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em1i2a3 · 20 days ago

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A House In Nebraska

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x (Ex?)Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: After considering it for a long time, you have decided that it is time to leave the Thunderbolts and pursue a normal life after being passed from team to team for years. When you make the announcement it is met with a mix of emotions, but nobody is taking it harder than Bob.

Warnings: Angst and more Angst (with an ending that everyone will like hopefully), Hurt/Comfort (technically), Bob is going through it kinda, Unspoken Feelings Between Reader and Bob.

Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write this scenario for a while and I was finally able to get an ending that I truly loved and adored, and I am so glad that I was able to finish this and get this out to you guys, and I hope you guys enjoy it <3

Word Count: 8,336

”I’m leaving…”

The words felt foreign as they left your mouth. Soft. Like they didn’t quite belong to you. Like someone else had said them first, quietly, in some dream you didn’t remember waking from. They drifted into the room like smoke–barely there, but impossible to ignore. They were the kind of words that rearranged the air, and twisted it up into something totally different and new.

It was supposed to be a normal night.

Everyone was tucked into their usual spots around the low table in the compound’s common room–takeout containers open, steam curling toward the ceiling, the hum of the base’s heating vents filling the quiet between bites. You had ordered everything–from the popular Chinese takeout place down the road that somehow knew everyone’s preferences better than they knew each other’s. Spicy drunken noodles for Yelena. Chicken, Duck and Pork with extra rice for Alexei. Garlic dumplings with extra garlic and extra chili oil sauce for Bucky. Sweet-and-sour chicken for Walker. Tom Yum Soup and Spring Rolls for Ava. And Bob’s quiet favourite–plain lo mein with shredded pork, no veggies, extra sauce–which was nestled in front of him barely touched.

He had known something was off the moment you said dinner was on you. Everyone did actually. They had racked their brains trying to think if they somehow missed a birthday, or if a holiday passed and somehow they didn’t realize it, but after hours of thinking they had said to themselves that it was just a regular Thursday…Which raised their suspicions and their worries. But nobody could’ve ever expected this.

You were sitting between Bob and Yelena, your knees pulled up under you on the worn-down couch, your tray balanced on your lap. Bob’s thigh was pressed lightly against yours, as it always was–casual, comforting, and familiar, something he always did because it was second nature for him to be close to you. But the second your words hit the air, it was as if that contact felt electric, like a shock went through his body. You could feel him go stiff, and you didn’t even have to turn your head to know he was looking at you.

So was Yelena.

Both their heads had twisted toward you almost simultaneously, disbelief etched into the sharp lines of their profiles. It wasn’t often that they mirrored one another. But tonight, confusion and a quiet thread of betrayal lit up both their expressions like a crack of lightning.

You didn’t dare to look at either of them. You didn’t want to. You didn’t trust yourself not to fall apart. Not when you had already made the impossible decision.

So you kept your eyes on your food instead, though your appetites had vanished hours ago when you made the choice to tell the team tonight about what your plans were.

The silence that overtook the room was instant, not even the low tapping of chopsticks could be heard. Nobody moved, and no one dared to speak.

Except Bucky. Or rather–not Bucky. He was the only one who didn’t react. He stayed perfectly still at the far end of the couch, arms braced on his knees, jaw flexed like he was trying not to wince at how tense the room was at the moment. He blinked slowly, lifted his beer and took a long sip.

He was playing his part well, because he was the only one who knew–the only one you had told. You didn’t want the others trying to stop you. You didn’t want soft glances or hands on your arm or late-night conversations asking if this was about a mission, a memory or a nightmare you couldn’t shake. You didn’t want to be the problem they tried to fix.

You were done being that.

And the only person who you knew would understand where you were coming from was Bucky.

When you had told him, he had looked at you like you were speaking a different language. You had cornered him in the weapons bay a week ago, in the quiet lull between missions. He was restocking tranquilizers, and you just stood there until he looked up.

”I’m leaving,” You had said then. His brow furrowed at the announcement.

”Is everything alright?” You hadn’t hesitated to respond.

”Everything’s fine…I’ve never felt more sure about a decision actually.” That was when he stilled.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t scold you for even thinking about it. He just watched you like he knew how much it cost you to finally say it out loud. He let you speak for what felt like the first time in months. You told him about the way the noise was finally too much. The walls. The walls in your mind and the ones around this compound. You told him about waking up every morning with a part of yourself missing, hollowed out by years of being someone else’s weapon.

Bucky had listened in silence. Because he understood.

He knew what it was like to be built for the battlefield. To want to come home and realize you didn’t even know what home meant.

By the end, he nodded. Not in resignation–but in understanding. He didn’t try to convince you to stay. He promised to keep your secret.

And now, watching him at the edge of the couch–quiet, still, unreadable–you were genuinely impressed. He was playing the part like a professional. Eyes neutral. Shoulders stiff. Not a single twitch of his mouth betrayed what he knew. What only he knew.

Before anyone could speak–before the team could do what you were dreading—you jumped in again.

“I told Val a few days ago,” you said, your voice calm but low. “She’s aware of it. And… She’s actually helping me relocate.” A sharp scoff broke the tension like a blade.

“Bullshit,” Walker muttered, dropping his chopsticks onto his plate with a dull clatter, “Is hell frozen over or something? She would never do that.” You gave him a long look, steady but not unkind.

“I thought the same thing too. Trust me. But Mel followed up with a bunch of housing options…And that’s when I realized she actually meant it. She’s…Allowing me to go.” There was a pause–one of those unnatural ones where it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

And in that silence, you noticed it.

Bob was rubbing his knees. His hands were pressing down on the fabric of his black sweatpants, fists tightening over and over like he didn’t know what to do with them. He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t moved. But something was coming undone beneath the surface, and it was almost unbearable to watch.

Your jaw clenched as you leaned the slightest bit toward him, fingers moving gently to rest over his wrist. You didn’t grip, you just placed your hand there–soft, grounding. It was something small, but he flinched like the contact had burned him. Ava’s voice broke through next, sharp and direct.

“Why the hell are you leaving?” She asked, eyes locked on yours. Her tone was level, but there was something trembling behind it. Something brittle. “You’re one of us. This team–we’ve been through hell together. Why now?” You didn’t answer right away.

You breathed in through your nose. Let it fill your lungs like it might soften the blow. Then you met her gaze.

“I was born into an environment where I was trained to fight. Kill. Infiltrate. Deceive,” you said, each word measured, not cold–but tired. “I never saw the sun until I was sixteen. I was kept in rooms without windows. I was…Catalogued. Modified. Passed around like I was inhuman.”

You swallowed hard.

“I’ve never had a home. Never had a normal day. Never been able to choose anything for myself. I’ve spent my whole life being used–over and over again–and all I want now…Is to live in peace, and to have a normal life. I don’t want to travel and go after people anymore…I don’t want to harm people and fight them to the death. I want to wake up in a house I could call mine, and exist without being needed.” You looked around the table, eyes landing on each of them in turn, “I’m not built for this life anymore…And I know you might hate me for it and think I’m selfish…But my task here is done…” You added.

There was a long pause, thick enough to choke you–and maybe that’s what you wanted.

And then–

“…S-So you can’t live a no–normal life with us?” Bob’s voice was barely a whisper. Barely even a sound. But it shattered something deep in your chest.

You turned your head slowly to look at him.

His face was twisted into something small. Vulnerable. His eyes, wide and watery. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t furious. He was just…Breaking.

“Bob…” You said gently, your voice catching. “You know it’s not like that.”

But he was already pulling his arm away from your touch.

“Sure se–seems like it,” He said, and his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. Then he stood abruptly–too fast, too sharp–and walked out of the room.

His food remained untouched.

The only trace he had even been there was the imprint left in the cushion beside you. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and your lungs were compressing and begging for air.

Yelena let out a slow, frustrated sigh, shifting in her spot, her knuckles turning white around her chopsticks, jaw set tight, clenching so hard it seemed like her teeth made a sharp grinding noise.

“When are you going?” She asked, not looking at you, not daring to even make eye contact. You licked your lips, feeling your throat tighten from the dryness that you were suddenly aware of in the air.

”Next Wednesday.” Yelena let out a low, bitter laugh. One that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well,” She muttered, getting up from her spot slowly, “I hope it’s peaceful for you.” And without another word she walked away too. The remaining warmth of the room had left with her, and in its place was an empty, brittle kind of quiet that came after an argument no one wanted to admit had just happened.

“Wow,” Walker muttered, low and sardonic, shoving a piece of checking into his mouth without looking at anyone, “You really know how to thin out a crowd.” Bucky shot him a sharp look. A warning.

”Walker.” But he turned towards him, fork pausing halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing with that familiar glint of provocation.

”What?” He snapped, “Are we seriously supposed to be okay with this? Just sit here and clap for her while she walks out? We all have fucking baggage here. We all bleed for this team. You were the one that was brainwashed for seventy years, Bucky. If anyone deserves a normal life, it’s you.” His jaw tightened at the comment.

”This is where I want to be, John,” He said firmly, “She doesn’t want to be here anymore…She’s burned out and exhausted. She’s done. Do you understand? Or do I need to get out the whiteboard and draw it out for you like you’re a fucking child?” That shut Walker up for a beat.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the metallic tang of blood blooming faintly on your tongue. Your stomach turned with the weight of being discussed like you weren’t even there, like you were some walking existential crisis just dropped into the center of dinner.

“Can we not act like I’m not sitting right here?” You asked, voice tight and edged.

Walker looked like he wanted to say something back, but Alexei shifted heavily in his chair, making the wood groan under his weight. He leaned forward on his elbows–his plate long forgotten in his lap–and looked at you with something gentle in his eyes.

”I support…Whatever you do,” He started slowly, his accent heavy but words carefully chosen, “You must do what you feel. Think for yourself. Not for team. Not for mission. That is not weakness. That is freedom.” His massive hand reached over and patted your shoulder—solid and warm, like he was trying to anchor you to something. His expression was soft in a way that felt rare. Earnest.

Your eyes stung.

”Thank you Alexei.” You said quietly, throat already tightening from the tears that were threatening to escape. Alexei just nodded and leaned back again, folding his arms over his chest as if he’d said all he needed to.

Walker blew out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded vaguely like “Still think it’s bullshit”, but he didn’t continue to push the subject–he knew it was no use.

As you stared down at your hands–at the faint tremble in your fingers, at the spot where Bob had sat, now empty–you realized something painful and true.

You weren’t just leaving a team…You were breaking a family.

And even though it was the right decision for yourself…That didn’t make it hurt any less.

———————————

You were in your bedroom, surrounded by half-filled boxes–some sealed, some still yawning open with uncertainty. The floor was a mess of folded sweaters, books, tangled cords, and scraps of your life that had clung to the corners of the compound without you realizing it. A permanent layer of dust had formed beneath the bed, now exposed, and a lone sock had somehow ended up behind your nightstand. The hum of the ventilation system buzzed quietly above you, low and steady, the only constant sound in an otherwise hollow space.

There were labels on each box–Clothes, Gear, Kitchen Stuff, Important Docs, To Val–but one sat alone at the edge of your bed.

A box labeled simply: Bob.

Polaroids, mostly. Ones you’d snapped at odd hours, between missions, at safe houses and gas stations and rooftops during sunset. There was one of him half-asleep with his hoodie pulled over his face, slumped sideways on a bench in Prague. One where he was squinting into the camera because you’d caught him mid-chew during a ramen run in Oslo. A few blurry ones he’d taken of you without asking, and you hadn’t even realized until weeks later when you found them in the stack.

