#XReader

[sur-i-ki]

Lessons in Love

Naruto never understood what love was. If anything, he was scared of it. From a young age, love was his ‘Jiji” coming into his house with an envelope full of colorful paper, paper that allowed him to get ramen, to get clothes. Love was not being hit at a store, just glared at. Love was a sensei not kicking him out of class, even if he had to stand the entire time. Love was Ichiraku ramen, with the pretty ‘Nee-san’ and her extra treats.

And the thing is, Naruto never really minded this love. That’s all he knew then. His village loved him in the sense that the level of cruelty decreased overtime. He supposed he was getting more handsome and cute, so of course they couldn’t be mean to a face like his.

He truly didn’t realize how wrong he was.

Love became his team. Love was his sensei patting his head, gently instructing him in hand signs, and letting him hold onto his jacket. Love was Sakura bringing him snacks, getting angry at him with shaky hands when he had a particularly hard fall, and smiling at him. Love was Sasuke looking at him, not through him, meeting every kick with an equal one, and overall ridiculous antics on a daily basis. Love was knowing he could go anywhere and have these three people, his family and friends, be right behind him or beside him. Love was support, late night talks out on missions, and the trust they had in each other in the heat of a fight.

With the positives, he realized, there were many things that came unwarranted. Fear, he learned quickly, accompanied love every time.

Love was biting his cheeks till they bled when Kakashi sensei went ahead to scout in enemy territory. Love was holding onto Sakura’s frail body when she passed out from chakra exertion during medical training. Love was a white-knuckled grip on a kunai when Sasuke clutched his eyes, face contorted in pain as he ran through ancient clan training. Love was his heart pounding not from excitement, but from fear, watching his people hurt and be vulnerable in ways that showed their mortality to him.

Regardless, he still loved love, because after living so long without it, he clutched onto it even if it made his hands bleed.

But with you, he learned love came in many forms. This love was slow and fast at the same time.

It was him tailing Kakashi with the team and running into you trying to reach the top shelf in a bookstore. It was him glancing at the teetering book pile threatening to fall on your head, then back Kakashi in the adult section. It was him trusting his team (even though they all knew they’d never see his face, like come on, they’d all gotten their hands on a Bingo book by now), and covering your body as you grabbed your book. Love was him staring at you, as you stared back, eyes wide, as he was pummelled with books. His eyes fell to your neck, where a shinobi headband was hanging, and he turned bright red, even as he noticed that the amount of books hitting him was not the same number as the books in the pile.

You smirked at him, and he was absolute toast.

“Can I help you?” and he turned his head just a bit to notice all the books were caught in a chakra net, and he had unseemingly overreacted. He hurriedly apologised, making sure to convey that, “No, I’m not downplaying your strength and skill” and “I just reacted without thinking” because Sakura was as ruthless as she was kind, and had made sure to make her boys realize that kunoichi were as deadly as they came.

You laughed politely, pulling away to hug Sauskra, and waved goodbye. His ears were bright red as Sasuke and Sakura teased him relentlessly, only quieting when he looked at the both of them pointedly. Wrong choice, because he was immediately pinned with stares that promised bodily harm, and quickly realised that there was no better time to start running as fast as he could.

Love was him taking a longer route back home, to bump into you and talk. And it spun and spun, coincidences turning into friendship. Training together, eating together, learning that you were an outlier, how you were an elite shinobi in training by being the adopted ward of some councilman. Naruto soon learned that if he wanted to keep you talking, he shouldn’t mention that little fact.

He saw the way you shut off, when Danzo was mentioned, tugging on your sleeves and twitching towards your kunai and medical pouch. He wasn’t dumb, he had grown up in the belly of the slums of his village, and knew what you might’ve experienced. He slowly controlled his anger on your behalf, knowing you were more than capable, but it still hurt to know what you went through. He let you know, and all you had done was lean into his side a bit more, mumbling a soft “thank-you”.

The years went on. He begged his sensei and his “Baa-chan” for a duo mission with you once, after the promotions when his class cohort were chunins. You were his superior, being an elite jonin, reporting only to Kakashi and the Senior Council. He was beyond elated to be given a recon mission, packing away scrolls and food, smiling at the thought of spending time doing something he loved with you.

And in that horrible mission gone south so fast, he learned love could be a vicious thing, tinging his world red. The Akatsuki members were relentless and ruthless, cruel and conniving in their methods to tear you two apart. To take him away. Love was you standing in front of him, pushing the enemy back with a roar, baldes whistling in their speed, refusing to let them take the one thing the world allowed you to have.

Love became, for him, for you, a thing you can’t explain. An inexplicable bond, gone beyond the measure of words, forged by the feeling of “Don’t take this one precious thing away from me”. It was looking at you, soaked in blood, trying to snap out of whatever haze you were in, two corpses at your feet and feeling his chest constrict and expand with the onslaught of emotions he had no want, or need, to decipher.

Love was looking at you in that moment and thinking he’s never seen something so breathtakingly beautiful in his life, probably never will.

It was a nightmare trying to explain what happened, but you both gripped onto each other with such a force that no amount of administrative, or raw physical power, could separate you from each other. Not even Danzo, with his threatening jabs and cane taps could move you, someone equal to him in power, and deadly to him because you knew some of the secrets your benefactor had. It made you his enemy, made you dangerous, put a target on your back, but somehow you couldn’t be bothered enough. Even when he called your isolation, because now his Hokage, not his baa-chan, knew the asset you were to the village, to be able to eliminate S-ranks with his help, and hoarded you away from Danzo. You did the majority of talking as he handled keeping the events underwraps, making sure nothing was leaked to anyone outside of a circle of executives.

He didn’t care much for politics. He should have, but he didn’t. He’d learn.

And later that week, late at night, love became fingers sticky with popsicle juice, and laughter under a street lamp, after a horrible experience. Love became tentative touches, furtive glances, and a soft kiss in the glow of fireflies. Love became him touching his lips with shaking fingers, trying to find your warmth on them even after you’d gone inside your home.

For him, after that, love was devotion. Devoted to you. He read you like an open book, studied you like it was his only reason, and poked and prodded you to see the gaps in his knowledge. Love was the quiet understanding you had for him, the grounded hugs, and fierce protection that came for him. For everyone dear to him. Love was realizing what it felt like to be loved.

You loved him back fiercely, for lack of better words. If he was in the same room, love was feeling you stare at him, regardless of circumstances. Love was you integrating pieces of him into your life. His favorite color was the color of your hair tie, or you having ramen stacked in your cabinets for late night meetings. He’d wake up shaking, crying, running from dreams full with cruel eyes and crueler words, and find you there with whispered reassurances and a hand raking through his hair. Love was spending time with each other, was the village knowing as a whole if one of you went anywhere, the other would follow.

From you, he learned love could be home. And that’s a lesson he’d never forget. Love was you teaching him what his worth was, making him realize it came from who he made himself to be, who he thought he was, instead of relying on others to tell him that.

Love was you kissing his forehead when he realized the true extent of how his beloved village had betrayed you and his one brother, who was sitting shell-shocked in a hospital room as Sakura ran damage control. It was you standing behind him in an Anbu mask in that room as he clutched Kakashi’s jacket, feeling like a little kid again.

“Sasuke? Sasuke? His Mangenkyou has been running for three hours, God knows how much damage…” Sasukra fluttered around the room, commanding a team of specialists to treat her teammate with the readiness that came only with being the Hokage’s apprentice. He barely noticed the words exchanged between everyone. Somewhere, he could hear Sakura keeping everyone together through this shitstorm, firm and unrelenting in a way only an earth user could be. Fluid and evermoving the way a water user would be. She held them together as they processed their emotions, even if she had to pause and look at them with worry in her eyes, watching her boys.

Love was realizing that everyone he loved could love each other, as Kakashi looked upon his team, his wards, his pack, and gave you a sure nod. It was Kakashi pulling rank as Commander of the Jonin and Anbu Forces, sending you out for an internal arrest. It was Kakashi handing Sasuke a katana, hand heavy on shoulder as he looked upon the two of you. One, betrayed and used just to be discarded by her ward. One wronged by a greedy and paranoid official, and his village for failing to protect him.

As his team had hurt, as you stood there with a rage that choked you, glazed your eyes over, and made you so lethal even he knew not to speak to you. He held your hand for one moment, trying his hardest to convey his feelings to you.

He turned, making sure Sasuke looked at him, even though his eyes were distant with rage and hurt, made sure he knew that Naruto looked at him as well, acknowledged him. He sends him off with-

“I am honored to be protected by you, and I believe in you. I’ll be waiting.” Love was making sure his people knew they had someone to turn to, it was Sasuke finally looking at him with some warmth in his eyes, a little bit of attitude back in his shoulders. It was you jerking your head in an imitation of a nod.

Your eyes were slow, and you moved in robotic movements, shaking with effort to keep still as his Baa-chan gave you two the command to “neutralize a threat”. Two of his precious people, carrying a burden of familial and blood responsibilities, and watched what twisted ways love could shine through.

Love was you holding yourself delicately, like a bomb ready to explode, waiting to detonate against the one who effectively saved you from a trafficking orphanage, but damned you in other ways in the process. Love was the kindness you showed yourself, showed Sasuke, as he grappled with his emotions. Love was the grief that showed in the lines of Sasuke’s face, the fear and confused hatred for his older brother, and the ache of his bones straining for the love for his clan.

Love was him and Sakura clutching onto each others’ hand, Kakashi standing watch somewhere behind them, covert in their hiding spots, watching the two of you walk into the jaws of a beast. The ROOT faction was something you had barely remembered, whittled down to nightmares from your early childhood, before Danzo pulled you out to train you personally.

You had learned these facts with Sasuke, from meticulous files stowed away in ROOT operative memories. A crucial aspect in the earlier recon mission, because this was a takedown of a pillar of the village, and they had to create scaffolding to ensure the village didn’t crumble away with the pillar.

Naruto watched with a bated breath as you crept through a window, Sasuke following like a shadow, and prayed to all the gods in this forsaken world to keep the two of you safe. But soon, he felt Danzo’s chakra flicker, and there was an onslaught of operative raining down on the, your backup, and he had to use all of his energy to incapacitate them. “No extreme harm unless strictly necessary” your words ring in his ears, “They are just, more used and broken than me…”

The whole ordeal took a day, as intelligence worked to prevent any leaks to the outside world. This was a major compromise of village security, and they had to understand the full extent of Danzo’s deceit to prevent considerable harm to the village.

He couldn’t remember much of what happened, just remembered watching as you and Sauske leaned on each other as you walked out of the wreck, victorious grins on your faces, coated in debris and blood.

Love was the desperation followed by immense relief of watching you both walk out, for the better than for the worse. Love was also understanding that these sequences of events can never repeat themselves again.

And so with his head held high, he walked into Tsunade’s office and told her he was ready. Soon began his training, his molding for a better Hokage, the last line of defence and the first one to further his village in every other way. History, economics, and social sciences were his mornings, followed with leadership training, lunch, and then hours of ruthless training with Kakashi, with Jiraiya, and countless others from the ranks. Tsunade and Sakura strictly monitored his diet, his health, and you and Sasuke filled in any gap with training, mental or physical.

The two of you had bonded like siblings, after the whole Danzo fallout. Sasuke had left the village a few times to find his brother, bring him back home, but with some failed attempts. He’d show, soon, Naruto knew, for now he had access to Itachi’s file as Junior counsellor, knew the extent of Itachi’s sacrifice and involvement. And knew, just from the shaky writing from his last report to Danzo, the lack of missives would force him to come check on his little brother.

You had started glowing, growing stronger with leaps and bounds, as Kakashi also trained you to take over for him. He’d puff up with barely hidden pride, watching his pack rise in the ranks. Sakura, as Head of the Medical Division and Co-head of Torture and Intelligience wit Ino. Sasuke, who was busy raising the police force from the ashes, collaborating with Shikamaru and Ino to integrate it into the jonin and chunin forces. Him, with new bills and treaties and trade deals with countries, all the while working on reforming the system that made them.

And in those once-in-a-blue-moon lazy afternoons, where everyone was lounging around or training, he looked at everyone, and realized this is what love is. Love is change, even if you don’t want to.

Sasuke and Sakura bicker over some policy, throwing words like kunai and shuriken, as Kakashi looks on, face buried in his book. You have your head on his lap, reading from a law book that the both of you will be tested on tomorrow afternoon. He smiles down at you, feeling like he’ll burst from happiness.

Now he understands what love is, was, and will be. And as he rakes his fingers through your hair, he knows he’s not scared of it any longer.

Especially when you turn your head just-so, and say his name like that, smiling at him wolfishly, making his mind go blank with a well placed kiss

Let's get a quick one shot out and call it a day. -Writes for three hours in a haze-Edit: Hit 1.8 K, end nowhere in sight. 2.8k that’s it. Canon was an optional treat, but isn't here, go look somewhere else. Kakashi was given the resources to deal with three emotionally compromised genins, so Sasuke never left, Sakura wasn’t neglected, and Naruto wasn’t favoured that much. Any plot hole in this, fill it with ramen and glue, just don’t bother me. I got possessed. I’ll edit this later.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[bingbongsupremacy]

Everything Happens For A Reason

Pairing: Hangman x Fem!Reader, Ex!Bob Floyd x Ex!Fem!Reader

Warning: Drinking Alcohol, heart break, pet names (darlin', sweetheart)

Summary: Your break up with Bob hit you hard. He was your first love, now he's gone. It takes work to get over him. Years later you run into him and his friends at The Hard Deck. The question is, has Jake always been this charming?

*Not Proofread*

No description of reader's weight/body type or race.

You always imagined heartbreak would look the same on both sides. That if your chest ached, his would too. That if you couldn't sleep at night, he'd be tossing and turning, thinking of you.

But instead, you see him in photos. Bright, sun-soaked snapshots on friends' stories or the Navy's social media page. There he is, standing in front of his jet with that shy, soft smile that used to be pointed at you. There he is at the Hard Deck, laughing with Hangman and Phoenix, one hand hooked lazily around a beer. There he is on the beach, hair ruffled by the wind, his eyes crinkled at the corners in the way you used to kiss when he was half-asleep.

It's hard going from knowing someone entirely to complete strangers. Suddenly, you go from talking daily and spending every minute together to devastating silence. A silence that allows old memories to creep in and play back in your mind, shoving what you used to have in your face.

No more funny videos he'd send when they reminded him of you. No texts asking about if you wanted to stay in or go out for dinner. No sweet little encouraging messages to help you get through a tough day at work.

Just silence.

You shouldn't look. You know that. But late at night, you find yourself scrolling anyway. Curious. The glow of your phone is the only light in the room, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the tear tracks on your cheeks.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, pausing on a video of him tossing a football, that dorky, determined concentration on his face. He looks alive. Happy. Like the version of him you fell in love with in high school, but... lighter, somehow. As if you were the heavy thing he'd been carrying.

The worst part isn't that he's moved on. It's that he seems so good without you. Thriving. As if losing you was exactly what he needed to finally breathe.

