#on repeat while i got ready this morning

[dear-ao3]

arguably the most insane thing about me is that i have no caffeine addiction to speak of at all whatsoever. every day i wake up and raw dog life, zero coffee, zero energy drinks, zero tea. and to some people (my roommate) its the most insane thing in the world

[jynersq]

+

[kkusuka]

more roommate simon!

i love the idea that simon thinks he's super open and available with his emotions and reader thinking he's really cold and disinterested. is he ooc? yeah. do i care? no. if you want cannon ghost, play the game!

simon riley doesn't know when you became so important to him.

the only reason he even put out the ad for a roommate was because his landlord though he'd moved out while he was away and he'd rather have some bird in his place than deal with that again.

you were just so easy; showing up to the coffee shop (where you requested to have your first meeting just in case he was some crazy murderer) face flushed, strands of hair all over the place, and sweater a mess; rushing to explain how you got sprayed by a sprinkler on your walk over then chased by a dog. and just as you repeat sorry for the 30th time simon thinks he's in love. you're officially his roommate 30 minutes later.

but it's so out of character for him. he hasn't been around anything other than hard ass military men since he was a teenager. fuck, he's killed hundreds of men in his line of work, tortured thousands more. (he doesn't like to think that that's why he's so drawn to you. that you're so different from who he has to be, someone he's been for so long, that being around you lets him breathe. that he feels like he can actually sit and enjoy his moments away from the field in your tiny manchester apartment.)

he thinks it actually started with the decorations.

the small trinkets you let around the common spaces when he was away. it starts with your room obviously; fairy lights above your bed that spills light into the hallway when he comes home in the early morning hours, paintings on the wall that eventually flow over into the living room, the small plants in your window sill that you ask him to water one day after you leave for work.

then the dinner table suddenly has checkerboard placemats and a vase of flowers that change with the season. and his run-down couch has decorative pillows and a throw blanket (both words he learned from you when he questions what the fuck is on his couch). then the bathroom in the hallway gets a new soap stand, and a mat is placed at your front door, next to the shoe organizer and coat rack.

so he starts buying things too; the penguin plushie in the supermarket window, the vase that matches the curtains in the living room, and a small skull magnet to rest on the face of your fridge.

and before simon knows it his dreary, cold apartment actually looks lived in. and instead of coming home to a dark hallway and an empty fridge, your flower lamp is on, some random show from the 90s is playing, and there's food on the table.

he gets to know you more than he thought he would; he knows what foods you don't like, the books you're reading and the ones you refuse to read again, and even that dick from work he promises to take care of if he bothers you again (it's evident that you think it's a joke and not something that he would genuinely do but simon doesn't think he's ever been more serious).

but he never lets you know too much about him, you don't need to know about it and the less you find out the better.

then came dinners, actual dinner not just him showing up while you already had food ready. you would ask if he wanted whatever you had made ( 'i'm already making food and i normally don't eat is all anyway, so i might as well share' ). so suddenly he was spending his nights at your table with a homecooked meal and simon doesn't think he could ever let this go.

then he gets sent away again, for way longer this time. he makes sure to update his paperwork, changes his emergency contact, your name swirled onto the spouse line. you were probably as close as he'll ever get to one and if you're there they'll tell you if anything happens to him faster. he doesn't want to think of how nice your first name looks with his last name. and you'll probably never even know, simon's never gotten that injured before and he doesn't plan on it now.

months in the heat of the middle east return him to hard shell of a man he was. coming home caked in dirt, blood speckled on his clothes; he doesn't want you to see him like this, he doesn't want you to know this version of him. and for the first time he regrets letting you come into his life.

you are home when he gets back, 2:30 in the morning and every light is off, he opens your door to make sure. you're asleep, not shocking, cuddled into the giant octopus you won at an arcade. he tries not to move, he just wants to look at you for a little bit.

he wakes up the next morning to breakfast and a new pair of combat boots. he's only home for a week this time, not that he's ever home for longer than a month, and he tries to soak up all of your time. you complain about your car, he's on it. the heater started being testy, that's fine he'll take care of it. he's going grocery shopping with you, he watching that weird hospital show, and he enjoys his time in domestic bliss before getting thrown back into some random country.

somehow that all led him here. laying in a hospital bed with two bullets lodged in his shoulder with you sitting in some shitty chair pulled as close to the bed as you could.

"so uh, i'm mrs. riley now?"

"yeah, ya are. 'av been for a while."

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 3 - Dear Stranger

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 4k

warnings: cuss words

The next day, after the recoupling, the lights flicker on, making the islanders groan.

“Good morning!” Kiara exclaims cheerfully, stretching.

“Oh, girl, shut up!” Cleo replies, burying her head back in her pillow, making everyone laugh. Y/N adjusts her hoodie and looks around tiredly, her eyes landing on Rafe chatting with Topper and Alyssa staring down at her phone.

“Hey, you okay?” Maddy asks, crawling under the covers of Y/N's bed and snuggling up to her. Y/N nods.

“It’s okay not to be.” Maddy adds, gently rubbing her back.

“I’m okay, Mads. Truly. I don’t wanna hold any grudges against her and I don’t care if they’re sleeping in the same bed. I’m not worried.” Y/N responds.

“I wish I was as fuckless as you.” Maddy murmurs, adjusting her glasses.

“Fuckless?” Y/N chuckles, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you don’t give a fuck, girl. You know what you want and you’re gonna get it. You don’t let anything get in the way. Or anyone.” Maddy explains, making Y/N laugh again.

“Believe me, I am far from being ‘fuckless’.” She says, shaking her head.

“Good for you, girl!” Sarah smiles, sitting on the other side of the bed. “I haven’t had sex in…months. I probably got cobwebs and shit down there by now.” She says, leaning her head on Y/N's shoulder as she and Maddy burst into laughter.

“That was definitely not what we were talking about, Sar!” Maddy exclaims.

“Oh!” Sarah giggles. “Okay, fill me in.”

“Maddy thinks I don’t give a damn about what happened. Which isn’t true. And before you ask too, I’m okay. Truly.” Y/N explains and Sarah nods.

“That's good. So, what's your plan for today?” She asks, twiddling with the string of her sleep shorts.

“I think I'm gonna talk to her.” She murmurs and Sarah raises her head from her shoulder as Maddy widens her eyes.

“Talk to her? After what she did?” Maddy asks, raising a brow.

“I told you, I'm not holding any grudges against her.” Y/N repeats herself making Sarah scoff and lean back on the headboard.

“I wish I was like that.” Sarah mutters and Y/N gives her a reassuring pat on the head. The girls rise from their seats and head to the makeup room, chatting as they start getting ready. They slip into their swimsuits, fix their hair and apply makeup before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

It's noon before anyone realizes it. Cleo and Pope are splashing around in the pool, laughing over some science fact Pope just dropped. Sarah, Kiara and Maddie are snacking in the kitchen, while JJ, John B and Rafe lounge by the firepit, deep in conversation. Y/N, still groggy from a much needed nap, steps outside, scanning the villa. Her eyes land on Alyssa sitting at the daybed, chatting with Topper. She hesitates for a moment before approaching with a small smile.

“Hey, guys.” She greets warmly.

“Y/N/N, what's up?” Topper grins, immediately making space for her. Alyssa, on the other hand, barely acknowledges her, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

“Actually.” Y/N starts, shifting her gaze to Alyssa. “I wanted to talk to you.” Alyssa raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. Topper glances between them before nodding.

“I'll give you guys a minute.” As he passes Y/N, he squeezes her shoulder lightly before walking away. Y/N takes a seat beside Alyssa and clears her throat.

“Look, I get it. You might not want to talk to me and that’s fine.” She begins, voice steady. “But I want to be upfront with you. We had a pretty rocky start and I hate that. I never wanted you to feel unwelcome here. And the whole situation with Rafe…it’s complicated.” Alyssa sighs, her fingers still fidgeting with her hair.

“I know you said you weren’t looking to make friends here and that’s your choice. But the thought of us spending the whole summer together with you having no one to confide in? That doesn’t sit right with me.” Alyssa is quiet for a moment before exhaling slowly.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She admits.

“I guess…I do want to be friends with you. And with the rest of the girls, too. So, I’m sorry for how I acted. It wasn’t your fault or anyone’s. I’ve just always been kind of a loner. It’s easier that way.” She pauses, then adds. “But you’re right. We’re all stuck here together and eventually, I’m going to want someone in my corner.” Y/N nods, understanding and Alyssa shifts uncomfortably.

“About Rafe…”

“Can I just say something?” Y/N interrupts gently. “You did the right thing.”

“What?” Alyssa blinks in surprise.

“You came in here looking for a real connection. You found Rafe attractive, he made you feel comfortable and you went for it. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.” Y/N explains. “Me and Rafe? We’re having fun, sure. We like each other…yeah. But it’s early. Nothing is set in stone. And I would never want to be the reason he or you held back from exploring something real.” Alyssa stares at her, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Why aren’t you mad?” She asks making Y/N laugh under her breath.

“What do you mean?”

“I basically stole your guy.” Alyssa says bluntly. “And I was kind of a bitch about it. If I were you, I’d be avoiding me, not trying to make peace.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” She shrugs. “Besides, I suck at holding grudges.” Alyssa studies her for a second before breaking into a smile. She opens her arms slowly.

“Come on, then…friend.”

Y/N chuckles before leaning in to hug her.

Confessional - Y/N “She’s not wrong for following her heart." She shrugs softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can’t be mad at someone for that...even if it hurts.”

John B chuckles at something JJ says, shaking his head before his gaze shifts toward the daybed. His laughter falters as he catches an unexpected sight.

“Dude…” He smacks Rafe’s arm, eyes widening. “Are Alyssa and Y/N hugging?” JJ lifts his sunglasses on his head and squints.

“Oh my god!” He rubs his eyes dramatically. “Either that or Alyssa is strangling her.” Rafe, who had been half-listening, immediately sits up straighter, his brows furrowing. His gaze locks onto the two girls, watching as Y/N pulls away from the hug with a small smile while Alyssa seems genuine.

“What the hell did I miss?” Rafe mutters, still processing and JJ shakes his head in disbelief.

“Man, this villa moves too fast. One minute it’s war, the next, it’s…this.”

“So, should we be worried?” John B smirks, nudging him.

Rafe doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches Y/N interact with Alyssa. Just yesterday, Alyssa had thrown herself at him and now she was cozying up to Y/N. His gut twists, but he forces a nonchalant shrug.

“I don’t know.” He replies. “But I feel like that hug just made things a whole lot more complicated.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” JJ snorts.

The villa buzzes with energy as everyone settles into their glammed up looks for the night. Laughter and music fills the air, but Rafe isn’t paying attention to any of it. His gaze has been following Y/N for a while now, his thoughts circling back to what he saw earlier. Her and Alyssa, laughing and hugging. Like they hadn’t just been caught in a messy triangle hours before.

He needs to know what is going on.

So when he finally finds an opening, he reaches for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers as he leads her away. The warmth of the firepit flickers against their skin as they settle onto the bench, away from the noise of the villa.

“Hey.” Rafe starts, his voice lower now that it was just the two of them. “You good?” Y/N nods, crossing her legs, the slit of her dress shifting just enough to reveal more of her thigh. Rafe's gaze flickers downward before he catches himself, clearing his throat as he looks away.

“Are you?” She asks in return, tilting her head slightly. Rafe hesitates before exhaling.

“Yeah. I mean…yeah. Just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “What happened with Alyssa?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N raises a brow, questionably.

“I saw you two earlier.” His tone is casual, but there is something underneath it. Something tense. “The whole hug thing.”

“I wasn’t expecting that.” He adds, shaking his head slightly. Y/N lets out a soft chuckle, twisting her ring absently.

“We talked.” She reveals.

“About?” Rafe presses, leaning forward slightly. “Me?” She rolls her eyes, but the small smile tugging at her lips doesn’t go unnoticed.

“A little. Mostly about the whole situation. I told her how it's still early, how we’re both keeping our options open.” She starts.

“Right.” Rafe clenches his jaw, but Y/N doesn't realize it.

“And how I want to be her friend.” She adds, making his head snap toward her.

“Be her friend?” He repeats, incredulous. “After what she pulled?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Y/N shrugs.

“You're joking.” Rafe exclaims, letting out a dry laugh, before shaking his head.

“She liked how you acted toward her, Rafe.” Y/N’s voice was patient, but firm. “She felt attracted to you. Can you really blame her? If we were in her shoes, we’d probably do the same thing.” Rafe scoffs, shifting in his seat.

“I wouldn’t have gone after someone else’s person two days in.” He says nonchalantly.

“Maybe not, but she didn’t do anything wrong. She saw an opportunity and took it.” Y/N meets his stare evenly, while Rafe exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Why are you defending her?” He asks, clearly confused.

“I’m not.” Y/N replied simply. “I’m just not blaming her, either.”

“Nah. You’re way too forgiving.” He comments and she smirks.

“And you’re way too not.”

Silence settles between them for a beat, the firelight flickering in their eyes.

“You don’t get why I’m upset?” Rafe finally asks, his voice quieter now. Y/N tilts her head, studying him.

“No, I don’t.” She admitted. “You told me you weren’t interested in her, right? You told her that too. So, what does it matter if I want to be friends with her?” Rafe opens his mouth, then closes it, his frustration evident.

“It’s not about that.” He mutters, shifting in his seat. “I just…I don’t trust her.” His voice is low now, serious. Y/N meets his gaze, her expression steady.

“But you trust me, right?” She asks, her tone quiet but direct. Rafe hesitates, searching her face for a moment before responding.

“Yeah…I trust you. But I don’t know about her. She’s smart, Y/N. If she wants something, she’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”

“You think I’m that easy to manipulate?” She asks, smiling softly to ease the tension and Rafe quickly shakes his head.

“No. But you’re too nice.” He admits. Y/N exhales, leaning back slightly, her voice calming but firm.

“Look, I get that you want to protect me and I appreciate it. But Alyssa’s not the enemy here.” She pauses, making sure he’s listening. “She didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She just followed what felt right to her. I’m not gonna blame her for that or hold a grudge against her.” Rafe frowns, clearly still not convinced.

“As for her manipulating me, I would never let anyone do that. I may seem too nice or maybe even a little naive, but I know the difference between someone trying to use me and someone just figuring things out. Alyssa's not trying to hurt anyone she's just...lost.” Rafe watches her for a moment, absorbing her words. His gaze shifts toward the firepit, a flicker of understanding crossing his face as the tension starts to fade.

For a moment, neither of them speak. The fire crackles, the distant sound of the villa buzzing behind them. But right here, in their own little bubble, the tension has shifted into something lighter.

“Are we good?” She finally asks. Rafe studies her, then nods.

“Yeah. We’re good.” He admits, making Y/N smile softly and shift closer to him, the space between them shrinking with each move.

“Good.” She says, her voice gentle but firm. “Because I don't want to spend the time we have, arguing over stupid villa drama.” Rafe smirks, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Confessional - Rafe “I just don’t trust Alyssa. Not after what she pulled.” He shakes his head. “She’s not fooling me.”

He pulls her even closer, his hand snaking around her waist, causing her to let out a surprised squeal. He chuckles, clearly enjoying her reaction, as he tightens his hold, looking at her with an intense focus. His eyes trace her features. Her lips, the way her hair falls around her face, the light in her eyes.

“I don’t like not sharing a bed with you.” He admits, his voice low, almost vulnerable, though his smirk never fully fades. Y/N laughs lightly, rolling her eyes.

“We shared a bed for two nights, Rafe.” She teases, nudging him with her shoulder. Rafe nods, his expression playful but sincere.

“Two nights where I slept like a baby.” He says, his other hand lifting to gently rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing along the soft skin. Y/N's cheeks flush slightly, her heart beating a little faster at the intimacy of the moment. She instinctively turns her head away, her smile shy.

“Rafe…” She murmurs, almost as if trying to hide the warmth in her face. He’s quick to turn her head back toward him, his fingers grazing her jaw gently. He leans in close, his lips nearly brushing hers. His voice drops to a whisper.

“Can I?” He asks, his eyes darting to her glossy lips, a question hanging between them. Y/N can feel the tension in the air. She closes her eyes briefly, trying to steady her breath before speaking softly.

“Don’t even ask.”

Without another word, she closes the space between them, pressing her lips against his with a force that surprises both of them. It’s messy, wild and different from their usual gentle kisses. Rafe groans against her lips, his hands tightening around her.

“Fuck, I like that.” He says, his voice thick with desire, before pulling her back in, his lips crashing against hers once again.

The kiss lingers, unrestrained and full of unspoken feelings, until they finally pull apart, both of them breathless. Y/N giggles, wiping his lips gently.

“I probably should stop wearing lip gloss around you.” She admits, shaking her head with a playful smile. Rafe grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, I’ll mess it up every time.” He replies, his lips curling into a smirk. “And I am not sorry for that.” Y/N smacks him playfully, making them both chuckle.

Two days later, another beautiful day begins. The sun rises over the villa, casting a golden hue on the sparkling water below. Upstairs, the girls are already busy, each doing their own thing. Maddy is curling her hair, Kiara is applying her makeup and Sarah is pacing back and forth, trying to decide what to wear for the day. Meanwhile, the boys are scattered around the villa. Some working out, others chatting casually over breakfast and JJ is still struggling to get out of bed, his messy hair poking out from under the covers.

As the girls chat and laugh while getting ready, talking about their plans for the day, a sudden ping cuts through the noise. Everyone pauses, glancing at each other in surprise as Maddy grabs her phone.

“Oh my God!” Maddy mutters, her voice filled with disbelief.

“What? What is it?” Sarah asks, walking over, her curiosity piqued.

“Tell us!” Kiara insists, practically jumping up and down, eager to know. Cleo tries to grab the phone out of Maddy’s hand, but Y/N playfully holds Cleo back, shaking her head.

“Let her read it!” Y/N laughs.Maddy takes a deep breath and reads aloud, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Girls, today a hot new bombshell is entering the villa.” She starts, causing the others to widen their eyes, their attention fully on her. “Kelce was given the choice to go on dates with two very lucky girls.” She continues, and the room grows tense as they hang on her every word. Another ping sounds from Maddy’s phone and her eyes widen once more.

“Maddy and Cleo, get ready for your dates. Bring your A-game and make Kelce feel welcome. #newbabeintown #brunchdatebuddies.”

The moment the message is read, the room erupts in excitement. Cleo and Maddy jump up and down, squealing with joy, as the other girls clap and cheer for them.

“Oh my god, this is huge!” Kiara exclaims, grinning widely.

“Fuck, I can’t wear this!” Cleo suddenly exclaims, looking down at her plain black one-piece swimsuit. The girls all nod, immediately gathering around her.

“We’ve got you.” Y/N assures her, already heading toward the closet to pick out a few outfits.

“You know, I had an ex named Kelce.” Y/N says casually as she pulls out a bikini for Cleo. The girls pause, intrigued.

“When was this?” Sarah asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Like…a year ago? Maybe a little more.” Y/N says, tossing the first bikini aside. She pulls out another, but Cleo shakes her head at the choice.

“Really?” Y/N scoffs, her tone playful, as she digs through the swimsuits again.

“What happened? Why did you two break up?” Alyssa asks, brushing out Maddy’s hair as the conversation flows naturally. Y/N sighs, pulling out a red bikini that Cleo can’t help but admire.

“It wasn’t a bad breakup or anything. We just wanted different things. I loved him, though. I still have a lot of love for him.”

“Ooooh, that sounds like unfinished business.” Kiara says, sipping the smoothie Pope brought her earlier, as she watches the interaction. Y/N shrugs, glancing up at the bikini she’s holding.

“Maybe. I don’t know. If the timing was right…maybe we could try again.” She hands Cleo the red bikini with a soft smile and Cleo holds it up with a grin.

“Finally!” Cleo whispers, grinning wide as she heads off to change.

“My ex used to hook up with Kendall Jenner.” Sarah suddenly reveals, causing the room to go silent for a beat. The girls stare at her in shock.

“What?!” Maddy gasps.

“Tell us everything!” Kiara says, her eyes wide with curiosity. Sarah just shrugs, a small smile playing at her lips.

“It’s not a big deal, really.” She says, though her tone suggests otherwise. The room erupts in questions as the girls demand more details, laughing and gossiping.

Confessional - Sarah “I should’ve told them about the time I shared an Uber with Shawn Mendes.” She grins.

As they finish up their preparations, Y/N realizes she left her water bottle downstairs. She heads down to grab it from her bedside table and as she enters the room, she sees JJ sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, clearly contemplating whether he’s ready to start his day.

“Oh! Hi, J!” Y/N says brightly, walking over to her bedside table and grabbing the bottle. As she leans over, her hoodie rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of her waist. JJ clears his throat and looks up, his eyes lingering on the small reveal.

“H-hi.” He stammers and then glances at her outfit. “Wait, why aren’t you dressed yet?” Y/N chuckles, looking down at herself.

“We were too busy getting Maddy and Cleo ready for their dates and-” She cuts herself off, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh crap, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Wait, Cleo and Maddy have dates?” JJ asks, widening his eyes. Y/N rushes to him, a pleading look in her eyes.

“Please don’t tell the guys. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” She tugs at his sleeve, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes. JJ grins mischievously, moving towards the door.

“Nope. I’m telling everyone.” He murmurs.

“No! JJ!” Y/N yells, racing after him. Her short legs try to catch up, but JJ is too quick. Just as he’s about to make it out the door, Y/N launches herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and trying to cover his mouth with her hand. The boys, hearing the commotion, rush over to see what’s going on.

JJ stumbles slightly as Y/N clings to him, nearly losing his balance. Before he can topple over, Rafe appears out of nowhere and grabs Y/N, pulling her off of JJ and setting her down gently.

