#but it's just tiring explaining again and again and again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

misskingshit · 6 hours ago

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Can’t help it, he’s so cute

summary: Bucky, knowing the team needs a new place to hide, turns to the only person he knows will support him. You didn't expect him to bring an entire team with him.

note: OMG BOB IS SO CUTE. xoxo

The makeshift safehouse reeked of dust and distrust.

It was someone’s abandoned cabin off-grid in the middle of Wyoming—too many pine trees, not enough coffee. The floor creaked when Yelena shifted her weight, sitting cross-legged on a rickety table while eating sunflower seeds like she was born for the apocalypse. Ava was pacing like a caged animal near the window. John Walker had his arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. Bucky sat in the middle of the room, elbows on knees, fingers threaded into his hair.

And Bob Reynolds… well. Bob stood shirtless in the corner, looking like an accidental god. His shoulders didn’t fit into normal space. His glowing eyes flicked around the room like he was still trying to figure out how reality worked. Or maybe he was just bored. Hard to tell with him.

“So what now?” Alexei grunted from the only real chair, arms stretched wide like a king. “We camp here and wait for the government to find us again? Bad plan. Terrible plan. I’ve been in Russian prisons with more dignity.”

“No one asked you,” Walker muttered.

“We need somewhere better,” Ava cut in, her voice sharp but tired. “Somewhere we can lay low. Where they wouldn’t think to look.”

“Well unless one of you has a vacation home in the Alps,” Yelena said dryly, “we’re pretty much screwed.”

Bucky didn’t move. His jaw ticked once, like a switch flipped in his brain. Slowly, he stood up, eyes distant. “I might know someone.”

That got everyone’s attention. Bob tilted his head, blinking once. Ava stopped pacing. Yelena actually paused mid-sunflower seed.

“You know someone?” Alexei asked.

“Who?” Walker asked, skeptical.

“Just—give me a minute,” Bucky said, already walking outside. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, heading into the cold with a phone already in his hand. His thumb hovered over a number he hadn’t dialed in a long time. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he wasn’t sure he should.

Your contact lit up his screen: Cutest Stark�� Obviously you saved your contact under that name when you were helping Bucky use his new phone, he just laughed an decided keep it that way.

He sighed and hit call.

Meanwhile, in New York City…

In the gleaming kitchen of Stark Tower—your inherited kingdom—you stirred a bubbling sauce with one hand while balancing your phone between your shoulder and cheek. Morgan’s face filled the screen. She was giggling at something offscreen, probably one of the robots you still kept around.

“—and then I told him,” Morgan said between snickers, “if he thinks he’s smarter than me, he can explain why he just fell for the oldest prank in the book.”

You laughed, warm and full, moving around the kitchen barefoot in one of Tony’s old MIT sweatshirts. “God, you’re such a Stark it hurts.”

“I know,” Morgan beamed. “You taught me well.”

Before you could respond, a second call tried to interrupt. Your screen flashed with a name you hadn’t seen in weeks. Maybe months. James. F. Barnes.

You froze.

Morgan squinted. “Is that who I think it is?”

You smiled, heart stuttering, sauce forgotten. “Yeah. I—hang on, peanut.”

You switched the call, pressed video, and Bucky’s face filled your screen, framed by pine trees and late afternoon light. His hair was longer. His stubble thicker. He looked tired… but your name made him smile.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Bucky!” You nearly dropped the spoon. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see your face. Where have you been? Wait—never mind, I don’t care. I missed you. Are you okay? Are you safe?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I missed you too. I, uh… I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

“We’re in a tight spot. New team, no allies. We need a place to lay low for a bit.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You’re coming home.”

He blinked. “You sure?”

“Bucky,” you said gently, “I kept this place running for a reason. Your room’s still here. The tower’s secure. FRIDAY still knows your coffee order. Come home.”

He exhaled slowly, like the weight of the world finally slid off his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You don’t even have to ask.” You paused, smirking a little. “But when you get here, you will have to explain why the hell it took you this long to call me. I mean, seriously. I thought you died. Again.”

He chuckled, that low, gravelly laugh that used to echo through the Tower halls. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

Then your voice softened. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

The call ended, but your chest stayed warm. Morgan peeked back on the screen, smirking. “So… do I get to meet your war criminal boyfriend now?”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “He’s not my—oh, shut up.”

Because yes, obviously, you always liked Bucky.

Who wouldn't?

It was just a crush though.

He was clearly a man who wasn't ready for anything with anyone, and you were a person who wanted everything with someone. Clearly, you weren't a good match. The point here, the sweet tone you used with him and the tender way you looked at him, was because he was your last lifeline. The last thing you had left connected to your father, Steve, Nat. Bucky is the last thing you had left, the only living proof that everything that happened really happened and wasn't in vain.

“We have a place,” Bucky said flatly, stepping back into the cabin’s main room. Everyone looked up.

Alexei blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, pulling his glove tighter. “It’s secure, off-radar, not government-controlled. We’ll be safe.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where?”

He hesitated just long enough for them all to stare.

“…Stark Tower,” he finally muttered, and immediately regretted how that sounded.

Walker nearly choked. “You’re taking us to Tony Stark’s skyscraper? The Stark Tower? Didn’t that thing light up like a Christmas tree every time someone sneezed near Manhattan?”

“It’s under new management,” Bucky grumbled, grabbing his bag. “Let’s go.”

The quinjet landed on the private helipad atop Stark Tower at sunset, the entire skyline of New York painted in golden pinks and fire. The building glowed from within — a quiet kind of warmth, like someone had taken a monument of history and turned it into a real home.

The moment the team stepped into the elevator, surrounded by polished chrome and holographic glass panels, Bucky turned to face them all like an exhausted dad.

“Okay,” he said, lifting his hands. “I mean this — please. Behave.”

Yelena gave a little shrug. “You act like we are not capable of being polite.”

“You’re not,” Bucky shot back.

“Who exactly lives here now?” Ava asked, watching the floor numbers tick upward.

“That’d be…the older Stark,” Bucky said carefully. “Tony’s oldest daughter.”

The group went quiet.

“Oh,” Alexei said. “That Stark.”

“Wait wait wait,” Walker held up a finger. “Like Stark-Stark? The billionaire genius daughter of Iron Man who disappeared from public life after he—”

“Yes,” Bucky cut him off sharply. His voice lowered. “She was like family to Tony’s team. She stayed behind to keep the place safe. And she’s letting us stay, so try not to ruin it.”

Before anyone could reply, the elevator chimed — and the doors opened.

You stood there.

Hair soft and glowing in the evening light. Wearing leggings and a loose tank, barefoot but radiant, like the Tower itself breathed easier when you were in it. You held your breath the moment you saw Bucky, your eyes wide, lips parted, like you weren’t sure if he was real or a memory.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

He barely had time to register your name before you ran.

You launched into his arms like muscle memory, clinging to him with your face buried in his shoulder, and he caught you without hesitation, arms winding around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was tight, grounding, a little desperate.

“God, I missed you,” you murmured against his neck.

“I missed you too,” he said into your hair. “You look—Jesus, you look beautiful. You always do.”

You pulled back, eyes glossy but full of a grin. “You really ghosted me, Barnes.”

“I know.” He grimaced, brushing your cheek. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“You better.”

You finally turned your attention to the crew behind him, all still in the elevator like they were watching a rom-com unfold in real time.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You brought… everyone.”

He cleared his throat, hand still on the small of your back. “Right. Uh—guys, this is Y/N Stark. She’s letting us crash here.”

You smiled. “Welcome to Stark Tower, or what’s left of it. Now a semi-chaotic haven for misfit vigilantes, apparently.”

Alexei stepped forward and shook your hand with a grin. “Is honor to meet small Stark daughter.”

“Oh no,” you smiled. “I’m not small. I’m just the older sibling now.”

Yelena stepped out next, and the moment your eyes locked with hers, you froze mid-breath.

“…You okay?” Yelena asked gently, brow creased.

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “It’s just—Natasha… she was like an aunt to me. We lived here together. She’d braid my hair in the mornings. Seeing you—it’s like a part of her walked back through the door.”

Yelena’s gaze softened instantly. She stepped forward and pulled you into a quiet, firm hug. “She would’ve loved that,” she said into your ear. “And I think she’d be glad you’re still here.”

You clung to her a second longer than expected, heart full. Bucky smiled to himself, a weight lifted.

Then John Walker strolled forward, flashing you his best smug grin. “So… you’re telling me a gorgeous, genius Stark lives in a high-rise all alone? How’s that legal?”

Before you could answer, Bucky’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Back off.”

Walker blinked. “What? I’m just saying hi.”

“Say hi to the wall,” Bucky muttered.

And then—

You turned.

And saw him.

Bob Reynolds stood awkwardly near the elevator’s edge, towering, golden-haired, built like a titan and blinking like he didn’t know where to put his hands. His eyes met yours, and then traveled—slowly, reverently—across every inch of you.

And then, aloud—without even realizing:

“…She looks like a goddess.”

Everyone went still.

Bob’s face froze. His mouth dropped slightly.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, eyes wide in horror. “I—I thought that. That was supposed to stay inside my head.”

You laughed, hand covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”

Bob blushed so hard it looked like his skin might combust.

“I—I didn’t mean to—like, you are, but—oh no, I should stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you said, grinning. “You’re adorable. You can talk.”

He looked at Bucky for help. Bucky looked like he wanted to throw him off the balcony.

You clapped your hands. “Okay! Quick tour before someone combusts. Everyone gets a private room with a bathroom. There’s a training floor on level 12, a kitchen that doesn’t explode anymore thanks to FRIDAY, and a living space where you can yell at each other like a dysfunctional family. Just—don’t break anything expensive, or sentimental. Or, y’know, the structural integrity of the building.”

Yelena raised her hand. “Do weapons count as sentimental?”

“Only if they were gifted,” you winked.

---

It was late.

The kind of late where the city had gone quiet, even the Tower’s hum softened like it was tucked under a blanket. You were curled into the corner of the oversized couch in the common room, legs folded, one of Tony’s hoodies hanging loose off your shoulder. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the skyline blinked in a million tiny stars.

And Bucky was sitting beside you.

Not close enough to touch — not yet — but close enough that your knees almost brushed, that the weight of his presence filled the space in ways silence never could.

You smiled softly, looking out the window. “Morgan asked about you again today.”

He glanced over. “She did?”

You nodded. “She thinks you’re my boyfriend. Keeps insisting on it, actually. Says she’s seen the way I smile when you text.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Smart kid.”

You bumped his knee. “She gets it from me.”

He looked over, finally meeting your eyes. His were tired, but soft. "I missed this. I missed you."

“I missed you too,” you whispered, and you meant it like it had been carved into your chest.

A pause stretched between you — not awkward, just heavy. Heavy with time. With words you hadn’t gotten to say.

“How’ve you been?” you asked gently.

He exhaled, leaning back. “Weird. Floating. Sometimes I feel like I’ve figured things out. Then I wake up and I’m right back where I started. The team helps, but… I’m still figuring out who I am when I’m not being used. When I’m not fighting.”

You nodded. “I get that.”

He looked at you for a long beat. “How about you?”

You hesitated.

Then you told the truth.

“I’ve been lonely.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to. You stared at your hands. “At first, it was just grief. For my dad, for Nat, for Steve—God, even Thor. I don’t know where the hell he is. Clint’s with his kids. Bruce is off somewhere being Bruce. Everyone left. Or died. And I… stayed.”

Bucky watched you like the world might shatter if he blinked.

You gave a small smile. “I kept this place alive, Bucky. I filled the Tower with warmth again, but it didn’t feel like home. Not without any of you here. So I got used to it. The quiet. The space. The ghosts.”

Bucky moved closer, slow and careful, like approaching a wounded thing.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice steady. “Not anymore. Not as long as I’m here.”

You looked at him.

“I mean it,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. His metal fingers brushed against your skin like he was still afraid to break it. “You and me, we’re gonna stick together.”

“‘Til when?” you asked, a small smile playing at your lips.

He squeezed your hand.

“‘Til the end of the line.”

You closed your eyes. That old phrase — it still made your heart ache in the sweetest way. You turned your hand to link your fingers with his, soft and sure.

And then you whispered back: “I’ll love you 3000.”

His breath caught.

And he smiled.

Like something lost had just come back to him.

Like a promise he’d almost forgotten was suddenly real again.

---

The training room of Stark Tower was nearly empty — just the quiet whir of air conditioning and the thud of your feet hitting the mat as you moved through a practiced series of kicks and strikes. You’d been at it for an hour, sweat glistening down your neck, your breathing even, controlled. The Tower’s AI, FRIDAY, had the playlist low in the background, something smooth with a beat you could punch to.

You weren’t showing off.

But you weren’t holding back either.

Your dad started your training when you were a kid — when you were still small enough to sit in the lap of one of his Iron Man suits. And when Natasha took over, it became second nature. Your body knew the dance of it. Every twist, every dodge, every controlled exhale.

And then—

You felt it.

The eyes.

You stopped mid-kick, chest rising and falling.

“…You know,” you said without turning around, grabbing a towel from the bench and dabbing your forehead, “if you’re gonna stare at me like that, the polite thing to do is say hi.”

A pause. Then a very deep voice stammered—

“I wasn’t—staring. I mean—okay, I was. But not in a weird way.”

You turned.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, sheepish and impossibly sweet for a man who could melt steel with his pinky. His hair was tousled like he’d just run a hand through it out of pure nerves, and he was already blushing, even before you smiled.

You cocked your head. “That so?”

He blinked. “I mean—you were… doing that spin-kick thing. It was really impressive.”

You took a few steps closer, casually. Your sports bra clung to your ribs, the black fabric soaked in a way that definitely wasn’t helping Bob keep his thoughts PG. “Thanks. I’ve been training since I was little.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I could tell. You move like a storm.”

You raised a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment, or a warning?”

His eyes widened. “Compliment! Definitely. A very respectful—intense—uh, not creepy compliment.”

You laughed, crossing your arms loosely. “Relax, Bob. I’m not gonna kick your ass.”

“…I’d probably let you.”

Your smile froze for a second, caught off-guard — and then widened.

“Oh?” you teased. “You into that sort of thing?”

Bob’s face went bright red. “N-no! I mean, I—I don’t know if I’m—uh, maybe? Oh god, I said that out loud again, didn’t I?”

You laughed so hard you had to brace your hands on your knees. “You really need a filter.”

He groaned, half-hiding behind a training dummy. “I swear I used to be cool.”

“I think you’re pretty cute like this.”

That got his attention.

He peeked out at you, blinking like he wasn’t sure you were being serious. “You… do?”

You took a step closer again, slow and smooth. “You’re like a golden retriever with godlike powers. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bob laughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, his voice a little softer. “Yeah, well… you’re like… if a goddess got bored of Olympus and decided to just casually ruin me on a Tuesday.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “Ruin you, huh?”

He looked like he might spontaneously combust. “I—I mean emotionally. I think.”

You leaned in just a little. “You say the sweetest things.”

Bob’s breath caught as your fingers brushed his arm, just lightly.

Then you backed up, letting him breathe, and turned your attention back to the training mat.

“I’m done here,” you said, tossing your towel over your shoulder. “You coming?”

He blinked. “Coming where?”

You looked over your shoulder, your smile slow and teasing. “Kitchen. You owe me a smoothie. For the compliments. And the stare.”

Bob followed like a puppy. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I make a killer smoothie. Or, like… an aggressively average one. But I’ll give it emotional effort.”

You snorted. “Just don’t explode the blender.”

“No promises.”

As the elevator closed behind you both, he looked at you again — still soft, still wonderstruck — and whispered, “You really are something else.”

You didn’t answer.

You just leaned a little closer, brushing his knuckles with yours.

---

The kitchen was full of sunlight and chaos.

Alexei was digging through the fridge like it personally offended him. Yelena was perched on the countertop, already eating cold pizza with no shame. Ava stood in the corner like a ghost who had opinions but refused to share them. John Walker was trying — and failing — to figure out how to use the espresso machine.

And Bob?

Bob was making pancakes.

Or attempting to.

“Is this… normal?” Yelena asked, watching with a crooked grin as Bob poured another lumpy circle of batter onto the skillet, half of it splashing onto the stove.

“It’s either breakfast,” you said, tying your robe a little tighter around your waist as you stepped into the room, “or a science experiment.”

Bob turned around at the sound of your voice and lit up. “You’re up!”

You smiled. “Didn’t think I’d sleep through a kitchen explosion.”

He beamed like you’d just handed him a Nobel Prize. “I made you pancakes!”

You walked over, inspecting the pile. “…You tried to make me pancakes.”

“They’re… heart-shaped?” he offered hopefully.

“They look like they’re bleeding.”

He laughed, bright and boyish, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you — low, casual, watchful.

You turned just in time to catch him entering, hair still damp from the shower, black T-shirt clinging to his chest, dog tags tucked out of sight. His eyes flicked from you to Bob, then to the pancakes, and then back to Bob again.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That for her?”

