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alisonsfics · 3 days ago

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the stupid one

pairing: ex-bf!bucky barnes x reader

summary: your breakup with bucky had all been his fault. he got scared and called it quits. and he regretted more than you knew. but he’d never admit that to you. at least, not while sober.

inspired this lyric ~~ “i know i’m the stupid one who ended it. now i’m the stupid one regretting it. it took me a couple drinks to admit it” (“moving along” by 5sos)

a/n: we’re ignoring the super soldiers can’t get drunk plot point just fyi

word count: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol, mentions of smut

Fuck— Bucky was drunk. When he’d walked into the bar an hour earlier, he told himself he would only have a drink or two.

And he stuck to that promise…until he got a jarring notification on his phone.

1 year ago today, look back at your memories, from his photos app. As soon as he opened it, he knew it was a mistake.

It was photos from one of his date nights with you, at a fancy Italian restaurant he picked out.

The first photo was a selfie of the two of you, Bucky pressing a kiss against your cheek. The second photo was a picture he’d taken of you showing off the specialty cocktail you’d ordered— which you’d only ordered because it came in a glow in the dark glass. When it came out and was the side of your head, Bucky couldn’t stop laughing.

Before he knew it, Bucky felt that tight feeling in his gut. The one that couldn’t help but pop up when he thought about you.

When Bucky broke up with you, it was like he cut off his air supply, and he’d been struggling to survive ever since.

He still wasn’t entirely sure why he did it. All his friends asked him, and he never had a good answer.

All he knew is that if he’d kept dating you, he probably would’ve married you. He didn’t know why that scared him so much. Probably because he’d lost everyone he ever loved. He thought if he could break up with you before he fell deeper in love with you that somehow he’d be spared the heartbreak.

He knew now that wasn’t true.

All of sudden, he’d been at the bar for hours and scrolling through pictures of you the whole time.

His fingers were shaking as he clicked your contact and pressed call.

The decision was entirely fueled by the alcohol swimming through his system and not his brain. He didn’t know what he was going to say, only that he wanted to hear your voice.

On the other side of town, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Bucky’s name popped up on your screen. It rang and rang and rang, all while you were frozen still.

Bucky was starting to think you wouldn’t answer. I mean, hell— he wouldn’t even blame you.

Then he heard a quiet “hello?”

“I uhh— oh, hi. I’m surprised you answer.” He mumbled, stunned.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You asked, noticing the obvious slurring in his words.

Bucky felt a tear slip down his cheek. Hearing your voice again was like magic. His heart swelled in ways it hadn’t in months. “I just really miss you, doll.” His voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

He waited for you to say something anything. He’d even let you yell at him if it meant he could hear your voice for a little longer.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked.

He stalled. “Just because I have doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. I messed up, doll. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize.” He told you, nervously.

“Do you need a ride home? You shouldn’t drive.” You breezed over the confession.

It pained you to talk to Bucky. He’d broken your heart and never really given you a reason for the breakup. You knew he was scared of getting hurt, but he hurt you in the process.

Despite the aching in your chest from hearing his voice, you still wanted to make sure he was safe.

“You always take such good care of me. I don’t know why I threw that away. God, I’m such an idiot.” He mumbled.

You focused on taking deep breaths. The emotion in his voice tugged on your heart. It’d been so long since you’d seen that side of Bucky. The side that adored you.

“Bucky, promise me that you’ll ask someone for a ride or call a cab?” You asked, feeling your voice get caught in your throat.

“Yeah, I promise I’ll—” his voice got cut off by his phone dying.

Bucky stumbled aimlessly through the bar. All he wanted was you. He wanted to feel the way you clung to him when you slept. He wanted to taste the peach lipgloss on your lips. He wanted to hear you tell him you loved him.

The pit in his stomach only got deeper as he hopped in a cab and headed towards his empty apartment.

He tried to pretend he was heading home to you— that he’d somehow never screwed things up and you were at home waiting for him.

By the time the cab pulled up outside his door, heavy raindrops were thudding against the windows.

He chucked a few loose bills in the driver’s hand before stumbling out of the car.

The rain instantly soaked his body— a cold freezing rain. It coated every inch of his skin and clothing.

He stood there, eyes closed. The cab drove away, and he just stood. Wanting the rain to wash away this nightmare.

His shirt clung to his chest as he felt the cold seep into his bones.

He opened his eyes, slowly— and they landed on you, sitting on his doorstep.

Had he done it? Had his prayers actually been answered? Had he gone back in time?

The familiar warmth of your eyes pulled him in. He felt like he was walking in slow motion as he crossed the sidewalk towards you.

“What’re you doing here?” He yelled over the rain. You stood before him in a rain jacket with your hood up. You’d been standing in the rain waiting for him to get home.

“I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” You told him.

Relief washed over him. He felt around his pocket, searching for his house key. Noticing the look of panic on his face, you grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and unlocked the door for him.

He stumbled inside. Instinctively, you held onto his hips to steady him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He slurred, failing to instill any confidence in you.

“C’mere, Bucky.” You said, simply. You wrapped your arm around his waist and led him up the stairs.

He threw his flesh arm around your shoulders, leaning into your touch. “I love you s’much, sweets.” He mumbled into your neck. He nuzzled his nose against your neck, softly kissing your skin.

You fought every ounce of your nature that wanted to melt into his touch.

He was drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight. You reminded yourself.

“Let’s just get you up to bed.” You redirected his affection.

He wasn’t so easily distracted. His hot breath blew against your neck. Reminding you of quickies together in his car. Or even sleepy mornings in bed when you’d both been too tired to do anything. So, he’d just perfectly jut his hips against yours, both of you still completely clothed as he would groan and whine in your ear.

“Perfect, you’re jus’ perfect,” he mumbled, continuing to kiss your collarbone.

You lowered him down onto his bed. You wanted to run out the door. To never see him again. It was certainly preferable to the specific torture of having your ex-boyfriend, who you still had feelings for, drunkenly profess his feelings for you.

But, you saw him lying on his bed in soaking wet clothes from the rain. And you saw the hurt in his eyes. The same one you often saw when you looked in the mirror.

Before you could change your mind, you peeled his wet shirt off of him. Next, you took off his shoes, socks, and jeans.

He watched silently as you ventured into his closet and emerged with a pair of sweatpants and a dry shirt.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he mumbled, as you pulled the dry clothes onto his body.

After you’d finished, he leapt towards you, clinging to your frame. Your arms were pinned to your side as he hugged you. “Can you stay tonight?” He mumbled against your skin.

You wanted really wanted to. To curl into his side under the sheets and drown in the smell of his citrus cologne. To forget about the lonely nights and tears shed.

“I shouldn’t.” You said, trying to pull out of his grasp. But, he was still a super soldier and much stronger than you. “I’m a mess without ya, sweets.” He said, looking into your eyes.

Those damn eyes.

You gave in immediately. “I’ll sleep on the couch, but only to make sure you’re okay.” You resigned. He pressed a chaste kiss to your temple before whispering goodnight.

After he got into bed, you retreated downstairs to the couch. Part of you was hoping that when you woke up, it would be a dream.

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. You sat up, stretching the sleep out of your muscles.

“Morning,” Bucky entered the room holding two cups of coffee.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, the events of last night coming flooding back to you.

He sat down beside you, this thigh brushing up against yours. He handed you one of the mugs. His fingers brushed against yours in a way that made you jump and nearly spill your coffee.

“I only remember bits of last night, but I feel like we should talk.” He said, nervously.

“I should probably go.” You tried to excuse yourself.

Bucky placed his hand on your knee. “Please, stay,” he begged softly.

“This is too much for me, Bucky. I can’t go through all this again.” You said, looking up at the ceiling trying to will away the tears.

As soon as a tear rolled down your cheek, he brushed it away with his thumb. “Please, don’t cry, doll.” He whispered. Heartbreak was written all over both your faces.

“I need to apologize for last night. I crossed a line, but I want you to know that everything I said last night was true. I meant it all. It wasn’t drunk nonsense, I swear. But I know that I shouldn’t have dumped that all on you. I’m really sorry.” He said, genuinely.

His eyes were trained on your face— watching for any reaction. Any hint of a smile or a frown.

You felt a chill run down your spine. You didn't know what to say. Of course you still loved him, but getting hurt again haunted you.

He sensed a rejection coming. He leaned his head slowly onto your shoulder. It took everything in his power to not fall apart. “I know it’s not fair, but I just need to know, doll. Have you missed me the way I miss you?” His voice creaked.

“Why should you be allowed to miss me? You called it off. Cause yeah I’ve missed you like hell, but that’s because you decided you didn’t want me in your life anymore.” You finally snapped.

“I swear on my life, that’s not why I ended things. Of course I wanted you in my life and of course I loved you. That’s not why,” he defended. As much as you didn’t want to, you believed him.

“Then why? Please just tell me because you’ve never given me a straight answer.” You begged him for the closure you’d chased for months. You couldn’t even grieve your relationship because you still didn’t know why it ended.

Bucky’s eyes turned glassy, and he bit the inside of his cheek. You could see how much these past few months had weighed on him.

He reached over— slowly, hesitantly— and interlaced his fingers with yours. “I don’t know how to be a husband— or, a dad. I barely knew how to be a good boyfriend.” He confessed.

You gently squeezed his hand. “I wasn’t asking you to do those things yet. We weren’t even at that point.” You told him.

“But I knew how much I loved you. I fell harder for you everyday. I knew if I stayed, I would end up marrying you. Which sounds like a dream, like a beautiful dream— but a really fucking scary dream too. I didn’t want to disappoint you and have you resent me. I figured it would just be easier to end it before we got to that point. It would be so much harder to lose you when there’s a ring on this finger.” He said, looking down at your hand in his.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed, not having time to kiss you back before you pulled away. “You were never going to lose me. You said you weren’t a good boyfriend, but you were. You’re the love of my life, and you made me feel so special and seen. I know you feel all these expectations, but those aren’t mine. I just wanted you.” You promised him.

“I’m not enough for you.” He admitted, weakly. You shook your head, cupping his cheek with your hand. “You are all that I need.” You said.

He closed his eyes, a few rogue tears rolling down his cheeks. The relief was written all over his face. Forgiveness. Finally.

He felt your lips press against his cheek, kissing each one of his tears away. “To answer what you said last night, I’m a mess without you too.” You told him simply.

He smiled at you before leaning down to kiss you. There was familiarity but also a little bit of exploration. He didn’t waste a second before letting his hands roam your body. You melted into his touch like the first time.

Your bodies jumped back to old habits as you laced your fingers through his hair and he pulled you into his lap.

His lips still fit perfectly against yours. Like you both were built for each other— and no one else.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guiltandguitarstrings @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @iamavailablesstuff @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @astheskycries @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @marvelcasey05 @velyssaraptor @amanda08319 @sunwardsss @studentville-struggles @impossibleapricotlampbat @infjwinchester44 @weirdfishy @lickmymelaninn @eternally-timeless @andreasworlsboring101 @glassesandthunderthighs @spiderstyles04 @mostly-marvel-musings @madisondelstan @spookyparadisesheep @beyondthesefourwalls @basicfangirlx @rivirox

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #ex!bucky barnes #ex-bf!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #thunderbolts #thunderbolts fic #marvel #marvel fic #sebastian stan

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kathleenkatmary · 2 days ago

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I really think it depends on the situation. If there's already a conversation happening where people are disagreeing with each other and they're doing it respectfully, then yeah, I think it's okay to jump on in. If it's not being done respectfully then it's probably best to just not engage at all. And of course, if the OP has asked for opinions, or you know them to be someone who welcomes different opinion and enjoys engaging in discussion, that's fine.

But if none of those things are true... well, I think it still depends. If it's a pretty common opinion within fandom, I don't think there's anything wrong with going to your own blog and talking about what you think. But if it's one that's not particularly common where it would be pretty obvious who you were responding to, then it's probably best to just leave it alone. Unless their take is like, horribly offensive in a way that's bigoted or based in really hateful mindsets or something like that.

I do think, though, that if someone blatantly mistags something (like putting anti-ship posts in a ship's tag, or shippy posts in an anti-ship tag, stuff like that), then that person does kind of lose the right to being treated according to respectful fandom etiquette, and you'd be totally in the right to rip their garbage takes to shreds.

As far as whether to to use replies or reblogs... I have no idea. I've never really found there to be too much difference when it comes to this kind of thing. Replies are good for when you want to respond to something but you don't want the whole post blasted out for all of your followers. So I suppose if your mindset is something along the lines of "I want to respond but I don't want a bunch of other people on my side of the fandom seeing it so that it won't result in a dogpile". But I feel like if that's the thought process behind it then it probably is just best to not respond at all.

EDIT: I also think that it's really important to pay attention to how an OP has tagged something. If someone has been careful to tag things in a way that it was clearly only meant to be seen and engaged with by certain parts of the fandom, then I do think it's pretty shitty to respond to it. While I am generally of the mindset that if someone is putting something on social media they're putting it on a public forum and they shouldn't get upset if people reply in disagreement, I also think the whole point of careful tagging like that is to make it less public, and that should be respected. I do feel like it's worth taking the few extra seconds to go back to the original post to see how it's tagged before responding.

And in general I just have very little respect for the "well people are too sensitive these days and if they can't handle a little disagreement on an opinion they post then they're just too sensitive and trying to isolate themselves from any disagreement and that's just bad etc etc." Because we have no idea what's going on in anyone else's lives. What they do and how they act on tumblr is just a small part of who most people here are, and there's just no way to look at how they act on tumblr or engage with fandom and know anywhere close to enough about them to make those kinds of judgement. For all we know, that person might deal with disagreements and different opinions all day with grace and respect, and they like their fandom hobby to be the one place where they don't have to deal with that. There are all kinds of reasons that a person might not want to engage with different opinions when it comes to fandom, and in most cases you're probably never going to know enough about that person to know why, or to make some kind of "well they just can't handle anyone disagreeing with them so they shouldn't be posting online" assessment.

So many people act like this whole "people just can't handle others disagreeing with them" idea is like, THE big problem of fandom, or even just online discourse, but I think the biggest problem is how little respect people are willing to extend to others. People will come up with so many excuses to just not have to treat someone else with even just a little bit of respect, and to frame themselves as still being in the right.

i actually need to know people's thoughts on this because at least in my experience the answer to this has drastically changed since i was on tumblr in the 2010s and its driving me fucking insane

*im talking about fandom takes specifically. not someone being horribly evil about a real-life issue or or blatantly factually incorrect. literally just harmless fandom disagreements or differing interpretations of a text/character/etc.

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thinemoonshine · 2 days ago

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⋆𐙚₊ 𝓹𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 (𝓻𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜)˚⊹♡

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ when platonic becomes romantic

bestfriend!enhypen hyung line x fem reader content(s): fluff, enhypen being down bad, hints of yearning, reader's oblivious, jay malfunctions, bit suggestive in jake's, sunghoon's already thinking wedding vows type: imagine

⋆˙𐙚 L.HEESEUNG 𐙚˙⋆

it’s weird. they’ve always been touchy with one another. sure, it may not be to the point of clingy but touchy enough that hand-holding and cuddling are normal in their friendship.

so why is it that heeseung feels so shy and flustered with (y/n)’s simple affection now?

her fingers pinch his chin softly as she gently tends his small cut with a cotton swab. their faces close but far enough so heeseung can comfortably admire her features while she stands between his spread knees.

“it’s not deep enough so it shouldn’t leave too much of a scar,” she says calmly—too casually for heeseung who’s literally having trouble making a single coherent thought without thinking about their proximity.

he swallows and it only makes his throat feel drier. “you sure?”

(y/n) lifts her gaze to see his round, bambi eyes searching hers for reassurance and she chuckles. “don’t worry, hee. you’ll still be handsome.”

still? he echoes internally. she thinks i’m handsome.

the thought itself is dumb considering how she’s never held back her admiration for his looks but for some reason, it was clearer to him this time, significant.

her hand shifts to cup his cheek and he fights himself from practically melting into her touch with his fists clenching by his side.

but his will is weaker than he thought.

(y/n)’s brows raise when he leans into her palm with eyes shutting while his own arms wrap around her waist to pull her in. “hee?”

the way that everyday nickname fell from her lips has his heart lurching and ears ringing, desperate for her to say it again.

“i like it when you say my name,” he murmurs into her shoulder and she’s silenced, flustered and confused, even more so when she can literally feel him jolting ever so slightly from his rapid, passionate heartbeat.

(y/n) slowly reciprocates the touch—her arms moving to encircle his slim waist and he sighs at the warmth that envelopes.

“is there something going on?” she asks, unsure of what transpired for her bestfriend to act so intimate all of a sudden but all heeseung does is shake his head—sneakily burying his nose into the crook of it and breathing her in.

“i just want you here,” he confesses, warm breath heating her skin as he subtly stamps little pecks before having to bite his own tongue to hold back from pressing a long, lasting kiss.

oh, if only he could.

heeseung smiles as he lifts a hand to cradle the back of her head, combing through her hair as his lips pull to a grin.

well, no one said he couldn’t.

