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insidekatmind · 6 months ago

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Mission- Bucky Barnes

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

The jet lands with a jolt on the deserted runway of a private island. Outside the window, palm trees sway in the breeze, and a pink sunset paints the horizon. There’s no time to appreciate it, though. You’re here for a mission, and it’s already off to a bad start.

“I can’t believe I have to do this with you,” scoffs Bucky Barnes, throwing you a look of pure disgust.

“The feeling is mutual,old man,” you reply through gritted teeth. Your name, Y/N, is printed on the fake passport you’re holding, but your real task is far more complicated than maintaining a false identity. The mission requires you and Bucky to pose as a happily married couple to infiltrate an exclusive gala hosted by an international arms dealer.

“Wasn’t there literally anyone else available?” he asks, shaking his head.

“We’re not here for sympathy, Barnes. You’re the only one with a shady enough past to avoid suspicion.”

He laughs, but without a shred of humor. “And you’re the only one who speaks enough languages to keep up with a crooked diplomat. Just don’t expect me to pretend I enjoy being here.”

“And don’t expect a hug from me,” you reply with an icy smile.

---

The villa assigned to the two of you is luxurious: white marble, designer furniture, and an ocean view that takes your breath away. Too bad the tension in the room is heavy enough to crush any promise of relaxation.

“There’s only one bed,” you say, pointing to the massive king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

“Perfect,” Bucky replies, dropping his bag on the armchair nearby. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance. I need proper sleep for tomorrow night’s gala.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” he says with a smirk. “I wouldn’t come near you even by accident.”

You finally decided to share a bed. You were wearing shorts and a tank top as you stared at the ceiling.

Bucky lies next to you, tense and unmoving. Even without looking at him, you can feel the distance between you both, like a chasm that can’t be crossed. Your eyes wander to the ceiling, tracing the pattern of shadows in the dim light. Finally, he breaks the silence.“Do you expect me to believe that you actually need sleep?” he mutters under his breath.

"What?" You ask, turning to him.Bucky doesn't turn to you, but his voice is still laced with sarcasm. "You heard me. I know you're used to pulling all-nighters for missions. You don't exactly act like the type to need a full eight hours to feel refreshed."

You look at him with a twinkle of sarcasm. "Well this time it's different, I'm on a mission with you and I have to put up with you, so I need sleep".

Bucky rolls over onto his side, finally facing you. “Oh, so I’m such a pain that I keep you awake now?” he says with a smirk. “Is this how you treat all the people you’ve ever worked with?”

"not just old men who think they are better than others" you reply looking at him.“Old man?” He repeats, sitting up on the bed. “You’re really calling me an old man? Aren’t you supposed to flatter your partner on these missions? Or is that just reserved for the men you actually like?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes ignoring him.Bucky doesn’t get ignored easily, though. He scoots his way towards you in the bed, his prosthetic arm brushing against your arm. “What, no smartass reply? I can’t believe I’ve finally managed to shut you up,” he teases, his voice low and quiet.

“Keep your hands or I'll turn your other arm into vibranium too,” you threaten.

Bucky holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m just trying to get a reaction out of you.” He scoots even closer, so that you can feel the heat of his body next to you. “And I think I’ve succeeded.”

“Very funny arm wrestling,” you say sarcastically.“You got plenty of jokes, huh?” Bucky replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans in a little closer, the distance between you almost vanishing. “You know, I can think of a better way to occupy that smart mouth of yours, princess.”

You turn and find yourself a little too close to him. "Oh really?" you say sarcastically.Bucky takes advantage of your proximity, invading your personal space even further. His face is inches from yours now, his breath dancing across your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he murmurs, a hint of danger in his voice. “I’ve got some ideas….”

Bucky’s fingertips graze your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I wonder if you’d be this sarcastic if I took away that smart mouth of yours.”He shifts his weight on the bed, pinning you against the sheets as he leans over you. He’s so close now that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

"What the hell are you doing?" You murmur, looking at him above you.Bucky smirks, relishing your surprise. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, his voice a low growl. His head dips down, his lips brushing against your neck. “I’m testing a theory….”

Bucky's hands roam over your body, the metal one surprisingly gentle. “Tell me your theory,” you manage to gasp as his fingers tease the edge of your tank top.Bucky's lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “My theory is that your smart-ass mouth isn’t as tough as you think it is,” he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “And I bet I could find a more entertaining use for it.”

“Your theory is wrong old men” you say.Bucky laughs at that, his chest rumbling against yours. “Oh, we’ll see about that,” he says, his hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt. “I’ve yet to see you speechless. I bet I could make you speechless. I bet I could make you forget every smartass comment you’ve ever thought and make you begging for more.”

“get your hands off me” you say looking at him.Bucky's hand stills, pressed flat against your stomach. “Is that what you really want?” he asks, his voice a low murmur. “Or are you just saying that because you’re too stubborn to admit you like my hands on you?”

"Why would I like it, hm?" You murmur, looking at him.Bucky grins above you, his eyes flicking down to your lips. “Oh, I think you do. I think you like me this close to you. I think you like the way my hand feels on your skin….”

His prosthetic hand travels up, pushing under your top until you can feel the cool metal against the skin of your stomach. “I think you’re just too stubborn to admit it,” he says, his voice a sultry whisper.

His fingers trace the edge of your bra through your shirt, a light touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “I think you’re struggling to keep hold of all those smartass comments, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “I think you’re about to lose your words completely.”

“fuck you” you blurt out looking at him.Bucky laughs, his voice a deep rumble. “Now that’s exactly the kind of dirty talk I like to hear,” he replies, enjoying your reaction. His hand slips down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “You know, you really should watch that mouth of yours, princess.”

You could feel his hardness touching you and you looked up at him. "You like this kinky game, yes?" you murmur.

Bucky’s smirk turns into a grin, his eyes darkening with want. “I like anything that gets a reaction out of you,” he replies, his hand roaming across your hip and up your thigh. “And you’ve been giving me quite the reaction.”

His hand slips under your top, his fingers splaying across your back. He pulls you closer to him, his hips grinding against yours. “But I have a feeling we could both have some more fun…”

You hold back a moan feeling his hardness more towards you.Bucky’s smirk only widens as he hears your stifled moan. “That’s more like it,” he says, his hand moving to the back of your neck. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to make a noise for me.”

"you won't get anything from me" he murmured not with the same certainty that characterizes you.Bucky laughs, his breath hot against your skin. “Oh, princess, I think you underestimate me,” he replies. “I’ll get you to make all sorts of pretty noises for me before the night is over.”

His lips find your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. “And you can’t fool me,” he murmurs. “I can feel you shivering, I can hear your breathing getting rougher. You like this, don’t you? You like the way I’m touching you….”

His hand is roaming over your body, pushing your shirt higher over your stomach and your chest. “Go on,” he urges, his voice husky. “Say it. Tell me you like it when I touch you like this….”

“No, I don’t,” you say even as your sighs grow heavy.

Bucky laughs at your stubbornness, but there’s an edge to it. “Oh, princess, you’re a terrible liar,” he says, his hand moving to your waist. “I know you want this. I can feel it in the way you arch your back when I touch you. And I’m not going to stop until you stop pretending.”

His mouth is on your neck now, his teeth scraping against your skin. “Stop playing games, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.”

You moan at the contact. “no, I don’t” you say in a tense voice.

Bucky’s smirk widens, his hand sliding up your leg. “Your moans don’t seem to agree with your words,” he murmurs. “I know you can’t resist me. I know you’re just as much of a mess under my touch as I am under yours….”

His hand moves farther north, slipping under the hem of your shorts. “Give in, princess,” he whispers, his voice a low growl. “Just say the words and I’m all yours….”

You closed your eyes trying not to give in but you could feel Bucky's hand playing with your thong.Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he feels you react to his touch. “There you go,” he murmurs, his fingers playing with the lace of your lingerie. “I know you’re close to breaking, isn’t that right? I know you’re just moments away from giving in…”

His thumb brushes against your most sensitive spot through the thin fabric, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Come on, princess, I want to hear you say it,” he says, his voice dripping with want. “I want to hear you admit that you want this as badly as I do…”

You moan at the touch and arch. “I hate you so much” you murmur.Bucky laughs huskily, feeling your body respond to his touch. “No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “You don’t hate me at all. You hate how much you want me…. How much you need me….”

His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts, his hand edging them down your hips. “Admit it, princess,” he whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Admit that you want me as badly as I want you….” His hand moves to your inner thigh, his touch light and teasing. “Say the words,” he urges, his voice low and rough. “Say you want me, princess. Say you need me just as badly as I need you….”

You bit your lip to keep from giving in but it was very difficult, you were wavering and you just wanted him to give you pleasure.Bucky lets out a low curse as he feels you resist him. “You’re such a stubborn little thing,” he grumbles, his hand tightening on your thigh. “But I won’t let you keep up this act, princess. I’ll break you, it’s only a matter of time…. Just say the words, sweetheart….”

His fingers slide further up your thigh, edging up under your shorts. “Just a few words, princess,” he urges, his voice rough with want. “Just tell me you want me, and then I’ll give you what you need…”

You moan again but you don't want to give in. "No".Bucky curses again, his fingers tightening on your thigh. “You’re so damn stubborn, princess,” he mutters, his voice tight with want. “But you’re also lying to yourself….”

Bucky finally leans down and kisses you passionately and hungrily.The kiss is almost violent, a clash of need and desperation. Bucky’s lips are hot against yours, his tongue seeking yours as he presses you into the sheets. He bites at your bottom lip, then leans back, his eyes dark with desire. “Say it, princess,” he growls, his hand still on your thigh. “Just say you want me….”

You moan and kiss him. Bucky laughs huskily, his hand moving up your body. “There we go, princess,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for…”His lips move down to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there and causing you to gasp again. “Say it, princess,” he repeats, his hand finally moving up to cup your core. “Just tell me you want me….”

You moan at his words and surrender to him. "I want you".Bucky lets out a low growl of satisfaction as he hears your words. “That’s what I thought,” he mutters, his fingers trailing against your skin. “I knew you couldn’t resist me for long.”

He takes your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. His body presses against yours, his weight holding you in place. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, princess?” he whispers in your ear, his breath hot and heavy.His hand slides down your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “But now that you’ve given in, I’m going to have some fun with you…” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise. “I’m going to make you scream for me…”

He kissed you again and put two fingers inside your panties and into your core making you moan into the kiss.Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he feels you arch against him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let it out. Let me hear how good I make you feel…”He moves his fingers slowly, finding a rhythm that makes you moan again. “I knew you’d feel good,” he whispers, his eyes dark with want. “

His fingers move a little faster, the pressure inside of you increasing. “But I bet I could make you feel even better…” he murmurs, his mouth moving down to your neck. “I bet I could make you scream for me".

“Bucky” you moan and arch once more.Bucky’s smirk is almost feral as he hears you moan his name. “There it is,” he mutters, his fingers working faster as they press deeper into you. “I knew you’d sound like that when you finally let yourself go…”

He bites at your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin. “And I know I can make you moan louder, sweetheart… if you beg me right…”

His fingers move again, finding a place inside you that makes you gasp. “Beg me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice rough with lust. “Beg me to make you feel good. Beg me to give you what you need…”

You felt his fingers go faster and faster inside you and you could feel yourself getting close. “Please Bucky,” you murmur.Bucky grins at your words, his fingers moving even faster. “Please, what, princess?” he murmurs, his mouth moving to your ear. “Say it. Tell me what you want me to do…”

“let me come please” You murmur moving your hips on his fingers.

Bucky grins at your pleading tone, his fingers finally getting the reaction he wanted. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you beg for me like that… so pretty when you ask for what you want…”

His fingers move a little faster, going deeper. “You’re so close, princess,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel it. I can feel your body tensing up… begging for release…"

He moves his mouth back to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin as he presses his forehead against yours. “But you have to ask me nicely if you want it…” he mutters, his voice raw with need. “You have to beg me for what you need, princess…”

You whimper at his words. “please Bucky, I’m so close” you murmur.Bucky’s grin widens at your words, his fingers finally giving you what you’ve been craving. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he mutters, his touch rough yet still gentle with you. “You like it when I make you beg for it…”

“please” you murmur moaning feeling yourself getting closer and closer.Bucky’s fingers move a little faster at your words, his touch more insistent as he moves against you. “Almost there, princess, you’re so close,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “But I need you to say those magic words. I need you to beg me one more time…”

"Bucky please" you scream.Bucky grins at your scream, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you. “There it is, princess,” he mutters, breathing hard. “You sound so pretty when you scream my name… now let go for me, sweetheart."

You moan at his words and come on his fingers. “fuck” you murmur, closing your eyes in pleasure.Bucky let out a low growl as he feels you come on his fingers. “That’s it,” he mutters, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl…”

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. “You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with lust. “I knew you’d be sweet"

Bucky leans down, his body pressing against yours. “But I’m not done with you yet, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “Not even close…”

You look at him knowing you were in for a long night.

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grapejuicebrat · 5 days ago

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put me in a movie [sugar daddy au]

There were nights when Y/n sat in the bathtub long after the water had gone cold, knees pulled up to her chest, eyes on the ceiling. She’d count the cracks in the paint and pretend they meant something. Every line had a story, a direction, a place it was leading. It helped, somehow—imagining that even broken things had a path.

She was twenty-one and exhausted. Not in the theatrical, college-student way where tiredness came from parties or procrastination, but in a quieter, more insidious sense. The kind of fatigue that came from watching your bank account sit at three digits while your inbox overflowed with late notices and final warnings. The kind of fatigue that came from choosing between paying for groceries or your mother’s heart medication. Every day she felt like she was standing at the edge of a deep pool, staring down, wondering how long she could keep pretending she wasn’t already underwater.

She worked two jobs—one at a used bookstore that smelled like mildew and loneliness, and another as a library assistant on campus, where she mostly shelved books no one read anymore. Her fingers were always stained with ink and dust, her shoes always a little damp from the cracked ceiling in her apartment stairwell. Nothing she did was glamorous. She was tired of calling it character-building. Tired of pretending it was enough.

It was late on a Thursday when the email arrived. She had been sitting on the floor, knees raw against the tile, flipping through the notes for a class she could barely afford to attend. The subject line on the screen stopped her mid-sentence.

“OFFER.”

There was no greeting. No introduction. The message was short. Clean. It read like something written in a single breath and sent without a second thought.

You don’t know me. That’s intentional. Your name was passed to me through someone I trust. I am not searching for love, and I’m not interested in unnecessary attachment. I am, quite frankly, bored. I spend money easily. And recently, I’ve been wondering what it might feel like to spend it on a person, instead of things. I’m offering something simple. Clean. Private. No strings. No false promises. Just a transaction with soft edges. If this is something you understand, reply. If not—delete this, and pretend you never saw it.

There was no name, only a single initial. H.

Y/n didn’t move. She sat there with her knees still folded, the hum of the fridge loud in the silence. Her first instinct was suspicion. Her second was something closer to shame. But beneath both, thick and dark and dangerous, was interest. The kind she didn’t want to name out loud.

She told herself she wouldn’t answer. She let the message sit for a full day. She went to class. Worked. Ate one dry granola bar over twelve hours. And then, at 2:37 a.m., with no makeup, no dignity, and her laptop balanced on her thighs, she typed two words into the reply box.

I understand.

No name. No questions.

She didn’t sleep that night.

The next day, a reply came. An address. A time. A car would be sent. She wasn’t told who he was. There were no attachments. No contracts. Just a message that felt like it had teeth, and silence behind it that pulled like a current.

She almost backed out. But the next night, when the car came—sleek and black and soundless—she stepped inside.

The driver didn’t speak. The seats were too soft. The world outside the window grew more surreal with every mile—graffiti fading into marble, neon signs replaced by warm yellow lights that looked like candle flames behind floor-to-ceiling glass. They were going up, not down. Higher into something. Somewhere money lived.

She hadn’t brought anything. He’d told her not to.

She had showered in the dark. Worn her cleanest dress, the one that clung a little too tightly now, but made her look like she belonged to something expensive. Her heartbeat didn’t settle once. Not even when the elevator doors opened and she stepped into a space that was so quiet, it made her feel like she was being watched by the furniture.

The penthouse wasn’t warm. It was beautiful, but it was a cold kind of beauty. Stone and glass. Dark woods and soft rugs under bare feet. There were no personal touches. No clutter. The space didn’t look lived in. It looked arranged.

He was standing by the window with a drink in his hand, but it took her a moment to see him. He didn’t move when she entered. Just watched. Calm. Unblinking. The kind of stillness that wasn’t about hesitation—it was control.

She knew who he was before he turned fully toward her.

Harry Styles.

Not the man on the stage, the one in glitter and smiles. This version was stripped down to the bone—barefoot, in a black silk shirt, top buttons undone, hair a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it and then stopped halfway. He looked bored, not in the impatient way of a man waiting too long, but in the way of someone who had everything and didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

He didn’t offer a smile. Or a drink. Or his name.

She didn’t speak either.

There was something eerie about the way he looked at her, like he was memorizing her in slow motion. His gaze wasn’t hungry. It was observant. Detached. But there was something else under it, too—like he was looking for proof that she was real, not just another acquisition that would lose its shine after a few weeks.

He gestured toward a chair without words. She sat.

He leaned against the edge of the low table, glass still in hand, and studied her for what felt like hours.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Quiet. The kind of tone that settled behind your ribs and stayed there.

“I’m not here to play games, Y/n.”

And she knew, instantly, that he meant it.

Not just this arrangement. Not just tonight.

But everything.

He wasn’t offering affection. Or comfort. Or care. He wasn’t looking for someone to love or be loved by. He was a man who had spent too long inside rooms that echoed. A man who had gone numb from excess. And now he wanted to spend his money on something human.

He had chosen her.

And for the first time in months, maybe years, Y/n let herself want to be chosen.

The quiet stretched, long and heavy, filling the corners of the room like smoke. Y/n kept her spine straight in the chair, her hands resting in her lap the way she’d been taught in some etiquette class years ago that she’d barely passed, more out of luck than skill. It was the only armor she had now. Stillness. Stillness and silence.

Harry hadn’t moved much. He was a study in restraint—one hand on his glass, the other casually tucked into the pocket of his black trousers. His shirt clung to his frame just enough to remind her he was real. The top of his chest, faintly visible beneath the undone buttons, rose and fell like clockwork. Controlled. Everything about him seemed designed to reveal nothing and make you want everything.

She wondered if that was the point.

His voice came again, smooth as a poured drink and just as dangerous.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said, not as a suggestion, but a fact. “In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t. At least not yet.”

She didn’t flinch. She only blinked once and nodded. She was good at not speaking. Good at not taking up space. Good at swallowing whole the ache of being unseen, then pretending it never tasted like anything at all.

The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly. Not a smile—something quieter. Pleased.

He pushed off from the table slowly, the kind of slow that people used when they weren’t rushed by time because they owned it. His feet were silent on the floor as he moved toward her. Not predatory, not looming. Just deliberate.

When he reached her, he didn’t touch her. He didn’t sit. He simply stood in front of her, his eyes scanning her face, then drifting lower. Not hungry. Just… curious. Like she was a question he hadn’t decided how to answer yet.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said, more softly now. “I’m not interested in pretending this is something it’s not. But if we’re going to do this, I expect you to keep your word. To stay quiet. To be clean. To be on time.”

There was no contract, no paper. But the weight of his words was heavier than any ink.

“And in return,” he continued, “you won’t worry about rent. You won’t walk to work in the rain. You won’t think about bills or debt or whatever it is that’s been pulling your shoulders down since you walked in here.”

Her throat felt tight. He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne—earthy, expensive, spiced like something meant for darker hours of the night. Everything about him was designed for the night, she realized. His voice. His silence. His rules.

He reached into his pocket and held out a slim black card. It wasn’t flashy—no bright logos, no embossed name. Just a sleek, matte finish and a thin strip of gold along the side. The kind of card that didn’t have a limit. The kind that didn’t need explanation.

“This is yours,” he said, watching her. “For as long as I want it to be.”

Her fingers didn’t move at first. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else—something older and deeper than fear, maybe. That feeling you get standing on the edge of something high, knowing you might fall, but more afraid of what it might mean if you jumped on purpose.

But she reached out.

Her skin brushed his.

And the second she closed her fingers around the card, everything changed.

The card was warm from his pocket. Y/n hadn’t expected that. She thought it would feel colder—like metal, like warning. But it pulsed slightly in her palm, quiet and expensive, a promise dressed up like permission.

Harry didn’t say anything else. He simply turned away, walking back toward the window like nothing had changed, like she hadn’t just handed over a part of herself without speaking a word. His bare feet made no sound across the stone floor. He moved like someone who was always moving away from something, even when he was standing still.

Y/n sat there for a moment longer, unsure if she was meant to follow or remain, but too proud to ask. The silence in the room was thick with intention. It wasn’t awkward. It was purposeful. Designed. Like everything in here.

When she finally rose to her feet, the card still clutched lightly between her fingers, she felt it again—that shift in her spine, the one that came from being looked at like a sculpture instead of a girl. His gaze slid over her as she walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She stopped at a polite distance. There was no reflection of herself in the glass, only the city far below, lights like scattered bones in the dark.

Harry’s voice, when it came again, was softer. Not gentle, but quieter, like he was speaking to a memory, or maybe to himself.

“I chose you because you looked like you wouldn’t beg.”

Y/n didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on the skyline. Her chest felt strange—tight, then hollow, then tight again.

“I won’t,” she said. Not because she was proud, but because she didn’t know how to anymore.

He took a sip from his glass. The ice had melted.

The moment stretched again. She wondered how many women had stood where she was now. How many had spoken less and meant more. How many had taken his money, his rules, his silence—and still been haunted by the sound of his voice.

She felt like a body being studied, not a person being touched. He hadn’t laid a single finger on her. And yet, she felt marked.

“Do you live alone?” he asked suddenly, eyes still on the glass.

“Yes.”

“Anyone who’ll come looking for you if you don’t go home tonight?”

“No.”

He nodded, slowly, as if that was a relief—not because he planned to keep her, but because it meant fewer questions. Fewer strings.

“I want you to stay,” he said after a moment. “Not for me. For you.”

That surprised her.

“For me?” she asked, turning to look at him. Really look.

He was still beautiful in that clean, unreal way—sharp jawline, half-lidded eyes, hair that fell in disobedient waves. But there was something behind it, too. Something hollowed-out and old. Like he’d lost the ability to be surprised by beauty. Like he was tired of it.

“You don’t rest,” he said simply. “Not the real kind. I can see it in your hands. Your mouth. The way you never let your shoulders drop.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That she didn’t have time to rest. That she didn’t have space. That her rest was never restful, only an ache delayed.

But he was already walking toward a hallway off the main room. He didn’t wait to see if she’d follow.

She did.

The bedroom was large, quiet, shadowed. Nothing too ornate—no gold, no glitter. Just dark walls, smooth floors, and soft bedding that looked untouched. A window open just slightly, letting in the hum of the city below.

He motioned toward the bed without looking at her. Not sexual. Not possessive. Just… direct.

“Lie down.”

Y/n stood there a beat too long, unsure if this was a command or something more complicated. But she obeyed. Carefully. Slowly. She laid down on the side closest to the window, the card still between her fingers, resting it on the bedside table like a talisman she wasn’t ready to let go of completely.

Harry didn’t follow her into the bed. He stayed near the door, watching, silent again. Then, almost absently, he reached out and turned off the light.

Darkness bloomed around her. Not suffocating, but deep.

She waited for his touch. For his breath on her neck. For the weight of a body beside her.

But nothing came.

The door closed with the softest click.

She was alone.

For a long time, Y/n lay there, blinking into the dark, unsure whether what had happened tonight was the beginning of something… or the end of her.

She didn’t expect to sleep. She thought the sheets would be too smooth, the pillows too soft, the room too quiet. That her body would stay alert, eyes wide open in the dark like they always were in unfamiliar places. But something about the way the room held her—dim and still and untouched—let her sink.

Maybe it was the first time in too long she didn’t feel watched by the world.

She drifted in and out. No dreams. Just a thick kind of unconsciousness. Heavy. Deep. She woke once in the middle of the night, unsure what time it was. The room hadn’t changed. But something in it had.

There was a sound.

Soft. Barely there. The creak of a door, the shift of weight on the floorboards. She turned her head, slow and quiet, eyes adjusting.

Harry.

He stood just inside the room. The door was open behind him now, the hallway casting a faint glow against his frame. He wasn’t dressed for sleep—still in the same black silk shirt, though it looked looser now, like he’d unbuttoned another few without noticing. His hair had been pushed back, but it was already falling forward again, curling slightly at the ends.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

She thought maybe he’d just come to look. To remind himself she was real. That he’d actually done this—that she was here, in his bed, under his roof, breathing in the same silence.

Y/n didn’t speak either.

She could feel her own breath now. Slow and full. Her limbs were warm under the sheets, her fingers curled lightly where they rested near her collarbone. She wondered what she looked like to him in that moment—if she seemed fragile, or false, or dangerously calm.

He took a few steps in. Barefoot again, like always. The quiet made it feel like she was watching a dream instead of a man. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare blink too fast. She thought if she did, the spell might break.

He stopped at the edge of the bed.

Still, he didn’t touch her.

His voice came then, low and quiet and rougher now—like it had been scraped raw by sleep or thought.

“I thought I wouldn’t care.”

He said it like a confession. Like he wasn’t used to saying things out loud unless they were orders.

Y/n didn’t ask what he meant. She didn’t need to.

He looked down at her for a long time, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. Then—finally—he sat down. Not beside her, but in the chair near the window. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

“I thought you’d be like the others,” he said, still quiet. “Polished. Practiced. Hungry.”

Y/n swallowed, the sound too loud in her own ears.

“But you looked tired,” he continued. “Not the kind of tired you fake. The kind that never leaves.”

She didn’t speak. She let him fill the silence, unsure what it meant that he was giving her pieces of himself when he hadn’t even asked her favorite color.

“I think I wanted that,” he said. “Someone who wouldn’t try to impress me. Someone who’d take what I gave and leave the rest.”

A pause.

“You’re not what I expected.”

Neither are you, she thought.

Harry leaned back in the chair slowly, one hand raised to brush the back of his neck. The shirt slid farther open, exposing the lines of his collarbone, the soft skin just beneath his throat. He looked… human. Not cold. Not untouchable.

“I don’t sleep much,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“Why?” Her voice was a whisper. It felt wrong to speak louder, like she might wake the room.

His eyes flicked to hers.

“I don’t like the things I dream about.”

Y/n stared at him. The confession came with no elaboration. No apology. And he didn’t explain. He didn’t need to.

Because she understood.

There was a kind of closeness that didn’t require touch. And right now, in the hush of the night, something passed between them that was quieter than desire. Deeper than hunger. Lonelier, too.

“I’ll stay quiet,” she said softly, echoing his words from earlier.

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then, without saying another word, he stood. He crossed the room slowly, stepping to the side of the bed where she lay. He didn’t climb under the covers. He didn’t brush her skin.

Instead, he sat down on the edge of the mattress, eyes lowered. One hand reached for hers. Not to hold it—just to rest his fingers gently over her knuckles.

The weight was barely there. But it was real.

And for the rest of the night, they didn’t speak again.

She fell asleep with his hand on hers, the card still lying like a shadow on the bedside table.

The morning came in shades of pale gold.

Sunlight slipped past the curtains in thin ribbons, casting faint lines across the bedsheets and pooling softly on the floor. It was the kind of light that didn’t demand to be noticed—it simply was. Gentle. Patient. The kind that took its time waking a room.

Y/n stirred first.

Her body woke before her mind did, blinking away the fog of sleep like dust shaken from a coat. Her eyes opened to the unfamiliar ceiling—smooth, pale grey, with a barely visible seam that ran through the plaster. There was a hush in the room, one so quiet it made her heart beat louder in her ears.

Then she remembered.

The bed wasn’t hers.

The room wasn’t hers.

But the air was still warm. And the silence wasn’t empty.

She turned her head, slowly, the sheet whispering against her bare shoulder.

Harry was sitting in the same chair as before.

He hadn’t moved much. Just shifted—one leg crossed over the other now, his arms resting loose on the armrests. His head tilted toward her, chin slightly down, mouth soft in a way she hadn’t seen last night.

He was watching her.

Not like a man watching something he owned.

More like a man who had surprised himself. Who didn’t know what came next.

Their eyes met. And something about the stillness held.

He looked different in the light. Less shadowed. Less sculpted. The edges of his face were no longer carved in contrast—they were softer now, almost delicate in places. He had faint creases under his eyes, the kind that only showed up in the morning, when someone had thought too much during the night.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

For a long time, they just watched each other—two strangers sharing the kind of quiet that usually took years to earn.

Then, gently, Harry stood.

He moved like the silence had weight, like sound would break something fragile between them. As he crossed the room toward the bed, she sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to her lap. Her hair fell over her shoulder, unbrushed, undone. She didn’t reach to fix it.

He stopped just in front of her, his eyes flicking across her face like he was trying to read something written there.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asked.

The question startled her.

It wasn’t what she expected. Not from him. Not after last night. Not after the card and the stillness and the invisible lines she’d just started learning how to walk.

But it was the most human thing he could have said.

She nodded once. “Black.”

His mouth curled at one corner. The smallest smile. Barely visible, but real.

“Come downstairs.”

He turned without waiting for her reply.

This time, she followed immediately.

The hallway was longer than she’d noticed before, the walls a deep blue-grey that caught the morning light like stone after rain. There were no paintings. No decorations. Just quiet.

When they reached the kitchen—if it could be called that—Y/n had to stop for a second.

It was unlike anything she’d seen. Sleek and modern, almost surgical. A long marble island stretched across the center, its surface spotless. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline in perfect stillness. The world looked far away. Too far to matter.