Bob straightened. “Yeah! I mean—yeah, I wanted to make her something. As a thank-you. For letting us crash here.”

Bucky’s tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Right. Real thoughtful of you.”

Bob swallowed, and you quickly stepped between them.

“He’s just being nice,” you said with a smile, brushing Bucky’s arm as you passed. “And I did promise to let him cook something after that smoothie yesterday.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “He cooked?”

“Well… he blended.”

Walker wandered in with a cup of badly frothed coffee. “We talking about Bob’s pancake massacre? I give ‘em 4 outta 10. Points for optimism.”

“You put ketchup on eggs,” Yelena muttered.

“That’s freedom flavor.”

You rolled your eyes and slid onto a stool, sipping the orange juice Ava had silently placed beside you. “Thank you, Ava.”

She nodded, her version of a hug.

Bob placed a plate in front of you, his proudest smile yet. “Okay. Taste test.”

You picked up the fork dramatically, took a bite… and paused.

Bob leaned in. “Well?”

“…It’s not the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” you said.

Yelena choked. Walker snorted. Bucky froze mid-sip of coffee, eyes locked on you.

You turned to Bob with a sweet smile. “That was not meant to sound that filthy.”

Bob, very red: “I—uh—I wasn’t thinking anything. I mean I was, but not that—well, okay, I was but I—”

Bucky stepped between you both, casually, placing a protective hand on your back and subtly guiding you away from the stove like it was radioactive.

“She doesn’t need to eat any more of that,” he said firmly. “I’ll cook something decent.”

“Hey,” Bob protested. “They’re edible!”

“Barely,” Bucky muttered, already cracking eggs into a bowl. “She deserves real food.”

You leaned on the counter, grinning at him.

“Overprotective much?”

He glanced at you sideways, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. “You’ve had enough men treat you like something to win. I’m not letting him be one of them.”

You stared at him, heart skipping just a bit.

“…You know I can take care of myself, right?”

“I know.” He handed you a fork. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still try.”

You bit your lip, hiding a soft smile.

And Bob — poor Bob — watched you both with a mixture of awe and panic, like he’d just stumbled into a Netflix rom-com and realized he might be the side character.

“Uh,” he said finally, “I can do dishes!”

Yelena patted his shoulder. “That’s probably safer.”

---

The training room was charged.

You were in leggings and a fitted tank top, wrapping your wrists in tape, jaw set with a hint of a smirk. Across from you stood John Walker, cocky as ever, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this was a warm-up. Ava and Yelena sat off to the side, watching with sharp eyes and popcorn-level interest.

Bob was leaning on the far wall, arms crossed, pretending not to watch too hard. He was failing.

And Bucky?

He was there too. Silent. Focused. Leaning against the glass with arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched, eyes glued to you.

“I go easy on Stark’s kid, or what?” Walker joked as he stepped forward.

You smirked. “If you need to.”

The match started.

Walker was good — strong, fast, overconfident. You was better — precise, fluid, cool as ice. He threw a hook. You ducked. Spun. Grabbed his wrist, twisted, and swept him flat onto his back in one breathless second.

“Jesus,” Walker groaned, staring at the ceiling. “You marry me and we rule the world or what?”

From the corner, Bucky pushed off the wall.

“No.”

Walker blinked up at him. “Uh—wasn’t really asking you.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He stepped into the ring without a word, eyes locked on you. The tension in the room crackled. Even Bob stood straighter.

You tilted your head. “You wanna go?”

His voice was low. “You need a real challenge.”

You smiled. “Alright, soldier.”

You circled each other slowly, like a dance you’d done before. Bucky moved with sharp grace — watching, calculating, and when he struck, it was fast. You blocked. Countered. Moved into his space. He grabbed your waist during a fake-out — held you a second too long — and flipped you.

You hit the mat with a laugh. “Cheap.”

“You love cheap.”

“You love controlling.”

He smirked. “Only when it keeps you safe.”

You were breathing fast, skin flushed, limbs burning with adrenaline — and you knew what this looked like. The way he lingered in your space. The way your hand lingered too long on his chest when you got back up.

And Bob?

Bob had gone very, very quiet.

When the match ended, you caught your breath and turned — but Bob was already gone.

---

You found him on the balcony outside the Tower gym. His back was to the wall, hair tousled, long legs stretched out, eyes on the sky.

You stepped out, closing the door behind you. “You ghosting me?”

He didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t trying to.”

You sat beside him, knee brushing his. “You left kind of fast.”

“I figured you and Bucky needed… space.” He forced a laugh. “Looked like you two had your own language going on.”

You were quiet for a second. Then—

“He’s protective,” you said gently. “Always has been. But that doesn’t mean—”

Bob cut you off, voice low. “You let him touch you like that.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I know it’s not my place,” Bob went on, rubbing his palms together like he was trying to wring something out of them. “I just… I see how he looks at you. And you let him get close. Real close.”

You swallowed. “He’s family, Bob.”

“Family doesn’t look at you like that,” he whispered. “Like they’d burn the world down just to keep you for themselves.”

You turned to him — really turned.

And for the first time, Bob didn’t meet your gaze. He stared straight ahead.

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know what I am. I’ve been broken. Rebuilt. Ripped apart inside. I know I’m not the guy someone like you is supposed to end up with.”

“Don’t say that.”

He exhaled, a bitter edge curling into his voice. “You laugh at my stupid jokes. You let me make you smoothies. You smile like I’m more than just some weird science accident with a god complex. And I don’t even know if you mean it or if you’re just—being nice. Because you’re kind.”

You reached out, gently cupping his jaw. That got him to look at you.

“I meant every smile, Bob. Every time.”

He blinked, breath hitching.

You leaned in, forehead brushing his. “If I didn’t… would I be out here with you, when I could be inside with him?”

He closed his eyes. “You make me feel like I’m not a mistake.”

You kissed his cheek — soft, lingering. “You’re not.”

And in that moment, something shifted.

He didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

But he stayed close.

And he didn’t look at the sky again.

He only looked at you.

---

It was late.

The city was quiet in the way it only gets around midnight — the hum of traffic in the distance, a breeze threading between tall buildings, neon lights flickering against puddles.

You were walking with Bob, hands brushing now and then, neither of you saying much.

You didn’t have to.

He’d shown up outside your door after dinner with two milkshakes and a hoodie that was definitely his and had asked if you wanted to take a walk. No big mission. No team. Just you and him.

And now you were here. Calm. Close. Every few seconds, he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You turned to him with a smile. “You keep staring.”

Bob flushed. “Sorry. You just look…”

His voice trailed off.

You raised a brow. “Look what?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Like you should be illegal.”

You laughed. “Is that your way of flirting?”

He grinned shyly. “I’m new to it.”

You were about to respond when you heard it — footsteps quickening behind you, a camera flash, and then—

“Hey! Hey, wait—aren’t you Stark’s daughter?”

A man with a phone stepped in front of you, suddenly way too close. He wasn’t paparazzi — just some guy. Early twenties, beer on his breath, and eyes darting up and down your body like you were on display.

“Holy sh*t, it is you,” he said, stepping closer. “Damn, I thought you were hotter on the news, but—Jesus, you’re—”

“Back up,” Bob said sharply.

The man blinked, finally looking at him. “Relax, dude, I’m just trying to get a picture—”

“I said back the f*ck up.”

You grabbed Bob’s arm, gently. “It’s okay—”

But it wasn’t.

Because the air changed.

The golden hum started in Bob’s chest — soft, at first. His breath hitched, eyes flickering. You saw the power curling at his fingertips, glowing like a warning.

He stepped between you and the stranger, voice like steel. “You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get to talk to her. You don’t even get to look at her like that.”

“Jesus, alright,” the guy muttered, backing off. “Freak.”

And then he was gone.

Bob didn’t move.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping around to face him. “Hey, look at me.”

His jaw was tight. Hands shaking. Power still crackling in his veins.

“I’m okay,” you said, placing both hands on his chest. “I’m okay, Bob.”

He looked at you like he was barely holding it together. “He was looking at you like you were a thing.”

“But I’m not,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Right?”

Something in him broke.

In a second, his hands were on your hips, gripping hard like he needed to feel you to believe it. He pulled you close — flush against him — and kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it.

You gasped, and he groaned, deep and rough, backing you up against the nearest wall, his body covering yours. The city faded. There was only him.

His voice was low, shaking. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

He kissed down your neck, open-mouthed, desperate. “I want you so bad. I want to keep you like this — close. Always.”

“You can,” you said, tugging his hoodie until he was practically on top of you. “You already do.”

“I’ll protect you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let anyone get near you like that again. Not even him.”

You shook your head. “Bob…”

He smiled, eyes soft now. “I know. It’s not about him. It’s just—when it comes to you… I go a little feral.”

You kissed him again — slower this time, deeper, and when you pulled back, his eyes were glowing with heat and something softer too.

“You make me feel like I’m someone worth loving,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You are.”

And right there, in the quiet dark of the city, Bob Reynolds kissed you like a promise:

That you were his. And he was yours. And no one would ever touch you again — not unless they wanted to burn.

---

The front door clicked shut behind you.

The tower was dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You kicked your shoes off, tossing your jacket on the bench near the elevator.

Bob followed behind you, quieter than usual, hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw tight.

Neither of you had said much since that moment in the alley. His hand had hovered at your lower back the whole walk home, but he didn’t touch you again.

He hadn’t needed to.

The air between you was thick.

You glanced at him now as you padded toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I think there’s still some—”

Bob grabbed your hand.

You turned.

He was right there.

Close. Eyes burning. His thumb brushed your wrist, and when he spoke, it was low and aching.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

You stepped into him instead.

His hands found your waist, slow and reverent. “I almost lost it earlier,” he whispered. “The way he touched you. Looked at you. I—I saw red.”

“I know,” you said softly, reaching up to touch his face.

Bob leaned into your hand. “It scared me. How fast I’d burn down the whole world for you.”

Your chest rose and fell, breath catching.

“Bob…”

“I don’t want to be careful with you anymore,” he said, voice rough. “I want to be yours. I want to show you what it means to be wanted—not just protected. Not just looked after. Claimed.”

A beat passed.

Then you whispered: “Then take me.”

That’s all it took.

He kissed you.

Not the sweet, nervous kisses from before. This was hungry. Deep. Desperate. Like he was memorizing the taste of your mouth in case the world ended tomorrow.

You gasped as he picked you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, walking you backwards down the hallway toward your room — his hoodie riding up your thighs, your fingers twisted in his hair.

He dropped you onto the bed like you were the softest, most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed, crawling over you, every line of his body pressed to yours. “You walk into a room and I forget who I am.”

“Bob—”

He kissed your neck. Your collarbone. Worshipping. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you what it feels like to be mine.”

You nodded, chest rising and falling fast. “Please.”

He pulled back just long enough to tug the hoodie over your head — and then paused.

His eyes swept over you. Slowly. Reverently.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

You reached up, tugging at his shirt, and he let you peel it off. And when his skin touched yours — warm, flushed, shaking — he groaned like he’d just come home.

Everything after that blurred into heat and light and him:

His mouth tracing every inch of your body. His voice in your ear, thick with praise: “You’re so beautiful… so sweet… so mine.” His hands holding you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And when he finally pushed into you — slow, deep, trembling with how badly he needed it — he buried his face in your neck and whispered, “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

You clung to him, breathless, lost in the feel of him, the weight of him, the way he filled you so completely it felt like he’d marked your soul.

And when you came undone — shivering, gasping his name — he followed seconds later, holding you tight like he never wanted to let go.

After, you lay tangled together, sheets kicked down, the city glowing outside the window.

Bob kissed your forehead, still breathless.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”

You smiled, eyes heavy, voice soft. “Good.” Because now? You were his and he was yours.

---

The next morning in Stark Tower felt unusually quiet.

You were in the kitchen, making coffee, wrapped in one of Bob’s oversized hoodies, the fabric soft against your skin. The scent of fresh brew filled the air, a small comfort in the sprawling, empty space.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a careful gaze that had grown sharper over the past few days.

At first, he thought it was just the normal relief of seeing you safe — but lately, there was something different.

The way you smiled at Bob across the room, the easy way you let him touch you, the way Bob’s eyes lingered on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

It hit Bucky like a punch to the gut.

He cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he said, voice a little rough.

You turned, bright-eyed and warm. “Hey, Bucky. Coffee?”

He nodded, stepping inside. “Thanks.”

There was a pause.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “Look… I just wanted to say… it’s good to see you smiling again.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “I’ve missed this. Missed all of you.”

He gave a short laugh. “Yeah… well, some things don’t change. I still don’t like the idea of anyone—” He glanced toward Bob, who was casually lifting weights nearby, “—getting too close.”

Your smile faltered just a bit.

Bob caught the glance and grinned, waving a dumbbell like a trophy.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything else.

Later, as you and Bob settled in the training room, Bucky lingered nearby, watching from a distance.

He noticed how Bob’s hand found yours easily, how your laughter sounded lighter when you were with him, and how Bob’s protective gaze never left you, even in moments when no one else was around.

The realization was sinking in.

Something had changed.

And Bucky wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

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karikarasuno · 3 days ago

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part four | part five | wc: 2.4k

“You like that girl.” Ace cannot catch a singular break. He’s exhausted. He spent his entire morning outside fixing the chicken coop and all he wanted to do was shower and rot away on his couch for the rest of the day. But he forgot he told Whitebeard he would take him to his appointment. The man could drive himself, but after his lung cancer diagnosis Ace felt better if someone went with him. For moral support or whatever. And now he has to go to your place and see why your lights are out. Which he doesn’t have an issue with. Because yes, he likes you. He just doesn’t like being hounded about it.

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s all in the eyes, boy,” Whitebeard nods thoughtfully beside him. Like he’s stuck in his own memory. “You can spot a lovesick fool in an instant just by the way he looks at a lady.”

Ace doesn’t have a response. Whitebeard has always been a wise man. But with age and illness he has become soft. And not in an insulting way. He’s still stubborn as all hell, but his resilience has taken an air of nostalgic reflection. The typical roughened edge to his words, his advice, has been sandpapered down. Smoothened into something palatable instead of brash.

“It’s a little complicated,” Ace sighs. He realizes the predicament he’s in. He recognizes that he does need to talk to you about this. But he especially needs to figure out what he even wants. Aside from sex. Because there’s no doubt in his mind that he definitely wants that.

“How the hell is it complicated? The girl just dropped into town,” Whitebeard says gravelly. “Can’t be that hard to take a woman on a date. You kids these days can’t do anything right.”

Ace is far too tired to argue or explain his situation with you. He doesn’t want to come on too strong. Especially considering the way your ‘relationship’ even started, but Whitebeard obviously has a point. He just needs to ask you out. Today.

So that’s what he decides to do. Right after he fixes your power issue, that is.

When Ace arrives at your house, the front door is propped open with a stool and you’re sitting in a rocking chair on the porch reading a book. Well, you were reading until you heard his truck approaching. You meet him at the top of your steps, holding your book to your chest and looking relieved to see him. He won’t lie, it does stroke his ego a bit. The way only he can help you.

“Thanks for stopping by,” you sigh, shuffling out of his way when he climbs the steps quickly. “It’s unbearable in there now.”

“I’m sure it’s an easy fix. I’ll get you cooled down in no time,” he says, releasing a short laugh through his nose.

“Show me to your breaker,” he says as he follows you inside your home. Well, Jinbe’s home.

“My what?” You ask as you turn to him. There’s plain confusion on your face. It’s cute.

“I actually already know where it is,” he admits, “but I didn’t want to just walk through your house. That would be rather impolite of me.”

“Right, we wouldn’t want Whitebeard showing up and scolding you again,” you tease him, your body taking another step towards him. And it’s small, but inches feel like you’re traveling miles when you’re already so close.

“Don’t you mean Edward,” he says with playful callousness and you laugh. Bright and pretty. “Had enough of that the last hour, I could use the break.”

His step towards you is much larger than yours. Bolder. Aggressive as he blatantly takes over the air around your frame. Your head has to tilt upwards to maintain eye contact with him. And he watches the way your chest rises deeply.

“I think you should show me where my breaker is,” you swallow and your eyes briefly glance at his lips. He should’ve missed it given how fast it was. He would’ve missed it but observing you is quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes.

“You don’t even know what that is.” He all but breathes his words in your direction. Another step and he swears he sees your breath hiccup when your lips part.

“So show me.”

He steps so close to you your chest brushes his. Goosebumps light his arms and that surprises him given how fleeting the touch is. He angles his face towards you, nearly tasting your lips on his tongue. The memory tugs at him.

“It’s in your laundry room.” He points over your shoulder down the hall. To the room right beneath the stairs. “It’s kinda hard to miss.”

You use two fingers to push him away. Your fingertips digging into his chest. “That’s only if you know what you’re looking for.”

****

“I know you said it was normal, but I’m still grossed out by the fact that a lizard found its way into my breaker and started flipping switches.”

“Just one,” he laughs, shutting the door to your laundry room behind him. “The main one which is why everything went dark earlier.”

“Well it’s good to know that I can fix it myself next time instead of ambushing you in your own home.”

“Only an ambush if you weren’t welcome.” You smile at him when he says that. A smile that reaches your eyes. Genuine. He wants more. Maybe he’s greedy, but he doesn’t really care anymore. Ace wants to see where this goes. Where it has the potential of going. Because he really does like you.

“Are you hungry, Ace?” You ask suddenly. You’re shuffling in place when you stop near your kitchen.

“I usually am.” He answers, a smile tugging at his lips when he realizes where this might be going.

“Can I make you dinner?” Your fingers knot together in front of you. A nervous tick. “To repay you for your time.”

You don’t have to repay him. It was an easy fix, plus your home is on the way to his, so it’s not like he had to go out of his way for you. And even if he did, he would have. “Hard to say no to a home cooked meal.”

“Good,” you smile, your fingers loosening their grip on each other and your hands fall to your side. Definitely a nervous tick of yours. “Because I should probably cook this bacon before it goes bad. How about carbonara?”

“What’s that?” He tilts his head in contemplation since this isn’t something he’s familiar with. At least he doesn’t think so.

“You’ve never had carbonara?” Your eyebrows knit together. Disbelief on your face.

“Never heard of it.” He shrugs, staring as you step into your kitchen and opening your refrigerator.

“The pasta dish?” You clarify, popping your head over the top of the fridge door after bending over to look at the contents of your fridge.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You bend over again. He tries not to look at your ass. He fails. Obviously.

“Huh.” You shut the fridge door with your hip after pulling out bacon, eggs, parmesan cheese, and a few cloves of garlic. “You’re in for a treat then. I add garlic to mine even though you’re not technically supposed to. Just don’t tell the Italians.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” There’s a new excitement coming from you when you line everything up on the counter. A sort of delight emits from you as you gather a pan, cutting board, and knife.

“I haven’t cooked for someone else in such a long time,” you say airily. “It’s been hard for me to adjust to cooking only a single serving since I moved out here.” You send him another smile over your shoulder. His heart skips. “So, this is nice.”

“Well, feel free to triple it. I got a pretty big appetite.” He leans against the counter opposite you, staring as you smash the garlic and peel it.

“No surprise there,” you chuckle, rough chopping the garlic. “Luffy eats me out of house and home whenever he’s here.”

“That’s about the only thing we have in common.” He grins because even though you’re complaining about Luffy there’s still something sweet about the way you say it. Like you’re fond of him already.

“I doubt that.” You start cutting the bacon into small pieces next. “I’m sure you’re just as stubborn as he is.”

“What makes you think that?” He asks with his arms crossed and a laugh waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“I don’t have enough proof yet to support my claim, but for now it’s just a hunch.” You wink at him over your shoulder as you add oil to the heated pan.

“And the basis of your hunch is what exactly?” You flit around the kitchen confidently as you pull a pot from a cabinet beside the stove, eyeing him playfully as you walk to stand directly beside him while you fill the pot with water.

“When’s your birthday?” You ask out of nowhere.

“January 1st,” he answers. Skeptical.

“Well, there you go.” You shut off the water and head back to the stove top. “You’re a capricorn.”

He rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and chuckles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re stubborn like your brother.” You add the bacon to the pan, the sizzle interrupting you. “Who’s a taurus. An earth sign. Just like you.”

“I guess I’m just gonna have to prove you wrong.” You grab a handful of pasta and place it in the boiling water. Then you look at him, eyes dragging slowly down his body before you grab another handful and add it to the water.

“I guess you will, but lucky for you I like capricorns.” His smile stretches across his face without his permission. It’s a natural response to you. One that he didn’t realize he developed. But one that he thoroughly enjoys.

The dish is done surprisingly quickly. Less than twenty minutes and you’re stirring in the egg and parm mixture (which he was initially suspicious of), but it forms a glossy sauce that looks more appetizing than he expected.

“Ok, now you just gotta add a little salt and pepper to taste,” you sprinkle in the seasonings, giving the pasta another stir, “and we’re done.”

You show off the dish to him excitedly before turning to grab a fork from the drawer by your hip. He then watches you twirl together the perfect bite directly out of the pan. “The garlic adds a nice bite with the crunch of the bacon,” you say, almost adoringly.

“Here.” You step closer to him, hovering the fork near his lips. “Try it.”

Ace leans forward, eyes stuck on you. No one’s ever fed him before. And it’s odd, the affection that fills his chest. He never would’ve expected to feel this way about a gesture so simple. But despite your ease, there’s an intimacy in your actions. One that makes his heart flutter.

His lips wrap around the fork and even though he cannot stop thinking, looking, yearning for you, the flavor that bursts across his tongue is startling. It’s good.

“There’s egg in this?” He asks around his mouthful. Your lips stretch into a grin that’s not as coy as the others you have given him. There’s a confidence alight in your eyes that he hasn’t seen since the night you met. A confidence that he finds endearing. And sexy.

“Mhm,” you hum, shifting closer to him. “It’s yummy, isn’t it?”

You whisper it giddily in the limited space between you. He’s leaning forward on the counter, bracing his upper body on his forearms. The angle forces him to look up at you slightly. An angle he’s unfamiliar with, but doesn’t mind. Not when he’s sure you’re about to kiss him. He chews faster. Anticipation licks at his neck. It burns.

“Yeah,” he says around a swallow, but he hardly gets the word out. Hardly even gets to finish his swallow when you press your lips to his. It’s softer than he’s expecting. Your lips are warm where they touch his. He’s pretty sure there’s still bacon in his mouth. Which sounds deeply unattractive except you sigh when he parts his lips. You melt when his hand rises to cup your face.

You push your weight against him next. It forces him to straighten to keep up with you. With your urgency. Your impatience. He groans when you deepen the kiss, your free hard tangling in his hair. His other hand finds your waist and he squeezes.

Ace is functioning on a muscle memory he didn’t even realize he had. But when his hand travels down to grip your hip and you whimper in the back of your throat he remembers. In vivid detail. Rough. Hard. Fast.

He presses your back against the counter, slipping his tongue into your mouth when he slides his knee between your thighs.

“Ace.” You whine and a shiver runs violently down his spine. You’re clinging to him, your hips find motion against his thigh and he swallows the moan that crawls up your throat.

He needs more access to you. Better access. His hands find your waist to prop you on top of the counter but as soon as your ass meets the edge of the counter, metal clatters and the fork you used to feed him clangs across the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes in a hurry. But you laugh as soon as your feet hit the floor again.

“We got carried away,” you breathe out another little laugh against his chest. “We’re supposed to be eating.”

“That was entirely your fault,” he laughs in response, smiling down at you when you stare up at him.

“You’re right,” you nod, pushing yourself away from him and out of his arms. And he feels insane because he already misses you. “I’ll behave.”

You grab two forks this time when you open the drawer to replace the one that fell. But when you hand him his he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to him.

“What are you doing Thursday night?” He asks, remembering Whitebeard’s words.

“I work until 8. Why?”

“Let me take you out.” He says, pulling your wrist closer to him and kissing the inside. Your lashes flutter at his action, and you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Ok,” you mutter, a bit dazed when his lips drag across the soft skin of your inner wrist. “I guess I can let you do that.”

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart @stuckinmymind22

#cowboy!ace au #portgas d ace #ace x reader #portgas ace x reader

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luvhughes43 · 16 hours ago

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BIRTHDAY | QUINN HUGHES

[MASTERLIST]

request: can you write an angsty one for quinn where he forgets your birthday because he’s busy with hockey and you fight about it and then you give him the silent treatment the next day and he tries to make it up it up you

note: i changed it a little bit!

word count: 1.2k words

you waited all day with baited breath, wondering when your boyfriend of three years would acknowledge your birthday. usually, depending on both of your work schedules, quinn would take you to your favourite cafe for breakfast and then later in the day he would cook one of your favourite dishes for dinner. In between meals, you’d spend the day doing whatever you wanted, which usually just meant going for a walk and maybe to the mall.

you woke up early and got yourself dressed and ready for the day. quinn was already gone to the gym which wasn’t unusual, so you scrolled through your emails while you waited for him to come home.

quinn didn't come home till noon.

“hey babe,” quinn greeted you quickly, pecking your cheek before he rushed into your shared bedroom. you swivel around on the bar stool you were sitting on, eyes following quinn as he jogged from your bedroom and into the bathroom.

when he reemerged from the room, bag in hand, you frown. “what are you doing?”

“the guys are going to this new place.. some new gym downtown”

“oh,” you deflate, “weren’t you just at the gym tho?”

“yeah but babe, this one has an ice bath!” quinn explains enthusiastically, as if the addition of an ice bath should outweigh the excitement that was your 24th birthday.

“right…”

“we're not working out or anything. just checking the place out. It's good for team building” he adds.

you stare blankly at him, wishing that this is just some elaborate joke and that he has a plan for your birthday.

“right well, i’ll see you later!” quinn flashes a quick smile as he leans down to kiss your cheek again.

“bye…?”

quinny: going out for dinner! so sorry we didn't get to spend any time together today. wanna do dinner tomorrow night?

quinny: the teams really getting on good! I think we’ve got a close group here

it was 6pm, you were alone, and in approximately 10 minutes you would officially be 24. how great is this? you thought sarcastically. you were about to be 24, in a too nice apartment, with a boyfriend who completely forgot about you.

you pulled your cookies out of the oven, dropping the tray on top of the stove with a clatter. tears sprung to your eyes as you pulled out a small pack of glittering candles. you didn't even get an invite to quinns dinner tonight.

you watched your candles go out slowly while you imagine how you should've spent the day. Happy birthday to me…

“hey baby, what did you do all day?” quinn asked as he slipped into bed next to you. his alarm clock had blinded you with the time, 11:24, lit up in a cutting shade of red. he tried to hold your gaze, but you turned over. he had actually forgotten.

quinn grabbed at your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. “I’m tired,” you whispered through the ball in your throat. if quinn talked about his day, you might actually cry.

“what's wrong?” quinn asked, genuinely concerned. he sat up in bed, reaching over and flicking his lamp on.

“I’m not talking about this tonight”

“well, no. if you're going to say something then say it. what did i do wrong this time?” you rolled around to face him just as he finished his sentence with an eyeroll.

“excuse me?” you were seeing red.

“just tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it. did i leave a sock on the floor?” he jokes, quickly surveying the room and noticing that you cleaned earlier.

you sat up in bed. “you're such an asshole! you know that right?”

“woah! no need to get angry! i just wanted to go to bed. Its late.”

“yeah well, i wanted to celebrate my birthday with my boyfriend today so i guess we don't always get what we want, huh?” your voice is venomous as you climb out of bed. you rip your pillow off the bed with every intention to sleep in the guest room.

quinns shocked expression was almost comical. his eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and mouth slightly agape as he finally realized what was bothering you. with how busy his new schedule was due to being captain, he had completely forgotten about you.

“y/n don't go! I’m so sorry!” quinn kicks the comforter away from him as follows you down the hallway.

“I don't want to talk to you right now,”

“baby, please! I swear I didn’t mean to forget-” quinn started but you abruptly cut him off.

“i don't want to hear it! I waited for you all day! I shouldn't have to remind you when my birthday is! We talked about it literally last week!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you!” quinns words fell on deaf ears as you slammed the guest bedroom door in his face.

as soon as the door was locked, you let all your emotions of the day out. your sad uber eats delivery, raw cookies, the moping around… quinn.

quinn stood on the other side of the door, face in between his hands as he listened to you cry.

the next morning, quinn was on good boyfriend behaviour. he had bought you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, made you breakfast, and had a birthday card waiting at the table for you.

you rubbed at your eyes tiredly as you made your way into the kitchen. you had gotten absolutely no sleep last night, and you were still upset at quinn.

quinn watched you in silence as he set the last piece of french toast in his pan. you glanced up at him before averting your gaze towards your gifts.

To Y/n,

Happy 24th Birthday. I love you beyond words.

Quinn

“Quinn,” you sighed as you set the card back on the table.

“It’s a shitty card I know,” you can’t help the small smile that graces your lips . “I’m so sorry. I called in sick today.. we can do something or you can do whatever, its up to you! I just really want you to know that i’m sorry” he sets the fresh piece of french toast onto a plate before sliding it over to you.

“I know you're sorry,” you say, stepping over and into quinns open arms. you stand there for a minute, quinn softly rubbing your back while you lay your head on his shoulder. “I just felt really awful”

quinn hums to acknowledge what you were saying. “I know. I don't know what was wrong with me”

“you have new responsibilities q. you're going to be busy with the team” you put his thoughts into words and it was his time to sigh.

“Still. There’s no excuse” quinn hugs you tighter. “I love you”

“I love you too” you whisper into the side of his neck, arms tightening around him.

It wasn't okay that he had forgotten, but at least he was making an effort to fix it.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl imagine

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whimsiwitchy · 3 days ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 (part three)

Pedro Pascal x singer!reader

series masterlist & series playlist

summary: you're a hot singer that has hot older men falling at her feet. pedro becomes one of them. (literally my cyg hughxreader fic but for pedro)

warnings: age gap (23/49), use of y/n, swearing, sexual themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, verbal fighting, pedro is a smoker, cheating, Hugh Jackman is your ex (oops), he also pops up a few times and is mentioned, grammar is fake to me srry <3

hugh is in this chapter

warnings may change as the story progresses. all descriptions of real people in this story are fake! I don't know these people and this all for funsies. let me know if I missed anything!

author's note: okay y'all this is kinda buns ngl LMAOO ummm. I rewrote the entire part with Hugh and on like 20 different times and it still didn't turn out how I wanted buttt I was tired of pushing back the release date so here you go. there's a lot of dialogue and I struggle with details between dialogue so sorry in advance. anyways..I hope y'all enjoy this but I understand if you don't AHAHA <333

oh also the end isn't really proofread...oops

part three: cigarettes and coffee

The last few days in London were a drag. Your time was spent in meetings, interviews, and Stacy dragging you to every tourist attraction in town. It was all rather mundane- every meeting full of presentations that could have been an email and every interviewer asked the same questions you’ve already answered a million times. Even being a tourist wasn’t fun anymore, too many people crowing the popular areas. You were being grumpy but you were tired and unbelievably home sick. Being a natural homebody, it was hard to travel for long periods of time for work. You were byong grateful for the life you’re living but it didn’t align with your hermit personality. Usually after a big trip, such as this one, you got to go home and rot in bed for a few weeks before venturing out again, but your career had other plans this time around. Instead of going back to Los Angeles, you’d be heading straight to New York.

The call with the offer came the night before your flight back home. After muting the phone to jump and scream with Stacy, you accepted the invitation to perform on Saturday Night Live the fiftieth anniversary special.

Everything was very last minute considering you were filling in for someone who dropped out earlier in the day. Sleep wasn’t a priority as Stacy canceled the flight to L.A and searched for the next flight to New York. You, on the other hand, were thrown into a zoom meeting with your management team as everyone tried to figure out how to throw everything together by tomorrow morning. Your lawyer breezed through the contract, confirming that it was okay to sign and once it was, you were being hounded with a million and one questions. The main issue was figuring out what song you were going to sing.

“I’m just not sure I can handle it vocally right now. With my next performance being a few weeks away, I haven't really taken care of my voice since being on live lounge.” You explained. Your team was set on having you sing ‘Late Nights and Heartbreak’ after how well it did after your performance of it was uploaded just yesterday.

“Y/n, we understand what you’re saying but this is your first SNL performance and it’s not just a normal SNL appearance. This will be the most viewed SNL episode ever. You need to ‘wow’ the audience with something new since you’re releasing new music soon. We need to hook them, they need to want to hear more, especially since there was such a big shift in your sound since your debut album. If you happen to have any vocal issues, we’ll blame it on emotion.” Carol says. She’s usually who you speak to when talking to your team but you were never really fond of her. She cared a lot more about her job than she did you. You couldn’t blame her for that but it was obvious in moments like this. “Everyone already knows about your breakup so we can always send you on a talk show, radio show, hell even a podcast if we have to. You can give all the details about your time with Hugh and why the song is hard to sing for you…blah blah blah… everyone forgets you did bad. Problem solved, you’re singing the song. Now we need to figure out how we’re getting the band to New York on such short notic-...”

You blanked out for the rest of the meeting, everything being discussed wasn’t anything that involved you. The camera was turned off, mic muted as you fought against drifting to sleep. You were on the brink of losing the battle when your name being said caught your attention.

“Oh and before I forget. Y/n they want you to be in a sketch as well.” You immediately unmute yourself to protest.

“Absolutely not. I’m a singer, not an actress.” Carol rolls her eyes, not trying to hide her annoyance anymore. Everyone was tired and over it.

“You don’t really have a say. You’re doing it.”

What a bitch.

—

After almost eight hours on a plane, you were a lot more cheerful to be in New York than you had been last night. The numbing in your butt from sitting so long was finally starting to go away as you stepped out of the car and headed inside of the studio. The ride over was a quiet one. Stacy, your usual companion for work things, was at the hotel. You begged her to stay back and get some rest, assuring her that you’d be okay without her today. You were sure she wouldn’t have to do much ‘assisting’ today given the schedule.

“Hi. Y/n Y/l/n for SNL50 rehearsal.” You recite politely to the receptionist. She smiles and hands you a guest pass with your name in all caps. She gives a short description of how to navigate the confusing hallways before you make your way towards the room number you were given. Once you open the door, you beeline towards an empty corner in the back, avoiding all of the people that were already in the room, talking quietly to each other.

“Y/n! Oh my god! I’m so happy you’re here!” Sabrina comes running over towards you, engulfing you into a big hug. You wrap your arms around her just as tight.

“Oh my god! Sab, hi! How have you been? It’s been like for fucking ever.” You say as you both release each other.

“I’ve been so good. Just touring, being a popstar and everything. How have you been? I heard the new song, dude it’s so fucking good. You killed that shit.” She’s beaming up at you with a big smile on her face. Her contagious energy sunk into you, feeling immediately more awake. It was also nice knowing you actually knew somebody here and wouldn’t be in a room of strangers.

“Thank you so much! I was honestly kinda scared to put that song out but I'm glad everyone is liking it so far.” You smile back at her. “But I’ve been really good. I’m dead tired though. I like just got back from London this mor-” Your eyes wander over to the door as someone else walks in. “-There’s no fucking way.” The smile Sabrina was sporting drops in confusion. “Why is he here?” She looks to who you’re talking about. “Not that it’s a bad thing but like…why is he here?” Your once chipper voice, now lower and sharp.

“Who? Pedro?” She points with her thumb and you nod. “He’s in the sketch with us. Did you not know? Is it a problem that he’s here?” She asks with a concerned filled voice.

“No. Oh my god no. I just…uh…I just didn’t know he was gonna be here. Everything happened so fast and it slipped my mind to even look at the lineup…” You’re trying to be chill but you’ve become super aware of your old sweatpants and just how different your attire is from when he saw you in the restaurant. You keep glancing over at him, hoping he doesn’t see you right away. He’s talking to a group of the male cast members, his laugh echoing off of the walls of the empty room.

“Dude, is there something I’m missing or…?” She drags on the ‘or’ while glancing between you and Pedro. You sigh and fill her in on everything that’s happened recently. Her bright smile returns to her face as she listens. You tell her about running into him twice in London, along with the whole dress incident.

“Stacy thinks he likes me but I don't know. I feel like he’s just being nice. I mean, I barely know the guy, ya know?” You finish and she squeals loudly. It catches the attention of the group of guys and you make eye contact with Pedro. You look up for a moment and try to look away but his eyes catch yours. You know you look like a deer caught in headlights but he politely smiles and waves anyways. You do the same.

“Bitch, he so likes you.” Sabrina says as she observes the small interaction. “You like him back, huh?” You stay quiet for a moment.

“I’d like to get to know him better but uh…yea he’s pretty hot.” Your voice is quiet in an attempt to keep the conversation private. A nervous tone takes over as you admit your thoughts out loud.

“Hell yea he is! This is perfect. I will be playing cupid today. You can thank me later.” She gives your arm a quick squeeze. “Ohhhh Pedroooo!” She turns and yells towards the group of boys.

“Sab, what the fuck are you doing?” You ask in a hushed voice. She turns her head back to you for a moment and widens her eyes, a warning to act natural. He turns his head in your direction and excuses himself from the guys. You were too fucking tired for this.

“Good morning ladies.” He says as he walks up to the two of you.

“Hi. I’m Sabrina. It’s nice to meet you, big fan of your work.” She says and offers a hand out towards Pedro. He takes it and introduces himself. “I would introduce my friend here but she let me know the two of you are already acquainted.” He smiles down at you.

“Indeed we are. Long time no see stranger.” He chuckles a bit at his own joke. “How long has it been? Like what…four days?” He thinks before asking.

“Yea something like that…Hi Pedro.” You say shyly. You felt silly for feeling awkward around him but it was hard not to be when you’ve had two people tell you that they think he likes you.

“Oh…You need me over there?” Sabrina suddenly yells towards the other side of the room. “Oh okay.” She turns to look at you and Pedro. “Sorry guys, duty calls…” She walks away and as she does, she turns to give you two thumbs up and a wink behind Pedro’s back. You watched her walk away and tried your best not to roll your eyes at how obvious she was being.

“So…How was the rest of your time in London?” Pedro asks, ending the brief silence.

“It was good. It was my first time in the city so I spent all my off time exploring with Stacy. We actually just got back this morning.” You explain and he nods with a smile.

“You’re all anyone can talk about right now, picking up this work week super last minute. Pretty badass if I do say so myself. The hero of SNL50.” He’s smiling while lazily throwing his arms up in a ‘hurray’ celebration.

“I wouldn’t call myself a hero. This is definitely more beneficial for me than it is for SNL.” You shrug slightly and there’s a slight pause. More people enter the room, louder conversations pop up in the small groups that have slowly formed. “Um..How was London for you?” You ask, genuinely curious about what he was up to.

“It was really good. Filming mostly for Fantastic Four and filling in any gaps with interviews. You know how it is.” He shrugs, smiling still sitting softly on his lips.

“Ugh. I don’t ever want to hear the word ‘interview’ again.” You groan and let your head hang back slightly. “I think I did more interviews in London than I’ve done in my entire music career.”

“Tell me about it!” Pedro agrees, his eyes widening. “I swear the moment you step into another country, you’re doing interviews left and right. Everyone wants to get their hands on you before you go back to America.”

“Ya’ know…suddenly doing a world tour for my next album doesn’t sound that exciting.” Your hand comes up to rub your chin in ‘thought’. It makes Pedro laugh and the sound makes your stomach flutter.

“Can we have everyone group up so we can start? Please and thank you!” Someone you don’t recognize shouts over the talking in the room. Pedro looks down to you before speaking.

“We’ll talk after yea?” Pedro asks.

“Yea, sounds good.” You nod with an awkward thumbs up. He walks back over to the guys and you want to smack your head against the wall for the butterflies you felt squirming around in your stomach. Just talking to him for a few minutes had ruined you. You had no idea how you were going to get through the rest of the week.

“How’d it go?” Sabrina whispers to you as someone begins introducing the skit to the room.

“I’m actually going to kill you.” You whisper-yell towards her, earning a small laugh. “Oh, real smooth by the way. I’m sure he totally heard the person that so desperately needed you five feet away.” You deadpan at her and she waves you off, opting to listen to the person speaking.

—

It was starting to get hot in the small room. The sketch included more people than you expected but the energy in the room was electrifying. You couldn’t stop laughing, constantly covering your mouth and trying you hardest not to snort. There was a long table taking up most of the back wall and the rest of the room was used as the ‘dance floor’. You quickly learned that the sketch was a spinoff of the popular ‘Domingo’ skit. You and Sabrina were playing twin sisters, the joke being that the two of you don’t look alike at all. It was added when the cast heard you were coming in as a replacement and your part was mostly for fun while Sabrina was there because the skit used her song ‘Espresso’. Even if it didn’t make sense for you to be included, you were having the time of your life. Soft giggles were coming from where Sabrina and yourself were standing. You were trying to go over the lines as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the cast that was already learning the blocking and choreography for their parts. As each of you took turns softly singing off key, it became harder to contain.

“You guys sound really great over there. You two should become professional singers or something.” Pedro whispers jokingly. He’s been standing close by, also looking at his lines on the papers that were handed out earlier. Sabrina looked at you and you both busted out laughing, earning a few curious looks from the rest of the room.

After that small outburst, you both tried harder at staying quiet. Luckily, you only had to try for a few more minutes before the both of you were called up to join. The process of everything reminded you a lot of touring, making it easy to catch on quickly. You only had to run your section a few times before Pedro was being called up to join. You briefly read over his part in the script but stopped yourself when you saw ‘girls start dancing on Ronaldo’ written.

“Okay, so Pedro, you’re gonna enter when Kelsey asks Matt who Ronaldo is. We’re gonna have you stand in between the girls and they’re gonna dance on you as you sing your part. Sound good?” The crew member asks and Pedro nods. You and Sabrina both take a step to the side to make room for him and he awkwardly makes his way there. They give him a few more directions before they have you all run that section together.

“That was great. We just need more energy from you all when it comes to the dancing portion.” The choreographer says while writing something down in a notebook.

“We might have to really grind on you Pedro. I’m sure you won’t mind?” Sabrina asks, side eyeing you with a smirk.

“Do whatever you girls need to do.” He says, giving you a smile that causes the outer corner of his eyes to crinkle.

—

There’s only one more rehearsal and it happens Saturday morning when the entire cast runs through the full show before the actual airing. Everything went smooth, each skit a little less enthusiastic as they should be, each person saving their energy for tonight. You sang a very rough version of ‘Late Nights and Heartbreak’, to sound check with the band before heading back to the small dressing room where Stacy was waiting for you.

“So, how does it feel getting to grind on Pedro one last time tonight?” She asks, mouth full of food.

“I’m not really grinding on him, more like his hip, but I’m very sad that my ass will never touch his body again.” You pout and wipe a fake tear from your eye.

“Never say never.” Stacy says, tilting her head in a suggestive manner.

“Okay Justin Bieber.” You take a bite out of your sandwich.

“I think he was tryna cop a look earlier when y’all were rehearsing.” She wiggles her eyebrows causing you to blush.

“He was not! You gotta stop feeding into my delusion. I get nervous around him when I think about it too much.” You sigh. You luckily didn’t see Pedro during the rest of the week. It’s not like you didn’t want to see him because you definitely did but after rehearsals on Monday, you spiraled. It’s like your phone heard you talking about him and decided to place an edit of him on your tiktok for you page. After watching that one edit, more flooded in…and if you created a collection of them…nobody has to know.

“Nervous about what?” Pedro’s voice asks behind you and you jump up, straightening your previous shrimp-like posture.

“Umm…nothing.” You panic as Stacy stifles a laugh.

“Sorry if I’m intruding. We never got to talk again after rehearsals the other day and the door was open…” He trails off, leaning his shoulder into the door. Your neck was hurting from staring back at him but you were stunned. His outfit was simple, cozy. A pair of black lounge shorts that sat just above his knees, with a worn graphic tee that fit him loosely. His socks sat a few inches above his ankle where his feet sported an old pair of tennis shoes. You could see the definition in his right thigh, his shorts pulling up slightly from the way his leg was bent to support his leaning body. He looked really, really fucking good.

“You actually have perfect timing! I need to handle some business stuff for this diva.” Stacy jokes as she points to you. It earns a small chuckle from Pedto. “Keep her company while I’m gone?” Stacy asks and it brings you back to reality.

“Will do.” Pedro salutes, standing up straight. Stacy gets up, sandwich in hand as she walks past Pedro and through the door. You turn your head forward, relieving the tension in your neck as Pedro sits in the seat that was previously occupied by Stacy. You don’t speak first, you can’t. The guilt of the endless edits you watched late at night were eating away at you as the man you’ve been thirsting over sat right in front of you. You were so fucked.

“I didn’t get to tell you but you’ve been doing great in the sketch by the way. You should consider acting.” You look at his face fully for the first time, his glasses perched on top of his nose.

“You’re being too nice. The only thing getting me through it is having Sabrina there, I’d be a terrible actress.” You emphasize the ‘terrible’ as you pick at the bread of your sub.

“Let’s agree to disagree.” He says, leaning back into the chair more. His movement makes you aware of just how close you are. “You really are doing great though. I might have sat through your sound check earlier…You sound just as good as you did back in London.” He continues on and you feel your cheeks heat up. “You’re very talented.” You suck at taking compliments and don’t know what else to say other than that.

“You’ve got to stop complimenting me. My head is already too big for my own good.” You joke.

“Hard not to compliment genuine talent.” He offers, pushing his glasses back up from where they fell just a little too far down.

“Okay well anyways…I suck at taking compliments so we’re moving on.” You blurt out. He laughs with a big smile. You scrunch your face to prevent your own smile from slipping out. “Oh..I overheard a few people earlier saying something about a mullet?” You ask, moving the embarrassment from yourself to him.

“Yea..Had a fitting for everything the other day. I’m not gonna lie, I’m a pretty confident man…but I’m not sure if the mullet is for me.” One of his hands reaches up to tug at the loose curl that hangs perfectly from his hair.

“I’m sure you look great. Kinda hard for a haircut to mess up a pretty face.” You shrug while finally taking another bite of your sandwich.

“You think I’m pretty?” He asks with a smirk. You stop chewing for a moment as you realize what you just said. Your mouth always works faster than your brain in the worst moments. You swallow before answering.

“I mean…you’re not ugly. Can’t a girl appreciate a handsome guy without being questioned about it?” You try your best to be nonchalant and you’re hoping it came off that way. You think it does because he just hums in response, a pause before he speaks again.

“Are you going to the after party tonight?” The smirk is gone and replaced with that soft smile that seems to always be sitting on his face.

“Oh. I haven’t really thought about it. Parties aren’t really my thing to be honest.” You answer.

“Well I for one, definitely would like to see you there and I’m sure everyone else would too.” His voice is sincere.

“Hm..I guess since the Pedro Pascal wants me there, I have to show up.”

“So you’ll be there?” He asks, his voice hopeful.

“I’ll think about it, pretty boy.” He smiles.

–

The show was moving quicker than you thought it would. You already performed your song and to your luck, you wouldn’t have to air out your dating struggles to the world on some dumb ass podcast. The energy in the room was weird. Everyone was excited to be celebrating the fifty years of history but there was still a somber feeling in the air as the room thought back onto their most treasured memories. You used that feeling to sing rather than the breakup, creating the emotion you needed without using your personal fervor. Once you stepped off stage, you rushed back into your dressing room to get changed for the espresso skit. The costume was simple, a satin bridesmaid style dress with a pair of tan heels with your hair being left down. After you were all set for the sketch, you made your way over to Sabrina’s dressing room, announcing yourself with a soft knock.

“You ready to grind your ass on Pedro one last time?” Sabrina asks when she sees you, her usual bright smile on her face. There’s a crew member from the hair department adding a few more bobby pins to her hair.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You sigh, slumping on the door frame.

“If I were you, I’d take advantage of this moment…really get in there. Show him what he’s missing.” She does a few thrust while trying not to move her head too much.

“I basically called him hot earlier.” You admit and Sabrina snaps her head in your direction in shock.

“Bitch what!?!?” She yells. The hair stylist gasps at the sudden movement and noise before going back to fix the hair that fell. Sabrina apologizes and looks at you through the mirror. “Tell me everything.”

You tell her everything. How Pedro came to your dressing room because he didn’t catch you after rehearsals like he said he would. How he looked better than a man ever has before. How he kept complimenting you and how you said that the stupid mullet couldn’t be that bad because of his stupid, handsome face. How he said he wanted you at the after party. How you called him pretty a second time before Stacy came back and he left, but not before wishing you luck for tonight and squeezing your shoulder.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me very closely.” She’s turned towards you now, the hair stylist having left half way through your rambling. “That man likes you and you need to grind on him tonight.” You had been paying attention to her, taking her seriously until she said the last part.

“Sab, I’m not grinding on him. Oh my fucking god…that’s like borderline sexual assault.” You throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut.

“It’s not! Pedro literally said to do whatever we needed to do and you need to grind on him.” She laughs and you scoff. “I’m joking, I’m joking.” She reveals. “...Partially joking.” You punch her lightly in the arm.

“So you are going to the party right?” She asks with her eyebrows raised.

“I mean, I feel like I have to. When a hot guy tells you he wants you somewhere, you go.” You say. “But, if he doesn’t talk to me at all, you and Stacy are going to have to carry me out of there because I will be too embarrassed to move.”

“Oh he will talk to you. I’ll make sure it happens.” She gives an evil laugh while tapping her fingers together in a way that only a cartoon villain would.

Over the speaker system, they announce places for the ‘vowel renewal’ sketch and the two of you make your way towards the stage that was setup for the performance. On the short walk, Pedro ends up joining the small posse and Sabrina immediately through you into yet another uncomfortable situation.

“Oh my god! I’m digging the little chin hair you’ve got going on.” She says, pointing out the small patch of hair they added to his Ronaldo costume. “Doesn’t he look so hot Y/n?” You slowly turn your head towards her before agreeing. “Very hot.” You say while trying your best to walk straight while giving Sabrina a ‘I’m gonna kill you’ look. Thankfully Pedro laughs it off and the conversation ends there, the rest of the walk filled with the light tapping of heels on the tile.

The sketch is over in the blink of an eye, one moment you’re out there and the next you’re right back in the dressing room. You didn’t take Sabrina’s terrible advice of grinding on Pedro to show him ‘what he was missing’, rather sticking to exactly what you did in rehearsal. So when your butt happened to move down the fly of Pedro’s pants instead of his thigh, it’s not your fault.

—

You spent the rest of the show in the audience with Stacy until the very end when everyone that was a part of the show went back on stage. You laughed your ass off at seeing Pedro in his mullet wig and shut right up when you made eye contact with him. The tension you felt while near him had already been at an all time high but now that you’ve felt his dick slide across your ass cheek, you had no fucking idea how you were supposed to be normal around him. Was he gonna mention it? Did he even notice it? Did it affect him the same way it affected you? Your mind was spiraling.

You were standing with Sabrina in the large crowd of people and you could hear Pedro’s voice lingering somewhere close by. You introduced yourself to a few people you hadn’t met before and as the room started to die down, you made your way back to the dressing room where Stacy was waiting for you. She called a car, deciding earlier in the day to go back to the hotel to change for the after party. You chose to wear a dress that allowed you to move more freely, shorter than the one you wore while sitting in the audience, with a pair of heels that you knew you’d regret wearing in the morning. You switched out your jewelry and purse to match the outfit better before you were leaving the hotel just as quickly as you had arrived.

The afterparty was being held in some old, dingy dive bar that you were over dressed for. It reeked of alcohol and sweat, the maximum occupancy had definitely been broken for the sake of the Saturday Night Live after party. It was an open bar, someone with more money than they could ever need in a lifetime, had already offered to pay the tab at the end of the night. There was music blasting way too loudly for the normal bar to be playing and you’re certain there were some speakers hidden somewhere that were added just for tonight. You were immediately overstimulated and wishing you were in bed instead. You ordered the fruitiest drink the bar offered and made your way to somewhere less crowded, Stacy following your lead. Ugh, the things you do for men.

“You must really like him for you to still be here right now.” Stacy points out, eyes roaming the growing crowd.

“He better like me back because he’s literally the only reason I didn’t turn right back around when I came through that door.” You sigh, wishing the drink would be strong enough to calm you down.

It wasn’t, but Sabrina pulled Stacy and yourself out of the corner and into the middle of the dance floor almost an hour ago. The three of you had been dancing and singing at the top of your lungs, getting everyone around you to join in. Everyone cheered when the intro to the ‘Cupid Shuffle’ came on, you’d been waiting for it to play since you requested it almost twenty minutes ago. That also happens to be the amount of time it’s been since you learned that there was a DJ taking song requests. The song comes and goes with many other middle school dance songs following it. Your song requests end with ‘Wobble’ by V.I.C and the second it ends, you’re yelling over the music, letting Stacy and Sabrian know that you needed a breather. You push your way through the crowd as politely as possible, trying to avoid the sweaty bodies from hitting your own as you make your way to the bar.

“Can I get a glass of water please?” You ask the bartender as you lean across the counter.

“I’ve been looking all over for you babygirl. Heard you did great tonight.” The voice sends you into a state of shock..or maybe it’s the feeling can be better described as panic? You weren’t sure what feelings were brewing in your mind but it caused you to call out to the bartender again.

“Actually, give me whatever you think will make me black out the fastest..please.” You plead toward the bartender as a warm, large hand reaches for the small of your back. “Oh go ahead and double that while you’re at it!” You yell at the poor bartender that’s turned away from you, already in the middle of mixing your poison.

“You can’t ignore me all night sweetheart.” That thick, Australian accent creeped into your ears again, his hand still sitting firmly on your back, falling a little too close to something that no longer belonged to him.

“Hugh, hi. What are you doing here?” You ask, shimming away from the contact, his hand falling down. What you really wanted to ask was “why the actual fuck are you here right now?” but you were trying to be nice.

“Ryan invited me. I wanted to be at the actual show but got caught up with some stuff.” He flicks his hand in the air a bit. “Nice song by the way. It’s good to hear that you’re actually taking accountability for what happened between us instead of blaming me for everything.” He nods, lips in a tight smile.

“Hugh, don’t fucking start.” You say, patience and the ability to hold back any annoyance had slipped away. The bartender slides over a glass and you take a large gulp with immediate regret. The strong taste of liquor makes your tongue curl back in disgust.

“What? Can the truth only come from your mouth and not mine?” He asked. You look up at him, his piercing blue eyes already staring down at you. The corners of his eyes, red. The same red that would take residency there when he wasn’t getting enough sleep. A small fact that you picked up in the time you spend with him, a fact you could care less about now.

“Well, it was nice seeing you. Bye Hugh.” You slam the rest of your drink, sitting the glass down a little harder than you probably should have, and you start to walk away. You don’t make it far before a hand is grabbing your wrist, tugging you. “What the fuck do you want.” You snap, turning back towards Hugh.

It’s been months since you’ve seen Hugh, the last time being when the two of you broke it off. It was ugly, angry. You could feel all of those feelings rising within you and this was not the place you wanted this to go down, not in front of your friends and colleagues.

“I just wanna talk to you, clear the air.” Hugh says, voice softer and the antagonizing look gone.

“Don’t give me that look Hugh.” You sigh. “Do you actually wanna talk or are you just gonna berate me the entire time?” He looks down.

“I wanna talk, I miss you.” The last part is almost a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear over the party that continued to rawr through the interaction. You grunt, telling him to follow you. With a quick scan over the area, you find a bright red ‘EXIT’ sign and make your way towards it. It leads you down a longer hallway, a door at the end with another glowing sign above it. You stop a few feet from the door, back against the wall.

“Are you gonna talk or are we just gonna stand here all night?” You ask Hugh after a beat of silence, patience running thin. He nods, “Right..” He says, mostly to himself.

“I’m sorry for the way things ended.” He looks at you and you almost laugh.

“Is that really all you have to say?” You ask, humor in your voice. He shakes his head.

“No…I, uh…I’m sorry for cheating on you and letting things between us go on for as long as I did. I really do like you but I was in such a weird headspace with the divorce and all I just-”

This time you do laugh.

“Bull fucking shit. You don’t get to use your divorce as an excuse Hugh. Not when you cheated on your fucking wife with the same girl you cheated on me with.” You pause. “Matter of fact, why the fuck are you here and not with her? Did she already leave you again?” You laugh, it’s cruel. You’re being childish and petty but you don’t care. The look he gives you tells you everything you need to know.

“She did leave you!” You shout in between giggles. “Oh my fucking god Hugh. You’re so fucking pathetic. She left you so you tried to come crawling back to me..is that what’s happening right now?” You ask in utter disbelief.

“You aren’t exactly innocent in all of this.” He mumbles.

“I’m gonna say this nice and slow so you get it through that meathead brain of yours.” You look him in the eyes. “My mistakes were made weeks into our relationship and they never got physical. Yes I flirted with people but that was it. You cheated on me for two months of our relationship Hugh and let her harass me for weeks before you broke up with me.” You breathe for a moment, sadness creeping in. “You told me you loved me for fucks sake. You made me think that I could love you too.” You admit.

“But baby, I do love you, so so much darling.” He says, reaching out for you but you pull away before he can touch you.

“You don’t love me and you never have. All you did was use me and I just let you.” Your voice crumbles and your eyes betray you, a few tears falling down your cheeks. “You never once called me when I was away on tour to see how I was doing. The only time you texted me was when you were horny and the only time you actually showed up was when you wanted to fuck.” Your voice gets stronger with each word you say, the anger rising as you remember what he did. “So don’t sit here and tell me you love me when the truth is that you don’t know how to be alone. It’s not something you should be ashamed of considering you were married longer than I’ve been alive but it’s your fault you're alone Hugh. You’re facing the consequences of your shitty actions and I don’t wanna be a part of that anymore.”

Hugh stays quiet, looking at the floor. You take a moment, giving him the chance to speak but he never does.

“Goodbye Hugh.”

—

You walk out the door under the exit sign, pushing the metal bar and stepping into the cold air of February. The tears on your face began to dry with the small breeze that was a constant, causing chill bumps to form on your arms and legs. You regretted not listening to Stacy after she begged you to bring a coat. You wouldn’t have needed one if not for Hugh’s intrusion on the night but you weren’t ready to go back in there. You lean your back against the brick wall of the bar when the door opens again. A figure walks out, one that you can’t make out, the blur in your eyes from your tears isn’t helping your poor eyesight. They either don’t see you or they ignore you, lighting up a cigarette and leaning their own back against the wall.

Most people hate the smell of cigarettes but it calms you down, reminding you of home. Memories of late Friday nights spent with your family, crowding around a bonfire that was made up of wooden pallets your dad would pick up from the farmer supply store a few miles out. Each of your male relatives sitting in a cheap plastic lawn chair with a beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. Country music blaring through the radio because any other music was just some ‘mumbo jumbo’ that didn’t make sense. It brings a smile to your face thinking about how the last time you sat around that burn pile, fire blazing, that ‘mumbo jumbo’ was your song playing on the radio, proud stares from your family.

The recollection slips away by the sound of the stranger scuffing out the cigarette on the concrete, their shoe making a less than pleasant noise as it scrapes the rough surface of the ground. Just as they head towards the door, the light from the streetlamp catches their face.

“Pedro?” You didn’t mean for it to come out as a question but it did. He turns, a face of confusion turning into a face of shock.

“Y/n..” It comes out almost as a gasp. “Hey. What are you doing out here?” His hand drops from its previous spot on the door handle and walks over to you.

“Eh..long story.” You shrug. “I didn’t know you smoked.” You say, pointing at the cigarette bud that had been discarded on the ground. He turns to look at the bud before turning back towards you, a look of embarrassment on his face.

“Bad habit I picked up.” It’s his turn to shrug. “But uh..I’ve been looking for you. I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“Sorry, I was on the dance floor then I…well now I’m here.” You say and he laughs.

“I thought I saw you out there. I wasn’t so sure since you said parties aren’t your thing.” He teases.

“I’m surprised you weren’t out there yourself. I’ve gotten to see your moves this week, you’re a pretty good dancer.” You tease back but his cheeks get red.

“About that…I’m so sorry for what happened on stage tonight. I just kinda turned and then your…butt was on me and I…I’m sorry.” He says.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t need to be sorry and that he secretly fulfilled all of your perverted thoughts but you don’t.

“Dude, it’s fine. I think we all got a little carried away out there.” You both laugh.

“We should head back in, you look like your one goosebump away from freezing.” He says, pointing at your arms. You instinctively rub your hands over your arms to warm them up, the cold much more noticeable now.

“I think I’m done for the night. I’m beat.” You say, leaving out that it’s an emotional drain and not a physical one. “You should head back in though, go enjoy the night.” You smile.

“I’m a bit tired too if I’m being honest.” He smiles sheepishly. “I was gonna tough it out for you.”

“For me?” You ask.

“Yea. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I kinda like being around you.”

“I kinda like being around you too.” You admit, those butterflies erupting once again. “I was thinking about finding some place to get a coffee if you wanted to join?” He lets out a deep belly laugh and you’re convinced it’s the most attractive laugh you’ve ever heard in your life.

“You want to get coffee at..” He checks his watch. “..two in the morning?” He asks.

“Yep.” You say, popping the ‘p’. “Coffee makes me sleepy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good thing sweetheart.” He frowns. The endearment sounds a lot better coming from his lips than it does coming from Hugh’s.

“You don’t have to come. I can go on my coffee excursion alone.” You say, slowly beginning to walk off. Pedro follows.

—

“Ugh my feet hurt and I’m cold.” You complain…again.

The two of you had been walking for the past thirty minutes trying to find a coffee shop you searched on google maps but it literally wasn’t where it says it is. You’ve looped the block over and over again but still, no coffee shop.

“Take my jacket.” Pedro offers for the millionth time.

“No.” You say in response for the millionth time.

“Why not? You’re being very stubborn.” He sighs.

You can’t tell him that if you take his jacket he won’t ever get it back and that you physically can’t handle the smell of him because of personal reasons..so you just say “Because.” and shrug.

“My hotel is right around the block, we can go there where it’s warm. Plus there’s a keurig so you can have coffee.” He offers, pointing in the opposite direction. You gasp playfully.

“Pedro Pascal, at least take a girl out to dinner first before taking her up to your hotel room.” You joke, swatting at his arm. He rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Do you want coffee or not?” He asks.

“Yes please.”

Then you two are off in the exact direction you’d come from and had walked multiple times before. When you reach the hotel entrance, Pedro opens the door for you.

“Dude, we’ve passed this place so many times and you just now came up with this idea?” You ask, body accepting the warmth of the lobby with a slight sting from the sudden change in temperature. Pedro leads you to the elevator, letting you enter first when the doors open.

“I thought about it on our third lap around but didn’t wanna freak you out.” He says honestly with a shrug. He clicks button fifteen, which happens to be the top floor, and the elevator starts moving.

“What time is it?” You ask, too lazy to grab your phone out of the small purse that's been glued to your shoulder all night.

“About a quarter to three.” He says, a yawn escaping his mouth. The elevator opens and you both walk down the right of the hallway, only two doors being on the floor. He’s opening the door as another yawn creeps out.

“Hey, I can call my car if you’re too tired. I won’t be offended I promise.” You smile, entering the hotel room, or hotel suite rather. The room looks like a small apartment rather than a hotel room. It’s bigger than the suite you have with Stacy, despite it being two rooms instead of what you can assume is the one.

“I want you here.” He assures. “I’m getting too old to be up this late.” He laughs but you frown. “Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna grab a sweater for you and I’m not taking no for an answer.” He’s walking down the small hallway before you can protest. You sigh and plop down on the couch, finally fishing your phone out of your purse. You’re met with endless texts and missed calls from Stacy:

Stacypoo <33: where are you?

Stacypoo <33: we’ve looked everywhere

Stacypoo <33: we saw Hugh, are you okay?

Stacypoo <33: pls answer, I’m getting worried

The phone rings only once before Stacy answers.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” She asks, voice full of worry.

“Stacy I’m so sorry, everything happened so fast and I-” Your voice was rushed and full of remorse.

“Hey. As long as you’re okay, it’s okay. Where are you right now?” She asks, voice calmer now.

“I’m uh…I’m at Pedro’s hotel.” You lower your voice. You hear shuffling coming from the hall and Pedro is walking back out. He’s changed into a pair of sweatpants and hoodie, shoes forgotten about, fuzzy socks replaced his previous white socks that you caught peeking in between his loafer and dress pants earlier.

“You’re what?!?” Stacy whispers yells on the other end of the line.

“It’s a long story, I’ll explain later, promise. You made it back okay?” You ask.

“Yea I’m fine, I called the car when the bar started wrapping the party up. Are you coming back tonight or should I schedule a pick up for the morning?” She asks. Pedro, places a set of clothes on the edge of the couch you’re sitting on and walks over to the small kitchen.

“Um..I’m not exactly sure yet. Get some sleep though, I’ll figure everything out okay?” The smell of coffee fills the air as the keurig starts dripping.

“You sure.” Stacy responds. Pedro smiles over at you as he leans back on the counter, arms crossed.

“I’m sure. I’m sorry for worrying you, I’ll see you soon.” You smile over to Pedro.

“Okay, be safe. Love you.” She yawns.

“Love you Stac.” The call ends. Pedro walks over as the next cup of coffee brews.

“I brought you a hoodie as promised along with sweats and socks to keep you warm. Only the hoodie is required but the rest would be appreciated.” He smiles. You stand up, stretching a little. You grab the stack of clothes.

“Where can I change?” You ask and he points down the hall.

“There’s the bedroom right down the hall. The bathroom is there too if you’re more comfortable with that.” You nod and head down the hall. You opt for the bathroom, the thought of changing in Pedro’s room felt like an invasion of privacy even if it was just his hotel room and not his actual one. You changed out of your dress quickly, the endless lights on the vanity were bliding. You admired yourself in the mirror for a moment and decided you really liked the way you looked in Pedro’s clothes. The smell coming from them was new. It wasn’t like the smell of cologne you had gotten used to but the true scent of him. You left the bathroom with the hood of the hoodie placed on your head…it totally wasn’t because you could smell his scent better…

“Do you want milk or sugar? I don’t have creamer, sorry if that’s your thing.” He says without looking, mixing his own coffee.

“You bought milk for your hotel room?” You ask in shock and a hint of playful judgement, fully expecting to drink a black coffee.

“God forbid a man likes a glass of milk before bed. I'm an old man sweetheart.” He says, with one eyebrow raised.

“You need to get off tiktok.” You laugh. “But, you’re not old.” You add on, moving towards the counter to add a splash of milk to your mug.

“Older than you.” He replies with a hum. Taking a sip of his own coffee, which he almost spits out at your response.

“But not old enough to invite a twenty three year old to your hotel right?” You ask, smirking. You walk over to the small island and take a seat on one of the bar stools, Pedro stands on the other side.

“You got me there.” He says, looking into his mug. A guilty look flashes across his eyes when he looks up at you.

“Hey, I didn’t say that to be mean. Just teasing.” You say, he nods. “It’s not a bad thing that I’m here.”