“What’s going on here?” Rafe asks, his voice calm but curious, his skin glistening with the glow of a recent workout. JJ rubs his arm where Y/N’s nails left red marks.

“Did you scratch me?” He asks, looking at his bicep with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry.” Y/N mutters, slightly embarrassed.

“Okay, what happened?” John B asks as he adjusts his hat.

“Maddy and Cleo have dates!” JJ says triumphantly, turning to Y/N with a mockingly smug look. Y/N narrows her eyes at him.

“I’m going to kill you.” She murmurs, making JJ laugh loudly.

“I’d love to see you try.” He challenges as Y/N struggles to break free of Rafe’s arms to get to him. Rafe sighs, tightening his grip to keep her calm.

“What dates? What are you talking about?” Rafe asks, rubbing Y/N’s arm comfortingly as she tries to escape his hold. Y/N sighs, realizing she can’t avoid it.

“We got a text.” She says quietly, her eyes flicking to the guys. “It said a new guy is entering today, and he chose Maddy and Cleo to go on a brunch date.” The boys exchange glances, nodding, but Rafe’s grip on Y/N loosens as the information settles in.

“I probably shouldn’t say this either.” Y/N continues in a hushed voice. “But the girls and I are gonna spy on them from the balcony. If you guys…wanna join.” She looks around at the group, her gaze lingering on Rafe.

“Now, can I go back upstairs?” She asks, her tone soft.

“Ye-yeah.” Rafe murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He releases her from his arms and Y/N grins, pecking him quickly on the cheek before heading back upstairs.

Some time has passed now, Maddy and Cleo are making their way to the backyard, which has been transformed. Two tables are set up in the center, surrounded by an array of flowers and a delicious-looking brunch spread. The girls squeal in excitement as they take their seats, occasionally glancing up at the terrace where the rest of the group is gathered.

“Can’t believe you told them.” Sarah murmurs to Y/N, nodding toward the boys sitting behind them on the couch.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. It just slipped out.” Y/N apologizes again, her gaze drifting through the railing toward the girls.

“Hey, Cleo! Push up the girls!” Kiara calls out and Cleo responds with a nod, adjusting her swim top as everyone laughs.

A moment later, Maddy's eyes widen and she looks up toward the terrace, silently mouthing something.

“He’s here!” She whispers. Cleo turns to shush her and the girls exchange thumbs-up for good luck. They watch as JJ and John B walk toward them. Y/N moves aside to make room for them, settling next to Rafe and Topper on the couch. Rafe instinctively wraps an arm around her waist as he talks with Topper.

“Woah!” Kiara exclaims as JJ tries to peer over her shoulder.

“Not another black guy!” Pope groans.

“John B, my toes!” Alyssa shrieks and John B apologizes as he ducks down to avoid stepping on her.

“Y/N! You need to see him!” Sarah whispers urgently, gesturing for her to come over. Y/N rolls her eyes but stands up and walks toward the railing, crouching down to avoid being seen by Kelce below.

“Shit!” She exclaims, causing Kiara to quickly shush her.

“Girl!” Kiara scolds quietly. Y/N pulls back from the railing, her face pale as though she’s seen a ghost.

“Whoa, you okay?” Rafe asks, noticing her blank stare. He rises from the couch and moves toward her, the others gathering around to check on her. Sarah rubs her back, concerned.

“Did you get dizzy again? I’ve told you, you can’t skip breakfast.” She begins.

“Is that Kelce?” Y/N asks and the group nods. Rafe and Topper head off toward him. Rafe shrugs.

“He’s not…bad-looking.” He admits. “But he’s not all that either.”

“That’s Kelce.” Y/N repeats, her voice shaking. Sarah looks at her, nodding.

“Yeah, we know.”

“No, no, no, Sarah.” Y/N starts, her voice trembling. “That’s Kelce…my ex.” Sarah's eyes widen in shock.

“What the fuck?” Rafe's voice cuts through the tension as he looks up at Y/N, equally stunned.

to be continued...

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A/N: sorry for the long wait, but i really struggled with this one. i wrote half of it when i had time after work when i was very tired and finished it really late last night, it's proofread but i cannot promise it's good so very sorry for that!!

[itneverendshere]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squinted at the screen.

Sarah <3 Calling...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He came over last night.”

“…Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“And? Did you… tell him?”

You hesitated, letting your eyes drift shut.

“I told him everything, Sarah.”

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

“…Yeah.”

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

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit."

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

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

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

You blinked back into the present.

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

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

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

“That’s something,” Sarah said gently.

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

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

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

“Do you wish you had said yes?”

You thought about it.

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

“You did something really brave."

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah was quiet again.

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

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

“I’ll talk to him eventually.”

Sarah didn’t push. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you. There’s a difference.”

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

Fair. 

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean—”

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

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

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

“I didn’t know it was—”

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

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

“I thought he already knew.”

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

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

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

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

Your jaw had clenched in defiance.

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

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

“Top—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say anything.

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

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

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

“You’re allowed to be scared.”

You looked up at him.

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

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

"The donor?" he asked tentatively.

“What the fuck, Topper."

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

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

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

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

Topper had always been softer than you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That shit’s not fair.”

His hands were shaking.

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

He looked at you with wet eyes. 

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

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

You keep the rest of the information hidden away.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s… fair.”

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

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

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

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

You almost smiled.

“Did you tell Rafe all this?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Really?

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

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

“Wow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Topper blinked, being the one caught off guard now.

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

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

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

“And?”

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

Hold on.

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

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

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

He responded with a nod at first.

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

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

Your eyes didn’t budge. “Uh-huh.”

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

This fucker cared about her.

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

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

And now…

Your voice sounded flat. “You like her.”

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

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

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

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

"What does that mean?" he inquired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have a crush on Sofia.”

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

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

“Topper. She's—she’s not like us.”

“I know.”

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

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

You went quiet.

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

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

Topper sat back down. “Shit.”

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

Topper groaned, “Don’t say that.”

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

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

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

“She doesn’t know yet!”

“She will.”

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

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

Your arms tightened around your stomach.

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

You scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

That had to be nice.

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

“No. She’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hummed, nails digging into your sleeves. 

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed. “She should be.”

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

He let out a groan.

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

He huffed, “I had allergies.”

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

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

"I missed this," he stated abruptly.

You cast a glance at him. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Regretting it already.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Today? Yeah.”

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

"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow.

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

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

"Missed you too, asshole."

"Good."

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

He snorted. “Noted.”

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

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

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

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

"You don’t have to say it perfectly."

Rafe nodded as his fingers twitched in his lap.

“She told me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, no shit.”

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

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

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

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

“Trying doesn’t bring her back.”

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

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

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

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Classic Rafe.

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

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

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

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

“That’s not how this works, Rafe.”

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

“You can’t protect people from fate.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop."

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

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

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

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

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

 “What happened after she told you?”

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

The silence fell like dust.

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

Rafe looked up, his eyes rimmed with red.

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

She waited for him to settle before pivoting.

“May I ask you something?”

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

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

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

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

Dr. Keller didn’t write that down. 

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

He huffed a breathy laugh through his nose. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe hadn’t been sleeping much.

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

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

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

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

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

He stayed put.

Sarah came to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

“Rafe.”

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

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

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

“Great. You’ve seen me.”

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

He nodded once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Can you blame her?”

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

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

Sarah waited with arms crossed loosely.

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

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

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

“I would’ve been there.”

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

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

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

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“I know.”

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

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

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You already do. You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

The urge was there, caged and pacing.

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

For himself. For you.

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

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

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

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

He decided to quit on his own. 

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

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

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

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

“Sarah.”

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe huffed.

“We talk sometimes.”

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

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

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

��Dramatic much?” Sarah snorted.

“I’m underfed; let me have this.”

“You’re such a dork.”

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

“I hadn’t really—”

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

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

"I peeled them," he flatly stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe and Sarah watched as she left.

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

“Better than the quiet.”

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

[joonie-beanie]

A Dragon's Constitution | [Neuvillette x Reader]

Summary: Iudex Neuvillette has been acting a little...strange, as of late. Worried about him, Sigewinne and Wriothesley come up with a plan to help lessen his load. “I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.” Well, being Neuvillette's assistant for a week shouldn't be that bad. Unless, of course, the reason Neuvillette has been acting strange is due to the fact that he's actually a dragon that has regained his full power, and now, with the return of said power, his body is experiencing things he's never known before now. Because that would be totally crazy...right? Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Rut, fem!reader Word Count: 10.8k Note: this occurs after "Doctor's Orders"

Sigewinne is the first to hear the rumors about Iudex Neuvillette—although Wriothesley isn’t far behind.

The first indication that something might be wrong with the Iudex is brought up in a letter—one penned by Sedene that is delivered to Sigewinne. In the letter, Sedene writes that since Fontaine has overcome its disaster, everything has been going well…except, Neuvillette has been behaving a little…strange.

Sedene does not elaborate on what exactly is wrong, and Sigewinne assumes that’s because she doesn’t know. Melusine have the ability to sense things, but the things they sense aren’t always accompanied with an answer.

And so, Sigewinne writes back telling Sedene to make sure Neuvillette is staying hydrated (since she knows he has been particularly busy as of late), and that she’ll try and make a trip to see him soon, when she has the time.

The following day, a new batch of wrongdoers arrive in the prison, and along with them—some speculations about Fontaine’s supreme judge.

“I think I deserve a retrial,” one of the men says, clearly frustrated. “I stated my case, but then Iudex Neuvillette actually blanked, and had to ask me to repeat myself! After I said everything so eloquently! That’s why I’m down here, man. I was so surprised by it that when I said my argument again, I sounded lame…this sucks.”

Listening from behind a nearby pillar, Wriothesley frowns to himself. 

Neuvillette getting distracted in court? Well, that’s certainly a first—and a worrying first, at that.

Before the day’s end, Wriothesley and Sigewinne seek each other out. Equally concerned about what they’ve been hearing, they spend the evening coming up with a plan. Something they might be able to do to help Neuvillette.

The next morning, you wake up and get ready—prepared to go and spend a few days below ground in the Fortress…only to find Wriothesley on your doorstep.

“Hi,” he says with a smile when you pull your front door open.

Your eyes go wide, and you glance either way down the street, wondering if you’re being pranked. 

When nothing seems suspicious, you reach out and touch Wriothesley’s chest to make sure he’s real.

He immediately rolls his eyes and snatches your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Yes, I’m real. Yes, I’m here.”

“Good—but, why are you here?” you ask. 

Not that he isn’t welcome at your apartment, but…you just didn’t expect to see him here. On the surface. At your place of residence.

“Am I late or something? I thought we scheduled for me to come back to the Fortress today.”

“No, you are not late,” he reassures you. He gives your hand a little squeeze before allowing you to have it back.

“There’s been…a little change in your schedule.”

You cock an eyebrow at him.

“What kind of change?”

Does he want you to stay on the surface a few more days before coming back down? Considering he’s here, maybe he’s got some business on the surface, which would mean there’s no point in you going to the Fortress right now.

Wriothesley’s smile grows—little crow's feet appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.”

…

Huh?

“Here.”

Wriothesley grabs your bag—the one slung over your arm and packed with items that should have tied you over while you stayed in the Fortress—and tosses it back into your apartment.

Then, he gently grabs your waist, pulls you out onto the street, and closes the door to your apartment behind you. He checks the door to make sure it’s locked, and when he finds that it is, he nods in satisfaction.

“C’mon, keep up,” he says, starting up the street. His boots are heavy against the pavement.

Blinking, you finally snap out of it and jog to catch up with him.

“Hold on, you—you’re lending me to Iudex Neuvillette?”

You’ve never known the man to have an assistant, and from what you’ve heard from Wriothesley and others, he tends to prefer working alone. Aside from that, he’s very skilled at his job, and typically doesn’t need help—even with the never ending case load.

“...did he consent to this?”

Wriothesley smiles, loving how smart you are.

“Not yet, but he will.”

The two of you turn a corner, heading towards an elevator that will take you up towards the Palais Mermonia. You narrow your eyes at Wriothesley. He waves you off.

“Sigewinne and I both heard that he seems a little…stressed lately. And we decided the best thing we could do right now, aside from giving him our support, would be lending him you. So, assuming he is in need of help, I don’t see why he would turn our offer down, considering how proficient you are.”

“While I appreciate the praise, I think you’re underestimating the pride of men,” you tell him, standing at his side as the two of you arrive at the elevator. Wriothesley hits the button to summon it to your floor.

“Hey, when I got busier than usual, I hired you,” he points out. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m 99% sure the only reason you hired me was due to Sigewinne's influence. I bet she saw your stress growing and bugged you to get an assistant until you finally gave in.”

Wriothesley sighs.

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so smart.”

You grin, holding your head high.

Finally, the elevator arrives on your floor. When the door opens, Wriothesley motions for you to board first. Then, he follows you on.

“So, let’s say Sigewinne did insist I hire an assistant. The result of doing so was positive. My work got easier, and my life improved. If we present that logic to Neuvillette, there’s no reason he should decline our help. Plus, he tends to listen to Sigewinne.”

You sigh, watching the city outside the glass doors of the elevator. You’re nearly to the floor the Palais Mermonia is on.

“If Neuvillette agrees that he wants the help, I have no issue being his assistant for the week.”

Wriothesley catches your silent drift of “you get the pleasure of trying to convince him to accept help, though”. 

Which is fine. He loves a good challenge.

“Sigewinne and I appreciate your cooperation,” he tells you sincerely.

Arriving on your floor, the elevator doors open, and you step out first—standing aside to allow Wriothesley to walk past you and lead the way. A few gazes are thrown your way as you go—people surprised to see the Duke of the Fortress above ground for once—but Wriothesley doesn’t react, so neither do you.

Sticking by his side, you follow him up the steps and through the front door of the building. 

“Duke Wriothesley,” Sedene greets as you near the doors of Neuvillette’s office. She runs up to the two of you, her eyes somewhat nervously shifting towards the office doors.

“Iudex Neuvillette, he…”

She wants to say that he’s not accepting visitors at the moment, but she can’t get the words out—obviously worried about him. Wriothesley flashes her a kind smile.

“Sigewinne sent us,” he tells her, relief immediately appearing on her face at his words. “Is Neuvillette in?”

“Yes, he is in,” she confirms, and then scuttles back over to her desk, only to return a moment later with a tray of tea (or, teacups and water?) in her hands. 

“Take this when you go in, that should help.”

“I appreciate that,” Wriothesley responds. You reach down to take the tray from her hands, quietly thanking her as well. She flashes you a smile, gives you a thumbs up, and then goes back to work.

You and Wriothesley glance at each other. Seeing you’re ready, he raps his knuckles on the door thrice, and enters the room when Neuvillette’s muffled and somewhat reluctant “come in” is heard from beyond the door.

Gripping the handle, Wriothesley pushes his way inside. You dutifully follow after him.

Once in the office—the door shutting softly behind you—you quickly realize that perhaps something is wrong with the Iudex. Because for a man known for his neatness, and professionalism, his office is quite…untidy, at the moment. 

Papers are scattered along his desk—piles uneven, and threatening to fall. And on the coffee table nearby, there are multiple cups, along with empty bottles of imported water. Not to mention books that are strewed around—some even on the floor.

Wriothesley takes quick stock of the state of the office before his gaze settles on Neuvillette, who is sitting at his desk. He's wearing his normal robes, and yet he looks…strangely disheveled. Perhaps it's the faint dark circles under his eyes, or the way his hair looks less kept than usual?

“I thought I instructed that there were to be no—oh, Wriothesley.”

Neuvillette's tone of measured annoyance softens the second he looks up and sees who it actually is that has entered his office. Then, he sighs, feeling ashamed of his initial attitude.

“I apologize. Did you request a meeting? I don't recall getting any correspondence about it, unless it was accidentally left off my calendar.”

“No need for apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette. I am the one who should be apologizing, as I did not reach out beforehand to let anyone know that I was coming.”

Wriothesley bows in slight apology, and you mirror him, figuring it's the right thing to do since you're technically also intruding.

“I know you're very busy, so I'll cut right to the chase to save us both time. Sigewinne and I are concerned about you, since we've both heard from multiple sources that you seem a little out of sorts as of late. So, in an attempt to help lessen your load, I'd like to offer you my assistant, Y/N, for the week.”

For the first time since you'd entered with Wriothesley, Neuvillette’s sharp eyes slide to you. You force a polite smile to your lips and—remembering the tray in your hands—move to set it on the nearby table.

Quickly filling one of the glasses with the water, you stride over to Neuvillette’s desk and offer it to him.

“Pleased to meet you,” you simply say. 

“And you as well,” he responds, keeping up formalities.

Taking the glass from your hand, Neuvillette takes a long sip of water, and you scoot back to Wriothesley’s side. Once Neuvillette has finished his drink, he places the glass down on his desk and sighs.

“I assure you that I am alright, and there is no need for concern.”

“I hate to disagree, but based on the state of your office, I can't believe that's true.”

Neuvillette’s gaze slides around his office, as if truly seeing it for the first time in days. His brows pinch together as he realizes Wriothesley is right. He hadn't noticed it'd become so messy…

“I will admit I have been a little…scattered, lately. But it's nothing I cannot handle. Lending me your assistant would only increase the burden of your own workload, which I cannot accept.”

“Actually,” Wriothesley is quick to counter. “I hired Y/N before the disaster, because much of my time was occupied watching the primordial sea gate, and preparing the Wingalet. Now that the disaster has passed, and things have relatively calmed down, my workload has greatly lessened. Meaning, I have no issue temporarily lending her to you.”

Knowing Wriothesley is only willing to give you up temporarily—meaning he'll want you back to himself at some point—makes you happy.

“Be that as it may, I will still have to decline your offer.”

Alright then, time to break out the big guns.

“I know since Furina stepped down as the Archon, you've only gotten busier,” Wriothesley tells him, fixing him with a concerned stare. “And because of that, Sigewinne is worried. If you could just accept Y/N's help for the week, I'm sure that would help put her mind at ease.”

The mention of Sigewinne causes Neuvillette to frown, so Wriothesley quickly lays it on thicker.

“I assure you that Y/N has been a great aide to me,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “Sigewinne recommends her as well. If you allow her to help you for a few days, I have no doubt she’ll be of use to you. So please, Neuvillette.”

Neuvillette places his elbows on his desk and folds his hands together. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, he sighs.

“Fine. If Y/N is okay with this arrangement, I shall accept her help.”

Both men look your way. You smile.

“I’d be more than happy to help with whatever I can.”

Honestly, you hadn’t expected to find yourself here, and aren’t even sure what there is you can do to support him, but considering how tired he looks, you’ll surely try your best.

“Good! Glad that’s settled.”

With a happy grin—pleased that he has won the battle—Wriothesley turns to you. He cups the back of your head and drags you in—his lips pressing into your hair.

“I’ll come visit on Saturday to take her back into my care. Best of luck to you both,” he says, heading for the door. He waves his hand at you and Neuvillette over his shoulder, and without saying anything else, exits the office.

You stare at the closed door for a second, before you take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and turn back to Neuvillette.

…only to find that he’s fixing you with a peculiar stare.

“Are you and Wriothesley seeing each other…?” he asks.

Ah, right, the way Wriothesley had kissed your head before leaving…

“We are not,” you assure him, taking a few steps towards his desk. “Since entering his employment the two of us have just become…fond of each other.”

Which isn’t a lie. You and Wriothesley are quite fond of each other—fond enough that every time you go to stay in the Fortress, you find yourself in his bed at least once (and not just because Sigewinne has instructed Wriothesley to continue having sex to keep his stress levels down). And no, you’re not dating, but that’s fine. You enjoy what you have with him right now, and honestly, it’d be a bad look if anyone found out Wriothesley was dating his assistant anyway.

“I see,” Neuvillette nods, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I apologize for presuming.”

“No need to apologize, Monsieur,” you respond, stepping up beside his desk. You smile at him—softer, and more genuine this time.

“Now, what can I assist you with?”

While it takes a short while for Neuvillette to adjust to the idea of having an assistant to help with things, soon enough, the two of you come to an understanding.

He admits that he has been struggling to juggle court cases and new paperwork that needs to be signed off on now that the judicial system is changing (thanks to recent developments). So, you put forth the idea to allocate time to signing documents, and while you run things where they need to go afterwards, Neuvillette can address any cases on his docket. 

Not having any better idea, he goes with your plan.

While Neuvillette busies himself with signing paperwork, you flit around his office—cleaning up empty bottles and used cups, and putting abandoned books back on the shelves.

By the time you’ve finished organizing (taking your time to make sure everything is put back in its proper place), Neuvillette has finished reviewing his first stack of papers.

“These have all been signed off on,” he says, summoning you to his side. He points at the top right hand corner of the paper. “This area on each document will show you where it needs to be returned.”

“Understood,” you respond, taking the stack from him. You cradle the papers in your arms and leaf through the first few sheets while heading for the door. However, you quickly realize the documents aren’t grouped by which location they need to be dropped at.

So, you make a detour at the coffee table—gently sitting yourself on the sofa as you begin sorting the papers into smaller stacks, grouped by department. Once you’ve done that, you pile them all together again, and continue towards the door—unaware of the way Neuvillette’s lips tug into a smile at your actions.

Delivering documents where they need to go takes up the remainder of your morning, and by the time you’ve finished, your stomach is growling. So—figuring that Neuvillette won’t have stepped away from his desk yet—you decide to pick up something for the both of you.

“You've returned,” he says without looking up from the document in his hand as you step into his office. “I assume everything has been delivered?”

“Yes,” you respond with a nod, his gaze finally rising to look at you as he hears the sound of the bag in your hand, and smells the contents within. “And I grabbed us lunch. I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“I have not,” he confirms. His eyes watch you as you b-line for the coffee table and begin unpacking the take-out food. “I’m not sure what you like, but I figured I’d play it safe and go with soup, since you seem to enjoy…liquids.”

