#i cant even carry out this line of thought to completion in my head. i have to write it down like this or else it remains stuck in an eddy

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[withlove-xixi]

— LAIOS NSFW THOUGHTS: laios x reader

ᥫ cw: nsfw, petplay, dom/sub, praise ★ laios appeals to me w the many possible sexual exploits he could be into #tbh — MINORS DNI! —

im sorry, i cant get it off my head .. he'd ... be really into petplay i think. he wouldn't be too ashamed of it too, in fact he's be pretty eager about it. he'd be on all fours and you could already see the imaginary tail eagerly wagging from behind him, and its endearing really. laios would love it if you pet his head or scratched his belly or even just combing through his hair. he wouldn't be against wearing a collar or some ears and a tail to complete the look (though i don't think he'd like being caged or leashed so much. something about feeling constricted too much freaks him out)

he's got that dog in him, what can he say?

oh he would absolutely melt too with praise. anything to let him know he's doing a good job, that you're feeling as good as he is. he loves it, before anything, it's reassurance, a sign to keep going or to change his pace/angle. he knows he's not the best at reading people, so something as simple as telling him how good it feels is enough to keep him going and going. though, immediately after reassurance, it's the unexplainable twist in his gut when you tell him these things. he just loves being called a good boy. argue what you want about if he'd growl or if he's whimper because the correct answer is he'd do both. i dont think he's particularly noisy in bed, but definitely he will make noise and when he does it's so obvious because he's just so loud. it's a bit jarring sometimes because he could be almost silent, save for deep breaths and pants, and suddenly a canine-like growl or whimper would escape his lips.

i like to think he's more or less quiet because he's just too focused on the act. any noise that slips out is simply primal response, written in laios' dna to respond so instinctively.

he's like petnames too! he finds a certain intimacy in the act. he loves calling you by them too, though they're quite unorthodox, things like "my wildflower" or "cheesecake" (since it's his favorite food!) he's definitely tried to call you by a monster's name ... and as sweet as the sentiment was, it wasn't something that lasted too long.

ohhh and back to petplay, laios loves being called "puppy". it's cute and honestly, he kind of is one, is he not?

i think laios can be a bit too excited sometimes too. it's easy for him to get carried away with things he wants to try or do, so you'd have to repeatedly ground him back to what's happening or what's reasonable. though it's not always a verbal cue. you could kiss him gently or pat his arm and he'd get the message, he'd slow down and give you time to breathe and stuff.

idk i think laios is a really sweet guy. similar to my falin nsfw thoughts, as much as he wants to try these new things, it's more out of curiosity and comes from a certain air of innocence. a lot of those things are new therefore something he must try lol. its endearing, it really is. but like his sister, i think he can be a bit timid about it. if he mulls it over too much, he'd end up shyly asking you about it, if it were something you were comfortable with or something you wanted to try. otherwise, he'd be asking you pretty directly, something straight to the point and along the lines of "i want to do this". that being said, i think laios could easily be coerced into trying things. you dont even need to bat your lashes or plead, if you play your cards right, you could instantly spark his curiosity and get him ready to take of his clothes.

oh but laios .. wouldnt be the best at aftercare. dont get me wrong, he tries his best, but somehow he feels a bit lost on what to do. on instinct he goes on autopilot, picking up clothes from the ground, handing you yours, getting dressed and preparing to sleep. but something sweet he does is talk to you though he'd do that regardless of sex. just something short and sweet before you go to bed, in a way, its his way of showing his love and care for you. he listens to what you have to say, he tells you something in return and then its off to bed with you both. it's nice especially if you two have finished doing something nasty, it's a slice of domesticity after something that feels so carnal and it's truly heartwarming.

[opal-owl-flight]

Quick lore question, did marie considering the idea of replacing 4 play into the insecurities she has later?

Absolutely.

I wanna preface this by saying one thing: Young 4 was a COMPLETELY different person before she got recruited by Marie. And Marie...responds to her accordingly.

Long read abt Hero2 events below!! Its. A lil messy sorry qisjke these are my notes

Young 4? A bitch.

Everything she ever wanted was given to her. Moved out of the highlands with an ego the size of a planet (and also bc she felt suffocated there), thinking she can make it in the big city.

...she struggled to make it alone. She had moved out bc her family was suffocating her with love, but now theyre not here, so now she feels homesick and underappreciated.

All that is expressed by her harsh, bitchy attitude. Shes gonna be mean bc no one has seen her for who she is. She'll show them!!

She finds her way around like this, and discovers that shes just as good at turf war here and at home. In fact, shes *so* good that she got the status of a rising star!

It aaalll just gets into her head. Shes "proven everyone wrong" now. Shes got the superiority complex and can back it up.

Marie...

...saw this. She was looking for a new agent to help find the missing zapfish. The second 4 heard this from her, she flexed her arms and...

"Look no further, your hero is RIGHT HERE!"

Marie at first adored the spunkiness of this new agent. Uuuntil 4 started thinking that shes better than her.

"Watch out, Agent Four!"

"You watch YOURSELF, grandma! Think Im a damn idiot to not see that coming? WAHA!"

Marie rolled up her sleeves after several stages full of her ignoring orders or sassing her out of nowhere.

Is that how shes gonna be? Fine.

When 4 finally trips and falls, hard, on a particularly difficult level, Marie pulls her to the side to fix her up and give her a lecture that tore her fucking ego to shreds.

She says something so fucking harsh like "That attitude will make SURE that you die sad and alone. I wonder how anyone puts up with you."

4s too hurt by her own failure to say anything back.

The reality of war finally gives her a reality check. Each victory is earned. its her life on the line. And the world.

She regains her spunk after saving the world.

------

Silly 4. She gets the job done but it takes a LOT of pushing in the mid-stages. Its like she got legitimately bored after the initial super easy ones, and thought the entire campaign a joke.

She went back to her turfing life topside between stages. And she takes a WHILE to come back to her missions -- usually late!! And then before she even goes in she just HAS to yak Marie's face off with what she was doing up there.

"Youre late."

"You shouldve SEEN ME, Marie!! I was carrying that Rainmaker round! I was-"

"Pray tell, Agent Four. How will you keep participating in turf with the Zapfish gone?"

"Whaat? Cmon. Nothing seems to be changing! Theres still power through the city!"

"The backup supply wont last forever, you know."

"Yeah yeah. Okay. Im here now. Wheres the next kettle?"

This attitude is from her high school days, clearly. She breezes by everything so fast that she can afford to do things last minute. It affects even this.

That, alongside her talking smack back to Marie, is what makes her snap at 4. Its what makes 4 stick to the mission fully starting late area 4 and area 5. (This is also around the time 4s life was threatened. God help me in those stupid platforming stages)

Post Hero2, 4 more or less does what 3 does. Shes the "replacement" til 3 comes back. (That cant be good for her confidence.)

At the same time, she has to deal with Callie and Marie talking out what the fuck Callie did with Octaria. "THEY SQUIDNAPPED GRAMPS!!!" and all. Why help them??? They get into squabbles where 4 was the unfortunate witness to. And peacemaker. It does NOT help that Callie for a while kept putting the glasses back on!!!

4 wishes so bad she had help of any sort. She feels 3 might be able to do something but what does she know?? Shes never met em!! She just imagines what the missing agent would do in that situation.

Callie...was also the person she got close to. Shes fun (unlike the stuck up Marie), shes empathic, she opened 4s eyes to the Octarian plight. It made her acceptance of 8 later much smoother.

Im not saying shes not close to Marie either, I bet they healed their relationship around this year too. Marie's sorry she tore 4s ego the way she did (even if deserved...). Marie's much more supportive of what 4s doing topside. Shes expressing her pride in the agent she found much more openly. (She brags abt her to Callie at times.)

The three of them heal together in that time. 4 sees them as older sisters Im p sure. Theyre both giving her tips for turfing and -- Marie even helps her with homework, HAH

And...while I say that 4 and Marie are in better terms, there are still days where Marie blows up on her. Lesser extent than before, but shes *worried* for her agent! (Its a similar plight 3 has.) In those times, its Callie who has her back. ("Hey! Its not like shes not trying!!" Callie understands how it is, and she also knows Marie best -- shes the one who makes 4 understand where Marie is coming from.)

[sunny-knight]

FORGETTABLE AU PAGES - LIVE REACTION

@forgettable-au Go. Read. It. 🫵

….oh my god.

ok y’know what, i’m not even gonna do my usual summarizing thoughts before going through the pages beat for beat- we’re diving STRAIGHT in.

strictly formatting these is overrated anyway

THE FIRST PAGE!!!

First of all awwwwww I hope we get to see Riverperson again… Flowey resting his head on top of Papyrus’ in the raft melts my heart as well.

For the first bit of dialogue here with Floweys internal monologue- OUGH I LOVE IT! I will NEVER get sick of getting into his head, he’s like us! a theorist! his thought process here is so me.… “ive never thought of the possibility that Papyrus might have been involved as well…” Welllllllll… You’re half right.

Im also looking forward to seeing the part of Wingdings’ story that explains Papyrus’ conveyor belt related trauma- cause cmon man whats wrong with conveyer belts 😭

Papyrus basically having a conversation with himself while Flowey just goes and does his own thing is SO REAL ALSO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

ALSO LMAO THE BACKPACK IS ACTUALLY THERE- THAT WAS A THING I POINTED OUT AS A JOKE IN THIS POST- funny to know that was just a mistake, BUT IM ONTO YOUR LITTLE TRICKS!!! I KNOW ITS LORE RELATED SOMEWHERE!!!!

PAGE 2

PAPYRUS’ REACTION HERE HAS ME SCREAMING IN AGONY, I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD GET WORSE- BUT spoilers. it gets so much worse. I mean I- kind of- spoiled it with the drawing at the very beginning….BUT- YOU SHOULD HAVE READ THE COMICS BEFORE READING THIS!!!

GOOGLY EYES PAPYRUS SPOTTED!!!! OHHH I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER and speaking of facial expressions I hate (love) Floweys smug ass in these panels 😭

THE 2ND TO LAST PANEL- OH THIS SHOT BEHIND AND BELOW PAPYRUS IS JUST GORGEOUS HIS SKULL AND JAW AND NECK- ITS ALL SO WELL DRAWN

PAGE 3

Talking about the actual dialogue for a second- trying not to get too carried away only focusing on the visuals.

Im very concerned we’re going to have a moment with the power going out, Papyrus and Flowey being stuck without the elevator just like Alphys and Wingdings were. Some chicanery is gonna happen comparing and contrasting how they handle that compared to the 2 scientists. Ofc thats a lot of speculation- But I cant help but feel like the talk about “the energy hopfully lasting long enough” is leading up to something….not fun.

Maybe what they do down here is a weird time mumbo jumbo that is important to make what happens in the past- happen. Maybe thats why Gaster is watching them…

“You should talk to my brother more!!!” …..I want to disagree- but also I want them to be friends and think they COULD get along

PAGE 4

“That would be weird!!” reference to when you call Papyrus in Alphys’ room….i see what you did there….

Also Floweys logic here about having hisss permission just made me giggle so much LMAO I absolutely love the repeated “Papyrus is hesitant” followed up by “Flowey presenting a sorta??? convincing argument” and Papyrus just being like “…ALRIGHT!”. Very fun and in character for him

PAGE. 5.

When I tell you- this K I L L E D. M E. GOD THIS IS SO WELL DRAWN???!?!?!?! I CAN FEEL THE SINKING DREAD- OOOUUUUGGHHHH THE DETAIL IN HIS EYE SOCKETS!!!!!!!!

This incredibly depicts feeling of sound filling your head- just AAAA IT HITS SO HARD AND IT HURTS SO GOOD.

PAGE 6

“Are you- uh..feeling anything?” Subtle Flowey. Very subtle. Though I love Papyrus’ complete misread of what he’s asking HEHDHE. Yknow, Its a belief among ghost hunters that “cold spots” mean theres a ghost lurking around. HM.

Also wtf are you talking about- Papyrus?? you “sometimes” have nerve endings 😭?? That line is incredibly in character answer for him, but also what?? maybe im missing something obvious. Ough the detail on the hand bone…

PAGE 7

WINGDINGS!!!!!!!! MY GOAT!!!! AND ALSO SANS!!!!! MY SLIGHTLY LESSER GOAT WHOM I STILL LOVE!!!!!!!!!!

God I wonder where this conversation is going to go- wheres Wingdings going with this? is he gonna tell him about the tape?? why did he LIE ABOUT THE CREVICE IN THE FIRST PLACE???? IM STILL HUNG UP ON THAT!

Its clear Wingdings plans on researching timelines because of the tape things, ofc, im just surprised he’s informing Sans about it since he’s proven to want to keep at least some of it a secret. At the very least he seems to really enjoy- controlling information.

Im calling it now, Wingdings is a pathological liar. (bold ass claim especially because he only lied once so far BUT IM CALLING IT!!!)

Also the talking and writing in wingdings here is gonna make me immediately rule out Alphys being involved in this conversation.

IN CONCLUSION!

I am. LOSING. MY MIND. OUUUGHH THE ART JUST GETS BETTER AND BETTER, THE PLOT AND THE TENSION!!! IT JUST GETS THICKER AND THICKER. I can promise you, the pages are ALWAYS worth the wait…as a wise man once said…

(the real quote, if you dont know is by Shigeru Miyamoto and replate ‘comic’ with ‘game’)

[meowrimo]

YOU CAME? YOU CALLED. ༉‧₊˚.

ft. exboyfriend kuroo !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : ex boyfriend kuroo comes to your rescue and you reminisce on why exactly you broke up in the first place.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : hurt/comfort. slight angst with happy ending ? — WC : 500.

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : fitting for my first blurb here methinks. cant go anywhere without my tetsu ;( !! made him hold my hand the whole time i was moving blogs. enjoy !!

“you came.”

just seeing kuroo’s face brought back every emotion you had hastily stuffed deep in your heart. the feelings you didn’t want to face since your break up. the pain of it was too much to bare so you had encased your heart in something impenetrable — something no one would ever have access to again.

but the mere sight of him demolished it all in an instant, an explosion that had you nearly clutching at your chest as the pain spread all throughout your body.

it wasn’t always like this — in fact, it used to be such a fairytale romance. one that always had your stomach filled with butterflies and your head so far up the sky you could grasp any star your little heart wanted. his love made you feel like you were on top of the world.

but when you fell and he wasn’t there to catch you anymore — it shattered every bit inside of you. no longer could you call him to tell him about your day. the good, the bad, all the little streams of thoughts you had. the last few weeks had been hell.

images of heavenly love flood through your mind, seeping down into your veins and carrying it’s way to your heart. the unrelenting head never stood a chance against the ever forgiving heart — a futile battle when kuroo tetsuro was involved.

warm summer nights and cozy winter mornings come to mind when you think of your happier moments together. kuroo was always a caring partner, ever observant of even the tiniest details. the kind that found joy in fixing the strap of your favorite pair of heels when they snapped, the kind to pick up your favorite take out on his way back from work — no matter how late it was.

he always looked after you, taking care of you in ways no other person has, or ever will, amount to. the memories from your break up were too hard to dissect, knowing that if you looked too closely, you’d see the error of your ways.

how both of you were completely stupid, letting an argument over the fact the two of you haven’t seen each other in awhile take precedence over your very relationship.

tensions had been high and like an overly stretched rubber band — it snapped. you snapped. and in turn, so did he. mismatched words spilled from your mouth that in no way lined up with what you felt in your heart. but the hurt had taken over, casting a dark plague over everything that surrounded you.

honestly, you’d do anything to take it all back. to break down in front of him and tell him how much you missed him. it truly had not been your intention when you summoned him over, but the thought was creeping up your spine, desperate hope blooming in its wake.

the howling wind brought you back to the present. there was a beat of silence as he tried to catch his breath. his hair was matted to his forehead as he hunched over. it was clear he got here in quite the hurry. he slowly straightened up, squaring back his shoulders as that familiar smirk slinked along his features, his amber eyes warming you up with just a single look.

“you called.”

[werezmastarbucks]

Text to speech so pardon any error

UN17  how did I know that Creep was gonna be a stalker .  for a while I thought it was Yogi’s first ex. Riko as stalker and maybe she had a fanboy on the inside to carry out her misdeeds . But this is so much worse . I hate this for our girl . But fate would have it Yoongi would be there in her time of need. Although I wish she was able to kick the creeps ass all by her self , but that is the sad reality . And people wonder y women pick the bear so often.

On a lighter note , its such and ARMY thing to divide the boys into lines , haha single vs taken and those in between . There has been some discourse of BTS now making use of a leading lady and at this point I think Yoongi is the only one we have yet to see w/o a lady love . I guess the video with Halsey doesn’t count .Also I cried when I read the press release about his help with the kiddos

Back to the UN universe , chapter 16 was so frustrating to witness. Why is OC punishing is all by being distant . As she has now confessed that love never went away it just became less all consuming , maybe now after what 3 years she can move forward to her fate that is Yoongi . But i dont know after being physically assaulted I don’t see them jumping in the sheets anytime soon and that’s been the only way they have been OK with expressing their feelings and attachment to each other. Is she moving from Busan after this I know a nice place with a gorgeous cozy garden she can move into. I highly doubt that tramp of a best friend will offer to let her stay and truly mean it JK would but not his wife. Did Yoongi hit that guy with his car . He made a comment about them taking his license again, but why would the creep be allowed to walk when we have witnesses of him attacking her in a coffee shop and I’m sure there’s security footage of them brawling in the street. And that goes into may not fall for the propaganda of Korea being safe, fairytale K drama backdrop scenic place. The crimes committed against women there are on par with the crimescommitted within a major city I live in. It’s absolutely horrendous, but I will say, especially with the Yoongi situation as a foreigner, it seems they are quicker to prosecute and condemn celebrity crimes that are not of a sexual misconduct nature then they are of crimes that are of sexual misconduct. I cant wait to sexy brain Namjoon’s leader reaction to this incident. Sorry I rambled so much. My sleep is out of whack so I’m a little crazy right now. Haha call me OC

i made myself coffee for this let's go

i am imagining you now sitting by the desk lamp with a recorder in your hand like in crime movies

you're the second person who tells me they knew the sound guy would be the stalker. which is good because i was trying to drop hints but not make them too glaring. Riko is interesting btw, imagine the SCANDAL if it became known, because she is also an idol. i mean she is petty i guess, but not that petty. i think she always wanted to pretend that she doesn't see y/n as competition, and always frankly thought her beneath herself. because i can't stress it enough how beautiful she is in my head.

there was a 2-second thought in my head to make one of the bangtan the pervert but it would turn so dark so quickly, fuck that.

also appreciate that you noted the reality of it, no matter how many times you punch the bag, if a guy is physically bigger than you, you have zero chances against him. i once had a proto-relationship with this american guy (we didn't end up dating, but we kind of flirted and kissed a lot and i spent evenings at his place, and we went on dates, but sure. he was a fuckboy and lacked any decency completely. i was 23 and super naive like you have no idea. i thought what we had was love, lmao) who slammed me against the couch. he grabbed me with one hand and put his knee on my back in between shoulder blades and held both my arms so that i couldn't move. it's ridiculous, you can't do anything at ALL. i almost blacked out.

the latest news abt yoongi keep me in great mood for the second day in a row, life is better

But i dont know after being physically assaulted I don’t see them jumping in the sheets anytime soon hahaha i will disappoint you there, some action coming twice in the next chapter. in my mind, it works like reclaiming safety and the authority of her own body. because Seongjun (fuck i think i forgot his name already) clearly obviously wanted to rape her eventually, even if it never got to that; the implication is subconscious, and everybody understands that when you have a stalker, it's almost always sexual. so being with someone safe (yoongi), someone who saved her (yoongi) and someone she loves (yoongi) kind of soothes that inner wound like bandaids heal the outer wounds.

in the middle of me writing this, my hubby came over and asked me if i am writing fanfics about my Jungseok again (he only remembers Jimin and Jungkook and invents new names every time)

I highly doubt that tramp of a best friend that's the energy i love!

Yoongi is kinda silly though, he should've hit him with the car, but it was his dad's car so maybe papa Min would have been upset.

but why would the creep be allowed to walk when we have witnesses of him attacking her in a coffee shop and I’m sure there’s security footage i remember watching various videos on youtube about stalking in SK and police doesn't even give af in most cases, especially they do not care about foreigners (according to what those girls say) since stalking is just so common. they say if you're not Korean, having one-two stalkers is normal experience, like it happens almost to everybody, and processing each case is nightmare for the police. thankfully our oc has some rich friends who will not let it go.

ramble to me anytime. i love getting your messages

[gyahyahyahayhahayahyahyahyahyaha]

h

i really shouldnt be feeling like this in this precarious situation where im only kept afloat by anothers grace. but hard to even bother. i havent had a reason to honestly give a shit for my own sake for so long. and now i HAVE to. for someone else's sake. or suffer the lifechanging consequences... i guess im ust reckonin g with that................. ive been reckoning with that for an obscenely long time... ive gotten so complacent. ive been so settled in this position for so long. i dont knoww honestly. its been so long.

im not dealing with this well. the ever present and looming answer to this thats been hanging over my head for so long gets harder n harder to ignore. this is a situation i crafted with my owwwn two hands. this is a situation that i set aflame to with my own two hands. what hasnt been irrevocably ddestroyed but these efforts of mine has been left to rot. suspended merely by what i havent directly destroyed with mmy own actions. and all thats left is the rotting tension keeping these bridges up. whats left is rotting due to my inaction and cowardice. ive wasted too much time to start ccrying abou tit now that its staring me down in the face. now that i cant ignore it anymore. i can try ig. i was having fun cooking for JUST mysef for a bit for the first time in years ig not havingg to be CONSTANTLY looking over my shoulder like i would hhave before. its not like it left me completely. theres noway it could have after 2 whole decdes of ingraining those behaviors into your thinking patterns and how you approach everything. its crazy how carried away i got just from cooking a few meals and scrubbing a few showers for MYSELF. i got so excited and bigheaded thinking that "see? maybe i can do it". but its like...

why? why should i. i know why. if its at least for the ssake of not burdening others AS MUCH, as DIRECTLY anymore. but. that, ive long since noticed... can only take me so far. this fear is so pointless, sso annoying. ive already spent so much time letting myself being moved and shaped by it that now it just makes my heart move fastear nd my body freeeze upr and thats it. nothing worthwhile comes from engaging in this level of fear anymore. so have to stop it. i dont know if i can channel anything worthwile out of these feelings anymore. but after all this time. its difficult. i dont wanna be like this but whate lese is there for me to be but dead. its realy hard to think about naything else when thats the prevailing thought takin up (most if not all of)my line of sight. my emotions. my way of thinnking and planning. my fucking everything. i know it hasnt taken up everythyihng cuz 2 decades later im still here. i still eat. i stll worry a bout feeding myself. i still havent starved to death despite my attempts. i know this. i fucking know. i know. i know. i know. i know. i know. im still fucking here. i fucking know. i have bigger thins to worry about. i know. i made things this bad with my own two hands. i know i knoww i know i know i made things worse and wallowed in it. stewed in it. rotted in it. but i still. stretch. i still reach. i still jump. i still try to MOVE. i still feed myself. i wouldnt have been able to even have the energy or strenght to throw some shit together in the microwave if i didnt have all the help i did. they made it so easy. i wouldnt be able to move if i ididnt do all that. all this time. i know. i woudnt b e this fucking old. despite being completely unable to see myslef makein g it to this age. i fucking know. i ts not like i did much else bu tthink about it all this time. iveen sayin the same shit for so long and yet here i am. i know next hyear is the year i said that i d finally do something. if i wasnt out of that fucking place! and owouldnt you fukckinggg know it. im out of that fucking place bu its the same. im still strung up by others graccce towards me . im still fucking here. i have to do something. i have to burn them all up onece and for all OR cross the path afforded to memby these bridges extended to me. i have to take those steps . i know im too old for this.. but that doesnt even really bug me as much anymore. i dont have much time to waste. so otherwise i waste it and waste all these opportunities and time HANDED to me or i. take these opportunities and move forward with them. i can still salvage this situation while i stil have time to do so. if i try. so why am i still wasting all this time.

all the exuses ive been waiting on have arrived at my doorstep. i cant wait on them anymore. and its not like i had any good reason or excuse to wait anyways. i just. was losing momentum? giving up? its hard to prop yourself up and move using the guilt and fear and shame and regret of howww long and how much youve been relying on others to live as like fuel. its not sustainable. i woud fukcking know. this is probably my best and last chance to fix thinsg for myself. to graab hold of my own life. for my owwn sake. but i cant stop asking. "why? what for?".

i definitely lost sigght of a loit of immportant thinggsss. i mean. isnt that what fucking happens when you spend so much time imired in all those feelings, in your own head........ but. ok.

what now.

[liliallowed]

Since seelkie!Y/N probably doesn't know what the sky is cause they probably cant read they probably think the night sky is lke another ocean and i find that so funny.

"Do you think if we of sat on Crimson's head and went towards the sky we would be able to touch the glowing jellyfish in the sky?"

I have no idea how much the other two can comprehend science but I feel like they would still think "yeah no that's wrong"

But Crimson would also egg them on and be like "No I'm pretty sure there glowing sea stars" (They know that's not true but this is so funny)

So yeah that's my silly little thought that came to me. It makes me wonder how much are the three educated on stuff out of the sea?

lol yeah they have no idea.

out of the two dust is the nerdiest when it comes to stars. the dolphin mers are one of the most curious and knowledge seeking bunch out of any siren! he knows there's a pattern to stars and he often uses them to find his way around the sea in nighttime! he's also been interested in studying them ever since he was a pup!

he doesn't know what stars ARE. but he knows they're useful for mapping out places and finding general direction.

though they disappeare when it's cloudy or it rains. dust thinks stars are pretty. he doesn't want to think much about WHAT they are tho. the stars seem to be either afraid of the sun or the sun might simply just be covering them up like the clouds... he isn't sure.

dust can't read human languages but he can read his own native siren text and other mer carvings... the jumped mess of ancient leviathan text crimson brings him thoooo he has no idea wtf that is. it's just some gibberish squiggly lines.

crimson head canons stars as other leviathans in a VEEEEERRRRY distant ocean upwards. they think stars are albgler fish traps out there.

that's gotta be a BIIIIIIIG angler fish for it's light to reach this far. and the sun is like this... weird glowy orb that comes and goes in-between the sky ocean and ground ocean.

no they don't believe the earth is flat because to them instead of north south west and east you can also go "up" and "down"

so to them earth isn't a surface it's a MASS! they don't think it's flat either. that's just dump. where would all the water go?

crimson is completely illiterate lol. they have no idea how to read anything. it wasn't really useful when it came to developing survival skills in the ocean.

as for y/n? they can read other ocean people's interpretations of their own language. so... like after a few words and telepathic tuning they CAN speak any mer language!

as for reading... that might take longer for them to learn. even with direct telepathy they still need to memorize the text pattern TO the meaning. (kinda like how Anya from spy x family would solve difficult questions if she had someone who knew the answer next to her)

this isn't the case for humans as selkies cannot read human minds. so y/n PROBABLY doesn't know how to read or write in human language.

there are selkies who have jobs and bring in fish for humans, trade stuff with them and speak their language... but even they aren't fluent in human tongue as they wear ugly masks and carry weapons for self defense.

humans are dangerous. so unless there's a need to be involved with them there's no point learning their language is there?

out of all three y/n can speak and translate the most sealife languages due to their innate ability. they also know a bit of siren glyphs but it's basically just them knowing their alphabet and the word hello.

they're a quick learner tho!

[koaly-ty]

Different Princess (Episode Reacts)

Spoilers for Different Princess from episode 21 to 23. It appears that there is still more to go......

Ep 21

is he making fireworks for her?

those bangs so cute (heart eyes)

new robes agaaaiiinn oolala

omnious person? people guess where you are going to end up when someone gets tired of your little attitude

the pale pink washes him out completely, bro get your brother to color match for you

too sweet too sweet too sweet aaaaghhhhh

well done you managed to pour water all over the romantic date he planned

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh feelings for youuu

what good news? (confusion)

princess you r the best (laughs) tease away might open her eyes to the truth, your brother will thank you

man so very happy proud touched by his intelligent wife working hard to help him

Ep 22

ah hah the plot thickens, empress u r also in this? (disapproving finger wagging)

oh boy what is mummy's boy upto?

he's got u all figured out (smirked)

spontaneous combustion…and he's dead, how can u tell what powder from a burnt corpse??

well he's got confirmation, and he's angry or upset? (cant tell)

people are hypocrites welcome to reality, nice drop (grins), also u need some color in that face, the upset seems to have brought some,

look at that cutey smile at the trust he has

oh wow heartless too much (raises eyebrow)

local man has made new year resolutions and intends to stick to them

new thought: tiny so you can carry

wow parental blackmail, u do realise where you are gonna end up, u should be glad ur daughter is competent

yeaaaaah she already has a guy in mind

ji chu= the most eligible husband material (facepalms)

new robes? wardrobe's expanding

an army in exchange for marriage, wont it look like treason?

Ah hah local man refuses, too in love with his wife

run away run away he knows u heard this is embarrassing (hides face)

arrow to the heart, his dialogue is just (clench fist mr darcy)

well it wasnt a slap (shrugs)

Ep 23

local lady holds twig for emotional support, and they are in matching colors outfits exact same white over red over white (internal screaming and dancing, couple outfits, me such a sucker for that shit)

insurance!!!!!!! (dies laughing, start a business)

Date night (sings happily)and romantic dialogue (thumbs up, two thumbs up go ji chu!!!!) fireworks and he has eyes only for you (swoons happily in this romantic cheese)

ah hopeless boy is here (shakes head sadly)

he's working up to say something, well he's done something (dies screaming happily)

father,pumpkin? why pumpkin?? her bed tantrums lol

he so soft, how you villain…..?

yaoyao i think you look better in some darker colors rather than these pastels

yes and play traitor and murderer in their husband's house

u tried to marry me off to my bestie's husband……….confusion face, indignation!

she told his mother about him, and she proposed marrying her to prince three

the princess is having such a good time, me happy for her, she best girl

this kid is asking for death, such a brat who taught him this (shock face)

his voice so soft to the kid

bro u are never going to get a more peaceful confrontation about the fact u have a kid, she's not going anywhere she's not even gonna divorce u over this or give you any shit she's just accepted she's a stepmom now and she's just like hit me, how many are there (rofl)

(face in hands breathes deeply, i've passed away) who who who gave him those lines i cant tell if they need an award or to go yeet them off a cliff for the second hand embarrassment they are inflicting on us poor viewers

local man trying to induce jealousy in wife, bro she wrote you what do you mean? every thought of yours were her thoughts

bro looks alone

whats with the hesitation

that red dress from certain angles the front top inside looks nude

this brat is a flatterer

look who's moved on (stares judgementally)

why do you sound like you are announcing a funeral, did u think she would be upset you are getting married, bro u r the only one waiting here she's living her best life

yeah look who's moved on, u lying lier, stop looking so transparently delighted that she might be upset at losing you, this is just pathetic i can read you and i suck at understanding expressions

hah u r the least of her concerns, in fact u dont exist, yaoyao is her fav, how does that feel bro (smirks)

lady i get you are caught up in your head that this is your story brought to life but how do u not see his upset disappointed face

and u, how dare you lead yaoyao on like this (angry hissing)

he's still alive (shocked pikachu face)

his heart is gonna give out…..gone for good….?….?….?

murder bestie you are still watching for that ungrateful friend of urs (eyes filling with happy tears)

[severedheartsxo]

How I got told to go f*ck myself

7/24/25

Line Cook local tex-mex place that was the ad I read online. Interviews with kitchens are high stresses for me, I built dreams on the idea of working in the chaos finding some sort of masochistic satisfaction on it. For someone with not a huge restaurant resume but powerful ambitions I thought I could push my hardworking nature and passion to get me in this kitchen. How f*cking stupid is that, Now i've had bad interviews but never to this point have i felt so degraded, unprepared, unqualified, undeserving all with just one look. After a few days of not showering, living like a degenerate I decided it was time to pick myself up by the boot straps instead of being a depressing unenthusiastic pain killing bore. It could be the amount of Bourdainism I've gotten into or maybe my fascination for that damn good cooking drama on Hulu but I really wanted to cook. I saw myself as a cook, briefly I mean I have made Mexican food before. Hell its in my blood to cook these meals and when I applied to that tex-mex place all these possibilities of a chaos kitchen, long sweaty nights, passing out on the bus stop waiting to go home. I was grinning for that chance. The interview came around and immediately I was nervous, there was already another guy here for the interview! He didn't exactly give off master chef or Enrique Olvera pressure but it felt as if he could smoke me, spit me out and snuff me out if we had to go one on one. The more I sat there anticipating what I would say, how I could phrase,

“ you basically need to teach me everything “

in nice coherent words that don't make me sound like a waste of another check. “Chef” was the name of the overlord in this establishment, tall, semi built white guy for this small hispanic kitchen, equipped with these piercing blue eyes. Someone once told me that people with blue eyes can see deeply into someone soul. Chef could definitely read your soul with the first guys dismissal for some idiotic naive reason I thought this meant,

“oh he must haven't been the shit I thought he was”

oh the humanity, the first topic was about my experience as a chef. Jesus f*ck watching his face when I said words like

“fast food, chipotle, under a year, 2 years since I've been in a kitchen”

it was like watching some drunkard stumble over their words to the bar tender begging for another drink promising they weren't as drunk as they seem. I was doing the shittiest job in the world trying to make myself seem like a good cook all I could do was portray how bad I wanted it. Passion obviously wasnt enough for Chef even if I was to change my day job schedule, work alone on tuesdays, all I asked was a little help with the menu then I'll pick up my slack. It didn't help that I'm a Mexican/Costa Rican Hispanic and I cant even speak spanish or understand it that well. The only thought in my head while I'm talking to him is

“i am f*cked”

Generously I get introduced to the only cook in today “Jorge” as a test of my knife skills Jorge has me cutting green peppers. In between the “nice, good job” while cutting we chat about the place, been working since 2017 place opened up a few years before. They want someone to carry their own weight, get orders out in time, communicate with the others and be QUICK. I completely fumbled this talking portion with Jorge sounding too unsure about my skills but weirdly dedicated to trying to learn. Jorge didn't seem impressed by this, he saw what my skills were at and probably deduced I wasnt gonna catch up in the amount of time they wanted me to. I don't know this for sure but once Chef came back inside and talked to Jorge I got the impression that I just failed this test. All the green peppers cut Jorge motions me to Chef, I say thank you walk over to him. In an instant of seeing me he puts out his hand.

“thank you for coming in”

his piercing frozen ocean eyes, every wrinkle on his face smiling in a cold friendly smile. There was no added promise of a return or call back just a thank you for coming in. In this expression alone it felt like the kitchen stood still for me. He might as well have told me

”go f*ck yourself get out of my kitchen”

Its clear he wanted a trained militant that could cook, speak Spanish, with little to no guidance needed on their end. He didn't want to train a soldier. now defeated and ego bruised lit a cigarette in front of the place , walked down the street, took a bus went home and cracked open a beer in defeat. I've never had an ego death on Acid or Mushrooms but i imagine it would feel like this. At the end of day i wasnt the tough shit i thought i was and I should pick up a knife and a book.

[thefanficmonster]

Infatuation

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It’s not a secret that Corpse prefers taking care of his hair himself rather than going to a hair salon to get it trimmed and/or tampered. However, he only has so much knowledge of how to properly do it without having to obliterate his budget. Luckily, his girlfriend comes to his rescue.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for the incredibly fluffy request! I’ve been very pumped to write it and now here it finally is - so sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but I still hope you come across it and give it a read! Love, Vy ❤

“Um, what are you doing?“

I just walked into Corpse’s apartment to find him barricaded in the bathroom, giving himself a hair appointment. We were supposed to have a chill night in watching movies, but it seems to me like those plans will either have to be delayed or canceled, given the chaotic state both Corpse and his bathroom are in. I mean, how dumb was I to expect he was actually doing his hair justice when he told me he styled it himself? Why didn’t that immediately raise an army of red flags in my head and lead me to question his methods?

I’m honestly quite jealous of Corpse’s hair. It’s always so soft and silky and no matter how much or how little effort he’s put in it, it always looks good: either evidently carefully styled or boyishly messy, it leaves me with heart-eyes regardless. But to see him massacre it like this, it makes me wish I could report it as a crime.

“Ain’t obvious?“ He sounds rather frustrated and I feel at least slightly better due to this fact. He deserves to be as frustrated as I am by the sight of the crap he’s doing. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to wait for me for...a little while. I just need to get this under control and, um, clean the mess. Sorry for ruining your night like this, babe. I-I really wasn’t planning on it to take this long but I forgot to buy one of the products and I thought I could wing it without it but...I very clearly can’t so...“

“Please, stop talking. I don’t need to know what sins you’ve committed - if I do I’ll probably have to give you the silent treatment for like a week or so.“ I call out to him as I quickly skip over to the kitchen to leave the food I bought on my way over before returning to the bathroom and carefully taking a step inside, mindful of where there are hair strands on the tiles. Even severed, his hair is beautiful and I have a ton of respect for it - ok fine, I adore it. Corpse definitely doesn’t appreciate it properly. I walk over to the shower, reaching out to the two shelves inside which are lined with different types of hair products. “Oh fuck...“ I let out the whisper without even realizing it because I’m so stunned by the brands I see on those shelves. “Corpse, um, what the actual fuck?”

He turns to me, eyes wide and terrified because of my menacing tone. “What? What is it?” His gaze searches the spot where mine was just pointed at, looking for anything that could’ve provoked such a reaction from me. Seeing nothing but the hair products, he meets my deadly glare yet again, “What’s wrong?”

Alright, this man-child needs some serious help

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong.“ I say, stomping towards the exit of the bathroom, “You’re gonna stay here and wait for me to come back and don’t you DARE, even touch your hair, let alone bring a pair of scissors or any chemical near it. Copy?“

“Copied and pasted, ma’am.“ He salutes me, knowing better than to ask questions when I enter my commander role. There are quite a few things that set me off into this bossy-ass persona, and hair mistreatment is most definitely one of them. Thing is, Corpse doesn’t know that. Well, he didn’t know that, pretty sure he’s guessed it by now.

Feeling myself soften at his obedience and trust, I give him a smile and a wink over my shoulder as I go to grab my bag and leave the apartment to complete my mission, “Good boy.”

                                                              *  *  *

“Isn’t that a lot better?“ I ask, gently running my fingers through Corpse’s freshly cut, washed and dried hair. I’ve spent a good five minutes just smoothing through it with my fingers. I bet he’s expecting me to say ‘my precious‘ at any moment now, and trust me it’s tempting, but I still don’t, I won’t give him the pleasure of predicting my actions. Wow, we’ve really reached that level of being familiar with one another that I predict that he’s predicting what I’m gonna do next. While I’m a guessing game for him, I tend to think of myself as more of an open book. You just gotta be fluent in the language it’s written in to understand it.

I’ve gone off-topic, my bad.

“Yeah, you’re a lot less scary now.“ He tells me, his hand finding mine in his hair and taking it to his lips to place a kiss on my knuckles.

We’re positioned so that we’re in front of the bathroom mirror with Corpse seated in a chair in front of me and I’m for once in my life towering over him from behind. Our height difference was threatening to be a hinderance in my work on his hair, but we easily figured it out.

I can’t help but laugh, “You know what I meant.“ I curl one of his already curly strands around the pointer finger of the hand that’s still wandering around the soft dark curls while the other remains in his gentle hold, resting on his shoulder.

“And you know what I meant.“ He shifts in his seat to look at me directly, not via the mirror, “Since when do you have a hair infatuation?“

I roll my eyes and retract my hands, defensively folding my arms over my chest, “It’s not an infatuation with hair, dummy. It’s an infatuation with your hair.” I correct him, doing quick work of styling the stray strands that fall over his forehead and eyes. “I really like your hair, you already know that. I can’t handle the thought you’re doing such a shitty job taking care of it.”

He shrugs, furrowing his brows, “Hey, I was buying top-shelf products, cost me a fortune every month, my hair was being treated like royalty.”

I roll my eyes once again, “High price doesn’t always equal high quality, Corpse. Did you ever stop to read what was in those products?” I don’t let him answer, I don’t need him to confirm what I already know. “Even if you did - which you didn’t - you wouldn’t know what each of those ingredients do to your hair. You see, taking care of hair, especially hair like yours, takes patience and knowledge. It’s practically an art form. It’s not like you can just buy any product that has ‘suitable for curly hair’ on it. There’s a lot more to that.”

It’s only after I finish my monologue that I realize he’s looking at me with amazed amusement in his gaze, almost like a parent listening to their kid talk about their wish of becoming an astronaut. “Since when do you know so much about hair? You’ve been using the same shampoo and conditioner since I know you and now you wanna lecture me on hair care?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, exasperated by his stubbornness on the matter, “Who said being consistent with your hair products is a bad thing? You know, frequent changing of brands has the potential of being damaging as much as aiding.” I explain with the most amount of patience I can muster, now taking over the parent role myself, “And as for your previous question, I know so much because my mother is a hairdresser.”

His eyes widen in surprise. I can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to recall if I’ve ever told him this before.

“How come I don’t know that?“ He asks finally after a long moment of silence. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“You ask that as though I just tell you things like that on the regular. Did you also want me to drop the info that my dad’s a mechanic in passing conversation about video games? Cause that’s a little hard to shoehorn in....“ He cuts off my sarcastic rambling with a brief peck to the lips. He’s the only person allowed to shut me up, and only like that. Anything else will earn him either an earful or a silent treatment. 

Just kidding....unless...

“So, does that mean you’re continuing the family business?“ he asks when he pulls away, “I mean, you’re technically my personal hairdresser now.“

I furrow my brows playfully, “Wait, what? Since when?”

“Since I hired you approximately an hour ago.“ He beams up at me, satisfied that I’ve fallen in his trap.

“And what about my payment?“ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He looks to be contemplating for a second before he stands up from the chair, taking my hand in his leading me out of the bathroom, “Well, each appointment you’ll give me a different price, Miss Y/L/N. But, considering today was your first day, I choose to pay you with dinner.“ He sends a wink my way, laughing when he’s met with an unamused expression on my part as I stop in my tracks, causing him to halt his movements as well.

“You really plan on paying me with the dinner I bought?“ I raise an eyebrow at him, freeing my hand from his so I can put both my hands on my hips for the complete 'I’m far from impressed’ look.

“Yeah...? Problem?“ He asks, faking nervousness and guilt as he closes the distance between us, once again returning to the default of towering over me instead of it being the other way around.

“Several actually. First of all...“ I raise my finger in the air accusingly, ready to go off but the arm that wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground causes my words to die down, evaporating in a frightened squeal, “Corpse no!! Put me down!“

Of course, he ignores me, carrying me into the living room while I don’t know whether to thrash or stay as still as possible. 

Tsk, so much for gratitude

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[jeonfiles]

once more to see you | kth 01

pairing: taehyung x reader ft. seokjin

genre: angst, fluff, unrequited love

synopsis: taehyung is the complete opposite of you, and you're so in love with him. he's not interested in you at all, but he's willing to pretend so he won't be known for breaking the sweetest girl in school's heart. he knows you'll end up hurt either way.

warnings: taehyung is an idiot, a lot of pining, y/n is annoyingly dependent on validation, y/n does a lot of silent prayers, y/n is a track star, childhood bsf seokjin (cute), mentions of deceased family member

music for this chap: she had the world , carry me out

a/n: taehyung will disappoint u in the beginning but hes cute i promise

"I get why you like him Y/N," Sohee swallowed the rest of her sandwich before finishing her sentence, "He's so hot. People say he's interested in you too, y'know?"

Sohee visibly tried to get food out from the back of her mouth using her tongue, and it made you chuckle at the sight. "I don't think he does." You sighed, resting your chin in your palm.

You were both situated at the table in the inner corner of the cafeteria, with a full view of who walks in the door, and sometimes you swore you could see Sohee drool when attractive guys walked in that exact door.

"Hello, of course, he does! Even his friend Jimin told Kang Seulgi from Class 1, who told Go Euntaek in class 3, who eventually told his girlfriend Baek Ho-rang who ran to me to tell me the great news." Sohee gasped for air after rambling, and you rolled your eyes,

"Stories change when that many links contribute." You scoffed, sitting back in your chair and reaching for your juice box on the table, taking a huge slurp, which you knew would annoy Sohee.

"You don't believe me? Guess we gotta ask a link closer to the source then." Sohee stood up from her chair, and you looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Park Jimin, get your ass over here will ya?" She nearly shouted across the cafeteria, and now all looks were pointed at you two, and you felt the urge to just slip down the cracks of the floor tiles and hide there forever grow stronger for each nanosecond.

You sunk further down on your tacky, orange chair, but you could still see Jimin's black locks sway a little over the crowd as he walked over to the table you were sitting at.

"What's up sugar?" Jimin smirked at Sohee, and Sohee didn't even budge, and you had no idea how she did it. He was stupidly attractive and could make any girl drop her pants with a comment like that.

"Jimin my dearest, a little birdie told me that Taehyung likes my sweet Y/N, could you confirm?" She batted her long lashes and smiled prettily at Jimin.

He looked to the left, sucked his teeth, and said, "I can't, I'm sorry." You realized you had grown a little too hopeful, and your heart sunk quite a bit when he spoke.

"Does he think I'm pretty at least?" You spoke up, eyes shining when you looked up towards the standing Jimin, the harsh lights in the cafeteria reflecting in them.

"He hasn't mentioned you much, to be quite honest." He shrugged, walking back to his table, where Taehyung and the rest of his friends sat.

Your heart thumped when he met your eyes, and you looked away in panic. The rest of lunch was just Sohee apologizing and you avoiding eye contact with any of the students at the nearby tables.

Jimin mentioned you and Sohee's name several times, he was a loud speaker, and you were so scared of what he was saying you could probably die right then and there.

Saved by the bell, you picked up your stuff and got ready to start running to your classroom, praying you wouldn't meet any of Taehyung's friends, and especially not Taehyung as you ran Usain Bolt style.

You looked down while running, not thinking twice about leaving your best friend behind, you suddenly fell to the ground with a thud. This was surely not one of your glory days.

When you looked up, you wanted to cry. It was none other than Kim Taehyung, and he didn't look pleased. You gathered your things and muttered "Sorry." under your breath probably about 10 times, and he just watched, disappointingly.

"You're a klutz. Why were you running?" He spoke, and your knees turned into jelly when you tried to stand up, you nearly fell and dropped all your stuff again, but he caught you by the arm, straightening you up like it was nothing.

"Uh... Uhm... Err..." you mumbled, and he rolled his eyes, and not in a joking manner. "Fuck that, why are you going around telling people I like you?"

Your breath hitched, and he stared at you coldly. "I didn't! Gosh, my friend Sohee told me someone had told her that you liked me, and- uh... We asked Jimin, and-" He put his hand over your mouth, making you shut up.

"I don't want you two to go around making up baseless rumors about me, it's incredibly annoying for me to go around correcting people who assume shit just because your little friend speaks louder than a bunch of hyenas at a tea party." Taehyung nearly spat, and you took a step back.

You noticed that people were listening in, their stares burning holes in your back. He was livid, and you didn't understand why, you just smiled, praying to god that this would end soon.

"I just thought you liked me-" You began, and he interrupted you, "You thought I was gonna like someone like you? Get over yourself and enter the real world."

The hallway went silent, your lips trembled as hot tears raced down your face, and like the track star you were, you fled the scene and passed the finish line into the bathrooms.

You stayed till the school day ended, not knowing what was unraveling outside the four walls of the stall.

Sohee 💜: 01:12 pm

Y/N, where are you? i heard what happened :( i hate taehyung im gonna chop his sausage off

Sohee 💜: 01:38 pm

taehyung is fighting w doyoung because doyoung decided to defend you this is hilarious

but fr where are you

Sohee 💜: 01:57 pm

doyoung gave taehyung a black eye damn

doyo is on the verge of tears when taehyung said you liked him and not doyo

taehyung cant not have feelings for you like there must be smth deeper going on

Sohee 💜: 03:39 pm

class just ended i'll wait out back

Sohee always knew when to leave you alone, so she did, partially. You usually shut off your phone when you're upset, but she still sends you texts to update you whenever you turn it back on.

This time, it was quite dramatic, and you rushed out of the icky stall and ran (again) to reach Sohee to get the full story, and as you expected, it was interesting.

"Basically, Doyoung punched Taehyung and Taehyung was a little too OP, so he failed to initiate a fight, so it just turned into Taehyung being an ass to Doyoung for defending you." She shrugged, adjusting the straps of her leather backpack as you walked home.

"Taehyung's rep is so tainted right now, I don't know how he's gonna fix this my dear Y/N, so I guess he got his karma. He's an idiot and I'm glad other people are starting to see."

You nodded yes, pushing out a fake chuckle, while silently you prayed that everything would soon be back to normal and that Taehyung would forgive you for the mess you caused.

Being in love with Taehyung for a year had taken a toll on you, and your best friend since freshman year had noticed too. You were different.

You used to be so independent and optimistic, but now you would strive for validation, and you had turned into one of the most insecure people Sohee had ever met.

Sohee tried to pull you away from him, but to her demise, it only got worse when you tried to meet other guys. She figured that the only way for you to disconnect from him was if you had your go with him, or if he treated you like a complete idiot.

You waved goodbye to Sohee as you entered your house, kicking off your shoes and throwing yourself down on the couch. You wanted to scream, but you saw your brother's and another guy's shoes in your hallway, so you kept it inside.

After having watched an episode of Seinfeld, you could hear the floorboards creak, and your gaze found its way to the hallway, where your brother, Yoongi stood, peeking out from his door.

"Ah, Y/N, you're the one who's home?" He smiled brightly, eyes turning into small crescents, which made you awe at the sight.

"Yuppers." You said and sat back again, pressing play to start the next episode. "Who's your guest?" And as you uttered your last word, another head peeked out from the door, and you couldn't help but feel the happiness brew inside you.

It was Kim Seokjin in all his glory, and this time, he looked even hotter. It had been about two years since you last saw him because he moved to Germany to study medicine.

Seokjin had been your neighbor since you were born, and you pretty much grew up with two older brothers who always took care of you.

No one dared to mess with you, because Seokjin and Yoongi always got to them first. That way, you grew up without a care in the world, protected from all evil.

You had no idea when you fell in love with him. It was somewhere during puberty, where your interest in Brad Pitt and Kim Soohyun from Dream High had grown stronger.

You remember Seokjin was scouted for modeling, acting, and even idol groups all through your childhood. He did a few ads, photoshoots, a popular teenage drama called Double Trouble, and even managed to get his own Wikipedia page.

There was no doubt that Seokjin was an attractive man, and in the two years he had been gone, his face fat was completely gone, and he had defined cheekbones, a slimmer and tighter figure, and you thought he couldn't be any more perfect.

"None other than God himself," Seokjin said smugly, opening his arms to greet you with a hug, and you threw your blanket you were covered into the side as you bolted into Seokjin's arms, legs wrapped around his waist.

He slowly put you down so your feet touched the parquet, and you felt a kind of euphoria as he smiled at you again, the same smile he had flashed you as long as you could remember.

Everything about Seokjin had matured and changed, but his smile remained the same. "What are you doing back?" You sniffled, holding back the happy tears that were forming in your eyes.

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I love Germany, but it's a little bland. I miss ahjumnas complimenting me on the subway and the bomb ass food here in SK." Seokjin grinned as he wiped a tear that fell down your face.

Yoongi was leaning against the door frame, smiling at the grand reunion. You knew he liked seeing you two together, and you had a small suspicion about him shipping you guys.

"Please don't ever leave again." You gripped onto his shirt, digging your face down in his chest, and he said, "I swear to god if you're wearing makeup right now-"

You laughed as you pushed him away, placing your hands below your chin and batting your eyelashes dramatically, "I'm all-natural."

"Naturally pretty." Seokjin leaned forward and whispered in your ear, and your heart did a little somersault.

Seokjin's always been a charmer.

You woke up in your room, pink sheets draped over your half-naked body as tons of messages poured in on your phone, vibrating so much it nearly fell off the edge of your nightstand.

You grab it while rubbing your eyes, and you're shocked to see the messages that had exploded on your lock screen.

Unknown: 08:39 am

Hey, it's Kim Taehyung.

Look, I'm sorry for the shit I said to you and I would love to make it up to you in some kind of way.

Maybe I could take you out?

I get it if you don't want to, but I heard you were interested in me so...

What kinda food do you like? Activities, hobbies?

I really wanna make this right :)

You: 08:43 am

oh hey! I'd love to, you kinda owe me one. if it's your treat, I suppose we could get some sushi and boba...

btw I don't like u like that

Contact made, saved as "taehyung <3" at 08:44 am

taehyung <3: 08:47 am

Okay. Meet me at Nori Table at 6 pm. Don't make me wait.

Your heart was palpitating, and when you pressed your phone up to your chest, you could feel your body heat up from your scalp to your toes.

Maybe Kim Taehyung had no interest in you right now, but he sure would after tonight. You were gonna make him love you, soon enough,

Running to the shower a few hours of Seinfeld later, you scrubbed with all your might with your newest strawberry scrub, did your makeup, curled your hair, and sat down on the couch, outfit draped over the armrest of the chair.

It was an hour till you were leaving, so for the time being you sat with hair rollers in your hair, dressed in pink sweats. Seokjin and Yoongi had been awake all night, you had heard them laugh and play Mario Cart all night, it reminded you of old times.

Old times where you went to bed crying because Yoongi and Seokjin's bedtime was later than yours at sleepovers. Thinking back, your parents made a pretty rational decision, but you resented them for it.

When Seokjin left for school in Germany, during your Sophomore year you cried again. You thought it was so unfair that you had to be two years younger, why couldn't you come with him?

You were painfully in love with him, and you had been probably since you were. A few months after he moved, your feelings faded. You were love-free, only to fall stupidly in love again with Taehyung just a year later.

You were forced to snap out of your train of thought because you heard the floorboards creak again. When you looked over at the dark hallway, you saw a tired, yet familiar face smile at you.

Seokjin looked quite disoriented, hair ruffled and eyes puffy, yet he looked like a Greek god. Sculpted to perfection, he smiled at you like he did yesterday and all the times before.

"Morning." He grunted out, his morning voice prominent. You chuckled when you looked at the time, feeling kind of bad for Seokjin who had slept away the majority of his day, which you knew he didn't like.

"It's 5 pm, cutie. Mom said you guys could order takeout, cause she's working late." You stood up, and Seokjin gave you a good look up and down, and then diverted his gaze to the lavender ruffle skirt and white long-sleeve blouse you had neatly hung over the armchair.

"What's the occasion?" He nodded over at the clothes and then your hair rollers and full-face makeup-covered face. He threw a few walnuts from the little bowl on the coffee table into his mouth.

"It's none of your business, but I have a date tonight," you said smugly, and a walnut flew out of Seokjin's mouth in shock.

"A date? Like a real one?" He frantically asked, and you nodded as you walked away with your outfit in hand.

You came back out minutes later, and Seokjin had to hold his mouth shut so it wouldn't drop to the floor. You had matured so well, a white blouse adorning your waist, and the lavender skirt hugged your curves nicely.

You had decorated your neck and ears with golden jewelry, and you had a pair of Air forces dangling from your left hand. You were beautiful, hair let free from the hair rollers, curls swaying as you did a twirl.

"It's alright, I guess." He pretended not to care, and your proud grin morphed into a frown pretty quickly, and he noticed.

He stood up and walked towards you, standing very close. His tall figure was hovering over you. Seokjin leaned forward towards your ear, not whispering this time,

"You're gorgeous." He pushed your curls behind your shoulder, adjusting your golden necklace as he returned to Yoongi's bedroom.

You were screwed.

The time on your phone showed 6:06 pm. You recall him saying ‘don’t be late’. What a hypocrite. It had started to pour down, so you were squeezed up against the brick wall of the restaurant so the ledge above you would shield you from the rain.

You were shaking from the cold, legs exposed because of your skirt. Sighing deeply, you reached down into your purse to text Taehyung, but when you looked up, you saw him running over to you.

He was holding a bouquet of pink delphinium and peonies. You’d always been interested in flowers, and this small gesture made you all fuzzy inside.

“I apologize for my late arrival m’lady. The flower shop was about to close down for the day, and I had to beg the cashier to let me in, promising to buy a huge bouquet if she did.” He smiled as he stood in front of you.

“No worries sir, I haven’t been waiting for long.” You chuckled, as you accepted the bouquet. His eyes scanned every inch of your body, and he said, “You’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”

This was a side of Taehyung you had barely seen before, caring and warm. This was also the side of him that initially made you fall for him.

The memories of him reading stories for children at the hospital was heartwarming. Whenever you went to visit your brother, who has now passed, you would see him read stories for all the unlucky kids.

Your brother, who was only 7 years old talked about Taehyung like a superhero, and it seemed as if Taehyung’s stories were the highlight of his days at the hospital.

Daejung wasn’t a kid you would pity. In his last months in the hospital he never once cried. You believed that Taehyung was a big part of the reason.

That’s why you fell in love with him. He hadn’t been a superhero in the form of saving lives, but he definitely made a whole lot of sick kids happier.

How could you ever repay him?

Taehyung rested a hand on your shoulder and lead you inside the door, and there stood a beautiful tall woman, black hair to her waist, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips.

She was beautiful. You looked up to see Taehyung’s reaction, and he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at you. His eyes met yours, and you could’ve sword the whole world stopped.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice spoke up, and it kicked you right back into reality. It was the pretty woman speaking, an even prettier voice to match her.

“Do you have a reservation?” She questioned, smiling so genuinely from ear to ear. “Yes. It’s on Kim.” Taehyung spoke so confidently.

“Ah, for two. I’ll be your server tonight.” She waved for you to follow her, and before she turned around, you saw her name tag.

Bae Eunmi. A pretty name for a pretty person. Of course, she had to be pretty. Your confidence sunk even lower, and your insecurities grew.

“I’m not interested in her, by the way. I’ve talked to her before. She’s all beauty and no brains. Not for me.” Taehyung whispered into your ear, possibly to reassure you.

You sat down at the table and ordered a huge plate of different types of sushi, maki, nigiri, uramaki, and even sashimi.

This restaurant was fancy, nearly too fancy for your liking. It was huge and flashy, and it made you doubt your outfit choice completely.

The restaurant fell silent since there weren’t many guests here this early. The silence wasn’t awkward between you guys. It was just, too silent, and you decided to break it.

“Do you still write stories?” Taehyung’s face froze. How did you know about the stories he wrote? Had you been stalking him? Was this when everyone would find out how weak he truly is?

“How did you find out... About them?” He asked hesitantly, fidgeting with a small woven basket with bread placed on your table.

“When sun and moon met, moon felt bad. When the moon was alone at night, he cried, because he wanted to shine just like the sun.” You quote his story word by word, it was your favorite paragraph.

He looked at you with a confused look and his eyes told you that he wondered why you knew the story so well.

Before he could speak up, you said, “My brother's name was Daejung. He looked up to you and constantly told me about how he wanted to be like you when he grew up.” You placed your hands on top of his over the table.

Taehyung was speechless. He sat there, body completely frozen as he processed what you just said. The little boy he had mourned for many months was the same flesh and blood as you.

“Daejung told me how he wanted me to marry you because he thought no one else deserved me.” Letting go of his hands, he continued sitting completely still.

First, he felt disappointed in himself. Disappointed of the way he had treated you, how sad Daejung would be if he knew.

Second, he could see him in your traits. Your button nose matched his completely, and your eyes sparkled just the way his eyes did.

Third, he realized he had to take care of you. Fall in love with you, for Daejung. Taehyung had promised the little boy to take care of his friends and family when he has at his worst.

His expression completely changed. It softened, and his eyes looked at you like you were godsent. He believed you were too. It was fate.

join the “once more to see you” taglist

a/n: u guys know the angst isn't over lol u guys r never gonna see the light at the end of the tunnel ! this chapter was originally a bit longer but i have to test the waters and seeing how u guys like it !! pls reblog <3

[barnesonly]

Before I put all my thoughts and feelings from reading this masterpiece (because it’s so fucking long), I just want to say—loud and clear for anyone reading this review—this might genuinely be the best fanfiction I’ve ever come across on this app. No exaggeration. No empty praise. I was completely mesmerized by how beautifully this is written.

Bri, the way you captured every emotion—the grief, the love, the pain—it felt like being gutted in the most beautiful, intentional way 😭😭 Your words ache!! Every line carries weight. And the way you crafted the angst? It’s not just any angst—It hurt to read this in all the best, most cathartic ways, and I genuinely live for that kind of emotional… unraveling.

I know I say this every time, but I’ll say it again—and I’ll keep saying it: Bri, the writer you are? I aspire to be even 1% as good as you someday. And I mean that. Every damn time I say it. Your talent and creativity are unreal.

———

okay here are my thoughts I wrote down in my notes when reading, as usually…

I’ve been waiting for this one for so long. everyone shut up! My show is ON.

the memory of the funeral stop i already wanna cry. i’m gonna need therapy after finishing this fic i fear

„you would never forget how beautiful his eyes were, his hair, his scars...” That’s it. Tears stinging my eyes and I barely started the fic, fuck me with a knife now, bri, would ya?

„maybe if he had never fallen in love with you, he’d still be here.” hand me your laptop RIGHT NOW.

john my baby oh my god he is so sweet 😭😭 „but he saw what everyone else didn’t: you were losing yourself more and more every day.” john help the girl out i’m begging youuuu

okay im glad he went to go check on her… And i’m glad he told her he knows she is not okay. Girl pleaaase let him help you 💔

“He understood me,” … i feel terrible that I know who is he… crying again.

the italic at „him” and „he” gets me every time, it’s like twisting the knife every damn use of it.

„this is what he would have wanted for you” … my baby.

“today would have been our anniversary. two years. we... we had talked about…” IM A CRYING MESS!!!! crying crying crying!!!

“we had talked about getting married today. like, just going down to the courthouse and signing a piece of paper” i literally had to take a 15 minute break from reading after this. you are SO paying my therapy bills, sis i’m not even joking, actually i might have to be locked up in the padded room after this..

„you were talking about marriage, about not deserving it, shit.” OH. oh. oh no.

WALKER’S SO PATIENT WITH READER I CANTTTT… 🥹🥹

„he could have spared his son from a life of wondering why his father didn’t care enough.” STOP THE PAIN. STOP IT, I SAID STOP… HE IS BETTER THAN THAT. I KNOW HE IS. I BELIEVE IN HIM EVEN IF HE DOESN’T!!!! i scream as they drag me back to the asylum

„the only person who had ever hugged you this tenderly was him.” yeah so… might throw up!!

„how that hollow emptiness in your chest, where your heart is supposed to be, only grows more and more inside you every day.” this is so beautifully written wtf

“every day, I wake up and I can’t stop thinking about how it’s all my fault,” someone please give him a big kiss and tell him he’s enough

THE PANIC ATTACK AND HE’S NOT THERE OKAY IM IN TEARS AGAIN WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!!! WHYYYYY!!!! „but he’s not there.” i’d so turn into wanda just to shift realities and be with him honestly, that would be the start of my villain arc.

„you bury your head into his side of the sheets, clinging to his pillow” …

the way she thinks of offing her herself and goes to walker for help oh my god. „you’re barely even dressed in anything except one of his red henleys.” you keep twisting the knife but im already all bled out.

“I woke up, and I needed him, and… and he’s gone,” 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂

walker is so good for her he is way too pure for all of this i cant i cant i cant.

HE TAKES HER TO ICE CREAM PARLOR 😭😭😭

„he’s never going to be there ever again.” i don’t even know what to say at this point ☹️

„when he lifts you off the floor, you don’t hesitate to wrap your legs around his waist and let him lay you down on his bed.” WALKER I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH LIKE SO SO SO SO FUCKING MUCH MY BABYYYY😭😭😭😭

SAMMMM!!! my face lit up after all the damage.

„look, I know he and I weren’t exactly on good terms before the accident.” Im actually coming at you for this one.

JOHN COVERING FOR READER!!! Oh he so cares for her.

“what you’ve told me stays between us.”  i’m bad down for him.

“I miss him,” i wish you could see how red my eyes are at this point this is fucking torture

“I know, sweetheart,” WHAT THE— ?!?!!!!??? crying, screaming, throwing up??!!!!

„come back.” whatever you say, prince charming!!

“you look beautiful.” […] “last night, you looked… and now, still.” […] he’s looking at you… like… how he…” i— … wow.

„IM NOT HIM AND I NEVER WILL BE” SO WHAT. SO WHAT JOHN. YOU’RE ENOUGH, YOU’RE SO GOOD I LOVE YOUUUUUUU.

“that feel good?” She’s a mess, I’m a mess, in mess we unite.

„not daring to leave a mark. it’s not his place” Oh, wow again.

“can I take these off, sweetheart?” so hot im wet […] „and it’s okay to tell me no, too.” That’s even hotter

„I want to feel you, please. I need you to fuck me,” *insert that one tiktok audio* it wears….get it sexyyyy get it sexyyyy!!

„say my name” oh he’s insecure🥹🥹☹️☹️

“good job, sweetheart,” my thighs twitched

“I’ll give you as many as you need,” SAY WHAT NOW JOHNNNNNNNNNN 😁😊😊😊

she’s going to HIS room now oh god no i just stopped crying.

the pic with sam ☹️ THE DOG TAGS 😭😭😭😭

his scent—fuck im so done with this goddamn fic. I don’t think i ever cried this much during ANYTHING.

„you can’t save him, you can’t tell him one last time how much you love him.” Bro.

THE DOG TAGS STILL ON HER NECK.

„IS IT OKAY IF I WEAR THESE?” he better say fucking yes.

john is literally so fucking good he is such a sweetheart i cant—

„I was so ready to be a dad.” ☹️☹️

„you’ve lost the love of your life. but he’s lost three of them.” ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

Ava being so straightforward 😭😭 i love my unbothered queen.

„what the hell is wrong with you? how could you do this to him? he died, knowing that you were it for him. you were his soulmate, and of course he was yours–” im literally so mad at you for hurting me so much.

the way she blames herself for finally being happy after him ☹️☹️ girly you’re not a traitor you deserve to be comforted…

SHE PUSHES JOHN AWAY NOW ☹️☹️

„we can’t! it’s not right, it’s not fair to him!” ☹️☹️ i just wanna hug her.

THE NAME REVEAL OH GOD. i mean i did KNOW but idk it hit so hard anyways☹️😭

(I literally loved all the signs throughout the fic though, the red henley, the dog tags, sam… the descriptions of him being the leader…☹️☹️)

„I don’t want to lose you like I lost him!” THATS IT AT THIS POINT I’LL JUST SIGN UP FOR MENTAL TREATMENT 😭😭😭

they said i love you…🥹🥹

OH THAT’S THE END HOLY FUCK WHAT A ROLLERCOASTER OF EMOTION IT WASSS… oh my!! thank you for this wonderful experience… (my written down thoughts are so messy but so was my mind when reading this… sorry.)

fill the void - nsfw john walker

word count: 16.4k inspired by fill the void by the weeknd. disclaimer: major character death. strong depictions of grief, trauma, depression, PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, homicidal ideation, insecurity, more I can't remember. read at your own discretion. *please note: there is a deliberate repetitive usage of italics in this work. if it bothers you, I apologize, but you'll quickly understand its purpose within the fic. a/n: I hope you all enjoy this. it's my baby that I poured my entire heart and soul into.

fic playlist.

~~~

you never thought you would end up in the bed of John Walker, of all people.

but then again, you never thought you would lose the love of your life.

~~~

of course, that was a naive take. there was always the possibility that this exact thing would happen; every day was another day closer to the end, another leap too close to the sun.

time would run out eventually. it always did. 

and yet, it was still too soon. you weren’t ready. you never could have been.

you didn’t have the luxury of living a normal life. you didn’t get to vacation to Mexico or retire to the south of France. you were cursed to this hell from day one; you all were. 

that’s the life of a fighter, a soldier. cursed to live in battle and to die a warrior’s death.

the little girl in you didn’t want to believe that. the little girl in you, the little girl you once were...

she had hope. she had dreams of happiness, of having and being something more than the future you now lived. 

maybe she thought both you and him had already been through so much that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten through the worst of it. that the universe would show just a little bit of mercy on you. 

that’s stupid. it’s all so fucking stupid.

that’s what you told yourself when you couldn’t stop your endless crying at the funeral, that you were stupid and idiotic for not being able to hold back your tears in front of everyone.

that’s what you told yourself when you sobbed yourself to sleep for weeks afterward, still picturing the life you could’ve had together in another lifetime. 

another lifetime?

you’d both already lived too many lives, and yet the final outcome would never change. no matter how many alternate universes your mind could conceive, universes where you could’ve been happy, it would never work. 

you were cursed to a life of war and eternal despair in every universe.

you cried a little harder at the thought.

~~~

you tried everything to move on from your grief.

you tried taking time off, you tried throwing yourself into your work. you tried going to the gym, you tried going to therapy (although you’d never admit that to a single soul). you tried isolating yourself, you tried being in the company of as many people as possible at all times. 

you tried drinking, but it didn’t take long before your job was being threatened because of it, so you swore off alcohol real quick. intoxication never worked, anyways, no matter how much you wished it would. 

maybe if it did, it would be worth losing your job over. just to not have to feel the loss of him.

nothing worked. 

you would never forget how safe you felt in his arms, even though he worried he’d hurt you with them. you would never forget how beautiful his eyes were, his hair, his scars...

you had never loved anyone before him.

anyone.

you let yourself be stupid, naive, and vulnerable with him. you let yourself fall in love with him no matter how bad of an idea it was, and now you’d learned your lesson in the worst way possible.

maybe...

maybe if he had never fallen in love with you, he’d still be here.

~~~

John Walker couldn’t pretend to understand exactly what it was that you were going through, but he could empathize. losing the love of your life was a universal experience no matter how different the circumstances were. 

at least you had the opportunity to leave things on a positive note.

he hated himself for thinking that, for trying to compare your situations. what he was dealing with wasn’t the same, didn’t hold a candle to the pain you were feeling. you were distraught, and rightfully so. 

no one on the team, other than him, had ever seen you like this. you were always so put together, the perfect soldier who never let anything get to her. you were untouchable, indestructible. 

until one of you didn’t come back from battle.

then? then you were a wreck, losing every ounce of the self-composure that you’d trained into yourself, regardless of how you felt inside. 

he hated himself for trying to delude himself into thinking that you were the lucky one. he hated himself for trying to reason that at least you had still been in love in the end, that you had been truly happy in your relationship. 

he hated that your loss wasn’t your fault. 

but, in a way, his faults were also a comfort you didn’t have.

when his relationship was coming to an end, he saw it from a mile away. of course, it didn’t make the truth hurt any less, but at least he knew it was coming. his divorce was inevitable.

your heartbreak had come out of nowhere. 

the stab in the gut he felt was far more painful than any injury he’d ever sustained when he realized that unlike you, he at least had the chance to say good-bye. 

~~~

he watched as you went through the motions, trying to pretend everything was fine. he watched as you tried to make changes in your life, giving yourself the grace to fall apart to try and let the grief pass. he watched you try to drown yourself in alcohol, and work, and everything else possible to try and move past the all-consuming pain.

everyone else tried to turn a blind eye, because that’s the same thing they would have wanted if they were in your situation. they tried to pretend that everything was normal, that you were fine.

that’s what they thought would help you.

besides, they were dealing with their own grief, too, no matter how different it was from yours.

but Walker knew better. he knew that space was the very last thing you needed, because he’d been where you’d been. he was still mourning the marriage he lost, and as such, he had a semblance of insight into your situation that the rest of the team didn’t have. 

the one thing he had, that you yet hadn’t had, was time. he thought that with the passage of time, you’d get better. he just needed to give you the space and privacy to work through it. 

so yes, he pretended to turn a blind eye. without your knowledge, he observed you carefully, watching you as though he had inherited you as his to protect. 

he did a shitty job of it, he’s sure, but at least he kept you alive. 

on top of that, he made damn well sure you weren’t going to lose your position because of your drinking. that was the one time in the three months following the accident that he stepped in.

he had truly believed that letting time go by would help. that by now, you would at least come back to some semblance of yourself. 

but he saw what everyone else didn’t: you were losing yourself more and more every day.

~~~

he can’t keep doing this.

he can’t continue to stay out of it and leave you alone like everyone else, the way you want everyone to.

comforting people, getting involved in their personal business...

he tried his best when the situation presented itself. but actually approaching you, trying to have a serious discussion with you about your feelings?

yeah, he knows how that’ll go. you’ll do the same damn thing he would do to someone else, which is to yell at them for being nosey and slam the door in their face. 

he lets out a sigh as he stands outside your door. he has to at least try. if not for you, then for your lost love. 

it’s late, later than most colleagues would bother each other. but, he argues to himself, he isn’t here as a colleague.

he is going to try to be a friend. if he even knows what that means anymore.

so he summons the courage to knock on your door.

~~~

the majority of the time, when you were needed for any reason, you were notified in a more efficient manner: a phone call, a text, even a blaring siren throughout the building. any of those would have been the expected notification that there was something that required your attention.

nobody had knocked on your door in months. not since him.

you pause for a moment, knowing you can’t avoid whoever is standing on the other side of the door. something serious could be going on, something work-related. so you bite your lip and force yourself to stand from your comfy spot in the bed, pulling a hoodie over your head before answering the door. 

when you open the door, you honestly expect it to be anyone but Walker. what does he want from you? 

“what’s up?” you ask, trying to remain monotone. you shove your hands into the pocket of your jacket, hiding the way your hands shake in anxiety. your assumption is that something is wrong, something having to do with your position on this team. 

you know you deserve it, but you truly don’t want to get let go. you need this, this job, this team. if you lose this, too, after everything that’s happened…

you might not survive it. 

he stutters for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. he had this whole plan to come up here and actually say something, do his best to try and offer you some support. and yet it never crossed his mind how to actually broach the topic with you.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” is what he eventually settles on.

you fight with yourself in your head, concerned he’s about to give you the can, while also angry at the fact that he dare ask you that. 

is he serious? it’s only been a few months since you lost him, how well can you possibly be doing right now? 

no, he’s just trying to help.

a little late for that.

better late than never.

you shove down your anger and elect to return the polite sentiment. now isn’t the time to make things worse, not when you’re still not sure if your job is in trouble. 

“yeah, I’m alright, thanks,” you respond. 

he notices your attempt to put on a brave face, which normally, you’re so good at. normally, no one would know you had any other emotions than pure confidence and “danger is my middle name!”

he caught you off guard coming up here like this, he knows he did. so he predicts his next words will most likely either send you into a spiral of rage or fear. 

“I know you’re not.”

excuse me? you think to yourself. 

how dare he? how dare he act like he knows what you’re going through, like your entire life isn’t over, like he knows how badly you want to just end it–

“and before you yell at me, I don’t mean to intrude. I’m just trying to help.”

why the fuck would he think he can help you? he doesn’t get it, of course he doesn’t.

he sees the look in your eyes as you contemplate how you’re going to respond, how you’re boiling with anger as he predicted you would be. he doesn’t blame you for it. 

you must stand there seething for a little too long, apparently, because he starts answering every question that you’re quietly asking yourself. 

“I know I haven’t gone through the same shit you’re going through, but,” he pauses, trying to gather the will to talk to you openly in hopes that it will encourage you to do the same. “but I did lose my partner in combat, you know that. and you know about... about my wife.”

the words burn his tongue as they leave his mouth, leaving nothing but a rotten taste in his mouth as he’s forced to confront his own wrongdoings. his own past, his own losses. 

“I know it’s not the same, but I can understand how you’re feeling. so, you can talk to me,” he gently encourages. it’s a long shot, and he’s still somewhat convinced you’re going to blow up on him. you should, he thinks. he’d do the same if he were in your position. 

“he understood me,” you hiss, your voice so low that he may not have heard it if not for his superhuman hearing.

he sighs in acknowledgement. he feels your pain in his chest, in his bones. 

“I know,” he quietly tells you. 

once again, you contemplate for far too long. 

but after silently deliberating for a moment, you step back from the entryway, cracking the door wide enough for him to step inside. 

you don’t end up talking much for the rest of the evening. you sit cross-legged on the bed, staring down at your twiddling thumbs while he sits on the edge of the bed, scared to push further than he already has. 

“it’s just a lot to deal with,” you mumble, “and nothing seems to help.”

he hums his acknowledgement, resonating with what you’ve just told him. he wishes he had something more he could say to you in this moment, something he could do to aid you more than just sitting here in silence. 

regardless, the sentiment went unspoken that evening: you were grateful he was trying.

~~~

the next time he knocks a week later, you’d missed an important meeting in the afternoon. after he had set you straight regarding your drinking not long after the accident, you’d taken every precaution to make sure your work wasn’t affected. you could still be a productive member of this team, and you would prove it. today, though, you let yourself look bad by not showing up. 

“what’s going on?” is the first thing he asks you when you open the door.

“I’m sorry. it won’t happen again,” is all you tell him. 

there were a lot of things that had fallen to him after the accident. in particular, someone had to step up and fill the ‘leader’ role that your partner had once filled. 

irrespective of the leadership position he now assumed in place of him, he now felt a sense of responsibility towards you. even though he’d failed at being there for you in the past few months since the accident, it didn’t stop him from feeling obligated to care for you. 

up until now, he thought he was doing what he was supposed to by giving you space. but now it was time for him to cut the bullshit and fucking do something. 

“no, come on. I’m not... that’s not what I meant,” he tries to explain, “I’m not going to yell at you. just talk to me.”

talking. wow. now he wants to talk to you? after all this time?

you force yourself to take a pause before throwing around any accusations. knew he wouldn’t have wanted you to be angry with the world, no matter how much you are.

you channel your anger into a productive response, as your therapist once told you.

(clearly, there was a reason you didn’t go back after one session, but you had to at least try.)

“you seriously want to know?” you ask him. you feel weak, and stupid, and you know you should shove down your feelings in place of putting your emotionless mask back on. you’d perfected the art of pretending to be fine before the accident. why couldn’t you do that anymore? had the loss of him truly stripped you of your ability to maintain your composure?

“yes. I want to know,” he clarifies firmly, stepping closer and leaning inside the doorway.

you fucking hate this.

this is what he would have wanted for you.

you reluctantly let him into your room for the second time this week, shutting the door behind him. he takes the same seat on the edge of your unmade bed, looking at you, waiting for you to say something.

“it was a rough day,” is all you can muster up.

he blinks at you, unappeased, expecting you to continue. of course that’s not enough to placate him.

“this is stupid!” you laugh nervously, staring into the distance as you consider your next words. “this is so…” you trail off, getting lost in your thoughts. it’s childish. pointless. 

painful. 

a moment passes before you take a deep breath.

“today would have been our anniversary. two years. we... we had talked about…”

the memory haunts you. you can’t deal with this, you don’t want to be confronted like this, forced to admit the reality you face. forced to accept the loss of the future you could’ve had.

he just watches you and waits patiently for you to continue. 

“we had talked about getting married today. like, just going down to the courthouse and signing a piece of paper. nothing big. we just wanted to make it official. I don’t know, it feels so impossible now, so stupid. like, what was I thinking? that I could get married?” you ramble, beginning to laugh at yourself in your stupidity as you finish, “I don’t deserve to have that luxury.”

you think to yourself for a few more moments, considering the fact that you’d finally said it out loud. saying it aloud made it real, giving existential proof to your thoughts, to your sadness.

you take a few more breaths, all the while he doesn’t yet respond.

you finally look up at him, frustrated with the situation, resting your hands on your hips as you wait to see what he has to say. if he’ll even bother. 

except he isn’t looking at you anymore, his head hung as he stares down at your floor.

oh, fuck.

you were talking about marriage, about not deserving it, shit.

“fuck, you know I didn’t mean that,” you try to recover, feeling even more anxious and panicked. he was trying to help you, and what did you do? you went and offended him.

“no, it’s alright,” he says, still not looking up to meet your gaze.

he’s the one lost in thought, now. 

what business had he ever had getting married? did he really think that someone like him, a proud military man turned fuck-up Captain America, could hold onto his marriage? his kid?

he would have been better off never getting involved with a woman in the first place. he could’ve spared her, and himself, all that heartache. 

he could have spared his son from a life of wondering why his father didn’t care enough.

he finally looks back up to you, noticing the anxious expression on your face. he’s still not used to seeing you look as anything other than put-together.

“how do you do it?” you whisper to him, feeling the way your eyes well up with tears. don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you urge yourself. “how do you deal with the pain?”

he wishes he had an answer for you.

he stands from the bed, makes his way towards you slowly, and embraces you like you’re made of glass. 

the only person who had ever hugged you this tenderly was him.

~~~

the next time he knocks on your door, he feels selfish. 

it’s only been a few days. although you haven’t missed a single meeting since, still learning to maintain your facade in front of the team, he can tell you’re still stuck. how that hollow emptiness in your chest, where your heart is supposed to be, only grows more and more inside you every day. 

he feels like he’s being incredibly self-absorbed showing up at your door like this, making it about him, when you clearly don’t have the mental wherewithal to deal with his issues on top of your own. 

he knocks anyway.

this is becoming habit, you think. 

you don’t hesitate to let him in this time. as he walks in, you can tell something is wrong. he’s quiet, not inquiring about your well-being the second he sees you. you watch as he proceeds to sit in his trademark spot on the edge of your bed. 

“you’re going to hate me for what I’m about to say,” he begins. you prepare for the worst, assuming you’re going to be kicked out, kicked off the team–

“I’m jealous of you. in a way,” he admits.

you’re severely depressed, severely lost in life, all because you lost the one person who meant the most to you. and now Walker is jealous of you? 

if you’re honest, you’re more curious than angry.

“why?” you whisper, sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed.

“because at least you know what you had was real. at least you don’t spend every day questioning whether he actually loved you. and, fuck, I know this isn’t fair to you,” he rambles, shutting his eyes and shaking his head in frustration. 

you don’t know what you’re supposed to do. what the fuck do you say?

“every day, I wake up and I can’t stop thinking about how it’s all my fault,” he admits to you. 

you didn’t know John Walker had it in him to be vulnerable, to be honest with you in such a way. sharing his deepest fears to you, someone he barely knows beyond work? 

you should question it, but you don’t. 

you do the only thing you know to do, and you wrap your arms around him the way he’d done for you days previous.

you let him bury his face in the crook of your neck for as long as he wants, never once letting himself shed a tear in front of you, before excusing himself. you watch him wipe his nose and eyes as he runs out of your bedroom.

your stomach twists when the door shuts behind him, leaving you all alone once more.

~~~

you can’t breathe.

it feels like your lungs are on fire, your throat is collapsing, and your stomach is plummeting, you can’t breathe–

you instinctively reach to his side of the bed. he always knows what to do when this happens. he understands what it’s like to be woken in a panic, fearing that you never escaped, that your past is not in the past after all. 

but he’s not there.

and your whole world comes crashing down all over again.

you bury your head into his side of the sheets, clinging to his pillow, praying that your breath doesn’t come back to you. 

you pray that your lungs give out, that your lips turn blue from lack of oxygen. you pray that you choke on your own vomit, you pray for anything to let you escape this reality that’s far worse than any nightmare your subconscious could ever dream up.

is this living? is it even worth it to keep going, to keep powering on when your heart died along with him three months ago?

you sob for god knows how long, your chest aching and your nausea increasing as your turmoil never settles. 

eventually, your lungs find their breath again. your stomach does settle.

except your heart doesn’t stop hurting. your mind doesn’t stop berating you.

your feet move of their own accord. you don’t know where you’re going, what you’re going to do. 

you think about going to a bar, getting blackout drunk, starting a fight, and letting someone beat you until the lights go out forever. 

you consider breaking into the med bay, stealing and swallowing as many opiates as you possibly can before your body finally shuts down. 

you debate taking one of your knives, going into the bathroom, and slitting your wrists until all the blood in your body has seeped out, the feeling of freezing taking over.

except your feet have other plans, taking you to stand outside a door you’ve never found yourself in front of before. 

it’s 3am. you’re a mess of tears and emotions, and you’re barely even dressed in anything except one of his red henleys. you’re not thinking about any of that when you begin knocking on the door. 

he wouldn’t have wanted you to end your life. he would have wanted you to do something, find someone to help fill the void inside you. 

so you’re pounding on the door, your forehead resting against the wood, sobs wracking through you as you rest your whole body weight against the door.

when it opens, you almost fall.

he catches you. 

~~~

when he woke up to the sound of banging on his door, he wasn’t particularly happy.

until he heard the sound of crying from the other side, and he knew something was wrong. there was nobody else it could be except for you. 

when he opens the door to see you there, you clearly aren;t prepared for it, and you stumble as you lose the support of the door holding you up.

he quickly wraps himself around you, preventing you from crashing to the floor, and you fall into his arms.

he holds you there for a moment as you cry, unsure of what to say to soothe you. his mouth parts in shock, trying to force himself to wake up and figure out what the hell to say. 

every convulsion of your body is like a dagger through his heart, watching as the pain consumes you whole, unable to do anything to help you. he knows that pain, has felt the pain of losing the most important person in the world. 

“he’s gone, he’s gone,” you sob into his chest, your hands shaking as you dig your fingers into the skin of his back. he feels tears come to his own eyes as you cling to him, unable to support your own weight as the pain envelops you entirely. 

“I woke up, and I needed him, and… and he’s gone,” you whisper, your body starting to relax as the exhaustion consumes you, forcing you to settle. he recognizes the sudden change and finally moves. 

“come on,” he whispers back to you, carefully wrapping his hands around the back of your legs, picking you up and laying you down in his mussed sheets. “you’re going to pass out from dehydration.”

you lay there, in a bed that’s not your own, still desperately reaching for a man that’s never coming back. 

Walker returns to you only a moment later with a small bottle of water, forcing it into your hands.

“no,” you mumble, burying your head in the pillow beneath you, refusing to accept it. 

“yes,” he says firmly, still trying to get you to take it.

you don’t. your face is pressed into the softness of the pillow, muffling your next words:

“I want you to kill me.”

he takes a pause, jaw stuttering as he tries to come up with an appropriate response. he shouldn’t be surprised by your statement, and yet, he is. 

“you don’t mean that,” he tries, looking at you with caution. 

“I do,” you reply, turning back to face him.

he stutters again at hearing your words. 

“listen to me. you have to stop saying that. I’m not going to kill you, and I don’t want to have to report you for this,” he tells you. 

the thought stings. the idea of losing you? after they’d already lost him?

“you’re not going to report me, Walker,” you whisper back, voice soft and devoid of emotion.

he knows you’re right. 

“you’re right. I won’t. but I won’t have you hurting yourself, either.”

the exhaustion begins to force your body to fall back asleep, your eyes shutting against your will.

he forces the water into your hand again.

“sip. and go to sleep.”

~~~

you wake up a few hours later, in a bed you don’t recognize, all alone.

all alone.

alone.

your eyes are so swollen it feels difficult to open them. you blink a few times, all while beginning to remember the night previous. 

in your pain and suffering, you ended up embarrassing the hell out of yourself. 

you quickly stand from the bed to bolt, memories of the night before collecting in your mind, a whirlwind of your desperation to just end it all. 

you dart down the hall towards the staircase, trying to head back to your own room, when you bump into him coming around the corner. 

“fuck, I’m so sorry,” you say, begining to apologize profusely. “for everything. I shouldn’t have burdened you with all that, I shouldn’t have… wait, where did you sleep last night?” you inquire as your thoughts become a conflicted, indecipherable mess in your mind, still half asleep. 

“couch,” he says, looking at you, the pinch in his brow and small frown on his face telling you he’s fairly concerned.

it’s then that you realize you’re pants-less and he’s shirtless.

just as he opens his mouth to speak again, you bolt. you can’t stand to hear the lecture. 

~~~

he wants to tell you there was no need to apologize, to tell you that you don't need to hide from him. 

instead, he lets you go.

except he knows he can’t forget about this. after what you said last night...

you were right: he isn’t going to report you. but he doesn’t trust that you’re not a danger to yourself, that you’re capable of working in the field right now. 

Walker was never supposed to be in this position. he was. he was your boyfriend, he was the leader, and now...

he didn’t know what to do.

he always knew.

but he had to do something. 

that evening, he knocks on your door sometime in the evening, earlier than usual. you know it’s him, probably here to give you the lecture you narrowly escaped hearing this morning. 

let’s get this over with, you think. 

when you open the door, he sees the darkness of your room, just now taking in the sight of the windows completely covered by tarps and blankets, the lights turned off. he notes how you don’t appear to have changed your clothes from the night before.

he takes a breath and hopes his plan works. 

“get dressed. we’re going out,” he asserts, not giving you any room to protest. 

“what? what’s wrong? is there–” you begin to panic, assuming that there’s a worldwide crisis that suddenly needs your attention. 

“nothing is wrong,” he clarifies. “just... get yourself together and come downstairs, yeah?”

now you’re confused. where are you going? who else is going? you’ve barely bothered to go out, unless it was absolutely necessary, since before the accident. 

by time you think to argue with him about it, he’s already walked away. 

~~~

so he takes you to... an ice cream parlor. 

“seriously? this is your definition of going out?” you question him. the expression on your face reflects your confusion, yet your tone is teasing. 

“oh, shut up. just go with it,” he responds, nodding his head towards the door to urge you inside. 

you end up sitting in the corner of the place, sharing a cup between the two of you. you watch as people come in and out, placing their own orders.

families. young couples.

happy people. 

it pisses you off.

“why the hell did you bring me here?” you ask him, your anger boiling over. you turn to face him, no longer amused by his choice of outing. 

there’s a reason you don’t go out anymore. how, exactly, will it help you to see the rest of the world going on as usual, when your world stopped spinning months before?

you shouldn’t have come.

“you needed out of your depressing room,” is all he says. his response is curt, and to the point. maybe he’s right, but this? fucking exposure therapy? this is no better.

“oh, come on. that doesn’t tell me why we’re here, of all places,” you complain to him. you’re really not happy. 

he takes a pause.

“Olivia and I came here the first night we moved to New York, ” he confides in you, all while refusing to meet your eyeline.

oh. you almost feel bad for your sarcastic and unappreciative tone. 

except you continue to ponder his response, and realize that technically, his explanation isn’t an explanation at all.

“so you purposefully wanted to relive painful old memories, then?” you pry. “because–”

“I just wanted to get you out, okay?” he snaps back at you, his gaze meeting yours once more. you shut your mouth after his outburst, and he sighs, frustrated with himself. he continues, softer now, “just eat your ice cream.”

you sit in silence for a little while longer before he decides to bring up the night before. 

“I need to know that you’re not going to put yourself in danger,” he says. he sounds like your boss right now, not your… whatever you are to each other. friends?

you could roll your eyes. you could scoff. you could curse him out.

you do none of the above.

“I won’t,” you say blankly, shrugging your shoulders. 

“except I’m really not inclined to believe you. it’s not just you I’m concerned about. if you get out into the field and do something stupid, any of the rest of us could get hurt. I know you understand that.”

the memory flashes across your mind like a horror film playing out right in front of your eyes.  the one you haven’t gotten out of your head in three months. it’s a much needed eye-opener for you, finally hearing what Walker is saying. 

“I’m not going to hurt myself, and I’m not going to do anything stupid,” you tell him in earnest. 

you think on it for another minute. he’s right: you know better than to jeopardize the safety of your fellow team members. maybe it’s your overconfidence, or maybe it’s your clarity in this moment that encourages you to give him a nod.

“I mean it, Walker. I promise you,” you affirm. 

you sincerely mean it. 

~~~

a few nights later, you wake up in the middle of the night from another nightmare.

it’s the same damn thing every time: you’re confronted with a terrible memory from your past, you wake up unable to catch your breath, and you reach for him.

except he’s not there.

he’s never going to be there ever again.

what’s different this time is that your first thought isn’t to act rash, or to consider all the ways you can end your life. 

you let yourself accept that what you need right now is to not be alone.

you find yourself outside his door again, except your tears are much softer, your body not as shaken as the time before. you manage to stand on your own two feet as he opens the door for you. 

“I need you,” you tell him softly, looking into his tired eyes, your own red and watery as the tears continue to fall down your cheeks. 

you’re shocked by your own admission. you never let yourself need anyone except him. you thought that the worst thing you could do was open yourself up again, to be vulnerable with anyone ever again. 

but he would want you to. 

Walker is shocked, too, but he doesn’t hesitate to reach for you, pulling you inside the dark room you almost feel safer in than your own. 

you stand there for a long time, clinging to him in the middle of the room as you softly cry into his chest. he doesn’t once let you go, whispering softly into your ear as he massages the back of your head. 

your breathing begins to even out. the waterworks soften as your mind calms itself.

before him, you hadn’t known what it was like to feel comfortable with someone enough to be open and honest, to let yourself go in front of them. 

if you went back in time and told yourself that of all people, it would be John Walker that you cried in front of, you wouldn’t believe yourself, and yet, it was true. you felt safe, comfortable with him in a way you’d never felt with anyone other than him. 

when he lifts you off the floor, you don’t hesitate to wrap your legs around his waist and let him lay you down on his bed. 

and when he begins to pull away so you can get some sleep, you only cling to him tighter. 

~~~

something about this feels wrong.

no. that’s a lie.

he wants it to feel wrong. to hold his girl, to let her sleep in his bed. to be the only person she trusts with her pain, the only person who can provide her solace?

he wishes it felt wrong. 

to hold someone new. someone who wasn’t Olivia, for the first time in…

it doesn’t feel wrong, no matter how much he knows it should.

as you sleep, he watches you. he watches when your face finally relaxes and your tears finally quit as sleep grabs hold of you. he can’t help that he feels something as he watches you like this. he had intended to leave, to sleep on the couch, to not cross this boundary.

but you had held onto him. you didn’t want to let him go. 

you didn’t want to be alone.

so no, he isn’t going to leave you here all by yourself. you’d come to feel comfortable admitting to him that you weren’t okay, that you couldn’t be alone. 

he knows what it feels like to wake up alone, desperate for your person beside you, only to find them gone and be reminded of the harsh truth: they’re gone.

he isn’t him, and you aren’t her. but he isn;t going to let you wake up the tomorrow morning all alone. 

so he holds you as you sleep, one hand rubbing your back, another cradling your head to his chest to keep you close until his own mind drifts off. 

~~~

as you wake up the following morning, you feel the heat of a warm body wrapped around yours, a hand in your hair and one around your waist. 

for the first time since the accident, you didn’t wake up alone. you always woke up alone. 

even when you startled from your sleep, terrified out of your mind and bawling your eyes out, you were alone. you always reached for him, but he was no longer there. 

this is the first time in months now that you’ve woken up in a bed that isn’t your own, curled up in someone’s arms, with someone that isn’t him. 

it stings, thinking about him. how much you miss feeling him beside you, the feeling of him kissing you awake.

but more than that, it feels nice to be held. it feels nice to be cared for, to not be alone for once.

you bury your head deeper into his bare chest as he holds you, strength uninhibited even in his slumber. you shove down the feeling that you shouldn’t be here, that it’s wrong to let yourself relax into the arms of another man. 

you need this. 

when he wakes not long after, he glances down to where your face is pressed against him. you look like you’re trying to hide, he thinks to himself. 

“you okay?” he whispers, voice rough from sleep. you immediately perk up at hearing him speak, tilting your head upwards to face him. you can almost feel his gentle breathing on your skin as you meet his eyeline. 

“I’m alright,” you confirm, voice quiet. your mind is conflicted, distraught.

you miss him. you miss waking up in his arms.

but why aren’t you revolted by the thought of waking up next to Walker?

you’re so close, so entangled with one another, and you’re suddenly made aware of every little touch. one of his hands traces circles over the back of your neck, the other pressed against your back where your shirt rides up, his pinkie finger just barely brushing over the skin of your lower back. you have to take a deep breath. 

he’s looking down at you so carefully, as though he thinks you’re about to start crying again. 

the feeling of him wrapped around you is too good to be true. you will yourself to gently pull away from him, losing the heat of his body against yours. you suddenly feel as though you’re hypothermic. 

“thank you for letting me sleep here,” is all you can muster. you want to thank him for taking care of you the night before, for not letting you wake up on your own this time.

you don’t.

you sit on the edge of the bed for another minute in silence, neither of you quite sure what to say.

the worst part? it should be awkward. it should be tense, uncomfortable, weird...

but it doesn’t feel that way.

you stand and make to leave when you hear him say, “you don’t need to knock next time.”

you don’t let him know you heard him.

~~~

you get a phone call later that day. 

there’s a part of you that’s kind of upset that you haven’t heard from him since the funeral, but honestly? you’re just glad he reached out at all.

“Sam!” you say excitedly when you pick up the phone. “it’s so good to hear from you!”

he proceeds to explain he’s been busy, dealing with bureaucratic bullshit, but he’s been meaning to reach out. 

“I’m in town. you wanna grab dinner tonight? it’ll be good to catch up,” he offers.

~~~

you have to admit, it does feel good to get out. you end up wearing a dress you haven’t worn in a while. 

it’s one he bought for you.

you stare at yourself in the mirror and remember the look in his eyes when he first saw you in it, the way he about cancelled your dinner plans just so he could have you all to himself.

you look away from the mirror and refuse to start crying at the memory. now isn’t the time. 

you grab your purse and make your way to the elevator, looking down at your phone as you wait for the doors to open. when they do, John is standing on the other side, covered in sweat from head to toe. 

“gym?” you inquire as you trade places with him, stepping into the elevator.

“yeah. but, where, ah... where are you going all dressed up?” he asks. you look more like yourself than you have since before the accident. it’s refreshing to see. 

you look beautiful, he thinks. 

“I’m getting dinner with Sam,” you tell him.

he wasn’t expecting that.

“have a good time,” he says, but by that point, the elevator doors have shut in his face.

obviously, Sam and John had a rocky start. you’d only ever heard things from his point of view until the whole "New Avengers" thing had happened. and yet, he’d never spoken disrespectfully about John. he may not have liked the guy, but nobody knew better than he did that everyone has their own shit going on. 

by time the team formed, he and John had seemed to move on from their issues. 

but Sam... John didn’t know where he stood with him. 

he just had to pray you didn’t come back from dinner deciding that you hated him.

~~~

“so, how have you been? really, I mean,” Sam asks as you snack on some appetizers.

“that’s a loaded question,” you laugh, trying to brush it off. you knew he was going to ask you that, and you knew he would push you for the truth if you lied and claimed you were fine. “what matters is that I still have a job.”

“you know that’s not all that matters,” he says with his trademark smile, and you know he’s about to say something that makes him sound like a shrink. “you deserve to be happy outside of your job.”

happy. that’s an interesting word to use in this line of work.

“I haven’t gotten myself killed or fired, and I think that’s enough,” you tell him with an obviously fake smile. you take an obnoxiously large drink of your wine. 

“look, I know he and I weren’t exactly on good terms before the accident. but I know he would’ve wanted you to move on.”

you have to bite your tongue at hearing that. Sam continues when you don’t respond. 

“Walker told me–”

“what?” you suddenly perk up. what the hell? has John been talking to Sam behind your back, telling him things you thought were just between the two of you?

“Walker told me that you were doing just fine, and that I shouldn’t worry about you,” he assures you. “but I think he’s wrong. I don’t think he’s paying enough attention to make sure you’re okay to work, and I need to be sure that you are.”

instantly, you feel the relief sink in. he covered for you. John lied to Sam and didn’t reveal to him a single thing you had said in confidence.

“when did you talk to Walker?” you ask, trying to deflect from the point Sam is trying to make. you knew he would bring this up, but you’re still distracted by the discovery that John put himself on the line to protect you. 

you have to force yourself to pay attention to Sam as he continues. 

“it was purely a professional discussion. if any of the members of your team aren’t fit to work, including you, you know I have to step in,” he tells you. 

“and yet you asked Walker about me before you asked me about me,” you speak up, trying your best not to sound overly accusatory.  

you don’t really understand any of the bureaucratic stuff, nor do you care to. you either have a job or you don’t, and that’s fine by you. but the fact that he spoke to John before you?

does he think that little of you?

“it’s just because I’m worried about you,” he excuses, “and I needed to cover all my bases.”

you nod your head, pretending to agree without saying much else on the topic. you don’t want to fight him on this, not here, not now. it’s upsetting, yes; but you’re more concerned with the fact that John protected you. 

“so, tell me: is he right? are you safe to work?”

your mind is already elsewhere when you answer.

“yes. I’m safe to work.”

~~~

you walk right to his door when you get back to the compound after dinner.

your mind is all over the place right now. why would he cover for you? you could both get in trouble for this. he could get in trouble for failing to report you for all those destructive things you said. did he just lie to Sam out of spite, because they had a difficult history? or did he actually do it for you?

you needed to know.

you know this isn’t what he meant when he said ‘you don’t need to knock next time.’ he meant you don’t need to knock when you’re in crisis, not when you’re deliberately trying to bust his door down to demand answers. 

but you don’t care. you’re uber-focused and desperate at this point.

when his door suddenly slams open, so quickly that it smacks against the wall from force, he’s not expecting it so suddenly, so soon. 

when he sees you, he expects the worst. you just had dinner with your close friend, someone who hates him, and he can’t know for sure what went down. what Sam might have said to you to make you come to your senses about him. 

is this over? whatever this is, between the two of you? are you done with him?

are you about to cuss him out, yell at him to stay out of your life?

he mentally prepares himself for whatever you’re about to say to him, no matter how bad it’s going to hurt.

“you spoke to Sam,” you assert. the look on your face is one of confusion, and yet, you seem determined. your tone of voice is upset as he had expected.

“yes, I did, but–”

“you didn’t tell him,” you interrupt. it’s just then that you realize his TV is still blaringly loud on the wall, that he’s not wearing a shirt, preparing for bed.

it sends you back into reality, your whirlwind of emotions calming. it makes you want to apologize, run out, and quit being a fucking bother to him.

you can’t do that.

“you didn’t tell him any of it,” you repeat, still stunned.

his jaw stutters as though he’s working on finding the words.

in his head, he’s just surprised you don’t seem angry. you don’t seem like you’re about to freak out on him. 

as you walk over to sit next to him on the bed, he clicks off the TV and you give him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“it wasn’t any of his business,” is all he says to you. you notice the way he avoids meeting your gaze, the way he stares down at the remote in his hand and fidgets with it. 

“it is his business,” you claim, “having suicidal thoughts–”

“it’s not his business!” he reasserts, raising his voice and cutting you off. he takes a breath to calm himself before speaking again, in a much softer tone, “what you’ve told me stays between us.” 

“you should’ve reported me. you should’ve... I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be protecting me,” you whisper. “I’m not worth the trouble.”

he sighs in frustration at hearing your words.

“listen to me. we’ve talked about this. I know you’re not going to do anything stupid, okay?” he tells you, resisting the urge to reach out and take your hands in his. sure, you’ve already slept in the same bed together, held one another, but...

he doesn’t know the right thing to do here.

“how do you know that?” you ask, your tone reeking of desperation. normally, those words in this context would sound like a threat, a challenge to what he just said. but your tone of voice conveys the truth: you’re genuinely asking. you want to know why on earth he believes that.

“because I trust you. and I think you trust me enough at this point to just talk to me instead of hurting yourself.” 

you go silent. 

he’s right. you do know better by now. you know he’s here for you, and something about the way he holds you eases the hurt more than the idea of never waking up again.

you sit together in the silence for a few minutes. you feel his gaze on you, looking at your profile with what you think is a look of concern on his face. you stare down at your lap, fiddling with the hem of your dress. the dress that he bought for you, goddamnit–

the tears start again thinking about the memory of when he bought it for you, the first time you wore it for him. 

“John,” you whisper, still staring down at the fabric over your knees, anxiously trying to smooth it over your thighs. your voice is shaky and barely comprehensible, only loud enough to be picked up due to the fact that you’re sitting so close to him. you feel the warmth of your tears beginning to flow down your face, and you try to wipe them away when he finally reaches for you. 

he brings a hand to the back of your neck and another to your cheek, turning your face to look at him.

“I miss him,” you whisper. 

you let yourself feel the way he pulls you in close, his hand on the back of your neck trailing up to thread itself in your hair and pressing your face gently into the crook of his neck.

you let him move you into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, tears falling down your face quicker now. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, rubbing his other hand up and down your back in his best attempts to soothe you. “I know you do. I know.”

~~~

when you wake up in the middle of the night a few hours later, you’re taken off guard. the first thing you register is the fact that, once again, you’re in John’s bed. once again, you’re entirely wrapped around one another.

your brain quickly catches up with the fact that you’re still wearing the dress, and your face feels gross and sticky from crying the night before. you slowly begin to untangle the mess of limbs you’re trapped in so you can get up. the movement must wake him up because his grip suddenly tightens on you.

you freeze in place, your lungs holding in your breath as you anticipate whatever comes next. 

“don’t,” is all he says. 

he’s awake enough to know better, you’re sure of it. he’s awake enough to know this is dangerous, to be aware of what it is he’s asking of you.

the fact that this had already happened once was pushing it. to become a repeat offender?

“I need to shower,” you whisper back to him. not once does he open his eyes, but even so, you see the way his facial expression shifts as he processes your words.

he doesn’t immediately let go of you, no. he keeps you in place as though he’s thinking about if he’s going to let you go.

“come back.”

fuck.

this is dangerous. you both know it. you both know that you’re hurting, that you’re missing him. you know he’s missing her, too. 

you don’t have it in you to say no to him. 

it’s the middle of the night, but you’re wide awake. you have no more excuses left in you to explain away why it is you’re doing this, why you’re deliberately returning to his bed, in nothing but your pajamas and dripping wet hair. 

you know exactly what you’re doing. 

the bubble of guilt in your stomach grows bigger with every step you take back towards his bedroom, slipping inside the door and under his sheets, into his arms. 

you still wish that you were being held by him.

and yet you’re glad to be in the arms of the man currently holding you tight, protecting you from your thoughts, protecting you from letting the pain consume you entirely.

~~~

in hindsight, you should have known that it was only a matter of time. your sad, broken heart had never let you think that far ahead, never let you think that there could be a time, a person after him. 

how could you possibly move on from losing the love of your life? the man you would have died for, killed for? even now, you still would. you’d fight until your dying breath just to defend his honor, to uphold his good name. 

and yet…

the next morning, you wake up in the same intimate position you’d found yourself in the morning before. your arms around his shoulders, your face up against his bare chest, legs intertwined with his. he must be awake, you think, because you feel a hand gently massaging the back of your head. you’re boiling alive, beginning to stir while encompassed by his warm figure. 

“good morning,” he whispers to you, watching as you pull your head back in order to face him. 

“hi,” you respond, your eyes still blinking themselves open. you’re suddenly aware of how puffy they are, how swollen your face feels from crying once again. you pull one hand away from his skin to dab at your own, diverting your gaze away from his as you realize how red and inflamed your face must look. 

he’s still looking at you, though. 

“I’m a mess right now, sorry,” you tell him, tucking your chin further into your chest as you lean back, rubbing your eyes. 

“you look beautiful.”

your heart stops beating. your whole body freezes in place, his words not processing in your mind. he’s complimenting you, comforting you, it’s 

it’s all wrong. this has to be some inexplicable dream you’re having. 

“last night, you looked… and now, still.”

he pulls his hand away from where he’s holding the back of your head, bringing his fingers to gently tilt your face back up to his. 

he’s looking at you… like… how he…

your breathing restarts all too quickly, rapidly picking up its pace as you realize the position you’re in. 

he’s been taking care of you, putting your pain above his own, giving you privileges he would never grant to just anyone. he’s held your hand in your darkest moments, protected you from ruining your career and from taking your own life. 

he was never ‘just a friend.’

it was only a matter of time, you think, when you lean forward and press your lips to his.

~~~

you’re soft. 

he doesn’t deserve soft. 

and you’re hurting. 

he pulls away from you, choosing his next words carefully. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers to you, “and I never will be.”

“I don’t want you to be,” you whisper back to him. 

that’s enough for him. 

his lips find yours once more. harsher, faster this time. 

you’re being rolled back, splayed over his sheets, laid out underneath him. the way he kisses you is deep and slow, somehow so distinctly John. 

not once had you ever imagined this happening, and yet, the way he touches you is exactly what you would have expected from him. a hand in your hair, tugging at your scalp and tangling the strands in his fingers. yet he seems needier, more desperate than you’ve ever seen him. 

his other hand at your hip repeatedly adjusts its grip, unable to determine if you’re truly real and underneath him right now. the repeated motion continues to draw your attention, a repetitive movement that his anxious mind won’t let him quit. 

you press a hand firmly over it, trying to still the motion and ground him in the moment. 

it seems to work. 

he never quits kissing you, tasting you through it all. you feel the change as one of his legs slots itself between yours, his knee pressing up against the fabric of your underwear. a choked noise falls from high in your throat, alerting him to what his actions are doing to you. 

his fingers keep toying with your hair as he tentatively moves his leg against you, paying close attention to how the action makes you react. 

your whole body shivers in response. your lips finally break apart from his as your head dips to face down to where your hips are now mindlessly rutting against him. he gives you another one, once more increasing the pressure against you, and in the same instant, he ducks down to catch your lips with his again. it’s perfectly timed for him to feel the way you gasp as he moves against you, for you. 

he does it over and over, his lips gently brushing with yours as you gasp repeatedly with each one of his movements. his eyes are parted just enough to see the way your eyes are shut tight, your whole body reacting with everything he gives you. 

“look at me,” he encourages you, “open your eyes.”

you blink your eyes back open, your whole body distracted in experiencing a pleasure you haven’t felt in a very long time. you’re a trembling mess, whining and gasping against him as your hips try their best to keep up with him. 

once your eyes have opened, you take in the view of his face just above your own, staring down at you observantly. 

“that feel good?” he mumbles to you, pace never once faltering. 

you stumble over your words, stuttering like crazy as you respond, “you know it does,” before letting your eyes fall shut again. your head tilts into the pillow as your back gently arches up into him. 

he moves his mouth to your neck, pressing wet kisses against your skin, not daring to leave a mark. it’s not his place, not right now. 

right now, his priority is making sure you feel so good you can’t think about a single thing else.

a part of him wants to inundate you with praise, shower you in all the compliments he can while he has the opportunity. 

but in this moment, it’s peaceful. it’s quiet, save for the beautiful litany of noises coming from your mouth. the part of him that wants to savor this, the part that just wants to let you worry about feeling, keeps him from rambling. 

he’s got all the time in the world to say the things he wants to tell you.

“can I take these off, sweetheart?” he whispers to you, his fingers tugging at the fabric of your panties where they’re bunched at your hips. his movements slowly pause, easing away from where he’s pressed up against you. 

you let out another throaty whine as he stills. you find your voice once more, reminding him, “it’s been a while.” 

his fingers trace over the fabric where it meets your skin. “that’s okay,” he tells you, his voice like honey in your ears, “and it’s okay to tell me no, too.” 

he’s trying his best to be careful, you realize. he wants, needs you to be sure of this.

“go ahead,” you whisper. 

the pressure between your legs ceases entirely, followed by the feeling of both his hands hooking fingers beneath your underwear. he slowly drags them down your hips, your thighs, past your knees until they’re completely off.

you gulp, trying not to let the nerves set in. 

you haven’t done this with anyone since him, since before the accident.

your jaw goes entirely slack the moment you feel his fingers brushing between your sensitive folds, already slick with your desire for him, having gone untouched for so long. 

and in that moment, 

it finally stops. 

the constant whirring inside your head, your thoughts reminding you of your loss, every second of every day. it all stops as your mind goes blank with John’s touch. 

he sees it. he sees the moment your mind finally quits berating you, lets you give in to something more powerful than the pain. your body releases its tension, your hands blindly reaching for any part of him to hold onto. he leans in to kiss you, dragging you out of the fog and into the light, back into this moment with him where it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

his fingers press deeper, pushing inside you as he positions his hips strategically to keep your thighs spread for him. you wind up with both your hands in his hair, tugging, playing with it as he licks into your mouth. you whimper against him as his hand pulls back, only to push inside you once more, deeper, twisting inside you with each withdrawal. 

he works you like this for a few long minutes, lazily kissing you and enjoying the way you toy with his hair, relishing every noise you make for him. you’re so warm, so inviting, so good for him. 

he pulls back from the kiss, just for a moment. “you okay?” he mumbles quietly. he can distinctly hear the wet noises coming from between your legs, noises that would probably embarrass you if he brought them up to you. 

it’s music to his ears, same as every sound that falls from your lips. 

he could spend forever listening to you. 

“yeah, fuck,” you respond, the sound high-pitched and desperate. “more? please?”

you’re irresistible, impossible to say no to. 

“you want more, hmm? what do you want?” he mutters, pace holding steady as he continues the motions of his fingers. 

“I want to feel you, please. I need you to fuck me,” you whisper back. 

he can’t deny the attractiveness of your words. 

he has to take a pause. 

“say my name,” he instructs, looking at your face more urgently now. his bows cinch together as he waits. 

“John,” you whisper back. your eyes are glazed over when you look into his. 

“one more time, can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“I know you’re not him,” you whisper, holding his eyeline as you say it. “and I’m not her.” 

he lets out a breath of relief before repeating, “I know. I know you’re not her. I want you,” he responds back. 

“I want you, John, please… I’m okay. I’m ready.”

his hand slowly retreats from its spot between your legs, his fingers coated in you reaching for the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. he watches as more and more of your skin is revealed to him, each and every mark that you would consider an imperfection only drawing him in. he wants more, wants to touch, wants to feel you. 

most importantly, you trust him. you trust that he understands, trust him to be the one after him.

you never expected that there would be, never wanted there to be someone after him. 

and yet here you are, willingly sharing a part of yourself with someone who isn’t him.

“please,” you whine as he sheds his shorts, “please, please, please…”

he calmly hushes your begging, assuring you, “I’ve got you. I’m gonna give you what you want, I got you.”

you’re distracted, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you grow impatient. you grit your teeth, trying to hold on, trying your best to wait. 

and then you finally feel him against you, finally pressing inside. 

your eyes roll back in your head, your entire body going lax underneath him. you haven’t felt this full, this good in a long time. 

he sees how your mind shorts, his own sense of self-control melting away just as yours is. there’s not a thought in your head as he stretches you open so beautifully, all for him.

“say my name,” he whispers into your ear one last time, when your mind is empty, when there’s only one thing you can think of–

“John,” you whine out in your stupor. 

that’s the confirmation he needed to hear. 

“good job, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

next thing you know, he’s moving against you, putting all his efforts into taking you apart one piece at a time. after a few tentative thrusts, your warmth absolutely decimating his reserve, he brings his fingers back between your legs to rub your clit.

except he’s already got you worked up, nearing the edge. you haven’t orgasmed in months, and your body is rapidly falling apart under his touch. 

“I’m– you gotta slow down, or I’ll…” you plead with him, a part of your mind telling you to be embarrassed, telling you you’re going to scare him off. 

“I’ll give you as many as you need,” he tells you, “go ahead.”

with his affirmation, your mind and body let go. your breathing stops as your brain focuses on nothing but how it races through you, the feeling intense and overwhelming. 

he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t fail to continue providing you with the stimulation between your legs, the only thing you’re consciously aware of in this moment. 

he can’t hold himself back anymore from running his mouth, sharing with you every thought that populates in his head. 

“doin’ so good for me. I bet you don’t even know how goddamn pretty you look when you come for me, sweetheart… wanna watch you do that forever,” he rambles, all while holding his pace constant. 

he means every word of it. 

~~~

you lay in bed with him afterwards, the afternoon sun shining in through the blinds. you stare at the rays of light as they come through the window. 

you’d practically boarded up your own windows after the accident, refusing to let the positivity into your depression room. 

it’s nice, though, you think. the heat on your face, the brightness waking you up for the day. 

he’s laying on his side while you’re on your stomach, holding yourself up by your elbows, your head tilted the opposite direction from him as you look towards the window. his fingers trace over your skin, drawing random patterns into your hip as you lay there in the quiet. 

you haven’t run away yet, and you have no intention of doing so. 

the physical pain that’s lingered in your chest since the accident has finally dissipated, the headache you couldn’t shake finally easing. 

you finally feel a kind of peace inside, a peace you didn’t know you could find with someone other than him. 

~~~

over the course of the next week, you begin to feel better, closer to normal than you’ve felt in a while. 

you spend most nights in John’s room, sleeping in John’s bed, wrapped up in John’s arms. he never fails to whisper soft praises in your ear as you drift off to sleep, telling you how grateful he is for you, calling you his sweetheart. neither of you push any further than lazily kissing in the comfort of his sheets. 

you feel loved in a way you’ve only felt once before in your lifetime. 

you still miss him. you can’t go more than a few minutes without being reminded of something you used to love doing with him, something personal about him that he only ever shared with you. you’re surrounded by the memories of him in everything you do, everywhere you go. 

as you peel away the coverings you’ve hung over the windows in your own bedroom, desiring to feel the light filtering in, you’re reminded of something that hasn’t crossed your mind in a while: 

his room remains untouched. 

you freeze in place, still holding the blankets in your hands as you look through the glass and onto the lively city, beautiful weather blessing the people below. 

you haven’t been in his room since about a month after the accident. 

you stand there, your fingers fidgeting with the soft fabric in your hands as you contemplate whether or not you should go. 

except the decision was made for you before you even considered it. 

a few minutes later, you find yourself standing outside of his room. the door is slightly ajar just as you had left it the last time you were here. 

the last time you were here. 

the last time you set foot inside his room, you’d been clinging to his sheets, bawling into his pillows with the pain still so fresh in your heart. you had spent every night and day in his room after the accident until you considered the idea that being there was only hurting you. 

you had retreated back to your own bed, assuming that it would help you somehow. 

of course, it didn’t. but by then, you had made up your mind that it would only hurt more if you ended up back in his space, surrounded by him. 

thus, you haven’t been back since. 

you will your hand to move, to reach for the knob, to push the door open. you barely work up the courage, almost convinced you should just walk away–

you shove the door open before you can change your mind. 

you shouldn’t be surprised that everything is exactly the way you left it. the sheets mussed, the blinds drawn, his pillow on the floor. the room is cold and empty. 

stepping forward into the space, you take a shaky breath in and wipe your nose when you hear yourself sniffling. you manage to maintain your composure as you walk further inside. 

you walk by his dresser, littered with various objects: a picture of him and Sam. a handful of photo strips the two of you took while out for date night. a few polaroids of yourself posing in a dark blue lingerie set he had bought for you, smiling at him on the other side of the camera. 

there’s a bottle of cologne next to the messy pile of pictures. a small mirror hangs on the wall above the dresser. you see a book you used to pass back and forth between each other about overcoming PTSD. 

on top of the book lay his dog tags. 

with shaky hands, you reach out to pick them up. the metal is cold to the touch. you trace your fingers over the indentations in the metal, over the numbers imprinted: 32557038. 

as you stare down at the tags in your hands, your eyes get warm, threatening tears. 

you direct your gaze up towards the mirror before the waterworks start, holding eye contact with your reflection as you pull the chain over your head. you fidget with the tags for a minute as they lay on your chest before turning towards the bed. 

the sheets are all over the place and his pillow is still laying on the floor where you’d unceremoniously dumped it the last time you walked out. you had told yourself that coming back wasn’t an option for you if you had wanted to heal. 

look how well that turned out for you. 

you stand near the side of the bed, reaching down to pick up the pillow and clutching it tightly in your arms. it’s fluffy, and it’s soft, a luxury he never thought he deserved to have. 

it had been important to you that he got to have those luxuries, to remind him that he could enjoy them. no way in hell would you ever let him go without only the best. 

you set the pillow down on the bed with the rest and adjust them to look presentable. you reach to pull the sheets and comforter back into place, but before you can, the urge to lay down overwhelms you. 

the sheets are soft on your skin, the pillow comfortable under your head. 

and then you sense it: 

the overpowering scent of him on the sheets fills your nose, tripping every alarm in your head. 

it’s only a matter of seconds before you’re sobbing your eyes out, burying your face into the pillow, dragged right back into the crippling pain that you’d felt the instant it happened. 

the instant you watched his life get taken away. 

except the moment you inhale against the pillow, the scent is intensified, the pain made inexplicably worse than it already is. 

you force yourself out of the bed, away from the terrifying reminder of the worst day of your entire life. your feet trip over themselves with how quickly you move, how suddenly you run out of the room, barely able to keep yourself upright.

the only semi-comprehensible thought in your head is to get the smell off me. get away from the reminder as it clings to your clothes, your skin, lingering in your nostrils no matter how much you pinch and pull at your nose. you’re stuck, trapped in the worst moment of your life even as you try to run. 

tears continue falling from your eyes as you finally end up back in your bedroom, tugging at the fabric of your clothes. the sound of ugly sobs fill your ears as you rip your shirt over your head, trying not to fall flat on your face as you run to your bathroom. you’re trembling from head to toe. your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves as you struggle to breathe through your crying. 

the nightmare is real. in this moment, you’re there: on the field, falling to your knees, wailing out at the realization that he’s gone. 

you slam the door shut behind you, once more falling over yourself as you make for the shower. if you can just turn on the faucet, feel the hot water on your skin, then maybe it’ll go away, maybe–

there’s a knocking at the door, followed by the sound of your name being called out from the other side. “sweetheart? are you okay?” he asks you. 

“fine,” you call back, except it’s a sorry excuse for a lie. your voice comes out as nothing but shaky and squeaky, and it’s obvious that you’re still sobbing even as you say it. you finally get in the shower, pressing one of your hands up against the ice cold tile and using the other to reach for the shower faucet. you press your forehead up against your hand on the wall, trying to calm yourself.  

the water just needs to get hot. just let the water get hot, and it’ll all go away.

you shiver under the cold spray, pleading with it to get warm. 

“can I come in?” he calls out, his concern all too obvious. 

you don’t respond. the water finally heats up, finally gets hot enough to burn your skin and hurt so bad that it should distract you from the scene that continues to play inside your head. 

it doesn’t work. it doesn’t fucking work. 

you let out a wail, trapped in your own mind with the vision of the love of your life dead, in your arms, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. you can’t save him, you can’t tell him one last time how much you love him. 

your cries are so loud that you don’t hear it when the bathroom door opens and shuts. you don’t even process John’s presence in the bathroom, stepping into the shower behind you until you see him turning the water temperature down out of the corner of your eye. 

in your rush to strip yourself of your clothes, the dog tags around your neck somehow managed to stay in their place. 

“he’s gone,” you cry out, tilting your head to the side as you feel his arms wrap around you. “he’s gone. he’s gone, he’s dead, and he isn’t coming back to me,” you cry out, your sobs almost loud enough to drown out your pained words. your free hand finds its way to the chain wrapped around your neck, frantically tugging and pulling at the tags in your desperation. 

“I know,” he whispers, curling himself around you from behind. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

you don’t know how long you stand there, leaning against the shower wall, bawling your eyes out and feeling sick to your stomach. John never once lets go of you. 

~~~

by time the exhaustion takes over, your crying has stopped and your body is slumped, no longer capable of supporting yourself. 

“come on,” he whispers to you, turning you to face him. “I got you.”

the next thing you know, you’re waking up in your bed with a bath towel wrapped around your figure, his arm draped over you. 

“what happened?” you begin, disoriented and struggling to speak with how dry your mouth is. 

“I found you in the shower, crying. and then you fell asleep,” he tells you lowly.  

your fingers come back to your chest, feeling for the chain around your neck. you fidget with it for a moment while still facing away from him. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” he offers. 

a month ago, when he first approached you, you were reluctant. you were angry at the world, as you still are now, and a part of you was angry at him for trying to involve himself in your business. 

you’ve come a long way in your relationship in the last month. 

you nod, sitting up and accepting the glass of water he hands you. 

“I went into his room,” you begin, nursing the drink in your hands, “I thought I was ready. I… I spent the first few weeks sleeping in there after it happened, but I haven’t been back since. I laid down on the bed, and it just sent me into a panic. all I could see was that day, John, the day he died. I couldn’t escape it, and… and I lost it.” 

he doesn’t say a word, just rubs your arm softly as he listens.  

you take another sip of water, the tags around your neck jingling as you move. it catches your attention. 

“John,” you say quietly. he looks up to meet your eyes and waits for you to continue. 

“is it okay if I wear these?” you ask him, indicating to the dog tags around your neck. “it won’t… it won’t upset you, will it?” 

he’s surprised that you could ever think that. 

“of course, you should wear them,” he reassures you, sitting up next to you and cupping your face in one hand. “why would it upset me?” 

“because they belonged to him,” you explain, “another man. and now, we’re…” you trail off, unable to come up with the words you mean to say. 

what are you to each other? 

you’re certainly more than friends, and you’re certainly not just fuck buddies. you’ve only slept together once, and it’s more than obvious that something real is happening here.

that word stops you dead in your tracks: real. there’s something real between you and John, a connection, a trust that you’ve only ever had with him before. 

you’d still be with him if he was still here. nothing other than this, than death, would have broken you up.  

you were never supposed to end up with anyone else. 

which gets you to thinking: 

he’s only been gone for four months now, which in the grand scheme of things, is barely any time at all. 

is it too soon? 

is it wrong for you to let yourself have whatever this is with John?

“I’ll never be upset with you for that, sweetheart,” he assures you, reaching to brush his thumb over your hand as it fiddles with the metal chain.  

he’s genuine, sincere. you know he understands what it means to lose your soulmate and be forced to keep going. he knows what it’s like to be left with a million questions regarding what the hell you do after losing your person, the one you never should have lost.

he’s lost his person, the same as you have, and now? 

you’re both the person after. the person who was never supposed to exist. 

you nod your understanding and lean in to give him a kiss, all while your hand still clutches the chain on your neck. 

a pit begins to develop in your stomach, then. 

what if this is wrong? you’re not supposed to be happy, not with the things you’ve done, not after losing the most important person in your life. 

how could you replace him like this? 

~~~

regardless of your hesitance, you continue to find yourself spending all your time with him, in his room. 

you’re lying on your back on top of him in his bed, food wrappers from the take-out you ordered covering the surface of the nightstand. the sun outside begins to set, the room overtaken by darkness as the light fades. it’s quiet. 

“I was so excited when I found out Olivia was pregnant,” he says, breaking through the silence of the room. 

you can tell he’s deep in dark thought, saddened by what he’s just shared with you, based on the sullen tone of his voice. you turn your back to look at him as he continues. 

“I was so ready to be a dad, you know? it just… it felt so right. I wanted to be able to be the dad I never had. I was going to break the cycle, and be there for him, and then…” he trails off, shaking his head at the reminder. “clearly, I’m not cut out for that.”

“hey, no,” you begin, “don’t say that, you–”

“how am I supposed to keep a kid safe in this world? with all the crazy things that happen, alien invasions… I couldn’t even keep my own partner safe.”

“John, no,” you say more firmly now, taking his hand in yours and adjusting your body to face him better. “Lamar’s death was not your fault. it never should have happened, but it’s not on you that it did, okay?” 

he sits there in silence, contemplating your words. he stares down at where your hands are connected. 

“well, he’s better off without me. and even if I wanted… it’s my fault I can’t see my own son,” he says, voice cracking. 

you hate seeing him like this, forlorn and hopeless. 

“don’t say that, please. it’s not too late. your marriage may… it may be over, but he’s still your son. you can still be there, you can be his dad,” you tell him. you’re trying your best to be supportive and opportunistic, but you have no clue if it’s even helping. 

“I can’t. there’s court orders, I’m actually not allowed to see him,” he confirms, and you can see his eyes grow watery. “being… an Avenger, or whatever we are, doesn’t look good on papers. and my history…”

you squeeze his hand a bit tighter.

“they think I’m reckless, dangerous. so I don’t get to see him.”

his words break your heart. everything he’s done, everything that’s happened is what he was conditioned for, trained to do, and now? 

you’re out of words to reassure him. 

you lean forward and wrap yourself around him, stroking his hair while he begins to softly cry against your shoulder. 

you’ve lost the love of your life. 

but he’s lost three of them.

~~~

after the next team meeting, Yelena approaches you when you begin to head back to your room. 

“how are you doing?” she asks you tentatively. “you seem better.”

you can tell she’s trying her best, knowing she’s no good at this. none of you are, truly, the lot of you emotionally constipated from years of shoving everything down and pretending like your trauma doesn’t bother you, like you’re completely fine. 

“I am starting to feel a bit better, yeah,” you respond with a soft smile. 

“you’ve been spending time with Walker,” she says. nothing about the way she says it sounds like an accusation, or like she’s teasing you. she’s simply mentioning an observation she’s made.

“yeah, he’s… been helping me, I guess,” you say, the nerves rising up again.

does she know? does she know that he’s grown to be someone you care about, someone you can depend on? 

does she think it’s too soon? has the rest of the team made the same observation that she has?

do they think you’re being unfaithful to him?

“well, Ava and I would like to take you out for drinks sometime, if you feel up to it,” she offers.

a part of you is hesitant, as is the nature of trying to cope with your grief. but in truth, it sounds fun. you should get out and socialize. it will be good for you.

“yeah, I’d like that,” you tell her. 

~~~

a few drinks in, and you realize why this was a bad idea. 

“so, what the hell do you see in Walker?” Ava yells to you over the noise of the bustling crowd, the overwhelmingly loud music. 

up until this point, the evening has been nothing but pleasant. you’ve finally been able to spend time with the other members of your team, friends, if you’re allowed to call them that. the conversation never once veered into personal territory, never asking you about him. 

the sudden change in topic, especially while tipsy, isn’t doing you any favors. 

“well, he’s just been helping me,” you say, trying to keep up your positive demeanor even as your mood falters. “I can talk to him about… you know.” 

“his death,” she says. it’s obvious she’s had more to drink than you have, that the only reason she’s speaking so bluntly is due to intoxication. 

you try your best to swallow down your feelings as you respond. 

“yeah. that,” you acknowledge, your voice coming out more softly than you intended. 

“do you, though? see something in him?” Yelena asks you, taking another sip of her drink and looking at you intently. 

you know it’s just conversation. they don’t mean any harm. 

but it’s getting to you. the words are tearing at the walls you’ve built around your guilt, forcing your fears to come to light inside your head. 

“but he hated Walker, didn’t he?” Ava pipes up.

“no, no,” you say urgently, your heart racing faster. “he didn’t hate John, he–” 

you cut yourself off mid-sentence. you’re nervous. you feel like you’re on trial, being forced to explain yourself. explain how the hell you could end up in the arms of someone he hated–no, that’s not what’s happening here–

“did you sleep with him?” Yelena asks you suddenly. 

it’s harmless. they’re just asking, just trying to…

you can’t handle it anymore. 

your heart is beating way too fast, your anxieties surrounding the situation spiking.

what the hell is wrong with you? how could you do this to him? he died, knowing that you were it for him. you were his soulmate, and of course he was yours–

so why the hell are you doing this? 

why are you getting yourself involved with John?

you’re a terrible person. how dare you ever think you could be worth his love, worth more than the sum of the terrible things you’ve done, the lives you’ve taken. 

“can we get the bill and head back? I think the alcohol is getting to my head,” you say, narrowly avoiding tipping over your glass, your hands shaking while you try to reach for your purse.

you don’t deserve to be happy, to fall in love again. 

you never even deserved him in the first place. 

~~~

you don’t go to John’s room. you can’t. 

seeking out his presence, the comfort you find with him will only worsen your mental state. letting yourself feel better when he is dead is nothing more than cruelly turning your back on him. 

how could you ever do that to him?

you don’t shed a single tear when you slip under your sheets. your mind is moving too fast, berating you for letting yourself move on. 

for letting yourself fall in love again. 

is that what this is? are you in love with John Walker?

you tell yourself you’re not. you try to convince yourself that you’re just hurting, you’re latching onto him in his absence. it’s not real, it absolutely cannot be real, because then it means you’re a traitor. 

a traitor to the love of your life, your fucking soulmate, the only man you’ve ever held so close to your heart. 

it hurts. it hurts every fiber of your being to know that you do love John Walker, that you have another shot at being happy. that you’re finally learning how to move forward. 

except to you, it just feels like moving on. like you’re leaving him in the past. 

you’re in love.

and you despise yourself for the excitement that builds up in your stomach at the realization. 

~~~

the next morning, you wake up early. way too early, early enough to see the sun begin to light up the sky as it rises. 

you don’t bother getting out of bed. sleeping on all of your conflicting thoughts didn’t help, it only intensified your fears. you woke up in a daze of despair. 

you still miss him, that’s a given. you’ll always love him, until the day you die. 

but now you’re in love with someone else. 

and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with yourself. 

at that moment, your bedroom door quietly opens and shuts. you look up to see him sneaking in. 

“sorry,” he whispers, laying down next to you, “I tried to be quiet, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

he cuddles up behind you, wrapping an arm around you and settling in. you don’t move, don’t bother to get any closer to him. 

“you didn’t come to my room last night. missed you,” he whispers, sleepy. 

“now isn’t the time, John,” you say bluntly, beginning to retract yourself from his hold and getting out of the bed. you find yourself standing in front of the window, staring through the cracks in the blinds. 

“sweetheart, what’s–” he starts, but you interrupt him. you’re angry, and confused, and you can’t stand to hear the term of endearment from him right now. 

“don’t,” you hiss, “don’t fucking call me that. don’t.” 

now he’s confused. what’s going on? did he upset you somehow?

he sits up, his mind waking up with the abrupt shift in the air. 

“would you… would you look at me?” he asks you. 

you shake your head. you won’t. you can’t. 

when you don’t turn to face him, you hear the shuffling of the sheets behind you indicating that he’s standing up. you see him come into your field of view as he walks up next to you. 

“talk to me,” he says, sounding more like an order than a request. “tell me what’s going on.”

“we can’t do this,” you say flatly, refusing to meet his gaze. “we’re not doing this. whatever this is, it’s over. we’re done.”

“no,” he protests as he begins to get upset. “you don’t get to just tell me out of nowhere that we’re done without giving me an explanation. so tell me, what is going on with you?”

you exhale, frustrated, anger boiling up inside you. you finally turn to face him. 

“I don’t owe you anything,” you snap, no matter how much it hurts to say to him. you don’t want to push him away, you don’t, but what else can you do at this point? 

this is your only option. 

he takes a deep breath to calm his own anger before he continues. “you’re upset, and something is wrong. tell me what’s wrong.”

“we can’t do this!” you cry out, “we can’t! it’s not right, it’s not fair to him!” 

“sweetheart–” he tries, but you don’t let him get the words out. 

“no, you can’t call me that. you can’t–” you say, your voice breaking with every word. your heart and mind are both tearing at the seams, trying to compensate for the gaps in the other’s feelings. 

John pipes up, his own anger coming to surface. “goddamnit, would you listen to me? he would’ve wanted you to be happy! B–”

“don’t. don’t you dare say his name!” you scream back at him, seething. 

“Bucky would have wanted you to be happy!” 

everything stops.

your mind stops.

not a soul has said his name since the funeral. you haven’t said his name since the funeral.

you feel like you’re going to lose control of your breathing, your lungs practically frozen. your anger morphs, turning back into sadness. this is too much, it’s too much–

“can you honestly tell me that he wouldn’t have wanted us to be happy together?” he asks you, his tone pleading, begging you to try and understand where he’s coming from.  

you can’t help the way your lip begins to quiver, and your eyes heat up. fuck.

“he would’ve wanted me to protect you. he would’ve wanted you to be looked after.”

you can’t help but protest against him. “John, you don’t get it. I feel like I’m betraying him–” 

“–I know, sweetheart, I know, but listen–”

“–but the worst part is that I know I’m not. I know we’re not betraying him. I know that you’re right, I just…”

you pause. you don’t know what you want to say next.

“I know,” he whispers. “every day, I wake up, and I hope that she’s going to call me, but she’s not. I know that she’s not going to. I know that she’s gone.” 

he inhales as he takes in your sulken appearance, the sight of tears falling down your face once more. 

“they’re gone. we lost them, and that’s it. but that doesn’t mean that we can’t be happy without them!” he tries to reason with you, raising his voice once again. 

he doesn’t get it. why doesn’t he get that your relationship is doomed, the same as yours was with him? this was all a mistake, the whole time. the two of you were doing nothing but setting yourselves up for more heartbreak. why can’t he see that? 

you can’t hold it in any longer. your resolve breaks as you yell back at him, “I don’t want to lose you like I lost him!”

your words hit hard. the thought of that happening to you, of you dying on the job, is the worst thing imaginable.

but it’s an excuse. 

it’s an excuse coming from the part of you that’s still heartbroken, still traumatized from the accident. anything could happen to any of you, at any time, regardless. 

“so you think you’d be better off by yourself? not letting yourself have what you want, sacrificing your own happiness because you think it might save my life? news flash: it doesn’t work like that!” he responds. 

you go silent, his words reaching into your heart and yanking at each and every one of your heartstrings. 

“you deserve to be happy, sweetheart,” he pleads with you, taking another step forward, bringing his hands to rest on your arms. “let me make you happy.”

you’re quietly bawling by this point, unable to control how your body silently shakes over and over again. John moves closer, wrapping his arms around your trembling figure and embracing you while you cry. 

“I love you,” you say between sobs. “I love you, John, I love you so much. I can’t lose you,” you tell him, baring your entire heart and soul to him once more. 

“shhh… you’re not going to lose me,” he whispers to you, rubbing your back. “that’s not going to happen.”

of course, neither of you can know that for sure. the life you both lead is one of fighting, defined entirely by nothing other than tragedy. 

but you both believe it when he says it. 

“look at me,” he whispers, pulling back and leaning down to look at you face to face. he takes in your red face, wipes your tears as you sniffle. 

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you, too.” 

you nod vehemently. 

“I love you. and I know you think it’s not right, like you’re forgetting him. but you’re not. he’ll always be a part of you.”

as you take in his words, letting them soak into your mind and your heart, you begin to settle. you nod once more. 

you watch as a small smile crosses his face when you nod. 

“let me make you happy,” he repeats to you. 

you want that. you want to let yourself be happy. 

you can be happy with John without forgetting about him. 

you can let him fill the void in your heart. 

~~~

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[alreadyblondenow]

Hold it all together

“Hey uhm what do you think about me being your sister’s boyfriend?”

Pairing: Johnny x female!reader, childhood best friends to lovers

Genre: SMUT, FLUFF

WC: 1,970k

Warnings: mentions of exchanging nudes, a lot kissing, unorotected sex, mentions of condoms, its just soft sex guys hahha mentiins of dreamies being the reader’s brothers.

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD. I’ll fix it once I have time. To the

Happy, excited, and sleepless. Today is the first day of Johnny’s spring break and he has been waiting for this day, the moment freshman year started... because this is the only time he can go home and finally see you again.

Johnny has been your childhood best friend and you two are basically inseparable. Well, except when he needed to leave for college. Of course you’re devastated the whole summer just before Johnny leaves. And it was that season, you both admitted your feelings for each other. Feelings that has been bottled up for too long finally and suddenly bursted out during a friendly kiss that turned into a passionate one which led to a slow and intimate sex the night before he left.

It has been almost half a year when that fateful night happened, but everything feels so fresh for him still. After what happened between you and Johnny, your relationship with each other did not progressed to something even more serious. Although you exchange nudes from time to time, FaceTime until the morning and say ‘i miss you’ to each other together with other sweet words.

And that is why Johnny is driving his way home to you with a bouquet of flowers on the front seat of his car, fighting through his sleepiness and keeping himself awake until he reaches your house to surprise you.

When he finally arrived first thing in the morning, he met your mom first and told you that he’s here to surprise you. “She’s still sleeping, but you can wake her up if you want to. She misses you so bad,” your mom said to Johnny. He then made this way to your room with the flowers in his hand and entered quietly, careful not to disturb your sleep. He placed the flowers on your bedside table near a photo he took for you and smiled in awe because you always cherish everything he gave you.

Feeling so sleepy and tired from the long drive, he removed his shoes and joined you under the covers. Slinging his arm around your waist and finally waking you up with soft kiss on your cheek. “I’m home,” he whispered softly. You rolled to face him, surprised but you’re both so sleepy to show it so you returned his hug and hugged him tightly. The moment you laid eyes on him, his eyes were already closed, comfortable and more than happy that he can feel your presence.

And as you both sleep together in your small bed, well, small because Johnny is a big person, you bask in his warmth and meet him in your dreams. Not wasting any second without each other.

“You must be really tired” you said when he finally woke up, raking his soft hair away from his face.

He nodded and smiled at you. Finally. He thought. “What time is it?”

“Almost afternoon. But no one cares,” you said and came closer to him, finally kissing those lips you missed so much. He rolled on top of you, putting his whole weight on you while kissing you breathlessly on the lips, neck and chest. His hands were perfectly placed on your waist, his thumb is drawing small circles on your skin and as if he’s asking permission to lift your shirt and see you without your clothes on.

He pulled away to remove his thick hoodie and plain white shirt, leaving him only with his denim pants. You noticed his body changed a lot, sure the nude photos he sends were great and it makes you miss him more, but seeing Johnny again in between your legs without a shirt on and looking hot as fuck just makes you crave for him. “This is so much better than the photos you send me,”

He let out a satisfied smile and started to unbutton his denim pants and remove it in front of you. You on the other hand, removed your pajama and welcomed him in your arms again. Kissing him deeper than ever and making him touch your boobs and squeeze them, which makes you automatically part your lips and want for more.

“Have you been fucking different girls from different sororities?” You joked in between kissing him and palming his clothed cock.

“Wouldn’t even dare. How can I even think of fucking other girls, knowing that this pussy is waiting for me?” he knew you were only joking and put his thumb on your clothed pussy. Teasing you with the right amount of pressure, careful not to make you cum so early.

“How about you? Have you been seeing other guys?” you smiled and removed your shirt, throwing it somewhere and finally exposing yourself to him. He then kissed every inch of you, hands freely roam around your body, and even tickling you from time to time.

“How can I even try seeing other guys, when I already have who I want?”

You didn’t see but Johnny smiled because of your answer while he’s placing butterfly kisses all the way down your body. Kissing you lovingly and showing you how much he misses you.

After the innocent kisses, you feel him reach for your panties and hook his fingers on the garter, slowly pulling it down while he kisses your inner thighs. Preparing you to what comes next and spreading your legs a little too harsh than expected that you yelped and your body was dragged on the mattress.

“Oops. Sorry, got carried away,” he sweetly apologized to you, kissing you on the cheek before he proceeds again.

That sudden harsh movement was the real Johnny in bed. You’ve only had sex with him once, now is only the second time. But word is, Johnny fucks hard in bed. Everyone knows that because he slept with a handful of girls during high school and you’re just this supportive friend that listens to him talk about a great night or a great fuck the other night.

“Hey,” Johnny snapped his fingers and went on top of you again, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles before he makes you embrace him. “What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing. I’m just swimming in my thoughts. Uhm, what did you said again?”

“I asked if you want to use a condom”

“Uh. I don’t have one... do you-“

“Nope,” he said with a smirk. You suddenly remember that he loves fucking raw but what you don’t know is, you’re the first person he ever fucked raw. “Just tell me if it hurts. Again. Okay?”

He said, and you nod. Lining his cock on your entrance while he kisses your neck and kissing your boobs as he pushes in slowly. Tighter and tighter, your grip on his shoulders becomes. The familiar stretch of Johnny’s cock just makes your eyes shut and take him whole. Savouring every thrust he gives you, feeling every inch of cock inside you. It’s so big, you tell to yourself.

“Sorry, it’s bigger now because I’m so horny and I haven’t had sex since our last” he explained with ragged breaths near your ear.

“It’s okay,” is all you can manage to say.

He fucked you slow and deep or fast and sloppy. Either way it felt good and it surprised you how long you lasted this time.

Then suddenly he pulled away, spreading your legs wider as he changes his position. Having a better view of your bouncing boobs and fucked expression that never fails to turn him on. “Fuck Y/n,” he whined and reached for your boobs as he moves slower. Matching your moans and groans because he’s so close too. He then closes the space between you two and kissed you on the lips again like you’re about to disappear any second. Holding on to your body so tight that you’re sure it’s going to leave marks. Then suddenly your eyes rolled back and you’re breathing heavily and moaning a little too loud but no one will hear. Your orgasm completely washed you away and its all thanks to Johnny.

You smiled at him and reached for kisses to calm both of you down. “Was it a good one?” He was talking about the orgasm.

“The. Best.” You said in between kissing. “Did you come inside me?” He shook his head no. “Good. I’m not on the pill,”

“Kind of made a mess tho,” he looked to the direction of where he shoot his cum and it was on your lower abdomen and bed sheets. It was thick. His cum was so thick and many, that he was already embarrassed.

“Is it obvious that i missed you?” He asked. Kissing you on your forehead sincerely before he proceeds to clean his mess up.

“I think I need to shower,” you said.

“Okay, I’ll cover for you,”

While you were busy cleaning yourself, Johnny made himself decent again and decided to go downstairs to greet Mark and Jeno, your brothers. And eventually have breakfast with them.

“Hey uhm what do you think about me being your sister’s boyfriend?” He casually asked them and stuffed sausage in his mouth.

“Heck yeah that’s what I’m talking about man! Yo, just dont hurt her” Mark exclaimed in excitement thens suddenly turned serious.

“I won’t,” Johnny answered.

“And don’t make her miss you too much because you know we cant trust long distance relationship these days,” Jeno added.

Johnny agrees and said, “I will visit her every month”

“Don’t get her pregnant. I mean yet- get her pregnant when it’s the righ time- you get what i mean” Mark awkwardly added.

“O...kay. I’ll use condoms from now on. Anything else?”

“Dude just make her happy like you always do,”

“I will” Johnny said with a proud smile.

“Aren’t you boys should be cleaning the pool?” And the two boys immediately scrammed and quickly did their chores. Leaving you and Johnny in the kitchen with the food. Pinching Johnny’s cheek because now that you can see him clearly, you see a lot of changes.

“Only you can do that to me” he said then caught your hand and intertwined it with yours, he has become bold you notice. He pulled you closer to him while he finishes his juice, but the atmosphere is hetting a little stuffy and awkward so you tried having a conversation.

“Do you want to shower? I still have some of your clothes” you offered.

“Mhmm. Keep those, I have stuff in my car”

You nod and suddenly it was silent.

“Hey y/n, I was thinking of making it official between us. I mean if you want to. I just think that we’ve been flirting with each other for some time now and wed make a pretty good team,”

“ I thought you’d never ask. Took you longer than expected tho,” you put another sausage in his mouth ”The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love, and be loved in return.”

“Im just scared to fuck it up,” he sighed in relief “thank you for loving me back. I promise to take care of you 5000 more times than before”

“I’ll do the same... and wow you just asked me to be your girlfriend in the middle of our kitchen. How romantic.” He smiled handsomely then suddenly remembered one last thing.

“Oh by the way we uhm we need to start using condoms. I promised mark,”

“What-“

“I know right. Fucking you raw is good but your brother said to not get you pregnant”

“Ugh mark...” you moved your chair and hugged him tightly feeling him kiss the top of your head and cheek nonstop while you continue to eat.

The day may have started filthily, but it ended with a decently soft kiss on your temple from your best friend now boyfriend.

[yinses]

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !! 

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

“you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind.  really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature. 

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.  

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

[kuroos-moon]

Captains and Strong Independent S/o’s

☁︎︎ request:  Oikawa, Kuroo and either Bokuto or Ushijima (I cant choose!) reacting to a (fem or g/n) reader who does some type of martial art and they’re kinda tough/strong and (maybe they’re the team manager and they don’t take no shit) and the captains kinda crush on them for it? (I like to imagine Oikawa having a tough gf who stops Iwa from being mean to him and jokingly threatens Iwa that if he wants to hurt Tohru he has to go through her

☁︎︎ pairing: oikawa x reader, kuroo x reader, ushijima x reader

☁︎︎ warning/s: swearing, felt a bit of angst while writing for ushijima’s idk why tho it might just be my imagination :> 

☁︎︎ a/n: also dont know if it’s obvious but i kinda got carried away with ushijima’s 

Oikawa Tohru

• is a smug little shit every time you’re with him or in the same room at least 

• like,, he could piss Iwa-chan off to death and he won’t get hurt for it? now this is what he calls power

• sincerely loves and adores you, but at first, he kinda got sad that you’re so self-sufficient, you practically don’t need him 

• but he’s now long accepted that you’re just so you… and in your relationship, it’s you who does the protecting and looking out by a whole lot (ofc it doesn’t mean he loves you less) 

• that’s why he gets so so soft when he gets his turn in being the person who’s leaned on

• as their manager, he loves how you get things done so effectively, even Kyotani bows down to you, as he should—he always says in his head, smiling as he looks at the feral boy getting flustered around you  

• he listens to you all the time and we all know Tohru backing down is so rare 

“Oy, you’re overdoing it, let’s go.” 

“Head home without me, Iwa-chan,” he mutters mindlessly as he screws up another serve, a scowl on his face as he bends down to get another ball; but he freezes at an instant upon Iwaizumi’s words—no, Iwaizumi’s threat.

“Suit yourself, I’ll call y/n.” 

Oikawa has never changed stance so quickly in his life, cleaning up the gym as he sends smiles to his best friend’s way every five seconds, hoping he won’t tell on him on his cute but scary girl who could easily kick him unconscious. 

• he uses your name to threaten anyone who wants to cross him and they will back down immediately

• also likes to show off because he knows you treasure him so much; he likes to be babied by you especially in front of others 

“y/n-chan c’mere,” he softly says, whining a bit. The rest of his team look at the both of you in astonishment as you take the captain in your arms, Tohru’s cheek on your shoulder, looking back at the bewildered look on his teammate’s faces while you sit side by side on the bench. 

They could never get used to someone as tough as you having such the softest spot for Shittykawa… like how could you even stand him? 

“Really tired,” he mumbles, a small smile on his lips when you run your fingers through his hair. “I know, you were great as always, let’s head home so you could rest.” 

“Y/n-chan, today, Iwa-chan hit my head when you were out to get water. It really hurt,” he says, still in your embrace as he smirks at his teammates. 

Their mouths fall open, Iwaizumi’s eye twitching in irritation for his shitty best friend. 

“And Maki-chan…” Hanamaki grits his teeth, looking at him pleadingly in panic as his mind runs through everything he did today, wondering what he could’ve done to your beloved. “He ate my milk bread; I was really hungry.” 

Yup, Maki and Iwaizumi knew there was hell to pay, gulping in unison when you pull away from your boyfriend and narrow your eyes at them. 

“Iwa-chan. I thought we agreed you weren’t hitting Tohru again.” 

A chill runs down his spine, Tohru simply looks at you with pride, pulling you into his lap as he wraps his arms around your waist before you get the chance to throw hands at Iwaizumi.

Kuroo Tetsuro

• loves loves LOVES your remarks, your attitude, the way you take no crap from anyone, like “ah, he’s scared shitless, that’s my girl” 

• dw, you’re not a thug or anything, but men who force their feelings on you will see heaven’s gates early 

• and kuroo’s so pleased about it. sure, he’d love to get the chance to act all cool and brooding and possessive in front of other suitors but what’s more fun is watching their dejected faces as you say—

• “how many times do I have to turn you down? I have my tetsuro, now back the fuck off or I’ll break your nose.” 

• you had no idea he was just outside your classroom waiting for you, arms crossed and a cocky grin stretching his lips when you lock eyes with him

• “chibi-chan!” he calls off cheerily, and you bet he’ll tease you about it til death do you part 

• “don’t just stand there, give your tetsuro a hug!” 

• laughs about how your friendly banters with yamamoto always end up with you winning the argument 

• you rub off as mean bc you won’t take any disrespect, even a little—and that’s great

• those are one of the things he loves about you 

• but he’s always worried you might get hurt or hated for it, though he knows you are very much capable of beating anyone up even kuroo himself

• so he’s always holding you back, and I can’t stress this enough, but this man knows you could fend for yourself and he is so proud you’re his partner 

• he just wants to make certain that no one’ll hurt you, okay kitten? 

• your conversations often go like this: 

“I’ll beat up whoever tries to lay a hand on me.” 

“don’t say such reckless things, you’re not superman.”

“uhuh, geez, I’ll be fine, I don’t need you to walk me home.” 

“well news flash, your tetsuro, needs his y/n to walk him ho—ow,” he mutters when you slap his chest. 

“go home with kenma.”

“I don’t want kenma,” he scowls, already irked that this is turning into an argument.

“too bad,” you deadpan.  

“ugh,” he groans, “imagine a girlfriend who actually listens to you, just imagine.” 

• he is the one and only person you’ll gladly accept lectures from, bc his lectures are always reasonable and for your own good

after checking and verifying that you were completely okay, you knew he was about to go down to business. 

“you got into a fight? What are you? a thug?” he crosses his arms. You were both inside the gym along with the rest of his teammates who looked like they were far too preoccupied to listen. They were all clearly listening in though, except Kenma of course.  

watching your figures from a few feet away, it was obvious that he was scolding you, and Lev already had a ridiculous visualization of you hitting Kuroo. Everyone was worried you’ll fight him, or maybe even hit him, well, everyone except Kenma, of course. 

The setter knew that you would never ever lay a hand on kuroo as if the 6’1 captain was fragile. He also knew that you loved and respected kuroo too much to actually get agitated just because he was scolding you, you aren’t an unreasonable person. Lastly, he knew that kuroo would be going soft on you in five minutes tops, his best friend is hopeless like that. 

Kenma was right, he always is. Your back is glued to the wall behind you, Kuroo’s hand beside your head, his face extremely close to yours that you’re left flustered which is rare. 

After you were rambling on about how you had to put that girl in her place, going off about how it made you so mad and he should cut you some slack, he knew just how to shut you up. And it worked. You’re speechless. 

“what was that again, hm? go on, you surely had a lot to say,” he mutters, acting all tough as if he wasn’t dying to just kiss you now. when you don’t respond and stare at him and his lips instead, he already gives in. yes, just like that. “you were wrong to do that, okay?” he breathes, the worry from earlier on making its way out through his voice. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

Locking lips with you, you pull him closer to yourself, and kuroo had purposely decided to kabedon you on this wall since his broad back would be shielding the two of you from his teammates’ line of sight. 

After pulling away, he pats your head, licking his lips. “I forgive you, I’m not mad anymore.” You look away in embarrassment, realizing how petty you must’ve seemed to him. He sighs before hugging you, chin atop your head. 

“Make this the last time, okay? I swear you’re shortening my lifespan having me worried all the time.” 

You hug him tighter as a response, kuroo letting out a breath of contentment. Regardless of how tough you are outside; you are and always will be his soft little kitten and it was his greatest honor that you allow him to take care of you like this. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi

• is probably a little too used to the idea of his most treasured girlfriend being extremely capable and self-sufficient 

• his teammates would always look at him like ‘why are you not stepping in,’ every time you’re in a tough spot i.e. having an argument with someone or having a too-touchy suitor 

• then they’d be like “oh, that’s why,” after you flung the despicable creature out to space 

• he thinks so highly of you, not only are you physically strong, you’re even tougher on the inside too

• this is kinda a given but I’ll say it anyway—he can be unintentionally insensitive (well your relationship is kinda new)

• example no 1: 

you were arguing with goshiki and while he would normally like to ignore you and let you have your way; he was getting annoyed bc the argument was far too petty. 

“I’m gonna surpass him!” 

“and I’m telling you that you ca-

your mouth is clamped with a big hand, and it took you only a second to realize it was Wakatoshi because only he would have the nerve to lay a hand on you like this. he still doesn’t say anything, dragging you with him in an empty hallway for privacy.

finally after you stopped walking, he turns to you and looks at you expectantly. “what was that for? Did you even wash your hand,” you mutter, slightly annoyed. 

“I haven’t touched the ball yet, don’t worry,” he lowly says, making you sulk because he totally missed your point. “still, you didn’t have to make me shut up by clamping your hand against my mouth.” He’s too… not gentle with you sometimes. 

“you were going to say something you shouldn’t to goshiki.”

“he said something he shouldn’t have.” 

he only narrows his eyes at you and you do the same, anyone from your class would’ve been scared at the sight. You were both known as the cutest yet intimidatingly scary couple. 

• you were in the early stages of dating and though you understood each other well, it wasn’t really enough yet

• it’s all good though, because once you tell him that he was too uncaring of you and your feelings he does something that no other man would do: 

• apologize, admit his mistake, reflect on it a lot and,,, actually change!! 

• he’s much softer to you after that, and he finally realizes that you were still his precious girl and you were sensitive when it came to him 

• cursed himself for being too reliant on how you never seemed sensitive or needy

• doesn’t dwell too much on regret, just treats you 100x times better 

• is fascinated with your passion for martial arts but is against you overdoing training

• one time, he was torn between dragging you out of practice or just turning a blind eye to your visible exhaustion since you’re always so tough anyway, you’ll manage 

• but then he remembers his promise to himself to never treat you like you aren’t the most special person to him so he excuses himself from practice and heads to your training room 

you sat alone, your back to the wall. everyone else has gone home but you stayed because your muscles were too sore and you felt like you couldn’t even walk for another day. maybe it had something to do with how you’ve been training too much. 

you’re startled upon seeing shoes on the floor you blankly stared at, looking up to meet eyes with Ushijima. “Wakatoshi,” you say in surprise. 

he is expressionless as he bends down across you between your legs, and you had to admit this was something you weren’t used to from him. “are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft as velvet. you’re taken aback by his question, looking away in embarrassment. 

Wakatoshi rarely asks you that, and most of the time it was only when you said the word ‘ow’ when you accidentally hit something. you clear your throat, bringing your hands together to play with your fingers, “I’m okay.” 

it was silent for a few seconds before you hear him sigh, not only that, warm, gentle hands had found its way to yours and you look at him, bewildered. “is this okay?” he asks, looking down at both your hands and you nod. “your hands are much smaller, compared to mine at least.” he says, but you’re too flustered to even understand that. 

“are other things okay too?” he asks, and like his former statement, you didn’t understand. your silence doesn’t stop him though, he decided to push his luck. tugged gently by your wrist, your back’s no longer pressed to the wall as ushijima wakatoshi pulls you in his arms for the first time in your very few months of dating. 

“wakatoshi,” you mumble, your heart racing so much you’re sure he feels it against his chest. he’s so warm, welcoming, and in his loving hold felt like the rightest place to be. “you’re not feeling okay.”

you don’t respond, opting to bury your face at the crook of his neck instead. “I’m here, I know you’re tired.” 

you both stay in that position for a long time, it was addicting to be cradled in his arms and he felt the same. “y/n,” he whispers, and you hum in response. 

“you’re strong. very strong. you don’t need a man at all.”

your heart skips a beat, “toshi are you breaking up with me?” 

you hear a soft chuckle ring in your ears, “let me finish. as I said, you’re very strong. you look like you’re always so tough. but you’re not, and so…” he trails off, so you pull away to look at him, hesitance evident in his eyes, his palm still pressed at the small of your back. 

“you’re not always strong. in fact if I dare say, you are fragile, and I care about you. so please, allow me to be there for you all the time, I’ll be here, just like now.” 

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