#well. there it is. final chapter. cries

[ruvviks]

Chapter >> 19 [x] Characters >> ??? Total >> 7.7k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention, death mention, family / parents, injury mention, smoking

‘More information has been released on the explosions in Charter Hill from a few days ago. The office building in question was supposedly in use as a hideout by the infamous fixer known as “the Broker” on the streets. The explosion itself did minimal damage, but most of the building has been consumed by the fire that broke out on the lower levels.

The NCPD has yet to confirm the number of casualties though emphasizes that no innocent civilians have been caught in the crossfire. The Broker has presumably died on the premises. Their mercenaries have scattered across town and thus far, no further incidents have been reported.

It appears that peace has finally returned to the streets of Night City. And with that, the weather.’

It was the end of August.

The streets were dark. A pitch black sky hung over Night City, heavy rainfall threatening to pour down and a hint of static in the air though not quite enough yet for a full storm to break loose. Nearing the evening hours- the sweet spot right before rush hour where the whole city seemed to be holding its breath, roads left eerily abandoned as restaurants and bars began opening their doors and people packed up their things to leave work and go home.

The run-down apartment building cast a dark shadow on the streets of the Glen, curtains of windows behind bars and grids closed and apartments left unilluminated and cold. The graffiti-covered entrance hall was abandoned- the sound of heels clacking softly on the faded and cracked tiles leading up to the concrete staircase, a single bright fluorescent ceiling light flickering and swaying from a strong breeze blowing in from the hall.

It was one of the older buildings in town. Its initial purpose had been to become a beautiful and bright home to working class families- affordable housing close to work, with stable electricity and HVAC and everything else needed to be able to live comfortably and safely raise a kid or two.

An idea, a dream; exactly how many projects in Night City often started, a vision easy enough to make reality yet halted halfway through because of financial reasons, corporate interference, gang territory expansion, a cyberpsycho incident, economic or political interests or a cocktail of several- or all- of those reasons.

Which is how the building had instead ended up as a derelict ruin with barely working electricity and apartments in the possession of shady owners- some going for triple the rent it was worth and others cheap but in such poor condition one might as well be sleeping on the streets.

Home, sweet home.

The seventh floor stood entirely abandoned, its apartments burnt down after a fire a few years back. All except one; in the far back, safely tucked away from the main street and overlooking the outskirts of Vista Del Rey, though the windows had not been cleaned in who knows how long leaving not much outside to see.

It was small, cozy. A single room apartment with a tiny bathroom in the corner, the door only half in its hinges and never repaired. It held barely any furniture, an old couch with coffee table that missed a leg marking the living room with a mattress on the floor behind it as bed, and a small kitchen on the left next to the front door made out of mismatched cabinets and an old oven and stove that looked like it was as old as time itself.

Despite the clear absence of a resident, the place was not as dirty as it could have been. Recently dusted and the kitchen counter was clean, fridge in working order running on an external generator and stocked with basic foods and some liquors. A safehouse, presumably; or at least a temporary refuge for someone who needed desperately to hide, or simply needed the solitude from time to time.

Cold, grayish blue eyes slowly trailed the dark room, the silence inside nearly deafening. Who had known Night City could be so quiet? Everything else was so far away, an aura of loneliness weighing down on the stuffy interior air making it harder to breathe. Searching hand found a light switch- flicked it on, and a string of colored lights along the top of the window on the other side of the room turned on, bathing the apartment in a soft, reddish pink glow.

Home, sweet home.

It did not feel like it.

He slowly took off his coat, holding it under his arm as he carefully walked further into the room. Ran his free hand through his short, slicked back hair- it was a little damp, still, caused by the humidity outside as well as inside, and he exhaled a little sharper than he had meant for as he quickly dried his hand on his pants.

The place made him uncomfortable, despite the warm and inviting atmosphere the colored lights created. It was too heavy with history- too much hardship had happened between those four decrepit walls and too much of it lingered still and it left him with so many questions; questions he clearly already knew the answers for, but questions that would not leave him alone either way.

Matvey had lived in an apartment like that himself, too.

Many, many years ago; when he had been in his early twenties, only recently escaped his parents’ home, struggling to find balance in the multitude of aspects of his life and struggling to get by.

His eyes trailed the walls, over pictures that had been left there, faded by the decade that had passed but showing people, friends, at parties and roaming the Night City streets after dark, smiling brightly at the camera with closed eyes and scrunched up noses.

And his gaze lingered on one boy in particular, present in nearly all of them- bleached blond hair that reached his waist, some freckles covering his forehead and cheekbones, pale grayish blue eyes above a wide smile, and a small gap between his front teeth.

Oh, Vitali.

Matvey carefully took one of the pictures from the wall, only barely able to contain his irregular breathing and heartbeat as he slowly scanned the faces of both his son and someone unfamiliar next to him; a boy with light brown hair and golden eyes, face full of piercings and a tattoo peeking out of his shirt on his neck.

They were kissing in the picture. Matvey had never even gotten the chance to meet him.

The howling of the wind outside made him shiver while he quickly put the picture back, hairs on his arms standing up straight as the cool breeze blew through cracks and holes in the outer wall of the apartment.

It did not feel right to stand there. It did not feel right to exist in the space Vitali had once existed in, struggling to get by, struggling to survive in a city that was so desperately trying to swallow him whole. And if Matvey could go back in time to change it- any of it-

But it was far too late for that now.

‘Vitali?’

Matvey stood motionless as he watched his son enter the house- flashlight of his phone illuminating the dark hallway- coming home from one of his classmates’ infamous parties while Matvey himself was already getting ready to go to work.

‘Party lasted a little longer than I had thought,’ Vitali instantly blurted out, and Matvey glanced at his watch; nearly five in the morning, and Vitali would have school in only a few hours- but most importantly, Nadya had not even given him permission to go in the first place.

Matvey lowered himself on the couch and exhaled sharply, the memories washing over him like a tidal wave slamming itself into the coastline. Memories of an easier time; but now he was not so sure anymore, wondering if it had truly been as simple as he had always thought, wondering if perhaps his own judgment was clouded, unreliable.

Matvey slowly walked closer to Vitali, trying to think of anything to say; scold him, perhaps, punish him for his recklessness and misbehavior-

But something stopped him from doing so.

Something on Vitali’s face- the way his eyes widened the second his father began moving closer, the way he clearly tried to find the right words to say- the way he swayed on his legs and could barely keep his phone in his hand and the way his eyes almost glossed over when Matvey got close enough-

He simply reached out and plucked a half smoked cigarette out of his son’s hair.

Nadya had not needed to know.

The lights along the wall and ceiling lightly flickered as another strong wind caused the glass of the window to rattle in its frame. A late afternoon dust storm blowing in from the Badlands, leaving the city streets in a thin layer of sand once it would settle down again; the one time anyone would be glad to have a roof above their head, no matter how run-down.

Matvey clasped his hands together, frown decorating the upper half of his face, the howling of the wind the only thing breaking through the silence surrounding him alongside the ringing in his ears the explosions from a few days earlier had left him with-

His eyes fluttered shut and a shaky exhale left his chest.

Oh, Vitali.

It had not been worth it.

Months of planning, months of fighting- months of losing sight of what was right and what was wrong and everything in between and most of all losing sight of what it had all been for in the first place. Revenge? Trying to prove a point? Trying to be good enough for a woman who had lost interest somewhere down the line, to the point she had started to become more of a stranger to him than his own wife?

And where had it led him?

Where had it all led any of them?

‘Perimeter is clear. You should be safe here.’

The familiar voice was comforting, in a way.

It sounded different now; the years had not been kind to him, but still Vitali had grown up to become a fine looking young man radiating more confidence than he had ever done at any point in his childhood, and Matvey would be lying if he said he was not proud of his son for getting to the point in his life he was at now.

He opened his eyes again and watched as Vitali entered the apartment, cane lightly clacking on the old wooden floorboards with every step he took. His eyes trailed the room- though too fast for anyone to be able to fully take in any of the smaller details, and the white-knuckled balled fist along his body told Matvey he would rather be anywhere else.

‘Thank you, for this,’ Matvey quietly said in Russian, but Vitali cut him off with a single shake of his head. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes- gaze fixed on the photos on the wall as he took a step back, wincing lightly and putting his hand over the patched up wound in his side.

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he coldly replied. ‘Words mean nothing. Not anymore.’

Matvey understood.

Nothing he could say would set things right. Nothing he could say would change what had happened, would make it all go away- and as far as Vitali was concerned this could easily be part of his plan, still, trying to get closer to him in a vastly different way; try to gain his trust and strike when everyone would least expect it to come out victorious at the end of it all either way.

It would have been a genius plan, Matvey had to admit- well within his capabilities too, he could have pulled it off.

But that was not who he was.

Not anymore.

‘You have- a long way to go,’ Vitali quietly continued, taking out his cigarette case, flicking one out and carefully lighting it, the flame of his lighter softly illuminating the space around him.

‘Make things right. Somehow. Prove to me that you are better without Nadya. And I can’t help you with any of that, so- good luck figuring it out for yourself. I have nothing to win or lose in any of this anymore, so do whatever you feel like doing.’

A nonchalance to his voice, but the words he spoke were heavy. As if all of it was a burden to him- and Matvey knew exactly why, having had enough interactions with Vitali’s friends thus far to know that they did not fully support his son’s decision.

His actions would speak louder than words.

Of course Vitali did not know that Matvey had come with him to that tiny ripperdoc shop- Viktor, I believe his name is- and had stayed with him all that time, refusing to sleep, agreeing to let himself be handcuffed as humiliating as it was just to ease others’ minds.

Of course he didn’t know that Matvey had helped that fixer, Rogue, put together a fake profile for the Broker to get that poor excuse of a Council’s attention away from the both of them entirely and to make sure the NCPD had a name to settle on to put the case to rest in their archives, never to be seen ever again.

And of course he didn’t know that Matvey had willingly allowed some netrunner he could not remember the name of wipe his own entire existence from Arasaka’s database, to make sure they would never find out the truth but at the same time rendering him incapable of ever returning to the corporation, even if he for whichever reason so desperately wanted to.

But what difference would it make if he knew?

‘I won’t let you down,’ Matvey finally answered, lowering his gaze to the ground. Not out of shame, or dishonesty- but if anything out of fear, fear of what he would see on his son’s face, fear of his words being taken with a grain of salt despite how heavy they weighed on his tongue, despite how sincerely he meant them, and he clenched his fists on his lap as a sharp exhale left his body.

A long way to go.

But at least Matvey knew where to start.

‘Hey, Vito.’

The interior of Misty’s shop was comfortably warm, gently illuminated by a few lit candles scattered around. A welcoming sight as always- the interior colorfully decorated but not too clashing or too bright on the eyes, and Vitali would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel at home.

She hadn’t closed yet; though no one else was inside at that time of day, most of Little China’s residents seeking shelter from the dust storm passing over elsewhere in either the Megabuilding or one of its many diners or restaurants. Misty herself was stood behind the counter, leaning on top with her elbows and softly humming a song.

Vitali wiped his feet on the doormat and quickly took off his mask and glasses, stuffing them in the pocket of his long coat before giving Misty a wave and a smile as he walked closer. She smiled back at him in return; and reached out to ruffle his hair the second he got within her reach, sand and dust falling out of it like snowflakes and sticking to his clothes on the way down.

‘Is Vitya still here?’ he asked, setting his cane down beside him and leaning on the counter as well, eyes fixed on the deck of tarot cards in Misty’s hands she was shuffling.

‘Of course,’ was the response, as usual. ‘City never sleeps.’

‘Neither does he, it seems.’

‘And neither do you.’

Vitali scoffed, a smile lingering on his face as he lowered his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. He couldn’t even argue with her; had not slept at all last night despite recovering from a shot that could have killed him- that should have killed him- only a few days ago.

‘Got time for a reading?’ Misty asked, reaching out to place her hand on Vitali’s before he could pull back to make his way outside, to get to Viktor’s shop. ‘Startin’ to become kind of a tradition at this point, I think.’

‘Hm- with V, maybe.’

Vitali paused, reaching out to the tarot deck in his friend’s hands- she fanned them out near automatically for him, a slightly questioning look in her eyes- and he picked one out, turning it between his fingers and clicking his tongue upon seeing the result.

‘Your cards do not like me very much,’ he finished his sentence with a wink and a smile, and he grabbed his cane again while dropping the tarot card labeled “death” face up on the counter as he made his way around it through the back door of the esoterica.

He had walked down those stairs many, many times before; knew the route to Viktor’s ripperdoc clinic as intimately as the route between his office and his home. Perhaps even more so- visits albeit sparingly going back years in time to long before his time as a fixer, long before he had moved into the penthouse he lived in now.

The familiar smell of sharp disinfectant entered his nose halfway down the steps. The familiar struggle to open the gate to get inside- the familiar sight of Viktor mid drying his hands on a hand towel on the other side of the room, giving him a warm smile as he slowly walked over.

‘Was wondering when you’d show your face again. How’re you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ Vitali bluntly answered, closing the gate behind him. ‘My whole body wants to lay down in bed and never get out, my skull feels cracked and I have not had an appetite since I woke up, but- what can you do.’

Viktor reached out- a gesture that nearly caused Vitali to flinch, a rush of adrenaline locking up the muscles in his neck- and gently cupped his cheek, slightly tilting his head around as he checked his eyes; then placed his hand on Vitali’s forehead, a soft hum that could have both been of approval as well as disapproval leaving his throat.

‘It’ll settle soon enough,’ he finally spoke. ‘You were-’ A pause. ‘You were close to-’

‘I know, Vik,’ Vitali quickly interrupted the old ripperdoc. ‘I know.’

Vitali could not remember much of any of it anymore.

He remembered feeling the cool night air on his skin, the very same slight breeze that had later caused the fire inside the building to spread rapidly from floor to floor. He remembered being lifted into a car- being held by several people at once, staring up through the half opened car window to the dark sky and heavy clouds and the blinding city lights flashing by.

They had brought him there. To Viktor’s shop. He had no longer been conscious by then, and it had taken him a while to wake up after being stabilized; and even then he could still not remember when and how exactly he had gotten home, and the previous day was by that hour also mostly a blur to him.

Vitali’s gaze met Viktor’s again and he instantly took notice of the expectant look in his eyes; no words leaving his lips, but the question was crystal clear to him either way. And in hindsight, Vitali was not entirely sure anymore why he had gone to Vik’s in the first place, when there was really not much else to say.

‘I brought him to the safehouse today,’ Vitali sheepishly said, fumbling with the handle of his cane and lowering his gaze to the floor. ‘He will be staying there for- well, I don’t know. Until he has figured out what to do next, I suppose.’

‘Good.’ Short response. Vitali nearly wished he had just gone home instead. ‘Did it ease your mind?’

He absently nodded, Viktor’s words taking a moment to settle in his brain and as they did the light bobbing faltered and faded into a sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he reached out to grab a chair from beside him and he slowly sat down.

‘I thought it would, but… I don’t know anymore,’ he answered honestly, barely able to look Viktor in the eye as the man sat down on his own stool nearby and wheeled closer. A comforting move- and Vitali’s heartbeat settled down a little as it happened, glad he did not have to cut the conversation short.

‘Did I-?’ he started, frowning as he reconsidered his words and momentarily searched for something else to say. ‘Shouldn’t I have-’

‘Hey- no. Don’t start doubtin’ yourself now, kid.’

The soothing tone of Viktor’s voice seemed everlasting with his patience, and Vitali closed his eyes and dropped his head as the ripperdoc put a reassuring hand on his wrist.

‘Not after everything you’ve been through,’ he added to the statement, and fuck, how Vitali wished he hadn’t- if he had just made a couple of different decisions somewhere along the way then he wouldn’t have had to-

‘But what if I was wrong?’ Vitali blurted out, the words lingering inside his head for much longer than necessary and rendering him unable to keep his mouth shut, like many times before. ‘What if-’

‘You’ve made plenty of mistakes in your life, V,’ Viktor immediately interrupted him. ‘Just like all of us. Just like me.’

Well, that was unexpected.

Vitali frowned and looked back up, Viktor slightly averting his gaze to a point right behind Vitali to not have to look him in the eyes.

‘One of my biggest mistakes?’ he continued, a sudden instability to his voice that had not been there before and he gave Vitali’s wrist a soft squeeze. ‘Not listenin’ to you. Trying to tell you to not join Arasaka after you’d already let me know there was no changing your mind. Pushing you away like that.’

Vitali could not help but wonder how long the other man had been sitting on that one.

Wind blew in from up the stairs, rattling the gate behind them and causing the orange cat curled up in a little makeshift bed next to it to jump up, hiss, and skitter across the floor to sit between Vitali’s legs instead. He absently reached down to give him a few scratches on the head- Jack, he believed Viktor had named him- and used the moment to let the words settle in his head again.

Fuck, he was tired.

‘You were right,’ he finally replied, vividly remembering how desperately Viktor had tried to convince him to not sell his soul to the corporation so many years ago.

‘Doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong,’ Viktor cut him off again with a single shake of his head. ‘I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me.’

‘You’re not my dad, Vik.’

‘But he wasn’t there either, was he now?’

Silence washed over the room and a pang of anger tightened Vitali’s chest; though he managed to shrug it off with ease, knowing the frustration was unnecessary since Viktor was merely stating facts. He lowered his gaze again, staring at Jack who was slapping his ankles and attempting to bite through one of his shoes- and for some reason it caused a small smile to take shape on his face, despite the rest of the circumstances he’d found himself in.

‘Look, kid,’ Viktor quietly said, ‘I can’t tell you whether you made the right call or not. Truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know what I would’ve done. But I trust your judgment. And I’m not gonna let history repeat itself.’

‘What if I am wrong?’

‘Then we’ll find out soon enough. What else are you gonna do about it now?’

He was right.

Of course he was- what else was there for Vitali to do? He could lock Matvey up, and then what? Accidentally turn him into a second Ravager because of it? He was not leaving the man to his own devices. Was not trapping him but would keep an eye on him either way, make sure the things that had happened would never ever happen again-

‘Every decision you’ve made along the way has led us here. You did the best you could.’ Viktor stood up again, giving Vitali a gentle pat on his shoulder before turning around to tend to the mess on his desk, grabbing a stack of papers and shoving it into one of the drawers.

‘You’re just one man, Vito,’ he continued, ‘and you know what? Him too. What’s wrong with this city is that too many folks have this- this “kill who you can kill” mindset. Let’s be honest here, what real difference would it have made to take this one man’s life?’

‘Others have died along the way,’ Vitali bluntly fired back, reaching down and barely reacting when Jack instantly attacked his fingers, pupils dilating upon spotting Vitali’s rings and trying to pull one off his hand. ‘It would’ve been better to save them.’

‘And you tried, didn’t you? Had you killed him, would things have been different? Who else would have lived? Who else would have died?’

It was impossible to say.

Too many external factors at play- Ravager and Dupoint as rogue variables, as well as each and every single one of his father’s mercs. Nadya’s influence had changed so much; what would she have done if Vitali had successfully killed Matvey at any point in time? Would she still have wanted to remain on the sidelines?

‘Sometimes, living is a punishment,’ Viktor suddenly quietly said and Vitali looked back up at him, needing a second to realize he himself had stood up as well and had followed Viktor further into the room.

‘The human mind punishes itself more than enough- and death just… puts an end to that. It’s what makes it so appealing to some when life gets very difficult for them.’

His words were carefully chosen and Vitali could feel his chest tighten again, a lump in his throat making it harder to swallow. He knew Viktor was just putting out general statements, but he couldn’t help but take notice of the slightly targeted remarks dripping down from between the lines, the backside of a coin presented to him visible through a reflective surface behind it.

‘I don’t think the others understand,’ Vitali absently mumbled, a poor attempt at changing the subject.

‘And I don’t think that matters all that much,’ was the ripperdoc’s straightforward response. ‘Nothing’s been forgiven. Nothing’s been forgotten. You simply spared his life and gave him a temporary place to stay, an opportunity to better himself. What he does with that is out of your control.’

He made it sound so easy.

Vitali rarely worried about his reputation among others, knowing very well he could not satisfy everyone and attempting to do that would be as useless as trying to rid Night City of all crime. Sure, he tried his best to stay on the good side of at least the Council- even during all of this he had done nothing to anger them on purpose- but he did not let his worries about it stop him from doing what he felt was best for the situation, or for the parties involved.

But accusations were starting to stack up rather rapidly now. The belief some had he had joined Arasaka again for a while- unaware of the brainwashing, or simply refusing to believe it had happened- the belief some had he was the Broker himself, and now the doubts people had in him because of the outright refusal to kill his father despite the man being just one person in the bigger picture of things.

‘Do you think it will work out?’ Vitali carefully asked, watching as Viktor began setting some tools back on a shelf- and for a split second he was twenty years old again, swaying on his feet with his head completely elsewhere begging Viktor to tell him it would all be okay, to tell him it would be worth it, only to be met with deafening silence and an averted gaze.

‘Of course it will, kid,’ Viktor quietly said and an involuntarily, relieved sigh left Vitali’s chest.

‘It always does.’

Everything would fall in place in time. Viktor was right- of course he was. Vitali had no idea how long it would take, what it would take, but he wasn’t one to give up so easily and neither were any of his friends and for any of them to walk away now after everything they had been through together would be the most unrealistic scenario he could think of.

Of course it would be fine, in the end.

‘Can’t say I’ll ever like him, though,’ Viktor suddenly jokingly added to his statement. ‘But- s’pose we can coexist in peace.’

Vitali huffed in response, taking a step back to lean against the wall. ‘Can you imagine.’

‘Not in a million years.’

They were quiet for a moment, Vitali’s mind wandering off a little as he considered the possibility.

‘I mean,’ he quickly added- not entirely sure why he felt the need to, but it was already too late to stop the words from leaving his lips- ‘he’s a boxer. Like me. Like you.’

Viktor stopped what he was doing to turn to Vitali, and in his eyes where Vitali had expected to find judgment he instead found a softness that gave him just enough courage to keep talking.

‘Makes the worst jokes I’ve ever heard,’ he softly continued, ‘worse than Mikhail, if you can believe it. We used to… We used to watch those horrible hospital tv shows together every Sunday night when Nadya wasn’t home. We would rank all the male doctors from most to least attractive… We never settled on a winner.’

His voice finally trailed off and so did his gaze, glossy eyes trailing over the concrete floor and settling on a small stain near Viktor’s feet.

‘I’m sorry, this is- this is probably too soon, I didn’t mean-’

‘No such thing as too soon.’ Soothing, still, despite it all, like the strong hand he reached out and rested reassuringly on Vitali’s shoulder.. ‘You’ve had to carry that with you for years. Through all of this.’

He had.

Not at any point in time had Vitali stopped seeing Matvey as his father.

‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ he mumbled, and his eyes fluttered shut when Viktor stepped forward and pulled him in for a hug, a sense of comfort washing over him and taking away any worries he’d had when he had entered the shop.

