh. The more you’re near him, the less tense you become.

“That was fast.” You say.

“I knew what my wish was.”

“What is it?”

He smiles at you, his face suddenly at an ease you haven’t seen from him before. He braces himself on the wall, almost imperceptibly pushing towards you further. The only way you notice is by suddenly seeing the little scars on his temples. You hold back the urge to rub them, wipe away pain that you weren’t there for, and focus on his eyes.

“Now, it’s been a while since I’ve made a wish, but I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.” He says, face breaking into a smile.

A real one. One that makes the corners of his eyes turn up, that shows his teeth. Your heart skips a beat, and you wobble, almost dropping the cake. He moves off the wall quickly, taking your forearms in his hands and steadying you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you laugh breathlessly.

“Yeah, Buck. Sorry. I guess I’m a bit tired.”

“Too tired to share some of this?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you hate vanilla.”

“No, no I like vanilla-”

“Then perfect.” He plucks the plate from your unsuspecting hands, holding it in one hand and extending the metal one to you. “Come on over. If you want, of course.”

You look at the hand for a second before taking it. He doesn’t move at all as you lean on him to get over the partition, and when you’re finally over it, he still doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you inside his apartment, only letting go of you once you’re past the doorway. You look around at his bare walls and basic furniture, not leaving your spot by the door, as he clatters around in the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder at you, then jerks his head to the side.

“C’mere.” He says, and you quickly follow, standing next to him at the kitchen counter. His sudden assertiveness is new, but not unwelcome, especially as he hands you a fork. “Dig in.”

“What? Just into the cake like that? You’re not going to cut it up?” You say and he shrugs.

“It’s our cake. I don’t care. What, do you have cooties?” He smirks at you, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Yes. I do have cooties. It’s a really horrible affliction, you shouldn’t joke about it.” You say solemnly, and he shakes his head as he takes a bite of cake. He makes a small, strangled moan.

“This is so good. Made today?” He asks, and you nod as you take a bite too.

“From the place at the corner.” You say after a minute, and he shakes his head to himself.

“You got this for me.” He mutters, and you smile as you eat another bite.

“It wasn’t any trouble. Happy birthday, old man.”

He rolls his eyes, looking over at you, then his brow furrows.

“You really didn’t have to, you know. I didn’t tell you so you’d get me somethin’.” He says. Now, it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“It’s not that, Buck, I just...I just thought you’d like it. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Do you like it?”

“I haven’t had a birthday since 1943.”

You glance up, catching his eye.

He’s smiling. Another real one.

Your heart aches. A cake was all it took. Your mind starts to race with all the other things you could do to bring that same smile to his face, again and again.

He motions to his lip.

“You have some icing on your face.” He murmurs, and you wipe at your lip, trying to mimic him. He tuts and shakes his head, reaching for your face with his metal hand. He cradles your face, fingers reaching your jaw, and uses his thumb to swipe your bottom lip carefully.

“There.” He whispers, not moving his hand, looking at you with a soft smile. His hand is cold against your face, and unconsciously, you reach up to hold it, your fingers running over the back of his.

His hand tightens on your face, then loosens, cradling your cheek and head in one strong palm. He’s scanning your expression, and you hope he can’t feel the heat rushing to your cheek.

He leans in, closer and closer, until you can feel his warm breath on your face, but he won’t close the distance, staying just out of reach.

“Buck-” You whisper, unable to take any more of the heavy silence.

“This whole time, I thought I was intruding on your life. Taking your mornings hostage for my own selfish want to look at you. I was just happy that you would give even a part of your day to me.” He whispers, his words brushing against your lips.

“Bu-”

“And now, you do this. You listen, and you care, and you act. What did I do to deserve this? I’ve done the bare minimum. You deserve more than me.”

“I just want to see you happy, Bucky. That’s what you deserve.” You whisper back, gripping his hand that’s cradling your face like you’re the most delicate thing in the world. His other hand comes up to your waist, holding onto it like an anchor in the ocean of the small kitchen.

“You just want to see me...happy.” He murmurs. You nod, rubbing your thumb over his. He tenses his hands, taking you in tighter, before dropping his shoulders with a sigh.

Suddenly, he presses forward, closing the minuscule distance between you and presses his warm lips to yours. You show no hesitation and kiss him back, gripping his tank top and pulling him closer. He obliges, pressing you against the kitchen counter before taking your hips and pulling you easily on top of it. Breathless, you giggle, causing him to smile against your warm skin as he peppers kisses on the corner of your lips.

Opening your legs, you pull him closer, crushing his chest into yours. He takes your face back in his hands and takes hold of your lips again. His stubble is rough against your face and as you kiss, you taste the sweet vanilla icing on his lips.

After a moment, you pull away and breathe deeply for air, dizzy and smiley from excitement. He’s left leaning in, and he slides his hands down to brace himself up on either side of you. His lips and cheeks are flushed, his hair now ruffled, with its customary strand in front of his eyes. Your body acts on its oft-ignored instinct, putting it behind his ear, leaving it at his cheek as you cup his face. He nuzzles into it, closing his eyes.

“You wouldn’t believe how often I wished for that.” He murmurs into your palm, giving it a warm kiss.

“Was that your birthday wish?” You ask, and he nods.

“Was the only wish that I didn’t have to think about.”

“You didn’t have to waste a wish on that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you moved in.” You say, cheeks heating at the declaration. He chuckles a little, opening his eyes and looking at your lips.

“I guess we have a lot of kissing to make up for, then.” He murmurs, and you take his grizzled face in your hands and kiss him deeply again. He melts along with you, and even when you disconnect for air again, he peppers your cheeks and jaw with kisses.