How else are you supposed to describe his taste when all you've seen him consume today is cup after cup of water?

Surprised, Neuvillette puts down the paper in his hand.

Standing from his chair, he makes his way over, staring at the clear broth of the consomme.

“...I think I'm beginning to see why Wriothesley enjoys having you as an assistant.”

“Oh? Sounds like Iudex Neuvillette is becoming fond of me too,” you say—very jokingly. “You may have to fight Wriothesley for me later. Assuming I stay as helpful during the remainder of the week.”

You half expect Neuvillette to say say something about how a fight won’t be necessary, as you're only a temporary loan, and he shouldn't need help beyond this week anyway—but instead, he cracks a smile, grabs his portion of the consomme, and says—

“I'll have to keep that in mind.”

—before he returns to his desk and continues working through his lunch.

In the afternoon, Neuvillette remains immersed in paperwork and other documents. You mostly spend your time making sure he has enough water available to drink, and fetching him any books or materials he asks for, so he doesn’t have to step away from his desk and break his concentration.

It’s a dynamic that works, and already, you can tell his stress has lessened—now that he’s caught up on many tasks. However, there’s still the slightest pinch to his brow, and a tiny flush on the skin of his neck despite the fact that it’s not overly hot in his office (at least, in your opinion. But maybe all that hair of his is warm?).

However, you don’t bother overthinking it. It’s still your first day assisting him. It would be crazy to think he’d suddenly be stress-free after a few hours in your care.

When the clock strikes 5, Neuvillette doesn’t miss a beat.

“You may go home for the day.”

You blink, looking around for the time.

“...will you continue working?”

“Yes, but that isn’t out of the ordinary,” Neuvillette responds, taking a sip from the glass of water on his desk. “However, your station doesn’t warrant you working overtime. You should go home now and enjoy your evening.”

You suppose he’s right…there are some things you can’t really assist him with anyway. Plus, you still have four more days working under him.

“Alright then, I won’t argue with you,” you respond. You gather up what little things you had brought with you, and then head for the door. But, before you go, you turn back to him.

“When should I come tomorrow? 8am?”

“9am will be fine.”

“Understood,” you nod, flashing him a smile. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Monsieur.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he responds in kind, watching you as you open the door and slip out of his office.

His gaze only lingers on the spot where you stood for a brief moment before he returns to his work.

The next day, you arrive at Neuvillette’s office at the agreed upon time, only to find that he’s getting ready to leave.

“I have some trials at the Opera Epiclese today,” he says. “You are welcome to join me.”

And really, who would pass up that offer?

So, without even setting your things down, you follow Neuvillette out of the building and to the Navia line—boarding an aquabus that will take you to the opera house.

Neuvillette garners a lot of attention as the two of you make your way to the building, but you do your best to tune out any stares or whispers. You think Neuvillette’s popularity among the people will never die.

“I have a guest today,” Neuvillette tells one of the staff members once you’ve entered the main hall. “Please make sure she is given a seat.”

“Of course,” they assure him, to which he nods. His eyes catch yours. 

“I will find you once the trials are over,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond. “Good luck.”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sentiment.

“Luck is typically not required,” he tells you. You feel a little heat of embarrassment rise on your skin, but the smile that appears at the corner of Neuvillette’s lips assures you he’s only joking with you. 

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

With that, he turns and heads up a staircase that will lead him upstairs to the judge’s seat.

You follow the staff member into the theater, still feeling a little warm.

As it turns out, Neuvillette has a full docket today. 

From morning to afternoon, you spend your day settled into your seat in the theater—watching prosecutors and defendants present evidence and argue back and forth.The cases draw most of your attention, but your gaze still strays to Neuvillette every so often, just to make sure he’s alright.

And he seems to be…for the most part.

Once or twice, you notice that his eyes are unfocused—staring off into the distance, and not at the person who is speaking. And when a recess is taken for lunch, and Neuvillette finds you to invite you to partake in lunch with him, you notice that the flush on his neck has returned.

Silently, you wonder if he’s getting sick…although you’ve never heard of Iudex Neuvillette being sick before now.

You make sure to send him back up to his stand with an extra bottle of water (which he downs quite quickly. Then, he even motions for one of the nearby employees to bring him more, which…also must be a little strange, considering you see some people in the audience watching Neuvillette, instead of the “show”).

By the time his docket has been cleared, and the two of you take the aquabus back to the city, the work day is over. You and Neuvillette bid each other farewell, and you return home.

Your third day is spent helping Neuvillette finish up paperwork related to the cases from the previous day. 

He remains flushed the entire time—the blush on his neck creeping up to his ears. He also begins sighing heavily every so often, and his requests for water become more frequent—to the point where Sedene, who guards Neuvillette’s stash of imported waters, even gets surprised by how quickly he’s going through them.

However, it’s not until the fourth day—when you see Neuvillette behind his desk, face flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and his official robes discarded due to how hot he is—that you finally have the guts to speak up.

“Monsieur,” you say hesitantly, remaining gentle despite the way his head nearly snaps up to look at you. 

“Is it possible that you’re sick?”

Neuvillette frowns at the suggestion, as if that’s impossible, but…after a few seconds, he seems contemplative.

“Would you be able to go to the library and fetch me a book?” he responds without answering your original question. He writes the title down on a piece of paper for you, and you take it—unable to say no.

After a short trip to the library, you recruit the help of the librarian, who points you in the right direction, and—soon enough—you find what Neuvillette has asked for.

A book on the history of the Dragon Authorities.

…huh.

Dutifully, you take the book back to Neuvillette after checking it out, and he thanks you—setting it off to the side until he has finished what he’s working on. It takes another hour or so, but finally, out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the book.

He flips through the pages until he finds the section he’s most interested in, and then he just…reads. For a while.

You keep yourself busy organizing paperwork in the meantime, and don’t pay him much mind. At least, until you hear a crunching sound.

Startled, you glance over at Neuvillette, only to find that his desk is cracked—his hand gripping it so hard that the wood has actually splintered.

You jump to your feet.

“Neuvillette—?!”

“Leave.”

There’s an edge to his typically calm voice.

“What—”

You’re unable to get more than a word out before his sharp eyes find you—his pupils like daggers.

“Leave,” he repeats, slightly more calm. Although, you swear you can almost hear a rumble in his chest.

Your heart sinks, worry blooming in your chest. Did you do something to upset him?

Seeing how your face twists, Neuvillette takes a deep breath.

“I apologize,” he says, his tone measured. His eyes meet yours for a long beat before he glances away, unable to look at you.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, and I appreciate your help until now, but I will no longer be needing your assistance. Please go home.”

Not understanding why he’s had a sudden change in demeanor, you want to prod him for answers about what’s going on, but…seeing the tenseness of his body, and the way his chest heaves, you decide to listen to his request.

Without further argument, you gather your things and quickly head for the door—only pausing to say one last thing before leaving.

“It was nice working with you, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips even though he refuses to look your way. “If you ever need my assistance again, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

The sound of the door shutting behind you is loud in Neuvillette’s ears, and once you’re gone, he finally lets go of his desk—chips of wood sprinkling the floor at his feet.

He attempts to take a deep breath to calm himself—but it has the opposite effect—his jaw clenching as his senses are flooded with the scents in his office, all of which seem more pungent than usual.

Leather book covers, fresh ink, Springvale water, his freshly washed robe, and a fleeting, sweet scent…

A scent that he wants to chase after.

He closes his eyes, stopping his train of thought.

Then, with shaking fingers, he picks up his pen and grabs a piece of paper.

As he drafts the notice of closure he intends to pass along to Sedene, a thunderstorm begins brewing outside his window.

On the morning of what should have been your fifth and final day in Neuvillette’s care, you wake up and find that you can’t simply let things be. 

You do your best to distract yourself with whatever chores in your apartment need doing, but it doesn’t work. You can’t stop thinking about Neuvillette—the flush on his skin, and the way his eyes had looked when he’d commanded you to leave.

It had all just felt so…out of character. You can’t help but worry about him.

So, despite the thunderstorm that’s been raging outside since you’d returned home the evening before, you decide to go and check on him.

You bundle yourself up in a coat and shoes that won’t be ruined by the rain, and then grab your umbrella—heading out into the storm.

As expected, not many people are out, which makes traversing the streets quite easy. You ride the elevator up to the Palais Mermonia alone, running up the steps and into the building to escape the rain.

In your hurry, you miss the notice that’s been posted on the doors to the building.

Once inside, you close your umbrella and prepare an apology to Sedene for dripping all over the floor, but to your surprise, she’s not at her desk. In fact, there’s not a soul in sight—the lights off, and the hall empty.

You’ve never heard of the Palais Mermonia shutting down before…

You take a step back towards the entrance as lightning illuminates the room—figuring it’s best if you leave. But…

Your gaze strays towards the doors to Neuvillette’s office, and after a beat, your feet begin moving on their own.

Assuming Neuvillette is here (because it’s not hard to imagine him working, even if everyone else is gone), you want to make sure he’s alright. 

So, you grip the handle to his office door, and quietly push your way inside.

A clap of thunder drowns out the sound of the office door clicking closed, and you take a step deeper inside, your eyes peering around the room.

In the darkness, you don't immediately spot anyone.

“Neuvillette?” you call out, just to be sure.

Before his name has finished leaving your lips, a shadow moves. Something rounding Neuvillette’s desk and heading towards you—snake-like eyes shining through the darkness.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you trip over your feet in a panic as you rush to grab the handle of the office door—hoping to throw it open and dart outside before whatever monster you’ve just walked in on is able to get to you.

And really—it has to be a monster. It’s quicker than you—quicker than a normal human—crossing Neuvillette’s office in less than a second.

A scaled hand slams against the door beside your head, and little sound of fear is ripped from your throat. 

You're being prevented from leaving—the door not budging even when you try and discreetly tug at the handle.

Your chest shudders as you take a breath, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fearing the worst.

Even with your back turned, you know there's some sort of beast behind you. One that’s stronger than you. One that will probably end your life before you can beg for mercy— 

“I told you not to return here.”

The sound of Neuvillette’s voice beside your ear causes you to jolt.

He’s so close to you that you can feel his breath on your skin, and while realizing that it’s Neuvillette who is behind you should be a comfort, it’s also…frightening. 

You’re aware—like most Fontainians—that Iudex Neuvillette is not totally human, considering he has been presiding as the chief judge for more than a few centuries now, but…you’ve never seen him act like this.

“I…was worried about you. After yesterday,” you respond, finally finding your voice. 

“I sent you away for a reason.”

His voice is deeper than normal—a rumble vibrating in his chest as he speaks. 

His lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver. Goosebumps rise on your skin and your heart races faster despite your best efforts to stay calm. 

However, staying calm isn’t easy to do in this situation—especially when Neuvillette literally starts to glow.

The scales on his hand which you’d spotted early begin to softly shine blue in the dim light of the room—his nails curling and carving uneven lines into the wood of the door in front of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, your breath hitching when his free arm suddenly curls around you. His forearm rests between your breasts, his palm splaying over your sternum, and you feel him take a deep breath—almost like he’s inhaling your scent.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat. He can feel your pulse raising—your heart thundering in your chest.

You unconsciously grip the door knob tighter.

“Protect me from what, exactly, Monsieur…?”

“Me,” he responds.

His words send electricity up your spine.

“The way I’ve been acting—the way I’ve been feeling recently—it’s very unusual, and something I’ve never experienced before,” he admits—his warmth bleeding into your back as his body curls around you.

“That’s why I had you retrieve that book for me when you questioned if I was ill. There was a small change in my…constitution, lately. One that only early generations of my kind have experienced. So I wanted to brush up on history, and see if I could find any clues. And I did.”

He takes another long breath, and you hear the wood of the door crunch as his grip tightens.

“Experiencing a lack of focus, increased appetite, increased body temperature, and increased sensitivity to certain scents are all signs of one thing. An impending rut.”

A rut.

The word hits you like a train.

“While having an assistant was a nice change, being around you only exacerbated the issue.”

He doubts you’d taken notice with how immersed you’d been in your own tasks this week, but Neuvillette has been watching you. The way you tuck your hair back when you’re reading, the way your ass looks when you bend down to gather papers, the scent of your perfume whenever you approach his desk…

At first, he’d been distraught by his own actions—not understanding why he was being so…improper towards you. But now he gets it.

His instincts have been itching for something to mate. And now that something is you.

Diligent, kind, and pretty…those traits, combined with being around you 8 hours a day, have made you an easy pick.

“That’s why I told you to leave. Why I closed down Palais Mermonia today—to spare anyone any trouble, and to try and deal with this on my own. But you just had to come back…”

The hand on your chest inches closer to your breast—fingers hovering above the soft mound of flesh—before Neuvillette catches himself, and backs off.

“I think I have enough willpower remaining to grant you one last chance,” he tells you, although his throat tightens as he speaks—as if saying such a thing pains him.

“I’ll release you, and when I do, run.”

Run.

Run.

Your instincts scream at you to do just that—the world moving in slow motion as Neuvillette takes a deep breath and takes a step back. 

His hands retract, momentarily relinquishing their hold on you and the door.

All you need to do now is twist the handle and dart outside. To leave him here, and not look back.

You turn the handle, and the door inches open. Behind you, you swear you hear something akin to a whine becoming trapped in Neuvillette’s throat. 

Despite his words, he doesn’t want you to leave. He’s only doing this out of consideration for you.

But…based on the way he’d spoken about his rut—the way he’d needed to read up on his symptoms to determine what exactly was going on—he’s obviously never had to deal with this before. And from what you know of ruts and heat cycles and the like, you doubt dealing with this alone will be enjoyable for him. 

In fact, it will probably be painful.

Your grip on the door handle tightens painfully.

You’re scared, but—

Slowly, you close the door—until it clicks, and you’re once again trapped inside the room with Neuvillette. 

You can’t leave him here to suffer on his own.

Neuvillette’s arms wrap around you. His nails dig into your skin through your shirt.

“Why didn’t you leave, you—”

His frustrated voice cuts off, and you can only assume he wants to call you some silly name, but can’t bring himself to. Ever polite, even in this state of his.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, his long hair tickling your cheek. You reach up one of your hands and gently pet his hair.

“It didn’t feel right to leave you here. Alone,” you respond, and despite the way your heart is racing nervously, you still don’t regret your decision.

Neuvillette huffs. His breath is hot on your skin.

“I won’t be able to stop myself any longer,” he tells you. The truth in his words become apparent a moment later, when you feel his canines scrape your neck, and his pelvis grind against your ass. 

The almighty Iudex—helpless to fight his instincts.

“I know,” you say quietly. Your other hand gives his arm a little squeeze—a reassurance that you’ll be okay. 

“This is wrong of me…”

The frustration in his tone is quickly melting into desperation, his lips incessant at your neck.

A quiet laugh leaves you.

“Wriothesley and I…we already do this kind of thing together. So…if it helps, consider it a part of my job.”

Truthfully, you don’t consider it to be a part of your job. What you and Wriothesley have is not born out of obligation (although, neither is this). But you’re sure hearing such a thing from you will help put Neuvillette at ease, considering his penchant for propriety.

And, of course, it does.

He takes a deep breath—

“Thank you—”

—and then immediately grabs your chin, and turns your head so he can kiss you.

The noise of surprise you make is quickly drowned out by his tongue. A tongue that is longer than a humans, considering it pushes into the back of your mouth—nearly forcing past your uvula and down your throat.

The intense kiss has you fisting your hands in his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to reciprocate, but with every passing second, you realize that will be impossible.

He is absolutely going to swallow you whole.

His barrage of sloppy, passionate kisses go on for what seems like forever—your head actually beginning to swim as your body fights for oxygen.

Only when the first, pathetic whine leaves your throat does Neuvillette remember he needs to allow you to breathe. 

Retracting his tongue, a line of spit connects the two of you as you begin gasping for air.

However, Neuvillette is unable to wait for you to regain your bearings.

He grabs you by the backs of your thighs and hefts you into the air—your knees straddling either side of his torso as he carries you across his office, and over to the sofa.

He lays you down on the soft cushions, and you stare up at him, your skin flushed, eyes wide, and chest heaving.

He needs to see more of you. Needs to hear more cute sounds. Needs you all fucked out and stuffed with his—

Swooping down, Neuvillette captures your lips again. But this time, it’s more of a proper make-out—his lips melding against yours and your tongues rolling together as his hands trace your waist and settle near your hips.

You gasp into his mouth when you feel his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants. Then, a beat later, the hem of your panties.

Both items of clothing are in the way of what he wants.

In one swift move, he discards them both—stripping your lower half bare. He deposits your clothing on the floor beside the couch, and as he does so, he sits back—his gaze heavy with hunger as he admires you.

The intensity with which he regards you has you quickly feeling self-conscious, but before you can even think of trying to shield yourself from him, his hands are on your knees.

He pries your legs apart. 

You can't help the little gasp that leaves you—your pussy throbbing with nervous anticipation as his fingertips trace up your thighs.

His palms settle on your hips, and again, a noise is ripped out of you as he forces your lower half off the couch.

As if you weigh nothing more than a feather, Neuvillette drags you down the couch to meet him—your spine curving as he continues to manhandle you—lifting your pelvis farther and farther off the cushions, until your ass is resting on his chest, and your legs are thrown over his shoulders.

His gaze angles sharply downwards, to your cunt. And for a second, the pressure he exudes is truly that of a dragon—one that could unhinge its jaw and swallow you in one bite.

But while Neuvillette does open his mouth, he doesn’t bare any teeth.

No, the Hydro Dragon Sovereign actually wets his lips before he leans down to meet you.

The first taste of his meal.

You can’t help but hold your breath—your fingers curling into the couch cushions beneath you as Neuvillette’s tongue nudges between your folds.

He traces his tongue up—circling your clit, and making you jolt—before dragging it back down to the spot where your arousal has started to pool. You can feel the pressure of his tongue as he presses it at your entrance.

And for a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just sits there, silently allowing your taste—your essence—to wash over his tongue. But once he's sure that he's memorized the taste of you—committed it to his memory as a sinful pleasure he’ll surely relish in during the millennia yet to come—he gets down to business.

His tongue nudges between your walls, his nose brushing up against the soft skin of your pussy as he makes his mouth flush with you. And as he does so, you (foolishly) assume he's as deep as he can go. That the stretch of your cunt around his tongue will be good preparation for what's likely to come, and he'll simply lap at you until he's satisfied.

…of course, if he was a normal man, that might be the case.

You keep forgetting that he's a dragon.

“Oh, fuck,” you pant, hips jumping in his hold as his tongue suddenly thickens and elongates. It twists deeper inside of you, filling up your cunt wholly.

You've never felt anything akin to this before.

“Monsieur—,” you say, breathless. You can't even think of what you want to say to him.

His sharp eyes slide open, meeting yours. 

He says nothing, doesn't dare to take his mouth off of you to speak—not willing to let a drop of you go to waste. But, he does give your leg a little squeeze—a small reassurance, you think.

Then, his tongue starts to move.

He fucks it inside of you with precise control—rolling it up against different areas inside of you until he locates that one special spot that makes you gasp. Your thighs tighten around his head, and your pussy clamps down on his tongue, causing a happy little rumble to resound inside Neuvillette’s chest.

He becomes relentless immediately, his nose brushing up against your clit as he continues grinding his tongue inside of you. Your body writhes, and he holds you tightly—his fingers pressing bruises into your skin where he touches you.

He can't stop. 

He bullies your g-spot incessantly.

You feel like you’re on fire—pleasure scorching away at the nerves that connect your brain to your body. 

You can't control yourself.

The moans and whines that escape you—the arousal that gushes over Neuvillette’s tongue as he continues fucking you…

“Monsieur…Neuvillette, I—”

Oh god, you can't even get a full sentence out. You want to warn him that you're going to cum—that you won't be able to hold back if his tongue continues moving inside of you like that—but he already knows. He can sense what's coming in the way your muscles tense, and your breath catches.

Cum, he wants to say, but doesn't—not daring to remove his mouth from you when you're on the precipice of an orgasm. 

Within seconds, you come undone—the walls of your pussy fluttering around him, and helpless whimpers falling from your lips.

And yet, even with you being mid-orgasm, a dragon that's drunk on the taste of you pushes for more. He folds you over—trying to reach deeper inside of you. 

The slick from your pussy overflows and drips down between the cheeks of your ass, and immediately, Neuvillette’s fingers are there—gathering it up and smearing it against your hole.

The sensation has you sharply intaking a breath.

“Neuvillette, you're—”

“Shh,” he says, for the first time retracting his tongue from inside of you. He kisses at your clit, his free hand trailing up your torso and beneath your shirt. 

“Lift your arms,” he says, his voice deep, and yet soft. The hunger in his gaze hasn't waned one bit, but knowing he has a mate to help him through his rut has put him somewhat at ease, and he doesn't want you to fear him.

Without arguing, you do as he says, and he manages to wrestle your shirt over your head. 

Finally, you're bare beneath him. 

He takes a second to admire you, his hand moving to rest against one of your breasts. He cups it with his palm, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, and when you immediately jolt in response—he almost smiles.

Almost, because he still has more work to do if he wants to fully indulge in you, and satisfy his own needs.

“I'll take care of you,” he promises. “Trust me.”

And before you can even think of how to respond, he slips one of his fingers into your ass. 

The gasp that leaves you quickly deteriorates into a lewd moan as his tongue once again returns to your cunt, and you swear it’s somehow even bigger than it was before. 

Not having forgotten his new discoveries, Neuvillette effortlessly locates that special little spot inside of you and begins assaulting it once more—reveling in the way your body shakes, and your ass flutters around his finger. 

