#and he's like 'so is there anything i need to fix' .... yeah... yeah man

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIXTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of abortion; grief; mental and physical health issues;

Your last coversation with Rafe had been a week and a half ago.

It didn’t ruin you, nor did it magically fix you, but at least it didn’t leave you sobbing. That was progress.

In that time frame, you had three doctor appointments. Two for the anemia, which still left you weak even when the sun was out. And one for the baby.

Rafe offered to come; it mattered to him. But you didn’t let him yet.

You were okay with him or, at least, okay enough to look at him and not feel like screaming and “okay” didn’t mean ready. Letting him into that room—to hear the heartbeat, see the tiny body growing inside you—would be handing him access to the part of you that was still so new it trembled, the part that was what was hurting most. 

The morning after your conversation, your phone buzzed earlier than it should. 

You squinted at the screen.

Sarah <3 Calling...

You slide the answer button with a groggy sigh. “Hi?”

“Okay, don’t think I’m crazy,” she said immediately, “but… did something happen last night?”

Like clockwork, your brain started coming up with excuses. Say you went to bed early, you didn’t see him. 

Your stomach dipped. “Uh… what do you mean?”

She huffed, “I called Rafe an hour ago. Wanted to make sure he was okay, y’know? I drove him home. But this morning, I checked in again. He picked up, and—he sounded different.”

You remained silent. Different how? You wanted to ask. But you already knew.

“Calm! Genuinely okay for the first time in months,” she emphasizes. “Which is rare for him lately. And the only time he ever sounded like that was when you two were—”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You could lie, keep this between you and Rafe for a while longer, say maybe therapy was finally kicking in, or he got a good night’s sleep, or anything else.

“He came over last night.”

“…Oh.”

You stared at a spot on your ceiling, the memory of Rafe's voice spinning in your head. “We talked.”

“You talked?” Sarah repeats. You could practically hear the raised eyebrow. “Talked? Or did you throw something at his head?”

You let out a tired laugh, the first one of the morning. “No. Talked.”

“Okay. Wow. I mean… I’m happy. You two needed that.”

“Yeah.”

“And? Did you… tell him?”

You hesitated, letting your eyes drift shut.

“I told him everything, Sarah.”

 “Wait. Everything, as in... everything everything?” 

“…Yeah.”

“Everything?” She still wasn’t sure she heard you right the first time.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit."

You had watched the blood drain from Rafe’s face the second you told him about how far it had gone, how sick you’ve been the entire time. You remembered his hands; they’d gone still, then started to shake.

You weren’t mad at him then, not how you used to be. You were tired of being the one who knew what it felt like to wake up in a body that could betray you at any moment.

Sarah’s voice cut back in: “And how do you feel now?”

You blinked back into the present.

“I don’t know. I think it broke him a little.”

“Good,” Sarah muttered, not meaning to be cruel, just matter-of-fact. “He should break a little.”

“I didn’t feel like I wanted to hurt him either.”

“That’s something,” Sarah said gently.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It’s something.”

You sat up against the pillows, the room dim with morning light.

“He offered to come with me to the appointments. I said no, but he still offered. That’s new.”

“Do you wish you had said yes?”

You thought about it.

“No. I think I need to be in that room alone for a while.”

“You did something really brave."

You didn’t feel brave, though; you felt like someone standing on an isolated road with no map, with a body that hurt in ways it shouldn’t. A baby that might or might not make it and a man you used to love still orbiting you like a planet you couldn’t land on safely.

Sarah was quiet for a second, then said, “Are you gonna talk to Topper?”

You sucked in a breath through your nose, not surprised she brought him up. You swore she and Rafe were more alike than what they let on.

“I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had thought about it, more than once, since Rafe mentioned it. You debated texting Topper, calling, and asking if he still kept that dumb contact name in his phone for you.

He had stopped being just a cousin when you lost your family, turning into your almost-brother.

But you've been so angry, in pieces. Letting yourself feel that anger had been necessary, you didn’t want to fake forgiveness before it was real; you had to be able to look him in the eye without flinching at the memory of what he’d done.

The bitterness in your chest had started to quiet after a while, not gone, but calm enough to think clearly.

After talking to Rafe, who’d torn your heart in such evil, deeper ways, you’d swallowed your pride, bitterness, and pain for the sake of peace. Your peace of mind, that is, not his.

You needed closure more than you craved revenge nowadays. Acting civil, even with someone who broke you, was a step toward healing yourself. 

How could you give that grace to Rafe and not to Topper? Your cousin who hurt you, yes—but less. If you could offer space and civility to the boy who shattered your trust, you could extend honesty and an open door to the one who merely cracked it.

“I don’t know how to look at him. I don’t know if I’ll yell or cry.”

Sarah was quiet again.

You smacked your forehead. “It’s stupid. I forgave the guy who ruined my idea of love, but I’m still bitter at the one who flaked on family.”

“It’s not stupid,” she said. “You expected more from him.”

“I’ll talk to him eventually.”

Sarah didn’t push. “Okay.”

You texted Rafe five days later in the afternoon, not particularly eager to ask him for a favor, but alas. The conversation had to happen somewhere private. Your house, not a public scene. God forbid it happened in public again, where some kook could overhear—or worse, Ruthie.

You knew she was still lurking around him, trying to win him back; she never wasted time running off to her group chat, turning it into gossip.

“Tell Topper to come by my place Friday at 7.”

You stared at the screen before hitting send. No emojis or small talk, only instructions. Rafe read between the lines, you know he did—he always had. It didn’t take him long to reply.

“Okay.”

Topper showed up exactly at seven, not a second earlier or later.

You watched from the window as his car idled out front like it was nervous too. You left the gate and doors unlocked, so he had to open it himself. When he finally walked through the main door, you were on the couch, half-sunken into a pillow you didn’t like anymore.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly waving from a distance.

“Did Rafe threaten you, or did you come willingly?”

Topper flinched. “I came 'cause you asked.”

“I told you. There’s a difference.”

He looked around your living room, scared you might bite him. 

Fair. 

“You look... tired,” he said, as if that was a neutral observation.

You arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, growing a human while hating most people around you is exhausting. Shocker.”

“Right,” Topper muttered, hands stuffed in his jacket, hoping he could disappear inside it. He was still standing there like a dog that got caught pissing on the rug, eyes never staying on you for more than a second.

“You want water or something?” You reached for your sarcastic vein, hoping to make him squirm. “A moral compass while you’re at it?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean to.” Your voice rose, not yelling yet. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t come to me or knock. You went through my shit like a creep, found one phone number, and assumed.”

“I thought you were sick!” he said, like that excused it. “Rafe said you were off, that you looked pale, tired, not like yourself—and I got worried!”

“No,” you snapped. “You got nosy. You played spy for Rafe because God forbid I have one fucking private thing in my life. You found that number and ran to him like a little lapdog.”

“I didn’t know it was—”

“But you told him anyway!” You retorted. “And guess what? You were right.”

He flinched as if you had punched him, but you didn't want a recurrence of the last time you saw each other.

“I thought he already knew.”

 “Are you stupid?” You spoke through gritted teeth. “Why would he know? We broke up."

“I’m sorry.” He apologized again, this time with a smaller attitude. “I didn’t think. I just—I thought you needed help.”

“Help?” Your eyes narrowed. “I needed two boys whispering behind my back about my uterus like it’s public property?”

“Oh, come on,” he barked, shocking you into silence. “So you can forgive Rafe—Rafe!—who fucked you over in every way that matters—but I get crucified for screwing up once?!”

Your jaw had clenched in defiance.

“I didn’t forgive him, and that’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” He stepped forward now, finally showing some of the Topper you used to know—the one who didn’t roll over. “He broke your heart. You talked to him before you spoke to me; you’re texting him when you need something. You’re playing a fucking peace treaty with him.”

“Top—”

“I make one shitty call, yeah—a really bad one, I own that—but I thought you were in danger. And I don’t get a second chance? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You stared at him, the room pulsing with shame. There was the part you hated: he was right. You’d twisted the narrative to make yourself the victim in every corner, and yeah, you were the one who had been hurt the most—but that didn’t make you righteous.

You made peace with Rafe because it was easier than holding on to that brand of pain. But Topper? He was family, which made it worse when he hurt you—it made you hold him to a higher standard. 

You sat back down, hating how much that hurt—how scared he looked of you, as if you were a landmine instead of the person he used to eat cereal with in pajamas on summer mornings. The girl who cried next to him because you got your period for the first time and thought you were dying, and he just sat there, pale-faced and googling it in a panic like you’d been shot.

Yeah, he fucked up. But not like Rafe, not with malice.

Topper didn’t want to hurt you; you knew that. You always knew that, but you’d been… scared. And so angry. That was what it was, wasn’t it? Not betrayal per se—exposure. You’d felt naked and defenseless, and Topper had been the one to fuck you over.

“I know I’m being unfair,” you admitted quietly. “I know. But I’m not mad because you were wrong, Topper. You chose to go behind my back.”

He didn’t say anything.

You sighed, “With Rafe...at that point, I expected it. No with you."

“I didn’t want to break anything. I panicked.”

“I know that now. But it was easier to stay mad at you. If I forgave you… I had to admit how scared I was that Rafe knew.”

“You’re allowed to be scared.”

You looked up at him.

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “So… you’re pregnant. And Rafe’s the—uh…”

You lifted your brow questioningly, not expecting the conversation to change tone.

"The donor?" he asked tentatively.

“What the fuck, Topper."

“I don’t know the terminology!” he argued. “I didn’t want to say ‘baby daddy’—that felt too Jerry Springer.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could’ve just said ‘the father.’”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.” He looked at you again, a little sheepish. “So… I’m gonna have a nephew?”

You almost wanted to laugh. It wasn’t funny, but for a second there, it felt like you were living in a cute movie moment, about to pull out an ultrasound and cry happy tears and pick out baby names.

Topper had always been softer than you.

You leaned into the couch again, head tipped to the ceiling. “I don’t know if it’s gonna…” Your throat locked up for a second. “If it’s gonna make it.”

Topper’s face dropped, and he was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have anemia,” you say. “Severe. It’s why I’ve been so tired. I nearly passed out walking up the stairs last week.”

He swallowed. “But they’re treating it, right? Pills or something?”

You shook your head slowly. “Iron supplements aren’t enough. I’m doing treatments every week.”

The hope drained from his face, replaced with fear or guilt, trying to morph into protectiveness.

You kept going because once you started, it was easier to spill than stop.

“There’s a chance… a pretty decent one… that I won’t carry full term. And even if I do—if I survive that—there’s a chance the baby won’t.”

“But it’s a chance,” he said, almost begging. “Not a sentence.”

“It’s a gamble. I don’t know if my body’s strong enough to win.”

Topper looked gutted. He sank into the armchair across from you, hands clasped between his knees, looking like a kid who just found out the monsters under the bed were real the whole time.

“When were you gonna tell me?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to make it real; it makes it harder to pretend I’m fine.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you said last time; I am your family,” he choked, eyes red. “You don’t get to die on me, do you hear me? You don’t.”

You stayed still, letting him spiral because he needed it. You knew what it felt like to be scared into saying too much.

“That shit’s not fair.”

His hands were shaking.

“I’m not dying, Topper,” you said, because he needed to hear it. Even if you weren’t sure. 

He looked at you with wet eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered for the third time, and it was no longer about what he did. “Do you even… want this? Any of it?”

“No,” you replied, “I found out too late to get an abortion.”

You keep the rest of the information hidden away.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s… fair.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “God, what kind of person does that make me?”

“The honest kind,” he added, without missing a beat.

“You’re not gonna try to make me feel better?”

“I figure if I try to wrap it up in some bullshit about silver linings, you’ll just want to throw something at me.”

You almost smiled.

“Did you tell Rafe all this?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Really?

You nodded again, slower this time. “And more.”

Topper swallowed that. His mouth opened, then closed again, wanting to ask what “more” meant, but he thought better of it.

“Wow.”

You moved in your seat, arms tightly wrapped around your midsection.

"I was upset that he found out before I was ready to tell him. But a part of me also wanted him to see and feel it.

Topper looked at you, still piercing it all together. “So, why did you tell him?”

“I needed to.” You didn’t sugarcoat it. “It was gonna stay stuck inside me, and I was hoping that it would hurt less. That he’d carry some of the weight too.”