You try to convince yourself that he's just good at hiding it. That maybe behind that easy grin, he misses the way you used to tug on his uniform collar to kiss him, or how you used to lay your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat.

But you don't really believe it.

You wonder sometimes if he ever regrets the break up, and wishes you were still together. If he misses you just as much as you miss him.

Deep down, you know he doesn't. That's what kills you.

You wish you hated him. You wish he'd cheated or been an asshole, that when everything ended you were left with a sense of relief. You think that'd be a lot easier then dealing with the heartbreak. But the truth is, you don't. You can't. He's never given you a reason to. He was always kind and supportive, really the ideal boyfriend and your best friend. He was respectful and considerate, always thinking of you. Even when he started to realize his feelings for you were fading, he continued to treat you with respect by not stringing you along or cheating. It's not his fault he fell out of love. He couldn't control what his heart wanted or didn't want.

You just wish he still wanted you.

You both decided to mutually break up, a difficult decision after hours of talking about what was going on, but that didn't make you feel any better. How could you? You and Bob had known each other for years. The two of you shared so many firsts. He was your first kiss, your first love, your first heartbreak. You drank for the first time together, bought your first car and apartment together, and so many other big adult milestones. Your relationship with the man had spanned majority of your adult life. It was hard to let go.

When things ended, you watched all the plans you two made and hopes you had for your future shrivel away. No more buying a home together and planting a little garden. No having children a naming them after his grandparents or adopting a shelter dog. You weren't going to travel the world during retirement. You wouldn't be growing old together, taking care of one another until your last breath. Everything you dreamed for was ripped away along with your heart the day Bob took the last box of his things out of your once shared apartment.

Soon, all that was left of your time together were old texts, a camera full of years of photos, and your broken heart.

When your friends ask how you're doing, you say you're fine. You laugh at the right moments. You pretend you aren't checking his feed, pretending the ache in your ribs is just some leftover cold.

You continue to go out with them, forcing yourself to dress up nice and smile for their Instagram posts. You dance with them in the overly crowded clubs, and pretended you were having fun when bar hopping. You try to act as normal as possible, hoping your eyes don't betray you by exposing your sadness.

Some nights, you swear you can still smell his cologne on your pillow. You roll over, hoping stupidly that maybe he'll be there, arms open and warm and that this was all a terrible dream. But all that greets you is empty space and the echo of a door that closed a long time ago.

You thought heartbreak was supposed to be shared. But now you know.

Sometimes, love only cracks one heart open.

And sometimes, the person you'd die for walks away, and they learn to fly even higher without you.

You didn't just lose the love of your life when you broke up. You lost your best friend too.

-----

It's been a while since you've gone to The Hard Deck. For a while, it felt of limits. Like Bob's turf, a place you'd undoubtedly run into him and his friends. He was the person to show you the bar so you felt like it was only fair he got to keep it.

It's not like he explicitly asked you not to go to the bar, he'd never do that. It just felt like an unwritten obvious rule. Besides, you knew the building would bring up lots of bittersweet memories. So you decided to steer clear.

Your friends didn't know about your history at the bar. If they had, they probably wouldn't have suggested it for a change of scenery on a fun night out. All they knew was that the bar was home to a lot of cute sailors.

You hesitate for a moment, a brief flicker of old nerves wondering if Bob might be there, but it vanishes as quickly as it comes. It's been almost two years, and you've done the hard work of learning to moving on.

You don't stalk his posts. You don't read old texts until your eyes sting, you don't read them at all. You don't think of him when you hear love songs or see something funny.

You've gone on dates, learned how to enjoy your own company, and figured out what it means to build a life that's yours as a single adult woman. You bought your first apartment alone and even adopted your own dog. You still haven't fallen in love again, Bob set the bar high, and you're okay with that. What's important is you're not afraid of being alone anymore.

Tonight is about fun, not ghosts.

You get ready without hesitation, slipping into a dress that makes you feel beautiful. You let your friends fuss with your hair and swipe extra gloss on your lips. When you all squeeze into the Uber, you're already laughing, shoulders pressed together as someone eagerly asks the driver to put on a certain playlist.

The moment you step inside the Hard Deck, a rush of warm, salty air wraps around you. The bar is alive in that way only it can be; music spilling from the jukebox, laughter echoing between the walls, the occasional crack of billiard balls breaking in the corner.

It smells like ocean breeze and spilled beer, sunscreen and wood polish. Sunburned pilots crowd around pool tables, some still wearing their flight suits tied around their waists. Groups of sailors shout over each other, trying to be heard above the music. Penny's daughter, Amelia, zips past carrying a tray of empty glasses, expertly weaving through the crowd.

Strings of warm lights are strung along the ceiling beams, casting a soft golden glow over everything. You spot groups huddled over bar tables, the glow from their phones lighting up their excited faces as they scroll through photos or record each other dancing.

The entire bar feels like it's vibrating with life.

Your friends peel off quickly, already eyeing a group of sailors gathered near the dartboard. You watch them squeal and tug each other forward, all sparkling eyes and flirty giggles. You don't mind at all. You're happy for them, truly. You feel no tug of jealousy, no hollow ache like you once did.

You drift toward the bar, sliding into an empty stool. Penny spots you almost instantly, her head tilting in delighted surprise.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she says, her voice warm and teasing as she leans over to give you a quick hug. "Long time no see, pretty girl."

"Hey, Pen," you grin, settling in. "It has been a bit, hasn't it?"

The bar counter beneath your elbows is cool and slightly sticky from spilled drinks. Penny's hands move expertly, flipping a rag over her shoulder as she fills a line of pint glasses with local IPAs. She tosses you a bottle of water and slides your usual drink across with a wink. You're impressed she remembered after all these years.

You talk easily, catching up about her daughter's latest surf competition, her endless teasing about the pilots, and her quiet dreams of finally taking that sailboat trip she always mentions.

You fill her in on your life, sharing the good news of your latest promotion and photos of your dog.

You sip your drink slowly, feeling the alcohol bloom warm and sweet across your tongue. You glance around occasionally, eyes drifting across the familiar room. The scuffed dartboard, the framed black-and-white photos of past Navy generations, the trophy shelf gathering dust in the corner. It's exactly the way you remember it.

You don't feel haunted here anymore. You feel present.

Then, you hear it, a low, drawn-out whistle behind you, slicing straight through the music and the noise.

"Well, as I live and breathe… didn't think I'd see you around these parts again."

Your fingers pause on your glass. Slowly, you turn at the familiar voice.

Hangman stands there, leaning against the bar like he was born there, his tan skin glowing under the warm lights, eyes glittering with playful mischief. His grin is wide and lazy, dimples flashing as he cocks his head to the side.

Your heart gives one startled little kick, a reflex, more than anything, and then it settles. You find your lips curving before you can stop them.

"Hangman," you say, your voice smooth and easy, more surprised than shaken. "Still a regular, I see?" I tease.

One you you really missed about Bob is his friends. They were a fun group, loud but entertaining. They were quick to accept you into their friend group, treating you like one of them. You missed them a lot when everything ended, but you knew they were Bob's friends first, not yours. You didn't want to make things awkward for everyone by trying to hang out or make them feel like they needed to pick sides.

Hangman leans in, elbows propped on the bar beside you. "Guilty as charged," he drawls, that smooth, Southern lilt rolling off him effortlessly. "Can't stay away too long. Someone's gotta keep the rookies from embarrassing themselves."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I should've known you'd still be treating this place like your personal stage."

"Hey, it's not a bad stage," he says, eyes glinting as they flick briefly over you. "Good music, cold beer, and interesting company."

The grin he gives you softens for a fleeting second, just a crack in that cocky armor, before it returns to full wattage.

The conversation flows easier than you expected. You catch up like old friends, because in a way, that's exactly what you were. You tell him about your dog, your new apartment, all the fun things you've done over the past few years. He teases you about finally growing up and picking a place with "real adult curtains," jokes about your neighborhood, and grins at a picture of your dog that you show him.

At some point, it slips out naturally, tucked into a story about packing boxes. "After the breakup, I figured it was time for a fresh start, you know? New space, new chapter. Time to find me."

Hangman's expression shifts, his easy grin softening into something sincere. "Yeah, I heard about that," he says, his voice dropping, quieter and more careful than before. "I'm sorry. That's tough. Getting out of something long-term… that's a whole different beast."

You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. "It's fine. Part of life, right? Everything happens for a reason." You say casually, because it's true. It's something you believe firmly. Just because you and Bob weren't meant to be, doesn't mean your time with him didn't matter or teach you anything. You learned a lot from him.

His eyes stay on you a beat longer than you expect. Then he nods slowly. "Yeah. You're right. Things have a way of working out exactly how they're meant to."

You offer him a small, genuine smile, and for the first time, you really notice how green his eyes are and how they crinkle at the corners when he returns your smile.

Before either of you can say more, the door bursts open behind him. Laughter and the sound of heavy boots flood in.

Hangman straightens immediately, turning toward the noise. You glance over his shoulder, and your heart gives a quick, unexpected jump, but not the painful kind you used to feel.

Bob walks in first, laughing at something Rooster shouts behind him. He looks good. Relaxed and genuinely happy, his arm draped around a pretty woman with warm brown hair and an easy, open smile.

Bob spots you almost instantly, freezing mid-laugh. "Y/N?"

You smile warmly, no sharp ache hidden behind it. "Hi, Bob."

The woman at his side looks over, curious and kind.

"Hi," you say, stepping forward to extend your hand. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

She takes it quickly, her grip confident. "I'm Claire! Oh, I've heard so much about you." This must be his girlfriend.

"All good, I hope," you tease, earning a small laugh from her.

Bob recovers, his hand sliding comfortingly to Claire's waist. "It's really good to see you," he says, and you can tell he means it. "How've you been?"

"I've been good, just living life." you say honestly. "You?"

"Good. Really good," he replies, his easy smile genuine. "It's our first year anniversary tonight." He looks down at Claire with that gentle, earnest adoration you remember so well, and she beams back at him.

"That's awesome. Congratulations you guys." You say, happy that Bob was able to find someone who made him happy.

"Thank you." Claire says sweetly. She seems like a quiet girl, very kind. Someone who perfectly compliment's Bob.

"Look at this!" Rooster crows as he strides forward. His hair's a little messy, slightly longer then the last time you'd seen him, and his trademark sunglasses are perched crookedly on his head. He swoops you into a warm, quick hug. "Damn, been too long, Y/N."

"Hey, Rooster," you laugh, swatting playfully at his chest. "Still rocking that mustache, huh?"

"She loves it," he says, jerking a thumb toward Phoenix, who just rolls her eyes.

Phoenix steps in next, smirking as she pulls you into a side hug. "About time you showed up again," she teases. "Thought you'd gone off the grid."

"Hi, Phoenix," you laugh. "Good to see you."

Payback and Fanboy crowd in right after, both grinning.

"Y/N!" Payback calls, fist bumping you. "You still owe me that rematch on the dartboard!"

"Oh, you mean the one where I kicked your ass last time?" you quip, and he groans dramatically.

Fanboy steps forward, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. "Man, here I thought you finally joined a monastery or something."

You snort, elbowing him lightly. "That was plan B."

Fanboy throws his head back, laughing so loud it turns a few heads nearby. "Glad you didn't. We'd have missed your brutal honesty."

Phoenix tilts her head curiously, eyes sweeping the room. "You here alone tonight?"

You gesture toward your friends still at the dartboard, squealing and cheering. "I came with them. Just didn't feel like making small talk with strangers tonight."

Claire's expression softens immediately, her warmth matching Bob's. "Well, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to," she offers brightly. "You're more than welcome to hang with us."

Rooster nods eagerly, shifting his weight. "Yeah, we got a pitcher with your name on it."

Phoenix lifts her brows, smirking. "Besides, it's more fun when we have someone around who can keep Rooster in check."

"Yeah," Hangman adds, sliding his gaze over to you again, his voice low and smooth. "We're definitely not strangers."

You look at them all; at Rooster's goofy grin, Phoenix's sharp eyes, Payback's friendly smirk, Fanboy's bright energy, Claire's welcoming warmth, Bob's steady kindness, and Hangman's focused, unreadable gaze.

Your heart lifts unexpectedly. You realize just how much you've missed this, the loud jokes, the easy teasing, the effortless way they fold you in like you never left.

"Sure," you say finally, your smile breaking wide. "Thanks guys. I'd like that."

They lead you to a big booth towards the back of the bar, Phoenix practically dragging you into their orbit. Rooster shoves a fresh glass into your hand while Fanboy starts teasing Payback about losing at pool last week.

As you settle in, you catch Hangman's eyes across the circle. There's something new there- a soft flicker of curiosity and something else, something warmer, deeper. You feel your cheeks warm slightly, that gentle spark coiling low in your stomach. It's a feeling you haven't felt in a long time, one that catches you off guard in the best way.

You're surprised to realize you're seeing him differently now; the confident way he stands, the rough edge to his laugh, the steady green of his eyes.

And if the way his gaze keeps dropping to your lips means anything… maybe he's seeing you differently too.

But for now, you just let yourself enjoy the chaotic warmth around you.

The moment you slide into the booth, you're immediately folded into the easy chaos. Rooster slides in beside you, already halfway into a story that makes Fanboy snort beer up his nose.

"-and then Payback nearly flipped the entire kayak because he thought he saw a jellyfish!" Rooster crows, clapping the table.

"It was a plastic bag!" Payback protests, throwing his hands up. "I'm telling you, it looked exactly like one!"

Fanboy wipes his mouth, still laughing. "Bro, you screamed like a toddler in a haunted house."

Phoenix snickers, leaning her elbow on the table. "I wish I'd been there to film it. We could've made millions off that footage."

You giggle, shaking your head. "Next time, I'll come along just to document the chaos. I'll bring a GoPro."

"Oh God, please do," Fanboy gasps, still recovering. "She'd actually catch Hangman running from a seagull, too."

Hangman, who had been reaching for a fry, freezes mid-air and glares at Fanboy. "That bird was massive, man. Practically a flying bear."

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. "A flying bear? Really, Hangman?"

He narrows his eyes at you, but you catch the twitch at the corner of his lips. "Careful, darlin'. Don't make me challenge you to darts and ruin your confidence in front of your friends."

"Oh? You think you can take me?" you shoot back, arching an eyebrow.

His grin spreads slow and lazy. "I know I can."

Rooster throws his head back, howling. "Ohhh, she's in trouble now!"

Phoenix rolls her eyes. "Hangman, you act like you're some sort of pool shark. We all remember last month when you scratched on the eight ball and almost cried."

"I did not almost cry," he huffs, flicking a peanut at her.

Claire giggles beside Bob, leaning into him. Bob watches the banter with a soft, amused smile, his hand resting lightly on Claire's shoulder. He seems happy-and it makes you feel lighter, too.

"So what's new with you, Y/N?" Payback asks, leaning forward. "Besides planning epic documentary footage of our humiliations."

You laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Oh, you know. Work's good. Adopted a dog, picked up some new hobbies, finally learned to make a decent omelet without setting off the fire alarm."

Fanboy claps, over-the-top. "Look at you! Functioning adult activities unlocked!"

Hangman lifts his beer to you, his gaze unwavering and a hint of pride shining through. "I'll drink to that."

You clink his glass lightly, feeling a small, unexpected warmth spread across your chest.

Rooster wiggles his brows. "So, any new prospects? Or is your dog still your main man?"

You roll your eyes, snorting. "Wow, way to put me on blast. My dog is a very supportive roommate, thank you very much."

Phoenix laughs, raising her glass. "Cheers to supportive roommates. They don't steal your fries or your hoodies."

"Speak for yourself," Fanboy says dramatically. "My roommate steals everything and then acts innocent. Looking at you, Payback."

Payback just shrugs, taking a big sip of his drink. "I don't remember that."

You cover your mouth to keep from snorting again, and when you look up, Hangman's eyes are already on you. He he realizes he's been caught looking, he shoots you a grin.

"You know," he says, leaning a little closer, voice low enough that it's just for you, "you look good tonight. Happy."

Your breath catches for a second, but you smile, meeting his gaze fully. "Thank you. I feel… good. It's nice to be back here with all you guys. I missed this."

He smiles back, slow and sincere, and for a moment, the rowdy noise of the group fades into a gentle hum around you.

Rooster smacks the table suddenly, jolting you both out of it. "All right! Enough sappy stuff, who's playing darts first? Y/N versus Hangman?"

Payback whoops. "Oh, she's gonna crush you, Bagman!"

Hangman's head tilts, his grin returning, sharp and challenging. "Careful what you wish for, Payback."

Phoenix leans back, watching with narrowed eyes and an amused smirk. "Fuck, I missed this. This is going to be good."

Claire giggles, leaning forward. "I want front row seats for this showdown."

Bob chuckles softly, looking around at all of you with that quiet warmth he always carried. "Just don't break anything. Penny will kill us."

You laugh again, feeling something bright and bubbly stir inside you.

As you rise to your feet, ready to follow Hangman to the dartboard, you catch his eye again, and this time, there's no denying the flicker of something electric there.

A part of you wonders if this is a good idea. If what you were beginning to feel for Hangman was crossing a line. He is Bob's friend. You're Bob's ex.

Would things be awkward? They haven't been so far. You've been looking looking over at Bob, checking to see if he looks uncomfortable with anything. You don't want to make things weird.

So far, he hasn't given any indication he's uncomfortable with you around. Even the dating comment from Rooster, completely unexpected, didn't seem to faze him. If anything, he seems happy you're happy. And he doesn't seemed bothered about you hanging out with his friend group.

But that doesn't mean he'll be comfortable with you crushing on his friend. That could change things.

You try to shove your worries down and focus on the game ahead of you.

The moment you step up to the dartboard with Hangman, the rest of the world seems to fall into a soft blur, background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and music all melting away.

Hangman tosses you a dart with a cocky flick of his wrist. "Ladies first," he drawls, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, twirling the dart between your fingers. "Don't tell me you're trying to play the gentleman now. I thought you were here to win."

"Oh, I'm always here to win, darlin'," he shoots back, leaning in just close enough that you catch a faint whiff of his cologne, warm and sharp, like cedar and summer heat. "But I like to give you a head start. Makes the victory sweeter when I steal it back."

Your lips part into a grin, that confident, teasing edge slipping easily into place. You line up your shot and let it fly, the dart lands just shy of the bullseye.

You glance at him over your shoulder. "You're playing with the master, remember?" you taunt, tossing him a wink.

Hangman whistles low, his eyes locked on the board. "Shit," he mutters, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the word.

He steps up, rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers dramatically, like he's about to perform open-heart surgery instead of throw a dart. You cross your arms, watching with mock impatience.

"Any day now," you call.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmurs without looking back. "Art takes time."

His dart lands close to yours; close, but not closer.

A spark of excitement lights you up from the inside, bubbling so high that you can't quite keep the giddy laugh from escaping your lips. You clap your hands together, nearly bouncing on your toes.

"Would you look at that?" you say, tilting your head, your voice sugary sweet. "Guess I'm better than I remember."

Hangman stares at the board, then at you, and shakes his head slowly. "I think I just discovered my new biggest fear," he deadpans. "Losing to you in front of an audience."

You scoff, stepping forward again, heart thundering. This time, your dart lands even closer, nearly dead center. You whip around, throwing your arms up in mock victory.

"I'm sorry, did you say something about stealing victory?" you tease, your voice light, eyes dancing.

He presses his hand to his chest, staggering back dramatically. "Cruel. Heartless." He recovers quickly, stepping close, until there's barely a breath of space between you. "Gotta admit though… watching you win is kinda fun."

Your breath catches, heat blooming beneath your skin.

Before you can answer, you feel a flicker of unease, the fleeting thought of Bob watching from the booth. You glance over your shoulder instinctively. He's talking quietly with Claire, a smile on his face. Not looking your way. Not tense or uncomfortable.

Still, a twist of guilt pricks at you. Would this, whatever this was starting to become, hurt him somehow? Would he feel betrayed if he knew what was stirring in you now when you looked at Hangman?

But then Hangman's voice pulls you back. "Hey."

You turn, and he's watching you closely, green eyes gentle, brow furrowed just slightly. "You okay?" he asks, low and careful.

You force a breath, then let it go, smiling. "Yeah. Just… thinking too much."

His lips curl into a softer, private smile, one that doesn't quite reach his usual cocky swagger. "Well, stop thinking. You won. Celebrate."

And he raises his hand for a high five, which you slap triumphantly, only for him to catch your fingers and tug you forward a little, his palm pressing warm against yours.

Your laughter stutters into a soft exhale. The bar noise seems to fall away again, like you're both in a bubble of your own.

"You really are something else," he murmurs, shaking his head slowly, eyes still locked on yours.

You bite your lip, your heart thumping so loudly you think he must hear it. "Told you I'd beat you," you manage, your voice low.

He grins, his thumb brushing over your knuckles before he finally lets your hand go. "Guess I underestimated you."

You step back, pulse still hammering, and find your eyes drifting back to Bob one last time. He's still laughing softly with Claire, completely at ease. Relief slides through you, slow and cool.

You realize then, maybe he really is okay. Maybe this doesn't have to be complicated. Maybe you're allowed to move forward, too.

Hangman bumps your shoulder lightly, snapping you back. "Don't think this means I'm letting you win next time," he warns, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes, but the smile pulling at your lips feels unstoppable. "I'll believe it when I see it."

He laughs, tipping his chin down to look at you in that easy, playful way, but there's something deeper beneath it now, something that feels like the start of a door opening.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel it too.

-----

Somewhere along the way the friends you came with left with the guys they were flirting with, leaving you alone with the group.

The rest of the evening passes faster then you'd like. You beat both Rooster and Payback at darts, earning promises of rematches in the future. You continue to catch up with everyone and get filled in on their lives. You really enjoy hanging out with everyone, being apart of their banter.

Throughout the evening you catch yourself feeling the urge to spend more time with Hangman. Part of you wonders if he's always been this funny and charming and you're only noticing it because you're single or if he's changed from the man you knew before.

You're patiently waiting near the bar for the groups last round of drinks. It's getting late and you're all just about ready to go. This is a goodbye shot.

It makes you a little sad at the thought of leaving soon. You don't know when you'll see them all again.

Bob appears beside you at the bar, pulling you out of your thoughts, just as Penny sets down the final tray of shots. He shifts his weight, hands sliding into his pockets before he speaks.

"Need a hand carrying those back?" he offers.

You glance at the crowded tray and nod, smiling. "Sure. Thanks, Bob."

He picks up half of the glasses carefully, and the two of you stand side by side as Penny finishes arranging the last few.

"You having fun tonight?" he asks after a moment.

You glance over at the group; Rooster and Fanboy wrestling over a pool cue, Phoenix tossing peanuts at Payback's head, Hangman laughing loudly in the middle of it all.

"Yeah," you say honestly, your smile warm. "More than I thought I would."

Bob nods, his gaze softening further. "Good. The group… they missed you. We all did."

Your chest tightens in the best way, and you glance down at the tray, cheeks warming. "Thanks. I missed them too. Missed all of you."

He watches you for a moment, then gives a small, thoughtful smile. "I'm really happy to hear life's been treating you well," he says softly. "That's all I ever wanted for you, you know."

You meet his eyes, surprised by the easy affection there. "I know," you say, your voice low and sincere. "And I'm happy for you, too. Claire seems… really great for you."

His whole face lights up at the mention of her, a gentle pride shining there. "She is," he says, almost shyly. "She's… she's the love of my life."

A comfortable silence stretches between you, filled with the distant thrum of the jukebox and the hum of laughter from the group.

Then Bob shifts slightly, glancing down at the tray in his hands. "I, uh… I noticed you and Hangman tonight," he says carefully, his voice low.

Your stomach flips, heat climbing up your neck. You open your mouth to protest or explain, but Bob lifts a hand before you can speak.

"Hey," he soothes quickly, a soft chuckle slipping out. "Don't worry. It's okay. Actually… Claire and I were talking about it earlier."

Your brows draw together, your heart pounding. "You… were?"

He nods, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. I think, deep down, I always thought there might've been something there. At least on his end, in the beginning."

You blink, your breath catching. "Wait… really?"

Bob huffs a small laugh, glancing past you toward the group. Hangman's rolling his eyes at something Rooster said, an amused grin playing on his lips.

"There was this one time," Bob continues, his voice soft and almost nostalgic. "Back when we all used to hang out a lot… I started to feel myself pulling away. And when that happened, I think it let me really see how he looked at you sometimes. The way I used to look at you. The way you looked at me."

He shakes his head, a small, knowing smile flickering across his lips. "Hangman never crossed a line. He never said or did anything disrespectful, never made me, or you, uncomfortable. But… I could tell he liked you. Even if he didn't admit it to himself or anyone else."

You glance toward the group again, your eyes catching on Hangman. His eyes meet yours and he sends you a warm smile, his eyes crinkling.

Bob shifts his weight, drawing your attention back. "We had our time. It was good and I think it taught us a lot… but it was right that it ended. I think we both knew that, even if it took us a while to say it out loud."

He pauses, and for a second his eyes search yours, as if making sure you're really hearing him.

"I think… everything that happened was meant to lead us here," he says quietly. "I want you to know… you should follow your heart, no matter what it tells you to do. Don't hold back for my sake. You deserve to be happy. The both of you do."

Your throat tightens, emotion pooling in your chest, warm and bittersweet.

"And hey," Bob adds with a soft, crooked smile, "I'll always consider you a friend. Even if we don't talk all the time. You're always welcome to hang out with us here. The others would love that. I would too."

You swallow hard, a tear threatening behind your lashes, not out of sadness, but relief and gratitude.

"Bob…" you start, your voice breaking just slightly. "Thank you. Really. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."

He smiles wider, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. "Anytime."

You nod, wiping at your eyes quickly before Penny can see and start teasing.

"I'm really happy for you," you say again, more firmly this time. "And… thank you for still being you. For being kind."

"Wouldn't know how to be any other way," he teases lightly, nudging your arm.

You both share a small, quiet laugh together, a moment of genuine closure, sweet and complete.

Then Penny calls out your name again, ready with the final tray. Bob gives you one last warm look before picking up his half.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head toward the group. "Let's not keep them waiting."

You grin, following him back across the bar, lighter than you've felt in years.

Bob broke your heart, yes. But if he hadn't it wouldn't have lead you to where you are now. Now that the pain has passed you see everything happens for a reason.

You make it to the table, drinks in hand, earning loud cheers from the group. You set the drinks down before taking a seat next to Hangman who carefully hands you a shot before grabbing his own.

The entire time a wide excited smile rests on your face as you finally allow yourself to really accept your feelings.

"What's got you grinnin' like that, sweetheart?" Hangman asks with a small laugh.

You gently grab his hand which is resting against the table between you. With a soft stroke of your thumb over the back of his palm, you reply. It's simple but forward. You don't feel like you have to hold back anymore. "You."

His smile grows wider and he flips his hand, interlocking your fingers. "I was hoping so."

All you can do is take things one step at a time and see where this leads you.

Bob wasn't meant to be the love of your life.

But maybe Jake is.

We'll see.

[chrolloswrld]

DEVILS ADVOCATE , chrollo lucilfer

authors note. this is inspired by something @ddarker-dreams said about chrollo giving insane hot takes just because he loves to debate with reader. i thought the concept was great and wanted to write about it. ignore the title, this is my first post and i couldn’t think of anything remotely creative ( edit : title change bc i got the idea from a reblog )

warnings. implied kidnapping, references to murder, yandere chrollo?? idk he’s a good a man savanah!!!

wc. 1.1k

THE TELEVISION HAD been murmuring in the background for a quite a while now, a steady intrusion against the sterile quiet of the penthouse’s white concrete interior. The noise was constant but idle, like an insect tapping against glass. It chipped away at the silence that had settled across the gold-veined marble floor—silence that felt less like peace and something more similar to mold. One no amount of diluted bleach or thieved luxury could cleanse.

Book in hand, you’d long since stopped paying attention to whatever the flatscreen was spewing. Well, ever since the news segment had started. The screen had started whispering names you sourly recognized. Names Chrollo had unforgivingly erased.

Chrollo’s victims didn’t stay gone—not really. They resurfaced on the news ticker, in black-and-white photos, in interviews with the families left behind. The television, in all its flickering dullness, had become a confessional. Sometimes it felt like it was absolving you—just a little—by reminding you hadn’t pulled the trigger. You’d just stood nearby and let the gun fire.

And speaking of killers—

Chrollo sat across the room, legs tucked beneath him like a monk in prayer, except monks didn’t shamelessly read over their victim’s shoulder or wear silk robes bought from dead men’s riches. He read without apology, eyes snapping between the lines with a speed and precision that made you read faster. In all honesty, he was probably ten pages ahead.

“You dog-ear your pages,” Chrollo observed casually, treating your everyday actions like you were a never-before-seen specimen. Funnily enough, he sounded slightly peeved. You could see him as one of those people who thought bending in pages was a crime against all books. Maybe it should’ve scared you. He’d probably slit throats for less.

Then the news anchor’s voice sharpened, gaining weight. Not emotion exactly—just the strain of someone trying not to show it. You reached for the remote, ready to change the channel, maybe turn the television off completely. And save yourself the emotion turmoil that was brought upon seeing the victims names and faces

Instead, when the screen cut to footage of a man walking through prison gates, you turned the volume up.

The older man squinted against the sun like it was an alien force, blinking into a world that had moved on without him. Bold words took over the screen:

[ WRONGFULLY CONVICTED

DEATH ROW ]

The anchor spoke: “Leon Fitz spent nearly fifteen years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. Today, newly uncovered DNA evidence proved his innocence, leading to his release.” The image shifted—his photo, broadcast again. Eyes worn down by time, a life stolen. 

You frowned, not out of pity, but out of anger. Frustration. Even understanding, though you knew better than to equate gilded captivity with iron walls. Still, both were cages. Just different brands.

“That’s so stupid. They need to get rid of the death penalty.” You muttered, to no one in particular, but regret stewed in your gut when he turned.

Chrollo moved with the slow grace of someone who’d been waiting for an opening. Like a predator picking up the scent of something interesting.

“Why is that?” he asked, too casually. The question was innocent enough, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t curious. He was entertained.

You glared at him. “Because an innocent man almost died. That’s reason enough.”

“But he didn’t die,” Chrollo said, leaning his cheek into his palm. “So the system worked, didn’t it?”

You sighed. “Are you really going to play devil’s advocate on this?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “I’ve worn worse titles.”

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You set down the book; you’ll find out the cliffhanger tomorrow. “Do you have any idea how many people get wrongly convicted? And not all of them get lucky like this guy. Some do die. There is no room for error when the punishment is death.”

Chrollo drummed his fingers on the velvet armrest. “And what about people like me? The ones who aren’t innocent. Surely you’d rather see me executed than fed three meals a day in a comfortable prison?”

You stared at him. “This isn’t about you.”

“No?” He smiled faintly. “You’ve wished me dead before.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because I’m not the state. I don’t get to decide who lives and dies—and I shouldn’t.”

Chrollo tilted his head. “But someone has to. That’s what justice is, isn’t it? People making choices. Judgments. Consequences. Collateral.”

“Satisfaction is not justice,” you snapped. “You want revenge? Fine. But don’t package it as morality. If you kill someone and call it ‘justice,’ that makes you… well, you.”

He gave an exaggerated wince. “Ouch.”

You ignored him. “Besides, human lives shouldn’t be deemed as collateral. If we have the option to avoid it, we should. And putting life-and-death decisions into the hands of imperfect people? Elected officials and emotionally charged juries? It’s corrupt by design.”

Chrollo considered that for a moment, “What about closure for the victims’ families?”

You narrowed your eyes. “As if you care about victims.”

“I don’t,” he agreed easily. His lack of hesitation sickened you. “But that doesn’t make the question invalid.”

“Maybe it brings relief,” you conceded, “but is that relief worth executing someone who didn’t do it? Because it happens. More than it should. And the fact that we accept that risk? That we normalize it? That’s barbaric.”

“Then what about deterrence?” he asked smoothly, without missing a beat. “Doesn’t the death penalty stop future crimes?”

“There’s no evidence to back that. Most killings are emotional, impulsive. People don’t stop mid-homicide and think, ‘Wait—what are the sentencing guidelines in this state?’”

“I do,” Chrollo argued.

You gave him an unimpressed look. Chrollo leaned back, watching you with open amusement.

Then he laughed—a soft, delighted sound. That to you, sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “You’re so passionate when you argue. Your devotion to your ideals is downright charming.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored the compliment. “So you agree with me. Half your points were hypocritical,”

“Hmm,” he murmured, dodging the question. He leaned forward, voice low and intimate in way that was unnerving. “I just like watching you fight for something. It’s… refreshing.”

You didn’t reply. Partly because you were tired of debating, and partly because that look in his eyes—the one that mixed mischief and composure—always left you with the sense that he already knew how this argument ended.

Then, with a slow, almost affectionate motion, Chrollo reached out and tugged you closer, one hand curling around your wrist as he rose to meet your gaze.

“Let’s save this for tomorrow,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’d hate to waste a good debate when we’ve got all the time in the world.”

And just like that, the conversation ended. Not with a conclusion. But with control, hidden beneath a velvet smile.

“Whatever.”

[luvvmee2000s]

Me trying to find a fandom that doesn’t exist on any platform

[bilscutie]

okay, so basically Billie and Reader are together and have a kid, and Billie totally fumbles seeing Reader care for the toddler, and after shows how much she was CRAVING Reader (Thxx you don't have to do it if you don't want to)

WHEN THE NIGHT FADES

Mom!Billie x Mom!Reader

Word count : 1.0k

The room was bathed in the soft hum of the nightlight by the door, casting a golden halo over the both of you. Billie hadn’t let you go. She was still inside you, chest pressed to yours, her breaths slowing against your collarbone like ocean waves settling after a storm.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Your legs were still curled around her waist, her hoodie bunched beneath your back, and her fingers were threaded gently through yours, resting right beside your head on the pillow.

Her eyes were closed, lips parted. You could feel her heart pounding against your ribs, slowly calming, syncing with yours.

You whispered, “Are you okay?”

Billie opened her eyes and looked at you — and something about the way she did nearly knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“I think I just fell in love with you again,” she said softly.

Your breath hitched. “Again?”

“Every time you do something that shows me how good you are. With him. With me. Just… being you.” She nuzzled closer, her nose brushing yours. “I swear I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You blinked, eyes stinging with warmth. “Billie…”

She kissed your cheeks. Both of them. Softly. Tenderly. Then the tip of your nose. Then your jaw. Her lips were warm and slow, like she wasn’t done memorizing you.

And then she whispered, “Let me stay here. Just like this. Inside you. I need to feel this a little longer.”

You nodded, already on the edge of tears from how gentle she was being.

Her voice dropped. “You make me feel like I belong. Like I could spend the rest of my life watching you kiss his forehead, carry him to bed, rub his back until he sleeps. And then I get to crawl in here and have this. Have you.”

You cupped her face. “You do. You have me, Billie. All of me.”

She swallowed hard, her breath stuttering.

“I used to think love had to be loud,” she murmured. “Big gestures. Fancy words. But this? You under me, warm, wrapped around me, after we put our son to bed?” Her voice broke a little. “This is the loudest love I’ve ever felt.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Billie kissed them away — every single one.

“I wanna give you everything,” she whispered. “Every day. Not just like this. I want the mess, the sleep-deprived mornings, the teething meltdowns, the finger-painted walls. All of it. As long as it’s with you.”

You pulled her into a deeper kiss — one that tasted like salt and breath and devotion.

When she finally pulled back, Billie smirked gently, a thumb brushing over your lower lip.

The moment Billie’s lips left your jaw, her hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your hips with an intensity that left you breathless. She kissed a fiery trail down your collarbone, fingers teasing just beneath the waistband of your pants.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest as she whispered, “God, you’re mine.”

Her mouth claimed yours again, this time with a hunger that made your knees weaken. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to deepen the kiss, while the other slid beneath your shirt, fingers exploring your ribs, tracing the arch of your back.

Her touch was both gentle and fierce — every stroke, every press a reminder of the desperate craving she’d held back all day.

Billie’s lips traveled lower, nipping and sucking along your collarbone as she pressed her body flush against yours. Her fingers slipped beneath your waistband, teasing your bare skin, tracing the slick heat there.

You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at her shoulders as she whispered against your skin, “You feel so good… so wet for me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, she slid your pants down, her hands not leaving your skin for a second. Her mouth returned to your breasts, her tongue flicking over your nipple while her hands kneaded, pulling soft moans from your lips.

You arched into her touch, every nerve ending alive with pleasure. Billie’s eyes met yours, dark and full of possessive need.

“Say my name,” she demanded, voice thick as her fingers pressed firmly, expertly.

“Billie,” you gasped, breathless.

Her hips shifted, grinding against you with more urgency now, the heat between you burning hotter.

“I want to feel you,” she growled, slipping inside you slowly, giving you time to adjust before she began to move—deep, slow, and deliberate. Every thrust was a promise, every touch an affirmation.

You clung to her, gasping and moaning as she fucked you with a perfect mix of tenderness and raw hunger, her hands exploring your body, never leaving a single inch untouched.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” she growled in your ear, voice rough and urgent.

Your world narrowed to the feel of her, the sound of your cries, the way she worshipped every inch of you.

When you came, it was with her name on your lips, your body trembling and clinging to hers.

Billie followed, her release shaking through her as she held you tight, lips pressed to your temple in a soft, possessive kiss.

As your breathing slowed, she pulled you close, fingers threading through your hair, voice gentle but fierce.

“You’re mine, always.”

[angelkiyo]

you had intentions of finding true love here; that was its pitch line after all. you met a nice guy, his name being kento. he was 28, a salaryman, and worked in the city. life would be stable and serene.

however, when the bombshell came, you couldn’t help but simply feel drawn to toji fushiguro. it was like a tropical storm hit you.

he was the oldest one in the villa, definitely older than you by a decade or so. he was 36 and a dad but he sure as hell didn’t look it. he worked out every day, worked in private security, and his body appeared to be sculpted from a renaissance artist; the cliché tattoos of snakes and such were etched on his sun-kissed skin.

you felt his eyes on you the entire time and you stared at him back, meeting his gaze and noting the seductive smirk etched on his face.

you could only wish you hadn’t.

“damn, he’s such a dilf,” your fellow housemate commented.

you remember laughing at her words, “no, he’s just fucking old.”

for some time, the tension between the two of you felt grand, despite your thing with kento. winning challenges together didn't help either and the fact that he let it slip that he wasn't looking to mess around yet stared at you like you were a meal amplified that.

however, it isn't until one of the girls got a text where it showed that others saw your tension too:

🔔 “islanders, the hideaway is open tonight. the couple chosen by the public to spend the night is...y/n and toji. #SheLikesItRoughApparently.”

you felt the rest of the house go into chaos, with some people catcalling, laughing, and screaming in glee.

your gaze went over to toji: smirking like he just won the damn lottery, and then over to kento, whose expression looked rather solemn.

"comin' or nah, princess?" and while you meekly walked over to him, you heard someone yell out "use protection!"

yeah, you had plenty of that at the hideaway.

it was big and mirrored a suite from a five-star hotel. the room had a king-sized bed littered with rose petals and candles. not to mention the mirrors everywhere and the big box of condoms in the drawer of the nightstand.

the silence captivated the both of you until you spoke: "you're awfully comfortable for someone who didn't want anything with other people, old man."

he turned around at you, his gaze almost predatory. "let me clarify. i never pretended i didn't want you."

"i'll show you what this old man can do, sweetheart.”

fuck.

what happened next was a blur, but what you do know was the quick whirlwind of clothes on the floor, you being pushed onto the lavish bed, and the lack of care for hidden cameras. you just didn't care anymore, and that was the mindset that engulfed the two of you for nearly an hour.

the sound of skin slapping filled the room while you clawed at the silky satin sheets beneath you. you had tears brim under your eyes as you felt toji's calloused arms hold you in place in front of the myriad of mirrors in front of you.

you couldn't fucking take it anymore. the way he rolled his hips and thrusted into you with such incredible speed knocked the wind out of you.

"ah—fuck!" you mewled, arching your back as much as you can. toji hit all your sweet spots without trying and the fact alone irked you. it irked you that he had a reason to be so cocky and relentless.

the sensation of his cock made your eyes roll: filling, fast, and sure as fuck rough.

"goddamnit ma. your pussy is milking me dry," he let out a guttural moan as he bottomed out in you, "fuck, doll-face. letting me fuck you so good."

the wolfish grin on his face stayed there on his face as he examined the mirror and how your ass moved while he thrusted into you with finesse. the way the skin where your back tattoo was, moved drove him crazy. however, the little milky white ring where he thrusted into you and the sound of your slick and moans drove him crazier.

“think your prissy little salaryman can fuck you like this? hm?” he maneuvered your hips like you were a doll and kept his pace.

toji could give two shits about the damn cameras, because all he wanted at this moment was you.

and proving that he isn’t old.

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[ak319]

How would John Marston react when the reader finally gets pregnant?😭

┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list I concept m.list

You weren’t going to tell him.

You thought maybe, maybe if you kept your head down, if you ate quietly, if you prayed hard enough, it would go away on its own. Or at least delay the inevitable. Delay him knowing.

But he wasn’t stupid. Not when it came to you.

He noticed the way you flinched more than usual when he touched your waist. How your appetite disappeared. How you’d been slipping away to the edge of camp in the mornings, sitting with your hands on your stomach like you could will the world to stop.

And today, he found the paper.

The one you folded and shoved deep in the side of your chest, the midwife’s handwriting scrawled across it like a curse.

When you walked back into the tent that evening, he was already sitting there. Elbows on knees. Paper crumpled in his fist. "You went into town without me?"

"..John. H-hosea took me..." He was sitting on the edge of the bedroll, elbows on his knees, holding the paper like it might vanish. Like if he looked away, he’d lose the one thing he’d been chasing in his dreams.

He didn’t look angry. Not really. Just... too still.

"So?" His voice dropped. "You gonna tell me, or you waitin’ on the stork to do it?"

You tried to speak. Nothing came out at first. Then finally,

"Yes. I’m-" You swallowed hard. "John, I’m pregnant."

It felt too quiet after that.

And you knew him well enough to brace for one of two things, rage... or silence.

But he didn’t give you either.

Instead, he stood. Slow. Like the moment was too big to rush through. "You sure?" he asked, rough.

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack.

He stepped closer, fingers twitching like he didn’t know where to touch first. Then- "...How far?"

"7 weeks."

His eyes closed, just for a second. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear that.

Then, he laughed. Low and disbelieving. It wasn’t joyful. Not fully. It was tired. Raw. Like he couldn’t believe it actually worked. Like something finally stayed.

You thought he might cry.

Instead, he knelt in front of you.

His hands slid up beneath your shirt, warm and rough and reverent as they pressed flat against your belly. It wasn’t even showing yet, but he held you like it was everything.

"You did it," he muttered. "You... damn it. You can carry."

He leaned in, rested his forehead against your stomach.

"I thought maybe it was me. That somethin' in me was...broke. Or maybe this was God’s way of punishin' me , lettin' me get close to you but not close enough."

He stood slowly, cupped your face in both hands. "You don't do nothin' reckless now, got it. You let me handle all the ugly. You rest. You eat. You don't run. You don't.. cry." His mouth pressed to yours, hard and a little desperate. Like if he kissed you deep enough, he could protect what was growing inside you with that alone. He pulled back, breath shallow. "I ever lose you now... it'd kill me."

You rested your forehead against his chest, right where his heart beat like a hammer. That night, He held you , longer than he ever had. He didn’t sleep at all.

He just watched you. One hand on your belly. One arm wrapped around your back.

Like he'd already started guarding both of you in his sleep.

But you felt the cage click shut all the same.

taglist: @littlebirdgot @captainyeiyei @hyunnjiin @loverssickness @honeybunny75 @sensitivegamergirl

[somegirlsarebiggerthanotherz]

I genuinely don’t know why people use AI instead of reading fanfiction? “Oh they don’t have the plot I want!!” Fucking write it yourself? You’re already writing half of it talking to the stupid ass bot you braindead idiot

[kunigamiau]

Nobody new.

summary : In which you write and release a song for your long distance boyfriend, Itoshi Sae, and to your surprise it seems to have a much more impacting effect than you originally thought it would.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

— As a music lover you always knew to notice and appreciate when singers would dedicate their songs to their special ones.