“Bucky?” You say, breathless. He hums against your jaw.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday.”

He kisses you again.

Maybe next year, you’ll light all 110 candles, just to see him smile for every one.

When he finally pulls away, he lets you breathe, taking another bite of cake and feeding you gently. You kiss him after every bite.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added):

@doilooklikeagiveafrack

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #cute #bucky barnes kiss #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #tw eating #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader

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the-invisibility-bloke · 3 days ago

Note

can you spare tumblr and save your incest brother fics for ao3 or something? why all of you doing incest suddenly it’s super cringe and on top of that it was SA

Spare Tumblr? Tumblr, the freakshow site? Have you seen some of the shit on here, my friend? Nah, but I will spare my followers the rest of my rambling.

I tagged my post saxloch and saxon x lochlan. I warned for nsfw and incest so anyone who had those tags/keywords blocked wouldn’t see it. I very deliberately did not include any broader TWL tags, nor did i tag the characters’ names as an extra measure of sensitivity, and my bio explains I am pro ship. I did my job. Your job is to curate your online experience. Tumblr makes it very easy to block tags and keywords you don’t want to see, and tons of folks have been posting about these bros for months, I'm no pioneer, so I really wonder how someone could run across something they hate unless they’re trolling those tags or failed to use the tools available.

“All of you doing incest suddenly” uh the Bible did it first, so take it up with that god. Or at least take it up with Mike White, the queer man who made it canon. Second of all, incest ships have been around as long as I’ve been in fandom (20+ yrs) and beyond I’m sure. Back then it was Starcest. Wincest popularized it, then there was GoT, which didn’t bother anyone because it was het and I guess because there were dragons or something. Feature films have romanticized incest. Nothing sudden about it, either way. As for its increase in popularity, that’s partly because fandom as a whole has increased in popularity, and more pointedly, because people are realizing (this just in!) fiction is not reality and it’s okay and normal and even healthy to explore taboo/toxic/problematic things in a fictional context because it isn’t real. People are tired of policing and censoring their imaginations and fantasies. Our thoughts have no moral standing. Real-world choices are all that matter. Actions should be regulated; imagination and art should not.

“Super cringe” is probably the most subjective description in the world. Mpreg is cringe to me, I find violence and noncon nauseating. You know what I do? Shut up, keep scrolling, and let people enjoy what they enjoy. We’re all just playing with dolls here.

As for the SA, I find it interesting you call that out but not the grooming that led to it? You are welcome to interpret what happened as SA, but given the deliberate ambiguity of the narrative, to claim it was definitively one thing or another reveals a lack of critical thought. Mike White is known for (and proud of) creating subversive queer sexual content. He is a brilliant storyteller who developed a storyline intended to confuse, distort, spark debate, and challenge our perceptions of sexuality, abuse, and the human psyche. This storyline hinges on its ambiguity. Each line of dialogue, each editing choice, each frame was meant to leave us wondering. As an audience, we were intentionally not given adequate information to make irrefutable claims about what happened. You cannot analyze this story in black and white, and in trying to do so, you've misread the entire creative intent. We have no idea what transpired between the kiss and the infamous handjob, nor do we know what happened after. That was a total of maybe, what, 60 seconds of severely intoxicated flashback content? And the incredible vagueness of the brothers' final conversation afterwards? That was all intentional, man. We were intentionally deprived of further clarifying footage in order for the narrative to uphold ambiguity. For all we know, they could've engaged in other sexual activity before and after the handjob heard 'round the world. The point is we don't know, so no one can definitively claim it was or wasn't SA.

But none of that matters because it's fiction, and ships can be as fucked as we like. :)

Please be sure to block me because I'm not done "doing incest," thanks!

#anon #asks

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deadhands69 · 2 days ago

Text

In The Stacks

Part 5: The Elevator

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

A mysterious library patron catches your eye, seeking information about his past life. You help him, stirring up your own past in the process. Contains: gn/afab reader, SMUT, cussing, mentions of injuries/violence, obsessive/yandere behavior (mentions and/or includes: stalking, drugging, kidnapping, probably more if you squint), spoilers.

[previous] this is part 5

[series masterlist]

"I desire violently– and I wait."

– Anaïs Nin

— — more tags added for this chapter, please read them before proceeding + as usual, minors do not interact with this series — —

You sit slouched over the back of a chair, staring at the twenty something texts you’ve sent since yesterday with no response from Tenko. The further the day goes on without seeing him, the more you wish the ground would split open and swallow you whole. It's the least the world could do to put you out of your misery.

To make matters worse, it's May 9th. The one year anniversary of the final war ending. There's a celebration planned and everything so people have flooded in from all over Japan, packing themselves into the three block memorial park and surrounding businesses. This leaves the library fairly dead, which is unfortunate because you could use the distraction.

Most distractions. As long as it’s not that festival.

For obvious reasons, you have complicated feelings about the celebration and have been planning on staying home tonight. You think Tenko would go though, it seems like the kind of thing he would find funny. Maybe if he doesn't respond by then, you should go there to look for him.

“Ahem,” a dry voice calls out behind you. You spin around to find an older woman in a teal sweater looking very annoyed by having to wait a few extra seconds to check her books out. You take her library card and the books, scanning each of them.

“They’ll be due in two weeks,” your voice autopilots itself, “have a nice day.”

Walking away, she grumbles something you can’t quite hear. You don't really care, she's in here all the time and she's made so many complaints about everyone working that no one will take it seriously if she reports you anyways.

“Is this mood thing you have going on because your boyfriend’s not here today?” Ao teases as he returns from shelving books.

“He's not my boyfriend,” you hear the blank tone of your voice and it almost makes you shutter. “He's…we just got coffee once. Er, twice.”