‘You think things will go back to how they used to be?’

‘No,’ Viktor replied without hesitation, but his voice lacked any hostility.

‘Absolutely not. And that’s for the best.’

The penthouse was not yet dark when Vitali came home, a couple of lights from the living room dimly illuminating the hallway leading up to the front door. A welcoming sight; his years in solitude had not done him well and Vitali would be forever glad to no longer have to live alone.

Mikhail and Vincent were curled up on the couch together under a blanket, quietly laughing about a joke one of them had made. The TV was still on, and Vitali’s eyes trailed over the coffee table- drinks and the remnants of snacks scattered across the marble tabletop.

Movie night. He had missed it a lot in the past few months.

‘Hey baby,’ Vincent said as Vitali walked closer and he reached out to gently grab both of Vitali's hands to drag him on the couch next to him. ‘How’d it go?’

‘Good,’ Vitali answered, leaning in to press a soft, slightly hesitant kiss on the corner of Vincent’s mouth. ‘Good, I think. He’s at the safehouse, everything is settled. For now.’

A short pause, as he sucked in a shallow breath and took a moment to scan both their faces. Vincent had not stopped smiling since he had entered, still looking up at him with a sleepy look in his eyes; but Mikhail refused to make eye contact, visibly biting the inside of his cheek as he instead played with Vincent’s hair. He was notably holding back all of his tics.

‘And here?’ Vitali quietly asked, gaze lingering on Mikhail a little longer until he finally looked up to answer.

‘Rogue called,’ he said. ‘Council has…mostly calmed down by now. The fake profile and “evidence” was enough to convince them and- well, streets are mostly back to normal. Which is really all they ever wanted in the first place.’

‘No ties to me? Or my-’ He stopped to swallow his words. ‘Or to Matvey?’

‘None at all,’ Vincent replied, and carefully brushed some of Vitali’s hair out of his face. ‘Don’t expect an apology from them, but- it’s over now.’

Vitali huffed. ‘All I ever wanted.’

It would do him good to finally no longer have to deal with them. The feeling of their eyes on his back had been a constant annoyance throughout the whole ordeal and all of that could have so easily been prevented if they had simply listened to him from the start.

But Vitali found it was best not to dwell on the Council’s behavior and decisions for too long. As Vincent rightfully said- expecting an apology would be as stupid as expecting to get any financial compensation or support from them for the resources and supplies lost along the way.

At least it would secure his spot out of their direct line of fire during the next Council meeting, whenever that would be. The thought alone already made him shudder- he’d never been all too fond of the gatherings in the first place, but they had gotten significantly worse since, well, recent developments.

‘What about Rogue?’ he finally asked, pushing his own thoughts aside.

‘Mostly just sounded very relieved that it is all over now,’ Mikhail said, shrugging as he grabbed the TV remote to turn off the still rolling credits from whatever movie they’d watched. ‘Will you- Will you go see her?’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No.’

‘Then I should probably just stay out of her way for a while. Best for all of us.’

That finally got a smile out of Mikhail, glancing over to look at Vincent who had kept his mouth shut but was furiously nodding and Vitali gave him a playful poke in his side, causing his boyfriend to snort and accidentally headbutt Mikhail in the arm in his delayed attempt at dodging.

‘You know what we should do?’ Mikhail asked, playful sparkle in his eyes as he jokingly pulled Vincent closer to hold him in a headlock. ‘Go on vacation. Get out of town for a little bit.’

‘Hmm- Sounds lovely,’ Vitali said with a smile, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up on the couch as he moved closer to the both of them and allowed Vincent to drag him in for a hug. ‘Where to?’

‘Panam and Judes are going back to Arizona for a while, meet up with Saul and the others there,’ Vincent said, holding on to Mikhail’s arm with one hand and placing the other on Vitali’s waist. ‘Could go with ‘em- or the east coast.’ He glanced up to look at Mikhail. ‘You still got family there?’

‘I do.’ His eyes briefly lingered on Vincent before moving back to Vitali, and a few soft clicks of his tongue left his lips before he continued. ‘They still want to meet you, by the way.’

Vitali softly smiled back and lowered his gaze, chest tightening a little as Mikhail spoke. He had often mentioned his extended family in their childhood; had often asked Vitali to come with him one day, and how Vitali had wanted to but had never been allowed to travel outside of town because of Nadya and her general dislike of his friend.

Things are different now. She’s not here.

He couldn’t help but wonder where she was, though. If she was doing well.

‘I’m going to bed, important day tomorrow at office.’

Mikhail finally let go of Vincent and kissed him on the head, then reached out to ruffle Vitali’s hair- receiving a fake groan in return as response- and he leaned in to give him a hug, hands on the back of Vitali’s head and running in circles on his back as Vitali dropped his head in the crook of Mikhail’s neck and briefly closed his eyes.

Everything is fine. You’ve not ruined anything.

Mikhail gave him a kiss on his temple and then finally got up from the couch, stretching and yawning before making his way toward the hallway on their left.

‘Good night, you two.’

‘Night,’ Vitali replied in unison with Vincent, who immediately mumbled ‘jinx’ after it and instantly received another poke between his ribs from Vitali. He giggled and shuffled closer, pressing his face against Vitali’s shoulder as he carefully wrapped his arms around his waist.

‘Took you long to get home,’ he murmured against Vitali’s neck, softly pressing his lips against his skin.

‘Had some things to do,’ Vitali absently replied and hooked his arm under Vincent’s leg to pull him on his lap, quickly glancing into the hallway to check if Mikhail was out of sight.

‘Nothin’ I wouldn’t do, I hope?’

Not a surprising question- and Vitali could not blame him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it; stopping by a bar on the way there, or on the way home, couple shots wouldn’t hurt him- on a surface level, at least- and at least it would cause his anxiety to settle down for the time being.

But he couldn’t do that to Vincent. Not again.

‘I went to see Vitya,’ he quietly explained himself, gently cupping Vincent’s cheek to make him look up at him, and gave him another soft smile. ‘That’s all.’

Vincent blinked a few times and then leaned in to Vitali’s touch, cheek pressing against his palm- slightly turned his head to kiss it, before turning back and gently fixing the collar of Vitali’s shirt for him. Keeping his hands busy; he was nervous.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, one of his fingers hooking into Vitali’s shirt a little bit and brushing past his collarbone. ‘Shouldn't've doubted you.’

‘Hey,’ Vitali gently interrupted him and placed his hands over Vincent’s, waiting until his attention was back on him. ‘It’s okay. I get it.’

‘No, no- it’s- I just-’

‘All of it.’

He almost startled himself with it; but it was the truth.

No amount of attempting to justify himself and his actions would take away the fact it made sense people had started to doubt him somewhere along the way. If anything, Vitali’s stubbornness had made everything ten times more complicated than had been necessary and he was surprised it hadn’t caused any bigger arguments to break out in all the time that had passed.

‘My family has always been complicated,’ he quietly continued, lowering his gaze and softly running his thumbs over Vincent’s hands. ‘I- I don’t expect you to ever understand and I know what it looks like from the outside. I do. And I can’t blame you at all.’

‘Vito-’

‘I don’t know if I’m making a mistake with this.’ A brief pause, a shaky inhale. ‘I don’t know what is going to happen next, what he will do. What I will do. But I just- I couldn’t kill him.’

‘I know, baby.’

Vincent carefully cupped Vitali’s face in both his hands and leaned in- a brief moment of hesitation, as if they’d been sent back in time and suddenly had only been together for maybe a month or two- and kissed him as sweetly as he always did, the familiar taste of his peach chapstick spilling into Vitali’s mouth as he pulled him closer.

Vitali would be lying if he said he hadn’t been scared he would never get to experience that ever again.

‘Suppose it was complicated for him too,’ Vincent quietly continued, slightly pulling back and brushing his nose past Vitali’s, ‘considering- well, you know. And… I won’t fully understand it, but I understand that. Can’t fuckin’ stand my piece of shit oldest brother but if I’d find him bleeding out I- I also- you know. A little different, of course, but- I get it. I do.’

‘I never meant for any of you to get dragged into all of this,’ Vitali mumbled, keeping his eyes closed as he softly pressed his lips against Vincent’s again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You keep apologizing, but none of this is your fault. He started hunting you down- that’s on him.’

‘I should have dealt with things differently-’

‘How?’

Vincent pulled back a little further and Vitali finally opened his eyes, barely able to see his boyfriend through the blur of his own tears.

‘What would you have done differently if you could go back in time?’ Vincent asked, running his thumbs over Vitali’s cheeks. ‘What would you change?’

‘I would… I would’ve…’

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

‘Bit late, don’t you think? Or should I say early?’

Vitali’s eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, slowly dropping his head against the front door as he closed it with a soft click and reluctantly turned around to face his father- once again already dressed to leave for work, arms crossed in front of his chest.

‘They really wanted me to be there,’ he quietly mumbled in response, wincing slightly when Matvey reached out to grab his jaw and gently run his thumb past a large bruise on his cheek.

‘I can tell,’ he replied. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Are you alright, at least?’

Vitali clenched his jaw and could not force an answer out of himself.

He wouldn’t have done anything different. And he knew. And he knew that Vincent knew.

Perhaps foolish, or naive- but it had paid off in the end, as messy as it had been. Death happened each and every day in Night City and even fixers weren’t safe from that; a somewhat morbid reminder of that to mercenaries and the Council alike, and if anything it had finally woken them up after who knows how long of being so certain of their own untouchability.

Who knows how it all would have ended, had Vitali done something different? Who would have lived? Who would have died? He was no longer sure what had caused the dominos to fall in the first place- and there had been no way to prevent it from happening, years of events setting it in motion out of itself- and no one had been able to predict where the chain reaction would lead them in the end.

‘Family’s fuckin’ complicated,’ Vincent said, kissing Vitali on the forehead before getting up and walking over into the kitchen to pour the both of them a drink. ‘I’m just glad that it’s over now. And that you’re still with me.’

Vitali absently nodded, gaze wandering off to the large windows along the wall behind him, looking out over the balcony and the pier of Wellsprings, the vast ocean blending in with the dark horizon far outside the city.

And for a brief second, he could feel his entire body freeze, eyes locked onto the darkness ahead and breath caught in his throat; it felt familiar, too familiar, swallowed whole by the endless void with the feeling of eyes staring right back at him, waiting, expectantly.

‘Hey.’

Vincent had walked back to him, concerned frown decorating his brow as he sat back down next to him and gently cupped his cheek to force his gaze away from the ocean and back on him, the warmth of the light above the coffee table causing the uncomfortable feeling in his chest to settle down- but it did not vanish entirely.

‘I love you,’ Vitali quietly said, the words heavy in his mouth as he spoke and he could only barely stop a tear from escaping the corner of his eye when Vincent smiled at him and pulled him closer to his chest, the warmth of his arms finally making Vitali feel at peace again, and at home.

‘And I love you, baby. Not ever gonna change.’

Life in Night City moves fast.

Its endless crowds are an overwhelming presence during every hour of the day, under the sweltering west coast sun as well as under the blinding city lights long after dark. An ever-growing playground for corporations, fixers and fortune seekers alike- the city of dreams that swallows everyone who does not know what they’re getting themselves into whole; without remorse, and without hesitation.

A city where tragedy strikes too often for people to concern themselves with it anymore- most have grown numb after years and years of hearing the same news on the radio, and most know it’s a waste of energy to even try to care. Cut off one head and two take its place; and one seed planted can infect many at once, leaving the source of the problem nearly irrelevant in comparison to what has grown in the meantime.

Impossible to predict and impossible to control. Many have tried- many have failed- from corporations attempting to get inside people’s heads and control their every move from within to a single man taking matters into his own hands to try and rid the streets of its corruption, starting with its intricate network of fixers and mercenaries as a whole.

But in all of that, there are still people who do care. Who choose each other over and over again- who choose life, over and over again- who refuse to be stripped from their humanity and hold on to it as tightly as they hold on to each other through it all.

The city itself might never change. But people can.

That’s what makes us human after all, isn’t it?

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

TODOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[pawphin]

ABSOLUTELY DECIMATED BY THIS PANEL. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH HE SHOULDERED SO MUCH BY HIMSLEF AT SUCH A YOUNG AGE HE DESERVES ALL TH HUGS CRYING FOR A MILLION YEARS

(Im almosy done w the manga!!! Thank you for bearing w me so far :] )

[honeydots]

I was just re-reading to Prune a Grapevine and I had a question, how did Laslow and Xander meet? Odin teased it a little bit, but did he set them up or did they meet by chance because Odin knew Leo?

hi anon ive been so excited to answer this. i quite genuinely almost wrote a fic about their meeting in this universe so read more time

so first of all, a note: odin accrediting himself to their relationship does not mean laslow does LOL i imagine laslow probably rolls his eyes intensely whenever odin says that (even if there's a mild amount of truth to it)

also to answer your questions, no and no--but the second one is closer haha.

so setting the scene! laslow's in his early 20's, he moved to nohr for his career. he has a job dancing with a company, and he was actually very lucky to have landed the position he got. he's sort of paranoid about losing it.

xander (or rather, at this time it's garon--anya corp--just remembered i named their company that LOL) is a sponsor of the theater they work in, and of the dance company in general. a perk of sponsorship is watching a dress rehearsal, and you can probably imagine how this leads to their meeting.

but! it's a little more than that. obviously the cast knows that they'll have a sponsor watching them that day, but they're also told by the director they need to be nice to this guy. he's giving us money and we want him to keep doing that. so laslow has slightly more incentive to talk to xander, strictly because he thinks if he can show they get along, he'll have more job security, LMAO

a little more background knowledge, here's why odin is relevant. odin and leo, yes, are already friends!! odin doesn't live in nohr yet, though. laslow doesn't know leo, but he does know that odin has a Very Rich Nohrian Pal named Leo Anya. but that's the extent of it, laslow doesn't even know what leo looks like.

back to the dress rehearsal! during the intermission, i imagine laslow's getting a drink or something, he does end up running into xander. and they make some really simple small talk, xander probably makes a comment that he noticed laslow as one of the background dancers (xander certainly already found laslow striking, but i fully believe xander flirts only by stating recognizable facts in an entirely non-flirtatious way djfkdfjs), but that's about it.

laslow, though, is desperate to make a chance for himself. he's like 22 and wants to keep his job. he has been thinking about, all this time, how he knows of a different nohrian anya who is very rich, and he's been wondering if they're related. and he thinks he can give it a shot asking, because it might prompt some more conversation anyway

SO laslow asks xander if he has a little brother named leo. clearly xander does, so he says yes, and laslow kind of frantically explains that he knows a friend of his. odin. who xander recognizes from when odin has visited. and then odin serves as a pretty genuine icebreaker between the two of them, and they chat until laslow has to go.

they don't start dating until later, though. usually what i imagine happening is xander comes and sees the show again when it's in actual production, and laslow says hi to him afterwards. and this stays a trend for a little bit, until xander asks him to dinner and laslow accepts--a little less worried about his job and a little more wanting to be wooed by the pretty man, haha. and then history!

part of the reason i didnt write this as a fic is because there's actually more stuff that happens after they get together, but i've been debating if i want to include it. and then there's possibly even more after that, but i haven't committed to it being in this universe or not. but i'd want that to be part of the fic too, but then lord above it would start getting long. largely, it goes into how the falling out with garon ended up happening. but the actual falling out would be after siegbert and soleil are not only born, but like, five or six years old. so. that'd be long.

but!!! that's how xander and laslow happened in the grapevine-verse :D thank you for asking this has been rattling around in my brain for like. ever. dfkdjsfkdj <3

[5-pp-man]

Hooooly shit. Seeing Nagi break down like that is actually making me tear up. Wtf.

[kyri45]

A final letter

Hello Everyone!

The queue is paused and everything is scheduled, which means we are ready for the finale!

I know that, in the end, this was just a silly side project for me, with everything else going on in my life. But for this occasion, I wanted to drop some words here and hope they make sense.

I started watching LMK only because a friend told me there was a "Sonadow-coded" ship. I ended up consuming the entire thing in one sitting on July 10th, 2024. At the time, I was still recovering from a bike accident that had left me with a broken right forearm—unable to draw for a little over a month. (I did try drawing with my left finger, but it wasn't exactly fun.)

Not only that, but it was summer, and I couldn’t enjoy the season or practice my main sport, windsurfing. To say I was feeling the blues is an understatement. I remember being in physical pain just from not being able to draw my sillies. But then, watching LMK did something to my brain chemistry that my little undiagnosed autistic self had never experienced before. It hit so hard that I’ve been physically unable to rewatch the show SINCE that very first day. (And y’all still call me the CEO of this fandom. Bro, I just work here.)

A lot of you have asked what inspired me to start this comic or to draw LMK fan art in the first place. While my usual answer is, "I saw Shadowpeach and thought MK could be their lovechild, given his appearance," the moment that actually started it all was THIS ONE—

(I HAD TO REWATCH THIS SCENE TO MAKE THE GIF AND IT HURT ME ON A MOLECOLAR LEVEL)

I have… a thing for characters who discover their entire identity was something else all along. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I live for identity crises, for characters who thought they knew who they were, only to be forced to rediscover themselves, their existence, and their place in the world. If you give me a story where a character has to go through that, I will like it—regardless of how bad the rest of the story is.

Pair that with loads of trauma, daddy issues, the pressure of a legacy, and world-ending stakes, and congrats! Now I’m obsessed, and I will not stop thinking about it for the rest of my days!

At first, my brain just wanted to release some of that energy with a small, four-panel post about the monkeys discovering that MK was technically their kid.

That was supposed to be it.

But since I never seem to learn my lesson, it didn’t stay like that. Because once I started drawing, I just... continued.

And

I

never

stopped.

A lot of you have also asked how I found the motivation to draw so much, to never take a break. Well, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it one last time: I am my number one fan. No matter how much you laughed, cried, screamed, or went feral over this story, I did all of that and more. Because I got to think about the chapters months before they released. I got to daydream about them. I got to watch them come to life—first through sketches, then line art, then dialogue. And finally, I got to witness your reactions and see the incredible creations you made, inspired by my story.

So yeah, in a way, it was almost an addiction. A good addiction. Because, for the first time in my life, I actually understood what loving art means.

I’ve been drawing for ten years, working professionally for five, but I never loved art before. I just liked it because I happened to be good at it. But creating this comic made me understand why artists say, "Oh, I’ve loved drawing since I was a child!" This was the first time I allowed myself to create purely for my own enjoyment. Something I hadn’t had the privilege to do for a long time.

Other than making me feel even more single than I already was, this story somehow also helped me a little with my own family relationships. So yeah. Crazy how the gay monkeys changed my life.

Of course, I never could have predicted how much traction my AU would gain. Man, y’all were really starving to latch onto something this silly. /j

But yeah—thank you. Thank you for sticking around until the end, for having the patience and trust to follow the story even when I made you rage with angst and cliffhangers. (The statement in my bio still stands: I am not responsible for any physical or emotional damage my art has caused.)

I’m absolutely shit at thanking people, or at writing, or at talking in general, honestly. I’m the furthest thing from being good with words, so I hope the final chapter will be enough to show you my gratitude.

Through this story, I met so many wonderful, talented people. I watched as fans across different platforms found each other through memes and fanart of the AU. I saw artists start their own AUs inspired by mine, growing their own communities. I witnessed an explosion of creativity and collaboration through our takeovers. And I laughed along with you all.

And yeah—at its core, this story has always been about love. Whether it’s platonic, sibling, parental, romantic, or whatever the hell Mac and Wukong had going on for millennia.

At its heart, it’s a story about family.

And maybe, in the end… the real family wasn’t just the one in the comic, but the one we’ve found together along the way. 💛

See you all at the finale.

Love you all, freaks /affectionate

Jade

[holeforzenin]

Tw - Stepbrother choso, soft dom Choso?, fingering, pussy eating, squirting but reader didn't know what it was, oversimulation, ass play. Reader is 20 about to start college and choso is 23. This shit is honestly pretty filthy. I'm sorry for any errors.

Thinking about...

Your mom getting remarried to another man and you having to move into a new house and adjust to your new household, it wasn't going to be easy, it's a whole different chapter of your life beginning and a lot of things were going to change and be different.

But no matter what you vowed to try your very best to make everything easier for your mom, whatever it takes. She been through a lot in her past relationship and now she's finally happy and smiling so you'll do anything you possibly can to keep it that way. It's just so weird being the only child and now having to get used to having a new sibling, he was 5 years older than you, you don't really interact with him that much, you just wanna get all this over with till you can finally move out and begin college once summer ends.

Well things just happened to take an unexpected turn pretty fast.

"Be a good girl for me and keep still yeah?" he whispered to you while slamming two of his long thick fingers into your cunt nonstop. It was too much, he made you came on his fingers two times already yet he still kept going, scissoring and curling his digits against your tight walls while he fucks it in and out of you, the wet squelch of your cunt filling the room. He had you laying on his lap with your body folded on half, one of his hands gripping your thigh while the other is plunging into your cunt, you couldn't help but squirm on top of him.

"T'much, c-can't anymore please, t'much cho" you whimpered, nails sinking into his forearm.

He looked down at you smirking, "Cum f'me one more time then I'll stop, deal?", you reluctantly nodded your head, your poor cunt was so sore from all the times he'd do stuff like this, which is every night when your parents are asleep he'd sneak into your room and play with your poor little cunny so he can prepare you for when he's gonna give you the real thing and fuck you silly with his thick cock.

"Fuckkk baby you have no idea how much I wanna sink my cock into this cunt right now", He hisses, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers, his cock straining to be released from his boxers.

"Need you to cum f'me right now, c'mon princess you can do it". He encourages, fucking his fingers into your slopping cunt knuckles deep, faster and faster, hitting your sweet spot while he brought his thumb to your clit, flickering and rubbing small circles on it as he helped you climb to your orgasm.

Your head fell back against his chest as you came undone on his fingers. You cried out as he continued pumping his fingers inside of you throughout your orgasm, your toes curling while your eyes were rolling back of your head.

His eyes were glued to your body and face, paying attention to how your body reacted while your cumming, how you look so pretty with your eyes rolling back, he can't wait to see that exact scene but with his cock splitting your tight in half instead.

You came so much, your juices were leaking onto his lap, he licked his lips looking at how creamy your cunt was glistening as he slowly began pulling his fingers out of you. Strings of your slick connecting to your cunt and his fingers before snapping when he pulled away.

"Such a messy girl, see all the dirty mess you made princess?" he chuckled "What kind of big brother would i be if I don't help my sweet little sister clean all of this up?" He questions before he manhandles your body from his lap and places your back onto the bed.

He quickly got between your thighs, pressing both back towards you so your body could be folded, he took a moment to stare at your leaky wet cunt, the way there's cum dripping out of your entrance, leaking down to your asshole it was so messy. He dragged his tongue to your asshole before licking all the cum off it in one swipe up to your cunt, then he started lapping your entrance, making sure to clean and lick all the cum off with his tongue in the process so he could taste you, he loves eating your cunt so fucking much, the taste drives him absolutely crazy, always making him coming back for more. It was delicious.