He needs you pliant and ready for him, and it takes all of his willpower to not rush. To work at the pace your body needs.

Luckily, his mouth on your pussy and his hand on your breast helps loosen you up. The tension you'd first held—nervous about stepping into the dragon's clutches—begins melting away. 

You trust that he won't hurt you.

“Ah—!” 

He slips a second finger inside of you.

Compared to the incessant rub of his tongue inside you, the motion of his fingers is calmer—a purposeful, moderate pace—and the dueling sensations make your head spin.

It's all so much. 

“Neuvillette—”

You reach one of your hands up, needing to ground yourself with something—and you end up taking a fistful of his hair. 

Neuvillette very nearly growls at the sensation.

He needs to hear you say his name like that again. Actually, more than that, he needs to feel you clenching down on his—

Neuvillette groans into your pussy as you tug at his hair once more. In response, he retracts his tongue from inside you and drags it upwards—grinding it against your clit.

Instantly, you lose it.

A mix of curses, blabbers, and his name are drawn from you—your body squirming against the couch cushions as he laps at your neglected and sensitive clit. At the same time, he scissors his fingers inside your ass, testing to see if you’re stretched enough for one more—

“Neuvillette—I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” 

He says it this time—a low command partnered with the sensation of a third finger pressing inside of you. But before your brain can even digest the increased girth of his fingers, his mouth suctions back on your clit, and your toes curl.

“Fuck—!” you choke, your head pressing into the cushion as the tension inside of you snaps—pleasure rushing forth.

You unconsciously tug at Neuvillette’s hair and he takes a deep, long breath in through his nose. He’s careful to not stop the motion of his tongue or the grinding of his fingers inside of you until you begin to whine—your hand moving from his hair to his shoulder as you attempt to push him away.

Then, he finally relents.

Sitting back, Neuvillette takes a moment to survey you. 

Your chest heaving as you attempt to catch your breath, a few stray hairs sticking to the skin of your face, the slick arousal that’s smeared against your pussy, and the way you’re asshole flutters around nothing after he slowly removes his fingers…

You’re ready.

Still in the middle of catching your breath, you’re drawn back into reality by the sound of the rustling of clothes.

You peek your eyes open to find Neuvillette above you, shedding himself of his clothing. You hadn't noticed earlier, but he isn’t wearing his formal robes today. Maybe because he hadn't been expecting to see anyone, and therefore hadn’t bothered dressing up to the nines.

Neuvillette starts by loosening his tie, and then unbuttons his shirt—tossing both items down onto the floor, where they lay in a heap along with your own clothing. You expect his pants to be the next to go, but you both realize at the same moment that with his boots on, it will take more time than he wants to completely strip his bottom half.

Luckily, he doesn’t need to be completely naked to fuck you.

Popping the button and tugging down the zipper of his pants, you watch with bated breath as finally shoves his pants and underwear down. The fabric drags across his bulge as he does so, and you note for the first time how…substantial it is. 

He may actually be bigger than Wriothesley, which is something you were not expect—

Neuvillette finishes shoving his clothing down to his thighs, and you watch in pure shock as not one, but two heavy, ribbed, lightly glowing dicks spring out of his trousers.

…oh.

You hold your breath, unable to peel your eyes away from the sight of him. You’d never even considered that as a dragon, his sexual organs may be a bit different from that of a humans. You can understand now why he’d made a point to work your ass open…

Speaking of—

“Neuv—!” you gasp in surprise as he rubs his dicks between the folds of your pussy. You feel the head of one of his members catch at your entrance, but he doesn’t linger there—instead using his hand to guide it down to your ass.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, sensing your apprehension. 

He doesn’t look at you, though, as he says those words—his voice tight with desperation. He can’t wait anymore, so he has to believe them. Has to believe that he’s done enough to prepare you for what’s to come.

Gripping his length tightly, Neuvillette nudges his dick inside your asshole. 

It’s a tight fit—one that has you choking on a whine and grasping at his wrist—your nails digging into his skin. It’s not painful, but it’s still a lot—your chest shuddering as he continues to inch himself deeper inside of you.

As he does so, his other cock grinds against your pussy—helplessly waiting for its own turn to be inside of you, precum leaking from his slit and smearing against your skin.

“Gods,” he pants, a waver in his voice. His eyes are aglow as he watches himself slowly sink into your ass—the friction positively heavenly—and soon enough, he’s fully inside of you, his hips flush with your bottom. 

Your breaths coming quick, and your hand still holding tight around his wrist, the two of you meet eyes.

Then, the last little thread of Neuvillette’s sanity finally crumbles in the face of his overwhelming need to rut.

Claws digging into the flesh of one of your thighs, he forces it wider open, and grabs his second cock with his other hand.

“Neuvillette, wait—,” you try to say, but it’s no use. Even with your ass still adjusting to his intrusion, Neuvillette shoves the head of his cock into your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck—!” you cry, your fingernails digging crescents into his skin. 

Already drenched from Neuvillette’s previous actions, he expects your pussy to take him easier, but with your ass full, and your body struggling to relax, it proves challenging. He can only get his length half way inside of you before you’re gripping him so tightly that he can’t move another inch.

Drunk with desire, he actually growls.

“I—”

I’m sorry, you want to say, but can’t get the words out. You just need a minute to adjust. You can do this for him—want to do this for him—but—

“Hush,” he mumbles, close, and then his lips are on yours. 

His body cages you in as he kisses you—one of his hands resting beside your head, while the other finds the small of your back, rubbing circles into your flesh.

“You’ve been doing so well for me,” he tells you, breathless. “Taking everything I give, responding so perfectly to everything.”

His words of praise go straight to your pussy, and you whine as he pushes deeper inside of you—your walls relaxing enough to allow him farther in.

Neuvillette makes a happy, yet somewhat inhuman noise.

“That's it, good girl…just a bit more.”

Hearing such words from the esteemed Iudex—his hand warm on your back, and his lips soft on your skin…you want nothing more than to please him.

Taking a shaky little breath, you dispel the tension in your body. 

Immediately, Neuvillette takes advantage. With one last nudge, he stuffs the rest of his cock inside of you.

You’ve never felt so full.

Overcome with joy—a satisfaction deep within him that he’s never felt before—Neuvillette kisses you once more. 

…then, he begins to move his hips.

You cry out, your body shaking in his hold, but he doesn’t let you go. 

The slow, full rock of his hips very quickly deteriorates into quick, desperate thrusts—his cocks stretching out your holes.

The sensation is like nothing you’ve experienced before, and you find yourself helpless to do anything at all. You can hear your own voice, but don’t know what you’re saying, or if the sounds you’re making are words at all. Because while it’s your pussy and ass that are being made a mess of, your brain feels equally as scrambled—unable to conjure even one intelligent thought.

Right now, you’re just a dragon's mindless breeding hole.

The sloppy sound of sex fills Neuvillette’s office, and while it is nearly drowned out by the downpour happening outside—thick droplets of rain pelting against the windows—the plap of Neuvillette’s balls against your ass is impossible to miss. 

Ah…you’re going insane.

A tiny sob slips past your lips, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. 

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire—each stroke of Neuvillette’s cocks pushing you closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm. 

“Ahh…”

The heady sound from Neuvillette catches your attention, and you peak your eyes open, staring up at the dragon above you.

Never before have you seen him look so debauched—his hair falling out from his braid, and his face and chest flushed. His eyes remain focused on the space where his body meets yours, mesmerized by the way your body accepts him in full—nearly sucking him in, now that you’ve adjusted and any discomfort has turned to pleasure.

Only when he hears you sob again—a pathetic, desirous little sound—does his gaze stray upwards.

And what he sees makes his heart skip a beat.

He’s not sure he’s ever witnessed a sight so sinful. The plush of your lips, the unshed tears that wet your eyes, and the bounce of your breasts with each of his thrusts. 

Before he knows it, he’s leaning down to kiss you. 

You whine into his mouth, your arms lifting to hug around his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies. He groans as your nails leave tracks against his porcelain skin, but he doesn’t relent. 

He’s getting close.

And, judging by the way you whimper—your pussy and ass clenching down on him—you must be close too.

Spurred on, Neuvillette kisses you again and again—his kisses open-mouthed and sloppy as his tongue dances around your own. Drool and tears quickly paint your cheeks, but you’re helpless to do anything about it.

Right now, all you know is that you’re going to cum. The stretch of his cocks—the way they rub against your walls as he continues fucking into you with abandon—it’s too much. Your muscles tense, and Neuvillette’s brows pinch together as your holes suddenly tighten on him.

“Neuvillette,” you sob, the sound of his name broken as you speak it against his lips. 

“Y/N,” he pants in turn. His rhythm becomes careless as he begins to lose it as well, but he continues to fuck you the best he can despite the constricting of your walls.

It’s only a few seconds longer before you come undone—your body shaking and nails digging into his back as you orgasm. Broken little sounds escape from your mouth as waves of pleasure tear through you, and the sensation of you cumming is ultimately what does Neuvillette in as well.

With one last buck of his hips, the Iudex buries himself inside of you and cums.

His chest shudders as you milk him dry, and you struggle to keep your eyes open—feeling utterly boneless now that the tension inside of you has gone.

For a minute, the two of you stay as you are—basking in the afterglow of your orgasms. Then, Neuvillette sits back and slowly pulls out of you. 

You make a quiet noise, feeling yourself clench around nothing once you’re no longer stuffed with his cocks, and he smiles at the sound, sensing a hint of disappointment.

“You did so well,” he tells you. 

Placing his hands on your waist, he gently maneuvers you to allow himself room to lay down on his side beside you. 

The feel of his arm wrapping around you and pulling you snuggly back against his body causes a contented sigh to leave your lips, and after a few seconds, you muster up the energy to speak.

“I take it you feel a bit better now?”

“Much,” he responds, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he presses them to your cheek. 

“However…”

He peppers another kiss against your cheek, and then your jaw, and neck. At the same time, his fingers ghost down your abdomen, until his palm is resting on your lower tummy. 

With gentle pressure, he urges your ass back against him—his hips inching forward at the same time—and shockingly, you realize that he’s still hard.

“...it seems that I’m not satisfied quite yet.”

When Wriothesley emerges from the Fortress the next day, the downpour he’d caught word of from some of the prison guards has stopped—only a few clouds littering the blue sky.

Hopefully this is a good sign, he thinks to himself, starting on his way to the aquabus station. 

He takes the line into the city, intending first to visit Neuvillette at the Palais—to hear about how his week fared with the help of an assistant. Then, once that’s done, he’ll go and visit you at your apartment to…catch up.

Smiling to himself, Wriothesley departs the aquabus and takes the path towards Nevuillette’s office. (Because somehow, he doubts the Iudex is at home relaxing like most people do on their days off.)

As he trudges up the steps to the Palais Mermonia, he steps on a wet piece of paper in front of the door. It’s the handmade notice that had been posted on the door two evenings prior, and had subsequently blown off in the storms that followed—but Wriothesley doesn’t think anything of it.

Pushing the door open, he heads inside.

“Neuvillette?” he calls gently, his knuckles rapping against the door to the Iudex’s office. 

The sound of a throat being cleared comes from inside.

“Come in.”

“I figured I’d find you here,” Wriothesley jokes as he steps inside, spotting Neuvillette as his normal place behind his desk. However, what isn’t normal is the fact that there’s a person sleeping on his couch—their body shrouded with a blanket, and an assortment of untouched food and a glass of water on the coffee table beside them.

Immediately Wriothesley freezes, confused about what’s going on, but…when he looks a bit closerr, he realizes the hair popping out from the top of the blanket, and the scent of the person on his couch are all too familiar.

“Y/N?”

Wriothesley walks up to the sofa, blinking in surprise when he sees that it is indeed you who is passed out—your face just barely peeking from beneath the blankets that have been snuggly wrapped around you.

“You know, Neuvillette, when I lent her to you for the week, I didn’t expect you to work her until the point of exhaustion,” he jokes, looking over towards Neuvillette with a playful hint of a grin. He expects Neuvillette to sigh and apologize, but the abashed look he is instead faced with causes Wriothesley to pause once more. 

It’s then that the Duke notices a small pile of clothes neatly folded on the floor next to the sofa, along with your shoes. 

Hesitantly, Wriothesley grips the edge of the blanket and slowly tugs it away from your body. 

He’s met with the sight of naked shoulders, and a neck peppered with small bites and bruises.

Just as slowly as he’d moved the blanket down, he tugs it back up.

The office sits in silence for a moment. 

“She is…unharmed,” Neuvillette finally speaks, moving a strand of hair away from his face. “Her current state is my fault.”

Wriothesley’s eyes scan over him.

“Compared to when I last saw you, you seem to be faring much better.”

His words cause the blush on Neuvillette’s face to deepen, and Wriothesley cracks a small smile, letting loose a sigh.

“Ahh, to think even the almighty Iudex would fare poorly due to unfulfilled needs.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that,” Neuvillette says with a sigh of his own, prompting Wriothesley to raise an eyebrow. However, when Neuvillette doesn’t speak right away—unsure about divulging the specifics that lead to this outcome—Wriothesley decides to not push it.

“Well, whatever the reason, I trust that you haven’t hurt her, and that she consented to whatever took place here.”

“Of course,” Neuvillette responds immediately.

Standing up from his chair, he walks over and stands beside Wriothesley—reaching down to brush a gloved finger against your cheek. You stir only slightly—nuzzling your face into the pillow your head rests upon.

Both men smile.

“She’s a good assistant, isn’t she?”

“She is; one that works with care and compassion for the one she is helping. She performed well beyond her duties.”

“You can see now why I like her,” Wriothesley says softly, and Neuvillette can see the fondness in his gaze as he regards you.

“She did tell me that she and you are not necessarily in a committed relationship, but…I apologize regardless if I crossed any sort of line.”

Wriothesley hums.

“While the thought of sharing her with anyone else like that does make me feel a bit…possessive…she did consent to what occurred, based on your words. And, honestly speaking, I’m glad it was you over anyone else.”

Neuvillette cocks an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“I trust you,” Wriothesley tells him. “Although, you having sex is not a thought that had crossed my mind before now. It makes me curious as to what exactly you did to her while the two of you were alone.”

“I assure you a majority of her time in my care was spent with her performing her standard duties as an assistant, and nothing else. As to what happened beyond that, well…I’m not sure I possess the courage to recall such details aloud.”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to assure Neuvillette he was just teasing, but the dragon continues before the Duke can interrupt.

“I suppose if you’d like to know, next time—should there be one—you’ll simply have to be present.”

Catching the meaning of his words, Wriothesley meets his gaze. 

Understanding passes between them.

“Hmm…I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Once Y/N has recovered, and when you next return to the surface, I’ll have to invite you both for a meal,” Neuvillette says, turning back towards his desk. “In the end, the support from you both did alleviate the issue that plagued me. It’s only right to repay such kindness when I’m next given the opportunity.”

Kneeling down beside you, Wriothesley pets your hair.

“Well, it would be a shame to pass up on such an offer. I certainly hope that fate grants the opportunity for our schedules to align.”

Taking a seat behind his desk, a small smile appears on Neuvillette’s lips.

“I shall hope for the same.”

[flowersforbucky]

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

“Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

[hamiltonaf]

Just A Friend | Max Verstappen

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Female Reader

Word Count: 1073

Warnings: None just fluff

A/N: Another TikTok trend lol. The only thing keeping me away from writers block atm. Surprised I’ve never written for Max on here before so I hope I did this justice. Enjoy .xx

Life of a content creator means being active on my socials. “Okay, I think we’re live now,” I smiled at the screen as my phone lit up with notifications. “Hi guys ! Welcome to this very chaotic, very last-minute ‘Get Ready With Me’ because I have no time management skills and I’ve got somewhere to be in—” I glanced at the clock on the wall, “—an hour. Great.”

I sat at my vanity with my makeup splayed out, Max’ oversized hoodie on and a few strands of hair already clipped back. The chat was moving fast, comments rolling in about my skin care, questions about where I was going, and the usual: “Are you dating anyone ?” “Why haven’t we seen you post with that guy again ?”. Max and I have been together for 6 months now and I’ve soft launched him once on my story - nothing official on our accounts, let people continue to speculate.

Just as I picked up my concealer, a shadow moved behind me in the doorway, and I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Max. He was shirtless of course, and casually strolling past, like he didn’t just interrupt a live in front of thousands of viewers who were now collectively losing their minds.

I froze mid-blend as the chat exploded.

WHO WAS THAT?
HELLO???
MA’AM
THAT’S MAX VERSTAPPEN??
BACK UP.
WHO WAS THAT MAN?
IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND?
DON’T LIE TO US, Y/N.

I choked on a laugh and quickly looked back over my shoulder. “Don’t mind him,” I said with the most dismissive wave I could muster. “That’s just a friend.” A friend. Yep. Sure. Just a friend who slept in my bed last night and stole all the covers and kissed me breathless in the kitchen this morning. From the hallway, I heard a quiet, almost stunned voice repeat, “Friend ?”

I pretended not to hear him. “Anyway !” I said way too brightly, dabbing under my eyes. “We’re doing something soft and glowy today because I have no time for winged liner. I’m meeting up with a friend after a while for dinner so I’m quite excited.. and hungry.” Behind the doorframe, Max’s head poked out again, his brows drawn together in an expression that clearly read are you kidding me ? He whispered it again—louder this time. “Friend ?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I could feel his stare like heat on my skin.

I went on with my makeup, brushing blush onto my cheeks while my chat continued to spiral in all caps. Max had disappeared again, but I knew that was not the end of it. He wasn’t going to let this go.

Fifteen minutes later, I wrapped up, did a little pose for the camera, and waved. “Okay! That’s it for today, I love you guys. Thanks for watching. I’ll see you soon, byeeee!” I ended the live, set my phone down, and barely had time to stretch before— “Friend ?” Max said from behind me, full offence in his voice.

I turned around slowly, trying not to laugh at the look on his face, arms crossed over his chest, hair tucked under his backwards cap, that adorable little crease between his brows when he was confused or annoyed… or both. I blinked innocently. “Hi.” “Don’t ‘hi’ me,” he said, stepping into the room. “Friend ? That’s what we are now ?”

I shrugged, biting my bottom lip. “I mean, technically, you are my friend.” “Technically, I’m your boyfriend,” he countered.“Right, but the internet doesn’t know that,” I teased, as I got dressed. “I’m preserving the mystery. Building intrigue. It’s part of the brand.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “So I’m just part of your branding strategy now?” “You knew what this was,” I joked, grinning as he crossed the room in a few long strides. “I let you steal my last hoodie,” he said, gesturing dramatically toward the one I was just wearing. “I made you breakfast. I watched that awful romcom you love with the dog that dies. That’s not something friends do.”

I tilted my head playfully as I slipped on my heels. “You’re saying friends can’t watch movies together ?” “Not while you’re sitting in their lap and feeding them popcorn like that,” he shot back, leaning in closer. He was dangerously close now, and I was starting to lose my composure, my smirk faltering slightly. “And friends definitely don’t do this,” he added, voice dropping low as his hands found my waist.

I gasped, caught completely off guard as he pulled me in flushed against his chest. He leaned down and kissed me - soft, slow, and far too thorough to be innocent. I melted into it instantly, hands finding his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin. His kiss was familiar and warm and completely wrecked any illusion I had of teasing him further.

When he finally pulled back, just slightly, his lips still brushed mine as he whispered, “Still just a friend ?” I huffed out a breathless laugh. “Okay, fine. You’ve made your point.” He smiled, triumphant, resting his forehead against mine. “Good. Because if one more person asks if I’m your roommate, I might lose my mind.” I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.” I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You know I was just messing around, right ?” “Yeah,” he said, grin softening. “But I still like hearing you say I’m yours.” My heart did that ridiculous flutter thing it always did when he looked at me like that. “You are,” I said as I squeezed his face. “Mine.”

He kissed me again, gentle this time, all affection and no heat. Then he pulled me into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around me like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go. “I guess I should warn you,” I mumbled against his chest, “my DMs are about to be a warzone.” He laughed, low and amused. “You should’ve just told them the truth.”

“Oh yeah ?” I teased. “And what’s the truth?” “That I’m your very attractive, very patient, very not platonic boyfriend who is now going to steal that hoodie back as payment for emotional damage.” “Max!” But he caught me off guard as he carried me over his shoulder and slapped my butt.

Definitely not just a friend.

And I was totally fine with the world knowing that now.

[randompiecesofwriting]

Coffee Snob (Final!)

Summary: Robby has a bad shift, reader shows up to help keep him together

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: Angst! Happy ending though I promise! General talks of sad depressing things you know how it is

Author’s Note: The last part!! I’ve had so much fun with these two and I really hope you guys have too but I think that for now at least I’m done with them, let them have their happy ending. Thank you so much for all of your guys’ lovely comments they alone kept me writing new parts to this!

Tagging @li22ie2017 one last time!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Robby was right.

It was hard to go back to the way things were after that night. To return to a cold empty apartment shift after shift.

And maybe it was ridiculous to expect things to change drastically after one night. You’d only spent the night in his arms, made him breakfast the next morning, spent the remainder of the day in his clothes as the two of you went out and ran a bunch of errands.

The DMV, the bank, the locksmith, the grocery store. All day in his clothes, smelling like him after using his products in the shower.

That didn’t have to mean anything right?

But he could only take so many of Dana’s smug smirks as he delivered her coffee in the morning. Could only bare so much of Jack’s disappointed frowns each day at hand off as he asked if Robby had grown a pair yet.

So he was going to do it. Today. This morning. Before he could talk himself out of it.

He’d already talked his way through the process time and time again. Debated too many times if asking you to dinner was the wrong move given your profession. Wondered what he was going to do if he’d read the entire situation wrong from the beginning. He wasn’t going to push it off any longer.