You’re not really sure why you’re hiding your relationship with Tenko, especially from Ao. He tells you all of his boy issues. Besides, even if Tenko (or is it Tomura now that you've accidentally reminded him?) used to be a super villain, he has a pretty good alibi with a paper trail of articles on his origins now, thanks to you. On top of that, Tomura Shigaraki has a death record and he doesn’t publicly go by that name anymore. You don't think he does, at least. Therefore, as far as anyone else is concerned he doesn't even exist.

But, on the other hand, at no point in your hooking up around the building has he ever referred to himself as your boyfriend or implied it would be okay for others to know. Maybe he’s just looking out for your job, but you’re not about to out everything without talking to him first. You've waited for so long, you have to get this right.

So, for now, not publicly your boyfriend. But, he is your soulmate. The person you built this entire life around with nothing but a mere hint of their continued existence. He means so much more to you than any of the ways you could ever explain it to anyone else and any words you could possibly come up with would only cheapen it.

Sure, he doesn't seem to be talking to you at the moment, but you'll win him back quickly enough. You have to.

“Uh huh, sure,” Ao jokes, “I’ve seen how you look at each other. You’ve been staring at him for a month. The first time he walked in, I thought I'd need a mop to wipe up all the drool. If he’s not your boyfriend yet, you need to fix that.”

“Trying,” you groan, checking your notification-less phone once more.

“Oh,” he catches on, “oh no. What happened?”

“I,” you try to think of how to phrase this without incriminating anyone, “I said something I shouldn’t have. I’ve been helping him find information on some things and I had more information to give but didn’t share all of it because it needed to be the right time. Then I let it slip accidentally at a very wrong time. And I need to make it right, but he’s not responding right now.”

That’s mostly true. You did let it slip that you had more information at the wrong time, but you also weren’t telling him because what former villain would want to be with a hero? You needed him to get to know you better and see how much the two of you are meant for each other before he realized who he used to be. Now, you’ll have to find another way to make him see that. That’s not something you can ask advice for though.

“How long has it been?” Ao asks, snapping you back to reality.

“Since yesterday, but he usually gets here two hours ago and he’s not replying so he’s obviously avoiding me.”

“That’s not very long. And this information you shared, it sounds sensitive. The kind of sensitive that someone could need a day or two to process? This might not be about you at all.”

“Maybe,” you grumble, “or maybe he’ll forever associate me with it and hate me for it. Shooting the messenger and all that.”

“Hmm, I see.” Ao considers, “how about this: let’s wait a day or two before assuming anything. Things come up, how do you know he’s not at home with food poisoning or something and can't charge his phone?”

You roll your eyes, hiding the closest thing to a smile you’ve had all day. “Well, now I’m going to be worried about that.”

“Always here to help,” Ao says, pushing away an empty cart, “but alas, my shift is ending and I need to get home to change for the celebration tonight. You going to be okay for the rest of the evening?”

“Yeah,” you say, not even convincing yourself, “it’ll be fine.”

He leaves to clock out, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Really,” he says on his way out the door, “call me if you need anything.”

In some ways, talking to Ao about Tenko made you feel a bit better. As much as you hate to admit it, part of you was starting to think you’d been hallucinating him and it’s nice to have another human verify his existence. You still have no clue how he’s still here though. There are so many questions you have for him.

First, you need to get through this.

He wasn’t upset with you yesterday, at least it didn’t seem like it. Tomura came immediately after you said his name. That’s not the response someone would have if they’re unhappy about it, right?

You keep replaying that moment over and over again in your head. Committing every detail to memory, trying to find any hint of a clue you missed like reliving it could give you some missing key to crack the code of why he's not responding.

At first, it seemed okay. He pulled you in closer. His hand gripped yours while wrapping his arms around you. He stayed like this for a while just holding you. When he pulled away to zip up his pants, his face shifted like he'd just realized something. He didn't look sad, more concerned. Almost like he was afraid of you.

“Uhm, I have to go,” is all he mumbled before grabbing his backpack and rushing down the stairs. At the time, you were confused but figured he’d explain later. Now, it’s been over twenty four hours and you still don’t have an explanation.

The evening continues to pass, slowly.

The memory replays and you find yourself caught on the nicer parts. It’s a good enough alternative to dwelling on how much you miss him.

His flawless hands. How perfectly they wrapped over yours as he pressed you into the bookshelf. You can’t imagine the quirk he used to have would work well for that, part of you is glad for whatever happened. In some small ways, at least. You obviously would have taken him either way, but you think some aspects of the life you're building together now are easier for you both. You'd imagine it wouldn't be easy to go through the world needing to constantly keep track of each of your fingers.

As much as you try to distract yourself with anything else, the replay continues. How he touched you. The way every part of his body fits with yours, like you were made for each other.

You feel so depraved having thoughts like this when he’s not even talking to you but you can’t help it. And, you tell yourself, you really shouldn’t be worried because he’ll be back soon enough.

You’ll make sure of it.

Part of you wonders if there’s a way you can force Tenko to talk to you. Not anything bad, just keeping him somewhere he has to stay until he hears you out. You could just tell him you're sorry you didn't say anything earlier, you were going to then he started hitting on you and you liked it so you waited. Saying that you found some article and connected the dots and you hope he's not upset with you for ruining the moment. He did say he wants you to know all of him, after all. Maybe he won’t remember that you were a hero and leave.

Now there's the next issue of how to get him somewhere alone and keep him there. He's stronger than you which might cause some difficulty. Your quirk? You could alw–

Wait, no. You can't believe this is where your mind is going. What the fuck are you thinking? There's no way you can actually hold him hostage. That's what it would be, right? You try to clear your head of it, but the idea lingers. Its mere existence in your brain left such an imprint of ‘but what if’ that you find yourself slipping back into planning it when you're not careful.