“It should be.” He says and takes another sip.

“Why’s that?” You ask but you know what he’s gonna say. It’s the same conversation you had with Hugh.

“You’re what…like thirty years younger than me?” He says, not really a question but it’s posed as one. You shake your head.

“Only twenty six years.” You correct him and he chuckles.

“Right. Twenty six years, like that’s any better. I had a whole life before you were born. I’m probably only a few years younger than your parents.” He says as a joke and you wince.

“You’re actually older than them…” You tell him and he looks up to the ceiling, almost as if he's cursing some higher being.

“Great. I’m older than your parents. That makes me feel a lot better.” He shakes his head.

“You brought them up. I was just trying to be honest.” You say, throwing your hands up in the air in surrender.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” He says, clearing his throat as he takes another sip of coffee. Your own coffee has been forgotten, getting cold as it sits on the counter.

“What’s not my fault?” You ask confused. He looks up, eyes locking with yours.

“That I’m infatuated with a girl over half my age.” He admits, sitting his own mug down on the counter.

“You’re infatuated with me?” You ask in awe, disbelief even. You had a feeling he had to like you a little bit to stay up until three in the morning with you but hearing the words out loud is different.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asks. “Since I met you, you haven’t left my mind.” He pauses. “And seeing you at BBC and hearing you weren’t with Hugh anymore, I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier. I felt bad because you seemed sad and I still feel bad for feelings as joyous as I did at that moment. We keep bumping into each other and I feel like I’m too old to believe in fate but…if it’s not that then what else could it be?” He says, eyes never leaving yours.

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way.” You admit, sheepishly. The shyness you’ve escaped was finally catching up to you.

“Yea?” He asks with a smile, his dimple dipping into his cheek a little more than usual.

“Yea.” You confirm. “Come here.” You tell him, swiveling the bar stool to face away from the counter. He walks over and you pull him by his hoodie sleeves, placing him in between your legs. You set his hands on your thighs and look up at him. The closeness makes your body tingle as his eyes set on yours. You each move forward slowly, lips inching closer and closer until they're almost touching.

A phone rings and Pedro pulls back in a curse. He walks over to where his phone sits on the counter.

“Sorry, I gotta take this. My sister is in London and she’s always forgetting about the time difference. I’ll be back.” He says, kissing your right cheek before stepping onto the balcony that’s attached to the small ‘living room’. You sigh, moving to the couch. Your eyes are heavy, the quietness of the room reminding you of the time. Pedro talks to his sister with a smile on his face, cigarette placed in between his fingers. The last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep is Pedro’s smile and little wave from outside.

thank you for reading! feel free to leave feedback in a comment, private message, or in my ask box!

🏷️ : @moonangxl @brittmb115 @starsmoonn @mmkkzz @angellreads @daydreamzsworld @goldfish-987 @peacefangirl @leclerc13 @llsister @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @needz1nk @olympe-lottie @mielsonrisa @sexyvixen7 @thezoddfather @joelmillerpascal @mega-kittyglitter-1 @bluetimeombre @stvrl1ghtt123 @lcvespedro @silksepia @maystyles @blushingwueen @pandamoaniumsworld

*pls comment on series masterlist comment section to be added to taglist. comments on this post will not be added!*

#cyg 2.0 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x singer!reader #pedro pascal fanfic

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junnieverse · 3 days ago

Text

— SOOBIN AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ! 💭

➙ boyfriend soobin thoughts

pairing: choi soobin x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread, soobin being so boyfriend that it is in fact lethal, this just got longgg because I can’t stfu about how perfect soobs is

a/n: it doesn’t get more boyfriend material than soobin in txt, go argue with a wall

we already know choi soobin is one of a kind

im probably the biggest advocate for bf soobin agenda

like bf material = choi soobin!!

he’s tall, funny, pretty, hot, cute, smart

it’s giving cute college bf every girl dreams of

I genuinely could go on and on glazing him im afraid

BACK HUGS are a major yes >>>

you could casually be doing anything and he will just wrap his arms around your waist and snuggle his head between your neck letting his body heat radiate to you

most occurrences being when he’s just woken up, still feeling sleepy and you aren’t next to him so he goes on to find you and just hold you and close his eyes again

the second being while you both get ready for the day in the morning or for bed at night together

he may not be super clingy but he just loves the physical intimacy between the two of you

the sort of boyfriend you just can never shut up about and you probably have thousands of different wallpapers of him already

and im saying this coming from a place of how effortlessly bf this man looks in all his pictures

he’s caught you recording him on multiple occasions but he just lets you and he gets flustered but that just makes him look cuter in the pictures and videos

you both have highlights dedicated to each other, he’s constantly on your instagram stories too

just as much as you’ve got so much content on him, so does he on you

but a lot of it is candid and when you’re not paying attention because he’s tryna be slick

90% of his gallery consists of pictures of you either sleeping or mid laugh because that’s when he thinks you look the cutest

members have caught him smiling at himself like a dork looking at pictures of you whenever he’s away from you and misses you

he has mentioned on multiple occasions that he’s the passive type that “likes to be dragged around” or lead by his partner

and I can soooo see that

he would just be down for whatever if that’s what you want

if anything, your outward boldness was probably what drew him to you in the first place

“hey guys so im dating someone now.” soobin tells his friends

“dude what-“

“they came up to me and said I was cute and wanted to go out on a date. The waiter got me the wrong order and they called them out for it.” he explains shrugging his shoulders

everyone was too stunned to speak but he thought you were a badass and he has been head over heels since then

bake for him and you have his heart

and to those that aren’t the best in the kitchen, that’s okay too but as the saying goes, “a way to a man’s (soobin) heart, is through his stomach”

so I just think he would find it so cute and would be touched if his partner ever cooked or baked him anything

the type to give you piggy back rides and carry you

whenever he’s with you and he notices you getting tired, he just props down in front of you silently and waits for you to get on his back fighting back a small smile

if not that, usually at home when you’re tired or fallen asleep on the couch, he will just carry you up to your bedroom bridal style before tucking you in and kissing your forehead

small acts of service that sometimes you don’t even notice or you’re oblivious to

bending down to tie your shoelaces, carrying your bag for you, walking on the outer side of the pavement near the road, buying you medication whenever you’re sick, giving you his jacket when you’re cold, etc

the judgemental bf

and if you’re a hater then you can be judgey together!

it’s giving, he makes the face and you say it (soulmates)

he absolutely cherishes quality time

probably one of his biggest love languages might I add (alexa play love language by txt)

as previously mentioned, he is so down to do whatever you wanna do but he also loves the small moments where he just gets to cuddle you, play games together and watch a movie or a show with you

he also gives the warmest cuddles known to man

it’s like hugging a big teddy bear because he’s so warm (and squishy?)

in moments where he thinks you’re asleep while you both cuddle you catch him whispering sweet and soft words of affirmations to you

simply expressing his love and telling you how absolutely amazing you are and he’s just so lucky to have you

as much as he could tell you this consciously, he just gets too shy to say it to your face a lot of the time

he loves cheek kisses sm

be it giving or receiving (mostly receiving because he’s soft like that)

and just whenever you cup his cheeks or poke his dimples make him get all shy and feel all giddy

whenever you do touch his cheeks, he has gotten into the habit of leaning in into your touch and placing his hand on top of yours before kissing your palm (I want this so bad, I am unwell)

if you are a bit on the shorter side (which atp everyone is cause mans is HUGE) he would love the height difference

this also makes him love seeing you in all his clothes because of how much bigger they look on you and just swallow your frame

take all his hoodies, he would die from the cuteness aggression

and just to revel in that fact more he loves bending down to be at eye level with you while looking deep into your eyes before smiling with his dimples full on display

he knows very well that makes you weak in the knees and he loves that

the type to carry your favourite necessities with him in case you forget your own (eg. an extra hairband, lip gloss, anything of that sorts)

probably has a cute keychain you got him on his bag too that he gets teased about but he flaunts it like a badge of honour because it’s from you and so he loves it

always yapping to his friends about you and finding a way to bring you up into the conversation

“wow i heard this place has great pasta.” taehyun says looking through the menu

“that reminds me of this one restaurant I went to with (y/n) and they loved the pasta there…” and he just goes on and on yapping their ears off

he’s just a man that loves his partner and wants everyone to know that too

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vampweeb · 15 hours ago

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WORK WIFE - part 2

part 1, yes I made an alternative ending (I couldn’t decide plus i liked both endings)

The couch creaked under Nanami’s weight as he settled into it for the third night in a row.

No blanket. No pillow. Just the growing cold between you, and the ache in his back that didn’t even come close to the one in his chest.

You hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him since you found the note.

Miki’s fucking sticky note.

“Work wife.”

That stupid yellow square had done more damage than any knife could.

And tonight? You left him dinner, neatly plated on the counter untouched by you. You ate alone, again, and shut the bedroom door without a word.

He didn’t blame you. Hell, he barely blamed you for not slamming it.

You had every right.

But Nanami wasn’t a man who left things fractured.

So just past midnight, he stood up, knocked gently, and waited outside the master bedroom.

“…Can we talk?” His voice was low, almost unsure. Not like him.

Silence.

Then, after a beat, your voice came hoarse from crying, edged with exhaustion. “Door’s unlocked.”

He pushed it open slowly. The light was dim just the small lamp on your nightstand casting gold on your cheek. Your eyes were tired. You didn’t sit up. But you didn’t tell him to leave.

He walked in.

“I’m not here to defend myself,” he started, standing across the room like he was afraid to taint the space near you. “I just… need to explain. And I hope you’ll let me.”

You stared at him eyes guarded, arms crossed under your satin bonnet but nodded once.

He exhaled.

“Miki’s going through a divorce. She started talking to me after a few long days at work, and it… it was easy. She made me feel needed. Not in a romantic way. Just — appreciated. I didn’t even realize I was starting to enjoy the attention until it was too far gone.”

You didn’t look impressed.

He took another breath, shoulders tense. “But that’s not your problem. That’s mine. I should’ve told you about her from the beginning. The moment I found myself withholding her name, I betrayed you.”

You blinked eyes watering, but no tears fell. “I don’t want pieces of anyone else,” he said quietly. “I want all of you. You’ve loved me better than I ever knew I deserved, and instead of bringing you closer… I handed pieces of myself to someone who didn’t earn them. And I hate myself for that.”

You stared at him, lip trembling. “Why did you let her call herself your ‘work wife’? Why did you let her feel special?”

“Because I didn’t realize how dangerous it was. I thought it was harmless. I thought I was in control.”

“And now?”

“I realize I was lying to myself.” His voice cracked. “And I lost the right to your trust because of it.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping your robe around yourself tighter. “Did you ever… feel something for her?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Never. It was never emotional. It was never love. I never compared her to you I couldn’t. You’re… not comparable.”

You looked away, jaw clenched.

The room was quiet now, but the silence was sharp. You sat at the edge of the bed your bed, your room, the one you reclaimed after he betrayed the trust that used to live in it. He stood at the doorway, not daring to come any closer.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when that sticky note kept flashing behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

“I didn’t mean for it to get that far,” he finally said, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You turned to him slowly, expression unreadable. “But you did.”

He inhaled like he’d been punched in the chest. “I know. I know that now. I—” his voice cracked. “I didn’t see it like that at the time. It was just lunch. Just a conversation. But I let her feel important. I let her call me that. I should’ve shut it down.”

Your lip twitched. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” he admitted. “Because it felt good… being that for someone. Having someone think I was dependable. Someone who didn’t see the cracks.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced them back with a deep breath. “So what was I? The place you came to hide those cracks?”

He stepped forward and dropped to his knees. On the carpet. In front of you. Head bowed like he was ashamed to look you in the eye.

“No,” he rasped. “You’re my home. You’re the only one who’s ever seen all of me. I was a coward, selfish, even for giving her parts of me that were never hers to take. I just… I didn’t think. I didn’t think it would matter because I wasn’t sleeping with her.”

“And now you know it’s worse,” you whispered. “Because she got your thoughts. Your attention. Your time.”

His breath hitched. You watched him the way his shoulders shook as he bit down on a sob. The first tear rolled down his cheek, and then another, until he was openly crying.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Please please, don’t give up on us. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. I’ll cut her off. I already did. I’ll sleep on the couch for as long as you need. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.”

His hands trembled where they clutched your knees.

“I love you,” he whispered, broken. “I don’t want anyone else. I never did. I just… I fucked up. And I can’t breathe knowing I might lose you.”

Your chest ached. God, he was crying. Nanami Kento so composed, so collected was on the floor, completely unraveled.

Still, you stared at him, unswayed by the tears. You let him cry. You let him beg.

Because he deserved to.

And if he really wanted forgiveness… he’d have to keep begging tomorrow, too.

hi so as you can lowkey see I FOLDED in this one but ngl.. I have an alternative ending for you!!

Nanami was still on his knees, voice breaking, eyes wet. You watched him tremble, watched him beg and still, something in you stayed cold.

Because sometimes love isn’t enough.

You stood up slowly. His hands fell from your knees like dead weight, his face lifting toward you with a shred of desperate hope.

But your eyes didn’t soften.

“I loved you, Kento,” you said quietly. “Enough to trust you without question. Enough to give you every part of me.”

You reached for the doorknob, pausing only to look down at him one last time.

“But you gave pieces of yourself to someone else and I don’t want what’s left.”

He opened his mouth to say something anything but you didn’t wait to hear it. You walked out.

And this time, he didn’t follow.

Because deep down, he knew he’d already lost you

#black writers #jjk x reader #x black fem reader #nanami x reader #part 2 #angst #jjk angst #jjk fluff

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mamiobesssionfics · 1 day ago

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Where You Said You’d Be

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Warnings: mention of past abuse, angst

Summary: You made her promise, long ago, that no matter how bad things got between you, she would never let you fall asleep alone.

It wasn’t a complicated promise.

You had asked her early on when the two of you were just learning how to be soft around each other, what it would take for you to sleep peacefully again.

The answer had been simple.

“Just don’t let me sleep alone. Please.”

You had whispered it one night in her arms, her fingers tracing the outline of your spine. You had never explained the full reason.

Not at first. Not until months later, when the trust had begun to bloom.

Your ex-boyfriend had made the nights a battlefield.

The bed had become a place of tension, of fear.

You never knew if sleep would bring rest or violence if the turn of a blanket would lead to a bruise, a shove, or worse.

Even long after he was gone, you still woke in a panic, you swore you could hear footsteps that didn’t belong.

Rhea had listened, jaw clenched so tight her teeth might crack.

And she had pulled you into her arms like you were something sacred.

“I’ll never let you sleep alone again,” she had promised, voice low and steady against your skin. “Not even after the worst day. Not even if we fight. Never.”

And for a long time, she didn’t.

No matter how exhausted she was, no matter how busy her schedule got, she always found her way to your side.

Even when there had been arguments, tension, and slammed doors, she still crawled into bed beside you, pulled you close, and let sleep find you in the safety of her arms.

Until tonight.

Rhea had come home late, looking like she’d been fighting storms.

She barely glanced at you.

She threw her bag on the floor, kicked off her boots, and started snapping at you about dishes left in the sink.

“You could have done something while I was gone,” she said, brushing past you.

“I did,” you said quietly, confused by her sudden coldness. “I just, I didn’t get to the kitchen.”

“Right. Of course, you didn’t.”

It spiralled from there.

Words flung carelessly, old wounds tugged open. She was tired and frustrated. You were hurt, trying to keep your voice calm, trying to reach her.

But she didn’t want to be reached.

When you both stood on opposite ends of the room, breathing heavily, your throat tight with unspoken pleas, she turned away.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” she muttered.

You froze.

“Rhea,” you said, voice cracking, “please. Don’t.”

She didn’t answer.

You waited.

She didn’t come.

The bed felt like a tomb.

You tried to stay awake. Stared at the ceiling. Curled up with your back against the cold side of the mattress, trying to remember her warmth.

Eventually, sleep dragged you under.

And with it came the dream.

You were back in that place. That voice. That room. The air turned heavy, his hands grabbing you, shoving you down, your throat closing in terror. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

Until you woke, sobbing.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t tell where you were. You were shaking, crying out into the dark.

“Please stop, please don’t, please don’t touch me, please…”

The door slammed open.

Rhea was there in seconds, still barefoot, eyes wide with panic. “Hey! Hey, it’s me!” She dropped to her knees beside the bed, grabbing your arms. “Baby, I’m here, I’m here.”

You flinched. “Don’t let him touch me again, please don’t let him-”

“Shhh, no one’s touching you,” she whispered, climbing into the bed and pulling you into her lap. “I’ve got you. He’s not here. He’ll never hurt you again. Never.”

You were shaking so hard that your teeth clicked.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sobbed.

She held you tighter, swaying gently. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I broke my promise. I didn’t think, I just, I was angry and tired and selfish.”

You pressed your face into her chest. Her heartbeat was wild beneath your ear.

“You said you’d always stay,” you said through sobs.