He knocked on your door just as he did every morning before his shift. He had a surprisingly easy time getting up just a few minutes earlier if it meant he got to see you before going in. For too long he had told himself it was all for the caffeine.

He was practically repeating the words in his head as he waited. Practicing them over and over, ready for when you opened the door. Or at least he thought he was.

Because when that finally happened, when you finally opened the door and peered up at him with a bleary smile, his brain went fully blank.

How could it not when he saw that you were wearing his clothes.

He knew it was a possibility when he never got them back after lending them to you, but it was an entirely different ballgame in this moment, seeing you blinking the sleep from your eye, hair still mussed slightly from the night, silently waving him deeper into your place, all while wearing his sweatpants dangerously low on your hips. It was like you were trying to kill him.

He followed you in without a word, determined to recover, determined that he could still get through his question.

Then you beat him to the punch, speaking before he could, “they’re leak proof, I tested them, so you might want to put these in your bag” you handed him the familiar tumblers and he furrowed his brow at the instruction, nevertheless doing as you said and slipping them into the pockets of his backpack, the new rules becoming clear once you handed him an unfamiliar looking disposable cup.

He knew at this point his question was too far gone.

“What’s this?”

“Decaf for Abbot” you answered as if it were obvious, as if he should’ve known you’d make him one this morning.

“You made Jack one?”

You hummed almost nervously, playing with your fingers in front of you as you answered. “I’ve never met the guy so tell me if I’m wrong, but he seems like someone who would appreciate a proper pour over. Plain black and decaf of course”

“No he is” and the corner of his mouth tipped up in response as he inspected the cup “where’d you get it?”

You furrowed your brow at the question “what do you mean I made it”

“But it’s in a disposable cup”

“Well I couldn’t keep giving away all of my tumblers”

He paused at the implication, smile growing mischievously as he realized “Did you buy disposable cups just to give my coworkers coffee?”

You scoffed at the accusation, crossing your arms over your chest in response “What no I-“ you cut yourself off as you looked up at him to see Robby’s knowing smirk, the words dying in your throat “shut up”

He was laughing now, fully from his chest, the sound much too loud and earnest for this early in the morning and yet it felt right, it felt good. You watched him laugh while you squirmed slightly on the spot, rolling your eyes dramatically as you started to push him out of your apartment without another word, the corners of your lips still tipped up in amusement despite everything.

“No no I mean it’s sweet” he tried to defend himself, but you weren’t having it, hands on his back to physically move him out the door and into the hallway, grumbling about being late for work before slamming the door shut in his face, never giving him the chance to say anything more.

Robby’s grin never once slipped as you did so. “Thank you honey” he called loudly through the door despite the early hour as he shook his head softly, giving you a moment to respond even though he knew you wouldn’t before finally starting his trek down the hall.

With a smile on his face he couldn’t help but think that at least for now, this was enough.

-

Robby’s had some tough shifts in his time.

Of course none come close to the day of Pittfest in his mind but damn if today didn’t try and give it a run for its money.

He’d lost too many people, had to break the news to too many families, been screamed at by too many patients. Things just kept piling. He was pulled into too many directions so that it never felt like he could poke his head above water for even a second.

It was why at the end of his sift he found himself at the rooftop. On the wrong side of the fence. In Jack’s spot.

Jack was talking to him. And maybe he should be listening. Maybe he should care that his friend was trying to help. Maybe he should at least try and be nice when he asks him to leave but he doesn’t. He doesn’t blow up, he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t collapse onto himself, instead he shuts down. He stares out at the ground below him and lets everything else fade into the background.

So he misses the way the gravel crunches beneath Jack’s feet as he retreats, misses the second set of footsteps that approach in return.

What he doesn’t miss is the newcomers first words to him when they reach the safety railing “hey”

And for the first time a single emotion cuts through all of the numbness he’s felt since he got to the roof, giving way to pure panic. Because he knew that voice.

His head whipped up to meet your gaze in surprise “What are you doing here?”

You simply shrugged, leaned your forearms against the railing, looked past him at the skyline “thought I’d see what all the fuss was about, scope out your usual spot”.

And he knew what you were doing. This was the part where he jumped in, made a joke about not bringing alcohol this time, did anything to lighten the mood. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t get his head straight enough to form a cohesive thought because you weren’t supposed to be here, you weren’t supposed to see him like this, to see the cracks, to see how he could barely hold himself together, to see just how weak of a person he truly was.

And you must have read his silence, seen through him enough to know that he needed an answer, because eventually you provided one “Dana called me”

And of course she did, he loved the woman, respected the shit out of her, but she had a habit of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, of trying to solve problems she had no business being a part of “I’m fine”

He refused to look back at you as he said it, refused to let you read his face as he blatantly lied, refused to give any weight to the conversation, refused to give you any reason to stay. And for a second you let his answer hang in the air, let him choke on it just a little before you spoke “We both know you’re never fine when I find you on a rooftop Robby”

He whipped around again to meet your gaze as a million emotions ran through him, his head not sure whether he should be embarrassed or angry or resolute in that moment. You knew, you always knew, and of course you knew. From that very first day on the roof he’d been able to see how well you seemed to be able to read him but he thought he had done a better job at hiding it, at being non-cholent, at being a normal fucking person.

 “It was why I talked to you that first day you know” you continued as you ducked under the railing to come stand next to him “when I first saw you I thought about just turning around and going back inside”

He scoffed at that, burring his hands deeper into his jacket as they formed tight fists “instead you decided to what take pity on me? That why you started the conversation”

“Instead I decided hey here’s a guy who looks like he’d understand” you spoke the words quietly, without any heat, refusing to rise to his bitter tone “you aren’t the only one who seeks out a roof when things get bad”

That shut up him, made him swallow his pride, made him look down at you with surprised eyes, because you were the last person he would expect to need something like that, something you seemed to be able to read in his expression.

“I’m alone in this city Robby” you shrugged as if it were obvious, looking out over the edge as you spoke “no real friends, no family. I feel incredibly underqualified for the job I have and because of that I constantly put pressure on myself to be better, to be faster, to be more creative, to come up with more dishes, then maybe I can start to deserve what I have. I have an entire kitchen that relies on me including a chef de Patisserie who likes to randomly disappear on me meaning most days I’m the last one out and too many days I’m up at 4 in the morning doing prep work” you rambled nearly too fast for his brain to keep up, your eyes growing red as your blinks got quicker but never once did you allow yourself to faulter, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you looked back up at him “so yeah I saw a guy sitting alone on a rooftop and thought maybe I shouldn’t be alone and after watching you for a few seconds, seeing the weight on your shoulders, thought maybe he shouldn’t be alone either”

And he deserved you yelling at him for what he said, hell he deserved a lot more anger from you, but for now he let it be, let your words fill the air around him for a second before he spoke “I didn’t know-“

And he didn’t need to finish he thought, you knew where he was going with it, answering with a small shrug “I’ve gotten good at hiding it, better than you at least”

He snorted at that, the corners of his lips tilting up at the edges just slightly for the first time that night “you’ll have to teach me how to do that sometime”

Seeing his small attempt at a smile had you relaxing slightly, your posture slumping just a tad at the sight of it, the corner of yours raising as well “not a chance, I like knowing when I can be there for you”

For once Robby decided to let himself feel comfort in that thought, allow himself to be looked after for a change, just a little bit “I want to know that about you too, to be that person for you”

And he watched your smile turn almost sad in real time, your eyes casting back out to the city “I see the way you shoulder everyone’s responsibility Robby” he furrowed his brow slightly at the change, eyes never straying from you even as yours avoided him “for your patients obviously, but also for your coworkers, for your friends. It’s this massive weight you can almost see that you’re constantly threatened to be crushed under” and finally you cut your eyes back to meet him, any playfulness from the past few comments long gone “I’m terrified of becoming just another responsibility for you to shoulder”

“What if I want the responsibility?”

You snorted at the question but again it was wrong, it was sad, hollow “you’re a good man Michael Robinavitch. I don’t think you’ve ever taken on someone’s responsibility unwillingly”

And at first he didn’t know what to say to that, because to an extent you weren’t wrong. He knows that he invested to much of himself into his work, gave too much of himself away, took too much on. But he could never bring himself to regret it, to do less, to be less. It just wasn’t who he was. “You know I’ve never considered you a burden I needed to carry”

You sent him a raised brow, a silent feeling of disbelief “Even when you have to take a day off from work to take me to the DMV?”

He chuckled at that, chin dipping down to his chest “especially then” He took a moment to study you, to watch your reaction as he said it, to watch the way his answer seemed to bounce off of you rather than wash over you “I mean it when I say I like spending time with you. There are few places I would rather be at eight in the morning than the dmv if you’re there”

He felt his chest warm as he watched your smile grow at his words, watched the way you tried to hide it by looking away, watched the heat creep up into your face as you bit down on your lip, every part of you trying desperately to school your expression and failing miserably. It was cute.

“You know usually I tell myself that sometimes I have good days and sometimes I have bad days and that’s just the way it is” you were looking back up at him again, lips pulled up into a soft smile “I’ve had a lot less bad days since I met you”

And god did that make him feel proud, making him feel deserving to even be talking to you, make him feel at a total loss for words on how to respond because what does one say when someone like you says something like that to him.

And as usual you had an answer when he didn’t. Taking a seat at the edge, dangling your feet over the side, and patting the ground beside you, beckoning him into the position he’s shared with you from your apartment building many times before. “So here’s what we’re going to do”

He relented almost eagerly, taking a seat next to you, sitting close enough your shoulders brushed against one another, happy to see that you didn’t seem to mind “we’ve got three options” he nodded at that, more than happy to go along with anything you said at this point “you can talk about your day, I can talk about mine, or we can just sit in silence for a bit”

He knew his answer before you had even finished talking.

“Tell me about your day”

You smiled softly at that, looking up at him through your lashes, bumping your shoulder lightly against his before looking back out in front of you “Well it started with me remaking the coffee I gave you three times”

A surprised laugh snuck out of him at that “what?”

“Well not yours and Dana’s that one was fine, the decaf for Jack though? It kept coming out either too bitter or too acidic I nearly drove myself insane trying to get it right this morning”

“Abbot would snort ground up caffeine pills if we let him” Robby chuckled again, shaking his head as he spoke “you could’ve given him instant coffee dissolved in lukewarm water and he would’ve happily drunk it”

“It’s my first time making him coffee” you defended yourself with your own laugh “ I have to make a good impression”

He laughed louder at that, more and more weight almost imperceptibly falling off his shoulders with each passing moment “I don’t think-“

“Anyways” you cut him off pointedly, giving him a glare that lacked any heat from the corner of his eye as you continued “after that I went to the restaurant and worked for a bit on some new recipes, we have a critic who’s expected to come in sometime this week I want to have something new to give them”

“You ever figure out that duck dish” he asked genuinely curious, eagerly watching the grin grow on your face in response.

“Oh my god Robby we pulled out some blood oranges and made a pan sauce with the juice” and god did he love watching the passion on your face as you spoke, the excitement in your voice as you described the dish to him using words he didn’t recognize, your voice getting louder and faster as you went, your hand shooting out to squeeze his bicep as you did so something he wasn’t even sure you had noticed you were doing, too caught up in your own excitement.

He loved watching you get caught up in talking about your food, loved the passion of it, the ambition, the excitement. So much so that the words slipped out of him before he even became aware of the thought entering his head. “have dinner with me”

He could physically see your train of thought come to a screeching halt at the question, could see the way your entire body froze as you processed it “what?”

And a big part of him thought about walking it back, pretending he had said different words, that he didn’t mean to attach the exact meaning he meant to them. A bigger part of him, however, was more than ready to double down “have dinner with me”

You furrowed your brow at him, struggling to put together exactly what was happening, struggling to figure out where this was all coming from. He couldn’t help it as his mouth ticked up on one side in amusement. “Yeah I mean we can get dinner, it’s probably a little late to pick up anything but I can make us something quick”

He was fully grinning now “no, tomorrow. At a restaurant. I’ll even let you pick it”

Your expression still hadn’t changed, one brow raised high “you want to get dinner, tomorrow, at a restaurant?”

He nodded “And I want to dress up a little for it. And pick you up at your door and tell you how beautiful you look. And I want to make awkward small talk on the way there. And pay for it before I escort you back home and beg you to let me do it all again”

At that you paused, eyes bouncing back and forth between his own as you desperately tried to read him, silently assessing before seeming to come to a conclusion “you want to take me on a date?”

“Several if you’ll let me”

And even if he felt like he knew you well enough to read your expression Robby felt like he couldn’t properly breathe until you responded, until he had your actual answer out in the air between the two of you.

And maybe you could read that in him too for you had no problem drawing it out, letting the statement grow stale on his tongue before you spoke “promise the small talk will be awkward?”

A relieved chuckle expelled from him at the question, Robby taking his first proper breath since he had first asked before responding “I’ll even start by noting what good weather we’ve been having lately”

You grinned at that, biting your lip as you scootched impossibly closer to him “well it has been uncharacteristically warm as of late”

“save it for tomorrow. At this rate we’ll run out of things to say”

“Ahh well we can’t have that” you relented, hooking your arm through his and setting your head on his shoulder as the two of you looked out on the city.

“Limoncello” You spoke out after a brief silence, your voice soft “I think we should do Limoncello tomorrow”

He couldn’t have bit down on his grin if he had tried, leaning down before he could stop himself and placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head “I think I can make that happen”

You hummed happily at that, giving his arm a small squeeze in response.

“But only if we do Alta Via as the second one”

He could feel you laugh from his shoulder in response, your entire body shaking softly with it “Already planning the second one, someone’s awfully confident “

“I like to think I’ve earned the right to be by this point” he shrugged, still reveling in the ring of your laughter.

“Fine but I’m cooking for the third”

His grin grew so wide he could feel his cheeks hurt with it, unable to do little more than whisper his next word

“deal”

[chleem]

If it's casual now...

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: after five months of blurred lines and unspoken rules, everything unravels when you ask drew what you really are to him. suddenly, pretending it’s casual isn’t an option anymore.

Genre: angst (read at own caution; explicit languages + scenes

⋆.˚ dont copy or translate my work on any platforms

♡⸝⸝ phrase one | more

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“We need to talk.”

Your voice echoes through your dormitory, coming from Drew’s phone, the message you left from last night. 

It was the only thing you said, but you figured it would be enough to get him here. 

And it was. Drew showed up the way he always does-  unannounced, no text, no call, just the quiet click of your door unlocking and the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor.

Like he belongs here. Like it’s his space.

Now, he’s standing across from you behind the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped lazily around a mug. His hoodie’s slung over your chair, his phone charging in the same outlet he always claims.

He hasn't said anything yet. Just looking at you expectedly with the piercing blue eyes of his. 

You’re dressed- ready for class, your bag prepared by the couch, adjusting your bracelet- everything about you says you’re leaving. 

He plays your voice message again. 

“We need to talk.”

You send him a look, “stop playing that.”

Drew sets his mug down; the soft clink of ceramic against the counter louder than it should be, “you look pretty.”

You give him a faint smile, reaching up to adjust your necklace.

“Where you going?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know your schedule by heart.

“Class,” you say, trying to keep your voice light despite the thudding in your ears.

Drew nods at your answer, biting down on his bottom lip. “Okay… you look pretty,” he repeats. 

Then, he moves.

He steps out from behind the counter, and in just a few strides, he’s standing beside you, close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.

You can feel the warmth coming off him. That clean scent he always carries-something between laundry soap and the hoodie he probably hasn’t washed in a while- settles in the space between you. 

He somehow also smells like sleep and mornings and whatever’s left of the cologne he put on yesterday.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing at him before turning toward the small bulletin board by your dorm door.

You search for your keys, among the clutter of class notes and reminders pinned there, trying to focus on something else.

You could feel his stare burn on the back of your head. 

“I have your keys, babe,” 

“…both of them?”

“Yeah,” Drew replies, before the sound of keys jiggling fills the room. 

You turn around to see him sitting on your counter stool, legs spread comfortably. 

He sets both keys on the countertop.

You walk back over, and without much thought, he scoots the chair closer, closing the space until you’re settled between his legs.

Your fingers close around your key, the one with your familiar keychain and you want to leave, escape his presence, but you’re right in the middle of it. 

He reaches over, his bicep brushing lightly against the side of your waist as he grabs his phone. You already know what he’s going to do.

The message plays again: “We need to talk.”

You chuckle softly under your breath, and when you glance up, Drew’s smiling gently at you.

“Yeah?” He says. 

You meant it last night- that you were going to talk to him. But now, with him standing so close, it feels harder to do.

He hooks his finger into your belt loops, tugging gently, pulling you just a little closer, his touch light but deliberate, as if he’s trying to coax the words from you.

“You’ve got my attention,” he adds, voice low and almost teasing, but there’s sincerity to it too.

Where to start? 

You turn to face him, and he takes the chance to rest his hands on your lower waist, his bracelet (the one you got him) brushing against the fabric.

You take a deep breath, fingers nervously fidgeting with your keychain, then finally meet his gaze.

“What are we, Drew?”

You won’t lie- what other people say has been creeping into your mind more than you want to admit. Your friends, who sneered and called you a loser for sticking around. The strangers who whispered, maybe a little too loudly, about how you’re just ‘the girl he bangs on his couch.’ 

Those words, sharp and careless, have been gnawing at you, making you question everything you have with Drew. 

Five months of casual talks, stolen touches, late-night kisses, meeting parents like it was nothing- it’s all there, but without a name, without a definition.

And then there’s Mike- your new friend, a first-year who confessed, asked you out. His honesty made you think about everything even more. The more you thought about it, the more restless you got. 

You couldn’t take it anymore.

He kept you like a secret, while you carried him like a promise.

It’s clear this simple question caught Drew off-guard, his eyes widening, pupils dilating a bit, and his mouth parts slightly- before he quickly fixes this smile. 

“What?” he chuckles, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your waist.

“What are we, Drew?” You ask again, patiently. 

He hesitates, then smiles, a little uneven. “Where- where is this coming from?” 

“I’m just…curious,” you look down at your keychain, fiddling with it nervously. Before you can think twice, Drew reaches out and takes it from your fingers, setting it gently on the table.

You look back up at him, catching the almost blank stare in his eyes. “Curious?”

“Yeah- I mean,” you shrug, pulling your sleeves down a little tighter. “It’s just… I don’t know. Don’t you…wonder?”

He lets out a light scoff, bringing a hand up to scratch behind his ear, a little awkward. “No... no, I don’t really,” he says, voice low but honest, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again.

“You… don’t?”

You wait for him to say more, but he just shrugs, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe I just... like things the way they are,” he admits.

Of course he does.

Casual- no expectations, no labels, no accountability.

That’s what Drew likes; how casual you are- how casual he thinks you are.

But you aren’t. You’re nowhere near it.

Not when he’s met your friends, not when you’ve met his family, not when he kisses you like he means something. Like you mean something.

You blink, pulling in a quiet breath.

“So that’s what you wanted to talk about?” Drew smiles, and before you can answer, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your stomach, right over the fabric of your top- affectionate, familiar, automatic.

You can’t even help the frown that settles on your face.

You hesitate for a moment, your hand hovering, before you give in and thread your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle.

He exhales softly at your touch, his lashes fluttering briefly as he presses another kiss, higher this time, right over your ribcage. Still over the fabric, still tender.

“Drew?”

“Yeah?” 

“…we need to talk.”

“You sound just like the recording,” he teases, lips curving up as his hand lazily roams over your back.

But you don’t laugh, not even smile.

You shift back slightly, just enough for his touch to fall away, his hands slipping back to rest at your sides.

“What are we? Seriously,” you ask, letting out a breathy, uneasy laugh as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 

He swallows; his smile falters, and this time he scratches his forehead, “I don’t know- casual? No strings, no attachments- you know.”

No attachments. 

No strings. 

Casual. 

“We’re not, Drew. We’re not casual, at all,” you whisper, biting your lip and glancing away, because saying it out loud makes your chest tighten.

Drew stays quiet for a beat then finally asks, “Why now?”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head slightly, running a hand through his hair. “I mean... two days ago, you were sleeping on my arm until it went numb- ”

You cut in, voice low but firm, “that’s why, Drew. Does that sound casual to you?”

You couldn’t believe his next words. 

“Yes.”

“‘Yes’?” You look into those blue eyes of his, “do you casually fall asleep with strangers, Drew?”

“…you’re not a stranger.”

You lean in just a little, voice soft but steady. “Then what am I? What am I to you?”

The sapphire orbs dance between your eyes, your nose, your lips, “I don’t like this conversation,” he answers instead. 

You gulp, heart pounding, “me neither. But- just-“

“You mean a lot to me, y/n. Is that what you want to hear?” 

You nod slowly, biting your lip hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood. Your gaze drops to the floor, unable to hold his eyes any longer; your arms wrapping around yourself instinctively.

You wait, just a beat longer to see if he’ll say anything else, if he’ll soften those words or try to explain. 

But he doesn’t. 

He stays close, and you find yourself chuckling softly at the tension between you. 

Trying to slip free, you move, but his legs brace yours in place, trapping you gently yet firmly. 

And so you stay, standing between Drew, who sits comfortably on the counter stool. 

“Hey- you okay?” He reaches up to cup your face, and you immediately flinch away.

“What do you think?” you snap, voice sharper than you intended.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

“You don’t get it, do you, Drew?”

But you don’t give him the chance to answer. 

“You don’t meet someone’s parents when it’s casual,” you say softly. “You don’t leave your stuff here, or memorize my schedule, or- look at me the way you do- and call that ‘no strings.’”

He shifts in the stool, but you don’t look at him yet.

“You don’t- you don’t make love to someone…if it’s just casual.”