Whether it would be out of pity, disagreements, love, appreciation, admiration and so on. So growing up made you have a knack for being extremely open to people. Through your writing of course.

When you were younger it often was a case of letters, poems and even stories at times. Yet you never thought you could write songs.

Despite your love for music, your insecurity played a huge factor in how far you thought you could get with it.

Because you loved and breathed music, but it was a lot harder to create it. You hadn’t wanted it to be meaningless. You wanted your music to have the same impact on someone else that you felt through your younger years. You wanted it to ground people in the same way it did you.

To no one’s surprise..

These were the thoughts you had before you became a small town but very adored artist.

You were simple really. Writing music that came from your heart and soul, that felt right to you; not following a certain trend or rhythm of anyone else. People admired that in a world where everyone desired to be the same.

You weren’t like that, you had a serene spark apart when it came to your music, especially when people knew so little about you.

..

And if they did get to know you they’d find that what keeps you so grounded is your childhood sweetheart, Itoshi Sae.

While it may seem like you guys are an odd pair, it made sense to the people who do know you.

You grew up as friends, first and foremost. Your parents had been close themselves so it was often that you would meet each-other. Later on you even attended the same education until highschool. And of course, started dating along the way.

It was a dream come true. You never thought of yourself as particularly charming ( Sae would thoroughly disagree ! ) but you were happy. And you had met someone who you could be happy with.

While you supported and admired Sae all throughout his career, he did the same for you. Being the object of all of your writing, your muse if you must. Enjoyably so.

So it was no surprise when Sae woke up with a bunch of messages from you from hours ago ( que the time difference ) that you had made yet another song that was to be dedicated to him. Only he would not get to listen to it immediately as you wanted it to be more special and perform it at your upcoming concert.

That soured his mood slightly. He was always the first to hear your songs. Songs that were made for him. Songs that made his heart swell with joy and admiration for you. Even as the ‘more’ famous one between you too, Sae never missed a chance to puff his chest out when it came to showing you off. He felt like the luckiest man alive to experience you. And he wanted others to know that whenever he could. Showing off your newest songs, wearing your merch in public, making the paparazzi go crazy as they tried to decipher if there was something between you two..with Sae not shutting down the dating allegations but also not exclusively confirming them, he liked this. In a country that was not his own, he was glad he could still carry his one special connection around.

So of course it was a surprise when a particular clip from one of your concerts had blown up world-wide. His first thought was that you would be immensely shocked by this, keeping in mind to listen to you rant about it next time you called, as you always did. Then he wanted to call or message you, to congratulate you and tell you how proud he felt and that he was beyond sorry for not being able to make it due to the demands of the football season he had to meet.

But one particular comment caught his eye, making him unable to move for a fraction of a second as he read it over and over.

-@user5673 : ¡Parece tan enamorada 🥲🥲 una chica solo puede soñar !! [ She looks so in love 🥲🥲 a girl can only dream !! ]

Now that made him stop. What do they mean ? He was NOT there, so how could they know about your love life.

With the other bunch of questions he had piled up in his mind he immediately searched up your full concert to check for himself why people were reacting the way they were.

And boy was he in for the biggest surprise of his life.

The first thing he noticed was how ethereal you looked. Hair adorned in the two cutest space-buns with whimsical pins all over.. along with your intricate outfit that made you look like the prettiest fairy.

Sae could not help the little laugh bubbling up his throat as he admired you. But what completely took him out was your following words..

" Hi everyone, this next song is my newest addition, and to be completely honest.. it's for my special someone, who I dearly wish was here tonight, but it's okay I know he'll still hear this. Without further ado here is 'Nobody new'.

As you start singing, the words were like little jabs at his soul, making him enticed as he listened to your tantalising and sweet voice, luring every emotion out of him, even ones he didn't know he could feel to this extent.

But he could not have been prepared for the next verse as his mouth immeditaelly drops a little, vision getting glassy without the redhead even realising.

Aquí estoy otra vez sin tu amor Siento que me cuesta ya respirar ¿Qué más da? Si no puedo olvidarme de ti Pido a Dios que me haga feliz Sin tenerte a ti..

Sae could not help but grip his phone unconciously as he replayed the verse over and over again, like he wanted it engraved in his mind as much as it was in his heart.

The next day, you were ready to call your boyfriend before an article popped up about said boy.

Announcing that : “ the one and only japanese prodigy, Itoshi Sae had been unexpectedly injured and will be regretably excused for the rest of the season.”

Before the information can even click in your head you hear the gentle and familiar knock to your door.

Which told you all you needed to know as you practically skipped to the door, unable to control your growing excitement.

There’s really no one like him is there ?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

[bingbongsupremacy]

You Fucked Up, Bob

Pairing: Toxic!Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Warning: Y/N use, Fighting, Substance Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Childhood Abuse Memories, Aggressive Bob, Fighting in front of children

Request Summary: After struggling to deal with being a parent, being a New Avenger, and the guilt of The Void, Bob comes home drunk and high, leading to a tense argument in front of your two young daughters Liijia and Astra. Has Bob destroyed his family forever? Is he turning into his worst fear: His father? Will you ever be able to feel safe with him again?

Request from @horrormovielover2000

*Not Proofread*

No description of reader's weight/body type or race.

"Thanks for watching the girls tonight, Lena." I give the woman a small tired smile as I walk into the living room area of the tower. I shrug off my coat, revealing my work clothes underneath. "Hi babies, I'm home." I greet my daughters happily.

"Mama! Hi!" Asta, my toddler and the oldest, shouts happily, sending me an excited wave before turning her attention back to the kids movie playing in front of her.

"Of course. Auntie Lena loves spending time with her nieces." Yelena coos slightly while handing a toy to my youngest, Liijia. "Isn't that right, дорогой (sweetheart)."

Liijia responds with a happy babble, smashing the stuffed animal in her hands softly against the ground.

"I really appreciate it. I'm so sorry it was super short notice." I take a seat on the ground next Asta. Is Bob done with training yet? I thought he'd be up here by now." I look around the room curiously. He said he'd be done before I got off my shift.

"Training?" Yelena's brows draw together. She sends me a confused look before returning to play with Liijia.

"Yeah." Now I'm confused. "Bob told me he couldn't watch the girls while I worked because he's got a late training session with Bucky. Bucky's supposed to be teaching him some fighting moves."

Bucky's been insisting Bob needs to learn some fighting moves in case he's ever trapped in a situation and needs to fight his way out. He has his powers, but he refuses to use them because of the Void.

The Void taking over New York really took a toll on him. I know he feels a lot of guilt still about what happened. He's always had a hard time forgiving himself for making mistakes. No matter how many times I try to remind him that his mistakes don't define him, that he didn't mean for any of that to happen, and that it was something out of his control, he never seems to believe me.

"Puppy!" Asta giggles excitedly at the sight of a dog in the kids movie she's watching. She eagerly pats my leg, pointing to the animal on the screen across from us. "Mama, puppy!"

I gently brush a loose strand of her hair out of her face. "Yeah baby, that's a puppy."

The older she gets, the more she looks like her father.

"He can't be training with Bucky. Bucky's been gone all night. He's been looking around for leads on a gang of mutant robbers attacking local businesses." Yelena informs me.

Did Bob lie?

I feel worry bubble in my chest as my mind wanders to memories of when he's lied in the past about doing one thing, only to be out getting high.

No. Bob wouldn't lie to me. He promised he'd never lie to me again. He went through rehab. He's sober. He would've told me if he felt like using again. He promised to. He wouldn't do that to the girls. He wouldn't put me through that again.

Right?

He has to have made a mistake.

"Maybe he meant John. Maybe John is training him tonight." I offer, hoping I'm right and Bob really did make a mistake.

"Maybe." Yelena doesn't sound convinced. However she doesn't say anything further, instead sending me a slightly concerned look.

I ignore it, trying to focus on spending time with my girls.

I play with Asta and Liijia for a few minutes before going to change my clothes, leaving the girls with Yelena again. When I return, the first thing I notice is Bob.

His grey hoodie is covered with small dark dots, like he just came in from outside where it's raining. His left sneaker is untied and dragging on the floor, the once white lace now stained dark brown with mud. His shoes, which were new about a week ago, are badly scuffed like he's been dragging his feet around for hours. His whole body seems to sway ever so slightly, causing his leg to bump into couch, pull away and then bump into the couch again, over and over again.

His back is slightly bent as he reaches towards Asta on the couch, obviously trying to pick her up. He's too far away though, like he's can't judge the distance correctly. His hands slightly tremble, his fingers straightening and then curling slightly.

"Daddy!" Asta exclaims happily at the sight of her father.

"H-hi babygirl." Bob's voice is happy and slightly slurred.

Yelena speaks up as Bob leans towards Asta further. "Bob, I don't know if picking her up is a good idea right now. Are you okay?"

Bob laughs slightly. "Of course I'm fine. I just missed my girls." His face finally turns towards me and immediately, my stomach drops.

His eyes are glassy and bloodshot, slightly closed like his eyelids are too heavy to keep open. His face is slightly flushed, with sweat gathering at his hairline. His lips are curled in a lazy, relaxed smile.

It's a look I've seen before, one he promised I'd never see again.

"Hi, Baby." His expression remains the same, unfazed at my arrival. "Sorry I'm late." He slurs while straightening up. He makes his way towards me, stumbling slightly with every step. His foot nearly steps on Liijia's small hand, missing it only because Yelena quickly pulls her out of the way and onto her lap.

"Bob!" I gasp at the sight of the near accident.

"What?" He asks, oblivious to what almost happened.

Yelena looks between Bob and I, her brows drawn in concern. She protectively holds Liija against her chest, slightly shielding her from Bob.

Liijia and Asta continue to play and watch the movie, completely unaware of what's going on with their dad.

Thankfully, the last time Bob relapsed, they were both fairly young. They had no idea what was going on, and were too young to remember. That was a little over a year ago right before we moved to Malaysia.

Bob and I moved to Malaysia for a fresh start with the girls. In the US, he was struggling to stay sober. No matter where we moved, he found a way to access drugs or alcohol.

When I got offered a job in Malaysia, I decided it was time for some change. It took a bit of time to get him on board, but eventually Bob agreed to the move and promised to go to this rehab facility I found in the city. He was doing good. Really good. I thought the rehab stay really helped this time. He came home with a better mental state and the tools to cope with his trauma and addictions. He went back to being an amazing dad. I didn't feel like I had to worry if the girls were going to be safe when I left them with him anymore. I knew he was going to take care of them.

Things took a bit of a turn when the company I worked for started making job cuts. Since I was one of the newer hires, I was the first to go.

That put us in a financial crisis. Suddenly, we had a bunch of stress again. Bob started working odd jobs while I looked for work and tried to figure out a way back to the US. Eventually, Bob discovered a medical trial that would pay him enough for us to survive. He was hesitant at first, but we didn't have any other choice. That's how he got sucked into everything with Valentina.

It was the hardest 6 months of my life. They wouldn't let me see him. They wouldn't let the girls see him. He missed so many of their milestones, things he was so excited to see and he that he still struggles with the guilt of missing. We couldn't face time. We couldn't text or call. All we were allowed to do is send a weekly message through the nurses. What I didn't know is that they heavily monitored the messages, taking out anything he said that could cause them trouble. I had no idea what was going on with him and he had no way to tell me.

Bob continues to walk towards me. He accidentally hits his knee against the coffee table, an expression of anger suddenly covering his face. "What the fuck." He curses, stumbling away from the piece of furniture.

"Daddy said a bad word!" Asta giggles innocently.

My heart breaks at the sight of her watching her dad. This is not something I wanted them to ever see.

When Bob is drunk, he's unpredictable.

With his powers, I don't know how worse things can get.

It scares me.

I glance at Yelena, silently pleading for her to take care of the girls for me.

She sends me a stiff nod, clearly understanding what I'm asking.

"Bob," I begin quietly. "let's go to the room." I gently take his hand and turn to lead him down the hall. I don't want the girls to see any more of this.

"What? N-no." He shakes his head, his anger from hurting his leg changing back into his happy state. He pulls his hand away from mine. "I promised Asta I'd play B-barbies with her." He slurs.

"Yeah Barbies, mama! Play too!" Asta holds up a blonde doll in her left hand.

"No Bob." I say sternly. "We're going to the room."

Bob pulls his hand out of mine. "Fuck, Y/N. Stop trying to manage me." His tone is slightly frustrated. "I want to spend time with my kids."

"Bob, I don't think that's a good idea right now. The kids shouldn't see you like this." I try to remain calm. I don't want things to escalate with him. I don't want the kids exposed to that.

"Like what?" He snaps, obviously offended.

"Like you're on something." I reply quietly.

Bob's posture tenses. His eyes narrow in anger. "Are you saying I'm high?"

Immediately, I feel nervous.

"I'm saying we need to have this conversation in private. Not in front of the kids. We talked about this, remember? No fighting in front of the kids." I try to remind him.

He completely ignores my comment. "I can't believe you think I'm fucking high. I'm not high." He denies.

"Bob," Now my frustration and anger is beginning to build at his refusal to listen. "You're sweating a lot. You can barely stand up straight. You're slurring your words. Not to mention, you smell like a mini bar. You've been using. Stop trying to lie to me. I know what it looks like when you're on something."

Bob's scowl deepens. "I'm not lying to you!"

"Then why are you denying something so obvious? Is this why you lied about training with Bucky tonight? So I would leave the girls with Yelena while you went out and got fucked up? So you didn't have to worry about taking care of them?" I snap, my fear getting replaced with anger at how he's treating me like I'm a fucking idiot.

He lets out a sinister laugh. "Oh fuck you. So what, I wanted to go out by myself for once without having to worry about anyone else. I've been trapped in here for months, Y/N, taking care of the kids or training. I don't get a fucking second to myself anymore."

"That's part of having young kids, Bob. They need you 24/7. We're supposed to take care of them, put their needs above ours. That's what parents do. We sacrifice the things we want for the things they need." I huff in disbelief.

"Mama, why is daddy angry?" Astra's concerned voice sends a painful stab through my heart.

I swallow harshly, forcing a smile onto my face as I turn to look at her. "It's okay, baby. Daddy's just not feeling good right now. He's a little sick, but he's going to be okay. It's okay, baby."

"Y/N, should I take the girls-" Yelena is cut off by Bob who's angered even more by my words.

"I am not sick. Don't say shit like that to them. Why'd you have to come in here and fuck everything up? I am fine. I was just going to play with Asta." He spits.

"You are not fine. You need to sleep this off so we can talk in the morning. " I try to return back to calm.

"There's nothing to talk about. I wanted some time to myself. I got it. Now I'm back. Leave me the fuck alone." Bob's words are sharp. Each angry word breaks my heart a little more. "Stop acting like a bitch."

My eyes widen at his words. He's never called me a bitch before. Never. "Robert Reynolds, don't you dare talk to me like that in front of my kids! Who do you think you are?"