"F-fuck!" you hiccupped "N-not so fast cho, s'much slow down please" you cried out, trying to push his head away, tugging on his hair, only to earn a groan from him while he ignored you and kept slurping on your cunt like a hungry man that just got his favorite meal for the first time in forever.

He kept swirling his tongue on your clit while his fingers are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, eyes fixated on your lewd expressions while your loud moans and cries filled the room.

It was just too much; your legs were shaking, you tried to move yourself but couldn't because of his strong grip on your thighs. All you could do is lay there, whimpering and crying as he feasts on your poor cunt. You felt your tummy start feeling weird, everything started feeling strange, like something different was about to happen. The new sensation of your body being stimulated launching you over the edge, making you jolt and writhe.

"Oh my god! Oh my god cho! Something's coming, feel so weird fu-fuck!" you warned, panicking as you attempt to try and push his head away only for his grip around your thighs to get tighter, he starts sucking your clit, as he pushes two of his fingers into your soppy fuckhole, fingerfucking the shit out of you, it was honestly so fucking nasty, the noises that were being made, literally everything.

He was acting like an actual fucking animal, groaning into your pussy while he's slurping and sucking on your clit as his thick fingers working its way in and out of your wet sloppy cunny. Your brain gets all fuzzy and blank as you released whatever it was, clear liquid gushing out of you like a fucking water hose, your back arching against the bed as you grip onto the sheets screaming, you might've even woken your parents up for fuck's sake. You squirted all over Choso's pretty face, his shirt was drenched, his fingers, everything. Yet that nasty motherfucker still kept licking up your leaking cunt, his tongue lapping up all your juices from your dripping hole then he makes his way to your asshole, circling his tongue around your puckered hole before giving it a few kitten licks, making sure that he licks up every bit of your pussy juice since it seems like a burden to him to let any go to waste. Flickering his tongue on your hole as it's fluttering and winks against the pad of it while his long fingers still slamming into your poor tired hole. It was so fucking much that you felt like passing out as you start crying and whimpering even more.

After he was 100% sure he licked your cunny and everywhere else squeaky clean and was satisfied, he pulls away from you, panting and trying to catch his breath before moving closer towards you, he picks your head up with his arms, cradling it while wiping away your pathetic tears.

"S'okay princess I got you it's okay" he allows you to catch your breath as you calm yourself down. "Did so well f'me, such a good girl, aren't you?". He cooed, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Cho-choso what was that! What happened!??" you asked nervously. "It's nothing bad baby, don't worry about it, you did a great job".

"Gonna make you do that same shit again tomorrow but on my fucking cock got it?".

Bonus

Visual on how he was eating your cunt but he was def doing way more than that since he's such a sick desperate fucker.

[llycaons]

Jin Ling has to sit down halfway through the dizzying explanation. “This is ridiculous,” he says. “You’re telling me that not only was my dead uncle in love with Hanguang-jun, but he has been secretly raising Sizhui’s secret identical twin in the woods for over a decade ?”

oh this did make me laugh

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, sexual content, husband!Lando

Notes — You'll be delighted to hear that I'm no longer restricting myself to 30 chapters. We might still be going in 20 years. I don’t want to rush any of their story.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

The house they’d rented for their mini-honeymoon was tucked into the Cotswolds, surrounded by sprawling fields and winding country roads. It was nothing extravagant — just two nights, just them, before the season roared straight back into motion. A window of quiet. A pause between chapters.

Amelia stood barefoot in the kitchen, her hair loosely braided down her back, as she watched Lando attempting to operate the stovetop espresso machine. He was shirtless, hunched with intense focus, and utterly failing.

“That’s the wrong burner,” she said, not unkindly.

Lando looked up, caught in the act. “I was testing you.”

“You’re failing.” She giggled. 

He grinned and finally turned the knob correctly. Steam hissed. Outside, a low breeze rustled the leaves. The cottage smelled like lavender and toast. One of her rings — the wedding band — clicked gently against the ceramic mug she was holding, and she stilled. Amelia glanced down at her hand, turning it slowly in the light. Both rings — the engagement and the wedding band — glinted at her, new and strange. Only a tiny bit heavier than before, but noticeable.

“I’m still getting used to the feeling,” she murmured.

Lando poured the coffee and set one cup in front of her. “What feeling?”

She tapped her fingers against the side of her mug. “Two rings. It’s a lot more sensory input than one. I keep noticing them. Like a very mild version of wearing my watch on the wrong wrist.”

He sat across from her, cradling his own mug, his legs tangled beneath the table like he belonged in every soft corner of the morning. “Is it uncomfortable? You don’t have to wear them, baby.”

“No. I like wearing them. It’s just… different,” she said, after thinking about it. “But I like that. It makes it feel real. Like a constant reminder.”

Lando smiled, gentle and full of something that felt like sunlight. “It is real.”

She looked at him, her husband, now, and felt that odd little stretch in her chest again. 

They spent the day driving lazily through villages, stopping for fresh strawberries and cream, taking photos at every stone wall and overgrown hedge. He kissed her forehead at every stoplight. She held his hand every second she possible could. 

That night, they were curled up on the tiny sofa in front of the fireplace, the embers low and warm. Amelia had her head on his shoulder, tracing invisible shapes on his chest through the cotton of his t-shirt. “I liked your vows,” she said.

Lando made a soft sound. “I, like, panicked my way through them.”

“And you cried” she added, softly smug.

“Couldn’t help it. You looked like a dream,” he whispered, kissing her hair.

��I’m glad we didn’t wait.” She told him, after a beat. 

He nodded, squeezing her, kissing her head. “Me too.”

They sat there for almost all night, the hours stretching out like soft fabric, warm and quiet and alive. The wedding day had all become a bit of a blur. Beautiful. Full of love. Their families had laughed and drank too much wine, and for one day her dad had been just that — not Lando’s boss, but his father-in-law. 

“I love being married to you,” Lando told her. 

Amelia laughed. “It’s only been a day.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s been the best day of my life,” he said.

She kissed him, slow and sure. “I like being married to you, too.”

—

The sun was barely cresting over the hills while they were packing up the car. Their two-night honeymoon had gone by in the blink of an eye. Amelia folded the last of their clothes into her duffel, zipped it closed, and watched Lando make a show of fitting the leftover snacks into his backpack.

“You could just carry the crisps separately,” she offered, watching him frown at the bag.

Lando gave her a look like she’d suggested something criminal. “The’ll fit. I don’t want to have to carry two bags through the airport.”

She sighed and leaned against the car, her left hand absently rising to adjust her sunglasses — and catching once again on the glint of the two rings on her finger. She was starting to acclimate to them. The newness was still there, but now it was becoming a kind of comfort. A tether, maybe.

They drove to Heathrow listening to a playlist Amelia had built for the car ride, songs they’d played at the wedding reception, one after another like quiet echoes. When Electric Feel came on, Lando laughed and reached for her hand. “Max dancing to this was the funniest part of the night.”

“He was off-beat on purpose,” Amelia replied, dry. 

“He says that, but I think he’s just bad at dancing.”

Amelia tilted her head. “That didn’t stop you.”

“Oh, I looked incredible on that dance floor.” He grinned. 

“You nearly dislocated your shoulder.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lando said proudly.

The flight to Austria was short, uneventful, smooth. They landed to a flurry of activity. The paddock was already humming with the usual pre-race tension and preparation, even from the carpark, they could see team trucks, personnel moving around with radios clipped to their belts, tyres stacked in neat lines like puzzle pieces waiting to be solved.

It was like re-entering orbit.

At the McLaren motorhome, people greeted them with smiles and congratulations. Someone had put “Just Married” bunting across the back wall of Lando’s garage — and the social media liaison handed her a bouquet of peonies when they walked into the paddock, filming them (for a TikTok, probably). 

“This is kind of surreal,” she said quietly, touching one of the petals. 

Lando, already redressed in head-to-toe team gear, brushed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re allowed to be a little sentimental. You’re married now.”

She nudged him. “You’re married too.”

“Right,” he grinned. “And already back at work less than a week later. Very devoted.”

“You want a medal?” She teased, 

“Yes, preferably chocolate.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to go through the pre-race engineering notes, her clipboard already full. Race week had begun, again. The season didn’t wait, wedding or not. But for a few moments more, she could still feel the softness of the last week in the curve of her shoulders and the warmth of her ring finger.

Lando jogged off toward his garage when Will shouted for him, turning back only once to catch her eye.

And she smiled. Married. Back to work. But tethered together in one certain way.

—

The walls of the Red Bull strategy room were matte grey and slightly dirty. Two screens took up most of one side — telemetry blinking in real-time, simulation models lining up neatly like soldiers. Engineers moved in and out quietly, murmuring about tyre windows and sector times.

Amelia sat in her usual spot at the table, posture relaxed but alert, tapping the cap of her pen against her notes. Max dropped into the chair beside her, dropping a bottle of water onto the table with a satisfying thunk.

"You're late," she said without looking up.

"I'm fast though,” Max countered, cracking the cap. “So it evens out."

She didn’t laugh, but her lip twitched. “You know we’re going to need to double stint the mediums if the degradation runs high again. It’s not going to be as clean as last year.”

Max leaned over to glance at her notes, one eyebrow rising. “You’ve already run the long-run overlays?”

“Before breakfast,” she said. “Softs fall off faster than predicted in traffic. If you get boxed in Turn 3, you’re going to have to stretch the second stint, or commit to three stops.”

Max hummed, nodding slowly. “And if we undercut?”

“Only if you get DRS every lap, or clean air from the start. Otherwise you’ll burn out your tyres too soon.” She pushed a tab on her tablet, flipping to a new data cluster. “You’ll need to be aggressive into Sector 2. That’s where Checo is losing time, by the way.”

“She’s so smug when she’s right,” Max said, dryly, to no one in particular.

“I’m not smug,” Amelia replied. “Don’t take Turn 9 too shallow this year. I saw your onboard. You were clipping the inside kerb last time and risking bottoming out.”

“You watched last year’s onboard footage again?” He asked. 

“Obviously.” She shrugged. 

Max gave her a long look. “When do you find the time?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I watched in on three times speed while I was peeing this morning.”

He snorted. “Multi-tasking. I like it.”

There was a knock on the open door — Hannah poking her head in. “You two ready to head over to the sim? Checo’s already in there”

Max stood, stretching. “Yeah. Think so.”

Amelia gathered her iPad and notebooks and stood beside him. “Do we have the same ride-height as last round?”

Hannah nodded. 

Max bumped his shoulder into hers lightly before they left the room together. “Wedding of the year’s over,” he murmured as they walked down the hall. “You gonna win me the championship again this year?”

She hummed. “Only if you give me a clean first lap today.”

She really liked how easy it was to joke around with Max—she could be playful and he never thought she was being mean, could always tell when she was telling a joke. 

“No promises.” He grinned. 

She smiled at him. 

— 

The fans buzzed overhead, barely cutting through the thick warmth of the Red Bull garage. It smelled like tyre rubber and brake dust and faintly of the coffee someone had abandoned near the telemetry stations. Amelia sat half-perched on the edge of the pit wall desk, ankles crossed, flipping through her iPad with methodical intent, her stylus tapping lightly on the screen.

GP approached with his headset looped around his neck, the usual controlled chaos of a race weekend thrumming behind him. He grinned at her, lopsided and knowing. “Heard you got married.”

She didn’t look up. “I did.”

“To Norris,” he clarified, eyes amused.

“Also true.”

Christian appeared just then, phone in hand, looking as if he’d just stepped away from a meeting he didn’t particularly enjoy. “I saw the photos,” he said. “Looked great. Very British.”

Amelia blinked at him. “Well, I’m mostly American, so…”

Christian held up his hands in mock surrender. “I know. Sorry. But I saw that there were scones.”

Amelia snorted. “Lando’s mom insisted.”

GP raised an eyebrow. “So you actually stayed away from the factory for an entire week? I’m impressed.”

She gave him a dry look, her stylus pausing mid-swipe. “You didn’t crash the sim server once while I was gone.”

“No,” GP admitted. “Probably because you didn’t have Max on it all day every day.”

Christian leaned against the wall beside her, arms folded across his chest. His eyes crinkled faintly. “So. Honeymoon?”

“Two days in the countryside. It was nice,” Amelia replied, not looking up. “But Austria waits for no one.”

There was a pause, a slight weight to the air.

“And after that?” Christian asked. “You thinking about doing anything nice next year?”

She turned a page in her notes. “Yeah,” she said, calm. “I won’t have to be at the factory during breaks anymore, so I’ll have more time with him, probably.”

That landed like a dropped screw in the silence.

GP tilted his head. “Wait—you’re leaving?”

Amelia nodded once. “Max and Jos have known for a while. Thought they might have mentioned it.”

Christian stood a little straighter. “Where are you going?”

“McLaren.”

The word slipped out easily. Controlled. Final.

GP let out a short breath, blinking. “McLaren?”

Christian’s mouth twitched into something unreadable — tight at the corners. Calculating. “For Lando.”

Amelia looked up then, her expression unreadable but edged with quiet defiance. “No. But if that’s what you want to think, sure.”

GP blinked at her like she’d just short-circuited his brain. “You’re really leaving us?”

“Yeah. Probably,” she said, finally setting the tablet down on her lap. “Max won’t need me next year. You’ll have the car sorted before Bahrain. I’ve already finalised the details with Adrian.”

Christian’s voice dropped. “That’s a big decision.”

“So was coming here,” she said evenly.

There was something in her tone — not defensive, not regretful, but unshakeable. The same voice she used in strategy meetings when she was right and everyone else was just taking longer to realise it.

Christian sighed, then nodded once. His jaw was tight. “You always were one step ahead.”

Amelia made a face. “I just like to plan ahead. Nothing wrong with that.” 

GP looked down at the floor, then back at her, genuine sadness flickering in his expression. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” she replied, voice quiet now. “You build things. You adapt. That’s the job. That’s the sport.”

Christian glanced at her again, and some of the tightness was gone. “You know the door’s always open.”

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back.” She said plainly. 

GP gave her a nod. Christian’s eye twitched before he was walking away, murmuring something into his phone.

Amelia looked back down at her iPad. Sighed at Max’s inability to not overheat the left rear into turn one.

Just another Friday.

—

The kettle was whistling on the counter.

Amelia was curled into a kitchen chair, legs folded under her, wearing a hoodie of Lando’s that swallowed her narrow frame. The sleeves were bunched around her knuckles. Her iPad was open on the table in front of her, the screen glowing faintly in the morning light. She hadn’t typed a single word in the blinking reply box.

Lando walked in with damp hair, still tousled from his shower, his phone in one hand. “You want tea?”

“No,” Amelia said, eyes still locked on the screen. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

He paused by the counter. “That’s a lot of answers.”

She didn’t elaborate. Just tapped the tip of her stylus absently against the wood grain of the table, small and rhythmic.

Lando made her a cup anyway. Peppermint, no caffeine. He placed it gently in front of her, then slid into the seat across from her. “What’s going on?”

She nudged the iPad toward him wordlessly.

He read the email silently. Then again, slower this time. When he looked up, his face was unreadable.

“We’d love to do a feature on you,” he read aloud, softly. “Your career path, your unique path into the engineering field, and your part in Max Verstappen’s 2021 Championship. Your openness about being autistic. And now, the public interest in your recent marriage to Lando has made you one of the most fascinating figures in motorsport right now...”

He passed the tablet back.

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.

“Do you want to do it?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again, tone clipped this time.

“Okay. Why not?”

She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Because it’s… all very personal. And I know what that means. It means they’ll ask questions about my childhood and my dad and you and Max and my autism and everything. And maybe they’ll twist it into something I didn’t mean to say, and then suddenly my entire life is summed in one terrible headline.”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not supposed to agree with me. You’re supposed to, like, tell me I’m overthinking and this is an exciting opportunity and they’ll be nice.”

“I’m your husband now,” Lando said, lips quirking. “Legally, I have to be honest with you.”

Amelia huffed, a soft laugh bubbling up despite herself. “Shut up.”

He reached across the table, gently brushing his fingers against hers. “So what exactly feels wrong about it? The autism thing?”

“All of it,” she said. Then, quickly—“None of it. I mean—” She took a breath, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie like she needed the fabric to hold her together. “I want to tell my story. I like the idea of it. But I’m scared they’ll simplify it. Make it into a neat arc. ‘Autistic woman makes good car. Marries F1 star. Representation! Progress!’” She winced. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Of course it is,” Lando said. “Everything about you is complicated.”

“Thanks,” she said, deadpan.

He smiled, nudging her foot under the table. “Yeah, but that’s why I love you, baby.”

Amelia didn’t smile. Not yet. Her brows pinched, eyes unfocused. “I’m worried they’ll ask about how you cope. Like I’m something hard to live with. Like I’m a challenge someone has to overcome to prove how good and kind and patient they are. Like I’m not the one making things work.”

Lando leaned forward, his voice steady. “I don’t cope with you, Amelia. I don’t endure you. I live with you. And I love you. And I respect you more than I respect anyone else in my life.”

She blinked at that. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Okay, but… what if I say something wrong? What if I let people in and they don’t understand?”

“Then they don’t understand,” he said simply. “That’s not on you.”

She was quiet for a long beat.

“I don’t want to be a mascot,” she said at last, almost a whisper. “Or a headline. Or a symbol. I just want to do good work. And be happy. And love you. And maybe go to bed early tonight.”

“You can do all those things,” Lando said, voice softening. “You’re already doing most of them.”

Amelia finally reached for the tea. It was warm. Steady. Familiar.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he added, gently. “Baby, you can think about it. You don’t have to say yes right away.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll think about it.” Then, “But if I do say yes, do you think they’ll let me read it before they post it? To make sure it’s fine.”

“I’m sure they’d be okay with that.” He nodded. 

Amelia smiled at him, her cheeks a little red. “Can we kiss for a little while?” 

He pushed his chair out and patted his lap. 

—

The interview took place in a quiet café near Paris — one Amelia had chosen specifically for the low lighting, the muffled acoustics, and the booths with high backs. The interviewer had been vetted in advance by Max’s PR team, and to Amelia’s mild surprise, she wasn’t awful. She was actually… gentle. Respectful. And patient.

Her name was Lisette, and she came alone, no assistant, no camera crew, just a voice recorder, a notebook, and a kind smile.

“Ready when you are,” she said softly.

Amelia, sitting cross-legged in the booth in a dark green jumper and her favourite wide-legged trousers, nodded once. “Okay. You can start.”

Lisette clicked on the recorder.

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Amelia, you’ve had a remarkable career already — and it’s still just beginning. Race strategist, performance engineer, design technician. You’re kind of a jack of all trades. But what I really want to know is… what’s it like to be one of the most visible women in Formula 1?”

Amelia blinked slowly. “Overwhelming. And also very cool. And also… a bit ridiculous?”

Lisette smiled curiously. “Ridiculous?”

“I work with some of the most brilliant people in motorsport,” she said. “I’m still learning every day to not cope with the constant chaos, noise, and… expectation.”

Lisette nodded, jotting a note. “And what’s the answer to that?”

“I don’t. Cope, I mean,” Amelia said honestly. “I manage. I prepare. I build systems around myself that work. And I work really, really hard to be excellent at what I do, so that no one can dismiss me.”

A long pause.

“I like that,” Lisette murmured. “Can I ask—what is the biggest misconception people have about you?”

Amelia leaned back, eyes darting to the side in thought. “That I’m delicate,” she said at last. “Because I act a little differently, and I have to wear ear-defenders more often than not, and I can’t do loud sponsor events without at-least one prep day. But I work sixteen-hour days during race weekends. I can out-logic a tyre delta problem in my sleep. Delicate isn’t the right word. I’m… I’m just precise.”

Lisette smiled. “And does that precision carry into your personal life?”

Amelia hesitated. “Sometimes.” She shifted in her seat, adjusting one of her rings — the wedding band. “I got married earlier this month,” she said, unprompted. “To Lando Norris.”

“I know,” Lisette said gently. “It looked beautiful. I saw some photos on social media. You had a lot of the grid attend.”

“It was beautiful,” Amelia agreed. “Loud and soft all at once. A sensory paradox. But it was all planned — down to the napkins. That’s how I make things manageable. We planned it for me to feel safe. And loved.”

“And did you?”

“I did. I do. All the time.”

“May I ask what it’s like, being married to a public figure?” Lisette asked. “An athlete?”

Amelia thought about that for a moment. “Well, he comes with a lot of noise.” She said, a wry smile on her face. “But he understands me,” she said finally. “Not everything, not all the time — but he wants to. And he’s not afraid of the harder parts. The shutdowns. The silences. The incessant need for structure. And I guess, in a way, I’m a public figure now, too. So we’ve evened out the playing field a little.” 

“You don’t seem uncomfortable talking about love,” Lisette noted.

“Oh, I’m not,” Amelia said. “I just don’t always know how much to share. Because once you start telling your story, people think they own it. But love… love is something I had to work very hard to understand. It didn’t come easily. So I’m proud of it.”

“Can I ask you something harder?” Lisette said softly.

Amelia tilted her head. “Um… Sure.”

“Do you ever feel responsible for being… a symbol? For other autistic people? Or young women who want to work in motorsport?”

Amelia let out a slow breath. “Yes,” she said. “And no. I want them to see me and think, ‘Maybe I can do that too.’ But I don’t want to be the only one. I don’t want to be special.”

Lisette nodded. “I understand.”

“I shouldn’t be the exception,” Amelia said.

The interview ended soon after, with soft thank-yous and a promise that Amelia would be sent a transcript to approve. She appreciated that, even though it was a pre-agreed condition of the interview.

Lando met her a few metres from the coffee shop. He was wearing a black coat and his hair was fluffy. She walked straight into his chest, fists closing around his shirt. 

He wrapped his arms around her. Squeezed. 

She exhaled a long, slow breath. 

—

The soft glow of the Parisian streets bathed the city in a warm, golden light. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of fresh bread from nearby bakeries and the sound of distant chatter as pedestrians wandered through the winding alleys. Amelia and Lando walked hand in hand, their fingers intertwined tightly. 

"Paris is much quieter than I imagined," Amelia remarked, her voice soft as they strolled along the Seine, the river winding its way through the heart of the city.

Lando glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think you’ve just gone numb to the chaos, baby.”

She smiled, a little sheepish. "Well, yeah. I guess I always compare everything to a race weekend now.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. "Not quite like that here. It's definitely more... relaxed. Peaceful."

They paused near the Pont Alexandre III, the ornate bridge decorated with golden statues, and Lando pulled his camera from his backpack. “Can I take your picture?” He asked, already aiming it at her with a gentle grin.

Amelia blinked at him. “Now? You’re going to take a picture of me in front of a bridge?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping back to get the right angle. “You look beautiful. I want to capture it.”