“Love?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, love,” your voice is barely above your whisper- even though the emotions are real, it feels weird confessing them. Meeting his gaze, you see doubt, maybe- crossing his features.

He leans back, and the corner of his lips lift up. 

“We fuck, y/n. I don’t- I don’t love you-“

Just when you thought it wouldn’t get worse. 

The words land cold, blunt, like a slap you never saw coming. You can’t believe they came out of his mouth- the same mouth that pressed against yours so deeply, lingering like it meant more. The mouth that whispered your name in the dark, the one that traced every inch of your skin like it was memorizing you.

“Then do you like me, at least?” 

“…you mean a lot to me, you know that.”

“It’s not the same thing, Drew-” you say, a sad smile tugging at your lips despite the hurt pooling in your eyes. “-you know that.”

He notices immediately- your smile, fragile and trembling, the way your eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. His confident, cocky facade flickers, and for a moment, vulnerability breaks through.

His brows knit together, a crease forming between them as if the weight of what you just said lands heavier than he expected. His jaw tightens, searching for the right words, but none come easily.

“Fuck- babe-“ His hand reaches up.

You flinch away, swallowing hard to hold back the tears. “Don’t- don’t touch me. Don’t call me that,”

A heavy pause settles.

And then, softly- but with finality- you say the words that will break it all apart.

“Let’s stop seeing each other, Drew.”

“…so that’s it? You get- you get a little in your feelings and suddenly we’re done?”

“‘A little’?” you echo, your voice cracking just slightly, more from disbelief than anger.

“Well, yeah, are you in a bad mood-“

You stare at him, stunned.

“I’ve been letting it slide for the past few months, Drew,” you say, “I’ve stayed quiet while everyone else talked about us- about me like I was a clingy bitch you couldn’t get rid of.”

He goes still- shame clouding behind those blue eyes. 

“And now you’re telling me it’s just me being a little in my feelings?” you whisper, voice trembling just enough to betray the hurt, “after everything?”

He stays silent- and for a moment, you let yourself hope that means something. That maybe the words finally hit. That maybe, just maybe, you’ve gotten through to him.

His eyes are still on you, unreadable now, but softer than before. The way they used to be when he was pulling you closer in the dark. The kind of softness that once felt safe.

But now? Now, it just feels late.

You draw in a shaky breath, arms still wrapped around yourself. “You like the way things are? Well, I hate it. I hate feeling like I was the only one who actually cared about this... whatever this was.”

“I care about this,” Drew says- too quick, too defensive.

You shake your head, voice quiet but sure, “No. You don’t-“

“I do, y/n. You-“

“You only care about yourself, Drew. So, stop pretending,” you murmur, and you immediately wipe away the tear that just slipped down your cheek, hoping he didn’t see it- but knowing he did. You force a small smile, and his shoulders immediately drop, his expression shifting to one of awe and devastation.

You feel wrong in your own space. Like an intruder in the scene of your own undoing. His scent still lingers in the air, faint cologne and worn cotton, and it turns your stomach. The room is still littered with traces of him; his hoodie slung over your chair, his books scattered around the place, even the beautiful roses he gifted you on Valentines. 

You felt so wrong in your own space. 

“I have class now, so I’ve got to go,” you say instead, ending the conversation by grabbing your keys and moving out of his way. 

“What? Now?”

“Yeah, I could be late,” you reply, not meeting his eyes as you reached for your bag on the couch.

You walk past him, focused only on the door, until his hand wraps firmly around your wrist.

It’s not rough, but it’s enough to stop you.

“Hey- hey, y/n, c’mon, I- ”

Slowly, you turn to face him. He’s standing close now, closer than he should be, his fingers still curled around your wrist like letting go might mean something final.

You watch his face carefully, trying to see if he’s about to say something real.

“I- I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

You wished there was a mirror, so he could see how physically hard it looked for him to say those words. 

And that’s not what you wanted to hear.

Not really.

Because ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t answer anything.

“…are you, in love with me, y/n?”

The question hits you harder than anything he’s said tonight. It lands like a punch- not because it’s cruel, but because it’s unexpected. Because he asked it.

Your eyes snap to his, to those piercing blue eyes that have looked at you a thousand different ways but never quite like this, curious, cautious, maybe even scared.

“Would it change anything?” 

His breath hitches.

You see it- the realization settle in his eyes, slow and sudden all at once.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything; his lips part, then close again. 

The truth sits right there on his tongue, but he’s too scared to let it out.

Too scared to name it, too scared to lose you if he does, or maybe more scared of what it means if he says it and still loses you anyway.

Drew’s voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks.

“…I don’t know.”

And that’s worse than a no.

You nod, something in your chest sinking, not crashing, just… lowering. Settling into that numb space where hurt goes to hide.

“Um, then I guess you could take your time to get your stuff out of my room,” you say instead, your voice weak, walking over to the door to hurriedly put on your shoes.

You open the door and step out of your dorm, closing it gently behind you.

You stand there for a few beats, hoping, maybe waiting for him to call your name, to step out after you and say something that would change everything. 

But the silence stretches on, and the door’s still. 

Slowly, you start walking away, each step heavier than the last.

Then your hands lift, covering your face- pressing into your eyes, trying to stop what’s already happening.

You’re not even sure why you’re crying. 

Maybe because it’s finally over. Maybe because it never really started. Or maybe because, deep down, you let yourself believe- for just a second- that it could have been something more.

And now, there’s nothing left to do but sit with the ache of what it wasn’t.

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

word count: 2.8k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i wrote this in a way that, even if you didn't read the other 'extras' or 'phase one', u could read this as a stand alone. this is for the ppl that love angst, i hope this is angsty enough (their argument is a softer kind of heartbreak- kinda calm before actual storm + i feel it fits into their characterizations)

and u have no idea how many times ive rewritten and reread bc this is not my best work im sorry

also, thank u for the 1.8k ppl that read my work! im so appreciative of it, im grateful that someone even reads it; let alone follow me. so thank u, im trying my best to produce the best for u <3

taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @esposamultifandom @starkeysfile @rlalliehayes @pillowprincess4him @kravitzwhore @cokewithcameron

elevator | other | more casual!drew

[chimielie]

hockey player!iwaizumi x f!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, like sweeter than cotton candy, slight injury

When Hajime lost his tooth, he hated it.

He’d always privately had a little bit of a complex about his looks. Growing up best friends with Oikawa made it hard not to compare their looks and come up lacking. He tried not to let it get to him, never verbalized it to anyone, knew that he was still fine. Just nothing special.

They both grow up playing hockey—at least he can beat up Oikawa on the ice (and they always laugh about it off of it). Oikawa goes pro, right out of high school, and Hajime spends a little time dicking around playing college hockey in America before he gets drafted.

He had met you at the bars after a game; his first win after being traded to the team Oikawa’s played for for a couple years now.

The memory is clear: It’s great to be back together, but he feels some trepidation in the car the guys rented, some childish part of him reticent about the idea of going out and watching chicks swarm his best friend, just like their teen years.

He doesn’t even really have time to think about that once they’re in, though, because he, the newbie, gets sent up to order. While he’s waiting for the bartender to pour them the first round of shots, you tap him on the shoulder, touch so soft he barely feels it after getting pummeled on the ice. His right shoulder is tender because he’d slammed hard into the railing right after stealing the puck from Ushijima, sending to Tooru, who had pushed it neatly into the net. An assist on the first goal of the night, and he’d gotten a goal in himself by the third period too.

It twinges as he turns to face you, a clear question written all over his face. It’s not like he’s totally oblivious, like he’s never been flirted with. It just somehow always surprises him still.

“You’re fine,” you declare, already a little tipsy, your cheeks warming as he observes you in your night out outfit. He doesn’t notice a single other girl, talking to Oikawa or not, the whole night.

The next morning, you repeat it to him, curled up against his naked chest, eyes unclouded by drink but your words just as genuine.

It was the first time he’d ever thought of being fine as a good thing.

So when the tooth, his right front one, comes out, cracked by a hard high stick to the face, he almost doesn’t want to come home after the game. It probably doesn’t make sense to get it replaced completely—injuries like this are common in his line of work, and it’ll be a hell of a lot more trouble to keep replacing fakes. He opts for a partial denture, something he can take out during games, but the mold takes twenty-four hours to cure.

You attend as many of his games as you can, but he’d insisted that you head home on your own while the doctors checked him out. You’d ceded only on the condition that you’d have dinner waiting when he got back, something soft and good at room temperature so he wouldn’t aggravate the nerves.

He frowns when you see him, crossing the room and hovering your hands over his swollen cheeks and telling him how worried you’d been, how happy you are he’s okay.

“When’s it gonna be technically healed?” You ask, and his heart clenches.

“It’ll probably be sensitive for a few more days, but they’ll have a coverup ready by tomorrow,” he says. Before he can crack a joke like so you don’t have to look at this ugly mug too long, you’re looking at him with a contemplative expression, one he doesn’t know how to read.

“So… will it hurt if I kiss you?” You want to know. “I feel so bad, ‘cause it must have sucked, but you look so cute like this.”

His heart drops straight through the pit of his stomach in relief.

“Yeah, baby, it’ll be fine… Ow! Ow! Okay, little gentler.”

Still, he wears the flipper as often as he can once he gets it. He doesn’t like the way it looks, the gap, he reasons. Just because you say you do doesn’t mean he’s okay with showing up to functions looking even more like a scrub to your perfect ten. And yeah, he’d think you were beautiful with a paper sack over your head, but it’s just different.

He can hear you whispering before he even walks into the kitchen. You beam up at him, as beautiful as that night in the bar, and his face breaks out into a smile before he even registers it.

“Do you wanna…” you nudge your daughter, and she turns to him, smile just as bright as yours. His heart stops.

There’s a big gap in that smile, the right front tooth missing.

“Look, Daddy!” He catches her up in a big hug, hefting her up so he can inspect her face closely. “Now we match!”

It’s all crashing down on him. He’s bubbling up with it, the fizzy feeling you’d given him in the bar, the tears as he vowed until death do us part, the softness as he’d cradled her in his arms for the first time. You stand, leaning your head on his shoulder as your daughter tells him all about the loss of her first tooth, about the importance of being the first in her class to lose one.

“You’re so brave, kiddo.” He kisses her head. “Makes you even cuter. Want some yogurt?”

[scarletwinterxx]

if ur taking requests ~ could i ask for a svt fic where the members are out drinking, then one of them keeps mentioning “baby” and the boys are like ??? who - only for him to lead them to y/n and basically discover their rs!

hellooo had fun writing this one, hope you like it!🤍 i added the morning after hangover 😅

for my other svt fics, check them here

my x acc - niniramyeonie 😊💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

It wasn’t every day that Mingyu got absolutely hammered. In fact, it was so rare that when it did happen, it became an event.

An event that Seungcheol, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were currently witnessing firsthand.

“Cheol,” he mumbled against his shoulder. “You smell good.”

Seungcheol shoved him off with a look of pure disgust. “Get off me, you drunk idiot.”

Mingyu pouted, rubbing his cheek dramatically. “That was mean.”

Mingyu was draped over the table like a man who had fought in battle and lost. His usually sharp eyes were unfocused, his head swaying slightly as he lifted his glass. “To my baby,” he slurred, raising it to absolutely no one before taking another wobbly sip.

Seungkwan blinked. “Your what?”

Mingyu slammed the glass down (a little too hard) and sighed dramatically. “My baby. My love. My girl.”

Silence.

Seokmin leaned forward. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

Mingyu squinted at him. “Since…forever?”

Soonyoung gasped. “Forever? You mean you’ve been dating someone this whole time, and you never told us?”

Mingyu groaned, leaning his heavy head onto Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Cheol knows.”

Seungcheol, who had been silently observing, suddenly stiffened. “I what?”

Mingyu nodded aggressively. “You know. You’re her brother.”

Mingyu blinked up at him, slow and dazed. “Your sister.” he repeats

Seungcheol froze.

Seokmin spat out his drink. Soonyoung choked on air. Seungkwan just screamed.

“My what?” Seungcheol growled.

“My baby,” Mingyu repeated, dreamy-eyed and completely unaware that he had just signed his own death certificate.

Mingyu, oblivious to the chaos he had just caused, fumbled with his phone. His fingers moved with all the precision of a newborn deer as he typed something, grinning as he hit send.

“What did you just do?” Seungcheol asked warily.

“I texted her to pick me up,” Mingyu said proudly, holding up his phone like a trophy.

Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung immediately turned to Seungcheol. “YOU KNEW?!”

Seungcheol ran a hand down his face. “I did not know.”

Right on cue, his phone buzzed, and he clumsily held it up. “She’s coming to get me,” he giggled, looking way too proud of himself. Seungcheol, meanwhile, was experiencing every stage of grief in real time.

“HOW LONG?!” he suddenly demanded

Mingyu shrunk back, blinking owlishly. “Uhh… a while?”

Seungcheol’s eye twitched. “Define a while.”

Mingyu thought for a second. “Maybe a year?”

“A year?!” Seungcheol exploded

The entire bar turned to stare, but no one dared to intervene. This was a war only they could fight

“You mean to tell me,” Seungcheol seethed, jabbing a finger at Mingyu’s chest, “that you’ve been dating my sister for a whole year, and you never told me?!”

Mingyu hiccupped. “To be fair, I thought you knew.”

“I DIDN’T KNOW.”

Mingyu giggled. “Well, now you do!”

Seungkwan leaned over to Soonyoung. “He’s got about five minutes left to live.”

Soonyoung nodded solemnly. “I’d say three.”

But before anyone could interrogate him further, the door to the bar swung open, and in walked you. The table fell silent.

You sighed, scanning the scene. Mingyu was grinning like a fool, Seungcheol looked ready to murder him, and the other three looked like they were watching the best drama of their lives.

You sighed again, hands on your hips. “Which one of you let him drink this much?”

Mingyu immediately perked up, his entire face lighting up like a puppy who just saw its owner come home. “Baby!”

He tried to stand up, but his knees gave out immediately, forcing you to catch him before he face-planted.

Mingyu is now clinging to you like a koala. “Baby, tell them. Tell them you love me.”

You rolled your eyes but patted his head. “I love you.”

Mingyu beamed. “See? She loves me.”

Soonyoung looked like he was about to pass out. “I can’t believe this is what takes down Kim Mingyu.”

Seokmin clutched his stomach. “Oh my god, he’s so whipped.”

You sighed, adjusting Mingyu’s weight. “Alright, I’m taking him home before he does something stup—”

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Seungcheol cut in, arms crossed like an angry father. “Not before we have a talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A talk?”

“Yes.” Seungcheol turned to Mingyu, who was happily nuzzling into your shoulder, completely unaware that he was about to get a verbal beatdown.

“YOU,” Seungcheol barked, pointing at Mingyu like he was scolding a misbehaving puppy. “HOW DARE YOU DATE MY SISTER AND NOT TELL ME?”

Mingyu blinked, startled. “Uh… sorry?”

“SORRY? YOU’RE SORRY?!” Seungcheol scoffed. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GUYS I’VE SCARED AWAY FOR HER? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I’VE HAD TO BE AN OVERPROTECTIVE BROTHER? AND YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE, SNEAK IN UNDER MY NOSE?”

Mingyu let out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, it’s not sneaking if—”

“SHUT UP.”

Mingyu immediately clamped his mouth shut, looking like a child being scolded by their teacher.

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “Have you been treating her well?”

Mingyu straightened up, suddenly serious. “Of course. I love her more than anything.”

Your face warmed, but before you could say anything, Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “Do you open doors for her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you pay for her meals?”

“Obviously.”

“Do you make sure she gets home safe every night?”

“Always.”

Seungcheol squinted. “Do you let her carry heavy things?”

Mingyu gasped in offense. “NEVER.”

Seungkwan wiped away a fake tear. “I respect it.”

Seungcheol exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But if I hear you’ve done anything to hurt her—”

“I never would,” Mingyu cut in, looking serious despite his drunken state. “She’s my everything.”

You sighed, adjusting your grip on your very drunk, very affectionate boyfriend. “Alright, I’m taking him home. You guys deal with the emotional damage.”

As you dragged Mingyu away, he suddenly turned back, eyes barely open. “Cheol, I love your sister. She’s so pretty.”

Seungcheol groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna kill him when he sobers up.”

Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Nah, man. He’s too far gone.”

And judging by the way Mingyu was nuzzling into you as you struggled to get him through the door, they were probably right.

Come next morning, Seungcheol woke up bright and early to drive at your place. Still in his sweatpants and hoodie, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had one goal: interrogate his sister and make sure that drunk idiot Mingyu had made it home safely.

He wasn’t even mad. He was just disappointed. the two of you kept it a secret.

Actually, no. Scratch that. He was mad as hell.

But the moment you opened the door, rubbing sleep from your eyes, he knew something was wrong.

One, you looked way too tired for someone who should’ve had a peaceful night after dropping Mingyu off. Two, the moment he stepped inside—he saw the lump on your couch.

A very large, snoring, familiar lump.

Seungcheol froze. “No. Way.”

Mingyu, completely unaware of the incoming doom, was sprawled out on your couch, mouth open, one leg dangling off the side. His shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing his stupidly toned stomach (which, if Seungcheol was honest, was annoying in itself).

The worst part? He was hugging one of your pillows like it was you.

Seungcheol’s eye twitched.

“KIM MINGYU.”

The apartment shook from the sheer force of his voice.

Mingyu jolted awake so hard that he nearly rolled off the couch. “H-HUH?”

“What. The. Hell. Are you still doing here?” Seungcheol growled, arms crossed.

Mingyu blinked, looking around like he was trying to remember where he was. His eyes landed on you, then back on Seungcheol, then back on you.

Then he grinned.

“Good morning, baby.”

Seungcheol lunged.

You barely managed to step in front of him, placing your hands on his chest before he could grab Mingyu by the collar. “Choi Seungcheol, relax.”

“Relax? RELAX?” Seungcheol looked personally offended. “You told me you were taking him home last night! You lied to me?!”

You sighed. “I tried to take him home, but the moment I parked in front of his building, he whined about how he didn’t want to leave me. And then he passed out.”

Seungcheol slowly turned his glare toward Mingyu. “Are you kidding me?”

Mingyu, still groggy, only shrugged. “Sounds like me.”

“YOU HAVE A WHOLE APARTMENT. WHY DIDN’T YOU GO THERE?”

Mingyu yawned. “Your sister’s place is comfier.”

Seungcheol took the deepest inhale of his life. “I will kill you.”

You groaned, stepping between them again. “Seungcheol, nothing happened. I put him on the couch and went to my room. Alone.”

Mingyu pouted. “Unfortunately.”

Seungcheol saw red.

“YAH!” He smacked Mingyu on the back of the head.

“OW—HYUNG!”

“You—” smack “—better—” smack “—watch—” smack “—your—” smack “—mouth!”

Mingyu ducked, shielding himself with a pillow. “Why am I getting attacked?!”

“Because you’re a menace! You’re dating my sister and you didn’t tell me! And now you’re sleeping over?” Seungcheol threw his hands in the air. “What’s next, huh? Marriage? Kids? Am I gonna wake up one day and suddenly be an uncle without any warning?!”

Mingyu rubbed his head. “I mean, we talked about kids once, but—”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, KIM MINGYU—”

You smacked Mingyu’s arm. “Stop instigating!”

Mingyu chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No kids yet, hyung.”

Seungcheol sat down, head in his hands, muttering to himself. “I need a drink.”

“It’s 8 AM,” you deadpanned.

“I don’t care.”

Mingyu sat up properly, finally looking a little guilty. “Look… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, hyung. I really am. But I swear, I love her, and I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

Seungcheol lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “You better not”

Seungcheol leaned back, rubbing his temples. “I need coffee.”

You sighed, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make some.”

Mingyu got up to follow you, but Seungcheol yanked him back down by his collar.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mingyu blinked. “To help?”

“No. You stay right here,” Seungcheol ordered. “We’re gonna have a little chat about what it means to date my sister.”

Mingyu paled. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

From the kitchen, you could hear Seungcheol start another lecture while Mingyu whined like a scolded puppy. You just sighed, shaking your head. This was going to be a long morning.

Mingyu was sweating not from a hangover. Not from embarrassment but from sheer, soul-crushing terror because Seungcheol had officially entered strict, overprotective brother mode—arms crossed, gaze sharp, eyebrows furrowed like he was a detective about to crack a case.

Mingyu, on the other hand, was sitting on the couch like a kid in the principal’s office. He wasn’t even allowed to sit comfortably. No, Seungcheol had made him sit up straight, hands on his knees, like he was in military training.

You, the supposed love of Mingyu’s life, were casually sipping your coffee in the kitchen. Not helping at all.

Seungcheol cleared his throat, flipping to an imaginary new page in his mental interrogation notebook. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning.”

Mingyu gulped. “O-Okay.”

“When did you take my sister on your first date?”

Mingyu straightened up. “Uh, last summer! I took her to—”

“What date?” Seungcheol cut in. “Day, month, time?”

Mingyu blinked. “H-Hyung, I don’t even remember what I ate yesterday—”

“WRONG ANSWER.” Seungcheol slammed his hand on the coffee table, making Mingyu flinch. “If you really love her, you’d remember the exact moment you took her on your first date.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oppa, even I don’t remember the exact date.”

Seungcheol turned to you dramatically. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. He does.”

Mingyu’s jaw dropped. “Why am I the only one being interrogated?!”

Seungcheol shot him a glare. “Because you’re dating my baby sister.”

You scoffed. “I’m the same age as Mingyu—”

“Baby. Sister.” Seungcheol repeated, emphasizing each word with another slam on the table.

“Alright, next question,” Seungcheol continued. “Who confessed first?”

