#I'm using it for angst but that's besides the point

[the-oblivious-writer]

It's Only Love

Shauna Shipman x Female Reader

One-shot

summary: what starts as a routine calculus tutoring session in a quiet library becomes something deeper when shauna's academic frustrations give way to vulnerable conversations about trust, fear, and what it means to be worth staying for.

warnings: college/modern/no crash au, established relationship, fratboy shauna x tutor reader, academic stress/anxiety, brief reference to past breakup and self-harm (punching a wall), the label "girlfriend" being thrown around, mild intimacy, and themes of self-doubt and abandonment fears.

note(s): this one-shot is long overdue but better late than never ig. this was originally gonna be an angst/no happy ending but i figured i'd give you a break.

The library's third floor was practically deserted at seven PM on a Thursday, which made it perfect for your weekly tutoring sessions with Shauna. She'd claimed the corner table by the windows weeks ago, spreading her textbooks and notebooks across the surface like she was marking territory. You'd learned to arrive a few minutes early just to watch her ritual - the way she'd arrange her pens in a perfect line, check her phone twice, then immediately look annoyed at herself for the nervous habit.

Tonight was no different. You spotted her from across the room, dark hair falling like a curtain as she hunched over her calculus homework. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her free hand kept fidgeting with the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt - one she'd definitely stolen from some frat guy's closet, though she'd never admit it.

"Starting without me?" you asked, sliding into the chair beside her.

She glanced up, and you caught that micro-expression she always wore when she first saw you - relief mixed with something softer that she tried to hide behind a smirk. "Figured I should at least pretend to attempt these problems before you see how hopeless I am."

"You're not hopeless." You pulled your own notebook from your bag, deliberately brushing her arm as you reached across the table. "You just think in different ways than the textbook expects."

"Right." She rolled her eyes, but shifted slightly closer to you, her knee bumping against yours under the table. "That's a very diplomatic way of saying I'm bad at math."

The thing about Shauna was that she wore her intelligence like armor - quick wit and cutting observations designed to deflect before anyone could find the soft spots underneath. But you'd been doing this long enough to recognize the pattern. The jokes always came right before she had to admit she didn't understand something.

"Show me what you've got so far," you said, leaning in to look at her work.

Her handwriting was surprisingly neat for someone who claimed to hate the subject, though you could see where she'd erased and rewritten the same equation multiple times. The frustration was evident in the slightly harder pressure of her pencil, the way certain numbers were traced over until they were bold against the page.

"This is where I got stuck." She pointed to a derivative problem, her finger hovering just above the paper. "I know I'm supposed to use the chain rule, but every time I try to work through it, I end up with something completely different than what's in the back of the book."

You studied the problem, acutely aware of how close she was sitting. Close enough that you could smell her shampoo - something floral that didn't quite match her deliberately careless image. Close enough to notice the small scar on her knuckle that she'd gotten from punching a wall freshman year after a particularly brutal breakup.

"Okay, so you've got the right idea with the chain rule," you said, reaching for your own pencil. "But you're overcomplicating this step here. Can I?"

She nodded, and you started writing out the solution step by step, talking through each part of the process. This was the part of tutoring you actually enjoyed - not just the math itself, but the way Shauna's face changed when something clicked. How her eyebrows would relax and her mouth would form a small 'oh' of understanding.

"Wait, so you're telling me I just had to multiply by the derivative of the inside function?" She grabbed the pencil from your hand, her fingers brushing yours in the exchange. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"I've been staring at this for an hour." She shook her head, but she was smiling now - a real smile, not the carefully constructed ones she used in social situations. "God, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." You bumped her shoulder with yours. "You're just stubborn. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that your professional tutoring opinion?"

"That's my girlfriend opinion."

The word still felt new enough that saying it out loud gave you a small thrill. You'd been officially together for about six weeks now, though the flirting and tension had been building for months before that. It had started innocently enough - Shauna needed help with calculus, you needed the tutoring money, and the math department had paired you up. But somewhere between explaining derivatives and watching her celebration dance after acing her first exam, innocent had stopped being the right word for whatever was happening between you.

"Your girlfriend opinion, huh?" She set down her pencil and turned to face you fully, one leg tucking up under her in the chair. "And what does my girlfriend think about the fact that I've been procrastinating on the rest of this problem set all week?"

"I think," you said, matching her position so you were facing each other, "that you've been avoiding it because you're scared you won't understand it."

Her smile faltered slightly. "I'm not scared of math."

"No, but you're scared of not being good at something." You reached out to play with the drawstring of her hoodie, a gesture that had become automatic over the past few weeks. "Which is different."

Shauna was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes studying your face like she was trying to decide how much truth she wanted to acknowledge. This was familiar territory too - the way she would retreat just slightly when conversations got too close to real feelings.

"Maybe," she said finally. "But can we focus on derivatives before we psychoanalyze my academic anxiety?"

"Fair enough." You grinned and turned back to the textbook. "But I'm billing you extra for the therapy session."

"Add it to my tab."

The next hour passed easily, falling into the rhythm you'd established over months of these sessions. Shauna worked through problems while you provided guidance and encouragement, occasionally stealing her pen to demonstrate a concept or sketch out a graph. The library around you grew quieter as other students filtered out, leaving you in a bubble of soft lamplight and whispered explanations.

You'd always been good at math, but teaching it to Shauna had made you better. She asked questions that forced you to think about concepts from different angles, to find new ways to explain things that seemed obvious to you. And watching her face light up when she solved a particularly challenging problem was better than any grade you'd ever received.

"Okay, last one," she said, pointing to the final problem on the page. "And then I'm buying you dinner as payment for not letting me drop this class."

"You were never going to drop the class."

"I thought about it. Extensively." She started working through the problem, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. "Remember that night I called you at midnight crying about my upcoming exam?"

"You weren't crying."

"I was very close to crying."

"You were frustrated. There's a difference."

She paused in her calculations to look at you. "Do you always have to be so rational about everything?"

"Someone has to be, when you're being dramatic."

"I am not dramatic." But she was fighting a smile as she said it.

"Shauna, you once told me that calculus was a personal attack on your soul."

"And I stand by that statement."

You laughed, and the sound echoed softly in the empty corner of the library. This was what you'd grown to love most about your relationship with Shauna - the way she could make you laugh even when she was complaining, the way her dramatics were always laced with self-awareness.

"There," she said, setting down her pencil with a flourish. "Done. And I'm pretty sure I actually understood that one."

You leaned over to check her work, nodding approvingly. "Perfect. See? You're not hopeless."

"Don't get carried away." But she was smiling as she started packing up her books. "I still have to survive the midterm next week."

"You'll be fine. We'll do a review session this weekend."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The library was almost empty now, just a few dedicated students scattered across the main floor below. You helped Shauna gather her things, a process that always took longer than it should because she had a habit of spreading her belongings across every available surface.

"God, I'm starving," she said, shouldering her backpack. "Please tell me you don't have plans tonight."

"Just dinner with my girlfriend, apparently."

"Good answer."

You walked out of the library together, Shauna's hand finding yours as soon as you were through the doors. The October air was crisp, carrying the smell of fallen leaves and the promise of winter. Campus was quieter than usual for a Thursday night, most of the party crowd having migrated to the bars downtown.

"So where are we going?" you asked as you headed toward the dining hall.

"Wherever's still open. I'm not picky when I'm this hungry."

"Since when are you not picky about food?"

"Since I spent three hours staring at math problems and forgot to eat lunch."

You stopped walking, tugging on her hand to make her turn around. "Shauna. You forgot to eat lunch?"

"Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"That concerned girlfriend look. I'm fine."

But you were already digging through your backpack, pulling out a granola bar you'd thrown in that morning. "Here. Eat this before you pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out."

"Eat it anyway."

She took the granola bar with an exaggerated sigh, but you caught the way her expression softened. This was still new territory for both of you - the casual care, the way you'd started looking out for each other without really discussing it.

"Thank you," she said, quieter now.

"You're welcome."

The dining hall was mostly empty, just a few other late diners scattered around the cavernous space. You found a table by the windows, and Shauna immediately claimed the seat facing the door - a habit you'd noticed but never commented on. She always needed to see who was coming and going, always needed an escape route planned even in the most innocuous situations.

"So," she said, digging into her pasta with the intensity of someone who had actually forgotten to eat lunch, "tell me about your day. And don't say it was fine."

"It was fine."

"I'm serious. I spent the whole afternoon complaining about math. Your turn to talk."

This was another thing you were still getting used to - the way Shauna actually listened when you talked, the way she remembered small details from conversations you'd had weeks ago. It was such a contrast to the image she projected in public, where she was all sharp edges and carefully constructed indifference.

"I had that meeting with my advisor this morning," you said. "About graduate school applications."

"Right. How did that go?"

"Good, I think. She thinks I have a strong chance at getting into the programs I'm applying to."

"Of course you do." Shauna looked up from her food, fork paused halfway to her mouth. "You're brilliant."

"I'm not brilliant."

"You are. And stop arguing with me when I compliment you."

"I'm not arguing, I'm just—"

"Being modest. Which is sweet, but also annoying." She reached across the table to steal a piece of bread from your plate. "I'm dating a genius and I want everyone to know it."

"You're not dating a genius."

"Fine. I'm dating someone who's really good at math and explains things in ways that don't make me want to throw textbooks across the room. Better?"

"Better."

You ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that had taken months to achieve. Early in your relationship, you had felt the need to fill every pause with conversation, as if silence meant something was wrong. But gradually, you'd both learned to appreciate these moments of peace.

"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually.

"Of course."

"Do you ever think about what happens after graduation?"

The question caught you off guard, partly because it was serious in a way that Shauna usually avoided, and partly because you'd been thinking about it more and more recently yourself.

"Sometimes," you said carefully. "Why?"

She shrugged, suddenly very interested in winding pasta around her fork. "I don't know. I guess I just wonder if we'll still... if this will still work when we're not seeing each other for tutoring sessions twice a week."

"Shauna." You waited until she looked up at you. "We're not together because of tutoring sessions."

"I know that. I just meant..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, talk to me. What did you mean?"

She was quiet for a long moment, and you could practically see her internal debate playing out across her face. Shauna had always been better at deflecting serious conversations than having them, but you'd learned to wait her out.

"I guess I'm just scared that when we don't have this built-in reason to spend time together, you'll realize that I'm not actually that interesting," she said finally.

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes." You reached across the table to take her hand. "Shauna, I didn't start dating you because you needed help with calculus."

"Then why did you start dating me?"

The honest answer was complicated - because she made you laugh, because she was smarter than she gave herself credit for, because underneath all her carefully constructed defenses was someone genuinely kind. Because she asked thoughtful questions and remembered your coffee order and had strong opinions about movies you'd never heard of.

"Because you're you," you said instead. "All of you. Not just the parts you think are worth liking."

She looked down at your joined hands, her thumb tracing across your knuckles. "That's very romantic, but it doesn't really answer my question."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something that will make me stop worrying that you're going to get tired of me."

The vulnerability in her voice made your chest ache. This was the thing about Shauna that most people never got to see - how deeply she worried about being left behind, how much energy she spent trying to be interesting enough, entertaining enough, worth keeping around.

"I'm not going to get tired of you," you said. "And graduation is still eight months away. Can we worry about it then?"

"You want to put off discussing our future until the last minute?"

"I want to focus on right now. On this." You squeezed her hand. "On the fact that my girlfriend just survived another calculus assignment and we're having dinner together and tomorrow we get to do it all over again."

She smiled at that, the kind of smile that started small and gradually took over her entire face. "When did you become such an optimist?"

"When I started dating someone who expects the worst-case scenario in every situation."

"I do not expect the worst-case scenario."

"Shauna, you once told me you were surprised I showed up to our second tutoring session because you figured I'd realize you were hopeless and quit."

"That was a reasonable assumption."

"It really wasn't."

The dining hall was starting to close around you, workers beginning to clear tables and sweep floors. You finished your meals and gathered your things, the conversation settling back into easier territory as you argued about which movie to watch when you got back to Shauna's dorm.

The walk across campus was peaceful, your joined hands swinging between you as you debated the merits of romantic comedies versus horror movies. It was an old argument, one you'd been having since your third or fourth tutoring session, but you both enjoyed it too much to actually resolve it.

"I still don't understand how you can watch people getting brutally murdered and call it relaxing," you said as you climbed the stairs to her floor.

"And I don't understand how you can watch the same formulaic love story over and over again and not get bored."

"They're not formulaic. They're... structured."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not."

Shauna's room was exactly what you'd expected when you first saw it months ago - perfectly organized on her side, with books arranged by subject and clothes hung. Her roommate's side looked like a tornado had hit it, but Shauna had long since given up trying to impose order on that chaos.

"Horror movie," she said, flopping down on her bed and patting the space beside her. "My room, my rules."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair. Deal with it."

But she was already pulling up Netflix on her laptop, and you knew from experience that she'd end up letting you pick something halfway through when she got bored of whatever slasher film she'd chosen.

You settled beside her, automatically rearranging yourselves until she was tucked against your side with her head on your shoulder. This had become your default position for movie nights - close enough that you could feel her reactions to whatever you were watching, her grip on your arm tightening during scary parts or her quiet laughter when something genuinely amused her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, about twenty minutes into a movie about teenagers being stalked by a masked killer.

"For what?"

"For tonight. For not letting me give up on that homework. For dinner. For..." She gestured vaguely. "All of it."

"You don't have to thank me for spending time with you."

"I know. But I want to."

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the familiar smell of her shampoo. "You're welcome."

The movie played on, but you found yourself paying more attention to Shauna than to the screen. The way she curled closer to you during tense scenes, the soft commentary she provided when characters made obviously stupid decisions, the warmth of her body against yours.

This was what you'd tried to explain to her at dinner - it wasn't about tutoring sessions or built-in excuses to spend time together. It was about all these small moments, the quiet intimacy of just existing in the same space. The way she trusted you enough to fall asleep against your shoulder, the way you'd learned to read her moods in the set of her shoulders or the tone of her voice.

"Hey," she said softly, tilting her head to look up at you. "You're not watching."

"I'm watching you."

"That's very sweet, but also creepy."

"Sorry."

"I didn't say I minded."

The movie forgotten, you shifted to face her properly, taking in the soft light from her desk lamp casting shadows across her face. She looked younger like this, without the armor of careful indifference she wore in public.

"Can I ask you something now?" you said.

"Shoot."

"What made you decide to trust me? Really trust me, not just with math help."

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. "You want the honest answer?"

"Always."

"That night I called you. When I was frustrated and tired and probably a little drunk." She paused, meeting your eyes. "You could have just talked me through the problems and hung up. But you stayed on the phone with me for two hours, and we ended up talking about everything except calculus."

You remembered that night - Shauna calling at midnight, her voice thick with frustration and something else you hadn't been able to identify at the time. You'd talked about her family, her fears about graduation, the way she felt like she was constantly pretending to be someone she wasn't.

"You listened," she continued. "Really listened, not just waiting for your turn to talk. And you didn't try to fix everything or give me advice I didn't ask for. You just... let me be upset."

"Of course I did."

"Not everyone would have."

"Then you've been spending time with the wrong people."

She smiled at that, the kind of smile that was just for you - soft and unguarded and completely genuine. "Good thing I found the right person."

"Good thing."

The space between you had gotten smaller without you noticing, close enough that you could count her eyelashes.

"We should probably finish the movie," she said, but she made no move to turn back to the screen.

"Probably."

"I mean, I did make you sit through my choice. It's only fair."

"Very fair."

"And it's getting to the good part. The part where they reveal who the killer is."

"Can't miss that."

But instead of turning back to the laptop, she shifted closer, her hand coming up to rest against your cheek. "Or," she said, "we could find something else to do."

"I like that option better."

She kissed you then, soft and sweet and tasting like the chocolate you'd shared for dessert. This was still new enough that it made your heart race, the way she sighed against your mouth when you pulled her closer.

"Much better than the movie," she murmured against your lips.

"Definitely."

You lost track of time after that, trading lazy kisses and quiet conversation until Shauna's roommate texted that she'd be back late. The movie played forgotten in the background, the sound of fake screaming and dramatic music a strange soundtrack to the gentle intimacy of learning each other all over again.

"I should probably head back soon," you said eventually, though you made no move to leave the warm circle of her arms.

"You should."

"Early class tomorrow."

"Right."

"And you have that economics exam to study for."

"I do."

Neither of you moved. Shauna's head was tucked against your neck, her breathing soft and even, and you were perfectly content to stay exactly where you were.

"Five more minutes?" she said.

"Five more minutes."

But five turned into ten, and ten turned into twenty, and eventually you gave up pretending you were going anywhere. This was what your relationship had become - small compromises and gentle negotiations, the kind of easy intimacy that came from actually liking each other as much as you loved each other.

"Next week," Shauna said sleepily, "when we do the review session for my midterm?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we do it here instead of the library?"

"Any particular reason?"

"Better study environment. Fewer distractions."

You laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

"Then here it is."

She smiled against your neck, her arm tightening around your waist. "Good. Now stop talking and let me enjoy my five more minutes."

"It's been more than five minutes."

"Then let me enjoy my twenty more minutes."

"Deal."

Outside, the campus was settling into its late-night quiet, the sounds of distant parties and late-night conversations filtering through the window. But inside Shauna's room, wrapped up in each other and the soft glow of her desk lamp, the rest of the world felt very far away.

This was what you'd tried to tell her at dinner - it wasn't about tutoring sessions or academic schedules or any of the structured reasons you'd first started spending time together. It was about this, about the way she fit perfectly against your side, about the trust implicit in the way she let herself be vulnerable with you.

"Thank you," she said again, so quietly you almost missed it.

"For what this time?"

"For making me feel like I'm worth staying for."

Your chest tightened at the simple honesty in her voice, at the way she could devastate you with just a few words.

"You are," you said. "You absolutely are."

And lying there in the lamplight, her breathing soft and even against your neck, you meant it completely. Whatever came after graduation, whatever challenges the future held, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Five more minutes turned into the whole night, and neither of you minded at all.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), lecherous behavior, discussions of sexual history, homphobia, weed, depictions of being stoned and Marijuana use.

Part 4

Between Brothers - Part 5

The abandoned house sat like a forgotten memory among the overgrown Georgia pines, its weathered siding barely holding back the wilderness that threatened to reclaim it. You'd been walking for what felt like forever, your feet aching in boots that had cost more than most people's monthly rent back home, when Merle spotted it through the trees.

"Well, well," he drawled, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like Christmas came early, sugar."

You watched nervously as he kicked in the front door, the wood splintering easily under his boot. A week of traveling with Merle had taught you that subtlety wasn't in his vocabulary. The house groaned around you both as you followed him inside, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light filtering through broken windows.

"Merle, we shouldn't be—"

"Relax, darlin'. Ain't nobody been here in years." He was already rifling through cabinets with his good hand, overturning cushions with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this before. The stump where his hand used to be didn't seem to slow him down much. "Besides, finders keepers in this world."

It was when he started checking the bedroom that you heard his low whistle of appreciation.

"Well, I'll be goddamned." Merle emerged holding a small wooden box awkwardly against his chest, grinning like he'd struck oil. "Looks like the previous tenant had some real interesting hobbies."

The sweet, earthy smell hit you before you even saw what was inside. Your nose wrinkled slightly at the unfamiliar scent.

"What is that?"

Merle's grin widened as he held up a small baggie with his left hand. "This here's what we call God's gift to mankind, sweetheart. Premium Georgia green."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "Oh no. No, absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, lil doe." The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, though you still weren't sure why he'd started calling you that. "Live a little. World's gone to shit anyway."

"I don't... I've never..." You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very out of place in this crumbling house with this dangerous man.

"'Course you ain't." He was already gathering kindling for a fire in the stone fireplace, struggling slightly with the one-handed task but too proud to ask for help. "Bet you never done a lot of things, sugar. That fancy upbringing of yours probably didn't include much fun."

"It's not about that," you protested, but your voice lacked conviction.

"No? Then what's it about, darlin'? You scared you might actually enjoy yourself?"

You bit your lip, watching him work. The past week had been a constant battle between your better judgment and the strange pull you felt toward him. Everything about Merle should have sent you running, but something kept you there, following him through the Georgia wilderness.

"I just... what if something happens? What if we need to run?"

Merle paused in his kindling gathering to look at you, and for a moment his expression was almost gentle. "Sweetheart, we been walkin' for a week straight. You look like you're about to drop dead on your feet. Little bit of this might actually do you some good."

He had a point. You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from everything that had happened, especially after the van had died on you. Maybe...

"I don't know how," you admitted quietly.

His grin returned, softer this time. "That's what I'm here for, lil doe."

An hour later, you found yourself sitting cross-legged by the crackling fire, watching Merle awkwardly attempt to roll a joint with one hand. Papers kept tearing, weed kept spilling, and his cursing was getting increasingly creative.

"Goddamn piece of shit..." he muttered, trying to hold the paper steady with his stump while sprinkling the green herb with his left hand.

"Do you need help?" you offered tentatively.

"I got it," he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. "Just takes a little longer is all."

You watched him struggle for another few minutes before finally scooting closer. "Here, let me..."

"You don't know how to roll, sugar."

"No, but I have two hands." You reached for the supplies. "You can talk me through it."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even gratitude—before the familiar smirk returned. "Well now, look at you being all helpful. Careful, darlin', or I might start thinking you actually want to try this."

"Maybe I do... A little."

"Atta girl." His voice dropped to that low rumble that did strange things to your stomach. "Now, take a paper..."

It took three attempts and a lot of guidance from Merle's rough voice over your shoulder before you managed something that vaguely resembled a joint. It was lumpy and crooked, but Merle pronounced it "perfect" with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for masterpieces.

"Now comes the fun part," he said, lighting it with a match from the fireplace.

The first hit made you cough so hard you thought you might die. Your eyes streamed, your throat burned, and Merle's rough laughter didn't help your embarrassment.

"Fuck, Merle!" you gasped between coughs.

"Easy there, honey. Ain't supposed to inhale it like you're drowning. Here, watch me."

He demonstrated with practiced ease, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. "Your turn. Smaller this time."

The second attempt was better, though you still coughed. The third made your head feel light and strange.

"There we go," he said, studying your face with those pale blue eyes. "How you feeling, darlin'?"

"Weird," you admitted, surprised by how the word seemed to float out of your mouth. "Kind of... floaty?"

"That's the idea." He passed it back to you. "Take another."

By the time you'd shared half the joint, the world had taken on a softer quality. The edges of everything seemed less sharp, including Merle's usual abrasiveness. You found yourself actually relaxing for the first time since you'd found him on that rooftop, giggling at nothing in particular.

"There we go," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Now you look less like you're about to jump out of your own skin."

"Is this how you always felt before... everything?" you asked, waving vaguely at the world outside.

"Nah, this is better. Used to need a whole lot more than this to feel good." His expression darkened for a moment before the lazy grin returned. "But enough about me, lil doe. I got questions."

Something in his tone made you wary, but the warm buzz in your head made it hard to care. "What kind of questions?"

"Oh, just curious about you, sugar. Week of traveling together and you're still a mystery to me." He took another hit, eyes never leaving your face. "Like, you ever let a boy get to second base?"

Despite his constant Innuendos the question still caught you off guard, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Merle..."

"What? Just wonderin' if those pretty tits of yours have ever seen any action."

"God, you're so crude," you muttered.

"That ain't an answer, darlin'." His grin turned predatory. "Come on, we're just talking here. You ever let a boy touch you?"

Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the way the firelight made everything feel dreamlike, but you found yourself answering. "Some."

"Some?" He leaned forward, interested. "What's 'some' mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean... yes, okay? I've been touched before." Your cheeks were burning now.

"Where?"

"Merle!"

"Come on, lil doe. We're sharing here. Where'd he touch you?"

You rolled your eyes, the gesture more dramatic than usual thanks to the weed. "Jeez, Merle, your acting like I'm a nun or something."

His eyebrows shot up, and you immediately realized your mistake. That grin of his turned absolutely wicked.

"Well now, that's real interesting. So you ain't completely innocent, are you, darlin'?"

The way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter nervously. "I didn't say that."

"Goddamn." Merle's voice was rougher now. "You ever suck a dick, sweetheart?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Give me strength"

"That a yes or a no?"

"I'm not answering that."

"That's a yes." His grin was absolutely filthy now. "Bet you were real good at it too, weren't you, sugar? Bet you got that sweet little mouth wrapped around—"

"How many have you sucked, Merle?" you shot back, your cheeks burning but determined to flip this back on him.

The words hit him like a slap. His cocky grin vanished instantly, replaced by pure horror. "What the hell—no! Jesus Christ, what kinda question is that?"

He actually recoiled, nearly dropping the joint. "I ain't no goddamn fairy! That's disgusting!"

His reaction was so over-the-top that you couldn't help but smirk a little, even through your embarrassment. "Just asking. You seem awfully interested in the mechanics."

"That's different! I'm a man, and you're a—" He gestured wildly at you, his face flushed red now too, but for entirely different reasons. "Hell no, I don't do that sick shit!"

"Hey man, Love is Love." You held up your hands in mock surrender. "Seemed fair to ask."

Merle took a long, aggressive drag from the joint when you passed it back, like he was trying to burn the very suggestion out of his brain. But after a moment, that familiar gleam crept back into his eyes.

"Nice try, sugar, but you ain't gonna distract me that easy." His voice was still a little strained, but the predatory edge was returning.

"We were talkin' about you and that pretty little mouth of yours. What about the main event, darlin'? You ever go all the way?"

You took another hit, buying yourself time. "Maybe."

"Maybe ain't an answer."

"A few times," you said finally. "But it wasn't... it didn't mean ... what I thought."

"How many times is a few?"

"Merle..."

"Come on, lil doe. We're being honest here."

"Three," you whispered. "Three times... same person."

"Three times." He seemed to be turning this over in his mind. "That it? Just three times in your whole life?"

You nodded, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

"Damn, sugar. For someone who ain't a nun, you sure are selective." His tone wasn't mocking, though. If anything, he sounded almost... impressed? "See, I'm just trying to figure out how innocent you really are, lil doe. What kind of experience you got—"

"What, you planning on getting me a hooker now that the world's gone to shit?" The words came out sharper than you intended, fueled by the weed and the memory of what he'd told you about his brother.

Merle's grin faltered slightly. "Now that ain't fair—"

"Isn't it?" You sat up straighter, suddenly feeling more clearheaded despite the buzz. "Because that's your solution to everything, isn't it? Just throw money or liquor at it and make it go away?"

"That ain't what that was about."

"No? Then what was it about, Merle? Taking away your baby brother's choice? Getting him so messed up he couldn't think straight and then shoving him into bed with some girl he'd never met?"

Merle's jaw tightened. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly. You thought you were doing him some kind of favor, but really you were just being a selfish asshole who couldn't stand the thought of his little brother being different from you."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Merle's eyes had gone cold, that familiar wall slamming back into place.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

"Are you? Done trying to figure out my sexual history so you can what—corrupt me? Add another notch to your belt?" You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not some innocent little flower you can manipulate."

"That what you think I'm doing?"

"I don't know what you're doing." You took another hit, using it to buy yourself time to think. "But I know what you did to him was wrong."

Merle was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher than usual. "This boy from back home?"

"We dated for a while, but..." you state looking away, some of the fight going out of you.

"But what?"

"It wasn't right. I don't know... I figured I'd wait for feelings, you know? Real feelings. Not just... physical stuff." You looked at him pointedly. "Not just scratching an itch."

Something flickered across Merle's expression, too quick to catch. "Feelings, huh? That's real sweet, darlin'. Real sweet and naive."

"There's that word again." You shook your head. "Just because I don't screw around doesn't make me naive, Merle. It makes me selective."

"Same thing, ain't it?"

"No, it's not." You turned to face him fully. "Naive would be thinking everyone's good deep down. Naive would be trusting people just because they're nice to me. I'm not naive—I'm careful. There's a difference."

"If you say so, sugar."

"I do say so." You studied his face in the firelight. "So what about you? How many women have you been with?"

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If we're sharing, let's really share. How many?"

"That's different—"

"How is it different? Because you're a big tough man?" You laughed, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Come on, Merle. You've been prying into my sex life for the past hour. Turn about's fair play."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of such questions. "I don't know. Didn't exactly keep count."

"Ballpark."

"More than three," he said dryly.

"More than thirty?"

Another pause. "Yeah."

"More than fifty? A hundred ?"

"Jesus, what are you, taking inventory?"

"Just trying to understand the man I'm traveling with." You took another hit, feeling bolder. "Were any of them... special? Or were they all just—"

"Just what?"

"Just transactions." You met his eyes.

Merle's face went hard. "You got something you want to say, lil doe?"

"I already said it." You shrugged. "I just think it's sad, that's all."

"What's sad?"

"That you think sex is just something you do to someone instead of something you share with someone." You pulled your knees up to your chest.

"You think you're better than me?" His voice was dangerous now, low and rough.

"I think we're different," you said carefully. "I think we were raised different, taught different things about what intimacy means."

"Intimacy." He said the word like it tasted bad. "That some fancy word they taught you at your fancy school?"

"It's just a word, Merle. It means closeness. Connection. Something real."

"Real." He laughed, but it was bitter. "Nothing real about it, sweetheart. It's just biology. Scratching an itch, like you said."

"Is it? Then why do you care so much about whether I've done it or not?"

That shut him up. He stared at you for a long moment, something working behind his eyes.

"I mean it," you pressed. "If it's just biology, just scratching an itch, why does it matter to you whether I'm experienced or not? Why do you care?"

"I don't—"

"You do. You've been asking me about it. You walked in on me in the shower and you've been thinking about it ever since." You saw him flinch slightly and knew you'd hit home. "So why? What's it to you?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"'Could just be planning your corruption," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Are you?"

"What?"

The admission hung between you like a fragile thing, and for a moment you saw past all his walls to something raw and wounded underneath.

"Planning my corruption?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. "Maybe I am, lil doe. Maybe I am."

"I'm not naive," you protested, but the moment had shifted something between you.

"'Course not." His tone was different now, less teasing and more thoughtful. "Bet you went to some fancy private school too, didn't you, sugar? All proper and shit?"

"Actually, no." You pulled your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation. " But ... We had money ... lived pretty well."

"No shit?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "What kind of money we talking about here?"

"Enough." You shifted uncomfortably. "My father was in shipping. Import, export. We had a nice house, nice things..." You paused, looking at him. "What about your parents? What did they do?"