Her cheeks flushed, though she tried to hide it behind a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not even wearing a nice outfit. I’m wearing Max’s merch.”

“Exactly,” he said, already focusing on her. “And you’re still perfect.”

Amelia found herself standing still, her breath catching in her chest. 

Lando clicked the shutter. The soft click of the camera echoed in the stillness of the bridge. “Hold on, don’t move,” he said, his voice full of affection as he walked around her. “Just stay like that, okay?”

She tilted her head, amused but compliant. “What are you going to do with all these photos? I’m not a model, Lando.”

He smiled as he knelt down to get a different angle, his lens focused on her face. “Doesn’t matter. I want to remember moments like this. I want to keep them all.”

She smiled, feeling something warm spread through her chest. “Okay. Just... don’t post them on your Instagram or something, okay?”

Lando shot her a knowing glance as he snapped another picture. “Don’t worry. I’ll just keep them for myself.” He flashed a grin, his eyes lighting up with a mix of affection and mischief. “Maybe one day I’ll make a whole album for you.”

She laughed softly, walking over to him and reaching down to gently ruffle his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lando stood up, pocketing the camera. “Yeah. Ridiculous for you.”

Amelia gave him a soft look, feeling the heat of his words settle in her heart. She hadn’t expected Paris to feel so intimate, so calming. She hadn’t expected this kind of quiet joy in a city that was often associated with hustle and glamour. But with Lando beside her, everything felt like it could slow down, just for them.

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re making me fall in love with Paris all over again.”

Lando laughed, his cheeks pink. “I think Paris is already in love with you.”

Amelia smiled at the pocket holding the camera. “I guess I’ll let you keep them.”

“Good,” he said with a wink. “I’m going to make a collage of you, so we can hang it on the wall when we get home.”

Amelia laughed, shaking her head as they continued walking, the streets of Paris unfolding before them like a never-ending adventure. 

—

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass absentmindedly.

Lando was across the room, standing in front of the mirror. He’d pulled off his jacket, looking at himself for a moment before turning back to her with a soft smile. He hadn’t said anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, gentle, loving. She glanced up, meeting his eyes, and something in the way he looked at her made her heart flutter.

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate, as though savouring the moment. His presence was like a magnet, pulling her in, making her want to forget everything else and just focus on him.

“You good?” He asked softly, standing in front of her now. His hands gently cupped her face, tilting her head up to meet him. 

She nodded, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she reached up to touch his cheek, tracing the outline of his jaw with her fingertips. It was such a simple gesture, but it held everything she couldn’t put into words. Everything she felt when he was around—comfort, warmth, security.

“I’m happy we’re here,” she finally murmured, her voice soft. “I’ve needed this. Just...us. Even if it’s just one night before everything gets busy again.”

He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over her lower lip. “Me too, baby,” he said, voice low, full of affection. He leaned down, brushing his lips across her forehead, and then, with a quiet sigh, pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow. She could feel his heart beating through his chest as he leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around her. Amelia let herself fall into him, her entire body relaxing as she melted into his embrace. Her hands roamed to his shoulders, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. 

Lando’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, and she let out a soft sigh. It was a soft, quiet kind of intimacy—nothing rushed, nothing forced. Just them, connected in a way that felt entirely natural.

He pulled back for a moment, looking into her eyes, his breath shallow. “I’ve needed you all day,” he said, his voice quiet, full of sincerity. “You’re everything, Amelia. Mine. My everything. My wifey…”

She laughed breathily, even as her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled softly. “Me too,” she whispered.

Then, without another word, he leaned down again, his lips meeting hers with a passion that took her breath away. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as their hands began to roam, exploring the closeness they shared.

The world shrank to just the two of them. Quiet laughter, soft words exchanged between kisses, the occasional gasp as they held each other closer. Their love didn’t need to be about the fireworks or grand gestures. It was about the quiet moments—the firm touches, the way their hearts beat in sync, the way they could so seamlessly become one single person. 

It was magic, in a lot of ways. 

But Amelia didn’t believe in magic. 

So maybe it was just love.

NEXT CHAPTER

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚truth bomb!‧₊˚

getting hit by a truth quirk? not so fun. dealing with it while having a huge crush on bakugo katsuki? even worse.

- ღpairing. 3rdyear!katsuki x reader. tags. friends to lovers, truth telling quirk, wingmen, kissing scenes, confessions, fighting, miscommunication trope, U-A girls love you, she/her pronoun use, fem!reader, earthquirk!reader. wc. 8k

- ღnote. i win the slowest writer ever award! anyways, i wrote this in chapter form here, this is a rework of my first work ever, and i completely changed the plot for anyone who might have read itt

this wasn't how your mission was supposed to go.

the thought ran through your head as you resisted the urge to bang your head against the concrete. that fate would probably be better than whatever you'd face having to confess, out of your will, to your longtime crush, katsuki.

but, the day started out normal enough. you were on a patrol, randomly scheduled as all your patrols usually were because of your mentor, mirko. she lacked the traditional agency and took missions as she pleased, which meant you'd usually be along for the ride.

which entailed things like this, walking boredly along the streets, running your fingers along metal pipes, trying to find something- anything to quench your eternal boredom.

it didn't work though.

you finally groaned, rolling your eyes as you looked at mirko, who seemed oddly determined. “we've been walking in this place for like– what? an hour? it's so boring!” you kicked a rock, making it clash against a random trash can.

“a deserted town is perfect, it's exactly what an up and coming villain group would want to start up. think before you speak for once.” she chided, not even looking over at you as she continued walking forth. “anyways, you should be able to feel it, can't you? they're close.”

sure enough, you could. the vibrations of their movement, the reverberation of their voices bouncing off the walls of the random alleyway of where you two stood felt as you focused your stance.

they were close. you sighed, though now of relief that you'd finally be able to beat them and get out of here as soon as you can, you stretched your hands and fingers, getting ready to manipulate the ground below you. “well then what are you waiting for? let's go!”

mirko nodded, and wordlessly followed you as you two positioned yourselves on a rooftop above the rowdy group of villains. they were laughing heartily, seemingly unaware and full of glee as they continued down the city streets. the sun was coming down, golden sunlight illuminating your figure as you closed your eyes and focused in on their positions, trusting your quirk more than your vision.

you stomped lightly and closed your eyes, feeling their positions out perfectly, as well as mirko’s readied stance beside you. nobody was around for miles, on the ground at least, so you focused in to hear their words.

mocking cries of innocent civilians left the mouth of the biggest one. “oh, please don't hurt me!” he cried, a fake squeaky voice cut off by his laughter. “oh man, what a pathetic excuse for a human.”

“fleeting the town completely in what? two days? we're the shit man.” another replied, high-fiving amongst themselves as they snickered and giggled.

they held bags of money and prized belongings in their grasps, smirks and sneers as they lugged them down the city. the one they seemed to think they ‘owned’ now that the civilians fled to safety. one that they were making a mess of.

you felt mirko’s figure, the growing hostility in her stance. the balling of her fist and her legs that were ready to pounce at any given moment.

“i'm all clear.” you whispered. “on your call, i'm ready.”

you could even feel the twitch of her ears, the wind blowing a spare leaf of the ground, but most importantly,

you felt the millisecond where she lowered to jump.

in response you launched the ground underneath you with a flick of the hand, landing yourself perfectly next to mirko. she held out a fist to the group, who jumped at the sight of you two.

“listen up losers!” she began, pointing a daunting finger at the biggest of the group, who had a literal screw growing out the base of his neck. a shiver went down your spine at the sight. “you can beg for forgiveness now, or later! which is it?”

a moment of silence passed, before one of them declared, “how about never? attack!”

half of the group focused on mirko, while the others were now facing you. you sighed, fixing yourself in a relaxed stance, before swiftly punching up to launch chucks of rock and steel out of the ground, into the bodies of the offending men coming towards you.

a few of them dodged, making you repeat the same attack again, since you really didn't feel like going full strength for villains at this level. your eyebrows furrowed as you realized one of them had taken the opportunity to make a break for it, but ignored it for now as the final guy stood against you.

mirko stole your spotlight though, landing a kick in his hand that rendered him unconscious.

“hey. i called dibs.” you whined, before walking over to her. “alls fair in love and war.” she said, before pointing to the almost comically large bags of money and jewelry. “we need to clean these up and get these guys locked up. round up the bags and i'll get the corpses– uh. bodies.”

with a reassuring smirk, she threw around the bodies into a pile, making you wince at the sound of their groans. you went to move all the money and things into an area for the collection agency.

you moved a bag or two, onto your third bag when a sound was suddenly heard behind you. “freeze.”

an unconfident, shaky, and out of breath voice filled your ears. you froze, not knowing who it was.

“n-now turn around. slowly.” he ordered. you did as he said, noting that his hand was pointing towards you in a handgun motion. the tips of his fingers were glowing a strange light green color. “o-okay. you’re gonna leave all the money there, just for me. okay lady?”

you shrugged, looking back at your work. “i mean, that was the plan anyways. a collection agency is gonna come for you and your friends soo–.”

“no, they're not.” he cut you off with a snarl. “i don't think i gave you permission to talk.”

“but you're still talking to me anyways!”

“why you– teenage brats are the worst. i tried not to kill kids, but you're annoying.” the green light emitted even brighter.

“bye.” the ray was about to shoot at you. you didn't have time to block, but mirko last minute shoved the guy to the ground.

his hand still managed a shot, though with his arm up in the air, it moved from being aimed to your heart, to..

shooting towards your mouth.

you didn't dodge in time, not expecting to get shot in your mouth of all places.

it didn't hurt, but it did feel tingly. the guy was slammed to the ground, his face flat with the floor as your hands shot up to feel the skin around your mouth.

you were.. fine?

“hey!” mirko cut off your thoughts. “you okay? what did he do to you? fuck i should've been quicker.”

“i'm fine. honestly you should have been quicker, i was really stalling here.”

“oh.. well im glad to hear you're fine at least.”

“you heard that??” you were shocked to hear her response, you only meant to say that mentally. you really were just going to say it was fine like always, so why..

why wasn't your mouth listening to you?

“no. like you don't understand mirko, i didn't mean to say that-”

“we all slip up sometimes.”

“no. like, it left my mouth before i realized it.”

her eyes widened, before thumping on the guys head below her. “hey you. what exactly did you do to her? huh?”

at no response, she wacked him against the ground again. “hellooo? i'll do it as many times as i need to-”

“no! please, fine fuck- i'll tell you!”

the collection agency finally was heard in the distance. mirko glared. “talk. fast.”

“okay, okay!” the man was once again shaking. “my quirk is enhancements, but I control how exactly it enhances the body–”

“i didn't ask for a life story. get to the point.”

“well! i wanted to aim for the heart and enhance heart rate, which would of killed her! but– um. i accident aimed for her mouth, and enhanced.. honesty.”

“i see. for how long will it be?”

“uh.. a week i think.”

“huh, why would you become a villain with a quirk like yours anyways? final question before you're shipped off to jail.”

“well, i wanted to bring out the best in the worst, to show that even we villains can triumph!”

“..okay.” she left him on the ground and walked away with you by her side. you were heading back to the U-A dorms to drop you off.

“so, you can't lie to me, huh?”

“nope.” your answer left you before you could process it, like a mental disconnection between your actions. “don't do that, it isn't funny!”

she raised her hands up defensively. “okay, okay. i won't.”

…

“so am i your favorite hero or what?”

“yes.”

“really? since when?” she chided.

“since your debut, i was a hardcore fan for a long time.”

“was?”

“learning the real you killed the rose-tint in my glasses.”

“oh..” she put a hand over her heart. “ouch?”

“you wanted the truth.” you sneered. which wasn't really the right choice at this point, since she took that as liberty to start questioning your every move.

the worst 20 questions of your life was played as you walked home, your legs burning with ache of exhaustion was nothing over the mental anguish of being around a happy-go-lucky mirko.

you finally made it, the dorms in view as she decided to ask you one final question.

“so, my darling apprentice [name]. got any more ideas for questions?”

“no! so stop asking them!”

“you're no fun. hmm, let's see. oh! do you have a crush?”

don't say it, you repeated mentally in your mind, but you felt the oddly numb sensation of the answer leaving you.

“bakugo katsuki.”

her eyes widened and jaw went slack. “seriously? i thought i raised you better.” she joked, poking your side as you went to cover your face with your hands.

the church bells welcomed you as the golden staircase was opened from the clouds. step by step you took, angels singing and a halo over your head as you were greeted by loved ones past–

but your peaceful departure wasn't peaceful for very long.

“well, as long as you're happy [name]. i'll be going now, text me!”

she walked off with a smile that made you feel sick, but you couldn't resist the urge to wave goodbye anyways.

you leant up against the gate of the opening, your arms basically clung around the pillar. catching your breath as you prepared yourself for a week of hiding, of intense planning around your crush–

“hey, you okay weirdo?”

the voice of said crush filled your ears, making you realize that it indeed can always get worse.

“no, i'm not okay.” she said, letting go of the pillar and shakily standing on two feet, feeling like a fawn standing for the first time.

his eyebrows raised like he didn't expect you to say that, his mouth hung open for a second, before he decided to just retort. “oh, sucks to be you then.”

“yes, yes it does.” you say of your own will, dragging a hand longly against your face.

face-to-face with him, the guy you'd randomly became close with over the years, the one that you'd harbored and now openly spoke of your crush on, and the one who you shared an affinity for romance manga with.

“are ya ever g’nna get up properly? or you just gonna stare like a dumbass?” he asked, which made you answer begrudgingly.

“everyone who falls has to get up, unless they're dead.

…

but uh– don't wait on me!”

“...right.” he shrugged, moving back towards the door to walk inside. acting off after a mission wasn't anything crazy after all, they all had weird days. at least that's how he rationalized it.

“oh, and i borrowed some shit from your room. i'll give it you tomorrow.”

“be gentle!”

“whatever.” he closed the door after him, leaving your with your thoughts alone. after the sun had fully left you alone, you decided to bite the bullet and just go inside. taking a deep breath, you walked in, trying your best to just make it to your room.

mina came up to you, a pint of ice cream in her hand. “[name]! you're back! how was it?”

“bad.” you answered, wordlessly asking for a bit of her ice cream.

she gave it to you, before joining you as you walked up the stairs. “wanna talk about it?”

“not really, but it'll be forced out of me.”

“what??”

you sighed, explaining what happened to you in between bites of your ice cream. “truth quirk. talk too much. can't shut up.”

mina made an ‘o’ shape with her lips, pondering it over mentally. “but it's not like you're a crazy liar, what's the big problem?”

“my crush on katsuki. i'm so scared that i'm gonna accidentally be forced to confess because of this.” you admitted.

mina, thankfully didn't overreact. for a second. until she smiled gleefully and shoved you into your room. “wait here, i got something for you.”

she left you with the pint of ice cream, your favorite flavor, which kept you good company until she came back with the girls of the class.

“i hope you don't mind.. well it's too bad if you do, because i told them all already. whoops!” she said, leading them all in and shutting the door.

“so, you're finally confessing?” momo asked, making you almost choke.

“no! this is against my will! i'd never confess in my life! the embarrassment of getting rejected is something i couldn't recover from.”

“really? i mean- i think it's pretty obvious the two of you have something special. ribbit.” tsuyu added, looking up at the ceiling of your dorm thoughtfully. “well, its not like you have a choice now. might as well just do it.” jirou shrugged.

“if you're here to make fun of me you can just leave!” you whined into your hands. “im already making myself miserable just fine!”

the girls exchanged glances, before they sighed. uraraka started, “[name] we were here to try and encourage you to do it out of your own will, but if you really don't want to.. we can help.”

“help? like how?”

mina jumped, “by making sure you don't accidentally confess of course!”

“but it won't be easy.” yaoyorozu chimed in, “we'll have to plan this out well, it's a week isn't it?”

“a week from today.. that's saturday.”

“okay guys, let's do this for [name]!” mina cheered, placing her hand in the middle of the group. the other girls all moved to place their hands on top of hers, and waited for you to finish it off.

“come on!” uraraka encouraged, making you sigh and place your hand on the top.

as you raised your hand on the count of three, hearing their cheers and hopes in encouragement for you and for their plan, you felt a bit of hope that it just might turn out alright.

they shuffled out afterwards, patting you on the back and making tiny promises as they moved out. with a final wink from mina and a whispered, “good night [name], i promise everything will work out!” they were gone.

as you laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling that never changed no matter what did in your life, you allowed yourself to rest.

7 days to go.

when will this end? you thought, all the optimism from yesterday ripped from you.

insomnia arose from the anxiety that implanted a pit of dread in your stomach, it didn't let you sleep, no matter how sleepy you had gotten.

horrible scenarios played one after one, like a record player made of your nightmares. what if he rejected you in front of your school? no, what if he has a secret girlfriend and you look like a total homewrecker for confessing?

or even worse, what if he doesn't like women at all and you missed all the signs?

you squealed into a pillow, trying to escape your sorrows as you realized,

you were probably just hungry for some actual food. when was the last time you ate properly? who knows.

you slipped on house slippers and made your way down the stairs to the kitchen. you prepared a pot of chai, greeting iida and other early risers who were up out of instinct, since it's a sunday.

yawning, you scroll mindlessly on your phone while you wait for your tea to finish. a familiar voice takes you out of your bubble.

“yo.” is all he says, sliding by you by causally placing a hand on your waist, letting go only a second later.

“uh.. hey. want some tea?” you managed, ignoring the spiraling of your soul as you were met by the close proximity of his face. “yeah, sounds cool.”

you pour him a glass, letting him put the sugar in by himself as you fix one for yourself too. he looks to see if anyone was in earshot of the two of you, before whispering into your ear.

“did you see when usui jumped off the building for misa?”

“yes. its one of my favorite scenes!” you answer before you realize it, but you're slowly starting to get used to the feeling of it. “i mean, he's so cool for that.”

“yeah, but his legs would be fucked. or he'd be paralyzed for life after that fall. would've been an easy choice to make him break a leg and have ‘er take care of him.”

“but isn't that so predictable? it's better to take a unique route-”

“no spoilers.”

“it's not really a spoiler though! man, i really loved that scene. i think it's my favorite.”

“why?” he asked, an odd tonal shift in his voice.”

“i like usui.”

“no, like. do you imagine someone doing that to you?” he was close, way to close. your mouth was opening, your answer was so clear to you, it was about to be ruined, until–

“oh [name]! may i have some of your tea please?” yaoyarozu saved the day. you thanked her mentally, getting her a glass and smiling at her small wink. she hung close by, you didn't notice before, but she was within earshot.

“anyways, what were we talking about katsuki?”

“..'s nothing. see ya.”

he left her there, knees weak in worry or affection? both probably. she mouthed a thank you to momo, before going back up to her dorm to get ready for the day.

sunday, not much to do thankfully. you decided to hang out in your room for a while, drawing and relaxing, managing to catch up on a couple hours of sleep as you tried to avoid katsuki as much as possible.

though, even in this brief moment where you were attempting to avoid him, you couldn't help but notice that he tended to come to you first.

greetings and conversations started by him, fleeting touches initiated by him, small nods in the hallways of the dorms given by him, and even-

a text message left by him, asking if he could come to your dorm for just a moment. for the books.

you wondered now if he was solely coming for that reason.. could there be an off chance he was coming for you?

..no. no way, you thought. you brushed it off, and opted to make it seem like the girls were already in your room, just so you wouldn't be alone with him. can't take chances anymore.

you texted the girls the news, and the ones who weren't at the mall or busy came to see you, leaving uraraka, tsuyu, and hagakure.

you welcomed them in, “thanks for coming guys. we can actually paint each others nails since we're already here?”

they all nodded with excitement, you pulled out the limited colors you had, though they were all your favorites. they began to paint each other’s nails, while you finally texted him back. telling him to come, but that the others were here too. he only reacted with a thumbs up.

“what did he say?” tsuyu asked.

“oh, he just responded with a thumbs up.” like you summoned him, a knock was heard at the door. you went to open it, making the girls laugh quietly behind their hands. greeting you was the sight of katsuki in his usual baggy attire holding two bags of books from what you could see. you stepped outside of your room, the door behind you. “hi katsuki.”

“hey– uh, [name].” he greeted. he held up a bag and handed it to you. “thanks for um.. lending it to me.” a hand naturally went towards the back of his head, rubbing it as he averted his eyes away from you.

he waited for you to set the bag down inside the room, before holding out the second one to you.

“what's this?” you asked, accepting it as you looked into red eyes.

“well– it's some of my collection. you haven't read it before, it's so we could talk about it. or something.”

a soft smile overcame you. “i think i'd like that.”

hagakure made a casual remark, they'd been eavesdropping from behind the door, muffled remarks not quite coherent enough to be a worry. but one question had managed to reach your and his ears.

“they're so cute together! aren't they literally dating?”

his face tinged pink, but you knew you'd say your thoughts.

“i wish.”

his face looked incredulous, as if he couldn't believe you just said that. “wait- what did you just–”

but before he could finish the question that would seal your fate, the door was opened quickly behind you, uraraka placing a hand over your mouth before smiling nervously. “um, she's not in her right mind today bakugo! don't mind her.”

his eyebrow raised. “really? why?”

“because.. it's that time of the month?” she managed, making him reel back and look apologetic. “oh. ill be.. going now then. bye.” you two waved him goodbye.

he left quickly, leaving his books next to the door as he speed walked away.

you were conflicted, not knowing whether to glare at or thank uraraka, but you closed the door behind you anyways.

“are you guys serious?”

“sorry!” hagakure pleaded. “i didn't think you two could hear me, the door wasn't closed all the way!”

“i mean, we were kind of close-”

“guys! all that matters is that i fixed it!”

“what do you mean fixed it?” you cut in. “you told him im out of my mind right now.”

“it'll be okay, he likes you too much to hold it against you.” she waved it off with a smile, and held your shoulders gently. “what you really should

he worried about is school. missions come at the end of the week, but how are you gonna deal with monday through wednesday?”

“i feel like you're changing the subject. and i'm going to avoid him. easy as pie.”

they all glanced at eachother, then back at you. “sure [name]. whatever you say.”

they all bid their goodbyes soon after, hagakure still apologizing profusely as the other two patted themselves on the back for speedy thinking.

the door shut and once again you were left to plan, only this time you managed a good night's sleep.

your life wasn't completely over, at least.

you dreaded the next three days. thursday and friday were safe for you, the only person you'd have to deal with being mirko since agencies tended to schedule students at the end of the week.

you woke up and prepared yourself. it was alright eight, so you'd only have an hour before heading to school.

you'd showered and changed, fixed your hair and fixed your bag.

unfortunately, katsuki is a really good guy.

a good friend, caring too. thats why you were startled by the sight of him at your door. you didn't have time to prepare, no time to call your backup or report, because he caught you right as many of the girls just woke up.

you were still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you looked up at him, “katsuki?”

he held a bag in his hand, something that was oddly reoccurring lately. “hey, about your 'time of the month’ shit.” he placed the bag safely in your arms, and averted his eyes from you once again.