Instead, you go back to the nicer thoughts again. Suddenly, they seem like a very reasonable distraction.

You keep thinking back to the way he held your hand like you'd pull away at any moment. Fingers wrapped tightly over yours.

His hands.

That's another inconsistency you haven't figured out yet. Tenko has all of his fingers. According to everything you've read on the internet, Tomura Shigaraki did not. Yet you're absolutely certain they're the same person. You've never had this much chemistry with anyone else in your life. It has to be him.

Humans don't tend to grow back missing body parts on their own though. Is he a clone? A ghost? He feels warm, so you want to rule out the last one. Also, you think ghosts would have the same body they did at the time they died so that doesn't quite work. On that same note, clones are a blank slate so he wouldn't have the same scars either. Neither of these ideas hold water.

You've always been partial to the theory that the video was fake, but once more, this leaves you with more questions that can only be answered by the person who doesn't remember.

You wonder what he does remember. Clearly his name or he would have just been confused.

His life before you feels so nebulous. You know he was a super villain. Then something happened. After that, he stayed here because of someone and it didn't work out. That part always hurt, knowing he had feelings for someone else after what happened between the two of you on the rooftop. He doesn't seem like the type to switch between people that quickly. If it did mean as much to him as it did to you, he obviously doesn't remember it.

You hear the patter of rain before seeing the streaks running down the windows. Rough day for an outdoor celebration. It reminds you of how Tenko associates rain with you. You wonder if he’s thinking about you right now. You hope so.

As if you’d summoned him, Tenko walks in precisely one hour before closing.

He looks like he’s fairing as well as you in all of this. The lack of sleep is apparent on his face with the dark puffy circles under his eyes. Still, he’s breathtaking. You've never seen anyone so beautiful, even when he hasn't slept.

Nervously, he approaches the circulation desk, leaving a cup of coffee in front of you. His eyes catch yours for a moment before he looks away. Turning, he walks out before you can say anything.

You want to chase him. Your body stays glued in place though, glancing down at the cup.

The order is scratched out with the words “we need to talk” scrawled on the side of the cardboard sleeve. You guess he wanted to make sure you noticed what he wrote?

You couldn’t agree more though.

The next hour goes agonizingly slow, dragging out without a single patron, everyone is at the festival. You forgot how tiring that can be. Ten minutes in advance, your manager decides to close early to “let you go to the celebration.”

That’s…nice of her.

"Thanks," you yawn, dragging yourself to pull your backpack and jacket out of your cubby.

By the time you’re packed up to leave, you’re absolutely exhausted. As you walk out the door, you keep feeling like you’re missing something but not awake enough to place what it is.

It’s probably just from missing Tomura. Tenko. Whoever.

At first you thought the coffee he left would help, but you chugged it and even that couldn’t put a dent in not sleeping for two nights straight.

You can rest tonight though. First you have to make sure everything is okay with him. He wants to talk. It'll be okay.

As you walk out of the library doors, he steps from behind a pillar. His hair is lightly misted by the rain earlier. Was he waiting for you this whole time?

“Where were you today, you didn't respond to any of my messages,” you ask, trying to keep the despair from seeping into your voice.

“I was busy,” he says blankly.

“Oh. I see.” You might as well jump right into it before you overthink. “Uh, and I'm sorry. I found some information in an article connected to who you were, are, and I should have told you earlier,” your voice wavers and comes out way too fast, but you get through what you need to.

Tenko has no reaction, simply replying with, “right. You don’t have to pretend anything right now, we’ll talk about it. And you don’t have to be afraid of me, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

He takes your shaking hand, steadying you as you walk. “I’m not–”

“Come on,” he replies, cutting you off. “Really. You don’t have to say any of this, I obviously see how nervous you are.”

You want to respond. To find the perfect thing to say in the moment, but you’re just too drained from work. The words never come.

The two of you pass through the crowd of people lingering outside, the bout of rain earlier did nothing to deter them. Everyone seems so happy, going about their lives that they don’t notice either of you. Before you know it, you’re passing through the big glass doors of your apartment building.

Stepping into the elevator, you start to pull your backpack off to reach the keys and keycard hooked to it out of habit, but Tenko stops you.

“I’ve got it,” he mumbles, “don’t worry about anything– you look tired. Like cute tired. It's good,” he adds cursing under his breath while trying to correct himself. He pulls your keys out, pressing a button that looks vaguely correct. You’re not sure, your eyes are getting bleary so it’s hard to focus.

Leaning back into a corner, you allow yourself to rest for a moment. He steps in front of you, surrounding you.

It feels nice to have him back like this.

You love this; it's where you belong.

“You know,” Tenko says, hand reaching for the railing behind you, “I tried so many times to see if you remembered me. Saying I died, how we met. You never reacted once. Now, I know you know who I am. How long were you going to wait to say something?”

“I would have told you eventually,” you yawn. “I just needed you to find out the right way. It never felt right. You deserve to know things in the," you yawn, "in the right way, I don't want you to be hurt by anything.”

Your head is spinning with exhaustion.

“You were...protecting me?” he asks, shocked at the idea anyone would ever think to do that. “Why?”

It takes everything in you to get your words out coherently.

“Because I love you.”

Tomura’s face shifts to confusion. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” you mumble.

“Fuck,” he half laughs, looking away.

The last thing you remember before the drowsiness overtakes you is the railing at your back crumbling to dust.