Topper ran a hand through his hair. “Did he?”

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat. “But that’s enough misery for one day, so...” You forced a breath that was exactly a sigh, forcing levity into your voice, “What have you been up to these past few weeks?”

Topper blinked, being the one caught off guard now.

“Uh—honestly?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I spent four days trying to get the stains off my Loewe shirt after you threw the drinks on me.”

You let out a snort. "Good. I hope it’s ruined.”

“Almost was,” he said, with exaggerated pain. “It was a limited drop. I tried vinegar, peroxide, baking soda paste—”

“And?”

“I couldn’t get it out,” he admitted. “But Sofia did.”

Hold on.

Your head snapped toward him, suddenly not blinking. “…Sofia?”

He paused, realizing the trap a second too late. “…Yeah.”

“As in Sofia, Sofia?” Your voice was constricted.

He responded with a nod at first.

"Yeah. She came by. She’s, uh, been around.” Topper’s face twitched. “We...talk? Sometimes, since that night. She saw the shirt and offered to try. She’s good at that kind of stuff—fabrics, whatever.”

You looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

Your eyes didn’t budge. “Uh-huh.”

You recognized the tone in his voice and the way he pronounced her name. Oh, my God.

This fucker cared about her.

You couldn’t process it at first—because it was Topper. You squinted at him, hoping that if you looked hard enough, the truth would pixelate into something different. 

You knew that voice. You’d heard that every time your cousin fell for someone he shouldn’t, like when he said Sarah’s name at fifteen, high on the fantasy of her, long before she ever gave him the time of day. You heard it again when he stupidly gave Ruthie a chance.

And now…

Your voice sounded flat. “You like her.”

Topper flushed immediately. “I didn’t say that. She’s...pretty.”

“You don’t have to.” You had already sunk back into the couch, dragging a throw pillow over your face. “Pretty?” you echoed, sitting up straighter, hands dropping to your lap. “That’s the word you’re going with?”

He looked defensive, shrugging. “What? She is.”

“You’re unbelievable. Do you only fall for girls you’re not supposed to?”

"What does that mean?" he inquired.

You tossed the pillow at him. "Sarah? Ruthie?”

He scowled. “Okay, first of all—” He stood and rubbed his temples. “It’s not like that.”

“It is like that. You’re already defending her.”

You wanted to hate her, but she wasn’t a villainous bitch who went after your man for sport. She was a girl who saw an opportunity and seized it, openly expressing her emoticons. She was overly polite in groups. That made her a little pathetic in your eyes—but it also made her honest. Even so, you were never going to like the girl.

“I’m not—okay, I am, but that doesn’t mean—” He stopped himself. “It’s not serious.”

You blinked at him across the room, expecting resentment to bloom in your chest again, but it didn’t. This was not a backstabbing betrayal or a desire to one-up you. It wasn’t personal.

“You have a crush on Sofia.”

You felt exasperated. Maybe vaguely annoyed, but not mad. And shit, wasn’t that the strangest part? Your claws didn't come out for the first time in months.

You shook your head and let out a soft, disbelieving breath.

“Topper. She's—she’s not like us.”

“I know.”

“And what exactly are you planning to do with that information, Romeo? You gonna start bringing her to country club mixers?”

“I like talking to her. And she makes things feel less...”

You went quiet.

He looked at you again, brows drawn. “You think I like her?”

“I know you do,” you said, more tired than teasing.

Topper sat back down. “Shit.”

You hummed in agreement, "You know Ruthie's going to kill her, right?"

Topper groaned, “Don’t say that.”

You gave him a look. “Why? It’s the truth.”

“She won’t—she’s not—Ruthie wouldn’t actually—”

“Oh my God, Topper.” You leaned forward. “Ruthie keyed a girl’s car because she thought she flirted with you. What do you think she will do once she realizes the girl she has been having pool parties with and pretending to laugh with for months is talking to you?

“She doesn’t know yet!”

“She will.”

He nodded slowly, as if facing death. “Yeah. She will.”

You despised the part of yourself that understood Sofia, that knew that even if she was the one who stepped into Rafe's life after you had left, she did so with a genuine heart.

Your arms tightened around your stomach.

Topper was staring up at the ceiling. “Ruthie's going to destroy her.”

You scoffed.

He laughed dryly, devoid of humor. “Sofia’s sweet.”

“She better learn how to bite.” You weren’t trying to sound cruel, but maybe it came out that way because the second it left your mouth, Topper's gaze shifted to you.

"She is not like Ruthie," he explained quietly.

Or me, you thought to yourself. Sofia was good, not performatively.

She had goodness that still made you roll your eyes, hardly believing it could be real without strings or hidden self-interest. But that girl truly trusted that people meant well and rooted for happy endings.

That had to be nice.

You dion’t know what that kind of believing felt like; you had spent too long preparing for the worst. Hope got you here. Sofia would cry when she was hurt, but you would burn down the entire room before admitting you were bleeding.

“No. She’s not.”

Ruthie was always prepared to pout and smile as she stabbed you in the back. You knew because you would done it too. Once. Maybe more than once. But she was a different breed; she never got hurt and only hurt back.

“It’s not important,” he muttered. “It’s not like Sofia likes me anyway. We’re friends. She’s still in love with—”

He stopped mid-sentence and you only watched the words die in his throat.

“She’s still in love with Rafe,” you finished for him, letting out a small sigh, gaze flicking away, eyes fixed on nothing. “I know she is.”

Topper scrubbed a hand down his face. “How did we get here?”

You looked back at him, tilting your head. “Do you think you're the only one doing the falling?”

He grimaced. “I didn’t think I was falling at all.”

You hummed, nails digging into your sleeves. 

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t hate her. I’d sleep better if I did.”

He looked at you sideways. “You don’t?”

You hesitated. “I don’t like her; I’ll never like her. But she didn’t steal anything from me.”

Topper opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Whatever he was going to say, he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth the lie.

“I think she wants to move on,” he said instead. “She’s trying. She knows he’s in love with you, still. She’s angry about it,” he added, softer this time. “At the way it all played out.”

You swallowed. “She should be.”

God knows you would've done a lot more damage if you were in her shoes.

He let out a groan.

“Dude, it’s been so long since you’ve been a sappy bitch; this is making me uncomfortable.”

“Shut up.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my cousin?” Topper teased, tossing a couch cushion at you as if you were thirteen again, trapped in summer vacation hell with only mosquito bites and each other for company.

You tossed it right back. “Don’t act like you didn’t cry during Marley & Me, asshole.”

He huffed, “I had allergies.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever helps you fall asleep at night.”

When he looked at you again, he was still smiling; you were both in this strange limbo of pain and healing, treading through all the shit that had happened.

"I missed this," he stated abruptly.

You cast a glance at him. “What?”

“This. Fighting over dumb shit. "Talking to you," he said, picking at a loose thread on his shirt's hem. “Felt like I lost you.”

You looked down at your lap. “You didn’t lose me.”

For a few weeks, it felt as if grief had permanently divided you, and neither of you knew how to get back to normal. But sitting there now, it didn’t feel so far away.

The old you would’ve let that comment slide, pretended you didn’t hear it, or made a sarcastic joke. 

“I’m glad you told me,” you said quietly, nudging his leg with your foot. “About her.”

“Regretting it already.”

You smiled. “Shut up. I can understand why you like her."

You missed being someone who believed that those who loved you would never hurt you—at least not on purpose. Topper had been stupid, but he was trying. Genuinely trying to understand why it mattered so much.

He gave you a side-eye. “You just said you’ll never like her.”

“I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’d be good to her.”

A beat passed. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

"Today? Yeah.”

Topper let out a low chuckle, the familiar sound tugging on something deep within your chest. "You’re gonna be fine.”

"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. You’ve got a good heart beneath that bitch exterior," he teased, but his eyes were genuine.

You didn’t want to admit how much that bit of vulnerability—shit, even just his words—meant to you.

"Missed you too, asshole."

"Good."

“But if Ruthie shows up with a baseball bat at your door, I’m not bailing you out.”

He snorted. “Noted.”

Rafe stared at the wood floors in his therapist's office, a vein in his temple showing. 

"Rafe?" Dr. Keller called, pen still against her notebook. "You said you were ready to talk about it."

He wondered how the fuck he was going to get the words out.

"Yeah. I... I don't know where to start."

"You don’t have to say it perfectly."

Rafe nodded as his fingers twitched in his lap.

“She told me.”

Dr. Keller tilted her head. “She told you about...”

“The baby,” His eyes flicked to yours, “And everything else. What the doctors said.” His jaw clenched. “She looked so calm when she said it, she's already making peace with it. She was more worried about others than herself, and I…I don’t know what to do with that. How am I supposed to be okay with any of this?”

What if you died? What if you died and Rafe was stuck here—left with a crying newborn that was supposed to be yours but feels like a ghost of you? He exhaled shakily and violently shook his head, trying to push the fear that was crawling up his spine away.

“I swear, I—I can’t breathe sometimes, thinking about it. If she doesn’t—if she doesn’t come outta this, then what? What am I supposed to do? Raise a kid alone? Be the guy who tells the kid why their mom’s not there? Me?” He scoffed again, “I can’t keep my own shit together. You know what I did after? I drove to the docks and sat there. I didn’t realize I’d been there for hours until my phone died. Just... stared at the water. Tryin’ not to think about what it’d feel like if I jumped in.”

His eyes darted to Dr. Keller for a second before looking away shamelessly.

“I wouldn’t, okay? I’m not... I’m not gonna do that. But what if I mess the kid up the same way I got messed up? What if I scream, or drink, or disappear for hours, and the kid grows up thinking that’s normal? What if I become him?” The last word burned coming out of his mouth — him meaning Ward, the monster behind his bloodline.

Dr. Keller watched him, her pen resting motionless on the page now.

“Rafe,” she started, carefully, “you’re carrying a lot more than grief right now. You’re carrying fear, guilt, and a future you feel completely unprepared for.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“You mentioned the thought of becoming your father,” she continued, gently. “That’s not a small fear. That’s generational trauma and you’re trying to break that cycle with zero margin for error in the middle of a crisis.”

“And what if I already am him and I’m just too stupid to see it?”

“You’re not him,” Dr. Keller gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’re scared of becoming him. That’s not the same. Your awareness, the self-loathing, it's proof enough that you’re trying; you care."

Is that supposed to make me feel better? Rafe wanted to snap, but it stuck in his throat; he did want to believe her. 

“Trying doesn’t bring her back.”

Dr. Keller nodded slowly. "You’re mourning her before she dies; this is called anticipatory grief. And it’s paralyzing. But… she’s still here.”

He closed his eyes; the words should have been reassuring, but instead felt like a curse. For now. But how long?

“Do you want to be there?” she asked softly. “If the time comes?”

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

“If something does happen...would you want to be in the room with her? Holding her hand?”

Rafe opened his mouth — then closed it. The image slammed into his chest: your hand going limp in his, that godawful beeping.

“I’d rather it kill me than let her go through that alone.”

Dr. Keller paused for a second before responding again, "Thank you for saying that.”

Rafe sneered. “Don’t thank me. It’s the bare minimum.”

His knee bounced, fingers drumming against it now, twitchy.

Classic Rafe.

“She was scared. I could tell, even if she was trying’ to be calm about it. That fake smile she gives when she is making things easier for everyone but herself." He laughed under his breath, “Always thinkin’ about everyone else.”

He dragged his hand down his cheek, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against his eye socket.

Dr. Keller’s voice was calm. "You said she appeared at peace with it. How did that make you feel?"

“It pissed me off,” Rafe snapped, sitting back hard in the chair, the memory shoving him. “It made me wanna shake her. I’m not even close to ready to let her go.”

“That’s not how this works, Rafe.”

“I know that. I do. But if I’d been anyone else, we wouldn’t be talkin’ about what happens if she dies.” He scratched at the back of his neck, agitated. “I should’ve protected her better."

“You can’t protect people from fate.”

“No,” he said, bitterly. “But I should’ve been the one to get hurt. Not her, never her.”

Dr. Keller leaned across her legs, as if talking to a child. Rafe hated that—that way she leaned in patiently like he was going to lose it if she used a firmer tone, as if he was a sulking boy. It made him feel smaller, somehow, back on the porch steps at seventeen, bleeding pride and fury while Ward talked over his head like he wasn’t there. 