“I know,” she whispered, kissing your hair. “I’ll never walk out again. I swear to you. I will never leave you to face the night alone. Not ever.”

You clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling.

Eventually, the tremors stopped.

She tucked you under the blankets, curled up behind you, her arm strong and sure around your waist.

She didn’t let go. Not even for a second. She whispered apologies, lullabies, promises.

Her breath is warm against your neck.

And when you slept again, she was there. Just like she’d promised.

Right where she said she’d be.

You woke slowly.

The room was bathed in early grey light, soft and quiet, the world not quite awake yet.

And neither were you.

But what you noticed first, before the ache in your throat, before the memories creeping at the edge of your thoughts, was the warmth.

Her.

She hadn’t let go.

Rhea was still there, arms wrapped around you like a second heartbeat. One hand rested flat on your stomach, her nose tucked gently against the nape of your neck. You could feel her breathing slow and steady, like the ocean in sleep.

It felt safe. Real.

For a few moments, you didn’t move.

You just let the warmth of her back into you.

And then, as if sensing the shift in your breathing, she stirred.

Her arm tightened around you, holding you closer.

“You awake?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep and guilt.

You nodded.

Rhea pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you whispered.

She shifted slightly, enough to prop herself up on her elbow and look at you properly.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she hadn’t slept much after you did.

“I messed up,” she said. “No excuses. No defence. I let my mood take over and I forgot what you needed from me. I broke a promise I never should have broken.”

You looked at her, really looked, and saw it in her, the regret, fear, shame. The same emotions that had clawed through you in the dark, now etched into her features.

“I didn’t want space,” you said softly. “I just wanted you.”

“I know. And I gave you the one thing I promised I never would.” She swallowed hard. “I heard you crying. It- God, it felt like I’d ripped the floor out from under you. I never want to hear that sound again.”

You blinked fast, throat tight.

“I don’t blame you for being tired,” you said gently. “But when you weren’t there, it felt like… he was.”

Rhea closed her eyes like your words physically hurt her.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said firmly. “Today. Tomorrow. However long it takes. But for now, I just want to take care of you. Let me?”

You nodded, and she kissed your forehead with such love that didn’t belong to someone called The Nightmare.

She pulled the covers over both of you again and stayed wrapped around you, your bodies entwined like roots grounding each other.

Later, when the sun crept higher, she charmed you out of bed with soft touches and kisses.

She guided you to the bathroom and helped you brush your teeth with her arms around your waist.

Then she made you tea, your favourite kind, with a little extra honey and a clean hoodie draped over your shoulders like a hug.

She called out of training.

Didn’t even glance at her phone after that.

Instead, she stayed home, set up a nest of blankets on the sofa, and let you pick the movie. You barely watched it. You just curled into her, her hand resting protectively on your knee, thumb tracing circles into your skin.

She made you lunch. Cut the crusts off your sandwich. Kissing your cheeks between every bite.

“Do you still want me?” she asked quietly at one point, voice low like she feared the answer.

You turned to her, placing your hand on her cheek. “I never stopped.”

She kissed you like an apology, like a vow.

Like you were everything.

And that night, when sleep came again, she was already waiting. Arms open, body warm, lips at your temple.

“I’m here.” she whispered, as you drifted off.

And this time, you believed her.

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earthsparked · 3 days ago

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Hi, how are you? I hope you’re doing well! :)

Well, I don’t know if you’re taking requests, but I was thinking about something. In my teenage years, I couldn’t do certain things, one of them was getting a belly button piercing. Now that I’m an adult, I’m really tempted to get one, even if it’s kind of silly.

If you haven’t done anything like this yet, would you consider creating a scenario where a bot gets curious about this kind of body modification on their human friend? Of course, Cybertronians also modify their bodies just for style or to feel more attractive, but I think they’d be a little surprised that such “fragile” and “delicate” beings as humans would willingly pierce their bodies to insert metal jewelry, or get drawings under their skin using machines that poke them 28,000 times to cover a 5 cm² area.

I think bots like First Aid or Bluestreak would be shocked!

Not silly at all! This is another one I'm glad to take a swing at, but I personally don't have any experience with, so I apologize if it's not quite what you're looking for. I actually used a family member's tattoo as the basis for this, as well as the belly button piercing. Best of luck with your decision! <3

You got a little tired of people asking "what does your tattoo mean?" pretty much in the first year you had it, but hearing that question from Bluestreak is entirely different. It's a scorching hot day and you've escaped down to the small pond not far from the base. Either kidnapping or being kidnapped by your talkative friend, depending on how you look at it. The air is muggy and humid and you roll your pants up to the knee, kicking off your shoes so you can dangle your feet in the water. Bluestreak is next to you, his optics moving around with wonder as he follows the flight path of green and blue dragonflies that dart here and there.

His usual cheerful chatter dries up abruptly as his gaze looks to you and lands on the butterfly tattoo on your ankle, seeing it for the first time. His first question isn't "what does your tattoo mean?" It's –

Is that a bruise? Are you hurt?! Does it hurt? Do you need to see Ratchet? How did that happen? Did I do that to you? I'm sorry! I thought I was so careful!

He's so sweet and fretful and attentive, you couldn't have asked for a better friend. You'd explained the concept of bruises just recently in the short time of having known the mechs, and while most of them thought it was just weird or gross, a couple of your friends were now on high alert for any discoloration. Clearly Bluestreak was one of the latter. (You winced internally as you realized you hadn't remembered your sunscreen, and weren't looking forward to explaining sunburns.)

Whoa, Blue, no, it's not a bruise, you reassure him. You pull your foot out of the water and tilt your ankle toward him so he can see it better. I'm not hurt. It's a tattoo. A permanent decoration I got years ago. Kind of like your Autobot sigil, but for organics.

Oh, he says, settling down considerably. I didn't know humans had sigils. You put them on your vehicles, but on yourselves too?

He reaches out for you with a silent question in his hesitancy, the quirk of his head, and you're once again reminded just how much your species share in body language. Many things have just fallen into place, no explanation needed. But you're not sure if this particular practice will translate properly.

You can look. And touch, if you're gentle. It's a little old now, so it's not as crisp and clean as it used to be. I should probably get it touched up to make the ink nice and bright again.

You shimmy sideways and let him rest your ankle in his hand, leaning back on your elbows so you don't topple over. He's as gentle with you as if you were porcelain, having actually read the physical tolerances memo Ratchet had sent out, so he knew not to yank or twist on your joints. His engine purrs with a soft curiosity as he smooths his thumb over the butterfly. You're waiting for it, and that's when he finally asks. But of course, being Bluestreak, it's tucked in with about a dozen other rapidfire questions.

What is this? Why did you get this done? Does it mean something to you, like my Autobot brand means to me? Does this mean you're part of some kind of human faction? What do you mean, ink? Did they not do a good job of doing it the first time?

You exhale softly and recline all the way, lying down on the grass with your arms folded behind your head. Content to let him trace the delicate bones and ligaments of your ankle and foot.

It's a butterfly. An earth insect. They're pollinators, brightly-colored ones, and they're harmless. They like flowers. We'll probably see some today.

You think about your words for a second. Nobody had prepared you for your new unofficial career of cultural explainer to humanity's first alien allies, but you were learning on the job.

Butterflies do have a lot of different symbolic meanings. In some cultures they're representative of souls. Human sparks. Other people see them as a symbol of hopeful endurance, because some of them are very delicate but survive traveling miles and miles on a migration.

For me, they're about embracing change. A symbol of life being a constant process of transition. Butterflies are about being open to becoming someone new, even if it's painful. Even if you have to leave things behind. Even if you have to leave people behind, including the person you used to be.

Give Blue credit, he's emotionally aware and sensitive enough to know when to be quiet. He's hushed as he looks up from your tattoo to settle his attention on your face. You close your eyes against the bright sunlight.

I got that tattoo when I...had to leave something behind. I wanted a reminder I could see, that I could always keep, that just because things were changing, that was okay. That the future could be even more beautiful than the past. I just had to be brave enough to go through it. Curl up in that cocoon and not know exactly what was going to happen when I came out of it, but be ready to accept it. And not linger in regrets. It being something permanent on my body was...kind of like a test, I guess. To prove that if I could go through with getting it, I could make it through this big change in life.

You finally fall silent, and Blue's quiet, too, at least long enough for you to wonder what he's thinking and open your eyes. He's still gently stroking your ankle and foot, and the distant look on his face makes you think he's far away.

Bluestreak? you prompt him. Does that answer your questions?

He gives himself a little shake, and his next questions are softer, more hesitant. Why was it a test? Why is it permanent? You mean you can't change it or remove it?

You alter your own voice to match his vibe, not wanting to alarm him.

Getting tattoos is painful. Not unbearably painful - not mine, anyway, you add, wincing as you think of some others you'd seen. Our bodies have areas with more nerve endings than other places, so it's different depending on where you get it. To make the tattoo, they use a special needle to inject the ink under the skin over and over. It takes a while to put the design on. I'm not very good at putting it into words, but it feels kind of like a cross between being cut and burned. Sort of.

His armor had been flaring a little, but it's at this last bit he gives an upset rumble. He sounds a little sparkbroken as he asks, It hurt you...? With needles?!

His servos cup protectively around your foot. But what if something went wrong! Ratchet's always saying how there's all kinds of things that can go wrong! What if the needle went too deep? What if it got infected? What if you decide you don't like it anymore?

You give a half shrug. That's just part of the risk you take. But tattoo parlors follow safety regulations. If I decide I don't like it, I can get a different tattoo to cover it up. Or try laser removal, but that's even more painful. But I wouldn't, anyway. I love my butterfly. It reminds me of how strong I can be, when I need to be.

You'd actually spent some time in the shower the day after you'd met the mechs, leaned against the wall under the water, washing the chaos out of your hair and the blood from your body. And you'd caught a glimpse of your tattoo. Something that you chose. Something that wouldn't wash away. What was pain compared to that? It had eventually given you the courage to shut off the water and reach for your towel.

You can tell you've given Bluestreak a lot to think about, but he releases your foot so you can sit up, and turns to face you directly. Do humans do other kind of mods like that...? I've seen some people with little bits of metal on their ears?

You nod and chuckle, reaching for your shirt to show off your belly button piercing. Or at least the hole where it goes. You haven't bothered putting one in recently, concerned about what might happen in your newly dangerous pastime of hanging out with giant alien robots. Getting it snagged on somebody's armor kibble or something is not your idea of a good time.

We pierce all kinds of body parts. Those can mean something, too, or it can just be for decoration. I have my belly button pierced, here, though I don't have any jewelry in right now. You press against your skin to show it to him.

Pierced -? Another needle? he sounds a little horrified, but clearly trying to bite back his reaction out of politeness. Um. I bet it looks great, when you do wear jewelry in it.

You laugh and release your shirt, and reach out to give him a friendly pat. It's okay, Blue. It was a long time ago. It hurt, but it healed, and I like having it.

You wish you could leave it there, but for the sake of a full explanation, you know you shouldn't. You hate it when you have to open up about some unsavory part of human culture. It helps when you remember the mech you're talking to is very, very old, and has probably killed a lot of Decepticons. Nobody on this planet has entirely cleans hands. Life isn't that simple.

You continue saying, Not all humans like it when other humans have piercings and tattoos, or other body modifications. Some of them are kind of huge jerks about it. Like, I've never had problems, but a friend of mine who has more visible tattoos on her arms and shoulders, is pretty sure she got fired from a job because people complained about her tattoos. That's not supposed to happen, but, well.

Bluestreak nods; he's been confronted with the unthinkable becoming reality for longer than you and your entire family had ever been alive.

My butterfly might mean one thing to me, but to someone else...they might think of it as messing up my body, or they might have some kind of religious belief that says it's bad. And a lot of families feel like they should have control over their children's – their sparklings' bodies. So they don't let them get piercings or tattoos.

A look of understanding crosses Bluestreak's face. A slightly dark, haunted look. You wonder what he's thinking, and after a minute he explains,

Back on Cybertron, what your alt mode could do or what it couldn't do meant everything. What sort of education and job you could get. Who would or wouldn't talk to you if you saw them in the street.

You move over to him so you can sit close enough to lean your weight against him. It often works to calm the mechs, just by your closeness and touch. This sweet friend of yours has been through five kinds of hell in his very long life; he deserves whatever comfort you can offer him. They all do.

There was something terrible they would do to mechs who didn't play by the rules. Mechs who kept defying them. Something that changed their frames forever. As punishment.

His entire frame shudders, and you realize he's toeing the line of being able to tolerate this conversation, and having to go for one of his long drives with Prowl. You wonder what he would think to know humans had used non-consensual modification on other humans, too, as punishment, as control and even worse. But you have seen him spiral before and don't want to push him over that line now.

You carefully try and draw him away from his thoughts.

I had been wondering what you would think about this kind of thing, you say quietly. What we do to decorate ourselves or change our bodies. Since, you guys can just scan a new alt mode and change everything up. And that doesn't hurt you, just requires enough energy?

He nods and huffs an ex-vent, like a human sigh. Right. I can't imagine it hurting. It feels right. You're really brave, making changes you want even though it hurts. Maybe -

He trails off, and you gently nudge him with a shoulder. Maybe what?

If you ever want to get something else, this touch-up you called it, or a new piercing? I could go with you if you want? And I can talk and hold your hand and keep you distracted from the pain? Or. I guess I can't if it's somebody who doesn't know about us yet, he frets, backtracking and clearly upset that he has to. Upset that you might go through pain without any support from him. I'm sorry, I didn't think! I guess I can't, huh.

He hushes as you slide your arms around him in the best kind of hug you can give his giant frame, and lean your head against him.

That's okay, Blue. Hey. Maybe I'll get a tattoo that reminds me of you. Then it'll be like you're always holding my hand. Now that you've thought of it, you like the idea.

Blue seems to warm to it, too. If you get something for me, I want to get something for you! Sigils don't hurt to get, really, so it's not the same but -

I would love that, you assure him, and sigh softly against his side. He tentatively reaches down and rests his hand around you, his servo so big it's like being settled into a metal throne.

And I won't change it, he promises. No matter what. Since you can't change yours, I won't change mine either. If I change my alt mode, I can keep it with me.

But you shake your head. No, Blue. That's kind, and I want a piece of you with me forever, too. And some things are forever. I'm never, ever going to forget you and how much meeting you has meant to me.

But if I've learned anything in life, it's that we always need to leave room to grow. To change. We're always becoming something new. You give a little bittersweet smile. That can hurt, too. But it's worth it.

You spend the rest of the afternoon pointing out all the butterflies you see to each other. By the time you're ready to slip your shoes back on and return to the base, you know something else has changed, too. While your tattoo meant something different to you originally, now it will always be a memory of this afternoon with your friend from far away.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers first contact au #human distribution system #humans are space cats

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wolvietxt · 3 days ago

Text

ᰔ chamomile tea !

↳ frank castle x female reader

you don’t hear him come in. the door creaks just a little, but your head stays bowed over the kitchen table, hands loose in your lap. there’s a soft ache behind your eyes that’s been growing all afternoon — nothing big enough to cry about, just one of those long, grey days that settles into your bones and stays there.

the hum of the kettle starts behind you. you blink once, slow. you didn’t ask. didn’t move. didn’t say a word.

but he knows anyway.

he doesn’t speak. never does, really, not when it’s like this. not when you’re worn thin and heavy in that quiet way that doesn’t want to be seen. but still — he sees it. he always does.

a mug appears beside your elbow, pushed close enough for the steam to touch your skin. honey. no lemon. two teabags.

you stare at it for a second too long. the soft golden color, the way it curls at the top from the heat. he’s already stepped back. leaning against the counter, arms crossed, like he didn’t just read your mood down to the last thread.

“thanks,” you say, voice barely above the whistle of the kettle cooling. you wrap your hands around the mug and let the warmth bleed into your fingers. it feels like something unwinding in your chest. slow and careful.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just reach into you without touching. “long day?”

you nod. that’s all he needs.

he doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what happened. frank’s not the type. he lets the silence sit between you like something alive, something soft. doesn’t fill it with noise or questions or things you’re too tired to answer.

instead, he moves around the kitchen in that quiet, solid way of his — puts away a dish, runs the tap low. doesn’t look at you again, not yet. just stays close enough that you can feel the comfort of him nearby. familiar weight. steady hands.

you sip the tea. it’s perfect. warm and strong, sweet enough to catch on your tongue, like he knew exactly what would make your shoulders drop a little. he did.

you glance at him. his jaw’s tight like always, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he finally meets your gaze. like he’s checking in. like he’s listening without saying it.

“you always make it right,” you murmur. “even the bad-day version.”

he doesn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth twitch like they want to. “’course i do.”

your lips quirk, just a little. “you keep a chart or somethin’?”

“just pay attention,” he says. then, a little softer, “that’s all.”

you look down again, to the tea. to the steam still rising. you don’t say it, but it means something — more than a drink, more than the routine of it. it’s him. it’s how he stays close without crowding. how he sees you without making you explain yourself.