“i brought you some stuff i thought might help, since we got class today.”

“really? you shouldn't have.” you peeked in the top, seeing a stuffed animal, chocolates, a heating pad, and some ice packs.

he sighed, almost dreamily. “i wanted to. i hope you stop feeling so fucked.” a beat passes, his eyebrows scrunched as if he wants to say something more, but he chooses not to.

“see ya.” with that, he left you alone with a warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. the pink bag gripped tightly in your hands and set gently onto your desk.

the warm feeling was soon gone, replaced with a feeling of guilt. guilt for basically ignoring him.

you slumped onto your desk in the middle of the class, scribbling down notes like there was no tomorrow, taking sips of a drink you enjoyed while ignoring the growing ache in your wrist.

mr. aizawa was just going over the basics of hero courtesy again, a refresher for your on hand experience at the end of the week. you really didn't need to take notes, but you found it got your mind off the red eyes you felt looking at the back of your head.

you were almost tempted to look back, almost. but with a determination that rivaled even midoriya’s, you just kept going.

finally, the lunch bell rang. you got up and stretched, everyone got their bearings and followed suit. they all piled out, leaving you as the last one there, though you couldn't help but notice a lingering gaze stare at you, before he finally followed suit and left the classroom.

you stood there, trying to figure out what you should do for lunch, when a ‘ahem’ brought you out of your thoughts.

“[name]. i appreciate your hard work in class and all, but id like to nap this period.” mr aizawa said gruffly.

“oh! sorry! i was just leaving.” you grabbed your lunchbox and ran out the room.

now came the issue of figuring out where to sit.

it was no secret to anyone that you and katsuki would usually spend the entire lunch period on the roof together most days, you'd even go up there by yourself on days he wasn't here.

so to be in the cafeteria again was a bit unnerving for you, but you took a spot besides jirou and got out the lunch you made.

she seemed surprised to see you, but then remembered why you were here. “it's cool to see you down here [name]. you're only ever up on the rooftop making out with your boyfriend.”

“we don't even make out. and he's not my boyfriend!”

“sure. that's why he's staring over here right now. and he stares at you in class too, does he ever get tired?”

“i don't know, why are you asking me like i know him in and out?”

“okay, let's just calm down you two.” momo cut in. “[name], happy to see you.”

you nodded, “yeah? i'm happy to see you too.”

you tried your best to ignore katsuki’s eyes boring into your soul, but you accidentally glanced over at him, quickly averting your eyes away.

you finished your lunch quickly, moving to be in between jirou and momo much to their dismay. you really just wanted this day to be over.

going back to class you rested your head against the table, only participating when you actively had to. you just felt so guilty about ignore him, especially after what he did for you this morning.

you realized just how much of your day you spent with him, because when it came time to walk back to the dorm, you felt alone for the first time in months even.

he'd always been by your side, maybe even offering to go out for a small treat with you, you felt the lack of his presence like a withdrawal.

you did everything you could just to avoid him in the halls, basically even running away at one point. everyone knew now of how weird you had been acting, but it wasn't really your fault, you had a master plan to enact!

the next day was just like the last, keeping your head down and turned completely away from katsuki, turning the opposite direction when you'd so much as see his hair, partnering with someone else just so you wouldn't get stuck with him.

going home to eat dinner in your room, ignoring his texts altogether. he even called you at one point.

you shoved a pillow over your head, though it didn't serve to silence the voices screaming at you that it wasn't fair what you were doing to him, that you should man up and just confess already.

but what you didn't expect was for him to take it into his own hands.

wednesday started easily enough, same way as the last two. silly for you to think you could go 3/3, no problems encountered.

you were walking in the halls, choosing the lower floors you knew he wouldn't be in, trotting down to the cafeteria to third wheel momo and jirou.

you were almost there, when you were suddenly pulled into a vacant classroom by the hand. a hand that you'd felt many times against yours, but never with so much intent behind it.

there stood katsuki in front of you, eyes low and waiting as he looked you over.

“[name].” he started, still holding on to your hand. “we need to talk.”

“talk. about what exactly?”

“you know what. you've been ignoring me.” he let go of your hand, crossing them into his chest as he looked you over. “did.. i do something wrong?”

“what? no! it's me!”

“you?”

“yes, it's me. not you. well i mean it is you, but not like that!”

“it's my fault?”

“yes– wait no. yes and no? listen-”

“so, you're ignoring me?” he stepped closer to you, eye contact fierce as you could see the mixed emotions in his eyes. betrayal, even.. insecurity.

“yes. well, i mean i don't– you don't understand!” you tried to reason, but he scoffed.

“save it. i know when im not wanted.”

“katsuki! no-” you grabbed his hand before you even realized it, pulling him closer to you.

“i..” your brain was screaming at you to just admit it now before you would do so accidentally, but..

you couldn't.

“i can't tell you why right now, but it's not what you think.”

his eyes rolled, he took his hand out of yours forcibly. “i don't think i even want to hear that shit. shove it.”

with his hands now shoved in his pocket, he left you alone in that classroom. you walked to the table with wide eyes, never thinking you'd ever miss the feeling of being watched, but admittedly you grew used to it.

you acted that way out of fear of rejection, but did you just get rejected anyways? you hit your head against the lunch table in frustration.

“i'm an idiot.” you muttered, muffled by the material of the tables below. momo patted you on the back.

“i mean, i called it.” jirou said, taking a bite out of her food. “no way this was ever gonna work out.”

“it really wasn't the best idea [name]..” momo finally agreed, still soothing your back. “i mean, there was better ways of going about this. you just ended up pushing him away.”

“i know that now. ugh!”

“it's not too late, there's only what? three days left? you can make it up to him on saturday.”

“it's too late, i'm ruined.”

“right..”

you don't remember the rest of the conversation. you didn't remember even walking up to class, or walking out of it to your dorm. you were in a state of mourning, dreading ever seeing him again. at least for the next two days you wouldn't.

that was the only thought that could let you sleep peacefully, but it made you wake up early regardless.

sulking as you got ready in your hero outfit, walking slowly to the train station with a bag you packed the week prior. mirko texted you the location in tokyo where you'd meet up this week, standing on one of the sides of the train station that seemed pretty busy today.

as the train came to a stop in front of you, you noticed that when the door opened, a familiar face was on the other side.

katsuki.

your eyes widened and looked away from his as you shuffled in, all the seats were full to you hanged onto the bar.

you didn't look at him, though you were jealous at the fact that he got a seat and you didn't. you sulked internally, feeling your knees buckle at not only your exhaustion, but the proximity to him.

there was only a small space next to him now, the kid who'd been next to him getting off at this stop. you eyed it, and he noticed, sighing and gently pulling you towards him.

you were shoved against him, though he said nothing to you.

“kat–”

“it's nothing. don't think about it.”

he barely spared you a glance, though you felt you deserved it now. you sighed, instinctually leaning a head on his shoulder and dozing off. he didn't move you off of him.

you felt him lay his head on yours, the music from his outdated wired headphones leaking into your ear as you took a nap.

the time felt like nothing as you laid there, feeling like only a split second when you felt katsuki shaking you. “yo, [name]. wake up.” he called to you. your eyes fluttered open, squinting at the fluorescent bright lights of the train.

“hm?” you mumbled, moving off of him to get up.

“we're at our station. or mine at least.” he slung his bag around his shoulder.

“oh, this is mine too. coincidence.”

“yeah.”

at the news he grabbed your bag and held it. he waited for you to stretch you legs and neck, before walking beside you. “so, where are ya going?”

“to mirko.”

“duh, i know that. but what is she doing in tokyo of all places?”

“oh, she just tells me places to go and i get there day of. she can't tell me anything, i think it's confidential?”

“mhm. well i'll walk you to your shit, i'm a future number one hero, not an asshole.

“well..”

“then walk by yourself.” he threw your bag at you, walking faster and leaving you a bit behind.

“no, wait!”

you chased after him, and kept by his side. no matter which direction you turned, it was the same way he was going. until you finally just look at the address, and sure enough..

mirko decided to work at best jeanist’s agency.

you felt a mix of emotions wash over you. annoyance, dread, anger.

“what's up?”

“mirko chose to work with best jeanist.”

“what?”

“i know.”

“she only did it to piss me off. ugh!” she kicked a can in the alleyway. they were in eyeshot of the huge agency.

“really, why would she even do that?”

“because of you.” a hand slapped over your mouth.

“me? really?” you could hear the smirk on his face, he waltzed over to you. you were nearing the entrance now, only a staircase keeping you alone with him. you could even see the familiar white ears of your now enemy.

“what?

do you have a crush on me or something?” it was just a joke, you could hear it in his cocky demeanor.

but that didn't stop the hands that shot off your face involuntarily, as you let out a meek. “yes.”

the smile was wiped off of his face now, shock filling his expression. you ran into the doors, standing beside a mirko who greeted you warmly. a hand reaching out to grab you was now left in the air.

it felt like the air had left his lungs too.

because it turns out his feelings were reciprocal after all.

the meeting would start in a small moment, that's what the receptionist told you as you stood next to mirko, who you pulled aside to talk to.

placing your hands on either side of her shoulders, you let her have it.

“mirko, why would you choose to work here of all places?”

“i wanted to play wingman for my favorite partner. sue me.”

“but– this is making everything worse! why couldn't you have just done this in a week! or better yet- never!” you cried, stomping a foot on the floor. “

i didn't want or need any help- any now i'll have to spend tomorrow on some awkward random patrol!”

“it won't be so awkward, remember that me and that best jeanist guy will be there too.”

“like, third-wheeling? thanks a lot. that really helps me feel better.”

“think nothing of it. anyways, this is for the better. i caught wind of you and the girls’ plan. it really sucked. maybe my plan will end up working. you never know.”

“so? and what if it doesn't?”

“then what? you already got rejected didn't you?”

“yes.” a beat passed, your glare only getting stronger. “you're so annoying.”

“you love me though, anyways it's time.” she grabs your hand and guides you to the meeting room. you're sat right next to katsuki, though you do your best not to look at him. it's awkward enough just thinking about how you'd even salvage the relationship you had before, so you try not to.

you realize way too late that you'd managed to zone out through the entire mission. the map displayed virtually might as well had been in another language, the suspects and victims melting into each other, the objectives not clear.

the only notable thing to you was a random, large red circle over a part of the city. but besides that you had no idea what was going on, and based on the look on mirko’s face, listening along was vital.

you brushed it off. not thinking that it was that important, and your instincts hadn't failed you that horrifically yet.

you exited the room besides mirko, who had gotten the two of you a hotel for the two nights you were staying here. a penthouse suite awaited you. you would've been more thankful, if not for her betrayal of you earlier.

the night was swift, faster than you wanted it to be. you found yourself already in your hero outfit at the crack of dawn, trudging alongside mirko.

one word described the streets. busy, full of life. something you weren't really used to.

stealth missions and random outposts were where you were usually sent, nobody seen for ages. so maybe you should have spent a bit more time paying attention to the mission debrief..

“is it always like this?” you questioned to bakugo, who stood right next to you.

“what do you mean?”

“like. busy.”

“oh, yeah it is. always pretty boring though. no smart villain would make an attack with so many people around. at least one hero would be stationed over here.”

“guess you're right.”

“i know i am.”

and he was proven right. the side of town you two were stationed to, seperate from mirko and jeanist, was completely fine.

the only thing you two had done the whole day was save a cat out of a tree, handing it to a little girl who looked up at you with stars in her eyes as you did.

it was afternoon now, and your shift was officially over. you slumped against a wall dramatically, slipping down onto the floor as you breathed a sigh of relief.

katsuki sat next to you, a close proximity between you two not foreign usually, though with the weird back and forth that had been going on thus far, it was nice to know he still considered you to be close.

“‘m fucking hungry.” he finally said, making you laugh. “that's what you're thinking of right now?”

“no. not really.”

“well, then what is it?”

“it's you, [name].”

he takes a breath. “let me talk, okay.” he moved to face you, and at your nod, he continued.

“you confuse me. for years we've gotten close, comfortable. but all of a sudden you avoided me like the plague. i hated it.” his face changes with a mixture of emotions.

“i.. i really fucking like you. and i'm confused as if you feel the same way, you seemed pissed to even be with me right now so. it's just odd. you're acting odd.

because sometimes you're like fucking into me. you even brought me lunch at some point. and now with the ignoring me bullshit? i just don't get it.” he dropped his shoulders, eyes widening slightly.

“so do you like me or not? or should i just leave you the fuck alone?”

“yes and no.”

his face scrunched up in confusion. “so-”

“ugh! just shut up! i like you- okay? is that what you wanted to hear?”

“yes, actually.” he breathed a sigh of relief, a joking hand laid over his chest. “you're confusing.”

“i know.”

“you're close.”

“i mean you sat here-”

“can i kiss you?”

a crack of sunlight dawned through the small corridor, illuminating his eyes, and to him your body. you knew what you'd say for yourself, but you didn't mind this time.

because it's what you truly wanted.

“i thought you'd never ask.”

you felt his lips on yours in an instant, his arms wrapping around your lower back and caging you into him, the buzzing of your phone going unnoticed as he tilted his head against yours.

breathless. the only real word you could use to describe how you felt right now, after having pulled away.

you didn't have a chance to wipe your lip gloss off his face, not before mirko and jeanist stood behind you two, her hands on her hips as a smirk came over her face.

“i see someone was having fun.”

oh right. the mission..

“not like it matters anymore, but we caught the villains. i texted you about it, but when you didn't respond jeanist over here told us to come

quickly.”

she gestured over to a face-palming jeanist, who only said, “it seems you two had more pressing matters to deal with.” katsuki wiped the lip gloss off his lips, wincing at the sticky feeling left on his face.

mirko snorted, while you hung your head in embarrassment, and katsuki looked away from the two of them.

“you know what? stay out as long as you two lovebirds would like. i'll cover for the two of you.”

“what? really?”

she winked at you, and mouthed “wingman”, before turning to leave. “if you're really questioning me, i'll just not let you g-”

katsuki cut her off. “it's cool. thanks, see you losers.” he grabbed your hand, pulling you effortlessly off the ground, a bit into his chest as he led you to start walking off.

“'got somewhere cool to show ya’.” is all he said, before taking you to a restaurant he frequented, or so he told you. he ordered the spiciest plate, and you chose one to your preference. you got a dessert, he skipped out though because of his disdain for them.

“katsuki, i really should tell you something.”

“go ahead.”

it was your turn now to breath, looking up at the ceiling and shutting your eyes as you blurted out, “i was hit by a truth quirk, i avoided you because i was scared to confess to you, and now i feel guilty.”

no sound was heard other than the clacking of utensils and movement in the background, you opened your eyes to see a bakugo who looked as if he was holding in his laugh.

“seriously? that was it?” you could hear the smile in his voice, his hand moved to cover his mouth. “no- i mean that's super crazy [name], very justified response.”

“you're rude.”

“no, no i'm being real.” he could barely hide the casual giggle being let out, “like, it's crazy how hard that must've been. no immediate solutions at all.”

“well, i'm emotionally invested so obviously it was harder for me to think!”

“why didn't you just tell mr. aizawa, he could've canceled it out for you in class.”

“.. i didn't think of that.”

he couldn't help it anymore, he burst out laughing, having to cover his hand with his mouth to keep from cackling.

meanwhile, you crossed your arms and looked straight-faced. “this isn't funny at all by the way.”

he finally calmed down enough, grabbing your hand from across the table and still smirking slightly.

“sorry, sorry. fucking sore ass subject, i got it. let's get out of here already.”

“right, you ruined the atmosphere.”

“sure i did.”

he paid, and for your last stop of the day, he got you ice cream at a park. you just wanted to sit down, legs tired from the amount of walking you did today.

licking at your favorite flavor, he holds up his ice cream to your mouth to try. it was a sour, savory flavor. but you ended up liking it.

the moon was out now, greeting the two of you as you sat side-by-side, illuminating your bodies with the reflected rays of the sun.

it felt late you realized, and you looked down at your phone’s time, sighing in happiness.

it was 12:00, you were free.

“hey katsuki, ask me something.”

“uh.. did you enjoy our day today?”

“no.” a face of annoyance grew on his face, while one of excitement adorned yours. “see? it's over!”

“you can say that.”

“no dumbass! i lied, i really did enjoy today! the quirk is over.” you leaned back raising your hands in glee. “i'm free!”

he laughed, leaning back with you and looking at the constellation’s in the sky.

“well, since you're free now, i'll ask you one final question.”

“hm?” you turned to look at him, his hand rose to grab yours in his. his fingers ran over your knuckles.

“can i be your boyfriend?”

you paused, before a smile erupted over your face once again.

“you could've asked me earlier, and my answer would still be the same,”

so, obviously yes.”

he grinned, pulling you into him.

you sealed your answer with a kiss. soft, endearing, long, and truthful. his hands were tangled in your hair, your hands around the upper part of his back.

as you pulled away, you could only hope this would last forever, that the feeling of honesty and security would be forever eternal as you laid against his chest, pointing out things you'd saw in the stars.

but looking at him once more, you knew it'd be alright.

it was the truth written in the stars, after all.

end.

tags: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @lulumi1u @bakunis

[mandoalorian]

where you end, i begin [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky x f!reader

synopsis: you didn’t expect sam wilson to be the one to pull you off the street, or to offer you a place to stay when you had nowhere else to go. but what you least expected was to come face-to-face with the leader of the new avengers — bucky barnes. you didn’t trust him. he didn’t trust you. but when sam sent you both on an errand together, something shifted. not enough to fix the past. just enough to start the fire.

word count: 7000

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, enemies to lovers, thunderbolts* spoilers, sam/bucky are fighting, mention of family member death, details of physical and emotional abuse, grumpy!bucky, avengers tower fic

masterlist

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It had been fourteen months since the bar. Fourteen months since Shane broke a glass against your wrist, since a stranger in sunglasses asked if you were okay, and since the world met its new set of so-called heroes.

You still thought about that night sometimes—the way your heart raced not from fear, but from certainty. You’d seen it in Shane’s aura before it happened: the pressure rising, the colour deepening to that dangerous red you now knew too well. You’d seen it coming, just like you always did. And you still hadn’t stopped it.

Not really.

Now, you moved through your days like a ghost. A few bar shifts here, a couch to crash on there. Shane always came back around. He always had just enough charm, just enough regret, to get the door open again. And you always gave in—because it was either that or sleep in the cold.

What you didn’t know was that someone else had been watching, too.

Sam Wilson wasn’t a shadowy man by nature, but he had grown good at disappearing when he needed to. He didn’t make noise when he followed you out of the bar late at night, checking that you made it home. He didn’t flinch when he saw you stumble out of Shane’s apartment with a fresh bruise blooming along your collarbone.

He just kept notes. Kept watching.

He told himself it was because he saw something in you—something bright beneath the ache, something sharp. Power wrapped in grief, hidden behind cracked lips and tired eyes.

He told himself it wasn’t pity.

It wasn’t until the alley fight that he was sure.

You’d only meant to get your phone back. That was it. Shane had taken it—again—and you were done playing the patient game. But when you walked into that alley behind the bar, he was already drunk. Already yelling. Already grabbing for your wrist.

You felt it before he touched you: the spike in his chest, the tangle in his thoughts. His aura snapped like a live wire—violent, chaotic, erratic. You saw the shape of the blow before it came.

So you moved.

For once, you didn’t hesitate.

You caught his wrist, twisted, stepped into his chest with your palm flat over his heart. You didn’t know how you did it—but when you pushed, something surged from you. His body slammed into the dumpster with a crack loud enough to make the rats scatter.

You stared at your hands like they didn’t belong to you.

And Sam, across the street behind the windshield of his parked car, finally made the call he’d been putting off for over a year.

You didn’t go back to Shane after that. You didn’t have a choice. The door was slammed shut, your clothes thrown into the gutter. No phone, no money. You wandered all night. By morning, you were curled on the curb outside the bar, your hoodie soaked through from a burst of April rain.

That was where Sam found you again.

And this time, he didn’t keep walking.

You didn’t hear him approach.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the ache in your body or the way your hands were still shaking from everything you’d finally escaped. Or maybe it was because part of you had stopped expecting kindness. Kindness never walked up without a catch.

You hadn’t cried yet. Not since the fight.

Not when Shane shattered your phone against the apartment wall. Not when he screamed loud enough to wake your neighbours and you had to run barefoot with your backpack half-zipped and nothing but a crumpled twenty-dollar bill in your coat pocket. Not even when the woman at the shelter said there were no open beds, no space, no time.

You sat on the stoop of the corner store across from your old block, your coat soaked through at the shoulders and a plastic bag of your remaining things resting by your feet. You hadn't eaten since the night before. Maybe longer. The sky above had turned a familiar kind of gray—the kind that made the city feel quieter than it actually was. Like something was holding its breath.

Then, a voice.

“You always sit out here in the rain, or just when you’ve got nowhere else to go?”

You looked up sharply, instinct sparking under your skin. The man stood just out of reach, hands half-raised in a non-threatening gesture. Worn jacket. Scuffed boots. Cap pulled low over his eyes, sunglasses despite the storm clouds overhead. A paper bag dangled from one hand like a peace offering.

You narrowed your eyes. “You got a habit of bothering women who are clearly not in the mood?”

He cracked a faint smile. “Only when they look like they need a sandwich.”

Your stomach twisted at the word. A memory of warmth. Of feeling full. He stepped forward slowly and extended the bag.

“Double sausage, egg, extra cheese. They gave me two. You want it?”

You hesitated. But then the wind picked up, and you felt yourself flinch, thin fabric clinging to your soaked arms. Pride didn’t warm you. Hunger didn’t wait.

You reached out and took the bag without saying thank you. He sat down next to you, close enough to be companionable but not so close you’d mistake it for intimacy. Just a quiet presence.

You peeled the sandwich open and took a cautious bite.

He didn’t speak again until you were halfway through it.

“I’ve seen you fight.”

That stopped you cold.

You turned your head, chewing slowly. “Excuse me?”

He adjusted his sunglasses slightly but didn’t meet your eyes. “About a week ago. The alley behind McCready’s. That guy tried to grab your arm. You moved before he could. Like you felt it coming.”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, tense and still.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Not in a weird way,” he added quickly, as if realising how it sounded. “More like… a protective one.”

You snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause that doesn’t sound weird at all. And I don’t need protecting.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” he muttered. “I saw you in that bar. Fourteen months ago.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The night that guy smashed the glass. Screamed at you like he wanted to break something more than the tumbler. You handled yourself. Scared him off before anyone else could even move.”

You stared at him. Memory unspooling. A man at the bar, alone in a booth. Cap, sunglasses. You hadn’t looked twice.

But how could you forget meeting Captain America.

“I thought you looked familiar,” you muttered.

“I wanted to check in that night. Say something. But I figured you didn’t need another man in your face. Especially not one you didn’t ask for.”

You frowned. “So why now?”

“Because I don’t think you’ve got anyone else.”