Mingyu hesitated. “Uh… technically, she did?”

You gasped. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Mingyu panicked, hands waving in the air as if it will magically turn back time and undo what he just said “WAIT, NO—I MEAN—”

Seungcheol’s glare deepened. “So you tricked her into confessing first?”

Mingyu looked horrified. “NO, NO, HYUNG, IT’S NOT LIKE THAT—”

“You’re telling me you had months, maybe years to confess, but you made her do it first?!”

“I WAS NERVOUS!”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Nervous? Nervous?! You’re six feet tall and built like a tank, but you were scared to tell my sister you liked her?”

Mingyu pouted. “Feelings are scary, okay?”

Seungcheol shook his head in disappointment before jotting something down on his invisible clipboard. “Alright, next question. When did you first kiss?”

Mingyu finally perked up, smiling fondly. “Oh! I remember that one! It was when—”

Seungcheol raised a hand. “SPARE ME THE DETAILS.”

Mingyu immediately shut up.

You sighed. “Oppa, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being thorough.” Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Next question, Mingyu. What are your intentions with my sister?”

Mingyu hesitated. Then, with full confidence, he said, “I want to marry her.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. Seungcheol? He nearly flipped the entire table.

“WHAT?!”

Mingyu threw his hands up in surrender. “W-Well, not now obviously, but one day—”

“ONE DAY?!” Seungcheol looked personally offended. “You’re already thinking about MARRIAGE?! HAVE YOU EVEN MET OUR PARENTS?! DO THEY KNOW”

Mingyu blinked. “Yes? No? I mean I haven't asked them ofcourse but remember your dad went out for drinks with us...”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened even further making Minyu stop talking

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I need another coffee.”

You snorted. “Need some alcohol instead?”

“DON’T TEMPT ME.”

Mingyu sighed, rubbing his temples. “Hyung, please. I love her, okay? I swear on my life, I would never do anything to hurt her.”

Seungcheol looked at you, eyes softening just a bit. Then he turned back to Mingyu with a sigh. “Fine. But if you ever—ever—make her cry…”

Mingyu gulped. “You’ll kill me?”

Seungcheol leaned in, voice dangerously low.

“No.”

Mingyu blinked. “No?”

“I’ll make sure you wish I did.”

Mingyu turned pale.

You just sighed, shaking your head. “Okay, enough. Oppa, go home. Mingyu and I are going back to sleep.”

Mingyu’s head snapped up. “Wait, together—”

Seungcheol grabbed a cushion and threw it at Mingyu’s face.

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT FINISHING THAT SENTENCE.”

[kissbyoon]

⠀𖼥ৎ⠀“embraced in love.” ₍ y.jh ₎

───── ABOUT all of the ways in which Jeonghan shows his love for you.

⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, slice of life, humour, comfort, angst ⋆ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: bf!jeonghan x gn!reader ⋆ 𝒄𝒘: skinship, kissing, petnames (baby, love), non proofread ⋆ 𝒘𝒄: 3.5k in total

A/N: for my precious lovie @hanniescookie !!! IM SO SORRY FOR KEEPING U WAITING THIS TOOK TOO LONG HOLY SHIT 🙏🏻 but ily pookie, this is a gift for u for existing ◠‿◠

ೀ PHYSICAL TOUCH

Jeonghan has never been the one to show his love through physical touch. While he believes that small touches like hand in hand, a few pecks here and there to let you know that he is there, and a warm hug at the end of the day is romantic enough, he always takes a step forward just for you and hugs you every chance he gets, cups your cheeks out of nowhere to kiss you and run away with a mischievous giggle. Because he is aware of the fact that physical touch matters to you, alot.

“Ew, that ghost’s ugly,” Jeonghan remarks with a scowl, making you giggle.

“When did my Jeonghan become so mean?” You tease, and he scoots closer to you, wrapping his arms around yours, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Ever since I started dating you,” he responds. You furrow your eyebrows in amusement, glancing down at him as his eyes stay fixed on the TV.

“And why exactly?”

Jeonghan raises his gaze with a giddy expression, pressing a quick peck to your cheek. “Since I can't fight, I gotta use my words, y’know?”

You caught what he meant, but you had to see how he’d word it. “But who are you gonna fight anyway?”

“People who want you,” he says, straightening his posture and staring down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But you're already mine, unfortunately,”

Bursting out laughing, you lightly smack him in the shoulder as he slumped on the couch further with a giggle.

But amidst all these moments, you fail to catch how Jeonghan is clinging to you somehow. For example, just now—during the playful and light-hearted moment, one of Jeonghan’s arms was circling yours with the other one playing with your hand.

You didn't notice it, again. Maybe it was the way he's so slick and smooth with it, or the way it made you feel so comfortable when his gentle hand held yours because you adored having the one you love nearby.

ೀ QUALITY TIME

Spending time with someone is Jeonghan’s favourite way to show his love for them. Especially with you, he is ready to drop everything just so he could enjoy a peaceful moment with you. Whether it's just being in the same room while doing your own work, or wrapped in each other's embrace—being in each other’s presence was more than enough.

A few hours had passed since you and Jeonghan got on the bed to sleep—with him laying on his back, and your head resting on his stomach as you stared up at the ceiling while he ran his fingers through your hair. There was a comfortable silence between you two, and both of you knew that neither of you were sleeping anytime soon.

“I'm hungry,” Jeonghan broke the silence in a soft voice, careful not to startle you.

“You’re hungry?” You repeated, lifting yourself up by the help of your elbow to look at him. Jeonghan nodded, his lips jutting out in a pout as he rested a hand on his stomach.

Suddenly, Jeonghan sat up, a grin spreading across his face. “Ramen.”

“Huh?”

“We should have a ramen party,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief as he reaches out to hold your hands.

“Hannie, it's 2 in the morning…” you chortled, observing Jeonghan as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Pretty pleaseee,” he whined, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

How does he always get what he wants?

Sighing, you squint your eyes at Jeonghan, placing your hands over his. “Fine, just for today.”

He broke into a giddy mess, immediately jumping off the bed to follow you to the kitchen.

Whether it was just cooking ramen at 2am, you knew deep down that it was Jeonghan’s way of spending time with you. But nevertheless, you're always grateful for someone who looks forward to doing the littlest and silliest things with you.

ೀ ACTS OF SERVICE

Jeonghan had always wanted to be someone on whom his loved ones can rely on. Someone whose presence is calming, gentle and comforting. And ever since he has met you, it's as if his dreams are coming to life. He loves it when you let him do things for you—be it tying your shoelaces, folding up your jeans when you're at the beach, wiping the corner of your mouth after you're done eating, taking care of you, and many other things you can mention. He is just so grateful that you let him show his love for you in small or big gestures.

It's not like you aren't capable of doing your work.

But sometimes and some days, you just want to return to your apartment after an exhausting day at work and go to sleep without doing any chores. The best example could be today—you’ve had enough of work, and it was frustrating you so much that you'd had to return to your apartment just to see everything scattered around and messy.

With a long sigh, you twist the door key and step inside. You glance towards the living room, eyes widening slowly as you take in the view—everything neat and sorted out, the floor shining clean and not a single thing scattered away.

That's not how you remember leaving your apartment this morning.

It should've been obvious enough, but you still decide to take a look around, leaving your bag on the table beside the front door. The more you walk into the apartment, the more you gasp because each and every corner is clean.

Finally, you enter your bedroom. And as expected, it was spotless with freshly cleaned bedsheets.

As soon as you stepped inside, a familiar smell filled your nose. Then it hit you—it was the scent that Jeonghan always wore, and also your favourite.

Without a doubt, your lovely boyfriend Jeonghan had sneaked in and cleaned the entire apartment. You don't know what you'd do right now if you saw him—kiss him, hug him to death or start babying him.

But the question is, where is he?

Suddenly, the shower switched on—the gentle sound of water tapping against the floor coming from the bathroom filled the silence. Then it stopped, and the bathroom door slid open, revealing Jeonghan in his casual t-shirt and pants with a towel in his hand that patted his damp hair.

There he was.

Before he could even notice your presence, you ran in his direction, throwing your arms around his neck as he yelped in surprise.

“I love you, I love you, I love you sooo much!” Your voice came out muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder. Jeonghan slowly processed everything, face lighting up with a huge grin and his arms encircled your waist.

“Hm? What did you say?” He teased, his body instinctively leaning forward so you could comfortably hug him.

You let out a giggle. He always feels the need to lighten up the mood even though it already is.

“You heard me,” you say, closing your eyes as Jeonghan’s warmth engulfed you. He gently patted your back, rocking you back and forth like a baby.

“Let me hear it again,” he urged in a playful voice.

“No,” you refused, gently poking the side of his waist.

He winced, and you laughed while he tightened his grip around you with a pout. “I feel so unloved these days,” he dramatically sighed, burying his face in your neck and intentionally jutting his lips out in a pout to poke your skin.

“Alright, alright, stop putting on a show.” You lightly hit his shoulder, leaning back to grab the towel from his hands. Reaching out to place the towel on top of his head, you squish his cheeks.

“I love you~” You sing-songed, earning a shy giggle from Jeonghan.

“Me too~” He imitated your tone, adorably leaning down to hide his face on your shoulder. However, his grin dropped when you moved away, causing him to almost fall on the floor.

“You don't even bother to say it back,” you dramatically rolled your eyes, turning away to storm out of the room, leaving a panicked and dumbfounded Jeonghan behind.

“Baby! I love you, I love you!” He repeated, running after you as he threw his arms around your torso, trying to stop you from walking away.

Your exhaustion from work was long forgotten, replaced by the playful and sweet moment between you and the love of your life, Jeonghan. It's the way he doesn't think twice before doing something for you, if he knows it’ll make you happy, he'll do it.

Even if it meant cleaning an entire apartment—for you, he would.

ೀ WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

While Jeonghan believes that actions speak much louder than words, it doesn't lessen the importance of it. And so, as much as he shows his love for you, he makes sure that you hear it too. Even if it's during arguments, he wants you to know—it doesn't change the fact that he loves you. And always will.

The silence was a usual thing when you entered your apartment. But the only thing that wasn't usual was the fact that it felt so oddly suffocating.

Like it was laughing at you for being sensitive. Like it was blaming you for everything.

You’ve already had another exhausting day at work, and coming home to this feeling made you want to sit down, question everything and cry yourself to sleep. And you've figured out—that’s exactly what you're going to do.

You throw your bag on the couch, but it slips and falls to the ground. Staring at it, you felt the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to start falling at any moment. You plop down on the floor, not bothering to take off your coat that was overheating for you. Even in the late winter.

A few minutes pass, and you just stare at the ceiling until your drowsiness takes over. Slowly, you close your eyes, feeling it burn slightly—but you ignore it, finally letting yourself sleep.

It had been a day since Jeonghan talked to you. Each message he sent to you to reach out, was left on delivered—making him feel worse than before.

The thought of you getting hurt because of him over a miscommunication was unacceptable. He loved you too much for that to happen. He knew it was his fault too, for not sorting out things like he always does.

Maybe, you needed space. Maybe you didn't want to see him right now. But he wasn't going to let you sleep with a heavy heart, with unspoken words. He wanted to be your safe space because you were his.

What went so wrong that neither of you are in each other’s embrace right now? Whispering apologies like both of you always do even after the biggest arguments?

Did he lose you?

Finally letting out the breath he held in for so long, his hand reached out to knock on your apartment door.

It was a cool, breezy night. Not the kind of weather you'd want to experience in a situation like this.

Jeonghan knocked once, twice, and then thrice. And when you didn't open the door, he sighed to himself.

“Baby,” he gulped down the nervousness threatening to take over him. “Let's talk, please.”

A few minutes pass. The same silence lingered and felt a bit more suffocating for him. His hand slowly reached out to grab the door knob—finding it already unlocked.

His heart dropped.

Without wasting a second, he barged into your apartment. “Y/n!—” as he ran to the living room, his voice trailed off, eyes softening when he found you curled up beside the couch, on the floor.

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping to the bag beside you. From the way your coat was still wrapped around you like a mess, he could tell you've had an exhausting day.

He stared at you—with the same loving expression, but this time, with a hint of sadness.

Slowly, he made his way, sitting down beside you. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, reaching out to gently push away the hair strands falling on your face.

Your eyes twitched at the sensation. As you slowly opened them, your gaze locked on Jeonghan—who was sitting beside you, with a soft expression on his face. He seemed tired too, with those heavy eyes and light dark circles.

“Hannie…” you muttered, tears starting to roll down your already tear-stained cheeks. You thought you'd have alot of things to say when you see him the next time. You thought you'd give him ‘what he deserves’ even though you're fully aware he wasn't completely at fault.

But when you do see him, your heart always wins over your mind. Your eyes soften at the sight of the love of your life.

“Shh, it's okay,” his voice was gentle just like before. Nothing changed. He reached out to cup your cheeks, his thumb wiping away your tears.

“I'm so sorry,” you choked out, feeling yourself getting weaker and weaker. Jeonghan wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him. “We'll talk tomorrow, okay? You're too tired for this, love, please just let me stay beside you.”

Allowing yourself to relax against him, you closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing—his gentle pats on your back helping you. You registered his words, and realized that he was right.

You were too tired to do anything right now. Too tired to even cry.

The room filled with silence, only the sound of your gentle breathing audible. And just when you thought you were falling asleep, Jeonghan quietly and softly whispered.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

You momentarily paused, feeling all the negative emotions leave your mind. His words were something you both exchanged every day, but in situations like this, it meant so much more. The reassurance, the gentleness—everything you thought you had lost.

“And I always will.” He added.

Jeonghan leaned down to place a soft peck on the crown of your head, lips curving into a small smile when he realised you were in his arms. He was finally here with you, and you weren't alone.

When the silence filled your apartment again, you realised it didn't feel suffocating anymore. It didn't feel like it was laughing at you for being sensitive, like it was blaming you for everything. It was comfortable, peaceful and reassuring on its own.

And even if you were sensitive or overly emotional—Jeonghan believes he can be the one you can lean on and cry.

ೀ GIFT GIVING

Gifts are the best way to show your dedication and care. Jeonghan isn't the best when it comes to choosing gifts, but he knows he has great taste! But one thing that always prevents him from actually surprising you, is the fact that you are like a detective. No matter where he hides it, or how hard he tries to hide it—you already know somehow. But this time, he mastered the art of gifts and surprises.

“Happy ending!”

It was a perfect evening. The sky lit up with firecrackers, sounds of champagne glasses clinking, a fancy and rich atmosphere—and most importantly, Jeonghan was here with you.

Your highschool had arranged a reunion for all the students that had graduated, which included you and Jeonghan. All of you had talked and talked the entire evening, exchanging numbers and planning out a hangout for next weekend.

It felt like a dream to meet every one of your classmates again, and all the memories flooded back into your mind.

Remembering that it was because of the same high school, that you had met Yoon Jeonghan. It was the same high school where you've had so many memories with everyone, especially with Jeonghan. The high school because of which you and Jeonghan are together, safe and happy.

Everyone had already left the party, except for you and Jeonghan because you both insisted on helping to clean up.

As you stood on the balcony, admiring the gorgeous view outside—a hand sneaked around your waist.

“What's my beautiful girl up to?” He rested his chin on your shoulder, breathing in your scent. You smiled, turning your head to peck his cheek.

“Look, doesn't it feel so dreamy?” You asked in a soft voice, turning away to stare at the sky. His gaze lingered on you before he followed yours.

“Hmm… honestly not that impressive.” He remarked, causing you to look at him with a frown.

“Does nothing entertain you, Mr. Yoon?” You bit back a smile.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You should've asked me ‘why', and I'd have the perfect answer.”

You tilted your head, contemplating whether or not to ask away. “Why is it not impressive?”

Jeonghan's ears perked up, and it didn't go unnoticed by you. His lips curved into a smirk, eyes glinting with something mischievous but gentle.

“Because…” he gently turned you around to face him. Your hands reached out to rest on his shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist. “I've seen something much more impressive and mind-blowing years before.”

You stared at him with a curious look, waiting for him to continue.

“Your beauty.” He leaned down, pecking the tip of your nose. You throw your head back, letting out a laugh as Jeonghan did too.

Finally calming down, you reach over to pinch his cheeks. “When did you get so cheesy?” You giggled, and as he was about to respond—

“Ah, I know,” you interrupted. “Since you've started dating me.”

Jeonghan's eyes widened in amusement as his body vibrated with laughter. “You've memorized each one of my replies,” he chuckled. “I think I'll have to step up my game now.”

“Never.”

“Never? You think I can't step up my game?”

“Nope!” You shook your head.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, reaching out to take something from his pocket. “It's time to prove myself.” He says, making you confused. He pulled out both of his hands from his pocket in fists as he turned his gaze on you.

“What do you think is in my hands?” He asked, his face painted with amusement at the sight of your confused self.

“I don't know…” You mutter, your gaze shifting from one fist to another.

“Okay, I'll make this easy for you, baby.” He says, gradually opening his fists. And when you took a closer look—both of his hands had a ring. But one of them was a paper ring, and the other was… a real one.

With a shining diamond just in the center, it was so majestic. Just like the one you had dreamt of as a kid—a prince charming offering a ring just like this to you.

And today, it was becoming a reality. Not only the ring, but the prince of your dreams too.

Jeonghan closely scanned your expression, feeling himself getting nervous. You stared at the diamond ring with widened eyes, tears threatening to spill. Jeonghan's eyes softened, and he finally knew it was the right timing.

The right timing to be yours forever.

“Which one do you choose, my love?” His voice was soft, delicate and barely above a whisper, like it was only meant to be heard by you. Your eyes were fixed on the ring, and your mind went blank.

Jeonghan stayed silent, observing you with a smile. He was patient, but when you couldn't answer because of the overwhelming rush of emotions, he took his hand that had the paper ring away and put it back in his pocket.

“I'm guessing this one.” He looked at you as you finally lifted your gaze to look at him. As soon as your eyes locked, his lips curled into a bright smile.

Slowly, he crouched down to one knee—and that's when the tears started to roll down from your cheeks uncontrollably.

“Everybody has a goal in their life, and I do too. One of them is being yours forever.”

You covered your face with your hands, closing your eyes tightly, mentally preparing yourself for the next words.

“Will you marry me?”

Your face lights up with a grin as you stare at him with tearful eyes. You step forward and put your hands on his shoulder, gesturing for him to stand up. And when he does, you throw your arms around his neck, crying out loud like a child.

“I'll marry the heck out of you!”

Jeonghan felt his eyes welling up with tears, so he closed it and hugged you tightly. He laughed at your words, finding you absolutely cute.

“You will?”

“I will.” You choked out, sobbing.

He gently patted your back, trying to soothe you down. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Although this wasn't a gift, but more like a confession, you think this is the best gift you've ever received. And the best gift Jeonghan has managed to give you without being caught.

Every love story doesn't have a happy ending. You wondered if that'll be the case for you too. But ever since you realised Jeonghan is the one for you, you've never doubted the fact that you'll have a happy ending.

This is it—your very own happy ending with the one you dreamt of spending your entire life with.

KISSBYOON 2025. all rights reserved @kstrucknet. ღ

[dellieghtful]

[RAFAYEL] LADS: Saying Things They Don't Mean

🍓A/N: Yay! Finally done with Rafayel's part. I made sure this one would hurt like a bitch because I've been dying to write an angsty fic with him for quite some time and I'm so excited to write the comfort that comes after this! Also~ (again) this wasn't proof-read so, please excuse a few errors here & there.

Masterlist | Rulebook | Tags

→ for all my April fics, you can check out this link instead ;3

📍Character/s: Rafayel Zayne | Sylus

Today was an absolute disaster.

Nothing that went on today went according to how Rafayel had planned it. First, he accidentally broke his one and only favorite brush this morning while looking for it, second: Thomas kept pestering him about the new pieces for the upcoming art gallery this weekend, and third: he ran out of paint. Of all the days he could have ran out of paint, it just had to be today when the dates to showcase all his work are so close.

Not to mention, he's only done 2 pieces because the rest looked like absolute abominations to decorate a wall. For the past week, Rafayel has done nothing but sketch, paint, and repeat to the point where he'd often skip his meals and outright cut-off communication from the world as he tries to focus on the upcoming art gallery. Unknowingly, at the cost of his focus and dedication towards his work, Rafayel just so happened to miss a very important schedule on his calender: Your birthday.

To say you were expecting would be the understatement of the century. You had been looking forward to your very special day for such a long time. Although you and Rafayel have not quite spoken as frequently as you had hoped, you could not help but feel excited to see your boyfriend and his so-called special surprise for your special day. The week prior, Rafayel had been leaving hints for you since the month started about what you'd expect to be seeing for your special day.

Unfortunately, as you awoke from you deep sleep to the sound of your beeping alarm clock and endless string of messages from friends and co-workers alike, you were missing one thing. Specifically, a person.

Huh. Rafayel isn't here? The thought alone made your heart dropped. Since the beginning of your relationship, you and Rafayel had always made a habit to surprise each other by throwing a simple surprise before they wake up. So, seeing your room barren of any sort of decors, colors, and your boyfriend gave your heart a tight squeeze. But, you forced that thought into the back of your head because you also knew that he had a big art gallery coming up this weekend. Being the kind and considerate girlfriend that you are, you tried to focus on the brighter side of thigs.

The day had just started, right? So, it would not hurt your little heart and head to dress up nice and visit your boyfriend. Putting up the brightest smile, you got off from your bed and headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready for the day ahead.

As you finally reached your destination, you could not help but wonder what your boyfriend has been up to lately. Sure, he is a very busy and in-demand artist but was it that difficult to send a message to your inbox for updates? Your mood began to soil as you reached to open the doors and enter his home. Being Rafayel's girlfriend of many years has granted you the perks of easy access to his home, more-so his private studio at the end of the hall.