She must've noticed the change in his posture because she pulled back instantly.

“I’m not here to judge you. You’re not responsible for what’s happening to her. You didn’t cause this.”

"If I hadn’t gotten her pregnant in the first place, she wouldn’t be sick. She’s... she’s been so fucking sick, and I—"

"Stop."

Dr. Keller's voice was loud enough to stop him from spiraling.

"Rafe, you can’t keep doing that. You’re blaming yourself for things that you can’t change. Yes, the pregnancy put a strain on her body, but it wasn’t a choice that caused this. You were not the one who decided that she was going to have severe anemia, these things happen.”

“She almost didn’t tell me,” he muttered. “She was gonna go through all of it and not tell me she might—” His breath hitched, voice cracking.

Dr. Keller’s brows pinched in sympathy. “That’s because she cares for you.”

"I know. That’s what makes it worse; I don’t deserve any of it.”

 “What happened after she told you?”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, similar to swallowing broken glass. “I cried. In front of her. She held me. She’s the one whose iron’s so low she can’t stand some days, and she held me. I told her I’d take care of her, that I’d—” His voice faltered. “I meant it. I don’t know if she believed me.”

The silence fell like dust.

Dr. Keller spoke cautiously. “Do you want another chance to show her that you mean it?”

Rafe looked up, his eyes rimmed with red.

"I want every chance. I want her to hate me, scream at me, and call me selfish, if it means she’s still here to do it. I want her here.”

She waited for him to settle before pivoting.

“May I ask you something?”

He nodded, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, angry that they remained wet. "Yeah. Go ahead.”

“When did you realize you were in love with her?”

His brows lifted, and he dropped his gaze back to the floor, a hint of a real smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptible.

"The first time I saw her," he admitted quietly.

Dr. Keller didn’t write that down. 

“We were kids. She had these stupid braids in her hair and this pout on her face ‘cause her mom made her wear a dress she hated. And I remember thinking, 'Shit. That’s her’.”

He huffed a breathy laugh through his nose. 

“I didn’t know what love was back then," His throat bobbed. "That night, I asked my mom—‘cause I felt weird. Not bad weird. Just... warm. And I asked her what it meant when someone made you feel like that. When you’d do anything to sit next to them or punch anyone who made 'em sad.” He paused, exhaling shakily. “My mom smiled and said, ‘Sounds like love, baby.’ I told her that was stupid; I was too young to be in love. She said, “It’ll wait for you’.”

Dr. Keller glanced up then, but still didn’t write. The recorder between them was already doing its job.

"The love you feel for her is your compass. Neither your guilt nor your fear. That’s what will get you through this. And it’s what will help you raise your child too, if it comes to it.”

“Just want her to know I’m tryin’. Even if I’m scared shitless, I’m want to be the guy she thought I could be.”

“You’re already becoming him,” She nodded. “The moment you walked in here and chose to speak instead of staying silent, you became him.”

“She waited for me, all these years. I’ll wait for her too, however long it takes.”

Rafe hadn’t been sleeping much.

He hoped that by finally letting it all out in Dr. Keller's office, something would settle. But if anything, he was restless.

He’d taken to pacing the house, rubbing his thumb raw over his knuckles. Anything to stop thinking. He was fed up with that shit.

When his brain got too loud, he felt it—the old itch in his bones. The voice that said just a drink. He’d gone down to the liquor cabinet once, stared at the bottle, hands shaking. Thought about calling Barry, just to talk. Or not talk. 

But he didn’t pour the drink or make the call.

It was a little past noon when Sarah showed up at Tannyhill. He heard the front door open, the sound of her voice calling out for Wheezie, and he tensed where he stood in the kitchen. He wanted to back out to the dock, or into his truck, or anywhere her eyes couldn’t pin him down.

He stayed put.

Sarah came to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

“Rafe.”

He didn’t look at her, only ran his hand down his face, the skin along his cheek red from where he kept doing that—rubbing, scraping.

“Wheezie’s not here,” he mumbled. “She’s at choir practice.”

“I know.” Her tone was less accusatory than it had been the previous few times they spoke. “I came to see you.”

“Great. You’ve seen me.”

“You look like shit.�� She set down her keys. “She told you.”

He nodded once.

In another life, you would’ve told him first. That thought looped itself over and over, winding tighter around his throat every time it passed through. If things had been different—if he had been different—you would’ve trusted him enough to say it before Sarah.

“She didn’t flinch,” Rafe said, more to the floor than to her. “Acted like it was another Tuesday.”

He braced for the lecture—a speech about stepping up or being better, some bullshit he already told himself every night.

Instead, Sarah walked over. "That’s how she is. You know that.”

He nodded again, stiffer this time. “I feel like if I blink, she’s gonna—"

Sarah gave him a look. “She didn’t want to tell you, but she still did.”

Rafe's throat felt parched as he burned holes in his hands. “I don’t think she expects me to stick around.”

 “Can you blame her?”

He winced, curling his shoulders, hoping to make himself smaller.

“Did she...?” He had to stop himself. The words tasted wrong.

Sarah waited with arms crossed loosely.

"Have you seen her? Did she seem like she’s…” He clenched his jaw. “Like she’s getting worse?”

“She’s tired all the time. Can’t keep food down sometimes. Fainted last week during treatment and told the nurse not to call anyone.”

He averted his gaze and clenched the counter's edge until his knuckles turned white.

“I would’ve been there.”

Sarah arched her brow. “Rafe, you left her.”

He gave a rough sigh, tipping his head back. The ceiling provided little comfort. He had been staring at it a lot lately—at night, in the early mornings, whenever sleep refused to come.

“You can’t disappear and expect her to wait with the door open.”

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“I know.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’m scared.”

Sarah’s expression didn’t change. “I know that too.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You already do. You love her.”

“She hardly cried, Sar. Is that normal?”

Rafe was aware of the consequences of ignoring it and continuing. That shit didn’t vanish; instead, it buried itself deep, carving its way around your entire being.

“She cried enough already,” Sarah confessed. “She’s tired.”

He didn’t want her to fall apart for him or cry so he’d feel better. But he was terrified you weren’t letting it out at all, that it was going to eat you alive like it had him.

He’d stared at the bottle that morning, stomach sick. Not because he craved the burn, the familiarity, but because drinking was easier than dealing with this helplessness, this love.

The urge was there, caged and pacing.

Rafe could feel it some mornings before his feet hit the floor, but therapy helped. At first, he thought it was bullshit, but when it was him and the silence and all the thoughts he couldn’t outrun, it started to make sense. And it worked—sort of. Worked enough to get him out of the house, to make him want to be good.

For himself. For you.

These past few days, however, he wasn’t sure if it was enough.

He’d done rehab before, for coke. Back when it was clear he was ruining his life at ninety miles an hour. He hadn’t needed anyone to spell it out for him—he’d looked in the mirror and known he wasn’t human anymore.

Drinking didn’t get that bad, at least not in the same explosive way.

He hadn’t driven drunk or gotten violent or collapsed in public. But it slipped in, and it started around the time Ward died—almost four months ago. Everyone kept telling him he was fine now because he had money, a house, and a second chance.

He decided to quit on his own. 

What if it came back? What if he needed more?

He didn’t want to end up on that floor again, have you or his sisters walk in and find him like that. He wanted to be better.

Rafe clenched his jaw, dug his thumb into the same spot on his knuckle, “You think I’d be a better dad than Ward?”

Sarah clicked her tongue. “Low bar, don’t you think?”

“Sarah.”

“You think he asked himself that question? Lost sleep wondering if he was screwing us up?” She scoffed. “He just did it and moved on. You’re not Dad."

The screen door banged open right then, footsteps thudding across the porch like a stampede, which only one person ever managed to pull off in flip-flops.

“Hello?” Wheezie’s voice rang out. “Anybody home? I swear, Rafe, if you ate the last of the garlic knots again—”

She skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway and blinked. Her eyes bounced from one sibling to another, and her mouth popped open.

“Wait. Are you two…” Her pupils shrank dramatically. “Talking? Like, with actual words?”

Rafe huffed.

“We talk sometimes.”

“No, you shout,” Wheezie said, grinning like a lunatic now. “Or someone storms out. Or something gets broken. This is… peace talks. Historic.”

“We’re not that bad,” Rafe argued, though his tone said even he didn’t believe it.

“You’re so bad,” Wheezie laughed, dropping her choir folder on the table and tossing her shoes into a corner. “This is beautiful. Sibling bonding. I might cry.”

“Dramatic much?” Sarah snorted.

“I’m underfed; let me have this.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“I live to serve,” Wheezie bowed. Then she perked up. “Wait. Are you staying? For dinner?”

“I hadn’t really—”

“Please,” Wheezie cut in, clasping her hands like a cartoon orphan. “We never all eat together. It’s always me and a sad grilled cheese and whatever Rafe finds in the freezer. We have chicken tonight! And mashed potatoes. Homemade, not the weird box kind.”

Sarah cast Rafe a suspicious glance. “You made mashed potatoes?”

"I peeled them," he flatly stated.

“He actually peeled them!” Wheezie was beaming. “With that weird frown he gets when he’s concentrating. It was adorable.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe groaned, turning away, hiding the flush crawling up his neck.

“Come on, Sarah. Please. One night! We’ll even let you pick the playlist.”

Sarah hesitated for a moment before sighing and returning her gaze to Rafe. He didn’t say anything, only gave a small nod.

“Fine,” she relented. “But I’m picking good music.”

“YES. Oh my god, this is the best day ever. Historic peace treaty, family dinner. I’m writing about this in my journal.”

She dashed off to set the table with the zeal of someone preparing for a royal banquet.

Rafe and Sarah watched as she left.

“You know she’s gonna talk our ears off the whole meal,” Sarah said.

“Better than the quiet.”

Sarah gave him a brief stare before nodding. “Yeah. I guess so.”

[inseobts]

Without the Hat

law x gn!reader

in a world of teasing, blushes, and stolen glances, law stops wearing his hat because of your compliment, but then the crew's teasing only makes everything more complicated—and maybe a little more perfect.

a/n: cutest thing I could ever think of, ngl

words count: 2.5k

tags: fluff, gender neutral reader, humor, slow burn, silly love

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

It starts like this.

You’re both sitting on the deck of the Polar. It’s quiet. The sea is calm. Law is reading a book, his hat on the bench beside him for once. His messy black hair moves gently in the wind.

You look at him, just for a second too long.

He glances at you “What?”

You blink “Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow “You’re staring.”

You shrug “You look nice without the hat. That’s all.”

He stares back “...What?”

“I said I like how you look when you’re not wearing that dumb hat.”

“‘Dumb’ hat?”

You nod “Yeah. I mean, it’s kind of ridiculous.”

He keeps staring. He’s not mad, but something in his face changes.

“…Huh” he says, then looks back at his book like you didn’t just shake his entire existence.

The next day, he walks into the kitchen. No hat.

You almost drop your cup.

“Wait,” you say, pointing “Where’s your hat?”

“I forgot it” he says fast. Too fast.

“Forgot it?” you repeat, grinning.

“I was busy.”

“Busy forgetting your hat?”

He ignores you.

The next day, no hat again.

You’re suspicious.

You lean close while he’s talking to Shachi “Hey, did you stop wearing it because I said you looked good without it?”

Law doesn’t even flinch “It’s being cleaned.”

“Liar.”

“It smelled like fish.”

“Liar.”

He keeps talking to Shachi like you don’t exist.

Another day.

He walks into the infirmary. You’re sitting on the bed swinging your legs. He’s got his usual coat, but again... no hat.

“Okay,” you say loudly “What’s the excuse today?”

He looks at you. Calm. Too calm “Bepo’s repairing it.”

You squint “Why would Bepo fix your hat?”

“He’s learning to sew.”

“…Liar.”

“I support his hobbies.”

You throw a pillow at him.

And still, every day after that, the hat stays off. Even when you ask. Even when you tease.

Every day, a new excuse: “It’s drying.” “I’m testing wind resistance.” “It’s in quarantine.”

But you catch him once, in the hallway, fingers on the brim of it in his room. He sees you and pushes it away like it’s poison.

You grin.

He sighs.

“…Shut up.”

He wears it again.