[series masterlist] [bnha masterlist]

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @vaval3ntin @ykyouluvme

@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

@lou-the-naga-queen @multifandomidk @love-for-yoosung-kim @kitkat13001 @kennys-partner

@amira-44820 @its-evee16 @itsameyermaw

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codename-adler · 2 days ago

Note

Hellooooo what’s mafia husbands about?? 👀

It's Stuart/Ichirou sweetheart ;)

"I've been the last Wesninski standing for a while now," Neil said calmly. "I guess this... makes me the only Hatford as well. And you're the last Moriyama, I hear. I wonder which one of us will outlast the other."

Neil had an inkling that Ichirou would not live long now that Stuart was dead, and not because it's made him enemies, or because it cost him valuable protection. It was the guilt. After all, in Neil's plan for vengeance, Ichirou was the last culprit responsible for Stuart's death. Now that he was looking at the man, though, he could not be bothered to finish the job. Time would take care of him just fine, and quickly, too. Maybe Ichirou would even take care of himself, if he knew what was good for him.

Thinking of Andrew, Neil had a flicker of sympathy for the man. This yakuza lord knew less about the things that really mattered in life than college athletes; how pathetic. When Neil walked out the door, Andrew would be waiting for him in the Maserati, and they would drive back to PSU just in time for night practice with Kevin. Ichirou himself had had a hand in planning their future—with interests, sure, but they'd be alive, and together.

What did Ichirou have? Nothing. Truly nothing. Neil pitied him. The sight offered little comfort for the pain of losing his uncle, the very last of his family, but at least it quelled his fury. There would be no pride, no satisfaction in shooting a man that's already on his knees. Neil could walk away with his hands clean. So he did.

Toward the other, true family he'd made for himself.

Ichirou watched him go, still as a statue, knowing no amount of rooks, knights or pawns could win the game now; not when the king didn't want to play anymore.

xxx

tag: #mafia husbands

moodboards collection or I II III IV V VI VII VIII

the playlist in progress

headcanons

crumb 1

crumb 2

crumb 3

stuart feels

#ty mercey <3 #my asks #wip ask game #aftg ask #mafia husbands #my wips #stichi #ichirou x stuart #stuart hatford #ichirou moriyama #neil josten #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court

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sherewrytes · 11 hours ago

Text

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 19

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home @clp-84 @thelightknight21 @favvkiki @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes@sleepymothafterhours@sukunasstomachtongue@cosmic-lovr@imm0rtalbutterfly@kyo-kyo1 @7thsthings @strangelovedream

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

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The pounding in my skull woke me first, followed by the dull ache coursing through every nerve in my body. My mouth was dry as hell, my tongue heavy and useless. I groaned, rolling over onto what felt like a couch. It wasn’t mine.

“Welcome back, dumbass.”

That voice—it cut through the fog in my brain like a knife. I forced my eyes open, squinting against the harsh light. Gojo was sitting across from me, legs sprawled out, arms crossed, wearing the kind of pissed-off expression he only reserved for when he was really done with my shit.

“Where am I?” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“My place,” he said curtly. “Because I didn’t trust you to wake up alive if I left you alone last night.”

The memories hit me like a truck. The fight. The MDMA. The high. And then nothing.

I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Gojo said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Shit is putting it lightly. What the hell were you thinking, Sukuna? Taking that much? You could’ve fucking died.”

“I didn’t,” I muttered, sitting up slowly. My head spun, and I clutched it, cursing under my breath.

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees. “You’re not invincible, no matter how much you act like it. Geto and I stayed up half the night making sure you didn’t OD.”

I didn’t respond. What the hell was there to say? He wasn’t wrong.

Gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to get your shit together, man. This—” he gestured vaguely at me—“this self-destruction routine you’re on isn’t working. It’s not gonna bring her back.”

I glared at him, even though I knew he was right. “Don’t fucking say her name.”

“I didn’t,” he shot back. “But you’re thinking about her, aren’t you? That’s why you’re like this. You think wrecking yourself is gonna make her feel bad? Make her come running back? Newsflash: it won’t.”

“Shut up, Gojo,” I growled, my hands clenching into fists.

“No, I’m not gonna shut up,” he said, his voice rising. “Because someone needs to tell you the truth. You’re not just hurting yourself, Sukuna—you’re dragging everyone else down with you. Yuuji, Choso, Geto, me. We’re all stuck watching you crash and burn, and it’s exhausting.”

The anger bubbling inside me finally boiled over. I shot to my feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to take me down. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know I’m a fuck-up?”

“Then do something about it!” Gojo yelled, standing up to meet me eye to eye. “Stop wallowing and start fixing your life. Or do you want to end up like Jin?”

That was a low blow, and he knew it. My vision went red. My fist was flying before I could think, but Gojo caught it, his grip like iron.

“Go ahead,” he said through gritted teeth, his calm facade slipping. “Hit me if it makes you feel better. But it won’t change anything, Sukuna. It won’t bring Jin back, and it sure as hell won’t fix what you’ve done to Y/N.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. My fist trembled in his grip before I finally yanked it away, turning my back on him.

“Get out,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I said, get the fuck out!” I roared, grabbing the nearest thing—a glass bottle—and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

Gojo didn’t move at first. He just stood there, watching me like he was trying to decide whether to fight me or hug me. Finally, he sighed and grabbed his jacket.

“You need help, Sukuna,” he said quietly as he walked toward the door. “And not the kind Geto and I can give you. Think about that.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone with the mess I’d made. My breathing was ragged, my hands shaking as I stared at the broken glass on the floor.

I sank back onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I didn’t know how to fix this. I didn’t know if I could.

I dug through the fridge grabbing the cold pizza and eating it. The cold pizza didn’t do much to settle my stomach, but it was something to keep me upright. I flicked through my phone while chewing, reading over the rave details. The location brought back a flood of memories—Jin and I stumbled out of that place at sunrise, high out of our minds, laughing at nothing and everything. Back then, life felt untouchable, like the world was ours to burn.

Now? It felt like I was the one being burned alive.

I finished the slice, tossed the crust back into the box, and headed to the bathroom. The shower water hit me like needles, the heat scalding my skin, but I needed it to wake up, to feel something other than the suffocating weight in my chest.

Afterward, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection of a man I barely recognized. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles, the hollow cheeks of someone who hadn’t been taking care of himself. I looked like shit, but I didn’t care.

“Perfect,” I muttered to myself, mocking the word as I ran a hand through my damp hair.

I threw on a black hoodie and some ripped jeans, the kind of outfit that blended into the shadows. No need to draw attention to myself tonight. I grabbed my phone, wallet, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the counter before heading out the door.

The streets were quiet, the kind of eerie calm that comes before chaos. The closer I got to the rave spot, the louder the bassline thudded in my chest, like a second heartbeat.

When I arrived, the familiar sight of the old warehouse greeted me. It hadn’t changed much—graffiti-covered walls, broken windows, and a line of people outside waiting to get in. I nodded at the bouncer, who gave me a once-over before stepping aside.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the pulsing energy of the crowd. The music was deafening, the kind of beat that drowned out every thought in your head. Perfect.

I found a spot at the bar, downed a shot of something I didn’t bother identifying, and let myself get lost in the haze. The lights strobed, the crowd moved as one, and for a moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

But it didn’t last. It never did.

Everywhere I looked, I saw shadows of the past. People who reminded me of Jin, of Y/N, of the life I used to have. It was suffocating. I needed something stronger, something to numb it all.

I pushed through the crowd, scanning for familiar faces, for someone who could hook me up. It didn’t take long to find him—an old contact, a guy Jin and I used to run with.

“What’s good, Sukuna?” he greeted me, a sly grin on his face.

I didn’t bother with small talk. “You got anything?”

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded toward a corner of the room. “Come on.”

As I followed him, I felt that old, familiar pull, the one that promised escape, even if only for a little while. It wasn’t freedom—it was a trap, and I knew it. But right now, I didn’t care.

I grabbed my party usual—cocaine. It was easy to score, and the high was exhilarating, at least for a while. The initial rush hit me like a jolt of electricity, sharpening every sound, every light.

But the fun always had a time limit.

I was still riding the edge of the high when I felt an arm slide around my waist, the unexpected touch jolting me back to the present.

Elle. Of all people, it had to be her.

Her perfume was unmistakable, a sharp, floral scent that cut through the haze of sweat, alcohol, and smoke in the air. Her arm slid around my waist like she belonged there, her nails pressing into my hoodie as if to stake her claim.

“I’ve missed you, Sukuna,” she shouted over the music, her smile bright and far too familiar.

I turned to her, forcing a smirk that didn’t reach my eyes. “Did you?”

Her laugh was airy, her eyes scanning me like I was the only person in the room. “You’ve been MIA. Thought you disappeared on me for good.”

“I’ve been... busy.”

Elle didn’t seem to care about my half-assed response. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my ear. “Still the same Sukuna, huh? All work, no play.”

The irony made me laugh bitterly. Play? My life was a mess, and she was acting like I’d just been on some extended vacation.

“What do you want, Elle?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

She pouted, pulling back just enough to look at me, her arms still draped around my waist. “Relax, I’m just happy to see you. Besides...” She reached into her bag, pulling out a small vial. “I thought you might need a little something to loosen up.”

Cocaine. My usual.

I stared at it, my mind warring with itself. The logical part of me knew this was a bad idea, that I was spiraling, and this would only make it worse. But the other part—the one desperate to feel anything but the crushing weight of my own failure—was already reaching for it.

Elle grinned, pressing the vial into my hand. “There’s the Sukuna I know.”

I didn’t bother with pleasantries. I turned away from her, heading to the nearest flat surface where I could set up. My hands moved on autopilot, pouring out a thin line of powder, rolling up a bill.

“You’re still a pro,” Elle teased, leaning against the wall as she watched me.

I ignored her, leaning down and inhaling the line in one smooth motion. The burn hit my nose immediately, sharp and familiar, followed by the rush that spread through my body like wildfire.

For a moment, everything felt lighter. The music seemed louder, the lights brighter, the weight on my chest lifting ever so slightly.

Elle slid next to me, her hand brushing against mine. “Better?”

I looked at her, my vision slightly blurred, my heart racing. “Yeah,” I lied.

Because I knew the high wouldn’t last. It never did.

Elle grabbed the bill and took a quick hit herself, her movements practiced and deliberate. She didn’t take as much as I did, though—she never could hang like I could. The rush hit me hard, and I couldn’t help but grin. Yeah, I missed this feeling.

She turned to me, her lips curving into a sly smile as she asked, “Does Y/N know you’re here?”

I snorted, shaking my head. “We broke up.”

Her smile widened, and she reached up to wipe the stray powder from her nose—and then mine. “Good,” she said, her voice smooth, laced with mischief. “At least now you won’t feel guilty when we fuck like we used to.”

Elle’s words hit me like a sucker punch. Not because of the way she said them—smooth, nonchalant, like this was just another night—but because of the truth buried in them.

At least you won’t feel guilty.

I leaned back against the wall, my head tipping up to stare at the pulsing lights above. Guilt. The ever-present knot in my chest that I could never untangle. Even now, with Y/N gone, it lingered like a shadow.

“We’re not doing that,” I said flatly, though my tone lacked the conviction I wanted it to have.

Elle laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Sure, Sukuna. Whatever you say.” She took the bill from my hand, rolling it between her fingers as she bent down and took her hit. Not as much as me, but enough to bring a flush to her cheeks.