⋆˙𐙚 P.JONGSEONG 𐙚˙⋆

it should be casual. a norm. a routine, even, to have (y/n) clinging onto his back as he cooks. it’s what she always does whenever he makes their meals—her ‘contribution’ she says, since jay won’t let her do anything.

and he doesn’t mind. he welcomes it, in fact. but something about today, makes it a lot harder for him to focus on his cooking with her wrapped around him.

“i thought you wanted them diced,” (y/n) reminds when jay was about to shove in the messily sliced carrots into a pot of hazardously seasoned soup(he’s pretty sure he poured in sugar instead of salt).

jay blinks rapidly, frantic, as he laid down the cutting board again and starts dicing… if cutting them in criss-crossed shapes into atoms is another method of it. “y-yeah. i did.”

but it doesn’t stop there.

“jay, that’s not salt.”

“black pepper, not white.”

“that fire’s too high!”

jay’s a second away from giving himself a concussion with the frying pan and even then, he grabbed the ladle instead.

"is something wrong?" his bestfriend asks when she turns him around and the way her fingers ghost over his waist makes him shudder.

he shakes his head with his signature smirk-ish smile before clearing his throat. “nothing. just thinking about some stuff.”

his hand lands on her crown and rests there for a moment before he pats gently. then he turns back around to cook, scoffing in amusement at the skeptical hum from the girl clinging onto his back.

“i’ll make you talk one way or another,” she threatens and jay’s about to toss a witty remark but he’s cut by a gasp when her palms drag up to his chest—heart going overdrive and nearly bursting through until her grip curls around his neck. “tell me!”

he’s shaken back and forth by the throat and it works in distracting him from blasting off through the roof like a rocket. exaggerated laughter escapes him as he tries to pretend everything’s fine before he gently holds her wrists and pulls them away—spinning to face her with a bright grin on his ruddy face.

“if you keep this up, i might not be able to get this done,” he chides but with a playful undertone as he clicks his tongue with a sharp inhale. his eyes sharpen to squint ‘menacingly’ and the girl mirrors.

“fine. i’ll relent,” she shrugs and pulls her arms back but just when jay thinks she’ll leave, she reaches to gently stroke his throat and that has his eyes widening and breaths hitching. “sorry, was i too rough?”

his gears are frozen and ears muffled from the pounding, passionate beats of his heart. “i—uh, no! not at all.”

and when her eyes lift to meet his, he nearly buckles at the knees—having to reach behind and grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white to keep himself up.

there’s a pregnant pause between them and with every second, jay’s mind is unraveling little by little.

“i knew it,” she scoffs and for a moment, he thinks it’s over for him. (y/n)’s gonna see through him and she’s gonna leave him and—

“i’ll use a rope next time. thanks for the advice!” she chirps and spins before skipping out the kitchen, leaving him dumbfounded and speechless.

the moment she’s out, he crashes against the counter behind him—skin flushed to his ears and neck and eyes wide as saucers as his hand cups the lower half of his face in disbelief.

oh, he’s done for.

⋆˙𐙚 S.JAEYUN 𐙚˙⋆

jake thinks there’s no such thing as a friendship touchier, sweeter and cheesier than his with (y/n). it’s their love language: physical touch. even if it’s as small as poking or as big as a whole cuddle session, they’re all a portrayal of their perfectly platonic affections.

they’ve even kissed each other’s cheeks for goodbyes and caused confusion all around whether they were dating or not. of course, they’d always deny it—saying that that’s one of the perks from being friends for so long. nothing affects them anymore since they’ve seen nearly everything of each other.

but now, from the way jake’s breaking a sweat and losing his breaths as he cuddles with (y/n) for another one of their movie marathon nights, he’s not sure he can live up to that belief.

he’s trying his hardest to calm his nerves, scared that she’s going to be able to feel his racing heart or notice his shaky breaths.

it’s like he’s suddenly conscious of everything.

the way her hands feel against him, the softness of her figure compared to his solid body, her sweet warmth that seeps into his pores as he holds her close and the way she whines and grunts unconsciously whenever he shifts like she hates to be apart.

everything, every single thing about her is driving him crazy and the fact that she’s literally using him as a human mattress and plushie isn’t helping.

of all days, did (y/n) have to fall asleep on him today—when he can’t make sense of his feelings??

he gulps thickly as his pretty, slender fingers hover her back before ultimately combing through her locks as she slumbers.

slowly, cautiously, undoing the knots and tidying stray strands as he does breathing exercises to calm himself down. but when she groans a complaint of him “being too loud,” he realizes maybe he’s been hyperventilating instead.

he clears his throat as he slowly tries to sit up. it’s a custom between them. when one of them falls asleep mid movie marathon, they’d take care of one another—(y/n) would put a blanket over him and fix his pillow while jake usually tucks her to bed.

but with how much he’s trembling, he might not be able to today.

“(y/n),” he starts softly, just wanting to stir her enough so she’d at least free his legs from being all tangled up with hers but she only nuzzles further—face now buried in the crook of his neck with her lips brushing his skin.

BOOM!

he thinks his heart just exploded.

jake’s overheating, red all over with fingers twitching as he bites the back of his hand to quieten the soft sounds threatening to escape. it’s all too much yet too little, so near yet so far. she’s fogging up all his senses and he can barely even think.

his hand patting her back is near robotic now as he stares at the ceiling blankly, like every single thought he conjures fizzles up and leaves his brain completely empty as he battles with himself from scooping her up and kissing her right then and there.

wait, what?

he chokes on a breath and coughs violently—forcing (y/n) awake and he panics. with eyes wide, he quickly wraps his arms around her, hushing and lulling her back to sleep, guilty for even waking her up while at the same time hiding his face into her hair.

“sorry! sorry, i woke you just—just go back to sleep,” he coos as he cradles her form in his lap and stands to lift her up to bed—only to be stopped when she rubs her face against his chest with a small protest.

“stay…” she slurs sleepily and it’s like a love arrow struck him in the heart as he drops back onto the couch, breathless and awestruck. he looks down at her who’s back to snoring and sleeping, oblivious to the frazzled, flustered state of jake sim who presses a long, lasting kiss onto her forehead in place of her lips.

would it be too weird to buy a diamond ring as a friendship item?

⋆˙𐙚 P.SUNGHOON 𐙚˙⋆

sunghoon isn’t as nonchalant as he aims to be. but people think he is. with his gentle yet distant disposition and random silly little antics, he’s a living contradiction. a man of mystery. and it’s difficult to understand him at times, hard to reach.

especially when he doesn’t bother to since he has someone he sticks to every breathing moment of his day: (y/n). even now, on a sweet, sunny saturday, sunghoon’s sitting on the sofa of her living room as she meticulously puts pretty clips on his fluffy, raven hair.

they just came back from a shopping spree and she bought some cute butterfly clips that apparently flap their wings when the wearer moves or wind blows. it’s up to (y/n) to test that hypothesis herself.

“last one,” she says without even looking at her bestfriend who’s been admiring her nonstop with heart-shaped eyes. “done!”

sunghoon’s jolted back to reality and he smiles softly. “can i see?”

“yeah,” the girl casually replies as she tidies up the torn packages from unboxing her new clips. hoon stands and goes to her standing mirror only for his lips to part in surprise? maybe dismay?? he expected to look cool, or cute, at least, but now he looks like an experiment gone wrong with how his hair’s clipped standing like uneven cut grass frazzled in all directions.

and it’s even slightly disturbing to see the fake butterflies bobbing side to side while being clumped together like an infestation.

he spins, brows knit and takes a deep breath to complai—

“see! cute, right?” (y/n) chirps, the biggest toothy grin on her face as cheeks bunch up and eyes twinkle with pure expectation. suddenly, sunghoon’s words crumble and furrow softens.

“yeah,” he agrees before he can even deny and it leaves himself confused. not for long though, because his bestfriend’s quick to squeal and take a picture with their cheeks pressed together and the proximity has him reeling.

it doesn’t matter that he looks goofy and it would ruin his entire nonchalant image, it doesn’t matter that she practically yanked him down and almost sent him falling face first, it doesn’t matter that his scalp is practically ripping off from the tension of the clips.

because she’s happy—because of him.

and honestly, he’d put his life at stake just to be able to give that to her every single day. to be with her at every single point of her life and make her smile without fail.

in sickness and in health—

wedding vows already??

he mentally slaps himself.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog— they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 24 hours ago

Text

The Long Game

Robert “Bob” Floyd x Fem!Aviator!Reader

Slow Burn & Smut

Call Sign: Cipher

I knew the stares were coming before I even stepped off the transport van.

The heat clung to me like a second skin as I walked across the tarmac of North Island, boots striking pavement with a rhythm I hoped sounded like confidence. Not nervousness. Not hesitation. Just movement—forward, always forward.

“Cipher,” a voice called out behind me, sharp and warm.

Natasha Trace—Phoenix—grinned as she jogged up beside me. Her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, uniform half-wrinkled, all confidence. She looked exactly the same. Like home, if I believed in that kind of thing anymore.

“Didn’t think they’d actually send you.”

“They almost didn’t.” My voice stayed flat. “But someone in D.C. wants me out of sight. I guess this is as far as they could push me.”

Phoenix gave me a look I knew too well. Soft sympathy, no pity. She knew better.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

We walked together toward the hangar. A wall of voices echoed ahead—laughing, teasing, steel-toed swagger and aviators. The squad.

“Anyone I should be nervous about?” I asked, already bracing for it.

Phoenix glanced at me. “They’ve heard of you. But they don’t know you.”

I didn’t ask what they’d heard. I didn’t have to. The Navy rumor mill worked faster than any news outlet. Cheated on. Lied to. Publicly. A man with a shiny rank and dirt under his fingernails made sure I was humiliated before he left the relationship and the country. I never responded. Not once. Let them guess.

“Great,” I muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

The squad was already gathered in the hangar: familiar callsigns, unfamiliar eyes. I clocked them quickly. Rooster, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback—loud, easy energy. And standing off to the side, reading something on a tablet, was one I hadn’t met. Calm posture. Clean lines. Wireframe glasses. The only one not trying to look at me without looking at me.

Bob Floyd.

Nat nudged me. “Play nice.”

I gave her a dry look.

Hangman was the first to approach, of course. “So you’re Cipher.”

“That’s what the patch says.” I didn’t stop walking.

“Just trying to be friendly,” he said, flashing a grin. “We don’t usually get the Navy’s media darlings around here.”

“Must be my lucky day,” I replied.

A low whistle came from Fanboy, and Rooster elbowed him in the ribs, not bothering to hide his laugh. But I didn’t care about their games. They weren’t new to me.

Phoenix introduced me to the group with as little ceremony as possible. “Cipher’s your new wing. She’s flying solo until pairings reshuffle.”

Rooster offered a nod, more curious than guarded. Payback smiled politely. Fanboy seemed unsure if he was allowed to speak to me. Bob—quiet, thoughtful—just looked up from his tablet and met my eyes.

He didn’t say anything. Just offered a small nod.

No judgment. No awkward grin. No I read everything about you online vibe. Just…presence.

I gave him one back. Equally small. Maybe smaller.

That was all.

I didn’t speak in the locker room.

Not because I had nothing to say, but because I didn’t trust what would come out if I started. The squad filled the space like a living thing—teasing each other, trading sarcastic barbs, familiar in a way I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. It was like watching a party from outside the house, lights warm but unreachable.

I took a bench in the corner. Laid out my gear with muscle memory that felt mechanical. Helmet, gloves, checklist. Precision. Control.

Nat plopped down next to me without asking. “You good?”

“Always.”

She gave me a look. “You know, if you don’t talk to them, they’ll just assume you hate them.”

I shrugged. “They’re not wrong.”

That made her laugh—loud and unguarded. “At least you’re consistent.”

“Pairings?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Mav’s switching it up every run. Random at first. Says it’ll push us to sharpen instincts.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sounds like a headache.”

She grinned. “Sounds like training.”

I didn’t ask who I’d be paired with. I didn’t care, or at least I pretended not to. But when Maverick strode in a few minutes later and started reading off names, I tuned in.

“Phoenix and Fanboy. Hangman and Payback. Cipher… you’re flying with Floyd.”

I barely blinked.

Nat did, though. Her eyes flicked to mine with a quiet curiosity.

Bob Floyd. The guy with the still posture and the eyes that didn’t miss much. I could do worse.

He met me by the Hornet with a nod.

“Cipher.”

“Floyd,” I replied, zipping up my G-suit. “You good back there?”

“I’m always good back there.”

I paused. Looked up at him. No arrogance. No smirk. Just quiet confidence. He meant it.

“Let’s see if that holds,” I said.

He smiled, just barely. “Let’s.”

—

Up in the air, everything felt sharper. Crisper. My hands molded to the stick like they belonged there, instincts kicking in before thought had a chance to catch up. Bob’s voice filtered through my headset, low and steady. Clear. Calm.

“Bandit coming in on your six—three clicks. Banking right.”

“I see him.”

“You’ve got two seconds to counter.”

“I only need one.”

I pulled the maneuver hard and clean, ducked the simulated missile, looped back through the canyon, and caught a second target dead-on with a lock I shouldn’t have had time to make.

Silence.

Then Bob’s voice again, softer now.

“Nice flying.”

“Didn’t do it for praise,” I muttered.

“Didn’t give it for you.”

That caught me off-guard—just enough to make my chest tighten, almost like a laugh. Almost.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t perform. He didn’t pry. He just… showed up. Flew well. Spoke only when needed. And when I pushed, he didn’t push back.

I wasn’t used to that.

—

When we landed, Maverick gave us a glance that meant “interesting.” He didn’t say anything, just made a mark on his clipboard.

Back in the hangar, the others were already pulling off helmets and razzing each other. Rooster gave me a subtle nod across the room—respect. Payback asked Nat how I flew. Hangman was suspiciously quiet.

Bob sat down on the bench beside me without asking.

“You don’t talk much,” he said, not unkindly.

I glanced sideways. “Neither do you.”

“Guess we’ll get along just fine.”

I didn’t respond. But my silence wasn’t rejection—it was something else. Consideration. And maybe he knew that.

Because when he stood up, he didn’t push for more.

“See you on the next run, Cipher.”

He walked away, shoulders relaxed, not waiting for a goodbye.

And for the first time since I’d landed on base, I realized I wasn’t bracing for impact.

I was waiting for something else entirely.

I didn’t plan to go to the Hard Deck.

In fact, I told Nat twice that I wasn’t going. Once while peeling off my flight suit, and again while half-watching her braid her hair back in our shared room. But she looked at me with that stubborn gleam in her eye — the same one she wore before every high-G maneuver — and said, “You’re not getting out of this, Cipher. You need to let them see you.”

“I’m not interested in being seen.”

“Well, they already see you,” she said. “Might as well be in control of what they’re looking at.”

Annoying. Smart. Phoenix.

I wore black. Clean lines. Minimal makeup. Something about dressing simply gave me control, let me decide what I was showing instead of what they’d try to dig up.

The bar was warm and humming with energy when we arrived. Pool balls cracking. Country music on a loop. Pilots gathered in loose groups — some I recognized, others I’d heard stories about. I followed Nat’s lead toward the squad, who’d claimed the high tables near the jukebox.

Hangman spotted me first.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, grin wide and bright like a billboard. “Didn’t think you were the social type, Cipher.”

“I’m not.”

“Then this must be a Phoenix miracle.”

“I’m very persuasive,” Nat said, smirking as she handed me a beer.

Bob was already there, quietly nursing his own bottle. He looked up as I approached but didn’t say anything. Just nodded — a small gesture, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.

Rooster pulled me into a round of darts with Payback and Fanboy. I went along, mostly to keep Hangman from drawing attention to me. But I kept catching glimpses — eyes that lingered just a second longer, conversations that quieted when I walked by. I’d lived through it before. The whispers. The That’s her… of it all.

Public humiliation has a way of making you infamous.

Especially when your Navy pilot boyfriend cheats on you with a junior officer, denies it, then accuses you of instability when the story breaks. The headlines were a storm I hadn’t asked for — just tried to survive.

I didn’t wear it on my skin, but the wind still howled behind me.

“Cipher!” Fanboy called, grinning. “Come sing!”

“No.”

“Come on! You look like you could use a little Springsteen therapy!”

“I’d rather get shot down in a simulator.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the group. Even Bob chuckled under his breath.

But Nat was already dragging me by the wrist toward the karaoke mic.

“You owe me for dragging you here,” she said, victorious.

I could’ve fought harder. Could’ve pulled back. But something about the way Bob looked at me — calm, not amused but… interested — made me step up. The music started, some vintage rock number I half-knew, and I sang. I didn’t belt it. I didn’t shake the walls. But I sang like I meant it.

People watched.

Bob did, too.

Not like the others — not dissecting me or sizing me up. Just watching, like he wanted to understand something I hadn’t said yet.

And for one second, I felt exposed.

When the song ended, I handed the mic off and stepped outside. I needed air. Space. Quiet.