With a gentle knock on the door, you called out to your boyfriend but was only greeted with silence. You waited for a while, giving an allowance of a few seconds for him to answer the knocks on his door but he never came to open and answer for you. You decided to give it a small push and peak through the already-present gap between door and the frame to see the room in an absolute mess.

As you scrunched your brows together in confusion, you took your time to breathe in a relaxing inhale of air before exhaling and finally pushing your hand against the door to open it wide enough to see your boyfriend standing in front of a painting. But, from the looks of it, he wasn't happy at all and you couldn't help but feel dread that your day would travel fast from bad to worse.

"Rafayel?" You called out from across the room, patiently waiting for a response from your boyfriend. But, it seems as if he was so focused on his piece that he did not even register your words or your presence as you entered the room. Taking in a sigh, you carefully walked towards him as if you were afraid you'd shatter his patience then as you approached him and the painting.

"Rafayel," you called out again, reaching out to tug on his sleeve which caused him to jolt and turn his attention towards you. With wide-eyes, he reached out and cupped your face and stared at you with the most loving gaze. "My love, you're here," he started, his brows scrunched together in confusion.

"I was wondering where my boyfriend would be on such a special day," You half-heartedly joked as you also grabbed a hold of his hand on your cheek and gave it a light squeeze. "I can see you're really busy today."

Despite the comment not holding any offense, Rafayel could not help but scrunch his brows nose and brows in unison. He knows you didn't mean it in an offensive way but something about the way it was phrased irked him a bit. But, he didn't want to think too much about it since you had gone out of your way to come visit him.

"Of course, I'd be busy. Can't have my precious clients waiting out for my one-of-a-kind pieces," Rafayel replied, picking up a brand new paintbrush from one of the palette's nearby and began playing around with the colors on the canvas while the paint hadn't fully dried off yet as he attempts to blend the shades of blue and black against each other.

With his response, you couldn't help but bite your lip and tug on a portion of the hem of your dress in attempt to ease your mind as you were contemplating whether to throw in the big question, or rather, if he could at least remember what day it was today. Taking in a deep breathe and letting out a small sigh, you approached him carefully and wrapped your arms around his torso as you let your head partially bear weight and lean on his back.

With the sudden contact, Rafayel paused for a short moment and turned his head to catch a glimpse of you.

"I just," you started in a small voice, hoping it would be loud enough for him to still hear you. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out today. It's such a beautiful day and it would be a waste to spend the entire day cooped up in the studio. There are plenty of things we can do together, if you'd like." You said, slowly lifting your gaze to meet him eye-to-eye as you gave Rafayel a small smile, quietly hoping he'd get the hint and wishfully thinking that he'd remember your special day today.

But, instead you got the exact opposite.

"I'm just too busy today, can't we just take a rain check?" Rafayel responded, giving your hands a quick squeeze before stepping out of your embrace. "We see each other almost every day, don't you think a little space in-between us would do wonders?"

"Rafayel, I haven't seen you in weeks. You haven't called or even bothered to text me anymore. I don't think what I'm asking for it too much to request from you." You pointed out, finally feeling your anger, disappointment, and heartache roll off your body like a wave. At this point, it wasn't just you who felt the energy negating from your body but also from his.

Rafayel didn't waste a second as he spun around and stared at your figure. "Maybe if you weren't such a nuisance in this life, I would actually have the heart to be bothered to be talking with you. If you're going to act this way, then get out."

"You're being real mature right now, Rafayel." You continued as you tried to hold your ground and face him head on despite knowing your heart's about to break at any given moment.

"Well, I didn't ask or need you to come visit me. Get that through your head and get out. I've already got a lot on my plate". This time, he said a little louder than before. Not bothering to spare a glance, he turned his back and continued to paint and mix colors onto the canvas. That action alone was enough to break the dam in your eyes and feel the waterworks making its way to both of your eyes.

As much as you wanted to scream to fight your way through it, you just did not have the strength in your heart to go through another heartache so instead, you decided to back away slowly before turning your back fully at him.

What was meant to be a sweet reunion between lovers had become such a sour end. Not bothering to put up with this energy, you quicken your pace and leave the studio with a loud bang from the door and quickly run out of his home. But of course, you knew, no matter how far you'd run he wouldn't chase after you because after all you were just a bother in his eyes.

Part 2 Tags: @animegamerfox @justanotherreader658 @suhsun4 @sylusbrooch @angiesoftplace @babyx91 @soft-dots

[maxtermind]

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing? 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace. 

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos’ attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them. 

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while." 

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles’ hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her." 

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi I really love your work. I think u would be an amazing writer. I had this idea in my head for a while and I was a bit hesitant to ask.

Could u write something where reader and bucky have a child ( 3 or 4 months old ) And they're just looking at them and admiring the little one. But the reader suddenly makes bucky promise that if their in a situation where they are captured and he needs to choose, bucky needs to pick the baby and leave her behind. They get into an argument Until he finally agrees thinking that day will never come.... but it does because Hydra wants to ruin his life. You can decide whether it's a happy ending or not. I hope its not too heavy.

Thank you and have a great day ahead!

Don’t Make Me Choose » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband/Dad/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Mom!Reader with daughter Iris, Steve Rogers/Captain America, and the Avengers

Summary: If there was ever a situation where you and yours and Bucky’s daughter got captured, you want Bucky to choose yours and his daughter. Little do you guys know that it actually happens and he has to choose.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, language, HYDRA, kidnapping, crying, nightmares, kissing, happy ending, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: Bold text is letter from HYDRA and Italic text is nightmares and flashbacks.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You and Bucky were sitting on the couch and making funny faces at yours and his 3 month old daughter Iris. It’s something you two do with her before she takes a nap and goes to bed. You two enjoy the sound of her little laugh. It warms yours and Bucky’s hearts.

“You think everything is funny, don’t you, sweetheart?” Bucky coos at Iris, softly booping her nose.

Iris giggled. She loves it when you two boop her nose. You carefully rose her toward you so you could shower her chubby cheeks with kisses. Bucky showered her with kisses as well. Then she yawned.

“Are you tired, sweetie?” You asked softly.

The second yawn confirmed it for you guys.

“Who do you want to put you to bed tonight? Me or daddy?” You asked.

Iris made a babbling noise and waved her arms towards Bucky. It’s pretty obvious that she’s a daddy’s girl. Bucky smiles and carefully took her from your arms.

“Let get you changed and warm.” He says, softly kissing the top of her head.

“Mama loves you.” You whispered to her, kissing her cheek.

While Bucky got Iris ready for bed, you got ready for bed too. You turned the TV on in the bedroom, putting it on a low volume.

“Me and mama love you so much, princess.” Bucky coos at Iris. “You’re the cutest baby ever.” He smiles, putting her pajamas on. “Now you’re all warm and cozy.” He kissed her forehead before putting her in her crib. “Goodnight, sweetheart. See you in the morning.” He whispers.

Bucky turned on her night light before walking out of her nursery, leaving the door cracked open. He went to yours and his bedroom to get ready for bed himself.

“She go to sleep easily?” You asked.

“Yep!” Bucky answers with a smile.

He got in bed next to you, getting under the blankets and wrapping his arms around you.

“Bucky?” You say softly, looking up at your husband.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky asks, looking down at you.

“If something were to happen to me and Iris, like if we were to get captured, I want you to choose Iris and leave me behind.” You tell him.

Bucky frowns when you said that.

“Where’s this coming from, doll?” He asks.

“I want you to choose Iris and leave me behind if her and I were to get kidnapped or something like that.” You repeated.

“I heard that.” Bucky sat up. “Why are you making me choose between you and our daughter? I can’t do that. I’ll choose both of you.” He says.

“You can’t choose both of us in a situation like that, Bucky.” You say, sitting up.

“Yes I can. It’s not that hard for me to choose both of you.” He says.

“But you can’t!” You say, raising your voice a bit.

“Don’t make me choose!” He says, also raising his voice a bit.

“It’s not that hard!” You say.

“It is actually! You’re telling me to choose between the two people I love the most in my life! I save both of you! You know I will!” He says.

You scoffed and shook your head. You laid down, facing away from Bucky. Bucky sighs rubbing his hands against his face.

“Ok, fine. I’ll choose Iris.” He finally says.

You turned back over and leaned up, softly pecking his lips.

“I just want our daughter to be safe.” You say softly.

“I want that too.” He whispers.

Bucky knows something like that isn’t going to happen… or so he thought.

A few days later, Bucky came home from the Avengers compound. He didn’t see your car in the driveway. He assumed you and Iris were still running errands. When he walked up to the door, there was a note taped to it. He grabbed it and read it.

Hello, Soldat. Long time no see, we noticed that you now have a wife and a baby now. If you want them back and want to see them alive, you know where to find them.

Bucky’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. That was enough to tell him that HYDRA kidnapped his wife and daughter. Also, the HYDRA logo was in the top left corner of the paper. Bucky immediately went back to the compound.

“Steve!” Bucky shouts frantically throughout the compound.

Steve walks out of the conference room, seeing his best friend is in a frantic state.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asks with concern in his voice.

“HYDRA has my wife and baby.” Bucky says, shoving the letter in his hand.

Steve read the letter, quickly recognizing HYDRA’s logo.

“I finally got my life together. I met the most amazing woman. We got married and had a baby, but HYDRA still wants to ruin my life!” Bucky says, his eyes tearing up.

“We’re going to get them back, Buck.” Steve assures softly.

“I can’t lose them.” He says, his voice cracking.

“You won’t.” He says.

You groaned when you felt your head pounding as you woke up. You squinted your eyes to adjust to the light in the room. You then heard the sound of Iris crying a few feet away from you. You looked up to see her strapped down to a metal table. Your eyes widened. You tried to get up to get her, but you quickly realized you were strapped down to a chair and couldn’t get to your crying baby.

“Iris, sweetie, mama is here. Just listen to my voice. Daddy, uncle Steve, and the rest of your aunts and uncles are coming to save us.” You say, trying to stay calm for your daughter.

You jumped at the sound of the door opening. A man in a white lab coat and a few people dressed in all black clothes entered the room.

“You’re awake!” The man in the lab coat says.

“What the hell do you want?!” You asked.

“It’s more like who we want.” He says.

You knew he was talking about Bucky, but you’re not going to give up your husband to the hands of HYDRA.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” You lied.

“Don’t play stupid. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” He says.

“I’m not playing stupid.” You say.

“So the name James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier doesn’t ring a bell to you?” He asks.

“Don’t fucking call him that!” You hissed.

“Oh so you do know him?” He says.

You stayed silent, not daring to say another word.

“Here’s what’s going to happen…” The man leaned toward you. “Either you tell us where your husband is or you watch something bad happen to your baby. I suggest you choose wisely.” He says in a threatening tone.

“You guys are stupid to think that I’m going to tell you anything about my husband’s whereabouts and if you do anything to my daughter, not only me, but my husband will kill all of you guys with our bare hands.” You say.

“It’s funny to think that you can protect your baby right now. You’re strapped down to a chair and can’t get free.” He says.

The man looked at one of the HYDRA agents, motioning him over to the metal table Iris is on with a head motion. The agent nodded and walked over to the table. You watched his every movement. Your eyes widened and your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach when he picked up a syringe with some kind of liquid in it.

“No! Please don’t hurt my daughter!” You shouted. “You guys can do anything you want to me! Please don’t hurt her!” You pleaded.

The HYDRA agent looked at the man in the lab coat. He motioned for him to come over to you, the syringe still in his hand. Your heart was pounding so hard that you thought it was going to burst through your chest. You yelped when the needle pricked your skin, the agent injecting you with whatever liquid was in the syringe. You didn’t know what it was. You were just hoping that it didn’t kill you.

“The side effects of this should kick in soon.” The man says.

As if it were on cue, Bucky kicked down the door with Steve by his side. Iris started crying loudly and the HYDRA agents held their guns at them.

“Soldat, it’s nice to see you again!” The man says.

“Give me my wife and baby!” Bucky demands.

“It’s-It’s ok, Bucky.” You managed to say, feeling the side effects of what they injected you with kicking in.

“What the hell did you do to her?!” He growls.

“We just gave her a new kind of serum to see what it’ll do.” The man says with a sinister grin on his face.

Bucky growls at the man before walking towards you. He got stopped when a gun got pointed at the back of his head. In that moment, he knew what he had to do.

“Steve, please get Iris and take her to the quinjet.” Bucky says as calmly as he could.

Steve nodded and did what Bucky told him to do. He unstrapped Iris from the table and exited the room, taking her to the quinjet.

“Doll…” He whispers.

“I’ll-I’ll be fine. Keep our daughter safe. I love you, Buck.” You say softly.

“I love you too. I’m sorry.” He says, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

A HYDRA agent guided Bucky out of the base. Bucky felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. Tears were streaming down his cheeks by the time he got on the quinjet. Steve gently put Iris in Bucky’s arms. Bucky held his daughter close to him.

“You didn’t get Y/N?” Steve asks.

“She told me to choose Iris over her if something like this happened.” Bucky tells him, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, man. We’ll try everything we can to get her back.” He says softly.

Bucky sniffled and nodded, trying his best to keep it together for his daughter. He’s trying to process how to possibly raise his daughter in a world without you.

A couple months later, the day of having to leave you behind haunts him. Iris grew since that day too. Bucky doesn’t leave the house anymore. His hair grew out and his beard is fuller. When he does, he only goes to the store to buy diapers, baby food, and other essentials. He gets little to no sleep. The only time he sleeps is when Iris is napping on his chest. Steve and the Avengers check up on Bucky and Iris.

“Buck, are you home?” Steve asks as he walks in the house with Sam.

They seen the state the house is in. Dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and a basket of laundry in the doorway to the laundry room. Steve and Sam heard Iris crying and followed it to yours and Bucky’s bedroom. Bucky was on the verge of falling apart as he tried to console his fussy daughter.

“You need a break, Buck.” Steve says.

“That’s hard for me to do right now, Steve!” Bucky says, raising his voice at him without realizing it.

Steve and Sam exchanged looks before Sam walked over to Bucky.

“I’ll calm Iris down.” Sam says.

“I know how to take care of my own baby, Sam.” Bucky says.

“I know you do. I just want to help you and Iris.” He says softly.

Bucky stared at Sam for a few seconds before carefully and gently putting Iris in his arms.

“Why are you all fussy, mini Barnes?” Sam coos at Iris as he walks out of the room.

Bucky fell back on the bed, his hands covering his face. Steve sat down next to him.

“You can’t keep living like this, man.” Steve says.

“What else am I supposed to do, Steve? HYDRA has my wife and I’m struggling with raising my daughter on my own. On top of all of that, the house is a mess and I don’t have time to clean it.” Bucky says.

“Don’t worry about the house. I’ll call the team and they’ll clean it up for you. You take a shower and relax.” He says.

Bucky stared at his best friend for a moment before sitting up.

“Ok.” He mumbles.

Steve gave Bucky a pat on the back. Bucky stood up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Steve texted the Avengers, telling them to do what they can to help Bucky.

“How is he?” Sam asks as Steve walked in the living room.

“As you’d expect. He’s still beating himself up about Y/N and trying to not to breakdown in front of Iris.” Steve says.

Bucky put clean and comfortable clothes on after his shower. He caught a glimpse of the picture of you and him the day Iris was born. He smiles at it, but it faded away.

“I’ll-I’ll be fine. Keep our daughter safe. I love you, Buck.” You say softly.

Those words constantly echoed in his head. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. Sobs left his lips. Steve, Sam, and the Avengers heard Bucky crying. Steve, who was holding Iris, gently handed her to the nearest Avenger, which was Peter. He softly knocked on the door before walking in the bedroom. It broke Steve’s heart to see his best friend like this. He sat down on the bed next to Bucky, giving him a shoulder to cry on, in which he did.

“Let it all out.” Steve whispers, rubbing Bucky’s back.

His crying continues for a few more minutes before he tried to gather himself. He then took a few deep breaths before wiping his tears away with his t-shirt.

“Who has Iris?” Bucky asks.

“Peter.” Steve tells him.

“Peter doesn’t know how to care of a baby.” He says.

“He’s learning how to right now.” He says.

Bucky stood up and walked out of the bedroom, going straight to the living room to see Peter making Iris laugh by making funny faces.

“Oh hi, Mr. Barnes.” Peter says.

“Hi, Peter. Can I have my daughter please?” Bucky says politely.

Peter nods and gently handed Iris to Bucky. He sat down on the couch, giving his daughter the well deserved attention she needs. Iris reached a hand up, grabbing onto his Army dog tags, making him smile.

“Bucky?” Natasha says, walking over to him with Clint.

“What?” Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off of his daughter.

“We found some leads on Y/N.” Clint informs him.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his head shot up, looking at the two Avengers who are standing in front of him.

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

“She’s being kept in a base somewhere not too far from where you found her and Iris.” Natasha tells him.

“We have to go get her!” He exclaims. “Iris needs her mom back and I need my wife back!” He says.

“I agree, but we need a plan before we attack, Buck.” Steve chimes in.

“My plan is attack and save the mother of my child. That’s the mission.” Bucky says.

Bucky knows one thing… HYDRA is never going to stop ruining his life. What he needs to do is fight back and get you back. Steve, Sam, and the Avengers know that too.

A few days later, Bucky came up with a full mission plan to save you with Steve’s, Sam’s, and the Avengers’ help. Peter’s aunt offered to babysit Iris.

“Daddy is going to get mama back. I’ll be home soon. I love you so much, princess.” Bucky whispers to Iris.

Iris made a babbling noise and put her hand on Bucky’s nose as a way of telling him that she loves him too, making him smile. Bucky gently and carefully put Iris in May’s arms.

“Iris is in good hands, Bucky.” May assures, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Bucky smiles at her and nods. He took a deep breath and got on the quinjet. All he thought about is getting you back. All he hopes is that you’re alive. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Steve approach him.

“Buck?” Steve says, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?” Bucky hums.

“We’re 5 minutes out.” He informs him.

Bucky nods and gets his gun and knives ready. When they landed at the base, Bucky was the first to get off the quinjet. He kicked down the door with one kick and marched his way inside of the base with Steve behind him. The rest of the Avengers spread out and went different ways. Everyone checked everywhere in the base, looking for you.

“What do you two think you’re doing here?” Bucky hears a familiar voice from a couple months ago.

Bucky turns around and sees the man who injected you with some kind of serum a couple months ago. His jaw clenched. Bucky grabs the man by his lab coat and slammed him against the wall. The man smirks to himself, remembering Bucky very well.

“Nice to see you again, Soldat.” The man says.

“Where’s my wife?!” Bucky growls.

“Let me see…” He pretended to think about it. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you guys.” He says.

Bucky got his gun out the hostler, cocking it and pressed it against his forehead.

“Tell me where she is or I swear I’ll kill you.” Bucky growls.

“I don’t think your wife would want you to turn back into your old ways, Soldat.” He says.

“Tell us where his wife is or he might actually kill you.” Steve says.

That’s when Bucky and Steve heard faint pounding against a door from down the hall. Bucky had a strong feeling that it was you. He knocked the man out with his gun and threw him to the ground. He ran down the hall to the door.

“Doll?” Bucky says with hopefulness in his voice.

“Bucky?” You say weakly.

Bucky broke the doorknob off the door and opened it. He seen you laying on the floor. He crouched down next to you.

“Doll, stay with me.” He says softly, gently tapping your cheek.

“Bucky?” You barely mumbled. “I want to go home.” You mumbled again.

“That’s where I’m taking you.” He says.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to the quinjet. Steve informed the Avengers that they found you. Bucky held you close to him and whispered nothing but sweet words to you. You were taken to the med bay immediately when the quinjet touched down at the compound. Bucky was pacing around outside of the room you’re in while the doctors checked you out. Steve walked to his best friend with Iris in his arms.

“Peter’s aunt dropped off Iris a few minutes ago.” Steve says.

A smile grew on Bucky’s face when he seen his daughter.

“Hi, princess.” Bucky murmurs softly as she was placed in his arms. “We got mama back.” He tells her.

Iris laid his head against her daddy’s chest and dozed off. Bucky rubbed her back softly as she slept.

“What did the doctors say?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. They’re still checking her out. Bruce is in there with them.” Bucky says.

Bruce came out of the room a moment later.

“How is she?” Bucky asks.

“She’s doing good. Whatever HYDRA did to her made her weak so she’ll be weak for a while.” Bruce tells him. “You can see her now.” He says.

“I’ll update the team.” Steve pats Bucky’s back. “Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

Bucky nods and walks in the room you’re in. You were asleep. Bucky sat down in the chair next to the bed. Iris is still sound asleep in his arms. You stirred in your sleep after a few minutes. Your eyes fluttered opened. You turned your head to the side, smiling when you seen your husband and daughter.

“Hi.” You say, sounding a little weak.

“Hi, doll.” Bucky smiles. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Not as weak as I felt earlier.” You say.

You weakly reached your arms out, wanting to hold your baby. Bucky carefully and gently put her in your arms. He laid down next to you on the bed.

“Please don’t make me leave you behind ever again.” Bucky says after a few minutes.

“I won’t.” You whispered.

Bucky pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It was short lived when Iris made a squealing noise.

“Did you miss mama?” You cooed, kissing the top of her head.

Iris made a babbling noise and grabbed your nose with her small hand, making you smile.

“I’m sorry I made you choose, baby.” You apologized. “I just wanted our daughter to be safe.” You say.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, babydoll. I want her to be safe too.” He whispers.

You laid your head against your husband’s chest and carefully readjusted your hold on your daughter.

“I love you guys.” You say softly.

“We love you too, doll.” Bucky almost whispers.

Bucky can now relax, knowing that his family is back to the way it should be.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll