#who came up with that and where can I argue with them

[tinybeetiny]

can u please make more ateez angst when you have time and feel like writing something that hurts. it doesn’t have to have a happy ending as long as y/n isn’t a totally pushover, it also doesn’t matter for which member or whether it’s something in the format as the “they call you clingy” fic or a traditional fic! thanks in advance and regardless of whether you take this request keep up the good work girly!

When they yell at you: OT8

Aaah now that i got all my "I Love You" fluffs done I figured i could give yall some angsty angst!!! I hope this was ever thing you wanted anon! I appreciate your kind words and i do like the whole Yn not being a total push over!!!

->Starring: OT8xReader ->Genre: Angst ->Cw: Yelling, gaslighting? maybe?, hurt no comfort, there will be NO part 2, no second chances, mean everyone except Yn... because as you should, stand for yourself pookie

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Seonghwa:

It started with silence, Seonghwa’s favorite kind of armor.

He stood in the kitchen, back turned, cleaning the same glass for the third time. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him, your own chest tightening from the weight in the air.

“Are you really not going to talk to me?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His hand froze mid-wipe. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s everything to talk about, Seonghwa,” you said, stepping in. “You shut down whenever something gets too close. You’ve been distant for weeks, and I’m here trying to hold us together with what? Prayers and duct tape?”

He set the glass down with a loud clink and turned. His jaw was tight, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “You think this is easy for me? That I’m just choosing to shut down?”

“No. I think you’re scared of confronting things that hurt. And instead of dealing with them, you pretend nothing’s wrong until we break apart in silence.”

His jaw clenched, and suddenly he slammed his fist on the counter, knocking the glass over.

“Enough,” he growled, voice low and rough. “You think your constant worrying, your endless questions, is going to ‘fix’ things… you make everything worse!”

The words crashed over you, sharper and colder than you expected.

Your breath caught. Your eyes went wide, the sting of his cruelty like a slap you hadn’t seen coming.

Seonghwa’s face instantly paled, his eyes widening as if the words echoed back at him with new, terrifying weight.

He blinked, swallowing hard.

You froze.

Your throat burned. “Say that again.”

He didn’t.

“I dare you to look me in the eye and say I made things worse by caring. By trying.”

Seonghwa dropped his gaze. The crack in his facade was starting to show, but it was too late.

“I’ve bent myself backwards for you,” you continued, voice trembling but firm. “Tried to read between the lines of your silence. Tried to understand your moods like they were a second language. But this? This is where I draw the line.”

“Y/n—”

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story because you’re afraid of being vulnerable. I’m not your enemy, Seonghwa. But if this is how you talk to someone who loves you, then maybe you don’t understand what love really is.”

He opened his mouth to argue but nothing came out.

You took a slow breath, grounding yourself in your own strength. “You want peace? Start by not wounding the people who are on your side.”

He reached for your hand. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going far,” you whispered. “But I’m not staying here just to be hurt, either. Figure out if you're going to keep pushing me away every time you're scared. Because I can’t love someone who punishes me for caring.”

You slipped your hand out of his and turned, tears pooling, but not falling, until you stepped outside and let the door close behind you.

Inside, Seonghwa stood completely still, hand outstretched, realizing far too late that he just broke the one person who never asked for anything but honesty.

Hongjoong:

The apartment was dim when you walked in, the only light coming from the cold glow of Hongjoong’s laptop screen. You kicked off your shoes quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile calm. The takeout container felt heavy in your hands, but you hoped a simple meal might bring a moment of peace.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, hunched over his desk, eyes bloodshot, the soft buzz of the headphones muffling his low muttering. The weight of exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

You placed the food on the table gently, trying to keep your voice calm.

“Hey, I got your favorite—”

He slammed the laptop shut with a sharp clack that echoed through the small room. His gaze snapped toward you, eyes blazing with a frustration you hadn’t seen before.

“You seriously thought now was a good time to come home with takeout?” he snapped, voice sharper than ever.

You blinked, the surprise pinching your chest. “I just thought you might be hungry. You haven’t eaten all day.”

His breath hitched, but his anger poured out like a flood. “I don’t have time to eat!” he shouted, standing abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat. “Do you even understand the pressure I’m under? No. You don't because I’m doing everything alone!”

Silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that burns your lungs when you try to breathe.

Your heart thudded fiercely against your ribs. “Excuse me?”

He ran a hand over his face, already pacing, voice rising with every word. “I have to produce, mix, write lyrics, manage schedules, all while you just… float around here like everything’s normal.”

You swallowed the lump tightening in your throat, trying to steady your voice. “You’re exhausted. I get that. But you don’t get to talk to me like that because you’re spiraling.”

He stopped, staring through you as if you were a ghost, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

You stepped forward, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’ve stayed up with you on the nights you were too anxious to sleep. I’ve sat in silence with you when words failed you. I’ve tried everything to make your world a little softer when it got too loud and now I’m just… what? In your way?”

No answer. Just the frantic rhythm of his breathing.

Your voice cracked, not from weakness but the strength it took to stand tall amid the storm. “Don’t mistake my quiet support for invisibility. I see you, Hongjoong. But I will not let you erase me just to feel like you’re in control.”

The room was heavy with silence again, thick and suffocating.

You bent down to grab your keys, every movement deliberate to calm your shaking hands.

Hongjoong finally moved toward you, eyes wide with desperation. “Wait! Don’t go. I didn’t mean—”

You turned, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “You did. And maybe that’s the problem.”

The door clicked softly behind you, sealing the night shut.

Hongjoong was left alone, the echo of your words hanging in the stale air, and the untouched dinner, still warm and forgotten on the table.

Yunho:

Dinner was quiet, eerily so.

You sat across from him, your plate untouched. The only sound came from Yunho’s occasional laughter as he scrolled through his phone, completely absorbed. You watched him, your chest tightening with every second that passed without a glance in your direction.

You didn’t want to ruin the night. But you also couldn’t take it anymore.

“How was your day?”

“Good” he muttered, eyes still on his screen.

“Anything new?” you asked, hoping he'd look up

"Not really?"

"Do you even want to do this?"

He sighed like it was a burden. “Y/n, don’t start right now. I’m tired.”

“I’ve been quiet for weeks, Yunho. How much longer was I supposed to keep swallowing how empty this feels?”

He finally looked up, just in time for the irritation to flash in his eyes.

And then, he snapped.

“Can you just shut up for once?”

Everything inside you went silent.

You stared at him, stunned, but only for a breath. Your heart thudded, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you pushed back your chair and stood slowly.

Your voice came out low, deadly calm.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

His face shifted, regret flickering behind the anger, but it was far too late.

“I—I didn’t mean it like—”

“No. You said it. Loud and clear,” you cut him off, voice shaking with fury. “You think I’ve been nagging? You think this is me being dramatic? Try being in a relationship where your boyfriend would rather talk to his phone than look at you.”

He stepped forward. “Y/n, I didn’t mean it—”

“But you did,” you snapped, backing away. “Don’t try to twist it now. You told me to shut up for finally asking why I’m hurting. And you think you’re the one who’s tired?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. “I have begged for your attention in silence for weeks. I’ve sat across this table, hoping, praying, you’d notice I was breaking. But now I know why you didn’t.”

You grabbed your bag, every movement filled with controlled fire.

“You stopped caring a long time ago and maybe I should stop wasting my voice on someone who only notices when I'm about to leave.”

You turned toward the door, but paused just long enough to look back.

“I don’t care how tired you are, Yunho. You don’t get to make me small just because you can’t handle the sound of my pain.”

Then you walked out, slamming the door behind you, leaving him alone with his phone, the cold food, and the sinking weight of his own cruelty.

Yeosang:

The studio buzzed with the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing as the members drilled the new choreography. You stood near the edge of the room, watching Yeosang as he moved with sharp precision, but his face betrayed something deeper, frustration and exhaustion etched into every line.

He stumbled on a difficult step, swearing under his breath. The frustration bubbled over quickly.

When the group took a short break, you stepped forward, hoping to offer some comfort.

“Yeosang, you’re really killing it out there. This routine’s tough, but I believe in you.”

Your words were soft, genuine, meant to soothe the tension hanging in the air.

Instead, Yeosang’s face twisted into a scowl. He spun around, eyes flashing with something fierce and raw.

“Do you even realize what I’m dealing with?” he snapped, voice rising louder than you expected making your eyes widen. “You think your little pep talk is helping? It’s not! You have no idea what I’m going through!”

The room fell still. Your heart clenched at the sharpness in his voice, but you refused to back down.

“I’m just trying to support you,” you said calmly, meeting his glare. “I’m here because I care.”

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Care? That’s easy to say when you don’t have the weight of every expectation crushing down on you. The pressure to be perfect, the constant eyes watching, the fear of messing up, I live with that every second.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of his pain but also the sting of his words.

Hongjoong stepped forward cautiously. “Yeosang, it’s okay to be frustrated. We all are. But don’t take it out on—”

“Don’t,” Yeosang cut him off sharply, eyes wild. “You don’t get to tell me to calm down. Nobody understands this like I do.”

You saw the others exchange uneasy glances, unsure how to intervene without making things worse.

“I may not be on stage,” you said quietly but firmly, “but I see you. I see the pressure. And I also see how you’re pushing away the people who want to support you.”

His breathing was heavy now, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Maybe my words don’t fix anything,” you continued, voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “But lashing out doesn’t make it better either.”

Yeosang shook his head, frustration and something softer flickering behind his eyes.

“I’m trying to hold everything together. Sometimes, it feels like it’s too much.”

You took a step closer, unwavering. “And you’re not alone. But if you keep shutting people out, you’ll be fighting that battle alone.”

He looked at you then, vulnerability breaking through the anger for just a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking.

You shook your head gently. “Sorry isn’t enough when it’s this constant. I’m here because I want to be by your side, not because I’m willing to be treated like a problem.”

The room was silent except for the distant hum of the air conditioner and your steady breaths.

“I need space,” you said finally, voice firm. “If this is how it’s going to be, I need to step away.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked toward the exit, your footsteps echoing in the quiet studio.

Behind you, Yeosang stood frozen, surrounded by his brothers, the weight of his frustration now heavier with the absence of the one person who believed in him most.

San:

The rain tapped steadily against the windows, the sound echoing through your apartment.

You stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching San pace like he was walking circles around an answer he couldn’t find. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark and distant.

You had been arguing for twenty minutes, but somewhere around minute twelve, it had stopped being about the dishes, or the missed calls, or the weekend he forgot to come home.

Now, it was something else. Something ugly. Something buried too long.

“You think everything has to be about you!” he suddenly exploded, voice cutting through the silence like glass. “God, it’s exhausting!”

Your spine straightened. “Excuse me?”

“You never shut up about how you feel, how you’re hurting, how you need more time, more answers, more, whatever the hell you think I owe you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “You do owe me something, San. Respect. Consistency. The bare minimum of communication.” Your voice stayed level, but your heart was thudding so loud it made your ears ring. “I haven’t been asking for miracles. I’ve been asking you to show up.”

He laughed bitterly. “Show up? You mean like how you always keep score? Like every time I’m late, it’s another point on your perfect little tally board?”

“Late?” you scoffed. “Try disappearing, San. Try not answering texts for days and pretending like you’re not the one pulling away. I’ve been right here, the whole damn time, waiting for you to be honest with me.”

He shook his head like he couldn’t bear to hear it.

You stepped forward. “Say something. Say anything real for once.”

And then he did.

Something in his expression snapped. His shoulders stiffened, and when he spoke, his voice came out like venom.

“Maybe I don’t want to be here anymore.”

You froze.

The words didn’t land immediately. They echoed instead, bouncing off the walls and repeating in your mind until they sank in. Your mouth went dry.

Your voice cracked, but not with weakness, only disbelief. “You’re really going to say that to me? After everything we’ve been through?”

He looked away. Said nothing.

So you filled the silence. “You want out? Fine. But don’t you dare act like I’m the problem just because you don’t have the guts to admit you’ve already checked out.”

His eyes flashed. “You act like you're some saint for putting up with me, but you’re controlling. You act like you're always right. Like you know me better than I know myself.”

“I do know you!” you shouted. “And I know you’re scared. I know you’re pushing me away so you don’t have to feel guilty when you finally walk. But I won’t be here when you do. I won’t let you hurt me twice.”

He looked stunned for half a second. Then he masked it again.

You grabbed your keys from the table, fingers trembling, but your spine was steel.

“I loved you, San,” you said, voice trembling but firm. “And I thought you loved me too. But if this is what your love looks like, if it's yelling and silence and emotional whiplash, then I don’t want it.”

You moved to the door.

“Wait—” he started, but the word died in his throat.

You turned back one last time, your eyes shining but your chin lifted.

“I fought for us. I did. But I’m done fighting alone.”

The door clicked shut behind you before he could say another word.

And in the quiet that followed, he realized the worst thing of all

You weren’t bluffing.

You weren’t coming back.

Mingi:

The room was filled with a tension no music could drown out.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your knee bouncing anxiously while Mingi stood near the window, arms crossed, back rigid. The playlist he’d put on earlier still played in the background, some lo-fi beat that now felt too soft for the sharp air between you.

You hadn’t meant to fight tonight.

It had started with something small, an offhand comment, a flicker of disappointment you voiced gently. But with Mingi lately, even small things had begun to feel impossible. Like walking across cracked ice, hoping it didn’t break beneath you.

“I don’t get why you always shut down when I bring up something that’s bothering me,” you said, your voice soft but tired. “I’m not attacking you, Mingi. I’m not trying to corner you. I just want us to talk, like adults.”

He scoffed under his breath, his jaw clenching as he looked out the window. “It’s always something with you. Every little thing becomes a whole speech. A crisis.”

The words hit harder than he probably meant them to. You flinched, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Is that really what you think I’m doing?” you asked quietly.

He ran a hand through his hair and began pacing, his frustration unraveling by the second. “I just… I don’t know how to do all this deep, emotional, whatever. Sometimes it feels like we’re on completely different pages. Like I’m trying to breathe and you’re handing me a rulebook.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You stood up slowly, leveling your gaze at him.

“I’m not trying to suffocate you, Mingi. I’m trying to love you. Loving someone requires talking. Feeling. Trying. It requires presence, not just being in the room but actually showing up when it counts.”

He turned on you then, eyes flashing. Voice raising “Then maybe you should find someone who actually understands you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t just quiet, it was brutal.

Your breath caught. You stared at him, frozen in place as the words settled deep into your skin like bruises blooming all at once.

He froze too, his face falling almost instantly, regret chasing the fire from his features. “Y/n, I didn’t mean that—”

You took a single step back. That was all. But it felt like an earthquake.

“No, Mingi,” you said, voice low, trembling but controlled. “You did mean it. You wanted to hurt me. And congratulations. You did.”

He stepped forward, panicked now. “No, I didn’t. I swear. I just, I didn’t know what to say. I said the wrong thing.”

You held up a hand. “Don’t insult me by pretending it just slipped out. You said the exact thing that would make me shut down. The thing you knew would hit the deepest place. And now that I’m quiet, you want to backpedal?”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

You weren’t done.

“You act like me needing communication makes me needy. Like I’m too sensitive. Too much. But let me ask you something, Mingi. How long did you expect me to keep giving and giving while you locked yourself behind walls and told me I was lucky just to be let in once a week?”

He blinked rapidly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back whatever emotion was rising.

“I never asked you to give so much-” he tried.

“But you let me,” you cut in, voice sharp now. “You let me pour everything I had into us while you stayed silent and now you want to play the overwhelmed victim because I asked you to show up? I don’t need perfect, Mingi. I just needed effort.”

He stepped closer, tears in his eyes now. “I didn’t know how to handle any of it. I was scared. Of failing. Of disappointing you.”

You smiled bitterly, eyes glassy. “And instead, you chose to push me away before I could be the one to leave.”

You moved to pick up your bag. The quiet shuffle of fabric sounded deafening against the stillness of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Please… just give me a second chance.”

You looked over your shoulder, voice breaking as you spoke. “I gave you so many second chances, Mingi and you spent them all convincing me my emotions were too loud.”

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away.

“I loved you. Truly. Fully. With everything I had. You’ll remember that when you're lying awake at night wishing you hadn’t made me feel like I was a burden to be tolerated instead of a person to be loved.”

You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. You just walked away, quiet and resolute, leaving Mingi in the hollow silence that remained, alone with the echo of his own words and the weight of the love he’d just lost.

Wooyoung:

It started with a simple question.

“Who was that texting you at 2 a.m.?” you asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers loosely laced in your lap, voice careful—too careful, like you already sensed the storm building beneath the surface.

Wooyoung froze mid-step, towel draped around his neck from a late-night dance session. He turned halfway toward you, tension immediately tightening his frame.

“What?”

“I just… noticed your phone going off last night,” you continued. “A few times, actually. Then you locked it and turned it face down. I’m not accusing you of anything, Wooyoung. I’m just asking.”

He scoffed, tossing the towel carelessly onto the dresser like it suddenly weighed too much.

“Unbelievable.”

Your brow furrowed. “What is?”

“You,” he snapped, his tone already too sharp. “Always doing this. You say you’re not accusing me, but your tone says otherwise. Like you’re just waiting for me to slip up.”

You stood slowly, not out of anger, but because the air between you suddenly felt brittle, like it might shatter if you stayed still. “I’m not doing anything, Wooyoung. I asked a question because I care. Because lately, it feels like you’ve been somewhere else entirely.”

He laughed bitterly, cold, joyless. “God, you don’t trust me, do you?”

Your heart stuttered.

“What?” you whispered.

He stepped back, eyes wild. “Why are we even doing this if you don’t believe in me?”

You blinked, stunned.

“Wooyoung—”

“No,” he cut you off, louder now, words like thrown knives. “You don’t trust me, so why the hell are we even doing this?”

And just like that, something inside you cracked.

Not from the words themselves, but from the way he said them. From the fact that he knew where to strike and didn’t hesitate.

You stared at him, the silence around you thick with disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it, your voice no longer calm, no longer soft.

“No,” you said, firm and rising. “You do not get to spin this on me.”

Wooyoung’s expression flickered, regret starting to creep in, but it was too late.

“I asked you a question. A basic, honest question. And instead of answering, you turned it into an attack. You flipped it on me so you wouldn’t have to be accountable.”

He faltered. “I just. I'm tired of being interrogated—”

“And I’m tired of being gaslit every time I bring up something real!” you shouted, chest heaving. “I am not the villain in this story, Wooyoung. I’ve shown up for you. Every single time. Even when you were distant. Even when you wouldn’t talk. I’ve sat in silence, waited for you to open up, given you every chance because I trusted you.”

He stood there, blinking rapidly, lips parting as if to speak—then closing again.

“You think trust means never questioning anything?” you pressed, voice cracking slightly. “Trust means honesty. It means facing hard things together. But every time I try to do that, you shut down or turn it into an argument.”

You looked at him, really looked. The way his shoulders were tense, hands fidgeting at his sides. Like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

“You’ve made me feel like my concern is a problem. Like I’m too much for needing clarity. For wanting to feel secure. You dodge with sarcasm, or you guilt-trip me until I’m the one apologizing.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he tried.

“You never mean to,” you interrupted, quieter now. But no less fierce. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less. That doesn’t fix the way I go to sleep every night wondering if I said something wrong just because you won’t communicate.”

He stepped toward you, voice trembling now. “Y/n, I didn’t know what to say, I panicked, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” you whispered, stepping back. “You were thinking. You thought saying something cruel would shut me up faster than the truth ever could.”

His face crumpled, the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” you said. “I’m asking you to be real with me. I’m asking you to meet me halfway instead of making me feel crazy for feeling anything at all.”

He looked at you like he was seeing you clearly for the first time—and maybe he was.

“I have never demanded anything from you that you didn’t already promise me. Honesty. Effort. Respect.” You moved to the dresser, picking up your bag with shaking hands. “If those things feel like mistrust to you, maybe you’re not ready for real love.”

The words echoed in the space between you, and neither of you moved.

He reached out, voice barely audible. “Please… don’t leave. We can fix this.”

You paused by the door. And when you turned to face him, your eyes weren’t cold, but they were done pleading.

“You want my trust?” you said softly. “Then stop treating my heart like a threat. You want my love? Then stop using my questions as an excuse to hide.”

And then you left, quiet, firm, and entirely in control of your own worth.

Behind you, Wooyoung sank to the bed like the wind had been knocked from him, the weight of your absence louder than anything he’d said all night.

And for the first time, he realized your silence wasn’t the problem.

It was his.

Jongho:

The room felt like it was closing in.

The air was thick with tension, charged with everything neither of you had said for days. The TV still played in the background, long forgotten. A half-eaten dinner sat on the table, untouched and cold. You stood near the door, your back against it as if anchoring yourself in place.

Jongho paced like a caged animal, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight, shoulders trembling from holding back what was clearly boiling just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get it!” he exploded, his voice cracking on the edge of something sharp and dangerous. “You think you always know what’s best for me, like I’m some damn kid who needs saving. Like you’re the only one who cares enough to make decisions.”

You flinched at the volume, but you didn’t back down. You’d been walking on eggshells too long already.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you said, voice firm but gentle. “I’m trying to protect us. But it’s like every time I reach for you, you push me further away.”

He scoffed bitterly, throwing his hands in the air. “Protect us? No. You’re protecting yourself, from me. Every time I feel something, you want to dissect it, fix it, control it.”

Your brows drew together, hurt flashing in your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snapped, stepping forward. “What’s not fair is being treated like I’m some fragile project. I’m not. I’m a person. A person who doesn’t need you constantly reminding me of what I should be doing or feeling.”

“I never said you were fragile,” you whispered, but the sting in your chest begged to differ.

Jongho’s voice rose again, laced with frustration. “You don’t say it, you show it. Every time I mess up, every time I get quiet, you act like it’s your job to fix me. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I don’t want to be held under a microscope every time I shut down.”

“Maybe you’re scared,” you said quietly, stepping closer, refusing to be bulldozed. “Scared of being vulnerable. But pushing me away doesn’t make that fear disappear. It just makes you cruel.”

He slammed his palm against the edge of the kitchen counter, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the room. “You don’t get to tell me how to be scared! I’m trying, God, I am trying, but you don’t listen. You just push. Always pushing.”

The tears burned at your eyes, but you held your ground. “Because I’m fighting for us, Jongho. Because every time you shut down, I stay. I sit with you in the silence, I reach through your walls. But I can’t keep reaching if you keep backing up like I’m the one hurting you.”

He turned to face you fully, chest heaving. “You are hurting me.”

That cut deeper than anything else he’d said.

“I’m hurting you?” you echoed, voice barely a whisper. “By loving you? By trying to understand you?”

He didn’t answer. And that silence? That told you everything.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you said, voice shaking but strong. “I’m trying to love you. Honestly. Patiently. But if every time I open up, you meet me with anger, then what the hell are we even doing?”

He stepped closer again, face twisted in conflict, voice lowering into something raw. “Maybe I don’t want to be loved that way. Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m never enough for you.”

You stared at him, stunned. Then the words came, thick with heartbreak. “You are more than enough. But I’m not enough for you. Not if I have to shrink myself just to keep you from shutting down.”

His breath caught. “Don’t say that—”

“I have to,” you interrupted, voice cracking. “Because I keep begging for the bare minimum and calling it love. And I’m done.”

Jongho’s face crumpled. “Y/n, please… don’t walk away. Not like this.”

You stared at him for a long moment. The way his chest was rising and falling, the unshed tears in his eyes, the tremble in his hands. It was everything you’d wanted to see, emotion, vulnerability, presence, but it was too late.

“I can’t keep being the only one who’s trying,” you whispered, tears finally falling. “The only one scared of losing us. If you can’t fight for me, then I have to fight for myself.”

He reached for you, his voice a desperate plea. “Don’t go.”

You stepped back, your voice steady despite everything inside you breaking. “I love you, Jongho. But I won’t lose myself just to be loved by someone who only notices me when I’m about to leave.”

You turned, grabbed your coat with trembling hands, and walked toward the door.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

The door clicked shut behind you with quiet finality, and the echo of it hollowed out the entire room. Jongho stood there, unmoving, arms limp at his sides as the silence collapsed around him.

Only now did he understand the damage he’d done, not in the heat of yelling, but in every moment he made you feel like you weren’t enough.

And now, for the first time, you weren’t there to reassure him that he was.

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[sherewrytes]

Valentine's day aint it when you're missing someone you're not supposed to

This was a Valentine's day draft that never got posted...so imma drop some angst....This is part 2 to this fic. this gone be a couple parts maybe 2 more. I like writing short multi chapters like these

The whole room went still. Even Connie, who was usually cracking jokes, had nothing to say.

Ony froze mid-drag, the blunt hanging between his fingers. His eyes snapped up to YN, and for the first time that night, he didn’t look pissed. He looked… blank.

Like she’d finally hit something she wasn’t supposed to.

"You deadass?" His voice was low, almost calm.

YN lifted her chin, arms crossed tight over her chest. "You said it, not me."

Ony let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head. "So that’s it? Three years, and that’s how you moving?"

YN sucked her teeth. "Man, you been checked out. You just ain’t wanna admit it."

That? That shit made something snap inside him.

Ony let out a cold laugh, shaking his head. "Nah, see, you love tellin’ yourself that bullshit, huh? That I’m the one who let go first. That way, you don’t gotta deal with the fact that you been pushing me away this whole time."

She said nothing.

"Say that shit out loud, YN," Ony pressed, stepping forward. "Tell the truth for once. You never wanted me to stay, did you?"

Silence.

Her lips parted slightly like she was going to say something, but nothing came out. And that? That was his answer.

Ony exhaled sharply and nodded. "Bet."

He turned around, grabbed his keys off the table, and headed for the door.

"Where you going?" Jean finally spoke up, voice groggy from just waking up.

Ony didn’t even look back. "Out."

YN stood there, arms still crossed, but her nails dug into her skin now. She watched as Ony opened the door, stepping out into the night without a second glance.

And for the first time, something in her chest ached.

She ignored it.

She had to.

“Fuck, Ony I’m sorry,” YN blurted out, voice cracking.

Ony froze mid-step, slowly turning back to face her. A cold laugh slipped from his lips, humorless and bitter.

“Sorry? You sorry, YN?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. You know what? I’m good on all this, I’mma take my shit right now and get the fuck outta this apartment. I’m done.”

The second those words left his mouth, the energy in the room shifted.

"You deadass?" YN asked, voice quieter now, but Ony wasn’t looking at her anymore.

"Nah, you deadass," Ony shot back, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. "You wanna be outside so bad? Bet. You can keep that shit. But I ain’t about to be the fool sitting around waiting for you to figure out what the fuck you want."

Jean, Connie, and Eren stayed silent, watching as Ony stormed past them, straight to the bedroom. The sound of drawers yanking open, shit getting tossed around, filled the apartment.

"Yo, O" Connie started, but Eren nudged him, shaking his head. Let him be.

YN stood frozen, watching Ony pack like he was running from a burning building. The reality of it hit her all at once, slamming into her chest.

She hadn’t really thought he’d leave.

She thought fuck. She thought he’d get mad, that he’d bark at her, that they’d argue like they always did, and then it’d blow over. Like it always did.

But this?

This was different.

"Ony"

"Nah." He cut her off, zipping his duffle bag with so much force it nearly broke. "You made your choice, right? Said what you said, did what you did." He finally turned to her, eyes dark, jaw tight. "Now live with it."

Her stomach twisted.

She wanted to say something, anything, but her throat locked up. The same way it always did when shit got too real.

Ony slung the bag over his shoulder and moved past her without a second look. "Yo boys, I’m out," he muttered, walking toward the door.

Jean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Come on, bro, you sure you wanna do all that right now?"