You added one last thing–a keychain.

It was dumb. A glittery, over-the-top crescent moon trinket you’d won from a claw machine on a mission in Atlantic City. Bob had said it looked like something a seven-year-old would clip to their backpack. And then later, quietly, he’d asked if you could win him one too.

He’d kept it on him for months before it broke. You’d found the spare in your drawer last week, still sealed in its plastic, and tucked it into the tissue beside the photos.

The ache in your chest hadn’t stopped since that night in the common room. Not once. It hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had grown sharper with every day Bob avoided you. Every time he turned down a hallway the moment he saw you coming. Every time he shut the door a little too fast behind him. You’d tried–three separate times–to catch him when he was alone. To talk. To explain. But each time he shut you down with silence. His eyes flickered, his hands clenched, and he walked away.

He didn’t hate you.

You knew that much.

But something in him had closed off. Locked down. Like if he said a single word, the rest of it–all that golden, aching softness–would pour out and ruin everything.

Yelena, on the other hand, had surprised you.

She gave you a chance.

A few nights after the dinner fallout, she found you in the training bay–sitting against the wall with your knees drawn up, water bottle dripping condensation between your palms. She didn’t ask questions at first. Just sat beside you in silence. For nearly ten minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then she muttered, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

And this time…You did.

You told her everything. Not all at once, not easily, but enough. Enough for her to understand that you weren’t running from the team–you were running toward something you had never been allowed to have. Peace. Quiet. Your own name, your own morning, your own walls that didn’t have reinforced steel embedded in them.

Yelena didn’t say anything when you finished. Not at first.

She just sat beside you, her shoulder barely brushing yours, her eyes fixed on the far wall of the training bay like maybe she was trying to memorize every crack in the concrete. Her jaw was tense. You could hear the way she was breathing through her nose–slow, controlled. Not angry. Just…Processing.

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t the suffocating kind. It was careful. Heavy with meaning. Like the two of you were both sitting in the aftermath of something important.

You didn’t expect her to speak. You didn’t need her to.

Because she stayed.

She didn’t storm off or call you a coward. She didn’t try to talk you out of it. She didn’t even ask you to stay for her. She just sat there with you in the grief of it. Like someone holding vigil beside a wound that couldn’t be stitched.

When she finally did speak, her voice was low. Rough.

“Felt like we were finally building something here,” She murmured. “Like maybe… we were gonna be okay.”

Your throat tightened. “We are gonna be okay.”

She turned to look at you. Not cold. Not bitter. Just…Wounded.

“It won’t be the same.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t lie. You didn’t try to sugarcoat it or cushion the fall with reassurances you couldn’t promise.

Instead, you nodded.

“I know,” You said softly. “It really won’t.”

Yelena blinked slowly, like that answer hurt more than anything you could have said. But there was a kind of respect in it, too. The way she held your gaze. The way she didn’t look away.

You offered her the only thing you could.

“I’ll FaceTime you. Anytime you want. Doesn’t matter what hour it is. If I’m free, I’ll answer.”

She gave a soft, humorless snort and rolled her eyes–but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You say that now. Wait until I call you at three a.m.”

“I’ll still be there…Even if I’m half asleep.” You replied, nudging her shoulder with yours. She looked down at her hands for a moment, then looked back at you, her eyes glossy.

”I’m still mad at you.” You nod.

”I know.”

”And I still think you’re abandoning me…”

You nodded again, “I know that too.” Yelena’s jaw twitched. She looked like she was going to say something else, but then she just reached down, picked up your water bottle, and twisted the cap off. She took a sip and handed it back like nothing had happened. Like the training bay wasn’t holding the fractured pieces of your friendship in its concrete walls.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna miss you,” she muttered.

You smiled, soft and aching. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

She glanced at you again—this time longer. The look in her eyes was weighted, but steadier now. Not entirely okay, but… accepting. Like the fight had drained out of her and what was left was only the sharp sting of goodbye.

“You better not disappear,” she said quietly. “Or I will come find you. And I’ll drag your sorry ass back here kicking and screaming.”

You laughed–really laughed, even as tears burned behind your eyes. “Okay. Deal.” She stood then, brushing her hands on her sweats, and offered you one last look before she walked off.

It was simple. Wordless.

But it said everything.

And after the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The ache in your chest was still there. Still raw. Still full of Bob’s silence and Yelena’s resignation and the ghost of the team you were leaving behind.

But somewhere beneath it all…Was the first glimmer of peace.

———————————

That night, sleep didn’t come—it hovered just out of reach, like a memory you couldn’t hold onto. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind filled with static. Movement. Noise. A hundred moments pressing down on your chest all at once.

So you gave up trying.

The clock read 2:47 a.m. when you finally swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. You pulled on a robe, soft and worn from too many laundry cycles, and padded quietly across the room. The boxes seemed to watch you as you passed—silent witnesses to the pieces of yourself you were leaving behind.

You didn’t bother with shoes. It was spring, and the air was warm enough to touch your skin without biting.

The elevator ride up to the roof was quiet, but your stomach twisted tighter with every passing floor. You weren’t sure what you were hoping to find up there–maybe just some air. Maybe some stillness.

But when the doors slid open with a soft ding, your breath caught in your throat.

Bob was there.

He was lying back on one of the outdoor couches, head tilted up toward the stars, arms folded across his chest. The glow of the rooftop lights had dimmed to their nighttime setting–just enough to paint the space in soft gold. You could see the outline of his shoulders rising and falling, slow and deep.

At the sound of the elevator, he lifted his head slightly. His eyes met yours for only a second before he turned away again and let his head drop back down with a quiet thud against the cushions.

You stepped out onto the roof, swallowing the lump that was already forming in your throat.

“Bob…” You called softly, moving toward him, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t answer.

“You can’t just let me go without saying goodbye.”

Still nothing.

You moved closer, your steps careful, hesitant. When you reached the couch, you saw he had rolled halfway onto his side–facing away from you now, his back rigid, spine curved like he was holding the weight of something that wouldn’t let go. There was just enough space behind him on the cushions. You lowered yourself gently, wedging into the curve his body didn’t fill. Close, but not pressing. Not yet at least.

“C’mon, Bob…” You murmured. “Can you please just talk to me?”

You heard it first. A soft, quiet sniffle.

Then a voice, broken in half:

“Am I not wo–worth staying for?”

The question hit you like a punch to the ribs. You blinked hard, reaching toward him before you could stop yourself. Your hand rested on his chest, over the thin cotton of his t-shirt—his heartbeat thudding unevenly beneath your palm.

“Bob…” You said, your voice catching. “Of course you are. Of course you are. But I can’t stay. I can’t be a Thunderbolt anymore.”

He didn’t look at you.

But you saw the tears glistening on the bridge of his nose, catching in the faint rooftop light as they slid down into the fabric of the pillow.

“So why don’t you ju–just quit the te–team and stay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick and shaking. “Stay with me?” You closed your eyes, your thumb brushing gently back and forth against his chest.

“Because I need a clean slate,” You whispered. “I love you guys so much…But I can’t surround myself with these things anymore. I’m so tired of it.”

His hand rose shakily and settled over yours. His fingers curled around yours like he needed to hold onto something before it slipped away.

And his chest shook beneath your hand as he cried.

“I have been owned by people my entire life,” You said, your voice low and slow, every word weighted. “I never got to make decisions for myself. I never got the choice to be… who I am now. I was born into it. I didn’t get a say. I was punished for things I couldn’t control, and I had to pick up the pieces of myself that I never knew existed.”

Bob was silent, but his grip tightened slightly.

“I have never had a sense of normalcy,” You continued. “I’ve never experienced being on my own–really on my own–and being in control of my own life without the strict schedules of missions or handlers or daily combat briefings. I’ve been surviving for so long, Bob… And I want to live.”

You shifted closer, forehead resting gently between his shoulder blades, your breath warming the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m trying to find who I am outside of a weapon, outside of what I was raised to be. I need to know who that person is. Do you understand?” For a long time, he didn’t say anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the wind brushing across the roof, and the quiet, unsteady rhythm of Bob’s breathing.

Then, finally–so softly you almost didn’t hear it:

“I understand.” He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the side of his face. His eyes were rimmed red, lashes damp. “…But…” He whispered, voice cracking like a fault line beneath the surface, “I ca–can’t imagine living my life without you in it…”

The words struck something so deep inside you, you almost didn’t breathe.

Your heart seized.

A slow, aching twist that started in your chest and moved outward like a ripple through still water. Your eyes filled instantly, no warning, just heat behind your lashes and the sudden blurring of everything around him.

“Bob…” You breathed. The name didn’t even feel like a word–it was just grief in a single exhale. Heavy and fragile all at once.

But before you could say anything else, he moved.

His hand found yours, and with trembling fingers, he brought it to his mouth.

You felt his breath first–hot, unsteady. It fanned across your knuckles like the flicker of a flame. His lips hovered, trembling, and then your fingertips accidentally grazed the curve of his bottom lip. You flinched–barely–but the touch set your pulse reeling.

“Yo–You can’t say that,” You whispered, voice unsteady. “You can’t…”

He nodded, his eyes closed now, like he was bracing for impact.

“I kn–know,” He said, his voice thudding low in his throat. “But I need you to also understand the truth from my eyes as well… I ca–can’t keep that bottled in.”

A single tear broke free from your lashes and slipped down your cheek. You felt it trace your jaw, warm and cold all at once. You didn’t wipe it away.

And then–

His lips pressed to the tips of your fingers.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really.

It was something else.

Like a confession made in silence. A truth laid bare in skin and breath and trembling restraint. You felt the warmth of his mouth wetting your fingertips slightly, felt the tremor in his body as he held you there like he was hoping time might pause.

Like maybe if he just held on long enough, the rest of the world might forget to take you away.

The moment stretched, thick and reverent, until all you could do was whisper into it.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” Bob murmured, mouth still brushing your skin.

“I think I love you.” The words tumbled out before you could catch them–raw and stripped down and full of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

You felt him still beneath your touch.

Then he exhaled–shaky, wrecked.

“I do lo–love you,” He whispered, broken and sure and barely there.

Your throat closed around the sound.

He finally turned to face you fully then–his eyes red and glassy, the soft streetlight glow catching his hair. And the way he looked at you…God. You’d never been looked at like that before. Like you were everywhere in his world. Like you had taken root in the hollow behind his ribs and nothing–not even the grief–could pull you out.

You leaned forward, forehead brushing his, and for a second the two of you just breathed the same air. Sharing silence like it was the only language that wouldn’t break you. Bob wrapped his arms around you like he didn’t know how else to stay whole.

There was no hesitation anymore. He just pulled you into him–tightly, fully–like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against his body. His hand slid up your back and cupped the base of your skull, his fingers trembling slightly in your hair. You buried yourself in his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt warm from his skin, damp from his tears.

“I sh–should’ve said it sooner…” He whispered, voice frayed at the edges. “And I know it’s too late no–now… But I wanted you to know before you le–left…”

You pressed your face harder against him, your forehead nudging the hollow of his collarbone. His scent wrapped around you like a balm–soft and warm and impossibly sweet. He smelled like vanilla bean and the faintest trace of brown sugar, like the last page of a well-read book and fresh sheets on a summer night. There was a lingering note of coffee in there too–familiar, comforting, so Bob.

“I wa–want you to be happy,” He murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “And if th–this is the way you’ll be happy…Do what you need to do…”

A fresh wave of tears slipped down your cheeks, warm against his shirt, soaking into the cotton like ink into paper. You felt the rise and fall of his chest match your own–uneven and trembling, the both of you wrapped in grief you couldn’t outrun. Not this kind.

Neither of you spoke after that.

You just held each other, clinging to the fading moment, to the ache of what was about to be lost. The silence was thick, but not empty. It was shared. Like the pause between heartbeats before something new begins.

You didn’t know how long you sat there.

But eventually, when your sobs had softened to slow, silent exhales, you shifted your weight just slightly. Your hand moved to rest over his heart, and you tilted your head to look up at him, chin resting lightly on his chest.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I was able to go outside?” you asked softly.

Bob blinked down at you, his eyes still red and rimmed with salt. He shook his head gently, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand in a way that made your throat clench.

“I was in a lab in Nebraska,” you began, voice distant, like it was echoing down a hallway of memory. “I’d just been transferred there. One of the lab assistants was going through my records…Noticed how often I got sick, how reactive my skin was. All my charts said the same thing–chronic immune issues, recurrent infections, photophobia–but no one ever questioned why.”

You swallowed.

“They asked if I’d ever been outside. And I told them no. I didn’t even know what ‘outside’ really meant.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you in closer.

“They brought me out the next day. Just behind the facility, this patch of open field surrounded by chain-link and barbed wire. It wasn’t much, but it was sky. Real sky. And sunlight.” You exhaled slowly, remembering. “I stayed out there until my skin burned. My arms, my face, the back of my neck. I couldn’t stop shaking. But I didn’t care. I was sixteen. I had spent every day of my life inside a room with no windows. I wasn’t going to waste it. I wanted the full experience.”

Bob gave the smallest, broken smirk. It was laced with so much hurt, but also wonder. He was listening with his whole body.

And then you said, voice softer still:

“…When I first saw you in the Vault… I thought I was having the same experience.”

He blinked.

“You did?”

You nodded. “When you looked at me…I swear Bob, it was like I was seeing the sun for the first time…The awe…The ache in my chest…I knew from the moment I saw you…You were going to be someone special to me…Just like the sun.” His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something–but he didn’t have the words. He just stared at you like the world had stopped moving for a moment. Like you’d just told him something too big to hold.

Then–

Ding.

The soft mechanical chime of the elevator broke the stillness, and both your heads turned.

Bucky stepped onto the rooftop, eyes adjusting quickly. His brows raised when he saw you tangled in Bob’s arms, cheeks flushed, eyes swollen from crying.

He froze.

“…Sorry,” He said quietly. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You sat up slowly, gently pulling away from Bob–but not far. You looked at Bucky and gave a faint shake of your head.

“No,” You said softly. “You’re not.”

And that was where the conversation ended.

——————————

The quinjet loomed like a shadow against the early morning sky, sleek and still beneath the soft haze of sunrise. The compound’s landing pad was bathed in gold light, long shadows stretching beneath your feet as the team worked in quiet rhythm, hauling your boxes up the ramp one by one.

Everyone was there.

Except Bob.

You scanned the area again–half-hoping, half-desperate–but his tall frame was nowhere in sight. Not lingering by the cargo bay. Not leaning against the railing like he always did. Not even watching from a distance the way you knew he sometimes did when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Gone.

After everything you shared on the roof last night, part of you had believed–naively, maybe–that he’d come. That he’d meet your eyes one last time. That you’d have a goodbye that felt like something final and full and whole. Something sacred. But the empty space where he should’ve been said everything you didn’t want to hear.

And your heart cracked. Quietly. With no fanfare. Just a hollow snap beneath your ribs.

The last box clunked into place in the cargo hold. You stood at the foot of the ramp, hands hanging uselessly at your sides, watching the team slowly gather near you, one by one.

Alexei came first. He was cradling your coffee machine under one arm–comically oversized in his grip–and he set it down gently before reaching for you. His hug was firm. Solid. The kind of hug that wrapped you in safety without words.

His arms enveloped you fully, a wall of warmth and steady breath as he muttered gruffly, “Is always place for you at my table. No matter where that table is.” He squeezed once, hard, then stepped back like anything more would undo him.

Ava followed. Her hug was briefer, more reserved, but no less sincere. She touched your upper arms and rested her forehead lightly against yours. “You come visit when you can…We’ll miss you a lot.” You nodded, throat tight, and she offered a faint smile before stepping aside.

Walker surprised you.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, scratching the back of his neck like he was unsure whether a goodbye was earned between you. Then he stepped forward, arms spreading almost defensively like he expected to be swatted away. But when you let him hug you, he pulled you in–not hard, but secure. Not rigid, but genuine. His hand patted your back once, and he muttered under his breath, “It was fun working with you…And I hope you find what you’re looking for…”

You smiled, and let out a small breath, “Thanks, Walker.” Bucky was last before Yelena. He stood a little off to the side, arms crossed, jaw set. But when he stepped forward, it wasn’t with the stoic air he wore in the field—it was something softer. Tired. Human. He looked at you like he wanted to say more, but all he did was pull you into a single-armed hug, metal arm staying at his side.

“When you figure out what ‘home’ really means…Let me know…Maybe I’ll find mine too.” He murmured.

Your throat closed up. “You can visit anytime. Seriously.”

He nodded, releasing you gently, his lips twitching into something almost like a smile. “One day. I will.”

Then it was just Yelena.

And everything in you stilled.

She didn’t rush. She walked to you like she was measuring every step. Then she opened her arms without a word, and you crashed into them.

Her hug was everything.

Tight. Unyielding. Unapologetically emotional. Her fingers curled into the back of your shirt, and her breath hitched against your shoulder.

“I don’t forgive you yet,” She whispered shakily, “but I’m trying.”

You nodded, arms squeezing her just as tight. “I know.”

She sniffled, pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. Her mascara was smudged.

“I’ll call you once I land and get everything sorted,” You said, voice trembling.

“You better,” she said, and tried to blink away the tears. “Or I will track you down.”

You nodded again, unable to say anything else without falling apart.

And then–it was time.

You turned, climbing the ramp slowly. Every step away from them felt like it dragged a little piece of your heart behind. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave at all.

Inside the cockpit, you slipped into the seat, fingers shaking slightly as you ran through launch protocol. The quinjet hummed around you. Systems came online. The ramp sealed shut behind you. You typed in the coordinates for your new house, and pressed enter.

You stared out at the horizon, waiting for the weight in your chest to lessen.

But it didn’t, and as the jet lifted off–smooth, steady, rising into the quiet morning–you pressed your forehead against the glass and whispered so low only the sky could hear:

“Goodbye, Bob.”

And the clouds swallowed you whole.

———————————

The quinjet touched down in a slow, whisper-soft descent, the grass parting gently beneath it as though the land had been expecting you. You powered down the systems one by one, the low hum of machinery giving way to stillness–pure and uninterrupted. There were no voices. No distant alarms. No radio chatter or metal doors hissing open in the background.

Just silence.

When the ramp hissed open, the world met you with a breath of spring.

The air was cool–cooler than it had been at the compound–but not cold. It wrapped around your skin like a clean sheet pulled fresh from the line. There was a weight to it, not heavy, but full. Damp with dew. Sweet with the scent of tilled soil, blooming clover, and the soft tang of wild lilacs carried from somewhere far down the slope.

You stepped onto the grass, and the earth gave a little beneath your feet. The field rolled out around you like a green sea, golden in the sunlight. The quinjet stood in the middle of it like some strange, sleeping bird. A few feet away, tucked against a thicket of trees and set back from the gravel path, was your house.

Your house.

Your throat tightened as you looked at it.

It wasn’t grand. Wasn’t sleek or modern or fortified with anything but wood and love.

But it was everything.

A one-story farmhouse with soft grey-blue siding and white trim that had weathered seasons of wind and sun. The porch stretched across the front like open arms, its columns uneven and chipped but sturdy. A rickety wooden swing hung on rusted chains from one corner, moving slightly in the breeze. The railing was scuffed in places, like someone had leaned against it a hundred times to watch the sun go down. Ivy had started to creep along one edge.

There were windows everywhere.

Tall ones. Bare ones. Not a single one had bars. They were thrown open to the wind like someone had once opened them and never thought to close them again. Light poured from the inside, golden and warm, dancing over the warped floorboards of the porch.

You took a step forward.

And then another.

The mailbox stood on a crooked wooden post, its red flag bent sideways like a tired elbow. You popped it open and found the envelope tucked inside. Your name was written across the front in soft cursive. Inside: one brass key.

Your fingers curled around it.

It was heavier than you thought it would be. Not physically. Just…Symbolically. Tangibly. Like something final.

You climbed the porch steps slowly, savoring the sound of each creak under your feet. They weren’t sharp or alarming–just lived in. Familiar. You reached the front door and slid the key into the lock.

It turned with a quiet, satisfying click.

And then you stepped inside.

The warmth hit you first.

It wasn’t the kind of warmth that came from heat or sunlight. It was the kind that came from home. From a place that had been touched, loved, settled in–even if only by someone preparing it for you.

The floor beneath your feet was hardwood–old, slightly warped, but recently cleaned. A wide area rug stretched across the living room, woven in soft tones of sage, clay, and wheat. A couch was tucked beneath a large window, throw blankets tossed lazily over one arm. There were mismatched pillows, soft and frayed at the seams, like they had been used to prop up lazy Sunday afternoons.

To the right, the kitchen opened up–warm wood counters, a farmhouse sink with a deep basin, and cabinets painted buttercream yellow. A cast iron kettle sat on the stove. The window above the sink looked out into the field, and the breeze was gently lifting the gauzy curtains.

There was a small dining table tucked into the corner, set with two chairs. One of the seats had a tiny chip in the backrest. It didn’t look lonely. It looked like someone had pulled it out and sat there for hours, sipping coffee while the wind spoke against the windows.

You moved forward and set your keys in the ceramic dish that waited on the entryway table.

They landed with a soft clink.

You smiled.

It was the first real smile you’d felt in weeks. Maybe longer. A smile that didn’t ask anything from you. A smile that came from a chest slowly, slowly uncoiling.

You walked further into the house. Past the fireplace. Past the faded print on the wall of rolling hills and prairie skies. Past the stack of firewood and the tiny woven basket someone had left on the coffee table filled with lavender sachets and a handwritten note: Welcome home.

And that’s when you heard it.

A voice–low and familiar, carved with hesitation, but laced with that gentle brand of humor only one man ever used on you.

“You’re going to ha–have to get a better security system…” You stopped mid-step. Every hair on your body stood up. The air shifted around you–suddenly warmer, suddenly sharper. You turned slowly, your feet rooted to the hardwood, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your ribs.

The voice had come from the back hallway.

From the open doorway at the far end.

And when you stepped into the frame and followed it with your eyes–you saw him.

Bob.

Leaning casually against the bedroom door frame like he belonged there. Like he’d always been there. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a navy blue crewneck, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the lines of his hands–familiar, scarred, warm. His hair was tousled, and wind-tangled. And his mouth–God, that soft, crooked smile was already stretched across his face.