The night was cooler than I expected, the salt breeze cutting through the heat of the bar. I leaned against the deck railing, trying to remember how to breathe without having to think about it.

Footsteps behind me.

Not Nat’s.

“You didn’t want to come,” Bob said.

I didn’t answer.

“But you did.”

He came to stand beside me, close but not too close. Just enough to make his presence feel intentional.

“I don’t like being on display,” I said quietly.

“I noticed.”

There was no pressure to say more. No prying. Just a pause, open and easy.

“I hate that they know,” I said before I could stop myself.

“About him?”

My jaw tensed.

“People talk,” he said gently. “Doesn’t mean they know anything.”

I glanced at him. “You don’t.”

He met my eyes. “No. But I listen.”

Something in my chest wavered.

He didn’t offer pity. He didn’t promise to fix anything. He just stood there, quiet and steady beside me, like air traffic control during a storm.

“Thank you,” I said before I could swallow it back.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The beach was Nat’s idea.

Of course it was.

—

She told me it was team bonding. “Tradition,” she said, grinning like the devil. “Mandatory,” she added, when I gave her the look.

I tried to make excuses — had reports to finish, laundry to do, a thousand ways to avoid being half-buried in sand with people who still didn’t know if they were supposed to talk about the headlines or pretend they didn’t exist.

But Nat was relentless. And honestly? I was too tired to keep saying no.

So I showed up.

Black tank top, aviators, hair pulled back in a braid. No one asked me to play at first. They weren’t sure how close to stand, how much was too much. It was easier that way. I kept to the shade with a beer, watching as the others launched into a game of dogfight football like their lives depended on it.

Rooster dove into the sand, yelling something about a fumble that didn’t exist. Hangman and Payback were locked in some macho shoving match. Nat zigzagged between them like a bullet. And Bob…

Bob was steady. Patient. He didn’t move like the others — no showboating, no shouting. He ran clean routes, made smart passes. He played like someone who understood rhythm, not noise.

He caught my eye once — not because I was trying to look, but because I already was.

He offered a smile. Brief. Real.

I nodded. Sipped my beer.

Eventually, Nat called for me. “Cipher! You’re in.”

I could’ve said no. Probably should have.

But something pulled at me — not the desire to play, not the camaraderie I still wasn’t sure I wanted. Just the fact that for a minute, I forgot to remember what I’d lost. For a minute, I remembered I used to be someone else.

I stepped in.

Within five minutes, I had a touchdown.

Within ten, I was trash-talking Hangman so fast he missed a block.

By the time Nat shouted, “Last play! Winner takes bragging rights for the month,” I was breathless and wild and didn’t recognize the laugh that came out of me.

The ball snapped. I cut left. Bob tracked me — saw it before I even moved.

We locked eyes across the sand, and I knew.

The ball flew. I jumped.

Caught it mid-air. Fell hard into the sand.

Someone — Payback, I think — dove after me too late and landed in a heap next to me. “Damn, Cipher,” he groaned. “You don’t miss.”

I sat up, brushing sand from my arms.

Bob stood over me, just a little winded. “You okay?”

I nodded. “That a real pass or were you showing off?”

He smiled again — that small, crooked half-smile that didn’t ask for anything. “Wouldn’t dare show off with you on the field.”

Nat whooped. Rooster clapped me on the back. Hangman grumbled about bad calls. Everyone buzzed around us, the way teams do when the game’s done and the adrenaline still lingers.

But I stayed sitting for a second longer.

Watching Bob.

He’d already turned back to the group, offering someone else a water bottle. But he’d looked at me like I was here. Not the Cipher from the headlines. Not the girl who got cheated on and ghosted by command when she tried to report it. Just… me.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Because I knew what happened when you let yourself get seen.

The hangar was quiet, save for the soft hum of a floor fan and the occasional creak of cooling metal. Most of the squad had cleared out hours ago, eager for drinks, beach plans, or anything that didn’t involve more forms.

I stayed behind.

Old habit — staying late, cleaning up details no one cared about but me. Maybe I liked the quiet. Or maybe I wasn’t ready to go home to a dark room and my own thoughts.

Bob was still here too.

I hadn’t noticed at first. He moved like silence — neat, efficient, unobtrusive. But when I looked up from my logbook, there he was, at the desk across from mine, flipping through reports with a red pen and a furrowed brow.

“You always stay this late?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He glanced up, a little startled, then offered a small shrug. “Only when the numbers don’t add up.”

I raised a brow. “You’re a perfectionist.”

Bob paused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Just… rare.”

Silence stretched between us, not awkward, not charged. Just… easy. A kind of stillness I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then my stomach growled. Loudly.

Bob looked up again, startled — then smiled, just barely. “Guess we forgot to eat.”

I blinked. “You didn’t eat either?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t notice.”

That made two of us.

A beat passed. Then he pulled out his phone. “I can order something. You like Chinese?”

I hesitated.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve made up an excuse, pretended I had something frozen waiting for me back home.

But instead I nodded. “Yeah. Chinese works.”

—

We sat on the hangar floor, takeout containers between us, eating lo mein with plastic forks like two rookies back from their first flight.

“This feels illegal,” I muttered around a bite. “Eating greasy noodles in a government hangar.”

Bob grinned. “Don’t tell Maverick.”

A laugh caught in my throat before I could stop it.

He looked at me like he’d just won something.

After a while, the conversation quieted. Not uncomfortable — just… heavier. The kind of silence where everything starts to feel a little more real. A little closer.

“You don’t talk much,” I said quietly, still not looking at him.

Bob shrugged. “Neither do you.”

Touché.

“But,” he added after a beat, “I notice things.”

I glanced at him. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“You read the same three lines of that maintenance log five times,” he said softly. “Your left shoulder tenses when someone brings up press. You pretend you’re not watching people, but you’re tracking exits. And you never look at your phone unless someone else is looking.”

I froze.

His voice didn’t change. “That doesn’t scare me.”

I looked away. “It should.”

And that was when he kissed me.

Soft. Careful. Like a question. Like I could still say no.

I didn’t.

At least not right away.

His hand found the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek. The warmth of him — the steadiness — made something in me ache.

But just as my fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, just as his breath hitched against mine—

I pulled back.

Fast. Like I’d been burned.

“I—” I stood abruptly, putting space between us. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

Bob blinked, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” I said too quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But you did. You made me feel safe. You made me forget.

I forced a smile, already backing away. “I should go.”

He nodded, still sitting on the floor, still looking like he wanted to reach for me but knew better.

“Cipher—”

“Don’t,” I said, voice low. “Just… don’t.”

And I left.

Not because I didn’t want it.

Because I did.

But want had never been safe.

And I was done mistaking kindness for promises.

It had been months since I transferred in. Months of settling into this team. Months of drills and missions and inside jokes I somehow earned my way into. I had a seat at the table now — someone always saved me a spot. I sparred with Rooster, laughed with Payback, threw bar peanuts at Hangman. Phoenix still had my six.

But only Bob ever saw everything I didn’t say.

We never talked about it. The almosts. The whens and should we’s that hung like smoke between us. A kiss after late paperwork. A hug that lasted too long in the dark outside the Hard Deck. His hand brushing mine during flight checks.

We never let it go further. Not because we didn’t want to.

Because I couldn’t.

And he never asked me to explain why.

That’s how I knew it was real.

Now we were here — stranded in a half-frozen cabin, grounded and waiting out a blizzard that swallowed the world whole.

“I keep things locked up,” I said again, quieter.

Bob looked at me like he could see the whole storm playing out behind my eyes. He didn’t press. Didn’t pry. Just passed me a thermal mug of weak black coffee and sat closer, the blanket tugged tighter around both of us.

The fire popped. My fingers were numb even with gloves. And his thigh was pressed to mine so solidly it felt like an anchor.

“I’m sorry,” I said, surprising both of us.

“For what?” he asked.

“For letting it go this far and… still keeping you at arm’s length.”

Bob’s expression didn’t change. But something flickered behind his eyes — something soft and steady.

“You don’t owe me anything, Cipher,” he said. “But if you want me to stop, you need to say so.”

I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned in, my heart pounding in my ears. I pressed my mouth to his, the kiss slow and deliberate, like I was finally giving in to something I’d been fighting for far too long. It was nothing like the stolen kisses we’d shared before—no rushed moments in hallways, no hiding in the shadows. This one was deep, intentional, like everything I hadn’t let myself want was finally surfacing.

Bob kissed me back, his hands moving to my jaw, steady and reverent, like he was afraid I’d shatter if he held me too tightly. But I didn’t want gentle. I wanted him, all of him, and I shifted closer, until I was almost in his lap, the blanket forgotten.

His lips moved to my neck, his breath hot against my chilled skin. One hand ghosted beneath the hem of my shirt, his touch light but insistent, like he was mapping the contours of my body for the first time. I shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his touch set my nerves on fire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my skin, his words a low rumble that sent a thrill through me. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

I tilted my head back, exposing more of my neck to him, and he took the invitation, his lips trailing kisses along my collarbone. His hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the underside of my breast, and I gasped, my body arching into his touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Tell me how you want me to touch you.”

I closed my eyes, my heart racing. “I want you to take your time,” I said, my voice barely audible. “I want you to make me feel it.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, like he needed to see the truth in them. “I will,” he promised, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll make you feel everything.”

His hands moved slower then, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of me. He unbuttoned my shirt, his fingers trembling slightly, and I helped him slide it off my shoulders, leaving me in just my bra. The cabin was cold, but his touch was fire, his palms warm as they glided over my skin.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his gaze lingering on my body, his admiration undeniable. “So fucking perfect.”

I felt a flush creep up my cheeks, but I didn’t look away. Instead, I reached for the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head, revealing the lean, muscular frame beneath. His skin was warm, his chest dusted with fine hair, and I ran my hands over him, tracing the lines of his abs, the ridges of his shoulders.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I teased, my voice shaky.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, and pulled me closer, his lips finding mine again. This time, the kiss was hungry, desperate, like we’d both been starving for this moment. His hands moved to my back, unhooking my bra with practiced ease, and I let it fall to the floor, my breath hitching as his gaze raked over me.

“God, you’re stunning,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

I felt a surge of desire at his words, my confidence growing under his gaze. I reached for the waistband of his pants, my fingers trembling as I undid the button and pulled down the zipper.

He hissed as my hand slid inside, wrapping around his erection, and I smirked, a wicked thrill running through me.

“You like that?” I asked, my voice low and teasing.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his head falling back against the couch. “You have no idea.”

I stroked him slowly, savoring the way his body reacted to my touch, the way his breath quickened, his muscles tensing. “Tell me what you want,” I whispered, echoing his earlier words. “Tell me how you want me to touch you.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with mine, his expression raw with need. “I want you to take control,” he said, his voice steady despite the desire burning in his eyes. “I want you to make me yours.”

The words sent a jolt of power through me, and I leaned in, kissing him deeply as I continued to stroke him. His hands moved to my hips, guiding me onto his lap, and I straddled him, our bodies pressing together, his hardness nestled against my core.

“You feel so good,” I murmured, grinding down on him, my breath catching at the friction.

“Not as good as you’re about to feel,” he promised, his hands moving to my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples, making me arch into his touch.

I moaned, my head falling back as pleasure washed over me. “Bob, please—”

“Soon,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But first, I want to taste you.”

Before I could respond, he stood, lifting me with him, and carried me to the couch, laying me down gently. He knelt between my legs, his gaze intense as he looked at me, like he was memorizing every detail of my body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said again, his voice filled with awe. “Let me show you how much I want you.”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled them down, along with my underwear, leaving me completely bare. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but his gaze was so full of desire and reverence that I couldn’t look away.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing my inner thigh, sending shivers through me. “So fucking perfect.”

He kissed his way up my legs, his touch feather-light, his breath hot against my skin. When he reached my core, he paused, his gaze meeting mine, like he was asking for permission.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice desperate. “I need you.”

He smiled, a slow, wicked grin, and then his mouth was on me, his tongue tracing patterns that made me gasp and squirm. He was gentle at first, teasing, his tongue flicking against my clit, his fingers parting my folds. But then he grew bolder, his tongue plunging inside me, his fingers joining in, thrusting in and out in a rhythm that had me moaning his name.

“Bob—oh God, Bob—”

“You taste so good,” he murmured against my skin, his voice muffled but filled with delight. “So sweet. So fucking sweet.”

His words sent a rush of pleasure through me, and I arched into his touch, my hands tangling in his hair, holding him close. He sucked my clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling, his fingers pumping faster, and I felt the coil of tension inside me tighten, the pleasure building to an unbearable pitch.

“Bob, I’m close—”

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice a low growl. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

His words were all it took. My body shook as my orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure washing through me, my cries echoing in the small cabin. Bob drank it all in, his mouth never stopping, his fingers relentless, until I was a trembling mess beneath him.

When I finally came down, he kissed his way back up my body, his lips brushing mine, his eyes shining with satisfaction. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

I smiled, my heart full, my body still buzzing with pleasure. “Your turn,” I said, reaching for his pants, my fingers trembling with anticipation.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, and let me pull them down, his erection springing free. I took him in my hand, stroking him slowly, my thumb brushing the tip, and he groaned, his head falling back.

“Fuck, Cipher,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to kill me.”

I leaned in, kissing him deeply as I continued to stroke him, my mouth moving in time with my hand. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me close, his hips thrusting slightly into my touch.

“I want to be inside you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I want to feel you around me.”

I smiled against his lips. “Then take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He reached for the nightstand, pulling out a condom, and rolled it on with shaking hands. Then he positioned himself at my entrance, his gaze meeting mine, like he needed my permission one last time.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded, my heart pounding with anticipation. “Now.”

He thrust into me, slow and steady, his eyes closing as he savored the sensation. I gasped at the fullness, at the way he stretched me, filled me completely. He was thick, his length pressing deep, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a low groan. “So tight. So perfect.”

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the way my body felt around his. I met his rhythm, my hips moving with his, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The fire crackled, the blizzard raged outside, but in that moment, there was only him, only us.

“Bob—” I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure built inside me again.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice commanding. “Look at me when you come.”

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze, and saw the raw desire burning in them. His thrusts grew harder, faster, his control slipping as he chased his own release.

“Cipher—fuck—I’m close—”

“Come with me,” I urged, my voice shaky. “Let go.”

His eyes closed, his face contorting with pleasure as he thrust deep one last time, his body stiffening as he came, his name on my lips. I followed him over the edge, my body shaking as my orgasm crashed into me, my cries mingling with his.

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies still joined, our breaths ragged, the world outside forgotten. Then Bob pulled out, disposing of the condom, and gathered me into his arms, holding me close as we caught our breath.

“That was—” I started, but he cut me off with a kiss, his lips soft against mine.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “It was everything.”

I smiled, my heart full, my body still buzzing with pleasure. The blizzard raged on outside, but inside the cabin, we had found our own warmth, our own sanctuary. And as I snuggled into his embrace

—

The first thing I notice is the warmth.

The second is him.

Bob’s arm is slung over my waist, his chest pressed to my back, breathing slow and steady like he’s actually relaxed for once. I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but his hand tightens on my side, pulling me back in like I belong there.

I let myself stay, just for a moment. Eyes closed, heart soft, memorizing the feeling of him—his warmth, the faint scratch of stubble on my neck, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my palm.

Then I feel it—his breath against my ear, the faintest huff of a laugh.

“You’re awake,” I mumble.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep. “Didn’t want to move.”

I turn over to face him, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at. His hair’s sticking up in every direction, glasses askew, and he’s wearing that old, soft Top Gun t-shirt that’s probably seen more sunrises than either of us.

He brushes a hand gently across my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like it’s his job.

“So, uh…” He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. “Are we… uh, are we a thing now?”

I blink at him, caught off guard.

“A thing?” I echo, voice soft.

His cheeks flush pink, but he holds my gaze, eyes wide and hopeful. “I mean… I’ve kinda wanted to be a thing since, I dunno… the first time you called me ‘Glasses’ in front of the whole team.”

A laugh bursts out of me—a real one, bright and unfiltered.

“That was a joke!”

“Was it, though?” he grins, that crooked, Bob grin that makes my heart stumble in my chest.

I look at him—really look at him—and suddenly, I know.

“I think I want to be,” I say quietly, the words feeling heavy and light all at once. “I want this. I want you.”

His eyes go soft, impossibly tender, and he leans in, brushing a kiss to my forehead—gentle, reverent, like I’m something fragile he’s been waiting years to hold.

And I’m pretty sure I stop breathing.

We sit like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet, our fingers tangled together. The storm still rages outside, but in here, it’s warm—safe in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Eventually, Bob untangles himself and shuffles over to the tiny stove, fiddling with the ancient coffee pot like it might bite him.

“God, this stuff is terrible,” he mutters when the coffee finally sputters out, a thin, watery excuse for caffeine.

I take a sip anyway, wincing. “It’s… something.”

He laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world.

Then the radio crackles.

“Rescue team’s ten minutes out. You two decent in there?”

Phoenix’s voice, clear as day.