Just like that.

No warning. No reason.

You walk into the kitchen and he’s standing there with his hat on, like nothing changed. Like the past week of messy black hair and fake excuses never happened.

You blink once. Pause. Open the fridge.

“...Morning” he says.

“Morning” you answer.

That’s it.

No comment. No teasing. No jokes.

Nothing.

Law stares at your back while you dig around for juice. His hands twitch like he’s waiting for something.

When you sit down with a glass, he tries again “It was windy today.”

You nod “Yep. Super windy.”

He stares harder “…So I wore the hat.”

You sip “Makes sense.”

Silence.

He stares more.

You look up “What?”

“…Nothing” he mutters, walking out with his tea like you just slapped him with confusion.

Later, in the hall you pass him. He’s still wearing it.

You smile at him. Normal. Friendly.

Nothing about the hat.

Law watches you disappear around the corner with the face of a man who just lost a game he didn’t realize he was playing.

At dinner you’re sitting across from him. Hat. On.

You talk to Shachi. You laugh with Penguin. You hand Law the salt.

You say nothing about the big round fluffball sitting on his head.

“Did you notice anything?” he finally asks mid-bite, staring dead at you.

You blink “About what?”

He frowns “Never mind.”

You lean your cheek on your hand, watching him “You okay?”

He looks away “Fine.”

Night time.

You knock on the door to his room. He opens it in a t-shirt. Hat still on.

You don’t say a thing.

“You needed something?” he asks.

You hand him a book he left in the kitchen.

“Oh,” he says “Thanks.”

You smile “Goodnight.”

He closes the door slower than usual.

Then opens it again a second later.

“…You didn’t say anything about the hat.”

You blink “Should I have?”

He stares “You always say something.”

You shrug “Maybe I got used to it.”

“…You liked it better off.”

“Yeah,” you say, calm and honest “I did.”

You turn to go “Still do.”

He closes the door again. This time, faster.

You smile all the way back to your room.

One day you walk into the control room.

Law’s sitting in the captain’s chair. Arms crossed. Eyes on some map. Hair messy as ever.

Hat: gone.

Your heart does a small, ridiculous flip.

But your face... totally calm.

“Morning” you say, walking past like your brain isn’t screaming.

“Morning” he says, not looking up.

You sit at the console. Turn it on. Pretend to focus.

Inside, you’re a disaster.

At lunch, he walks in late. Still hatless.

You look up, then immediately down at your plate. You don’t say a thing.

You think maybe your ears are turning red.

“Yo, Law,” Penguin says “New style again?”

Law shrugs “Didn’t feel like wearing it.”

Everyone nods.

You stab your rice. Stay cool. Stay normal. Do not look for too long.

You look anyway. Just a little.

Your breath catches. You take a sip of water so no one sees you smiling.

He notices.

In the hallway later, you walk past him again.

Still no hat. Still no comment.

But your eyes flick to his hair. Just a second. Barely.

He sees it.

You feel it.

You keep walking.

He stares after you with a face like he just lost and won something at the same time.

That night, on the deck you’re sitting on a bench. The sea’s quiet.

Law walks out. Stretches. No hat.

He sits beside you.

You don’t look at him. Not directly. But you feel warm.

“You’re quiet” he says.

You nod “I’m relaxed.”

“…You didn’t say anything again.”

You blink up at him “About what?”

He gives you a look. You give him an innocent one back.

Then he leans just a little closer.

“…You’re blushing” he says.

Your hand flies to your cheek “What—no, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“You’re seeing things.”

He smirks “So it’s back to this.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands “I hate you.”

He chuckles. It’s soft. Real.

“…You don’t” he says quietly.

You peek through your fingers “Yeah. I don’t.”

It’s just the two of you on the deck again.

Stars above. Waves below. Silence between.

Law leans on the railing beside you. No hat. Hair soft in the wind. He doesn’t say anything at first.

Then, he sighs “I stopped wearing it because of you.”

You blink “Huh?”

“The hat,” he says, looking straight ahead “You said I looked better without it. So I stopped.”

You freeze.

“You never noticed,” he adds, “or at least, you pretended not to.”

You cover your mouth with your hand “Oh my god.”

He looks over, eyebrow raised “So?”

You laugh nervously “So what?”

“Why do you like me better without it?”

You panic.

“Put it back on.”

“What?”

“I’m begging you. Just… wear it. Please.” You wave your hand in the air, still looking anywhere but his face “Where is it? I’ll go get it for you.”

Law stares “You didn’t answer my question.”

You cover your face “I hate you.”

“That’s not new,” he says calmly “Why?”

You groan “Because—ugh. Because you look cute, okay? And kinda sexy.”

He blinks.

Still not looking at him, you mumble, “Your hair’s a little messy and I like it. It makes you look more… real. And softer. And… you have those few white hairs near your temple and I really, really love them.”

Silence.

You squeeze your eyes shut “There. Happy now?”

You still don’t look up.

He doesn’t speak.

You frown “What, now you’re gonna bully me forever?”

“…No” he says quietly.

You peek at him and see he’s staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“You… like the white hair?”

You groan again, turning away “Law, please, don’t make me say it twice. Once was already enough embarassing.”

He’s quiet. Then—

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well. Now you do.”

A pause.

“I like when you blush” he says suddenly.

Your head snaps around “What?!”

He smirks “Just saying.”

You throw your jacket at him and stomp off, face burning, heart racing.

Behind you, he catches the jacket… and smiles.

You avoid him for a full day after the "cute and sexy" comment.

You help Bepo with supplies. You eat fast and leave faster. You talk to everyone but Law.

You pretend you’re totally fine.

You are not fine.

You’re hiding in the engine room, checking things that don’t need checking, when he finds you.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed. Hatless. Hair all soft and wild, like he knows exactly what he's doing.

“Hey” he says.

You glance over “Hey.”

He walks in. Slow. Casual.

You take a step back and bump into a crate.

He doesn’t stop “You running from me?”

“No...” you lie badly.

He’s in front of you now “You said I looked sexy.”

Your face catches fire instantly “I did not say it like that.”

“I remember it clearly.” He tilts his head “Kinda sexy. That’s what you said.”

You look away fast “Do you need something or are you just here to bully me?”

He hums “You said my hair was cute too.”

“I say lots of dumb things.”

“I don’t think it was dumb.”

You look at the wall. The ceiling. Anywhere but him.

Then his hand lifts and you freeze.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Gentle. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world.

You forget how breathing works.

Then his fingers trace just under your jaw, brushing your skin lightly before dropping.

You don’t move.

“Your face gets warm so fast” he murmurs, voice low, amused “It’s kinda cute.”

You finally snap your head toward him, flustered “You’re evil.”

He shrugs “Just saying.”

You push past him, heart pounding, cheeks on fire.

And Law watches you go, smiling like he’s finally having fun.

Law’s wearing the hat again... Big, fluffy, dramatic.

You see it as soon as he walks into the main room where everyone’s gathered. You blink like it’s a ghost.

He sits down with a book like nothing happened.

But you know something’s off.

You lean toward Shachi “Since when is he wearing it again?”

Shachi grins “Since everyone started teasing him about looking too soft without it.”

Penguin laugh “Bepo told him he looked like someone's husband.”

You blink.

“…He does” you mutter before your brain can stop your mouth.

Then you look away fast. Arms crossed. Pouting a little without meaning to.

Law doesn’t react. He’s pretending to read, but you know he’s listening.

You mutter under your breath, “Why wouldn’t y’all mind your business…”

You think it’s quiet.

It is not quiet.

The room goes dead silent.

“HUHHH?” Penguin points “What did you say?!”

Shachi is cackling “Wait wait wait—did you just say—??”

Even Bepo’s blinking slowly like he just unlocked the final puzzle piece.

Law doesn’t look up, but one ear definitely twitches.

You slap a hand over Shachi's mouth “No I didn’t. Shut up.”

“Ohhhh my god,” Shachi gasps freeing himself “That’s why he stopped wearing it.”

Penguin: “That’s why he looked like a kicked puppy when he put it back on!”

You groan into your hands.

Bepo: “Captain… this is kinda romantic.”

Law finally speaks, dry as sand “I can and will throw all of you into the sea.”

They ignore him.

Shachi elbows you “So you’re the reason he had his hair out for, like, a week straight?”

You glare at the floor “Stop talking to me.”

Penguin grins “You’re blushing again!”

“Stop looking at me!”

Law stands up “Enough.”

Everyone freezes.

He walks to you. Calm. Slow. Hat still on.

He leans just a little closer, voice low.

“…You want me to take it off again?”

You pause. Swallow.

“Maybe...”

The crew explodes.

After the teasing dies down (a full hour later), you escape. You need to breathe. Your face has been hot for too long and your heart is doing laps.

You find a quiet spot near the back deck, away from the noise.

And of course he finds you again. Hat off now.

Just him, wind, and that look he gives only you.

He walks over slowly, hands in his coat pockets “They were loud.”

You sigh “They were monsters.”

He smirks “You’re the one who said it out loud.”

“It was a whisper.”

“Not really.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. A real one.

He steps a little closer “You still mad I wore the hat again?”

You glance up at him “Maybe.”

He’s watching you.

You’re watching his hair again.

You reach up without thinking, fingers sliding gently into it.

Soft. Messy. Warm.

You ruffle it, grin wide “There you are.”

Law freezes.

He’s been touched before. Fought. Treated. Pat by Bepo. Whatever.

But this...

Your smile. The laugh in your eyes. Your fingers brushing through his hair like it’s the easiest thing in the world...

His heart does a full backflip.

Something cracks open.

He looks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time.

“You’re perfect” he says before his brain can stop him.

You blink “What?”

He steps closer. You drop your hand.

He takes your wrist, gently. Just holds it.

“I said,” he murmurs, “you’re perfect.”

You stare.

“You’re serious?” you whisper.

He nods.

So you lean in, slowly. Nervous. Testing.

He meets you halfway.

It’s soft. Warm. A little awkward, like two people who definitely thought about this for too long.

But it’s real.

When you pull back, his eyes are still half-closed.

You grin “So... you gonna keep the hat off for me or what?”

He leans his forehead to yours “I might burn it.”

You both stand there for a second.

Your heart’s still racing. His fingers are still lightly holding your wrist.

Then you laugh. A small one at first, then bigger. Bright.

He raises an eyebrow “What’s funny?”

You grin, cheeks warm “I mean, I actually like the hat too.”

He tilts his head “You do?”

“Yeah,” you nod “It helps me not have a nosebleed every time I look at you.”

He blinks “What?”

You shrug, playful “Not for real, but… close.”

He snorts “You’re ridiculous.”

You wink “I try.”

Then he smiles soft, real.

“I know,” he says, “I’m joking about it though. This hat’s actually important to me.”

You nod “I figured.”

“But,” he adds, stepping a little closer again, “I do enjoy the fact that without it, you get always so… flustered.”

You pout immediately.

Cross your arms. Look away.

“Have you finished bullying me?”

He chuckles, slow and warm.

Then you feel something soft land on your head.

You blink.

He’s placed the hat on you.

Big. Fuzzy. Covers almost your whole head.

His hand gently pats the top of it.

“You look cute with it” he says quietly.

You turn to him, only your eyes visible under the fluff.

“Didn't think you’re such a menace...” you mumble, heat creeping up your face again.

He smiles again.

“You’re cute either way.”

You cover your face with both hands under the hat “I’m gonna scream.”

He hums “That would be fair.”

[eldritchcougarwitch]

I used to fuck men in relationships.

As a way to keep them from invading my space. I had a baby to protect but I needed some stimulation and I didn't do drugs.

So I'd come across a dude and be like ???

And they always say sure. Very few men in a relationship will say no.

I always tried to be helpful to the relationship that clearly had issues.

Sometimes a man stepping out on you with woman who asks questions like

"I know you think she won't like anal and she prolly wont, but it would be healthy to be able to talk about it together, maybe you get a anal fleshlight" I was not doing anal it was just something he said was problem. He couldn't even think to bring it up to her. "But you have the gall to step out on her?" He never hit me up again.

Sometimes it more "if your really into something and she doesn't like it or doesn't know maybe you need to leave her? If she had 1/3 of her life you never knew about or didn't like you'd hate it."