His eyes flicked over your expression, and something about the way he looked at you made the shock in your chest soften. Melt. Like the earth had tilted just slightly under your feet but settled in a better position.

“I th–thought,” He started, his voice cracking slightly, “Instead of saying goodbye…I’d be the fi–first to say hello.” Your mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.

You blinked in shock.

And then–your smile broke through, wide and disbelieving, laced with something just this side of laughter. “How did you… How did you know? And how the hell did you get here?”

He pushed off the doorway with one shoulder and walked toward you slowly, like he didn’t want to spook you. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his sweats, and his eyes never left your face.

“Well…” He said, shrugging, “I as–asked Val.”

You raised your brows, still trying to catch up. “You asked Val?”

“She’s still ki–kind of scared of me snapping, so she…” He gave you a sheepish, apologetic glance. “Gave me the information pretty fast.”

That made you huff out a laugh.

He paused a few feet away, then looked down for a second. “Then I just…Fl–Flew here.”

You stared at him. “You used Sentry?”

He nodded once. No shame. “Of co–course I did.”

Your hand rose to your mouth, trying to hide the slow, surprised grin spreading across your face. “Jesus, Bob.”

He shrugged again. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like flying to you was as natural as taking the subway. There was a pause. Just the two of you standing there in the middle of your new living room, the breeze moving through the open windows, the quiet pulse of shared history hanging between you.

Then Bob added, voice softening:

“Af–After you told me about that story yesterday…I thought you were go–going to be moving here.”

You tilted your head at him, warmth blooming slow and thick in your chest.

He smiled again, smaller this time. “Glad I caught on and that you didn’t just ra-randomly tell me that story about Nebraska for the hell of it.”

You laughed under your breath, a sheepish little sound, and rolled your eyes. “Even though it was still relevant…”

“Mhm,” He hummed, and then his gaze drifted past you, scanning the space like he was seeing it all for the first time–the porch swing, the chipped paint, the breeze in the curtains, the scent of lavender and old wood. “It’s ni–nice.”

You nodded. “It is.”

He looked back at you. His eyes were soft, and gentle, glistening in the lighting.

“Is it okay…If I st–stay for a little?” He asked.

Your breath hitched–just for a second–but the answer was already in your chest before he’d finished the question. You nodded once, slow and sure, the weight of your breath caught just beneath your ribs.

“Of course…” you murmured, voice soft. Then–after a beat, after a shift in the air that felt impossibly delicate–you added, “But I need to do something that I should’ve done last night.”

Bob blinked. His eyes searched yours—gentle, uncertain, wide like he hadn’t dared to hope for this exact thing. His hands slid a little deeper into his pockets, like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you on instinct.

You stepped forward. Just one step. Then another.

And when you were close enough to feel his breath on your face, you looked at him–really looked at him.

At the soft barely–there freckles scattered across his cheeks, at the faint lines beneath his eyes from sleepless nights, at the way his bottom lip trembled just slightly, as if bracing for something too good to be true.

“I should’ve kissed you last night,” You whispered.

His breath caught.

The seconds that passed between you then were slow and golden and suspended in something you couldn’t name. Something like awe. Something like gravity giving you mercy.

And when you rose onto the balls of your feet and brought your hand to the side of his face–fingertips ghosting along his cheekbone–he leaned into it like it was instinct. Like he didn’t remember how to breathe without you.

Your noses brushed.

His lashes fluttered.

And then, finally–

You kissed him.

It was slow. Soft. Barely a breath at first.

But God, it was everything.

It was months of unsaid words, of near-misses and held-back glances and aching silence pressed into a single point of contact. It was the exhale of something sacred. The kind of kiss you only get once in a lifetime. The kind that feels like a promise made in a language no one else will ever speak.

Bob’s lips were warm–tentative at first, trembling slightly against yours like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. But then he sank into you, deepening it just a little. One hand lifted–hesitant, reverent–and cradled your jaw like you were something precious. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone. His nose bumped yours gently.

You sighed against his mouth. A sound that was equal parts relief and wonder.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together, your noses still brushing, breath shared in the quiet space between your mouths.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“…Wo–Worth the wait.”

You smiled–soft, a little wrecked, fully his. “Yeah,” you breathed. “It was…And I’m glad you came…”

897 notes · View notes

citrustan · 9 days ago

Text

killah (jjk) [4]

pairing: managing partner lawyer!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader x senior partner! redacted

genre: strangers/lowkey one sided enemies to ?? idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity (jungkook has a girlfriend)

warnings: please read the other parts before this one (all links are available on my pinned post) :3 no warnings here except for a hinted eating disorder (for our reader) and a little description of reader's tits 🤭

!!ATTENTION!! even though this story features another member as a main character, this is still a jungkook x reader fic.

The smell of sesame oil and garlic wafting through Hyewon’s apartment reached her nose long before she stepped in.

Jungkook had arrived hours ago, letting himself in with the key code she gave him months back.

He could barely think straight on the drive over, still stuck up on what he had walked in on just moments ago.

He'd meant to blow off steam. Just throw something quick and easy together. But his girlfriend's fridge was bare-EMPTY. It was empty.

So he dragged himself to the grocery store and stocked her pantry and refrigerator up.

Later, he ended up spending three hours in the kitchen.

Every free moment he had alone was spent chopping, slicing, mixing, and baking.

Anything to not think about you. With his colleague slash friend.

When Haewon finally got home, she was met with a dining table full of casseroles and lit candles.

"Wow..." She murmured, dropping her bag on the counter, "Did you do all this?" She wondered if he hired someone to cook for them.

"Oh. Hey, Won," Jungkook didn’t look up from the stovetop, "You said you liked the way I plate things." Finally glancing up, he smiles, "I'll do it in front of you now."

Hyewon didn't necessarily remember this but still smiled back and moved to hug him from behind. She lays her cheek on his back and Jungkook settles into her hold, simultaneously mixing by hand some spinach with minced garlic and oil.

Jungkook wiped his hands on a paper towel and turned, brushing his lips across Hyewon’s forehead before nudging her gently. "Go change into something more comfortable," he murmured, "I'm almost done here."

She grinned, still a little in awe, "Yes, chef."

Hyewon disappeared into her room, reemerging around ten minutes later in comfortable, cotton co-ord pajamas. Her hair was tied up in a lovely bun, and she had wiped her makeup off.

Jungkook pulled a chair out for his girlfriend. Then he plated some noodles, veggies, dumplings, and sauce in her bowl and sat across from her.

Hyewon took a deep breath and sighed pleasantly, thanking him softly.

She took a bite of one of the pork dumplings and moaned dramatically. "Oh my god. Did you make these from scratch?!"

“Mm." Jungkook nodded in response, not really reacting. He was chewing slowly, eyes cast down at his bowl.

Hyewon didn't think much of it at first. Jungkook could get quiet when he was tired. And she had no doubt he was exhausted after his extensive cooking sesh.

She started rambling about her coworker; something about a last-minute reschedule for a client’s property tour and then she complained about how her sister had called again to rant about the neighbour's noisy dog.

When Hyewon noticed her boyfriend hadn’t said a word in the last ten minutes, she slowed down.

"Hey..." She spoke softer, “Are you okay?”

Upon hearing nothing back, she reached out and placed a hand on his.

Jungkook snapped out of his daze and blinked like he’d been suddenly shaken awake from a dream.

"Yeah. God. Sorry." He shook his head, lifted his gaze. "What were you saying? Your sister and the dog again?"

She tilted her head, concerned but trying not to hover. "Yeah... but nevermind that!"

She reached for some sake. "How was your day?"

He intercepted and offered to pour the drink for her but faltered on hearing the question. Lowering the bottle slowly, "It was… fine. Weird."

He should just leave it at that.

It's not worth talking about.

You weren't worth the trouble.

But then--- "You remember Logan? Your friend's brother?" He could not stop himself.

Hyewon narrowed her eyes, yet again, not bothering to correct him on the 'friend' bit. "Uh... Yeah."

Where was this going?

"Apparently, he's got your friend working at the office now."

That made Hyewon straighten. Because there was no way you'd be caught dead at a place like that. You don't work! Especially not in a corporate setting like Logan's.

So what gives?

"Wait-_____? Working?" She actually laughed. It sounded even more ridiculous from her own mouth. "Doing what? Bullying people into investing into bad businesses?"

Jungkook's expression fell at that but he recovered instantly. He almost felt defensive for a millisecond there. "I don’t know. She said it’s just errands and admin stuff for the office."

Hyewon hummed, but then her smile wavered.

So, he spoke to you? How are you and her boyfriend suddenly coming into contact so frequently?

A bit quieter, she asks, "You'll see her often then?"

He lied, "Not really."

Well, it's not really a big lie. He would probably see you around quite a bit if you were screwing Namjoon. Gee. Just when he almost forgot about that.

"Actually..." He trailed off.

Just spit it out already.

"I walked in on her and Namjoon today."

Hyewon's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Walked in on...?"

Jungkook nodded, "Like… them. Together." He waved his chopsticks around and raised a brow to highlight together.

Hyewon's eyes widen a little. That was fucking fast.

Had you known Namjoon from before? Or had it really only taken you a day to bed him?

There was another pause.

And then Hyewon scoffed under her breath, letting out a small phew of relief. "Well," she laughed, "good for him, I guess."

But a beat later, her eyes narrowed. "Wait. Did you see her, like, see her?" She hated that the thought even crossed her mind. But there it was, thudding at the back of her head.

Hyewon isn't stupid. She had picked up on your interest in her boyfriend. Mostly because of how sudden and blatant it was. And even though you're allegedly with Namjoon now and even if she trusts Jungkook, she worries her boyfriend might have seen too much of you to ignore.

Also, rumour had it that you were a bit... unconventional with your dating.

So who knows what you're going to do next?

Jungkook understood what she was hinting at. And he decided to lie for real this time.

He doesn't tell her that your cheeks were flushed, or that your lipstick was smudged just slightly, or how your eyes had trailed him all the way out the door. And he definitely doesn't tell her how the image of your bare breasts was burnt at the back of his eyelids.

In his defence, they were just right there. Just... On display. A little wet and glistening from spit. Nipples perked. One of the prettiest areolas he'd ever seen.

Jungkook shook his head.

He didn’t know why he remembered those parts. Maybe it's just a trauma response. And human nature.

Jungkook looked at her and then down at his food, furrowing his brows, finally answering. "No."

Hyewon relaxed again, seemingly satisfied with his response, and stabbed at her noodles and veggies to get everything in a single bite.

"Honestly, if anyone could handle someone like her, it’s Namjoon. I just hope she doesn’t get him into trouble." She frowned a little.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Instead, his jaw flexed like he was desperately holding back an opinion. He agreed with her though.

Everything about your irritated the hell out of him.

You were clearly just some bored socialite trying to fill her day with fake work so you could feel important and useful.

He wouldn't have cared about you had you not been disrupting everything around him, distracting his coworkers and employees. And him.

It's just... So fucking typical. You were such a careless brat.

The following month, Jungkook noticed a shift in his routine.

Only a week after he told Hyewon about you, she was coming around a lot more, both at work and home.

Sometimes she'd ask if he was free for lunch, and other times she'd just show up. Always carrying his favourite kombucha and a lovely little bento. And almost every time, she'd bring extra servings for Namjoon and you.

Jungkook wasn't complaining but it was starting to be a bit... much.

And with her almost constant presence, he saw way less of you.

Again, he's not complaining but simply making an observation.

If you and Namjoon ate together or hung out, it was always off-site or locked away in his office. It's like you never wanted to cross paths with Hyewon and him.

Jungkook didn't know how to feel about that.

On one hand, he isn't surprised because you had been bitchy towards his girlfriend from day one, but on the other, he thought you were very comfortable with him.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about it like that though. What kind of boyfriend did that make him?

You didn't stop by Namjoon's during lunch or hover near Jungkook's office anymore.

The only time he'd really see you was while checking in.

Even then, you had stopped trying to talk to him. Instead, you'd be busy tapping away at your phone or clinging on to his partner whenever he was present.

Jungkook would also occasionally spot you with Namjoon near the new coffee cart in the lobby.

Yes, you got your mother to make space for a coffee cart in the lobby.

You couldn't wake up early and then make coffee along with all the other things you need to do before work.

The things you do for dick...

Every time you're there, you'd always have Namjoon wrapped around you.

It irked the hell out of Jungkook.

He told himself it was the unprofessionalism. The disregard for workplace rules and boundaries.

You weren't even his employee but he swore he saw more of you during your first week than Logan.

Now, he barely knew if you were around.

And maybe that should've felt like a win.

But it didn't.

Work wasn't terrible. And that's being generous. This is the conclusion you've reached after a little over a month at your brother's company.

The harsh white overhead lights hurt your eyes. You hated being at the same place for hours at end. The coffee machine was too noisy and constantly being used. Someone always had something for you to do, the work was never-ending. It was overwhelming.

So you occasionally took hour long breaks, sometimes twice or thrice in a day (which were usually spent napping in Namjoon's office.)

It was so much work.

Albeit easy, you just weren't accustomed to this sort of schedule. You liked your sleep. You needed a lot of rest.

Now you understood socialism. You don't know how people did this daily for such less perks.

But, surprisingly, slowly, you were adapting.

You even made a friend, Sua. She was your age and fun to have around.

Logan had even begun assigning you more responsibilities as time went on, hoping to get you to be more diligent. Even though you still took random mental health days and still ignored calls when you were sick of speaking, you still showed up at work. You were present. Which was a win in his book.

Sometimes you'd surprise yourself (and everyone else) with how quickly you'd finish your tasks.

You'd never admit it but it's almost... rewarding to tick things off your to-do list.

That said, your favourite part of the day was still lunch.

That's when you'd rush to see Jungkook.

Although lately Hyewon had always been with him, it's still nice to get a glimpse of the guy.

You always tried to avoid her though. Whether it was the guilt or the fact that you just didn't care about her, you didn't know.

Just like that, once again, you're Jungkook-less during lunch, simply strolling through the nearest garden with Namjoon and Sua.

It was pleasant and breezy. The wind made your hair fly everywhere though. So you clipped it up.

Namjoon interlaced hos fingers with yours on one side and Sua held your other hand. You were sort of a bridge between them, holding them together. But you weren't really paying attention to their banter.

Sua was deep into her rant about the unjustified expectations people have for their potential partners. "She literally said she wants someone who works out five days a week, and I’m like… ma’am, we work in corporate. Like who has the time?!"

Namjoon nodded sagely. "No, but honestly? I get it. Health is wealth, right? I work out pretty regularly. Every other day, if I can."

Hm. Yeah, he totally works out, everyone can tell.

Sua grinned sheepishly, "Yeah, but you're the boss, you can get time off whenever. Not a fair comparison to the rest of us."

Namjoon looked like he wanted to disagree but he knew she was right.

"I've never been to a gym before." You blurt.

Well, you had been inside a gym but it was a pilates studio with the pilates machine thingy. You had never seen anything other than a treadmill before.

Both of them turned to you in utter disbelief.

"There's no way. You're lying!" Sua's almost jealous of you.

"No. Never really had to." You shrug. "But I do pilates. And aerial yoga. That’s enough."

You leave out the part about your intense, restrictive diets because that's a whole new issue for different day.

"That's nuts," Namjoon was already shaking his head. "We’re fixing that. You’re coming with me next time. Just once. I need you to experience a treadmill. Or a squat rack."

Uh. Yeah no, thanks.

"Pass." You scrunch your nose in disgust. "Don't wanna experience sweaty bodies and bad playlists."

Namjoon wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Ahh, c'mon now. It'll be a fun date. Jungkookie and I usually train together so you know I'll be a good teacher."

Oh?

You blinked.

Your head tilted slightly.

They worked out together?

Sua noticed the shift in your energy immediately and shot you a questioning look.

"Hm..." You pretend to think.

"I'll treat you to a good meal after." Namjoon attempted to persuade you.

If Jungkook's going to be there, you're absolutely going. It's the perfect chance to get closer to the man.

Fuck, this was it.

Bless Kim Namjoon.

"Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to check it out. Just once."

Namjoon raised a brow, "That’s all it took?" He had mistakenly thought you agreed in exchange for food.

You gave him your sweetest smile and definitely didn't correct him.

He then peeked past you at your friend, "Sua? You wanna come see the princess at work?"

Sua shook her head. "Tempting, but no can do. I view working out as a solitary activity."

You had tuned them out once again.

This time your head was filled with scenarios of yourself and Jungkook.

Would he hold your waist and guide you on the machines? Would he let you dab his sweat with your towel? Maybe he'd even give you a little shoulder massage...

You needed to plan the perfect outfit. You were not about to let this opportunity go to waste.

Hopefully Logan would be okay with you leaving early today since you had been in the office every other day this week. And you hope everyone else has got their shit together. Because you were going shopping now.

next: killah (jjk) [5]

note: here we gooo

please don't be a silent reader!! love it? hate it? i wanna hear all about it :D kiss kiss

the real bullshit starts next chapter 😛 you're gonna see... A lot... and i'm already so excited to write and release it for you guys to see like!!!!! eeep!

272 notes · View notes

niiwa-angel · 8 months ago

Text

Hazbin Hotel Incorrect Quotes

Vaggie, going over more ground rules for the hotel: Alright! We will be having weekly team dinners! Everybody will be taking a turn cooking!

Vaggie: Except Alastor, after the roast incident of April.

Alastor: You all said you wanted a shoulder roast.

Angel Dust: Pork shoulder, not Paul shoulder!

~~~

Alastor, calling a meeting: Listen up, you little shits.

Alastor: Not you Nifty, you're an angel and I'm happy you're here.

~~~

Valentino and Velvette, after losing Vox at the aquarium.

Val: He probably went to the shark tank. He likes sharks.

Vel: You're right.

Vel, laughing: He's probably in the shark tank, he likes sharks so much.

Val: Ha!

Both of them start running.

~~~

Husk: Hello, people who do not live here.

Cherri: Sup?

Husk: I gave you the key to my room for emergencies.

Frank the Egg Boi: We were out of molotov cocktails.

~~~

Charlie: What happens at Overlord meetings?

Alastor: Oh, you know. Boring discussions really. Lots of bureaucracy.

cut to the Overlord meeting

Vox, jumping up on the table: If you don't stop smacking me with your tail, I will end your entire family!

Zeezi: Bitch, try it!

Carmilla: Everyone sit down!

Velvette, recording: Can it old lady! This is gonna break the internet!

Clara smacks Velvette in the face with the handle of her spear: Don't talk to my mother like that!

Valentino: Don't smack my costume designer! She's getting blood all over her clothes!

Rosie, sampling: Tasty blood!

Alastor, also taking a taste: Indeed! Have you considered becoming a soup?

Zestial, fed the fuck up, slamming his hands on the table, effectively shutting everyone up.

Zestial: Sit. Down. Now.

Everyone sits down.

~~~

Lucifer: If you make your hot chocolate with water, you're out of the fucking hotel!

Lucifer: If you're lactose intolerant, you can stay but you're on thin ice!

Angel Dust: I just snort the powder because Vagina took my stash.

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: What the fuck?

~~~

Velvette, kicking through the door to the Overlord meeting: Hello losers!

Carmilla, not looking up from her tea: Hello, problem attendant.

~~~

Valentino, watching Vox freak out because of something Alastor did.

Val: Is it a chocolate pudding at three am type of night?

Vel: Does the day end with 'Y'?

~~~

Charlie: Can you guys get along for five minutes?

Lucifer and Alastor: No!

~~~

Vox and Valentino, aggressively making out in the kitchen.

Velvette: Can I get a waffle?

Valentino, rips his underwear off

Velvette: Can I please get a waffle?!

~~~

Carmilla: I am this close to losing it.

Zestial: Mine dear, there is no room between thine fingers?

Carmilla, watching Vox and Alastor argue viciously while Velvette, Valentino, and Rosie egg them on.

Carmilla: Yep.

~~~

Velvette: Selfie with the fossil!

Velvette, drags Zestial in for a selfie.

Zestial, noticing the filter: What witchcraft is this?

~~~

Vaggie: Okay people! If you're going to have weird food in the fridge, it needs to be labeled as such!

Vaggie: Alastor, that means labeling your demon meat! Angel, that means labeling your edibles!

Nifty, raising her hand: Are my roaches okay?

Vaggie: We're actually going to get you a mini fridge for your room, because your roaches are creeping people out.

~~~

Charlie: I love you.

Vaggie: I love you too.

Pentious, from the wall: AWWWW!

~~~

Carmilla: Acceptable snacks to bring to the Overlords meeting; brownies, candy boards, cheese plates, and veggie trays.

Carmilla: Unacceptable snacks to bring to the Overlords meeting; anything made with demons, magic mushroom cereal bars, and penis shaped gummies.

Zestial, a spider: I am also not a fan of the mint tea.

~~~

Charlie: Okay! I know its funny that Alastor and I can't walk on ice, but that doesn't mean it's okay to freeze the hallway to watch us slip!

~~~

Husk: I have very high standards.

Angel Dust, pulling out a machine gun and opening fire.

Husk: Oh no! He's meeting all my standards!

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blushonmycheeks · 2 months ago

Text

■ TICCI TOBY HEADCANONS 《🌲🪓》

Doubt - Twenty One Pilots ‧₊˚♪

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

~ art in second pic is by shatteredankles ♡

~ TW: mention of injuries, weapons, & violence!

~ want more? maybe some nsfw/dating ones? 👀 let me know and i will deliver! <3 im new here, so likes and comments are VERY appreciated!!

¤ listens to music like radiohead, nirvana, the cure, and likes most slipknot, ghost, korn, etc. a rock/alternative guy. you will NOT catch this man listening to pop. occasionally dabbles in some 80s rock too, although that's more of masky’s thing. he basically just has a virgin, white boy music taste lolol

¤ very fidgety. will twirl his hatchets, will twist the strings on his hoodie, pick at the gash on his cheek when it scars over, etc, etc.

¤ probably knows russian or some foreign language. when he's not running around doing slenderman’s bidding he's def cursing at duolingo or some shit /hj

¤ zones out A LOT. he's kinda detached from reality; constantly finding himself picking at the locks in his brain he shouldn't be trying to get into, before coming back to the real world and shoving whatever thoughts he had deep, deep down.

¤ he's a tease. he'll taunt his victims, taking his sweet time with them. he's not in any rush. the kinda guy to be gutting someone while saying, “Oh, c-c'mon! Intestines can stretch up to 20 feet! I'm sur-sure you can take more…” likes to hear their screams and pleas. it feeds the darkness in him; the side of him that only comes out when he's in the act of something that illicit.

¤ called slenderman ‘daddy long legs’ once as joke. he knew pretty quickly after not to do that again.

¤ lowkey a bastard. he will make snarky remarks all. the. time. he especially likes to push masky and hoodie's buttons. they've probably punched him square in the face before for saying some stupid shit that touched a nerve.

¤ (kinda a continuation of the last one) he laughs when being hit. due to his CIP, (congenital insensitivity to pain) he finds it amusing watching victims kick and hit at him, trying their hardest to inflict damage, all while he just grins.

¤ his smile is too wide. uncanny and not human-like. the way his lips stretch back, paired with the gash on his cheek, easily gains a shudder from basically anyone.

¤ his skin is as pale as PAPER. i don't think he's been tan once in his life. comes back from long missions in the summer with pink, sunburnt cheeks.

¤ freckles. freckles. freckles. on his cheeks, shoulders, etc.

¤ weed > cigarettes. he doesn't mind cigarettes, sometimes he'll snag a few from masky, but nothing relaxes him like a blunt after a long day. he's def the type to be relaxed by it and not anxious. the first time he tried it though it made him hella paranoid. nowadays he couldn't be bothered to care.

¤ knows some guitar. he's not the best at it, but he knows a few riffs and plays here and there when he has nothing else to do (which is rare).

¤ not at all a veggie or fruit guy. he's basically a carnivore. chicken, beef, pork, steak, ham; he'll eat up any kind of meat regardless of the animal. tried human meat once just for the hell of it and decided it didn't really suit his palette all that well, though.

¤ cursed with a sleeper build. looks skinny and scrawny but could throw you across the room if he pleases.

¤ smells like a campfire. 24/7, 365. no matter how many showers he takes or lack thereof, it will not go away.

¤ cuts his own hair. his tics have caused him to fuck up and accidently cut off too much before. he could not be bothered by how choppy it looks in spots, though. other times he goes a while without cutting it and will pull it back in a messy bun or loose ponytail just to get it out of his face. he sucks at doing hair.

¤ has not cried for many months if not years. there's definitely an untapped part of him filled to the brim with unresolved trauma that he can't remember or doesn't know how to talk about.

¤ has a happy trail (to my happy meal) sometimes he'll stretch and you can catch a glimpse of it. it's hard not to stare.

¤ an avid converse wearer. this man will wear his chucks until the soles are coming off and they're caked with mud (real).

¤ going off of the hc that him and all of the other proxies have the operator symbol somewhere, he has his on the inside of his wrist; carved into his skin permanently. sometimes will tug down his hoodie sleeve subconsciously if he feels it begin to ride up on his wrist with the scar.

¤ always has short nails due to his terrible nail biting habit. he also has slim, veiny hands paired with that.

¤ has naturally sharp K9's, giving his teeth a vampire look to them.

¤ hazel eyes that usually look brown, but have a ring of green around his iris in the sunlight.

¤ pretty average height for a male; around 5’9 maybe 5'10.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

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sweetbunpura · 7 months ago

Note

Yuu makes a bento for Leona

While Leona is more than willing to eat whatever the cafeteria has and what he makes Ruggie buys him, he will not say no to Yuu cooking a lunch for him. Although, she does glare at him as she hands it to the beastman with the strict instructions of:

"Eat all of it."

Lunch rolled around and Leona cracked opened the box lunched while Ruggie and Jack lingered to see what Yuu had made him. The smell of braised pork belly hit him as the seal broke. He lifts it up and is greeted by the desired meat along with furikake rice, tamagoyaki, ....Tomatoes and Broccoli... Ruggie cracked up next to him that has Leona sending a glare at the hyena.

"That's what she meant by eat all of it!"

Jack tries to hide his laughter behind his food. "The only way she can get you to eat it. You fear her more than anything."

"Both of you, shut up." Leona growls as he picks up the chopsticks and starts to eat.

Everything is cooked and seasoned to perfection, the lion beastman wastes no time finishing his meal as he keeps Ruggie away from it.

"It must be good if you're protecting it!"

"Back off." Leona swallows around his mouth of rice and eats the rolled omelette.

"Don't forget the veggies." Jack teases.

With a grumble, he swallows down the offended food without chewing it and cracks open the canister of green tea she had also given him. He pulls out his phone as he drinks and ignores Ruggie's demands of getting Yuu to cook for him next time.

Leona: Thanks for the food. It was good.

Herbivore: Just good? That means I have to try harder next time. Did you eat all of it?

Leona: Yeah.

Herbivore: .....

Leona: What, don't trust me?

Herbivore: No, so I asked Jack instead. He said you ate everything. I'm so proud.

Leona: Hahahah, aren't we funny?

Herbivore: So what I'm hearing is that you don't want me to cook you lunch again?

Leona: I didn't say that.

The bell rang and Leona packed up the box as he drank the rest of his tea. He shot Yuu one final text before leaving the cafeteria.

Leona: Meet me in the Botanical Gardens and I'll show you how much I appreciated your hard work.

#twisted wonderland #thorn answers #twst fic #upendi #leona kingscholar #yuu homura #ruggie bucchi #jack howl

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bluesidez · 7 months ago

Text

Bless Your Heart | PROLOGUE: SUNKEN EYES

The places our minds can go, the beauty we can see, and the feelings that we, ourselves, can only imagine. Oh, the places your heart will go.

tread lightly ⋆⋆⋆ pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy symptoms (cravings, morning sickness, changes in the body), mentions of food, character death, angst, a bit suggestive

word count ⋆⋆⋆ 2.7k (much thanks to my beta @slushycoookie 💚)

note on the fridge ⋆⋆⋆ I ask that you walk with me here....just walk with me. The prologue is important to get to the next chapter.

next ℧ masrterlist ℧ AO3

Wrap, wrap, wrap, and pull. Wrap and pull, wrap and pull.

Tempest hummed a melody to keep up with the pattern in her lap. Milky brown, light pink, and cream white yarn was all around her.

A friend showed her how to weave the soft material some years ago. She even helped her to start it, but it wasn’t until now that Tempest felt that completing it was her biggest goal.

Her fingers tremble as she holds the crochet needle in her hand, peach nails getting stuck against the string.

“Shit,” she whispers. The ring on her left hand snags against her square, ruining the pattern and her pace.

Slumping back, she drops her head on the seat of the coach, the feeling of the floor bringing her solitude.

Everything has been off.

Just a few weeks ago, she had been fine. Enjoying life, riding through the water with Magenta, eating dill pickles and boiled peanuts, and more importantly, knocking boots with her husband.

It was exhilarating.

Then irritation set in soon after.

Pork rinds never made her wanted to upchuck more than they did three afternoons ago. The smell in the air after opening the plastic was like her uncle clogging up the bathroom during Easter dinner.

She saw a charm with a mama deer cuddling her baby deer and startled the entire jewelry department with how hard she sobbed.

One night, the atmosphere was just right with candlelight and glasses of wine, but one hand on her nipples ruined the mood. It felt like someone or something had been pushing and pulling against her breasts all night.

To top it all off, she felt exhausted. Going to bed as early as 7 PM, waking up far too late to feed the chickens.

It was all too much.

Her last straw was running out on the dinner her husband made for her. Usually, she could muster up a smile and fight her way through the burnt veggies. Last night though, one bite of sour green beans had her tripping over herself to get to the toilet bowl.

He was distraught, one hand rubbing her back and the other holding back her dangling necklaces.

After that, she decided to do what she was avoiding for way too long.

A piece of white and blue plastic laid over a napkin on the bathroom counter. Black ink on the tiniest screen set her heart into motion. A decision of a lifetime sat in the pit of her stomach.

Right now, she felt more comfortable holding the empty trash can over her lap and finding relief.

A tug on the yarn distracts her. Looking down, she smiles at the three-month-old kitten.

“At least you’re having fun, Maple,” Tempest says. She rubs a hand on her kitten’s belly, laughing as she kicks at the yarn. “My happy baby.”

She was as big as ever, putting the stray cats around the farm to shame.

“I hope your Papa is happy.”

Maple paid her no mind, jumping at the string she was shaking above her.

Tempest stayed on the floor, waiting. Her mind was elsewhere as a gameshow panned across the TV screen.

The living room got darker and darker. Maple was curled up on top of her ruined square pattern, huffing big as she slept.

It’s not until she perks up and runs off her lap, squealing with all that she’s got, that Tempest notices that her husband is home.

“Roe!”

She smiles, listening to him fuss at Maple for climbing.

“This damn cat likes to climb me more than the 200 dollar cat tree we bought her.”

He sits on the floor next to his wife, holding Maple in one hand and wrapping around Tempest with the other.

“That would make two of us,” Tempest hummed.

He kissed her, groaning as her thumb pressed against his ear.

Their foreheads touch, and he rubs his nose against hers.

“How are you feeling today?”

“About the same. How was your day?”

“Same old thing. Nothing exciting until I got back here. ‘M more worried about you, though. You gave me a scare yesterday, Roe.”

She closes her eyes and sighs, hands forming loose fists in front of his shirt. Her heart was pounding and the AC wasn’t helping the heat forming over her skin.

“Hey,” he says. He cradles her head in his hand. “Everything ok? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Anything?”

“You were there when I was out on my ass with just a t-shirt covering my closest parts and a rottie on my tail.”

Tempest snickered, “You had no business playing around with those dogs. And they showed out, too.”

“You were also there when I was drunk out of my mind, serenading you in the middle of the night.”

“Almost woke up the entire dorm with The Temptations. How could I forget?”

“And when I lost bareback for the first time. And when Pops almost knocked me into the grave. And when I fought with my brother. And when your family was ready to rough me up-”

“Miguel. I’m pregnant.”

His smile pauses, face shifting as he looks back and forth between Tempest’s eyes.

“What?”

She got up and ran to the bathroom, grabbing her proof. She hands it to Miguel and hugs her legs close.

“I’m…pregnant. I don’t know how far along, but I haven’t been feeling good for a few weeks.”

Miguel reads the test over and over until the lines blur.

“Oh, Hare, I-I know. I know we’re still building our time together. And I still want that for us,” she wipes the tears falling from his face, the ones that match her own. “We’ll figure this out. If you don’t want the baby, we can go somewhere and, and we can make them go away. I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

“But what about you? Do you want the baby?”

Tempest’s lips curl in and out. It feels like he can see right through her.

“Yes, more than anything.”

He pulls her to his lap as soon as she finishes the sentence. Maple jumps on the couch.

“Then, I’m going to be a Daddy.”

Tempest smiles through her tears, laugh bubbling up. Miguel joins in, hands clasping against hers.

“You want to be?”

“No better time than now, Temp. We’ll give ‘em the world.”

“The world and then some.”

Miguel gets up and spins her around, the sound of her laughter louder than the live studio audience over the TV speakers.

“I…I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

Her face hovers over his as she scans his expression.

There was a glow on his skin that she would be soon to match. A fire lighting him up from inside.

“You’re gonna be a Daddy, Guel.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she turns her nose up at the plates he brought home, she’s still beautiful.

“These are your favorite!” Miguel holds out meat from a crab leg.

She gags, tears threatening to break free, “And right now they’re making me want to mess up your shoes.”

He takes the meat back and takes a bite. He furrows his brow, “Actually, I don’t even know if they cooked this right.”

“Spit it out.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as her favorite pants can no longer button up and she’s sprawled out over the bed about to cry, she’s still beautiful.

“I’ll buy you more pants, Roe,” Miguel sighs as he pulls on a different jacket.

“But these ones make my ass look amazing. And I’m bloated.”

“It always looks amazing. You always look amazing. That’s not going to change ‘cause of some denim.”

“But you always end up eating me up like a sundae because of these.”

He pauses, turning to her as she throws an arm to her forehead dramatically.

“If that’s what you wanted,” his jacket is thrown to the floor, “all you had to do was ask.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she’s staring at Miguel in disbelief, rubbing a cold towel across his face, she’s still beautiful.

“You’re irritating me right now.”

“When you get sick in the morning, so do I.”

“I didn’t get sick today, Hare.”

“But I did!”

“What are you going to do when this baby catches a cold? Gets a stomach bug? Breaks a bone?”

He turns his head on her lap, face pressed against her barely visible bump.

“Take care of it. Then, come lay in your arms.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she nearly jumps through the ceiling when the doctor lays the gel over her stomach, she’s still beautiful.

“I can never get used to that,” Tempest mumbles.

Miguel kisses her head, “You never liked the cold.”

The two of them are holding hands like they’re freefalling on an amusement park ride watching the transducer go over Tempest’s skin.

His heart is drumming so loud against his chest, Miguel almost thinks it’s his baby instead.

“Alright, family. Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

“Yes, please.” Miguel can’t help it.

Like the horses galloping across the plains, the sound fills the room.

Tempest shudders out a laugh of relief, of joy, as she leans her cheek on their clasped hands.

“Oh, Miguel. I think that’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard.”

He hums in agreement, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Would you all like to know the gender?”

The two nod. Days of wondering have led to this.

The probe moves and Miguel’s thumb moves over the back of Tempest’s hand as a reminder to breathe.

“It looks like a perfectly healthy baby girl!”

Tempest shouts, all of her intuition and old wives’ tales were validated. She’s getting the girl she wanted.

Miguel hopes she looks like Tempest because Tempest is so beautiful.

Even as she crosses off Miguel’s first choices for a name, she’s still beautiful.

“Why don’t you like Mist? It’s us, Roe! Miguel and Tempest. Mist!”

“We are not naming our baby after condensation, Hare. No.”

“With the way you’re going, her initials are going to be GMO. A farmer’s daughter with the initials GMO? A future cowgirl with GMO on the back of her shirt? Really?”

“It could be cute!”

“It could be lethal.”

Tempest huffs, “Well what else do you have?”

He flips a page in his notepad, “Tempel.”

“Like a temple? You know you would hate that. You barely like stepping foot in a church pew”

“Touché,” he drags his pen down the page, “Teguel.”

“Sounds like kegal. Do you want her to get bullied? Do you really want that for our child?”

He laughs, thinking the frown on her face is beautiful.

Even as she sits a package of frosted sugar cookies and ranch on her stomach for dipping, she’s still beautiful.

“This is rancid.”

“I think you mean delicious. I’m gonna try pickles wrapped in Rice Krispies treats next. Oh! And dill pickle chips with strawberry ice cream. I heard that’s the best.”

“And I need to go get these things now?”

“I suggest you do, unless you want to sleep in Magenta’s stall.”

“Yes, honey.”

He thinks she’s beautiful when she hands him the keys to the truck.

Even as he comes running to the bathroom when she yells his name, she’s still beautiful.

There’s an open half a gallon of milk in his hands and his tank is dangling over his shoulders.

“I think she just kicked!”

He’s not sure where the milk lands, but he’s on his knees, hands on Tempest’s stomach in a heartbeat.

He waits and waits, eyes going from her dark skin to her anticipating face.

Then he calls out to her.

“Baby girl, it’s me. It’s Papa!”

Three sharp kicks have Miguel squeezing around Tempest’s legs tight, pressing long kisses where she left an impression.

Tempest runs her fingers through his short hair softly and hugs him close.

“You got milk all over my floor.”

When she directs his mopping from her pregnancy pillow from the bed, he teases her about being beautiful.

Even with her exhausted state, trying to sleep through his soft chords, she’s still beautiful.

“You would think that this would keep her up, and yet, here we are singing lullabies at 2 AM.”

“I’ll keep humming, Roe. You just rest up.”

The timbre of his voice and his fingers sliding across guitar strings warms the chilly bedroom. His back is piled with two quilts while Tempest keeps a thin bed sheet just under her hips.

As she finally sleeps, Miguel thinks she’s beautiful.

Even when she stands in the mirror, taking in every last change to her body, he knows she’s still beautiful.

He stands behind her, rubbing cocoa butter into her skin. He follows the stretch marks up her stomach in awe. They remind him of roots of a tree, intertwining and intricate.

When he finds her face through the glass, she’s glowing. The black finger waves she sported eight months ago have turned into a small, curly fro with hot pink tips.

“You’re gorgeous today, Mama Roe,” Miguel whispers.

“Thank you, baby.”

The two of them cradle her stomach, sinking into the late afternoon. Maple is asleep upside down on an ottoman having tired herself out from chasing butterflies in the grass.

“Are you ready? To be a daddy?”

“Never been more ready. I got my pink hatband and everything.”

Tempest beams, “I guess it don’t get more ready than that, huh? You got your pink spurs, too?”

“You better know it.”

His words tickle her so, she laughs in his arms for what feels like hours.

She’s so…

Beautiful.

With lips like a heart and a sharp cupid’s bow to match. The top lip darker than the bottom and a mouth like a sailor.

Hair so thick, she cuts it off to not deal with it. The finest pixie cut you’ll ever see. Waves curling deeper than the ocean, grown a little and dyed for fun.

Toned thighs and a once hard stomach from pulling stubborn pigs riding horses without a saddle. Low-rise jeans in almost every shade adorned her closet.

Her eyes are like the sun setting in the summer. Warmer in the depth of the night, holding his heart close, leaving him bare. Orange and burnt umber. Somehow, yellow could make it through. Black pupils with nearly white, shining highlights.

Too beautiful.

“Daddy?”

Miguel breathes in sharp, the smell of freshly cut grass cutting his senses.

A monarch lands on a sunflower planted in the rose gold vase and he blinks.

His knees are starting to go numb and the sun is blaring against his back. He reads over the stone one more time.

A heart like no other, A soul that shines bright

Tempest Monroe-O’Hara

Miguel sniffs as a loose strand of hair goes across his cheek and a face slots against the side of his, nearly knocking his hat off. It’s a familiar feeling.

“Almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, Sunshine, I’m almost finished. I promise.”

“Ok, I’m going to wait on the back of the truck!”

She squeezes his neck and runs to the truck bed, not before her little hands grasp his own.

He rubs his hands against his jeans, head ducking as he thinks.

“Every day, she’s growing up to be more and more like you, Roe,” he chuckles. His throat is tight and some spots on his pants go from dark blue to navy. “Impatient as ever.”

He takes off his hat and looks at the embroidery on the inner rim. The once anticipated date staring back at him is not too far off from the sunset on the marble before him. The pink hatband is still intact.

“And she’s just as beautiful.”

The butterfly dances from the flower to his hat, wings slowly expanding and pinching.

“I hope you’re still watching her grow. I hope you’re still watching us and smiling up there.”

A dragonfly lands next to the butterfly, its abdomen shaking swiftly with iridescent wings buzzing away.

“Daddy!” Gabriella yells. “C’mon! We’re going to miss our show!”

The two insects twist together as they fly off, cool and warm colors mixing with the grass. Miguel sees them off until they become miniscule.

“I guess you heard the princess. Can’t miss our show.”

Miguel gets up and places his hat back on his head. He presses a hand from his lips to the top of the stone.

“Te amo, Roe.”

divider by ⋆⋆⋆ rookthornesartistry 💚

a/n ⋆⋆⋆ If you would like to be on the taglist, sign up here or comment! If you would like to be off the taglist, Ig you can tell me that too 😔.

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#Bless Your Heart 🌾#Cowboy!Miguel 🐎#love lab fics 🧫#miguel o'hara #tempest monroe #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x black reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x black fem reader #x black!reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #x fem reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader

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lil-ms-darkness · 10 months ago

Text

Crumbs - Bigby Wolf x Fem! Goldilocks! Reader [Part Seven]

The sunset behind her illuminates the apartment as Bigby examines her closely. The way her hair is tightly pulled back rather than gently gathered, the strain in her jaw, and the darkness under her eyes. She blinks in confusion as she looks at him,

“Sheriff? What’re you doing here?”

“It’s been a couple weeks and nobody has seen you come out of your apartment, so I figured I’d bring food.”

“I- uh, thank you.” she steps aside to let him in, more confused by his sudden visit than anything. He steps inside and she closes the door, following him through the small entrance hallway and into the rest of the apartment.

He glances onto the kitchen island, where he spots the accumulation of her baking. He gets a whiff of fresh baked pecans and dull baked-in brandy. His eyes follow his nose, spotting a pie resting on a mesh-metal dual platform he assumed was for cooling multiple pies at once. He tears his gaze away and heads to the love seat, setting the bag of food on the pony wall. She watches him, not moving but he can tell by her body language that she’s getting antsy.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I just grabbed you orange chicken, rice and some veggies.”

She nods and, after a moment of hesitation, makes her way over to him, sitting down on the love seat as he skillfully fishes out the white temple paper boxes full of inauthentic Chinese food. In his time in Europe, he’d found Chinese food to be his least favorite, not by any fault of their own. They certainly enjoyed their delicacies, and prided themselves on their cuisine, as it is a part of their culture. The multitude of spices were delicious to other Fables, but to his wolfish tastes, he preferred pork with the slightest bit of chicken hearts, if any at all, too many spices were overwhelming. Of course, ever since Snow cut him with that knife, he’s been able to adapt his tastes to blend in mostly, and get him by in the Mundie world. Even so, this was most definitely not authentic Chinese food, it’s as processed as the McDonalds around the corner.

He hands the blonde woman two of the containers and a fork, then grabs his own. He doesn’t miss the excessive bounce of her leg, or the way she repeatedly switches which leg is crossed- left over right, right over left, left over right again.

“What have you been working on?” he asks, pretending to be interested in how the crinkled piece of wanna-be steak clings to his plastic fork.

“Orders.” she says without looking up, and his eyes look her over. She’s spotless for having been hard at work, but he can smell the salty must of sweat and the way the buttercup curls stick slightly to her temples confirms it.

“I thought most of your orders were completed.” he probes

“I wanted to get a headstart,” he doesn’t miss the subtle edge to her voice. “Please stop beating around the bush, why are you here?”

“I was checking in on you, like I said, nobody has seen you around for a while.”

“So the Fabletown Sheriff is also responsible for performing wellness checks?”

“I have a lot of responsibilities, but yes, making sure Fables don’t kill each other is one of them.”

He watches her mouth open, tremble for a moment, then close tightly. She wanted to say something, but it seems she thought better of it. Looking from her face back to his own dinner, he caught a look at her own container, she hasn’t eaten any of it. Before he can ask if she has eaten already, the oven beeps. She stands, setting the takeout on top of the pony wall, again and makes her way to the oven. She slips on her mitts, reaching inside and pulls out the fresh pie. Even from where he is, he can smell warm caramelized sugar, molten blackberries and hear the crackle of the cooling crust on top. She slips the fresh pie underneath the first pie, eyes lingering on the pie on top.

“Whose order is that? Seems like you aren’t happy with it.”

For a moment, he doesn’t think she’ll answer and only intends on remaining transfixed on the pie, but she surprises him with a response.

“It was Woody’s favorite. Brandy Pecan Pie.” he watches her lips tremble again, eyes fluttering slightly with tears threatening to spill over, but she swallows and takes a breath, looking over at him. “Did you want a piece?”

“I’m not much of a sweets person,”

“Please? I know you and Woody didn’t really like each other, but I don’t want to eat this pie alone. I’ve managed to keep the tears away for a while, but if I’m alone eating this…” she pauses, and snorts quickly, looking down and tucking her chin against her chest, as if laughing at the absurdity of what she was asking of him. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have made it.” she reaches down, now cooled enough to touch the pie tin, she grabs it with both hands and walks to the trash can.

He has only a second of shock before he’s on his feet. He clears the small distance, grabbing her hands just in time to force them not to let go. She lets out a startled noise and looks up, eyes wide.

“Don’t throw it away just because it’s a painful memory.” he holds her gaze and can see the pain behind them. He tightens his hold on her hands, momentarily before she lifts it, and only then does he let her hands go to watch her set it back on the island. She leans against the counter, gripping the edge until her nails dig into the wood underside, closing her eyes tightly as she tries not to cry, again. He watches her, unsure of what to do for a moment. She isn’t afraid of him, but does he dare risk a hand on her shoulder? The worst that could happen is she recoils, which he’s used to. Somehow, he has a feeling that her recoiling from him, be it from disgust or fear, would ache like a healing bruise.

He reaches out, tentatively, and rests a hand on her shoulder, anyway. Under his hand, he feels her muscles stiffen, and she looks up at him. Her eyes are glassy, but she tries to prevent them from falling by blinking them away. The hurt, anger and frustration in her eyes raises memories of white fur splattered in red, dripping and muzzles snapping flesh, tearing. Growling, low and menacing, clacking teeth, and the feeling of utter helplessness and the birth of his ambition to become who he had succeeded in becoming.

Without thinking, he moves his hand from her shoulder to the side of her head. Her hair is soft, and the free strands brush his calloused skin gently, reminding him of a faceful of his mothers fur. His hand slides around to cup the back of her head, pulling her forward. She follows, still surprised by his gentleness, until her face touches his chest. She inhales deeply against his white dress shirt, and he can feel her hesitance to touch him back. But when his other arm loops around her shoulders, she sniffles and wraps her arms around his middle, clutching the back of his shirt as she sobs into him. She clings tightly onto him for long moments, soaking through his white shirt with her tears.

He holds her firmly, but doesn’t move otherwise as she weeps. Closing his eyes, he thinks about his mother and all that she deserved, the kindness and love she’d shown him. He remembers what she smelled like after the winter snow, the warmth and weight of her paw, the-

“Sher-iff?” he looks down as she pulls from his thoughts. He hums questioningly as she looks up at him, eyes puffy and pink, nose red and cheeks wet. He hadn't even noticed her crying slow, or feel the hiccups that now wrack her throat and chest. She lifts her hand and gently touches his hair, just as gentle as he had been. “I think I'm hungry.”

He blinks and rolls his eyes, stepping back slow enough for her to let her arms release and return to her sides. He leads her back to the loveseat and grabs her food, offering it out to her. She takes it and sits on the couch, turning to lift her legs up and tuck them into the gap between the cushion and arm of the loveseat. He sits beside her and resumes eating as well, partway through her container of takeout, she gently sets the food down, again, rubbing her eyes.

“Tired?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, every time I closed my eyes all I could see was…”

“I can stay here while you take a nap, if I can use your phone.” she looks up at him, examining his eyes as if she could read him as easily as he can read her.

“You won’t leave?”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“And you won’t let anyone get me?”

The sound of hungry maws gnawing on bone drifts through his ears, “No, I won’t.”

She’s quiet, considering it for another moment before she stands up, grabbing her food. She puts it away in the fridge, grabbing her cell phone from its place on the counter against the fridge. Unplugging it from the charger, she brings it back to him and holds it out. He reaches out to take it, and she reaches further forward so that the back of her hand rests against his palm momentarily before pulling back and leaving the phone in his hand. He knows she did it on purpose, but she doesn’t look at him. Instead, making her way over to her bed and sitting down, pulling the hair tie from her hair and replacing it with a different, thicker one? He doesn’t understand, but as she lays down and pulls the blanket over her body, she rolls over to face him, offering a soft smile as she grabs one of the stuffed animals- a wolf. Now that he’s looking closer, the commonplace stuffed bear is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t have a single stuffed bear, but he isn’t surprised. He doesn’t move, listening to her breathing slow more and more until her heart rate reaches rest and her breathing is slow and rhythmic.

Bigby opens up her phone, not surprised by the fact that there’s no passcode, as she wasn’t even worried about her door being unlocked when they first met. The wallpaper was a picture of Woody and herself years ago, based on the shorter length of hair that hovers just above her shoulders. He thumbs the button of the receiver, and begins to scroll through her contacts, finding a contact for B. Rose, Bo, then Beast followed immediately by Beauty, then Boy Blue which caught him by surprise.

Why would she need Boy Blue’s number, unless she was doing an order for him? He had never commented on expecting an order from her.

He scrolls on, deciding on the irrelevance of his contact being saved. Underneath his contact was the Business Office number.

Cindy, Dr. Swineheart, Jack H., Ozma- Ozma? How did she manage to get a phone number from the witches on the 13th floor? He makes a mental note to go and ask her some questions. The list continues; Rapunzel, Snow, Totenkinder, and Woody.

His eyes linger on the list of names before they drift over to [Y/N] asleep in her bed, then back to her phone. He thumbs the receiver icon and enters the number of his home phone before titling the contact “Bigby Apartment” and then creates a second one for his office titled “Bigby Office”. While it is his job to keep the residents of Fabletown safe, undiscovered, and not dead, he can’t deny that he has a soft spot for the baker.

Walking over to the pie, again, after a long moment of pondering on the case, he examines the crust, closely. The scent of roasted sugar on the fresh pie, the baked pecans of this one, and the melted white chocolate drizzle over some kind of raspberry sweet, he wonders how she doesn’t always have stomach pains being surrounded by candy and sugar.

He pauses for a moment, “candy. . .” he lifts her phone and scrolls through the contacts one more time before calling the Business Office line. It rings three times, then connects as someone picks up the other end.

“Fabletown Business Office.” It's Boy Blue.

“Blue, I need you to dig up everything you can on Hansel and Gretel. And I mean everything. I need you to bring it to me, I’ll give you the address in an hour.”

“Oh, right away, Mr. Wolf!” and the line clicks. He examines the pie, again.

Slowly, her senses become more aware as the sleep recedes and she can smell her empty apartment once more. A hollow feeling remains in her chest, but the clinking of silverware and dishes raise hope in her belly. Her eyes flutter open and she sits up, expecting to see Woody, prepared to push away the pain from a nightmare. But no, it was the Sheriff standing in her kitchen, cutting two small slices from the Brandy Pecan Pie she’d made. It wasn’t a nightmare, Woody was really gone. She frowns and he speaks up from his place in her kitchen without looking up,

“Have a nice nap?”

“I did. Until I had to wake up,” she rubs her eyes and sets her stuffed animal back in its spot against the pony wall. Turning, she drops her bare feet to the carpet, walking around to meet him in the kitchenette. He gently pushes a plate towards her, it has the slice of pie on it. Part of her doesn’t want to deal with this right after waking up, but she realizes that it’s not about dealing with it when she first wakes up, it’s something she doesn’t want to deal with in general. Still, the fact that he had cut it, and now has a piece on a plate for himself made her feel seen and understood. She looks up at him,

“I thought you weren’t a sweets person?”

“I’m not; Woody and I had our history, but he didn’t deserve what he got.”

She examines him, sees the tired and somber look in his eyes, and picks up the fork, taking a small bite from the end of the slice. It’s wonderful, nice and moist on the inside but crumbly and crunchy with the pecans on the top layer. The caramel glaze and the baked flavor made the pecans taste more nutty, giving the overall flavor a sweet and savory cacophony with every bite. No wonder Woody loved it. She opens her eyes, not sure when she closed them, and watches as the Sheriff takes his first bite. He nods his approval, and she feels the familiar swell of pride in her chest.

“It’s really good.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” her voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. She takes in his appearance, the tie he normally wears has been removed and the top button is unclasped, allowing a bit of his chest hair to peek out from between the folds. “What was your history with Woody?”

He pauses, looks at her and lowers the fork a bit. “We lived in the homelands together, like you did.”

“But what happened that caused the tension between you two?”

“I thought you didn’t read other Fables’ stories?”

“I don’t. But I’m asking now to understand more about Woody. More about you.”

He stares at the pie for a long moment, “I’m the big bad wolf, I was doing bad things around Red’s grandma’s place. Woody and I got into it, it wasn’t a particularly good day for me, and it ended with him cutting me down the middle, shoving rocks in and kicking me into the river. We've been going rounds ever since.”

[Y/N]’s eyes widen as he recounts events casually and takes a bite of pie after he finishes speaking. “Oh wow…I can see how that would leave a bitter taste in the mouth. Were you going to hurt Red?” She's not sure she wants the answer, but the question is out of her mouth before she can even stop it.

“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, and like I said, it was a bad day.”

She hums in response, catching onto the clear message that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Did you finish with my phone?”

“Yeah, I put it back on the charger.”

“Thank you,” she sees a manila folder on the counter, underneath her phone.

“What’s the folder for?” she glances at him, curiously.

“I think I have a lead in the case.”

Her eyes become round with excitement, “really? Let’s go talk to them! Maybe we can stop them from hurting anyone else!”

“Not yet, I have to investigate first and see if it all lines up before I go accusing.”

“Who do you think it is? How did you find out so quickly?”

“It’s confidential.” he takes another small bite of his pie

“What?” Her voice comes out more incredulous than she meant it to, “Sheriff, someone I love was just murdered in cold blood and I was the one to find his corpse.”

“I don’t need you going on a revenge mission.”

“Somebody murdered an innocent Mundy woman and glamoured her to look like me to scare those close to me, and I don’t even know if I am really safe, but you’re going to refuse to tell me who you suspect is guilty of the crime for what? Because of the rules in the Business Office that you don’t even agree with? What if they come after me and I don’t know because you didn't tell me who to watch for?”

He examines her, closely, then the crumbs left on his plate. She prepares herself for a scolding, or him to just flat out refuse, but instead, he nods,

“You’re right, keeping you in the dark wouldn’t help. Just don’t go around talking about the case to anyone without me, anyone. That includes Red.” she nods, “I think it may be Hansel, Gretel, both of them, or perhaps Totenkinder has something to say for herself.”

“You think it’s-? But I haven't seen Hansel around in centuries? Isn't he still in the Homelands?”

“Either way, I need to find him and talk to him. Same with Gretel. Both bodies smelled like you, or at least your work, and with their history it could be a possibility.”

“But what reason would they have to glamour a Mundy to look like me or to kill Woody?”

“I’m not sure just yet. But I will figure it out.”

#bigby wolf #bigby wolf x reader #twau bigby #fem reader #mysteries and pastries

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