Bob practically chokes on his coffee, coughing and wide-eyed, while I scramble to grab the radio.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “Just cold, tired, and ready to get the hell out of here.”

I glance at Bob, and he gives me a little grin—quiet, shy, like we’re sharing a secret.

Because we are.

When the team finally bursts in, Bob and I act like nothing happened. Just two aviators, weathering a storm.

But as we step outside into the snow, his hand brushes mine—and this time, I let my fingers curl into his. Just for a second.

Long enough for him to know I’m not going anywhere.

And I know—neither is he.

—

Back at base, everything’s supposed to go back to normal. Briefings, drills, checklists, the whole routine like clockwork.

But nothing feels normal. Not when every time I glance up, I catch Bob already looking at me—soft, quiet, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows something no one else does.

Like he knows me.

And maybe the others don’t notice at first. But it starts adding up.

Like how I’ll get up from the ready room table to grab a coffee or “go to the bathroom,” and not five minutes later, Bob magically has to stretch his legs, too.

“Oh, uh, I’ll—uh—head that way too, I guess,” he’ll mumble, cheeks pink.

The first time, no one blinks. The second time, Rooster’s eyebrow quirks up. The third time, Phoenix catches my eye and smirks like she knows.

And the worst part? We’re so bad at playing it cool.

Phoenix crosses her arms, smirking, and leans in toward Rooster, whispering loudly, “I give it a week before they start wearing matching sweaters.”

“Two days,” Fanboy counters.

“Guys,” Bob protests, flustered, but it’s half-hearted at best. His eyes find mine across the room, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling like an idiot.

It only gets worse.

Inside jokes start cropping up—mostly between Bob and me. Like the time Mav asks a question during a briefing, and Bob murmurs, “I think we need… cabin coffee for this.”

I choke on my drink, snorting so hard I nearly spill it all over my notes.

Everyone turns to stare.

Bob just sits there, all wide-eyed and innocent, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he just did.

And the way he looks at me after—soft, secret, like he’s holding onto a memory only we share—makes my chest ache in the best way.

the other night at the Hard Deck.

Everyone’s packed in, the bar loud with music and laughter, darts flying, bottles clinking. I’m at the bar, waiting for my drink, when Bob slips in beside me—close, but not too close.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soft enough that no one else hears.

“Hey, Bob,” I say back, fighting a grin.

It’s too easy, the way we fall into our own little world. He nudges my shoulder, and I nudge him back. We share a look when Payback tries to tell some long, winding story about a failed maneuver, and Bob’s eyes sparkle like he’s holding back a laugh just for me.

Then there’s the dart game.

Phoenix lines up her shot, eyebrow cocked. “Loser buys the next round.”

Bob steps up behind me and murmurs, “Aim a little left.”

I smirk. “Since when are you my coach, Floyd?”

He leans in—too close, definitely not regulation—and whispers, “Since the cabin.”

I nearly drop the dart.

Phoenix catches it. “What’s that about a cabin?”

Bob’s ears go bright red, and I’m this close to smacking him with the dartboard.

It was supposed to be a quick moment.

Just five minutes, tucked away in a quiet corner of the hangar after everyone had cleared out. Bob had been rambling about flight patterns, his hands waving in the air, glasses slipping down his nose, and I couldn’t help it—I had to kiss him.

And now here we are.

His back’s against the cold metal wall, his hands warm on my hips, his mouth soft and everywhere on mine.

It’s sweet and slow, like we’ve got all the time in the world, like the whole world shrank down to just this: me, Bob, and the sound of our ragged breathing echoing in the quiet.

I break away, forehead pressed to his, catching my breath.

“I like this,” Bob whispers, his voice so soft it feels like a secret.

“Me too,” I murmur, smiling against his lips, and then I’m pulling him in for another kiss—

And that’s when we hear it.

A loud, dramatic throat-clear.

I freeze. Bob’s eyes go wide, lips still parted, breath caught halfway between oh no and please let it be someone else.

Slowly—so slowly—we turn toward the noise.

And there, standing with his arms crossed and a very smug grin, is Hangman.

“Now, what do we have here?” he drawls, drawing out the words like he’s savoring every single syllable.

Bob practically jumps away from me, nearly tripping over his own feet. I swipe at my lips, cheeks burning, and try to come up with literally anyexplanation.

“Uh—” I start.

“Nope!” Hangman cuts in, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. “Don’t even try. I know exactly what I saw.”

Bob’s face is a shade of red I didn’t even know was humanly possible.

“Hangman,” I say, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. “You can’tsay anything.”

He smirks, like he’s won the lottery. “Oh, I can say something. In fact, I’m dying to.”

Bob looks like he might actually pass out.

“Jake, please,” Bob says, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

“Please, Hangman,” I add, and I’m pretty sure my voice is borderline begging.

He taps a finger against his chin, pretending to think about it. “Hmm… what’s it worth to you?”

I narrow my eyes. “You would pull this.”

“Absolutely,” he grins, teeth blinding. “I mean, this is gold. ‘Glasses’ and ‘Cipher’ sneaking around like a couple of teenagers? The team’s gonna eat this up.”

“Jake.” Bob’s voice is soft, but desperate.

Hangman glances at him, then back at me, and for a second—just a second—he looks like he’s almost feeling generous.

I cross my arms, glaring. “Jake Seresin, if you say one word about this, I will personally make sure your locker mysteriously ‘loses’ all of your flight gear before your next sortie.”

Bob, bless him, tries a different tactic. “Look, we’re not trying to… make a thing out of it. Just… let us figure it out first, okay?”

Hangman’s smirk softens, just a little.

He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep my mouth shut. For now. But don’t think for a second I won’t collect on this later.”

Bob lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours.

I give Jake a long, warning stare. “Not a word.”

He holds up his hands, all innocent-like. “Scout’s honor.”

As he walks away, whistling like he’s the hero of the story, Bob groans softly, burying his face in his hands.

“Well,” I mutter, “that was… not ideal.”

Bob peeks at me through his fingers, and somehow, we both start laughing, breathless and a little hysterical.

Because of course it was Hangman. And of course we’re not gonna live this down.

But for now… at least our secret’s safe.

Sort of.

—

The sun’s low in the sky, golden and warm, casting long shadows across the Hard Deck parking lot where someone—probably Fanboy—decided it would be a good idea to haul out a grill and have an impromptu squad barbecue.

There’s laughter, music, the smell of burgers and smoke in the air.

And absolutely zero chance we’re going to make it through this without someone saying something.

Bob and I showed up separately. Obviously.

But it took exactly five minutes for us to somehow end up standing way too close by the drinks cooler, and exactly ten for Hangman to start hovering.

He’s leaning against the bar with a beer in hand, watching us like a hawk—grinning, of course. Just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Bob’s trying to play it cool. He’s got his glasses on, hair a little messy from the wind, and he’s nodding along to whatever Rooster’s saying about football, but his hand is gripping his soda can way too tightly.

And every few seconds, he glances at me like he can’t help it. Like he’s trying to check in, make sure I’m okay, like we’re still tethered even in the middle of a crowd.

I’m just as bad. I keep catching myself smiling for no reason when he looks at me, and the way my stomach flips every time his arm brushes mine is so obvious, it’s a miracle no one’s called us out yet.

But then Hangman clears his throat.

Loudly.

“Man,” he says, voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the music, “this barbecue’s almost as hot as the sparks flying over by the cooler.”

Everyone turns.

Bob practically jumps. I freeze, a solo cup halfway to my lips, and glare daggers at Jake, who’s grinning like he just won the lottery.

Rooster’s eyebrows shoot up. Phoenix glances between us, her eyes narrowing like she’s connecting the dots.

Bob’s cheeks flush a deep, tell-tale red, and I can feel my own face heating up.

“We’re—” Bob starts, voice cracking slightly, “uh, we’re just… standing here.”

“Sure you are, Glasses,” Hangman smirks, stretching out the nickname in that infuriatingly smug drawl.

Bob sputters. I glare.

“Jake,” I warn, stepping in, voice low, “don’t.”

He just grins wider. “Relax, Cipher. I’m not saying anything… just making an observation.”

Phoenix folds her arms, watching us with a smirk, clearly enjoying the absolute trainwreck unfolding in front of her.

Bob’s about to combust. I can see it in the way he’s fidgeting, hands tugging at the hem of his t-shirt like it might save him.

So I do the only thing I can do—grab his hand under the table, squeeze gently, and shoot him a look that says we’ll survive this.

Because we will.

Eventually, the team drifts back into their conversations, the moment fading.

But Hangman?

He catches my eye, tips an imaginary hat, and mouths “You owe me”before turning away.

Bob lets out a long breath, eyes wide, and mutters, “We’re so bad at this.”

“Yeah,” I whisper back, smiling despite myself. “But I kinda like it.”

And when his fingers brush mine again, soft and quick, like a promise, I know we’ll figure it out.

Even if the whole squad knows exactly what’s going on.

The Hard Deck is loud tonight—music thumping, laughter bouncing off the walls, and the squad scattered across the bar like it’s home base.

I’m standing by the pool table, pretending to watch Rooster line up a shot, but really, I’m hyper-aware of Bob across the room, sitting with Hangman and Fanboy, a beer in one hand and that quiet, thoughtful look in his eyes.

It’s been like this for weeks now—stolen glances, “accidental” run-ins, lingering touches when no one’s looking.

And somehow, we’ve kept it under wraps.

Or… we had.

Because that’s when I hear it.

Bob, in his sweet, earnest voice, casually saying:

“Yeah, I think Cipher and I are just gonna grab dinner after this.”

Time freezes.

My stomach drops.

Hangman—sitting right across from Bob—slowly turns his head, a grin spreading across his face like a slow-motion car crash.

Rooster chokes on his beer, coughing so hard he has to thump his chest. Phoenix spins around from the dartboard, eyebrows halfway to the ceiling.

Bob?

Absolutely oblivious.

He’s still talking, going on about how there’s this new Italian place we’ve been wanting to try, and I can see it happening in real-time—the moment he realizes—

His voice falters.

His cheeks flush bright pink.

His eyes dart around the room like a deer in headlights, finally catching the looks being thrown his way.

“Oh,” he mumbles, blinking rapidly. “Uh. I mean… just, uh, as friends—”

“Bob.” Hangman’s voice is silk and poison, smug dripping from every syllable. “You sure about that, buddy?”

Bob opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He’s completely flustered.

I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. It just bubbles up, unstoppable, and when Bob’s eyes snap to mine, mortified, I just shake my head, grinning.

“Smooth, Floyd,” I tease, crossing my arms. “Really subtle.”

Payback lets out a howl of laughter, slapping the table like he’s at a comedy show. “I knew it! Knew it, knew it!”

Bob groans, covering his face with both hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he mutters behind his palms.

I reach over, gently tugging his hand down. “Hey. It’s okay.”

He peeks at me, cheeks still bright red, and whispers, “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re adorable,” I whisper back, grinning so wide it hurts.

Hangman leans in, grinning ear to ear. “So… dinner date, huh?”

Bob looks at me, eyes soft and a little resigned, and then—finally—he shrugs.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, but with this quiet certainty that makes my heart flip. “Cipher and I are a thing.”

And just like that, the whole bar erupts.

Cheers, laughter, Phoenix throwing a coaster at us and yelling, “Finally!” Rooster shaking his head with a grin like he’d bet money on it months ago.

Bob looks at me, like he’s a little overwhelmed but also relieved, and I just smile, squeezing his hand under the table.

Because yeah. The secret’s out.

And it feels really, really good.

—

It’s late afternoon when I show up at Bob’s apartment, arms full of snacks, the weight of the week falling off my shoulders as soon as I step through the door.

Bob’s already in his cozy mode—sweatpants, a hoodie, glasses slightly askew as he fiddles with the TV settings, trying to make sure the entireMarvel collection is queued up for the marathon.

“Hey,” he says when he sees me, voice soft, eyes lighting up like I just made his day.

I grin, kicking off my shoes and dropping the snacks on the counter. “Hey yourself, Glasses.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, cheeks already turning pink, and I feel that familiar pull in my stomach—the one that makes it way too easy to get lost in those sweet blue eyes.

“I brought the essentials,” I say, holding up a giant bag of popcorn. “Also, drinks, candy, and…” I dig through the bag, “a whole lot of regret for the sheer amount of time we’re about to waste watching every single Marvel movie.”

Bob laughs again, softer this time, and I catch the way his gaze lingers on me a little too long.

The apartment smells like popcorn already—he’s got a batch going in the kitchen, and the windows are cracked open to let in the cool evening air. It feels comfortable, like we’ve done this a thousand times.

And maybe that’s why it happens.

I’m helping him set up the blankets on the couch—fluffing pillows, arguing over the best blanket placement—when I glance up and find him watching me.

Really watching me.

His mouth is slightly parted, eyes soft behind his glasses, like he’s thinkingsomething he hasn’t dared to say out loud yet.

My breath catches.

“What?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He swallows, shaking his head like he shouldn’t say it, but then—

“I just…” His voice is quiet, warm, gentle, like a secret he’s been keeping close to his chest. “I really like this.”

“Movie night?” I tease, even though my heart is racing.

He gives me a look—one that says, You know that’s not what I mean—and takes a small step closer, enough that I feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitches just a little when I don’t move away.

I swear the world tilts.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Bob reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and let his fingers linger on my cheek. The air between them crackled with tension, thick and electric.

“Bob,” I breathed, his name feeling like a promise on my tongue.

He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, and kissed me. It was soft at first, a brush of lips that made my knees go weak. But then my hands were in his hair, and his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. The kiss grew hungry, desperate—like we’d been waiting too long and couldn’t wait anymore.

His breath was ragged against my skin as his lips trailed down to my jaw, my neck. I tugged at his hoodie, pulling him even closer, my fingers digging into the fabric as if to anchor him to me. His hands slid down my back, pressing me against him, and I could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with need. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

I didn’t respond with words, just tightened my grip on his hair and pulled him back up for another kiss. This time, it was fierce, our lips moving against each other with an urgency that left no doubt about how we felt.

Bob broke away first, his chest heaving as he looked at me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. “Bedroom,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Now.”

I nodded, my heart pounding in my ears as he took my hand and led me down the hallway. The bedroom was dimly lit, the evening light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Bob didn’t waste any time, pressing me against the door and kissing me again, his hands roaming over my body like he was memorizing every curve.

I moaned into the kiss, my hands sliding under his hoodie to trace the muscles of his back. He was strong, his body lean and athletic, and I reveled in the feel of him against me. His lips moved down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin as he whispered, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The praise sent a shiver down my spine, but it was the edge in his voice—a hint of something darker, more primal—that made my knees weaken. Bob wasn’t just gentle; he was hungry, and I loved it.

He pushed me back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving mine as he hovered above me. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Do you understand?”

I smirked, arching my back slightly. “Prove it.”

The challenge in my tone seemed to ignite something in him. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while the other tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp. “Oh, I will,” he growled, before slamming his lips back down on mine.

The kiss was rough now, his tongue demanding entrance as he kissed me like he was claiming me. I moaned, my body arching against his as I surrendered to the intensity of the moment. His free hand slid down my body, pulling up my shirt to expose my bra. He traced the lace with his fingers before hooking his thumbs under the straps and sliding it off, his eyes devouring me.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. “Your tits are perfect.”

I felt a flush of heat at his words, the mix of praise and degradation sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Bob leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, his tongue swirling as his hand squeezed my other breast. I cried out, my head tossing back into the pillow as I tangled my fingers in his hair, urging him closer.

“Bob, please,” I panted, my body thrumming with need.

He smirked against my skin, his breath hot as he moved lower, kissing down my stomach. His hands slid down my jeans, unbuttoning them slowly, deliberately, as he looked up at me with a mix of hunger and reverence.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against me through the fabric of my panties. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, my hips lifting off the bed as he hooked his fingers into my jeans and panties, sliding them down my legs. “God, yes.”

Bob’s eyes locked on me, his expression intense as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over my core.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough.

“I want you to fuck me,” I said, my voice steady despite the desperation she felt. “Now.”

He smirked, his fingers tracing the edges of my lips before slipping inside me. I was slick, my body ready for him, and he groaned at the feel of my heat enveloping his hand.

“So fucking wet,” he repeated, his thumb pressing against my clit as he slid a second finger inside me. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?”

I moaned, my head falling back into the pillow as I squirmed beneath his touch. “Bob, please. I need you.”

He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to my thigh.

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

I rolled my eyes, even as my body betrayed me with another desperate moan. “Just get on with it.”

Bob’s smirk widened as he stood, shedding his hoodie and sweatpants to reveal his toned body. His glasses were askew, his hair tousled, and he looked utterly undone—and it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. He reached for his belt, his eyes never leaving mine as he undid his jeans and pushed them down, revealing his erection, thick and hard.

My breath caught at the sight, my body aching for him. He stepped out of his jeans, kicking them aside before reaching for me again, his hands gripping my hips as he positioned himself between my legs.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I nodded, my heart pounding as he pressed the tip of his cock against my entrance. “Fuck me, Bob.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With one swift thrust, he buried himself inside me, his eyes closing as he let out a ragged groan. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his hips snapping forward as he began to move. Each thrust was deliberate, powerful, filling me completely as he set a relentless pace.

I met his rhythm, my body moving with his as I lost myself in the sensation. His hands gripped my hips tightly, his fingers leaving bruises as he pounded into my, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

“You like this, don’t you?” he panted, his voice laced with satisfaction. “You like being fucked by me.”

“Yes,” I moaned, my head tossing back as I felt her orgasm building. “God, yes.”

Bob leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “Cum for me, Y/N. Let me feel you fall apart.”

His words pushed me over the edge. my body tightened around him as I cried out, my orgasm ripping through me like a wave, my nails digging into his back as I rode it out. Bob groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release, his hips snapping forward one last time before he stilled, his body trembling as he spilled himself inside me.

For a moment, we were both silent, our breaths ragged as we clung to each other. Then, just as Bob pulled out and collapsed beside me, the doorbell rang.

It’s way too quiet when the doorbell rings.

Bob and I freeze, tangled up in each other in the middle of his bed, both of us flushed and breathless, the remains of the movie night snacks scattered across the dresser.

I stare at the ceiling, panting, my shirt somewhere on the floor, and Bob’s hair is sticking up in all directions, his glasses crooked, lips definitely kiss-bruised.

And then—

Ding-dong!

“Shit.”

Bob launches himself off the bed like the doorbell is a grenade.

I can’t stop laughing, the sound bubbling up in my chest as I pull the blankets around me and watch him scramble to find his sweatpants. He’s halfway hopping into them when the team starts knocking like they’re about to bust the door down.

“Bob!” Rooster calls, voice way too loud. “You alive in there, man?”

Bob fumbles with his hoodie, cheeks flushed red, muttering under his breath as he bolts to the front door.

The second it opens—

Hangman leans in, smirking so hard it looks like his face might crack. “Well, well, if it isn’t Bobby I-Just-Got-Lucky Floyd.”

Phoenix chokes on her soda, Rooster wheezes, and Payback is dying in the back, barely holding it together.

Bob’s face goes nuclear.

“I—what? No, I—uh, we were just—” he stammers, his hands flailing.

“Oh, we know,” Hangman says, voice dripping with amusement as he pushes his way inside, holding up the pizza box like a trophy. “Just wasn’t expecting to interrupt.”

Bob looks absolutely mortified, rubbing the back of his neck as the rest of the team files in, smirking and laughing and throwing him looks.

I give it five whole minutes before I walk out of Bob’s room—wearing his hoodie, hair still a mess, cheeks burning.

The second I appear, the team erupts.

“Oh, look who finally decided to join us!” Rooster crows, clapping his hands together.

“Confirmed,” Hangman grins, gesturing between us. “Bobby ‘I-Just-Got-Lucky’ Floyd and his very happy girlfriend.”

Phoenix is leaning back in the armchair, arms crossed, giving me the most knowing smirk like, you’re not even trying to hide it anymore.

Bob groans into his hands, and I can’t help it—I’m grinning.

“Alright, alright,” I say, throwing my hands up as I grab a slice of pizza from the box. “You guys gonna keep teasing us, or are we watching Iron Man?”

Hangman just laughs, leaning back on the couch, but the glint in his eyes says this definitely isn’t the last we’ll hear about it.

Bob catches my gaze across the room, cheeks still pink, but when I smile at him, he smiles back—soft, like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

And honestly?

Neither can I.

—

The apartment is quiet chaos in the morning light.

Half the team is still asleep, sprawled across Bob’s couch and floor in a mess of blankets and empty soda cans. Rooster’s got an arm flung over his eyes, snoring like a freight train. Fanboy is curled up in an armchair, drooling slightly, and Phoenix is half-awake, mumbling to herself as she tries to shove Hangman’s very annoying leg off her lap.

Hangman, of course, is the only one who looks remotely alive—sitting at the counter in a t-shirt and sweatpants, sipping a mug of coffee like he owns the place, smirking at me and Bob every time we brush past each other in the kitchen.

“Morning, lovebirds,” he drawls, lifting his mug in a lazy salute.

Bob flushes a shade of pink I didn’t know existed, fumbling with the carton of eggs, and I can’t help but grin.

“Careful, Bagman,” I say, tilting my head as I flip a pancake, “or you’ll be on dishes duty.”

Hangman’s smirk widens like I’ve just issued a challenge.

“Oh, I know what you two were up to last night,” he says, voice just loud enough to make Bob nearly drop the spatula. “Our boy Bobby I-Just-Got-Lucky Floyd here—looking awfully smug this morning, aren’t you?”

Bob goes red—cherry red—and I nudge him with my hip, biting back a laugh as I plate the pancakes.

“You’re such an ass, Jake,” I mutter, but I’m grinning, because honestly? It feels good—to have this, to be teased like this, to have a place.

Bob glances at me, his eyes soft and warm behind his glasses, and for a second, it’s like the room melts away—just him and me, quiet and ours.

By the time everyone’s finally up, we’re gathered around the table, plates piled high with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. The coffee’s lukewarm and the pancakes are a little burned at the edges, but no one cares.

The team is loud—joking, laughing, stealing food off each other’s plates. Payback’s recounting a mission gone sideways, Rooster’s half-listeningwhile arguing with Fanboy about who would win in a fight: Iron Man or Captain America.

And I’m just… watching.

Watching Bob refill Phoenix’s coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Watching Hangman tease Bob and get a pancake thrown at him for it. Watching Bob’s hand rest on my knee under the table, his thumb brushing back and forth like he can’t not touch me.

It’s messy and loud and perfect.

And it hits me, sudden and deep and a little overwhelming:

I don’t have to carry the weight of my past anymore.

I don’t have to prove anything to anyone—not to my ex, not to the Navy, not even to myself.

This right here—Bob’s soft smile, the way he looks at me like I’m everything, the sound of the team laughing like family around the table—this is what matters.

I’m not the girl who got left behind.

I’m Cipher.

And I’m happy.

I catch Bob’s gaze, and he must see it—something in my face, in the way I’m holding myself, because he smiles at me like I just lit up his whole world.

And maybe I did.

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sillygoose067 · 3 days ago

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Livestream Love

Danny Ramirez x Reader

The livestream had been going for 56 minutes and 12 seconds, but who was counting?

You were perched at your desk in one of Danny’s hoodies—oversized and soft and definitely not yours—legs tucked underneath you like you always sat, surrounded by a half-finished smoothie, a candle you forgot to light, and three separate mugs (two with tea, one with coffee—you couldn’t decide). The plan had been to go live for thirty minutes. Answer a few questions. Recommend some books. Maybe read a bit.

That had been almost an hour ago.

"And yes," you were saying, waving a well-loved paperback in one hand while the other hovered near the keyboard, "this one made me cry like four separate times and no, I’m not embarrassed about it—"

You didn’t hear the door open or hear the soft steps across the hardwood.

You were mid-laugh when a plate of food appeared beside you—neatly assembled, still warm, complete with a folded napkin and your favorite dipping sauce on the side.

And then, like it was just part of his programming, Danny leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The kind he did when you were curled up with a book on the couch. Or when you were brushing your teeth and he walked by. Or when you were half-asleep on a Sunday morning and he brought you coffee before you even opened your eyes.

The camera, angled slightly up, caught it—just the lower half of his face, the gentle press of lips to skin, the soft breath he let out as he pulled away.

You blinked, surprised, a smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head toward him.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Hi.”

He smiled—eyes crinkling just out of frame—and then disappeared again, slipping back out without a word like it was nothing.

The chat? Immediately feral.

“I SAW THAT. WE ALL SAW THAT.” “HE JUST DID THAT LIKE IT WAS A TUESDAY.” “I NEED A DANNY RAMIREZ TO BRING ME FOOD AND KISS MY HEAD 😭😭😭” “THE DOMESTICITY OF IT ALLLLLL” “NO SERIOUSLY I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE” “IS THAT HIS HOODIE TOO?? I’M CRYING”

You laughed—full and unfiltered—covering your face with your hands as your cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red.

“Okay,” you said between giggles, “so… apparently that was visible.”

From the living room, where you could hear the sound of him flopping down onto the couch and probably stealing a bite of your fries, Danny called out casually, “Only meant to be for you, cariño, but if the world’s gotta see, they better recognize the standard.”

“CARIÑO? I’M MELTING.” “HE’S FROM MIAMI THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE NOW” “I’D LET HIM RUIN MY LIFE IN THE SOFTEST WAY POSSIBLE”

You peeked at the chat again, still grinning, your voice going a little breathless as you read aloud: “‘Danny’s the blueprint. Everyone else take notes.’” You glanced toward the living room. “They’re not wrong.”

He didn’t miss a beat: “I just know how to take care of my girl.”

“HIS GIRL???? OKAY EVERYONE BREATHE” “I THOUGHT THIS WAS A BOOK STREAM, WHY AM I SOBBING OVER A RELATIONSHIP I’M NOT IN”

You tried to keep it together. You really did. But when you saw the next comment, you lost it.

“‘This livestream went from book recs to emotional damage real quick.’” You laughed so hard you had to lean away from the mic. “Okay. Okay, I need a second.”

From the living room, Danny called out again, voice softer now, mellow in that way he got when the day was winding down. “Eat first, amor. The books can wait.”

You looked down at the plate—your favorite kind of comfort meal, the one he always made when you forgot to take care of yourself—and smiled.

“Bossy,” you teased, but there was no real heat behind it.

He hummed. “Only ‘cause I love you.”

You cleared your throat, trying not to let your smile take over your whole face.

“Alright,” you said into the mic, glancing back at the camera, “brief intermission while I eat the food my sweet, meddling boyfriend just brought me.”

From the living room, almost muffled now: “You’re welcome, princesa.”

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS” “THIS IS TOO DOMESTIC I’M GONNA CRY” “he calls you princesa?? i’m unwell”

You laughed softly, head bowed as you reached for a fry and continued to chatter with your viewers on stream.

How on earth did you manage to bag a man like Danny Ramirez?

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soobkwann · 2 days ago

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TEACH ME (TEASER) ||~ Lee Jeno ✮⋆˙

Synopsis: When your dumb boyfriend cheats on you and mocks your oral- abilities, who else could you call for help other than your childhood best friend?

NOTES: NSFW, Childhoodbsf!JENO x fem!reader, slight angst, “cheating back”. Not fully proofread

[More warnings once full post is released]

WC: 1k || FULL RELEASE DATE: June 2

A/N: guy I actually love how the full thing came out omgg I can’t wait for you guys to read it 👅👅 Thank you Mal for reading over this!! ( @sungchoi )

Jeno has always hated your boyfriend. There was nothing genuinely wrong with the guy, Jeno just didn’t trust him. He thought you’d look much better with someone else, much better with him.

So when you called him in tears saying you ‘caught him out with some random blonde’, he couldn’t help proud that his instincts of the guy were correct. But ultimately he needed to put his pride to the side and comfort his friend.

“I’ll be there in five” he states. You sniffle an “Ok” and end the call, desperate for a second pair of eye to give you ideas on how to confront your cheating ‘boyfriend’.

—

Jeno made it to you as fast as he could without violating any traffic laws. He opened the door to your apartment with the spare key you gave him that your boyfriend was always jealous of, you kept trying to tell him that it didn’t mean anything and that Jeno can only use it for emergencies (and when you’re crying over him), but he kept being dramatic saying “friend’s don’t do that”. How would he know? He barely has friends, let alone ones that have been beside him since childhood.

Jeno walked through the apartment he knows all too well and headed to your bedroom. The door was cracked slightly open but he could your cries as clear as day. As he slowly opens the door he sees you hunched over on the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you cry tears of heartbreak.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, in the same soft tone all this friends claim he only uses with you. “Y/N, I’m here.” He states, walking over slowly trying not to overwhelm you.

Your tears pause as you look up and make eye contact with him, Jeno feels his own heart breaking at the sight of you; bloodshot eyes, fresh tears still streaming down your face, you look like a girl who gave her all in a relationship only to get betrayed.

“Hi,” you say weakly, chuckling slightly. You probably look pathetic in front of him. Jeno didn’t mind, he’s seen you at your highest and lowest, you’re still the prettiest girl he’s laid eyes on either way.

You scoot over as a cue for him to sit beside you, instantly he takes the hint and rushes to sit, wrapping his arms around you in comfort.

You return the hug immediately and rest your head on the side of his neck. Jeno breathes in your scent and gets a whiff of- wait- his cologne? He pulls back and takes a full look at you, you’re wearing his hoodie. Huh, no wonder your “boyfriend” hated his guts.

Jeno takes your face in his palm and stares at you like you’ve placed the stars in the sky. Remembering what he came here for he straightens up and asks firmly,

“You want me to kill that guy?” he sounds dead serious too.

You look at him with a dopey smile and sigh. “No,” you start. “I just want you to be here with me.”

Jeno looks as if he’s genuinely pondering your request, “I guess I can do that,” He teases” giving you a soft smile that makes your tummy flutter with butterflies.

“If you need anything, I’m your guy.” He states. Jeno always makes it known you can trust him to handle anything you throw at him. Out of shyness you’ve always tried to not bother him too much, especially since everyone claims you depend on him more than you do your “boyfriend”, but maybe today is the day you abuse your power.

There’s no doubt Jeno is an attractive guy. You’ve been to parties with him countless times and seen him walk out with minimum two girls on his arm. He’s gotta be experienced, right?

You on the other hand have only been with your current boyfriend. It was already embarrassing enough you’d been a virgin at the ripe age of 24, but your boyfriend shaming your sexual performance right after your first time made you even more ashamed.

—

“How’d I do?” You asked nervously, you’d never given a blowjob before. Talking about it, yes. But giving it was a whole different ballgame, especially since your boyfriend barely gave you anything to work with….

“I’ve had better,” He states plainly. Getting off the bed to go play the game, leaving you embarrassed and frustrated on the bed.

—

You visibly cringe at the flashback, and Jeno catches it. “You okay?” he asks with genuine concern.

You realize what happened and just stare at him for a bit, examining him. He’s so built. He showed up in a black hoodie but his broad shoulders are still prominent, his big hands that constantly have veins protruding from them, such a pretty face with a nice nose you just wanna-

“Y/N,” He interrupts once more. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You look at him and feel your cheeks warming up as you process the question you deeply wanna propose to him.

“I actually do have,” you simmer, “something to ask you.. and it’s okay if you say no.”

Jeno looks confused, why are you afraid to ask for a favor? He’s been to the store to buy you tampons many times, and even went through your underwear drawer to bring you a new pair you forgot to get before your shower. What’s the matter now?!

You look away embarrassed at his reaction, already overthinking before even asking the question. Jeno is growing impatient at this point.

“What do you need, Y/N.” he quipped “I told you I’m willing to do whatever you need.” He reassured.

Y/N sucked a deep breath and decided to just rip the bandage off.

Fuck it, you thought

“Can you show me how to give a blowjob?..” She says barely above a whisper.

Oh.

Jeno wasn’t expecting that. He did say he’d help with anything though.

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littleappleorchard · 18 hours ago

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Bad habits die hard (Pt.2)

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Summary: Caleb drinks away his sorrows and realizes he's an idiot. He goes to make amends with his baddie.

Image: credit @aerosarrow (This fic was based on this lovely image. I love our puppy boy)

Author notes: See, I'm kind and didn't make you all wait for too long. :). Actually proofread :P

Part 1

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Caleb was drunk…VERY drunk.

He was normally not the type to drink, let alone drink away his problem. But desperate time called for desperate measures.

After leaving the house and away from the fight that occurred, Caleb walked down the streets of Skyhaven. He could’ve drove, but he didn’t know what his plan was or what state he might return in, so he chose to go on foot. Plus, it was a good way to relieve the bubbling emotions swirling in his chest.

God, how had such a great day spiraled into him being in the metaphorical trenches of his relationship?

He HATED it. He HATED the hurt and anger that showed on your face once he confessed to the crash. He HATED your sense of trust in him fraying. But worst of all, he HATED that you didn’t trust him enough to know what he was doing. At least that was what it felt like.

He ended up finding a bar a few blocks down, where he plopped down on a stool and ordered a shot. This continued until he had ingested seven more shots, even mixing his alcohol between bourbon and tequila over the span of an hour. The man was utterly fucked, laying his head down on the bar with is arms resting on both sides of him like a halo. He lifted his head, looking to his side where his last shot glass remained. His vision was shaky and warped, with the shapes and colors of his surroundings blending together.

Big, bad Colonel Caleb, one of the best pilots of his generation, a man who commanded hundreds of men, someone who defied death to protect the one he loved most, lay in a drunken heap, whimpering to himself that his pipsqueak no longer loved him.

Let's be honest here, when Caleb gets insecure and/or anxious, the man is the personification of a beaten golden retriever.

He was pitying himself, and he knew it. But he didn’t want to admit he was wrong.

He just wanted to protect you, damn it! He never wanted you to see a moment of sadness. To see pain flashing in those precious eyes of yours. But he had, and he was the cause.

...Did you have a point, though?

He moved his hand slightly to trace the rim of the shot glass softly, while thinking about what you said.

In all honesty, Caleb rarely did think about himself. It was just second-nature to him at this point. When he did, it was in correlation to you. The feeling you rose in him, trying to improve his health again so he could return to you, rising the rank to colonel so he had the power to protect you. It was never simply about him, and he liked it that way. Because without you, he was nothing. His sole purpose was to be there for you. At least in his mind.

But there were times when he was all alone- sitting with his thoughts- that he let the weight of his life finally settle on him, like a lead blanket.

He was just so…tired.

The man had gone through hell and back multiple times, and he was afraid that if he just stopped for a moment, he would fall apart and not be able to start again.

He feared of setting any of his burdens on you. Of you seeing his flaws. Because once you did, you would realize that he wasn’t invincible, that he was just simply…a man. You were given to him to protect. He had vowed to do so from the moment your little hand held onto his, like he was the only thing keeping you grounded in this world.

He couldn’t be weak for your sake.

That was what he thought…until now.

He thought of your face from only an hour ago. The honesty you were asking of him. And for the first time, it seemed, Caleb considered that maybe you want to see him crumble. You wanted to see the raw, jagged edges that made up his soul. You simply wanted to see him…for him. And that fact shook him to his core.

He rarely even touches that part of himself; he avoids it so he doesn’t have to deal with it. Was he doing the same thing to you? Keeping you at a distance so you didn’t see his failings?

It was at that moment that Caleb realized what a complete fool he had been. He groaned into his arm, cursing himself for the pain he caused you. He was still fucked up, but he needed with every fiber in his being was to be next to you in that moment.

So, with that, your puppy of a man lifted himself from the bar, head spinning from the copious amounts of alcohol he drank and start to search for his wallet.

After a few failed attempts, he grabbed a few bills and threw them on the counter as he drunkenly stumbled to the door to return to you.

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You had a long night.

After Caleb had left, you broke down. You cried on the kitchen floor for what felt like an hour, finally letting loose the torrent of emotion that had gradually been building up with each hidden item Caleb had kept from you since your reunion, or maybe even before. You weren't sure.

But what you did know was that things couldn’t keep going as they had been.

You eventually got off the floor and took a small shower to refresh yourself. You did your skincare and got into some comfy clothes to get the comfort you needed. You had stolen one of Caleb’s favorite hoods that engulfed your frame. It smelled like him...

You miss that idiot, your idiot.

You sigh to yourself as you head for the kitchen to get something to eat and drink. You might be in turmoil, but you weren’t going to stop taking care of yourself due to that. You wanted to feel your feelings in their entirety and work through them, while providing the nourishment your body needed. You wanted to face your problems head-on. It's been one of the big things you've learned over the past few years.

Something you learn from Caleb…

You just wished he would do the same for himself.

Caleb had just finished dinner when the fight broke out, leaving the food untouched. You had placed it in containers for later when you got hungry. Now, grabbing them from the fridge, you open the container to place some on a plate to warm up.

Waiting, you grabbed a glass of water to drink. Just as it was about to touch your lips, you heard a big thump from outside, making you pause.

You hear the jingling of keys and scraping against the lock as someone is desperately trying to and failing to open the door.

Just as you were about to put down your glass and walk over to see what the commotion was, Caleb came stumbling in.

For a second, you just look at him in shock. His appearance is disheveled, with a corner of his shirt slipped out of his pants, shirt wrinkled, and some of his hair sticking up.

Caleb somehow was able to find his way home. Not without the occasional obstacle standing in his way though. Poor baby bonked his head on a stop sign trying to cross the road, since he’s vision was still slightly blurred.

Currently, said man looks up at you through his long lashes. Once he's fully upright, Caleb just stares at you with big, wide eyes. The soft light from the kitchen reflects off his irises, illuminating both the shades of purple and slight bits of tangerine. Your own personal summer sunset is staring back at you.

Wonderstruck is written all over his face, as a dusty pink covers his cheeks. He looks as if he’s seen something divine and about to fall to his knees and pray at your feet.

Your boy looked…..absolute adorable.

It felt as if one of those cartoon heart arrows had just shot through your heart. He really was the cutest. And for a second, it made you forget about the earlier events of the night.

That was until Caleb hiccupped... and giggled.

It hit you then…..your boyfriend was drunk. Completely shit-faced drunk.

It shocked you, not only because it was rare for Caleb to drink, but even rarer for him to get plastered as he was now. You could count on one hand the number of other times you’ve seen your boyfriend like this.

Irritation hit you again tonight, knowing now you’ll have to deal with a drunk Caleb.

Another moment passed until you broke the silence, shaking Caleb out of his one-sided staring contest.

“Caleb, are you drunk right now?” You ask, leaning into the island counter.

Another moment goes by until he replies, “Nooo?” His face flushed even more, now covering his whole face.

You let out a heavy sigh as your brows scrunch together and your face falls into an annoyed pout.

Seeing your ire, your boy audibly lets out a whimper, looking like a kicked puppy.

This was going to be a long night….

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You had gone over to Caleb to assess the damage. The whole time, he was still staring at you, eyes wide and pupils dilated. The adoration shining in them was making it hard to stay mad at him.

You managed to get his jacket off him, but damn, it was like trying to get a leaf off the highest branch of a tree. Having a giant for a boyfriend, especially a drunk one, was not helping make your life easier.

Huffing, you look over your shoulder and say to him,

“Follow me, let’s get you some water.”

You made your way over to the kitchen, while Caleb followed in a daze.

You were just so….so pretty. He couldn’t quite remember why he had come home in a rush or what he was going to say to you. But god, was he grateful he did. Because he had you standing in front of him.

The things this man would let you do to him only if you asked. If he could get on his knees in front of you every day, he would. He was meant to worship -because you were his heaven, his goddess. You made his brain stop working, and he was fine with that.

You were moving around in the kitchen when he finally reached and leaned against the island. You had remembered by now about your forgotten food in the microwave. So you set it to reheat for another few minutes.

You open a cabinet and are reaching for a glass when suddenly you feel an engulfing weight press up against your back, while two arms wrap around your waist, and a head plopping in the dip of your neck.

You hear a loud sniff coming from your neck and then a contented sigh.

You pause for a moment before turning your head to look at the man now clinging to your body like a koala.

“Caleb..”

“Mhmmm”

“You need to let go of me so I can get this glass.”

You feel his hair shake as he rubs his head into your shoulder.

“Noo.” he pouts.

You sign and try again, going on your tip toes, swatting your fingers until you grab the glass you desired, all while Caleb stay put at your side.

You set it down on the counter for now as you rotate in Caleb’s hold. You push your hands gently against his chest, prying him from your body.

He lets out another whine, a pout evident on his face as he looks down at you.

You spin him around and start pushing him towards one of the stool situations next to the island to sit on.

Once seated, he’s looking at you with those damn eyes again, almost making you crumble, but you steal yourself. You have to stay strong, remember!

“Stay!” you say sternly, pointing your finger at him. It was no different from an owner telling their dog off.

Caleb whines once more as you turn around and go towards the glass again. You open the fridge for the water pitcher and pour some into the glass. You then go to another cabinet to grab some painkillers.

You may have fought, but you don’t want him to have a bad hangover.

Returning, you slide the water glass in front of him and hold out your hand.

“Take these, they will help with tomorrow.”

To say the alcohol was hitting him harder presently was an understatement. All Caleb wanted to do was stare at you, hug you, and touch you.

“I don’t wanna.” He slurred.

“Caleb, you need to take these or you’re going to feel like shit in the morning.” You huffed.

“I donna careee, I just want you pipppsquek.” He whined while holding up his hand in front of you, making a grabbing motion.

You huffed once more, marching into his reach. You lift up his chin with one hand, making him look you in the eyes.

“open your month, now.”

He looks at you with wide eyes, while obeying your command.

You take the pills in your hand and place them in his mouth and make him close it. You then grab the water beside you and place it to his lips. “Drink”.

He does as you say and gulps all the water in the glass.

After he is done, you place the water back down. He looks at you for a moment before grabbing you into his embrace. His head was in the crook of your neck again.

“Do you hate him, pipsqueak?” He slurs into your shoulder.

You look down at him, your brow knitting together in annoyance and sighing for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

“No…but you did hurt me.” You reply.

“I’m sorry” He lifts his head, looking at you with pain in his big eyes.

“It’s okay, but now isn’t the time to talk about this. You’re too drunk.” You say, stroking his hair.

But Caleb wanted to! It's the reason he had come home in the first place. He needed to make things right.

“noo, we should. I was being an idiot, and I didn’t wanna admit you were right.”

You look down at him in shock.

You were not expecting that from him.

“I don’t want you to see me as weak.” He whispers, almost as if he’s ashamed.

“A-and if you saw me hurt, how could I protect you? That’s all I’m good for.” his voice wobbles.

You pause, going rigid at his touch.

Fuck…is that what he thought of himself?

“I-I don’t know how to let you take care of me..” He turns his head on your shoulder.

“I’m afraid…afraid you won’t want me anymore if you see me weak.” At this point you felt your shoulder get wet as you saw his eyes tearing up.

You think you felt your heart stop.

You were frozen to your spot as shock rippled through you like the impact of a stone rippling in a pond. You felt pressure building behind your own eyes. Pain squeezed your chest, constricting enough to the point it was making it hard to breathe. The lump in your throat had returned twofold.

You were heartbroken…utterly devastated that this is what he thought.

Both for yourself and the man you cherish like no other.

You raised both your hands to his face, cupping his precious cheeks as you guided him to look at you.

The sight you caught made your breath hitch.

His face was still red, but accompanying it were tearful eyes, and his puffy lips pushed together. Your guys' eyes locked -he looked like a trembling puppy.

“Don’t you dare ever think that,” you choked out.

“I love you no matter what, Caleb. I choose to love you. All sides of you, including the ones that are flawed.” You smiled at him tearfully.

“I want to take care of you because you're precious to me. I want to be there when you need me. I want you to feel comfortable coming to me. Because I’ll never judge you for that.”

“You’re so hard on yourself! You're allowed to be human too, baby. You're allowed to feel your feelings, the good and the bad. But most importantly, for yourself!” You say as one of your thumbs brushes away a stray tear that left Caleb’s eye.

Caleb didn’t know what to say. What to think. Or even really how to breathe then.

Your declaration finally hit him. Something within him broke, shattering into a million pieces. The damn holding all the emotion he had been shoved away came tumbling out now.

First was the shaking.

Then the tears and shaky breaths.

The man you loved so deeply and for so long released a loud sob.

Your baby was sobbing. Sobbing for the hurt he caused you, sobbing for past mistakes. But most of all, he was sobbing for the little boy deep down in him that was still in that lab.

It all finally came out. Every neglect, every silent moment, any time he felt completely alone in this world. He finally let it all out in your arms.

And you just held him through it.

After a few minutes, he calmed down, sobs turning into small sniffs and stray tears.

You pull his face closer to you, kissing them away and all over his face to show him your love.

Pulling away, you look at him. He looks back at you through puffy eyes.

You smile softly, “Well, that was a start”.

He opens his eyes to look at you for a moment. Then a single laugh bubbles up from his chest.

You both stare at each other again until you both burst into laughter. You just couldn't stop.

After all the events of the night, the irony was hitting you. You got what you wanted, you supposed.

After you both settle down, Caleb pulls you closer to him (if that’s even possible).

“I love you”. He whispers against your lips.

“I love you, too idiot.”

You pull him forward into a soft and loving kiss as your lips gladed over each other.

It had been a long night, and you both were tired. But regardless, you both didn’t regret it. Your relationship had a long way to go, but this was a start. A beautiful shared start.

And by all the powers of the deep space tunnel, that was good enough for you.

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(I hoped you liked it! There were a lot of feelings and emotions I wanted to capture, but it can be hard to put them in writing. I don't know if it was any good, but I loved writing it. I tried. Share your thoughts in the comments!)

#lads caleb #caleb x mc #lads #caleb x reader #loveanddeepspace #caleb girlies #i want you to cry #I dont know what this say about me ;-;#angst with a happy ending #lads zayne #lads sylus #lads rafayel #lads mc

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the-most-humble-blog · 2 days ago

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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta ego-integrity="escalating-rage"> <script>ARCHIVE_TAG="HOBBIT_BLACKOPS_2::FINAL_WARNING_FROM_THE_SHIRE" EFFECT: timeline rupture, barefoot warlord hallucinations, disrespect disintegration</script>

🩸🛡️ “LOOK HERE…” A Blacksite Literature™ Transmission (Final warning from the Shire. This is not satire. This is threat assessment.)

—

Look here…

Why the hell are y’all still out here disrespecting the Hobbits?

Like I didn’t already burn down the timeline twice. Like we didn’t already show you the receipts. Like we didn’t already line up the body count, the barefoot mileage, the fourth breakfasts, and the global kneeling event Aragorn initiated in their honor.

And yet.

I wake up and y’all STILL saying Frodo was “just lucky.” That Sam “just helped.” That Hobbits were “side characters.”

Side characters??

Brother they walked into Hell with a sack lunch and no plan. They walked out with the plot in their back pocket and the gods trembling.

—

🧠 LEMME RECAP, AGAIN:

Frodo didn’t “bravely accept a mission.” He saw a demonic jewelry curse and said:

> “Bet. Sam, get the pans.”

Sam didn’t say “why.” He said “what flavor bread?” Then started doing calf stretches.

They didn’t wait for the Elves. They didn’t ask for a tactical analysis. They didn’t even bring boots.

They just walked. Straight into the belly of apocalypse. Like it was Tuesday.

—

💥 Y’ALL FORGOT MERRY & PIPPIN?

You thought Merry and Pippin were comic relief? The silly cousins? Wrong.

They were biological smoke grenades. Walking morale detonators. Spirit grenadiers with a built-in party mode.

Merry didn’t just stab a Witch-King. He assisted the literal prophecy-fulfilling takedown of the second-hardest boss in the whole trilogy—while running on trauma, adrenaline, and maybe a little bit of ale.

Pippin outwitted a cult, pledged service to a suicidal warlord, and took down a troll the size of a mid-range U-Haul with no backup, just vibes and velocity.

They weren’t side characters. They were lateral nukes—plug-and-play demolition hobbits with zero regard for status effects.

—

📖 LORE CHECK: Bilbo Baggins didn’t “go on an adventure.” He got drafted into spiritual guerrilla warfare with a burglar title and an anxiety disorder.

And still he clapped a dragon economy, exposed a kingdom’s PTSD, and yeeted a ring so cursed it turned grown men into cave ghouls.

That’s not a bedtime story. That’s a classified file.

—

💒 FAMILY MATTERS: Let’s talk Rosie Cotton.

You think she was just “the girl back home”?

She was the reason Sam didn’t break.

You try carrying Satan’s WiFi hotspot up a sentient volcano with a feral meth-goblin scratching your back and a hallucination whispering your worst fears.

Now do it while thinking: “If I make it back, Rosie’ll have stew waiting.”

That’s not a crush. That’s divine tethering. That’s “I don’t cheat, I ascend.”

—

🧙‍♂️ GANDALF STATUS REPORT:

Y’all keep acting like Gandalf was “the mastermind.”

No.

He was the group text. The itinerary with fireworks. The Uber driver with a God complex.

The Hobbits let him think he was leading. But deep down they knew:

> “If he drops dead mid-battle, we still got rope and recipes. The job gets done.”

Because Hobbits don’t outsource destiny.

—

🔥 AND LET’S TALK GEAR (AGAIN):

No armor. No mount. No sword forged from moon metal.

Just:

Rope

A skillet

Bread

Vague anger

And the kind of spiritual mass you get from kneeling in dirt every morning with your hands in real soil.

They were closer to God than angels, and angrier than Balrogs with gout.

—

⚔️ THE ENEMY’S POV:

You ever wonder why Sauron didn’t monologue them?

Because even Sauron knew.

You don’t talk at the Hobbits.

You don’t announce yourself to the execution team disguised as ground cover.

You sit still. You pray they didn’t see you. And if they do?

You start writing your own eulogy in second person.

> “Here lies me. > I fucked around. > And I found out via footstep.”

—

💡 BONUS HISTORICAL TRUTH: The Black Riders?

Nine cursed undead warlords. Immortal. Screaming. Armor dripping black magic.

How many Hobbits did they kill?

Zero.

They pulled up and immediately got distracted, confused, or outpaced. Even Gollum couldn’t sneak them. He tried. He failed.

They sensed them coming and just said:

> “Cool. Another hill. Another curse.” > “Sam, get the rope.”

—

🏔️ FINAL TRUTH:

The Shire didn’t send 300. They sent four.

Because four was all they needed.

Every Bilbo was a Frodo in retirement. Every Frodo was a Sam in denial. Every Sam was an unlicensed therapist with a frying pan and six emotional support rations in his cloak.

And Rosie?