"My kids? Our kids. Don't act like they belong to you. I made them too. I take care of them. I play with them. I fucking house them. You wouldn't be living here without me." Bob snarls. His eyes, the same beautiful blue eyes that once looked at me with love and adoration, now look at me with something dark. Golden strands spin in his iris', sending a shiver of terror down my spine.

"Yelena, please get the girls out of here." I ask quietly, freezing in my spot.

Yelena doesn't respond. She immediately scoops up Liijia who's now fussy and on the verge of crying from all the tension in the room.

Asta is watching the both of us tensely, her once playful smile turned into a hesitant frown. Her arms are tightly clutching her favorite Barbie to her chest, seeking comfort from the toy.

It breaks my heart. I have never seen Bob this aggressive before. When he's relapsed in the past, sure, he's gotten a bit angry but he's usually just out of it. He never stays angry for long. This is way worse than before.

Yelena walks over to Asta quickly, sending the girl a small smile as she picks her up too. She holds the children on her hips, whispering reassuring words to them.

"No!" Bob shakes his head furiously. "I didn't say you could take my kids away." He glares at Yelena. "They're fine here."

"Bob, I don't want them to see us fight." I explain.

I know what watching my parents fight did to me. I don't want it to do the same to my girls. They deserve better.

"Stop talking and we won't fight anymore, how about that?" Bob says rudely. "You're the one causing problems."

"You came in high off your ass! I'm not letting you expose them to this shit anymore. They're children, Bob. They don't need to see this. You're scaring them. I don't want them to be scared of you. I know you'll regret this when you someday realize that they're terrified of you because of how you act when you're using. I'm trying to help you."

"You always make such a big deal out of nothing." He grumbles.

"This is a big deal! Bob, you're using again. Who knows what will happen when you combine drugs and alcohol with all the other shit that was put in you! Not only are you endangering yourself, you're endangering everyone else." I begin to pace angrily. "Think of the girls. They need you, sober you. What happens if you die? What if you hurt someone else and you're taken away and they never get to see you again. Do you really want that?"

"I always think of the girls. Don't talk to me like I'm some dead beat dad. I do everything for those girls and you know it! I spent months in that shithole lab, just so you and those girls could have a safe home and food."

Sometime during our argument, Yelena quietly slipped out of the room with the girls, much to my relief. Bob thankfully hasn't noticed.

"I'm not calling you a dead beat, Bob. I know you love the kids. I'm just saying, you made a reckless choice today. One that's impacting our kids in a bad way." I really need him to calm down. I wish he could see where I'm coming from.

"Why can't you just stay out of my business?" Bob turns to walk towards the elevator doors, pulling his keys out of his jean pockets. "It's not that hard."

He's trying to leave.

"Bob, stop. Don't go." I walk after him, panic clear in my tone. "It's not a good idea to drive right now. Please just come and-and get some rest. Sleep might help."

"Stop following me." He warns.

"Bob, please!"

He spins around, his body radiating danger. "I need you to leave me the fuck alone. I'm tired of your constant nagging and bitching. Stop trying to tell me how to be a dad. I know I'm a fuck up. I don't need you to keep pointing it out every time you tell me what I'm doing wrong!" His voice booms powerfully throughout the room.

I let out a humorless laugh in disbelief. "I can't fucking believe this." I shake my head. "I love you, Bob. I'm literally trying to help you. I don't want you getting hurt. I'm not trying to nag you. I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm trying to fucking prevent you from ruining your life!" I swallow harshly. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. "And all you're doing is being a dick to me, treating me like I'm not your wife. Like I'm your enemy."

His jaw tightens. "Have you ever considered that I don't want your help? I don't need you to fix me. I don't need your fucking pity, your pathetic sermons, your desperate clinging!"

"You think I’m clinging?" I spit back, voice raw with shock and betrayal. "This is the first time in months. You promised me you were done with this! You swore you were clean! You think I wanted to come home to this tonight? To find you stumbling in like a stranger?"

He barks out a cold, humorless laugh. "Oh, there it is. The performance. You love it, don't you? The heartbroken, betrayed wife act. 'Poor me, I'm married to a monster!' You think you're so fucking noble. You're just a self-righteous bitch playing the victim!"

"Don't call me that!" I snap, my whole body shaking. "I believed in you! I trusted you when no one else did. I stood by you when you crawled out of that hole! I was here when you thought you didn't deserve to breathe, and you throw it all away for one night? One high?"

"One night?" He roars, stepping closer. "You think it's that simple? You think this just goes away because you want it to? You think your love can patch over the cosmic hell inside my head? You don't know shit about what I carry inside me!"

"I know more than you think!" I yell back, throat burning. "I know that you're stronger than this, or at least, I thought you were. I thought you were fighting for us! For the girls! I thought you were fighting for yourself!"

"Fighting?!" He laughs again, sharp and splintering. "You think this is a fucking fairy tale? You think love is some magic cure? You don't fix me, you chain me! You suffocate me with your constant worry and your pathetic 'support'!"

"Stop it!" I scream, tears spilling down my cheeks. "Stop blaming me for your choices! You did this! You chose this!"

"Shut up!" He bellows, voice echoing off the walls. "You think you're so much better than me? You think you're pure? You think you're some saint? You're just as broken as I am, you just hide it better!"

His voice shudders the air, the lights overhead flickering violently. A deep, electric hum builds in the walls, rattling the floor beneath my feet.

Suddenly, a golden glow bleeds from his skin, his hair lifting slightly as if charged with static. His eyes blaze molten bright, black veins spiraling under the surface. He starts to rise, feet floating inches from the ground, and the entire room seems to vibrate with some unseen force. Slowly, black begins to crawl up his body, consuming the man I love.

My breath catches painfully in my chest. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I can't. Painful memories of my childhood begin to flood my mind. The fear I felt from my angry parents floods my mind, sending panic through me. My knees buckle and I drop to the floor, curling into myself, my arms flying up to shield my head.

"Please!" I sob, my voice barely more than a strangled whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for some sort of impact. "Please don't hurt me! Please, please, please...Bob, please don't hurt me! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, Bob. I'll be good, Bob. I'll be good." I plead the same way I once did to my parents.

Years of working through my trauma is immediately disregarded. The anxiety and memories I worked so hard to get rid of comes flooding back to me, hitting me like a freight train. The fear my parents abuse caused that Bob told me I'd never feel again, envelops me, like a tight hug from an unwanted visitor.

He freezes mid-air, eyes snapping to me, and for a moment, they're wild, blind with rage. But then he sees it.

The way I've collapsed in on myself. The terror in my eyes. The way my hands shake over my head, exactly like his mother's did when she pleaded with his father to stop.

Recognition strikes him like a bullet. The glow sputters out, and he crashes back to the ground, stumbling. The lights flicker one last time and steady, the room echoing with an awful, heavy silence.

Bob steps forward, hands raised, eyes wild. "Wait-please, baby, I…I didn't mean-"

I flinch violently, a tiny jerk backward that makes something deep in him fracture. He stops dead, staring at me like he's seeing a ghost.

"Fuck," He whispers, voice cracking. "I…what did I do…?"

I can't stop shaking. My voice is a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…I shouldn't have-"

"Stop," He says sharply, his voice desperate. "Please don't apologize. This isn't you. This is on me. All of it." He stares down at his hands like they belong to someone else.

At that moment, the elevator doors slam open. Ava storms in first, eyes blazing, her phasing aura crackling faintly at her edges. John and Bucky follow fast, all taut muscle and sharp focus. Alexei brings up the rear, eyes already narrowed, jaw clenched.

Ava drops beside me without hesitation, her voice low and fierce. "I got you. We're gonna get you out of here. You're okay." She eases an arm around my shoulders, her grip solid and protective.

I can't process anything. The world is a fog of noise and color. My fingers twist into her sleeve like a lifeline.

Behind us, Bob stumbles forward, one hand out. "Wait-please, don’t take her away. Just…let me explain. I didn't-"

Bucky moves instantly, stepping in front of Bob with a sharp, defensive shift. "Back up. Now." His voice is calm but ice-cold.

Bob freezes, hands trembling. "Please…just make sure she's okay. And the girls. Please." His voice drops, hoarse and strangled. "They're all that matters."

John steps closer, jaw tight. "You need to stop talking and listen. You scared the shit out of her. You almost lost everything tonight. You get that?"

Alexei steps up beside Bucky, towering over Bob. "We're going to help you," He says, voice low but firm. "But right now, she comes first. You don't get to be near her."

Bob looks around wildly, as if searching for a way to fix what he's done. His voice breaks. "Tell her…tell her I'm sorry. I never wanted this. I just…I fucked up. I don't know what I was thinking." He wipes at his face, smearing sweat and tears. "Fuck…I'm the worst father…I don't deserve them. I don't deserve her."

John's eyes narrow, his voice sharp but grounded. "Then start acting like it. You want to fix this? You get help. We'll make sure she's safe. You focus on what comes next."

Ava shifts, bracing me as she helps me stand. "Hey, eyes on me," She whispers, gently guiding me. "We're gonna walk away from this, okay? One step at a time."

My head lolls against her shoulder, my ears ringing. The voices behind me blur together, but I can still hear Bob's raw, shaking words echoing through the room:

"Please…take care of them…please, I don't know who I am anymore…"

Alexei's voice cuts in, heavy with authority but strangely soft beneath it. "We will. You need to face yourself now. No more running."

Ava leads me away, my mind stuck in that echo: please don't hurt me. Words I'm sure are replaying in Bob's mind as well.

Bob's last words reach me as we disappear down the hall. "I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry…"

I can't tell if they're for me or for himself.

-----

I felt numb for days.

I was in disbelief. I couldn't believe the fight had really happened. That Bob had been seconds away from possibly hurting me. He's never hurt me.

It was hard to accept that the man I love, the man who once made me feel safe and loved, now terrified me. His once shy charming image is now forever tainted with the memories of his toxic intoxicated behavior.

The day after the argument the team had a meeting with Bob. Since we lived with the team in the tower, this problem involved everyone.

I couldn't bring myself to attend, to face him. Not when the thought of talking to him brought so much anxiety. Instead I stayed in my room with the girls, trying my best to be as normal as possible. I knew they could sense something was different. It hurt my heart for them. They deserved to have a mom and dad who could give them their all. They deserved to have stable parents.

After the meeting, Yelena told me what the plan was. Bob was going back to rehab. He was going to be attending anger management a domestic abuse classes. He would also be getting therapy. He would be staying as long as he needed to.

Bob was broken. He didn't argue, he agreed to it all. He wanted to change. He needed to change. He knew it.

The day he left for rehab I didn't say goodbye. I wasn't ready. There were too many complex feelings suffocating me that I knew would just get worse if I saw him in person.

We arranged a meeting for him the girls, who hadn't seen him in a few days, to say goodbye. They met in a room with a two way mirror so I could watch from a distance. Bucky stood watch-just in case, although I knew he wouldn't need to step in. Bob would never hurt the girls.

The room feels too big. Too empty.

Bob stands there, shoulders hunched forward, hands wringing like he doesn't know what to do with them. His hair is a mess, eyes red and swollen, face pale and hollow. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, like he's been drowning inside his own head since that night. His skin shines with a clammy sweat, tremors working through his arms and fingers, withdrawal digging its claws into him.

When the door opens, he turns so fast it's almost desperate.

Asta walks in first, her small hand locked in a death grip around Yelena's fingers. She's dragging her favorite Barbie by the hair, her wide eyes wary and full of confusion. Liilja is perched on Yelena's hip, big baby eyes darting around curiously, thumb halfway to her mouth.

Bob drops to his knees immediately, hands spread open in front of him like he's pleading for forgiveness. His voice catches before it even leaves his throat.

"Asta… Liilja…" He rasps, almost like a prayer, his voice shaking so hard it nearly disappears.

Asta hesitates. She stares at him with wide, searching eyes, the same eyes that watched him scream and break that night.

"Daddy… you mad at us?" She asks, her voice small and trembling.

Bob shakes his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. "No-no, no, no. Never at you. Never, princess. Daddy was…Daddy was mad at himself. Daddy made a big mistake. I scared you. And I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry, my love."

Liilja starts to fuss, reaching out for him instinctively. Yelena glances at Asta, hesitates, then gently sets Liilja down. The baby immediately toddles forward, stumbling into his arms.

Bob gathers her up so gently, as if she's something very fragile. He presses his face into her soft hair, inhaling deeply like he's trying to memorize her scent.

Asta inches closer, her lower lip trembling. "Daddy…you go bye-bye now?"

Bob lifts his head, his face crumpling. Tears streak down over stubble he hasn't bothered to shave. "Yeah, baby. Daddy has to go away for a little while. To get better. So I can be the daddy you need. The one who makes pancake towers and builds forts and reads all the stories you want. You deserve that daddy. You deserve the best."

Asta hesitates, then suddenly drops her Barbie and runs forward, throwing herself at him. He pulls her into his other arm immediately, holding them both in a tight, desperate hug.

"I love you…I love you more than anything in this world," He sobs, voice raw beyond recognition. "You're my light. You're the best thing I've ever done. You're the best parts of me. I promise I'll come back better. I promise."

Asta's tiny fingers curl into the back of his shirt, her shoulders shaking as she cries into his neck. "You promise, daddy?"

Bob pulls back just enough to look into her eyes. "I promise, princess. I swear to you. Cross my heart."

Liilja babbles something soft, patting at his tear-streaked cheeks. Bob kisses her forehead again and again, whispering, "My sweet baby…my girl…Dada loves you so much…more than all the stars in the sky…"

From behind the two-way mirror, I watch through eyes blurred with tears. My hand presses against the cold glass, useless, as if I could stop time and pull them all into one safe, unbroken moment.

I remember him like this: the father who would carry Asta on his shoulders for hours just to make her laugh so hard she'd snort; the man who'd sleep on the floor next to Liilja's crib because she wouldn't settle without his voice humming in the dark. The man who built forts so high they almost touched the ceiling, who'd cry quietly when he thought no one saw him, overwhelmed by love for the little lives he helped create.

That man is still there, I can see it, tangled behind the pain and the demons and the guilt.

Bob finally pulls them in tighter once more, trembling so badly his fingers can barely hold. "Be good for Mama, okay? Take care of each other. Help her. She needs you both so much. Can you do that for me?"

Asta nods through her sobs, sniffling, "Okay, daddy…"

Liilja squirms and starts to cry, reaching for his face, her little fists curling and uncurling as her sobs build.

Bob presses one last kiss to Asta's forehead, then Liilja's, lingering there like he might never get to again.

"I love you more than anything. Always. Always," He whispers, his voice splintering on every word.

When Yelena finally steps forward to take them, Asta clings with a frantic strength, her cries sharp and desperate. "No! No! Want daddy! Please!"

Liilja joins in, shrieking her small, broken "Dada!" cries, her arms reaching for him even as she's pulled away.

Bob looks like he's being torn limb from limb, his arms frozen mid-air as if they're trying to grab them back but he can't move.

As the girls are carried toward the door, Asta's small hand stretches toward him, shaking, her voice high and cracking. "Daddy!"