Like yeah these relationships were mostly doomed. But sometimes when you got a man named he will let you ask him anything and he'll just tell you.

I understand why sleeping with soldiers works so well in war times.

Im not saying I fixed anything. I'm just saying I too tried to help dudes.

But it's such a unrewarded task.

And half the time the forget the message.

Have the chat during post nut clarity usually works better then anything while their still frisky.

I like men. They are a funny animal.

Apologies to the gf and wives. I promise I was clean and didn't give him drugs or feed him! Or spend your money.

I’m gonna talk about the “men don’t receive flowers until after their death” bullshit

I didn’t believe it as a kid back in my mega liberal phase until I got my first boyfriend a small bouquet as a gift (his team won debate championship and won a trip to the capital) and this mf LAUGHED in my face when I gave it to him

Another boyfriend I made him a homemade card for Valentine’s Day and he took the card and didn’t say thank you, only “you didn’t have to do that”

Another boyfriend would just donate shit I bought for him. Not even a thank you

So no I don’t give a flying fuck if a man doesn’t get flowers in his life and I don’t think he even deserves em in death

[mentally-a-tree]

Warning: Anything you say can and will remind me of supernatural.

I HOPE YOUR APPLE PIE WAS FRICKING WORTH IT!

You gotta go be gay for that poor dead intern.

Noboby in the history of torture has been tortured with the torture like the torture you're going to be tortured with.

Suck dirt and die, Rufus.

I wish I didn't feel a damn thing.

Do I look like a ditch-able prom date to you?

Family don't end in blood, boy.

And I You, Sam.. the boy with the demon blood.

He's baby driver.

I've got... genital herpes.

You're not doctor sexy!

Close encounter, close encounter!

...Nipples?

Fight the fries! You fight those fries, Sammy. FIGHT THE FARIES!

Did you just molotov my brother with holy fire?

You exploded Jofyel. Or did Jofyel explode himself?

I'm back, baby!

They ate my tailor!

You don't know what it's like to be human!

I just want to be loved. I deserve to he loved!

House rules Sammy, driver pick the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole.

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to castiel to get his feathery ass down here.

I need you... I need you Cass.

I've always wanted to punch the devil in the face.

We've got work to do.

Balls!

Idgits.

Pudding!

I'll interrogate the cat.

Well, that's great, because without your powers, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat.

You really gotta stop calling yourself the- meat man.. it doesn't mean what you think it does.

...it was yummy.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.... That was scary.

Dean, what do you think you're doing? This is a very serious investigation. We don't have any time for your blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah. BLAH!

I'm so proud of us.

I lost my shoe.

Don't you dare think that for a second that there is anything in this world that I would trade you for.

Well... maybe you are crazy. Well, you were crazy before, but maybe you finally cracked.

Son of a bitch!

Well, of course I was manipulating you.

Ready to play a game, bitches?

Hey, bitches.

I like your hair, it's so... bouncy. Why, thank you. Do we have to fix him? Rowena. Oh, Samuel.

Here, play with this.

I torture my friends, it's how I show affection.

Mr. Fizzles can tell when you're being a liarrr. Mr. Fizzles is gonna go where the sun don't shine!

My people used to worship a rock in the shape of a penis.

I'm two...twenty...two... I'm twenty-two.

I watch the bees.

He showed up on my car. Naked. Covered in bees.

Dude, you fugly.

Ugh, you bitch! Oh, my. Looks like someone owes a nickle to the swear jar. You know, when I feel like swearing, I say fudge. Yeah, I'll try to remember that. *two seconds later* You fudging touch me again, I'll fudging kill you!

You shot me.

I killed Hitler.

Jesus Christ! No, I'm Castiel.

I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

I'm not supposed to laugh, right?

Hey, do you hear that bomb..?

I need to check your temperature. Nope. That's not happening.

I need you to let me touch it.

Oh you shake it up, baby.

Are we talking about... the sex?

Did you kiss him? What!? Just wondering..... NO! *cough cough* Why'd you take a picture? Why'd you use tongue?

Give me the baby before I stab you in the neck.

Yeah, well, people might not be too happy when he turns Asian.

He was my gay thing.

[howlingday]

Based on a discussion I've shared with @misterlazer, here's Ozpin as Dr. Jonathan Crane, AKA Scarecrow

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

Ozpin: It is in my opinion that Mr. Callows is as much a danger to himself as he is to others, and I believe that prison is the least suitable environment for his rehabilitation.

Tyrian: (Grins)

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

Weiss: Headmaster Ozpin?

Ozpin: Ah, Miss Schnee...

Weiss: Do you really think a man who butchers people for criminal organizations doesn't belong in prison?

Ozpin: Well, I'll hardly testify to the contrary now, Miss Schnee.

Weiss: This is the third of Roman Torchwick's goons you've had declared clinically insane and moved into your asylum.

Ozpin: Yes, well, unfortunately, work within organized crime must act as a sort of draw for the insane. (Continues)

Weiss: ...Or the corrupt.

Ozpin: ...Mr. Belladonna.

Ghira: Hm?

Ozpin: I believe you should have a word with Miss Schnee about exactly what implications your legal office is permitted to make... if any. (Exits)

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

Ozpin: No more favors, Mr. Torchwick. Someone is getting too close.

Roman: We had a deal, Ozzy. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. We're the ones bringing in the shipments!

Ozpin: The shipments I'm paying you for.

Roman: Have you considered how much I value favors more than lien?

Ozpin: Yes, yes, you're very intimidating, Mr. Torchwick. But you are not as intimidating as the woman you know I'm working for. And when she arrives-

Roman: Wait... She's coming to Vale?

Ozpin: Indeed she is. And when she arrives, she's not going to be happy to hear how you're endangering her operations just to get some small-time thugs out of well-earned jail time.

Roman: ...Who's bothering you?

Ozpin: There's a girl at the DA's office.

Roman: So I'll buy her off.

Ozpin: Not this one.

Roman: Oh... Great... An idealist... Well, there's a fix for that, too.

Ozpin: I don't need to know.

Roman: Yeah. You do.

Ozpin: ...

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

Goodwitch: Good evening, Headmaster. Thank you for arriving on such short notice.

Ozpin: This is my academy, Glynda. Why wouldn't I be concerned about Mr. Torchwick's attempted suicide?

Goodwitch: He might be attempting an insanity plea, sir. But if this isn't a one-time event-

Ozpin: Of course. Better safe than sorry. (Enters)

Roman: (Lazily) Yeah, Mr. Headmaster. I can't take this anymore. It's all too much. The walls are closing in. Blah, blah, blah. Ugh... Another day of this slop you call food, and I really will crack!

Ozpin: What do you want?

Roman: I wanna know how you plan to keep my mouth shut.

Ozpin: About what? You don't know anything.

Roman: I know you don't want the cops to take a closer look at those chemicals they've got. And I know you've also got a few lab animals locked up here in Beacon, too. Some more literal than others. See, I've got a habit of looking into people when I do business with them. And those thugs you've been using? I own the muscle in this city. Now, I've been bringing your stuff in for months, so I know whatever she's planning, it's big. And I want in.

Ozpin: ...Unfortunately, I already know what she'll say, and the answer is no. Moreso than that, she'll say that we should kill you.

Roman: Pfft! Yeah. Right. Even she can't get me in here. Not in my town.

Ozpin: ...

Ozpin: Would you like to see my mask? (Opens case) I use it in my demonstrations. (Twists valve) I'm more than aware that I'm not normally terrifying to a man such as yourself. But my subjects? Oh, they can't stand it~! (Dons mask)

Roman: ...Who left the boob in charge of the boob hatch?!

Ozpin: (Click!)

Roman: (Sprayed by gas, Screaming)

Ozpin: (Twisted and horrifying to look at) THEY SCREAM... AND THEY CRY... JUST LIKE YOU'RE DOING NOW~...

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

Ozpin: (Shuts door) Well... He's definitely not faking it, Professor Goodwitch. I'll speak to the council and see about having him transferred to the psychiatric wing of Beacon. We certainly can't treat him like a criminal here, now can we? (Exits)

Goodwitch: (Looks to door)

Roman: (Muffled screaming and crying)

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

Ozpin: (Walks in, Looks around) Someone's been here. Erase everything.

Thug: Let's torch the whole place.

Goon: Alright...

Ozpin: (Notices open window, Exits)

Thug: (Douses gasoline everywhere)

Goon: (In the bathroom, Taking a leak)

The Huntsman: (Drops down onto goon)

Thug: Huh?! (Holds up fire dust)

The Huntsman: (Takes away fire dust, Launches it away, Knocks down thug)

Ozpin: (Masked) BOO! (Sprays gas)

The Huntsman: (Swats spary, Inhales)

Ozpin: WHAT'S THE MATTER? HAVING TROUBLE...? (Rabbit crawls out of his skin)

The Huntsman: (Stumbles over)

Ozpin: TAKE A SEAT... (Tosses alcohol) HAVE A DRINK~! YOU LOOK LIKE A MAN WHO TAKES HIMSELF TOO SERIOUSLY...

The Huntsman: (Swarmed by rabbits, Struggling not to scream)

Ozpin: (Holding fire dust) GOT A FEVER? BECAUSE YOU'RE BURNING UP~. (Tosses dust)

The Huntsman: (On fire, Jumps out window)

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

Weiss: ...Headmaster Ozpin.

Ozpin: Miss Schnee. I wasn't expecting you, but then again I don't have anything more to say that hasn't already been explained to the council.

Weiss: I still have questions about your report.

Ozpin: Those being?

Weiss: You don't think it's convenient that a man 45 years of age with no prior mental health concerns suddenly has a full psychotic breakdown just days before his indictment?

Ozpin: Well, as you can see for yourself, Miss Schnee, there's nothing convenient about Mr. Torchwick's symptoms.

Weiss: (Looks to Roman)

Roman: (Eyes wide with fear, Shaking) The... The Flood... The Flood...

Weiss: What's "The Flood"?

Ozpin: The patient is suffering from a delusional episode, and sometimes they focus their paranoia on an external tormentor they believe exists. In this case, in the form of Junger Archtype of The Flood.

Weiss: Is he drugged?

Ozpin: Psychopharmacology is my field of expertise, Miss Schnee, and one I take great pride in.

The Huntsman: (Listening in)

Ozpin: Outside, Roman Torchwick was a monster. But in here, the only monster is what we make of ourselves.

Weiss: Do you enjoy making monsters yourselves, Headmaster?

Ozpin: I respect the analysis conducted in observing the mind shifting from one state to another. It's why I do what I do.

Weiss: And I do what I do to keep criminals like Torchwick behind bars, not in therapy. (Walks away) I'm going to request my own psychiatric consultant with full access to Roman Torchwick, including bloodwork. I know exactly what you're doing to him.

Ozpin: Very well. I will see them tomorrow then.

Weiss: TONIGHT. (Enters elevator) I've already contact Dr. Polendina at Atlas Academy. He'll be here in a few hours.

Ozpin: Very well, (Enters with her, Turns key) if that is what you wish.

Weiss: (Elevator opens)

Ozpin: (Exits) This way, please... I think you'll find this most interesting.

Weiss: (Follows)

Ozpin: (Opens doors, Reveals chemical lab) This... is where we make the magic~.

Weiss: (Watches cauldron poured into pipe)

Ozpin: My wife's recipe~. Cures what ails you~.

Weiss: (Runs away, Gets into elevator)

Ozpin: (Inhales, Walks to elevator)

Weiss: (Mashing useless buttons)

Ozpin: (Wearing mask, Sprays Weiss)

Weiss: (Gasping, Coughing, Screams)

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

Ozpin: (Watches as Weiss is set on table)

Weiss: (Trying not to look at him)

Ozpin: WHO KNOWS YOU'RE HERE...? (Rotten flesh falls away) WHO KNOW?!

Weiss: (Screams)

Ozpin: (Light goes out, Takes off mask, Smiling) He's here~.

Thug: Who?!

Ozpin: The Huntsman~.

Goon: What do we do?!

Ozpin: What anyone does when a predator is on the hunt... Call a hunter.

Punk: You want hunters here?

Ozpin: At this point, it doesn't matter what they do. We're already too far along now. Even though THE HUNTSMAN is a fond of disruption. When the hunters arrive, they'll shoot him on sight~.

Goon: What about her?