There it was. Brutal. True.

You looked down at your bag. Damp. Pathetic. Full of useless things like books and makeup and a single cracked hairbrush. The shelter turned you away. Your phone was in pieces. You had no money. No room to go back to. No friends.

No plan.

And yet still… “You could be a creep.”

“I could,” he said honestly. “But I’m not.”

You looked at him again. Studied his posture, the way he sat steady and relaxed, unthreatening. Something in your gut told you he was telling the truth. That soft, rare little voice that hadn’t failed you yet.

“…You’re really him?”

He smiled.

Then, he pulled off his sunglasses.

The recognition came in slow, like fog rolling off a lake.

Sam Wilson.

You’d seen his face on screens. Back when there were still screens in your life. The man who took the shield. The man who walked away from it. The one who didn’t ask for the spotlight but carried the weight anyway.

“Why would someone like you help someone like me?”

He shrugged. “Because someone once told me power doesn’t always look like flight suits and laser beams. Sometimes it’s the kind of power you can’t explain—but you feel it. When I saw you fight… I saw something real.”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I know.”

You looked away, then back.

“…Couch or floor?”

He grinned. “Guest bedroom. I’ll even throw in a working shower and some clean towels.”

You smirked, even though your heart was racing. “That’s a bold offer.”

“I’m a bold guy.”

You stood, slowly, and gathered your bag. “So what are you now? A social worker?”

“Nope,” he said, standing beside you. “Just a guy trying to build something better. And maybe… recruit a few misfits along the way.”

You eyed him. “I didn’t know you were part of the Avengers again.”

He looked toward the clouds, thoughtful. “It’s a work in progress.”

────✪────

Sam’s apartment was warm. Too warm. Or maybe it just felt that way because you hadn’t been inside a home that didn’t scream danger in every corner.

The floors were wood, worn but clean. A stack of mail sat on the counter. The living room had a strange mix of modern and hand-me-down furniture. A dark leather couch. A navy throw blanket. The kind of space someone tried to make liveable without giving too much of themselves away.

You stood near the doorway with your damp bag clutched in both hands while Sam disappeared into the kitchen. You heard a fridge open, something fizz, and then his voice: “You want water, soda, beer?”

You hesitated. “…Water’s fine.”

He returned, handed you a bottle, then nodded for you to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You didn’t move right away. Not until he added, “It’s just us for now. My roommate’s out — his name’s Joaquin. Works late sometimes.”

You followed, wary but quiet. He pointed to a room down the hall. “That’ll be yours. The bed’s clean. Closet’s empty. You can stay as long as you need.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you being so… nice?”

He didn’t stop walking, but his voice lowered just a touch. “Because I’ve seen too many people fall through cracks no one’s willing to patch. If I can offer you a few bricks and some glue, I will.”

You didn’t have a response for that.

The bathroom was spotless. The cabinet had backup toothbrushes and unopened soaps. The bedroom wasn’t big, but it was safe. You stared at the freshly made bed like it might vanish if you blinked too hard.

“I can take you shopping tomorrow,” Sam said gently. “Clothes, food. You can make a list of what you like. We usually cook in, unless Joaquin tries to microwave fish again.”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Sam grinned.

“See? You’re already fitting in.”

You looked down, the smile fading. “I’m not used to people doing this. Being… decent.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

There was a knock at the door.

Sam’s entire energy shifted.

He gave you a quick glance — nothing panicked, just measured — and stepped toward the door.

“I’ve got it,” he said over his shoulder. “Sorry, he said he was coming later.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, unsure whether to retreat or wait. Then the door opened, and a voice drifted in.

Low. Familiar. Tightly controlled.

“You called.”

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but something in your chest twisted anyway.

Sam sighed. “Come in, Barnes. Take your boots off. I just got this floor waxed.”

Boots thudded on the mat. Footsteps crossed the living room.

Then—he was there.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The Winter Soldier.

You knew his face. Had seen it splashed across news reports, dossiers, nightmares. His hair was longer now, thick and wavy. Honestly, he might have blow dried it. But the eyes were the same—steel blue, tired, sharp.

You froze.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was too busy handing Sam something—a file, maybe. Paper clipped, sealed tight.

“It’s a peace offering,” Bucky muttered. “Figured you’d want it before the next press conference.”

Sam looked unimpressed. “You mean the one where your girlfriend Val tries to trademark the term ‘heroic vigilante’?”

“I don’t even like her,” Bucky snapped. “You think I asked to be part of that PR stunt?”

Sam scoffed and turned away, muttering something under his breath about damage control.

And that’s when Bucky saw you.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

But his eyes locked on you like he’d sensed something.

Like your name was written in the air.

Sam noticed the shift and turned, his tone lighter now. “Right. Uh, Bucky, this is—”

You cut in. “You don’t have to.”

He raised a brow and introduced you anyway.

Sam stepped between you slightly. “She’s staying here. Guest room.”

Bucky tilted his head. “She your new protégé or something?”

Sam smiled, calm but pointed. “Let’s just say she’s got potential.”

There was silence, thick as oil.

Then Bucky gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, voice unreadable.

You didn’t say it back.

You barely heard them after that. Something buzzed in your ears—sharp and thick like static. You felt Bucky’s presence in the room even after he stepped out of it, like the imprint of something heavy and permanent.

You didn’t remember walking to the guest room. Didn’t remember closing the door.

But suddenly you were inside it, alone, your fingers clutching the edge of the desk like it might anchor you to the floor. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s in this house.

Your skin felt too tight, like your body wasn’t built to contain what was happening inside it. You closed your eyes, trying to will your powers still, but it was no use.

The room lit up in invisible colours—his aura had followed you.

It was like burnt silver wrapped in thunderclouds. Regret. Guilt. A pressure that scraped like glass beneath the ribs.

You couldn’t tell if it was his or yours.

The memories flooded in too quickly—your brother’s laugh, your mother’s scream, the news report, the blood. You couldn’t catch your breath. You couldn’t see without seeing him. That metal arm. That gun. That empty stare.

Your knees gave out.

You sank to the floor, hands over your ears as your powers bloomed wild and brutal. The light behind your eyes fractured like mirrors breaking underfoot. You felt the energy of the house—Sam’s steadiness, Bucky’s conflict, your own panic—a cacophony of emotion clawing to be named.

You bit your tongue hard enough to taste metal.

Then you screamed into your palms. Not loudly. Just enough to bleed something out of yourself.

And then—you shut it down.

You focused on the floor beneath you, the air in your lungs, the silence between heartbeats. You counted.

One. Two. Three.

Again.

One. Two. Three.

Eventually, the trembling stopped. Your aura dimmed. You forced yourself to crawl onto the bed, blanket pulled up to your chin like a child trying to disappear.

Outside the room, muffled voices.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway of the apartment, the air thick with unspoken things. He hadn’t seen Sam in over a year, and somehow this hallway—this ordinary patch of tile and light—felt heavier than any battlefield.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Bucky said first, voice low, rough with dust and memory.

Sam gave a quiet laugh, though there was no humour in it. He leaned a shoulder against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “That so? Funny. Last I heard, you were naming teams after yourself and making a mess of the cleanup.”

Bucky frowned. “You think I wanted this?”

“I think you wanted control.” Sam’s tone was measured, but the bite beneath it was sharp. “Wanted to be something that didn’t belong to Steve.”

That landed like a punch, and they both felt it.

Bucky didn’t flinch, but he looked away.

Sam pressed on. “You disappeared, man. Fourteen months. No calls. No check-ins. Just… vanished.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. “You think I had the luxury of checking in? I was doing damage control. You don’t know the shit Valentina’s been pulling—”

“You were my friend, Bucky,” Sam snapped, stepping forward now, heat rising in his voice. “I’ve been here. On the ground. Watching what’s happening, watching people get twisted into weapons again—”

“I was one of those weapons,” Bucky shot back. “Don’t preach to me about it.”

The room held its breath.

Bucky exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t come to dig all this up. I came to talk.”

“About what?” Sam asked, voice flatter now. “About making peace? Mending fences? About maybe being on the same side again?”

“Something like that.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, gaze cutting straight through him. “You show up with your tail tucked, looking to ‘talk,’ and you don’t even know what kind of shitstorm you walked into.”

Bucky raised a brow. “What storm?”

Sam hesitated. Just for a moment.

“…Never mind,” he said finally, pushing away from the doorframe. “Doesn’t matter. You want peace, you’ll have to earn it.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” Bucky muttered.

“Good,” Sam said, turning toward the fridge. “Because I’m not giving it.”

The silence between them lingered even after the heat of the argument cooled. Sam busied himself with pouring water, the clink of glass the only sound for a long stretch. Bucky just stood there—arms crossed, steel-eyed, jaw tight. But something about his stillness looked more like guilt than anger.

Finally, Bucky exhaled. “What can I do to make things better?”

Sam didn’t look at him right away. Instead, he turned to the window, watching the late afternoon sun stretch shadows across the floor.

“You can start by showing up when it matters,” Sam said quietly. “Start by taking responsibility without hiding behind guilt.”

“I am taking responsibility.”

“No, you’re doing what you’ve always done, Buck. You’re trying to fix everything without facing it.”

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly bristling. But before he could fire back, Sam cut in again—calmer this time.

“She needs clothes. Shoes. A damn toothbrush.” He glanced back at Bucky. “Take her to the mall. Walk beside someone again. Start there.”

Bucky groaned under his breath. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You want a way back in? You earn it.” Sam gestured toward the hallway. “Start with her.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, then reluctantly trudged down the hall. Sam followed, but it was he who knocked—twice, gently—on your door.

Inside, you were curled under your blanket, aura flickering dimly like a bruise trying to fade. Your eyes were puffy, but alert, scanning the shape of Sam’s shadow beneath the door.

“Hey,” he said, soft but clear. “I know today’s been… a lot. But I was thinking maybe you could get out for a bit. There’s someone here who can take you shopping. Just for essentials.”

You stiffened. “I don’t want to go. You said you’d take me tomorrow.”

“He’s not—he’s not Shane,” Sam said gently, misunderstanding the tightness in your voice. “I wouldn’t let anyone near you if I thought they’d hurt you. This guy… I trust him with my life. I mean that.”

You didn’t answer. The silence grew teeth.

Eventually, Sam added in a hush, “He’s not a monster.”

But he was.

You stood slowly, your hand grazing the wood of the door. Through the thin barrier, you could sense it: the man standing just behind Sam. The storm in his aura, the tension in his breath. His presence buzzed against your nerves like static before lightning.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The man who killed your brother.

You pressed your forehead gently to the door. Sam thought you were scared of men. That you'd been broken by Shane, fragile and flinching.

But that wasn’t it.

You were finally close. Closer than you ever expected. You’d seen the headlines, watched the broadcasts—but nothing could compare to the sheer proximity of him. His heartbeat, his shadow.

You took a slow breath and opened the door.

Bucky was standing there, arms crossed, leaning on one hip like this was the last place he wanted to be.

His eyes flicked over you and then away, like you were another problem to solve. Maybe you were.

Sam smiled, clearly relieved. “Good. Just a quick trip. Get what you need.”

You gave the former Winter Soldier a long, measured look.

This was where your plan began.

“Fine,” you said.

And you stepped past the threshold.

────✪────

You hadn’t spoken since leaving Sam’s apartment. The silence in the car was thick, choked with unsaid things. Bucky drove like he wanted it over with—hands tight on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead.

You didn’t thank him. He didn’t offer small talk.

By the time you stepped into the fluorescent haze of the mall, the air between you was already crackling.

“So,” Bucky muttered, holding the door open with the flat of his vibranium hand, “what exactly do you need?”

You stepped past him without looking. “I dunno. Soap. Clothes. Dignity.”

He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath. “That last one might be out of stock.”

You paused, turned, arms folded across your chest. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

He gave a shrug that might’ve meant anything. “You’re the one who said it.”

You narrowed your eyes, studying him—his posture, his expression, his aura. That storm inside him hadn’t lessened. If anything, it swirled darker now. A tension in his gut. Something like guilt. Or resentment. Maybe both.

You turned and walked faster, weaving into the crowd of shoppers.

“You always this pleasant?” he asked, trailing behind.

“Only when I’m with charming company.”

His voice stayed low, a little amused despite himself. “Is this because you don’t like me, or because you don’t like anyone?”

“I don’t know you,” you said sharply. “And let’s keep it that way.”

“Sure,” he said, falling into step beside you, “except I’m the guy stuck helping you pick out deodorant.”

You stopped abruptly in front of a store.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” You turned toward him. “I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t want this. I had a life. I was getting by. And now I’m stuck here—with you.”

“You were getting by?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow. You froze, unsure of how much Sam had told him about your situation. Never the less, it wasn’t his business.

“I was getting by.” you lied through your teeth.

His brow furrowed slightly, annoyed but... curious. “And… Stuck?”

“Yes. Stuck. With some half-retired war hero babysitting me like I’m some charity case.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “You think Sam’s doing this out of pity?”

“I think you don’t want to be here.”

“That’s true,” he said without missing a beat.

You scoffed and turned toward the nearest clothing rack, shoving through the hangers harder than necessary.

“Then why come?” you asked after a beat, your voice quieter now. “Why agree?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was flat and honest. “Because I owe Sam.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him. “That’s all this is?”

He held your gaze for just a second too long. “What else would it be?”

You didn’t have an answer.

So you grabbed a few shirts off the rack and stormed toward the fitting rooms. When you emerged ten minutes later, arms full of items, Bucky was exactly where you’d left him—leaning on a bench, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be in a war zone.

“I need sneakers,” you muttered, brushing past him.

“Lead the way,” he said with a sigh.

The shoe store was quieter. You sat down on the little bench, trying on a pair of black high-tops, when Bucky finally said something that caught you off guard.

“So what do you like to do? When you’re not yelling at me, I mean.”

You glanced up at him with a sharp look. “You’re joking like you’re part of the circus— Not an Avenger. Although…”

He was too unbothered. “You’ve got a lot of sharp words for someone who can’t decide between a pair of shoes.”

You shifted on the bench, adjusting your stance as you reached down for the other shoe. But before you could slip it on, a cry pierced the air.

You froze. The sound of a baby wailing echoed through the store, followed by frantic footsteps as a mother rushed to comfort the child.

Bucky’s head snapped toward the noise. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at you.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed, your pulse quickening as the panic in the child’s aura swirled like an impending storm. The baby was in distress—too much of it, too quickly.

“Everything okay?” Bucky’s voice broke through your concentration, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t, not yet.

The crying grew louder, escalating, and before you knew it, you were standing, your body tight with an involuntary urge to do something about it.

You took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut. You felt the pressure in your chest. The emotions of the baby bleeding into the atmosphere. You reached out, not physically, but with your senses, and tried to calm the child.

It was only for a second, but in that moment, the energy shifted. The crying stopped abruptly, as if the child’s distress had been soothed. The air seemed to calm with it.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Bucky watching you, expression unreadable.

“You... you felt that, didn’t you?” His voice was low, quiet. “Before it even happened.”

You didn’t answer right away, lowering your gaze to the shoes in your hands. “Black or blue?”

Bucky stared at you for a long beat, his gaze flickering over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He could tell there was more to you than what met the eye. And though he didn’t fully understand it, the way you had handled that... there was something almost unnatural about it.

But he didn’t press. He was still trying to understand everything about you—the quiet walls you put up, the sharpness in your words. And yet, he could see past all of it.

“Black,” he said after a moment, his tone less tense than before.

You shrugged, deliberately ignoring his suggestion and putting the black sneakers back on the shelf. You took the blue pair to pay at the cashier.

Bucky didn’t say anything else for a while. He just kept walking beside you through the store, quiet, observant.

Finally, after a few more minutes, you turned to him with a look that could’ve cut glass.

“You can’t always just fix everything.”

He looked down at you, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Who says I’m trying to fix anything?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but instead just let out a frustrated huff.

He watched you with a growing curiosity.

And for the first time since you’d gotten in the car, you both felt like maybe—just maybe—the quiet was starting to break.

The drive back to Sam’s was nearly as awkward as the drive to the mall.

Rain drizzled against the windshield, thin and cold, painting the world outside in gray streaks. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your eyes on the window but your senses—your aura—locked on him.

Bucky didn’t speak. Not at first. He just gripped the steering wheel like it might splinter in his hands if he eased up.

“You moved before that kid even started crying.”

His voice broke the silence like a stone in still water.

You blinked, feigning confusion. “What?”

“At the shoe store,” he said, glancing sideways. “The baby. You stood up before it happened. Like you knew.”

Your pulse ticked in your throat. “Lucky guess.”

He didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. You could feel the flicker of his suspicion—quiet but sharp, like a blade being unsheathed slowly.

“You’re not normal,” he said.

Your head snapped toward him, heart pounding. “That’s rude.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m not normal either. Neither’s Sam. Or anyone trying to do what we’re doing now.”

“What you’re doing?” You laughed, bitter and sharp. “Please don’t lump me in with your little project.”

He arched a brow. “It’s not my project.”

“Right. You’re just the face of it.”

“Val’s the one in charge,” Bucky said carefully, testing the waters. “And Sam? He’s just as much part of it as anyone else. He just doesn’t realise it yet. He brought you in. Hey, maybe you can get him to sign—“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped. ��Sam gave me a place to sleep, that’s all. I’m not here to be anyone’s weapon.”

The word hung between you, heavy and unspoken.

Weapon.

Bucky stiffened. You felt it. A ripple in his aura—like regret twisted with something darker. Guilt, maybe.

“The Avenger’s aren’t weapons.” Bucky said straightforwardly but solemnly.

“That’s all you are.” you bit back, narrowing your eyes.

“We’re peacekeepers.” Bucky mellowed.

“You’re liars.”

“Sam been putting those thoughts in your head?” he asked, too calm.

You scoffed. “No. Sam’s the only one who hasn’t lied to me.”

A tense silence passed.

Then you said, quietly, “The only Avengers that ever mattered were the first six. Bruce Banner. Natasha Romanoff. Clint Barton. Thor. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. That’s what my brother used to say.”

You didn’t know why you told him that. Maybe because the car felt too quiet again. Maybe because your throat ached with words that never got said.

“Steve Rogers was his hero,” you murmured. “Wanted to be just like him. Told everyone he’d join the Avengers one day, even when the world stopped believing in them.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the wheel. But he said nothing.

You glanced at him. “So no offence, but you don’t get to walk around calling yourself an Avenger like it means something.”

You didn’t mean to cut so deep.

But you meant every word.

When he finally pulled up to the curb outside Sam’s apartment, he turned off the engine, but didn’t move.

“You know,” he said slowly, “Your brother wasn’t wrong. About Steve.”

Your breath caught.

“But Steve believed in people. He believed in me. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you had nothing to say—but because you didn’t trust your voice.

If Bucky hadn’t murdered your brother in cold blood, you figured your brother might have actually liked the man.

Bucky opened the door without looking at you. “Let’s go. You’ve got clothes to unpack.”

You didn’t speak when you walked in. Just kicked off your shoes, dropped the shopping bags by the door, and beelined for the hallway without glancing back.

“Hey—” Sam started from the kitchen, but your footsteps were already retreating down the hall.

Your bedroom door shut with a soft click. Not a slam.

You didn’t have the strength to slam it.

The lights were off. That was good. You needed quiet. Dark. Stillness.

But it didn’t help.

Not really.

You pressed your back to the door, sinking slowly down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest. Your breathing was shallow, erratic. That thing in your chest—the one that always knew more than you wanted it to—was pounding like a second heartbeat.

Your skin pulsed with it. Like a wave just beneath your flesh.

Aura sensitivity.

You couldn’t switch it off. Couldn’t silence the pull of emotions around you. Couldn’t stop your body from picking up on the tension bleeding from the living room, the faint echo of Bucky’s anger still clinging to the hallway like smoke.

The mention of Steve clearly struck a chord. Good.

The room dimmed at the edges. Or maybe it was just your vision faltering, warping with the tremble that started in your fingers.

He knew.

Not everything. Not why you hated him. Not who he’d taken from you.

But he’d seen something.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Your hands curled into fists, fingers trembling. You tried to regulate your breath, slow it down. In for four. Hold. Out for six.

But your lungs didn’t want to listen. They fluttered, panicked.

And then it started.

Soft at first. The glow beneath your skin. Pale and golden and sickly-sweet like syrup. It traced your veins, pulsing like fireflies trapped just beneath the surface.

You were spilling.

No one could see it. Not yet.

But if they did—

You scrambled off the floor and into the en suite bathroom, flicked the cold water on and splashed your face, hands, neck. Anything to shock your body back into focus. The chill bit at your skin. You welcomed it.

And behind you, barely audible through the wall, you heard the low hum of voices.

Sam.

And Bucky.

“She slammed the door?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

Bucky shrugged, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting the cap. “Didn’t slam it. Just… walked off.”

Sam watched him.

“She said something about the OG Avengers,” Bucky added quietly, gaze fixed on the bottle label. “Her brother was one of those kids. Worshipped Steve. Thought he’d wear the suit one day.”

A long pause.

“She told you that?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

Bucky nodded once. “Slipped out. Didn’t mean to.”

Sam’s brow furrowed.

“You do realise,” Sam said slowly, “she doesn’t trust you. At all.”

Bucky looked up. “I figured that out around the part where she said I don’t get to call myself an Avenger.”

Sam didn’t laugh.

He just exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. “Then earn it. Show her she’s safe here. That this isn’t just some recruitment stunt.”

Bucky leaned back against the counter, jaw flexing. “What if I can’t?”

Sam looked toward the hallway, where your door stayed closed and the air felt just a little too heavy.

“You can. You just need to start being better.”

────✪────

The apartment was quiet, but you couldn’t sleep.

Too much noise in your head. Too much you didn’t understand.

You found Sam on the balcony, sitting in one of the cheap plastic chairs, staring out at the skyline like it owed him answers.

You hesitated in the doorway.

He glanced back once and patted the chair beside him. “Can’t sleep?”

You shook your head and stepped out.

It was cooler out here. Wind in your hair, city alive beneath you, but far enough away that it felt like someone else’s problem.

You sat. Pulled your knees up to your chest, arms wrapped around them. “Thanks. For earlier.”

Sam just nodded. “You did fine. Held your own.”

“I mean for letting me stay.”

He shrugged, eyes still on the horizon. “You needed a place. I had one.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You always do that? Help strays off the street?”

His lips twitched at that. “Only the special ones.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you. Barely.

Then came the pause.

The one you weren’t sure how to fill, until the words came out before you could pull them back.

“What’s his deal?”

Sam turned to you. “Who?”

You didn’t answer. Just gave him a look.

Sam sighed and leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You don’t wanna get into that.”

“I kind of do.”

He was quiet a long moment, considering.

“Bucky’s… complicated,” Sam said eventually. “He’s trying. Has been. But he’s got a long shadow behind him. Not everyone sees past that.”

“Do you?”

“I try,” Sam said softly. “We’ve been through a lot together. Doesn’t mean I excuse everything. But I know what it’s like to be rewritten.”

You nodded slowly, heart twisting.

“I’m not afraid of him,” you murmured.

Sam gave you a long look. “Good. But you should know—he’s not like the man you see in headlines.”

You considered his words only briefly.

Your throat tightened. “Why me?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted honestly. “But when I saw what you could do, I knew you didn’t belong where you were. And I don’t think you want to be there again.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t.”

The apartment was dim and still. Only the occasional whir of the refrigerator broke the silence, but it wasn’t enough to quiet your thoughts.

Trying to go back to sleep had been impossible.

You’d really tried to go back to bed when Sam did, after your conversation on the balcony. You figured you might sleep better knowing that everyone else was sleeping too. But none of this felt right.

Too much noise behind your eyelids. Too much weight on your chest. The bed felt foreign, like if you stayed in it too long, you’d vanish into the sheets and never come back.

So, again, you padded quietly through the apartment, wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big and thick socks that muted your steps.

You didn’t expect anyone else to be awake.

But there he was.

Barnes.

Sitting at the kitchen table, elbows on the wood, long fingers curled around the neck of a bottle. He looked like he’d been carved out of the dark itself — broad shoulders hunched, tired eyes fixed on the manila folder splayed open in front of him. His jaw tensed as he read something over again, and again, like the words were mocking him.

The soft creak of the floor made him glance up.

You froze.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Finally, you shifted your weight. “Do you live here or something?”

His brow lifted faintly. “No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He sighed. Rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked back at the papers. “Just overstaying my welcome.”

You hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside. Opened the cupboard for a glass, filled it with water from the tap. His eyes tracked you once before settling back on the folder.

Your curiosity gnawed at you.

“What is that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at it like it personally offended him.

“A file,” he said at last. “A peace offering.”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded. “For Sam?”

Bucky nodded once. “Proposal. Co-leadership. New Avengers. Shared responsibility.”

Your brows rose. “That sounds… mature.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “Apparently not mature enough to be taken seriously.”

You watched him for a long beat.

“So instead of signing it, Sam sends you shopping with me.”

He didn’t laugh at that. Just let his head tip back, eyes on the ceiling like he was praying for patience. “He’s testing me,” Bucky muttered. “Seeing if I’ll break. If I’ve changed. I don’t blame him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I did a lot of things,” he said. “Things that don’t go away just because I want to do better now. Sam thinks I betrayed him.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the glass. You didn’t know what to say to that.

Then he looked at you.

“I just want to fix things.”

Something in his voice made your chest pull tight. It wasn’t desperation. Not quite. It was quieter than that. Lonelier.

You crossed the space and sat at the edge of the table, far from him, but close enough to feel the tremor in the air.

“Maybe,” you said carefully, “you should stop trying to be a hero.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes narrowed, a frown tugging at his lips. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you murmured. “You’re just not very good at it.”

He blinked. “Wow. Thanks.”

But you weren’t teasing.

You were looking at him too closely now, and he could feel it.

You didn’t see the Winter Soldier.

You saw something else. Something broken.

“I see sadness,” you said softly. “Big, heavy grief. Not loud. But deep. You carry it like it belongs to you.”

He tensed. “You reading my energy?”

This time, you tensed. Oh, he knew.

“No. Just your face.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away.

You held his gaze, and something passed between you. Unspoken. Uneasy. Familiar.

You looked down. Swirled your glass.

“Heroes don’t always look like the people we loved,” you said, almost to yourself.

Then you pushed back your chair and stood.

Bucky didn’t stop you. But he watched you go, with something tired and heavy etched into every line of his face.

And when you glanced back before disappearing down the hallway, he was still staring at that folder, like if he read it enough times, the words might finally save him.

────✪────

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[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader dirty talk, masturbation, fingering, face sitting, use of nicknames, overstimulation, oral sex (f. receiving).

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[5.1k words ]♡― i keep thanking you and saying how grateful i am for those of you who follow gameboy and always wait patiently for the next chapter. you make it worthwhile. i wanted to apologize for the delay, there was a lot going on in my life and i needed some space to try and sort it out. but even so, almost a month later, you're still supporting me and that makes me so happy! PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three] ♡ [part four] ♡ [part five]

They don't know how special you are They don't know what you've done to my heart They can say anything they want ' Cause they don't know about us

Then, like some cosmic reward for all your suffering, things started falling into place one after another, a perfect little domino effect.

First, Yeojin vanished after the party—poof, gone, like a bad subplot finally getting axed. One less headache for whatever this thing was between you and Bangchan. Changbin, bless him, looked downright relieved, muttering about how she was basically a walking red flag factory. You just nodded along, pretending to be appropriately neutral while secretly basking in the win.

Then, to top it all off, Seungmin landed the lead role in the play. You were so damn proud you could’ve cried—not that you would, obviously. You had a reputation to uphold. But still, he deserved it, and it felt good to see him shine.

But of course, life wasn’t going to let you just ride the high of that for too long. Because hiding whatever was going on with Bangchan? Yeah, that was getting harder by the day. It was like trying to keep a wildfire contained with a spray bottle.

It was late after class when he sent you a text—short, simple, with just enough implication to make your stomach do a nosedive. You knew exactly what it meant. And like the absolute fool you were, you didn’t even hesitate.

After finishing up your work for the day, you found yourself at his door, pulse already kicking up, knowing exactly what kind of chaos you were about to walk into.

You scoffed, smacking his hand away—weakly, because let’s be real, you didn’t really want him to stop. Bangchan just smirked, like he knew exactly how easy you were for him. Annoying.

“I swear, you’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, shifting on top of him, your thighs still shaky from earlier. His hands found your waist again, steadying you with that effortless, possessive grip that made your stomach flip.

“Not my fault you keep proving me right.” His voice was all slow and smug, and when he squeezed your hips, fingers digging in like he owned you, you had to bite back a noise that would’ve immediately ruined your whole tough-girl act.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “One day, your ego is gonna collapse under its own weight.”

Bangchan hummed, unimpressed. “And yet, you’re still sitting here. On top of me. In my shirt. Looking real comfortable, by the way.”

Okay, he had a point. You weren’t about to admit that, though.

You huffed and leaned forward, placing your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. “Yeah, well. I was comfortable. But now you’re being annoying, so I should probably go.”

His arms tightened around your waist before you could even think about moving. “Mmm. Nope. Stay.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You got a real bad habit of telling me what to do.”

His lips curved, lazy and dangerous. “And you got a real bad habit of listening.”

Your breath came out shaky, but you still gave him a look, one eyebrow quirked. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Bangchan smirked, the kind of smirk that should come with a warning label. “Not when it comes to you.” His fingers curled inside you again, and you swore you saw stars.

Your hand clenched the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground yourself. “You talk too much,” you muttered, voice betraying you as it wavered.

He chuckled, slow and deep, the sound sliding down your spine like melted honey. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your body wanted to betray you—again. Your thighs trembled, heat curling low in your stomach, and you knew you were already done for.

Still, you weren’t about to go down without a fight. “You only say that to fuck me.”

Bangchan bit his lip, amusement flickering in his eyes before he rolled his hips up against yours, making you gasp. His fingers, still teasing, still ruining you, curled just right. “Fair enough.”

You barely had a second to process that before another wave of pleasure crashed into you. He had you—again—right where he wanted. And you hated how much you loved it.

His fingers moved like he knew you—like he had you mapped out, every weak spot memorized, every reaction anticipated before you could even process it yourself. It was infuriating. And unfair. And so, so good.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened as a choked sound left your lips. "I hate you."

Bangchan grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, his fingers never slowing. "Yeah?"

You nodded weakly, trying to not fall apart embarrassingly fast. "So much."

"Funny," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw now. "You feel like you love me right now."

Your breath hitched, an embarrassingly desperate whimper slipping out before you could stop it. Bastard. You would've cursed him out properly if your brain hadn't turned to static.

Bangchan's other hand slid up your back, holding you firmly against him as he kept working you over. "I could do this all night, baby," he muttered, voice low and smug. "But I don’t think you’d survive that, would you?"

You barely managed to shake your head, thighs shaking around his hand. Your nails dug into his skin, grasping at something—reality, control, maybe just him.

"Then give it to me," he coaxed, lips brushing yours, his voice thick with that tone. The one that sent you straight over the edge.

And you did. Hard.

“Like that...” he moaned, his voice all rough and wrecked as he watched you move in sync with him. “You're so good.”

Smug bastard.

You tried to open your eyes, tried to look at him, but that familiar, electric wave was already creeping up on you. The stretched fabric pressing against your skin, the way his fingers worked you like he had nothing better to do—it was all so damn much, teetering right on the edge of insanity.

“You’re an asshole...” you managed to bite out, sinking your teeth into your lip to keep the moan threatening to spill free.

Bangchan chuckled, low and pleased, and you felt it—right under your hands, vibrating through his chest like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Because of course he did.

And then—oh, fuck—his movements turned ruthless, all precision and pressure, sending you spiraling so fast your moans broke right out of you. Your head tipped back, your nails dug into his skin, and your whole body rocked with the force of it.

Somewhere through the haze, his voice curled around you, thick with need. “I want you to do something for me... Hm?”

His words barely registered past the white noise of your brain, but what did register? The way he sounded completely wrecked, the way his own pleasure was tangible in the air. And then there was the very, very obvious bulge tenting the thin sheet between you two, because of course he hadn’t even tried to hide it.

It was obvious. He wanted you to know.

Know what you did to him.

Know you were the one responsible.

You would’ve done anything he asked at that moment. You were right there when—out of nowhere—he stopped, completely shutting you down. The crash was brutal, like free-falling from the sky straight onto solid concrete.

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, like you were trying to remember how breathing worked.

“Come here,” Bangchan said, dead serious.

You blinked, still catching up. “What…?”

He let out a sharp breath, clearly losing patience. “Fuck, I want you to sit here. I wanna taste you.”

And that’s when it clicked. He wanted you there. On his face.

Your hands slipped under the hem of his ridiculously loose shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin. Your face felt hot at his words. It’s not like you were some shy little girl scared of sex—far from it—but damn, Bangchan was direct. No hesitation, no second-guessing. And no one had ever treated you like this before, like your pleasure was the priority. It was all so new. And kind of insane.

“Uh—are you sure?” you needed to check that he wasn’t just caught up in some post-sex delirium. Because let’s be real—most guys just wanted a blowjob. Not this.

His jaw tightened, his hands twitching as they hovered over your body, already impatient. “Don’t make me ask you again.” his voice was raw, almost desperate, as he nudged you forward.

A shiver ran down your spine, excitement buzzing under your skin. Biting your lip, you moved in, knees sinking into the mattress as close to his lips as possible. His hands found your ass, guiding you effortlessly while you adjusted yourself.

“I think—” you started, but the words died in your throat the second his tongue hit. No warning, no teasing—just straight to it.

And holy fuck.

Your entire body lit up, a storm spreading from the inside out, consuming you whole.

His deep brown eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, and—Jesus—it was too much. You could barely keep your eyes open, but the sight of him, lips buried between your legs, savoring every inch of you like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted?

Absolute. Heaven.

Bangchan worked his tongue like he had all the time in the world, licking, sucking, tasting every inch of you like he was starving. And the way he held your hips—tight, unyielding—made it clear you weren’t going anywhere. Every time you tried to pull back, leaning on the wall in some desperate attempt to escape the onslaught, he just forced you down, making you take it.

“I—I can’t!” you practically sobbed, hips rolling against his mouth, chasing relief and running from it at the same time.

His response, a low, satisfied hum that vibrated right against you. And then—with wicked precision—he pressed a hand against your clit, slow but relentless, while his tongue slipped inside, teasing, fucking you in a way that had your brain completely short-circuiting.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body dissolved, reduced to nothing but sweat, shivers, and the kind of pleasure that made your vision blur. Your moans were loud, raw, helpless—like you had no control over them anymore.

His lips never stopped moving, never stopped devouring, as you rocked against his mouth, riding his tongue with a rhythm that neither of you wanted to break. And then—just when you thought you had a grip on reality—his fingers found that spot, rubbing slow, intentional circles that sent you crashing over the edge.

You shattered. Completely.

A scream tore from your throat as the most intense orgasm of your life slammed into you like a damn avalanche, ripping everything in its path. For a few seconds, there was nothing—no sound, no thought—just feeling. A feral wave that dragged you under, leaving you breathless.

Bangchan held you through all of it, keeping you exactly where he wanted. Not letting you escape. Not letting you run from the pleasure he was so determined to give.

And fuck, you came hard, leaving him groaning against you, swallowing every drop like he lived for it.

With a smug, satisfied grin, Bangchan flipped the script—literally—rolling you onto the bed and hovering over you. His fingers brushed your hair out of your face, tracing the curve of your smile like he was memorizing it.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled, still catching your breath, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

He chuckled, then dipped down, nipping at your breast before trailing his way up, capturing your mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. His tongue teased yours, making sure you tasted yourself, and god, it was so messy, so hot, you almost forgot how to think.

Your hands cradled his face, holding him there, as if letting go would snap you out of whatever daze this was. And then, out of nowhere, a thought barged into your mind, uninvited but very much there:

This—whatever this was—couldn’t just end.

Because beyond the mind-blowing sex, Bangchan was actually good to you. In a way that felt… different.

“Can I ask you something?” he blurted, his tone suspiciously casual.

You quirked a brow. 

“Depends.” pulling the sheet up to your chest, you met his gaze, unshaken. 

“Would you stay the night?”

“What?”

“I know it’s risky and you don’t want anyone finding out,” he said, already playing defense, “but I was thinking—order some food, put on a movie… I’ll behave. Promise.”

Your lips quirked as you tried to hold back a laugh. “Liar. Fine, I’ll stay.”

He studied you for a second, like he was waiting for the catch. “...you serious?”

“Mm-hm.” you reached up, grabbing his chin with playful authority before pulling him in for another kiss. “I’ll stay.”

The second the words left your lips, he lit up like a kid who just got handed his favorite candy. And as he got up, grinning like an idiot, something inside you clicked.

Maybe—just maybe—keeping things a secret wasn’t as important as you thought.

Bangchan was suspiciously decent. Like, shockingly so.

He helped clean up the mess you two had made of his sheets, let you use his shower, and even tossed you one of his shirts—which you absolutely did not sniff like some lovesick fool (except maybe a little). And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he got you fried chicken and fries for dinner while he debated which movie to put on.

Honestly? If this was his way of keeping you coming back, it was working.

You settled into bed, feeling weirdly at home in a situation that probably shouldn’t have felt this normal. Meanwhile, Bangchan, completely unbothered, sat next to you in just his sweatpants, bare torso on full display. If he noticed you stealing quick glances, he didn’t call you out on it.

Which was good. Because your brain was already wandering to places it probably shouldn’t.

“Wanna ask you something.” he asked, cracking open a beer.

You nodded, popping a fry into your mouth. “Go for it.”

He watched you for a second, then, out of nowhere— “What’s the deal with Mingyu?”

You choked. Like, full-on, almost died on a potato kind of choked.

Coughing, you took a deep breath and gave him a side-eye. “Damn. No warning?”

Bangchan just took a sip of his beer, completely unfazed. “Because he had his hands on you at the party,” he said casually. “And Changbin said he saw you two at a bar the other night.”

Damn Changbin and his big mouth.

You turned your head just enough to meet Bangchan’s gaze. It was time to be straight with him. No dancing around it.

“I wish I had a solid answer for you, but I don’t,” you admitted, inhaling sharply. You weren’t used to being vulnerable with him. It felt weird. “We went out a few times.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt the shift in Bangchan’s energy.

“He likes you,” he stated, no hesitation.

You blinked. “No, he doesn’t. Why would you think that?”

Bangchan searched your face, trying to put his thoughts into words without completely exposing himself. Because I like you and he’s trying to take what’s mine—that’s what he wanted to say. But things between you two were in a good place, and he wasn’t about to be the idiot who ruined that.

Instead, he shrugged. “I don’t know. The way he was looking at you at the party, plus everything else? It just seemed that way.” he paused before asking, “Do you like him?”

You snorted. “No. I don’t. We... Well, we kissed, but that was it.”

Bangchan clenched his jaw, staying painfully still. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He should’ve expected that, but it still made his blood pressure spike. The jealousy? Immediate. And irrational as hell. In his mind, no one should be touching you, especially not Mingyu.

“Are you mad?” you asked, watching his reaction.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing his expression into something neutral. “No, I’m not mad.” a beat. “I just can’t stand the guy. That’s all.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Mhm.”

There was definitely something more there. You’d already clocked the tension between them at the cafeteria, and now this? It wasn’t just about you.

“Did you two have a fight or something?”

“We used to be friends. Way back.” Bangchan leaned back against the headboard, exhaling like the memory physically weighed on him. “Same university, studied together, all that. Then he joined the basketball team. I joined a semester later. Everything was fine... until I got made captain.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Lemme guess—he didn’t take that well?”

Bangchan let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, he lost it. Changbin kept saying he was up to something, but I refused to believe it. I mean, we’d been tight since we were teenagers. What harm could he possibly do to me, right?”

You stayed quiet, sensing he wasn’t done. There was a sharpness to his voice that wasn’t usually there.

“Then he went and lied to my girlfriend,” Bangchan continued, voice dropping slightly. “Told her I was cheating on her with some other girl. And she believed him—because, why wouldn’t she? He was my friend.” His jaw clenched. “And if that wasn’t enough, a week later, he hooked up with the same girl.”

You blinked. “No way.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bangchan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Then he quit basketball, and that was that. Haven’t spoken since.”

You whistled, leaning back. “Damn. That’s some high-level betrayal shit.”

He chuckled, but it was flat. “Yeah, well. Some things are for the best, right?”

You nodded, sitting up straighter. “Right.”

Bangchan glanced at you, something softer in his gaze now. “Listen, I don’t care about what you’ve done before. I really don’t.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I do hate that it was him, not gonna lie. But... I like this. Now.”

You studied him for a second, then smirked. “Yeah, me too. Even if you are a little dramatic.”

“Dramatic?”

“Captain of the basketball team and a tragic backstory? That's the main character's energy, dude.”

Bangchan groaned, throwing a pillow at you, and just like that, the tension broke.

Something warm settled in your lap—not just his body heat, but the weight of his words, pressing into you like they meant more than he was outright saying. Your heart pounded against your ribs, completely out of rhythm.

Bangchan had already made it clear that he wanted you, that this pull between you wasn’t one-sided. But lately, something has shifted. Like someone had flipped a switch, and suddenly everything was in high definition—colors sharper, touches lingering longer, words sinking deeper.

And yet, trying to read between the lines felt impossible. He wasn’t making it weird. If anything, it was... nice. Easy.

He leaned in, closing the space between you, his gaze dropping to your lips like he was about to seal whatever this was with a kiss—

And you shoved a piece of fried chicken into his mouth.

“Let’s watch the movie.”

Bangchan froze for half a second before bursting into laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges. He chewed, shook his head like he should’ve seen that coming, and then—without missing a beat—wrapped an arm around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Like you belonged there. Like you always had.

Another morning of rehearsal, another round of you showing up late because Bangchan had priorities. Specifically, you. And his mouth. On various parts of your body. Just for the record.

The stage was buzzing, students scattered around with scripts in hand, energy high as everyone prepped for rehearsal. You jogged toward Hyunjin, who was already shooting daggers at Bangchan. Meanwhile, the man in question was slouched in a chair, fingers flying over his laptop, pretending he wasn’t the reason you were running late.

Hyunjin pulled you aside the second you reached him.

“What’s with the face?” he asked, squinting at you like you had something incriminating written on your forehead.

You blinked. “What face?”

“Oh, don’t even try it. You look like you just walked out of a rom-com montage. Like, full-on birds singing, twirling-in-a-field levels of happy.”

You snorted, swatting his arm. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you’re glowing.” Hyunjin grinned knowingly. “Not that I’m judging. It’s actually nice to see. Ever since you and Bangchan… you know.” He waved a vague hand. “You just seem happier. Like, actually happy.”

Your eyes flickered over to the soundboard, where Bangchan was deep in concentration, brows furrowed as he typed something.

Could Hyunjin be right? Was this—whatever this was—more than just fun? Was the weird ache in your chest not confusion, but something else entirely?

Something dangerous. Something real.

The teacher clapped their hands, calling everyone to attention. “Alright, we’re starting with the first scene!”

Seungmin took center stage—the boy with a voice so good it could probably charm a snake, if not an entire room full of theater kids. His character, a small-town dreamer, rejected by his narrow-minded community for daring to want more. Enter Seulgi, your character—his sharp, ambitious, and slightly morally flexible guide to the big city. She introduces him to all the glitz, glam, and occasional questionable life choices that come with chasing dreams. Somewhere between the bright lights and late nights, they fall into each other’s arms, two lost souls trying to find themselves.

Seungmin, ever the pro, stepped into the scene like he was born for it. When the script called for him to be mocked and booed by the townspeople, he stood tall, his face a perfect mix of defiance and heartbreak. And then—his solo.

His voice hit the air like honey dripping off a spoon, warm and slow, yet effortlessly smooth. Even the most cynical among you had to admit it was kind of magical. You blinked rapidly, not about to let musical theater be the thing that made you cry today.

Rehearsal wrapped up, and the usual post-practice hunger kicked in. You, Hyunjin, and Seungmin made a beeline for the cafeteria. It wasn’t long before the whole crew assembled—Eunji and Sohee joining once their classes were done, Minho curled up with his girlfriend like a human-sized housecat.

Then came Jisung, followed by Changbin, Felix… and Bangchan.

And just like that, your heart did that thing again. The annoying, fluttery, completely out-of-your-control thing.

You were totally minding your own business, pretending to scroll through your phone, when you caught Changbin dropping the bomb.

“This weekend, I convinced my parents to let us use the beach house. So, everyone’s invited.”

Cue instant chaos. Eunji and Sohee screamed like they had just won the lottery. Meanwhile, you? 

Full. Blown. Panic.

A whole weekend next to Bangchan? With all your friends around? No touching, no sneaking off, no getting lost in him the way you had been lately? That was actual torture. How were you supposed to act normal?

“Yeah, I think I’ll sit this one out,” you said, aiming for casual but probably missing.

The entire table immediately turned on you.

Sohee gasped like you had personally offended her entire bloodline. “Are you insane? It’s the beach. The ocean. The sand between your toes. Vitamin D!”

Felix draped himself over your shoulder dramatically. “And who else is gonna be my diving buddy?” His eyes twinkled with fake betrayal. You just laughed, shaking your head.

Then Bangchan, because of course it had to be him, chimed in. “What, don’t tell me you’re allergic to fun too?” His smirk was pure provocation.

You shot him a look. “Allergic to idiots? Maybe.”

Eunji groaned, rolling her eyes. “Took you two long enough…”

You fought the grin tugging at your lips, and you caught Bangchan doing the same. No one else at that table had a clue what was really going on, but you both knew exactly what this little game was.