Ony didn’t answer. He just yanked open the door and stepped outside.

And this time, YN didn’t stop him.

Didn’t chase after him.

Didn’t say a damn thing.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the silence left in its wake was unbearable.

YN’s nails dug into her palms as she stared at the empty space where Ony just stood.

She got what she wanted, right?

So why the fuck did it feel like she just lost everything?

Flashback Over.

It had been 18 months since Ony walked out. 18 months of doing everything he could to keep his mind off her, but no matter how many times he told himself he was done, his thoughts always circle back to her.

He was in a new apartment now, a spacious, sleek place with floor-to-ceiling windows and a panoramic view of the city skyline. It was the kind of place he used to dream about, the kind of place he could say was his.

He’d been hitting the gym hard just like he’d promised himself. There were days he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror before his workout, but after months of pushing himself, he finally saw the changes. His body was solid now, lean muscle replacing the extra weight, and his mind? It was quieter, for a little while.

But the quiet never lasted long.

His phone buzzed on the table, and he glanced at it. It was a message from Jean.

“Yo, YN asked about you last night. Said she’s been trying to reach you, but you won’t pick up. What’s up with that?”

Ony’s lips tightened. He could feel the tension creeping up his spine, the old feelings flaring up again. He tossed his phone aside without replying.

The thing was, he couldn’t avoid her forever, and they both knew it. He'd been avoiding his boys, not because he didn't want to see them, but because he knew that meant seeing YN too. And that was still too fucking much. The thought of her, her smile, the way her eyes used to light up when she saw him it got under his skin. He hadn’t figured out how to get rid of that yet.

Even with everything he’d done—getting a new place, working on himself—he was still haunted by the what-ifs.

He’d tried everything to fill the void. Sleeping with other women, getting lost in work, spending nights at the bar. The usual distractions. But it was all just noise. None of it did anything to numb the ache. He'd try to fuck the feelings away, but they never left. He couldn’t fill the empty space inside him with someone else.

The smoke from his joint curled lazily into the air as he reclined in the armchair. His eyes were heavy, and the music from his speakers buzzed faintly in the background. Party Next Door playlist, his usual go to, the lyrics almost too fitting sometimes, but even that didn’t help. He just wanted to shut his mind off, drown out the echoes of her name in his head.

But it was always there, lurking in the background, a constant reminder of what he lost.

Ony sighed, flicking the ash off his joint. He needed something to shake him out of this spiral. Something to make him feel like he was moving forward and not just stuck in the past.

But every time he tried to push forward, YN's face would slip into his mind like she was never really gone.

He could hear her voice, still sharp, still cold when she told him to get out. Still echoing in his chest.

“You know what’s fucked?” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling, his voice rough from disuse. “She probably never gave a damn. And yet, here I am, still holding onto something that was never real.”

The burn from the joint was starting to fade, and so was his high. He sat up straight, eyes narrowing at his reflection in the window. The city lights flickered below, and for a second, he almost believed he could forget it all.

But he couldn’t. Not really.

Ony took a deep drag from his joint as he leaned back in the chair, staring blankly at the wall. The silence was comforting, but it never lasted long. There was always some damn interruption, and today was no different.

A knock at the door.

"You know the damn code, so come in," Ony muttered, barely looking up.

The door creaked open, and Eren's laugh rang out, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps. He wasn’t surprised when the whole crew piled in, like they always did. Eren, Jean, and Connie were all wearing their usual smirks, and they’d brought along two people Ony vaguely remembered from high school: Armin and Reiner.

"Damn, bro, chill," Eren said with a half-amused, half-concerned look, clearly picking up on the tension in the room.

Ony smirked, flicking the ash off his joint and leaning forward. "I’m chill," he replied flatly, his voice a little too rough for his liking. "I’m always chill."

The group shuffled in, settling in as they took in the view of his sleek new place. Armin, the soft-spoken one with the golden hair, was scanning the room like he was looking for something to talk about. Then there was Reiner, the big guy with a serious face but a smile that could light up the room. Ony barely remembered them from back in the day, but they always seemed to hang out with his boys, especially when things got wild.

Armin gave off that soft boy vibe, the kind who acted innocent but always had someone texting him. His type was the one you’d never expect to be getting play, but the boy had a line-up of options. Reiner, on the other hand? He was the opposite muscle-bound with a heavy frown on his face. Ony had always known Reiner to be the one who’d get caught up in his feelings, especially about his ex. But when he wasn’t getting stuck on that, he had no problem sharing the wealth.

“Yo, it’s been a minute,” Armin said, his voice kind but not without the hint of playful teasing. “You’re looking good, though, bro. Working out and shit?” He gave Ony a nod of approval, his eyes flicking toward the weights in the corner of the room.

Ony nodded absently, tossing the joint into the ashtray. "Yeah, man. Been busy. Trying to get my head straight." He gestured to the group. "You know how it is."

Reiner took a seat on the couch, giving Ony a raised eyebrow. "You sure that’s all you’ve been doing? You’re not hiding any trouble back there, are you?" His tone was light but laced with curiosity, like he was trying to get Ony to crack a smile. Or maybe crack a joke.

Eren leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, the usual grin on his face. "You know we’re all here for you, bro. Whatever it is, you ain't gotta keep it locked up."

Ony stared at them for a moment, the pressure of their concern weighing on him, but he wasn’t in the mood for it. The whole situation with YN had him on edge, and no one in the room had the answers he was looking for.

"I'm straight," Ony muttered, trying to brush it off. He didn’t want to get into it right now, not with everyone watching him like he was some kind of damn project.

Connie, who had been quiet up until now, broke the silence with his signature smirk. "I don’t know, bro. You look like you need to smoke some more. Relax. We ain't here to judge, but if you're still thinking about YN...that's gotta be killing you, huh?"

Ony’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to snap when he saw the way Reiner and Armin looked at each other, both knowing damn well what had gone down with him and YN. He couldn’t blame them; the whole damn city knew, it felt like.

"Man, don’t talk about her," Ony growled, his jaw clenched.

Eren’s expression softened a little, and he stepped forward. "Nah, we just worried about you, bro. You’ve been in your head too much."

Ony blew out a frustrated breath. "I know. I know," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "But it's not that simple."

It was never that simple, and they knew it. They could see the way he stiffened when anyone brought up YN's name. They’d seen him struggle through the pain of losing her, but none of them could understand it the way Ony did.

“Look, let’s play something, alright?” Eren suggested, trying to change the mood. "We got the PS5 set up, and y'all know how it is. We don’t have to talk about the heavy shit right now."

Reiner laughed, slapping his hands together. "Hell yeah, let’s get on that shit. But I'm winning this time, mark my words."

"You're always winning," Jean chimed in, rolling his eyes. "But you only win when you get lucky."

Armin gave a little chuckle. "Yeah, right. Lucky with the way you all play, maybe."

Ony didn't say much as they started setting up the game, just focusing on the noise and the familiar sounds of his friends. It was a temporary distraction. He needed that, for sure.

But no matter how much they tried to pull him out of his head, the weight of it all remained. And in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the image of YN dancing, carefree and lost in the moment with someone else.

A few months had passed, but some wounds ran deeper than time could heal.

Ony’s phone buzzed on the table, vibrating against the glass surface. The sound barely registered as he sat with his boys, the familiar hum of the PS5 controllers and their trash-talking filling the space around him. He was lost in the game, trying his best to shake off the heavy thoughts that kept creeping in.

But then, Eren’s voice cut through the noise.

"Yo, what’s good, YN?" Eren said, casually picking up the phone without missing a beat, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.

Ony didn’t even notice at first his focus was entirely on the game, hands working the controller like it was second nature. But then the room went dead silent.

The kind of silence that felt like it was stretching on forever.

Eren’s casual tone turned sharp. “Why you calling Ony?” he asked, leaning back against the couch, holding the phone out slightly, like he didn’t know if he should be giving it back.

Ony froze mid-move, his thumb hanging in the air above the controller. The sound of his friends laughing and bickering slowly faded, and his stomach twisted into a knot. That name.

YN.

He didn’t want to hear it, not like this, not with them all in the room.

But there it was. Eren’s question, hanging in the air.

He could feel the tension in the room immediately. Connie’s eyes flicked toward him, Reiner sitting a little straighter, Armin lowering his controller. They were all waiting, expecting something.

Ony blinked, trying to keep his cool, but it was hard. His throat felt dry, and he could almost hear YN’s voice from earlier, from that night. She was probably out there, living her life, doing whatever the hell she wanted. And he? He was here, stuck in the same damn cycle. Still thinking about her. Still fucking up.

Before he could say anything, Eren spoke again.

"Yo, YN, you good?" Eren's tone shifted from playful to a little more serious, like he was trying to gauge what the hell was going on. “You got something to say to Ony or...?”

The air in the room was thick now. Ony could feel every set of eyes on him, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to react, didn’t want to show how much this was still eating at him. But YN calling, out of nowhere, hit him like a brick.

She never called. Not after everything.

“Eren, what the hell are you doing?” Ony’s voice cracked out before he could stop it, the anger bubbling up inside him. He started reaching  for the phone, his hands shaking a little.

But Eren wasn’t backing down. He held the phone up, still in his hand, not giving it to Ony just yet.

“Yo, relax,” Eren said, holding up a hand like he was trying to de-escalate the situation. “What’s up, YN?”

The room was dead silent, and Ony could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest. He didn’t want to do this in front of his boys, didn’t want to show that side of himself again. Not like this.

But it was too late.

Everything he’d been holding back, all those months of distance, of pretending like he was fine, came crashing down. And he couldn’t stop it.

Eren’s eyes flicked between him and the phone, sensing the tension, but he didn’t back off.

“So what’s it gonna be, YN?” Eren asked, his voice softer now, trying to pull something out of her. "You calling for closure or you just trying to stir up shit again?”

Ony’s chest tightened, his mouth dry. He didn't know if he wanted to hear what YN had to say, or if he was just afraid of hearing nothing at all.

The phone stayed quiet for a beat.

Then, finally, YN’s voice came through.

"I’m not trying to stir up anything," she said, her tone distant, flat. "I just... wanted to talk to him."

Ony’s fists clenched at his sides, and he wanted to slam something, wanted to scream. This wasn’t how he imagined this call going.

He wanted to grab the phone out of Eren’s hand and hang up. But at the same time, he wanted to hear her voice—needed to. Maybe it was closure. Maybe it wasn’t.

Eren turned the phone slightly, the speaker facing Ony now. "She wants to talk to you, bro."

Ony hesitated, staring at the phone like it was some kind of enemy. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to be that guy anymore, the one who couldn’t let go.

But damn, he still wasn’t over it.

"Give me the damn phone," Ony said, his voice low and dangerous.

Eren raised an eyebrow but handed the phone over. Ony snatched it, bringing it to his ear, trying to steady his breath.

“YN,” he said, the name spilling out in a rush. “What do you want?”

Before he could say anything more, Eren took the phone back quick, deliberate, holding it like it was something dangerous. He tapped the speakerphone button, eyes locked on Ony, gaze hard with something almost protective underneath.

“Say what you gotta say, YN,” Eren said, voice calm but firm. The kind of calm that made everything feel even more tense.

Ony sat there, mouth slightly agape, his fists still clenched. He hadn’t expected this. Not like this. Not with everyone listening in.

The room fell completely still as YN’s voice crackled through the speaker, like she was standing right there.

“Eren, don’t... don't put me on speaker,” YN’s voice came through, a little shaky. There was something in her tone that made Ony’s stomach drop. But she didn’t ask for the call to be ended no, she was still here, still talking.

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” she continued, her voice quieter now, more guarded. “You’re acting like everything’s fine, and it’s not. It’s never been. You’ve got your issues, I’ve got mine, but we need to figure it out. I’m not calling to fight, but we need to talk.”

Eren’s eyes flicked between the phone and Ony, sensing the shift. He glanced over at the other guys, but none of them moved. Everyone was waiting for Ony to react, but it felt like time had slowed.

Ony’s breathing was shallow, like he was holding back the wave that's crashing against him. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear how YN thought they could just pick up the pieces of something broken like it was no big deal. He didn’t want to hear anything from her after everything that went down.

But damn it, his heart was still tangled up in it, and hearing her voice even through the coldness pulled at him.

Eren’s eyes narrowed, sensing the battle inside Ony. “You hear that, bro?” he said, his voice quieter now. “She’s not calling to fight, but she wants to talk. It’s up to you now.”

Ony didn’t move. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to listen anymore, but the temptation was there. The pain was there. He was still hurting.

“Ion even know what you want from me,” Ony finally said, voice tight, raw. “What you think this is, YN? You really think we just gon act like shit sweet? Like you wasn’t out here playin wit my feelings... playin wit me? You think one lil phone call gon fix all that?”

The tension was suffocating. The air in the room hung heavy with everything left unsaid. Eren stayed quiet, letting Ony handle it, even though everyone in the room felt the shift. He was letting Ony handle it, even though it was clear that everyone in the room was on edge, waiting for the fallout.

There was a long pause before YN spoke again.

“I’m not asking for everything to go back to normal,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I just wanted you to know I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for it to end like that. I didn’t want to lose you, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for anything, and I fucked up.”

Ony’s throat tightened. It was like all the anger he had been holding onto everything he thought was justifiable started to break down. He clenched his jaw, trying to hold onto the edge, but her words were getting to him.

“I never asked for any of this, YN,” he snapped, but his words felt hollow now, weaker. “You been playing YN since the jump. I was always tryna be there, love you, be faithful all that shit. You think I forgot what you said and did. Now you wanna talk?”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line, and Ony could feel the weight of the world sitting on his chest. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to react.

“I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy, Ony,” YN said, voice trembling slightly now. “But I’m here. I just... need you to understand that I didn’t want this. I wanted you, but I was scared. I didn’t know what I was doing. And I’m sorry.”

The words hit Ony like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, he just sat there, breathing heavily, trying to process what he was hearing. His mind was racing. 

She was sorry? After everything that went down?

It felt like everything inside him was at war. Part of him wanted to reach through the phone again and demand more from her. But another part of him, the part that was still in love with her, just wanted to hear more. Wanted to understand.

Eren shifted, his gaze flicking between Ony and the phone,

Ony leaned forward, his hand shaky for a second as he grabbed the phone, his thumb hovering over the end call button. The words YN had said echoed in his mind, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let her back in, not like this. Not after everything.

With a deep breath, he pressed the button, hanging up on her call without another word. The line went dead, and for a moment, everything in the room was still.

Ony leaned back into the couch, his eyes closing as he let the silence settle in. He grabbed the joint from the table and a lighter and took a long, deep drag, feeling the smoke fill his lungs, burning away the tension and frustration. His body relaxed, the high slowly starting to take over, but his mind... his mind was still spinning.

He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling as his thoughts raced. He couldn’t let her back in. He couldn’t just drop everything and forgive her for what happened. For how she left. He couldn’t forget how it felt to be tossed aside like that.

But even now, hearing her voice again saying all those things he’d wanted to hear for months it still stung. His chest ached. His heart fucking ached.

Ony took another hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs again, trying to drown out the voices in his head. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending like he wasn’t still affected. Still fucking hurt by it all.

The guys in the room were quiet, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Eren glanced over, but he didn’t say anything. He knew better than to press him right now. Everyone could feel it. the weight of YN’s words, the pull it still had on Ony, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

He wasn’t sure what came next, but right now, he needed this. Needed the silence. Needed the space.

But damn, it was hard.

Eren leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on Ony, who had just hung up on YN. The silence that followed felt heavy, the tension hanging in the air like thick smoke.

"Damn, that's cold," Eren muttered, his voice low but cutting through the stillness of the room.

Connie, who had been watching the whole exchange, couldn’t hold back. He started hooting and hollering, laughing louder than necessary. "Bro, you really did that? You’re savage as hell!" He leaned back in his chair, grinning like he just saw the greatest show on earth.

Ony just stared ahead, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He took another drag of his joint, his mind still buzzing from the call, his thoughts a mess of anger and something else,something he couldn’t put into words.

"You heard her, though," Eren said, leaning in slightly. "She sounded different. Like... she actually regrets it, man."

"Yeah, well, it's too late for that," Ony muttered, his voice rough, almost hoarse. "I don't got time for apologies or whatever. She fucked up."

Connie raised an eyebrow, still smirking. "Man, if she came back now, you'd probably still hit that."

Ony shot him a look, his expression cold. "Don’t even start. I ain’t that weak." He took another deep hit of the joint, blowing the smoke out slowly, his eyes narrowing. "She had her chance. She had more than one, actually. But when I needed her, she was fucking cold. So nah, I’m good."

Connie's grin faded, his teasing dying down as he saw the seriousness in Ony’s face. Eren leaned forward, his voice softer now. "You sure about that? 'Cause it doesn’t look like you’re over it, bro."

Ony was quiet for a long moment. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Was he over it? He wanted to be. He thought he was. But there was something about hearing her voice again... it was like a crack in the dam. A little too much pressure, and everything just started to spill out.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice firm but still carrying the weight of his emotions. "I'm sure."

Jean leaned back in his chair, smirking at Ony’s response. “So, you coming to my birthday party or not?”

Ony let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “We too old for that shit, bro.”

Jean rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed by Ony’s reluctance. “Anyways, it’s just a house party. Nothing crazy.”

Ony’s eyes narrowed, his hand still holding the joint, though he wasn’t really smoking it anymore. “Is your girl gonna be there?”

Jean shot him a look like he was asking the most obvious question. “Duh, she’s my girl. You think I’m gonna leave her behind?”

Ony sighed, the weight of the conversation sinking in. “Then that means YN is gonna be there, too,” he muttered, his tone growing heavier. “And I don’t wanna be nowhere near where she’s at.”

The room went quiet for a moment. Eren shot a glance at Connie, who raised an eyebrow, his smirk slipping into something more curious.

“Come on, man,” Jean said, his voice sounding a little more serious. “You can’t keep running from this forever. It’s just a party. You’re not gonna pretend like you’re not curious about how she’s doing?”

Ony’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just stared at his phone screen, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “I don’t need to see her, man. It’s over. I’m good.”

Eren leaned back, crossing his arms. “Yeah, but sometimes you need closure, bro. Even if it’s just seeing her out there, living her life... it might make you feel better.”

Ony let out a sharp exhale, his fingers tapping on the armrest of the chair. “Closure?” He chuckled bitterly. “Man, fuck closure. I don’t need that shit from her. She had her chances.”

Jean tilted his head, trying to catch his gaze. “You’re just gonna avoid her forever then?”

Ony finally looked up, locking eyes with Jean. “I’m not avoiding her. I’m just done. You don’t get to play with people’s feelings and then expect them to be okay with it when you decide you’re done. Nah, I’m good.”

The room fell silent again, everyone processing what Ony had said. Jean rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the guys. “Alright, I get it. But you coming to my party or not? I don’t need you out here sulking, man.”

Ony flicked the ash from his joint, his voice softer now. “I don’t know, bro. We’ll see

Armin smirked, scrolling through his phone like he was picking his team for the night. “Ony if you need a girl to go with, I got Sasha, Solange, Annie, Jalessa, and Jalene yeah, they’re twins.” He looked up at the group. “And you know how I do.”

Connie immediately cut him off, his laughter booming through the room. “Damn, you think you DMX with all these girls’ names, bruh?” he teased, shaking his head. “You need to chill.”

Armin laughed, not missing a beat. “Nah, I’m just saying, Ony gonna need a date for Jean’s birthday party. Ain’t no way he’s showing up solo, especially with all these women around.”

Ony scoffed, leaning back in his chair, rolling his eyes. "I’m good, bro. I don’t need no date. I’m not trying to be out there looking like a damn clown."

But the guys weren’t hearing it. Jean raised an eyebrow. “Man, you’re acting like you’re too good for this shit. Just come through, have a good time, maybe meet someone new. It’s Jean’s birthday let loose.”

Ony took a deep drag from his joint, leaning forward slightly. “Nah, I’m not trying to do all that. I’m good staying in my lane.”

But Armin, still scrolling on his phone, chimed in again. “I mean, I could line something up for you. You just gotta say the word.”

Ony shook his head with a smirk, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “You know, if I wanted a damn wingman, I’d call you, but I don’t need that either. I'm straight."

Eren chuckled, shaking his head at the back-and-forth. “Bro, don’t make it more complicated than it is. Just come through, see how things play out.”

Ony mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough for the guys to hear. "I’m kinda fucking Janique."

Eren, sitting up straighter, squinted at him. "Speak up, bro. I can’t hear you. Repeat that."

Jean leaned in with a grin. "Yeah, say it again, man."

Armin, his eyes wide in surprise, suddenly jumped in. "You mean Janique Martin? The one with that Trini accent and them thick thighs?"

Ony froze, eyes narrowing slightly. "How you know her?"

Armin just smirked, clearly entertained. "Man, who doesn't know her? She's everywhere. Plus, she went to high school with us. We all seen her at the parties back then." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "And last time I checked, you were talking to her a couple years ago. Didn't expect you to be fucking with her now, though."

Ony shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, well, shit happens. She hit me up recently, and I figured why not."

Eren snickered. "Damn, you really out here with Janique Martin, huh? I never would've guessed that one."

Jean, still amused, leaned back. "Look at Ony out here living his best life while the rest of us are stuck dealing with drama."

Armin laughed, giving Ony a knowing look. "You’re playing it smooth now, but I see you. Janique ain't the type to just be a fling. You might wanna watch yourself."

Ony rolled his eyes, taking another hit from his joint. "I’m just vibing. Ain't no need to overthink it."

Ony exhaled a cloud of smoke and passed the joint to Armin, his voice low but clear. "Correction, I’m fucking her, not fucking with her. She's just a fling when I need to clear my head." He leaned back, trying to act indifferent as if the weight of his words didn’t affect him.

Reiner, sitting on the other side of the room, raised an eyebrow and gave Ony a pointed look. "You mean when your dick hard over YN?" he said, the tone of his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The room went still for a moment, and Ony felt a sharp breath catch in his throat. He couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off at Reiner for saying it so bluntly or at himself for even letting that thought slip.

He looked down at his hands, his knuckles tightening around the blunt, then glanced up, his voice colder now. "Fuck that. I ain’t even thinking about her. That shit’s old. I moved on." He said it with a firmness he didn’t feel, hoping no one would catch the doubt in his voice.

Armin raised an eyebrow as he took a drag from the joint. "You sure about that, bro? 'Cause every time YN's name comes up, it's like a switch flips inside you."

Jean, sensing the rising tension, threw in a quick joke to break the mood. "Yo, let's not get all deep. Ony got a new thing now, right? Janique's the one who's got his attention."

Then Connie said, “Aight, then we gon put it to the test. Pull up to Jean’s party,pretty sure YN gon be there. If you can make it through the whole night without tweakin or dippin early like you always do, I’ll let you hold my Hellcat for a month.”

Ony rolled his eyes. “Man, I got my own Hellcat. Come wit somethin else.”

Connie smirked, clearly enjoying the challenge he just threw down. "Aight, aight," he said, tapping his fingers on his phone screen like he was making plans. "If you got your own Hellcat, then how about this: I’ll let you rock my Jeep for a whole month, no questions asked. You just gotta last the whole night at Jean's party without snapping, acting out, or getting caught up in your feelings over YN."

Ony rolled his eyes, trying to act unfazed, but deep down, he could already feel the weight of that damn challenge sitting in his chest. "I don’t need your Jeep, bro," Ony muttered, trying to keep his cool. "I got my own shit. Come with something else."

Jean, still chuckling, leaned forward, his grin widening. "Damn, you really gonna back out? Nah, I think you’re scared to run into YN."

Ony snorted, taking another drag of his joint, exhaling slowly. "Scared? Nah, I just don’t need that kinda drama. That’s all." His voice had an edge to it, but the truth was, his heart wasn’t as convinced as his mouth.

Armin smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Bro, you’ve been dodging these parties for months. It’s like you’ve been keeping away from her on purpose."

Ony shot him a look, but it didn’t phase Armin. "I ain't dodging shit. I just don’t need the headache," Ony said, his voice tight, but even as he said it, the words felt like they were meant for himself more than anyone else.

Reiner, still mostly quiet, looked between the group before adding, "Man, you can’t keep avoiding her forever. You know that, right?"

Connie let out a low whistle, clearly intrigued. "So what's it gonna be, Ony? You gonna prove us wrong and show you can be around YN without flipping out? Or you gonna sit this one out like you always do?"

Ony felt the weight of the bet settling in his chest, the challenge pulling him in like a damn magnet. He knew he shouldn’t care, knew he shouldn’t let their words get under his skin, but the idea of proving them all wrong, of not letting YN still have that kind of hold over him, made him feel like he had something to prove.

He leaned back, flicked the ash off his blunt, and exhaled slowly, looking each of them in the eye. "Fine. I’ll go. But don’t expect me to be a fucking puppet for your entertainment. I’m not here to play games."

Connie smirked, satisfied with the response. "Aight, bet. Let’s see if you really can keep your cool."

Ony stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. "I’m not here to prove shit to anyone. But I’ll show you all I can handle it."

Armin said, “I���m definitely bringing my Glock.”

They all turned to him. Ony squinted. “What hood bitch you fuckin now?”

Armin shrugged. “From which hood?”

Ony let out a sharp laugh. “Yo, your dick gon fall off one day, man.”

Armin waved him off. “It ain’t for me. I’m bringing that Glock for you. ‘Cause the moment YN start actin up and you can’t deal you gon air that party out. Jean gon be pissed.”

Ony raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should laugh or be concerned. He took a slow drag from his joint, blew the smoke out, then leaned back and smirked. “Man, you wild as hell. Who the hell brings a Glock to a party?”

Armin didn’t crack a smile. “I ain’t bringing it for fun. I’m bringing it for you. ‘Cause I know how you get when she show up.”

Ony shook his head, jaw tightening. Armin wasn’t wrong, and that’s what made it worse.

“I’m not finna do that,” Ony muttered. “I don’t need your damn gun. I’ll handle my shit.”

Armin cut him a look. “That’s what you say now. But we both know how quick you lose it when it come to her.”

Connie laughed from the side. “So we really think Ony gon wild out at Jean’s party? Damn. I thought you was tryna move on, bro.”

Ony rolled his eyes. “I been moved on. I’m just tryna not lose my mind. But y’all keep actin like I’m some damn bomb waiting to blow.”

Armin held his hands up, backing off a bit. “Aight, cool. I hear you. Still bringing it, though. Just in case shit get hot.”

Jean’s voice came from the kitchen. “Yo, can we not make my party sound like a warzone?”

Ony shot him a glare, then turned back to Armin. “Fine. Bring the damn thing. But don’t act like I need it. I’m good.”

Reiner leaned against the wall, let out a dry laugh. “If you say so. But we all know YN got you twisted up. That always had you on edge and crashing out.”

Ony didn’t respond. Just stared. The silence said everything. He was already in his head, battling the mix of anger and longing he hadn’t been able to shake.

He didn’t want to go to that party. Didn’t want to see her. But his boys had called his bluff. Now he had to show up. Had to prove he could handle it.

“Let’s just get to the damn party,” Ony muttered, heading for the door. “I’m done talkin about this shit.”

[paramountinplace]

hii! can you expand on that idea of ​​mari upset of shauna not getting her a new toy? maybe shauna is too busy worrying about jackie to notice that mari isn't throwing a tartrunm over toy and maybe mari feels kinda belittled or sum like that and maybe others cg fail to realize all this too

alsooo can i be 🦌 anon?

pretty please and thank youuu!<3

Chat to Clear the Air - Little!Mari, Cg!Shauna

Summary: After Mari asks for a toy at the store and is instantly shot down by Shauna, who's occupied by worries about a sick Jackie, she worries about what Shauna thinks of her. Based on above ask + this post! More notes at the end.