Rosie was the reason Satan lost. Because nothing stops a man with something to get back to.

—

📜 AND IF YOU STILL DON’T GET IT:

They didn’t fight because they were heroes.

They fought because someone had to take out the trash.

No awards. No glory. No TikTok recap.

They left. They walked. They ended evil. And they got home before lunch.

—

📢 FINAL WARNING:

If a Hobbit ever steps toward you, quiet, focused, and barefoot?

Don’t speak.

Don’t run. Don’t tweet. Don’t flex.

Just kneel.

Because you’re not about to meet a protagonist.

You’re about to meet a problem that doesn’t announce itself.

</div>

#blacksite literature™#scrolltrap #they didn’t need shoes #cadence warfare #writing that punches #scrolltrap doctrine #middle earth kill team #blacksite transmission #fantasy warfare scroll #god-tier hobbits #hobbit pta meeting of death #last warning from the shire #you won’t survive their silence #small men big wrath #writing for blood #fables of the barefoot

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 day ago

Text

A John Wick x Shy!Reader shorty vaguely based on this FRIENDS imagine…

A little something for my beloved @sweetwolfcupcake . P.S. there’s bonus torture at the end 🤭❤❤ No xtra warnings really. Voyeurism? 😅 If you can handle the movies, you can handle this.

At first you don't mean to spy on the man across the street in his apartment…you just happen to notice him. A lot of him, in fact, because he was roaming around his two bedroom flat without a shirt.

That is not why you find yourself looking for him the next night, and the night after that… (Ok, maybe a little.)

He's ridiculously handsome.

So sue you, ok? What's the harm in peeking?

But peeking turns into looking, and looking turns into watching. It’s possible you acquire a little pair of binoculars from a second hand store. Perfect for the casual birdwatcher, or…creeping on your unfairly good-looking neighbor.

You know it's wrong…but there’s just something about him, and you cannot look away.

He seems lonely, and maybe that's something you relate to all too well in this city of 8 million people.

He likes to read.

He drinks amber colored spirits from a cut crystal glass.

Tattoos span the breadth of his wide shoulders; his towels are the slate gray of storm clouds.

Sometimes when he comes home late he moves stiffly, as though he's in pain.

He's so beautiful that a part of you wishes you could keep him like this forever, like a butterfly behind glass.

The first time he waves at you, you are so startled you nearly drop your tea.

You’re smart enough to do your serious creeping with your lights off. But tonight you are just sitting by the window with a book after a long day, taking it all in.

You don't know where you get the courage after a long pause, to lift your hand in return.

Longing weighs upon your chest like a cold stone.

Nothing will ever come of this.

That's what you think, anyway, until two nights later when there is a knock on your door.

II.

You are innately shy, and a certain sense of premonition makes you cross to the door even slower than usual.

When you open it to find him on the other side, tall and handsome as your darkest dreams, with a bottle of wine in his [obscenely] large hands, you shut the door right in his face.

With your heart in your throat, you open it again five seconds later to find him standing exactly as he was, only with a bit of a smirk pulling the corner of his full mouth.

“Hi.”

His voice is a deep, smooth baritone that short circuits something crucial in your brain.

Is it actually possible, for one’s eyes to truly bug out of their head?

“I know this might seem kinda strange…” he plows through the thick silence between you. “But I see you all the time, and I thought…”

As though he's having trouble articulating that thought exactly, he holds up the wine as his visual aid.

You will never know what possessed you, when you step back on shaking legs to invite a perfect stranger into your apartment at midnight in the East Village.

Lucky you, that he doesn't turn out to be a serial killer. (As far as you can tell).

You're cautious about drinking the wine at first, so you stick to your tea while you sit on the couch together and stumble through the initial social introductions.

His name is John. He works in security at a club called the Red Circle. He likes bookbinding, old cars, and the classic works of the Russian literary greats.

By the time he leaves hours later, you’re afraid you’re half in love.

III.

These midnight talks become a thing.

He is on a nocturnal schedule, because of his work, and you get by with less sleep than you need, because you are young, and you’ve come to suspect, somewhat addicted.

Since that first night he insists on turning the conversation to you. How was your day? What is your favorite book? What did you think about that art house film? It is as though hearing it all brings him some indefinable solace to him.

There is an air of tragedy about this man that you sense but fear you cannot touch. The dark shine of his soulful eyes speaks volumes, and though he never complains, you think he has not had an easy life.

Though you have noticed that the two of you sit closer and closer upon the couch as time goes on, he does not try to touch you. He knows you are skittish, perhaps, and your trust is precious to him. The first time his fingers accidentally brush yours you think your soul just might evacuate from your skin.

You begin to think that it’s for the best that nothing seems like it is going to happen, when he asks if you would like to take a daytrip upstate with him.

“Do you have a car?”

His answer is the uptick of one dark sculpted eyebrow that makes you feel simultaneously foolish and cherished. He wants to spend one of his precious days off with you.

It’s not a car though. It’s a beast. The look on your face as the two of you roar off into traffic makes John Wick laugh, a surprised huff of mirth, and you realize that somehow this is the first time you’ve heard it. This man says so much with his eyes, rather than his mouth.

On this trip while speeding down the straightaways and hugging the curves of the wilderness roads, you learn the rhythm of the Mustang’s transmission by holding and letting go of his long-fingered hand.

He takes you to lunch at a lovely Michelin starred restaurant by a lake. You eat and talk and get tangled with his endless legs under the table. The fleeting glitter of happiness in his eyes is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and you will take the triumph of that accomplishment to your grave.

He clocks a milestone too, when he drops you off at your door that evening. When he presses his soft mouth to yours with a hand on your waist, you are so enchanted you do not even flinch.

IV.

In fact, your toes curl in your shoes, and your fingers in the lapels of his smart sports jacket. It is as though you simultaneously want to pull him to you, and hold him at bay.

You are not the only one who has been holding on by a thread. You are so cute and sweet and soft and the way your eyes sparkle while you gently roast his ego on a slowly turning spit…it’s been exquisite torture, keeping his hands off you, but now that he’s got you in his grasp he can't bring himself to let go.

Maybe you're both surprised, when he backs you into your door, the delicious solid line of his body pressed against yours. And does it shock you, when you throw your arms around his neck, finally running your fingers through that luxuriously soft cloud of raven hair?

“I could…open the door?” you suggest breathlessly as his increasingly wicked lips trail down the curve of your neck.

“Good idea,” he grinds out. “It’s illegal to do what I intend to do to you here in the hall.”

This is the thing that gives you pause, and for the first time he is slow to pick up on your cues, love-drunk as he is on the taste of you.

“John…?”

“If…you want me to,” he quickly amends, looking down at you with his hair in his eyes like a man who is drowning just below the surface, this close to a lifesaving breath of air.

Do you want him to?

Usually you are so cautious, so reserved. You've had your heart broken before, and you never intended to give anyone that power again. But for the first time in a long time, you actually trust a man. John Wick has you in his hands, and you know he could break you like a twig, but he’s so careful with you that your skin aches.

“I…want you to,” you answer slowly, and the wonder in his eyes is as precious as it is heartbreaking.

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he sighs between kissing you, drinking you down, tasting your mouth like you are the delicate French wine you had with lunch. “You are so precious to me.”

You’re embarrassed to admit that your legs sort of melt out from under you after that. It doesn’t matter though. He is strong, and he holds you with such ardor that he half carries you as he clutches your soft body to his. Looking back, you'll remember that halting walk in flashes. There are pauses for kisses, and pushing jackets from shoulders to forget them on the floor. There is hushed laughter, and joyful fumbling, and his lips pressed to every inch of bared skin you offer him.

You feel like a goddess, in John Wick’s arms.

Worshipped. Adored.

In the temple of your bedroom, you are both deity and acolyte, and for the first time in your life you are eager to get on your knees for a man, just to give him a taste of the ecstasy he drives you to.

John Wick likes kisses.

It’s endearing, maddening, how eager he is to give and receive them. Upon your lips and your shoulders, the soft curves of your breasts and down your belly and between your thighs. It is a whirlwind of sensual delights, and you are naught but an aching vessel hungry to receive it all.

How complete he makes you feel, with his manhood buried inside you. As though this is the only proper place to be, tangled up with him in your soft bed. What were you so afraid of? For the moment, you cannot remember. You can't think much at all, really, just feel, and it feels glorious to be in his arms.

Afterwards you doze. When later you wake and he's not there you’re sad but resigned.

Of course he's gone.

But when you pad out to get a glass of water in your robe you find him at the window, eyeing those little binoculars of yours with an amused smile.

“I…can explain…” you stammer, mortified, the rush of guilt like poisoned lightning in your veins.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” he says with a gentleness in his eyes that floors you. “I like to watch you too.”

You wonder how long he’s known? All the times he seemingly paraded around with that mouth watering chest on display…was he showing off for you? Was he baiting you??

You don't have time to ask him, because seconds later his arm is around your waist and his mouth is on yours, and he is sweeping you into his arms– destination: Round 2.

Later while he's holding you in the quiet, savoring this rare sense of peace with your precious head tucked upon his shoulder, his arms wrapped snugly around you, does he begin to wonder…

Just how unattainable, really, would Viggo make the Impossible Task?

He has everything he’s ever truly wanted in his arms, and he’s ready to tell the rest of the world to go to hell.

VI.

The next few months go by like a golden-edged dream. Dinners at fine restaurants. Long walks in Central Park. Sunday brunches and afternoons spent browsing antique stores and bookshops, looking for treasures. You go to shows and art exhibits and sometimes you just meet in the middle of the day for fifteen minutes because you need to see each other.

Magical as it is, your innate skepticism makes you wonder if it’s too good to be true.

As time goes on you start to form a rough sketch of John’s professional duties, but out of willful blindness or your own naivete with such things, never a perfect picture.

You ask if you can come see him at the Red Circle sometime, and he outright forbids it. “Nothing good happens there. It’s no place for a sweet girl like you.”

“Then why do you work there?”

“Because I have to.”

But one day when you are engaging in your playful routine of pantomiming at each other from across the street you see a shadow creeping up behind him. In a panic you wave and point. He regards you with a tilted head, not understanding.

You scream as the intruder makes his move.

Maybe you vaguely knew that John should be able to handle himself, but the scene that unfolds makes your jaw hit the floor. Frozen in shock, you watch as your sweet boyfriend John dodges blows and throws his assailant over his shoulder, twisting his suited opponent’s arm backwards, surely breaking it.

Then you realize there are two more people in John’s apartment, and you find yourself running for the door.

Why don’t you call 911?

Your lungs are burning by the time you soar down your stairwell, cross the street absolutely improperly, winning shouts and honks and the close brush of a side mirror at your back, and scale the steps to the third floor.

As you rush down the hall you realize you have no weapons. And so before you enter John’s apartment you take off your shoe, holding it threateningly at the ready. If you’d allowed yourself to think before any of this you might have been too terrified to open the door, but you are running on supercharged adrenaline and fear for the life of the man you love.

The man you love.

You haven’t actually said that aloud yet, but you realize with an unequivocal certainty in that moment that it’s true.

You expect to walk into the cacophony of a battle in full tilt.

What awaits you is the silence of a graveyard.

John sits on his couch, catching his breath, his hand pressed over a wound on his arm.

Three bodies lay at his feet in various angles.

You don’t need to check pulses to know that they're dead.

You have no words. You just stand and stare dumbly, though you must make some small sound that alerts him of your presence. He leaps to his feet, crossing the room like a panther, gathering you in his arms and ushering you into his bedroom.

Madder yet, you let him.

“Sweetheart…I never wanted you to see this.”

He says it like this is something that happens regularly.

You sink to sit at the foot of his bed, eyes wide as saucers as you look up at him. “Should we…call the police?”

It’s the most sensible thing you can think to say.

“No, baby. No police.”

Something must cross your expression. He sinks to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his. Yet he does not beg or threaten or make excuses. He tries twice before finding his voice, with the glitter of moisture in his eyes he grates out: “I understand, if you never want to see me again.”

The surge of anger inside you wakes you from your stupor more than anything. “Don’t be stupid, John! They tried to hurt you! It was self defense!”

He just looks up at you, and now somehow you know the weight of his silent dark gaze is made up of an unquantifiable amount of dark deeds just like this.

You think back on what he told you earlier about his job with a greater understanding. Because I have to.

Your sweet, wonderful John, is a killer.

What does it say about you, that your feelings for him do not change with this new knowledge?

You reach up to stroke his beard, and he leans into your touch like a lifeline, that obsidian-sharp gaze closed for a moment from the world.

“You shouldn’t be with a monster like me, sweet girl.”

If he’s trying to break up with you…you have no intention of letting him.

“You are not a monster, John.” You kiss him sweetly upon the forehead, and he folds for you, his head falling to rest upon your lap. You stroke his hair like that for you don’t know how long.

He bleeds on you–you do not care.

You stay like that until someone named Charlie comes to clean up the mess. You hear them talking through the door–you stay out of sight in the bedroom. You hear something exchange hands, like the clinking of coins.

“I’m getting out,” he tells you later, when you are wrapped up in his arms in the blue twilight of early morning.

“Is that even possible?” You cannot hide the tremulous note of hope in your tone.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

You can tell by now that there’s something he’s not telling you, but you cling to this small modicum of hope as you finally drift off to sleep.

As you lay tangled together beneath the high-thread count sheets, John Wick holds you tightly and decides then that he will be free…or he will be dead.

It’s the least you deserve, and maybe…he does too.

#torture chamber 😈#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x shy reader #keanu reeves #keanuverse #john wick friends au

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ghostybaby000 · 2 days ago

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Is it true? | Part 3

Part 1

Word count: 890

Warnings: 18+, Yelling, destructive behavior, suggestive behavior, swearing, symptoms of panic, fluff

Part one above!

Tag List: @yyiikes @talooolaaloolla @strawberrygato @cumsluut @sofiacoppolaslut @blackbeautyiloveyouso @casalucard @identity2212 @daydreamerwoah @lily-bug3 @sage-burrow @squeak1981 @shinebright2000 @theclassicvinyldragon @little-mini-me-world @julys-mistake-the-second @carolchaotic @valkyrie-01 @thychuvaluswife

It felt as if time was moving in slow-motion. You noticed the details of what she was wearing, how her hair seemed to fit her face just right, the way she was looking at him-it all made you sick. His voice bashed into your thoughts, dragging you out of staring,

‘There has got to be something wrong, with you.’ He barks at her, his voice one you didn’t really recognize. He pushes open the office door, pointing at her as she backed into the room.

He spat the words at her as her face turned, she seemed puzzled and all the more uninterested.

‘Do you think even for a second’ He pulls your phone from his pocket, opening the messages and showing her them. She crosses her arms and squints at the phone, her eyes giving no indication of regret or fear.

‘Even for a fucking moment- that I would ever do something like that to her?’ He points to you, the fury in his eyes scary, to you even. The woman doesn’t say anything, now leant up on the side of her desk, she looks over to you still stood in the hall, and smirks.

‘You think that any of this is funny?’ He moves his body to be positioned between the two of you, your heart hammering in your chest as he continues.

‘Where did you get such a stupid fucking idea?’

She lets her arms fall from being crossed, and pushes a stray hair from her face, letting out a huff as if she were entirely unbothered, her voice breaks the air,

‘Oh c’mon. It was a harmless joke, a prank even. You don’t need to get all hot and bothered, It doesn’t mean anythi-‘

There was a crash that sounded throughout the room that made the both of you yelp. You didn’t even see him move, it was too quick. You open your eyes to see what used to be a mug filled with coffee was now smashed on the wall a few feet from where the woman stood. Pieces of the mug crumbled to the floor as the dark coffee stained down the wall, slowly reaching to touch the carpet.

He had never been violent around you, never thrown things like this before, you were caught just as off guard as she was. She turned in panic, her hands coming off of her ears from the sound, her casual ruse diminished.

‘What-Wha why would you do that?’ Her voice became more fragile as her eyes flashed over to you and back to him. You notice now a presence around you in the hall, looking down both ways you see people standing in their doorways, some coming to look at what had happened.

Seeing the onlookers who had made their way into the room, the woman tried to hastily speed out the confined space, the embarrassment too much to handle. Just before she gets to you in the doorway, his voice is back in the air,

‘Ohhh no you don’t. We are not done here yet.’ The woman stays frozen, her eyes determined to stay away from anyone else’s who was watching.

He walked up behind her, his own rage still forcing his back straight and his motions to be aggressive. He comes around the side of her, she looked to him, now in a way that you felt more comfortable. She couldn’t hold his stare for long looking from him to the floor.

Almost spitting his syllables he continues, his words like a red-hot blade to the thick atmosphere of the room.

‘You, are going to apologize.’ He points to you, still stood there as sweat worked its way down your own face and neck. Her confidence faded as her lips tightened across her face. You could hear now that her breath was shaking,

‘I-I’m I’m sorry.’ Her eyes still facing the floor as she rubbed her hands on her pants to rid of sweat.