“you always know,” you say under your breath. “even when i don’t.”

frank comes closer then, rests his hand against the back of your neck. warm and grounding. his thumb brushes the edge of your hairline, and it makes something in your chest ache in the best kind of way.

“you don’t gotta say anything,” he murmurs. “i’ll still take care of you.”

you lean into his touch. his palm is rough, calloused, but gentle as anything.

“you’re too good at it,” you whisper.

he huffs a small laugh through his nose. “nah. just got good taste in people.”

you smile into your mug.

he leans down, presses a kiss to the top of your head — soft, like he’s sealing in the comfort. “finish your tea, sweetheart.”

“yes, sir.”

his thumb strokes the curve of your neck once before pulling away. he heads for the hallway, probably to grab a blanket, maybe your favorite sweater from the bedroom. something else to tuck around you like protection.

but even if he didn’t — even if it was just the tea and the quiet and the closeness — you’d still feel held. because that’s what frank does. not loud, not showy. just steady. present. always two steps ahead when you need something without ever making you feel like a burden.

you sip again, slower now.

outside, the sun’s dipped past the window. shadows stretch long across the floor, but the kitchen feels warm. golden.

you wrap both hands tighter around the mug and close your eyes.

he always remembers.

FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005, @malfoys-demigod, @wkhannah

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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afterheese · 2 days ago

Text

The Prefect Match - Yang Jungwon x f!reader

“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes. His hand is on your throat.

cw: dark!jungwon, noncon,hair pulling, degradation, creampie, babytrapping and physical violence.

word count : 3.5k

You knew it was the right decision.

Ending things with Jungwon wasn’t just overdue, it was needed. The relationship had rotted from the inside out, twisted into something dark and suffocating. You’d spent too much time walking on eggshells and flinching at every raised voice or hand. So you left.

But ever since the breakup, something in the air felt wrong.

He didn’t take it well—not at all. The calls kept coming. At first, it was pleading. Sweet, pathetic apologies dripped in fakeness. But they didn’t stay sweet for long. They turned sharp and accusing. His voice would swing from soft regret to explosive rage in a single breath. As if the breakup wasn’t real. Like you were throwing a tantrum.

Now your phone buzzes at strange hours—2:17 a.m., 4:03, 5:12 always from unknown numbers. No voice, no noise just silence. You’ve started checking your locks more than once. Then again. Then again. You keep the blinds shut even when the sun is out, because the idea of light feels unsafe now. Too visible. Because Jungwon doesn’t lose. And he doesn't listen when you say no. He doesn’t rage. He doesn't scream. He waits. He smiles. Control isn’t something he wants. It’s something he assumes he already has. You don’t know it now, but you’ll soon realize that leaving him was the worst mistake you could’ve made.

“Girl, relax—he’s not here,” she says, not even looking at you. Her voice is flat, tired, like you’re annoying her with your nonsense. “Stop being so paranoid. I heard he’s got a new girlfriend or something, so… he’s over you.”

You blink at her, fork halfway to your mouth. She's probably right. Everyone keeps saying the same thing, and you’re starting to feel like the one who is being crazy. But the incidents around the house was telling you otherwise like the window in your bedroom was open yesterday morning. Just a crack. You remember closing it. You always do. You even double checked it after brushing your teeth. But there it was, gaping like a mouth in the wall, letting the cold in.

Then there was the necklace. You found it in the laundry room. You haven’t worn it in weeks. You’d swear you left it on your dresser. “You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, quieter than you meant to. “That my stuff keeps moving around?” Kailey shrugs. “You probably just forgot. You’ve been super stressed lately. Your brain’s probably just... I don’t know. Filling in blanks.” Her smile is small, pitying. It makes you feel like a child so you nod, even though your stomach twists. Because how do you argue with someone who makes your fear sound like fiction?

Everyone you’ve talked to says the same thing. You’re imagining it. You’re spiraling. Maybe talk to someone. No one listens to what you’re actually saying. They just want you to stop talking. And the more you try to explain, the more ridiculous you sound. Like some clingy ex who can’t move on. Like you’re obsessed with someone who isn't even thinking about you.

You smile. You laugh when Kailey makes a joke about “getting you a security system and a therapist.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe your memory is just playing tricks on you. Maybe the cold air, the lost things, the tapping you heard last night…maybe it’s all just in your head. But if that’s true… why does it still feel like someone’s watching you?

“Okay, call me when you get home, alright?” Kailey says, pulling you into a quick hug. “And don’t worry about Jungwon. You’re fine. Seriously. He wasn’t good for you, and breaking up with him was the smartest thing you’ve done.” She squeezes your arm before turning away, heading toward her car without waiting for a reply. The door slams, the engine hums to life, and just like that, she’s gone—leaving you alone on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. You stand there for a moment, watching her taillights fade into the distance. The street feels too quiet now, like someone turned the volume down on the world. “I hope you’re right,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, then turn and begin the walk toward home.

The sidewalk stretches ahead of you, slick from earlier rain. Your shoes tap softly against the pavement, a steady rhythm you try to focus on. Left foot, right foot. Just a walk home. Just like every other night. But now Kailey's voice is gone, and without it, the air feels too thin. A streetlight flickers as you pass underneath it, buzzing once like it’s annoyed by your presence. You glance up out of habit. It dies for a moment, then flares back to life, casting your shadow behind you. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching as you turn down your street. The houses here are dark, windows glowing faintly blue with TV light or not at all. You tell yourself it’s just late. People are asleep inside.

But your stomach won’t stop tightening. That pressure behind your ribs again—like something’s watching you. Like something’s a few steps too close. You stop walking to listen. Behind you… nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just wind rustling the trees and the faint hum of traffic blocks away. You glance over your shoulder. Empty street. You hate how fast your heart is beating. You keep walking. Faster now. You don’t want to look again. If no one’s there, you’ll feel stupid. If someone is—No, don't go there. You stop again, one foot hesitating mid-step. You turn slowly and look behind you. Still no one there. But the streetlight—It’s off now. Completely dark.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your limbs tense before you can even think. And then—You run.

You don’t think about how it looks. You don’t care. You take off, shoes slapping the pavement, your bag bouncing hard against your hip. You just run.

Your house comes into view—porch light glowing weakly like it’s trying, but not enough. You fumble for your keys as you hit the steps. You nearly drop them. Your fingers are shaking too much and the sweat making it difficult to hold them. You glance behind you. Nothing. Still. But you don’t believe it. You shove the key in, not it. Try again. Shit not it. Curse under your breath. You keep looking over your shoulder like you're expecting to see someone step out of the dark. Click. The key finally turns. You throw the door open, stumble inside, and slam it shut behind you. You turn the lock. The deadbolt and the chain. Then you press your back to the door, eyes closed, chest heaving.

You stay with your back pressed to the door, listening for something—anything. Maybe the wind. Maybe footsteps that were never there. Maybe it was just your heart that was punching the inside of your ribs. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Then you heard a thud. A soft, unmistakable sound, like something falling. Not from the kitchen or the living room. It was from your bedroom.

Your body goes cold. You strain your ears, willing for the sound to be nothing. A book slipping off your bed. Something you left too close to the edge. Just gravity. Just the house settling. But you know what you heard. You know exactly where it came from.

Your room. Down the hall. Door slightly open—just as you left it.

You step forward. Slowly. Like your feet don’t belong to you anymore. Your fingers brush against the wall as you move, needing the feel of something solid. You pause at your door. Another noise—a shift. The creak of the mattress springs.

You don’t want to look. Every nerve screams at you not to. But you push the door open anyway. And there he is.

Jungwon.

Sitting on your bed like he never left. He’s leaned back against your pillows, one arm stretched casually along the headboard, the other resting on his knee. Legs spread comfortably, like he owns the room. Like you’re the intruder. “Well,” he says, voice smooth, almost lazy, “you made it farther than I expected. Honestly, I thought you'd fold after the second time you found the window open.” His gaze skims over you—your posture, your silence, your fear.

“You really thought locking doors and whispering to Kailey would make a difference?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Cute.” Then he exhales, almost like a yawn, and shifts his weight to the side of your bed. “But playtime’s over now.” He looks you straight in the eye, the smile gone. “Time to come back to me. This little game was fun... but I’m getting bored.”

He pats the bed beside him—slow, twice.

“Don’t make me chase you again.”

You looked at him like he’d just sprouted horns. “Jungwon… what the fuck is wrong with you?” Your voice cracks from the force of it. Your hands are shaking. You don’t care.

“Get the hell out of my house!” you scream, louder this time. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.

“Babe,” Jungwon said, his voice calm and patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “Stop yelling. It’s embarrassing.”

“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” You reach into your bag, fingers brushing your phone, eyes locked on him like you're defusing a bomb. Your heart racing. But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes.

His hand is on your throat.

“Now why would you do that, huh, babe?” he breathes, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your face. “I missed you. And I know you missed me.”

His fingers tighten. You choke, your nails clawing at his wrist. Your vision flickers.

“Stop struggling and just accept it, babe. I’m here now. We’re done playing—”

You swing your knee up, fast, hard, straight into his groin.

He makes a sound—half-growl, half-scream—and doubles over, crashing to the floor.

You stumble back, gasping, clutching your throat, then bolt down the hall. You don’t look behind you. You know what’s coming. You hit the living room. The space feels too small—too many corners, too many shadows, and nowhere to hide. Your feet pound the floor as you race toward the kitchen, lungs burning.

But then—His hand. It misses you by less than an inch.

You throw yourself into the kitchen and lunge for the drawer. The knife. The drawer sticks. You yank. Too slow. His hand grabs your hair—hard—and you feel your head jerk back, your scalp screaming as he slams you forward. Your temple hits the counter edge with a sickening crack. The world wavers. You dropped to the floor.

He’s pacing now, breathing hard, muttering. Mindless. Mechanical. Like a record skipping on loop.

“You were made for me,” he hisses, voice barely above a whisper but trembling with rage. “Don’t you get it? You don’t exist without me. I built you.

He slams the drawer shut with his foot—BANG—and the sound explodes through the kitchen. You flinch instinctively, shoulder curling inward. He laughs under his breath.

“No one else will touch you. Not after this. You think someone’s gonna want you after I’m done with you?” He gestures to you like you were trash. “They’ll see right through you, babe.”

He steps over your legs like they’re part of the floor, starts pacing in front of the fridge, cracking his knuckles, dragging his hand through his hair, muttering. His eyes are wild—glassy and glowing with something sick.

“You keep pretending you’re scared. But you’re not. Not really,” he says, smiling now, voice dipping into something slower, darker. “You like it when I get like this. You made those sounds for me, remember? The begging, the whimpering... the way you said my name when you couldn’t take it anymore.”

He crouches suddenly, right in front of you, and grabs your jaw—tight, fingers pressing into your cheeks.

“You remember that, don’t you?”

You try to pull away. He doesn’t let go.

“I own you. Every noise you make, every breath you take—that’s mine. You don’t get to run anymore. You had your little tantrum. Now?” His voice softens like silk. He stands again, towering above you, breath heaving, arms loose at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or kill you.

“Now you don't get to leave.”

“Please… just stop,” you whispered, voice raw, tears streaking your cheeks as your back pressed against the cold wooden kitchen counter. “You’ve had your fun.”

Jungwon didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head, eyes drinking in your trembling frame like it was art he couldn’t look away from.

“God,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice low and dark with something you couldn’t name. “You’re so damn pretty when you cry.”

You turned your face away, breath hitching.

Jungwon's hand shot out, fingers tangling harshly in your hair. He fisted it tight, yanking your head back to force you to meet his intense gaze. The sudden, painful grip made you gasp, tears flying from your eyes as he wrenched you off your feet. Your knees scraped against the hardwood floor, sending jolts of stinging pain up your legs, but he showed no mercy.

"You don’t get to turn away from me," he growled, voice dripping with venom.

Jungwon slammed you down onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter, the breath whooshing out of your lungs at the impact. Before you could catch your breath, he had you by the hair again, bending you over the edge of the counter roughly. You felt the chill of the granite against your skin as he forced you to arch your back. "Look at you," Jungwon snarled in your ear, his voice a low, feral rumble. "What a sweet, trembling mess you are. You can't deny how much you fucking love this, can you? How much you've missed having me inside you, ruining you?"

He punctuated his words by grinding his hard, clothed erection against the curve of your ass. You could feel every thick inch of him, a whimper escaped your throat, equal parts fear and shameful, traitorous arousal.

"This is what you do to me," Jungwon growled, giving your ass a sharp smack. "This is the effect you have on me, you fucking tease. I've been thinking about this pussy, about burying myself in you."

He tore the delicate fabric of your panties without hesitation, the rip sharp in the silence. The ruined lace discarded, leaving you bare and shivering as the cold air kissed your exposed skin. His touch followed—fingers finding your slick heat, dragging through your folds with a rough, unrelenting rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs.

"You don't get to say shit," he hissed, "You don't get to deny me anymore. I'm going to take what's mine, over and over again until you're dripping with my cum."

You heard the frantic tug of his zipper, the hiss of fabric shoved down in haste—he was struggling, almost clumsy in his desperation. He couldn’t wait. The need to be inside you was written in every rushed movement, every uneven breath. Your mind was fogged, flooded with heat, and the sound of him losing control just made it worse.

Jungwon's hips surged forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your core in one brutal thrust. A scream tore from your throat at the sudden, intense intrusion, your walls clenching desperately around his invading length. He didn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a hard, punishing pace as he bent over you from behind.

His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the thundering of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you completely.

"Fuck," Jungwon grunted, his voice strained with lust and dark satisfaction. “You can hate me all you want. Doesn’t change how perfectly I fit in you.”

One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he rutted into you. The other snaked up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse jump and race. Your vision swam, head spinning as he fucked you with brutal intensity, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the kitchen.

“Beg all you want. I know exactly what you need.” Jungwon growled, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. “By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be nothing left.”

His fingers tightened around your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re going to carry a reminder of me, one way or another.”

A surge of pure panic shot through you at Jungwon's dark promise. Your heart raced, pounding wildly against your ribs as his fingers tightened around your throat, restricting your airflow. You tried to shake your head.

"No," you gasped out, voice barely a whisper. "Please, Jungwon, don't. Pull out, please..."

But even as the words left your lips, you knew it was futile. Jungwon was beyond reason, beyond caring about your pleas and fears. He was driven by a singular, obsessive desire to claim and conquer.

Ignoring your desperate entreaty, he was fucking into you with brutal, animalistic intensity. The kitchen filled with the vulgar sounds of your coupling - the slap of skin on skin, your strangled cries, his grunts and growls of pleasure.

"Fuck, I can feel it," Jungwon snarled, his voice tight with impending release. “You feel that? The way you pull me in like you were made for this? Like your body already knows it belongs to me.”

He punctuated his words with a harsh thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You felt his cock jerk and pulse, growing even harder, impossibly bigger. Your eyes widened in terror and a sickening mix of reluctant arousal.

"Please," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't cum inside me. I don't want to..."

But your pleas fell on deaf ears. With a guttural roar, Jungwon slammed into you one last time, grinding his pelvis against your ass as his cock erupted. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his release painting your insides, flooding your unprotected womb with his cum.

"Take it," he commanded harshly, holding you in place as he emptied himself inside you. "Take every last drop.”

You shuddered and sobbed as you felt his cum filling you up, your body instinctively clenching and milking his pulsing cock. The sheer depravity of it, the utter lack of control, sent a confusing surge of dark pleasure through you.

As Jungwon finally pulled out, you could feel his release leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs.

You couldn’t move so you remained bent over the kitchen counter, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the cold granite surface below. Your body ached, used and abused in the most intimate way possible. The sticky evidence of his release trickled down your thighs, a sickening reminder of your defilement.

Behind you, Jungwon was already fixing his pants, tucking his spent cock away and smoothing down his shirt. He acted as if he hadn't just violated you, just taken something from you that you hadn't willingly given. As if this was an everyday occurrence, a simple transaction.

"Shut up," he barked harshly, silencing your muffled sobs and whimpers. “Did you really think someone would come running if you cried loud enough?”

You flinched at the biting words, then he was bending over you again, looming large and menacing. His hand came up, cupping the back of your head almost gently. For a moment, you thought he might caress you, soothe you. But then his fingers tightened, gripping your hair almost painfully as he wrenched your head to the side to force you to meet his gaze.

"You'll never be clean again," Jungwon whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Not after this. Not after me."

His eyes bored into yours, gleaming with a manic, possessive light. Before you could look away, his mouth was on you, his lips brushing against your forehead in a mockery of a tender kiss. A promise of something far darker.

And he was right, no matter how far you ran, how high you built your walls, or how many times you tried to cut him out—Jungwon always found a way back in. Like smoke slipping through the cracks, like a shadow that knew your every hiding spot. It didn’t matter how fiercely you tried to protect yourself. He would always find you, you knew the truth: you would never be safe from him. Not really. Not ever.

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