"I said no, Mari," Shauna said evenly, already turning to walk out of the aisle.

Mari faltered, excitement draining out of her quickly as she watched Shauna round the corner without so much as glancing back to see if she was following her. She turned back to the shelf, frowning at the toy she'd been pointing at. It wasn't an absurd request, or so she'd thought. Her reward on her behavior chart had been getting to pick out a new toy, but maybe Shauna had forgotten that or thought that Mari didn't deserve that one.

She plodded out of the aisle, picking up her pace when she realized she'd lost Shauna.

"Shauna?" Her voice came out much weaker than she'd intended it to and she clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed. She checked down the next few aisles frantically, heart speeding up when Shauna wasn't standing in any of them.

She wasn't even sure what they were at the store for, so she didn't know what specific aisles to check. When she'd seen Shauna slipping her shoes on, she'd asked to tag along eagerly and Shauna had nodded absently, mind seemingly elsewhere.

"Shauna?" She tried a little louder, ducking her head shyly when an older lady glanced her way.

Mari was beginning to think she was going to have to live in this dumb store by the time she finally ran into Shauna, colliding with her as she rounded a corner. Relieved, she pulled back, ready to launch into a story about her escapades trying to find the other girl, but but the look on Shauna's face made her falter.

"That wasn't funny, Mari," Shauna said severely, grabbing Mari's hand as she started to walk towards the checkout. "We need to get home."

"I just got mixed up and you were gone," Mari tried to explain softly. Shauna shook her head, letting go of her to place her basket on a small metal shelf as she started scanning items across the beeping machine in front of them.

"Put the stuff in the bags, please," Shauna instructed. "I didn't have the time to be chasing you around the store today."

"I was chasing you," she replied, under her breath as she started to sort the things Shauna handed to her into bags.

"Mari, it doesn't matter what goes where, just put it away," Shauna snapped, swiping her card through the reader. Mari faltered, hurt spiking in her chest. Tai had taught her how to sort the items from heaviest to lightest so that nothing would get squished in the bags when they carried them and Mari always helped when she went to the store with Tai.

Shauna's expression stopped her from arguing and she hurriedly stuffed everything into the bags. She tried to reach for one, but Shauna grabbed them both and stalked ahead, leaving Mari to hurry awkwardly behind her.

The car ride home was quiet and Mari stared at the back of Shauna's head from the backseat, trying to read her mind. She was coming up blank besides the thought that maybe Shauna had just suddenly decided she didn't like her very much anymore. For a moment, she considered voicing the thought, but she got too worried that Shauna would get upset again and decided to stay quiet.

When they arrived at the house, Shauna was out of the car and inside before Mari had even managed to get herself unbuckled. She followed slowly after, dragging her feet as she went. Inside, she flopped onto the floor and tried to take her shoes off, but her fingers kept fumbling over the laces and her eyes were getting blurry with tears. Blinking hard, she gave up on loosening the laces and tried to yank the shoe off. Her hands slipped off the bottom of the shoe and she flung back, smacking her head against the wall with a cry.

"Hey, hey."

Van was crouching down beside her, hand sliding gently over where Mari was cupping the back of her own head.

"What's all this, kiddo?"

"Hurts," Mari wailed, refusing to move her hand to let Van look at her head.

"Okay, shh," Van murmured, smoothing her hand down Mari's back instead. "You're alright, Mar."

She reached for Mari's laces and started to fiddle with them herself, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Her fingers caught awkwardly on the double-knot Akilah had done earlier that day. Mari leaned forward, sniffling.

"You're bad at that," she said innocently, wiping away her tears with the hand not pressed against her head. Van snorted, finally managing to undo the knot on Mari's left shoe.

"Yeah, honey, I am," she admitted, moving onto the next one. Mari watched quietly, jamming her thumb into her mouth before she thought better of it and yanked it out again before Van could see, even though it had helped with the pain in her head a little.

"Ice?" She asked hesitantly once her shoes were off, accepting the hand that Van offered to help her to her feet.

"That would be a good plan," Van agreed, going over to the freezer to take out a soft ice pack. She wrapped it in a pink dishtowel before handing it to Mari, who placed it gingerly against the back of her head.

Van pointed to a stool at the counter.

"Sit, Mar," she instructed gently. Mari obeyed, eyes tracking Van as she started to unpack the plastic bags from the store that Shauna had seemingly left laying out on the counter. From the bags came a liter of ginger soda and a few colorful boxes that Van tucked away in the medicine cabinet.

"Is someone sick?" Mari asked, leaning forward to peer into the bag closest to her. There were a few random food items like crackers and soup, as well as some coloring books. Van looked at her strangely, nodding slowly.

"Didn't Shauna tell you why you were at the store? Jackie's a little under the weather today," she explained.

Something clicked together in Mari's head as she realized that Shauna had probably been acting so weird because of Jackie.

"She was being a meanie in the store," she said quietly, watching Van's face carefully for a reaction. Her expression remained impassive as she crumpled up the bags to put in Lottie's fabric bag on the inside of the pantry that held all the plastic store bags they could reuse.

"How was she a meanie?" Van asked.

Mari huffed, slumping forward.

"She got mad at me for gettin' lost," she mumbled, dropping her head against one arm. Her other hand kept a hold on the ice pack.

"Really?" Van sounded a little disbelieving, which made Mari balk defensively.

"Yes!" She exclaimed emphatically, feeling a little betrayed when Van's skeptical expression didn't change. She shoved her way out of the stool and stormed out of the room, ignoring Van's calls after her pointedly. Mari didn't stop until she was alone in her room, shutting the door a little too hard and throwing herself down on her bed with a frustrated noise. After a beat, she shuffled so she could grab one of her teddies and pull him in close to her chest, curling around the stuffed tiger sadly.

...

"She said you were being mean at the store," Van said quietly, passing a ladle over to Shauna.

They were in the kitchen with Lottie, preparing dinner for everyone. Van was sat atop the counter, legs kicking against the cabinets as Shauna and Lottie moved around her, doing the bulk of the cooking.

"Yeah," Shauna scoffed. "I wouldn't let her get a toy, which was probably the end of the world to her."

Van's brow furrowed and she leaned over to grab the salt shaker, placing it in Lottie's outstretched hand.

"She didn't mention any toys," she responded. Shauna stuck out a hand and Van handed over the cutting board full of chopped carrots for her to slide into the pot.

"I'm sure that's what she meant."

Shauna sounded tired, rubbing a hand over her face. She'd worried herself sick over Jackie, flitting around the house all day trying to make her feel better. Finally, Nat had come home and urged Shauna out of the room so she could have a break (and, more quietly, to give Jackie some space). Lottie had proceeded to recruit Shauna for dinner duty almost immediately.

"I don't know," Lottie cut in. "It's not really like Mari to skate around the thing that made her upset with someone."

"Maybe she hit her head so hard she forgot," Shauna muttered. She sighed as soon as she was done speaking, shaking her head. "I don't mean that. But she was being kind of a pain."

"Did she complain over the toy?" Lottie asked, leaning over the pot to shake a few spices in. She watched the broth bubble for a long moment before adding an extra shake of one of them. Shauna poked her head over curiously, taking a whiff.

"Well, no," she admitted. "I guess...I guess she didn't, actually."

Lottie hummed, reaching around Van for a spoon. She dipped it into the pot and held it up to the redhead.

"Taste."

Van wrinkled her nose and tried to dodge the spoon, but Lottie gave her a look and she sighed, grabbing it for herself.

"It's good, Lot," she assured. She winced, mouth twisting. "Still a little hot."

"Sorry," Lottie replied, dropping the spoon into the sink. She turned to Shauna with a raised brow. "So, Mari asked for a toy, didn't complain when you said no, got lost in the store, and then when you got upset with her for it and left her in the car, called you a meanie."

Shauna's face fell and she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.

"Ah, yeah. That doesn't sound so great," she breathed.

Van frowned, kicking out a foot to nudge gently at Shauna's hip.

"You were stressed," she tried to soothe.

Shauna nodded slowly, unconvinced.

"I guess," she sighed. She reached over to turn the burner down. "I should've explained the situation to her or at least told her no when she asked to come."

Lottie was hovering over the pot with another shaker of spice and Van nudged her away with a socked foot.

"It's not too late to explain it to her," Lottie said, knocking Van's foot away with a look. "She probably is confused about the whole thing and thinks you were just pissed for no reason."

"She knows Jackie is sick," Shauna offered weakly.

"So Jackie being sick annihilates your ability to take care of Mari?"

"Aw, jeez, Van," Shauna groans, dropping a cutting board into the sink. "That's harsh. I thought you were on my side here."

"I'm Switzerland," Van mumbled.

"I mean, it would be fine if it did, but you'd have to explain that to her," Lottie interjected. "Not that I think that's the case. I think a little chat could clear all this up real quick. She's been moping since you guys got home. Akilah tried for an hour to get her to leave their room."

Shauna's face went guilty and Lottie patted her shoulder.

"It's really fine, hon. Just be honest with her. She'll be okay."

...

After a dinner wherein Mari very pointedly sat herself at the opposite end of the table from Shauna, the two found themselves alone in the kitchen after Laura Lee assigned Shauna dish duty and asked Mari to help dry.

Shauna was pretty sure Lottie had something to do with those choices.

She passed Mari another plate and watched as Mari loaded it into the dishwasher without looking up. She swallowed hard.

"Mari," she said, voice catching in her throat awkwardly. "Can we talk about what happened at the store today?"

She got no verbal response, but Mari was gentler with the next plate she stuck into the dishwasher, so Shauna took that as the go ahead. The faucet was spraying loudly against the sink basin and she wrenched the handle until it was gentler.

"Um, so, I heard that you felt like I was being a meanie," she started.

"Yes," Mari said firmly, finally looking up at Shauna. Her expression was more hesitant than it was upset, hovering somewhere closer to confusion.

"Right,' Shauna nodded. She passed over a pan for Mari to dry and put on the dish drain. "So, I thought that it was because I said no to the toy. But then Lottie told me that probably wasn't it. Was she right about that? That it was something else I was mean about?"

"Yes," repeated Mari. She hefted the pan onto the dish drain. "You left me. And then got mad about it. And then I hit my head."

Shauna flipped the sink off entirely, dropping the sponge and bending a little to look Mari in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mar," she intoned. "It—I was stressed about Jackie being sick. But I should have told you that part and that doesn't excuse me being so short with you."

Mari gnawed at her bottom lip, but she held Shauna's gaze. Her eyes were piercing.

"I thought you hated me," she mumbled.

"Aw, kid," Shauna breathed, reaching out to draw Mari into her arms. "That must've been scary."

Mari nodded against her shoulder, sniffling.

"I'm sorry, Mar," she repeated. "I'll try to do better to explain stuff to you from now on, okay?"

"'Kay," Mari murmured, arms tightening around Shauna's neck. They stood there for a little while before Shauna pulled away.

"Why don't you go pick out something to watch on the television while I finish this up? I'll come in to take you up to bed when I'm done," she offered.

Mari's eyes widened and she paused before running into the other room, like she wasn't sure if Shauna was being totally serious.

"Go on," Shauna encouraged with a small smile. She grunted when Mari threw herself at her again for another hug before hurrying off. She turned back to the sink, smiling when she heard the opening notes of the theme song to Mari's favorite show filter quietly into the room.

She supposed Lottie had been right. A little chat really had cleared things up.

Hope this is what you were looking for, anon! And that's an all clear on the emoji lol

[whitenoisewhatanawfulsound]

Cruelly you. (Teaser)

Early-seasons!Spencer Reid x Confident!Reader

Spencer falls back into the bad habit of isolation, hoping it'll offer peace in some twisted way. He meets someone new, and is unkeen to get to know them.

800 words

cw: Angst, reader is referred to as they but it becomes ambiguous, Spencer is pretty depressed and awkward, this is kind of an enemies to lovers but Spencer is the only hater (it'll go more into depth as the series goes on) This series will have both fluff and angst.

an: This is a teaser of my new fic series coming out mid-late July! I'm not sure about the title yet and the summary will definitely change. I hope you like it!! Also I promise reader will come off as more confident in the future.

“You can only distract yourself for so long, Spencer. At some point you will have to face the fact that you are lonely.”

“I’m not lonely, mom.”

“And you didn’t send me to a mental hospital where I’ll live for the rest of my life.”

It’s hard to argue with such a thing without being overly cruel. It’s hard to reason with his mother, sometimes. One day she’ll fawn over him like he’s a newborn and the next she’ll hate him for what he did. There is no winning when it comes to Diana Reid, He’s not sure that there ever was, really.

At surface level, Spencer would disagree and fight that he isn’t lonely. He has a job that keeps him constantly busy, he just doesn’t have time for other things or people. He reads enough to fill any cracks after that. He finds himself craving real human interaction less so than others; maybe because he never had it in the first place, though truly he doesn’t know.

Any deeper than the surface, though, he just doesn’t want to think about it at all. It’s easier that way, to live in delusion of your own despondency. Throw him into the rings of hell, he won’t ask for help. 

He’s not “drowning” as some would say, he can still function perfectly fine. It really only becomes an issue when he’s left alone with his own thoughts. Floating would be a better word, he thinks. He’s not drowning, but it’s not like he’s jumping through the clouds either. He’s just… Inbetween, if that makes any sense. It will, he’ll think to himself; Because maybe, one day, maybe someone will finally see through the shield he’s spent so many years building. Secretly, in the back of his head, he knows that it’s a bit naive. 

Being miserable and self-pitying is safe. It’s welcoming, and it feels comforting in a sort of fucked up way. It’s hard to get away from, and that’s the appeal.

The work day ends excitingly. For others, at least.

Spencer remembers Morgan saying something about how before he was introduced to the team at a mere 22 years old, someone from a different department used to come around all the time. After a while, Morgan said, it was hard to get rid of them. Something about how they practically haunted the place and how Hotch was about two conversations away from offering them a job.

Who, Spencer doesn’t know. Why exactly they came around all the time, bewilders Spencer even more. God knows why someone would want to visit this depression cave. (The people aren’t so bad, though.)

So when this “mysterious” person arrives, Spencer must admit that he’s just a little intrigued.

Having been a little more than three years since visiting the team, everyone who’s already met you is quite a bit excited. Hotch gives you a professional nod, and you say something out of ear-shot that makes everyone else laugh. Emily, though having not met you, is saying her hellos as well. Spencer feels like he looks rather stupid, standing awkwardly at his desk, pretending to be glancing over some files. 

He’s fighting with himself on whether or not he should be trying to introduce himself, when he looks up and is met with Garcia enthusiastically (furiously) waving him over. Her bracelets jingle and jangle in a way that is oddly nostalgic, though he can’t pinpoint why. 

So, somewhat reluctantly, he steps over with a smile and you can’t tell if it is an annoyed one or a nervous one. 

“Hello!”

He thanks whatever god that you don’t try to shake his hand.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Spencer.” You smile at him sweetly. He struggles to know if you’re being overly nice for a first time meeting or just polite. He hopes it’s the latter.

You tell him your name and he tries not to come across as too awkward when you talk to him. The conversation ends and as Penolope and Morgan swoop you up into another ardent discussion, Spencer slinks back to his desk. 

“Why did you ghost us!” Penelope asks, indignantly.

“Life got in the way, and plus, when Gideon still worked here he threatened to kick me out for how often I was coming over.” 

“No way.” Morgan chimes in.

“You’re right. I moved buildings for a while, and then they moved me back here.”

“What, why?”

The conversation fades into the background as Spencer packs up his things to leave for the day. He slips out the door, unnoticed, thankfully. The cool night air wraps around him as he leaves the building, and he finally, finally, heads home.

His apartment is wonderfully familiar but cruelly quiet. It’s weird, he thinks, that he spends all this time trying to get away from noise only to miss it when he has quiet. His bag flops down from his shoulder onto the floor, and Spencer wanders through his apartment, letting his dread encase him. 

[musaa34]

Draco Malfoy x Sweet reader

Draco stuttering to sweet reader

____________________________________________

The fire crackled in the hearth, golden light flickering over green velvet and dark stone. Outside, the sky was cloudy, casting soft shadows through the arched windows. The Slytherin boys had taken over their usual spot on the plush leather couches. Theo had his feet kicked up on the table, twirling a sugar quill lazily between his fingers, while Blaise lounged with a book open—though he hadn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. Regulus and Lorenzo were arguing about something Quidditch-related, while Draco sat in the middle of them all, perfectly composed as always, flipping through his annotated potions notebook.

He looked like he always did: calm, cold, untouchable. People at Hogwarts didn’t really talk to Draco Malfoy. They asked for his opinion like it was permission. If they dared speak to him at all.

That’s why it caught everyone off guard when Y/n Y/l/n walked up to him.

Graceful, soft-spoken, her long raven hair falling perfectly down her back, and eyes like dusk—warm, dark, mysterious. The kind of girl who had no business standing in front of him, blinking up at him with genuine sweetness.

“Draco?” she said, her voice like sugar dipped in silk.

He blinked up at her slowly, more confused than anything. She never talked to him. Sure, they had a reputation—the silent rivalry, the looks, the tension—but this? This wasn’t part of it. She wasn’t taunting him. She wasn’t mocking him. She looked genuinely… polite?

“Yeah?” he said, instantly hating how that came out like a question.

She smiled softly and stood with her hands behind her back, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

Theo and Blaise stopped talking. Regulus paused mid-gesture. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow and smirked like he knew something was about to go down.

Draco raised a brow, trying not to look too intrigued. “Okay?”

“I was just wondering…” Y/n leaned forward slightly, her voice low but gentle, “what’s your technique?”

“…My what?”

Y/n tilted her head and gave him this little smile like he should’ve known what she meant. “Your technique. You always get top marks in Potions. Even Slughorn praises you in front of everyone. And I just… I struggle sometimes. So I figured…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking to his open notebook, then back to him, “you must have a technique, right?”

Draco stared at her.

Was she seriously complimenting him?

Was she standing this close?

Was her perfume always this nice?

Why the hell couldn’t he feel his legs.

“I—uh—well,” he started, the words coming out tangled, “I—I guess I… just—just plan it out before class, you know? Sort of break it down ahead of time.”

He swore under his breath. Did he just stutter?

From the corner of his eye, he could feel Blaise choking on laughter and Theo biting the inside of his cheek.

“That makes sense,” Y/n nodded sweetly, her lips curving into a little thoughtful smile. “I could never get that part right. Everything in my head feels fast when I’m there, like I’m rushing.”

Draco stared at her again. His ears were burning. Literally burning. He was glad his hair covered them, but the boys probably knew.

She blinked again and added, “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You didn’t,” he blurted, far too quickly. “It’s not a bother. Actually, I—uh—I have a book. A reference one, really detailed. It helped me last year. You could borrow it.”

Her eyes lit up like he’d just offered her a castle.

“Really?” she asked.

Draco nodded like an idiot. “Yeah. I mean—I’ll get it for you. I’ll bring it tomorrow. Or—I can owl it. Or—whatever.”

She smiled, and it was one of those smiles—the soft, grateful kind. “Thank you, Draco.”

That was it. He was dead.

She said his name like she meant it. Not like an enemy. Not like a rival. Just Draco. And suddenly, he didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands or how to breathe like a normal person.

“You’re welcome,” he managed.

She gave him a last sweet smile before gliding away, her raven hair swaying with her steps.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh. My. God.” Theo gasped, hand on his chest like he’d witnessed a holy miracle.

“You STUTTERED,” Blaise cackled, absolutely howling. “You’ve never stuttered in your life, mate.”

“Red ears,” Regulus added smugly, pointing. “Fully flushed. Like a tomato.”

Lorenzo was already mimicking Draco’s voice, stammering, “I-I-I guess I—uh—I plan—b-break it down—bloody hell.”

Draco dragged a hand down his face. “Shut up.”

“You were blushing,” Theo said with wide eyes. “You. Malfoy. Blushing. What is this? Fourth year?”

Draco tried to glare at them but it didn’t land. His brain was still replaying Thank you, Draco on loop.

“I hate all of you,” he muttered.

Blaise snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Say it again when you’re writing her name in your notes with little hearts around it.”

Draco picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

But he didn’t deny it.

Because the truth was: for the first time in his life, someone spoke to him without fear or sarcasm. She didn’t try to impress or intimidate. She just asked.

And Draco Malfoy—pureblood, perfectionist, master of keeping it cool—was completely, utterly, hopelessly flustered..

————————————————————————

[eldritch-goose]

Week three of Regulus Black hyperfixation.

Update: I've given in.

[mothofmyth]

DC x DP

The Justice League summons the ghost king.

Unfortunately, the safest way JLD can find requires a host body to contain the being.

Obviously Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash are out - who knows what this being would do with a super-powered body. They have no idea how Captain Marvel or Green Lantern type magic would interact with the summoning, so not them either. They need Constantine and Zatanna to perform the ritual.

Basically it's down to the bats.

Batman tries to volunteer - better him than one of his kids if anything were to go wrong.

That gets vetoed. As do a lot of his offspring. The safest options (ie the least contaminated by magic, lazarus water, time shenanigans, and everything else) are Red Robin, Spoiler, and Nightwing.

Nightwing pulls rank.

After a lot of arguing, everyone at least agrees to tolerate the arrangement.

Nightwing removes every possible weapon from himself, allows himself to be tied to a chair in the middle of a summoning circle, and waits for JL Dark to complete the ritual.

It's not long before he feels a surge of cold burning through him.

He expected to be unconscious while the Ghost King took over. That's what Zatanna said had been reported the last time this ritual was performed many years ago.

They had all expected a lot of things.

Pariah Dark was supposed to be terrifying to behold - a massive, cruel, FURIOUS dictator who turned to violence at the smallest sleight.

This was... definitely not that.

Dick was present. He had no control over his body, but he could see and hear in an almost dream-like state. Foggy and indistinct, maybe a little warped, but definitely present.

He felt his heart rate and breathing pick up in panic even though he felt mostly calm (or at least no more anxious than he had been, waiting for an angry deity to possess his body and all). It was a strange sensation.

He felt the vibrations of his own voice as it left his throat, high and confused.

"Wha... Where..." It asked, warbling and afraid.

He felt his eyes blink and his limbs struggle against the bindings.

His head tilted down without his say so, and he looked at his own body as if through rippling water, warped lenses.

"I'm not..." His voice came out, still confused. Still afraid.

"Your Majesty?" Zatanna asked from beyond the limits of the circle.

His head whipped up, and he felt his neck click at the abrupt motion.

His breathing picked up again. Dick felt the ghost (pun not intended) of anxiety, like it was leaking from the other consciousness inhabiting his body.

"We mean you no harm. Our associate has agreed to lend you his body for the duration of this meeting." She continued.

Dick felt the king's anxiety again, stronger this time. Other emotions too, guilt, sorrow, anger, and a strange sort of pressing-tugging sensation.

Suddenly, Dick was back in control. He could still feel the king's consciousness, stronger now than before, but he could also move and speak freely.

"What just happened?" He mumbled, speaking to the ghost, not the audience of heroes.

"Nightwing?" Someone called from outside the circle, but he ignored them for the moment, feeling instead the consciousness inhabiting his body push back fear, guilt, and apology.

"Yeah, it's me. He's still in here, though." Dick frowned, trying to figure out how to interact with the being.

He heard a voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like him. It sounded different. It was younger than him. It was small and afraid. It was neutral and quiet and him. But it wasn't. It was speaking. It was silent. It was emotions and thoughts and nothing.

"Oooookay, this is really weird. I think we're communicating. I don't know how to talk back, but if he's in the same situation I was a minute ago he should be able to hear us just fine. Is that right?" Nightwing tried.

The 'voice' (he figured he'd call it a voice for now. He wasn't sure what else he could call it) responded in the affirmative. Like a hand outstretched, flipping up and down in a 'kinda' type of gesture. Like a nod and a hesitant smile. The feeling of victory by default.

Dick beamed.

"Okay yeah he can hear us." He announced for the benefit of their audience. "Why didn't you stay where you could speak? Wouldn't that have been easier?" He looked at his own chest, as if he could somehow find a way to see the presence inside of him.

Disgust. Guilt. Fear. An unexpected step at the bottom of a staircase. Falling off a pier into tempestuous water. A stranger pinning your hands above your head.

"Oh." Dick breathed. "Thank you, but I can handle it."

Guilt. Guilt. GUILT.

"Okay. It's alright. You can speak through me or we can manage like this." He soothed.

"Nightwing, report." Batman demanded.

"Uhh, right. I think he's trying to be courteous? To me, I mean. From what I can gather, he doesn't want to possess me or take over. He seems pretty repulsed by the idea, to be honest. I think he can see and hear and generally experience everything I'm experiencing, he's just more passenger than driver? I can feel him, and he's communicating, he just can't speak through me without taking my autonomy again, and he really doesn't want to do that." Dick explained, looking at the various states of thinly-veiled bewilderment across the faces of the heroes.

"Ask him if he's Pariah Dark, High King of the Infinite Realms, Ancient of Rage and Destructio-" Constantine begins, before Dick cuts him off

"I just said he can hear everything we're saying. Ask him yourself."

Constantine huffs. "You heard me, mate. Are you him?"

Denial. Contemplation. A battle. Single combat. A crown made of black thorns and green flames. A throne too big for he who sits in it. Victory. Desperation. Insufficiency. A question.

"I think..." Dick starts, trying to understand. "I think he's the King... but he's not Pariah Dark."

Agreement. Apology. Questioning.

"He wants to know if we're looking for Pariah Dark, or if we're looking for the High King of the Infinite Realms." He glances between Zatanna and Constantine, uncertain of the answer himself.

Constantine pales.

"Whatever is inside you defeated the ancient of Rage and Destruction in single combat, Nightwing. It's a powerful motherfucker, and a total unknown." He warns cautiously.

"Get him out of there, now. Send it back." Batman demands.

TERROR. Pleading. Unbearable suffering. Shiny metal dripping with green blood. The end of love. Unfathomable loss. Death without release. Unending torment. Begging.

"NO!" The voice tears its way out of Nightwing without his consent.

Cowering. Apology. Apology. Guilt. Apology.

Dick clears his throat. "I don't think he wants to leave."

"All the more reason to send it back." Batman growls.

"Don't." Dick protests. "I know it's a risk, and there's a chance it's manipulating me. But, something doesn't feel right about all of this."

"Ghosts are well known for their skills regarding manipulation, mind control, and emotion tampering." Zatanna cautions.

"According to those dehumanising rags maybe," Constantine scoffs.

"Every source we have-"

"Two sources, Love. Both of which have a bit of a vested interest, wouldn't you say?"

Fear. FEAR. Frustration. Heartbreak. An unheard voice in a crowded room. A layperson lecturing an expert. Mockery. A spectacle of suffering. Lies. Hurt. Fear.

"He agrees with Constantine." Dick pipes in.

Exasperation. Reluctance.

"I don't think he's too happy about it." He laughs.

"Of course he agrees with Constantine, he's giving him what he wants." Red Robin huffs.

"He's afraid." Dick's voice cuts through the argument and the heroes turn to look at him. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but he's terrified of being sent back."

Zatanna sighs. "Let's do what we came to do, and then maybe we'll talk about letting him out."

(Something goes wrong and Dick and Danny end up stuck like this for a while.

Dick moves back into Wayne Manor while they try to figure out how to remove Danny from Dick's body without hurting either of them.

Everybody starts referring to Phantom as Dick's little passenger.

Eventually they repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts and find out all of the trauma Danny's been through via talking and dream/memory bleeding between him and Dick.

When Danny does finally manage to tumble out of Dick he is promptly adopted into the Batfam (what did anyone expect, he's a traumatised young teenager with black hair and blue eyes and barely any sense of self preservation).

In the meantime, however, Dick is happily going about his daily life with his little passenger, and Danny is still very traumatised but he's also contentedly curled up in Dick's chest, thrumming with happiness whenever Dick takes care of him.

Once or twice when Dick gets into Big Danger while vigilante-ing, Phantom forcibly takes over Dick's body to save him, using his ghost powers to fight the bad guy and escape the scenario. He cries afterwards because even though he needed to save Dick's life, he knows how terrifying and violating it feels to have someone else controlling your body (thanks Circus Gothica) and never wants to put anyone else through that.)

[s0urte3th]

dont resd 🙏

[inkandapex]

stream madness

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary : To the world, Y/N had always been Lando Norris’ closest friend—before the fame, the podiums, and the roar of F1 engines. Their bond had always been well-known, shared through countless moments on and off camera. But as the months went on, something started to shift, and it wasn’t just between Y/N and Lando. It became apparent through streams, where their chemistry couldn’t be denied.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: some swearing

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Max's Cooking Stream

“Done! I think they came out quite well,” Max announces, lifting the pan toward the camera, showing off the results of two hours in the kitchen.

The chat is already flooded with reactions—compliments, jokes, and the occasional disbelief at Max’s culinary skills.

"I'll be the judge of that" Lando states as he steps into view "Like master chef" he continues

Pietra is chatting with someone just out of view, her voice light and engaged. The mic, which has been filtering most background noise throughout the stream, only picks up bits and pieces of conversation—muffled words, distant laughter. But this moment? This one, it catches perfectly.

Lando steps away from where Max’s mic is propped, moving slightly out of frame. He reaches for a fork, his attention focused on someone unseen. And then, clear as day, his voice carries through.

"Love, come here a sec. Try it with me."

The chat explodes. But all three were too busy to realize what had just happened

"LOVE?? did he just say love??" "Stop rn who is he talking to" "someone find out rn pls" "it might be y/n, she was seen with them around monaco yesterday" "yeaa he calls her love sometimes i think its just a normal endearment for them lol"

All three, oblivious to the brewing chaos, all continue with what they were doing. Because whether it was intentional or not, Lando just dropped something big.

"Y/N’s here too, everyone! The whole gang’s here—Y/N, say hello to the chat," Max finally acknowledges, glancing at the flood of messages. It’s clear he’s doing some damage control, but the chat is already too far gone.

With a small wave and an amused little smile, Y/N finally steps into frame, grabbing a fork as she inches closer to the pan of food her friends have spent the past two hours making.

"Doesn’t look half bad, to be honest," she muses, inspecting the dish. "P’s really doing wonders, getting you this far into cooking."

Pietra laughs in the background while Max rolls his eyes, but before anyone can add to the banter, Y/N is already taking a bite.

"You’ve gotta—"

"Bloody hell—"

Lando’s warning comes a second too late. Y/N’s eyes widen as the heat hits, steam practically pouring out of her mouth as she waves a hand in front of her face, trying to cool down.

"You muppet, that’s literally fresh off the stove—c’mere," Lando chuckles, already unscrewing a bottle of water. He hands it to her, shaking his head as she takes it gratefully.

The chat? Utterly unhinged.

"NOT THE WAY HE JUST—"

"‘C’mere’ HE SAID ‘C’MERE’ I’M GONNA SCREAM."

"I AM LIVING FOR THIS CHAOS."

And just like that, what was supposed to be a casual cooking stream has become a full-blown internet event.

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

Lando's Annual Stream

Everyone teases Lando about how he’s practically become a Twitch relic, only gracing the platform with his presence once a year. A far cry from the frequent streams he used to do. Some argue that it makes his rare appearances even more iconic, like a seasonal event the internet gathers for.

On one of his rare Twitch streams, Lando found himself diving into Backrooms with Max and a few other friends. As expected, chaos ensued—shouting, panicked laughter, and the occasional unintelligible screaming into the mic. But one moment, in particular, sent the fans into an absolute frenzy.

The doorbell rings, making both Ed and Lando pause mid-game and glance at each other.

"Food’s here," Lando announces into the mic.

Ed, already taking off his headset, ready to stand up. But just as Ed moves, they both hear the faint sound of the door unlocking.

"Oh, I think Y/N’s grabbing it, mate," Ed says, blinking in surprise. He relaxes back into his seat for a second before standing up anyway. "I’ll go help her."

"SHES STILL IN MONACO" "i thought she went back to London with Max and P" "omg she's staying with lando" "loool stop reading into it guys ed's also staying with lando. theyre just friends" "my delusions are being fed"

Both Y/N and Ed return, arms full with bags of food and cutlery. Ed drops back into his chair, already digging into his meal, while Y/N pauses beside Lando, holding a box of food in her hands.

"Do you want yours transferred to a plate, or is the box good?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Like that is fine, thank you—oh, I’m streaming, by the way. They can see and hear you," Lando adds with a grin as he takes the box from her.

Y/N barely reacts, too used to this by now. Instead, she casually leans in slightly, scanning the chat as she asks, "Is Max here? Can you tell him to let P know I’ve been trying to call her?"

Lando doesn’t even look away from his screen. "He can hear you—he says sure. You wanna sit here and eat with us?"

She shakes her head, stepping back. "I’m good, got my own thing going on. I’ll see if I can join you guys later if you’re still on. Do you want water or anything?"

Lando glances up at her, smiling. "I’m good, I can grab some myself later."

"You know he’s lying, right?" Ed chimes in, chewing his food. "He’s just gonna wait until you leave so he can ask me to grab it for him."

"Shut up," Lando laughs, shaking his head.

Y/N only smirks knowingly before rolling her eyes. "Alright, whatever you say."

"Okay, okay, go back to doing your thing," Lando says, refocusing on his screen. "Connor’s complaining we’re taking too long."

The chat, meanwhile, is already in shambles.

"She’s literally taking care of him at this point.""Ed exposing Lando is my new favorite thing.""The domestic energy here is sending me."

"What is she up to now? Too busy to play with us?" Max teases as they dive back into the game.

"Nah, mate, she's busy building Legos in the other room," Lando replies casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Max snorts. "Another new hobby? You know she gave us a shit ton of air-dry clay stuff she made that one time. My apartment is literally full of it."

"No, Max, I stepped into the apartment today, and I genuinely thought I was in a Lego store. It’s insane," Ed laughs, shaking his head.

Lando chuckles. "Some of them are mine too, alright? They're not all hers. She’s been building some sets I’ve had lying around for ages."

The chat, of course, goes wild.

"Their apartment is a Lego store. I am crying." "WAIT SO THEY HAVE BEEN LIVING TOGETHER RIGHT??" "Domestic life with Y/N and Lando sounds like a fever dream."

Max just laughs. "Well, tell her to finish up and come scream with us in the Backrooms when she’s done playing with her bricks."

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

Taking Lando's Seat

The stream opens with Lando and Max sitting side by side, each focused on their own PC as they prep for a game of Tarkov. There’s an easy banter in the air, Max teasing Lando about his gear while the two get things set up. But it’s the subtle detail in the background that catches the chat's attention—Lando’s racing rig.

It’s glowing softly in the background, the LED lights creating an almost otherworldly vibe against the dim room.

Max finally glances at the chat, giving a quick nod to thank some of his new subs. But his eyes stop when he spots a few of the comments scrolling by.

Max smirks, leaning into the mic with a grin. "The rig? Oh—it's Y/N. She’s playing F1 right now."

With that, Max casually moves his chair out of the way, revealing Y/N sitting just behind him. She's fully immersed, headset on, brows furrowed in concentration as she steers through a corner on screen, oblivious to the fact that she’s now in full view of the chat.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Lando’s lips as he turns back to look at Y/N, still fully engrossed in the game, unaware that both he and Max are watching her with amusement.

"She's prepping for the season too," Lando continues, keeping his voice casual, though there’s a playful edge to it. "Chat, I think she’s planning on taking my seat—she’s been on there for hours now."

Lando laughs, but the chat immediately picks up on the vibe.

"HE'S JEALOUS, LOOK AT HIM."

"Lando knows he's been replaced."

"Imagine Y/N taking his F1 seat. I’d pay to watch that."

Max, who’s been watching the scene unfold, looks back at Lando with a raised brow. "She’s putting in more practice than you are, mate. Maybe she is taking your seat."

Lando chuckles, shaking his head, though his smile lingers. "Nah, nah, she’s still got a lot to learn... but she’s getting there. I’m just here for moral support."

The chat, of course, has already spirals into chaos.

"Moral support? He’s just trying to hold on to his seat!"

"I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RACE BETWEEN THEM. WHO’S GONNA WIN??"

"Lando’s literally her biggest fan and her biggest competitor at the same time. I love it."

Y/N, still completely absorbed in the game, lets out a frustrated grunt as she crashes into the wall during a tight turn. "I've fucking crashed—how is AI Lando also a little shit?"

The pair immediately burst into laughter, unable to hold it in. The moment is too perfect—Y/N, so focused on her race, completely unaware she’s been on stream the whole time.

Max wipes away tears, trying to calm down. "What?" Y/N finally takes off her headset after pausing her game, looking around in confusion, only to notice the commotion between the two.

"We’re on Twitch," Max manages between laughs, still struggling to breathe. "They heard you calling Lando a little shit."

Max, still grinning, leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment. "I mean, I honestly don’t know if you should be more offended by the fact that she just called you a little shit... or the fact that she’s not racing as you."

Lando looks over at Max, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, who are you racing as right now?" His curiosity gets the best of him, and he stands up, walking behind Y/N to peer over her shoulder at her screen.

Y/N barely notices him, still intensely focused on her race. "You’re racing as Max?!" Lando exclaims, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "I feel so betrayed!"

Y/N doesn’t respond, grabbing her water bottle beside her, taking a sip.

But Lando’s eyes widen as he looks at her screen again. "Wait, you're were P3?!" he says, his voice rising in shock. "What the fuck, Y/N—this is on 110 difficulty—did you change it?"

"Yeah, well I was but you crashed into me you knob"

Lando's completely taken aback, mouth agape, staring at her settings in awe. Without thinking, he takes over the controls, fully inspecting her game setup. "This is... this is insane. You’re actually doing really well."

Y/N, now realizing the level of chaos happening around her, turns to look at him with a grin. "What? Like its hard?"

Max, who’s been watching this unfold, laughs. "I told you she’d be better than you at this rate. I’m not surprised."

The chat, of course, is losing it.

"SHE'S RACING AS MAX AND BEATING LANDO. WHAT A MOOD."

"Y/N: 1, Lando: 0."

"Lando looks like he’s seen a ghost. How did she do that?"

Y/N just laughs, clearly loving the moment. "I told you, Lando, I’m coming for your seat."

"Alright, we've got to put a screen time limit on you from now on, love—fucking hell," Lando says, still shaking his head in disbelief, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ruffles her hair affectionately before heading back to his seat.

The chat explodes with excitement.

"Lando’s whipped for her. I can’t breathe.""The way he ruffled her hair? That’s the couple energy we’re here for.""Y/N just casually destroying him, and Lando’s still soft with her. I’m obsessed.""I can’t believe they’re just out here living their best life on stream. I’m living for this dynamic."

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

Gaming Trio

The trio can be seen in Lando’s usual gaming spot, the atmosphere relaxed but buzzing with excitement. In an effort to accommodate everyone, an extra table has been pulled into the room, holding the laptop they’ve set up for Y/N so she can join in on the fun. The new setup feels a little crowded, but it only adds to the chaotic energy that’s been building up since they all logged in.

"Y/N is right behind you!" Max shouts into the mic, pulling the same trick he did to Lando the last time they played Backrooms

"Max, shut up, oh my gosh—NO IT'S CHASING ME, WAIT—PAUSE IT, PAUSE IT!" The panic in Y/N’s voice is unmistakable, and it sends both Lando and Max into fits of laughter.

Max, already losing it, grins widely. "You’re telling me to pause, but I’m the one who’s not controlling it!"

Lando, equally amused, can’t help but tease, hiding comfortably from the monster "Didn’t know you were this scared of a game, love."

Y/N’s frantic clicking can be heard through the mic as she scrambles to escape whatever horror was chasing her in the game. "I can’t— I swear it’s going to catch me!"

A sigh of relief escapes Y/N’s mouth as she finally reaches the room, the monster stopping its chase just in time. “Right, so you two do all the work and I’ll run out when it’s time to escape.”

Max lets out another laugh, clearly amused. “That’s not how it works, Y/N. You've got to carry your weight”

“Come on then, let’s go. Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine.” Lando moves his character closer to hers, ready to lead the way.

Y/N, still a little nervous, responds with a grin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Y/N—darling, it’s fine. It’s not that scary. It’s not gonna jump out at you. You just die and respawn, it’s all good.”

Max joins in, teasing, “Yeah, but if you keep closing your eyes, you’ll miss the whole thing. We’ll be done before you even open them.”

Y/N scoffs but can’t help but laugh, her character hesitating slightly. “I’m not opening them. I’m just here to run when the time comes.”

Lando smiles at her, his voice light. “Alright, well, try not to panic. We’ve got your back.”

The chat erupts in excitement, fans loving the playful back-and-forth between them.

"Y/N’s already planning her escape route. Classic." "he calls her darling im sobbing " "Lando’s trying to act all calm but he’s lowkey making sure she’s okay." "Max is enjoying this way too much, lol."

Lando glances at Y/N with a grin. “Stay close, alright? We’re doing this together.”

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

Y/Ns Instagram Live

Y/N was live on Instagram, chatting with fans while showing off her latest air-dry clay creations. She’d been getting non-stop requests to share her work ever since Max mentioned it in one of his streams, and now here she was, crafting away on camera.

Sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table, Y/N focused on the delicate jewelry plate she was shaping. She was giving her followers a detailed look at her process, her hands moving skillfully as she explained what she was doing.

"See, then you build the sides and stick it to the plate part you just made," she said, carefully adding a border to the plate. "So it kinda has a nice little border around it, and that way, you can put your jewelry in the middle without it all rolling off."

"Who you talking to?" A voice, unmistakably Lando's, makes Y/N's head snap up to look at him, her concentration momentarily broken.

Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of him standing in the doorway, and she quickly responds, trying to maintain the calm vibe of her live stream. "I'm on Instagram live— you didn’t see my text?" Y/N says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of a warning as she tries to focus on her work again.

Lando, walks into frame to stand beside her, only half his body on screen. “I saw it, but I didn’t think you’d actually be live. What’s going on in here?”

"I'm doing a jewelry plate tutorial, see?" Y/N smiles up at him, gently lifting the plate to show him the progress she’s made, the edges perfectly formed and the design coming together nicely.

Lando leans in a little closer, clearly impressed. "That's actually pretty sick. Have you shown them the other ones you've done?"

"Mhmm," Y/N nods, setting the plate back down on the table and continuing to work on it. "I did earlier. I have a few that are dried, so once I'm done with this one, I'm gonna show them how I paint it."

"Cool, cool," Lando says, grinning as he takes a step back. "I’m actually pretty curious about the painting part."

Y/N shoots him a glance, arching an eyebrow. "You want in on this too?"

Lando looks at her, then at the camera, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Can I join you?"

Y/N pauses for a moment, clearly trying to keep a straight face. "You gonna try your hand at some clay art, Norris?" she teases, but her tone is warm.

"Gotta try to beat you in something after you've somehow managed to get close to beating me on the racing sim" a smirk on his face as he plops down on the floor beside her "Right what am I meant to do?"

The two sat mostly in silence, both deeply immersed in their work. Y/N’s focus was on finishing her jewelry plate, the soft clink of clay against the table the only sound as she shaped it carefully. Lando, on the other hand, was determined to paint one of the already dried plate, though it was clear his attention was divided between the task and watching Y/N work.

"Oh, I’ve messed up, bub," Lando admitted, his voice a little defeated. "I’m sorry, this looks horrific. I think I’ve ruined it." He leaned back dramatically, letting his shoulders slump as he rested his back against the foot of the sofa, casting an apologetic look her way. "This is a disaster."

"What? No! It's cute—you even painted flowers on it, it's nice!" Y/N exclaimed, her tone playful as she tried to hype him up, a grin tugging at her lips.

Lando looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Those are strawberries, you muppet," he said, laughing as he gently nudged her with his elbow, clearly not buying her attempt to boost his confidence.

Y/N burst out laughing, her hands up in surrender. "Oh, I'm only kidding! Of course they're strawberries," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She quickly mouthed a playful I didn’t know to the camera as Lando became distracted with his painting again, a smirk creeping up on her face as she watched him carefully work on his next stroke.

"add bub to the list of names lando calls y/n" "theyre actually so cute im going insane" "not y/n gentle parenting lando" "im telling my therapist about this" --------------------------------------------------

I'm telling mom

Max’s loud voice cut through the quiet apartment, shattering the late-night calm. It was already past 10 PM, and he’d been streaming for over two hours, fully immersed in whatever chaos his Twitch chat had cooked up for him.

“Y/N! Get in here a sec!” Max’s voice carried from his gaming room, loud enough to startle Y/N from where she sat beside P, half-watching a Netflix show.

With a sigh, she got up, padding toward his room. She hesitated at the door, peeking inside carefully, mindful of the camera that might be angled her way.

“It’s almost 11 PM, Max. What the fuck are you yelling about?” she laughed, eyes landing on him. He stood in the middle of the room, VR headset strapped on, controllers gripped tightly like his life depended on it. "You look ridiculous by the way"

“Can you call Lando? He’s fucking with me,” Max huffed, shifting on his feet like he was bracing for something. “He told me to download this horror VR game, and now he’s in chat claiming he’s in bed. I swear to God—he set me up.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Y/N started, arms crossed. “You want me to call Lando—”

“Yep.”

“—to ask him to get out of bed and play a game with you—”

“Mhm.”

“—instead of letting him sleep, because it’s nearly midnight in Monaco?”

“Exactly.” Max stood firm, pointing a VR controller at her like this was a life-or-death situation.

Y/N blinked. “Oh, you’re serious—right.” She sighed, shaking her head as she leaned against the wall, already dialing.

“I swear, if he doesn’t hop on after I’ve set this up and put my contacts in—”

“Lan, you’re on speaker,” Y/N announced the second he picked up, barely giving him a chance to breathe.

Before Lando could even say hello, Max exploded. “You muppet! I’ve been standing here waiting for you for the past ten minutes!”

“Oh, piss off! I’ve been waiting for you for nearly an hour, Max! Can’t believe you actually made Y/N call me for this.”

“You weren’t picking up my calls!”

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh and turned to the camera with a deadpan look, the exact kind of exhausted stare straight out of The Office.

“So you tell on me?! How mature,” Lando huffs

“Just hop on the game!” Max shot back, exasperated.

“This behaviour at 25 is diabolical,” Y/N muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

Through the speaker, you could hear Lando moving around. “Fine, fine! Okay, I’m on,” Lando said, voice muffled as he adjusted his setup. “Max, hurry up—I’ll send Y/N the code. Love, show him the code before you leave.”

Y/N sighed, holding up her phone as she walked over to Max. “Right. I’ve been dragged from my peaceful night just to moderate a sibling fight.”

Max squinted at the screen. “Got it. Thanks, Mom—right, I’m joining. You can leave now.” He was already fumbling with the game settings, barely paying her any attention.

Y/N rolled her eyes as Lando’s voice softened on the phone. “I’ll call you later, alright? Go watch your show with P. I’ll text you when we’re done.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N hummed in response, finally making her escape.

As soon as she was gone, Max turned back to chat, shaking his head. “Right, let’s go. See? He’s such a knob—I have to call Y/N every time he’s being an ass because he actually listens to her.”

The chat was loving this interaction

"Y/N staying with Max and P is actually so wholesome" "NOT Y/N BEING MOM" "LANDO LISTENING TO Y/N ONLY IS PEAK BF BEHAVIOUR U CANT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE" " "i'll call you later" is so cute he's down bad for her"

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

Big Reveal

At this point, they’d practically exposed themselves. The subtle interactions hadn’t gone unnoticed—small moments that seemed insignificant alone but painted a clear picture together. The lingering looks, the casual slips of affectionate nicknames, the way their conversations always carried a certain ease.

Everyone had a general understanding that the two were a couple, but they’d come to accept that Lando and Y/N weren’t quite ready to make it official—at least, not publicly. But what really sealed the deal? Max’s most recent stream, just before the season kicked off.

“Right, chat, Lando and I are finishing up the download, and we’ll hop on as soon as it’s done,” Max said, scrolling through chat and tossing out quick thanks for subs and gifted memberships while they waited.

“Is anyone else joining us or nah?” Lando asked, finally looking up from his phone where he sat beside Max, his own setup in front of him.

“Nah, don’t think so. Connor just texted—he’s out,” Max replied, making Lando nod before going back to whatever he was scrolling through.

“Chat, I’ll be back—I’m gonna grab some water,” Max announced, tapping his mic to mute it before standing up.

Completely unaware, Lando reached over and tapped the mic again, turning it back on.

“Baby?! C’mere a sec!” Lando called out, sitting with his back to the camera, casually waiting for someone to walk in—completely oblivious to the absolute chaos erupting behind him.

“OH BOB, YOU’RE NOT MUTED!!” “HES HOPELESS.” “NOOOOOOO LN TURN AROUND!!!” “HE FULLY EXPOSED HIMSELF IM CRYING.” "baby??!"

A moment later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello my pretty girl, wanna come join Max and I?" “Aren’t you live with Max right now?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I muted it—don’t worry,” Lando reassured her without a second thought. “Wanna join? Max is still downloading it, we can set yours up if you’re up for it.”

Y/N smiled. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go grab the laptop.” With that, she turned and left the room.

Max walked back in, settling into his chair. “What were you two chatting about?” he asked as he put his headset back on.

“Y/N’s gonna play with us,” Lando answered smoothly. “Oh—by the way, I muted your mic. Chat can’t hear you right now.”

Max blinked. “Well, yeah, I muted it before I left—” His head snapped toward Lando. “Did you fucking tap the mic again?”

Lando visibly paled. “…No, I muted it.”

Max hurriedly glanced at chat, eyes scanning the messages flooding in before exhaling sharply. “You fucking unmuted it, you idiot.”

Lando sat there, frozen. Then, with an almost comically slow realization, he sighed. “Damn… well. Secrets out.”

Y/N practically skipped into the room, excitement clear in the way she carried her laptop against her chest. But the moment she stopped behind the two, her smile faltered.

Max and Lando both looked at her with identical guilty expressions.

“…What?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Max didn’t hesitate. “Your dimwit of a boyfriend just exposed you two. He unmuted the mic.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “No...”

Lando was already reaching for her hand, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry, baby. I swore I muted it.”

Y/N groaned, running a hand down her face. “Oh my God. How bad?”

Max snorted, scrolling through chat. “Let’s see… ‘We’re witnessing a live trainwreck,’ 'my pretty girl', ‘Bruh did he just expose himself?’ ‘Send help, I can’t breathe,’ and—oh, this one’s gold—‘My parents are finally public.’

Lando groaned, burying his face in Y/N’s side. “This is your fault, Max.”

“My fault?! You tapped the damn mic!”

The two went back and forth, bickering like a couple of siblings, while Y/N just stood there, still trying to wrap her head around what was going on.

“Oh, Y/N, come on. Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a big surprise. He hasn’t exactly been subtle about it either.”

“Yeah, but until now, it was all just rumors and whispers.”

Lando shot her a reassuring smile. “Aww, baby, it’s fine. They love you, you know.”

Max groaned, leaning back in his chair and teasing them both. “See? Now he’s gonna go full PDA mode, more than he already does. We’re all doomed.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I can already see it.”

Lando reached over to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Max teased, rolling his eyes. “Just wait till he starts calling you ‘babe’ every two seconds on stream.”

Lando grinned mischievously. “You love it, Max. Admit it.”

Max shot him a playful glare. “I’m really starting to think I’ve been cursed.”

“Right, come on then, let’s play before I get called for an impromptu PR meeting,” Lando chuckled, giving Y/N a wink as he pulled his headset on.

[aerialmirrorss]

𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! a kickback on the beach involving both kooks and pogues turns ugly after rafe sees jj maybank talking sweetly in your ear..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , mentions of underage drinking , violence (fist fighting) , toxic!rafe , sexual content + rough unprotected car sex! , choking , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 6.7k

notes: thinking about making this into a series but it just depends on how we all like it so lmk!

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“you’re a fucking idiot,” kie says through a burst of laughter, watching jj attempt to shotgun two beers at once. instead of drinking, most of the beer spills straight onto the sand, leaving him grinning like it was all part of the plan.

a soft giggle slips past your lips as jj smashes the crushed cans together dramatically, then thumps his chest like he just pulled off something incredible—even though he couldn’t have failed more miserably.

you shake your head, pointing at the two crushed cans lying in the sand. “don’t give him any more if he’s gonna pull shit like that!” you say, half-serious, half-amused.

jj’s grin fades into a mock frown, his brows furrowing as he throws his hands up dramatically. “what? i was just getting started!” he protests, though the beer-soaked sand beneath him says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, ready to fire back at jj, when the vibration of your phone in your hand distracts you. the name on the screen makes your stomach flip, and you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting to keep a smile from slipping out where your friends could see.

kook devil: wya?

you: beach kickback on the cut

kook devil: omw

this time, the smile wins. you glance down at the screen, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. it wasn’t the first time rafe cameron had texted you late at night, asking where you were. but no one else knew that. and you weren’t about to admit it to anyone—especially not to your friends.

friends who hated kooks with a passion. and everything, and everyone, that came with them.

“what are you smiling at?” sarah asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity, as she and john b stroll over, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. her amused grin only makes you more nervous.

you lock your phone instantly, still smiling but scrambling for an excuse. “my package just got delivered,” you say quickly, trying to sound nonchalant.

sarah hums in response, the suspicion in her tone subtle but enough to make your stomach tighten. you don’t notice, too busy avoiding eye contact and silently thanking the chaos that erupts when jj and pope start arguing about something ridiculous, as usual.

you knew what you were doing was wrong. so wrong, especially to sarah. if she ever found out you and rafe were hooking up behind everyone’s backs, she’d lose it. they all would. and not just because he’s a kook.

it’s because he’s rafe fucking cameron.

it was kind of a blur how it all started with rafe. you remember being at a party—not sure if it was here on the beach or in figure 8—but of course, he was there, lingering in the crowd. all night, his eyes kept finding yours, holding your gaze just a little too long.

a couple of tequila shots later, you found yourself in his truck, attempting to ride him as he fucked you senseless, leaving you a trembling mess of moans and breathless curses.

ever since that night, you’d fallen into a rhythm—friends with benefits, if you could even call it that. except you weren’t friends. not even close.

you and rafe both knew the deal—just sex, no strings attached. it was made clear the second time you hooked up. after somehow getting your number, rafe texted you at 1 a.m. asking to meet. if it had been anyone else, you would’ve said no without a second thought. but rafe cameron always gets what he wants.

afterward, it was rafe who spelled it out: just sex, nothing more. and you agreed, even though the words stung more than you cared to admit. you told yourself you were fine with it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if you played along long enough, he’d change his mind.

except he hasn’t.

and what really reeled you in was just the other day, you spotted him on the golf course with stacy thornton, topper’s cousin of all people. and of course he knew you’d see him—you work the country club as a bev girl. how could you not?

still, you swallowed the lump in your throat, pretending not to care even as your chest tightened. you quietly asked a coworker to handle his table, murmuring something about being swamped, and then buried yourself in busywork to avoid the sting of watching him laugh with her.

since that day, he hasn’t called or texted. not a word. until tonight.

because surely, stacy was busy.