She stood back up, wiping her nose with a smirk before reaching over to wipe mine. “You missed this, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing. “The parties. The rush. No one to answer to.”

I stayed quiet, my jaw tightening as I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket. She didn’t need an answer; she already knew it.

“And Y/N?” she asked, her voice cutting through the haze like a blade. “Does she know you’re here?”

“We broke up,” I said, forcing the words out like they were some kind of magic spell that could make everything okay.

Elle’s smile widened at that, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “Good,” she said simply, leaning closer. “At least you won’t feel guilty when we fuck like we used to.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest for all the wrong reasons.

“Elle,” I said, my voice low, warning.

“What?” She tilted her head innocently, though the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re single. I’m single. We’ve done this before. No strings, no mess. It’s just fun, Sukuna.”

Fun. The word felt hollow.

I shook my head, pushing past her. “Not tonight.”

Elle grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Come on,” she said, her tone softer now. “You’re hurting. I can help you forget for a while.”

I looked down at her hand on my arm, then back up at her face. For a split second, I considered it. The distraction, the oblivion, the temporary escape from my own goddamn head.

“No,” I said firmly, pulling my arm free.

Elle blinked, her smirk faltering for the first time. “Really?”

“Really.”

I turned and walked away, the music pounding in my ears, the high already starting to sour. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to drown. Not like this.

Leona sauntered over, her hips swaying in a way that screamed confidence. Her dark, kohl-lined eyes locked on me, and I could see the smirk playing on her lips as she sized me up.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice smooth like honey but with an edge sharp enough to cut. “Look who decided to crawl out of whatever hole he’s been hiding in.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning back against the wall as I let my eyes roam over her. Leona always knew how to dress to kill, and tonight was no exception. The tight black dress clung to her curves, the plunging neckline leaving just enough to the imagination.

“Leona,” I said, my tone casual as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Her smirk widened as she stepped closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of my hoodie. “I was wondering when I’d run into you again. Thought maybe you’d finally cleaned up your act.”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t think so.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before dropping away, her eyes flicking to the joint tucked behind my ear. “Still the same old Sukuna, huh?”

“Some things never change,” I said, my voice low, almost teasing.

Leona raised an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. “And some things do. Word is you and your girl called it quits.”

My jaw tightened for a split second before I forced a smirk back on my face. “Word travels fast.”

She shrugged, her smirk turning into a grin as she leaned closer. “You know how it is. People talk. And you... well, you’re always worth talking about.”

Her words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in the familiarity of it all. Leona was trouble, but she was also predictable in a way that felt... safe.

I let my eyes roam over her one more time, my mind already weighing the pros and cons.

“You here with anyone?” I asked, my voice casual, though the implication was clear.

“Does it matter?” she shot back, her smirk turning into a full-blown grin.

I chuckled, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to her. “Not really.”

Leona tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. “Then let’s get out of here.”

I hesitated for the briefest of moments, Y/N’s face flashing in my mind. But I pushed the thought away, shoving it down deep where it couldn’t touch me.

“Lead the way,” I said, my voice steady, even as something inside me twisted.

Leona led me out of the crowded rave, her hand firmly gripping mine as she navigated through the throng of sweaty bodies and pounding music. She knew exactly where to go—our usual spot. A dingy little room tucked away in the basement of this old underground venue. It wasn’t much, but it had always been enough for what we needed it for.

She pushed open the creaky door, the faint smell of stale beer and sweat wafting out. The dim, flickering light cast long shadows on the peeling walls, but none of it mattered. Leona leaned against the doorframe, her smirk firmly in place as she looked me over.

“Still feels the same, doesn’t it?” she teased, her voice dripping with nostalgia as she slid her arms around my neck.

I didn’t answer, just let her pull me closer until our bodies were flush against each other. My hands instinctively found her waist, gripping tightly as I stared into her dark, hungry eyes.

Leona tilted her head, her lips grazing my ear as she whispered, “You need this, don’t you?”

I didn’t reply with words—just crushed my lips against hers, letting the tension, frustration, and emptiness I’d been carrying bleed out into the kiss. She tasted like cheap vodka and the remnants of the coke we’d just shared, a familiar and toxic combination that only fueled my need to lose myself.

Her fingers tangled in my hair as she pulled me deeper into the room, the door slamming shut behind us. The sound barely registered. I wasn’t here for anything more than escape, and Leona was good at providing it.

“God, I missed this,” she murmured against my lips, her voice breathy and eager.

I was lost in thought but I won’t lie, the distraction felt good.

I kneeled down after pushing her up against a wall. I tore a hole in the stockings she had on, running my hands up her thighs. Slowly, my hands went higher and higher until my hands would the waist band of her stocking…

Fuck! I exclaimed

Who wears stocking with no underwear….I thought while I shook my head and smiled.I pulled one leg on my shoulder, hands on her hips I pulled her closer to my mouth

I leaned back against the grimy wall, sweat dripping down my temples as I tried to steady my breathing. Leona sprawled on the old couch across the room, her bare legs dangling over the armrest, a cigarette between her fingers. She looked at me through half-lidded eyes, her smirk still firmly in place.

"You good?" she asked, her voice lazy, smoke curling from her lips.

"Yeah," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My body still buzzed with adrenaline and the remnants of the coke, but my mind? That was a whole different story.

I needed to come down—needed to stop feeling like my chest was about to explode.

Leona tossed the pack of cigarettes in my direction, and I caught it without thinking. She raised an eyebrow. "You look like you could use one."

I pulled one out, lit it, and inhaled deeply. The burn in my lungs felt grounding, something to focus on other than the chaos in my head. I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift upward and disappear into the dim light.