Weiss: (Lolling her head)

Ozpin: She doesn't have long. I gave her enough fear to kill a man ten times her size. Now go!

Mook: (Watches Goon, Punk, and Thug run) The things they say about him... Can he really fly?

Hench: I heard he can disappear!

Ozpin: Well... (Steps away) We're going to find out~. (Hides as violence happens, Jumps)

The Huntsman: (Catches arm, Bends it away, Tears off mask) Think you deserve a taste of your own medicine, Headmaster. (Sprays)

Ozpin: (Coughs, Wheezes)

The Huntsman: What have you been doing here?

Ozpin: (Shivers)

The Huntsman: (Looks like Grimm) OZ... WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR...?

Ozpin: (Shudders) Salem... The Grimm Queen...

The Huntsman: SALEM IS DEAD. WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR...? (Squeezes) OZ...

Ozpin: (Smiles) I'm sorry... The headmaster isn't available at the moment... But I'm sure if you make an appointment-

The Huntsman: (Tosses him aside, Leaves)

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

Ozpin: (Holding mask)

Pyrrha: What was your plan, Ozpin? How were you going to get your chemicals into the air?

Ozpin: The Flood... The Flood...

Pyrrha: Who are you working for, Ozpin?

Ozpin: ...Oh, it's too late. You can't stop her now...

Pyrrha: (Takes mask, Tosses to guard, Leaves)

Ozpin: ...

Ozpin: (Mask tossed to him, Looks up)

Neptune: (Grins) You're needed, Headmaster.

Ozpin: (Smiles)

[grace5425]

homesick

It was October now. The crisp air of the encroaching winter bit at your nose as you sat cross-legged in the Astronomy Tower, your eyes fixed on the horizon. The sun bled slowly into the edge of the world, painting the sky in streaks of burnt orange and dusky purple. Shadows stretched long over the castle grounds, and the stone beneath you held the fading warmth of the day.

Dinner had ended maybe half an hour ago—a painfully long thirty minutes spent pretending not to glance over at the table adorned in green and silver. Pathetic, really. Everyone goes through breakups. Everyone tastes love and loses it just as fast. That’s life, isn’t it?

But loving Mattheo Riddle hadn’t felt like something ordinary. It was loud. Intense. Sometimes messy, often difficult. But it had been real. It had been yours. He had been yours. Despite the arguments, the clashing house colors—he always joked that the two of you made yellow and green look good together—and the wildly different upbringings and diverging dreams, you had found something worth holding on to.

Until you couldn’t hold on anymore.

You weren’t even sure when the unraveling began. Maybe it had always been there, a silent thread pulling taut with each disagreement, each late-night tear shed in solitude. Sixth year had been a blur of quiet corridors and whispered secrets with the infamous Slytherin boy, your hearts tangled together even as something kept slipping further out of reach. You couldn’t name the precise reason it ended—was it the fights, the way your values collided, the weight of his sadness pressing into your chest, or the grief you carried like a ghost? Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was nothing.

The door to the Astronomy Tower groaned open, loud and jarring against the quiet dusk. Footsteps echoed up the stairs, steady but ungraceful, and you turned your head toward the sound before your heart even had time to prepare.

Mattheo stepped through the archway, the last light of sunset catching in his hair, his eyes already locked on you. He looked like a storm trying to pass for a man—disheveled, tired, fingers playing with an unlit cigarette. There was a slight stumble in his gait, a subtle slur in his movement that sent a familiar ache through your chest.

“Oh… uh, hey,” he muttered, making his way to sit beside you—close, but not close enough. Just a few inches. But they may as well have been miles.

“Hey, Matty,” you said softly.

He inhaled sharply, like the sound of his name in your voice hurt more than he expected.

“Watching the sunset?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. He knew. He always knew.

“Yeah,” you replied, unable to lie to him even now.

Your eyes flicked to him, noticing the slight tremble in his fingers, the gloss in his eyes that had nothing to do with tears.

“Have you been drinking again?” you asked—not with judgment, but with concern. Maybe pity. Maybe guilt.

He gave a humorless chuckle, breathy and empty. “’Course I have,” he said, voice low and bitter. “Can’t do anything right.”

Your chest squeezed, sharp and sudden. “That’s not true, Mattheo.”

He turned to you then, so suddenly it startled you, his eyes blazing like someone had struck a match behind them.

“Do you love me?” he asked, voice raw and cutting through the air like wind in winter. “Still?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then met his eyes.

“Of course I do, Mattheo,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I always have.”

And then he kissed you.

It was desperate, aching, and fervent—like he needed you more than he needed to breathe. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger born of grief and longing, like this kiss was the only thing keeping him alive.

He tasted like smoke and whiskey and something sharp beneath it, something that reminded you of winter mornings and stolen moments. He smelled like leather and ink and a thousand memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

He felt like home.

And Merlin, you had never felt more homesick.

[severalowls]

The greatest cure to imposter syndrome is having to interact with a coworker who is even worse at everything but definitely gets paid more.

The only problem is then you replace imposter syndrome with becoming some kind of joker.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[overly-verbose]

Seriously, bro's a professional yapper lmfao

Tbf it's not completely unprovoked and he does just want to at least try explaining some things, if in a roundabout way, to make people more at ease (if not in the moment then overall) but, well-

sometimes it has the opposite effect lmao 😂

Also like, it's absolutely hilarious how I thought

'oh but this is just, like three scenes - how long could this be'

but all the freaking talking and stuff that everyone's doing is making Part 8 the second longest in the series 😂😂😂💀😂

(I fear for my poor brain, man - we've only just barely almost covered the Detention Center Arc

(and a little bit of the VS Mahito Arc Mahito Gets Curse PTSD Arc but I do wanna fill in some of the gaps between those)

and it's already gonna be over 40k words???

Why am I being so ambitious for my first ever proper writing project frrr *perishes a bit*

but I do hope to get it to the end - and beyond because there's no way I wouldn't constantly add to the post-main-plot shenanigans lol - however long that takes heh (just try to be patient with me pls I try my best here 😂) 👍)

[deus-ex-mona]

farewell, my idiot son…

[thetangibleghost]

"give me a beer, a lullaby, and a word in my ear" -guy at a speed dating event in my dream

[lycheefruiit]

I recently fount out there are people who HEAVILY dislike Stardew Valley and I’m in shock…

like I understand maybe it not being your thing and you’re not into the style, but HEAVILY disliking a farming sim is insane. Where are the heavy feelings coming from? The mine? Being rejected at the flower dance? SEEING SHANE? WHERE ARE THEY COMING FROM???? 0-0

[tojisteddy]

Acknowledge Me

or: Simon finally gives you attention after you piss him off.

“The power it takes, to make me cry that way. Baby, I hate me when you get under my skin.”

cw: 3.6k words (lord), 18+ MDNI, Toxic!Simon/Meanie!Simon, smut with plot, daddy kink (daddy, pa), dubcon, p in v, dacryphilia, degradation (like hell), water park amusement, pvssy slapping, creampie, marathon!, intoxicated sex, pet names (lovie, doll, pup), overstim, orgasm denial, straight debauchery, after care, y/n visuals.

a/n: acknowledge me by doja cat was the big inspo.

Were you a fucking stupid brat?

Or were you simply itching for attention that you deserved?

If you told your friends, they wouldn’t call you a fucking brat. Stupid? Yeah.

For being with a man who didn’t hesitate to curse you out when you annoyed him. Simon Riley didn’t even flinch when you started hearing those hiccups over the phone, he could already picture your trembling bottom lip, huffed out cheeks and tears forming at your water line. If anything it pissed him off further.

“Don’t fuckin try it with those tears [+]. I fuckin told you, you tell me where the fuck you’re goin. Why the fuck did I have see you move to five different bars in three fuckin hours and you didn’t say a word to me about it till now!?” Simon yelled through the phone.

“You and your dumb ass friends are too fuckin reckless—“

“—Don’t call them that-“ you chided.

“-Oh, I promise you lovie, I don’t give a shit.” his voice with venom.

For fucks sake, it was supposed to be a fun night out and if you were one of your friends, it would’ve been. You and your friends loved bar hopping, enjoying the vibe wherever you went and free alcohol that men and women would order for you. You don’t remember how many bars ago, but your phone died somewhere in the middle and you did spend about five minutes at the last 6 bars trying to find an outlet before your friends dragged you away to the dance floor. That had to count for something, right? You did try to get some form of life on your phone for thirty minutes!

You’d finally gotten to an outlet, right next to the fucking bathroom. ‘15 missed called 4 new messages.’ A string of curses leaving your mouth once you dialed that memorized phone number. And there Simon was, talking to you out the ass while the music was booming in the distance, you had your phone in one hand and a finger in the other trying to hear him properly, the smell of only-god-knows from god-knows-what filling your poor nose all so you could attempt to fix your accidental boo-boo :( — but that bastard had to have you crying in the club.

Like you were thirsty for his attention. you were.

No, none of this was your fault. You didn’t need to update the 6’4, blonde, hunk of a damn brat, when he hadn’t even bothered to contact you in a month.

Yup, the ghost was actually known for ghosting you.

Purposely declining your calls, leaving your texts on read or worse: replying with a ‘k’ when you tried to meet up when you knew (least for the most part) he kept to himself. When he was stationed near by, he was at his own fucking house minding his own business. He was the worst. And the cherry on top?

The fucker had your location on.

You swore he did this to get a rise out of you, to see you teetering off the brink of sanity— and you had to attempt to reel yourself back in every. fucking. time. You weren’t his little plaything, you didn’t need him.

“Don’t fuck with me.” you mumbled, salty tears hitting your mouth. Those would be the last for the night, you swore it. It was like the liquor finally left your heart and went to your brain. Liquid courage.

“What’dyou just say t’me?”

Louder, “I said, don’t fuck with me! I’m sick of your shit Simon!” You snapped. You weren’t an angry person, you’d just hit an annoying wall you needed to get though. The annoying wall called Ghost Riley.

“You always- always come out of the fucking blue ‘nd think you tell me what to do! I’m not a fucking idiot, I know what the fuck I’m doin! Don’t be bitchy at me cause I like to have a little fuckin fun with my friends even when you’ve been ignoring me. Fuckin ignoring me instead of telling me what’s up! The fuck do I gotta do to get you off my dick?!”

“You like the messy shit, Si! You like seein me pissed at you just so you’re the one who has to come and fix it! I can’t stand it. You should go find a bitch who likes that shit because I don’t! I hate how I feel right now and I hate that you can’t be one of those kind boyfriends who’ll come and fuckin hold me nice and shit! Hell, maybe I’ll go find someone to hold me realll nice like since you fuckin won’t!” You spat, nose flaring, you were trembling with rage.

“Pup,” one word. Cut throat. Yanking you right back down to reality. “You take your pretty ass home, ‘nd I’ll go easy on you, yeah?”

You felt your chest rising and falling rapidly, you were frustrated that he clearly didn’t listen to your little rant but you felt your panties get damp. Just a bit. Just like always when you saw a punishment coming. You couldn’t help yourself.

“I-“

“—She’s busy right now please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeep.” Your friend, Sharon, has snactched your phone out of you hand, quickly interjecting your conversation with the man and hanging up. She hiccuped, nodding her head in satisfaction.

“You can’t spend the whoooole night by this stinky ass bathroom. Let’s go daaaaance, or-or drink.” She giggled, taking your hands. “Or both!” She squealed at her own words.

Fuck it.

You went out with your friends so you could have a good time, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Simon had such a nice way of breaking you down to your knees, so you were the one sobbing and begging then bringing you back up. He didn’t do it often, he wasn’t that fucking mean, but he did it when you really pissed him off. Simon needed you to understand— you weren’t in charge. He was. The man doesn’t remember exactly what you did to piss him anymore, it had been a long and grueling month for him anyway. But he had to follow through with something because he’d be damned if he had to actually apologize, you being with your idiot friends didn’t help your case. So he threw it in the melting pot of why he had a right to bully you.

The motherfucker couldn’t help himself.

When he entered your empty and annoyingly small studio apartment, he added another mark to his ‘reasons to fuck babygirl up’ list. He told you to take your sweet ass home, didn’t he? And where were you?

He’d make sure the neighbors knew exactly who the fuck he was.