“yo, y/n! come shotgun a beer with us!” kie and sarah call out, snapping you out of your thoughts. you force a small smile, pushing everything about rafe to the back of your mind as you stand up from the driftwood branch you’d been perched on. joining your girls, you grab a beer and do your best to play along.

as the night rolls on, the beach fills up with more people—kooks, pogues, and everyone in between. the music gets louder, and the air becomes a chaotic mix of laughter, shouting, and waves crashing in the background. drunk teenagers stagger through the sand, passing bottles and shots around, but so far, there haven’t been any issues. yet.

but you know how these nights go. when kooks and pogues show up to the same party, trouble is inevitable. it’s only a matter of time before someone says or does something to spark it. like clockwork.

bright headlights pierce through the darkness, momentarily blinding you as a familiar truck pulls onto the beach. your stomach tightens at the sight, but you force yourself to stay calm, laughing along with your friends as if you hadn’t noticed. even as the kooks around you start murmuring and shouting, announcing rafe’s arrival, you keep your eyes anywhere but on him.

your gaze flicks to sarah, catching the way her jaw tightens when she sees her older brother greeting her old friends with effortless charm. the tension is palpable. it’s no secret that sarah and rafe are far from good terms, and the thought of what she’d do if she ever found out about you and him is enough to make your chest ache. she’d hate you—no question about it.

and you didn’t want that. not now, not ever. so tonight, with enough liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’d finally do it. you’d end whatever this thing was with rafe. it was time. it had to be.

“hey, sweetheart,” jj slurs, suddenly draping an arm over your shoulders, his familiar, lopsided grin plastered across his face. the smell of alcohol lingers on his breath, and you can’t help but laugh. drunk jj was always clingy and affectionate, a far cry from his usual chaotic self.

“how are you? you good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, his blue eyes lazily scanning your face for any hint of something wrong.

you nod, patting his knee where it rests against yours. “i’m fine, jay. what about you? having fun?”

he grins wider, squeezing your shoulder as if to reassure you. “always. especially now that you’re here.” his words are lighthearted, but his presence, warm and grounding, makes the knot in your stomach ease just a little.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, maybank,” you tease, your tone playful, something that’s always been a part of your dynamic with jj. it was harmless, never anything more than friendly banter. jj was like a brother to you, and you both knew it.

his smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “oh, i always finish what i start,” he shoots back, his voice dripping with mock confidence. the comment makes heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself, and you nudge his side with a laugh.

“relax, jj,” you say, still grinning, but he just laughs along with you, clearly enjoying your reaction.

then his tone drops, more conspiratorial now, as he leans in closer. “can i tell you a secret?” he slurs, his voice low and exaggeratedly serious.

you play along, tilting your head toward him as he cups a hand over his mouth like he’s sharing classified information. “i’m so drunk right now,” he whispers dramatically.

a laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended, as you push him off of you. “no shit, jay,” you say through your giggles, watching him sway slightly before laughing along with you. moments like these made everything feel lighter, even with the weight of everything else hanging in the air.

suddenly, the laughter dies in your throat as a familiar voice cuts through the noise, instantly tightening the tension in your shoulders. “i wanna laugh too,” rafe drawls, his tone sharp and laced with something dangerous.

your head snaps up, and sure enough, there he is, standing a few feet away with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. but his stare is locked on you, unwavering, intense. your stomach churns as you quickly look away, pretending not to notice.

“what are you doing here, rafe?” sarah asks, her voice cold as ice, glaring at her brother like she wanted him gone before he could stir up trouble.

he shrugs nonchalantly, though the slight clench in his jaw betrays his calm demeanor. “well, last time i checked, you don’t own the beach, sarah,” he retorts, his tone sharp enough to cut. the sunset casts a fiery glow on his face, highlighting the tension in his features. he’s angry—at what, you don’t know, but it’s obvious.

sarah opens her mouth to snap back, but before she can, jj suddenly stands to his feet, his drunken bravado kicking in full force. “what’s your problem, man?” he slurs, his voice rising as he steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s ready to fight.

your heart pounds in your chest as the energy shifts sharply, the tension coiling tighter with every second. it’s like the whole beach can feel it, the calm before the inevitable storm. you glance around nervously, noticing the kooks starting to make their way over, drawn by the brewing conflict like moths to a flame.

what had been your comfortable little corner with your friends now feels suffocating as more and more people gather, the divide between kooks and pogues growing thicker with every step they take. rafe doesn’t move, his stance unbothered but his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they dart between jj and you.

you can hear your friends muttering behind you, tension spreading like wildfire. this wasn’t going to end well—you could feel it in your bones.

john b, ever the peacekeeper, steps in with a steady hand on jj’s shoulder, giving it a calming squeeze. “hey, bro, take a walk,” he says softly, his tone measured, trying to de-escalate before things spiral further.

but jj shakes his head, his expression twisting with frustration. “nah, nah, nah,” he says, shrugging john b’s hand off. his voice is louder now, sharp and angry, fueled by alcohol and pent-up resentment. “i’m so tired of these fuck-ass kooks ruining our fun. everything was fine before they got here.”

he turns to rafe, his eyes blazing with defiance. “so answer the damn question, rafe. what the fuck is your problem?”

the words hang in the air, cutting through the murmur of onlookers as more kooks and pogues close in around you, their postures rigid and ready for whatever’s about to unfold. the tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. your stomach twists as you glance between jj, who’s practically vibrating with anger, and rafe, whose jaw is locked, his eyes dark and unreadable.

rafe suddenly lets out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he swipes a finger under his nose, his signature tell that trouble is coming. before anyone can react, he steps forward and throws a punch, his fist connecting squarely with jj’s jaw.

the sound of the hit echoes over the beach, silencing the chatter and gasps from the growing crowd. jj stumbles back, catching himself before falling, his hand flying up to his face as he spits blood into the sand.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” john b mutters, stepping between them instinctively, trying to keep jj from lunging forward. but jj’s already shaking with rage, shoving john b aside as the crowd erupts around you.

the once calm beach party turns chaotic, the tension finally snapping into chaos, and you’re frozen in the middle of it all, unsure of what to do as your heart pounds in your chest.

mayhem erupts around you as everyone starts shouting, the noise almost deafening. jj and rafe are swinging at each other, fists flying with raw anger. john b and topper try to break it up, but their own simmering tensions (sarah cameron) boil over, and soon enough, they’re throwing punches at each other too.

“alright! alright!” you, sarah, and kie yell, your voices cutting through the chaos as you rush in, desperately trying to pull the four boys apart. it’s a mess of flailing arms, insults, and drunken fury, but with the help of the other pogues and even a few kooks who seem equally tired of the drama, you finally manage to separate them.

jj stands a few feet away now, chest heaving as he wipes blood from his lip, glaring daggers at rafe. rafe, meanwhile, is being restrained by two kooks, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on jj like he’s ready to go again at any second. john b and topper aren’t much better, breathing heavily and throwing venomous insults back and forth as they’re held apart.

you step back, your heart still racing as the crowd buzzes with murmurs and tension, the air thick and electric. this was far from over, and you could feel it.

“yeah, stay the fuck off our side of the island!” jj yells, his voice sharp and unwavering as the kooks start retreating. rafe lingers, of course, making direct eye contact with you. his gaze burns, but you glare right back, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. whatever you needed to say to him was definitely happening tonight after the shit he just pulled.

“take jj to the chateau. i think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” john b instructs kie and pope, his tone calm but firm. they nod, each grabbing one of jj’s arms to help guide him away. jj, still riled up, mutters under his breath about how much of a pussy rafe is, his words slurring slightly from the drinks and adrenaline.

sarah walks over to you, concern etched across her face. “hey, you okay?” she asks gently. her voice is soft, but the sincerity in her eyes almost undoes you. you nod quickly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.

“yeah, i’m fine. just anxious,” you respond, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. it’s not entirely a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth. sarah offers you a small, understanding smile, her hand rubbing your arm soothingly.

“coming?” she asks, gesturing toward john b, who’s waiting for her a few feet away.

“i think i’m just gonna head home,” you say, your voice a little rushed. “my mom texted—she got off work early, so…” you let the excuse hang in the air, hoping it’s enough.

sarah nods slowly, her eyes flickering with a mix of understanding and suspicion. “john b and i can walk you,” she offers.

“no, it’s okay. i kinda need a moment,” you reply quickly, your voice firmer this time. you hold your breath as her gaze lingers on you, studying you for a beat too long. but thankfully, she doesn’t press it.

“okay, babe,” she says finally, her concern softening into a warm smile. “let me know when you get home, yeah?”

you nod, watching as she walks back toward john b, the two of them eventually disappearing into the growing shadows. only when they’re far enough away do you exhale, the weight of the night pressing heavy on your chest.

with one last glance at the party starting to settle back down, you turn and walk in the opposite direction, knowing exactly where you’re going—and who you’re going to face.

you make your way over to the truck, its headlights dim now but still parked exactly where he left it. crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the back door of the truck, waiting. it’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the beach where no one can see you.

the sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention, and there he is. rafe cameron, calm and collected as ever, despite the chaos he caused. he’s holding a red solo cup against his cheekbone, the faintest shadow of a bruise forming. but even so, you have to admit—he doesn’t look nearly as bad as jj does. of course he doesn’t.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. the tension between you is thicker than ever, the air heavy with unspoken words. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you came here to do.

“i can’t see you anymore, rafe,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is firm, but you can feel the ache behind the words, threatening to betray you.

rafe doesn’t move. instead, a small, almost smug smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “get in the truck,” he says, his tone low and even, like it’s not up for debate.

your brows knit together, your frustration bubbling up. did he not hear you? or worse, did he just not care? “no, rafe,” you snap, shaking your head. “what you did today—” you pause, letting out a sharp sigh as the memories replay in your mind. your gaze shifts over his shoulder to the road, watching cars pass by, their headlights a welcome distraction. “you hurt my friends,” you continue, your voice quieter now but still steady. “i care a lot about my friends. and that shit you pulled back there?” you point toward the spot on the beach where the chaos unfolded, the tension still lingering in the air. “wasn’t cool.”

rafe follows your gesture with a glance, his expression unreadable. but when his eyes flick back to you, there’s something in them—something dangerous, something unshaken. he doesn’t respond, just waits, like he knows you’re not finished yet.

“why would you do that?” your voice cracks despite your best effort to keep it steady. the words hang heavy in the air, and you curse softly under your breath, furious with yourself for letting your emotions bubble over. you promised you wouldn’t let him see you like this—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. but now, the tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill.

rafe’s face doesn’t change, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise calm, almost detached. it’s like he’s weighing his words, deciding what to say—or if he’ll even bother answering at all. the silence feels suffocating, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest.

“are you fucking him?” rafe finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but the accusation behind the words hits you like a slap. you stare at him, wide-eyed, like he’s just grown three heads.

a laugh of disbelief escapes you as you shake your head, running a hand through your hair to keep yourself from losing it. “are you serious right now?” you ask, your voice teetering between anger and shock.

“are you?” he presses, his tone sharper this time, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting.

“oh my god,” you mutter, another laugh bubbling out, this one laced with frustration. “is that why you did that? you think i’ve been fucking one of my best friends? are you shitting me, rafe?” you shake your head again, the absurdity of the accusation almost too much to handle.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, his gaze still burning into yours like he’s waiting for you to crack. but you don’t—at least, not yet.

“well, since we’re just accusing each other of shit now,” you say, your voice sharp as a knife, “how’s stacy doing?” your eyes flicker between his, and just like you predicted, his confidence falters. there’s a moment—a flicker—where his gaze drops, and you pounce. “i assume she was busy tonight, right? that why you texted me?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” rafe snaps, his chest rising and falling heavily as he steps closer, his frustration spilling over.

“oh, don’t give me that shit, rafe,” you fire back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. your eyes dart away from his, landing anywhere but on him. “i saw you at the country club,” you continue, your voice cold, the memory still fresh.

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence only fuels your anger. “and even then,” you add, spinning back to face him, your words cutting like glass, “what if i am fucking jj? what is it to you? you’re the one who said no strings attached, right?”

you see the way his nostrils flare, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might snap. his eyes darken, and you know exactly what he’s thinking—the thought of jj seeing you the way rafe has, touching you, hearing the sounds you make. it’s killing him. but he won’t say it. not out loud.

“you’re mad, rafe,” you say, your voice quieter now but still firm. “but you don’t get to be. not after the rules you set.”

you push past him, deciding you were done—done with the accusations, the games, all of it. but, of course, you don’t get far. rafe’s hand closes firmly around your wrist, yanking you back toward him with enough force that you stumble. before you can steady yourself, you collide with his chest, the hard press of muscle against you taking your breath away.

his lips crash against yours without warning, rough and demanding, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. the intensity of it sends a jolt through you, but it’s not enough to freeze you in place. your fists fly up, pushing hard against his chest, trying to shove him off.

“rafe,” you manage, your voice muffled against his lips, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. instead, your resistance only seems to fuel him, his free hand sliding up to wrap around your neck, not too tight, but firm enough to hold you there.

his lips move hungrily against yours, his breath hot, his grip unwavering. you can feel the frustration, the anger, and something else tangled in the way he kisses you—something you can’t name, something overwhelming. your heart races, torn between wanting to fight and the way your body reacts instinctively to his touch.

you hated it. hated how easily your body betrayed you, handing itself over to him without a second thought. and the worst part? rafe knew it too. he always did.

he used it to his advantage every time, just like now. the second your resistance began to falter, the tension in your fists loosening as your body instinctively softened against his, that familiar smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. he could feel it—the way your resolve was slipping, the way the pull between you was overtaking every logical thought in your mind.

the familiarity of him started to seep through, clouding the anger that had burned so brightly just moments ago. rafe’s grip on your neck relaxed slightly, his fingers brushing your skin like he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t the reason you’d wanted to end this in the first place.

and god, you hated him for it. but you hated yourself even more. no matter how much you told yourself to walk away, to end it, your body always seemed to betray you the moment his hands were on you.

before you even realized what was happening, you were in the back seat of rafe’s truck, straddling his lap. his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding your movements as you instinctively rolled against him. the friction of his hardened, clothed cock pressing against you sent shivers up your spine, a traitorous whimper slipping past your lips.

his breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he let out a low groan of satisfaction. you hated how easily he got to you, how the anger you felt just moments ago melted into something entirely different. but no matter how much you wanted to stop, your body moved on its own, craving the familiarity of him, the intensity only he could give you.

his hands move from gripping your hips to trailing up your back, his fingers deftly finding the string of your bikini top. with a quick tug, the knot unravels, and the fabric falls between you, exposing your chest to the cool night air. the intimate sound of your breathing mixes with the muffled noise of the distant beach party, but all you can focus on is him.

rafe wastes no time, leaning in to pepper kisses across your chest. each press of his lips ignites a trail of goosebumps on your skin, the sensation making you arch closer to him. his mouth finds one of your hardened nipples, pulling it into his mouth as his hand cups the other, his fingers teasing and rolling with practiced precision.

a moan slips from your lips, filling the still air around you. rafe hums in satisfaction, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. his grip on you tightens as he continues, clearly intent on drawing every reaction out of you that he can.

“fuck, i missed you,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged as he pulls back just enough to let the words slip past his lips. before you can even process them, his mouth is back on you, his lips and tongue working their way across your skin, pulling a broken whimper from your throat.

you shake your head weakly, your fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself. “no, you didn’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the words more of a desperate plea than an accusation.

rafe pauses, his lips hovering over your collarbone. his hands tighten their hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he meets your gaze, his blue eyes blown out. “yes, i did,” he mutters, his tone firm, almost defensive, before dipping his head back down to kiss you again, as if he could erase the doubt you so clearly feel.

with one hand, he makes quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down just enough to give himself better access. his hand slips past the waistband of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing against your heated skin. the low groan that escapes his lips when he feels how soaked you are sends a jolt of heat straight through you.

“not surprising,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.

you gasp, your head falling back slightly as his fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before starting slow, deliberate circles against your clit. the sensation sparks through you, making your hips instinctively rock against his hand, chasing the friction.

rafe’s smirk deepens as he watches you, his free hand gripping your waist tighter to keep you steady. “that’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with control. “just like that.”

a moan escapes your lips when his fingers pick up their pace, his breathing becoming heavier against your neck. “think that pogue could get you to cum like i can, huh?” he taunts, his words cutting through the haze of pleasure. before you can respond, his fingers dip into your entrance, filling you to where you feel the cold metal ring wrapped around his finger, while his thumb presses firmly against your clit. the double stimulation sends a shockwave through you, your hands fisting his shirt as you struggle to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

you bite down hard on your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction he craves, but it’s so hard—he knows your body too well.

“i know he can,” you finally manage to retort, your voice breathless but defiant. the second the words leave your mouth, you see it—the flicker of rage that darkens his eyes. his movements grow rougher, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to make you eat your words.

you sob out a moan, your body trembling as his pace remains relentless, refusing to give you even a second to catch your breath. “the fuck he can,” he growls, his voice low and feral, watching with a smug satisfaction as you struggle to keep yourself upright. his smirk deepens as he leans in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation, swallowing your broken cries.

your hands cling to his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through you, your body arching into his touch. his fingers work you expertly, his movements precise and unyielding as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with desperation. “let me hear you.” his words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink, unable to hold back any longer.

you feel yourself start to convulse around his fingers, your body trembling as a broken cry tears from your lips. the waves of your orgasm crash over you, leaving you breathless and weak. rafe keeps going, his fingers guiding you through every pulse of pleasure, not stopping until your body begins to twitch with hints of overstimulation. but there’s no tenderness in it—not that you deserved any, not after what you said.

your earlier comment still burned in his mind, fueling a fire in his chest, the thought of you with jj maybank making him see red. it wasn’t about trust—it was about possession, and rafe couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching what he considered his.

without warning, he grabs your waist and flips you around, pressing your head against the leather seat, your ass in the air. your shorts and bikini bottoms are gone in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed. you barely have time to react before you hear the sound of his zipper, his own clothes hitting the floor of the truck in a mess.

“you wanna talk about jj?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with frustration as he positions himself at your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you. “let’s see if you’re still thinking about him when I’m done with you.”

before you can process his words, he thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, punishing motion. the stretch is overwhelming, a cry slipping from your lips, quickly muffled as you press your face into the seat.

rafe doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, setting a relentless, eye-rolling pace that has your body jolting with every thrust. his hands grip your waist tightly, pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips, his frustration evident in the way he moves.

“you feel that?” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he leans over you, his chest grazing your back. “that’s all me. no one else, you hear me?” his words mix with the sound of skin against skin, every syllable driving him deeper, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

you nod dumbly, unable to form words as your body reacts to his every movement. a gasp tears from your lips when his arm snakes around your neck, pulling you upright slightly and holding you firmly in place. the pressure makes your head spin, amplifying every sensation coursing through your body.

the truck fills with the obscene sounds of wet slaps and desperate moans, each one louder than the last. your cries mix with rafe’s rough groans, the intensity between you reaching a fever pitch. you briefly thank your lucky stars that his truck has fully blacked-out windows, shielding this mess of tangled limbs and raw need from prying eyes.

rafe moans in your ear, his voice thick with possession, his breath hot against your skin. “all mine. no one else gets to have you like this.” his pace never falters, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge again, leaving you gasping and trembling under his control.

just when you think the pleasure is close to consuming you whole, rafe’s fingers snake down between your thighs, finding your clit with infuriating precision. he rubs quick, tight circles, the added sensation pulling a choked cry from your lips as your body jerks in response.

your arm flings back instinctively, your hand finding the back of his neck, clutching onto him desperately as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. his breath is hot against your ear, ragged and uneven, matching the force of his thrusts.

“fuck, baby,” he groans softly, his voice laced with satisfaction as he feels you trembling against him. “you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

“rafe—“ you moan, your grip on his neck tightening as the overwhelming mix of sensations sends you spiraling, your body teetering on the brink. every snap of his hips, every movement of his fingers, pushes you closer, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fight to keep from collapsing back into the seat.

your body trembles uncontrollably as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip. rafe grunts, his breath ragged and uneven as he feels you squeezing him, the sensation tipping him over the edge.

“shit,” he moans, his voice low and strained, giving one last stuttered thrust before he stills, his release spilling into you. the warmth of him floods your core, the weight of his body pressing against yours as he rides out his high, panting heavily into the crook of your neck.

the air in the truck is thick, the only sounds now the mingling of your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the world outside—so distant it feels like it doesn’t even exist. rafe’s hand loosens its hold on your hip along with the arm around your neck, his thumb lazily brushing your skin as he finally starts to come down.

rafe’s forehead, damp with sweat, rests against your shoulder for a moment as he catches his breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, leaving you trembling and weak-kneed. Sensing it, he carefully guides you to sit on the seat, his touch surprisingly gentle now, as if trying not to shatter the fragile silence between you.

but it doesn’t last long. the haze starts to lift, post-sex clarity hitting you like a wave. your heart pounds—not from pleasure anymore, but from the weight of everything that just happened. you don’t look at him, don’t say a word. instead, you scramble off the seat, your eyes scanning the floor of the truck as you rush to gather your clothes. the humid air clings to your skin, suffocating you, making it feel like the walls of the truck are closing in.

“y/n,” rafe starts, his voice softer now, but you don’t respond, just shake your head. You tug your shorts on with shaky hands, your bikini top still tangled in your grasp as you turn your back to him, your only thought being how fast you can get out of this damn truck.

as soon as you adjust your bikini top, you’re scrambling for the door handle, slipping out of the truck as quickly as you can. the door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, cutting off the heavy silence inside. rafe’s voice calls after you, his tone somewhere between frustration and confusion, but you don’t look back. you don’t even slow down.

his words echo faintly in the humid night air as you trudge across the sand, but you block them out, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

you hated yourself in this moment—really hated yourself. how could you be so weak? jj was probably back at the chateau right now, an ice pack pressed to his bruised face, joking it off like he always did. meanwhile, you were here, tangled up with the very person responsible for putting him there.

it made your stomach twist. you felt pathetic.

the guilt gnawed at you, making every step away from that truck feel heavier, like you were sinking further into something you didn’t know how to escape. you wrap your arms around yourself, the night air cold against your skin, and silently vow—never again.

as you step into your home, the soft glow of the television catches your eye. your mom is asleep on the couch, the faint sound of some late-night show playing in the background. you pause, the sight of her peaceful face tugging at something inside you. quietly, you grab the nearest blanket and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her frame before turning off the TV.

you make your way to your room, your body heavy with exhaustion. pulling out your phone, the screen lights up with countless missed calls and texts—all from him. rafe’s name stares back at you, the words call me back and where did you go? flashing among the messages. with a sigh, you open the contact and quickly silence his notifications. blocking him would feel too final, too harsh, and you know it wouldn’t stop him anyway. rafe knew where to find you—where you lived, where you spent your time, even your favorite food spot. blocking him would only provoke him further.

you drop your phone on the bed and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower dial as cold as it would go. the icy water hits your skin like needles, but you welcome it, hoping it’ll wash away everything—his touch, his words, the feeling of his hands on your body.

but no matter how long you stand there, no matter how hard you scrub, the memories resurface, unrelenting. the way he looked at you. the sound of his voice. the pull he always had on you. you press your forehead against the cool tile, biting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

how did it get this far?

the muffled vibration of your phone stirs you from sleep, the name sarah 🐚 lighting up the screen. groaning, you fumble for the phone and press it to your ear, voice still thick with sleep. “hell—”

“is it true?” sarah’s voice crackles through the static, sharp and tense, jolting you fully awake. your eyes shoot open, the confusion and dread hitting you all at once.

“sarah, what—” you begin, but she doesn’t let you finish.

“got it,” she says curtly, and before you can protest, the line goes dead.

you pull the phone away from your ear, staring at the dark screen as if it could offer you answers. confusion twists in your chest, but then you see it—a new message notification from her.

your hands tremble slightly as you unlock your phone and click the message. the screen shifts to a video file, sent from an anonymous number. you hesitate, the dread creeping up your spine like ice, but you press play.

the blood drains from your face as the video begins. it’s you—you and rafe. the footage is grainy, but it’s unmistakable. you see yourself pressed against the back door of his truck, his hands gripping you as you melt into the heated kiss. the angle shifts slightly, shaky and invasive, capturing the moment he pushes you inside the truck. and then—cut.

the video ends abruptly, leaving you staring at the black screen, your heart racing so hard you can feel it in your throat. you drop the phone onto your bed, your blood running cold as the weight of it crashes over you.

someone had seen. someone knew. and now sarah did too.

© aerialmirrorss

[robinsgrl]

toxic baby daddy rafe does something to me. no soft rafe (only with his girls and only sometimes). he’s abrasive and harsh. even more when someone messes with you. yooo where my panties at

mdni 18+

It’s been three months. Three months without Rafe as your boyfriend. Three months of his only title in your life being your baby daddy. There were days where you would refuse to even call him that.

In high school, you loved the sound of his voice. You loved how the palm of his hand felt at the small of your back. You loved that being around him brought you a sense of peace.

Now, all you two do is argue. About everything and anything. Even if you do start half of them. Not now, though.

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business!” Luckily, Samara’s in the living room, her noise cancelling headphones on as she watches some YouTube show, giggling when something funny comes up. You’d usually try and pay attention to her screen time but you can’t when Rafe is in your home and bitching at you.

“So you’re whoring it up when Samara’s with me?” His words are harsh, spitting them at you.

Your eyes are wide and bewildered as you look up at him, chest rising and falling from the intense match you’re having. “Listen to yourself! Whoring it up? Are you from the fifties? Women can have sex without being called a whore nowadays!”

“So you are fucking someone? Who is he.” It’s not a question. It’s a goddamn demand and you hate the way it makes your knees feel weak.

You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, ___, Topper fucking saw you.”

“Topper’s your dick rider.” You spit back out. It comes without warning. His big hand falls on your neck, tightening around you. Your back pushes up against the wall, eyes wide and up on his as he stares down at you angrily.

His face nears yours, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. A shudder runs through your body and you want to shut your legs to help ease the sensation between them but he forces his knee to you. “I’ll kill any man who gets near you, do you fucking hear me?” His words are low and menacing. From anyone else, it’d be scary. It’d drive you away and straight to goddamn police station. But from him? You can’t deny how good it feels.

Rafe’s always been protective of you. Since you two met, he’s hovered around you like a scary dog, growling at anyone who came your way. It grew when you got knocked up in your senior year of high school. And it grew tenfold when your baby girl was born. But it got to be suffocating. You broke it off with him and it took him two weeks to realize you were being serious.

You would never admit that you made a mistake. Not ever. Admitting that you miss him only lets him win. It gives him a point. And yes, you should be mature enough to realize this isn’t a game but he’s so damn cocky about it. The last thing you need from Rafe is a bigger ego.

“Who is he?”

“Eric. Eric Jones.” You admit easily, breath shaky and full of a need for him.

“Did he fuck you?”

You can’t answer. He repeats himself.

“Did he fuck you?”

You nod, hands falling to his arm as his hand tightens on your neck. His eyes won’t leave your face, taking you in completely. You can see it all. The anger. The jealousy. The twinge of hurt. He pulls his hand from your neck and pulls away from you. “Call your mother. Tell her to pick Samara up.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it.” And you do. Like always, you do as told and Samara’s off with her grandma for the night.

“He can’t fuck you like I can.” You’re a drooling mess as he pounds into you from behind, the sound of skin on skin meeting fills the room. His hand is in your hair, forcing your head back. “Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The moans and whimpers coming from you won’t stop. You try to form words as he keeps shattering your world but it won’t come out. “Fucking slut. Answer me.” His hands trail down to your neck, pushing you up slightly to sit as he keeps fucking into you. Your back arches up against him, toes curling as you feel the building ache in the bottom of your belly.

He groans loudly as he feels your walls clench down on him as you curse out loud, grinding down on him to reach that peak you want so badly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. He couldn’t even fuck you right, could he? My poor girl, getting fucked by amateurs.” His fingers trail down to your freed tits, pinching at your pebbled nipples. “I don’t care what break you think we’re on, when you need a good fucking, come to me. No one can ever make you this cock drunk.”

You’re nodding frantically, “yes, yes, fuck, Rafe! Rafe! Oh, fuck!” You come undone when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing at your sensitive and pulsing bundle of nerves.

At this very moment, you’re grateful for the house that Rafe bought you instead of cooping up in the one bedroom apartment you wanted when you moved out of his place. You had hated the power he had for giving you such a nice place but you’re grateful now as you moan and yell his name, body convulsing as his fingers keep working against you.

“Raaaafe, fuck!” He’s pushing deep and deeper as he pushes your front side back onto the bed. The overstimulation is making you writhe beneath him, pretty whimpers leaving your swollen and reddened lips. You can tell he’s reaching his own end when his thrusts become harder and longer, momentum slowing.

One pump. Two pumps. Three. Four. And he’s groaning in your ear, his front pressed up against your back as he comes inside of you from behind, your cunt fluttering around him at the full feeling of his load.

—

You awaken hours later to the bed dipping beside you. You had fallen asleep in Rafe’s arms after he had cleaned you up and whispered soothing and sweet nothings into your ear.

“Rafe?” You sit up tiredly, rubbing at your eyes to wipe the sleep away. His back is turned to you, the most relaxed you’d seen him in a while.

You scooch closer to him, pinched eyes trying to take a look at him. A small gasp leaves you as you see his bloodied and scarred hands. “Go back to sleep, baby.” His polo is covered in dribbles of blood, some drops of it drying up on his face.

You want to ask questions. You want to clean him up. But you can’t. You’re not a very good liar and the last time the police came around asking for your help, you almost broke, but Rafe was always thinking of you, his lawyer cleaning up the mess you made with the police. He had kissed and soothed you down from your teary apologies that night for being weak.

You nod, yawning softly, “okay… just… put the shirt in the wash.” It’s his turn to nod, a soft smile on his face as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

[littledes1re]

Hii love. Can you write something about Joel getting you pregnant.

Maybe at first he didn't want kids (but because of his age, he thought he wasn't gonna be the best dad for them). He always knew you wanted, and one day he saw how good you are with them, and desire in your eyes. Maybe some smut thaanks

Makin’ you a mama

Pairing: Old!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, BREEDING KINK, praise, pet names, soft!joel, talking about pregnancy, pinv, unprotected sex (obviously), age gap! (62 x 26), one time joel calling himself ‚daddy‘

A/N: thank you anon for making me write this. I‘ve always wanted to write something like this but never had the balls lmao

It‘s been two years since you and Joel came to Jackson. And you couldn’t believe how well everything was going. After surviving hordes and hordes of clickers, runners and raiders, having to put up with the temperature that keeps on changing, searching for a place to rest and the fear of losing Joel even tho at that time, you two weren‘t even together. He was a grumpy, mad, annoyed man who never let his feelings out. Surviving with him meant also surviving him.

In all kinds that was just the past and a story to tell whenever you were invited to gatherings. Joel and your relationship was strong, you were scared that people would get shy away from the age gap, but apparently they have seen worse in the apocalypse. Whenever you two were together, people looked at you with admiration, asking themselves why their relationship wasn‘t going that well. Joel was overprotective, always made sure you were well taken care of, always listened to you, never argued. Other men had none of that in them. You were happy, content but there was one thing swimming around in the back of your head that you—no matter what, couldn‘t forget.

„You really think I would fit into the father role with my 62 years once again, baby?“ his eyes were gentle, looking at you, searching for enclosure in your expressions.

„Yea, why not? You make me feel taken care of, you are a great man, I know that you would very well fit into that role.“ your voice was just above a whisper. There was a sigh leaving his lips and then he took his glasses of, running trough his hair at the same time.

„I—I don‘t think I can do that. Just give me some time to think about that okey?“

Yet, the answer never came. And you never wanted to push him. So you let it rest. He lost his child once, he once had all of that and went trough a traumatic event, you knew that he was still scared.

And if you were honest with yourself, did you really want to have a baby in this god forsaken place? You really want to have that baby go trough the same traumatic things you two went trough? It wasn‘t easy living here. It wasn‘t easy living else where.

Maybe it was the end of the world. You didn‘t know that.

So you forgot that idea. Out of your mind.

You concentrated on your job. Daycare. Not really the best way to let that thought out of your mind, huh? But you loved it, you loved the kids, the pretty toys that were scattered everywhere, the colourful rooms and the sweet parents that came in and picked their kids up. It was a great way to forget the outside world, to really come close with the humanity that was forgotten for some many years.

Joel was going to pick you up, like he always does after doing his construction work around Jackson. When he came to your workplace tho, he had to stop and was completely lost in his thoughts.

It was you. Having a toddler on your hip, while swinging from left to right, singing to him. Your eyes were full of love, the toddler was laughing with you. His small hands gripping your shirt, tangled in your hair, feeling comfortable with you. Joel subconsciously started to smile, standing there and really thinking about how you would look like as a mother. There was something so effortless about the way you moved, how you instinctively cradled that child with your warmth and certainty. As if motherhood always lived within you, waiting to be embraced.

What if it was your kid in your arms? What if your house was filled with the laughter of having a child. Joel stood there and pictured you, soft glow in your cheeks, carrying the baby beneath your heart. How perfect you would look with a belly, how perfect you would fit into that role.

Joel longed for that feeling. He would do everything in this world to make you happy, to make you comfortable. He would not let you work, he would be there and raise that child with you. He would love you two unconditionally. And suddenly— there it was. The longing to become a father and make you a mother.

„J-joel—what the hell has gotten into you.“ you muttered out, out of breath as joel abruptly pulled you to him, kissing you, just seconds after going inside the house. He didn‘t answer, too hungry to think straight. You yelped as he threw you into the coach, going on top of you and spreading your legs.

„Joel.“ you whined, his hands quickly unbuttoning your shirt, then your bra, his fingers landing on your nipples, gently pinching the nub. You whimpered, too lost in the sudden pleasure, your hips starting to move up against his crotch.

„Pretty breasts are gonna filled with milk.“ he groaned out, your eyes widening. What was he talking about?

„Joel, what the hell are you even talking about?“ his hands stopped on your tits, gently moving to your belly, stroking around, smiling to himself.

„gonna make you a mama, baby.“

„Wait, really?“ you weren‘t sure if you heard that right. The man who was just scared of being a father again, was telling you that he was going to make you a mother. Joel chuckled at your reaction, unzipping his pants, taking his cock out. It was all red, his tip pulsing as he started to jerk off, squeezing it and releasing a moan from his lips.

„Mhm. Ain‘t that what you wanted? C‘mon now, open up.“

„Joel, are you sure? Look I don‘t want to pressure you—”

„I‘m sure. Now don‘t make me wait or I ain‘t giving you anything.“ he teased, your face lighting up as you giggled. Quickly, unbuttoning your jeans, while joel focused on pumping his cock and kissing and biting down your neck line. You spread your legs further, pulling your soaked panties down and running your hands trough your mans hair.

„That‘s right. Look at you, already so soaked. Gonna let me give you a baby, hm?“

His cock rubbed along your slit, your breath coming to a stop as you looked into his lust filled eyes. He slowly fed his cock into your cunt, your mouth falling open at the stretch and fullness you were feeling. His thumb coming at your little clit, slowly rubbing, making you whimper into the silent room.

„shh, I know, I know. That‘s it. Look at you letting me in. Little cunt needs this, baby. Needs me to fill her.“

And you can do nothing but moan and whimper around him as joel sets a rhythm with his thrusts. His cock going in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the room. Your tits moving up and down, his thumb never letting up on rubbing your clit. His gaze never left you. Concentrated on your fucked out expression, while also focusing on the hard but gentle thrusts he was giving you. Your knees trembling, thighs quivering—he was fucking you with all he had.

Your heels dug into the couch under you, your hips going closer to him, wanting to feel him just a little bit deeper. His cock meets your spot this way, making you cry out.

„That‘s the spot, yea?“ he groans out.

„Mhm.“ you whimper as an answer, too lost in the pleasure to even look into his eyes. You squeezed them, putting your hands on your tits playing with them.

„Gonna be a gorgeous mother, I know it, angel.“

Joel knows you are close as he sees your tummy clenching, your thighs shaking. He feels himself coming closer too, so he pulls you just closer into him, his thrusts concentrating on that spot in you, his hands holding your back so he stays as deep as possible in you.

„Daddy‘s gonna fill you up, but I want you to cum with me. C‘mon.“

He whispers into your ear, your toes curling as you feel the orgasm coming closer to you in your tummy.

„Doing so so well f‘me aren‘t you?“

His thrusts were growing sloppy as he breathlessly whispered praises into your ear.

„Belly gonna swell, tits gonna be full of milk. Letting that old man fill her up to the brim. Yea, my good girl, baby.“ And that what it all took for you to snap. You cried out, gripping his shoulder, feeling his cock twitch in your cunt, releasing rope after rope of cum into you. You clench, squeezing him for all of his worth, while biting into his shoulder and coming down from your orgasm.

While catching his breath, he gently lays you down again, caressing your tummy but doesn‘t pull out. Without a word he suddenly grabs you, his cock still in you, he carries you to the bedroom.

„Need it to take, baby.“

And you know that it‘s going to be a long night.

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hiii how are you ?

can I request a dad Charles where his daughter tells everyone that she French instead of Monegasque (just like Arthur) and Charles is just losing it every time she says it

She's Monegasque, not French

It started innocently, as most things with toddlers do.

Charles was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, his three-year-old daughter Yn nestled comfortably in his lap, her tiny hands clutching a crayon-streaked drawing of what she insisted was “Papa’s race car.” The sun was bright, the paddock buzzing with media and mechanics and laughter as the summer European leg of the season carried on in full swing.

And then it happened.

“Papa,” she said sweetly, tilting her head up at him, eyes wide and so heartbreakingly sincere, “I’m French.”

Charles blinked.

“Quoi?” he said, pulling back slightly, eyebrows lifting in gentle confusion. “Ma chérie, no, you’re not French. You’re Monegasque, like Papa.”

Yn looked at him, lips pursed, deep in thought. And then she gave a little shrug. “Non. I’m French, like Uncle Thur.”

Charles groaned softly and let his head fall back against the couch. “Not this again.”

From across the room, Arthur—lounging lazily in a chair, eating grapes like he was Caesar in a past life—choked on his laughter.

“I didn’t teach her that,” Arthur said through wheezes. “She came up with it on her own. Genius, really.”

“You encourage it!” Charles accused, pointing an indignant finger at his younger brother. “You always say you’re French!”

“Well, I am French,” Arthur said with a grin. “Monegasque passport and everything. And clearly, Yn has excellent taste.”

“Excellent taste in traitors. And Monaco is not France,” Charles muttered, pulling Yn closer as if cuddling her tightly would somehow absorb her back into Monegasque pride.

But it didn’t stop there.

No, Yn had decided. French it was.

She told the Ferrari PR team she was French when they asked where she was from. She announced it proudly to the camera when someone tried to film a cute moment with her and her dad. She whispered it solemnly to Carlos while sitting in his lap eating strawberries.

“Papa’s sad ‘cause I’m French,” she told Carlos.

Carlos, eyes sparkling with mischief, leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s okay, Princesa. I’m Spanish, and he still talks to me.”

“Does he love you?” Yn asked, dead serious.

Carlos blinked. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Then maybe he’ll still love me even if I’m French.”

Behind them, Charles face-palmed.

The drivers got wind of it quickly—because of course they did.

By the next day, the jokes were relentless.

“So,” Lando said at breakfast in the hotel, stirring sugar into his coffee like he was preparing to deliver a monologue. “Do I address her as ‘Mademoiselle Yn’ now or...?”

“She’s not French,” Charles groaned.

“She told my engineer she wants her birthday cake in the shape of the Eiffel Tower,” Max deadpanned, walking by and tossing Charles a sympathetic look. “Good luck with that.”

Even Seb, who was visiting that weekend with his kids, gave Charles a comforting pat on the back. “At least she’s not saying she’s German. Yet.”

And then there was Esteban.

“Oh, this is fantastique,” Esteban beamed, scooping Yn up in the paddock one afternoon. “You’re French, just like me!”

Yn squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oui!”

Charles practically melted into the tarmac. “Mon dieu…”

But it was Arthur who reveled in it most.

He started wearing a beret. A beret, for god’s sake.

One afternoon in the hospitality tent, he presented Yn with a baguette and a small fake mustache. “For my fellow French citizen,” he declared proudly.

“Merci, Uncle Thur!” Yn beamed, sticking the mustache crookedly on her nose.

“I am living in a cartoon,” Charles mumbled into his hands.

No amount of explaining helped.

“But Monaco is in France,” she argued one night while Charles tucked her into bed in the team’s motorhome. “It’s right there.”

“No, chérie,” Charles said gently, brushing her curls back. “It’s close, but it’s its own country. Like Papa said before, remember?”

“I like France better.”

He sighed and tried the next best tactic: bribery.

“If you say you’re Monegasque again,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Papa will buy you ten ice creams tomorrow.”

Yn narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What kind?”

“Any kind. Strawberry. Chocolate. All of them.”

“Hmm…” she tapped her chin with exaggerated thought. “I still wanna be French.”

He clutched his chest. “Traitor.”

The situation hit a new peak during the Saturday driver briefing. Yn, accompanied by Carlos and Charles, had been allowed to come along briefly before things got official. She toddled in wearing sunglasses way too big for her face and a little Ferrari cap.

Yuki crouched down to her level with a big smile. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Yn.”

“I’m French!” she declared proudly, striking a pose.

Yuki laughed. “That’s so cool! Then you must know that Uncle Pierre is also French!”

Yn froze.

All the drivers went still.

Charles raised his head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Yn’s nose scrunched up.

“…Uncle Pierre?”

“Yes,” Yuki chirped, unaware he was about to break the world’s most stubborn three-year-old. “He’s very French. Like super French.”

The silence that followed could have swallowed a pit lane.

Charles watched her face shift—concentration, confusion… and then determination.

She took off her sunglasses, turned to her father, and declared solemnly, “Papa. I’m not French anymore.”

Charles blinked. “You’re not?”

“I’m Monegasque now.”

“...Why?”

She folded her arms. “I don’t wanna be the same as Uncle Pierre.”

“WHAT?!” Pierre shouted from across the room, utterly betrayed.

Arthur was on the floor, laughing so hard he nearly cried. “Nooo! The French alliance has fallen!”

Carlos, barely holding it together, whispered, “Monaco wins.”

Charles scooped Yn up with the biggest grin he’d worn in days. “You have made Papa so proud.”

Yn patted his cheek. “Do I still get ice cream?”

He laughed, hugging her tight. “You can have all the ice cream you want, mon amour.”

Behind him, Pierre was muttering in disbelief, “What did I do? What did I do?”

And from that day on, Yn was proudly, defiantly, loyally Monegasque.

Until next week, when she decided she wanted to be Italian because “Papa’s car is red like Italy.”

And Charles just sighed into his espresso.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where Dick has zero concept of how the average person lives

I want a fic where Dick just has absolutely no concept how the average person lives. He went from being raised in a circus to being raised in a manor by a billionaire. His concept of what is expensive and what is totally normal is completely skewed. That whole meme where someone thinks a banana costs $10? He really does think a single banana is $10. He thinks fresh fruit in general is ridiculously expensive; it's a luxury. He just thinks Alfred keeps so much of it in the manor because Bruce is rich. He'll eat a single strawberry and think, "Wow, this is the life."

At the same time, he thinks having expensive suits/clothes is totally normal. His family's circus costumes were some of the most expensive items they owned because it was essential to their act. Similarly, he thinks Bruce spends a fortune on all his suits and clothes for galas and events because it's part of being CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Their Batman and Robin costumes are expensive because it's part of their job. Clothes are super important. Doesn't everyone spend $45 on a plain T-shirt? His Gotham Academy uniform alone is stupid expensive, and that's just for school, every student wears the same thing.

He doesn't think his top of line fancy as hell cell phone is expensive because Bruce gets them through WE. They're basically free. Dick gets a new prototype phone like twice a year. Never mind that Bruce owns WE, that's irrelevant. It's an essential item in this day and age. It can't be that expensive.

So when the young justice team is hanging out at Mount Justice and Wally complains about his phone being old and not working right or not holding a charge the same anymore, Robin barely looks up from his phone and shrugs, saying in a nonchalant tone, "Dude just get a new one then."

"Oh yeah, let me just go get a brand new phone," Wally mocks, scoffing. The sarcasm goes completely over his head.

"B gets me a new phone all time. Just ask your dad, dude."

Everyone stares at him. Even Conner, who somehow knows more about things like this than Dick does. Cadmus psychic education was good for something, apparently.

When Dick looks up, he's confused about why everyone is staring at him.

"What, dude?" he asks, not understanding why Wally is making so many faces at him.

"You are so stupid sometimes," is all Wally says.

"What?" Dick asks again. Then he sits up, a frown on his face. "What's that supposed to mean!"

"It means you have no idea how a normal person lives," Wally jokes.

"That's not true!"

"It's totally true."

"Rob, dude," Wally says slowly, gently, as if Robin is a dumb little child. "Yesterday, you called M'gann outrageous for using raspberries in one of her dessert recipes."

"She used the whole container of them!" Robin defends himself, his voice getting a bit higher. "For a tart she didn't know she'd even like!"

"Robin," Wally says slowly, folding his hands, "how much do you think a box of raspberries costs?"

Robin shakes his head, looking offended.

"I dunno, but it's expensive!"

"But getting multiple new phones a year isn't?" Wally scoffs.

"They're essential!"

"A brand new phone is not essential!"

"It can't cost that much!" Robin argues. "You're so full of shit, Wally, you're just being mean to me!"

"You're literally wearing a designer jacket right now," Wally points out, tugging at Robin's jacket. Robin pulls away from him with an even more dramatic frown.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Robin whines.

"It means you're a snob," Artemis snorts.

"I am not!"

"You have a brand new WayneTech phone that only came out on the market like a month ago," Artemis tells him, "and you're wearing a jacket that's more expensive than one of my textbooks for school."

"It's a book, how expensive can it be?" Robin scrunches his nose up, not understanding the argument she's making. They go to the same school anyway (not that Artemis knows that). It's a textbook. It can't be that expensive. He remembers buying plenty of books with his parents, and his mom always encouraged him to get several at a time. The fact that they were pre-owned and came from a bin had nothing to do with it, obviously. Books are practically free. Artemis is just being annoying.

Artemis just lets out a laugh, shaking her head at him.

"Robbie, dude, my best friend," Wally laughs, sitting down on the couch next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Who buys your clothes?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Robin whines. When Wally pokes at him and insists he just answer the question, Robin pouts. "Agent A buys them."

"Who goes grocery shopping?"

"Agent A."

"Who pays your school fees?"

"B."

"Who pays for your phone?"

"B."

"Do you actually know how much anything costs?"

Dick blinks behind the dark sunglasses he's wearing, tilting his head at Wally. He looks around and sees how the whole team is staring at him, amusement clear on all their faces, and he frowns at all of them.

"I'm thirteen!" he whines. "I'm not supposed to pay for my own shit! You're all so mean to me!"

He pushes Wally off of him and stomps out of the room, ignoring the way they start laughing and how he hears Artemis mention something about him being spoiled. He's not spoiled. There's no way.

He ends up going back to the batcave, and he finds Bruce sitting at the batcomputer, trying to figure out the link between a recent case and an old one they'd solved months ago. Dick drags his feet the entire way over to him, groaning and whining as he drapes across Bruce's lap dramatically. Bruce just chuckles, patting Dick's back, but letting him have his dramatic moment without interruption. When Dick turns to look at Bruce with a pout on his face, Bruce just raises an eyebrow at him.

"Am I spoiled?"

Bruce chuckles again, a little smile on his face. He pinches one of Dick's cheeks and laughs when Dick whines and swats his hand away.

"Maybe a little bit," Bruce admits. "But it's fine."

"Wally says I have no idea how normal people live."

"That might be true," Bruce says with a shrug, going back to patting Dick's back. "You went from one extreme to the other. But I don't think it's anything to be concerned about."

"The team was being mean to me for it!"

"Meh," Bruce hums, not looking bothered, "fuck 'em then."

Dick snorts, and Bruce looks down to smile at him, then they both look around to make sure Alfred wasn't around to hear Bruce swear. Alfred should still be upstairs preparing dinner. They're in the clear.

"Wally's phone is old and sucks," Dick mutters to Bruce.

"I'll give one to Barry to give him," Bruce says easily.

They're both quiet for a moment, Dick still draped over Bruce's lap, Bruce still looking through old case files. Finally, Dick looks up at Bruce and asks, "B, how much does a banana cost?"

"I dunno," Bruce shrugs. "Ten bucks?"

Dick nods his head. Good, good. They're in agreement. It must be right.

[lietogirlsss]

SPRING INTO SUMMER !

girl!dad bucky barnes x mom!reader

𝖘ummary: the one where the thunderbolts all think it's weird that bucky keeps pulling a disappearing act every couple of months, only that he's been taking the quinjet and coming back with a raging tan. After a particularly harrowing mission in amsterdam, they needed a place to lie low and bucky is already regretting his decision before even making it.

𝔞uthor's note: was craving for some domestic bucky fics and I remembered oh shit yeah I can write, amazing use of my free will and free time! This was set in the middle of the 14 month period as the new avengers(z). Also I watched Monday... yeah.

𝔴ord count: 9.4k

𝔴arnings: violence, blood, mentions of various weapons of defense, humor as a coping mechanism for trauma, various injuries, swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, your daughter is described with curly dark brown hair and blue eyes, reader is an ex widow.

Five highly-trained assassins and a Bob walk into a bar and it becomes apparent to them that they seriously needed to go back to the drawing board with their plan of attack.

What was supposed to be a standard recon mission with moderate to heavy security on the exclusive bar they've been observing for the past two months became a really ugly, bloody battle where they were ambushed by black ops that spawned from nearly every direction.

Yelena had gotten intel on a potent form of mdma being smuggled by an international pharmaceutical company and selling it to exclusive night clubs all around Europe run by Hugo LaForteza, a Spanish crime syndicate with ties to organized crime. That same pharmaceutical company has tried burying their sketchy past of producing biological weapons and super soldier serum made from scratch before Thanos' snap and instead dabbling into the production of drugs after nightclubs rose to popularity again after everyone returned from being Blipped.

Now, a couple years later they were still up and running and over 40 people have been reported missing all over Europe. The rest of them managed to locate the warehouse where the victims were kept before they were set free and were sent home to their families

Now that the company had been exposed, they've done a good job at covering their tracks and hiding in plain sight. It was only the beginning. Ava, Yelena, and Bucky scouted potential hideouts, safehouses, certain covert routes the supply trucks have been taking to move the products, cross-referencing bank transfers and purchases to off-shore bank accounts containing billions of laundered money. Meanwhile, John weaselled his way into federal databases, built profiles against a hundred men and women who have been involved with the human trafficking scandal. Alexei has been revamping the Avengers brand by spending several hours a day on ms paint designing new avengers merch and arguing with vendors on Amazon when the set of hoodies and shirts he ordered two weeks ago came looking like someone taking a remedial Home Economics class sewed them together.

Meanwhile, Bob has been working in the background, making everyone cups of coffee that had been too watered down, too strong, or too sweet during long, intense nights of work. He went out one afternoon and purchased several cookbooks containing recipes for meals from around the world and promised the rest of the team that their long streak of ordering takeout every night was over because he would be the one cooking for them. So far, there had been no complaints, Bob had become an excellent cook.

After a year's worth of hunting down and investigating leads they finally took to the streets and began taking down nightclubs, bars, and raves from inside out. Flushing out the wealthy and loyal clientele to get closer to shutting down all the suppliers and manufacturers across Europe. They went in strong and took down Berlin, then Ibiza, followed by Rome, Belgrade, then Amsterdam.

And through it all there had been a consistent theme.

Bucky had a habit of disappearing every now and then, usually during the crack of dawn and then coming back a couple of days later with a harsh tan that Alexei had made abundantly clear suited him.

"You could pass off as summer catalogue model! All you need is coconut oil! Take off your shirt, give people what they want!"

John's mentioned it offhandedly once or twice, asking the rest of them if they knew why Bucky kept disappearing every now and then. Ava quickly brushed him off, claiming that he should worry less about Bucky and more about the fact that his shield's only use to him now is to hold lettuce, meat, cheese, and beans. With the matter getting increasingly pressing caused by their own detective work, the rest of the team was itching to find the real reason behind it. There had been multiple accounts in which John had attempted to ask Bucky about it, only for him to be pulled away by either Ava or Yelena unceremoniously. Or other instances where John managed to corner Bucky in the kitchen and ask him about it, only for him to deflect the question or glance at him and walk out like it was nothing.

Yelena did the math. Bucky left every three to four months, his trips lasting either three days or a week and there was no in between. She kept a journal where she would write entries regarding Bucky's unusual absences, possible theories as to why, and if he had been double crossing them- a list of how they would kick him out of the team. So far the list has been empty.

A week later after another night of endless tossing and turning in her shared bedroom with Ava when they were in Amsterdam- she swears she hears the door down the hall click as if somebody closed it from the outside. Then, after dismissing it as nothing, she sees a shadow swiftly pass by the gap the door had to the floor. She sits up. Ava, being the heavy sleeper she was, did not notice Yelena quietly slip out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She is startled by the figure of John in his pajamas standing by the window, who clearly has just woken up about 10 seconds ago and dragged himself out of bed without giving two shits about the fact that anybody from a mile away could see the outline of where drool had once pooled by the side of his mouth. "Jesus Walker, what the hell are you doing??? You look like a pervert." She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him before he placed a finger to his lips and shushed her aggressively.

"It's Bucky, pretty sure I just caught him in the act." He says, jerking his neck to the side, beckoning Yelena over to the window. She plodded towards him and lo and behold, there stood Bucky with his knapsack slung around his shoulders, his hands busy with untying the busted boat they rented that was currently floating in the canal. "Nearly missed the sound of his bedroom door close because of Alexei's snoring. I swear he could level this apartment if he wanted to."

"Where is he off to now?" Yelena asks, albeit somewhat rhetorically.

John clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I've got no clue. Who knows what's going on inside that man’s head?"

“A black and white 24-hour montage of him and Sam with a Mariah Carey song in the background?” Yelena replies under her breath, causing John to laugh through his nose.

“I was gonna say the same thing-”

"-what are you two doing by the window???" Ava's voice grumbled all of a sudden, causing Yelena and John to whirl their heads around. "You do realize it's too early to stare at murky canal water, right?"

Yelena makes a face at her. "Wh- that isn't what we're doing."

"Well then what's got you two staring out the window for???"

"Bucky's out by the dock, I'm convinced he's headed to the quinjet to pull a Houdini on us again." John explained, peering out of the window once more as he pointed at a spot on the glass pane. Ava walks over, Yelena makes room for her as all three of them watch Bucky stand by the boat, talking to somebody on his burner phone. Muffled segments of the conversation could be heard from the slim aperture the window had to the windowsill. Words like "be right there" and "they don't know" were heard, which made all three of them exchange glances of suspicion.

"Who is he even talking to?" Ava asks them. "D'you guys got any ideas?"

"There's no way it could be Sam..." John began quietly, making Yelena and Ava furrow their brows as they turned to him. "Right?” He supplements.

"Too soon. You heard him when he came back from Louisiana, he sounded like someone gutted his cat."

“Why can’t I just crack the window open??? It would make more sense to just call Bucky from up here-” John wonders, extending his arm to open the window before Yelena and Ava stop him.