Merle's laugh was harsh. "They didn't do much of anything, sugar. Unless you count drinking and fighting as professions."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Made me who I am." He shrugged, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. "Your daddy probably had more money in his wallet than mine made in a year."

"Money isn't everything."

"Easy to say when you got it."

You studied his profile in the firelight. "Is that why you hate me sometimes? Because of where I come from?"

"I don't hate you."

"Sometimes you do. I can see it in your eyes. Like you want to punish me for something I didn't choose."

Merle was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe I do," he admitted finally. "Maybe it pisses me off that someone like you is slumming it with someone like me."

"Someone like me?"

"Clean. Good." He said the last word like it was foreign to him. "Everything I ain't."

"You think I'm good?"

"I think you're better than this. Better than following my sorry ass through the woods looking for a brother who might already be dead."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. "Then why do you let me?"

"Because I'm a selfish bastard who dont wanna be out hear with no one to talk too."

You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his hand. He didn't pull away.

"You're not as bad as you think you are," you said softly.

"Yeah? What makes you so sure?"

"Because someone who was truly bad wouldn't care about finding his brother. Wouldn't feel guilty about what he did to him."

Merle's jaw tightened. "I don't feel guilty."

"Don't you? Isn't that why we're really out here? Not just to find him, but to make it right somehow?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't deny it either.

"A nice house where, exactly?" he asked instead, clearly wanting to change the subject.

You hesitated, then figured what was the harm. "Island in the pacific."

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "An island? Like, surrounded by water and everything?"

"That's generally how islands work," you said dryly, and he barked out a laugh.

"Smart mouth on you when you're high, ain't there?" He shook his head. "So you're telling me you went from living on some fancy island to following my sorry ass through the Georgia backwoods?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds pretty stupid."

"Nah, not stupid. Just..." He studied you for a long moment. "Just makes me wonder what kind of life you're running from."

The observation was too perceptive, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Wasn't running"

"Everyone's running from something, lil doe. Question is what."

"Who says I'm running?"

"What you decided to follow a one-handed redneck through walker-infested Georgia?"

"As opposed to leaving you on that roof ?"

Merle looked at you with something that might have been respect. "Yeah, Fair point."

"So what happens when we find him? Your little brother?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens to me? Do I just... disappear? Find somewhere else to go?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "You worried about that?"

"Maybe. I don't exactly have a lot of other options."

"You could go back. To your island."

"Could I? Airport schedules are a bit hard too pull up these days."

The fire crackled between you, and you found yourself studying his face in the dancing light. The harsh lines, the pale eyes, the way his mouth twisted when he was thinking.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally.

"Shoot."

"Do you ever regret it? What you did to him?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"Every damn day."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was young and stupid and thought I was helping." He ran his hand through his hair. "Because I didn't want him to be... different. Didn't want him to get picked on more than he already was."

"Different how?"

"Shy. Sensitive. Too damn kind for his own good." Merle's voice was rough with something that might have been pain. "Kid never hurt a fly, never said a harsh word to nobody. In our neighborhood, that made him a target."

"So you thought... what? That sleeping with a prostitute would toughen him up?"

"I thought it would make him more like me." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Thought if he got some experience, he'd be able to handle himself better."

"But instead you just hurt him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

You could see the guilt eating at him, could hear it in every word. "Is that why you're so determined to find him? To make up for it?"

"Maybe I just miss my baby brother." He looked up at you, and for a moment his mask slipped completely. "He's the only good thing I ever had in my life, and I'm thinking I fucked it up."

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest tight. Without thinking, you reached out and covered his hand with yours.

"You'll find him," you said softly. "And when you do, you'll make it right."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because despite everything you've done, everything you think you are, you love him. And love... love finds a way."

Merle stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. "You really believe that?"

"I have to. Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"

He turned his hand palm up, his fingers curling around yours. "You're something else, you know that, lil doe?"

The nickname made your chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weed. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Lil doe. You call me that the most."

Merle was quiet for a moment, his fingers twitched once. "You remind me of one, I guess. All big eyes and skittish, but..." He trailed off.

"But what?"

"But stubborn as hell when you need to be." He looked up at you, and there was something in his expression you'd never seen before. Something almost tender. "Deer are tougher than people think. Survivors."

Outside, the Georgia night pressed against the windows, full of dangers both known and unknown. But inside, by the dying fire, the most dangerous thing might just be the way Merle kept looking at you now like he was afraid to break you.

"We should get some rest," he said finally. "Got a long way to go tomorrow if we're gonna find my baby brother."

You nodded, but made no move to get up. Neither did he. The fire crackled between you, and somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out into the darkness.

"Merle?" you said quietly.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Thanks. For... this. For making me try something new."

His smile was softer than you'd ever seen it. "Anytime, lil doe. Anytime."

[5he-wants-revenge5]

My beloved dove.

Hey! So, I really hope this saves, but if your reading this that means everything worked out just fine! My Tumblr has been having some issues as far as saving and uploading my work.

This is just a little something I had been writing about for our beloved Wesker. I didn't really know where I was going with this but I hope you enjoy!

Cw: angst?

Surely when you had met him all those years ago, you knew very well what kind of man he was... What kind of man he is. Never did you think it would get to this point.

Meeting Albert Wesker had been a blessing and a curse, one that you couldn't ever hope to get rid of. Having been a part of the umbrella corporation, you had seen a thing or two.

Working with Wesker and Birkin had made the horrors slightly easier all those years ago, though in truth it wasn't much in the grand scheme of things.

The raw guilt of what you did, how you played a part in ruining the lives of others, used to eat away at you no matter the fact you've gotten better at handling it; Albert seemed unfazed.

Nothing could bother him, not the slightest bit of gore or dirty work got under his perfectly smooth skin. For a while, it had made you sick with jealousy, yet you were also grateful to have a strong sense with your emotions.

The time when the two of you became something more was honestly a blur. One second it was nothing more than fleeting glances and lingering ones creating a raw sensation that no other could spark in you.

Then, after what felt like years of working slowly at the walls built high around his heart, you had gotten your ticket in.

But at what cost?

Sitting here in your brand new house in some rule part of Africa, you wondered how you did it.

How on earth have you, of all people been so utterly lucky in breaking past barriers that had been sealed for the better part of your lovers whole life? It was mind-blowing.

You didn't even ask where the two of you were going to relocate when everything first happened, simply letting the love of your life whisk you away from everything and everyone you knew.

That didn't even matter right now, you didn't feel anything. Perhaps all these years desensitized you? Perhaps you were now just as cold as your lover was, maybe even something worse.

You were not stupid, not in the slightest. You knew what Albert was doing in his study right now, what he was working on and planning for the future...

How could you feel nothing? Not even a single bit of sadness clung to you. You missed nothing, as long as you had Albert.

"Why so glum, Dear heart?" Spoke the voice that you grew to adore.

Turning your head, you peered over the back of the couch where Albert was standing. A small ghost of a smile gracing your lips, admiring him in all his glory as per usual.

"I'm not glum at all, just simply thinking about things." You answer honestly.

Albert hummed in response, coming to sit beside you on the rather comfy couch.

Slowly removing his dark sunglasses, he rubbed his temples. Working for hours on end in fluorescent lights often gave him headaches, sometimes migraines.

Your eyes peer over at him, finding the sculpted and defined shape of his face as pleasant as always.

It's still hard trying to grasp how you could fall in love with such a seemingly normal man. That was until he showed his true colors

He had told you about his childhood briefly here and there, never saying too much but enough for you to get the picture. He was abused, it wasn't something he liked to hear however.

When you had originally said that out loud, Albert just stared at you. He knew very well that his childhood was not sunshine and rainbows, but he hadn't ever thought of it the way you did.

There was something about you that changed him, mildly. He would always be the same. No amount of love could fix his twisted way of thinking.

You hate him for it, hate how much you have come to love what truly is the real definition of a monster.

You wouldn't say that out loud either, never. He couldn't hear that from you of all people, the only person in the world who is capable of keeping him sane.

You lean over slightly, resting your head against his chest. The leather of his suit is smooth against your skin, a soft and tired sounding sigh leaving your lips.

"I love you, Albert." You say quietly, knowing the weight of your words given all the damage he's done not only to you but to the world.

His heart swells because he believes you. Albert turns just enough to wrap a possessive arm around your back, keeping you close to his side.

He doesn't ever say it back, at best you'll get something along the lines of "I adore you too" or maybe a quiet "You are everything to me."

Albert sighs, nodding in agreement. He knows you love him, and he knows deep down he loves you too. He has no idea what love is supposed to feel like, but if he did, he was certain that this was it.

[sharieb]

hi! just dropping by to say i looove your non!mc series. i read your original post about the concept and i too was curious about the aftermath of angsty non!mc fics so thanks for filling that void! so grateful for the work you share with us :”)

but also, it got me thinking, i know very little about caleb in-game, but from the snippets i’ve seen, he seems to be the least likely to get hung up on non!mc considering how attached and borderline obsessive he is over mc (captive bird scene, for example) would love to hear your thoughts on this! 🤓

Hi darling, I'm glad that you enjoy reading my fic. It's nice to know that you find it interesting to invest in reading the entire series. As for my thoughts on Calbe's relationship with non-MC, I had always seen him as one of the LIs that would have a really hard time having any romance with non-MC due to the trauma-bond (how I personally see it at the start when they're kids) he has with MC. It's understandable as MC was the only person he had known the longest besides their adopted grandma. It also comes down to how Calbe always had the need to protect MC and have her depend on him for so long that the thought of MC not needing him anymore caused his once hidden obsessive tendencies for MC to surface. For this reason, it became the norm for most Calbe x Non-Mc fanfic to be angst, since his duty and love (whether it's romantic or platonic, depending on the fic you read) for MC always hinders any romantic progress with Non-Mc, to the point that Non-Mc ends up moving on, while Caleb began to accept his love for Non-Mc and the need to be with her, all too late. It's not to say he can't have fluff fics with non-MC; however, the angst genre just fits well with his situation with Non-MC.

[twstyuna]

I have been HAUNTED since November 2024.

Reference image/ the AUs below

Source of ref

In rough order form left to right

Phantom! Skully

Ghost Engagement. Maybe. Idk I like ponytails

The middle bunch are Skully classic/him in an nrc uniform for he's alive!! Copiums also here's all the Ghost! Skully fics because he looks more or less the same in most of them

Reincarnation AU

Amnesiac Ghost! Skully

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part two]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, clothed ejaculation, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey depressed, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: hey guys, i'm literally so nervous posting this... it's been sitting in my drafts for like a month now and i finally worked up the courage to post after spending a couple hours editing :( i'm literally scheduling this to post at like 3am my time so i'm not awake when it goes live i'm so anxious bahaha. the start of this part is a bit slow, pls hold on because theres some light smut and angst at the end. i have plans for further parts that'll look more into the other avengers finding out and the development between bucky and readers relationship and their shared healing. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

It was only on rare occasions that the full team of Avengers (and co.) were in the same room. A momentous historical moment, in fact, normally reserved for two particular occasions:

The world was ending (in some gloriously diabolical way that usually involved aliens, interdimensional warlords, or some ancient, forgotten god with a vendetta) or

Tony Stark was throwing another one of his famously exclusive penthouse parties (which, despite being ‘exclusive,’ still managed to include half of New York—most of whom showed up just to gawk at the Avengers like a travelling circus act sent to entertain them personally.)

Today, it seemed, was neither of those occasions. Thor and the rest of the Asgardians—Bruce Banner included, oddly enough—were busy rebuilding after the destruction of Asgard. Wanda and Vision were off playing happy family elsewhere, and Clint was busy with his own quickly expanding family. The others, agents, specialists, the people whose names you never bothered to remember, were preoccupied with their own missions. Which left you here, filed neatly into the elusive extra category. Not quite an Avenger. Too valuable to be let loose, too unpredictable to be fully trusted.

You leant back in your chair, only half-listening to the conversation beside you. The skin around your thumbnail was raw. You picked at it absentmindedly, peeling back the edge where it had already started to flake, a sting flaring along the nail. You were thinking—too much, maybe—so you let them talk, let yourself disappear as they debated which bar had the strongest drinks and the least pathetic men.

The three of you were early. By some miracle, morning training had ended ahead of schedule. Natasha had wiped the floor with you, to the point where it probably would’ve been more productive to stay on the mat rather than waste your energy hauling yourself back up.

“What do you think?” It took you a second to realise Yelena was talking to you, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her hand. She was watching you expectantly, sharp eyes narrowed.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not coming.”

She sighed dramatically. “You never hang out with us.” She leant back in her chair with an exaggerated huff, muttering under her breath, “So mysterious and cool. You think you’re better than us?” 

Natasha watched on amused, the redhead poised as always. “She doesn’t want to drink in front of us in case she spills her secrets.”

You scoffed. “What secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha leant forward, watching you a little too closely now, like she was gauging your reaction. “How about how that mission went with Barnes?”

Ever since the gala mission, the two had been trying to get you alone, a few drinks in, hoping for something—a slip, an offhanded remark, anything that would confirm whatever hunches they had. You knew what they were fishing for. They weren’t subtle.

You just weren’t playing.

Neither you nor Bucky had said a word about it.

That, apparently, was suspicious.

“She is right, you know. Neither of you will say a word about it. I’m beginning to think something happened—” Yelena cut over her sister with a grin.

“Nothing happened,” you interrupted smoothly, finally lifting your eyes from the wreckage of your thumbnail. “You keep asking, but you’re not going to uncover some dirty secret. Sorry to disappoint."

“Then why the silence? No one would care if you fucked him, you could just plead innocence, overcome by playing the perfect, doting wife—”

You shot her a look, one withering enough to turn bone to dust and ego to rubble. 

“I mean… maybe people would care, but I wouldn’t judge you! Super soldier, metal arm… so hot, or whatever.” Yelena prattled on, and you ignored her, exhaling through your nose.

"I think he’s just mortified that people assume something did happen. He’s got enough brooding energy as it is." You muttered. 

“I just don’t believe nothing happened, trapped in that hotel room together for a week. Apparently, you were convincing enough to keep the targets off your scent, and we all know Barnes’ acting is as stiff as a cadaver on ice—”

Your face twisted into a look of exasperation before you could control yourself, straightening in your seat. “God, you two really are like vultures, picking around for the slightest bit of gossip—”

“Wow, defensive—” 

“Isn’t that the joy in life? Digging for gossip?” Natasha cut back in with a sharp smirk.

“You two are insufferable!” You interrupted, slapping your palms onto your thighs. "I think I’ll keep my secrets. I’ll leave the both of you to continue plotting this fantastical mystery you’ve created in your minds—”

“It’s only fun because you get so worked up about it,” Natasha cut back with a grin you could only describe as predatory. “Plus, I do love watching Rogers squirm listening to all the theories."

“You know,” Yelena mused, swirling the thought around before letting it slip, “I don’t think Steve is as innocent as we think he is. I’m pretty sure I heard him and Sharon—”

She cut herself off just as the door swung open, and the rest of the team filtered in.

You schooled your reaction, easily slipping back into the picture of nonchalance. Bucky’s blue eyes flickered towards yours for a split second before darting away. It had been two weeks since your first ‘lesson’. Two weeks of carefully measured distance, of subtle glances that never lasted too long, of conversations that stayed just professional enough to not raise questions.

Bucky had been doing well—shockingly well, actually. He was receptive to your touch, followed your guidance with careful precision, and was beginning to trust you, bit by bit. You hadn’t gone much further than heated make-out sessions that usually ended with him finishing in his pants, but you weren’t in a rush. You were still feeling out his comfort zones, making sure he never felt cornered or overwhelmed. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of arrangement.

You slumped in your seat even further, shaking off the feeling. It was fine. No one knew.

Still, the way Bucky avoided looking in your direction made something prickle under your skin.

You were certain the super soldier would combust on the spot if any of his coworkers caught wind of what the two of you had been up to. Hell, he turned red enough just having you perched in his lap during lessons, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. And yet, during meetings, training, or any moment the two of you were forced into the same orbit, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he think about those moments? Did his mind drift back to the ghost of your touch the same way yours did?

You weren’t usually the sentimental type. Nostalgia was a luxury, a foolish indulgence you had long since trained yourself out of. But there was something about him—his quiet hesitance, his wary but willing surrender—that stuck with you. It was a service, nothing more. A transaction in which you gained no tangible benefit, so why did you linger on it? Why did the thought of his gaze meeting yours send a sharp thrill through your chest? Was it because he treated you like a person instead of a tool? Because he understood pieces of you no one else even tried to?

He wasn’t like the others. Never cruel, never greedy. He never reached for more than you offered, never treated you like something to be taken. Maybe that was why you kept coming back. Maybe, for once, you liked the control. Liked the feeling of choosing, of being wanted on your own terms. Of knowing that, for once, you weren’t a marionette dancing on someone else’s strings.

You swallowed the thought down and let your gaze flicker to him. Bucky sat curled in on himself, as if trying to shrink into nothing despite the broadness of his frame. He looked like a wounded animal—no, worse. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, his hair unwashed and slightly greasy at the roots. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t taking care of himself. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.

He stared blankly at the grain of the wooden table, shoulders hunched between Steve and Sam, who were deep in conversation about something you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on. And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, that quiet, hollow stillness of his sat uneasily in your chest.

You had… concerns for Bucky after what he had confessed to you. But you weren’t sure what to do with those concerns. Or those confessions. You held them close to your chest, unwilling to betray his trust, but understanding instead. You knew it was probably irresponsible of you to sit on them, but you didn’t want to overstep. Besides, Steve and Sam didn’t know you. You’d had maybe three conversations with each of them, most of them mission-related. To them, you were just Natasha and Yelena’s friend—Red Room collateral. You weren’t social, you weren’t a part of their circle, and you sure as hell weren’t someone they trusted.

And if they knew about your arrangement with Bucky… well, you didn’t want to think about what conclusions they’d draw—

“Hi!”

The sudden, chirpy voice nearly startled you out of your seat.

Kate Bishop had arrived—loud, bright, and effortlessly excitable, like a golden retriever in human form. She had that kind of energy that made you suspicious. No one was that happy all the time. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She was dressed in casual, slightly dishevelled layers, looking like she had just come from sparring but didn’t have the same dead-in-the-eyes exhaustion you did after a training session.

“I’m Kate!” she announced, beaming at you like you were about to be best friends. She pushed her hand out. “Kate Bishop.”

You blinked at her, ignoring her outstretched offer. “I know.”

Her grin didn’t waver, and she coolly withdrew her hand.

“You’re Clint and Yelena’s pet project.” You spoke again, your tone perhaps a little more hostile than necessary. 

“It’s apprentice, actually.” Yelena cut in before Kate could argue. “You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Stark has an apprentice, so why are you always giving me shit—”

“Oh yes, Stark’s pet project.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “What was his name? Paxton, Peyton, or was it Parker?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, K.G.B. Barbie?” Tony Stark’s voice cut in lazily as he walked past, sitting at the head of the table like he owned the place—which, unfortunately for you, he did. As usual, he didn’t look pleased to see you, and the scent of entitlement wafted off of him in waves.

You met his gaze evenly. "No, but I was under the impression that unsolicited opinions were your love language, considering the amount your hand out.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Remind me why we let you sit at the big kids’ table again?”

"You don’t." You glanced at Stark, unimpressed. "But I was invited, shockingly enough. Or are you reckless enough to ignore Fury’s instructions now?"

There it was. That smirk. He smirked at you, and you knew in your heart he had the foulest, most cutting rebuke to lay upon you. He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and you were already grinding your teeth in frustration as you stared back at him, eyes locked onto his smug face—

Kate cleared her throat, stepping in before you and Stark could escalate any further. “So, what do you do?”

Stark held his tongue, so in return, you slid your gaze back over to a nervous Kate. And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t help yourself. Natasha had already shot you a warning look, but the redhead's trained patience for the playboy Stark had unfortunately never extended to you. 

"Infiltration, espionage, recon." You shrugged, expression carefully neutral. "I gather information, and then the big boys get to swoop in, throw a few punches, and take all the credit. Isn’t that right, Stark?"

Maybe you had woken up grouchier than usual—not that you could even call the few hours of restless tossing and turning sleep. Or perhaps it was the fact that you’d spent the morning eating the training mat, then had to suffer through Natasha and Yelena’s constant interrogations that had soured your mood. Either way, you weren’t exactly in the best headspace to deal with him.

Truthfully, you thought Stark was a prick, and unfortunately, you had never been exactly shy about that opinion. You and Stark had just never really clicked. Not in the way he had with the others, not in the way Natasha had seamlessly folded herself into the team, or the way Yelena had bulldozed her way in, loud and brash. You existed somewhere in between, tolerated but always lingering on the outside. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them. You could banter with Sam, hold an easy conversation with Steve when necessary and trade dry humour with Clint in a way that made you feel almost at home. Even Stark, for all his grating personality, wasn’t always intolerable. But there was always something between you and them—an unspoken distance, a careful line you never crossed. They didn’t entirely trust you yet, and you never gave them a reason to try.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because trust had never been a luxury you could afford.

Your job was reading people—analysing, dissecting, and manipulating. You understood them better than they understood themselves, saw the cracks in their foundations and knew precisely where to apply pressure. It made you valuable. Indispensable even, but it also made people wary. The team knew what you were, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what you had been. But deep down, you knew they were smart enough to assemble the pieces.

So you kept yourself at arm’s length. You wanted to believe you could have that feeling—belonging. But wanting and trusting were two very different things that you did not dare confuse.

Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stark interjected, leaning against the desk. “She’s just a pretty face we send in to distract while the rest of us do the actual work.”

There it was.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. This was your hubris. You could already hear Natasha’s scolding—You really shouldn’t egg him on like that. The two of you are as bad as each other, always trying to get under each other's skin. A bunch of alleycats fighting it’s ridiculous—

Somewhere across the table, Bucky’s eyes had shot up. The movement startled you, and your eyes met briefly. It was milliseconds, maybe not even that, but as soon as you registered your brief exchange, Bucky shied away like a spooked animal.

And when you looked back at Kate, Natasha and Yelena, you found that Natasha had been watching the whole thing. She didn’t speak, didn’t even react. There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her brow or twinge in her lips. She stared like some kind of omnipotent god, and deep down, you knew. You knew she knew. 

Maybe she didn’t know the full extent, but the way she stared… it made you shudder.

Fuck.

Kate, however, frowned, turning back to you. “That’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned, not letting the dread pooling in your stomach let you miss a beat. “I do much more than look pretty. Sometimes I get to torture people—”

Kate’s face pale, then through several stages of grief, trying to figure out if you were joking. 

You weren’t about to help her.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, she is messing with you,” Yelena said with an amused grin, though it was tight. A silent warning behind her eyes told you to keep your mouth shut.

Kate still looked mildly concerned, but she shook it off quickly. “Okay, but—so you can fight?”

“Of course.”

“Not as well as me,” Yelena cut in before you could elaborate, grinning smugly. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re being trained by the best of the best. Me? I am the best. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes, and Kate beamed. That girl was too fucking cute for her own good.

The door swung open before anyone could respond to Yelena. Fury stepped inside, long coat sweeping behind him, his boots heavy against the floor. His usual expression—somewhere between perpetually pissed off and quietly judgmental—was firmly in place beneath the shadow of his eyepatch.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Fury said, his voice edged with dry amusement, though his gaze flicked between you all with razor-sharp scrutiny.

"No, sir," Steve said, back straightening. Natasha, ever composed, merely leaned back in her chair. Stark didn’t even spare a glance.

“First off, I’d like to extend my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for your attendance,” Fury began, spreading his arms in a broad, insincere gesture, his tone so dry it could have turned the room to dust. “I know how much of a hardship it is, taking an hour out of your busy lives to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to me talk.”

Sam snorted. Yelena smirked. Bucky, as usual, remained unreadable.

Fury’s eye landed on you and Bucky before he tossed a slim tablet onto the table, the display already flashing with the text of a mission report you hardly cared to examine in detail.

“Congratulations are in order. The gala infiltration went exceptionally well despite the odds stacked against you.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement, catching movement out of the corner of your eye—Sam begrudgingly sliding Fury what seemed to be a twenty-dollar bill. Asshole.

Fury tapped the screen embedded in the table, replacing the mission debrief with a new set of images. An aerial view of a club, snippets of surveillance footage, a grainy close-up of a man slipping out of a side entrance, bodyguards in tow.

“And thanks to that intel recovered,” Fury continued, “we now have a location on our next target. Dmitry Karpin. Friend to H.Y.D.R.A. Dealt in smuggling high-profile weapons in and out of Soviet countries for a time, but now he’s taken to smuggling drugs. Serums, to be specific.”

Across the table, Bucky had gone still. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his hands resting stiffly on the surface, knuckles taut. H.Y.D.R.A. Serum. The words alone were enough to suffocate the room when Bucky or Steve were around. You didn’t let your eyes linger on him long nor allow your frown to deepen. 

Fury didn’t acknowledge the shift—maybe he was used to it by now, or perhaps he just didn’t care. His voice remained steady, rolling over the tension in the room as if he were reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script. Karpin’s security detail. The club’s weak points. Entry and exit strategies. The words blurred together, dissolving into background noise beneath the low hum of static in your head. It was hard to focus when you could feel Bucky sitting across from you, motionless, barely even breathing, his whole body locked up like a loaded fucking gun. And the worst part? He probably thought he was doing a good job hiding it.

You didn’t stare, didn’t let your concern show. Instead, you leant back in your chair, tilting your head just enough to feign disinterest. “So, just another fun-filled evening of chatting up sweaty old men for me? Sounds like a dream.” Your voice came out dry, with just enough sarcasm to mask any wobbles. 

Fury didn’t spare you a glance. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he said, tapping the screen again. More grainy footage. More blueprints. The details kept coming, but you barely registered them.

You picked at your thumbnail hard enough that the cuticle began to bleed.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close. Chairs scraped against the floor as the team rose, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out. You stood, ready to follow, but—

“You two, stick around,” Fury instructed.

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at Bucky, who had also stalled mid-step. Natasha and Yelena exchanged a knowing look, their amusement not at all subtle. You ignored their barely concealed grins as they disappeared through the door.

Fury exhaled, hands bracing against the table as he surveyed the two of you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he said finally. “I wasn’t convinced it would work when I paired you two. Thought maybe you’d kill each other before you got anything done.”

Bucky scoffed quietly, gaze flicking away.

“But you proved me wrong.” His good eye narrowed as he continued. “The mission was a success. You handled yourselves well.”

A beat of silence. Then, just as flatly, “I want to know if you’d be open to working together again. Similar style of operation.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to appear too eager or give any more credence to the stories Yelena and Natasha were spinning, but most of all, you didn’t want to put words into Bucky’s mouth. You weren’t in the business of pressuring him in or out of the bedroom. 

Bucky was quiet as if silently working through some thoughts before deciding. Finally, he offered a dismissive “Sure.”

You nodded slowly, offering Fury a nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine with that.”

Fury’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk.

“Well, that’s the most enthusiasm I’ve heard all day,” he deadpanned before shaking his head. “Damn, you two are depressing. Sitting there all broody, staring at me like I shot your goddamn dog.” 

Neither you nor Bucky reacted, which was met by a low chuckle from Fury. “Regardless, I appreciate the hard work. You made me a nice chunk of money winning some bets.”

Your brow furrowed. “You bet on us?”

Fury raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Course I did. Had to make it interesting. Half the team thought you’d get caught or kill each other before the first day was up.”

You blinked. “...Who bet against us?”

“Stark.” Fury’s lips twitched again. “He didn’t think you’d make it past security.”

Of course he did. Prick. 

—

"Alright, I’m in position."

You blinked. Bucky sat there like he was awaiting orders, his posture rigid as if he were about to breach enemy lines.  His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them like touching you required the same level of strategic planning as a high-stakes extraction mission.

You stared, straddling his hips, your fingers ghosting over his collarbone, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder as if making direct contact might detonate something neither of you were ready for. For a split second, you half expected him to press a finger to an earpiece and murmur something about securing the perimeter.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, he looked every bit like a man being held hostage rather than one about to receive a very generous favour.

Lately… something felt off. The signs had been subtle at first, the way he always seemed a beat too calculated, his hands found the same places every time, and he would grow still like he was waiting for a command. 

And now, looking at him, so wound-up he might actually vibrate, it finally clicked.

Every touch and kiss was executed with the precision of a soldier running a drill rather than a man lost in the moment. It was methodical. He was analysing a strategy rather than experiencing pleasure. You half expected to glance down and see him taking notes—touch here, kiss there, don’t forget to do this. The thought horrified you, but if you were honest… it also amused you. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Bucky, are you seriously treating this like a mission?”

He stiffened beneath you, his reaction just a fraction too quick, too defensive.

“What’d you mean?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge. He was already on guard, bracing for imaginary discipline. 

“The way you’re…” You trailed off, head inclining as you studied him. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight, the creased skin between them betraying him entirely. One could mistake him for a soldier behind enemy lines, waiting for the crack of a rifle. There were dark smudges under his eyes, no worse than usual. You knew he didn’t sleep well. Nightmares haunted him and left him running on fumes more often than not. You recognised the signs, and it was like you were looking into a mirror. 

“It’s like you have a mental checklist,” you murmured, watching for his reaction. “Like every move you make is planned like you’re running through a strategy in your head instead of just… feeling it.”

Bucky remained silent, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Gently, you squeezed his shoulder, fingertips pressing into hard muscle. He was tense—too tense. “You’re not clearing a building, Bucky. You’re not scanning for threats. You’re here with me. Just relax a little, won’t you?”

“I am relaxed.” He bit the words out, though neither his voice nor expression were even remotely convincing.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I appreciate the attempt to lie, but when I can feel the fucking tension in your body, it’s a little, well, very obvious.” Your hands traced along his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight knots beneath the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rock-solid, never fully uncoiled. His body had forgotten how to rest.

“See?” You gave a pointed squeeze. “This is not ‘relaxed,’ Bucky. This is as solid as a goddamn steel beam.”

Bucky scoffed a tiny huff of air through his nose. “Those are my muscles. I work out. Don’t you?”

You gasped in mock delight, lips parting in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. Did you just make a joke? Bucky, was that a joke?”

Something flickered in his expression for the first time, a sliver of amusement breaking through the ever-present brooding. He finally met your gaze, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners, and the sight sent a flicker of warmth through your chest.

You grinned. “Well, isn’t that a first? Guess I should mark the calendar.”

His smirk was brief, fleeting—but it was there.

You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “But seriously, you need to loosen up.” Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, slow and deliberate.“Attraction, desire… sex. It’s messy, it’s unplanned. It’s not a mission. This isn’t the army.” 

You didn’t dare say the following words in your mind aloud. 

This isn’t H.Y.D.R.A. 

But you knew that was where his thoughts drifted, that unspoken trouble that plagued you both. Your fingers ghosted along the silver chain at his throat, the faint jingle of his dog tags barely audible under the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to follow orders. You can just be.”

“I know.” The words came low, rough, frayed at the edges. You could feel yourself losing him, his eyes growing foggy as if pulled away to a place you couldn’t quite reach to drag him out from.

“I just…” Another breath, deeper this time, as though steadying himself. “They used me. For so long, they used me as a weapon. I don’t know if I can ever be anything different than that. I don’t want to lose control—what happens if I lose—”

“Hey.” Your hands framed his face now, thumbs brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, anchoring him. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes lifted, hesitant, guarded.

“You are more than that.” The words were gentle but unwavering, as steady as your hands on him. “We are more than that, okay? You’re Bucky. Just Bucky. And you are in control. Say it.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, knuckles pressing into the cotton fabric of your shorts. He was quiet momentarily as though testing the words in his mind before speaking them aloud. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m in control.”

“You’re in control.” You echoed, smoothing your thumb over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you still want to do this?”

His breath was slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

Your fingers had drifted higher, threading into his hair, the strands silky and cool beneath your touch. You swept a loose lock from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger against his temple. “And if you don’t want this at any point, what do you say?”

“Stop.”

“And what will happen if you say that?”

“You’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Good.” You praised him, your smile widening as you felt him squirm beneath you. There was a subtle hitch in his breath as your hands began to trail lower, palms smoothing down to his chest. The pulse at his throat fluttered beneath your fingertips, quick and uneven, betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. You leant closer, your breath warm against his skin as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his temple. Then lower—to the sharp line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, and finally to the hollow of his throat. A shudder ran through him, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He uttered after a thick, audible swallow.

You pulled back just enough to study him, to see how his lips parted slightly as though chasing the warmth of your touch. A quiet, almost reluctant noise rumbled in his chest, just shy of a whine. You traced your fingers along his jaw before tilting your head, considering him. “I want to try something.” You hummed to him. “You can say no if it’s too much, but I think it might help you.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

“I want to blindfold you—”

“You want to what?” He went rigid beneath you, every muscle tightening again as if you’d flipped a switch and snapped him back into defence mode.

“Hold on, just let me finish.” You held up your hand, hoping to counteract his immediate, instinctive reaction.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the response, but said nothing. 

“I want to blindfold you,” you repeated, slower this time, words deliberate. “And I want to kiss you. And touch you. I want you to focus on feeling good rather than anticipating something bad. I want you to just… be here with me. Not thinking about what comes next, not waiting for an attack. Just focusing on feeling. That’s all.”

His expression was cautious before turning to contemplation—as though weighing the idea against everything instinct told him.

“You can say no,” you reminded him gently.

“No, I—” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your hips.

You shifted back just a little, offering him the space to decide. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—shit—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean—no, I want to. Yes. I want to try that.”

Your gaze searched his. “You’re sure?”

His lips pressed together, and then he nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

You grinned, pressing a sloppy, lingering kiss to his temple before slipping off his lap with ease and rolling onto the bed beside him. “Do you have something we could use?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Like a tie, maybe? You wear suits, right? Or does Stark demand them back the second you step foot in the compound?”

Bucky let out a huff, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to talk about Stark right now.”

You shot him a knowing look, but before you could tease him further, your gaze flickered downward—and you smirked. Even through the soft material of his sweatpants, you could see he was already half-hard. “Sure.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks pink. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Top drawer. In the wardrobe.”

You were on your feet before he could finish, slipping into his walk-in wardrobe. Every apartment in the compound had one, though Bucky’s was noticeably bare. His clothes were monochrome, muted shades of grey, navy, and black. No bursts of colour. No sign of impulse. It was not a lack of wealth. You knew that for sure. No, this was intentional—a desire to blend in, to disappear.

You’d always known he was the type who preferred the shadows, slipping between crowds unnoticed. No wonder he hated the tailored suits Stark and Fury forced him into—arm issues aside. For some reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. were determined to parade him around. Look, the Winter Soldier. He’s a good boy now. He plays nice. Nothing to fear anymore. You were unsure how he felt about such displays, but you were sure it wasn’t too far off from how you felt about it. You had once been in his shoes, though more in the eye candy territory. A doll to dress up and play with, to smile and play the part.

Powerful men enjoyed degrading that which they knew to be dangerous, enjoyed playing with fire, and enjoyed the illusion of control. 

Shaking off the thought, you pulled open the top drawer, sifting through a few neatly folded ties. You selected a smooth black silk, running the cool fabric over your palm before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky was still seated at the edge of the bed, stiff as a board. His hands curled into fists atop his thighs, knuckles taut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You slowed, holding the tie between your fingers like approaching a spooked animal. Visible to inspect and assess. No threat.

“Yes?” you asked, giving him another chance to change his mind.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. “Yes.”

You smiled softly. “Just breathe, yeah? Like we always do.” You inhaled deeply through your nose, then exhaled slowly and steadily through your mouth.

After a beat, Bucky mirrored you, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

You moved behind him, settling onto the bed. He sat still, poised for an attack. Carefully, you draped the silk tie over his eyes, looping it around his head and securing it with a loose knot. It wasn’t tight—one purposeful tug and it would slip free.

You could feel the tension radiating from him. Even blindfolded, he was hyper-aware, attuned to every rustle of the sheets, every shift of your weight. His breathing had turned shallower, the serum sharpening every sound, every sensation.

“If you need to stop for any reason, just say so.”

He jolted slightly at your voice, caught off guard in the quiet. “O-okay.” His voice wavered, and then he cursed low under his breath in Russian.

You grinned. Some habits died hard.

“I’m going to touch you now.” You crept closer, lifting onto your knees behind him. “Just focus on me and how it feels. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

He gave a slow, hesitant nod.

You started at his shoulders, palms skimming over firm muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every dip and ridge, every knot of tension. Your hands slid to his collarbone, then across the joint where flesh met metal, mapping out the contrast between warm skin and the smooth, cold vibranium.

He was solid beneath your touch, every muscle taut and solid as it stretched across the bone.

You had noticed the way his shoulders gave him grief. The slight tilt of his frame and the way his left arm always sat heavier. It was incorrect weight distribution; the metal limb was too heavy compared to its flesh counterpart. S.H.I.E.L.D had surely offered him physical therapy—massages, treatment plans—but you doubted he had ever taken them up on it. He didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Too wary. Too untrusting. 

“Can I take off your shirt?” you asked softly.

He stilled.

“I don’t—” His voice was lower now, rougher. “My scars. They’re not—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Why would I?” 

Without a word, his hand reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt. He yanked it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. You adjusted the blindfold where it had shifted, then let your gaze drift over the broad expanse of his back.

His shoulders were massive, sculpted with muscle. The scars on his left shoulder were brutal—jagged lines of gnarled tissue where the vibranium met flesh. It might have been seamless after the amputation. Painless even. But it had been H.Y.D.R.A who had ruined him, left scars so deep even the Wakandans couldn’t erase.

And H.Y.D.R.A didn’t care for comfort. They cared for necessity. Likely, you suspected, they had wanted him to suffer.

An endless reminder of their ownership.

You swallowed, then placed your hands on his shoulders again, thumbs pressing gently into the base of his neck. You started slow, careful, massaging along the muscle, working your way down. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the mass taut and unyielding at first, like stone beneath your fingers. But you took your time, applying gradual pressure, thumbs circling into the knots built over time.

Beneath your hands, Bucky let out a low, guttural sound—a half-growl, half-sigh of approval. His head dipped forward slightly, chin brushing his chest, an unspoken invitation to continue.

You kept going, kneading deep into the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension resist before you coaxed it loose. With each press and roll of your fingers, the stiffness unravelled like a cord being undone, thread by thread. You worked methodically, digging your thumbs along the curve where his neck met his shoulders, pressing firmly enough to elicit another low, unconscious groan from him.

You bit back a smile as you felt him lean into you just a little.

Trailing downward, you traced the slope of his shoulder blades, following the ridges of tendons and old wounds. The scars on his left side were tougher, the tissue uneven where flesh met metal, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers brushed the seam between the vibranium and skin, then continued downward, thumbs pressing slow, firm circles along the fuse.

Bucky shuddered.

His breath hitched as you dug into the deep-seated strain along his spine. A sharp inhale, a low exhale—he was losing himself to the sensation, surrendering to your touch. You didn’t rush. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, feeling him yield with each measured stroke. When you reached the dip of his lower back, you flattened your hands, smoothing over the tightness that lingered. He was warm now, his skin melting like wax beneath your fingers.

Satisfied, you finally pulled back, smoothing your hands along his spine one last time before shifting your position.

Rising onto your knees, you moved around him, hands trailing over his shoulders as you slid into his lap. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. You settled against him, straddling his lap, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders. The blindfold was still secure, and he looked… calmer now. Less wound up, his jaw no longer locked so tightly.

“You okay?” You murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you hummed, tilting your head, lips just inches from his ear. “I think you needed that.”

Bucky exhaled a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t deny it.

Your fingers trailed up the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against the short hairs, and you felt him shiver beneath you. You leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, just at the edge of the blindfold, before trailing downward. You kissed along his jaw, soft and teasing, pressing your lips into the warm skin beneath his ear, down the column of his throat.

His hands fidgeted at his sides, tightening around the sheets. Then, as if giving in to some internal battle, they rose—hesitant but desperate. His fingers found your waist, sliding over the curve of your hips before gripping tight.

You grinned against his skin.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice a breath of silk against his throat.

A sharp exhale left him, his fingers tightening, pressing you closer, holding you in place. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky groaned into the kiss.

It was soft at first, your mouth moving against his, teasing, coaxing him deeper. But it wasn’t long before he cracked. The tension he had held onto for so long—his control, his restraint—it frayed at the edges with every pass of your lips against his. You pressed closer, shifting in his lap, and the moment your hips rolled against him, his breath stuttered.

A broken sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper.

You did it again just to hear it.

His hands flexed against your sides, his hold firm, frantic, but he didn’t stop you. He only breathed harder, his forehead falling against yours as you peppered kisses along his lips, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Then you moved again, grinding against him slowly, carefully, and Bucky outright whimpered.

He made no effort to stop you—no attempt to control the rhythm, no resistance left in him. His mind was no longer caught in the tangle of right and wrong, of what he should or shouldn’t do.

He only felt.

Only responded.

You kissed him again, deeper, fiercer this time, and he met you with equal hunger.

Bucky’s hands roamed, sliding up your back. Then, his vibranium hand found your face, cradling it between cool, unyielding metal, and you shivered at the contrast—the bite of cold against your flushed skin, the sheer strength in his hold, barely restrained.

He kissed you like he was starving.

You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips down to meet his, and he groaned—deep and guttural as his body jerked beneath you. He was fully hard now, the evidence pressing against you through his sweatpants, and you couldn't help the soft, breathy giggle that escaped between kisses.

Bucky growled, his grip tightening, his body chasing yours as you rocked against him.

Your hand trailed down, slipping between your bodies, fingers teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as your fingertips ghosted lower—

Then he flinched, catching your wrist in a shaky grip.

“Too much,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but the strain was evident.

Immediately, you withdrew, pulling your hand away without hesitation. “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop—”

“No.” he replied quickly, breathlessly.

You cupped his jaw, kissing him slowly, tenderly, as he shuddered beneath you. His hands flexed where they held you, his body still trembling with need, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your movements soft and gentle, pressing your forehead against his, letting him breathe as you kissed him repeatedly. 

“Is this better?” you checked in between kisses, voice warm, reassuring.

“Yes.” He muttered against your lips.

You kissed him deeper, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth.

His body convulsed beneath you, hips twitching up to meet yours, his breath turning shallow and erratic. You could feel the tremors coursing through him, his muscles tensed, his restraint crumbling with every slow, dragging roll of your hips.

Then, with a choked groan, he stiffened.

A broken moan tore from his throat as he came, his body shuddering beneath you. His breath hitched, then stilled, his head falling back onto the bed as he panted heavily, completely spent.

You smiled, watching his chest rise and fall, his body finally wholly relaxed.

You let him catch his breath, your hands smoothing over his chest in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes were still covered, the black silk of the tie snug against his skin, and for a moment, you just watched him—his expression relaxed in a way it so rarely was, his lips parted as he inhaled deep, steadying himself.

Reaching up, you brushed your fingers over his jaw before carefully undoing the knot at the back of his head. The tie slipped away with ease, and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he adjusted to the room's dim light. His pupils were blown, irises hazy, but there was something else. Softness. An openness you didn’t often see.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Hey.”

You leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before shifting off of him, allowing him to breathe. He hesitated momentarily before sitting up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His sweatpants were clinging damply to his skin, and he grimaced slightly before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The soft sound of running water followed soon after. You stayed where you were, fingers idly playing with the silk tie as you listened, giving him the space to clean up and gather himself.

When he returned, his sweatpants had been swapped for a fresh pair, the fabric hanging loose around his hips. His hair was damp in uneven patches where he’d raked wet fingers through it, a lazy attempt at tidying up. He lingered in the doorway, weight shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flickering over you like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Come here.”

His shoulders loosened just a fraction before he climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you with a quiet sigh. He was warm—solid and steady. Without thinking, you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. His arm came around you automatically, like muscle memory, pulling you in and holding you there.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked, “Did you like it?”

Bucky exhaled a deep, slow breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I did.”

You smiled, tracing absentminded circles against his chest. “What did you like about it?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“It made it easier,” he murmured. “Not seeing. I could just… feel. Focus on what was happening instead of everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Didn’t have to worry about if I was doing something wrong.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Bucky, you’ve never done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, but his voice was tight, a shadow crossing his expression. “It’s just—” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “Talk to me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I’m scared of it sometimes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared of what?”

“Pleasure.”

His fingers tightened slightly against your side like he was bracing himself, but he didn’t look away from you.

“I was taught…” He inhaled sharply. “That it could only be taken. Taken from me. That it was never given freely.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That it wasn’t mine to have.”

Slowly, carefully, you sat up, shifting so you were fully facing him. He looked at you, expression guarded, but there was something vulnerable beneath it, something fragile in the way he held himself.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Those people, the ones who taught you that, they were trying to hurt you, degrade you,” you told him firmly. “Pleasure is to be shared equally. It’s something you deserve.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything to earn it,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening. His voice was barely above a breath when he said, “I don’t know if I know how.”

You smiled softly. “That’s okay. We have time.”

You lifted his hand again, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles before settling back down beside him. His warmth seeped into you, but the ache in your chest remained—persistent, lingering. It had nothing to do with exhaustion, the tension in your muscles, or even the way your body still hummed with remnants of touch. No, this ache came from somewhere deeper, from the thoughts unravelling in your mind like a loose thread tugged too far, too fast as you contemplated his confession. 

You had always been a giver. That was your role, your purpose. You gave and gave until there was nothing left. Until you were hollow inside. And yet, the world kept asking for more. You wondered if, over time, it had chipped away at your soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words left your lips before you could stop them, before you had the chance to weigh whether you truly wanted to say them aloud.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not… whole?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the low light, lids heavy as he blinked his dark lashes. He didn’t press or demand, didn’t look at you as if he needed clarification. He just waited, silently, like he knew you weren’t finished.

So you kept going.

“Like with every mission, every fight, every demand, you lose something? A tiny piece of yourself, given away without even realising it?” Your voice dropped lower. Bucky was still beside you, completely still, only his breath tickling your cheek with each slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t even know if I’m still the person I was when I was born or if I’ve just been rebuilt from borrowed parts. Pieces given to me, made for me, shaped to fit what I was supposed to become.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Or maybe… what they wanted me to become.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, and yet they kept coming.

“And I think… maybe I’m afraid that if I ever showed the real me, the world would reject me. That they’d be disgusted by my soul. By everything I have done.”

A shaky breath left your lips, your voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Because sometimes… sometimes I think the only way people will keep me around is if I give them something in return.”

Silence.

You turned your head toward him, searching his face, waiting for something—anything—that would tell you what he was thinking. You hoped for a look, a breath, a word to ground you. But as your gaze swept over him, you realised his breathing had evened out, his lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. The sharp furrow of his brow had smoothed, his lips slightly parted in a way that spoke of exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Asleep.

Your words had been lost to him.

You weren’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Maybe it was for the best. He needed the rest, the peace of slumber more than you did. Even now, in the soft glow of the room, dark circles remained etched beneath his eyes.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling momentarily before carefully slipping out of bed. You moved with quiet precision, gathering your things without making a sound. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back.

For a second, a small, selfish part of you wished he had—wished he had heard you, had held you, had given you something, anything, to quiet the storm inside your chest. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that meant you could take the words back.

Tuck them away for another time.

Or hold onto them forever, maybe all you had needed was to say them aloud, even if only silence itself was listening.

Bucky didn’t stir from his slumber, not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

PART THREE

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taglist: @civilbucky @buckysbbydoll @rosegarbage @fleurenoir @oikarma @blackstabbath6 @kcbug1128 @ellesbellswrites @thaynarajejheje @wunder-blunder @oceanaroma @dyscalculiaaa @murdocklvrr @pursuedbyamemoryy @fantasyheroine @chronicallybubbly @nikkinss @maryevm @doilooklikeagiveafrack (sorry if it didn't tag anyone properly)

[clare-875]

Misplaced Rings (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro)

_____ Pairings: Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader Summary: They misplace their wedding ring/band and are sent into a panic. Warnings: Some Angst, Fluff, Female Reader [One Piece Masterlist] _____

- Luffy -

Everyone knows that Luffy's most prized possession is his straw hat. It is always on his head or within his reach wherever he may go, and if it was not, he would be sent into an untamable panic that almost always ended with tears if the hat was not found within the day. However, unbeknownst to most, there is now a second possession he cherishes just as much: his wedding band.

The simple strip of gold around his ring finger adorned with crushed rubies was a fitting wedding band you had picked out just for him. And though Sanji often berates his Captain for wearing such precious jewellery during battles, his concern was for naught; you had sought Franky's help, ensuring the band could survive Luffy's battles and keep up with his elasticity.

Thanks to those facts, the ring remained on Luffy's finger indefinitely, just like the iconic straw hat on his head. It reminded him of his wedding with you upon his ship; the banquet far larger than any he had thrown before, the lively music and laughter, the utter joy. But more importantly, it reminded him of you and your pledge to stay by his side as he became the pirate king; it was an oath you undertook with pride every day of your life.

So, imagine his utter despair when he realises it has gone missing.

You were sitting at the dining room table with Nami and Robin, the three of you chatting and looking over magazines away from the harsh summer sun when you heard a familiar shout. You startle along with the two women you sit beside, meeting glances with utter confusion.

"What was that-"

You barely get to finish your sentence when the door to the kitchen slams open, revealing a wide-eyed Luffy who looks as though he is about to be sick. Your brows furrow together, Sanji looking over from his kitchen and about to give his Captain a piece of his mind, but you are concerned seeing your husband look as though on the brink of rare dread.

"Lu, what's wrong?"

You stand from your chair and run up to him but he already has comical tears almost pouring from his eyes. He is on his knees and instantly grabs your hands, and shakes them in his despair.

"[y/n] it's gone!!!"

You are still lost in your confusion as you look at him, his straw hat still attached to his head. You remember his outbursts in the past when he had thought he lost his hat for good, so you look down at him confounded at why he is having a similar breakdown with it still on his person.

"But Luffy, you still have your straw hat. It's on your head."

Luffy shakes his head like a downtrodden puppy as he looks up to you with tears falling from his eyes.

"No, my wedding band, it's gone!!"

Your eyes widen for just a moment as you look at the hands that still hold yours, noticing for the first time that there remains a tan line where Luffy's wedding band used to be. You feel your heart drop lightly at the predicament, and at that point, your friends had also gathered around in the fuss their Captain seemed to cause. Sanji seemed shocked the most whilst Robin and Nami frowns in concern behind you.

"What?! You lost the wedding ring [y/n]-san especially bought for you?!"

Sanji starts berating Luffy but you can hardly be mad at him when he looks so genuinely upset and in despair on the ground before you. You instantly kneel down to his level, and caress his raven hair gently trying to soothe the turmoil in his eyes. "W-wedding band-" He murmurs, and you are touched by how much he seems to hold the simple piece of jewellery so dear, to the point where he reacts to losing it just as he does his straw hat. You smile gently, and pat the straw hat that remains atop his head.

"It's okay Lu. I'm sure we'll find it."

"W-what if we don't?!"

You sigh as he looks at you imploringly, but you take his hands and help him to his feet.

"We'll all look for it, surely we'll find it then."

You turn to the cook who stands beside you, still glaring at his Captain as though he had committed the worst crime in the world.

"Right, Sanji? You'll help us too right?"

Sanji instantly perks up at the mention of his name past your lips and turns into a puddle of nods and affirmations.

"Of course, [y/n]-swan-"

You sigh at his never changing demeanour but turn to your husband who seems to have collected himself and nods in grim agreement. You smile as you take Luffy's hand, ready to search every nook and cranny of the ship. Nami, Robin and Sanji also help, with Chopper joining in when he bumps into you all searching the ship for a glimpse of gold and red. You force Luffy to retrace his steps entering the rooms he went to the past day for the glimmer of jewellery, but soon hours pass with no sign of his beloved ring.

"W-wedding band-"

You had all returned to the kitchen, Luffy now with his head on the table and tears pouring down it like a river of defeat. Chopper tries to cheer up his Captain but it is for naught, and you pat his shoulder in comfort whilst the others look on sympathetically.

In his mind, Luffy cannot believe that he has lost the one piece of jewellery he thought he would cherish until the day he died. Gold was often a mere bonus to him as a Pirate amongst the sea; an afterthought often intertwined in his adventures on the path to becoming Pirate King. But the gold around his finger was another story.

"I'm sorry Lu, I'll ask Franky if he can make you another one?"

But Luffy seems inconsolable as he is adamant the one he received on his wedding day, was the only one he wanted. However, before you can even input another word, the door smacks open, revealing the very man you had just spoken about. What's more, in his hand, the shine of gold and red reflected from the kitchen lights; Luffy's wedding band.

"Here you go Luffy! Sorry, it took a while but I promise I added some SUUUPER upgrades to keep up with your SUUUPER gears."

For a moment, there lasts a long and lingering silence in the wake of Franky's words, when suddenly, Luffy sits up like he was told the day's weather.

"That's right, I did give it to Franky yesterday."

Everyone falls off their chairs in utter bewilderment at Luffy's words; the day spent searching that could've been solved by one trip to Franky who had been working away all day, or by lack of Luffy's dense memory. Sanji instantly stands back up, kicking the underside of his Captain's head in utter rage and causing his head to hit the table.

"Idiot! We searched the whole day for that damned ring!"

But Luffy seems unfazed, and you have to let out a small laugh as he collects the ring from Franky and puts it back in its rightful place. You don't know if your laughter comes from relief or discomposure at the stupidity of the scenario you were in, but Robin joins you, your other crewmates more agitated. When Luffy looks up to you, however, with his wide and satisfied grin, ring shown proudly on his ring finger you can't help but get up and kiss his cheek lightly.

"I found it!"

He was an idiot, but he was your idiot.

- Sanji -

Sanji adores you, he is utterly in love with you, and if anyone asks what the happiest day of his life is, they don't even need to wait a second before he tells them about his wedding day. The gorgeous atmosphere, the pleasant music, the wedding cake he pondered and spent hours making just right, you adorned in your beautiful white dress. He could speak hours on his love if you let him, and he is not afraid to shout it out for everyone else to know and hear: you were his and he was yours.

If there was anything that symbolised the depths of your love and his, it would be the wedding ring around your finger and the wedding band around his. Yours was gorgeous but simple, a beautiful diamond reflecting the strength of the love you both shared. His was personal and beautiful, a gold band etched with sapphires, engraved with the date of the wedding until the end of time.

He adored it, he adored the weight of it on his finger, a reaffirmation of the oath you both pledged. He adored showing it off to people, just as he adored seeing you pointing to your ring when asked if you were taken. He would only remove it when absolutely necessary, such as when he prepared meals for his crew, but even then it stayed close to him where he could never misplace it. He told you he would look after it forever, but amongst Sanji's abundance of thoughts, there was a moment where the location of his prized ring slipped his mind.

Sanji has been absent all day, hastily making meals, moving swiftly from your side, and not even a murmur of hello as he leaves every room you enter. You are confused and slightly hurt, but most of all you are concerned.

Have you done something?

Was he feeling okay?

Why was he avoiding you?

When you asked your crewmates about his behaviour, however, they said similar things. How his answers had been short, unable to request meals due to his haste to enter the next room, even Nami and Robin claimed he had seemed more distracted. So you frown at the entrance of the kitchen; you had just seen him enter and knew you could try and talk to him now. You only hoped he would share in his troubles.

As the door to the kitchen creeps open, Sanji freezes at the sound of your footsteps and looks up at you standing before him. When your eyes meet you catch guilt and trepidation in the depths of his, and you are instantly more worried than before.

"Sanji, what's wrong? You're not being yourself."

Your husband grits his teeth in regret, and you catch a slither of tears amongst his lower lash line, causing you to reach up and caress his face in concern. But in his mind, Sanji feels as though he does not deserve your touch or your care. He had lost his wedding band and could not for the life of him remember where he put it. He felt as though he had been searching the whole day, but as the hours passed, he felt his hopes withering along with the sun.

His most prized possession, a symbol of your love and a remnant of the best day of his life, was lost due to his carelessness.

His eyebrows furrow together as he reaches out and holds your hand that lingers on his face, his words low and softly spoken.

"I lost my wedding band. I- I'm so sorry love."

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, and Sanji readies himself for the disappointment and your swift anger, rejection, your swift dismissal of him from in front of you. But instead, you collect yourself before continuing to bear the concern in your gaze mixed with what looked like understanding; finally knowing why he was acting this way.

"It'll be okay Sanji, no need to work yourself up. We'll look for it together, I'm sure we'll find it."

Sanji's eyes spark open in his own surprise at your kind words and conduct. God, he didn't deserve you. Guilt still travels freely within him, especially as he feels the coolness of your own wedding ring against his cheek; you had looked after your ring with so much care.

"I'm sorry love."

You smile but you release the touch on his face in favour of grasping his hand in comfort.

"It's okay, now come on, let's retrace your steps shall we?"

The next few hours are spent all around the Sunny, every room Sanji had been in before he remembered losing the ring was searched from the roof to the floor. You asked your crewmates if they had seen the mix of gold and blue you both are so adamant to find, had looked in every small crevice that may contain the precious jewellery. And as the sun started to dim, you were now looking in your shared chambers one last time.

Your hair was ruffled like his, clothes wrinkled under the time spent trying to find the ring, but to Sanji, you were still the beautiful, thoughtful and loving wife he married. You had spent all day trying to find something due to his own mistake, and he was never more regretful for losing the wedding band, nor more grateful for having you as his wife than he was now. Moments pass in silence, but finally, you let out a delighted gasp.

"Sanji!!"

Your husband instantly perks up from the other side of the room and in your hands is the wedding band, finally found. Your smile is wide, as you quickly run over to him, taking his hand and sliding it on his ring finger where it lay as perfect as it did all that time ago at your wedding. Sanji meets your gaze with such gratitude he cannot describe and impatiently presses his lips to yours. You smile as you return his fervour and pull away.

"Thank you, my love."

You let out light laughter as you roll your eyes.

"Of course, I am your wife you know? You can come to me about these things."

Sanji's heart warms even more than he thought possible as he tucks away a loose strand of hair from your face, admiring your features.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Sanji makes you your favourite dinner and dessert as a thank you for your help and your love. You never see him without the ring on his person, again.

- Zoro -

Among the straw hats, Zoro seemed the least likely to be intertwined with thoughts of love and rings and weddings, well at least that's what the Strawhat crew initially thought. But as time passed, he fell for you, and what would you know, suddenly he is asking Robin and Nami about weddings and dresses and ceremonies; how it works, what would you like, how soon could he pledge his love and you yours? In utter reluctance and on rare occasions he would even approach the 'idiot cook' for advice; something he would often regret afterwards.

But suddenly, the two of you were married and had rings on your fingers and he was your husband and you were his wife. The ring he got you was surprisingly thoughtful, and you knew the girls had something to do with it as it looked so much like how you wished it to be when you talked to them. His was simple. A gold band, but on the underside there etched your name. He very rarely took it off, and it became a part of him just like the earrings he wore or the three swords always at his hip; secretly finding strength in the piece of your love always present.

Zoro is a man, adamant about loyalty, and it is one of the things he adored most about you. The rings symbolised that for him; that an oath had been pledged and the two of you belonged to the other. It was something you both took pride in every day, and he found satisfaction watching the crestfallen faces of men when they spotted your wedding ring, just as you did when you saw women leave him be when they spotted his wedding band. He took care of it and treasured it, more than he would allow you to know, so he is honestly shocked when one day, he finds it missing.

Zoro feels cold sweat rising on his skin, and he honestly can't remember a time he felt more stressed. He is looking down at his hands again and again, as though he can't believe the absence of jewellery he always had on his finger.

He looks frantically around your shared chambers, looking in drawers of bedside tables, under the bed, and every nook where gold might enter his vision. He spent many moments, searching in utter silence, but he finds no semblance of a ring anywhere.

The door suddenly creaks and Zoro stands upright, hair and clothes slightly ruffled, swords leant against the wall in his haste to find the missing ring. You enter your room, looking up in surprise at the rare presence of your husband in the middle of the day, but it was lucky for you as you had been searching for him.

"Zoro," you smile, before your eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Are you okay? I thought you're usually in the crow's nest about this time?"

Your husband freezes, static under the weight of your searching eyes and scouring for an excuse. You step closer, and instantly his hands go behind his back, causing you to stare at him in bewilderment at his strange behaviour. You eye his discomposure, his hidden hands and his guilty expression with suspicion.

"Zoro what are you hiding?"

"N-nothing woman just got up from a nap. I'll be in the crow's nest-"

He doesn't let you continue your words and is out the door in a swift movement. You frown but shrug looking down into your hands. Ussop had found Zoro's wedding band in the bathroom, no doubt from the shower you had somehow forced him into this morning. You had simply wanted to give it back but decided to wait until a better time when he wasn't in such a hurry to get to his training. As you are about to let the matter go, however, you spot three familiar swords on the wall of your room where Zoro left them.

You frown at the sight, just what was your husband up to?

Meanwhile, Zoro is moving at speed throughout the Sunny, every room he barges in, searching in what he hopes is discretion before running off in frustration again. Many times he left his crewmembers in utter surprise at his uncharacteristic demeanour, usually he was training or napping, not found running around deck in discomposure.

You had bumped into a few of your friends who shared the same concern you had earlier; his strange behaviour and franticity. Nami complained that he had barged in while she was making a map, ruined due to her shock, Robin said that she had been reading on deck when he had been looking closely at the floor for something, Luffy exclaimed that he thought he was looking for some sort of treasure but quickly left in his boredom of nothing found.

You start to put the pieces together and begin to realise, that he was looking for something. And that something was probably the ring the Ussop had turned to you, so even if Zoro did check the bathroom it wouldn't have been there for him to find. You sigh as you quickly get up, trying to find him, Robin assuring that she had last seen him enter the kitchen and with the sounds of two men fighting, you supposed she was right.

When you open the door to the kitchen, Sanji and Zoro who seemed as though they had been arguing look at you blankly before crossing their arms and looking away from the other. You hear Zoro murmur something along the lines of, "Don't tell her," but you ignore it, hoping to relieve the tension in the room.

"Hey guys, everything alright?"

You ask, and Sanji sighs at your words before walking out of the kitchen; he seemed disappointed in your husband, more than usual. "I'll be outside [y/n]-san." You turn back to your boyfriend in Sanji's absence and you furrow your brows in concern.

"Zoro-"

"I lost my wedding band."

Zoro interrupts you before you can continue or pass him the ring in your grasp. You pause at the abruptness of his words, and the surprising amount of regret and hurt in his downcast eyes; he looked as though he had failed you.

"Zoro, it's okay I-"

"No, it's not okay, dammit." He looks to you then, and his eyes betray the stress and worry he had held onto all day, softening at the sight of his wife - you - looking at him in concern when he has just lost a treasured possession you had given him. You watch the way your husband's eyebrows pull together, and a frown makes its way to your face at the sight of him so worked up over the ring.

"It was my wedding band, a part of an oath we pledged on our wedding day, and I- I lost it. I should've looked after it better, I know that. I'm sorry."

You look, wide-eyed at the sight of the swordsman apologising to you. One of the rare times he would, but you realise now how much he placed importance on what the ring symbolised and what guilt must've filled his senses at his readiness for your disappointment. You step forward, caressing the curve of his face with one hand, as his eyes look at you, emotion betraying his eyes, but you smile softly and unravel your other hand. A moment of shock enters your husband's vision at the sight of the golden band he had almost turned the ship over for.

You smile sheepishly then, "I'm sorry, I tried telling you and giving it to you earlier but you were, you know, you seemed busy. Ussop found it in the bathroom."

You expect him to become irritated, having searched so long for something already found, but instead, Zoro smiles wide, kissing your lips suddenly in one swift movement. When he pulls away, he puts the ring back on his finger, satisfied by the light weight of it on his hand. "Thank God," he murmurs before looking at you so determinately it makes you blush. "I won't lose it again." You collect yourself before nodding, warmth spreading in your chest at his rare emotion in front of your eyes.

"I know you won't."

[darlingsblackbook]

Zayne x CrushingNurse!Reader | Part Five

Where has your smile gone? ANGST PT.2

Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

I | Zayne drops his voice a little lower than necessary while standing beside you knowing it will usually make you nervous, murmuring, “You’ve stopped stuttering. I almost miss it.” Your heart skips a beat but you keep your face neutral, “I practiced.”, you reply before walking away.

II | Zayne purposely asks you to help with something simple, things he could easily do himself. He knew it made you nervous, he could always feel the ice around his heart melt everytime he saw your hands shake as you tried to help. What he loved even more was teasing you about it. “Hands shaking today?” he asks lightly- carefully. You don’t even smile. “Not at all." He frowns.

III | “Your notes are unusually thorough, much more than usual. Am I making you nervous again?”

“No.”

He pauses. He pauses in that way that would always make you squirm, eye darting everywhere but his way, fingers twisting in the cloth of your scrubs.Now, you don’t even blush.

IV | During rounds, he lingers at your side a beat too long- long enough that you’d normally turn tomato-red and trip over your words. Now, you just shift away and keep taking notes. He stares at you. Silent.

V | You haven't brought him coffee today, nor did you yesterday - or the day before that actually. A routine you had been stuck to for months, suddenly halted. Zayne tried to recall the few days before you started acting so distant, had he done something? Said something? Where has your smile gone? Zayne thought, just as he saw you walk past his office- cup of coffee in hand.

VI | He bumps your shoulder very lightly while reaching for a chart. “Careful,” he says dryly, “wouldn't want our nurse to fall and get hurt." You reply, “There are things that cause a lot more pain than just a fall." He stops mid-motion, like what?

VII | He starts standing closer when reviewing reports with you—close enough that your elbow brushes his. You used to flinch. Now you don’t even react. You shift your chair away and don't even look his way.

VIII | “Nurse." Zayne calls out one day, "Could I speak to you for a moment?" You hesitated for a moment before taking a step forward before halting again at the faint sound of giggles. "I'm busy, Doctor." “Yeah." Zayne mutters, eyes locked on you, "You seem to be a lot these days.” You could barely keep your bottom lip from trembling, responding with a simple, "Yeah." before you walked away.

IX | Zayne starts correcting your minor errors in a purposely sharp voice, just enough to gurantuee a reaction from you - at least it used to. You only say, “Thanks for pointing it out." and fix it. It feels too calm. Too clinical. Nothing like his nurse.

X | He tries to joke during a lull between patients: “Still not a slightest hint of a smile. Should I be worried?” You just reply, “Probably not,” without even looking up. Zayne’s smile falters just slightly.

XI | He casually mentions, “You haven’t tripped over the IV cart all week.” You respond, “I learned how to walk.” There’s no laughter in your voice. It doesn’t sit right with him at all.

XII | He walks up behind you while you’re writing and says your name. A few weeks ago that would’ve made you jump and stammer. Now, you turn slowly, blink, and wait.

“…Yes, Doctor?”

It irritates him- if only you knew how much.

XV | He's done, he can't take it anymore. He corners you one day, just as you're about to leavs, quietly and not so casually this time, “Did I… do something?”

You give him a polite smile. “Of course not.”

"Then why? Why have you been acting like this? Who hurt you?" He fires one question after another.

You feel the tears pool in your eyes but you don't say a word. Not one. You just push those tears back and smile sadly, breaking the doctor's heart into a millions of pieces and walk past him and out of the door.

All Rights Reserved © DarlingsBlackBook

This is a bit of a filler part but it is needed to fill the gap between the last part and the next one ( a lot of drama will go down )

Taglist : @sylusgirlie7 @jeonjenny @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @draftbeerbibi @weebinator01 @satorustorm @asilaydead @ninaandtuna @gremlinartstudio @keyiswatching @dreamlesssleepsaga @eurynam @amerti @neobitch127 @m30wk1ttycat @yuurisfavblog @dysphxriaii @zainaaryam @floofycookie @beesin03 @thatpersonnamedrook @chiikasevennn @ollie-the-fae @dramaticalsachan @babylilxc @minsified @destinysrequiem @xsammijoanneex @hirostrvw @pepperushia @starllight613 @seris-the-amious @moonlight-inthe-sea @luvvhue @gojosballsack69

If I have missed anyone, please let me know! I'll make sure to add you for the next parts♡

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Word count: 11.7K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, some angst, slow burn, a little smut (something almost happens, that's all I'm saying)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), crying, betrayal, dry-humping, lmk if I missed anything!

PART 2

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been four months. Four months since you had the conversation with your husband about having an open marriage, because he wanted to try something new. The conversation is still taking up space in your mind like it was yesterday he sat you down on the couch in the house you share.

“Honey, you know I still love you,” He kept repeating after saying the possibly most shocking things you’ve ever heard. “I’m just afraid we’ll get tired of each other if we don’t try this.. We promised to be together forever, but aren’t you wondering what else is waiting for you out in the world?”

“No,” Is all you could say. A million questions run through your mind as he sits in front of you, kneeled down on his knee with your hands in his as you sit on the couch. “I married you because I want to be with you. And only you.” Your voice is shaky, trying to hold back the tears.

He notices the way you react and squeezes your hands in his.

“And I want to be with you, baby. I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, which is why I feel like this is the best we can do for now.” He tried explaining, but it didn’t help. 

“I just don’t understand? Are you not happy with me? Am I not satisfying you enough? Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?” The questions fly out of your mouth before you’re able to hold back. He quickly shakes his head, holding your hands even tighter. 

“No, no not at all. Look, I was just thinking we could do this for a year, maybe? A year where we are still married, but see other people in the meantime. When the year ends, we’ll be back to just us, and because we promised to stay together for the rest of our lives, a year won’t seem as much. This will be the only time we get to see other people for the rest of our lives, baby. It’s not a bad thing, it's only gonna strengthen our marriage in the end.” 

For some twisted reason, you saw his point. If you agreed to this, he would have a year to be with whoever he wanted, to get everything out of his system. So you agreed. You told him you agreed to do this for a year, but there had to be rules.

You had to tell the other person when you started seeing someone. No sleeping with a bunch of people, you have to tell the other person who you’re sleeping with (mostly for safety reasons). And NO one is allowed into the bedroom besides husband and wife.

And so this has been going on for four months now, and your husband is out with his girlfriend. Since this wasn’t against your deal, you couldn’t say much against it, so you just nodded and pretended to be okay. He started seeing her a week after the deal was made, a woman from his office, and the news broke your heart. He was barely home anymore, spending all of his time at her place.

The pain of hearing your husband of 8 years loving someone else was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t even get yourself to see someone else. It felt so wrong. 

It was a friday night and you’re sitting on your couch in your shared home, and your husband just left to have a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. You’re staring at the TV that has been going for hours with some bad reality TV-show, when you finally realize how sick you are of sitting home alone while your husband is out. You grab your phone and without thinking too much, you download Tinder. 

It wasn’t an app you’ve ever tried before, since your husband and you have been dating since you were teens and got married at an early age. But you quickly figured out the app and set up your profile. 

Swiping left and right on guys was more fun than you imagined, getting a few matches here and there. There were all different types of profiles on this app. Guys looking for serious relationships, guys looking for hookups, couples looking for a woman to add to their threesome. Men who opened with “hey sexy” or bios that included “I’m not looking for anything serious unless it’s with Sabrina Carpenter.”

So when his profile popped up, you hesitated.

His picture captures you immediately, and you’re taken back with his beauty. He was… breathtaking. But not in that overly filtered, red flag kind of way. There was warmth in his eyes, even in photos. A calm kind of confidence. One picture had him sitting at a piano, another laughing in the passenger seat of a car, sunlight washing over his face like it knew exactly where to land.

No shirtless mirror pics. No awkward drunk group-pictures. No fish.

“Park Seonghwa.” You read his name out loud. His bio was short. “Looking for something good. And maybe someone to watch bad TV with.”

You stared at his profile for a full two minutes before swiping right, mostly convinced it wouldn’t be a match anyway.

But then-

It’s a match!

Suddenly your heart starts to beat faster and you sit up straight on the couch while looking at your phone.

Did you just match him? Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You waited. Twenty minutes. An hour. Maybe he wasn’t the type to message first. Maybe he matched by accident. Or maybe-...

Park Seonghwa Are you watching something awful right now? Be honest.

You look at your screen for a few seconds before reacting. A smile spreads across your lips as you open his message and type back.

Me Love Mansion: Season 6. There’s a guy crying because no one likes his magic tricks.

You quickly see the dots that indicate he’s typing.

Park Seonghwa That sounds deeply tragic. And also like something I’d binge while pretending I hate it

Me You’re one of those people? “This show is terrible” but suddenly you’ve watched 8 episodes and you know everyone’s star sign.

While you wait for his answer, you enter his profile once again. You can’t help looking at his pictures, mesmerized by how beautiful this man is. You almost get a feeling of recognition while looking at him, like you’ve seen him on a poster or in an ad or something. His profile doesn’t inform about his occupation, but you’re sure he must be showing that face off somewhere. 

A new message pops up.

Park Seonghwa: I have a spreadsheet

You laughed out loud for the first time that night.

You: So what’s your favorite actually-good movie then?

Park Seonghwa: You’re asking a very serious question to someone who owns a full set of replica lightsabers

You: Oh, so you’re very serious about it

Park Seonghwa: Yes. Star Wars. All of it. Even the prequels. Especially the prequels. I said what I said

I’m at my third Star Wars movie of the day. The movies are over two hours each, so you can imagine how eventful my day is so far

You can’t help but smile while you type out your answer. 

Me As a person who doesn’t know much about the franchise, I can’t tell you whether I’m impressed or slightly worried. Maybe I should put on a Star Wars movie and give it a chance?

An answer ticks in a few seconds later.

Park Seonghwa If you do, watch “The Last Jedi”. I just started mine, we can watch it together but separately

You don’t know how a guy you’re only a few messages deep with has you convinced this is the best way to spend your night. You decide to play the movie and message him you’re watching it too. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, but somehow it's the perfect way to start this journey of an open-relationship. 

Maybe.

The movie begins and Seonghwa introduces some of the characters as they show up on screen. You find yourself laughing at his messages, smiling and waiting for him to text you the next thing. A feeling you haven’t felt in years, despite being married to who you’re convinced is the love of your life. But you can already tell that Seonghwa is a completely different type of guy, and for once, you actually don’t feel alone in the house you share with your husband. 

The movie ends and you’re hundreds of messages deep.

Park Seonghwa Now that we’ve concluded that “The Last Jedi” is part of an amazing franchise but not at all the best movie, I wanna admit that I’ve never looked so much at my phone during a Star Wars movie. I feel like I’m cheating on my favorite series

The text makes you giggle and you’re quick to type your answer.

Me Despite enjoying the movie, I must admit that I didn’t see half of it because I was focused on my phone. But I’ll gladly give Star Wars another chance someday

You see the text bubble appear and then go away a few times, making you curious about what he’s about to say. 

Seonghwa: We could talk about the movie over dinner tomorrow?

You stare at your screen for what feels like forever, feeling like a teenager receiving a text from her crush. This overwhelming feeling Seonghwa leaves you is something completely new, but despite it being a new and slightly scary feeling, you can’t help but feel excited. And so your fingers start typing.

Me I’d love to! After arranging your upcoming date with Seonghwa, you decide to head to bed. You’re meeting him at a restaurant in the city tomorrow, Saturday. He offered to pick you up, but you’ve seen too many horror movies to give your address to a stranger before meeting them, so you came up with an excuse to meet him there. 

You get comfortable in bed before opening his profile once again to look at his pictures.

This man… wow.

But just like before, a feeling of recognition hits you and you study his pictures a bit more. You’re sure you would remember him if you had met him, because who would forget a face like that? But it doesn’t ring a bell.. 

You open a new tab on your phone and search for his name. Perhaps he has been in a show you’ve seen on tv, maybe on a poster somewhere. There’s no way this man isn’t showing off his looks somehow. 

His name pops up on your screen.

A gasp leaves your lips and you stare at him in awe. 

It can’t be him! No no no no no… 

The name, the face, him in a suit. Everything washes over you. You throw your phone away from you and bury your face in your pillow. 

In your mind, you’re getting transported to a specific night, one year ago. Your husband has your arm in his and you’re walking side by side in your finest attire. You’re laughing at something your husband's co-worker said, when you sense a powerful presence enter the circle at the company dinner at your husband’s job.

“Oh, I want to introduce you to someone,” Your husband says as he turns you towards the newest member of the group. “My boss, Park Seonghwa.”

You stare up at him, Seonghwa slightly taller than your husband. His gaze adverts to you as he reaches out his hand. But as you give him your hand, he doesn’t do a normal handshake. He gently takes your hand in his and sends you a warm smile. Something in his eyes makes you lose all concentration, as you’re lost in his beauty. 

And then it all made sense. You’ve thought these exact thoughts before. A year ago at the company dinner and again tonight. 

Everything in your mind is going 100 m/ph and you suddenly feel confused. Does he know you’re married to his employee? Does he remember you? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t, or else he would have said something. And now you’ve arranged a date with him. 

You grab your phone again, considering if you should cancel the dinner, but something in you stops that from happening. The words don't appear in your head when you try to get out of the situation, so you delete the nonsense you’ve written so far, and decide to take things as they come. You place your phone on your night stand and get comfortable under the covers, trying your best to fall asleep.

On a couch across town, Seonghwa is still looking at his phone, looking at the text-bubbles come and go. When it doesn’t result in a text from the woman he has been texting all night, he goes to look at your profile for the 29th time tonight. 

He didn’t expect much from Tinder.

Honestly, it had been a joke. A dare, technically. His assistant downloaded it on his phone one night after too many glasses of wine at a company dinner and said, “You need to date someone who doesn’t know what your net worth is.”

So fine. He swiped. Occasionally. Mostly out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity. Everyone started blending together. Bios full of yoga poses, forced “entrepreneur” energy, one woman who said she manifested her future husband every morning through herbal tea and moon rituals.

But then he saw you.

He found himself leaning back against the cushions, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot as your replies came in. You weren't trying to be impressive. You were just herself. And that was more magnetic than anything he’d seen in months. He didn’t even realize he’d been texting for two straight hours until his phone buzzed with a calendar notification:

Dinner with Executive Team – 9 AM monday.

He groaned. Whatever. He’d been in back-to-back meetings all week. He could allow himself one night to just… feel normal. Human.

“What’s a woman like you doing here?” he’s asking himself with a smirk, scrolling through your pictures. 

He had planned to go to bed early, have a peaceful night and get up early tomorrow, but he’s been too fascinated by the woman on the other side of the app. The tug on his lips doesn’t go away as he gets up from the couch and decides to head to bed, already accepting that he won’t get up early tomorrow. 

But one thing is for sure.

He’s very satisfied with the way his night went.

***

Saturday arrives, and you find yourself in front of the restaurant you agreed to meet Seonghwa at. You haven’t had any contact since you arranged the date, besides the check-in he made earlier today to ask if you were still down for dinner.

You feel the nerves in your body when you open the door, not having felt this feeling since you started dating your husband. The restaurant is in an area of town you usually didn’t visit - it is more expensive than you are used to. But not spending money on dates with your husband, and only cooking food for one for the past four months has resulted in you having a bit more money than you usually do, so you could go big for one night and spend some money on a good restaurant. 

The restaurant has a dark design with marble and wooden interior. The light is dimmed and you notice couples occupying tables throughout the restaurant. 

This is actually happening. You are going on a date with him.

With Seonghwa. 

It suddenly hit you and once again, you starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You have come to the point where you wanted to date, but dating your husband’s boss seems like the next level. Will your husband be okay with this? Will Seonghwa be okay with this?

Suddenly feeling like your legs are about to give out, you turn around to head outside but you are instead met with a human wall. A set of hands grab your waist to steady you, making sure you won’t fall by the sudden collision. 

“Running away already?” The voice asks, darker than you remember but also soft with a small tease. You look up to see Seonghwa’s soft eyes, slightly covered by some dark pieces of hair. Being a few inches from his face, you can’t help but freeze to study how absolutely amazing he looks up close. 

His almost black eyes, bushy brows, how his upper lip looks slightly bigger than the other, the most perfect nose you’ve ever seen.. Everything is too perfect, you don't know how to react. 

The sudden realization that his hands are on your waist wakes you up, and you stand back up straight to take a step away from him and his undeniably stunning face. 

“Uhm, no I.. I mean, I- no. I didn’t..” Your struggle with words makes him chuckle and he seems to brush off your awkward first meeting quicker than you. 

“How about we find our table?” He asks with a smile, placing his hand on your back to lead you further into the restaurant. 

“Mh-hmm.” Is all you manage to get out, wanting to kick yourself in the head for almost walking out on this man. 

The restaurant is a rooftop spot. Quiet, upscale, city lights spilling in through the glass walls. A jazz trio played somewhere in the background, subtle and elegant. The staff seem to know him, your table is ready immediately, tucked in a quiet corner with a view of the city lights. He orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, his tone smooth and confident, and then turn all his attention to you.

“Tell me something,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “How have you lived your entire life and last night was the first time you watched a Star Wars movie?”

You blink at him. “You start with the hard questions?”

He smile. “I like to skip the small talk.”

You giggle. And from there, the conversation goes rather smoothly. Then easier as the wine warms your chest and his eyes never stop watching you like you were the most interesting person in the world. He asks thoughtful questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you do, he’s vague, says he works in business, likes privacy, that his life isn’t all that exciting.

Which is a lie, you are sure.

This man radiates luxury. His watch alone could pay for your college loans, and he never once checked it. And then somewhere between the wine and the main course, it starts to gnaw at you. The weight of the secret you’re keeping. Or at least… the one you thought is yours alone.

You clear your throat, reaching for your glass again even though you didn’t really want another sip.

“I should tell you something.”

He tilts his head. “Are you okay?” he senses the way your behavior changes and tries meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, too nervous to break the truth that you know this man in front of you. “Or.. I don’t know, no, yes-no..” Your heart is beating fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don’t want you to waste your time sitting here, and if you don’t feel comfortable after receiving this information I totally understand, so if you’re freaked out we can pretend this never happened and I won’t-..”

“Look,” Seonghwa places his hand over yours, totally calm, meeting your eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You try keeping your voice down. Try.

“Do you need me to hide a body?”

“No!?”

“... Are we related?”

You tilt your head “No? I hope not…?”

“Then we’re good. I won’t be freaked out.” He shrugs, leans slightly back in his seat and sends you a smile as he picks up his glass.

You look at him, really look, and then just say it.

“You’re my husband’s boss.”

A beat. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just blinked once, slowly.

“Is that so?” he asked softly.

“I figured it out when I looked you up after we matched. I wasn’t… trying to snoop, I swear, I just got curious. And then I remembered you from the company dinner last year. Anyway, I wanted to say something in case it made this… weird for you.”

He smiles gently, setting down his glass. “It doesn’t.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I knew who you were the moment I saw your profile.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh.”

“But I still swiped right,” he adds, voice low, calm. “And I still wanted to meet you.”

“…Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you for a moment, and something in his gaze makes your skin heat. “Because I wanted the honor of inviting you out for dinner.” he says.

Your breath catches. You don’t know what to say to that, so you stay quiet, letting the words sit between you like warm embers.

“And now that we’re being honest,” he continues gently, “That little thing on your finger.” He points to the gold band with a small diamond around your finger, proving to everyone, including yourself, that you’re still in a marriage.

You give a small, helpless laugh. “Oh.. Yeah, it’s not what it looks like. Or maybe it is? I don’t think so, actually, I don’t know what this looks like, but I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to do-...”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he says.

“No, I want to,” you reply, surprising yourself. “I need to.”

So you tell him. About the open marriage your husband suggested. About how you agreed, naively thinking it would be equal. About how he’d found someone in a matter of weeks while you’d sat at home, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just waiting. You watch Seonghwa carefully for a reaction. There is none, no judgment, no discomfort. Just a quiet focus that made you feel safer than you’d felt in months.

“But it’s actually a really good idea. I mean, we get the chance to see other people and do whatever we want, so we won’t cheat on each other later on,” you shrug, looking down at the wineglass instead of the piercing eyes in front of you. “It’s preventing us from hurting the other person in the end.” you say, finally. 

He sits quiet, just taking in your words. You can’t read his eyes, he just listens. But you don’t feel judged by the man in front of you. His eyes show too much warmth for you to be intimidated. 

“I don’t understand.” he finally says. 

“You know, if we date other people now, we won’t feel the need to do so in the future.” 

“No, I heard every word you said loud and clear,” he leaned forward in his chair, voice still soft. “I just don’t understand why he would need to.. you know.. date others when he has you.” 

Seonghwa was trying his best to not push. He could easily have said “I mean, if I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to see other people. I wouldn’t ever want another woman.” but he is still in the stage of getting to know you, doesn’t want to scare you away, and despite remembering you from the company dinner last year, he only remembers what impression you left him. A quick introduction and laughs shared in a circle of multiple people, but somehow his eyes kept drifting to you.

Your laugh, your dress, the way your eyes sparkled under the lights. It had stayed with Seonghwa for a year, so when he saw your profile on a dating app, he knew he had to shoot his shot. Unaware of what the circumstances are between you and your husband. 

But he doesn’t ask for more explanation. Instead, he shifts the conversation, just slightly, easing it toward lighter things, books, music, how you both secretly hate networking events.

And somehow, the night never felt heavy again. When dessert comes, some delicate French pastry you can’t pronounce, he insists you try the first bite. When your laugh returns, brighter this time, he smiles like that was the reward he’s been waiting for.

Later, as he walks you to your ride, you feel lighter. Like maybe it was okay to want something new. Someone new.

“I still want to see you again,” he says, standing beside the car door. His hand brushes your wrist, soft and brief. “If you want that too.”

You nod.

“I do.”

He opens the door for you, then leans down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Then let’s take our time.”

In the cab on the way home, you can’t stop smiling. You haven’t even finished closing the door behind you before your phone buzz.

Seonghwa: Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? No pressure, just want to know you’re good.

You smile into the hallway light. God, he’s that kind of man. You kick off your heels, phone still in hand, fingers already typing back.

You: Home. Warm. A little wine-dizzy but safe. Thank you for dinner.

Seonghwa: Thank you for giving me a chance. Sleep well xx

You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment longer than necessary, phone against your chest, still fully dressed. The night felt soft around the edges, like it wasn’t quite real. Like maybe you’d dreamed it. His smile, the way he listens to you like your words matter, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

And he knows. That was the wild part. He knows you’re married, to his employee, no less, and he still treats you with more care and curiosity than your own husband had in months. You let yourself fall back into bed, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling with the ghost of his cologne still caught in your hair.

***

On this incredibly boring Monday, the rain started halfway through your meeting, and by the time you stepped outside, it had gone from a gentle drizzle to a full-on, cinematic downpour. You stand beneath the awning outside your building, arms crossed, watching as the other employees disappeared into warm cars and dry seats.

Your husband was supposed to pick you up. You agreed to that last week, so you texted him before you left, but no response. Not a word. That was twenty-five minutes ago. 

Your fingers tightens around your phone as you glance down the street for the fifth time. Just water streaking down your coat sleeve and your phone screen lighting up.

Not from him.

But from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa I debated texting you for ten minutes. This is me giving in. Hi.

You smile immediately, shoulders relaxing under your scarf as you type back.

You Ten minutes? I’m flattered. 

Three dots. Then:

Seonghwa Are you still at work or did you escape?

You exhale slowly, already smiling before your fingers move to reply.

You Currently trying to escape. But I’m waterlogged and standing under a leaky bus shelter.

A pause.

Seonghwa Do I want to know why you’re waiting for a bus in a rainstorm?

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because you did. And that felt… a little dangerous. But you type anyway.

You Husband said he’d pick me up after work. Then forgot.

You don’t know the reason why your husband didn’t pick you up today. But it was not the first time this has happened. Last time he was busy hanging out with his girlfriend, having his phone on silent. 

Three dots danced at the bottom of the screen for a long moment before his reply came in:

Seonghwa Tell me where you are

You don’t answer right away. Another bus pass, wrong line again, and your fingers ache from the cold.

You Seonghwa. I’m fine. It’s just a little rain

Seonghwa Sure. And I’m a little meteorologist. Tell me where you are

You bite your lip, watching as a bus rumbled past - not yours. 

You Seventh and Willow. But you don’t have to, it’s okay

Seonghwa I’m already in my car. Don’t argue with me while you’re catching pneumonia

Your lips curve in spite of yourself. You pulled your scarf tighter.

Seonghwa On my way. Five minutes. Don’t wander off or find a mysterious love interest in a bookstore while I’m driving

You spotted his car before you saw him.

It turns the corner slowly, headlights washing across the slick pavement, wipers dragging across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The passenger window rolls down just enough for him to lean towards it.

“Hey, get in,” he says, his tone easy and unaffected by the weather. “You look like you’ve been here a while.” 

You step forward, your boots making soft splashes in the puddles, and slide into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car is immediate, and you exhale, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. The car hums quietly as Seonghwa drives through the rain-slicked streets. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, but every now and then, his gaze flickers over to you, the small, concerned crease in his brow visible in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice steady but soft. He’s not pushing, just checking in.

You nod, brushing your damp hair back and glancing out the window. The cold air from the rain has soaked through your coat, and your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. The heater in the car is doing its best, but you can still feel the chill.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice sounds a little too quiet. “Just... a little wet. Didn’t expect next time you’d see me, to be me looking like this.”

Seonghwa doesn't respond right away, but you catch the small shift in his demeanor, a brief, thoughtful silence. His hands grip the steering wheel lightly as he drives through the darkened streets, navigating without hurry.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, though you can sense the care behind it. “Grab something warm?”

You think about it for a second. A warm drink, maybe a cozy corner of some café, those were things you used to enjoy. But the idea of sitting in a café, dripping wet and freezing, doesn’t feel right tonight. It feels… forced. You want warmth, sure, but not from the outside world.

You glance at him, then back at the road ahead.

“Actually,” you start, “could we just... go to your place?” your words surprising yourself. “If it’s not too much, of course.”

Seonghwa blinks, a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't ask any questions. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze shifting back to the road as the corners of his mouth deepen into a fond, knowing expression.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I mean... you’ve had a long day. You’re drenched.”

You shrug, even though a small part of you is shocked by your own words. "I’m fine. I’m not in the mood for a date-date or whatever. Just... somewhere warm. And I don’t wanna be alone tonight. If you don’t mind.”

The silence between you two feels more comfortable now, the tension from the earlier moments gone. It’s like a weight has lifted, neither of you needs to pretend anymore.

“Alright,” he says, his voice warm, “to my place it is.” The car turns into a quieter street, and Seonghwa taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, his smile still lingering.

When you step out of the car and into the rain, Seonghwa’s hand briefly touches the small of your back, guiding you toward the building. The touch is gentle and reassuring.

His apartment is warmer than you expected when you step inside. It’s spacious, sure, but it’s not the cold, intimidating type of wealth you might expect from someone like him. It’s cozy in a way that’s unexpected, like he’s curated it with care, each little thing in its place. You can tell he’s put thought into making this space a refuge, a place of comfort. 

“I can grab you a towel,” Seonghwa offers immediately, his voice soft. He’s already moving toward the bathroom, but when you shake your head, he pauses. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you changed into something comfortable.”

You glance down at yourself, feeling how soaked your clothes are, and how tired you are of pretending like you don’t need help. You nod. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiles, but it’s not a proud smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s quietly relieved, like he wants to take care of you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “I have a few shirts you can borrow,” he says, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “Nothing fancy, just... dry.”

You watch him for a moment, the way he’s trying to gauge your comfort level without pushing too hard. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of anything, and it’s a little disarming.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

He moves quickly, purposefully, heart thudding a little harder than usual. Not from nerves, but from quiet anger. Who forgets to pick up their wife in the middle of a downpour? He doesn’t let the frustration show on his face. He just breathes through it, reminding himself that this moment isn’t about him. It’s about making you comfortable. It’s about undoing a little bit of whatever damage your husband didn’t think twice about causing.

He returns with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A soft, worn-in tee, and hands it to you. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it smells faintly of him. He doesn’t linger too long, but there’s something in the way he carefully places it in your hands that makes you feel safe, like he genuinely wants you to be okay, not just physically, but emotionally too.

“Take your time,” he says softly, backing away. He nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down to the left. I’ll make some tea. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a simple offer, like he’s willing to offer you warmth without making you feel indebted to him. When you disappear into the bathroom to change, you can hear him bustling around in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and let yourself relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

When you return, towel-drying your hair with one of the fluffy hand towels he left out for you, you’re practically swallowed in his clothes. The shirt hangs loose over your frame, the waistband of the sweatpants tied tight around your hips. You’ve never felt so ridiculous and so safe all at once.

Seonghwa looks up from the kitchen and immediately gives you that soft, amused smile. “Okay, that’s a look.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stylish, right? You might not get these back.”

“I was just about to say they suit you,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You laugh, and it’s small, but real, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. He’s pacing, sleeves pushed up as he moves easily around the kitchen. A kettle is on, two mugs already waiting. You catch the scent of honey and ginger in the air, something warm and slightly sweet.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, padding into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glances up from stirring the honey. “You’re cold. You’re tired. I want to.” Then, with a softer voice: “Let me take care of you. Just a little.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flutter the way it does.

You sit at the counter, fingers curling around the mug he places in front of you. You’re so used to handling everything on your own that this small act of care feels like a luxury.

He leans against the counter opposite you, arms crossed casually, like he’s trying to keep a respectful distance. But he can’t help stealing glances at you. Not hungry, not suggestive, just thoughtful. Quietly admiring.

“You’ve had a long day,” he says after a pause, not prying. “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, sipping your tea. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. “We can just sit.”

No questions. No expectations. He wouldn’t make you relive any of it. Not the rain, not the waiting, not the part where someone was supposed to show up and didn’t.

You let a little smile play at the edge of your lips. “You’re... very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being comforting. It’s like you have a degree in it or something.”

Seonghwa chuckles, eyes crinkling just a little. “I’m just treating you how I think you deserve to be treated.”

He means it.

He means it.

You set your mug down. “You don’t even know me.”

Seonghwa smiles, not missing a beat. “I’m working on it.”

He leans slightly on the counter, arms still crossed, eyes steady on yours. “But I’ve picked up a few things. You’re the kind of person who checks in on others even when you’re the one having a bad day. You’re a little stubborn when it comes to letting people take care of you - you want to do things yourself. And when you’re tired, you get kind of funny. Like, weirdly funny.”

You laugh under your breath, and so does he.

“And tonight?” His smile softens. “You needed someone. I was close by. That’s all it takes.” There’s no hidden meaning in his voice. No pressure. Just the kind of honesty you’re not used to from a man.

You meet his eyes, and there it is. The kind of tension that doesn’t scream or flirt, it just hums. You glance around his kitchen. The wooden cabinets, the tiny potted herb garden on the windowsill, the slightly chipped mug in front of you. “Your place… it’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” he teases, “you thought it’d be floor-to-ceiling glass, steel counters, and an automatic espresso machine?”

“Something like that.”

He grins. “I like homes that feel lived in. I don’t like that cold, overly-modern stuff. I like that I can comfortably show off my collection of magnets without having to worry if it fits in with the rest of the home.” He points to his fridge and you notice the huge collection of magnets. You let out a soft giggle.

You like that answer too much. You shouldn’t, but you do.

“I like it,” you say softly, not just about the apartment. The warm cup rests between your palms, grounding you, and Seonghwa leans back against the counter beside you, sipping his own. Then, without a word, he sets his mug down and starts rummaging through a cabinet.

You squint at him. “What are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a small, almost mischievous smile. “We’re making cookies.”

You blink. “We are?”

“We are now,” he says simply, already pulling out a bag of flour.

You let out a soft laugh and step up beside him. You don’t ask if he needs help. You just join in. And he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile so gentle. Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a disaster.

The butter refuses to cooperate, slipping through your fingers and plopping to the floor. You try again, and this time it sticks to your hands so stubbornly that Seonghwa has to come to your rescue, giggling as he wipes it off with a spatula.

“Here,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Let’s try that again.” 

You giggle, brushing hair out of your face. “I swear, never make cookies.” 

“Oh, I can tell,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone, only encouragement. “It’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Later, flour explodes from the bag as it’s accidentally knocked over. It snows down across the counter, your arms, his shirt. You both freeze, and then burst into laughter. A moment later, the chocolate chips spill, scattering everywhere. 

Eventually, you both give up, the half-mixed dough resting lopsided in the bowl. You sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Seonghwa stood beside you. The bowl rests on your lap as he hands you a spoonful of raw dough, and you take it without hesitation.

“I think we killed it.” Seonghwa says proudly, scooping up some cookie dough for himself, using the same spoon.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say around a mouthful. You sit side by side in the wreckage of flour and chocolate chips, warm tea forgotten, sharing bites of something that didn’t quite turn out the way it was supposed to, but still feels like a win.

You’re mid-laugh when he pauses, his eyes softening as they settle on you. Without a word, he steps a little closer, and his hand lifts. Gentle and careful.

“There’s a little…” he murmurs, brushing his fingers just above your eyebrow, where a streak of flour has settled. His thumb grazes your skin as he wipes it away, but he doesn’t pull back right away.

His touch lingers.

You feel it all the way down to your spine. His warmth, the closeness, the way his eyes briefly drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The air feels thick, like something unsaid is pressing at the edges of the moment. 

“Got it,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body angled toward yours, only a breath between you. He leans in slightly, gaze dropping again, first to your lips, then back up to your eyes, like he’s asking without words.

You lean in too.

Your knees bump against his hips, and your breath catches, held in your chest like it’s afraid to break the moment. His hands finds the counter next to you, grounding him, pulling him even closer. So close you can count every faint freckle on his skin. So close his breath hits your cheek.

And your phone rings.

Loud. Sharp. Invasive.

You freeze.

The moment shatters like glass.

Seonghwa pulls back slowly, but his hand stays on the counter near you, and he doesn’t turn away. Your phone rings again, and your eyes flick to the screen.

“Husband.”

You swallow hard, something sinking in your chest. Seonghwa doesn't say anything. He just watches, his expression soft but unreadable, and steps back enough to give you space. Not far, just enough. You hesitate for half a second. Then you slide off the counter, still warm from where your knees had brushed against him, and answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

He turns away, not out of anger, not even disappointment, just… quiet. Respectful. Still the same steady, gentle man, already reaching for the dish towel to start wiping flour from the counter like he’s giving you time. Giving you privacy.

But the warmth between you hasn’t disappeared.

It just simmers now, quiet and unsaid. Still there. Still waiting.

You murmur a few short replies into the phone, keeping your tone neutral. You hang up a moment later, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the device, like you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Seonghwa glances at you, not questioning, not pressing. Just that same soft-eyed look, like he sees everything without needing it explained.

You clear your throat and set the phone down on the far end of the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quiet. He offers you the tiniest smile. “You didn’t miss much. The cookie dough was starting to melt anyway.”

You laugh under your breath, and he smiles a little wider.

“I should… probably get going soon,” you say.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride.”

You change into your old clothes, now warm and dry after Seonghwa took care of it. You finish tying your shoes and glance up at him. His movements are calm, deliberate, like he’s giving you space to process, to gather yourself. His gentleness is almost too much to handle right now, and you wonder if he knows how much he’s doing, just being there. Just being himself.

The drive back to your place is calm, the city lights flickering by as Seonghwa keeps his focus on the road, his hand steady on the wheel. Every now and then, his eyes flicker toward you, like he’s checking, making sure you’re okay. 

When he finally pulls up to your house, you hesitate for a second before opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You really made my day.” and finally, and he offers you that smile of his. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. 

“Anytime,” he replies softly, as if there’s no question.

You step out of the car, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stand there for a moment, watching his headlights fade into the distance, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

***

A week has passed since that night. The one where everything had almost felt like it could change. The small, sweet moments that lingered in the kitchen, the silent tension, and that quiet brush of his fingers against your face. But you hadn’t really spoken much after that.

Seonghwa had been giving you space. He never pressed, never pushed, just sent a message here and there, something light, something simple. Asking how your day was, letting you know he was there if you needed to talk. It was as though he understood the weight on your shoulders, the things you were still trying to process, and he respected that.

You’d found comfort in those texts. They were a gentle reminder that there was still kindness out there, that not all men were careless or indifferent. But you hadn’t been ready to dive into anything more. Not yet.

So you let the days pass, lost in work and the usual noise of life, where everything felt like it was moving forward and standing still all at once.

When you walk into the house that evening, expecting to be alone, the air feels too still. Almost oppressive. You take off your shoes, drop your bag, and then, suddenly, you hear it.

Moans.

Loud and unmistakable.

Your heart skips a beat. The noise comes from the bedroom.

You freeze, panic washes over you in a way you never thought you’d feel. The reality hits harder than a slap, and before your mind can catch up to your body, your feet are already moving, silent, quick, out the door.

Your husband. With her.

The woman he’d been seeing for months. The one you knew about. From his work. The one he swore wouldn’t ever step foot in your bedroom.

But she had. They had.

The rules didn’t matter now.

You can barely remember how you made it out of the house, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribs. You don’t stop to think. You just grab your coat and rush outside, the cold air stinging your cheeks. You get on the bus, not thinking clearly or caring about anything other than getting away.

Away to the last place that felt safe.

Seonghwa opens the door looking completely confused in a loose hoodie and gray sweatpants, as if he’s been lounging or about to sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, his face soft with surprise, but when he sees you standing there, shaking and crying, everything about him changes.

His eyes widens, his body tensing as if his instincts slammed into overdrive.

“Hey-..hey, what’s going on?” His voice cracks a little, pure concern bleeding through. “Are you-, are you okay? What happened?” He barely waits for an answer before stepping forward, one hand reaching out like he’s afraid to startle you, the other already pulling the door wider. “Come in. Come here. Please.”

You don’t even remember how you’d made it to his place. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even know where else to go. You are just… there. Your legs moved on their own. He gently takes your wrist, guiding you inside like he thought you might fall apart if he let go. And maybe you would.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper, your voice trembling so much the words barely came out. “I walked in and they were… in the bedroom. Our bedroom. I heard her, and him-”

Your breath hitched. The shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal all crashed into you again like a tidal wave. Seonghwa freeze, his face shifting from confusion to something like disbelief, followed by an ache so deep it flickered across his features before he could hide it.

“You’re shaking,” he breathes, like that was the only thing he could focus on to keep himself from doing something rash. “Gosh-, come here.”

Then he pulls you in. Not tentative. Not gentle like before. But firm. Warm. Protective. His arms wrap around you completely, hands cradling the back of your head, the middle of your back, holding you like he was trying to piece you back together with just his embrace.

You broke.

The sob that escaped you was raw, tearing through your chest as you collapsed against him. His hoodie quickly dampened with your tears, but he didn’t care. He only held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, over and over again, his voice thick, arms unyielding. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

A few hours passed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, and the soft hum of the city outside filters in through the windows, but none of it seems to matter. Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on you as you sleep, curled up with a blanket around you. Seonghwa didn’t move you. He wouldn’t dare. Your face is peaceful now, but he knows, he saw the remnants of the tears still streaked on your cheeks.

He watches you for a long moment, longer than he should have, just to be sure you were breathing easy, that your face wasn’t tight with the pain you’d carried in. He adjust the blanket around your shoulders once more, fingers brushing your arm like a silent promise: I’m here.

Then he slips away into the kitchen.

The lights are dim. He doesn’t turn on the overheads. Only the small one above the sink cast a quiet glow, painting gold over the counter and the delicate steam curling from the mug of tea he never ended up drinking.

He cleans slowly. Methodically. Not because there is much to clean, but because he needs to do something with his hands. He needs to focus on anything but the image of you curled on his couch with your cheeks still damp from crying. Something about seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable in his home, keeps his chest tight and his thoughts moving. He wants to be nearby, just in case you wake up and need him. 

He didn’t know what to do when you broke. His instinct was to hold you, to gather you up and shelter you from everything, but he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to, but because he didn’t know if it was what you needed.

You are still married. Still healing. Still so fragile it makes his chest ache.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about how you came here. To him. Not a friend. Not a hotel. Him.

What did that mean?

What could it mean?

He’s still standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, when he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps behind him. You’re quiet, hesitant, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. Sleep clinging to your features, eyes puffy, hair slightly mussed, your voice rough when you speak.

“Seonghwa?”

He turns once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely looking at him. “For just… showing up. For staying. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.”

Seonghwa sets the tea towel down gently and shakes his head “You didn’t take anything,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather have you.

“I feel ridiculous,” you say quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Showing up here. Crying like that. Falling asleep like a mess on your couch.”

Seonghwa looks up from the sink where he’s rinsing a cup, then reaches for the towel draped nearby to dry it. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if not to startle you. “You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re human. And tonight was… a lot. You shouldn’t have had to hear that. Especially not in your own home.”

You nod once, lips press tight, your eyes tracing the pattern of the granite countertop.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” you whisper. “I agreed to this open marriage, I knew what it meant. All he had to do was follow the simple rules we made; let the other person know when you’re dating someone and don’t bring them into the bedroom. But hearing them like that… it was like everything I’d been pretending not to feel came crashing in.”

He steps a little closer, still drying the mug but slowing as he listens.

You look up at him then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to bring it all here.”

“You didn’t bring anything but yourself,” he says, voice softer now. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you came. I’ve only seen you a few times, but I-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go anywhere else tonight.”

Your chest tightens. Something in his words, his expression, the way he stands there drying a cup like it was the only way he can keep his hands from holding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he adds, glancing down at the towel in his hand, placing the cup on the counter. “But when I saw you at my door, I didn’t feel interrupted. I felt relieved.” he huffs a quiet breath, laughing under it, ”I didn’t want anyone else to be the one you went to. Is that selfish? Maybe. But—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The towel was halfway folded in his hands when you moved.

Three fast steps.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down before he could process what was happening, and you kissed him.

Hard. Needy. Quietly desperate.

You needed to. You needed to feel if this was more than just you feeling crazy. Could you really find safety in someone who isn’t your husband? How could this man you’ve met 3 times the past two weeks, be the most thoughtful and supportive person in your life at the moment?

The towel slips from his hand, landing forgotten on the kitchen floor. He kisses you back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding your cheeks, pulling you close without hesitation. The warmth of him spreads through you instantly, grounding, solid, safe.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

Not until the kiss breaks, just enough for breath.

“I…” you whisper, suddenly unsure.

He smiles, gently, almost in disbelief. “You caught me off guard.” He’s smiling, eyes warm, his thumb brushing your side like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s started. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” you whisper, nervous now, terrified he might say it was too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m really glad you did it.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, and you can feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, but there was hesitation, just a flicker of it.

You mumble the words, barely loud enough for either of you to hear. “Is this... too fast?”

A beat passed. Then another. 

“No,” he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not if it’s you. Not if you’re the one reaching for me.”

Your breath catches, the lump in your throat returning. Not from grief this time, but from something gentler. Something like hope. 

“You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

And he means it. Every word.

You reach for him again, pulling him in. The kiss is firmer this time, your lips claiming his with more urgency, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as if you couldn’t get close enough. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist, as if holding you in place is the only thing keeping him from losing control.

Your hands slid by the hem of his shirt, fingertips barely grazing over his warm skin, and you feel him tense beneath your touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he rasp. “I’m barely holding on.”

“Good,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him again.

His hands are on your waist, his grip tight, but there is still a slight hesitation in him. It’s as if he was torn between wanting to be the good guy, wanting to respect your boundaries, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to give in to everything you’re offering. His lips meet yours again, deeper this time, and the kiss is frantic, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough, can’t touch you enough.

You barely register your back hitting the edge of the kitchen island until his hands curl under your thighs and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled by the sudden motion, but his strength… the ease of it, the way he settles you gently onto the counter like you’re precious, it makes you shiver.

You wrap your legs around his hips instantly, locking your heels at the small of his back, and it pushes him in deeper, his length perfectly aligned with the ache between your legs.

The moment your bodies aligned, you both gasped.

You feel him.

Thick and full and undeniably hard, straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He’s pressed right against your center, the outline of him so vivid you can practically trace it with your eyes.

You gasp. He curses. 

“I can see you,” you whisper, voice wrecked, eyes flicking down to where his sweatpants clung to him, every thick inch outlined and throbbing. “You’re so hard.”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that-”

You can't help but grind once against his member, and you whimper as his hips rolled forward, slow and deep. His cock drags up the seam of your heat, the head catching perfectly where your clit throbs. It’s too much and not enough. The layers between you only made it worse.

He feels you. Wet, warm, pressed against the inside of your panties, where your thin leggings clings like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how badly you want him. His mouth crashes onto yours, and it was different this time, no hesitation, no restraint. Just teeth and tongue and desperation. Your hands were in his hair now, tugging, dragging him closer. He presses against you, hard enough to make you moan, and God, you feel him, thick, hard, straining against his pants.

But something occupies your mind.

“Wait,” You keep your legs wrapped around him. You don’t let go. Immediately, he stills. His breathing ragging, chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are warm on your thighs where they rest, thumbs rubbing soft, slow circles into your skin like he’s grounding you. His forehead presses gently against yours, both of you still catching your breath. 

“I want to,” you admitted, your voice wrecked. “So bad. But I need… I need to say it first. To him.”

Him. Your Husband.

For the first time in months, you hated that your husband was in your mind right now. 

His gaze lifts to yours instantly, and for a second, you brace yourself for disappointment. But it never comes.

He nods. “I know,” he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Just because he broke your rules does not mean you should do it too.” He’s way quicker to understand than you’ve ever imagined. He’s too good.

“I’m sorry… I really want to.” You say, finding his eyes. “But I feel like I have to tell him that I’m seeing someone, let alone his boss, before I do something.”

“Hey,” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, the warmest eyes you’ve ever met. “You don’t have to explain, I totally understand.”

You try smiling but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just not in the right headspace, and if we did this right now, I think I’d just… think too much. Regret it. Not because of you! But because of everything else.”

“I know,” he says gently, brushing your hair back with a touch that’s nothing short of reverent. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. If you want to do this or not. Whatever you end up deciding, I’ll respect. But if you decide you want to do this, with me sometime, I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.”

And God. That. That is the thing. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t angry or annoyed or trying to guilt you into a decision.

He just understand.

“You’re kind,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re really fucking kind.” 

A silence fills the space between you, your gaze dropping down to where your bodies meet. You look up at him, cheeks flushed. “If I hadn’t said stop… would you have?”

His eyes darkens. He smile, not cocky. But honest.

“Not a chance in hell.” The weight behind those words makes your chest ache. “Can I do anything for you?” 

You glance down at yourself, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I probably need a shower. I look like someone who lost a fight to her own life.”

He grins at that, easing back just enough to slide his hands to your waist. Before you can say another word, he’s lifting you down from the counter with a firm but gentle grip, like you’re something precious, and threading his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you softly. “Shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

You trail behind him to the bathroom, your hand still tucked in his. He moves around the space with practiced ease, grabbing towels, adjusting the water, and even laying out the same sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you wore the last time you were here.

When he places them carefully on the counter, he gives you one last glance, warm and soft. “Take your time, your clothes are on the counter. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed in a completely different way. “Seonghwa?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you.

“Thank you. For… not making this weird.”

His smile is soft, patient. “It’s not weird. It’s okay.”

A few minutes later, you’re still in his bathroom, the warmth of the steam and the quiet hum of the fan giving you a moment to breathe. To be alone and let the water rinse some of it away. Not the pain of today, but the weight of it, just for a moment.

You change into the familiar sweatpants and soft T-shirt he left folded neatly by the sink. They still smell like him. When you open the door again, the hallway’s dim, and the softest light glows from the living room. 

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting over the back, a blanket already draped across the cushions, like he’s been preparing your little corner of the world for you. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, patting the space beside him with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and gentle. “I was about to start a movie without you and pretend I didn’t.”

You laugh, your heart lighter already. And as you cross the room and curl into his side beneath the blanket, it’s not the movie that matters. It’s the feeling that you’re safe here, with him.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s more than enough.

***

The boardroom is quiet when Seonghwa walks in the next day.

He’s always early, by design. It gives him time to breathe, to set the tone, to sit at the head of the glass table with everything already in place. His laptop is open, a black pen lined up perfectly beside his notepad, and his eyes skim the agenda, though he already knows it. But his focus isn’t on the day’s schedule.

Not yet.

It’s still on you.

Not the way you looked when you walked into his apartment yesterday. Exhausted, crying, your whole body weighed down by things you hadn’t said yet, but the way you looked curled up against him hours later, asleep on his couch, tucked into his side beneath a blanket like you’d always belonged there.

You had cried. You had kissed him. You had let him hold you. He’d kissed the crown of your head.

And he didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because you didn’t let him, if anything, you were warm and quiet, breathing slow against him. It was the way you felt in his arms that kept him awake. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred. Like if he moved, even slightly, you might disappear.

In the morning, you stirred first. Groggy and quiet, blinking sleepily against his chest before murmuring something about needing to go home and change before work. He offered to take the day off. Said he could cancel everything. That he didn’t care.

But you shook your head with a tiny smile. Insisted that he go.

You even teased him for hovering. Called him “overly attentive.” He’d rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when you leaned in and kissed him goodbye, soft and sleepy, he nearly asked you to stay.

But you left. And he watched the door long after it closed behind you.

Now he’s here. Under sterile lighting. A boardroom full of chatter. And across the table sits the man who used to be your husband in everything but legality.

He walked in laughing - with her - like it’s just another Thursday. The girlfriend is practically attached to him, all smiles and subtle touches, like they don’t work under the same roof. Like they’re not sneaking around as if people haven’t noticed. Seonghwa doesn’t look up immediately. Just lets his fingers tap softly against the side of his coffee cup. 

Measured. Calm. Focused.

“Morning,” your husband says with that too-casual tone, like everything’s perfectly fine.

“Morning,” Seonghwa replies, flat and cool.

He doesn’t do anger like most people. It simmers quietly in him, contained, controlled. He doesn’t lash out. He remembers. He watches. He files things away until the time is right.

Today’s not the day.

But he is watching.

The meeting starts. The others file in, small talk filling the space. Projector humming, documents shuffling. Seonghwa opens the presentation. Keeps his voice even.

“I’d like to keep today’s meeting brief,” he says, voice smooth and low. “We’re focusing on timelines, project deliverables, and accountability.”

His gaze flicks to your husband. The pause is barely a second too long. “Especially accountability.”

There's a flicker in the man’s expression. He shifts in his seat, coughs once like he’s about to make a joke, but one look from Seonghwa shuts him down. The meeting ticks forward. 

Then your husband speaks up.

“I think the delay in deliverables came down to a lack of communication, not really our fault,” he says, flashing a grin at his girlfriend like she’ll have his back.

She does.

But Seonghwa is already leaning forward, calm but sharp. “And who was responsible for communicating that timeline to the vendors?”

Silence.

Your husband clears his throat. “Well… technically, I was. But-”

“Then let’s not redirect blame.” Seonghwa’s voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. “If you were the lead, you’re accountable. End of story.”

The table goes quiet. The girlfriend shifts awkwardly. And your husband, he looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t dare.

Good.

Seonghwa could say more. So much more. He could talk about how you came to him last night after being ignored for months. How you told him things you never said to anyone. How you almost gave yourself to him. How you let him hold you, warm you, kiss you, keep you safe. How you fell asleep against him like he was the only place you felt okay.

He could say how he’s never going to forgive this man for not seeing you. For making you feel small. For letting you cry alone in your kitchen while he flirted with someone new on the clock.

But Seonghwa keeps it inside.

He lets the meeting run its course. Makes his points. Keeps his composure. Because no one knows what you are to him.

Yet.

And when it’s finally over, he gathers his papers slowly. Closes his laptop with care. And doesn’t look back once.

Because there’s something about seeing that man across from him, pretending like he still owns your heart, when Seonghwa knows what it feels like to have you kiss him good morning, in nothing but his hoodie, after a night of quiet healing.

He’s not done protecting you.

And your husband? He doesn’t even realize he already lost.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos

[keithyp00]

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

From Sam.

With a card.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

But Sam came over first.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

~~~~~

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

You smiled to yourself.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.

[peachylynnie]

glasses

word count: 1.2k synopsis: in which you wear zayne's glasses. contains: zayne x mc!reader, slightly posessive zayne, whipped zayne, mentions of violence, slight angst, and fluff overall. a/n: i really like zayne's glasses (the frameless ones). do not copy or translate my work. zayne does not endorse plagiarism. reblogs and comments are appreciated :) lads masterlist: here

zayne doesn't expect you to be awake when he comes home. given how late he leaves his office, he's not surprised to find you fast asleep in your adorable pajamas with your mouth open and legs splayed by the time he arrives at your shared bedroom. though, there are times when he finds you awake, either treating your wounds from another day of hunting wanderers or sitting outside on the balcony to gaze at the stars. but, those times are rare. (not to say he doesn't appreciate them; he's in awe of how strong you are whenever you ramble about taking down a wanderer as he bandages you up and how the stars don't even compare to how stunning you look whenever he joins you at the balcony).

point is: zayne doesn't expect you to be up so late at night (morning at this point) when he walks in. so, he's surprised to find you awake... in his glasses.

the prodigious doctor freezes in place after closing the door. there you are, legs crossed on the couch with a book in your hand and your eyebrows furrowed as you flip a page, causing his glasses to tilt on the bridge of your nose. oh, god. he can feel his knees buckling. not from the eight-hour surgery he just finished, no. but from the gorgeous sight in front of him. his glasses looked so good on you.

"darling?" he calls breathlessly.

you yelp, causing the glasses to nearly fall until you swiftly catch and adjust them with your fingers. he thinks it's the most seductive thing you have ever done (besides the time you insisted on shaving his chin on a rocking chair). "zayne?!" you stand up immediately, abandoning the book on the couch and rushing to him to wrap him in a hug. "how long were you standing there for? i didn't notice you at all!"

"was the book that interesting?" the man questions as he returns the hug, careful not to apply too much pressure. he doesn't want to break his glasses after all. not because they're his, no, not at all. but because he wants to see you wear them more often.

you look up at him from his chest and nod. his heart soars at the sight. the glasses...they bring out the light in your eyes.

"oh? thanks, zayne." you giggle. ah, he said that out loud. his ears grow red as he averts his gaze to the side.

"ahem," he coughs. "why are you wearing my glasses, anyway? do they match your prescription?"

"yes, actually!" your beam. "i couldn't find my glasses earlier, so i decided to use yours." you lean playfully to the side to see his face. zayne can't help but smile upon meeting your eyes. they really did look good on you, and he couldn't be happier to hear that his prescription matches yours. "i hope you don't mind," you say sheepishly. "i was only going to use them for tonight. i'm sure my glasses are lying around here somewhere." at that, you twist left and right to scan the living room.

"no need," he says almost immediately. he really doesn't want your eyes to leave his right now, not with you wearing his glasses so mesmerizingly. you look at him with curiosity when his hands slide up your neck and stop at your face, gently cooling your cheeks.

"are you alright, zayne?"

he nods silently and presses a delicate kiss to your forehead. "i'm alright, darling." caressing your cheek with his thumb, the man adds, "and i don't mind. not at all. wear them whenever you like. i have some spares back at the office."

"oh, okay." you're taken aback by how eager he sounds. it's almost as if he wants you to wear his glasses, and his glasses only.

except that's exactly what the man standing before you wants. to continue to wear his glasses whenever you please. the idea of you enjoying a book while donning his glasses fills him with an immaculate sense of pride. he takes it even further by imagining the faces of all the interns who dared to gawk at you with starry eyes whenever you visited him at his office. he's sure once they see you with his glasses, they'll get the message.

"but i still have to look for mine at some point," you yawn. he takes note of how his glasses slide down whenever you scrunch your nose. "they weren't exactly cheap, you know?"

"i'll help you look for them in the morning," he says as he guides you to the bedroom (lies, he's going to hide them). your sleepy eyes look even more adorable with his glasses on; oh, he swears he can feel himself melting (and that says a lot given his evol).

"thanks, zayne," you say sleepily as you settle under the covers. "you always take care of me, you know that?"

"i'm your primary care physician. it's my job to take care of you," he answers as he sheds his coat and hangs it in the closet.

"you're also my boyfriend, remember?" you grumble, shifting onto your side.

"no, i forgot," he replies monotonously.

you jerk your head back, shooting him a glare. him and his dry humor.

zayne remains unfazed as he joins you in bed. "you should remember this too," he murmurs your name. "you don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you." pulling the covers up to your chin, he adds, "i will always take care of you." you open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it. "not because i am legally obligated to do so, but because i love you. please remember that."

you blink, taken aback by his words. it's not often you get to see zayne so honest and close to you like this. due to your busy schedules, tender moments like these are hard to come by. determined to make the most of this, you cup your lover's face and plant a kiss on his lips. indulging in the much-needed warmth your lips provide, zayne deepens the kiss, his hands finding your waist.

after pulling back for air, you throw him a cheeky smile. "thanks, zayne."

he looks at you unamused. "what did i just say?"

you laugh before shifting onto your back, ready to sleep. sparing him one last glance before you close your eyes, you say, "i love you, zayne."

"i love you too," he whispers as he watches you drift off peacefully. it doesn't take long for him to turn and reach for the pull chain on the lamp. except he notices something.

you forgot to take his glasses off.

chuckling to himself, zayne carefully removes them from your face. as much as he loves how they suit you perfectly, he wants you to be comfortable. after placing his glasses on the nightstand, he returns to your side and notices another thing: the small dents on your nose bridge left by the pads from his glasses.

unable to stop himself, your lover admires them by gently tracing his finger over them. it seems there are many ways to show that you are his and he is yours. he's delighted his glasses are one of the ways.

after finally pulling the lamp chain, zayne presses one final kiss to your forehead.

"goodnight, darling."

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[bitters-n-sweets]

take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a complete stranger??"

You sigh. Of course she’s going to lose her mind.

"Jenna—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name. 

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

--

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi

[chamisulgrape]

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 𖤐 [trailer]

One summer. 4 boys. Follow Y/N as she navigates her first heartbreak, first love, friendship and forbidden romance. (Or, before parting ways, y/n and her sister decide to have one last summer together. With her best friend since diapers, her sister's boyfriend, her sister's boyfriend's brother, and your best friend's older brother--the boy she's been in love with since forever, there's really no way this could go wrong. Right?)

ᢉ𐭩 acts i | acts ii | release date: tbd (soon)

word count → trailer wc: 741 | full fic: tbd starring → heeseung lee as the sister's boyfriend, jongseong park as heeseung lee's younger brother, sunghoon park as the first love and jake's older brother, and jaeyun sim as childhood best friend, side characters from other groups tags → tsitp au, slice of life (ish), love squares, trope galore, smut, angst, jealousy, some fluff, rivalry, sexual tension, yearning/pining (always) rating → 18+ a/n → i've been wanting to write this since the first season came out but never got around to it, so what better time than now! i had a wip i was working on as well, and decided instead of the og idea it'd be perfect to start this one! i know many people are waiting for parts of my other works, but this has been rotting inside my brain for so long hehe.. so excited to write this one :3 cr. to yanalee for the hyungline picture! taglist → open! pls send ask or reply to be added to the taglist for this (if u r not alrdy on my perm taglist) fic playlist here! | back to my masterlist

♪ 'cause i took so much time to reset my life, but in just one look, i'm back, now all i remember is what we had nobody, nobody, nobody compares to you somebody, somebody please help me get over you

Every summer since you can remember, there’s been a tradition.

It started with your family’s beach house, somewhere a couple hours away. Every summer, your family and your mom’s best friend’s family stayed there together, making memories—a tradition your mom and her best friend didn’t want to die out. 

For the first couple of years, it was just you, your sister—Yunjin, your best friend Jake, and his older brother. You can’t even remember meeting Jake. Your parents are best friends which made you two best friends automatically, so in hindsight, you’ve been friends since birth.

Jake was born first, a fact he makes sure to hold over you at any given moment, but it doesn’t really make a difference. “Thirty seconds doesn’t mean anything!” You’d say. “I came out first, suck it!” He’d reply.

Jake is also Yunjin’s best friend, obviously, but deep down, Jake was your best friend first. You guys are closer, anyways, ever since Yunjin and H—pause. We’ll get to this later.

Anyways, there was a point in your life where you absolutely hated Yunjin. It’s a rite of passage to sisterhood, you think. You hate each other until you don’t, and then it brings you closer together. You don’t really remember how or when it started, all you remember is that’s just how it was. Maybe it was the fact that she was way more popular than you and had too many friends that weren’t you, but you were also eight and she was nine, so it must’ve been something stupid and petty.

You can’t even remember why, but you both laugh about it from time to time.

Even so, you, Yunjin, and Jake were always stuck together like glue. You spent almost every waking moment together. From being sisters and best friends to being seatmates at school, all of your memories are painted with Yunjin and Jake right beside you. Their parents used to even joke about Jake and Yunjin getting married and growing old together. Yunjin would roll her eyes, Jake would laugh, and Jake’s older brother would tease them without end.

Ah, Jake’s older brother. How could you forget to mention him?

Sunghoon Park is… you don’t think there are enough words to describe him. Although ninety-nine-percent of your memories were made with Yunjin and Jake, the one-percent that will always stand out the most to you are the ones you’ve made with Sunghoon.

During the small period of time that you drifted from Yunjin out of spite and pettiness, you found yourself finding solstice in Sunghoon. You’d always thought that Sunghoon was the coolest person you’d ever met. Jake thought Sunghoon was a huge loser, but you felt like you saw through the whole cold-hearted, chic vibe he tried to give off.

That was all crushed the day you realized that the adoration you felt was actually a big, huge crush.

You liked Sunghoon years before you even knew what a crush was, only realizing it two years into middle school. You remember it like it was yesterday: a hot summer day, Sunghoon smiling at you a certain way while passing you a glass of crisp, ice water, and the feeling that erupted like an explosive damn volcano in your stomach.

You finally understood what your classmates were saying when they talked about crushes and butterflies.

From then on, the four of them were as follows: you and Yunjin, your older sister. Jake, yours and Yunjin’s childhood best friend. And Sunghoon, Jake’s untouchable, cool older brother who you will forever be in love with.

There are no secrets too big or small between you, Jake and Yunjin, but this feeling is something that you wanted to keep to yourself. A small, curious and self-indulgent garden of flowers in your heart that you wanted to tend to alone for once.

You had thought that this was just a harmless infatuation. You never planned to actually do anything about it in fear of rejection and losing Jake, but from spending time with Sunghoon in your younger years to growing up beside the Park siblings, you had been hopelessly falling in love.

Looking back now, you wish you had fallen in love with anyone else. Either way, anything would’ve hurt less than this. 

Wait, you haven’t even gotten to the rest of the story yet. Well, buckle in, because there’s two more boys you haven’t mentioned yet and a whole summer ahead of you—and it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

© all rights reserved to chamisulgrape. pls do not translate or repost elsewhere.

[monzabee]

Ok so this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s not like to detailed but I’d say like a story where you and Lando live together and you eventually start liking each other but he doesn’t know you like him and like you see him and a girl and immediately like “omg he does NOT like me😔” so you go with your friend like to a bar or club not sure and meet someone(could be Charles or Carlos)

And the you end up liking him and then he takes you to your house and Lando is waiting for you and then sees (one of them) and then gets upset and starts asking like were have you been blah blah .Then you eventually say you liked him but you know it didn’t if he had liked someone else and then he’s like no I liked you and then it comes to a fluff or angst ending.(again I’m sorry first time requesting 😭❗️

the roommate experiment – ln4

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Lando doesn’t like his roommate, not one bit—this is a complete lie.  

Pairing: lando norris x reader

Word Count:  3.8k

Warnings: fluff, arguing (a lot), feeelings, jealous, i can’t remember but maybe cursing?  

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! let me tell you one thing—this fic is VINTAGE at this point, and i'm not even kidding😭 this took me a very long time to finish, and it was a journey, and i do apologise for that, but hey—at least it’s here!!! let's all celebrate some good vibes for lando norris who is leading the championship, and hopefully i can get through rest of the requests on my list. i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. also, my requests are open! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

One second Lando is on the podium in Miami, getting his first win, being absolutely on top of the world and partying until he doesn’t remember his name. Then, suddenly, he is back in his apartment in Monte Carlo, his mother sitting on the couch beside him as she explains how the daughter of a close family friend will be staying him for the foreseeable future. He thinks, for a moment, whether he is still hungover or not, or maybe he’s dreaming, because there is absolutely no way he’s going to be sharing his apartment with you. 

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, hands cutting through the air to emphasise his point. “Why am I the one stuck with her? She’s not a child.” 

“I’m not saying she’s a child,” his mother points out, “I’m saying that she needs a place to stay during her internship, and you have an extra room. She’s your friend, Lando, stop acting like you don’t like her.”  

With a finger pointed at his mother, “I’m not saying I don’t like her,” Lando explains, “all I’m saying is that I don’t think either of us could be fine with living each other. You saw the last time we had an argument; do you want it to be like that every single day?” 

No, she thinks, I absolutely do not, as his mother thinks of the thrashed-up villa that your families had rented out for a holiday and shakes her head to get rid of the imagine. “Well, she’s coming, so be nice to her and try not to obliterate your apartment, darling.” 

“Mum, I just won my first race, is this how you want me the remember the best day of my life ending its high?” Lando tilts his head, giving his mom the best puppy eyes he can.  

He thinks for a second that he manages to get through her, but then, she straightens up, gives him a small kiss on the forehead and starts walking through the door as she yells, “Don’t forget to bring out the guest towels!” 

And as he slumps down onto the couch, his mind goes back to the fact that just over twenty-four hours ago, he was back in Miami, partying after his first win. 

Staying at Lando’s apartment in Monte Carlo wasn’t your first, second or last choice for an accommodation if you’re being a hundred percent honest. Alas, you find yourself at his apartment, bags in hand, busy returning the look of disdain behind his mother’s back to match the look he gives you himself. She has somehow convinced your mother, who practically forced you to take her gracious offer, that this is a good idea. “You’ll get along splendidly,” she assures you all, including herself, “you are not little kids who fight because of everything anymore.”  

Oh, little did she know. 

The first hour you’re there, Lando makes a point of complaining of how many boxes you have, as if you were not in the process of moving your entire life to another country, and that you are to, under any circumstances, display any of your ‘girly’ things out in his ‘bachelor pad’. You decide to take the high road with that second one and opt for an eyeroll as you drag your suitcase into your room to unpack. The look he gives you behind your back? Priceless. And you only know how he looks because of the strategically placed mirrors he has on the corridor.  

After a couple of hours, he throws a fuss because you’ve decided to order food. “I’m an athlete,” he points out. “You can’t just order food whenever you want around here.”  

You try taking the high road, you really do, but how can you not egg him on when he is acting like such a petulant child?  

The second argument occurs when Lando has a few friends over a couple of days later, and you wander into the kitchen in your loungewear—which doesn’t make any sense, because you can’t see what’s so scandalous about a pair of shorts and a tank top, but he insists that you cannot be hanging around his friend wearing ‘almost nothing’. You point out that his complaining within itself contradictory because if you are wearing something, then you cannot be wearing almost nothing. He leaves the living room, stomping on his way back to his room, you count it as another argument won. Your mother loses it when you tell her that you’re going to start looking for a place to move out, also reminding her of the fact that living with Lando was supposed to be temporary anyway, but she’s having none of it. 

“Temporary or not, you promised to stick it out until your internship ends,” your mother reminds you sternly over the phone. “And besides, you’ve known Lando your whole life. Surely you can survive a few months without tearing each other apart.” 

“Define ‘tearing each other apart,’” you mutter, earning a long sigh on the other end. 

“Stop being dramatic,” she replies. “Lando isn’t the problem. You both just need to grow up and learn how to live together.” 

You don’t have the energy to argue further, so you reluctantly let the conversation end with a grumbled, “Fine, but if one of us ends up in the hospital, it’s on you.” 

When you think about it, living with Lando is as much as living without Lando. So that’s how your days pass by for a while, at least until Lando has to leave to go racing or back to the UK to go to the Mclaren factory. You fight over everything like cats and dogs, and you are mature enough to admit that coexisting with Lando is not an option. The apartment is eerily quiet when Lando is not there, you realise. That makes sense, since he is not there to bicker with you about anything and everything you do, from the way you breathe to the way you walk. At first, you relish the silence. The absence of Lando’s constant complaints feels like a vacation. No sarcastic quips about your ‘obnoxious’ alarm clock. No eye rolls when you leave your shoes by the door instead of neatly tucking them away.  

No Lando, period. 

But then, as the days stretch on, the quiet begins to weigh on you. Without the petty arguments, the apartment feels almost... lifeless. You catch yourself lingering in the kitchen, half expecting him to appear and critique your choice of breakfast. Or walking past the couch, where you can usually find him lounging with a smug grin, daring you to say something about his feet on the coffee table. It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve grown used to his presence, how much his absence leaves a void. 

You would never admit out loud that there is a teeny tiny chance of you possibly miss having him around, because admitting that would be like handing him a victory he absolutely doesn’t deserve. Lando is already insufferable enough—imagine the endless teasing if he found out you missed him. No, you tell yourself firmly, this is just about the sudden peace and quiet that you are not used to. It has nothing to do with him. But the longer Lando stays away, the harder it becomes to ignore the empty space. You find yourself pacing the apartment, glancing at your phone, half-expecting to see a message from him. Maybe just to poke fun at something you did or complain about something you didn’t even know was an issue. But there’s nothing. Not even a text. 

It’s strange. The whole atmosphere of the apartment is different without his presence. The silence isn’t comforting anymore—it’s just oppressive. It makes you feel a little bit lost, a little bit too aware of the fact that the person who used to drive you crazy is the same person you now seem to miss, even if you won’t admit it. 

You’re standing in the kitchen one afternoon, absentmindedly washing dishes, when the door slams open when Lando is back. He’s dragging his luggage behind him, looking dishevelled but somehow still effortlessly cool. As soon as he steps in, he scans the apartment with that familiar smug grin. “You miss me?” he asks, voice light and teasing, though his eyes are just a little too knowing. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly turn away, trying to hide the fact that you’re actually relieved to see him. “I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, scrubbing the plate a little too vigorously. 

Lando laughs, clearly enjoying this. “Sure, sure. You don’t have to admit it. I can tell.” He tosses his keys on the counter and walks into the living room, looking around like he’s just returned to the battlefield.  

“Only in your dreams, Lando.” You can’t stop the eye roll that follows, but you bite back the smile threatening to break through. 

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your deflection. “Trust me, darling, you’re doing something very different in my dreams.” 

You freeze for a second, a blush creeping up your neck despite your best efforts to stay unaffected.  

Did he really just say that? 

You turn your back to him, scrubbing the dish a little harder, trying to mask the sudden nervous energy that’s bubbled up in your chest. “Keep dreaming, Lando. I’m not that easy.” 

His laugh follows you, light and teasing. “Oh, I know. But trust me, it’s a pretty good dream.” He drops onto the couch with the same lazy, confident air that he always has, kicking his shoes off and stretching out like he owns the place. You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any satisfaction, but you can’t help but feel a shift between you two. “I’m going to be a good roommate for a second,” he announces. 

“Oh, yeah?” You scoff, placing down the plate you were scrubbing on the drying rack. “I find that kind of hard to believe, but go on, I guess.” 

Lando smirks, clearly enjoying your scepticism. “No, really. I’m going to invite you out to a party tonight,” he says, leaning back on the couch with that trademark smugness. “My friends are throwing something to celebrate the win. You might as well come with me. You’re already here, and it’ll be good for you to get out of the apartment. Trust me, you’ll love it.” 

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “A party? With your friends?” The idea of spending time with Lando and his crew seems like asking for more arguments, but something in his casual offer piques your interest.  

“Yeah, with my friends,” he confirms, totally unbothered by your hesitation. “It’ll be fun. No arguing, no complaints. Just a good time. You’ll need a little distraction, considering how quiet you’ve been without me.”  

“You’re a saint, Lando,” you laugh softly, drying your hands on the towel next to you, “but I’ll have to pass.” 

Lando’s smirk falters, but only for a moment, before he stands up from the couch, stretching lazily. “Come on,” he says, his tone shifting to a mix of coaxing and playful challenge. “You’re going to pass on the chance to have some fun?” 

You regret your decision to prove Lando wrong, as soon as you step into the club. The bass thrums through the floor, shaking your ribs as lights flicker across the packed club. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely expensive—probably Lando’s choice of venue. You’re still not sure why you let him talk you into this. Lando disappears almost immediately, swallowed by a sea of familiar faces, leaving you with a drink in hand and a mild sense of regret. You shouldn’t have come. This was his world, not yours. 

You take a sip of your drink, scanning the room for any excuse to leave early, when a smooth voice pulls your attention. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.” 

You turn, and your stomach flips slightly. Oh. 

Charles Leclerc, dressed effortlessly in a fitted black shirt, his green eyes glinting under the dim lights, is watching you with an amused expression. 

You laugh, shifting on your feet. “Is it that obvious?” 

“Painfully,” he grins, sipping his drink. “Not a fan of the club scene?” 

You shrug. “More like not a fan of being dragged here by a certain someone who insists I need to ‘loosen up.’” 

Charles chuckles knowingly. “Let me guess—Lando?” 

“Bingo.” 

Charles shakes his head, smiling. “Classic.” He leans against the bar, his gaze settling on you like he’s studying you, intrigued. “So, what do you actually like to do for fun?” 

You end up talking to him longer than you expected. He’s easy to talk to, charming in a way that doesn’t feel forced. And when he suggests getting some air outside, you don’t hesitate. 

Lando doesn’t notice you leaving. Or so you think. 

When Charles walks you up to your apartment later that night, you don’t expect to see Lando leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a frown etched onto his face. His eyes flick from you to Charles, jaw clenching. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice is sharp, accusing. 

You blink, caught off guard. “Excuse me?” 

“It’s two in the morning.” He points out, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes narrow down.  

You scoff, crossing your arms. “And? You go out all the time and come back whenever you want.” 

Lando ignores that. His gaze snaps to Charles. “And what are you doing here?” 

Charles raises his hands, staying neutral. “Just making sure she got home safe.” He then turns to you, “And I will be leaving, because I really don’t want my head chopped off, I’ll see you two later.” 

Lando lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, how chivalrous of you.” Lando calls after Charles, scofffing as he turns back to you. 

You glare at him. “Lando, what is your problem?” 

Lando's jaw tightens, his arms still crossed over his chest as he glares at you like you’ve personally offended him. 

“My problem?” he scoffs. “My problem is that you just disappeared without saying anything. I turned around and you were gone.” 

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you like a child.” 

“You don’t,” he shoots back. “But maybe let someone know before you run off with Charles fucking Leclerc. Because I don’t know what to tell your mother.” 

“My mother?” You let out a sharp laugh, crossing your arms. “Oh, so that’s what this is about? You have a problem with Charles now? Isn’t he your friend?” 

Lando shifts on his feet, jaw clenching. “I don’t have a problem with him. I have a problem with you sneaking off in the middle of the night.” 

“Sneaking off?” you repeat, incredulous. “I told you I wasn’t going to stay long. You were too busy chatting up multiple girls to notice.” 

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he’s trying to hold something back. “You shouldn’t have left with him.” He takes a step towards you, which would usually cause you to take a step back, but you don’t step down. 

“Oh my God, Lando.” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I wasn’t kidnapped. Charles walked me home. That’s it.” 

Lando lets out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure. Just being a gentleman, right?” 

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, actually. Not that it’s any of your business.” 

“It is my business,” he snaps, taking a step closer. “You live here. With me. And if something happened—” 

“Nothing happened,” you cut him off. “And even if it did, you don’t get to act like this.” 

Lando shakes his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Like what?” 

“Like you own me,” you challenge, voice steady. His mouth opens slightly, like he wants to argue, but no words come out. For the first time in the entire conversation, he looks caught off guard. You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.” You push past him, reaching for the door handle. 

But before you can step inside, Lando’s hand catches your wrist. It’s not rough—just enough to make you pause. You look up at him, and for the first time all night, there’s something in his expression that isn’t just frustration or irritation. He hesitates, then his voice drops, quieter this time. “I didn’t—” He exhales sharply, like the words physically hurt to get out. “I didn’t like seeing you with him.” 

Your breath catches for a second, because there it is. The truth that’s been simmering under the surface for weeks, finally cracking through. You hold his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “And why is that, Lando?” 

Lando’s grip on your wrist loosens slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. He looks at you, eyes darkened, as if he’s struggling with the words, unsure whether to let them slip. “Because…” He trails off, voice barely a whisper, a complete opposite of himself mere moments ago when he was yelling. “Because I care. And I didn’t want you running off with someone else.” His eyes flick to the ground before meeting yours again, this time with something softer, vulnerable. "I didn’t want to admit it... but I think I’ve been a total idiot." 

You blink, heart pounding in your chest as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, unsure if you heard him right. “You…” you start, but he interrupts you, his voice urgent. 

“I know I’ve been a prick. I know we fight constantly, but I—” He pauses, his hands fidgeting at his sides, clearly nervous for the first time in a long while. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care about you. I just… I didn’t know how else to handle it. And when I saw you with him tonight, I…” He swallows hard, looking almost embarrassed. “I hated it. I didn’t want to feel like I was losing you.” 

Your head spins, trying to process what he’s saying. You blink a few times, trying to find the right words. “Lando… I thought you didn’t like me. I mean, the way you’ve acted, always arguing with me, always finding something to complain about—” Your voice falters, and you shake your head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you cared at all.” 

Lando’s eyes widen, a flash of guilt crossing his face. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as if struggling to form the words. Finally, he steps forward, closing the space between you, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just being an idiot. I never wanted to make you feel like that.” 

A silence falls over you both, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, your hand still resting where his had been moments before, and for the first time, you meet his gaze without the usual annoyance or defensiveness. “You’re such an idiot,” you mutter softly, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays the words. 

Lando lets out a small laugh, a genuine, relieved sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know. But I’m an idiot who cares about you.” 

He leans in to kiss you, but you put your finger on his lips, stopping him in his tracks as you chuckle softly. “Hold your horses, you better take me out first before kissing me, champ,” you say, your voice playful but with a hint of disbelief. 

Lando’s eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and amusement as he pulls back slightly, the tension between you two lifting. He raises an eyebrow, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his gaze. “Take you out, huh? Guess I’m gonna have to step up my game then.” 

You nod, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not that easy, Lando. You’ve got a lot of work to do after all the stupid things you said tonight.” 

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough, I deserve that.” He steps back and scratches the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish but still confident. “How about tomorrow? I’ll take you to dinner. No more arguments, I promise.” 

Your heart does a little flip at the thought of a calmer, less complicated night out with him. You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes. “I guess I could let you—hey!” You shriek as he throws you over his shoulder, already walking towards the door.  

You barely have time to protest before Lando's laughing voice rings through the apartment, his grip secure as he makes his way toward the door. “I’m serious. Dinner tomorrow, no complaints, no arguments. If you want your ‘I’m-not-that-easy’ dinner, you’re gonna have to accept the offer.” 

“Lando!” you cry, thumping his back in a half-hearted attempt to get free. “Put me down!” 

“I’m doing you a favour. You’re always so serious. It’s about time someone lightens things up!” He chuckles, effortlessly carrying you toward the door, his steps unwavering. 

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. For someone who spent weeks driving you crazy, he was somehow making this moment feel lighter, better, despite your feigned indignation. When he finally sets you down in front of the door, you catch your breath, trying to keep your composure. “Don’t make me regret this,” you warn him, giving him a look that betrays the smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m not going easy on you, Lando Norris.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grins, all charm and confidence, a lopsided smile on his face. 

“Fine,” you say, nudging him playfully. “But you are definitely apologising to Charles later.” 

“Oh, come on,” he protests with mock offense. “We can’t have a perfect night without a little argument, can we?” Lando watches you, his grin never fading, his eyes full of that familiar glint.  

You shake your head at him one last time, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but your heart’s not in it anymore. 

He steps closer, that cocky grin still in place, and leans down, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. “You love it,” he murmurs softly, his voice teasing but sincere. 

You pause, staring at him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words. And then, with a small sigh, you nod, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Maybe I do,” you admit, your voice quieter now. 

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter thirteen

⭐︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far

Warnings: hurt/no comfort? not here, sorry y'all. angst. injuries, mentions of death, blood, gore, not gonna spoil anymore

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Hope has always been a downfall hasn't it? This time it tears you apart completely.

Word count: 15k

Author's note: I'm cackling as I'm typing this, you guys have no idea what is about to hit you. The next few chapters are gonna be filled with so much evil shit. Someone go and pray for Dingus. @hellfire--cult we're at our favorite part now hehe

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

A miserable expression is lingering on Eddie’s face. He barely keeps his eyes open as he gets hit by waves of nausea every thirty seconds or so. He keeps an arm around his waist as his left elbow rests on the table. He is blinking, staring at you in confusion and awe. You drank more than him, even continued after he passed out, and yet you seem fine, more cheerful than ever. 

Your mouth is moving quickly, and you are waving around with your hands as you ramble about one thing after another. Eddie’s mind can’t even catch up, he is too hungover for this, which is surprising considering he never dealt with those, but the lack of alcohol in the past year, especially in that capacity, turned him into a wuss – at least that’s how he feels about himself watching you. 

You were the first one up, even, filling the generator with gas, just enough for everyone to have a warm shower. You cooked coffee and oatmeal with the supplies from the RV, and now you are sitting here, hair still wet from the shower, a new sweater, and a look of happiness and excitement on your face. 

Eddie thinks that it’s refreshing to see you this way, especially after the difficult days that you had, but his mind just can’t comprehend how you can feel so fine while he is suffering from the amount of whiskey he had last night. 

“How…?” He mumbles, cutting you off mid sentence. 

“Hmm?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“How can you feel so fine… You hadn’t had any alcohol in months, and you drank more than I did… How are you not hungover?” 

You shrug and bring your cup of coffee up to your lips, taking a sip. 

“I’m not a lightweight like you.” 

Eddie snorts at your words, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m not a lightweight usually, besides I had some a few weeks back and I felt fine…”

“Maybe that stuff was too hard for you.” 

Eddie frowns at your words and he shakes his head, “nope.”

“Take another shot and you will feel fine.” 

Eddie’s lips curl up in disgust, and he stares at you, bewildered. 

“I swear!” You exclaim, leaning forward. “My dad used to do barbecues a lot and he invited all his old buddies from High School and one time when they came over I was dealing with a major hangover cause I got drunk the night before for the first time ever… my dad got really mad at me – not the point of the story but his friend, this russian guy told me to take a shot of hard liquor, he said that it’s an instant cure… the thought made me wanna throw up but I tried it and guess what…? It helped!” 

Eddie looks at you like you have gone crazy. He slowly reaches for the coffee you have made him and takes a sip. 

“Yeah, uh… that’s crazy.” 

“But it helps!” 

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, “I believe you, but god, that thought makes me want to throw up.” 

“I know, I know, but you should try it.” 

Silence fills the room for a moment. You lean back in your chair and look out the window, watching the snow fall just as it did the night before. The wind is still heavy and you know that you might have to stay here for another day or two. 

Eddie sips on his coffee, he keeps watching you, taking in the excitement that keeps flashing in your eyes, the way your lips twitch, wanting to curl into a smile. 

“What’s got you so hyper this morning?” Eddie finally asks. 

You look back at him and you press your lips together, looking around the empty room and out into the hallway to make sure that nobody is coming but Steve must still be in the shower, and Nancy is getting the RV ready. 

Only as you lean forward again and you wrap both hands around your mug, does he notice the slight nervousness. You are tapping against the porcelain, taking a deep breath as you lean closer. 

“I’m gonna kiss Steve.” 

Eddie forgets the nausea he was dealing with just now. He furrows his eyebrows as confusion hits him. 

“Hang on… wait…. you two didn’t kiss last night?” He murmurs, tilting his chin down as he stares at you with wide eyes. 

“Um no…” You shake your head, blushing under his gaze. 

“...But you two flirted all night…”

Your confidence slips away a little as you think about the previous night and how he hadn’t kissed you. You wanted him to, but he didn’t. There have been a few moments when you thought he would. 

“Do you think that maybe I shouldn’t…?” 

Eddie shakes his head wildly, his curls bouncing at the movement. 

“No! You should! Holy fuck, you should!” He almost yells.

You start shushing him, waving your hand at him as your cheeks heat up, “keep it down!” 

“Sorry, sorry!” He winces as he sinks back into his chair. “But I… I think you absolutely should kiss him. I just thought that he’d finally make the move, you know? I saw the way he acted around you last night.” 

The excitement returns in your eyes, he sees it in the way they light up, and the color in them lights up. You straighten up in your seat, your cheeks flushing as you smile. 

“Nothing happened at all?” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to the side. 

You shake your head. Your hair falls in front of your face as you look down. Your heart flutters in your chest as you think of the way he lifted you up to get the cowboy hat or the way he placed it on your head later, how he took your pictures, and how he held you when you lied in bed. You woke up on top of him this morning, his arms wrapped around your waist strongly, snuggling you. 

“No, nothing happened…” 

A smirk appears on Eddie’s lips when he notices just how flustered you are. Something did happen, he knows it, but you won’t tell him, not now at least, because he walks in. His hair is wet, his beard shaved off now, a spitcurl hanging in front of his eye. He is wearing a flannel, a pair of new jeans, and boots he got from the closet. 

Your lips part as you look him up and down, eyes glued to him. His cheeks are a little flushed when his eyes meet yours. He offers you a smile and even a wink, “Sunshine.” He greets you, tipping his head down even though he isn’t wearing the hat. 

“M-Morning.” You smile, huffing under your breath when Eddie kicks you under the table. 

“Morning, Eddie.” Steve greets him next before he walks over to the kitchen counter, reaching for a mug, he pours himself some coffee. 

“Good morning, Cowboy.” Eddie grins, completely forgetting about his hangover as he looks between you and him. “So uh… Nancy is getting the RV ready, but I don’t think that the storm will pass anytime soon.” 

Steve nods as he turns around to face you both. He leans against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee. He takes a moment to look at you, and his stomach flutters when all the pictures from the previous night start flashing in his mind. 

“Hmm.” He hums as he turns to look out the window. “It’s safer to stay here for another day or two.” 

“I think so too.” You nod, trying not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to when he looks this good. His skin looks smoother, although you did like the beard and the subtle mustache he was sporting, but he looks so handsome like this too, clean shaven. He left the buttons at the top of his new flannel unbuttoned. You swallow as you take him in. You wish you could just say ‘fuck it’ and kiss him but this is not the moment, not here, not now. 

“We can get some wood later to make some fire, there’s a shed in the backyard, I’m pretty sure we will find some there.” Steve says, looking at you, his eyes connecting with yours. “You and I, Sunshine.” 

Oh, so he wants to be alone with you too. 

Hope awakens inside of you when he walks towards you and picks out the seat beside you. He flashes you a smile and for a split second, his eyes flicker down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart flutters yet again. 

What if he has the same plans? 

Your eyelashes flutter, and your lips curl into a smile. 

Eddie snorts at your silent interaction, eyes moving back and forth between you two. The moment you both turn to look at him, he covers it up with a cough. 

"Oh, damn." He coughs, patting his chest. “That sip was too big,” he fakes a laugh and looks away, trying to hold back his smirk but failing miserably. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower, Munson?” 

Eddie looks back at Steve, holding his hand to his chest, offended. “Are you saying I smell bad?” 

Steve shakes his head, “No, but the shower is pure luxury, who knows when you’ll get that chance again.” He shrugs. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, smirking as he looks into his eyes teasingly. 

Steve only shakes his head in response and looks down into his mug. 

“Alright, hot shower here I come.” Eddie chuckles as he gets up. He grabs his coffee and winks at you before he walks away, humming. 

“He was just complaining about his hangover, and now he is humming.” You mumble, confused. 

Steve chuckles as he turns towards you. He ignores the fluttering in his body, that electrifying pull he feels towards you, but it’s hard, even harder when you look into his eyes, when you are this close, when he smells your sweet scent, when he remembers how it felt to touch your bare skin. 

“That’s how he is.” Steve chuckles, his eyes lingering on your lips for a tad too long. 

“Yeah…” You whisper, noticing the way he looks at you. 

Your hope continues to rise, to build up, to spread inside of you.

Friends don’t look at each other like that, right? 

Friends don’t stare at each other’s lips. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, reaching for your hand. “You’re not hungover, are you?”

You shake your head, looking at him dumbly. You curl your fingers around his hand, holding his. “No… no I’m not, I feel fine… good. And you?”

Steve squeezes your hand back as he lifts his mug to his lips with the other. He gives you a soft smile, “Yeah, I feel good too.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head at him, your lip curling into a smile.

His breath hitches in his throat. The way you are smiling at him, the way your eyes move across his face, like you are memorizing his features. No one’s ever looked at him like that, and it makes him nervous. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, letting go of your hand, he lifts it up to your face and tucks the loose strand of hair behind your ear before he brushes his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb lingering over the developing scar on your cheekbone. “I had fun last night.”

You lean into his touch. The happiness is trembling inside of you, his touch and his words only fueling your hope. 

“I did too,” you whisper, smiling. 

The tension between you both is just as strong as it was the night before. He looks at you just as he did the night before, nothing changed, except your heart beats even stronger now. 

You look at his lips, wondering if now would be the right time to try, wondering if you can just lean in and do it, but before you can dwell on it any longer, the door opens and Nancy walks in. 

“Hey.” She mumbles, shutting the door, and she rubs her hands together. “I was in the garage, not even outside, but it’s cold as hell out there!” She exclaims and tears her jacket off before she turns to look at you. Her eyes widen when she notices Steve beside you, close beside you. She looks between you both, eying his hand on your cheek, the flustered look on your face, the flustered look on his face. She bites the insides of her cheeks, trying not to smirk. She saw how you both acted around each other last night, how often Steve’s hand landed on your lap, how you kept biting your lip looking at him like you were ready to risk it all, how he kept looking at you like he was about to rip your clothes off and show you what you have missed. 

Nancy doesn’t know how far you have gone last night after her and Eddie passed out in the living room, but by the tension between you, she knows that something must have happened.

Steve pulls his hand away slowly, and you reach for your mug, bringing it up to your lips. You take a sip as you look outside. 

Her blue eyes flash with mischief. She clears her throat and looks at Steve, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were about to have your breakfast, Steve.” 

Steve’s eyes widen, and his jaw falls slack at her comment. In all those years he has known her, she has never ever made any jokes or comments like these. If anything, she was always way too serious to even laugh at dirty jokes made by others. 

You start choking beside him, blushing furiously at her words. 

“Nancy!” Steve glares at her before he turns to you, patting your back softly. 

“I’m sorry,” Nancy chuckles, flashing you an apologetic smile when you calm down again. “Didn’t think you would choke so soon.”

Steve sees the way your eyes widen, the way you flip around, staring at her in disbelief, but the girl only hums to herself as she pours herself a coffee. 

Steve closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, shaking his head. 

“Can’t believe Munson is rubbing off on you, Wheeler.” 

Her shoulders shake as she laughs. She turns to face you both, smirking again when she sees how Steve is still rubbing your back. 

“Do you two want me to leave or…?” She points between you two, her eyes glinting as they lock with yours. 

A sigh falls from your lips, and you shake your head at her.

“Nope.” 

Steve stops rubbing your back but he doesn’t remove his hand, his palm slips down to your lower back and you aren’t even sure if he realizes that he did it because he starts talking to Nancy about the weather and about the change of your plans while keeping his hand on you like it’s the most normal thing. He did it last night as well, when you were all sitting in a circle and he was chatting to Eddie, keeping his hand on your knee or your thigh. 

You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s difficult when his touch sends jolts through your body, overwhelming your poor heart and heating up your skin under the layer of clothes. He keeps fueling your hope, pushing you towards the decision you made last night. 

You don’t know how much time passes while you sit there with his hand on your lower back. You don’t even know how much information you have missed on the change of plans they have decided on. 

But when he calls your name two times or so, he pulls you out of your little stupor, making you look at him. 

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, staring at him with burning cheeks. 

“I asked if you wanna go get the wood now?” Steve repeats his question that went over your head. He finds it endearing the way you look at him, eyes big and filled with confusion. “Think it’s best if we do it as soon as we can. The storm might get worse later.” 

“Oh.” You nod, licking your lips as you place your mug down. You avoid Nancy’s eyes, who is staring at you with a smug look on her face. “Yeah. I’m just gonna grab my jacket–”

“I got it.” Steve says, squeezing your shoulder when he gets up from his seat. “Finish your coffee.” 

“O-Okay.” You murmur, giving him a soft smile. 

Steve nods at you, smiling back at you. He leaves the room, leaving you alone with Nancy who is tapping against her mug impatiently. 

“So–”

“Nothing happened!” You whisper before she can even finish her sentence. You lean closer to her, finally looking at her. “Nothing happened last night, we drank more, took pictures with the polaroid camera we found, and then we talked and went to sleep.”

You see the disappointment flashing in her features. Her shoulders slump, and a pout appears on her lips. She leans back in her chair and sighs, “And here I thought he grew some balls, but hey, maybe he was just being a gentleman and didn’t want to make a move because you were drunk!” She shrugs with one shoulder, offering a supportive smile. “I kinda thought something happened though… with the way he acted around you just now…”

Your stomach flutters. He did act differently, more touchy than usual. You liked it, a lot. 

You breathe in and open your mouth to speak, but you quickly close it again when he walks back in, holding both your and his jacket in his hands. 

“Here.” 

You grab your jacket and get up, pushing the chair back into place. You put your jacket on and pull the hood over your head to protect your wet hair. 

“Be careful out there.” Nancy mumbles, looking out the window. 

“We’re just heading down to the shed, it’s like ten steps away.” You chuckle. 

“Still.” She shrugs. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll come back in one piece.” You smile at her, giving a small wave as she gives a thumbs up for good luck.

Once you and Steve are ready to go, you grab your gear and step out into the cold. He shuts the door behind you both. Shivers run down his spine instantly as the cold bites his skin. 

“Holy shit.” He murmurs as he turns around to face the backyard. He squints his eyes when the harsh wind hits him. 

“It’s so cold.” You murmur as you look around. You can barely see anything through the fog and the falling snow. All the trees are white, layer and layers of snow cover the ground you are about to step in. “I think we should have waited with the shower.”

Steve chuckles as he glances down at you. 

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” He reaches for your hand, taking hold of it with a squeeze. 

“Yes, please.” You whisper as you welcome his warm touch in this freezing cold. 

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you both start making your way down to the shed. You look around, making sure that nothing will sneak up on you while you are busy struggling with the cold, but the gated property seems as safe as it did the night before. The gate looks untouched, the wooded area around it looking empty as well, no sign of any unwanted visitors, no footsteps in the snow. 

“Goddamn,” Steve curses under his breath as the icy snow hits his cheeks. “I hate winter.” 

“Yeah, me too.” You nod, sniffling as your nose starts running from the cold. You sigh in relief when you make it to the door of the shed.

Steve pulls out the bundle of keys from his pocket, he found it in one of the drawers in the kitchen. “Alright, let’s figure out which one it is.” He murmurs as he flips through the keys. 

You cover his back, keeping your hand on your gun holster while he tries to unlock the door. 

A little ‘yes’ falls from his lips when it clicks open. 

“Come on, let’s get inside.” He reaches for your hand again, leading you into the shed, he steps in after you. 

It’s not much warmer in here, but at least the walls keep the wind away. You breathe heavily and rub your arms, looking around the darkened shed. Light seeps through the gaps on the ceiling, allowing you to see. 

“Bingo!” Steve snaps his fingers, smiling in triumph as he gestures to the wood in the corner. “See, I knew they kept their wood here.” 

You follow him, pushing the hood of your jacket off slowly. You bite your trembling lip as you keep your eyes on him, watching the way he brushes his hand through his hair before he reaches for the plastic cover on top of the firewood stack.

“Come on,” he looks over his shoulder, flashing you a smile that makes your insides tingle and your knees weak. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize that this could be the moment. You’re alone with him and you don’t know when you will get that chance again, especially now that you are stuck in this house for another day or two. 

“Maybe we can make a fire for us in the bedroom; that fireplace should be used as well.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, and heat rushes through you when he indicates that he wants to spend another night in that bed with you. His words from last night echo in your mind, ‘our bed’. 

The bile rises in your throat, and suddenly you feel your heart beating harshly. Your cheeks heat up despite the coldness in the air. You don’t even need any more encouragement, you have made your decision already. 

You never thought that you would even consider that, to try, to make a first move. You were never one to risk anything, let alone anything like this. But you are sure, you are so sure of it, so filled with hope. 

He has to feel the same, right? 

All these signals, all these signs, it can’t be just platonic. 

Even Eddie and Nancy see it, their teasing has to mean something. 

You take a deep breath, and before you can ponder and contemplate, you take a step forward and then another until you are standing next to him. 

His words pushing you to what you’ve wanted to do since last night, you decide to not waste anymore time and just do it now, knowing you might not get him alone again after this. 

“I… I really had fun last night… It’s been a while since I got to feel carefree like that.” You kill the silence between you, bringing back the conversation from the kitchen. 

A smile appears on his face, he takes the plastic cover off and throws it on the ground before he turns to face you, looking down at you. 

“Yeah, me too… and with great company at that.” He murmurs, his voice still raspy so early in the morning.

You bite your lip when his hazel eyes stare into yours. Your heart starts racing, the anticipation mixed with nervousness and vulnerability all crashing over you at once when you take a step closer to him. 

“I had fun spending time like that with you, Steve…” You say, trying not to expose the shakiness in your voice. 

You forget about the cold, not even feeling it on your skin anymore. You don’t hear the howling of the wind anymore either, only the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. 

Steve notices the different emotions flickering in your eyes, the way your chest starts rising up and down faster, heavier. He senses the change of air, the tension moving into a different direction now. 

“Drunk?” He chuckles nervously when you move closer to him. His lips part, breath getting caught in his throat when you shake your head and reach your hand out to grab his bicep. 

“No… alone.” You whisper, gazing into his eyes now. 

Steve stops breathing, and his heart stops beating too. 

He looks into your eyes, into the eyes he had found so much warmth, so much comfort in. They are shining just for him. Your breathing is heavy, meaning that your heart is racing… just for him. 

He had wondered… He had thought about this so many times, dreamed about it even. His heart beats strongly every time he allows his mind to explore those thoughts. He dreams about how different things would be if you had met in a different world, in one where you would both be safe, in one where he wouldn’t have to fear losing you every second of every goddamn day. 

Things could be different. Things would be different if you weren’t here. 

“What…” He whispers, unable to keep his body from leaning down towards you. 

“I want to spend more time like that with you, Steve…” You whisper, blinking up at him in a way that nearly brings him to his knees when you confess. 

You take in his rosy cheeks, the moles on his skin you want to kiss, that strand of hair that keeps falling in front of his eye that you want to brush back for him so badly. 

With every inch you move towards him, closing the gap between you both, you feel your heart beating stronger, making it feel like it will rip through your bones and your flesh. You close your eyes and you take the leap. 

Steve’s eyes threaten to close when he feels your breath on his lips and your body pressed against his own. Everything he had longed for is in reach. Everything he wanted, you want too. It wasn’t just him. You want it too. You want it. You want him. He feels the brush of your lips against his own, and everything he had already suspected aligns inside of him. Everything inside of him yearned for you, not just his mind, not just his body but his heart and his soul. 

And he wants it so badly. He wants it. But even with the feelings inside of him, with the longing that will burn him alive in the long run, he can’t because this will only make the world a worse place for you both. If you both take this step, if you both give each other your hearts it will only kill you both if something happens to the other. 

So he closes his eyes, going against his own heart, and he softly pushes you away by your shoulders. 

“No, Sunshine.” 

It pains him physically to the point where he can’t even open his eyes to look at you. 

Everything inside of you stops. Your heart. Your lungs. Your mind. Everything. 

“I–I didn’t mean drunk… I meant–” Your voice is shaky, desperate, and yet still hopeful.  

“No, I know what you meant. But it’s not a good idea.” Steve clenches his jaw, hating how much his heart is screaming at him, even more so when he opens his eyes again and looks down at you. 

Your lips are parted, eyes wide and filled with confusion. Not yet registering the pain he had caused. You tilt your head at him. 

“I-I thought…I thought we…” Your voice breaks when he shakes his head at you. The back of your feet touch the ground again, and you take a step back from him, hand falling off his bicep. The back of your eyes start burning as it begins to sink in. The knife in your chest was twisted. 

You misunderstood. You misunderstood again, except this feels worse than anything ever has before because you were so sure. You were so sure. And you misread the lines, you misread everything. 

Steve’s eyes are filled with desperation, and he can’t mask that. He can’t hide that, and if you weren’t so shocked, so hurt, you would see it. 

His heart is aching inside his chest, his stomach is twisting as the fear grips at him, knowing that this just changed everything. 

But it’s for the better. 

It’s for the better for the both of you. 

“No…” He whispers, twisting the knife deeper. “I’m sorry if my actions showed something that wasn’t there.” 

You feel sick. You feel like throwing up. You feel like screaming at yourself for believing, for being so naive again. 

“Oh…” You whisper, unable to look at him, you lower your head and stare at the ground beneath you. “I… okay, I-I understand…” Except that you don’t. You don’t understand because you thought that he gave you all the signs, all the right signals and you thought that you were reading them correctly. It turns out that you didn’t because he never saw you as anything more than a friend while you were slowly falling. 

Steve just stands there, staring at you, watching the way you slowly crumble before him, and it hits him harshly. Guilt, regret, sadness, and anger rush through him, knowing the damage he caused to your heart, knowing that he is responsible for the pain flashing across your face as you wilt before him. 

The urge to grab you, to pull you into his arms, to fix this is so strong, but he can’t, he can’t, and it makes you both ache. 

“I’m sorry…” You whisper. 

You look so small before him, your voice weak and trembling. He broke you. He feels like he broke you, and it tears his heart apart.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Nothing will fix this now, nothing. He knows he should tell you the truth but if he does, it will only keep your hopes up so he says nothing and watches with saddened eyes and a pained heart how you turn away from him, your eyes blinking quickly as you reach for the wood, gathering as much as you can carry before you turn around without glancing at him. You walk away from him, and you walk out the door. 

And Steve, he stands there staring at the door you have walked through. He is now left alone with his thoughts, left alone with his aching heart, and it all overwhelms him. He crouches down, clenching his eyes shut as he holds his head tightly. 

“Fuck…” He whispers, pained. 

You don’t feel the snow on your skin, you don’t feel the coldness clinging to your body, you don’t even hear the howling wind as you make your way back towards the house. You don’t even know what you are feeling because you wish this moment wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen, that it was all just a dream. 

But it’s not. 

The door slams shut behind you after you make your way back inside. Your body moves on its own accord, walking into the living room, and you throw the wood down next to the fireplace. 

Your frown deepens as you look down, confused as to where you went off the path, where you had misunderstood. 

Footsteps echo in the hallway, but you don’t register them. 

Eddie comes rushing in, hair wet from the shower he took, a livelier look on his face before. A smile appears on his face when he sees the wood on the ground. He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms, “oh yeah, let’s get some warm stew started with this–” His smile slips when he notices the dissociated look on your face, “Sunshine?” He whispers. 

You snap out of your thoughts and turn to look at him. 

Eddie frowns when he notices the lost look in your eyes. He takes a step closer, worriedly placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“I-I uh… what?”

“Are you alright?” 

You open your mouth but flinch when the door opens and Steve’s footsteps fill the silent hallway. 

Eddie notices the way you duck your head, nodding at his question. 

“Yeah… Yeah.” You mumble softly before you walk away, practically rushing out of the room and up the stairs, leaving him standing in the middle of the room. 

Eddie stares at the doorway for a moment. His eyebrows are furrowed, and the confusion is evident on his face. 

“Huh…?” 

You are not okay. It isn’t hard to figure that out when you were cheerful and excited this morning. He follows you out, walking through the doorway, and he doesn’t even notice Steve standing by the door with a hollow look on his face and glassy eyes when Eddie follows you up the stairs. 

Steve doesn’t even know what to do with himself now, knowing that this just changed everything. He looks down at the wood he carried inside. Blinking away the tears, he doesn’t allow himself to cry. He carries the wood into the living room, dropping it next to where you had placed it. 

It overcomes him suddenly, the anger – the anger towards himself, the anger towards this world, the anger towards you. You did something he wanted to do for so long, but he kept holding back, he kept pulling back because this just can’t happen for so many reasons. He pulled back by making himself believe that you aren’t on the same page as he is, but you are, clearly you are, and now there is no denying left to do anymore, and it angers him. 

Steve clenches his fists as he stares into the fireplace, not yet lit. Irritation sparks in him as the boy inside of him, who once begged for love, is yelling at him; ‘why why why!’ 

He feels it so deeply inside his chest, as though someone is pounding against his ribcage from inside, letting him know that he just made the biggest mistake of his life, that he is gonna feel regret and guilt. 

And he will, it’s close by, all those emotions are waiting right around to corner, waiting for the perfect moment to land the strongest blow to his heart. 

And you, you shut and lock the door in the first room you could find privacy in. You press your back against it and slide down until you are sitting on the floor. You prop your elbows on your knees and close your eyes, taking deep breaths. 

You ignore the pounding on the door and Eddie’s concerned calls; you are too focused on your breathing, on calming down. 

Unwanted tears well up in your eyes. The rejection stings deeply in your chest, spreading like a virus inside of you, infecting your heart and all your organs with a sickening sadness. 

For once in your life, you thought that you could try, that you had a chance, that the hope you felt wasn’t born from silly delusions. You thought there was something. You really thought he wanted you. 

You were so sure that he wanted you. 

But he didn’t, of course he didn’t, how could he? No one ever did; he was no exception. 

A soft sob falls from your lips as the first tear cascades down your cheek. You bring your hand up to your lips, cupping it to muffle your cries as you can no longer hold it in. 

The realization begins to sink in that you have ruined something special, that you didn’t only lose this delusion you had of him, but that you also lost a friend because you couldn’t control your feelings. 

He won’t ever look at you the same again. 

And you won’t either. 

-

The wood crackles in the fireplace, the flames paint the room golden, the wind is still howling outside, no sign of it stopping any time soon. 

There is an awkward silence hanging over the room. Nobody is speaking, Eddie isn’t rambling, Nancy isn’t asking questions, Steve is staring into his bowl, not feeling the appetite to eat at all. And you aren’t there, you haven’t come out of your room since you locked yourself in there after coming back. 

Nancy’s blue eyes move across Steve’s face curiously. His expression is stoic, his jaw is clenched, and if she didn’t look into his pain filled eyes, she would have believed that the old Steve made a comeback. The angry, hateful one he was before you came along. 

It isn’t hard to figure out that something happened between you two because this morning you both looked like you came back from your honeymoon and now you are hauled up in your room while he is glaring at his soup like he is trying to make it explode with his mind. 

Nancy glances at Eddie, who is already looking at her. He knows as much as she does; nothing. He tried to make you talk, he tried knocking on your door a few times, but you kept lying to him, telling him that you had a headache and that you wanted to be alone. 

Nancy tried as well, but she had no luck either. 

And neither of them want to push him, not when he looks like this. 

When the time is right, he will speak up for himself. 

And he does, when he and Eddie are the only ones left awake. The two couches in the living room are occupied by them. Eddie is staring into the small flame in the fireplace, hand behind his head, and the other tapping against his chest. 

Steve is lying on the opposite couch, staring up at the ceiling. He is wide awake, exhaustion somewhere far away. He feels empty and cold without you in his arms. He doesn’t remember the last time he had slept without you. He had become so used to it, it turned into something normal. 

Is this his new normal again?

His eyes burn, and the coil grows in his throat as the sadness spreads inside of him. 

“She wanted to kiss me.”

Eddie freezes at Steve’s words. 

His hand freezes too as he stops tapping. His dark eyes move away from the fire, and he turns to his side to look at the brunette. He doesn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. 

“I pushed her away.” 

Steve’s voice is pained, Eddie can tell that much but it’s confusion that ripples through him. His eyebrows crease together as he pushes himself up on his elbow, staring at him intently. 

“What?” Eddie whispers, shaking his head. “W-Why?” 

Eddie knows how he feels about you, without having talked much about it, he knows. It’s in the way he looks at you, it’s in the way he smiles around you the most, it’s in the way he only allows you to get so close, it’s in all his actions that have to do with you. 

Steve is silent for the longest time, just staring up at the ceiling, blinking. He can’t hide his tears, not when he keeps sniffling as he thinks about you. 

“I don’t understand, Steve–”

“It just can’t happen.” He says bluntly. 

Eddie stares at him, eyebrows still pulled together, lips parted in confusion. His chest aches a little as he thinks about you and how you must have felt when he pushed you away. Guilt sparks inside of him as well because he had encouraged you. 

His eyes saddened, knowing the heartbreak you are feeling now. 

“But you…” Eddie murmurs, not understanding him. 

Steve turns to his side, turning his back on him. 

“It’s better if we stay friends and if we keep our distance.” Steve mumbles, like his own words don’t break his heart more. 

Like that’s possible after everything you have been through. 

Eddie feels a sliver of anger for him, but also pity because something is clearly holding him back. 

“But you can’t… you can’t sleep without each other.” Eddie whispers, knowing that this is the least of the problems, but it is a fact that Steve cannot deny. 

“Well, I have to get used to it, don’t I?” Steve snaps and pulls his blanket closer to his chin, sinking deeper into the couch as the first tear rolls down his cheek and soaks the pillow beneath his head. 

Eddie stares at him for a while, not knowing what else to do or say. All he feels is confusion and sadness for both of you, but especially you. 

A sigh falls from his lips, and he falls back on the couch, staring into the fire again. 

He knows that things are about to get messy. 

At that point, he just didn’t know how messy. 

-

By the time you walk into the kitchen the next morning, Nancy and Eddie have already eaten their breakfast. The latter is flipping through a magazine he found somewhere in the house while she is cleaning her gun. Steve is standing by the window, looking out with one hand on his hip and the other holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee. 

He is standing with his back to you, not yet noticing you. 

Your heart freezes still at the sight of him. You knew he would be here, of course you did, where else would he be? Yet you can’t stop yourself from feeling this way. 

Almost as though his body can sense your presence, his heart starts aching more painfully than before. He knows you are there before he even turns around to look. 

“Morning!” Nancy smiles at you, though it quickly fades when she notices how red your eyes are and how tired you look. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” Eddie says softly, eyes filled with pity as he looks you up and down. 

You braided your hair and showered, you made sure you looked fine, but you can’t hide the hours of tears you have shed, because your eyes are still puffy and red. 

“Morning,” you force a smile, which comes out looking like a grimace. You keep your eyes away from him and make your way over to the pot of coffee; at least the smell of it is welcoming. 

You can feel their eyes on you, Nancy’s confusing stares, and Eddie’s pitiful, sad ones. 

He feels guilty, you know he does. You don’t blame him for anything, though. He was just being a good friend, trying to encourage you to go after something your mind was already set on. 

The steam rises from your mug as you pour the coffee in. 

The silence is almost deafening, and you tense up a little when you feel him watching you too. 

The sadness is still deep inside of you, your chest still aching in pain, but there is also something else now that it all settled in. You feel humiliated and embarrassed and that feels worse somehow because you can’t avoid him. You can’t keep your distance the way you would be able to if the world weren’t like this, but then again, if the world hadn’t changed, you would have never met him, and maybe for the better, even if the thought breaks your heart. 

Nancy opens her mouth as her concerned eyes stay stuck on you, but before she can even ask if you are okay, Eddie kicks her under the table, shaking his head at her with big eyes. 

She presses her lips together, shutting her mouth. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads his eyes. It isn’t difficult to figure it out, especially when she takes a look at Steve who is standing there with tense shoulders and a look of guilt and desperation on his face as he watches you. 

Oh.

“I’m gonna check out the basement, see if they’ve got a secret armory somewhere.” Eddie murmurs, pushing back his chair as he gets up. His eyes are still on Nancy, motioning for her to come with him. 

“Yeah…” Nancy mumbles, eyes flickering back to you. Without even having to see your face, she can sense your sadness. “I’ll go with you.” 

Eddie looks over at Steve before he leaves, trying to make the man come to his senses, to fix this mess. He knows it’s probably too late but he won’t stop, not until Steve pushes his worries aside and goes for what he wants. 

You look down into your mug after pouring some sugar in. You are alone with him now, their footsteps echo down the hallway. You want nothing more than to turn heel and run, you don’t want to have to look at him, you don’t want to talk to him either; you need time. 

Time he won’t give you. 

He starts moving towards you, and you tense with each step that he comes closer. You are frozen in place by the time he is next to you. 

“Sunshine…” 

Steve is looking down at you. The guilt inside of him is eating him alive, seeing the pain etched into your features, the puffy red eyes that indicate the hours you have spent crying last night. His fingers curl into his palms, nails digging into his skin as he fights the urge to pull you into his arms the way he normally would, but he can’t, not now. 

He sees the tears that well up in your eyes because of him.

If only you looked at him, you would see the pain in his hazel eyes. The sadness, the aching, the yearning. 

“I’m–”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You whisper and turn away from him, not wanting him to see the tears in your eyes. “Please just… I need time, okay?”

Time. You need time to move on from him. 

Steve swallows the painful lump in his throat. The thought sickens him even though he knows that this is what’s best for you. 

He should shake his head. He should apologize for being such an idiot. He should tell you what worries him, what is holding him back. He should pull you into his arms. He should hug you. He should hold you. He should…

“Okay.” 

He should’ve. 

The silence becomes too loud when he leaves you standing there alone. 

Everything becomes too loud again. 

-

The days that follow after this are filled with a heavy tension that Eddie nor Nancy can explain. You avoid Steve, you avoid him as much as you can in the cramped up place once you are back inside the RV after four long days in the mansion. 

You steal Eddie’s spot in the passenger seat. He doesn’t mind it, but it is a little obvious, considering you never cared for it before. You want to avoid him at all cost, and everyone notices it, even the man ignored. 

Your cold shoulder begins to frustrate Steve after another two days pass. Almost a week of your silence now and it begins to drive him crazy. All you do is spare him glances, answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to any of his questions. 

You asked for time, and he understands it; he gives it to you, but he starts getting irritated. He feels tired, he feels angry, and the guilt lingers in him when he begins to snap at Eddie and Nancy, sparing you because you don’t even pay attention to him, and that begins to sting. Your cold shoulder hurts, the stoic tone in your voice hurts too, when all he’s used to is your warmth and the smile you greeted him with every morning. 

He is tired, so tired now that you don’t sleep in his arms anymore. Every time he closes his eyes now horrifying pictures flash in his mind, and every time he falls asleep, he wakes up minutes later, plagued by nightmares he hasn’t dealt with in so long. It’s just like before you, except now the nightmares are even worse because it’s not Robin getting ripped away from him anymore, it’s you now. All he can do is watch how you get torn apart while screaming his name,. He is frozen in place every time, watching the life drain from your eyes, but never looking away from him. He wakes up in cold sweat every time, heart pounding and chest heaving, and even though he knows it’s only a nightmare, he still has to get up to check on you.

He wonders if you are on the same page, if you struggle just as much as he does now that you don’t share a bed with him anymore. The tired look in your pretty features tells him that you do. 

The more days pass, the more distance grows between you. You are right there, and yet it feels like you are far away. You refuse to get paired up with him, asking for Nancy or Eddie instead whenever a run into a town is planned. 

He is being punished, he tells himself. 

It’s not you needing time anymore, it’s you punishing him, he is sure of it. That’s what the anger is telling him, at least. 

“I think you should talk to her.” 

Nancy’s voice sounds irritated, her face looks like it too. 

Eddie narrows his eyes at him, getting fed up with the both of you too but especially with Steve, knowing that things could have been different if he hadn’t been such an idiot. 

“Not like she’s gonna talk to me,” Steve murmurs as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “She’s just gonna stare and scoff as always.” 

Nancy rolls her eyes at him. You filled her in on everything, told him how he rejected you, how he told you that he doesn’t feel that way for you. And she would have understood it, if he told the truth, but he lied to you and now he is acting like a dick after tripping over his own mistake. 

“Can’t blame her, you’re an idiot.” She mumbles under her breath as she turns around to check on you. You are sitting on a bench, enjoying the lake view. 

Eddie asked for a break from driving, in need of fresh air and a cigarette. 

“What did you just say?” Steve glares at her, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You heard me.” Nancy challenges him, crossing her arms over her chest as well. Her protectiveness over you fueling her anger towards him. 

“Okay, okay.” Eddie takes one last drag of his cigarette before he throws it into the snow. He takes a step towards Steve, holding both hands out. “Not you two as well now. I’ve got enough of you and her,” he points his fingers to where you are sitting. “I don’t need any more drama, that RV is too small for that.” 

Steve takes a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak, but Eddie shakes his head at him and holds his palm up higher. 

“Nah, I’m speaking. You go and figure this shit out. You go and talk to her even if she doesn’t talk back, just go and fucking talk to her, it’s been a week and I can’t take this shit anymore.” Eddie exclaims, his eyes burning with despair. “I am not leaving until this tension is cut, alright!?”

Steve draws his eyes down, staring at the ground instead. He clenches his jaw and nods. 

“Alright.” He murmurs softly. 

“And you,” Eddie turns around to face Nancy, “you sit your ass down on this camping chair and eat your goddamn oatmeal.” 

Nancy raises her eyebrows at him, huffing as she uncrosses her arms. She takes another moment before she sits down, not without giving him another eye roll. 

Steve takes a deep breath, not even needing any encouragement from Eddie. His frustration is strong and the need to talk to you too. He glances at the metalhead, sighing before he starts walking away from him and towards you. 

He walks down the little hill, careful not to slip on the snow. He glances over his shoulder to see Eddie watching him, and this time he can’t help but roll his eyes. 

You hear the footsteps, the crunching snow beneath boots. You don’t turn around to look who it is but your heart senses him and you instantly tense up, unable to continue enjoying the sun shining down on you. 

Steve stops before you, looking down at you with hints of despair and anger in his hazel eyes. 

“Sunshine.” 

The tone in his voice makes your eyes snap open. You furrow your eyebrows, irritation building up in you already. 

You look up at him, raising your eyebrows in question when you find him glaring at you. 

“What?”

His throat bobs and his eyebrows crease together, lips curling into a frown. It feels so foreign to hear you snapping at him, to see you glaring at him. It makes him feel small and vulnerable, yet also angry. 

“I gave you time, it’s been a week… and we… we still don’t talk.” He starts, voice sounding tense. 

You push yourself up from the bench, standing before him now. 

“I don’t want to talk, Steve.” You mumble, ready to step around him and walk away, but he steps before you, blocking your way. 

The exhaustion in him, the irritation and the anger is only fueled by your words. He is desperate to go back to normal – as if that could ever be. 

“You don’t want to talk to me, is that it?” Steve asks, tilting his head down as he glares into your eyes. “Because I see you talking to them.” He throws his arm up in the direction of the RV. “And you seem fine when you talk to them.” 

You open your mouth but close it again when you can’t find the right words to say. Your throat tightens the longer you look at him. 

Humiliation runs deep inside you; that is the reason why you can’t talk to him, why you can’t even look at him. Because, how embarrassing and pitiful is the thought of him knowing how you feel about him yet not feeling the same? 

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. 

“Steve… That’s different–” 

“Different?” He scoffs and takes another step back, bringing his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it. “I didn’t think that a stupid mistake like this would ruin our friendship.”

Stupid mistake. 

Another blow. Another slap in your face. 

A stupid mistake? 

By now, you know that you got all these signals from him wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t there, that you mistook his affection for something more, something you would never share with just a friend. 

Your shoulders slump as you blink, staring up at him, only now really taking a close look at him, enough to see the tiredness in his eyes, the exhaustion in his features. 

“That’s not fair.” You mumble, frowning at him. 

Steve nods, clenching his jaw as his eyes flash with anger. 

“You’re right, it’s not fair, Sunshine. We’re adults, and you can’t just act like a pouty brat because things didn’t go like you planned! I gave you time, I did as you asked. I want to keep being friends, I want to go back to how things were before because you mean something to me, but you are completely ignoring my feelings, acting childish!” His words are guided by all those negative emotions that boiled up inside of him, caused by the frustrations, the lack of sleep, and the anger that grew within himself. 

You drew back, like you had actually been slapped in the face. Your eyes flash with disbelief. The sadness that spread inside your whole body already was now burning but especially in your eyes. 

Your lips curl downwards, and tears well up in your eyes. You wish you felt anger instead; it would make things easier. 

Steve blinks, seeing clearer now after the anger wore off with the words he just threw at you. He takes a deep, shaky breath. The guilt punches him in his gut when he notices how hurt you look, and he wants nothing more than to slap himself. 

“I– Sunshine, fuck… I-I didn’t…” He pauses when you draw back further after he takes a step forward. 

You nod, blinking rapidly as you try to get rid of the tears in your eyes. 

“I see how you feel about me now…” You whisper, understanding now why he didn’t want you. 

Just like you had once suspected, he would never want someone like you. He made sure you knew beforehand, and yet you still fell. He called you immature before, more than once. And he was right, because maybe if you weren’t such a naive, childish woman, you would have taken a step back a long time ago and seen things for what they were, but instead you relied on your hopes and dreams, the way a child would. 

Steve shakes his head, his hazel eyes flashing with the need to explain, but you aren’t even looking at him anymore. 

“No, Sunshine… Please–”

A bone chilling scream cuts him off, echoing through the trees around you both, followed by a gunshot that you know is loud enough to lure anything close by in. 

“Eddie!” Nancy’s scream leaves shivers running down your spine. 

Your head snaps up, eyes locking with Steve’s in horror. Both of you push the fight aside, forgetting everything for a moment as you both turn around and start running up the hill, back to your friends. You reach for the gun in your holster, clicking the safety off. 

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, ringing in your ear, and tightening your throat as the shots keep going off. This moment reminds you too much of the attack not too long ago, and you aren’t ready, you aren’t ready to kill again. 

But it’s not people being a threat this time, no, it’s monsters, too many at that. The dog-like creatures that Eddie calls demodogs. Nancy keeps reloading her rifle, shooting the ones charging at her as her panicked eyes keep flashing back to Eddie who is swinging the axe around. 

There is so much blood, red blood in the white snow, both from the demodogs and from Eddie. You don’t have the time to look at where his blood is actually coming from because a demodog charges right at Steve, not even giving him the time to react as he reaches for his bat, which he left leaning against the RV. 

You raise your arms up, aiming at the demodogs’ head, taking the shot before it gets the chance to jump at him.

Steve flinches, turning around with wide eyes as he looks down at the twitching demodog at his feet. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, nodding at you. 

“Eddie, watch out!” Nancy screams. 

It all goes too fast, before you can even move, before you can even blink, you watch Eddie getting tackled to the ground, his head crashing against a tree root. 

Steve’s eyes are wide with horror, just like your own. He charges forward, swinging his bat against the demodog, who was ready to turn Eddie into its lunch. 

You start shooting at every demodog charging at you and your friends. The adrenaline kicks off inside of you. 

“Where are they fucking coming from!?” Nancy yells as her rifle clicks empty. You cover her back, aiming at the creatures coming from behind the trees. For the first time, you regret stopping by the forest. You don’t know where to look, where to aim at, too many for your liking, emerging from the woods. 

“Eddie! Eddie, don’t do this, man!” Steve’s desperate voice echoes as he crouches before his friend, who is fighting his consciousness. His eyes were opening and closing. Blood is oozing from his head and his leg. Dead creatures lie around him. 

Your heart drops when you see Steve shaking him, slapping his cheek as he tries to keep him awake.

Your breath gets caught in your throat first, Eddie’s name falling from your lips as you stare in horror. And then… the wind suddenly gets knocked out of you, the gun drops from your hand and into the snow, claws digging through your thick jacket as your body hits the cold ground. 

Your hand falls into the icy snow, your head hitting the harsh ground beneath it. You blink in pain as the world becomes blurry before you for a split second. You breathe in deeply, hand patting the ground in search of the gun that slipped from your hands. 

You hear your name being called. His voice calling out to you. 

And as you come to your senses again, your eyes widen in fear when you see the opening head, charging down at you, ready to feast on your flesh. 

For a split second, you see death welcoming you. The darkness ready to claim you, ready to take you into its cold embrace, to take your soul sooner than it was meant to. 

Everything flashes before your eyes. He flashes before your eyes. 

And then… it’s gone again, just like that. 

You scrunch your eyes shut as the body flies off you, slammed away with the nailed bat. You hear the flesh being teared open, the squelching as the bat repeatedly slams into the body. You open your eyes again, turning to your side as you try to catch your breath, watching Steve kill the creature that attacked you. 

Blood drips from his bat, and he only steps away once the body stops moving. His chest is moving up and down heavily, his dark eyes flashing with concern as he looks back down at you. He steps towards you, eyes moving up and down your body, fear flashing across his face. 

He almost forgets your surroundings, ready to drop to his knees before you and pull you into his arms but Nancy’s scream pulls him back onto the field and you both turn towards her, her rifle aimed at the demodog charging at her as she covers Eddie’s body with her own, but before she can even pull the trigger, a loud shot goes off, taken from a different direction, its head blown off and blood splattered across her jacket now. 

You look around, eyes wide and heart jumping to your throat when you see the men, four of them on horses, heavily armed. 

Nancy looks down at herself, watching wide eyed as the blood runs down her jacket. She glances only briefly at the men, before she drops her rifle on the ground beside her and crawls towards Eddie. 

“Eddie…Eddie!” Her panicked voice echoes. 

You push yourself up, searching for your gun in the snow as your hands begin to shake. The moment oh too familiar, the panic rises inside of you, stinging in your throat as breathing becomes a struggle. 

You find your gun and pick it up, holding it tightly as you step in front of Steve. 

“Sunshine…” He murmurs from behind you, taking a step closer, and he curls his hand around your wrist. His eyes flicker back and forth between his unconscious friend and the men moving closer to all of you, noticing how the demodogs start retreating, running back into the woods. 

“Steve! He is losing blood!” Nancy’s panicked voice finally gets to you. 

You blink, forcing your eyes away from the group moving towards you. You keep your finger on the trigger, ready to shoot if anything goes sideways again. You step over the dead bodies, stepping over the blood as you and Steve rush over to Eddie. 

Concern rushes through you when you take in the sight of him. He is out, unconscious, and barely breathing. Blood is coating his cheek and his ear, oozing from the wound on his head. You forget about the panic inside of you, about the group of strangers coming closer, about everything. Your heart is pounding strongly, and the despair inside of you is growing. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the paralyzing fear takes hold of your body. “Eddie…”

Nancy already tended to the wound on his leg, but she looks a little helpless as she stares at the wound on his head – it’s not that she doesn’t know what to do, it’s the fact that the panic inside of her makes her unable to work. The logical part of her brain is shut off, the emotional part stronger now as she cries for her best friend. Her hands shake terribly as she stares at him, her blue eyes filled with tears as she keeps repeating his name. 

Steve stares down in horror, frozen and paralyzed. The sight before him reminding him too much of the day he lost her. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to move. 

He wishes it were only one of his nightmares. 

“Hey.” The stranger's voice makes your head snap up, hand holding onto the gun tightly. The man holds his hands up after he gets down from his horse. He takes no step forward yet, trying to show you that he means no harm. His blue eyes move across your little group before they settle on Eddie. “Mind if I take a look? I can help.” 

Nancy looks up before you can say anything. She nods, without even taking a look around first, without making sure that they aren’t bad people, and it only shows you just how desperate she is to save her friend, not caring about the potential danger. 

And you know that you can’t care about it either right now, not when Eddie is bleeding out in the snow. 

The man crouches down before Eddie, eyebrows furrowing as he leans down and carefully picks his head up. 

He eyes the wound, touching around it before he checks for a pulse. “Weak pulse, but it’s there.” He looks up, eyes moving back and forth between Nancy’s panicked ones and Steve’s frozen ones, finally they lock with yours. “He needs medical attention… immediately. He’s got a concussion and an open wound,” he pauses, glancing at Eddie’s leg, at the makeshift bandage around it, blood oozing through it too. “He definitely needs stitches, maybe even surgery.” 

You look back and forth between him and his men who are still on the horses, watching out for any incoming threat.

“We got a little community down the road, we got doctors and all medical supplies necessary–”

“Okay, okay!” Nancy nods, wiping away her tears. “Take us there!” 

Under any other circumstance, she would have never reacted this way, neither would Steve or even you, but you have no choice at this moment. All you can do is get up and take a step back, watching the strangers carry Eddie into the RV after wrapping up his head. 

Nancy follows inside right away, taking a seat beside Eddie. 

Steve is staring at the blood in the snow, Eddie’s blood. He is barely blinking, barely breathing. His body is frozen. 

“Steve!!!” Her voice echoed in his head as if she were there on the floor again, getting dragged, her hand reaching out for him desperately.

Your chest aches, eyes softening as you see the state he is in. The fear of losing another friend set so deeply inside of him. You take a step towards him after putting your gun back into your holster, reaching out to take his hand, “Steve?”

The touch of your hand, the softness in your voice calling out his name, instantly grounds him, pulling him back to here. He blinks as he stares into your eyes. 

“Come on…” You whisper, squeezing his hand. 

He curls his hand around your own, holding on tightly, like he is scared you were gonna let go again. His heart warms at your touch, at the caring look in your eyes. 

“Eddie’s gonna be okay.” You mumble softly. “But we need to go now…”

You try to let go of his hand as you guide him towards the RV, but his grip on your hand only tightens, not letting you let go. 

“Okay.” You whisper, taking one last look around before you step inside the RV, pulling him in with you. 

The man tending to Eddie’s wound, steps away when you walk in. The guy beside him, looking no older than seventeen, gives you a nod before he walks past you and out of the RV. 

“I’ll stay with you, guys. Either of you wanna drive, or do you want me to?” The man who took care of Eddie asks, looking between you both. 

You glance at Steve, who drops the bloody bat on the ground. He fishes out the keys from his pocket, handing them to the man, “you can drive, doesn’t matter anymore.” 

The man gives him a curt nod, understanding what he means by that. He grabs the keys, wasting no time to get into the driver's seat. 

You close the door behind you and lead Steve towards the bench, sitting down with him, you glance at Nancy, who is sitting beside Eddie, holding his hand. 

“I know it ain’t mean much in this world, but I promise we’re good people.” The stranger you have yet to learn the name of speaks. 

Steve nods, not saying anything but squeezing your hand – a silent promise to protect you if it comes down to it. 

For a moment, whatever happened between you two before all this, vanished. You keep holding his hand, and he keeps caressing your knuckles the way he did before, when things were still okay between you. 

Steve’s eyes move back and forth between his friend and you, while you look out the window, preparing for whatever is about to come. 

You shift in your seat, eyes flicking back and forth between the window and the man driving the RV. He has a gun in his holster, a belt around his waist, knives, and an axe secured in it. His clothes are clean, cleaner than those of the people who attacked you on the street. 

You don’t know how long it took you to get there, but it felt like hours, the more you looked at Eddie, just laying there without any movement. Steve’s hand tightens around you, and his back straightens when he sees the gates that keep the community safe from the outer world. 

The man opens the window, waving at the guard on one of the towers who is holding a rifle, looking down at the RV with a skeptical look on his face. 

The sudden crackling noise of a walkie startles you a bit. 

“Open the gate, it’s me.” The man grumbles into his walkie. “Tell Charlie to be ready, we've got a code one.” 

“Copy.” The man on the tower nods, signaling with his arm towards someone standing on the other side of the gate. 

You lean forward as you watch the gate open, you keep holding onto Steve’s hand as the RV starts driving again slowly. Your body is restless, heart pounding in your chest, nerves running high as your eyes take in the sight before you. 

There are guards, four of them, two on each tower, two by the gate. They nod at the driver once the RV passed the gates, all of them are armed with rifles. They all look like military minus the attire. 

As you drive further into the community that looks like a small town, you notice people walking down the street, others standing by a building that looks like an old bakery, chatting and laughing with each other. You see a playground and children playing there, throwing snowballs at each other. 

This place looks like it has been untouched by the outer world – it looks odd compared to what you have seen all these months. 

You and Steve turn to look at each other, your eyes sharing the same emotions. 

Once the RV stops in front of what you assume is the infirmary, you and Steve get up. You let go of his hand, placing it over your gun instead, just in case. 

The man driving the RV, kills the ignition and removes the keys, handing them back to Steve with a nod. 

“I’ll get some help, y’all stay here.” He mumbles before he brushes past Steve and opens the door, leaving it open as he makes his way into the building. 

Your heart is still pounding both in fear for Eddie and in anxiety of being stuck in a place you know nothing about. You just hope that you didn’t walk right into a trap. 

Eddie’s unmoving body makes you feel sick, the thought of losing him crossing your mind when you see just how much blood he has lost. You aren’t sure if and how you would keep going if it happened – let alone how they would keep going. 

Steve can’t even find it in himself to care about the potential danger you are all in. He is staring at Eddie, still frozen in place, hand searching for yours again. You won’t deny or reject him now, you slip your fingers through his and give his hand a squeeze that says ‘I’m here, no matter what, I’m here.’ 

“Howdy.” A man wearing a white coat greets you, clearly the doctor. He offers you a kind smile as he brushes past you and Steve, already having noticed Eddie on the bed. “Let me take a look.”

You and Steve step aside when two other men walk in, carrying a stretcher. 

“Alright, let’s get him inside.” The doctor orders. 

Everything moves quickly after, a blur thanks to the adrenaline and worry. The men carry Eddie outside of the RV and into the infirmary. Nancy follows first, her panicked look never fading. You and Steve follow, his hand still clinging to yours as you step into the unfamiliar place. 

The smell of disinfection hangs heavy in the air. The place looks clean, spotless. You pass by a few rooms, noticing the medical equipment in all of them. 

“You guys can wait here, Aaron will be right with y’all.” The doctor explains, looking mostly at Nancy, who doesn’t want to step away from Eddie. 

She nods, blinking away tears that still linger in her eyes. 

“Here.” The doctor gestures to the chair behind her, “take a seat, I’ll update you in a minute, alright?”

“Alright… Alright.” Nancy murmurs and sits down, breathing shakily. 

The doctor looks up from her, glancing between you both, “you too.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nod at him, assuming that Aaron must be the guy who drove the RV. 

The doctor walks into the room where Eddie was carried into. He closes the door behind him, leaving you all in the quiet hallway. You take a deep breath, noticing how much your heart is still pounding, how much your hands are shaking, even with the touch of his hand. 

You turn to look at him, his eyes are so hollow, and he looks so lost. It hurts to see him like this. 

“Come on,” you whisper as your eyes trace his features. “Let’s sit.” 

Steve nods, agreeing almost robotically. He sits down, and you follow, taking the seat between him and Nancy. You glance at her, your heart clenches in your chest. You reach your hand out and squeeze her forearm. 

She nods at you, trying to smile, but you can see how much she is struggling to, how scared she is. 

You want to assure her, to tell her that he will be alright, but your words are caught in your throat. You don’t know how much time passes as you sit there, but it feels like forever. The clock on the wall across from you is ticking. Nancy is bouncing her knee beside you, unable to find rest. You are on the same page, and Steve is too, but his eyes are frozen, stuck on the ground. 

It seemed as if the people here knew not to offer anything until you all had a bit more trust in them. Maybe waiting for the leader or the head of the community to have a word with you all first, which made sense. 

The door at the end of the hallway opens, making you all straighten your backs. The man who brought you here, Aaron, you assume, steps in. He closes the door and makes his way over to you. 

“Hey guys.” He nods at you all, rubs his hands together, and leans against the wall across from you, crossing his feet. “Charlie’s a good doctor, your friend will be alright.” He starts, assuring you. 

Nobody speaks. No one even knows what to say. 

“Are y’all looking for a place to stay or just passing through?” He asks, looking between all of you. 

“Passing through.” Steve mumbles from beside you, eyes hard as he looks at the man. 

“Where’s your destination?” 

Steve falls silent again, clearly not trusting the man despite the help he’s provided so far. 

And you might not be the best judge, but you can tell that he is harmless, at least if he wants to be. His stance and his body tells you that he is trained, years of military experience probably. Even with the thick jacket on, you can tell that he is muscular. He surely doesn’t need the weapons on him to do some damage. Besides, this place wouldn’t be filled with people and children if they had ill intentions. 

“California.” Nancy says, surprising both you and Steve, earning a glare from the latter. 

“Oh?” He pushes himself off the wall, eyes sparking with interest. “The beach?” 

“Yeah.” She nods. 

He hums, nodding as he looks between you all, eyes lingering on you for a moment. 

“You guys from Hawkins?” 

Steve tenses up beside you, eyebrows creasing together as his lips part. 

“We had a little group passin’ through a while back, probably a year back by now,” he explains. “They were from Hawkins, heading to California as well.”

Nancy and Steve share a look before they look back at him, eyes sparkling with interest now. He straightens up beside you, still holding your hand. 

“One of the teens got sick, so they had to stay here for a week. We gave them medicine and recipes in case of any sicknesses in the future–”

“Teens?” Steve asks, leaning forward. “Which one?” He asks, hope rising up inside of him. 

The man before you furrows his eyebrows, “curly hair, lisp, he uh had cleidocranial dysplasia–”

“Dustin.” Steve sighs, worriedly to find out that he dealt with a sickness, but relieved to know that he is alright. 

Nancy sighs beside you, her eyes widening in relief. 

“Yeah, that was his name. We’re still in contact with them, if you want to, I’ll take y’all to the radio station tomorrow morning. I’m assuming your friend will need to stay in the infirmary tonight, maybe tomorrow too. You guys will get a place to stay–”

“I don’t wanna leave Eddie.” Nancy shakes her head. 

“I understand. You can move into one of our cabins tomorrow morning, after you talk to your friends.” 

You and Nancy nod, feeling more comfortable with that. 

Steve doesn’t seem fond of the idea, but he doesn’t argue against it, knowing that Dustin and the others were here shows him that he can put aside his distrust. 

The door opens before any of you can speak up again. The doctor walks out, causing all of you to tense up, Nancy especially. 

“He’s got a mild concussion, head injury looked worse than it actually was, but he lost a lot of blood on his leg. The cut was pretty deep. We stitched it up, but needs a blood transfusion.” He explains, looking down at Nancy. “You know his blood type?” 

“He’s a type B.” She says, voice filled with anxiety because she can’t help.

Steve huffs beside you, worriedly. 

“I’m type B too.” You speak up, letting go of Steve’s hand, you waste no time getting up and take off your jacket. “You can take my blood.” 

Steve leans forward, looking up at you with wide eyes. 

The doctor nods, he opens the door to the operating room, and gestures for you to step inside. You do, stepping forward and towards the room, you look back at him one more time. He is staring at you, eyes filled with emotions that could have fooled you. Soft and filled with something that you swore wasn’t just platonic. 

Were you really so far off? 

Or was he just giving the wrong signs? 

A soft touch on your hand pulls you back, and you look down, meeting Nancy’s eyes and her sad smile, “thank you,” she whispers, squeezing your hand. 

“Of course.” You squeeze her hand back before you let go and walk into the room. Eyes falling on Eddie’s body on the bed right away. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of him, face falling. The machines are beeping loudly beside him, his body still unmoving. 

“Aaron.” The doctor calls for the blue eyed man, motioning for him to follow inside. “Set the IV will ya?”

Steve tenses up, not wanting to be without you, not wanting you to be left alone with a stranger. He refuses to move away from his spot, refusing to walk into any other room and further away from you. 

The door closes behind you, and the man, Aaron, takes his jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the door. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands, glancing at you. 

“Take a seat, ma��am.” He gestures to the chair beside Eddie’s bed. 

You nod, making your way towards Eddie. You eye him, your eyes filling with sadness as you take his state in. 

You sit down without tearing your eyes away from him. The thought that you couldn’t protect him, that this happened again, sickens you. Guilt sparks up inside of you. If you hadn’t been so busy arguing with Steve, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Oh, Eddie. 

“You okay?” The man asks as he steps up before you, two needles and an IV line in his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Alright,” he nods, smiling softly at you. “Take your sweater off, please.”

You reach for the hem of your sweater, feeling glad for the tank top you have on underneath. You throw the sweater over the chair and lean back. 

“I’m Aaron, by the way.” 

You raise your eyebrows and look up to find him looking at you already, getting the IV line ready after injecting the needle into Eddie’s arm. He leans down before you, moving closer, and he sprays some disinfectant on your arm before he checks for a vein. 

You give him your name, offering a kind smile when his eyes meet yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles, tilting his chin down. “You’re from Hawkins too?” He asks, distracting you from the needle he injects into your skin. 

“No,” you shake your head, ignoring the sting. “I’m from Nevada.”

“Oh, you’re a long way from home then.” 

You nod, eyes following the tattoos on his skin that disappear under the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Yeah, I was in New York for college when all this started…” 

He raises his eyebrow, not looking away from the IV until it starts drawing blood and flooding through the line. 

“You found your way to Indiana?” Aaron asks, eyes meeting yours again. 

“Yeah, stumbled right into Hawkins,” you say, smiling at the memory. 

“You were on your own before?” 

You nod, avoiding his eyes as he stares at you, his blue eyes moving across your face. It isn’t difficult to see how handsome he is, even in this state you are in, troubled by worry and anxiety, you still see it, you would have to be blind not to.

“Brave girl.”

You cast your eyes on the ground, blushing. 

He smiles to himself when he notices your reaction, and he takes a step back, checking on Eddie. 

“Alright, I’m gonna get you something to eat, you’ll need it after.”

“Okay,” you nod, giving him a small smile before you look over at Eddie. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” 

You are left alone with silence and your own thoughts after he leaves the room. You sink into the chair, keeping your eyes locked on your friend. The exhaustion of this day is catching up to you slowly, tiredness taking over you, and sleep envelopes you quickly, welcoming you with open arms. 

-

“Psst.” 

You feel something poking your arm, shaking you. 

“Sunshine.” 

Your eyebrows crease, your mind still hazy, feeling far away somewhere.

“Don’t die, you’re still a virgin.”

You open your eyes, frowning in confusion, needing a moment to take in your surroundings. Eddie’s kind eyes meet yours, a loopy smile on his face. 

You look down at his arm, the needle and the IV gone, a bandaid covering the spot the needle poked through. 

“There she is,” he grins. 

A groan falls from your lips, your back hurting from falling asleep on the uncomfortable chair. You don’t even register the comment he made. You blink, needing a moment to fully wake.

“I was kinda hoping the pain meds would get me high but I don’t feel shit.” Eddie frowns, pouting as he looks at you. 

You eye him up and down, moving closer, something falls off your shoulders and you look down, frowning when you notice a blanket that wasn’t there before. You glance at the bedside table, a chocolate bar and a glass of orange juice standing there for you. 

“Can’t believe you gave me your blood, we’re blood sisters now.” Eddie grins, trying to make you smile. 

You look up, shaking your head at him. Is he really not high?

“Come on, I’m trying to make you smile.”

“I appreciate that,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side. “I’m happy you’re back. Are you okay?” 

Eddie’s smile curls into a softer one, his brown eyes flashing with sympathy, knowing you feel guilt for not getting to him sooner. “I’m okay. Can’t believe they got me twice.” He murmurs. “Also, can’t believe I got Nancy Wheeler crying over me, she was full on sobbing when she and Steve came in before.” He chuckles, like they aren’t best friends. 

Was Steve the one who put the blanket around you? 

“I’m sorry, Eddie…” You whisper, reaching for his hand as you eye the bandage around his head, the bruise forming on the side of his head. 

The anxiety, the anger from the day before has passed and left your body. All that is left now is the sadness and heartbreak, mixed with guilt from not being able to protect him. 

His painful screams echo in your mind just like Steve’s hurtful words dawn on you again, repeating themselves in your brain over and over again. 

You rarely cried before, you never cried when you were on your own, you found it hard to. But now tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t push them away. 

“Hey…” Eddie whispers, his smile falling when he notices your face crumbling. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper weakly as the first tears begin to fall, rolling down your cheek before you can even stop it. “If I hadn’t done anything, or tried anything at all with him, I wouldn’t have asked to stop for some air because the RV suffocated me with him in there and–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie shakes his head, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer, trying to hug you. You welcome it, lying your head on his chest carefully. 

He knew it was bound to happen, he knew you were gonna break down sooner or later after Steve’s rejection. 

“I got you.” He whispers, running his fingers through your hair as cry softly. “Please tell me that idiot apologized.” He mumbles, remembering how he sent him to talk to you. He didn’t have the chance to ask him before, one of the male nurses came in and asked them to follow him for a general checkup. 

You shake your head, keeping your eyes closed. 

He looks down at you, and the pain is written across your face. 

“What happened…?” He whispers, frowning. 

You shrug, not wanting to tell him. 

“Sweetheart–”

The door opens, and someone steps in, making you pull away from Eddie. You quickly wipe your tears and turn around. 

“You alright, Honey?” Aaron asks, looking at you. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he eyes the man, head tilting to the side in curiosity when he notices the way he looks at you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling as you glance at Eddie. “I’m just happy this moron is awake.” 

“Hey, I have feelings!” Eddie gasps, acting offended. 

Aaron chuckles as he walks over to him, checking the vital signs on the monitor. 

“You’ll be fine in a week or so. Gotta keep the injury in check, Doc had to give you some stitches.” He explains. 

“Oh man, a scar no one can see?” Eddie whines.

You giggle at him, shaking your head. 

Aaron looks at you, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. The man clears his throat and steps back, “alright, whenever you are feeling like you are ready to walk again, I’ll show you to your cabin.” He explains, nodding at you. “And you should eat something, you gave a lot of blood.” 

You nod, casting your eyes down shyly. 

“I’ll come check on you in a few hours again, but for now, you should rest some more, Eddie.” Aaron says as he makes his way to the door. “Your friends are outside, I’ll send them in.” 

Eddie nods at him, waiting until he is gone. He clears his throat, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. 

“Sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You mumble as you take a sip of the orange juice. 

“Found you a Cowboy.” 

You almost spit out your juice, coughing loudly as you punch your chest in order to push the rest down. Eddie chuckled but winced as the action made the stitches move slightly. 

“I’m– Not interested.” You say, and Eddie sighs, shaking his head at you.

“Have you seen that man? I’ll be forever pissed at you if he makes a move and you don’t take it.” You blink a few times, surprised by Eddie’s words and– You have seen him.

You took notice before of his features, his eyes, his beard, his clothes, and the roughness of his voice. It was hard not to, even in the situation you were all in. Yet–

“Eddie?” Nancy rushed in, a smile on her face as Steve breathed heavily, right behind her. They both rushed to Eddie’s side, and you could only see the brown haired guy that was smiling with relief, as he hugged his friend after Nancy had her share.

Your heartstrings tugged at you, painfully so. Your fingers wrapped around the blanket again as you felt a shiver run down your spine. Yeah, Aaron was handsome, as Eddie put it. 

But those blue eyes had nothing against hazel ones.

Not even close.

☀︎

welp I am sorry. here is Aaron for y'all (face claim. not the actual actor, they just happen to have the same name lmao)

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