It should’ve been easy for you to check in, no? He worried about your safety above all else, but it always seemed to fly out the window when you were with your friends who were notorious and extreme party girls while you just went with the flow. He didn’t not like them sober, it’s when you went clubbing you, for some reason, would get hard headed, defiant. It pissed him off, which would always lead to an argument. Usually he’d come snatch you up while you were tipsy, you’d have a cry in the car, mumbling something about how you just knew the man didn’t like you or take you serious.

And partially, Ghost didn’t. He brushed your insecurities away at first, thinking nothing of it as you went about your life. But you kept being on edge drunk or sober. So he would be right there, finger fucking you otherwise while the car was still in motion. And maybe you were right, maybe he wasn’t the sweet and soft boyfriend you wanted who’d hold your cute little hand when you made him angry. He wasn’t the type to coddle you, chicken peck your face with kisses when you felt down. Simon Riley was the gruff and overbearing man you needed to set you straight, keep you grounded when the world went to shit.

That’s what your cute little tantrum was about, least part of it was. Simon knew he was distant, you just needed a reminder he was yours and you were his. And only his. You craved him like you needed food, it was obvious to anyone who saw you two together. He chuckled, couldn’t believe you even suggested fucking some other man. As if they could handle you, as if they knew what you needed.

He’d set that attitude straight.

The shower was running when the front door of your flat closed behind you. There’s no way you left it on this whole time, did you? You didn’t remember. The night turned into a long one.

No, you didn’t get black out drunk like your friends suggested. You had another shot or two, deciding to stay on the sober side with your DD. You two did smoke a fat blunt before hitting another club though, that made you feel like you were starting to lose your hearing. But it mellowed you out completely. The anger you felt, all that angst and sadness? Gone like a snap of your fingers. The person who was yelling and crying earlier? Technically it wasn’t you, you just needed a little peace. A little medicinal help.

After singing and dancing as hard as you could, your drunk friends taking blurry photos and videos of you that you’d probably post later, you persuaded them it’d be best to get something to eat and head home around two am. It took thirty minutes to find a convenience store that was open so you could chow down on something, and fifteen to get home. With a basically empty bag of chips in one hand, purse slung over your shoulder like a duffle, a bag of junk food in your other hand, low red eyes and a small smile— you finally got home.

You’d deal with that asshole tomorrow. Or next week— maybe next month if you gave enough of a fuck like he did.

Who knows.

You sat the bag of food on the coffee table, right now the priority was your skin care routine, then eat, then zonk out till 2 pm. You still can’t believe you left the shower and the bathroom light on that was now blinding your eyes but whatever. You’d turn it off as soon as you were done since it was warm due to the slight steam.

Routine, routine, routin— you stumbled over a pile of clothes. Large male clothes— okay, maybe you were in the wrong apartment.

Not your first rodeo.

You’d just slowly back out and try looking for your apartment. No big deal.

But the shower curtain swung open and you tripped over the clothes, falling right on your ass with a yelp.

“Ya can’t be that fuckin drunk, can ya?”

Your eyes darted open, right at the familiar deep cockney accent— Simon Riley was right there in the flesh, water dripping down his scarred and large body, making him dazzle like a God in that fucked up bathroom light.

Now that was blinding.

“Hello? Are ya listenin?”

Oh, he really wanted an answer.

“ ‘M not drunk.” You said breathlessly. Intoxicated? Yes. But not drunk. The shots had worn off ages ago. Hell, maybe your high was too at the sight of this brute.

What the fuck was he doing here?

The blonde ignored the confused look on your face. Taking a towel that sat on the sink and drying his hair. No point in drying off anything else, he was about to sweat.

So were you.

Simon continued on, stepping past you and you quickly got up, following right behind him like a starved puppy. For someone who hated your apartment, he sure walked around like he owned the place. Nude, large cock swinging, and the look of annoyance written on his handsome unmasked face.

He sat on the bed, manspreading nonchalantly. Knowing you were looking at it, your eyes immediately went elsewhere.

“What do you want?” You mumbled out, shifting from foot to foot.

As if you didn’t know what was bound to happen.

The older man laughed, sarcasm dripping down his throat.

“Be good ‘nd strip, won’t repeat myself.”

“Si-Simon!” Your breath hitched once a large hand came down on your ass, once for good measure.

“Who?” He slapped his thick member on your ass, sliding it through the crevice of your cheeks.

“But- but Simon-“ another slap.

“You’re gonna make it worse for yourself, call me proper.” He smacked his cock over your glistening folds. So fucking wet.

“Daddy mmph,” You moaned.

“All this ‘b-b-but’ bullshit from ya. You’ve pissed me off more than enough. You’ll take all of it today.” Simon slipped inside your hole, filling you to the brim even with half of that girthy cock in you. You both hissed, fuck, it was always so good when he was inside your walls. Simon slowly started to rock his hips into you, slowly but surely making sure you took every inch if his manhood had to offer.

It was when he bottomed out, you knew you were in for it. Simon wasn’t talking to you, he forced your head down on the bed, forcing your back to arch further as he thrusted right at your spot. Over and over and over.

“Gonna cum pa, gonna cum.” You stuttered, feeling the pit in your stomach starting to turn.

“No you’re not.”

“—But—”

“I dare you [+]. I know you’d just looove seein how that turns out.”

You hiccuped, tears brimming as Simons pace got faster. You could feel him throbbing inside you but he wouldn’t cave. He was making the both of you suffer over a petty argument— a mistake that in any normal relationship wouldn’t be that serious.

“I- no- anngh— I need to cum—”

“-You don’t need shit you greedy. fuckin. bitch.” He grunted, swatting your ass with every thrust.

The man yanked you up by your tosseled hair, “You had your oh-so lovin Daddy fuckin worried about’cha so you can be safe then when I finally get a hold of ya ‘nd tell you to go home, you ignore me. Threatenin to go fuck some idiot, but he couldn’t fuck you like I can? Can he? Can’t keep you pretty ‘nd upright? Can he?” His hand trailed from your throat to the buldge at your stomach. He scuffed, “now you’re itching t’cum just because I have my cock right here in ya? Fuckin dumb bitch shit,”

“You a dumb bitch?” He asked, making sure you were fucking him back. Ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

“Noooo.” You cried out, trying to get away but it only made the brute dig into you further.

“What?”

“No sir.”

“Thaaats right princess. You're my smart little girl, listen to me next time. Good on you- fuck— for tryin to salvage yourself.” He huffed.

You didn’t realize your own toes curling at that small praise, your body trembling as you reached your peak.

“Hold it, did you just fuckin cum? When I told you not to?” He growled, forcing you to look at his eyes that were practically red with anger.

“Wait, wait, wait.” You really couldn’t help yourself, you’d been holding it for how long? And you were still kinda high which made you feel the sensations ten fold, Simon was drilling into you like no tomorrow and then he gave you an inch of kindness after being so mean to you this whole fucking time.

Your body unconsciously took a mile.

“Nope.” He yanked you back to lay your back on him, the rest of his drenched length in you, and lifted your leg so it was over your head, legs parted like the red sea. The first smack on your cunt for the night had you screaming, water spraying out.

Simon gripped your chin, forcing you to look down at the mess you created while harshly rubbing your pearl, still thrusting into you from behind, “You wanna act like a greedy bitch and think with your pussy? Then you cum like a greedy fuckin bitch. Cum you dirty pup.”

And he kept smacking down on your poor cunt, unable to stop yourself from cumming and squirting. Completely creaming Simons girthy cock so that a ring of cum formed around the base of his length.

“Daddy I can’t-“ you keened.

The man scowled, “-Shut. the fuck. up. You never shut the fuck up, the only thing I wanna hear is how fucking wet that pussy is. Keep fuckin cummin like a dirty slut you are.”

And you did.

You were wetting the bed like a dog. Water flying everywhere with every thwack of Simons hand on your abused and misused clit. You didn’t even know how many times you had cum by that point. Words? What were those? You wouldn’t even be able to read a street sign or name your favorite color if asked.

You were seeing pure white, the only thing you could hear was the loud squelching of Simon pumped himself in and out of you. He pulled out for a second causing you to whine at the loss of him, but he slipped back into your tight walls, fucking you in a nice missionary.

He gave your face a few light smacks to the face, tutting “Ah, ah, ah, pup, don’t you fuckin pass out. Eyes on Daddy.”

You managed to pry those long lashes open, hooded and lower than they could ever get when you were high.

“Therrrre my pretty girl is. Look so good bein fuckin stupid on my dick doll. This is alllll my girl needed. A good lesson, yeah? Remind ‘er who’s boss, huh?” He smirked, dragging himself down to you so your legs were at your chest.

“Shit baby, feel you squeezing down on me. Wanna cum with me? Missed me given it to ya just like you always need?” Oh, you were crying again. Yeah, you did miss his mean ass.

And his mean beautifully scarred up face, the mean way his muscles flexed when he did anything, his stupid fucking mouth that had to say some stupid shit touching your full lips, his disgustingly sexy muscular yet pudgy stomach with a happy trail touching your stomach everytime he wrapped those arms around you. His massive presence when he stood next to you, mean brown eyes watching while you did your hair, your makeup, or got dressed. Heartless hands that rubbed your neck everytime he didn’t know how to comfort you because that asshole trying his hardest to understand you.

And that undeniably cruel, overly massive cock fucking you like you were the final girl getting a well deserved an award for making it out the trenches in a horror film.

Your head was full with the thought of daddy, daddy, daddy— you shook your head but you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. You hung on to whatever bullshit that man gave you. Only him. Always him.

“Wan- I wan it pa! Wan your cum in me.” you babbled through your sobs.

“Course ya fuckin do. Can’t do shit without me.” The older man crooned. He finally planted his lips on yours, you moaned at just the feel. Pink walls fluttering in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim. Slow thrusts making sure he pumped everything he had into your perfect cunt.

So much for not crying anymore.

The only sound you could be heard in that studio was you cries, like a fucking baby, bouncing off your thin walls. The headboard was finally able to rest, you knew for a fact your neighbors probably despise your being now.

“Why didn’t you- you come see me? I wanted- hicc- I wanted to see you. But- but- you wouldn’t come see me! Wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone,” You sobbed, tripping and falling through your words. “you must hate me.”

The older man rolled his eyes, “Didn’t ever say tha’. How can I hate’cha ‘nd your mine? Doesn’t make sense mama.”

“Didn’t call me though.” You were sprawled out on the bed now, fat tears escaping your eyes. The blonde was sitting on the bed, grabbing the bottled water that he kept in the nightstand, opening it and putting it to your lips to drink. You did, lifting just enough for a bit to go down your bound to be sore throat and flopping back on the bed.

“Was busy swee’art.” Half truth, half lie. Though it was habit, he was trying to keep you in the loop of his life this time. But old habits die hard. The man forgot to reply. His work schedule was fucked, and he was busy spending his free time moving house. The house he planned to give you, it just wasn’t ready yet. Simon was actually being good for you, for once.

“You’re not always busy Si, you just don’t like my annoying voice!” You whimpered.

It took everything in the older brute to not laugh, you were bein so fucking cute. Babbling nonsense but still clinging to him like a lifeline. Still wanting, still his baby girl.

“Told ya, you weren’t annoyin. Got a nice voice, so get it out silly skull.” He cooed, sitting you on your bottom to face him.

You sniffed, moaning and groaning in annoyance but choosing to accept those words. And only those though.

“Fucks sake, Stop it.”

“I caaaant.” You whined, profusely wiping your tears.

“No, dummy.” Simon pushed your hands off your own face, gently wiping the tears with his thumbs that continued to poor out, “Yer gonna throw a fuckin fit if your face ends up bein puffy cause you wipe your tears so damn rough. Take it easy.”

No one knew how to wipe your tears better than the man who created them.

“I wanna make up, you don’t want to?” That was as close to an apology you’d ever get. Always.

A proper Ghost apology was rare as is and you wouldn’t be getting that after your little tantrum tonight. So you ate up what you could get.

“I wanna- I wanna make up too Daddy.” You croaked, dragging out your words. Adorable princess.

“Pfft,” he ruffled your now messy, sweated out hair, “I gotcha.”

“Up you go.” Like a feather, Simon lifted you from the bed, walking to the bedroom you too had been at who knows how many hours ago. He gently sat you on the counter of the sink,

“Let’s get you all ready for bed, yeah?”

a/n: I really love meanie!Simon the most. Let me know what you think about him.

[khioneee]

trying to break up with your fuck buddy, rafe

rafe paces. back and forth. hand running through his hair, jaw tight, eyes sharp with something between frustration and disbelief.

‘you want to stop?’ his voice is even, but there’s an edge to it.

you nod, arms crossed over your chest. ‘yeah.’

‘why?’ his head tilts, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for an answer that actually makes sense to him.

‘i don’t like what this is turning me into,’ you say, voice steady. ‘it’s not who i am. and i don’t want it to be.’

he exhales sharply, turning on his heel and pacing again. ‘where is this coming from?’

‘i’m not blaming you for anything, rafe.’ you sigh, feeling the weight of this conversation sink into your bones. ‘i just realized i don’t want to be another girl in your rotation.’

he stops mid-step, turning to face you. ‘rotation?’

you hold his gaze. ‘you know what i mean.’

his jaw tenses. ‘you knew what this was,’ he says, voice low, careful.

‘i did,’ you agree. ‘and now i know i don’t want it.’

he drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. ‘i thought everything was fine.’

‘it was,’ you admit. ‘but i’m a ‘girlfriend’ kind of girl, rafe. i have boyfriends, not fuck buddies.’

rafe lets out a dry laugh, almost disbelieving. he starts pacing again, steps restless, like he needs to move or he’ll explode.

then, from outside, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

‘rafe! come on, man, we’re waiting!’ topper, followed by laughter and girls’ voices, high and sweet.

your stomach turns, but you don’t react. instead, you nod toward the door.

‘you should go,’ you say softly.

a pause, a sharp inhale. his jaw clenches. ‘we’re not done.’

‘i said what i needed to say.’ you swallow the lump in your throat. ‘you have girls waiting for you.’

he stops pacing. his expression hardens. ‘you think that’s what this is about?’

‘i think it doesn’t matter,’ you answer. ‘because you’re not my boyfriend, and you don’t owe me anything.’

his hands curl into fists at his sides. ‘you’re doing that thing again.’

‘what thing?’

‘acting like you don’t care.’

you inhale sharply. ‘i do care, rafe. that’s the problem.’

something flickers in his expression. for the first time, he looks uncertain. like this wasn’t supposed to happen. like he never considered the possibility of you walking away.

he starts pacing again, steps quicker now, frustration rolling off him in waves. ‘so what? you’re just done?’

you nod. ‘yeah.’

he stops. looks at you. then, after a beat, he says, ‘fine.’

you hesitate. ‘fine, what?’

‘i’ll be your boyfriend.’

you blink, caught off guard. ‘what?’

‘you want a relationship?’ he shrugs, like it’s the easiest fix in the world. ‘done.’

‘that’s not how this works.’

‘why not?’ his voice is sharper now, defensive. ‘you said you don’t want to be just another girl— fine. be my girlfriend.’

you shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping. ‘jesus, rafe.’

‘what?’

‘you don’t even want to be my boyfriend. you just don’t want to see me with someone else.’

his jaw tightens, and for the first time, he stops pacing. stands still.

‘you can’t just decide to be in a relationship because you don’t like the idea of losing me,’ you say, voice softer now. ‘that’s not love, rafe. that’s possession.’

his lips part slightly, but no words come out.

‘you don’t know how to do this,’ you continue gently. ‘how to be with someone in a way that isn’t just about control.’

he exhales, slow and deep, fingers rubbing at his jaw as he looks away for a moment. when he meets your gaze again, there’s something different there. hesitation, sure. but also something you weren’t expecting.

fear.

‘i don’t want to lose you,’ he admits, voice quiet now.

your breath catches. ‘then be better.’

rafe swallows. ‘tell me how.’

‘you already know how,’ you whisper. ‘you just have to choose it.’

the silence stretches between you again, but this time, it’s different.

it’s not heavy. it’s hopeful.

then, from outside, topper calls out again. ‘rafe! you coming or what?’

rafe doesn’t even look toward the door.

‘nah,’ he calls back, eyes still locked on yours. ‘i’m good.’

your heart was about to try to break out from behind your ribs.

his gaze softens. ‘stay?’

you hesitate. ‘rafe—’

he shakes his head, stepping closer. ‘if i say i can do this, then i can do this.’

you search his face for the lie, the excuse, the escape route he’s bound to take. but there isn’t one.

he raised your hands to his mouth and kissed the tip of each of your fingers in turn. your thumb, your index finger, your middle finger, your ring finger, finally your pinky, and then, your gaze caught the black cross that rested on the centre of his chest.

you wonder if his heart beats steadily.

his lips twitch, just slightly, into the kind of smirk that used to make you roll your eyes. ‘i’ll be the last boyfriend you’ll have,’ he murmurs. ‘you’ll see.’

your chest tightens, but this time, it’s not with dread.

‘okay,’ you whisper.

he grins, triumphant. ‘yeah?’

you exhale, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself.

‘yeah.’

an. inspired by rory and logan.

[inkedbybarnes]

none of it was fake

bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

summary: you've been undercover with bucky as husband and wife. upon returning, he seems to have forgotten that it was all pretend.

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: two idiots cluelessly pining for each other. fluff. usage of petnames such as sweetheart, doll, and baby. lowercase writing.

note: hi, babies. how's everyone? this is my first fic in ages, so sorry if it's not my best one. i just wanted something cute ++ this is unedited & not proofread, might fix it laterrr. still hope you'll enjoy this one! xo

dividers made by @firefly-graphics!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“i can't believe your first kiss happened during a mission. an undercover mission!”

wanda huffed, still hung up on the mission you had with bucky weeks ago wherein you had to play pretend as a married couple. there had been a kiss or two during that time, and it felt impossible not to tell your best friend about it when you had been crushing over the soldier for ages.

wanda knew what you felt towards bucky. in fact, she was the only one who knew, or at least the one you shared th information with, and she made sure to ask everything about the mission, even if it took days for her to interrogate you.

“excuse me? that was not my first kiss,” you said defensively, reaching for a cup from the cupboard that you had just opened. “and why are we still talking about this? you and nat already squeezed out every information from me for an entire week.”

“i didn't mean your first first kiss!” she exclaimed, following you around the kitchen as you made yourself a cup of coffee. “you've had a crush on the guy for so long, and the first time you two kiss each other is when you're pretending. that's not how i pictured it at all!”

you had to admit, the mission was sort of a blessing in disguise and a curse at the same time. you were glad to be able to spend time with bucky in ways you've dreamt of, but there was also the horrible reminder that none of it was real. with how avoidant bucky was with you, it was impossible for any of it to happen outside of the mission.

“well, maybe you should stop picturing us doing that sort of stuff. you're way more invested in this than i am, wanda. don't you have your own relationship to think about?” you asked. although you knew she was in a happy relationship with vision, you just wanted her to take a break from all the bucky talk. “when is your man home anyway?”

“my relationship is doing great, so i'm good. i don't need to think of it as much since he gives me everything that i need, and i think of yours because you deserve happiness as well.” she smiled fondly, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “and i'm glad that you asked because this reminded me that vision's arriving with bucky soon.”

“already?” your eyes widened at her statement, completely forgetting that bucky, along with steve, clint, and vision, were coming home today from their mission. “why didn't you tell me sooner!?”

after finishing your mission with bucky two weeks ago, he was immediately sent into another mission which specifically needed him. so, today would technically be the first time you're seeing him again since you last called him your “husband,” which was more nerve-wracking than you expected.

“hey, i'm your best friend, not your alarm.” wanda raised her hands up, defending herself. “and why are you so worried? i can feel your anxiety without needing to be in your head.”

“well, we never talked after.. you know,” you replied, taking a big sip out of your cup. “i know none of it meant anything and that we were just doing our job, but it's the first time i'll be with him normally and not as a pretend married couple. it's kinda awkward, wands.”

“you were able to pretend you didn't like the guy for months, you can do it again for another day.” she answered. “unless you finally tell him what you feel?”

“oh, that? yeah, never happening. i'm not going to risk—”

“there you are, sweetheart.”

there was a collective shocked gasp from both you and wanda, recognizing that voice from behind. except the gasps had different reasons.

you were surprised with his arrival.

wanda was surprised that he casually called you sweetheart.

you turn to find bucky already walking towards you with a smile on his face.

this man never smiles unless he was tasked to do so!

“bucky! you're back!” you awkwardly greeted him.

“yeah, didn't they tell you? i was looking for you when we landed.” he said, pulling you close to him before bending to place a soft kiss on your lips like it was something he'd always done. “you okay, baby? you look pale. did you eat?”

i look pale because wanda is right here with us and you just kissed me while acting like we're dating!

“um, yeah, i'm fine. i'm fine,” you answered, gently pulling yourself away from his arms before he could wrap them around you completely. “can we talk? privately?”

he frowned, worry etched on his face, but he nodded and squeezed your arm softly. “of course. where do you wanna talk, doll?”

“anywhere where wanda isn't there.” you said lightheartedly, throwing a sharp glance at wanda who finally understood what you wanted her to do.

“oh! right, right. i'm sorry, you guys can stay here. i have um..” she paused, thinking of a reason to say. “i have to look for vision anyway. we're supposed to watch a movie together. bye!”

and just like that, wanda was gone and you were left alone with bucky in the kitchen.

before you could speak, bucky asked you first. “what's the matter, doll?”

“what's the matter?” you echoed in a higher tone. “what was that all about?”

“what are you talking about?” he asked, seemingly confused.

“you kissed me, bucky, like it was nothing. then you keep calling me these nicknames.” you reminded him. “we're back home, not in los angeles in our fake house that we used as a fake couple.”

bucky took a step back when he realised his actions, now finding it hard to look at you. “i.. i'm sorry. i completely forgot. i just.. i wasn't thinking. i got used to how we were before,” he mumbled, still finding the right words to say. “did i make you uncomfortable?”

“no, but you made me confused,” you replied. “i'm guessing you got used to how we acted as a fake married couple, but you were gone for another mission. how are you still stuck with the old routine we had?”

“because that's all i could think about,” he answered, now staring at you. “while you're back here in the tower, completely done with our mission, i was thrown back into another one, having only you in my head to pull me back up from the fatigue.”

“you're telling me that you kept thinking about us even when you were gone? why?”

“haven't you?”

“is this a trick question?”

“it's a question to find out whether you like me too or not.”

“you.. you like me?” you blinked. “that's impossible.”

“how on earth is that impossible?”

“because you're always so cold and grumpy around me,” you answered. “i think you're just confused with all the acting we've done, bucky. you don't like me.”

“i was supposed to go on that mission with sharon, not you.” he exhaled. “she volunteered to do it, so she was initially picked. i tried getting out of it, but i had advantages that they needed for the mission to go smoothly. so, i agreed, but in one condition.”

“what was it?” you whispered.

“that you should be my partner,” he answered quickly. “ask me why.”

your heart pounded. “why?”

“because i wanted an excuse to act the way i've always wanted to. i wasn't cold or grumpy because i didn't like you, i just didn't want to scare you.” bucky explained, his hand reaching out for yours. “god, doll. figuring out whether you like me or not has got to be the hardest mission i had to deal with. so do me a favour and get me out of this misery.”

once your lungs found a bit of oxygen again, you finally spoke. “what you said.. you mean it?”

bucky nodded. “every word.”

“well, i like you too.” you tried to bite back a huge smile. “for some time now, actually. wanda will eventually tell you all about my obsession with you. i can't believe we were both worrying for the wrong things.”

“your obsession with me, huh?” he asked cockily, a teasing grin plastered on his face.

“really? i said all that and that's what caught your attention?”

“can't help it. i've been obsessed with you for a long time now as well.” his eyes crinkled at the corners, a little smile gracing his lips while his arm slipped around your waist.

your eyes peeked up at him through your lashes. “does this make it real now?”

“do you want it to be?”

“you're really asking me that?” your chest rumbled. “of course i do.”

“then let's make it real.”

bucky watched you intensely for a few seconds as if he wanted to frame this exact moment before licking his lips and leaning down. you suck a breath, eyes closing as you felt his soft lips meet yours.

you never realised how much you've grown familiar with his touch and affection since your time together as a fake couple.

except this time, none of it was fake.

should we see their time in los angeles as an undercover married couple? 👀

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.