Leona straightened up, dressing herself as she studied me. "You never could just relax, could you?"

I didn’t answer, just stared at the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ash grow.

"I mean, I get it," she continued,smiling at me "You’ve always been... intense. But this?" She gestured vaguely at me, the room, the situation. "This isn’t you, Sukuna."

I laughed, a low, bitter sound. "And what do you know about me, Leona?"

She shrugged, unfazed. "Enough to know you’re not just some burnout looking to self-destruct. Or at least, you didn’t used to be."

Her words hit harder than I expected, and I hated that they did. I took another drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs, trying to push down the weight pressing on my chest.

"I just need to come down," I said finally, my voice rough.

Leona tilted her head, her expression softening just slightly. "Yeah, well... you’re not gonna find what you’re looking for in this place."

I didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say.

The silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant thrum of the music from upstairs. Eventually, I stubbed out the cigarette and stood up, pulling my pants back up.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her tone curious but not surprised.

"Away from you," I said shortly, grabbing my jacket.

Leona didn’t stop me, just watched as I opened the door and stepped back into the chaos of the rave.

I needed air. Needed space. Needed... something. Anything. And I had no fucking clue where to find it.

I shoved my way through the crowd, barely noticing the people brushing against me until I accidentally bumped into someone hard enough to make me stumble back.

"Excuse me," I muttered without looking up, ready to keep moving, but then I heard my name.

"Sukuna?"

The familiarity of the voice froze me in my tracks. I turned my head slowly, my heart already sinking before my eyes confirmed it.

It was Geto.

He stood there, dressed like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone but still managing to look effortlessly cool, his hair tied back loosely. Beside him, Shoko leaned against a wall, puffing on her cigarette and looking as unimpressed as ever.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen either of them, but it didn’t matter. The weight of their gazes hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Well, shit," Geto said, his tone caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

Shoko exhaled a cloud of smoke, her sharp eyes narrowing as they scanned me. "You look like you’ve been through hell."

"Thanks," I said dryly, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. "Real nice to see you too."

Geto tilted his head, his expression softening just slightly. "You okay, man? You don’t... look great."

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because it’s true," Shoko chimed in, flicking ash from her cigarette. "You’re a mess."

I clenched my jaw, glancing away. "Didn’t realize I’d wandered into a fucking intervention."

"Nobody said anything about an intervention," Geto said, his voice calm but firm. "We just didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all."

I met his gaze then, and for a moment, the noise and chaos around us seemed to fade.

"What do you want me to say, Suguru?" I asked, my voice low. "That I’m fine? That I’ve got it all figured out? Would that make you feel better?"

Geto frowned, his brows knitting together in concern. "No, it wouldn’t. And I don’t think it’d make you feel better either."

Shoko took another drag of her cigarette, watching the exchange with a detached curiosity. "Why are you even here, Sukuna? This doesn’t seem like your scene anymore."

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Because, honestly? I didn’t fucking know.

"Exactly," Shoko said, as if she could read my mind.

Geto stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Come with us. We were just about to head out anyway."

I hesitated, glancing back toward the party. The lights, the music, the people... it all felt suffocating now.

"Fine," I muttered, avoiding their gazes. "Whatever."

Geto exchanged a quick glance with Shoko, who nodded slightly before tossing her cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

"Let’s go," she said simply, turning to lead the way.

I followed them out of the club, my mind spinning with a thousand thoughts and none at the same time.

I slumped back in the seat of Geto’s car, my head pounding like a bass drum. Every beat felt like it was going to split my skull open. I barely noticed Shoko twisting around in the front seat until she shoved something into my hand.

"Here," she said, smirking faintly. "For your nose. You’ve got a lil’ something there."

I frowned, confused for a second, before glancing at the rearview mirror. Sure enough, there was a faint smear of white under one nostril.

"Shit," I muttered, grabbing the wipe and scrubbing it off.

"You’re welcome," Shoko said dryly, turning back to face forward.

Geto glanced at me in the mirror, his brows furrowed in disapproval. "How much did you do tonight?"

I rolled my eyes, tossing the used wipe onto the floorboard. "Don’t start, Suguru."

"Seriously," he pressed, his tone harder now. "How much, Sukuna?"

I shrugged, leaning my head against the window and closing my eyes. "Enough."

"Enough to what? Kill yourself?"

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. I didn’t respond.

Shoko sighed, lighting up another cigarette. "He’s not going to answer you, Suguru. He’s too busy playing the tragic hero in his little self-destruction story."

"Fuck off, Shoko," I muttered, not even bothering to open my eyes.

"She’s not wrong," Geto said quietly, his voice almost gentle. "You’re spiraling, man. And I don’t know how to pull you out of it if you don’t want to be saved."

That made me sit up, glaring at him through the mirror. "Who said I wanted to be saved?"

Geto met my gaze without flinching. "Nobody. That’s the problem."

I clenched my fists, the anger bubbling up again, but before I could snap back, Shoko spoke.

"Take it easy, both of you. We’re all tired, and fighting isn’t gonna fix anything."

The car fell into silence after that, the only sounds coming from the low hum of the engine and Shoko’s occasional drag of her cigarette.

I leaned back again, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. My chest felt tight, like I was suffocating under the weight of everything—my mistakes, my guilt, my fucking uselessness.

For a brief moment, I thought about jumping out of the car. Just opening the door and letting the asphalt take me. But then the thought faded as quickly as it came, leaving me hollow.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked eventually, my voice hoarse.

"Someplace safe," Geto replied simply.

I didn’t have the energy to argue. I just closed my eyes again and let the motion of the car lull me into a restless haze.

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