His mouth moves around a broken whisper. "I love you. I love you."

Then they're gone. The door closes. Silence crashes down like a wave.

Bob stays kneeling, shaking violently, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Slowly, he lifts his head and turns toward the two-way mirror. His eyes meet mine, as though he can see me, even if he can't. It's like he can sense I'm here.

His lips part, letting out a small whisper. "I'm so sorry."

He doesn't look away. He just stares, his face a storm of grief and love and self-loathing.

Bucky steps further into the room quietly, his expression heavy. He hovers a hand above Bob's trembling shoulder.

"Come on, Bob," Bucky says softly but firmly. "Time to go."

Bob doesn't resist. He lets Bucky guide him up, though his eyes never leave the mirror-never leave you.

I'm left alone behind the glass, my hand still pressed flat, my heart torn between love and terror, wondering if I had made the right decision not to say goodbye.

As he's led away, his head finally drops forward, shoulders caving in like he can't hold himself upright anymore.

------

It's been weeks since that night. Weeks since the girls sobbed for their father, since I watched Bob disappear behind that door.

The girls ask about him every day. Asta draws pictures of him, Liilja toddles around the apartment, babbling "Dada" like he might appear from behind every corner.

I don't know if I'm ready. My heart is still raw, still afraid. But I know they need this. They need him. And deep down…I think I do too.

I hold their hands tightly as we walk down the long hallway. My palms feel clammy, and my pulse thrums loud enough that I'm sure they can hear it. Asta skips nervously beside me, her other hand clutching her Barbie, while Liilja hums and swings her little feet.

A staff member leads us to a small visiting room. There's a low table with toys scattered across it and a soft rug in the corner. A couch sits against the wall, and when I step inside, I see him.

Bob.

He's sitting there, perched on the edge of the couch, hands twisting in his lap. He looks anxious. His hair is longer, messier. His face is thinner, eyes sunken but clearer. When he sees us, he jumps to his feet so fast it's almost clumsy.

His blue eyes flick to mine instantly, and I see it, the excitement, the terror, the endless guilt.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. My breath catches. I can feel the girls vibrating with energy beside me, like coiled springs.

Then Asta squeals, "Daddy!"

Liilja shrieks, "Dada!"

They sprint toward him. Bob bends down, arms open wide, and they crash into his chest with such force he stumbles backward, laughing and crying at the same time. "Hi, my babies."

He scoops them up, hugging them so tightly his knuckles go white. His voice cracks as he says their names over and over, kissing their heads, their hair, their cheeks.

I hover by the door, my heart in my throat. Part of me wants to run forward, to join them, another part wants to run out the door and never look back.

Finally, Bob looks at me over their shoulders. His eyes are red already. He straightens up slowly, setting the girls back on their feet.

"Hi," He says softly, his voice almost shy.

"Hi," I manage. My voice comes out harder than I mean it to.

He rubs his hands on his pants like he doesn't know what to do with them. There's an awkward, almost teenage uncertainty in his movements, just like when we first met.

"How… how are you?" He asks carefully.

I swallow, shifting my weight. "I'm fine." It's half true at best, but it's all I can manage.

He nods slowly, glancing down at the girls as they play with the toys scattered across the table. "They look good," He murmurs. "Happy."

"They miss you," I say, softer now. My eyes flick toward Asta, who is now showing Liilja how to stack blocks. "They talk about you every day."

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. It's small, hesitant, but it's there. "I miss them more than they'll ever know," He says. His eyes slide back to mine. "I…I miss you too."

My chest tightens and I swallow harshly. I don't reply. I can't yet.

The girls run back over, chattering excitedly about the toys. Bob kneels again, reaching into a small tote bag beside him.

"I…I got something for you both," He says. His hands still tremble a little as he pulls out two small stuffed bears, one pink and one blue.

Asta lets out a delighted squeal, grabbing hers and hugging it to her chest immediately. Liilja giggles and starts chewing on one of the bear's ears, drool pooling instantly.

"Thank you, Papa!" Asta shouts, beaming up at him like he's the sun.

Bob laughs, his voice rough, tears shining in his eyes. He looks like he might collapse from joy and heartbreak all at once.

Then he hesitates, looking up at me again. His hand dips back into the bag, and he pulls out something wrapped carefully in paper.

"I…I also have something for you," He says. His voice is almost a whisper now, full of hesitant vulnerability.

I take a step forward, my breath stuttering. I reach out slowly and peel back the paper.

Inside is a small painting. The brush strokes are soft and a little clumsy, but I know it instantly-the restaurant where we first met. The warm glow of the windows, the curve of the little neon sign, the tiny sidewalk tables.

My fingers go numb. I didn't even think he remembered.

Bob's eyes are glued to my face, watching every micro-expression. "Of course I remember," He says quietly, almost like he's reading my mind. "That's where I fell in love with you."

I stare at him, the painting trembling in my hands. My heart thuds painfully against my ribs, so loud I think the whole room can hear it.

For a long second, there's nothing but the girls giggling and the blood roaring in my ears.

Then, finally, I look up at him.

And I know we can't keep avoiding it forever.

We sit down on the little couch, our girls nearby playing with their new bears on the rug.

Bob sits on the very edge of the cushion, his hands clasped so tightly between his knees that his knuckles are white. His eyes flicker to me, then away, like he's afraid to look too long.

I take a slow breath, steadying my voice. "I…I think we need to talk about what happened."

His head drops instantly. "Yeah," He rasps.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, my voice shaking despite how hard I try to hold it steady. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted to use? Or that you needed space?"

Bob's shoulders curl inward, his fingers twitching. He swallows so hard it looks like it hurts.

"I didn't want to worry you," He says finally, voice hoarse. "You're already…you do so much. You keep the girls going, you keep us going. You've worked so hard on yourself. I didn't want to drag you into… into my darkness. I didn’t want to damage you."

His mouth twists into a sad, broken little smile. "Funny, huh? I didn't want to hurt you…and that's exactly what I did."

I flinch at the raw honesty in his voice.

He scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "I've been…obsessing over it for months. Ever since the Void took over New York. I felt so fucking guilty. All that damage…all those people…that was me. Even if it wasn't me, it was still me. I couldn't shut it off in my head."

He pauses, glancing at the girls. His lips tremble.

"And…I felt guilty about Malaysia. About missing all that time with them. I see other dads online, posting videos when their kid walks for the first time, or when they say their first word. I wasn't there. I missed Asta's first steps. I missed Liilja's first birthday. I felt like a fraud, like I didn't qualify. Like a bad dad."

I swallow hard, the ache deep in my chest.

"And… the Void," He continues, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I kept worrying it would come out again. That it would hurt you. Hurt them. I didn't feel good enough. I didn't feel safe. I didn't feel like me. I wanted to ask for space, but…I felt selfish. You never get time alone either. I thought if I just…numbed it for a night, I could fake it. Play it off. Like no one would know. That things could go back to normal the next day and it wouldn't be a problem."

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I breathe in slowly, my voice thin but clear. "You should have told me, Bob. You're important. How you're feeling is important. I would have listened. I would have given you space, if that's what you needed. Gladly. You don't have to juggle this alone. I'm here. I love you. I chose you."

He lifts his head finally, eyes bright with tears.

I look at the floor for a second, gathering my courage. "But…I can't lie and say that I can just jump back into how we were before. I'm…I'm still scared. Of what happened. Of what you might do if things got that bad again."

His face crumples, and I watch it hit him like a physical blow. He nods, head bobbing desperately.

"I know," He chokes out. "I know I have to earn that trust back. I don't expect you to forgive me overnight. I don't even expect you to forgive me at all right now. I'm willing to work for it. However long it takes. However you need me to. If…if you still want me."

He wipes at his tears again, voice breaking. "Your comfort is my priority. You. The girls. I would do anything to make it right."

His eyes fall shut, shaking. "When I saw you that night…cowering like that…it was like I was looking at my mom. The way she used to look at my dad. That's my worst fucking nightmare. All I kept thinking was how I'm turning out exactly like my dad, that I'm destroying you. I never wanted that for you. You deserve so much better. And I'm so sorry."

I stare at him, my own tears finally spilling over. I wipe them quickly and force a small, shaky smile. "Thank you. For apologizing. For saying all of this. Thank you for your honesty."

He looks up at me, terrified, as if he's waiting for me to vanish.

"Of course I still want you," I say softly. "I married you for a reason. I'm not going to just abandon you. We're not over. But…this will take time. And work. From both of us. And if this is going to work, you can't treat me like that again."

His whole body deflates with relief, a tremor running through him so hard his hands shake on his knees. "Yes, I will. I'll never talk to you like that again. Never." His eyes flood again, but this time there's something softer under it-hope.

I lean back a little, wiping my cheeks again. The girls are still giggling on the rug, oblivious to the heavy grown-up words floating above them. Bob glances at them and then at me, his mouth twitching into a fragile, grateful smile.

He sniffles, then drops to the floor and joins them. He makes silly bear noises, and Asta laughs so hard she falls onto her back. Liilja crawls into his lap, holding her bear up to his face.

For a moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.

When it's time to leave, the girls cling to him again, whining, "Noooo!" and "Daddy, come home!"

I gather up our things, my heart a strange mess of relief and longing and sadness.

As we start to head toward the door, Bob stands awkwardly, like he wants to say or do something but isn't sure if he should.

I pause. Then I take a tiny step forward and wrap my arms around him, gentle and hesitant.

He freezes for a second, and then melts into it, folding into me like he's been holding his breath for weeks. But he doesn't cling, doesn't ask for more. He follows my pace, careful and respectful.

When I finally step back, he nods, swallowing hard.

I leave feeling…not fixed. But a little steadier. A little stronger.

I know this won't be easy. We still have a long way to go. But for the first time in a long while, I believe we might make it.

[homo-paranoia]

Trail of Thorns and Petals

Chapter One -> Next Chapter

Vampire hunter! Ellie x Vampire! Reader

Additional: Implied Eventual smut, Femme Reader, Femme x Butch, Was loosely set in the Victorian era, AFAB Reader, mentions of blood, angst

Ellie Williams finds herself under the care of a mysterious yet striking young woman after a failed mission. You were a wealthy, yet lonely woman. However the more days Ellie spends under the care of you she can't help but notice your oddities that can only seem to point to one conclusion. Despite this she finds herself entangled deeper than she ever imagined, leaving her to choose her morals or love.

Every inch of Ellie’s body was damp. Gone were the woods—the looming shadows, the whispers of the wind. She was surrounded by soft, unfamiliar sheets. Ones that had almost lulled her into a false sense of security, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ellie had it instilled in her to be on her defense at all times.

A sharp pain blossomed in her ribs where that monster had landed a hit on her. She could almost hear his cruel laughter, could feel the gust of wind when he moved swiftly past her, dodging her every attack. His pale skin and glowing eyes were burned in the back of her head like a hot brand pressed against the back of someone’s hand.

Her vision adjusted to see you in front of her. You were like nothing she’d ever seen before. Dressed in fine silk, Ones that she couldn’t even afford to glance at let alone buy. Your waves cascaded down your back. You had a solemn expression; the kind of melancholy that seemed far beyond your years. You cracked a small, almost unnoticeable smile at Ellie which stirred her curiosity.

You were wringing a rag in a bowl of water. The water dripped from your fingertips, traveling down to your forearm as you pressed the cold rag onto this girl’s forehead. You had seen the words Ellie carved roughly into the stake she had been clutching when you had encountered her. She had lay on the ground, blood had soaked through her shirt, and mud had stained her face. It wasn’t everyday you had visitors. Especially visitors who were passed out in the woods with a wooden stake. However, something about Ellie had captivated you despite the obvious risk of bringing someone like her into your estate. 

Now she lay before you. Her auburn locks fell in front of her green eyes.  When you had seen her in the woods, she was striking. In all the years you’d roamed the earth not a single person had quite captured your attention they way she had, unconscious nonetheless. 

You pressed the rag to her forehead. Edith had insisted on cleaning her up when you had returned with her keeled onto you. However, you had refused her. Something about this girl—Ellie, had intrigued you. You couldn’t help but feel yourself drawn closer.

Ellie pushed your hand away, a slight scowl on her face, snapping you out of your reverie. “Who are you? Where am I?” she asked, hastily sitting up. She was clutching her ribs. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she squirmed trying to sit up. You ignored her attempts, for now.

As you dipped the rag back in the bowl, letting it soak for a bit more, you shifted just a bit closer.

“Take it easy,” you said. Ellie let out a groan—something akin to annoyance mingled with pain. “I’m Y/N.” You finally conceded. “I was…taking my evening stroll, and, well…when I saw you passed out in the woods. It was quite the scare you know? I had to have Edith help you up here.”

Ellie let out a soft whimper, her hand clutching the blanket harshly. You finally grasped her shoulder, shifting her upright, and whispering soothing reassurances.

“If I may ask…what were you doing out in the woods? It isn’t safe for a young lady to be out so late.”

Your hands traced the rim of the bowl as you glanced at Ellie. She was peculiar for a lady. All striking and taut features unlike your own soft and delicate ones. You could’ve sworn Ellie had sneered a bit at your inquiry. She almost let a smirk grace her face.

“Tch. Hunting.” Ellie leaned back against the bed frame. The sheets were pooled around the waist and in the attire you had dressed her in, her forearms seemed defined. A tattoo trailed up her arm. Was she perhaps a sailor? That couldn’t be…

“Hunting with a stake…it’s a bit unusual isn’t it?” you inquired.

“Yes, well, I find it more efficient.”

“Very well.” You pursed your lips. You stood up, smoothing out your gown. You shifted the chair up against the wall where Ellie’s belongings rest—a rifle, stake, and the muddied clothes you had yet to wash. “Supper’s just around the corner. You should rest up till then.” You blew the candle out. Ellie Lay there, all sleep eluding her despite her fatigue. For the next few hours she mused about you. The way your hands wrung the water from the rag, or the flutter of your eye lashes. Something so peculiar, so enthralling.

-------------------------------✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧-----------------------------------

The soup was warm and hearty—probably made with a gamey meat from the strong flavor. Ellie’s face was tinged pink as you held out the spoon to her. If one thing was more humiliating than being fed, it was being fed by a stranger. A beautiful one at that.

Much to Ellie’s dismay, the soup dribbled from the spoon, trickling down her chin. “Oh sorry—let me.” You pressed the pad of your thumb against her bottom lip, wiping away the remnants. Her eyes flickered with several different emotions—none of which you could decipher. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. The silence around you two seemed to be heavy.

Ellie spoke up. “You seem…rather young. What’s a girl like you doing in a house this big all alone?”

Ellie couldn’t help but be curious. You couldn’t be more than twenty at most. It was clear that this estate was not yours. It was spacious, the floors were sparkling, and the ceiling was high. You stirred the soup. “My parents are away on a trip,” you recited like it was a script you knew from the back of your hand. “They’ll be back in few months time.” “They didn’t take you with them?” Ellie said. Something in her eyes—akin to pity, sympathy maybe. “I get…horribly ill during travels.” you said, putting the spoon to Ellie’s mouth. “They figured it best for me to stay.” Ellie couldn’t help but feel sorrow for you. 