Harry moved with precision. He reached for a small silver kettle, filled it without asking, and began to prepare the coffee the way a pianist might prepare their hands before playing—deliberately, patiently. She watched him grind the beans himself. Watched the way his fingers moved. He didn’t speak while he worked. He didn’t offer her a seat, and she didn’t ask for one. She stood across from him at the island, like this was some sort of ritual neither of them wanted to disturb.

When he finally placed the cup in front of her, she was surprised to see he’d remembered. No sugar. No cream.

“Thank you,” she said, quietly.

Harry didn’t answer. He poured a cup for himself and leaned against the counter, watching her over the rim as he took a sip.

They drank in silence.

And somehow, it wasn’t awkward. It was easy. Strange. Like the hush between them had grown roots overnight.

After a few minutes, he set his cup down and spoke without looking at her.

“There’s an account in your name now. Linked to the card. You’ll find it has more than you need.”

Her chest tightened.

He didn’t say how much. Didn’t list rules again. Didn’t remind her of what this arrangement was.

He didn’t have to.

But before she could respond, he added, voice lower now, eyes still on the city beyond the glass:

“I don’t expect you to pretend this is love.”

The words landed hard. But not cruelly.

It was a warning. Maybe even protection.

She stared at him for a long time, then said the only thing that made sense in that moment.

“I know.”

Another silence.

Then, almost too soft to hear:

“But I also don’t think I know what love would look like… if it ever walked in.”

Harry finally looked at her.

And something in his eyes—something older than either of them—shifted.

He didn’t touch her.

But this time, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to.

She finished her coffee slowly.

It was stronger than what she usually drank. More bitter. But smooth. Expensive in a way she couldn’t describe. Not in taste, but in the way it lingered on her tongue like something meant to be remembered.

Harry didn’t push the conversation further. He didn’t explain more about the account, or how this was going to work, or what she owed. He simply drank his own in quiet, watching the skyline like he was looking for something he’d long stopped expecting to find.

Y/n didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t know which ones she was allowed to ask yet.

He finally glanced at the time—an old Cartier on his wrist, sleek and quiet, not flashy—and murmured, more to himself than to her, “I have a meeting at ten.”

She nodded.

He didn’t say you can stay.

He didn’t say you should go.

He just walked toward the hall, then paused near the threshold. His back to her.

“There’s a driver downstairs. He’ll take you wherever you need to go. His name is Emil.”

That was all. No offer to see her out. No smile. But no dismissal either.

She didn’t know why it felt like… a kind of intimacy. The sort that didn’t ask for anything in return.

She waited until he disappeared down the hallway before moving.

The apartment felt even larger now in the daylight. The quiet wasn’t eerie—it was curated. Like every inch of space had been carved to serve its own silence. As she walked back through the main room, she passed the chair he’d sat in the night before. The impression of his body still lived in the cushion.

She hesitated at the side table.

The card was still there.

Black. Heavy. Her name engraved so faintly in gold it almost disappeared in the light. She ran her fingers across the surface once, just to feel it.

Then she picked it up and slipped it into her coat pocket.

She didn’t know what it meant yet—what carrying this would cost her.

But she also knew she couldn’t leave it behind.

The elevator was empty, encased in mirrors. As it slid downward, she caught glimpses of herself from every angle. Her hair slightly messy. Her lips bare. Her eyes… different.

She looked like someone in the middle of something she hadn’t decided was right or wrong yet.

The doors opened to the quiet hum of the building’s private lobby. Emil was already waiting by the car. A black Bentley, sleek and polished like it had never known dirt. He opened the door without a word.

She slid in.

The leather seats felt cool against her legs.

“Where to, miss?” he asked, voice low, respectful.

She blinked. It was the first moment she’d had to think of the outside world since stepping into Harry’s last night.

Her apartment?

School?

Work?

Each option felt suddenly… small. Distant. Like they belonged to someone else.

She cleared her throat. “Home. Please.”

He nodded and pulled away from the curb.

The city blurred past the windows, but she didn’t watch it. She stared down at her hands instead, folded gently in her lap.

Her fingers still remembered the weight of his, from when he’d sat beside her in the dark. Just a touch. A ghost of one.

She wasn’t sure what she was now.

Not a girlfriend. Not a secret. Not a possession, exactly.

But not free, either.

When she reached her apartment, Emil handed her a small envelope along with the keys. No words. Just a look.

Inside, there was a note. Typed. Plain white paper. No letterhead.

“You’ll find the first payment deposited. Use what you need. No calls. No begging. No lies. Keep quiet. — H”

She stood in the doorway of her tiny kitchen, reading it three times before folding it neatly and tucking it into the drawer next to the matches and loose change.

Y/n sat down at her table.

It still smelled faintly of instant noodles and last night’s rain.

The card was warm in her hand again.

And this time…

it didn’t feel strange.

It felt inevitable.

Three days passed.

They didn’t speak.

No messages. No late-night calls. No little check-ins, no emojis, no “thinking of you.”

Harry Styles didn’t do that kind of presence.

Instead, the silence hung like an expensive coat — weighty, deliberate, and somehow still flattering. Y/n didn’t question it. Or maybe she did, once, while brushing her teeth, her eyes catching her reflection mid-thought. But she didn’t say it aloud. She wasn’t owed his attention, and she didn’t pretend to be.

Still, the money was real.

Rent was paid for six months ahead. She opened her fridge and found it full. Her phone—upgraded, quietly. Her tuition? A notice came: “Balance cleared. Pending zero.” No message. No sender.

Just done.

It didn’t feel like sugar.

It felt like… power. Unspoken. Watching.

She went about her days mostly the same: lectures, part-time shifts at the library, nights in bed with her laptop open and unanswered texts from friends blinking like reminders that she hadn’t been herself.

And then, on a Thursday, everything shifted.

She was working at the front desk of the university’s library. It was late—almost closing. The rain outside had turned the windows into mirrors, and most students had already gone. She was restocking returns in the drop bin, earbuds in, half-listening to something soft and instrumental, when the bell above the door chimed.

She didn’t look up right away.

It was probably some last-minute student begging for one more hour of study space or a forgotten charger. She tapped the return key lazily, eyes still on the screen.

“Hi,” said a voice.

Low. Familiar. Real.

She froze.

Not dramatically—but something in her body pulled tight, like a string suddenly caught.

She turned.

He was standing just inside the door.

Harry.

He wasn’t wearing anything like that night—no silk, no black-on-black elegance. He had on a dark wool coat, damp from rain. His curls looked heavier. He wasn’t clean-shaven. And yet he looked more expensive now than he did that first night—like he hadn’t tried at all, and still the air bent around him.

Y/n pulled out one earbud, blinking as if unsure he was real.

“What are you—” her voice cracked. She swallowed. “Why are you here?”

Harry took a step forward.

“I had a meeting near campus. Walked past. Saw the lights.”

She just stared.

“You don’t believe in coincidences,” she said, voice quieter now.

He gave the smallest shrug. “Not usually.”

He walked to the desk, slow and deliberate. Every step felt heavier than it should’ve.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she said softly, her hands tightening around the edge of the desk.

“Didn’t think I’d want to.”

That made her blink.

His eyes didn’t move from her face. Even in the bright, unflattering overhead lights of a university library, he looked at her like she was art hung wrong. Something too rare to belong here.

“Are you—” she started, but stopped.

“Am I what?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

They stood like that for a moment. Him on one side of the desk. Her on the other. No soft sheets. No low lights. Just reality.

And still, it felt like something was bending between them.

He glanced toward the window, the glass streaked with rain.

“You haven’t used the car,” he said.

She hesitated.

“No.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer at first.

Then: “Because I like walking.”

He gave her a look, something unreadable but knowing.

Then his voice dropped lower. “You could’ve come back.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than any word.

She looked down. Her hands. Her name badge. Her chipped nail polish.

“I didn’t know if I should,” she admitted.

He didn’t speak right away.

Then, voice like velvet drawn over a blade:

“Next time… don’t wait for permission.”

That hung in the air between them. Soft. Sharp. Inviting. Dangerous.

A beat passed.

Then two.

“Are you going to check out a book?” she asked, almost smiling.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Should I?”

She shrugged. “It’s a library.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter like he was about to tell her a secret.

“I don’t read fiction.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because I spend enough time pretending,” he said, gaze unmoving.

Her breath caught.

And then—just like that—he stepped back.

Didn’t touch her. Didn’t linger.

But he left something behind.

A folded square of paper on the counter. Blank on the outside.

She waited until he left to open it.

Inside, written in clean, elegant script:

“Come over tomorrow. Midnight. I’ll be awake. — H.”

She read it once.

Then again.

And felt the weight of her own heartbeat in her mouth.

part 2 >>>

also you can join my patreon for early access! btw i posted a new blurb to this fic :)

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #ceo harry styles

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possesseddesiress · 3 months ago

Text

Skinfit

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Skinfit

My name is Tristan, I study economics in college. My dream since I was a teenager was to be part of a fraternity, to live with other guys, to form lifelong friendships, and even to be popular.

And of course, to see a lot of muscular guys, but those are other details that I discovered later. But my "average" looks and my almost null sports skills, left me completely out of the fraternities. So I could only hope for a shared room.

I was lucky to find Zachary, a very nice guy. I thought having a jock as a roommate would be chaotic, smelly and even dirty, but Zach wasn't like that.

He was pretty organized and clean, sometimes he would come in stinking of sweat and leave his clothes all over the room, but it was only when he came in tired from his workout, took a shower, picked everything up and it was like nothing had happened.

Besides, I don't complain about his scent at all... Intoxicating, penetrating, extremely masculine, and completely out of my league.

He was straight, never brought girls to the house but it was well known around campus how successful he was with girls. He was a good friend, but geez... how many times hadn't I had vivid dreams about him (that would never come true).

- Lately the light has been failing, a false contact in the bathroom light - I whispered as I took a sip from my coffee cup.

- Really? - he asked, wearing his purple compression shirt - I've hardly been home, sorry mate - he gave a sigh, though then seemed to have an idea - I know! You remember I took an electrical course, don't you? I could try to fix it, I don't think it would be that hard would it?

- Dude, really?

- Sure! I must have my tools forgotten somewhere in my room, but anything for you, buddy - he patted me on the back before going to get something from his room.

He returned shortly after. To which we both went into the bathroom.

- Are you sure you know what you're doing?

- Yes, I sometimes skipped classes in the course but I think I know the basics.

He set up a chair so he could repair the ceiling light, removed the bulb and began to move the electrical inlet carefully.

- Don't you want us to call a technician?

- Dude! Trust me, besides, we can save several dollars, trust me, look, I think I found the problem.

He placed the tip of his tool on the metal, moved it a little and at first nothing happened. Until it sparked.

The sound of electricity chilled my skin as Zach let out a choked scream, his body trembled violently without being able to break free. I swallowed nervously. I didn't know what to do, so I did the best thing I could think of: push him.

As soon as I touched it, electricity ran through my nerves as well, it was an intense pain from head to toe, but thanks to the momentum, I ended up knocking it down and cutting off the power.

Everything went dark for a second, and then I lost myself.

Soon after I opened my eyes, I felt my head hurting, my body numb and heavy. Things were blurry all around me, and everything was dark.

- Shit...

I mumbled, touching the floor, getting up with difficulty though staggering in the process. I placed my hands against the tile, feeling a strange force in my hands.

I stood up, moving darkly around the room.

- Zach? Are you...?

Before I finished the sentence, I realized something wasn't right.

My voice felt different, deep, more... masculine? My original voice wasn't high-pitched, but it wasn't this deep, I almost felt it echoed loudly every time I opened my lips.

I touched my throat, feeling a thick adam's apple. What was going on? For a moment I stopped thinking about Zach, staggered out of the room until I advanced to my own, then I saw the reflection.

- What... what the hell?

The reflection that greeted me was Zach's, mimicking my every move. For a moment I felt fear, almost panic, but then I looked at those fat pecs.

They were mine now.

I was full of muscle! I stroked my new muscles, how good my biceps felt wrapped in the tight purple fabric.

I flexed my muscles, widening my arms and enjoying how my pecs felt, even how the reliefs stuck against my T-shirt, making me let out a gasp.

Was Zach so sensitive to such an area?

It was like letting go of my senses all at once, I kneaded and squeezed my pecs hard, letting out a loud gasp. I went crazy for a while, stroking everywhere, every mound of muscle.

I reached down to my pants. Pulling the elastic to observe what was hiding inside.

- Not bad... - I smiled - I can see why you're such a hit with the ladies, dude. Just look at the size of this thing.

I sniffed with some force, which caused a wide, loud gasp that I'm sure was heard throughout the building.

I lifted my armpit to smell it, I loved the scent... And now it was mine! How many times had I dreamed of smelling it, and now it was within my complete reach! I stuck my nose again and again, filling my whole nose with sweat.

I gasped awkwardly, like a teenager with raging hormones.

I stopped touching myself for a moment to run out to Zach's room, I loved feeling my strong legs, how each footstep echoed with weight and force across the floor.

I opened the closet to start pulling out different clothes. Although there was a larger amount of t-shirts, lycra and other sportswear, so I decided to take off what was intruding between my eager hands and my dreamy body.

I weighed my fat pectorals, changed my shirt and put on a white one that was even tighter, and flexed my arms.

It was like feeling in the glory...

It had been at least five months after the change. And I couldn't be happier about it.

At first Zach, or now I should say Tristan, had a hard time getting used to the change, always complaining that he didn't want to be in that body, that he wanted to change back.

He tried again and again to recreate the accident to return us to our original bodies. But I wasn't at all interested in going back to who I was before.

I loved the way I looked now. How others were interested in me, the fact that getting anywhere, got everyone's attention. How good my body looked in tight sportswear.

And best of all: How I attracted the attention of the fraternities.

I don't understand why Zachary didn't join any of them as soon as he entered college, he was the perfect himbo to be a brother! Within mere weeks in his body, I ended up joining one of the most important and exclusive fraternities on campus.

And I loved it.

Almost every weekend there were parties, sweaty smells, and guys walking shirtless through the halls every day. It was like heaven. And best of all, no one knew that the new Zach was actually me.

Everyone was surprised for a while at how self-centered I turn out to be, how obsessed I was with my scent, or even the change from straight to gay.

Because what I loved most about this body was how guys drooled over me, I could have anyone in the palm of my hand even.

Barely five months in and I had already been with almost every guy in the frat (some "curious", some with their sexuality under wraps and some who just wanted to have a good time), I was living what as Tristan wouldn't have happened even on my best day.

Now it was Zach, full of muscles, tight clothes that left nothing to the imagination and with such an intoxicating aroma...

Anyway. I'd have a costume party in less than an hour, the good thing about being Zach now was that whatever I wore, it would look good on me.

And I could let my nerdy tastes out. All in all, I looked hot.