‘Try again.’ There was no lightheartedness in his tone, his stare pinning her where she stood. Her cheeks were flush with a bold red now, the people in the hall snickering as she turned to you.

‘I’m sorry, for sending you those t-things..’ He broke from looking at her to you, her punishment resting on your shoulders.

You quickly nod with a small ‘yeah.’ Under your breath. Without another word the woman bolted from the office. You see the people in the hall, their stares dying away now that the entertainment of the room had fled down the hallway, slowly making their way back to their own rooms. He uncrossed his arms that were locked across his chest to walk over to you.

You watch the space in the room where she once stood, entirely bewildered at the whole situation. Thinking of nothing better to say, you look up to him and lean into his chest. His arms wrap around the small of your back as you look at him, the rage faded that had been burning so passionately only moments ago.

Your voice was gentle in the room of chaos,

‘So, it isn’t true then?’ A grin pulls across both of your faces as you let a giggle escape, you feel his own chest move as he too laughed.

He pulls your chin to be facing him once you had relaxed,

‘Never.’

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writeriguess · 1 day ago

Note

CAN WE HAVE A PART TWO OF KIRISHMAS SIDE FROM NOT STRONG ENOUGH PLEASE??? (Same person who requested it)

How he reacts, what he tells Mina, what he does when he sees the message maybe he tells bakugo and bakugo goes to check on her and finds her not taking care of herself or kirishma has an extra key to her apartment and he gets a call from her online school asking why she’s not attending classes and when she’s not awnsering anyone’s calls he goes to check on her and when she doesn’t awnser the door he goes in and finds her not taking care of herself and he breaks his own heart seeing her?? Maybe he’s heart broken as soon as he sees her text? Maybe bakugo swoops in to take care of her until she can feel better?

Not Strong Enough Part 2 (Part 1)

Kirishima’s phone buzzed in his hand. He barely had time to process what had just happened—Mina’s lips against his, the way he instinctively pulled back—before his screen lit up with your name.

His heart, already hammering from shock, lurched painfully in his chest as he read the message.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.’

His breath caught in his throat. No. No, no, no.

“What’s wrong?” Mina asked, her tone light but confused.

Kirishima barely heard her. His fingers trembled as he tapped on your contact, pressing the call button. Straight to voicemail.

He tried again. Nothing.

“Eijiro?” Mina tried again, stepping closer, but he turned to her, expression unreadable—except for the sheer panic in his eyes.

“What the hell, Mina?” His voice was rough, strained. “Why did you—why would you do that?”

She blinked, taken aback. “I— I thought—”

“You thought what? That I’d be okay with that? That I’d just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, grip tightening around his phone. “I have to go.”

He didn’t wait for a response. His legs were already moving, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he tried to call you again. Still nothing.

Bakugo.

If there was anyone who’d know what to do, it was him.

Kirishima didn’t hesitate before dialing. It rang once. Twice.

“The hell do you want?” Bakugo’s usual sharp tone cut through the receiver.

“It’s her.” Kirishima barely recognized his own voice, thick with dread. “She sent me a message, and now she’s not answering.”

Bakugo was silent for a moment—just a second too long. Then: “What’d you do?”

Kirishima swallowed, his throat tight. “It’s bad, man. I need to find her.”

A low curse crackled through the speaker. “She’s not picking up for me either.” A pause. “I’m going over.”

Kirishima didn’t wait to hear more. He was already moving, already running toward your apartment, the streets blurring past him.

By the time he got there, Bakugo was already pounding on your door.

“Oi! Open up!” No answer.

Kirishima’s heart sank. He fumbled for his key—the one you’d given him months ago, back when everything was okay, back when he still deserved to have it.

When the door swung open, the sight inside broke him.

The curtains were drawn, leaving the apartment in dim light. The air was heavy, stale, and the only sound was the faint hum of something on the TV—some show playing to no one.

And then he saw you.

Curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that barely covered the way your body had thinned from neglect. Dull eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, fingers gripping your phone as if you had debated turning it back on but hadn’t been able to.

His stomach twisted painfully. This wasn’t you.

Bakugo was already moving, kneeling in front of you, his scowl deeper than ever—but there was no anger, only concern. “The hell are you doing to yourself, idiot?” His voice was quieter than usual, as if anything louder might break you further.

You blinked at him, sluggish, as if it took effort just to process he was even there.

Kirishima stepped forward, hesitating. He had done this.

“…Baby?” His voice cracked, and you flinched.

Bakugo shot him a glare. “Don’t call her that.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t deserve to say it.

He took a slow breath. “I— I need to explain.”

You just stared at him, and his heart clenched at the emptiness in your gaze.

Bakugo exhaled through his nose, standing. “I’ll get her some water. You. Don’t. Make it worse.” He stalked off, leaving Kirishima alone with you.

Silence stretched between you, thick with things left unsaid.

Kirishima swallowed hard. “I didn’t— I didn’t kiss her. I swear.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I messed up. I should’ve told you things weren’t okay sooner. Should’ve called, should’ve done something.” His voice cracked. “But I never wanted to hurt you.”

You looked down, fingers tightening around the blanket. “You stopped loving me.”

Kirishima’s breath hitched. “That’s not true.” He sank to his knees in front of you. “I never stopped. I just— I was stupid. I thought giving you space was better than making you feel like I was half there. But I see now that it just… made you feel alone.”

Your lip trembled, and for the first time since he’d walked in, emotion flickered in your eyes. “I was alone.”

Kirishima’s head dropped, guilt swallowing him whole.

He reached out, hesitant, but didn’t touch you. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t respond.

Bakugo returned, shoving a glass of water into your hands. “Drink.”

You obeyed numbly, taking a small sip.

Bakugo turned to Kirishima. “You done?”

Kirishima hesitated. “I don’t want to leave her like this.”

Bakugo’s expression was unreadable. “Then don’t.”

And Kirishima didn’t. He stayed.

Even if you weren’t ready to forgive him. Even if he had broken your heart.

He stayed—because he still loved you, and he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima

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ageingfangirl2 · 2 days ago

Text

Ran's Little Waitress (Tokyo Revengers - Bonten)

RAN HAITANI X FEMALE READER

CHAPTER TEN: YOUR PAST NEVER STAYS HIDDEN

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE

VIP Lounge – Late Evening

The music was pulsing through the floor, soft enough not to drown out conversation, but strong enough to blur the edges of your anxiety. You’d fallen back into the rhythm of the club again—smiling, serving, charming the high rollers with warmth and quiet wit.

Until you heard it. A laugh. Sharp, smug, familiar.

Your entire body went rigid. The tray in your hands stayed perfectly balanced, but your fingers went numb around the stem of a cocktail glass. That voice—it couldn’t be. You forced yourself to casually glance over your shoulder.

There, in one of the side booths under dim lighting, sat a group of men, all laughing. And at the center of it, leaned back with that same arrogant slouch, was him. Your ex. The one who’d made your life a waking nightmare. The man you had run from. The reason you’d doubted yourself for so long.

Your breath hitched. Your skin crawled. You quickly stepped back into the hall behind the VIP curtain and flagged down one of the other waitresses, forcing a small smile, ‘Hey… do you mind covering Table Eight for me?’ you ask, a little too softly.

The girl blinked, ‘Everything okay?’

You nod, even if your voice betrayed you, ‘Yeah. Just…personal reasons. I’ll owe you.’

The other waitress shrugged, taking the tray from you without a second thought. From the shadows behind the curtain, you watched. Your heart dropped when the waitress approached the table, and your ex didn’t even flinch. He hadn’t recognised you. Not yet. But he was here. He was in your club. In your safe place. And if he recognised you…

Your breathing grew shallow. You turn your face slightly, hair falling like a curtain to shield you. But your eyes stayed locked on him, studying him with the quiet, cautious dread of prey spotting a predator.

You didn’t know what scared you more—him recognising you…or the fact that he hadn’t yet.

Staff Dressing Room – Moments Later

Your fingers trembled slightly as you stuff your belongings into your locker, the night’s tips still clutched in one hand. You hadn’t even counted them. Didn’t care. Your brain was stuck on that face in the booth, on memories you had spent so long trying to smother with smiles, eyeliner, and customer service.

You had gone to the floor manager with as much composure as you could manage, mumbling that you weren’t feeling well and needed to leave early. He’d barely looked up.

‘If you leave now, you’re not getting paid for the shift,’ he’d said, annoyed.

‘I understand,’ she reply, your voice paper-thin.

Now, in the dressing room, the quiet buzz of the overhead lights was somehow deafening. You slam your locker shut a little too hard.

‘Whoa, easy there.’

You spin around, startled. Sanzu stood just inside the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other holding what looked like a cigarette he hadn’t lit yet. His curious, lazy smile didn’t quite match the sharpness in his eyes.

Behind him, Koko leaned against the wall, glancing over the top of his phone, ‘That’s not your usual exit. What’s wrong?’

You open your mouth. Close it. And look down, ‘Nothing. Just…not feeling great,’ she lied, trying to sidestep.

Sanzu didn’t move, ‘You’re a terrible liar,’ he said, cocking his head, ‘Ran’s been bragging about how well you’re doing. You don’t just bail mid-shift without a reason.’

Koko tucked his phone into his jacket, ‘Something happen with a customer?’

That nearly undid you. You swallow, blinking rapidly, ‘I just—I saw someone I used to know. Someone I don’t want to be around.’

Sanzu’s expression darkened subtly, ‘Someone bad?’

You hesitate, ‘An ex. Abusive. Dangerous. I ran from him. He’s here tonight.’

Koko straightened at that, his usual calm shifting into something more serious.

Sanzu’s light tone vanished altogether, ‘You saw him in the VIP lounge?’

You nod, ‘I didn’t serve him. I had someone else take the table,’ you add quickly, as if it would make this whole thing easier to digest, ‘I just…I need to go. Please don’t make it a big deal.’

Koko arched a brow, ‘That’s not really how Bonten works.’

‘I don’t want to cause trouble,’ you whisper.

Sanzu gave a low, humourless chuckle, ‘Trouble already caused, sweetheart. But not by you.’

You open your mouth again, but before you can speak, Koko stepped forward, all smooth efficiency, ‘Go home. We’ll handle this.’

‘But the floor manager said—’

Sanzu cut in, voice like velvet over a blade, ‘He’s not the one you need to worry about. We’ll talk to Ran.’

You hesitate, torn between fear, shame, and gratitude, ‘Thank you,’ you say, and finally slip out, not daring to look back.

Koko pulled his phone out again, ‘Messaging Ran.’

Sanzu finally lit the cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke, ‘Let’s find out who the hell thought it was a good idea to show their face here.’

Y/N’s Apartment

You trusted Bonten and head back to your apartment, your safe haven. Conflicted whether or not you should run again, because you’d done it before, maybe leave the country this time, because you could speak English. You had an emergency bag under your bed, with all your documents, cash and a burner phone, some clothes and things you’d need to get away from Tokyo.

Half an hour passes, and you hear a knock on your door, check your phone but has no messages from Ran or the others. You grab a kitchen knife and check the peephole, your ex was standing on the other side.

You back away and run over to her third-floor balcony, wondering if you could get down via the fire exit escape that should only be used for emergencies. You hold the knife and pick up your escape backpack when your ex speaks up, ‘You belong to me, I talked to your grandparents and they gave you to me.’

The knife trembled in your grip as she back away more, heart hammering so hard you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. Your ex’s voice was muffled through the door, but the words rang loud and sharp. Your chest seized. A sick, cold dread gripped your spine.

Your grandparents. They didn’t understand. They were traditional, old-fashioned, and… naive. They hadn’t believed you when she said what he’d done to you. They thought you were overreacting. That you’d driven him away. Now—he’d manipulated them again, and he thought it gave him some sort of twisted right to you.

You stumble back into the living room, grabbing the emergency bag—already half-zipped. You move to the window, yanking open the balcony door. Cold air rushed in. The fire escape. You look down. It was steep, the third floor, but doable. You just had to keep moving. Your grip tightened on the knife, panic clawing at the edges of your thoughts.

A knock. Louder this time. Then a slam. Your breath hitched. The lock was sturdy. Your doorframe was reinforced. But what if he broke through? What if—

Your phone buzzed. A message. From Ran.

You home?

Your fingers moved fast, barely steady enough to type back.

He’s here. Outside. Said he talked to my grandparents. Said I belong to him

You press send. Another crash at the door jolted you. You nearly dropped the knife.

Then another message came.

Don’t open the door. Don’t run. We’re coming up now

The world felt like it was closing in, but those words steadied your heartbeat, just slightly. We’re coming. Not just Ran—more than one. That meant she wasn’t alone.

A second later came the thud. Your ex pounding on the door with the heel of his hand, ‘You always made me chase you,’ he snarled through the wood, ‘But you were mine before, and you’re mine now. You think some new friends will change that?’

You flinch as he jiggled the handle hard, testing it. Thank god you’d bolted it. Then—THUD. A louder slam, a body hitting the wall just beside the door, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone being slammed into the floor.

‘You should’ve stayed gone,’ came Rindou’s low, venom-laced voice.

You crawl closer to the door, carefully, quietly. Holding your breath.

‘You really thought you could come here?’ Kakucho’s voice now—calm, but with that quiet kind of threat that meant something far more dangerous was beneath the surface, ‘That we wouldn’t find out?’

You heard the panicked voice of your ex, ‘She’s mine! Her grandparents said—’

‘Wrong answer,’ Ran muttered.

Then a sickening crack. A groan followed. Then nothing. You back away as footsteps approach the door again. A soft knock this time.

Ran’s voice, low and even, ‘It’s just us.’

You open the door slowly, the chain still in place. Your eyes widened. It was them.

Ran at the front, cool and composed, blood speckled on his sleeve. Rindou stood beside him with a healing bruise forming on his jaw, but grinning like he enjoyed it. And Kakucho—silent, watchful, the kind of presence that made you feel safer just because he was near.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, ‘Where…where is he?’

Ran leaned a little closer, his eyes softening, ‘The others took him.’

You blink, ‘The… others?’

Kakucho answered, ‘Mikey wanted a word.’

There was no need to ask what kind of word. You drop the knif, your knees giving slightly under you, but Ran caught you before you could fall.

‘I had a bag packed,’ you whisper, ashamed, ‘I was going to run again. I—I was scared.’

‘You did what you had to,’ Ran said, his voice so gentle it almost didn’t sound like him, ‘But you don’t have to anymore.’

‘You’re not alone this time,’ Rindou added, glancing over her apartment, ‘Not with us around.’

‘Not ever again,’ Kakucho said, finally stepping into view, eyes steady on yours, ‘We won’t let him near you again.’

You nod slowly, tears threatening to spill, ‘Thank you…I…I didn’t think anyone would come.’

‘You’re one of ours,’ Ran murmured, ‘That makes it our problem.’

Kakucho was the first to step into your apartment while Ran gently shut the door behind them and slid the bolt back into place. The atmosphere inside shifted instantly, from fear to something steadier. Safer. The soft lamplight cast a golden glow across the modest but well-kept space, and Kakucho’s sharp gaze fell on the duffel bag tucked neatly by the balcony door.

‘You had a go-bag,’ he remarked, walking over and crouching beside it.

You nod, suddenly self-conscious, ‘I didn’t have one last time,’ you admit, ‘Back then, when I finally got the courage to leave, he’d hidden all my documents. I had to wait until he left for a work trip and break into his safe to get them back. I barely made it out.’

Kakucho’s brows lifted slightly, clearly impressed, ‘And now?’

You offer a small, sad smile and nod, ‘I watched a bunch of videos on prepping and survival channels. Read blogs. I knew I couldn’t be caught off guard again. It’s all in there. Documents, burner phone, some cash, a change of clothes, even protein bars and water pouches.’

Rindou, lounging on the arm of your couch now, let out a low whistle, ‘Damn. You went full paranoid girl scout.’

‘I had to,’ you say softly, gripping your sleeves, ‘Being afraid all the time makes you… resourceful.’

Ran, quiet all this time, stood nearby, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. Protective. Respectful. Something deeper than the way he looked at most people.

Rindou ran a hand through his hair and sighed, ‘It was probably a fluke he ended up here. We checked—he got transferred to the Tokyo branch of whatever shitty little company he works for. The club appearance was a work outing. He didn’t even know you worked there until he saw you.’

‘So it’s just awful timing,’ you murmer.

‘Basically,’ Rindou nodded, ‘But not your fault.’

Kakucho zipped the bag closed again and stood, brushing off his pants, ‘Honestly? Good on you for being prepared. That takes guts.’

Your cheeks warmed at the praise, ‘Thank you…I just didn’t want to feel helpless ever again.’

‘You’re not,’ Ran said quietly, ‘Not anymore.’

That gentle weight in his voice made you glance up at him, and your breath caught at the way he looked at you—eyes steady, soft, but full of conviction.

You nod once and speak lowly, ‘Would you guys…mind staying a bit longer?’

‘Of course,’ Ran said without hesitation.

‘Only if there’s more cookies,’ Rindou added, smirking.

You huff a soft laugh, ‘There’s always more cookies.’

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