���-Don't open the window!” She and Ava hiss, startling John.

“Fine! Alright!” He exclaimed, almost scandalized. "So who else has he got on speed dial? Do you think it's still Congressman shit?"

"He sent that resignation letter ages ago."

"It's definitely not Valentina."

"What about that assistant of hers? Me- Melissa? What was even happening with them when we were in New York?"

Ava makes an unimpressed sound. "I don't know, but I'm not interested in finding out anything about that dynamic at all."

"Get your head out of the gutter, Ava."

“Wait, who are we talking about?" Bob suddenly spoke up from behind them making all three of them flinch once more, causing a commotion. Yelena grabs the hem of Bob's pajama shirt and yanks him to the floor as the rest of them fit themselves underneath the window, terrified that Bucky might've heard them in the scuffle.

"Jesus, we seriously gotta tie a church bell around you or something." John scowled in between Ava and Bob. "He's too quiet."

"Thank you?" Bob chuckles, baffled, in between Yelena and John.

“We didn't hear him at all.”

Yelena sighed, craning her neck to take a peek at Bucky once more before sinking back down on the floor resembling a sack of flour. "Ava go look, I'm not looking."

Ava snaps her head to look at her. "Why am I doing it?"

“Because,” Yelena began, widening her eyes and raising her shoulders to accentuate her point. “-Because you’re the only one out of all of us who can go invisible.”

Ava screws her face even tighter. “Is that your only argument to get me to do something none of you want to do?"

“The situation kind of warrants stealth though.” John appends, coming to Yelena's rescue in which he is recognized for.

“Exactly!”

Ava wasn’t happy about the idea of having to phase this early in the morning but does so without any more protest. Her eyes screw shut and in the blink of an eye she becomes invisible, they see a little iridescent shimmer where her body was supposed to be as the meager amount of sunlight piercing through the heavy clouds floating over Amsterdam hits her invisible form. A second later she reappears as a mechanical whirring could be heard from outside.

“He's ready to leave, the boat's acting up again though.” Ava reports as the rest of them scramble to get on their knees and look outside the window where Bucky could be seen at odds with the motor of the boat, pulling the cord repeatedly until he yanks it too far and the boat engine roars to life.

“Soooo,” Ava prolonged. “Are we gonna do something about it or-”

“-What's Bucky even doing down there?-”

“-Planning to go on a ride around the canal-”

“-he is? But Bucky doesn't even like riding boats let alone that piece of junk-”

“-we were kidding, we obviously don't know shit-”

“-huh, coulda fooled me-”

“-Again if we just open the window-”

“-We're not opening the window!-”

“Look, we can't just go in blind and demand an answer out of him, we gotta have a plan.” Yelena fought, eyeing John whose mouth opened. “and it can't be you cornering Bucky expecting him to tell you the truth.”

“It was worth a shot.” John hissed. “Besides, I haven't seen any of you try and get the truth outta him.”

“That's like picking a fight with fucking optimus prime, do you want to get your throat to get crushed like an empty soda can?” Ava argues, glancing up at John as he glances outside of the window again.

Bob reaches up to turn the rusted knob of the window as the rest stare at him in horror. "You know what?, instead of us sitting here and guessing why don't I just-"

As he twists the aged knob to the side, instead of the window lowering inward like windows in the Netherlands usually do, it completely dislodged from its hinges and slides inside, the glass shattering as it comes in contact with the floor in great commotion. The rest of the team only barely managed to roll away before they were inevitably pancaked by the window- Ava who tucked and rolled towards the cupboards, John who army-crawled towards the table, and Yelena who lurched towards the entrance to the kitchen with Bob in tow.

They gawk both at the wreckage and each other, startled. A beat passes and they hear a sudden drumming of heavy footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms, the door flew open reverberating through the entire apartment.

“YELENA?! YELENA?!-”

Alexei comes running into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of boxers and a robe- he instantly relaxes when he sees Yelena glaring at him over her shoulder. “Hi, dad.”

The man stands there, stupefied. “Wh- what are you doing???”

Yelena pauses, lost in thought. “People-watching.” She settled.

“He's gone-!” John's voice suddenly called out. Ava, Yelena, and Bob rush towards the window only to see that the boat was gone and Bucky along with it. Each one of them shared a look of defeat and a disgruntled sigh that seemed to ricochet across each member of the team as they moved around the window. They promised each other that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d catch Bucky leaving and hear some lame excuse to patch up the real story. When he finally came back after a week, they all entered the kitchen together which earned them a raised brow from Bucky who was enjoying a cup of coffee by the window.

“You guys look like a herd of terrified gazelles moving through a grazing patch.”

“Bucky,” John began. “We need to talk.”

He raised his eyebrows. ”Oh good, are you guys finally gonna tell me who opened the one window the landlady told us not to open, broke it, and is helping me explain to her why there's broken glass hidden under the fridge?”

“No, that isn't what we wanted to talk abo-”

“-It was Bob, Bob did it.” Ava interjects, glancing over at Bob who stiffened at the sudden turn of the conversation.

Bucky's eyes shut tight as he pinches the bridge of his nose, a familiar habit. “How many times do I gotta make myself clear not to open things you aren't supposed to open?”

Bob's eyes widened even more. “I- I only opened it because John and Yelena and Ava were arguing about why you kept on disappearing, an-and they saw you outside with the boat so-”

“-Exactly, why were you outside with the boat at 7 in the morning?” Yelena appends quickly, narrowing her eyes at Bucky, his face passive.

Alexei chuckles as he leans forward to look over at Yelena. "Right??? Makes you think- Where is that guy off to all the time??? He is like every cheating father in the American dramas that claims he is going on so-called work trip but is secretly seeing mistress that looks like she just graduated from highschool." He chimes, albeit rather colourfully.

“I wanted to do a sweep of the red-light district to see if our informant’s been telling us the truth. He has. That special event some of LaForteza's men are hosting tomorrow night is the perfect cover for some recon, slipping in and out the bar would be easy. Then I had to stay in Washington for a couple of days because I got my couch reupholstered and needed to turn over the keys to my office.” Bucky says with ease, like he'd practiced this a dozen times.

“Bullshit.” Yelena spat, which had the same effect as a streak of lightning lighting up the sky seconds before a deafening thunderclap.

"We can't work a mission where you disappear days at a time when we’re only left with a little note on the fridge.” Ava seethed. “Gone to collect my things at the office, need to sign off on some documents- it doesn't take a week to do either of those things, Bucky. We know you’ve submitted your resignation letter for Congress bloody ages ago!”

“Well I don't know if you haven't noticed but it's pretty hard trying to do all these things when you're under cover and have to fly across oceans, so I'm sorry if I keep you waiting.” Bucky reasons.

“We aren't leaving you alone until we get the truth outta you. No more stupid excuses, no more lies.” Says John this time. “Being lied to feels like shit, you don't gotta be a hundred years old to know that.”

“Why the hell have you been sneaking around like we wouldn't notice and taking phone calls when you think nobody’s listening?” Yelena asks once and for all. The sunlight had only now started peeking out over the roofs of the hedges of houses and shops that lined the streets. Beams of buttery sunlight illuminated the otherwise dreary kitchen. They all stood there, blanketed by immense silence. "Are you going to answer my question or are we going to sit here in dead silence?"

Bucky sets his mug down, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, but let's get one thing absolutely straight. I'm not pulling a goddamn Lotso on a mission I've risked my life numerous times for."

John straightens from his spot instantly. "How does he know Lo- have you watched Toy Story 3?” his eyes swung like a pendulum, looking at Yelena beside him to Bucky in front of him.

"Who?" Yelena wonders, raising an eyebrow.

Bob slumped. "Come on, the pink bear? The one with the cane?"

"Ahhh," Yelena says after a beat, pointing a finger at him. "Is he the one that kept eating sandwiches and went to jail?"

Ava opens out her hands, palms facing the ceiling as she frowns at Yelena. "No, that's Paddington. And there's more to his story than him going to jail! he's helped out so many people, made so many marmalade sandwiches, and is the most polite bear that ever graced television."

"So why did he get arrested?"

"He was framed! Because Hugh Grant stole the pop-up book he's been saving up for!" Ava argued.

Yelena's brows furrow even more. "Who's-"

"-Are you done? Because my coffee's getting cold." Bucky drawled, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.

"Look, man, if you're working against us now is a good time to tell us." John chimes in, moving past the rest of his teammates and advancing on Bucky. “I don't know what kinda game you're playing with us here, watching us connect the dots while you’re off someplace else doing only God knows what- but if you can’t already tell we’re a team now. Which means we do this shit as a team. If we can't trust each other, why bother?”

“Shockingly, he is very right.” Alexei says from the back of the group.

Bucky sighed, shifting his weight onto the other foot. "If I tell you, people's lives will be in danger, not just mine." He says, tone heavy with meaning. "I'm sure as hell not letting that happen, not when I just started getting a handle on things- not when things just started to look up for me."

"What are you talking about?" Yelena demands, voice rising. "What else could you have got to lose, Barnes?"

"Everything." Bucky answers without missing a beat. “I'm asking you to believe me when I say that I'm not jeopardising this mission nor am I double-crossing any of you. I know it's asking a lot but I want you guys to trust me.”

“Can we?” Yelena wonders, making Bucky's gaze flit across the group.

“You can.” He says. “I promise.”

Cut to several weeks later, they are dancing through the jam-packed streets of Amsterdam lit up by head-ache-inducing neon signs and differently colored bulbs. Several black-ops agents remained hot on their tail as they slip into a dark alleyway, taking a detour inside a busy kitchen where they are overwhelmed by the cacophony of angry voices yelling in Dutch and English, the chopping of vegetables, the fervent stirring, the clanging of pots, the sizzling of a wok that quickly erupted flames. One of the line cooks suddenly appeared from the walk-in and handed Bucky a duffle bag; they exchanged a brief conversation in Dutch before the line cook patted Bucky on his metal arm and left, seemingly to go back to his station.

Bucky turns to the rest of them, beaten up and in bad shape. Everyone had suffered too many bruised and wounds to count, John was shot in the shoulder and needed bandaging, Alexei was nearly gutted by one of the agents that had a knife, Yelena was trying to get Bob to calm down after becoming The Sentry so as not to invite the other terrible twin to surface, Ava had a sprained ankle, and Bucky was pretty sure he broke a couple of his ribs.

“We can’t go back to the apartment, it isn't safe, chances are they've been tracing our steps since before we left Ibiza.” Bucky informed them all, slouched, out-of-breath, and wincing at him as they tried to listen. “We gotta leave Amsterdam before dawn or we’re as good as dead.”

“All the evidence we've been building for the past year, the maps, the photos, everything- we left everything back in the apartment for them to see. We might've just handed all our progress to LaForteza on a goddamn silver platter.” John yelled, leaning against the bread rack before one of the cooks pulled the bread rack to the side and shooed him away.

“Which is why they'll know where we're headed to next, they're gonna reroute all their operations, go underground, cover their tracks to the point that they've completely erased themselves from the face of the Earth. But that won't matter, not when we've got all the proof we need.” Says Bucky, pulling out a leatherbound journal from one of his pockets to show to the rest of the team.

Ava makes a sound, almost like a scoff but also a wheeze. “Where do you expect us to go after we've just unleashed hell on their operation? We're literally standing in the middle of a scorching kitchen bleeding all over the floor.” She gestures to the busy kitchen around them. “It's surprising they haven't kicked us out by now.”

“We'll figure it out on the way.” Says Bucky. “For now, we'll get dressed and get the hell outta here.” He drops the duffle bag on the floor and starts handing out articles of clothing to the rest of the team. Out of the corner of Yelena's eye she sees Bob pulling at his torn sweater and pivots on her heel to face him.

“He didn't mean right now, Bob.” She said, causing him to pause mid-action before he pulls the sweater down and shoots her a little smile.

“Woops.”

She turns another couple of degrees to spot Alexei half-way through unbuckling his suit, his helmet and belt already discarded on the floor. “Let go of that zipper!"

The same line cook from earlier showed up once more and escorted them to the locker rooms where they all hastily got dressed. Then when they finished, Bucky moves one of the lockers aside, revealing a crawl space that leads to an abandoned part of the Amsterdam Metro. Once they managed to hitch a ride on the back of a truck, steal a family wagon, and get to the quinjet it was smooth sailing. So to speak.

Bucky, who had taken upon himself to pilot the jet, hadn't spoken a word since they took off. Too laser focused on the dark skies ahead and the controls. Yelena only approaches him after they've stabilized in the air and Bucky had turned on autopilot to hopefully stretch his legs inside the cockpit.

“So, have you finally decided to tell us where we're going or do we have to stare into your dark, broody eyes to figure it out?” She wonders, making him let out yet another heavy sigh. By now everyone who had been resting had perked up at the sound of Yelena's voice and the sudden apparition of Bucky inside the cockpit.

“Livorno. I've got a place there near the port. It's secluded, but also busy enough in the day for us to slip in and out without getting unwanted attention.” Bucky finally answers. “We can squat there for the time being, lay low while we figure out a solid plan.”

“We've already lit one of their dens on fire. If they realize we've stolen LaForteza's journal too it won't be long until they come after us.”

“That is, if they do notice it's gone.” Says Bucky. “When you, Alexei, John, and Bob were taking out the guards Ava and I broke into the safe, swapped it out with a replica. If we manage to intercept their plans in Croatia, we'll manage to end this once and for all.”

Bucky places the journal on one of the crates, open to a page where he points at a cut out map- several red lines stretching out across Europe converging on what was marked to be Belgium. The team gathers around him. “They're shutting down all their operations in South-Eastern and North-Western Europe and they’re bringing what's left of their supply to a giant EDM festival in Split happening in five days.” He explains.

“So then we sneak in, guns ready, take them out once and for all. Easy Peasy.” Says Alexei with a grin.

“Except there'll be thousands of people, we can't risk endangering any more civilians.” Ava reasons, raising an eyebrow. “With the amount of weapons we have there's no way they'll let us in at the checkpoint.”

“Hence the sneaking.” Alexei clarifies, two of his fingers prancing atop the journal.

“There has to be some other way to get in undetected. If those people at the festival take whatever LaForteza’s goons have been distributing there's no guaranteeing what'll happen to them.”

“We've got an hour and fifty minutes in the air, try and rest up, yeah?” Bucky sighed as he attempted to get comfortable on one of the long bench-like chairs in the cockpit, cracking his neck.

Yelena scoffs. “I'll rest when I'm dead.”

Half an hour before their descent Bucky wakes everyone up. Yelena seemed to be well-rested, what with using Bob's arm as a pillow, and of course John who somehow woke up on the floor of the quinjet with Ava sleeping on the chair beside him. Alexei had been keeping Bucky awake for the duration of the trip, recounting his conquests in Russia as the Red Guardian which made Bucky question the accuracy of his stories.

They hid the quinjet in a secluded warehouse and began the trek to Bucky's place. Moving through the lively cobblestone streets of Livorno undetected. The air smelt strongly of salt and brine, ships both large and small were entering the harbor, and the faint hollers of sailors could be heard coming from the docks. Long lines of laundry could be seen hung across the windows of houses, pink bougainvilleas lined the streets. Bucky takes them through a set of narrow alleyways, passing by a group of teenagers heading down to the beach and a man singing an Italian love whilst playing an guitar.

They stop at one of the houses at the end of what seemed to be the umpteenth alleyway they've walked through. Bucky approaches the front door first, kicking what was a pebble out of his way, to knock. It had white bouganvilleas crawling all over the front of the house, rows of different colored flowers in different sized pots lined the entrance, all the shutters painted green were closed. It didn't take long for them to notice the brightly colored drawings in chalk on the path they were standing on, scrawled on butterflies, rainbows, and flowers- or the purple bike with shimmery tassels and training wheels pushed to the side near the door and beside a golden pothos.

They exchanged glances of confusion- but also, a look of understanding.

The door creaks open and they see a woman standing in between the gap, unsure if she was supposed to look happy or confused. She looked like she had just woken up but had gotten dressed to go somewhere. “James what are- oh my god what happened to your face?” You began, opening the door wider to step outside, taking Bucky's face into your hands.

That's when they all see it.

The wedding ring glinting in the morning sunlight, clear as day. They all slowly, almost comically, turn to look at eachother, baffled. John's mouth parted in shock, Ava's brows rose, Yelena's eyes widened.

“James??? ” Ava mumbled in shock.

Yelena opens her mouth, closes it, then shrugs- frowning at the girl.

“She's got a ring.” John mouthed to the group, with his hand concealing one side of his mouth. Yelena rolls her eyes so far back it hurts.

“Bucky's married???” Bob's whispers suit, clearly in disbelief.

“I told you.” Alexei enunciates joyfully, pointing at Bob's face, jaw on the floor. But who wasn't at this point?

They just found out Bucky has been married this whole time.

“Hey, don't worry about it, it's nothing.” Says Bucky, taking your hands into his. “It looks worse than it feels, trust me.”

You placed your other hand on your hips, eyeing him oh so incredulously before you narrowed your eyes at him. “Sure it is, tell that to someone who believes you, hmm?”

Bucky glances over his shoulder to look at his team, their intense yet homely demeanour only demanded more questions out of you. “We needed a place to squat for a day or two, think of a plan… we couldn't risk going back to the compound or Geneva.” He says to you as you look at them curiously. “I promise we weren't followed, we scrubbed our tracks clean.”

You exhaled deeply, lifting a hand to cup his cheek- your thumb grazing over the stubble that had formed over the course of several weeks without it being touched by a razor blade. “Could’ve called me, told me you were coming… I could’ve cleaned up a little.”

Bucky smiles. Smiles. The rest of them don't know whether to watch in horror or in awe. “Had to see you again somehow, one week is never enough.”

You snort in suppressed laughter before you glanced towards the rest of the team. “You guys must be tired as hell, I hope James hasn't run you into the ground by now. Come in!” She smiled warmly, her head motions towards the inside of the house. “Dropped by just in time, you guys like pancakes?”

“Yes please.” Bob chirped from the side, earning a glance from the others. They all file into a single line as they enter the home, you could tell that somebody lived here and not squats here on occasion- what with the mismatched pieces of furniture that complimented the interior of the house well. There was your standard coffee table except it looked like a smaller picnic table, a bookcase lined with endless books, odd trinkets, photographs, a TV, a vintage lamp, another vintage lamp near the 8-seater dining table, a gramophone sitting by the corner of the room in pristine condition.

Then they see a teepee in the shape of a princess castle, little animals dressed in vintage clothes beneath the TV having a tea party next to a well-furnished toy townhouse with multiple rooms, stuffed animals, barbie dolls on top of the coffee table, books with brightly colored illustrations scattered across the floor with endless crayons and pencils, and a backpack with pieces of paper sticking out from the opening.

At the top left of one of the papers, there was a scrawled on name written in pencil. Madeline Barnes.

“Don't mind the mess, we're usually much tidier if we knew we'd be having guests over.” She says, gesturing to the mess on the floor. “I'm Y/N, by the way. You guys don't have to introduce yourselves anymore, James tells me a lot about all of you.”

“We didn't even know you existed.” Ava uttered, astonished, mirroring the dumbfounded expression the rest of them had as they stared at Bucky with his arm around his wife's waist- looking at you with so much love in his eyes that the rest of them felt like this was a social experiment. Bucky? Married? Bucky? In love? It didn't sit right with them at all. They were four words they'd never imagined would fit altogether in a sentence.

“Yeah, well I had to keep that part of my life a secret for a reason. It's why I've been disappearing every now and then.” Bucky explains, and all of a sudden it starts making sense. One by one they all managed to grapple with the fact that Bucky lived with a wife here, and a daughter.

“Is she up yet?” He whispered. You shook your head from side to side.

“Nah, Maddie was still asleep when I went downstairs. She might be now though.” You tell Bucky like you anticipated what was to happen next. Then from the floor above them, they could hear the sound of feet rapidly padding across the floor and then out of nowhere a little girl in purple pajamas ran down the stairs. Bucky bent down to grab her and she leaped into his arms- overcome with giggles as she squirmed in Bucky's grip.

“d'you miss me, sweetheart?”

The little girl nods adamantly, deep blue eyes glistening with excitement. “Uh-huh! I missed you sooooo much, Daddy. Loads and loads. Last night I dreamt that the next day when I woke up you'd be there and then I whispered it to Mommy cuz I thought it was silly, but she was kinda asleep so I don't think she heard me and then I woke up today and I heard your voice!”

Bucky couldn't help but laugh. “What??? You're kidding, there's no way you could have guessed I was coming to visit today.”

“But I did, and now you're here! I have magic, I'm just like Twilight!” She affirmed, grinning at him as she toys with his hair. But then she pauses. “Daddy, are you having a playdate?”

“No, sweetheart, why?” Bucky wonders, furrowing his brows.

She glances at the rest of his teammates. “Cuz all your friends are here!”

“Yeah, no, we're not having a playdate honey. I brought them over here because we got tired… playing and they're hungry.” Bucky explains briefly, shooting them all a look as they all nodded and agreed as a collective.

“Sure are… we're really tired from all the running around… that we did.” Says John.

Ava laughs, nodding. “Pshh, super tired. All the other people we were playing with didn't stand a chance! They dropped dead in seconds!” Ava earned a jab on the side from Yelena.

The shorter woman laughed nervously. “What she meant was that we were so fast that we caught them all, and they lost and… went back home.”

Her eyes lit up. “What were you guys playing? Can I play too?!? Mommy i'm going to get my outside slippers-”

You intervened, shaking your head as you took Maddie from Bucky’s arms, bringing her away. “Nuh-uh no one’s playing outside until we have breakfast.” You tell her as her lower lip protrudes into a pout, that is until she realizes what was placed on top of the dining table.

“YAAAY! Pancakes!” She squealed, pumping her tiny fists into the air as you placed her on her designated seat at the dining table. “Wait… Mommy, did you read my mind or something? I was dreaming about pancakes last night, yknow.” She accuses you with a suspicious look on her face.

“No baby, I just knew.” You tell her, smiling. “Must be a coincidence, huh?”

Maddie giggled as you fixed her curly hair out of her face. “Yeah, coins-incident.”

“You had tiny soldier all along, eh?” Alexei whispered fondly, draping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Looks very much like you, beautiful girl. Reminds me of my ‘Lena when she was little. I hope you and the wife gave yourselves a pat on the back after uhh… hanky-panky. Nicely done, my friend.”

Yelena makes a grumbling noise somewhere on their right as you invite the rest of them to take a seat. “Let's eat now, yes?” She called out rather impatiently.

Bucky shoots him a look. “Thanks?”

Alexei pays no mind and simply keeps going. “Very rewarding, fatherhood. Being father? not easy, but very worth it. Fighting off grizzly bear in the forest in Winter with nothing but nail clipper and beer bottle? Much easier. When she learns how to shoot with a glock for the first time? You find you will cry a lot, tears and the snot.”

You appear on Bucky's left, carrying a pitcher of orange juice you've retrieved from the fridge. “You two can bond over being fathers after the three-year-old gremlin in purple and the rest of the assassins in this room get to eat a proper meal, okay?” You pat him on the chest before moving towards the table.

“Lucked out on wife too! Such wonderful hostess, you will build strong army of little soldiers soon, I am counting on it.” Alexei grinned. “I cannot wait to share wisdom words to you as a father who raised his little girls into becoming strong, cutthroat killers.”

“Appreciate it, man.” Bucky replies, trying not to sigh.

They all settled and ate the wonderful breakfast spread consisting not only of a hefty stack of pancakes but fresh berries, hash browns, bacon, and sunny side up eggs- of course with chocolate milk and orange juice to wash it all down.

“Sorry, we just ran out of coffee. I hope the chocolate milk will suffice for now.” You say, as you passed the plate of bacon to John who briefly muttered a ‘thank you’ to you.

“I haven't had chocolate milk in forever.” Says Yelena in assurance. “It's no issue.”

Maddie's jaw dropped in shock. “What??? But how???”

Yelena shrugged, leaning back against her chair almost cooly. “There was a really bad man that didn't let me drink chocolate milk for a long time.”

Maddie seemed outraged, like the foulest of offenses against humanity have been committed- and it might as well have. “You can come here and drink as much chocolate milk as you want, I wouldn't mind! My Mommy wouldn't mind either! Right Mommy?”

You nodded in agreement, chuckling. “Yup, Auntie Yelena can come over and drink as much chocolate milk as she wants.”

“Oh! Also Auntie Ava.” Maddie added with a toothy grin, making the woman sitting across from her smile gratefully. “And then we'll play princess mermaids in my room and I'll teach them how to curtsy and wave while riding the carriage like a real princess.”

“What about the boys, can they play too?” Ava wondered with a smirk, as she glanced over to look at Alexei, Bob, and John who sat at the other edge of the table. Yelena lets out a laugh.

“Only if they want to be pulling our carriage.” Maddie mutters before taking a sip of chocolate milk from her my little pony cup, making the rest of you erupt with laughter.

Yelena snorts. “Hear that Walker? She's making you be the horse.”

“What if I wanna be the footman?” John says. “Can't I be a footman? ”

“Hey man, if she lets you play it's best not to ask any questions.” Says Bucky before taking a sip of water. “Trust me.”

“If you want, you can be one of the princess's pet chickens! They ride inside the carriage!”

Right on cue, Bob chokes on his juice and cleverly plays it off as an accident.

“So uhh, Y/N.” John began, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of the conversation. “How'd you and Bucky meet?”

Your eyes move across the dining table, meeting Bucky's eyes as he looks at you knowingly. “Funny story actually uhh, I was sent on a mission to track down one of HYDRA's elitist assets after the fall of SHIELD. I followed him all the way to Romania, then Vienna, stalked him. Then the whole bombing at the United Nations happened just as they were about to sign the Sokovia Accords. Went back to my superiors empty handed because of his involvement with the Avengers.” You tell them. “Second time around, I tracked him all the way into Wakanda, nearly lost an arm because of it. He fought me off exceptionally well for a man with just one arm, and then when it came to it I just couldn't kill him.”

“Then they fell in love and got married.” Maddie finished before taking a bite of her pancakes. “Then came me, the end! ”

“So, who did you work for?” Yelena wonders, raising a quizzical brow.

Your tongue kissed your teeth before ushering Maddie to finish her glass of water and turn on the TV to watch her cartoons. To which she happily agreed. When she was preoccupied only then did you continue.

“I was one of the defected Widows they threw out after they realized we were no good at our job. They saw us as liabilities in the field. We never completed our training hence…” You tell her looking over at your daughter, giggling at the TV. You cleared your throat and continued. “Dreykov wanted us gone but I guess the world hasn't had enough of me yet so I crawled my way out, got back on my own two feet. Ended up on the streets of Madripoor, living off of people's wallets. I started working as a shadow operative for one of the most elusive crime bosses in Southeast Asia, but I wanted an out- a clean slate so I agreed to help Bucky and Sam out when they were taking down the Flag Smashers, covertly.” She finishes, eyes landing on John who stared at her like she'd grown another arm from her head.

“Dreykov orders firing squads, they dispose of the bodies in the incinerator.” Yelena told you, clearly puzzled. “How did you-”

“Just not mine.” You reply, a faint smirk ghosting on your lips. “I guess Dreykov isn't so good at cleaning his tracks afterall.”

After clearing all the plates and Ava offering to help with the dishes, you, Bucky, Alexei, and John went outside as they needed a change of bandages. You weren't about to scar your child. So you left her in the living room with the rest of the team, telling her to be on her best behavior.

“Jesus, they look so bright now.” Yelena says all of a sudden as she frowned at the television. Maddie sat in the middle of the living room with her dollhouse as she played with the fuzzy animals, writing a story as she went along.

“What?” Bob says from beside Maddie, holding a small husky in a sweater vest and slacks.

“The ponies.” She says, pointing her chin towards the television. “They used to be… easier on the eyes.”

“You used to watch My Little Pony?” Bob chuckles.

“Yeah, back in Ohio. My favorite was Twilight, I'd always force my sister to watch it with me but she never wanted to.” She smiled, remembering the times during her childhood where the days seemed brighter, warmer.

Maddie stopped playing to turn around to look at Yelena. “She's my favorite too!”

Yelena grinned. “Really?”

“She's my favoritest favorite out of all the Mane 6, my pajamas have Twilight all over them!” She points out, pointing at her sleeve where an outline of Twilight in a darker purple could be seen. She only now notices how Maddie's pajamas were full of Twilight's face alongside her cutie mark. “Do you have any other favorites, Auntie Lena?”

She then proceeds to think. “Hmm, Rainbow Dash is a close second.”

Her eyes glimmered with interest as she takes into account Yelena's answer. “Fluttershy is my favoritest favorite number 2.” She says, turning back to her toys. “Uncle Bob is a lot like Fluttershy, cuz they’re both very quiet but really nice.”

“You think so?” Bob wonders earnestly as he watches the little girl arrange a rabbit family inside the doll houses' living room to make it seem like they were watching TV just like the three of them were.

She looks up at him. “Uh-huh!” Maddie replied. “And so is, Auntie Lena, and Auntie Ava, and Alexei… and only the tiniest bit Uncle John cuz Daddy said that before when I was a baby he was pretending to be his best friend Uncle Steve and hit him and Uncle Sam a lot. But now he's not a sock sucker anymore? I don't know, that's what Daddy said. Then Mommy got mad.”

Yelena sits up from her once laxed position on the sofa. “You really think that?”

“Uh-huh.” She explains, fixing her hair out of her face. “I know it, cuz you guys are playing with me. So you guys are nice people.”

Yelena meets Bob's eyes amidst the momentary pause in conversation. The lives they’ve led were not anything to be proud of, not in the slightest. They were in this constant cycle of shame and regret that they’ve allowed it to nestle deep inside themselves and eat them from the inside out. Yet this child thinks they were nice people regardless. It didn’t matter if she didn’t know what they’ve done, it mattered that someone said it, that someone sees past their faults.

“Uncle Bob! the Dad needs to be in the garage, not the bathroom! He just got home from the office!” Maddie interrupted, bringing them back to the moment.

“Oh sorry, right.” says Bob, bringing the husky out of the house and have him enter through the back door. Bob clears his throat. “Honey! i’m h-“

“-Not like that!” Maddie whines, laughing. “Why is your voice so weird?”

“I had creative freedom and I took it,” Bob defended. “Okay, i’ll start over.”

“Can I join?” Yelena asks all of a sudden, intrigued.

“Okay! You can be the girl husky. She owns this hamburger stand and sells hamburgers and fries and also soda.” Maddie blurted out excitedly, pulling the little hamburger stand closer to the house as Yelena moved to sit on the floor beside Maddie. She lets out a sound of approval.

Maddie settles back into position. “Okay, Uncle Bob, we can start now!”

“Honey, i’m h-“

“Nooo, Uncle Bob his wife isn’t at home! She's working at the burger stand!” Maddie frowned, pointing at the burger stand where the other Husky stood behind the cashier. Perfectly orchestrated, Yelena wheezed out a laugh.

“But I thought his wife was the Rabbit…” Bob trailed off, looking up at Yelena for help who only snickered at his misfortune.

“Let’s just do it again.” Maddie sighed quietly, crawling towards her school bag before pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Okay, I'll read from this, you two can just act it out.”

“She’s got a script, this whole time...”

“Yeah, this is definitely Bucky’s kid.”

Later in the day, after they’ve had lunch and Maddie woke up from her nap- they all decided to get some fresh air in the backyard. Maddie suggested they play freeze tag, Ava was currently it and had been chasing Bob around the expanse of the backyard like a bloodthirsty maniac, but then she spots Alexei crouching behind the garden shed. When he realizes what was happening he makes a break for it- he grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at Ava's face in hopes to distract her as he turns around the garden shed and runs away, laughing.

But then he doesn't expect Maddie to be on the other side and tags him, he was now frozen until somebody else manages to unfreeze him. John had been standing in the middle of it all as he had been frozen for a good 15 minutes now, but raised his arm to scratch his nose.

“WALKER, YOU'RE FROZEN FOR CHRIST SAKE.” Ava yells. “Act like it!”

“UNCLE JOHN IS CHEATING!” Maddie cries out, pointing at him like he's been accused of witchcraft.

John screws his face tight. “Can you people relax? It's just a game.”

“Surprise, surprise he's talking out of his ass again.” Yelena grumbled, making Maddie burst out into a fit of giggles.

“I heard that!” Bucky warns from his seat beside you as you chuckled.

“We've said worse things, in front of her accidentally. You don't have to worry.” You tell him, shooting him an earnest look. “Not when I threatened her that if she said another bad word an evil witch would come flying through her bedroom window and break all her toys.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “That's why she told me to check if the windows were shut tight the last time I visited."

You laughed through your nose. “Worked like a charm.”

Bucky and You continued to watch the rest of your teammates and your daughter run around the backyard of your home, carefree laughter filling the salty air. You glance back at Bucky watching the scene with a faint smile ghosting at his lips, you notice the threads of silver weaved through his hair, you notice how the lines beside his eyes are deeper, how he slumped against the backrest of the garden chair- so relaxed, at peace. Then he notices you looking at him and looks at you, his smile grows larger. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Nothing, just… thinking about how you gave me this.” You say alluding to everything your heart held dear. “This life, our daughter.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, that's where you're wrong. You gave me all this, all this and everything I could have ever possibly dreamed of.” He tells you, eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly as his eyes study every point of your face like he hasn't done it a million times before.

“I've never prayed much in my life before but sometimes I think God is merciful because He gave me you.”

You don't speak, you let him continue. Quite frankly, you're stunned.

Bucky wasn't done, not even a little bit. “I'm not proud of my past, what I've done, who I was. But you, Maddie, you two made me realise that maybe I'm not a monster, that maybe I was worth saving, that I deserved another chance. I'm the luckiest man on this entire planet because of it.” He says. “You saw me, the real me. Some days I forget that I lived most of my life ashamed of myself, you did that.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes all of a sudden. “Someone had to show you that the people who believe they aren't worth saving are the ones that need saving the most. I'm just glad you let me, with your stubbornness and all.”

Bucky laughs, looking away. He wipes a tear collecting from the side of his eyes and looks back at you. “I wouldn't be who I am today without you.”

“So would I.” You returned, looking at his dog tags and the wedding band strung through the chain as it rested atop his chest. “We saved each other. When I was a Widow I thought that that was all I was ever going to be, fight, do some sadist's dirty work, die in an alley in some foreign country with no one to mourn me.” You say as Bucky listened to you with utmost intent.

“I thought that if those were the cards I was dealt with, then fine. But then when I found a way out I realized my story didn't end with the Red Room, I fought, I spied, I went on missions and then the one asset I couldn't kill slips outta my fingers like sand.” You say, accentuating your statement with a little chuckle. Bucky himself laughs, almost like he was proud of himself.

“You showed me there was more to life than what I thought there was. I never knew I was gonna get married, be someone's mother.” You continued. “We could've never had this if we hadn't saved each other.”

“You're right.” Bucky says, sincere. “I thought I was gonna be born and buried in Brooklyn, but I could have never guessed this was how I was gonna end up.”

“What, a DILF?” You deadpan, raising an eyebrow at him.

Bucky's smile drops too fast; it makes you let out a raucous laugh. “Again with that word. You gotta know I still don't know what that means nor do I ever want to know.”

“Dad I'd like to fuck?” You say, grinning at him.

“I mean sure, there's plenty of time for that later on.” Bucky shrugs, shooting you a sly look. You roll your eyes. “Right time, right place, doll.”

“Huh,” you enunciate looking at the sky, lost in thought. “Where'd I last hear you say that? Oh yeah, two months before our wedding and then we ended up in the moving truck while we were moving the stupid bed-”

“-Was it?” Bucky asks you, frowning. “Seemed like it was yesterday, we were sleeping on the floor of the house taking turns rocking Maddie's cradle because she wouldn't settle.”

You poke his side. “That was seven months after we got married.”

Bucky shoots you a cheeky grin, flinching at the sudden action as he laughs. “Time flies by so fast.”

“It's been three years,” You sighed. “Jesus, she's growing up too fast.” You turned to look at Maddie on Alexei's shoulders as they were being chased by Ava, Yelena and John were seated on the swings engaging in a conversation that miraculously didn't have them wringing each other’s necks, and Bob was sitting on the grass watching the scene as you and Bucky were.

“I'm gonna enjoy every moment I can carry her around without her telling me she's embarrassed while I can.” Bucky tells you. “The day I hear those words I won't know what to do with myself.”

“Eventually the tea parties, the bedtime stories, and her choosing to sleep in our bed even if she's got her own are gonna end and I'm not ready for that.”

“I don't think we ever will.” Bucky concluded, turning to look at you once more. “The same way she won't be ready to hear about what we had to do in the past to survive.”

“she'll understand.” You say, tone full of hope. “we earned this.”

Bucky gazes into your eyes, letting out a thoughtful hum. “Did I tell you how much I love you? Because frankly I don't think I do it enough. I love you, I love you with everything I am and with everything I can offer. Thank you for knowing me inside and out and still finding someone worth loving.”

You laughed, bright with melancholy as you sniffed, tears overcoming you once again. “I love you more, not just because you're my husband, not just because you're Maddie's father, but because you showed me that loving someone wasn't a sign of weakness- that I didn't need to bleed myself dry to get somebody to see me and love me… all of me.”

“I'd do it again,” says Bucky tenderly, reaching out to dry your cheek. “As much as I need to.”

“So would I,” You added. “As long as you'd let me.”

“Forever, then.” Bucky decided.

“Forever.” You finished.

That night after a long and wonderful dinner full of laughter and stories that made some hold onto the edge of their seats and the rest gasp in thrill, it was time for bed. With the rest of the boys deciding over who got to sleep on the couch and who would sleep on the floor with a game of paper football, the girls got the privilege of sleeping in Maddie's room. And like the courteous host she was, she introduced them to all 25 of her stuffed animals currently occupying her room.

Eventually she gave up after the number 12 and was whisked away by Bucky into your bedroom for the night. Not after she decided to bid everyone by name a good night, that was when she closed her blue eyes shut and was fast asleep. That night you watched Bucky and Maddie sleep peacefully under the glow of her favorite night light. How she was enveloped by Bucky's arms like she always wanted- her small hand wrapped around Bucky's metal one, how she starts to look like an exact replica of him as the days go by and that was fine with you, for the most part.

Tonight there was no fighting, noise, or danger. No, there was just you, your daughter, your husband, and his rag-tag team of antiheroes turned heroes sleeping soundly around your house.

You let your eyes close all on their own, knowing that this wasn't a dream and that when you wake up in the morning they will still be there.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

dts: @dylsvqid @94namkooksworld @worldofsaturnsblog @wildflowersandvibranium @tmblrgirls777

[em1i2a3]

can you do bob x reader where he sees us interacting with a child and it makes him want to be a father so bad?

It’s You I’m Thinking Of

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/ The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement and because some events are mentioned in passing. Fluff, a hint of Angst and an Established Relationship is at the forefront here.

Author's Note: Surprise, it’s double update day…Because I had this in my drafts and forgot to post it…YIKES. I found this to be so fluffy and cute to write! Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this a lot!

Word Count: 3,805

Valentina had called it a “Visibility Effort,” which–as far as Bob was concerned–was just a polished way of saying: “I need people to stop thinking you guys are monsters, so go smile for the cameras and pretend you guys didn’t almost destroy New York City a year ago.”

The Thunderbolts had only just begun to scrape their way back into the public’s good graces after the Void. If grace could even be applied to a team that, not long ago, had been seen as volatile assets in containment rather than heroes in recovery. But Valentina didn’t care about semantics–she cared about optics. And what better way to scrub down their image than to host a carefully staged, feel-good community day in a public park–complete with banners, press kits, and security briefings disguised as media rundowns.

The day before, you and the rest of the team had been sweating under the sun, assembling the layout from the ground up. Tent poles groaned in the wind, tarps snapped against knuckles, and the oversized bouncy castle–more akin to a pop-up cathedral–took three hours to stabilize. It loomed over the field like a surreal monument to liability.

By sundown, the park had been transformed.

Face-painting booths stretched along the paved path like an art market in miniature, each tent hung with paper lanterns and garlands of plastic ivy. A ring toss area had been set up beside a small prize table, its wares still barcoded and smelling faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. Further down, a row of food trucks idled along the lot’s edge, the air thick with fried batter and roasted peanuts, preparing for the next day. A banner, bold and hopeful, rippled above the main walkway: THUNDERBOLTS COMMUNITY GIVEBACK DAY!

The park was bustling before noon the next day.

Children darted between booths with faces half-painted and shoes untied. Parents loitered on benches, plastic cups of lemonade in hand, cautiously optimistic about letting their kids near a group of enhanced individuals who, six months ago, were being referred to as national liabilities. Still, smiles came easier than expected. The air smelled like kettle corn, sun-warmed vinyl, and freshly cut grass.

Valentina had positioned her pawns with precision, each member of the team slotted into a role meant to soften their image–familiar, friendly, safe.

Yelena was stationed at the face-painting table. She didn’t argue when she was assigned to it, though she rolled her eyes hard enough that everyone could basically hear it. Now, seated with a paintbrush balanced between her fingers, she looked…Focused. Delicate even. She painted dragons, daisies, and one incredibly accurate depiction of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier face paint layout. She didn’t say much unless spoken to, but the kids flocked to her. Her bluntness came off as hilarious to them. Her gentleness? Earned in silence.

Walker manned the obstacle course–one of the only areas Valentina trusted him not to overcomplicate. With his sleeves rolled up and clipboard tucked under his arm, he barked out encouragements that sounded suspiciously like bootcamp commands. But he was patient. He let kids redo the course as many times as they wanted. And when one boy tripped near the finish line, Walker helped him up without hesitation and whispered something that made the kid’s chest puff with pride.

Ava floated between stations like an unofficial supervisor. She had no designated role, but her presence was felt and it was heavy. She hovered near the cotton candy vendor long enough to be offered a free sample, then spent ten minutes helping a little girl reattach the wheel to her toy stroller. Ava didn’t smile often, but she kept her sunglasses off today. It mattered more than anyone would admit.

Alexei had placed himself right in the center of the park’s open lawn, surrounded by children wielding foam swords. He was absolutely in his element. Towering, loud, enthusiastic. He let them “ambush” him over and over again, dramatically collapsing onto the grass as they tackled him, crying out in mock defeat with every fall. When one kid asked if he was Santa, Alexei laughed so hard he nearly swallowed a whistle. He’d fashioned a red Thunderbolts cap to resemble something almost festive. No one stopped him.

Bucky was at the photo booth. Not because Valentina assigned it to him–but because he asked. Quietly. Just once. And when she raised a brow, he explained:

“Kids like the arm. Makes them feel like they’re meeting a real superhero.”

No one argued with that.

He stood beside the printed backdrop of a Thunderbolts mural, his vibranium arm resting lightly at his side. At first, only a few families came by. Then word got around. By midday, there was a line curling around the booth. Bucky posed with toddlers who clung to his leg, tweens who wanted to see if he could lift them with his arm alone, and teens who just wanted proof they’d stood next to him. He let them. All of them.

And you–you’d been running the craft tent since the gates opened. Low folding tables filled with paper crowns, pipe cleaners, sticker sheets, and markers with their caps long lost to time. You moved between projects with practiced ease, coaxing confidence out of even the shyest children. One girl in a purple tutu had stuck to your side all morning, proudly referring to you as “Miss Thunderbolt” like it was an official title.

Bob on the other hand…Wasn’t assigned a booth.

Valentina had called it a “strategic decision”–which meant don’t scare the kids. She hadn’t said it outright, of course, but Bob understood the subtext. The others had made peace with their reputations, learned how to bend their edges into something palatable. Bob’s problem wasn’t sharpness. It was scale. People didn’t look at him and see a man. They saw The Void. A storm in a body. The thing that turned Manhattan’s sky black almost a year ago. Or they saw him as Golden Boy Sentry, which he rarely presented himself as now because all of that was dormant since the incident, so he was just Bob, and unfortunately nobody was really interested in just Bob.

Except you of course.

You had grown extremely close to him throughout the time he was recovering from the incident. You would stay back from missions just to keep him company, and within those small moments, the two of you grew a bond and became inseparable.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no big declaration, no kiss in the rain, no sweeping hand grab before battle. It was subtle–gentle, even. A shared quiet. The way you waited for him to speak on his own terms. The way you handed him warm drinks without comment and sat beside him on the floor of his room during the worst days, and just held him or smoothed his hair down. The way you always reached for his hand under the table when Valentina debriefed the team about “public image,” like you were grounding yourself in him, not the other way around.

It started with one date. A walk. A drink from the local coffee shop that you used two straws for. A movie you barely paid attention to because Bob had cried halfway through and apologized for it, and you’d told him, “I’d rather watch you feel something than watch the movie anyway.”

Now it had been nearly a year.

A quiet year. A healing one. A year where Bob–somehow–had begun to believe that maybe he wasn’t made just for disaster. Maybe he was allowed to want softness. Warmth. You.

So he stayed near you now, just like he always did. Even in the middle of this pastel-bright circus of a public relations stunt, even with the buzzing press cameras and the thunder of kids’ shoes over packed grass–he stood a few feet behind your tent. Watching quietly like he always did.

You didn’t need him to be part of the event. You didn’t ask him to engage. You just wanted him to be close and hover around you. And every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder and give him a little smile–soft, unhurried, like a tether that reminded him that he was still on your mind.

That’s what he was doing when it happened.

You were helping a child–maybe four, maybe five–cut out the outline of a star from glitter paper. She was sitting in your lap, legs swinging off the edge of the bench, her small fingers clumsy around the safety scissors. You guided her hands with your own, gentle and patient, your chin tucked down as you murmured something too soft for him to hear. The girl giggled. You smiled. And Bob felt something in his chest fracture.

It bloomed sharp and sudden, like a crack in glass that spiderwebbed behind his ribs before he could stop it. A low, aching pressure that pulsed under his skin and settled into his throat. He couldn’t look away from you. From the way the little girl leaned back against your chest, utterly content, while you helped her snip the edges of her glittery star. Your voice was low, your hand steady on hers, and when she got frustrated, you smiled and told her it was perfect just the way it was.

And the little girl–she believed you.

Bob watched her beam like she’d just won a medal, then twist to throw her arms around your neck. You hugged her back instinctively, without missing a beat, without needing to think about it.

And just like that, Bob saw it.

Not as a fantasy. Not as a warm, fuzzy, distant dream.

He saw you. Sitting in a living room. Soft lamplight across your shoulders. A child curled into your lap with a crayon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other. Your hair a mess from the day, a blanket half-draped over both of you. And him in the doorway. Holding a book in his hand that he’d forgotten to read, too caught up in the simple, breathtaking fact that this was his life. That somehow, impossibly, he’d made it here.

His throat tightened.

The thought came quietly, like breath fogging glass:

He wanted this.

He wanted you. A child. A family. Not someday, not maybe. Just–yes. He wanted tiny shoes in the hallway. A swing set in a yard. A sleepy voice calling him Dad. He wanted your laughter in a kitchen filled with baby wipes and half-assembled toys. He wanted something that was his and yours and no one else’s.

But right on the heels of that beautiful, terrifying longing came something cold and heavy.

Fear.

He swallowed, hard.

His father’s voice echoed somewhere in the dark part of his memory–low, sharp, filled with the kind of disgust that was harder to forget than fists. He could still hear the way the floor creaked before a bad night. The sting of being told he was nothing. How love only showed up with bruises attached.

Bob’s stomach twisted.

What if I turn into him? He thought.

He didn’t think he would. He knew–rationally–that he wasn’t the same. He didn’t drink. He didn’t shout. He couldn’t even raise his voice without wincing at the echo. He loved gently. He loved softly. But fear didn’t care about facts. It sunk into his lungs anyway.

What if something in him broke? What if the Void came back and he couldn’t stop it? What if one day he opened his eyes and the sky was black again, and the only thing he’d ever loved was looking up at him, afraid?

He could never live with that.

Never.

And yet–

You turned slightly, and caught Bob’s eyes across the grass. You smiled at him–something so simple, so safe–and in that moment, the fear didn’t disappear, but it softened.

Because you weren’t afraid of him.

You’d never been.

Even on the days he didn’t like himself, you liked him. Even when he flinched at his own reflection, you reached for his hand and rested your chin on his shoulder. You didn’t see The Void. You didn’t see the Sentry. You just saw Bob–the man who carried your snacks in his hoodie pocket just in case you got hungry when you went out, who still got bashful when you looked at him for too long, who curled into you at night like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.

Bob’s hand gripped the edge of the canopy pole beside him, just to ground himself.

He wanted to go to you right then and there just to say it. To whisper something clumsy like, “I want to build a life with you. A whole one. With glue-stained paper crowns and messy bedrooms and bedtime songs.”

But he stayed still.

Too scared to break the moment.

Too scared it might not be his to want.

—————————

Later, when the event was winding down, and the sky had shifted to gold and mauve and soft watercolor blues, Bob found you sitting on the grass alone near the now-abandoned craft table, peeling dried glue off your fingers and watching a few leftover kids chase bubbles across the park. He moved towards you slowly, and his looming presence immediately got your attention.

You stopped picking at the glue on your fingers and looked up at him instantly.

”Well, hey stranger.” Bob gave a quiet huff of a laugh at the greeting and smiled down at you, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “You gonna sit down or are you going to just stand there and stare?” You joked, patting the patch of open grass beside you. He hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside you, knees folding awkwardly in the grass. You watched him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek–light, and lingering, your lips warm against the wind-chilled skin just below his eye.

“I haven’t been able to do that all day,” You said softly, almost teasing, but the affection behind it was unmistakable.

Before Bob could even respond, you leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of his jaw, then to his temple, and then one right between his brows where they had scrunched up, each kiss softer and slower than the last.

By the time you pulled back, Bob’s cheeks were as red as a rose, and they had become warm, and his smile had curled wide and helpless across his face, because to him your affections were always welcome.

”Y-You’re gonna make me explode,” He mumbled, voice thick with love as he turned to hide his burning face against the shoulder of his hoodie, “This is h-how I die.” He stumbled, looking over at you with those big blue eyes you couldn’t help but stare into every night.

“Death by affection sounds like a dream to me.” You laughed, slipping your hand up to cup his cheek, to turn his face towards yours so he was looking at you directly.

“Y-You know I’m a fragile m-man.” You snorted at his comment.

”I know Sentry is dormant but you’re technically the strongest person on Earth.” You said, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t think you’re fragile.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh, his pupils blown out from how close you were.

”Y-Yeah, well…D-Don’t flatter me too much…You’ll make me f-fall in love with you or s-something.” You raised your brows at him, seeing his cheeks go an even deeper red, “I-I mean–more. Like…More in love with you.” You smiled, so warmly it made his breath catch in his throat, you could hear it.

”Almost a year in,” You whispered, brushing your nose gently against his, “And you still get all flustered with me…I love it.”

And you kissed him–gently, fully, your mouth warm and sure on his. Bob melted. His whole body slackened like your kiss had pulled all the tension right out of him. He groaned quietly and let himself fall back into the grass with a helpless thump, hoodie riding up slightly at the hem, his eyes fluttering closed like he was physically overwhelmed. You laughed lightly and laid down beside him, turning your head so you were looking at him and all his glory, feeling his hand find yours, lacing his fingers between yours instantly.

The sky above you was dimming into deeper blues now, streaked with soft brushstrokes of pink and violet. The hum of the event had finally died out completely. You could still hear the occasional giggle of a child somewhere off in the distance, but for the most part, it felt like you two were the last ones left in the park. Like the whole day had been waiting to exhale.

Bob stared up at the clouds for a moment, before letting out a small sigh.

”C-Can I ask you something…Kind of b-big?” Your eyes studied him for a moment, tracing the way his brows furrowed gently, like he was already halfway to apologizing for whatever he was about to say. Like he was bracing himself to ruin something just by saying it.

“Of course,” You replied, your voice just above a whisper, slowly growing more and more concerned with each moment that passed in silence.

Bob just kept looking up at the sky like the words were written somewhere in the clouds and he just had to find them. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your knuckles.

”Have you ever thought about…Us?” He swallowed, “I mean–not just us, b-but more like…A family.” You raised your eyebrows slowly, turning onto your side so you could face him fully, still holding his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I–I watched you today,” He whispered. “With that little girl in your lap. And it didn’t feel far away…It didn’t feel like someone else’s life. It felt like something I could…Want.”

Your heart gave a soft, aching pull at that.

“I want it,” He admitted, voice trembling. “I want it so bad it scares me. You, a kid–us. A home. Not perfect. Not polished. Just ours. Something warm. Something safe.”

You reached up and gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, your fingertips trailing along his temple. He leaned into the touch like it soothed something he couldn’t name.

“I want that too,” You said. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But one day. When things are a little quieter, when the world doesn’t need us to carry it. I want that with you, Bob.” He nodded, like he was trying to let the hope settle in–but his eyes were still stormy at the edges.

“But what if…” He swallowed. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I…Mess it up l–like I always do? What if I hurt them? What if something in me snaps and I—”

“Hey,” You cut in gently, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, his blue eyes wide and full of unshed fear, tears filling up in the corners threatening to spill at any moment.

“You’re not like your father at all Bob, you’re not him.” You said, your voice steady and firm.

”Y-You don’t know that,” He whispered, his eyes glancing away at you, making you chase his gaze a bit so he could look at you.

”I do know that…Because I know you. Because I’ve watched you fall asleep holding my hand. Because you carry two different granola bar options in your hoodie pocket in case I want a choice. Because you always refill the toothpaste without me asking. Because when I’m upset, you don’t try to fix it–you just stay with me. Quietly. Constantly.” Bob blinked, his lip trembling ever so slightly.

“You don’t lash out, Bob. You lean in,” You said. “You don’t shut down. You open up, even when it scares you. You feel everything so deeply, and you never make anyone pay for it.” His brow furrowed and he looked down, overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight of that truth.

You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then whispered into the space between you:

“You already take care of me in a thousand tiny ways. You love gently. That’s why I trust you with my soul.”

He let out a shaky breath, and the hand that held yours tightened just a little more. He nodded faintly, like he was still catching up to the truth you’d handed him–like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he was holding it anyway.

You reached up, your thumb brushing delicately at the corners of his eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered without pressure or embarrassment. Just care.

“You cry so pretty, you know that?” You whispered, a little playful, attempting to lift the mood just a bit.

Bob let out a short, breathy laugh–surprised and soft. “Th-That’s not a real thing.”

“It is when you do it,” You smiled, leaning closer, your voice light but laced with everything you meant. “You’re beautiful when you feel things.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a future and told him it already belonged to him. Like no one had ever said that to him before–and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, lips pressed to his like you had time. Like you weren’t afraid to show him just how loved he was.

And when you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered:

“You’d be the safest place a little soul could ever grow.”

Bob let out another shaky breath, and this time he smiled–full, unguarded, like something inside him had just settled for the first time.

“Only if it’s with you,” He said quietly.

You nodded, your fingers lacing tighter with his.

“Then we’ll build it,” You whispered. “Slow and messy and ours.”

And beneath a darkening sky painted with stars and leftover laughter, you lay together in the grass, your future unfolding between your palms like something sacred.

Just warm.

Just real.

Just home.