----

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

#body swap #malebodyswap #body switch #bodyswapping #mental change #straight to gay #twinktohunk #nerd to hunk

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hgfictionwriter · 5 months ago

Text

Revelations: Part Six

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie’s been part of your daily life for years. She’s been your partner; your future. You try to find a way to let go without losing her altogether.

Warnings: Angst.

A/N: Rest of the series is here.

You sighed heavily as you stared up at the darkened ceiling of your new apartment. It had been a busy week of unpacking, cleaning, getting settled and sorted. The days had been so full on between work and the move that most nights you more or less collapsed into bed in sheer exhaustion.

Even then though, the stillness and quiet of your new apartment weighed on you. The unfamiliarity - the loneliness - of your current living arrangement caused your insides to twist incessantly and sleep eluded you.

You'd hoped that the weeks you and Jessie lived together while broken up would've dulled the harshness of this transition, but it seems that had been a foolish thought.

You absently and habitually played with your ring finger, dull realization setting in yet again that your ring - Jessie's - was long gone. She'd wanted you to keep it; adamantly so, but you forced her to take it back.

Hardly realizing it, you hand palmed your nightstand and you retrieved your phone.

1:45 am.

You released another restless sigh and automatically opened up your conversation with Jessie.

"This might be a record for me. I just finished a whole season of Alone in one night. At this point I feel like I could compete on the next season."

You couldn't help but chuckle faintly. She'd texted you that an hour ago - clearly she was having trouble sleeping as well.

You two may have been broken up, but you were still talking daily.

You still weren't sure you could be her friend or even if you wanted to be, but to go from being so deeply connected with someone, to live with them for years, to sleep next to them nearly every night, your lives, moments and dreams, entwined, from seeing reminders and tokens of them throughout your entire home, to none at all, it was even harder than you'd anticipated.

Being so busy and preoccupied helped keep it minimal during the days, but at night? You both seemed to gravitate to one another despite your situation.

Your cheeks puffed out in a weary exhale. A voice in the back of your head told you to close the conversation, your phone, do anything else, but instead you texted her.

"I bet you'd do very well on that show. I can actually picture it lol. Me? Not so much. Besides, beats the trash I've been watching."

You immediately closed out of the conversation the second you sent it as if that'd somehow erase your wrongdoing.

You'd barely opened up a different app when a notification from her came through. You may have stopped going to her games - watching them in any sense, it was just too painful - but you still knew her training schedule. She'd have to be up in a few short hours. She really must be having trouble sleeping, too.

"You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're resourceful and smart. You'd do just fine. And I definitely want to know what so-called trash you've been watching."

"You don't. Believe me. It's bad."

You hesitated before sending a hurried follow-up.

"Consider yourself lucky that you're not being subjected to it"

You saw the text bubbles pop up for a couple of seconds before disappearing. You stared at the screen for several moments, pulse starting to quicken and only increasing further as she started typing anew.

"I definitely wouldn't say that."

You saw a false-start of a new message from her again and you waited. When it seemed like she thought better than to send through anything more, she added:

"I'd love to be together watching some shitty tv show. I'd give anything for that."

Your eyes snapped up to the ceiling with a shaky breath as you pushed the back of your head deeper into the pillow. They fell shut as a rush of emotions came over you. A deep frown was etched on your forehead as you tried to get your feelings back under control.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Another weary sigh escaped you. You hated this.

"Don't be."

"I want the same. And it fucking sucks."

"The days are hard. Horrible. But the nights are unbearable."

"I wake up looking for you. Assuming I ever actually fall asleep."

Your chest expanded with another shaky breath.

"I know the feeling."

You rubbed your eyes in agitation before hurriedly writing another message.

"I miss you."

Your shoulders fell as soon as you sent it. You were weak. So weak.

Your breath hitched as your screen lit up with a call from her. You stared at it as your phone continued to buzz in your hand. Your lips were parted as your breathing grew quick and shallow.

You answered.

"Hello?"

A beat passed and her voice filtered into your ear.

"Hey."

Your eyes fell shut and you felt your throat tighten with emotion immediately. You subconsciously leaned your head into the phone and towards her voice as a swirling mix of comfort and longing swept over you.

"I-" She paused as she gathered her words, "I just thought I should call you," she finished quietly; apologetically even.

"I miss you too," she whispered, but even through the tinny quality of the phone, you could hear her emotion. "So much."

You took a steadying breath as you looked up at the ceiling.

"I hate this," you said, voice growing hoarse.

"I know, baby. Me too," she said softly, the pet name causing your lip to nearly quiver and your eyes to sting with tears. You didn't say anything and she carried on longingly. "I wish I was with you right now."

Another shuddering breath escaped you as you covered your eyes with your free hand.

"God, Jess," you managed to say, your voice pleading for so many things. You sighed in defeat and rubbed harshly at your face. "You have no idea how much I want that too."

You heard a quick sigh on her end.

"I'd come over in a heartbeat if you wanted me to," she said.

You didn't say 'no'. You didn't say anything at all.

"I-I could be there in, like, 20."

"Jess...," you said, both in want and warning.

"I'm coming over," she declared gently and you heard rustling on her end of the call.

You listened wordlessly for several moments and could hear her moving about and gathering up her things.

"You shouldn't. We shouldn't," you said weakly and with little conviction. By the jingle of her keys, it seemed you weren't fooling her either.

"I'll stay on the line," she told you unwaveringly.

Her effort and longing for you validated an ache and hollow in you. You wanted her here. You wanted her arms around you. You wanted her to speak declarations of love and devotion in your ear that would make everything else go away.

You heard the elevator ding.

Your eyes opened and you let your hand fall from your face to your side. Her wanting you, her loving you, wasn't the issue. Falling asleep in her arms wasn't going to fix anything - it hadn't all of those nights before.

You were hurting yourself, and her.

"Jess."

She didn't reply.

"Jess. Stop," you told her with quiet authority. "We can't do this. You know we can't."

"Y/N..."

"Jessie. I love you so much. But, we can't do this," you said regretfully, though with no room to debate it. "Please turn around. Please go back upstairs," you instructed gently.

The line was quiet for several seconds.

"Okay," she accepted, the disappointment in her voice still detectable. "I'm sorry," she added meekly.

The elevator dinged again and soon you heard her keys in the lock of your old front door.

"I can't sleep without you," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. She sniffled. "I don't know how to do this," she went on, voice high and tight.

You stifled a sob at hearing this woman who, to most, was reserved and kept her emotions close to her chest, expressing such hurt and vulnerability with you.

When you spoke, your voice was tight and you blinked through tears.

"Me neither."

--------

The very next morning you booked a trip home to London. Surely, going home - seeing your family and old friends - would cure you and provide comfort and relief.

While it was lovely - and needed - to see them all again, something about it didn't feel the same as it did before. You also lamented the fact that you couldn't catch up with Niamh or Sam or any of the Chelsea crew. You loved them, but they were Jessie's friends.

And despite your efforts, you couldn't help but hone in on - even over here - families and kids everywhere. It's like your subconscious was hyperfocused. Waves of loss came over you, but you also had flickers of thoughts about what it could've been like to bring Zoie here with Jessie.

Any time the notion broached your mind though, you were quick to banish it.

After a couple of weeks you actually felt a bit antsy and unsettled. You desperately wanted to feel safety and comfort and familiarity here, but it just didn't feel right. It wasn't what you were looking for.

What was that saying? 'You can never go home again'? It resounded in your mind because it felt painfully true.

Truth was, you enjoyed your career in Portland, you liked the lifestyle, the weather, and though you loved your old friends, you missed your new ones too. Beyond Jessie, there were reasons you were open to moving; leaving your home. So even if it looked different now, you still liked the life you'd built in Portland; maybe more than you realized.

Maybe someday you’d reflect on this and realize something else was fueling this decision - maybe pride, maybe plain old stubbornness - but some deep seated part of you felt you needed to see things out in Portland. You didn't want to run away.

So though you didn't feel overly content in either place right now, you felt strangely ready to go back.

The hardest part about coming back might've actually been that you had less distractions from Jessie's texts. When you were away, it was easier to disconnect and you started to put more emotional space between you two.

When you got there, she was still texting you daily - a good morning text with wishes of a good day, an inquiry or two about your day, a good night text, and the odd text in between with a picture or comment about things that must've reminded her of you.

As your responses slowed, Jessie adjusted slightly, but was undeterred in many ways. She still at least wished you a good day every day. If she was put off by your delay, she didn't show it because she responded promptly if she wasn't training or at a game. She even asked on a couple of occasions - when you were more responsive than other times - if you'd be interested in grabbing coffee or lunch together. As friends of course.

Now that you were back and in your routine again, it was harder to resist picking up your phone and texting her back.

It was hard, so hard, talking with her and trying to walk this line of friendship. It felt so unnatural to politely inquire about one another's day but not come home to each other, to not make plans together, or think of things as 'we' or 'us'.

You wanted to know about her life - what was she up to, what things were new, what things were the same - but it made your chest tight every time. It was so stupid and frustrating, you'd initiated this, you wanted her to live her life and for you to live yours, but it still hurt to be nothing more than a peripheral observer these days.

This couldn't be how it was meant to be.

"What are you up to this weekend?"

"If you have some time and you're open to it, maybe we could meet for coffee?"

You pressed your lips together tersely as you contemplated your response. You scrolled up through your conversation with her.

It was friendly enough, but neither of you were being truly open and honest as you texted back and forth. You were both just treading water - and for what?

You took a deep breath and replied.

"Sure. We can meet for a bit. When?"

You could've said more. But what you needed to say to her you wanted to say in person. It seemed the decent thing to do, but you'd be lying if you didn't admit that you also just wanted to see her - maybe one last time.

----------

When you rounded the corner to the coffee shop you spotted Jessie right away, standing there waiting. She anxiously gnawed at the corner of her thumb while restlessly shifting from foot to foot and scrolling on her phone.

You were readying yourself to greet her when her head snapped up, somehow picking out your steps amongst all the others that crossed back and forth in this area.

You hadn't seen her since the night she helped you move in. Your pulse was already pounding loudly in your head before you saw her, but now it quickened further and it took very conscious effort to keep your breathing controlled.

Her posture immediately straightened and she dropped her hands stiffly to her sides, almost standing at attention as you approached. A warm smile tentatively crossed her face. She went to take a step towards you, arms coming out slightly telegraphing a hug, but hesitated and remained rooted to her spot instead.

"Hi," she greeted, quieting her smile in an effort to seem casual. She looked you up and down quickly and said, "You look good." She immediately averted her gaze and began blushing. She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a single shake of her head. "Sorry. I, um, I don't know why I said that. It seemed like the polite thing to do - not that I don't think you look good! But like, not in a disrespectful or inappropriate way. I-"

"It's fine," you cut her off with a faint laugh and offering her a reassuring smile. You smirked. "You look good too. And 'hi'."

She gave you a grateful smile, shoulders relaxing at your reprieve before she stood confidently once more and offered a smile that seemed more natural, easy.

"Wanna head inside?" She asked as she gestured to the doors with her thumb. You nodded and she opened the door, standing aside for you as she held it. "What can I get you?" She asked next.

"Jess," you chided as you gave her a look. She chuckled and shrugged.

"Come on. It's coffee," she said pointedly.

You wanted to make a flirty crack about how that's how it always starts; it did for you two. You gave her your order instead and she looked so pleased that it hurt your heart.

"There's a table over there," Jessie noted as she nodded towards the other side of the shop when you both had your drinks in hand.

It was tempting. In this moment it would be so easy to sit down in this cozy cafe, chat the afternoon away and fall back into old habits. Being with her in person was like a jolt to your system. Even your memories didn't do justice to how easy it was to want her; love her.

"Actually," you interjected, some of your apprehension returning, "I was hoping we could go for a walk."

"Okay," she agreed easily. "Sounds great."

Again, she trotted a few steps ahead to open the door for you. You offered a tight smile as you stepped through.

You breathed easier as soon as you were outside.

You eased in. Asked her how she was, how were things. How was Zoie.

She lit up. The look of gratitude she gave you over the question made you feel guilty for how taboo you'd apparently made mention of her.

"She's doing well. Really well. She's in summer camps and loving it. She's really taken to anything science related, which, you know, I think is great."

She quieted and became aware of how you were watching her. Zoie really did brighten up her life and brought her so much joy. Maybe it was because of the distance or time passed, but it felt easier to just appreciate this. It still ached, but it was duller. It was countered with a warmth in your chest at seeing Jessie like this and imagining the happiness on Zoie's face at how much more love was in her life now.

Jessie took a sip of her drink and gave you a cursory glance before she cleared her throat.

"She asks about you," she said, pausing as if she was testing the waters. "She misses you."

You gave her a fleeting smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"She's really sweet," you said. "I miss her too." Now you cleared your throat, offering her a small smile. "And no surprise she's into science," you gave a faint, forced laugh. "That's great. We need more girls in STEM," you added with another chuckle in hopes of diffusing any mounting tension.

Jessie chuckled and soon started inquiring about your life.

"Yeah, I'm good," you answered simply. There was really no good or easy way to transition into this. Might as well dive in.

"Um, I, uh, actually agreed to meet with you because, I...," you trailed off, your eyes shifting to a low wall at the edge of the walking path you were on. You nodded towards it, "Let's sit down."

"Oh," Jessie commented, her tone dropping before she offered a breathy laugh. "One of these talks, huh?" She joked half-heartedly though she complied and took a seat on the ledge. Her shoulders her hunched over as she held her coffee tightly in both hands while her eyes stared distractedly at the ground.

You took a seat a few inches from her and she looked up at you, a worried frown etched across her forehead already. You gave her a small smile as if that would somehow soothe her.

"Um," you started again as you determinedly picked at the sleeve of your cup. You wracked your mind for the script you'd practiced over and over in your head, but the words were a jumbled mess in this moment.

You let out a nervous laugh and somehow you felt a calming presence coming from her. You turned your head to look at her, now her being the one to offer you a small smile of reassurance despite the sadness growing in her eyes.

"It's okay," she said gently. "Take your time. And say what you need to." Her head dipped slightly, but she maintained her smile.

You blew out a breath, gaze shifting to the sky as you felt tears starting to burn behind your eyes already.

"Shit," you laughed as you tried to suppress the tightness that was forming in your throat.

"It's okay," she repeated.

She was kind. And sweet. And generous. And you loved her so. Your instinct was to lean into her, seek her embrace. In this moment as you looked at her, it was so clear that you would never not want that from her. That you'd be satisfied with less.

"Some people aren't meant to be friends," you lamented as your gaze fell to the ground.

"S-sorry?"

You gave her a regretful look.

"It's been over a month since I moved out. Two since we broke up," you said in near exasperation, "and I don't miss you any less."

You caught the flash of hope in her eyes snuff out the sadness that had been there moments before. It pushed you to get on with it. You'd been dragging things on long enough.

"I've been trying to find a way to be your friend. To stay in each other's lives. Find some way to hold on. But I just can't do it," you said with measured certainty. You voice dropped to just above a whisper, as it would lessen the weight of your words. "We can't be friends, Jess." You felt her eyes on you. "And we can't be more, so..."

You turned to her with a steadying breath.

“Since I met you, there’s been this undeniable, innate desire to get closer. Always wanting more with you. So now needing to do the opposite? It’s been brutal. And so unnatural.

"It's too hard. Hearing from you, talking with you and just orbiting around the edge of your life. One foot in, one foot out. I don't know how to be your friend, and I don't know deep down if I really want to be. How can I know and experience what we had together and just pretend that a fraction of that is enough? I can't picture my feelings for you being anything less than romantic. Anything less than love-of-my-life."

You saw her face fall and it caused a mirrored reaction in you.

"I can't build a new life with you around. Even if it's just in texts," you said sorrowfully. "I can't keep sitting around, distracting myself until the next notification from you. Mapping out how to respond. When. It's - it's too much. I need for us to be apart - truly apart, to move on." Your throat felt dry. "I hope you understand."

Jessie’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears and with the way her shoulders rounded and had her hands tucked between her knees she looked so defeated.

She didn’t speak for several seconds and eventually her shoulders fell further with an empty sigh.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things harder,” she said.

“You-”

“I can text less,” she sat up as she offered it hopefully. She saw the silent sigh you released and her posture fell once more and she ran a hand through her hair. “I understand,” she offered, voice thin.

She wiped at her nose quickly and let out a shuddering sigh as she sat back.

“It’s been hard for me too. I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to know you’ve been pulling away. And of course it makes sense. We’re supposed to. I just-,” she laughed feebly with a cursory glance, “I don’t want to lose you. Completely.”

Her gaze fell and she reached out to gently grasp your hand, her thumb delicately grazing your skin. Your features immediately flickered with emotions, as did hers - you didn’t pull away though, instead relishing this moment.

“I can’t think of you as anything less either,” she admitted in a low voice. She took a deep breath and looked up at you, a couple of tears now staining her cheeks. “Is…this goodbye? Will I ever get to talk to you again?”

You couldn’t will yourself to close things so unequivocally.

You caressed the back of her hand much the way she did yours.

“I’m still here. I don’t want to pretend that you don’t exist and I don’t want you to have to do that either. But keeping up with each other doesn’t work either. Trying to stay active in each other’s lives isn’t sustainable. I want to respect what we had, and I think leaving things as they were, not trying to drag this out or turn it into something we’re not meant to be…I think that’s the best way we can do that.

“You know I think the world of you. But we can’t be friends.”

You gave a pained laugh. “At the same time, the thought of never hearing from you again…” You gave a weak shake of your head. “I can’t bear that either. I’m sure there’s the odd thing where it makes sense that we can reach out. But nothing - consistent? I guess?” You sighed listlessly. “I don’t know. I know that doesn’t give you clarity. But I don’t know how else to define things.”

She gave a series of slow nods and eventually gave your hand a gentle squeeze. She mustered up a smile for you.

“I think I understand,” she said softly.

You two sat together in silence. She squeezed your hand again and you found yourself moving in, resting your head on her shoulder. Her arm immediately came up around you and she hugged you to her side as she laid a lingering kiss atop your head.

You sat there for several minutes together, taking this moment and each other in.

Eventually, you disengaged, immediately feeling cold outside of her embrace. You two walked back to where you started and stood before one another.

“If you ever need anything, don’t ever hesitate,” Jessie said. You nodded.

“Same,” you reciprocated though your thoughts swirled with insecurity - she didn’t need you like you needed her. You pushed them aside.

“I love you,” Jessie said with a broken smile and a wavering voice. She blinked back tears again and tried to laugh. “Had to say it just one more time.”

“I love you, too.” Your gaze fell briefly as you choked up. “I don’t regret any of it. I’m so grateful for everything we had and to be loved by you.” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “Being with you has been the best part of my life.”

Jessie’s face collapsed with emotion. “I’m always going to be yours, you know. Regardless. You made me love and feel loved in a way I didn’t know was possible. I-” She paused with a slow shake of her head and a heartbroken smile pulling at her lips. “Words aren’t enough.”

Moments passed as you held each other’s gaze.

You had no idea a heart could break so deeply so many times.

“Bye, Jess.”

——————

A/N: I’m sorry. I know this isn’t any happier. Please be patient…!

A/Nx2: Life has been rough for me today. Being able to share this chapter with you is a highlight for me though. So thank you so much for the interest and support. It’s making me weepy today 😭

Tag requests: @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #jflem #woso angst #wlw angst

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w1w2 · 7 months ago

Text

Bored

Part 1 | Part 2 - But I'm Not the One To Keep | Part 3

Ningning x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 9,5k

Synopsis: Ningning, a charismatic heartbreaker known for her fleeting romances, finds herself unprepared for the depth of her feelings when she meets Y/N.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Ningning dorm room was dim, illuminated only by the faint, cold glow of laptop screen. The cursor blinked on a blank document like a silent taunt, its rhythmic flicker the only movement in the otherwise still room. Papers and notebooks were strewn across her desk in disarray, remnants of unfinished assignments she couldn’t muster the energy to complete. The guitar she usually turned to for solace leaned against the desk, its polished surface catching the faint light, but tonight, even it felt like a stranger to her.

The vibrant personality of her space, walls adorned with colorful posters of her favorite artists and shelves crammed with knick-knacks collected over the years seemed muted, almost mocking in its cheerfulness. The once comforting clutter felt stifling, closing in on her like a weight she couldn’t shake.

Ningning sat cross legged on her bed, her comforter twisted into a heap beside her. She leaned back against the headboard, her head tipped slightly upward as if searching for answers in the shadowed ceiling. Her hands dragged through her hair, fingers catching on tangles she hadn’t bothered to comb out, before falling limply to her lap.

The room was silent except for the occasional hum of a passing car outside her window, but inside her mind, it was deafening. The echo of her own voice reverberated with cruel clarity

"You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever."

Her words played on an endless loop, hollow and sharp, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She could still see the exact moment they landed, as if watching a replay in slow motion. The way Y/N’s expression had faltered, those warm, expressive eyes dimming with hurt, the way her shoulders had dropped, as if burdened by a weight too heavy to carry.

Ningning groaned, the sound raw and broken as it slipped from her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though she could will the memory away, but it only grew sharper in the darkness. The image of Y/N lingered, unrelenting.

She saw her on the rooftop again, bathed in starlight, the words spilling out of her with hesitant courage

"I think... I’m starting to fall for you."

The vulnerability in Y/N’s voice had terrified Ningning. It had been too much, too real, too honest. Her instinct had been to retreat, to guard herself against the kind of raw emotion that threatened to unravel her carefully constructed facade. Vulnerability was dangerous. It asked too much and gave too little in return.

But Ningning couldn’t stop seeing Y/N’s face, that fragile hope that had been shattered. She let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening as if caught in a vice. Why had she said those things? Why had she hurt the one person who made her feel like she was worth more than the labels she carried?

Her gaze darted to her phone, lying face down on the nightstand. The urge to pick it up, to type out an apology, burned in her chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her fingers twitched, as if sensing the weight of the words she could never take back.

Instead, she reached for her guitar, but her hand faltered halfway. What good would it do? She already knew the melodies wouldn’t soothe her tonight. She felt hollow, as if every note she played would ring false.

She slumped forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her head cradled in her hands. The stillness of the room seemed to press against her, amplifying the ache in her chest. Her own thoughts suffocated her, circling back to Y/N over and over again. Her laughter, her steady presence, her way of making Ningning feel seen without asking for anything in return.

She had let that go.

Now, left alone in the quiet of her room, Ningning couldn’t outrun the truth. The silence amplified the very feelings she was trying to suppress, and the walls of her sanctuary felt less like a haven and more like a prison.

She whispered into the stillness, her voice trembling with the weight of her regret “What the hell have I done?”

Her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to that first, vivid memory of Y/N. It had been an ordinary afternoon, the kind Ningning had spent a hundred times before flitting through the campus café between classes, basking in the attention of passing smiles and casual greetings. But this time had been different.

Ningning had stopped short as her gaze landed on the girl sitting by the window, her head bowed over a notebook. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, wrapping around her like a halo. Strands of her hair, slightly tousled, caught the golden light, and her brow furrowed in concentration gave her an air of quiet determination that Ningning found unexpectedly captivating.

Her breath hitched, her casual confidence faltering for the first time in years. There was a magnetism about Y/N, an unspoken aura that drew Ningning closer without effort. She found herself staring, caught between curiosity and an unfamiliar sense of longing. It wasn’t just Y/N’s appearance, though Ningning would later recall with a smile how beautiful she’d looked in that moment, but the way she seemed completely at ease, oblivious to the bustling café around her.

Ningning had hesitated for a fleeting second, something she never did, before making her way over and sliding into the seat across from Y/N. She flashed her most confident smile, the one that usually won over even the most reserved of hearts. “Mind if I join you?” she had asked, her voice light and playful.

Y/N had blinked up at her, startled, her pen pausing mid stroke. There was no wide-eyed awe, no immediate disarming smile in response. Instead, Y/N’s gaze was polite but wary, a quiet guardedness that intrigued Ningning. It was a challenge, one she couldn’t resist.

In the weeks that followed, Ningning had sought out opportunities to be near her. She told herself it was casual curiosity at first, something about Y/N’s calm demeanor and dry wit made her stand out. But the truth was something far more consuming. Ningning found herself watching for Y/N in the library, lingering outside engineering labs with excuses that felt increasingly flimsy.

The little things.

That’s what had undone her.

It was the way Y/N’s laugh bubbled up, completely unrestrained, when Ningning teased her about her “intimidating” thermos of coffee. It wasn’t a soft chuckle or a polite giggle, it was full-bodied, genuine, and infectious, the kind of laugh that made Ningning feel like she’d accomplished something extraordinary just by being the cause of it.

It was the way Y/N scrunched her nose when concentrating on her engineering projects, her lips pursing in a way that Ningning found inexplicably endearing. It made her want to sit closer, to nudge Y/N’s elbow and ask about whatever brilliant thing she was working on, just to see that focus shift to her for a moment.

And it was the way Y/N always seemed to have an extra cup of coffee ready when Ningning showed up unannounced, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as she handed it over. “Figured you’d need this,” she’d say, and Ningning’s heart would stutter at the casual care in her voice.

Ningning had never felt seen like that before, not in a way that mattered.

The rooftop.

Her heart clenched as she thought of that night, the memory vivid and bittersweet. The stars had been scattered across the sky like glittering promises, but all Ningning had been able to focus on was Y/N. She had looked radiant, her eyes reflecting the faint glow of the city lights below.

Ningning had joked about constellations, trying to lighten the moment, but the air between them had grown heavy with something unspoken. And then Y/N had turned to her, her voice trembling as she said, “I think... I’m starting to fall for you.”

The words had struck Ningning like a lightning bolt, leaving her breathless. For a moment, she had been frozen, caught between the overwhelming rush of emotions surging through her and the fear she could never quite outrun.

When she had leaned in to kiss Y/N, it hadn’t been an impulsive act, it had been deliberate, tender, and charged with all the feelings Ningning didn’t know how to put into words. The softness of Y/N’s lips, the warmth of her touch, the way she had leaned into Ningning like she belonged there, it was perfect in a way that made Ningning’s chest ache.

But perfection had its price, and Ningning knew all too well what it felt like to fall short. She had seen it in the faces of her past relationships, the disappointment that flickered in their eyes when they realized she couldn’t give them the love they wanted, the hurt when her walls refused to come down, the longing in their voices as they asked her why she couldn’t just stay.

She had tried, once or twice, to explain it, but the words always failed her. How could she describe the way love seemed to suffocate her the moment it became too real? How the very idea of being someone’s everything made her chest tighten and her instincts scream to run?

The cycle had become predictable. She would charm her way into someone’s life, bask in the glow of their affection, and then pull away the moment things grew serious. She had convinced herself it was better this way, better to leave before she could cause too much damage, better to slip away before they saw the cracks in her.

So when Y/N had opened her heart, when she had stood under the stars and said those words with such trembling honesty, Ningning had panicked. The vulnerability in Y/N’s voice had terrified her, made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

Her instinct had taken over. She had pushed Y/N away, her words sharp and cutting, designed to hurt. To end things before they could begin. “You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever.”

Now, in the stillness of her dorm room, those words echoed like a curse, each syllable clawing at her chest.

“Better to hurt her now,” she muttered bitterly, her voice cracking as she spoke the lie aloud, “than later.”

The words felt like ash on her tongue, bitter and hollow. No matter how many times she repeated them, they failed to convince her. She knew she had done it to protect herself, to shield her heart from the inevitability of failure. But instead of finding relief, she had only magnified the ache in her chest.

The memory of Y/N’s face as she walked away haunted her. That mix of hurt and disbelief, the way her voice had faltered as she tried to ask Ningning why. Y/N had deserved an explanation, deserved more than Ningning’s cowardice, but Ningning hadn’t known how to give it.

And now it was too late.

Ningning’s whispered question What the hell have I done? hung in the suffocating stillness of her dorm room, unanswered. She sat there for what felt like hours, her mind replaying the same memories, the same regrets, until her phone buzzed again.

Her gaze flickered to the screen, where Aeri’s name lit up with a simple message “Studio. Now. You can’t avoid this forever.”

Ningning sighed, dragging herself off the bed. Her limbs felt heavy, her chest tighter with every step she took to gather her things. Avoidance wasn’t an option tonight, and deep down, she knew she couldn’t keep running from her feelings. If she couldn’t face Y/N, maybe she could at least pour everything into a song.

Grabbing her guitar, she left the room, her mind clouded with doubts and melodies that refused to settle.

The studio was bathed in the soft, artificial glow of overhead lights, casting long shadows across the soundproofed walls. The padded panels seemed to absorb every sound, muting the outside world and leaving only the faint hum of equipment and the low crackle of static from the speakers. It was a space Ningning usually loved, a sanctuary where she could lose herself in the rhythm of creation.

But tonight, the familiar comfort was absent, replaced by a weight she couldn’t shake.

She sat hunched over her guitar, her posture unusually tense, her fingers idly plucking a melody that had been haunting her for days. The notes were soft, tentative, like they were afraid to fully form. The polished wood of the guitar felt smooth under her fingertips, but instead of grounding her, it only made her feel more adrift.

Aeri was at the control panel, her sharp focus cutting through the room’s lethargy. She twisted a knob with practiced ease, muttering to herself about reverb and equalization. The glow of the monitor reflected off her glasses, and every so often, she glanced at Ningning, her brow furrowing with quiet concern.

Jimin was sprawled on the couch in the corner, her phone screen illuminating her face as she scrolled lazily. Every few minutes, she would let out a soft snort or chuckle, likely at some meme or post that caught her attention. The casual ease with which she lounged felt at odds with the tension radiating from Ningning.

The room buzzed with life, yet Ningning felt miles away. The low hum of the equipment, the faint static breaking through the speakers, even the comforting presence of her friends none of it could drown out the storm in her head.

“Earth to Ning,” Aeri’s voice cut through the haze, jolting her out of her thoughts. Aeri swiveled her chair around to face her, arms crossed. “You gonna sing, or are we just gonna stare at each other all night?”

Ningning blinked, her fingers faltering over the strings. She forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just... give me a minute.”

Her voice sounded distant even to her, like it belonged to someone else. She gripped the neck of her guitar a little tighter, as if the familiar weight might anchor her in the present.

Aeri exchanged a glance with Jimin, who set her phone down with a small sigh. “You’ve been like this for days,” Jimin said, her tone casual but her gaze sharp. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Ningning replied too quickly, the word slipping out like a reflex. She cleared her throat and tried to soften her tone. “I’m just tired. Long week, you know?”

Jimin raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back, kicking her feet up on the arm of the couch. “Well, whatever it is, you’d better get it out before we start recording. No half-assed vocals, okay?”

Aeri nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah. We’re not rushing this, Ning. If you need more time—”

“No,” Ningning interrupted, her voice firm but strained. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Aeri hesitated for a moment before turning back to the control panel. Jimin gave a small shrug, picking up her phone again, but Ningning could feel their concern lingering in the air like an unspoken question.

She closed her eyes, gripping her guitar tighter as the melody echoed in her head. It was the only thing keeping her tethered, the one piece of her chaos that made any sense. But even as she prepared to sing, a part of her wondered if she was ready to face the emotions waiting on the other side of the music.

Her heart wasn’t in it, and they all knew it.

When she finally stepped into the recording booth, the familiar weight of the headphones pressed against her ears. The microphone stood before her, stark and unyielding, like a confessional waiting to unearth her deepest truths. She adjusted the mic stand slightly, stalling for time as the first chords of Bored began to play in her headphones.

Her fingers itched with the ghost of her guitar, but it wasn’t the melody she was struggling with, it was the lyrics. Every word felt like an admission, a raw fragment of herself laid bare for the world to see.

She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her, and the memories followed, relentless and vivid.

It had been a warm afternoon, one of those rare, golden days where everything felt easy. She remembered sitting on the campus lawn with Y/N, the hum of distant conversations mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Y/N had been bent over her notebook, her pen moving in slow, thoughtful strokes.

Ningning had plucked a small flower from the grass, a delicate splash of color against the green, and leaned forward with a grin. “Hold still,” she had said, tucking it carefully behind Y/N’s ear. The sunlight had caught in Y/N’s hair, her startled laugh soft and musical, and for a moment, Ningning had felt something unfamiliar bloom in her chest.

That laugh, that moment, it was still there, woven into the fabric of her song.

Her voice trembled slightly as she sang the opening lines.

“I’m so pretty in your head, boy, yeah Picking flowers, put ’em right behind my ear...”

The lyrics twisted the truth, but that was easier than admitting the vulnerability of the original memory. She poured her longing into each word, shaping them into a melody that felt bittersweet, like a smile hiding an ache.

Her voice grew stronger as she reached the chorus.

“Takin’ up a good rush, don’t try to fight it Paradise on Venus in your eyes...”

Y/N’s eyes flashed in her mind, bright and filled with something Ningning had never let herself name. The rooftop kiss followed, as it always did. She could still feel the warmth of Y/N’s hand resting lightly on hers, the weight of her gaze as she had said, “I think... I’m starting to fall for you.”

The words had sent a jolt through Ningning’s heart, a mix of exhilaration and panic that she hadn’t been able to untangle. And then she had ruined it.

Her voice faltered slightly, the weight of her regret pressing down like a physical force.

“Ning,” Aeri’s voice came through the headphones, soft but firm. “You’re doing great. Let’s take it from the top.”

Ningning nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She started again, pushing through the chorus and into the second verse, her voice carrying all the raw emotion she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud.

“Turning your hellos into goodbyes, I always come in hardcore...”

The words felt like a knife turning in her chest. She had turned Y/N’s soft hellos, her open heart, into something brittle and broken. She had pushed Y/N away, convinced it was for the best, but now all she could do was relive the moments they’d shared, clinging to them like lifelines in the emptiness.

She poured it all into the song, every ounce of guilt, every flicker of longing, every unspoken apology. When the final note faded, the silence that followed was deafening.

Aeri’s voice broke through again, careful and measured. “That was... intense. You okay, Ning?”

Ningning pulled the headphones off and set them down with trembling hands. “Yeah,” she lied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.”

But as she stepped out of the booth, her chest felt hollow, and the ache that had driven her to create this song remained as sharp as ever.

Hours later, the studio was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the equipment and the soft clatter of Aeri’s keyboard. The raw recording of Bored played through the speakers for what felt like the hundredth time, every note polished, every vocal layer perfected.

Ningning sat slumped in a chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against her arm, the only outward sign of the storm brewing inside her. She stared at the monitor as if it held some answer she hadn’t yet found.

“Okay,” Aeri said, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “That’s it. It’s done.”

Jimin, who had been dozing on the couch, cracked an eye open and gave a lazy thumbs up. “Sounds killer. People are gonna eat this up.”

Ningning nodded faintly, but the weight in her chest didn’t lift. The song was done, polished to perfection, yet it didn’t feel like a triumph. If anything, it felt like a confession she wasn’t ready for the world to hear.

Aeri turned to her, her voice softer now. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ningning replied automatically, though her voice wavered. She cleared her throat and forced a weak smile. “Just tired.”

Aeri didn’t press further, but the look she gave Ningning lingered, a mix of concern and something unreadable.

They listened to the track one last time, the haunting melody filling the studio. Ningning felt every word as if she were singing them again, the emotions sharper than before. When the final note faded, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“It’s good,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

“It’s better than good,” Jimin said, sitting up and stretching. “This is the kind of song people are gonna remember.”

But as Ningning packed up her guitar and prepared to leave, all she could think was how much she wished she didn’t have to remember.

The song dropped three days later, and the reaction was immediate.

By the time Ningning woke up that morning, her phone was already buzzing with notifications. Social media was flooded with posts about Bored, clips of the song, glowing reviews, and endless comments tagging her name.

“@_imnotningning just gave us the ultimate heartbreaker anthem.” “Why does Bored sound so good and so savage at the same time?” “This song... wow. Ningning really said, ‘I’ll break your heart and make it a hit.’”

Jimin sent a screenshot of the streaming numbers to their group chat with a series of fire emojis “We’re blowing up. Told you.”

Ningning sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling through the messages and comments, her expression unreadable. Normally, she would have basked in the attention, maybe even posted a playful selfie with a “thank you” caption. But today, the praise felt hollow.

Her classmates were talking about the song too. Everywhere she went, cafés, hallways, even the library, someone was playing it. The haunting melody seemed to follow her, the lyrics spilling from speakers and headphones like they were taunting her.

She walked past a group of students sitting on the quad, their conversation carrying over to her ears.

“Did you hear Bored yet? It’s so good. Ningning really nailed the whole ‘heartbreaker’ vibe.” “Yeah, but like... do you think it’s just a song, or is she actually like that?”

She quickened her pace, her chest tightening.

Later that day, she sat in a corner of the café, her hood pulled low over her face. She watched from the shadows as a group of students queued up at the counter, one of them humming the chorus under their breath.

“Takin’ up a good rush, don’t try to fight it...”

Her stomach churned. They were celebrating the song, turning it into something bigger than it was ever meant to be. They didn’t know it wasn’t just a catchy tune, it was her. Her regret, her longing, her everything, laid bare for the world to dissect.

Jimin sent another text “People are calling this your best work yet. You okay?”

Ningning stared at the message for a long moment before typing a reply “Yeah. Just a lot to process.”

She didn’t hit send. Instead, she set the phone down and stared out the window, watching the world move on without her.

The song was a success. She should have been happy. But all she felt was the hollow ache that had been with her since the night she’d walked away from Y/N.

The praise was loud, but the silence in her heart was louder.

It was late when Ningning found herself wandering the campus, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The paths were quiet, lined with the faint glow of streetlights, their soft hum filling the silence. She had hoped the walk would clear her head, but instead, it only made the ache in her chest sharper.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a notification about Bored. It was another tag, another comment praising her, another reminder of the song’s success. She didn’t even bother looking at it.

Her steps slowed as she approached the bench near the quad, tucked beneath an old oak tree. The sight of it stopped her cold. She hadn’t intended to come here, but her feet had carried her anyway, as if drawn by memory.

She could still picture Y/N sitting there, her face illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches. Ningning had spent countless afternoons on that bench with her, sharing jokes, snacks, and moments of quiet that had felt like their own little world.

But now the bench was empty, and the silence around it felt deafening.

Ningning sank down onto the worn wood, the weight of her regret pressing her shoulders forward. She stared at the ground, her thoughts spinning in endless circles.

This is what you wanted, she told herself. You pushed her away. You said it was better this way.

But the words felt hollow, even in her mind. Every memory of Y/N burned brighter against the darkness of her guilt. She thought of Y/N’s laughter, the way it had filled the spaces between them, making everything seem lighter. She thought of the way Y/N had looked at her, her gaze steady and full of quiet affection.

And she thought of that night on the rooftop, the way Y/N’s voice had trembled as she confessed, “I think... I’m starting to fall for you.”

Ningning’s chest tightened, her hands curling into fists on her lap. She had been terrified in that moment, so scared of falling short that she had lashed out. She had thought she was protecting them both by ending it, but now it felt like she had only destroyed the best thing she’d ever had.

The quad was still, but her mind was anything but. Every line of Bored replayed in her head, the lyrics that had once felt like armor now cutting her like glass.

“Love ’til the end of the road, then I tend to get bored...”

The words had been true when she wrote them. At least, she had believed they were true. But now, sitting here alone, she realized how wrong she’d been. She wasn’t bored. She wasn’t indifferent. She was miserable.

Her hand drifted to her pocket, pulling out her phone. Her thumb hovered over Y/N’s name in her contacts. The urge to call, to apologize, to beg for another chance burned in her chest.

But what could she even say? I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for not seeing what I had until it was too late.

She opened her messages anyway, scrolling aimlessly through old chats. Y/N’s name sat near the top of her contacts, untouched since the day she had ended things. There was no new message waiting, no unread text to give her a sliver of hope.

She didn’t need to open their conversation to remember how it ended. She had ended it in person, face to face.

She remembered Y/N standing in front of her on the courtyard bench where they’d often met between classes, her arms crossed, her expression guarded yet hopeful. The question had come softly, without accusation:

“Ning, is something wrong? You’ve been... distant.”

Ningning had tried to shrug it off, playing the part of someone too preoccupied to care. “I’ve just been busy,” she’d said, her voice clipped.

But Y/N hadn’t let it go. “You’re canceling plans, avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?”

The crack in Y/N’s voice had nearly undone her, but Ningning had held firm. She had to.

“It’s not about you,” Ningning had replied after a long pause, avoiding Y/N’s gaze. “I just... I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

Y/N’s face had fallen, confusion and hurt flashing across her features. “What does that mean?”

Ningning had stood abruptly, running a hand through her hair as though she could smooth out the knots tightening in her chest. “It means you’re getting too attached,” she’d snapped, her voice rising defensively. “I didn’t sign up for this, Y/N. I’m not looking for something serious.”

Even now, sitting alone in the cold glow of the campus streetlights, she could still see the look on Y/N’s face as her words landed—the shock, the disbelief, and the crushing realization that followed.

Y/N had stood there, her shoulders stiff and her chin trembling, holding back tears. “You could have told me that from the start,” she’d said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Instead of letting me believe this meant something.”

Ningning had meant to respond, maybe even apologize, but the words had refused to come. All she could manage was a hollow echo of the line she had clung to like a shield: “You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever.”

The memory struck Ningning like a blow, and she doubled over on the bench, her head in her hands.

Now, sitting alone on the bench, Ningning could still see the scene as clearly as if it were happening all over again. She could still feel the lump in her throat, the gnawing ache in her chest as she had watched Y/N leave, knowing she had just let go of something irreplaceable.

Her phone slipped from her hands, landing softly on the bench beside her. She pressed her palms to her face, her breathing shaky as tears threatened to spill.

“I miss you,” she whispered, the words breaking like a confession in the quiet night. “God, I miss you so much.”

The silence around her offered no comfort, only amplifying the emptiness she felt. She had tried to move on, tried to channel her feelings into the song, but it hadn’t worked.

The song was everywhere, on playlists, in cafés, on the lips of people she passed, but none of it mattered. Its success felt meaningless without Y/N.

The worst part was knowing she had done this to herself. She had pushed Y/N away, convinced it was the right thing to do, but now she wasn’t sure she even knew how to fix it.

As the first tear slipped down her cheek, Ningning let herself cry. For the first time since their fight, she didn’t try to push the feelings away. She let herself feel the weight of it, the unbearable ache of missing someone who had once felt like home.

The world around her blurred, the quiet hum of the campus fading as her emotions overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how long she sat there, her tears soaking into her sleeves, but for the first time in weeks, she stopped pretending she was okay.

The song hadn’t been meant for the world, it had been meant for herself. She had written it thinking that putting her feelings into words, into melodies, would help her let go of them. She had hoped it would be an exorcism, a way to purge the ache in her chest and move on.

But now, as she sat alone on that bench, she saw how wrong she had been. The song hadn’t taken the feelings away. It had only magnified them. Every lyric, every melody, was her running from the truth.

And she wondered if Y/N, wherever she was, had heard it, and if she’d felt even a fraction of the emotions Ningning had tried to hide.

The song’s lyrics again played in her mind as she rose from the bench, the melody haunting her steps as she made her way back toward the dorms. Her feet felt heavy, each step a reminder of the ache in her chest that refused to fade.

She barely slept that night, her thoughts a relentless spiral of memories and regrets. By the time her alarm blared the next morning, Ningning felt like she’d been awake for hours, her body sluggish as she forced herself to get ready for the day.

Ningning burst through the doors of the lecture hall, her bag half zipped and her papers spilling onto the floor. A few heads turned her way, some with mild annoyance, as she scrambled to gather her belongings.

“Sorry,” she mumbled under her breath, avoiding eye contact as she hurried to an empty seat in the back. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but her mind was already elsewhere.

She pulled out a notebook and pen, but her hand stilled after the first few lines of the professor’s lecture. The words on the board blurred, her thoughts drifting to Y/N. She imagined the way Y/N used to say her name, soft and teasing, her voice carrying a warmth that Ningning hadn’t appreciated enough at the time.

Her pen began to move across the page, not writing notes but doodling aimless shapes in the margins. Flowers, stars, anything to distract herself. But even then, her mind betrayed her, filling the empty space with memories of Y/N’s smile, the way it lit up her whole face when she laughed.

A sharp cough snapped Ningning back to the present. She glanced up to find the professor’s eyes briefly meeting hers before moving on. Heat flushed her face again, and she quickly closed her notebook, pretending to follow along.

The class ended, and Ningning shoved her things into her bag, barely paying attention as she bumped into a few classmates on her way out. The hallway buzzed with chatter, the usual post-lecture hum of voices, but Ningning moved through it like a ghost, her mind clouded with thoughts she couldn’t shake.

She stepped into the quad, hoping for a moment of calm in the open air. The sun was warm on her skin, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the path. For a brief second, she allowed herself to breathe.

And then she saw her.

Y/N sat under the large oak tree near the center of the quad, her back resting against the trunk. Chaewon and Yunjin flanked her, laughing at something Yunjin had just said. Y/N was laughing too, her head tilted back, the sound light and infectious.

Ningning froze mid step, her heart plummeting into her stomach. It felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs.

She hadn’t seen Y/N in weeks, not up close like this. The sight of her, her radiant smile, the way her hair caught the sunlight, was almost too much to bear. Y/N looked... happy. And it wasn’t Ningning who had put that smile on her face.

Her first instinct was to approach her, to cross the quad and find a way to talk. But before she could take a step, her doubts crept in. What would she even say? I miss you? I’m sorry? I didn’t mean any of it?

She couldn’t do it.

Before Y/N could notice her, Ningning ducked behind the nearest tree, pressing her back against the rough bark. She closed her eyes, willing her racing heart to slow down. The urge to look again was unbearable, but she forced herself to stay hidden.

The sound of Y/N’s laughter drifted to her, faint but unmistakable. Ningning peeked around the tree, just for a moment, and her chest tightened at the sight. Y/N was leaning forward slightly, her hand brushing against Chaewon’s as she spoke, her expression animated.

Jealousy twisted in Ningning’s gut, sharp and unforgiving. She hated herself for feeling it, knowing she had no right. Y/N had every reason to move on, to surround herself with people who wouldn’t push her away.

But the thought of Y/N finding happiness without her was unbearable.

Ningning bit her lip, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She stayed hidden until Y/N and her friends gathered their things and walked away, their laughter fading into the distance. Only then did Ningning step out from behind the tree, her legs trembling as she continued toward her next class.

Later, Ningning sat at a corner table in the café, her tray untouched in front of her. The low hum of conversations filled the air, punctuated by the clinking of mugs and the hiss of the espresso machine. Aeri and Minjeong sat across from her, animatedly discussing their latest group project, but their words barely registered.

Ningning stared down at her plate, her fork idly pushing a piece of lettuce back and forth. Her stomach felt hollow, but the thought of eating made her nauseous.

“Ning,” Minjeong said, her tone tinged with concern. “Are you even listening?”

Ningning blinked, looking up as if startled out of a dream. “What?”

Minjeong exchanged a glance with Aeri before leaning forward. “I asked if you’re okay. You’ve been... off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Ningning said quickly, her voice tight. She picked up her fork and stabbed at her salad, hoping it would make her look convincing. “Just tired, that’s all.”

Minjeong frowned, her skepticism clear. “You’ve been tired for weeks. Is something going on?”

Aeri nudged Minjeong with her elbow, cutting her off. “Let it go. She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Ningning felt a pang of guilt as Minjeong sat back, muttering under her breath. She knew her friends were trying to help, but the thought of explaining everything, the fight, the regret, the way she couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N, was unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” Ningning mumbled, her eyes fixed on her tray. “I’m just... distracted. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Aeri tilted her head, studying Ningning with a sharpness that made her squirm. “You sure that’s all it is?”

Ningning forced a smile, though it felt like her face might crack under the strain. “Yeah. Promise.”

Aeri didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, turning the conversation back to Minjeong. Ningning nodded along absently as they talked, her gaze drifting to the phone sitting on the edge of the table.

Y/N’s contact sat pinned at the top of her messages now. Ningning’s chest tightened as she stared at it, her fingers itching to pick it up, to type something, anything.

But what could she say that would make a difference?

She pulled her hand back, letting the phone sit untouched. The noise of the café pressed in around her, but Ningning felt utterly alone.

Later Ningning left feeling more exhausted than ever, the weight of her friends’ unspoken concerns lingering in the pit of her stomach. She had promised herself that she’d keep it together, but lately, even the smallest interactions felt like a struggle.

The next few days passed in a haze. Her routines blurred together, classes she barely paid attention to, meals she didn’t taste, music sessions that felt hollow. The song’s success continued to ripple through campus, but Ningning barely acknowledged it. The praise that had once thrilled her now felt meaningless.

Her friends noticed. Of course, they noticed.

So when Aeri texted her to meet up for coffee with Minjeong and Jimin, Ningning felt a flicker of apprehension. She knew they would ask questions. They always did. And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep dodging them.

By the time she reached the agreed place, she was running late, her mind already spinning excuses.

The café was quiet, the midday rush long gone. The faint hum of soft jazz played over the speakers, mingling with the rhythmic clink of cups and the occasional muted laugh from a nearby table. The warm scent of coffee and pastries filled the air, but for Ningning, the atmosphere felt anything but comforting.

Aeri, Minjeong, and Jimin sat at a corner table by the window, their drinks half-finished, their conversation subdued. They weren’t laughing, weren’t chatting like they usually did. Instead, their focus was fixed on the door, their expressions tight with concern.

When Ningning finally walked in, their gazes snapped toward her in unison. She hesitated in the doorway, her heart sinking as she caught the looks they exchanged. This wasn’t going to be a casual hangout; she could feel it already.

Sliding into the seat across from them, Ningning dropped her bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. “Sorry,” she muttered, keeping her eyes on the table. “Lost track of time.”

Aeri leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studied Ningning with a raised eyebrow. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Ningning’s hand shot up to her face instinctively, as if she could smooth away the evidence of her exhaustion. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing a weak smile. “Just a lot on my plate right now.”

“Yeah, we can tell,” Jimin said dryly, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. “Look, we’ve been giving you space because we figured you’d come to us when you were ready, but you’re not getting better. You’re getting worse.”

Minjeong nodded, her voice softer but no less insistent. “We’re worried about you, Ning. You’ve been... off for weeks now.”

Ningning let out a short, strained laugh, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve. “What, do I need an intervention now? Relax, I’m fine. Just tired.”

The words felt hollow even as she said them, and judging by the silence that followed, they hadn’t convinced anyone.

Aeri leaned forward, her expression unusually serious. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a blade. “You’re not fine, and we’re done pretending you are. Talk to us.”

Ningning shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She could feel their eyes on her, the weight of their concern pressing down like a lead blanket.

“It’s nothing,” she said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just... stuff. I’ll figure it out.”

Minjeong frowned, leaning closer. “Does this have anything to do with Y/N?”

The question hit like a lightning strike. Ningning froze, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t answer right away, but her reaction was enough.

Jimin leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed and her tone pointed. “You haven’t been the same since you broke things off with her. Have you even tried reaching out?”

Ningning’s fingers curled into fists in her lap, her jaw tightening. “It’s better this way,” she muttered, avoiding their gazes.

“Better for who?” Aeri asked, her tone sharp but not unkind.

“For her,” Ningning snapped, her voice cracking slightly. She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze. “I’m doing what’s best for her. She deserves better than me.”

Minjeong’s voice softened, her eyes searching Ningning’s face. “Is that really how you feel? Or is that just what you’re telling yourself?”

The question hung in the air, and Ningning struggled to find a response. She could feel the walls she had built around herself beginning to crumble under the weight of their words.

Jimin’s gaze was steady, her tone matter of fact as she broke the silence. “You’re miserable, Ning. Don’t act like you’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ningning shot back, her voice rising slightly.

“No, you’re not,” Aeri said firmly, leaning forward. “You’re barely holding it together, and it’s not just affecting you. It’s affecting all of us. We’re worried about you, Ning. Whatever you’re carrying, it’s too much for you to handle alone.”

Ningning’s fingers curled around the edge of the table, her knuckles white. “It’s not your problem,” she muttered, her voice sharp and defensive.

“It is when we care about you,” Minjeong said softly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Jimin tilted her head, her voice cutting through Ningning’s resistance. “You think pushing everyone away is helping? You think hiding from how you feel is going to make it go away?”

“It’s not that simple!” Ningning snapped, her voice trembling. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make us understand,” Aeri said, her voice softer now but still resolute. “We’re here, Ning. Stop running and talk to us.”

Ningning’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as the weight of their concern pressed down on her. She looked at each of them in turn, their faces filled with quiet determination, and for the first time, she felt the walls she had built start to give way.

Her hands trembled as she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hurt her.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with regret. Ningning blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as tears welled up in her eyes. “I hurt her, and I can’t take it back. I pushed her away because I thought it was the right thing to do, but... but now, all I can think about is how much I messed up.”

Minjeong reached across the table, her hand brushing lightly against Ningning’s arm. “You made a mistake,” she said gently. “That doesn’t mean it’s the end.”

Ningning shook her head, her voice breaking. “You don’t get it. I’m the one who ruined everything. She trusted me, and I... I threw it all away because I was scared. Scared of screwing it up, scared of letting her get too close.”

Jimin leaned back, her voice softer now but still firm. “So instead of letting her in, you broke it off? That’s not protecting her, Ning. That’s protecting yourself.”

The words cut deep, and Ningning’s defenses crumbled completely. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly swiped it away, but the floodgates had opened.

“She’s better off without me,” Ningning whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t give her what she needs. I’ll just mess it up again, and I can’t... I can’t put her through that.”

Aeri spoke then, her tone steady but kind. “You’re not giving her a choice, Ning. You decided for her, and now you’re both hurting because of it.”

Ningning’s shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands, her tears coming freely now. She felt Aeri’s hand on her back, a steady presence that didn’t demand anything from her.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Minjeong said gently. “But it’s not okay to let fear control you. You can’t keep running from this, Ning.”

Jimin nodded, her voice softer than before. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. But you owe it to yourself, and to her to at least try.”

Ningning sniffled, lifting her head to look at her friends through tear-filled eyes. Their expressions were filled with quiet support, no judgment, just an unwavering belief that she could face this.

The weight of her conversation with Aeri, Jimin, and Minjeong lingered in Ningning’s chest as she walked across campus the next morning. The air was brisk, carrying the scent of damp earth from a recent rain, but it did little to clear her thoughts.

Her friends had been right, she couldn’t keep running. But knowing that and acting on it were two different things. She wasn’t ready to face Y/N yet. Every time she thought about reaching out, the fear of rejection, the fear of making things worse, held her back.

She sighed, pulling her bag tighter over her shoulder as she approached her next class. The last thing she needed was to spiral in front of her classmates.

But as she rounded the corner to the lecture hall, she froze. Yunjin and Chaewon were waiting by the door, their arms crossed and their expressions unreadable.

Ningning’s heart sank.

“Uh, hey,” she said cautiously, offering a weak smile.

Yunjin raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp. “We need to talk.”

Ningning hesitated, her gaze darting to the open classroom door like it was a lifeline. Her heart pounded as if it could somehow drown out the growing tension in the air. She felt cornered, exposed, and the sharp looks Yunjin and Chaewon were giving her only made it worse.

Before she could make a move, Yunjin stepped forward, her stance unyielding.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Yunjin said firmly. Her voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the edge in her tone.

Ningning’s stomach churned as the words sank in. Her fingers fumbled with the strap of her bag, and she looked to Chaewon, silently hoping for an out.

Chaewon placed a calming hand on Yunjin’s shoulder, her expression softer but no less resolute. “We’re not here to fight,” she said, her voice measured. “We just want answers.”

Ningning sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the moment. “Answers to what?” she asked, though the dread creeping into her chest told her she already knew.

“To why you hurt Y/N,” Yunjin said bluntly, her gaze cutting through Ningning’s defenses. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put her through?”

Ningning flinched, the accusation landing like a physical blow. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The memory of Y/N’s hurt expression flashed in her mind, twisting her stomach into knots.

“I... I didn’t mean to hurt her,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“But you did,” Chaewon interjected, her voice steady but heavy with meaning. “She’s been trying to move on, but it’s obvious she’s still hurting. And honestly? So are you.”

Ningning felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a mix of shame and defensiveness bubbling up inside her. Her grip on her bag tightened, her knuckles white.

“I’m fine,” she said tersely, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“No, you’re not,” Yunjin snapped, her words cutting through Ningning’s facade. “We’ve seen how you’ve been acting, like a mess, avoiding everyone, barely holding it together.” She leaned in slightly, her tone biting but not unkind. “If you’re fine, then I’m a pop star.”

The last comment hung in the air, both sharp and oddly humorous, but Ningning couldn’t bring herself to respond. Her throat felt tight, and her chest ached with the weight of her emotions. She tried to hold her ground, but the truth was written all over her face, and Yunjin and Chaewon weren’t letting her run from it.

Ningning’s temper flared, the heat of frustration rising to her face. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

Her hands gripped the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white. The tension coiling in her chest felt unbearable, and lashing out was the only release she could find.

Yunjin didn’t back down. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and determination. “It’s my business because Y/N is my friend,” she said, her voice unwavering. “She’s been there for me when I needed her, and I’m not going to stand by and watch her suffer because you can’t get your act together.”

The words struck a nerve, and Ningning’s jaw clenched as she fought to maintain her composure. She could feel the pressure building behind her eyes, but she refused to let it show.

Chaewon sighed, stepping slightly between them, her voice calm but firm. “We’re not here to attack you, Ningning,” she said, her eyes searching Ningning’s face. “But you can’t keep pretending this didn’t happen. You need to face it.”

Ningning shook her head, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “I don’t owe you anything,” she muttered, her fists curling at her sides.

“You don’t owe us anything,” Yunjin said, her tone softening slightly but losing none of its weight. “But you owe it to Y/N, and to yourself, to stop running and be honest about how you feel.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Ningning’s throat tightened, her defenses wavering as the truth pressed against her like a physical weight. Her voice cracked as she shot back, “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel like crap every single day for what I did?”

Chaewon placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her voice soothing. “Then why not do something about it? Running away isn’t making it better, it’s only making it worse.”

“I’m scared, okay?” Ningning’s voice broke completely, and she felt the first sting of tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can.”

Yunjin’s gaze softened, and she let out a sigh, her arms uncrossing. “Ning, no one’s saying it’ll be easy. But if you care about her even half as much as we think you do, then you owe it to her, and to yourself to try.”

Chaewon nodded, her tone kind but firm. “We’re not against you, Ningning. We’re trying to help you.”

Ningning blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. The vulnerability she had been running from for so long felt like it was finally catching up to her, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep holding it off.

Ningning’s facade cracked at the words, her composure slipping as the emotions she had been suppressing clawed their way to the surface. Her chest felt tight, her breathing uneven. She tried to hold it together, but the pressure was too much.

“You think it’s that easy?” she snapped, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and despair. Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she glared at Yunjin, though her expression was more pleading than hostile. “You think I don’t want to fix this? I don’t even know where to start!”

Her words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered.

Yunjin’s sharp expression softened slightly, though her stance remained firm. She took a step back, giving Ningning space, but her voice carried the same unwavering conviction. “You start by being honest,” she said simply. “With her, and with yourself.”

The directness of the statement left Ningning momentarily speechless. She looked down, her breathing shaky as her thoughts swirled chaotically.

Chaewon stepped closer, her voice gentle but resolute. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Ningning opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, the weight of them too much to bear. Her lips parted in a silent attempt to speak, but no sound came. Instead, her eyes burned with unshed tears as she looked away, her gaze fixed on the ground.

The lump in her throat grew tighter, and the silence between them stretched until Yunjin broke it.

“You love her, don’t you?” Yunjin’s voice was softer now, almost tender, but the question hit like a punch to the gut.

The weight of the truth she had been avoiding pressed down on Ningning, and her shoulders sagged under its heaviness. She stumbled back, sinking onto the nearest bench as her defenses crumbled entirely.

Her hands trembled as they came up to cover her face, and her voice was thick with emotion when she finally spoke. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her words barely audible. “I’m scared. What if I mess it up again? What if she’s better off without me?”

Her confession lingered in the air, raw and vulnerable, and for a moment, the only sound was her quiet, uneven breathing.

Chaewon crouched down in front of her, resting a comforting hand on Ningning’s knee. Her voice was steady and reassuring, each word deliberate. “You won’t know unless you try. And I think she deserves to hear the truth, from you, not from anyone else.”

Ningning lowered her hands slightly, her tear-streaked face finally visible. She blinked at Chaewon, her lips trembling as she tried to absorb the words.

“What if it’s too late?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Yunjin stepped forward, her tone softer but still firm. “Then at least you’ll know you tried. But you can’t keep running from this, Ning. You owe it to both of you to face it, no matter how scary it feels.”

Ningning’s breathing slowed as the weight of their words settled over her. The fear that had been consuming her didn’t vanish, but for the first time, she felt a faint glimmer of possibility. Of hope.

Yunjin sighed, leaning back slightly. Her expression softened, though her tone remained firm. “Look, you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said, her voice measured. “But you need to talk to her. Be honest about how you feel, even if it’s messy.”

Ningning swallowed hard, the weight of the words sinking into her chest. Be honest. The very thought made her stomach churn. Honesty meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant opening herself up to the possibility of rejection. Or worse, hurting Y/N again.

Chaewon nodded, stepping closer with a look of quiet determination. “We’ll help you,” she said gently. “We can set up a time for you to talk to her, somewhere private, where you won’t feel pressured. Somewhere you can just... be real with her.”

Ningning’s heart pounded as the thought took root. Her mind raced with the possibilities, each one more nerve-wracking than the last. What would she even say? How could she begin to fix the damage she’d caused?

But as terrifying as the thought of facing Y/N was, the alternative, living with the regret of never trying, was worse. The ache in her chest, the gnawing sense of emptiness that had consumed her since the day she pushed Y/N away, was unbearable.

Her gaze flickered between Yunjin and Chaewon, both of them watching her with expectant yet supportive eyes. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap as she finally nodded.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

The words felt fragile, as if they might shatter under the weight of her doubt, but as they hung in the air, a small wave of relief washed over her.

Yunjin’s expression softened into a small smile, a mix of approval and reassurance. “Good. Because it’s about time,” she said, her tone lighter now but still carrying the weight of their earlier conversation.

Chaewon crouched down slightly, meeting Ningning’s gaze as she gently patted her shoulder. “You’re not alone in this,” she said, her voice steady and full of warmth. “We’ll be here every step of the way.”

The simple gesture, Chaewon’s hand on her shoulder, the sincerity in her voice, was enough to crack through Ningning’s lingering doubt. For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t dared to hope for: a glimmer of hope.

It wasn’t going to be easy. She knew that. But as she looked at Yunjin and Chaewon, their expressions filled with quiet confidence in her, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make things right.

The knot in her chest loosened slightly, and she let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she murmured, the words carrying a weight of gratitude she couldn’t fully express.

Chaewon smiled softly, standing back up and gesturing toward the hallway. “You’ve got this, Ningning. And when you’re ready, we’ll help you figure out the next step.”

Yunjin gave a playful nudge to Ningning’s shoulder as they turned to leave. “And don’t overthink it too much,” she said, her tone teasing but still supportive. “You’ve already made it this far. The hard part’s just beginning, but you’re tougher than you think.”

Ningning couldn’t bring herself to smile fully, but the faint curve of her lips was enough. As she watched her friends walk ahead, she realized that while the path ahead was uncertain, she wasn’t walking it alone.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #ningning x fem reader #ningning x reader #ning yizhuo x reader

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nyc-tophile · 7 days ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

After finding out about Hydra’s Project REVENANT, you, Bucky, and Natasha went forward with the mission to take down the Revenants. Uncovering what was a graveyard of identities and a haunting mirror of the Winter Soldier’s past. Confronting the prototype pushes Bucky to the edge, forcing him to face what Hydra made him… and what he’s fought so hard not to be.

Warnings - ooc winter soldier, psychological trauma, emotional vulnerability, injury recovery, discussions of identity and dehumanization, PTSD triggers, hurt/comfort, mention of captivity.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this one’s getting posted a bit late; as I was writing, the electricity went out and completely threw me off! But I managed to finish it, and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Thank you for being patient with me. Love y’all lots, always. xxx

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟖 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏𝟎

It started quietly.

Not the type of quiet that is peaceful. Not quite calm.

Quiet—the kind that presses on your chest and makes you forget how to breathe. The kind that doesn’t mean safety. It means something’s coming.

The jet flew low, hugging the treetops, skimming the mist as it descended toward a wide clearing tucked into the dense folds of a dead forest. No satellite image showed it. No intel gave it away. But it was there. Beneath the dirt and decay, Hydra had buried something again.

Revenant.

You stood beside Bucky, both of you braced at the rear of the Quinjet as the ramp hissed open. Wind bit into your skin. Cold, sharp, alive with the scent of the earth. You stepped down first, then Bucky, then Natasha. None of you said a word. Words felt too small for what waited underground.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, eyes locked on the trees ahead. The silence wrapped around him like armor, but it didn’t hide the weight pressing into his spine.

Natasha flanked his other side. Unlike her usual casual grace, her stance was rigid, sharp. She wasn’t masking it. Not this time. She knew what this place was. What it meant for both of you, especially for Bucky.

“Heads up,” she murmured, sweeping her eyes across the tree line. “This place doesn’t breathe like it should.”

“Because it’s not alive,” Bucky said, voice gravel-rough. “Not really.”

You looked toward the moss-covered rock formation ahead. It didn’t look like an entrance. But it was. A false boulder shifted at Natasha’s touch, revealing the faint shimmer of a biometric scanner.

She pressed her hand to it, then slipped in a thin drive from her belt. “I stole these codes last year,” she said softly. “Didn’t think I’d be using them.”

The scanner blinked green, and the stone slid as the metal hissed.

The door opened.

You went first. Bucky followed. Natasha last. The darkness swallowed you whole.

-----

The descent was sharp and suffocating—narrow corridors spiraling down into something far older than you expected. The air smelled like power cables, blood, and rot. Not decay. The rot of something is still growing.

No alarms. No sirens. No obvious security. That was worse. Hydra didn’t need noise to keep you out. They had other methods.

You moved silently, the sound of footsteps muffled against concrete and dust. The deeper you went, the colder it got. Pipes overhead wept condensation. Lights flickered. Not from neglect. From control.

“They want us to see,” Natasha said under her breath. “Someone’s watching.”

“Let them,” Bucky muttered.

It took ten minutes to find the first sign that this place wasn’t just a bunker.

It was a lab.

The room had been cleared, mostly. Restraints still hung from the exam tables. Blood smeared one wall. Electrodes dangled from the ceiling like dismembered nerves. And in the far corner, under shattered glass, a screen flickered to life without warning.

A face blinked into view.

You froze.

“Welcome back,” the voice said. Hollow. Glitched. “Asset… 32557038.”

Bucky didn’t move. But his breathing changed.

The screen crackled again. Cut to black.

“Keep moving,” Natasha said. Her voice was low and dangerous.

-----

You reached the containment level next. A long corridor, lined with cells. Some were sealed. Others had been… opened.

Inside, there were signs of struggle. Scorch marks. Bullet holes. Etched words were dug into the walls. In one, there were carvings scratched into the concrete.

HELP ME

Over and over again.

Bucky stood in that doorway for a long time. Long enough that you moved behind him and rested your hand on his back. His shoulders were coiled tight beneath your touch, tension running from spine to jaw like he was splitting down the middle.

“They lied to me,” he whispered. “They told me I was the only one.”

He wasn’t.

Revenant wasn’t a single project. It was a process. And Hydra had been perfecting it.

You didn’t speak. Not yet. There was still more ahead.

-----

The chamber at the end of the hall had thicker doors. Blast-resistant. Reinforced. Cold light buzzed behind them.

Inside… was him.

The subject. The one Hill had warned you about. Revenant’s prototype.

He looked like Bucky. Not exactly. Younger. Less scarred. Built the same. But the resemblance wasn’t in the features; it was in the posture. The stillness. The rage was buried under a calm, blank surface.

He looked at the three of you as you entered, eyes flat. Unblinking.

No fear, no confusion, just recognition, then he moved.

No warning. No protocol. He was out of the chair before you registered it, hurling a table across the room with brutal force. It hit the wall hard enough to fracture concrete. Natasha was already in motion, flipping over it and striking fast. You moved to avoid it.

But he was unnaturally fast and calculated.

He caught Natasha mid-blow, slamming her to the floor with a crack of bone and steel. You aimed and fired twice, but the shots barely staggered him.

And Bucky—

Bucky snapped. Not just into fight mode. Something else. Something colder.

He lunged, metal arm colliding with metal bone. Their blows were loud. Every hit echoed off the walls like a gunshot. And still, the Revenant didn’t flinch.

There was no pain, no emotion. Just programming.

Bucky faltered for a breath. Not from weakness, from recognition. The way the Revenant fought… it was his. His old movements. His old tactics. Like watching a recording of his worst years brought to life.

“Bucky—!” you shouted, but it was too late.

The Revenant slipped under his guard and drove a blade straight into his side.

You moved, heart lurching, grabbing the stun baton off your vest and jamming it into the Revenant’s ribs. The shock made him seize, just enough for Natasha, bleeding but standing, to launch a sedative dart into his neck.

He staggered. Crashed to the floor.

Unconscious.

Bucky dropped to one knee, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his shirt fast. You were at his side in a heartbeat, hands on his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he hissed. “Just—give me a second.”

“You’re not okay,” you snapped, panic buried just beneath your voice. “You’re bleeding out.”

Natasha moved in behind you, scanning him with a quick med tool from her belt. “You’ve got a puncture. Nothing vital. But you’re benched for now.”

He didn’t argue. He just leaned against the wall and stared at the Revenant’s body, unmoving on the floor.

“They made me again,” he whispered. “But worse. Emptier. I wasn’t the end. I was just the first successful test.”

“No,” you said. “You were the first escape.”

And that made them scared.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Then let’s make sure no one else has to,” Natasha said, standing slowly. “We torch this place. Data first. Then fuel lines.”

You helped Bucky stand. He leaned on you slightly, and this time, he didn’t fight it.

-----

You didn’t speak again until the jet lifted off. The Revenant sedated and contained. The facility left burning behind you. Fire licked the trees as ash filled the sky.

Bucky sat between you and Natasha, quiet. Blood dried on his ribs. His hands were flexing in his lap.

“They told me I had no future outside them,” he said quietly. “That I was built for one thing only. Death. Obedience. Nothing more.”

He looked up at you.

“And now?”

You rested your hand over his heart.

“Now you’re free,” you said. “And they’re the ones who should be afraid.”

He didn’t smile. Not exactly. But something in his face eased.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, letting you both hold the silence for him.

-----

The facility was long behind you now.

Burnt into the soil. Reduced to ash and metal shards. Nothing salvageable. Nothing left for them to use again.

And still, the scent of smoke lingered on your clothes.

You helped Bucky down the jet ramp slowly, one arm around his waist, careful not to move the gauze pressed beneath his shirt. Natasha moved ahead of you, unlocking the entrance to the safehouse without a word. She looked exhausted, but sharp. Always sharp. Even in pain.

The door hissed open the warm air met you like a sigh. Clean, still, safe.

As safe as anything could be.

You steered Bucky down the corridor toward the med room, ignoring his half-hearted protests and muttered I’m fine’s. You didn't respond. Not until you had him seated on the edge of the bed.

“Take the shirt off,” you said gently.

He winced as he peeled the fabric up. The wound had stopped bleeding, but the bruising was worse than you'd thought. Angry, purple, spreading deep around his ribcage.

You pressed a new cold pack to it and felt him flinch under your hands.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

Natasha stepped in quietly, holding a med kit and a bottle of water. She handed them both off without a word, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll check the perimeter,” she said, tone even. “Give you two a minute.”

You watched her disappear down the hall. Then turned back to Bucky.

He still wasn’t looking at you.

You sat on the cot beside him, careful not to crowd him.

“You’re safe,” you said softly. “We’re back. It’s over.”

“That one looked like me,” he said, voice quiet. “Fought like me. Moved like I used to. Like they still had a piece of me.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

Because you knew he didn’t want reassurance. He wanted the truth.

So you gave it to him.

“They didn’t make him you,” you said. “They copied what they thought worked. But what they got wasn’t a person. Just another cage with a heartbeat.”

His eyes flicked up to yours.

“I looked into his face,” Bucky said, hoarse. “And I felt… nothing. Just cold. Like I was staring at the part of me I buried years ago.”

You reached for his hand. He let you take it.

“And you left that part behind,” you said. “You fought it. Every step. No one had to reprogram you. You chose to come back.”

He swallowed. His hand trembled faintly beneath yours.

“You’re allowed to feel shaken,” you said. “You’re allowed to be tired. Scared. You’re not a machine.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath. “But they wanted me to be.”

You leaned in, forehead gently touching his.

“But you’re not. You’re here. Bleeding, breathing, scared, and real.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet wrapped around you, not heavy this time, but warm. Close.

And then his hand came up, sliding over the curve of your back.

He exhaled again, slower this time. Steadier.

“I hate that I flinched,” he murmured. “In that cell. I froze.”

“You didn’t freeze. You remembered.”

“And that almost got you killed.”

You shook your head. “You coming back to yourself? That’s what got us out.”

He didn’t speak after that. Just leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder. His good hand curled into your shirt, not tight, just anchored. Like he needed the reminder of skin. Of closeness. Of now.

You let him stay there.

You stayed until his muscles finally started to loosen, until the sharp edge in his breath began to dull.

“I should get this stitched up,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “But we’re not rushing. Not tonight.”

He nodded. “Stay with me?”

“Always.”

You eased him down onto the cot, helped him lie back gently. Bandaged his side. Smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He kept his eyes on you the entire time.

-----

Across the hall, Natasha sat on the arm of the couch, watching the silent feed from the facility one last time—the final flicker before the fire swallowed it whole.

She allowed herself one breath of release.

The war wasn’t over. But tonight, for once, they all lived, and that was enough.

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