“Sounds lonely.” You felt your throat was dry. Ellie seemed a blunt woman. One who didn’t dress her words up. One who just said whatever came to mind. You clutched the fabric of your nightgown. 

“Yes, well, I suppose it can be quite…solitary.”

You glanced up at the clock on the wall.  “Oh dear, look at the time.”

You laughed but it felt hollow. Stuck in your throat.

“I’d best be off to bed now.”

You stood up and blew the candles out, leaving Ellie to sit with her thoughts. As your feet padded across the wooden floors, and you slipped into your chambers.

AN: This is my first Fanfic I've posted on Tumblr so I still feel like a grandma figuring out how to work a cell phone. This is also my first x Reader fic I cooked up on a whim after a harsh writer's block. This is also published on AO3 so if you want to read it there here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67303066/chapters/173859769

[thevanillerose]

EX | YANDERE!TOJI x READER | JUJUTSU KAISEN

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS ~ Join my Patreon to get early access to my works, exclusive stories and free commissions!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Non-con | Domestic Abuse | Stalking A/N: if it weren't for that fugly ass thing around his neck he'd be the hottest character in the franchise.

Blood. On his coat.

You were folding laundry, chatting about nothing—where to eat tonight, that cat you saw at the station—when you lifted his dark jacket from the armrest and something dark smeared across your fingers.

It wasn’t fresh, it was sticky. Partially dried. Horrified, you dropped it back into the basket, and Toji stopped in his tracks, looking straight at you through the kitchen doorway. His body, broad and tall enough, it was a wonder he even fit through it.

His gaze flicked to your hands. Your face. Then back to your blood-smeared hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said calmly. Don’t worry about it? “Toji…is this blood?”

He exhaled. Just once. Went back to the lounge and reclined on the couch like this was a conversation he’d had a thousand times before.

“It’s not mine,” he said. Like that made it better. “That’s not the point.” “Then what is?”

Your voice rose as you walked into the lounge shakily.  “The point is—you came back covered in blood and didn’t say anything. You told me you were just out running errands. So why was there blood on you!?”

Toji’s jaw tightened. “I handled something. That’s all.” You stared. “Handled what?”

“A problem.”

That word told you everything.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. He said it like it was the truth. Like it wasn’t what it was. Like it wasn’t monstrous. Like it was just something people did at convenience.

Did he beat someone? Or did he… Did he…?

That was the moment something in your chest shattered, and you felt sick.

The realization that this wasn’t the first time. Just the first time you saw the evidence.

“I think you should leave.”

He looked up. Slowly. Like he didn’t hear you.

“What?” “I said—I want you to leave.”

He cracked a cocky little grin.  “Come on. You’re not serious.” “I am,” you said. “Toji, I can’t—if this is who you are—if you’re lying to me and hiding things like this—I can’t be part of it.”

For a moment you just looked at each other. “You can’t leave me,” he said, surprisingly softly.

Silence followed. All you could hear then was your own heart, hammering like a little rabbit’s in your chest.

He rose eventually from the couch, towering, his eyes dark in the dim. But rather than advance on you, he stepped back. Nodded once. “Fine.”

And he walked out the door.

…

Two weeks later…

You changed your locks. Blocked his number. Left the apartment lights off when you were home. You considered calling the police, reporting him, but with little proof you weren’t sure. For now, you just focused on keeping yourself safe.

But still…

Something felt wrong. So wrong. And that sick feeling wasn’t gone. Now, whenever you were doing your own laundry, you thought of the blood, you thought of Toji being that kind of man, and you thought of all the times you had so ignorantly snuggled up next to him in bed.

Not realizing. Not even realizing. 

Taking things a night at a time, you held onto a fragile little hope that they would get better. 

The city outside was wet with rain. Streetlights flickered through your blinds. You curled into your blanket, phone clutched in one hand, your bedroom door locked even though you knew it wouldn’t matter.

You were drifting off when you heard it.

Click. The front door.

Then—

Creeeaaaak.

The door opened.

You shot upright in bed, throat closed with fear. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat and goose pimples breaking out all over your trembling skin. You were given no time to brace before the inevitable.

Toji stepped inside the bedroom, so casually you would think the two of you had never stopped living together. 

This time he was just in that black shirt, which clung damply to his muscular torso, every ridge of it outlined. Hands in his pockets. Rainwater glistening in his hair, dripping onto the floor by his bare feet. 

He looked at you in an eerily nonchalant way. “...Come on [Y/N]...did you really think it would be that easy?”

Your blood ran cold. “Toji—”

“You think I would just let you walk away? Just like that?”

He crossed the room. He stood by your bed, eyes locked on yours. He towered over you, he always had, but now more than ever you felt that you were utterly, hopelessly, at his mercy.

“You don’t understand what we had. What I gave you. What I kept away from you.” Your voice cracked. “You hurt people.”

He crouched by your bedside, hand trailing the sheet beside your leg. Not touching you yet, but you knew it was coming. You knew him.

“Only when I had to. You were safer because of it.” Your breath trembled.

“...How did you get in here?” He smirked, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I made a copy of your key. I know you tried to lock me out. I can’t say I appreciate that—” He reached forward suddenly, and before you could react, his palm closed around your throat. You cried out as he pinned you to the bedsheets, and clambered over the top of you, caging you between his rock-solid limbs. 

While he didn’t squeeze to choke you, it was enough to keep you trapped. Helplessly, hopelessly. Utterly at his wavering mercy.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know?” He leaned in—closer, closer—until his lips hovered by your ear, whispering: “You were perfect. You are perfect. And I don’t let go of perfect.”

You tried to shove him, but he pushed you back, flat against the mattress, his hand tightening slightly more. Legs kicking out desperately, getting tangled in the sheets, your eyes teared up and you choked a bit, panicking. Your feeble little hands clutched his broad arm out of desperation, but it didn’t budge.

“Stop fighting,” he murmured. “You know how this ends.” His lips hovered over yours now, brushing them chastely like a little tease, a little taste of what was to come. “You belong to me. So just accept it.”

Tears spilled. But your body went still. Because some awful part of you believed him. After all, how could you possibly fight a man who so easily killed? What chance did you really think you stood?

Maybe it was better to accept it after all. Even so, you pleaded one last time, hoping you’d find a shred of mercy, a shadow of the person you once thought he was.

“Please…Toji…” you whispered. “Don’t hurt me…”

He looked down at you, something like sadness flickering in his eyes.

“...Why would I hurt you? You love me, right?”

You were given no time to answer. Toji leaned down and kissed you. Like a man who knew no one else ever would again.

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[manias-wordcount]

omg its so nice to see people writing for fma more! could i request some general horny headcanons for edward? what he likes/dislikes and things of that nature :3 feel free to get creative with what you include idm ^^

Horny HCs (Edward Elric x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼!

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚!! 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Older Edward is a lot more mature, so even when he’s really horny- he won’t jump your bones at inopprunte times 

Like, if you’re both out in public and he’s starting to feel like he really needs you, he’ll probably just torture himself by trying to calm himself down without having to leave you side 

Though if things get bad enough, he’s more than willing to disappear for a little while so he can take care of things temporarily

But if the two of you are alone? Oh, it’s game over for you WHAHAHAH

Anyway, he probably starts off really fast and super desperate because he just can’t get enough of you

Think like really hard, passionate kisses, ripping your clothes off, and lots of grinding

He thinks of you as the most beautiful creature in the world, and with all the shit he has gone through, some moments probably feel like if he doesn’t take the jump now, he’ll lose everything

BUT he’ll always end things more slowly and passionately once his head starts to clear

At heart, he’s a truly little lover boy and is really smitten with you, so once he can finally start using his brain and isn’t acting all horney, he’ll prioritize just being in the moment and really feeling you

That said, he’s absolutely enamoured with you- so getting him to use your brain around you (especially in these types of situations) is a lot harder than you would think

[bilscutie]

Mine to ruin, mine to hold.

Bsf!Billie x Bsf!Reader

Warnings : smut with little to no plot, praise kink , aftercare.

Word count: 1.4k

The air in Billie’s room was heavy with silence and anticipation. You laid there on her sheets, heart fluttering like it was trying to break free. She was above you now, her eyes burning into yours—not with hunger, but something even deeper.

Reverence.

“Lie still for me,” she murmured, pushing your hair back gently. “Let me look at you.”

Your breath caught when her hands brushed down your arms, slow, methodical. Her fingers moved like they were learning, memorizing. And when she dipped her head down, lips ghosting across your collarbone, it sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you?” she whispered. Her lips pressed to your shoulder, trailing heat. “The way you look at me… like I’m the dangerous one. But you? You’re the fire, baby.”

Her hands cupped your waist, thumbs pressing gently into your skin as she kissed down the center of your chest—pausing just before reaching your breasts. You felt her breath there. Hot. Teasing.

She looked up at you, eyes dark and soft all at once.

“Can I touch you here?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, lips parted, already lost in her rhythm. “Please.”

Billie smiled, not smug but warm—like hearing your want was her reward. She leaned down and kissed the swell of your breast, then her palm slid up to cradle it. She wasn’t rough, wasn’t rushing. She was worshipping.

“Perfect,” she murmured, tongue flicking gently over your skin. “So soft.”

Her thumb circled over your nipple slowly, lazily, while her lips kissed around it. Your back arched involuntarily, a gasp leaving your mouth.

“There we go,” she whispered. “Let me hear those little sounds.”

She gave you more, lavishing attention on every inch of you like you were a painting she refused to rush. Her mouth, her hands—they didn’t grope, they praised. Her touch was sensual, possessive, but coated in softness that made you feel like you could float in it.

“Just relax,” Billie murmured against your chest. “I’ve got you. Tonight’s about you.”

Your hands tangled in her hair, not to guide her—just to hold her there. Because for the first time in a long time, you felt adored. Like your body wasn’t something to hide or push away. Not when she looked at you like that. Not when she touched you like you were a miracle.

And even as things slowly built, Billie didn’t push for more.

She stayed there, worshipping, kissing, whispering things that made your chest ache—in the best way.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” she said against your skin. “You just have to be mine”

You didn’t even realize Billie had moved until you heard the subtle sound of her drawer opening. A quiet zip. The click of something being secured.

And then she was back between your legs, this time hovering with something extra — something firm pressing against your thigh.

Your breath hitched.

“Look at you,” Billie murmured, leaning down to kiss your lips softly — in complete contrast to what she had planned next. “So pretty like this… already wrecked and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her voice was thick with hunger, yet she remained gentle in how she touched you — brushing your hair back from your sweaty face, kissing the tip of your nose. You felt her hand glide down your stomach, fingers circling your inner thigh before slipping between your folds.

“You’re soaked,” she whispered, smirking as you whimpered. “All for me.”

She pulled back enough to line herself up. The head of the strap nudged against you, and she didn’t push in — not yet. She looked at you, serious now, her hand caressing your jaw.

“Color?”

Your heart clenched with how much that simple question meant. You nodded, breathing heavy.

“Green,” you whispered. “Please.”

And that was all she needed.

She pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch. The stretch burned, but it was good — grounding. Real. Her body pressed against yours, her hips flush to your own, and she paused there, letting you breathe.

“Good girl,” Billie praised. “Taking me so well.”

You whimpered under her, already clinging to her arms as she began to move. Gentle at first — slow, shallow thrusts. But with each sound you made, each moan that slipped out and made her eyes roll back, her rhythm deepened.

“You feel that?” she grunted, voice thick with arousal. “This is how I love you. Deep. Slow. Mine.”

You nodded frantically, crying out when she hit that perfect spot. Her thrusts grew harder, more deliberate — not fast, but deep. Controlled. Dominant.

And still, her hand slipped between your bodies to circle your clit, never letting you fall too far out of pleasure.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” she growled in your ear. “You’re gonna come with me inside you. And then I’m gonna fill you up like you were made to take it.”

You nearly sobbed from how overwhelming it was — the stretch, the praise, the way she looked at you like you were her entire world.

“Say my name,” she demanded, thrusts hitting harder.

“Billie!” you gasped, back arching, hips meeting hers desperately.

“Louder.”

“Billie, please—f-fuck—”

“Say who you belong to.”

“You! I’m yours! I’m—”

Your words broke into a cry as your body clenched around her, climaxing hard, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as she fucked you through it. Billie’s rhythm didn’t stop — not until your legs shook and your body collapsed beneath her.

She leaned down, lips brushing yours, voice wrecked and breathless.

“You did so good for me.”

And when she kissed you again, it was tender — her body slowly stilling inside yours, arms wrapping around you like you were fragile and precious and hers.

Because you were

The room was quiet now — save for your heavy breathing, the faint hum of the city outside the window, and Billie’s heartbeat pressed against your back.

She hadn’t let you go.

You were still wrapped in her arms, the strap discarded somewhere on the floor, her hand rubbing slow, calming circles against your side. Your body was sore, limp, trembling in the most satisfied way.

But Billie… Billie was soft now. Gentle.

“You okay, baby?” she whispered into your hair, voice low and raw from everything she’d said to you minutes earlier.

You nodded, pressing closer to her. “Mhm. Just… floaty.”

Billie smiled softly against your shoulder. “That’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She shifted carefully, making sure not to jostle your tender body too much as she reached for a warm cloth she’d placed by the bed before things even began. Always prepared. Always thinking of you.

You whimpered slightly when the cloth met between your thighs — the sensation was sensitive, but Billie was careful. She whispered little praises under her breath as she cleaned you up.

“You were so good for me. So perfect.”

She kissed your inner thigh, soft and lingering, before tossing the cloth aside and climbing back into bed.

“C’mere,” she murmured, pulling you into her chest, tucking the blanket around both of you. Her fingers found your hair and threaded through it slowly.

You melted into her.

“I didn’t hurt you, right?” she asked gently.

“No,” you said quickly, looking up at her with dazed eyes. “It was… perfect. I just feel…”

“Wrecked?” she teased with a little smirk.

You nodded shyly.

“Good,” she whispered, pressing her lips to your forehead. “That’s what you deserve. To be loved like that.”

You swallowed hard at the emotion in her voice — so different from her dominant tone earlier, but no less powerful.

Billie’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

“I love you, y’know,” she said quietly. “Not just when I’m fucking you. Always. Every second.

Tears pricked your eyes, and she noticed — of course she did.

“Hey,” she cooed, pulling you into her chest. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You curled into her, letting yourself feel small and safe. Her arms were warm. Her chest was soft. Her presence wrapped around you like a second skin.

She didn’t rush you.

She didn’t ask for more.

She just held you.

“Want me to run a bath?” she asked eventually, brushing your hair back.

You shook your head. “Just wanna stay here.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” she said. “I’ll hold you until you fall asleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

And she didn’t.

She stayed — warm, real, and patient. Her lips pressed to your temple, her voice low and reassuring.

“You’re mine,” she whispered one last time. “And I’m yours. Always.”