“I dare you to be less grumpy and just go,” Bangchan said, arms crossed like he’d already won.

Sohee clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “Please?” she pleaded, giving you the full puppy-eyes treatment.

You sighed, dragging it out for effect before finally giving in. “Fine, fine. But only because I don’t owe this insufferable bastard anything.”

You shot Bangchan with another playful glare, but he just shrugged, smug as ever—completely failing to hide how pleased he actually was.

Everything was packed, the energy was high, and you could practically taste the salty ocean air even though you weren’t even there yet.

Sohee was perched in Minho’s car, swiping on lipstick in the rearview mirror while Eunji and Jisung got comfortable in the back.

“Wait, you’re riding with Changbin?” Minho asked, craning his neck out the window.

Changbin was posted up in his own car, already surrounded by Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin. Logically, there were still two more seats to fill before all the cars were set. And just like that—like the universe was playing some cruel joke—Bangchan strolled up with a backpack slung over one shoulder and his car keys twirling around his finger.

“You can ride with me if you want,” he offered, completely casual. “Plenty of space.”

A lump formed in your throat. Everyone here knew about the so-called rivalry between you two. But lately, that line had started to blur—truce or not, the pull was getting harder to ignore.

Inside the car, Sohee shot you a suspicious little smirk, clearly clocking the shift in energy. You straightened up, forced your best nonchalant expression, and turned to Bangchan with an easy shrug.

“Works for me.”

Without waiting for anyone else’s reaction, you strutted over to his car, refusing to acknowledge the silent stares—or the way Changbin’s smug grin practically screamed mission accomplished.

Bangchan trailed behind at his own pace, passing Changbin’s car just in time for his friend to flash him a knowing look. He ignored it, popping open the trunk.

“Lemme take that,” he said, grabbing your bag before you could protest.

You rolled your eyes, but let him. Because, well… maybe he was annoying, but at least he had manners.

That car held some insane memories—the last party, the way you two finally stopped pretending, how everything that had been simmering beneath the surface finally exploded. And now? Now, things were different. You could feel it in your gut.

Bangchan clicked his seatbelt into place, his eyes flicking to you as you did the same. That little smirk of yours didn’t go unnoticed.

"Everything good?" His voice was low, like the others might somehow hear from outside.

"Yeah." You smiled. "And you?"

He exhaled, fingers flexing on the wheel, lips curving into something small but telling. "You have no idea."

The drive to the beach house was easy, comfortable. Bangchan let you take over the playlist, and the car turned into your personal stage. You belted out your favorites, even the ones he dramatically groaned about just to mess with you. He still sang along, though.

The city faded behind you, replaced by open roads and a sky that stretched endlessly. And then, there it was—the ocean, gleaming under the sun, like it had been waiting for you all along.

The weekend had potential. Sure, sneaking around with Bangchan would be a challenge—especially with nosy friends and zero privacy—but hey, you liked a little risk. And after everything that had gone down between you two, the idea of keeping it all under wraps was starting to feel… unnecessary. Too normal, even.

The beach house was straight out of a Pinterest board—huge, sun-soaked, and framed by a postcard-perfect yard that led straight to the ocean. Flowers lined the walkway, the grass was freshly cut, and you were pretty sure Changbin’s family was secretly loaded.

“Damn, Binnie. Didn’t know you were out here living like a rom-com protagonist,” you teased as you stepped out of the car, stretching after the ride.

Changbin just grinned. “Perks of being the favorite son.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag. “Right, I’ll get my stuff upstairs.”

Inside, the guys were unloading groceries while Eunji and Sohee had already claimed the balcony for an impromptu photo shoot. You made your way up the wooden stairs, taking in the absurd amount of space.

When you peeked into one of the rooms, your eyebrows shot up. “Okay, damn.” The place was huge. You knew Changbin had money, but this was a statement. The kind of house that could fit a whole cast of reality TV contestants without feeling cramped.

Still, you had priorities. First, drop off your bag. Second, claim a decent bathroom before the others got to it. Third—well, third was figuring out how to not get caught sneaking around with Bangchan all weekend.

You barely made it two steps out of your room before strong hands wrapped around your waist, yanking you into a dark room. A startled gasp slipped out—one that quickly turned into something else when familiar lips brushed against your neck.

“Have you lost your mind?” You smacked Bangchan’s chest, though the effect was ruined by the way your breath hitched. He reached behind you, flicking the light on just enough to reveal his face—desperate, hungry, completely unapologetic.

“I know, I know,” he groaned, voice husky as he buried his face back into your neck, lips tracing the sensitive skin. “But hours. Hours in a car with you, pretending I don’t want to drag you into the backseat? I’m dying here.”

You laughed at his theatrics, but his hands were already roaming, gripping, claiming. His eyes were dark, his lips parted, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he was about to devour you.

“Are you gonna make it?” you teased, tilting your head, enjoying the way he tensed under your touch.

“I don’t know…” His fingers dug into your waist, his voice thick with need. “I think I’m too weak.” His gaze dipped to your lips. “And you’re so irresistible.”

“Then shut up and do something about it,” you challenged.

A spark flashed in his eyes—game on.

The second his lips crashed into yours, it was wildfire. His hands tangled in your hair, gripping tight like he was afraid you’d disappear. You fisted his black shirt, yanking him closer, pressing against him like you needed to steal his warmth, his breath, him. The scent of him—musky, intoxicating, familiar—wrapped around you as he kissed you like a man starved.

And you weren’t planning on letting him go anytime soon.

Bangchan was just about to hook your leg around his waist—his hands hot, his breath ragged—when the unmistakable sound of a car engine shutting off made you both freeze.

“Someone's here,” you whispered against his lips.

He groaned, forehead dropping against yours, his grip on your waist tightening like he was debating whether whoever just arrived really needed to exist right now. But you were already slipping from his grasp, smoothing your hair and straightening your clothes like you hadn’t just been seconds away from making bad decisions.

Bangchan cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair before following you down the stairs.

At the bottom, Changbin stood with his arms crossed, wearing an expression like someone had just kicked his dog.

You blinked. “Uh, everything okay?”

Changbin’s scowl deepened as he jerked his head toward the door. “Tell your friend she’s completely clueless.” Then, without another word, he stormed off.

You exchanged a glance with Bangchan before looking to Hyunjin for answers, but he just stood there looking like he’d seen a ghost.

And then you saw why.

Standing in the doorway, grinning like she’d just pulled off the best prank in the world, was Eunji.

And next to her, with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a hesitant, too-wide smile?

Mingyu.

“Surprise!” Eunji announced, her voice bright and excited.

The silence that followed? Absolutely deafening.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar

[dem0batz]

Apple Spice and Oaths

Caleb x MC!Reader // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I've been plagued by thoughts of Caleb. My brain has been rotting and frothing since his trailer release. Not as edited as I would have liked but I needed to get this out into the world.

Summary: After years of forbidden moments with Caleb, it all finally comes to a head when he is about to leave for pilot training. 🔞Content Warnings: (adopted) brother/sister kink, virgin MC, yandere Caleb, dubcon, sexual coercion but MC wants it, references to Dawnbreaker Zayne, Dacryphilia, implied oral (—>f), PIV, cum eating, small blood reference Word Count: ~2400 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

The bed dips behind you, a soft creak echoing through your room. A chill hits your spine, making your bones tremble before warmth presses into your back and the blanket seals the two of you in.

“Caleb…”

“Shhh, you’ll wake Gran.”

Your half-hearted protest dies on your lips when your brother’s arm falls across your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. A strong forearm slides under your neck, searching for a comfortable position for the both of you. His familiar scent of apples and spice hit your nostrils as he snuggles in closer, entwining your limbs together like so many times before.

You really should send him back to his own room. This thing between the two of you has gotten out of hand. It wasn’t normal for siblings to do the things the two of you have and someone needs to put a stop to it before it’s too late. Before you both cross that line neither of you can ever return from. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him to leave when the warmth of his breath hits your ear with a relieved sigh, his body relaxing into yours.

“You know I can’t sleep without you, pipsqueak.”

Caleb buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent with a light groan. Warm lips press against the sensitive skin as a large hand slides under your sleep shirt. His fingers are chilly as they dance across your abdomen, teasing around your navel on their path upward. Just as they reach the swell of your breasts, you press down on his hand to keep it from going higher though your nipples were tingling with desperation.

“That’s not sleeping,” you whisper.

“Can’t help it,” Caleb whispers back, his lips continuing to brush your neck even as he speaks. “You smell so good. So pretty. Feel so good in my arms. I need you, pip. Always need you. You plague my every thought ‘til there’s no space for anything else. ’m fucking crazy for you, pretty girl.”

A lump tightens in your throat. Though he doesn’t try to force his way to your chest, you can feel his fingers twitching against your ribs with the need to move. You would be lying to yourself (which you do often) by saying that you didn’t want it to. That you didn’t crave him the way he craves you. After you lost Zayne, Caleb was the only you had left and you had clung to him like a life line. The only reason he felt so comfortable crawling into your bed in the middle of the night is because you didn’t tell him to leave the first night he did it.

Agonizing dreams of an adult Zayne, bitter and lonely, kept infiltrating your peaceful sleep, morphing into nightmares that left you whimpering and trembling with overwhelming grief. It took a week of suffering these dreams before you were brave enough to tell someone. Dismissing it as exam exhaustion was enough to Gran worked well enough and she didn’t question you much after, but Caleb didn’t buy it. His thumbs had swept over the circles under your eyes, a frown on his face telling you without a single word that he didn’t believe you. Though he didn’t say anything in front of Gran, Caleb wasn’t one to let things go.

He crept into your room that night to find you tangled and sweaty in your sheets, crying in your sleep as visions invaded your dreams of sharp black ice piercing through Zayne’s body while you were frozen in place and unable to go to him. Caleb shook you awake and held you while you cried, babbling incoherently until you fell back into a deep, calm sleep in his arms.

So while Caleb claims to be unable to sleep without you, it was the opposite. Any night you had to sleep alone was spent tossing and turning until you gave up all together, the insomnia taking it’s place. You had no idea what you would do once he leaves next week for pilot training, something you were both dreading but didn’t speak of. This is why you had to learn to be without him and why this needed to end.

As much as it pained you to, you begin to pry his arm from your torso.

“Please don’t. Don’t push me away.” His voice cracks on your name, cracking your heart with it.

Caleb was your rock, so strong and sturdy to lean on. It wasn’t often he showed vulnerability, typically only in these quiet moments you shared in the dark. It was enough to make your resolve waver. Sensing your hesitation, he presses up against you, his erection digging into your lower back.

“But you’re leaving me,” your own voice trembles with the sting of tears on your lashes.

His other hand grips your jaw from it’s position, twisting your neck toward him until your breathing mingles, lips grazing one another. It’s hard to see in the dark, but there’s just enough light emitting from a soft night light nearby to see the hardening in his eyes.

“It’s not my choice!” he hisses. Your eyes widen at his outburst, so unlike the calm, loving brother you had come to known. Realizing himself, his eyes soften. “I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I just… can’t have you thinking I’m leaving because I want to. There are things I can’t explain to you right now but I promise, one day it will all make sense. Forgive me?”

With only a moment of hesitation, you nod. You would always forgive him. There was nothing he could do to make you hate him when he looked at you like this. His lips brush over each of your eyes, collecting the tears that had began to build on your lashes. They move down to press against your own, softly at first, then more insistent as his tongue prods at the crease until the salty flavor of your tears bursts on your tongue.

Your grip no longer tight around his wrist, his fingers begin to trail lightly upward once more until his now warm palm grazes your nipple with a light squeeze of your breast. A soft sigh escapes your lips at the sensation and you find yourself moving against his tented sleep pants. Taking that as permission, Caleb moves you to your back without breaking the kiss, locking your ankles together at his lower back as he settles between your thighs.

His kisses turn more aggressive, nipping at your lips and inhaling every little moan and sigh, imprinting them in his memory to use when things inevitably got difficult at the base. It would have to be enough to keep him sane until he was able to come back home to you.

Before long, Caleb’s lips make their way down your body, tugging and pulling at your clothing until you’re naked and writhing beneath his tongue, not for the first time.

“Caleb!” You whisper-hiss. “Caleb, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he whispers against your clit while his fingers work against the soft spot inside that makes you see stars. With his encouragement, you fall apart on his smooth face, body trembling from the effort as you bite the corner of your pillow in an effort to suppress the shaking moans wanting to burst free. Caleb works you through it, licking and nipping until overstimulation has you pushing his head away.

He crawls his way back up your body with eyes dark and hungry, your essence glistening on his chin. Your body quakes with the intensity of the look on his face and when he settles above you once more as his lips devour yours, a combination of his taste and your own mingling on your tongue. Now naked from the waist down, himself, Caleb’s stiff cock presses against your inner thigh, the tip swollen and sticky with pre-cum.

Reaching down between the two of you, he firmly graps himself in his hand to slide between your drenched folds. In a panic, your palm finds his chest, pushing against your brother though his weight doesn’t budge.

“What are you doing?”

“What we should have done a long time ago.”

The tip presses inside, making the both of you groan probably a little too loudly as your slick insides clench around him, inviting him in against your will. He slides in a little further but you press against his chest again.

“Wait, wait. This is going too fast.”

His head falls to your shoulder in frustration, the soft tendrils of his dark hair tickling your sensitive skin.

“Where did you think all these years were leading to, pip?” his muffled voice sounds in your ear.

Though he stopped moving, the first couple inches of his cock rest inside of you still.

“We’re siblings, Caleb,” you say, trying to be the reasonable one though you want nothing more than for him to finish what he started.

“Not by blood. Besides,” he pauses, one hand wedging between your bodies to allow his thumb to start circling your clit, renewing the delicious feeling in your abdomen. “It’s kind of hot, right? Doing something forbidden.”

Your insides quiver and you clench around him with a slick gush at the dirty words.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, pipsqueak?” he chuckles darkly in your ear, beginning shallow thrusts. Not enough to be all the way in, but enough for the anticipation to start building again. “Is my little sister gonna let me fuck her, hmm? Has anyone else ever been inside of you before?”

Face growing hot, you shake your head in denial, unable to say the words out loud.

Caleb’s body trembles above you as he presses in a little further. You can feel him right there.

“Good,” he growls in your ear. “I probably would have had to kill anyone else who touched you first and the only blood I want right now is this.”

In one thrust, Caleb pushes past your barrier, swallowing your cries with a possessive kiss as he tears through your hymen. It hurts at first, but not in a way you would have expected. It was more of a quick pinch, and while the first few thrusts were a little uncomfortable as you adjusted to the intrusion, your slick walls begin to welcome him.

“Knew you would feel good, fuck. That’s my cunt, isn’t it, pip?” Caleb moans, holding one of your legs at the knee and keeping you open for him as he grinds roughly into you.

“Caleb…” you whine, arms tightening around him while your nails find purchase on his bare back.

He hisses through the sting your nails cause, hoping like hell that you’re leaving marks behind that will take weeks to disappear. He wanted to feel you on him weeks from now, back sore with every movement during drill training. His thumb never let up from your clit, sending you higher and higher with every thrust. His cock twitches inside with the need to release inside of you, to claim you, but he won’t allow himself to let go until he gets one more from you.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Hold onto me. I’ve got you. Come for me. Come all over your brother’s cock.”

You can’t bring yourself to admit that his dirty words aided in getting you there, but before you can stop it, a tightness pulls in your lower stomach almost painfully before releasing. Spots dance behind your eyes in blinding flash of light. For a moment, you fear your heart might give out and that you’ll have to be rushed to the hospital, left to explain why you a cardiac event while naked with your brother. But the feeling passes as you start to float down, still half-blind with your ears ringing. Caleb ruts into you a few more times with curses on his tongue as you clamp down around him, ropes of hot cum splashing around your inner walls and painting them with him.

He collapses on top of you, his weight heavy and making it difficult to breathe, but you just pull him closer while your heart rates sync to a steady pace. You lay there together for several quiet moments, each of you soaking in what just happened and how this changes everything and nothing at the same time with him leaving soon.

Those thoughts are pushed away as he lifts up his head, dark hair laying on his brow as a boyish smile peeks out from beneath. His lips find yours, more bold now than ever before, like it’s his right to do so, but you don’t push him away, instead meeting him halfway. You feel his length twitch inside and he pulls away, shaking his head and mumbling against your lips.

“Don’t get me going again, pretty girl. You’re going to be sore enough as it is.”

With a final peck, he rises to his knees, pulling out of you slowly as you both watch. His flushed cock is shiny with both of your fluids, the sight making your heart stutter back to life. Caleb looks entirely too smug as he swipes through your folds, gathering some cum tinged pink with the loss of your virginity on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them in and humming with satisfaction as the taste of both of you fills his mouth. With another swipe of your pussy, he does it again, this time bringing his fingers to your mouth. When you don’t immediately open for him, he traces his wet fingers across your lips.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Memorialize this moment with me. It will be just like when we were kids. Remember? When your hurt yourself because we were messing around, showing off our Evols.” You nod hesitantly.

“I remember ending up with a wound on my hand from the blast of our Resonance sending us both flying. I cut my hand when I landed on the pavement.”

Caleb nods too, confirming your story.

“Right. Then I cut my hand with a rock and we made an Oath to never tell Gran what we were doing because she would have kicked our asses. This will be like that, except now we’ll swear to never forget one another.”

“I could never forget you, Caleb. I don’t need an Oath to know that.”

Something painful, yet unreadable flickers across his face before the playful smile returns, making you wonder if you imagined it.

“Yeah, well how about you just entertain me for a while longer? What do you say, pretty girl?”

He offers his fingers again and this time you open your mouth to accept them.

Taglist: @comatosebunny09

[puppybei]

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 9 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Talks about past pregnancy, mention of vomiting, acne mentions during pregnancy, reader cries like twice, probably incorrect use of tense (it’s mixed up a lot don’t ask me), proofread but not really, again if I missed anything please do tell me.

Wc: 2.5k

You’ve never once regretted having Hana, not when your pregnancy cravings had you in the store picking up pickles and mint ice cream, not when you were bent over the toilet emptying your guts, not when you had hormonal breakouts on every imaginable part of your skin, not when you started sobbing in the middle of a store because the baby clothes were just too cute. Not when Hana had you awake at all hours of the night feeding her as you fought against your own body’s sleep schedule, not when she had you running around the unfurnished house making sure she wasn’t bumping into anything and definitely not when she was your anchor through every hard decision you took. 

Hana had always been a carbon copy of Sukuna, his personality dominant even when he had no physical influence on her life. She was a fussy and picky child, quick to anger around and refused to listen to any kind of authority figure, well anyone but you - as was the same with Sukuna. You were scared then when you finally did tell Hana who her father was, she would vehemently deny his paternity, maybe even resent him for leaving you both- when that was the furthest from the truth. 

“Oh is that it?”

Which is why it’s surprising to hear that come out of Hana’s mouth. Though, you rationalized it was better than her denying her father or having a meltdown. Hana climbed down from your lap, running to your room with a new found confidence as you sat on the dining table with Sukuna, both of you dumbfounded at the turn of events.

She comes out not soon after with an old photo, frayed at the edges and yellowed with both time and usage. The polaroid is clipped along with an ultrasound, equally worn out. Sukuna’s hands slip out of yours as Hana walks up to both of you, a knowing look dancing on her features as she placed the photos on the dining table.

Sukuna immediately reaches forward for the ultrasound, trembling hands running over the photo as he doesn’t even spare the first one a second glance. 

You do though. In fact you’ve spent far too many hours holding the polaroid, fidgeting with its corners until they bent to your whim, splotches of water damage caused by salty tears. It was a rare shot of Sukuna and you, taken at a restaurant to celebrate your first job. Sukuna was smiling, a lovesick look on his face as he watched you ramble on about the dessert the restaurant was famous for. His hand held yours across the table, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin.

Hana stands by your side, head barely reaching the top of your thighs as tufts of her pink her fall out from her twin tails, framing her face and covering her forehead,

“Mumma always stares at that picture when she thinks no one is looking, and I learned in school that children look like their parents! I always knew the mean mister was Dad!”

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes as you scooped Hana into your arms, wetting her shirt with silent tears as you held her small body close to your chest. 

Sukuna’s arms enveloped your both in a hug, effectively squeezing Hana too, who was now struggling to get out of her parents grasp,

“Mumma’s sorry baby, I’m so sorry,”

You sobbed into her shoulder and Hana finally stopped wriggling, red eyes softening as patting your back trying to comfort you too,

“So are you and Mean Mister dating?”

Sukuna let go of you, awkwardly sitting on the chair as his foot tapped anxiously against the floor. You pulled back from the hug, glancing at Sukuna and then back at Hana.

“That’s for the adults to talk about. But baby,can you try calling him Dada?”

You pulled Sukuna closer by the arm and he looked down at Hana, uncomfortable and not used to the feeling blooming in his chest as Hana finally uttered the words. His mind goes blank for a second and it really set into him- he had become a father.

“Hana your Dada will be spending more time with you from now on okay?”

You brush the pink tendrils of hair from her face, and Hana leans closer into your chest. You had found that telling Hana things upfront was the best way to go about things, you sucked at lying to her and she hated when people tiptoed around topics, she got that part from her father. 

Sukuna leans over and you let go of Hana, unwrapping your arms as she looks uncharacteristically shy. She fiddles with her fingers for a few seconds before Sukuna takes her in his arms and she tests out the new name for him. He lets her snuggle into his neck, whispering apologies into her body as his own creaks with regret. 

Late into the night, Sukuna put Hana down to bed, repeating the same bedtime routine he saw you do to the little girl, sealing it off with a kiss. They played in the nursery for the earlier part of the day, Hana asked a million questions about Sukuna and he even let her colour in his tattoos, a fond look on his face as she concentrated as hard as she could on the task.

The tension between you and Sukuna had only grown, thick enough to cut with a knife as you both sat on opposite ends of the couch. 

“Why?”

Sukuna almost sounds hurt himself as he uttered out the question, elbows resting on his knees as he clenched his fists, biceps flexing in his shirt.

“We’re different people now, life has taken its toll, and we’re going have to start again. Maybe just for now at least- let Hana get used to-,”

You wave your hands around, pointing to you and Sukuna and he’s silent, eerily so as he sighs, barely humming in agreement before he stands up.

“I’m sorry”

You glance up at Sukuna, shoulders relaxing as you leaned back on the couch, fiddling with the ends of your nails,

“Why?”

You barely whisper the question, even though you already knew the answer long before the word left your mouth,

“For not saying that shit back then, I did you know- still do-”

You cut Sukuna off mid sentence, a serene smile on your face as you almost chuckled,

“I know, you don’t have to say it. I knew no matter how many times I said it, when it really mattered I always felt it through your actions Ryo,”

Sukuna was kneeling by your side again, hands clasping yours tightly as he looked up at you. You gasped, trying to pull him off the carpeted floor, chiding him about how dirty the floor was. 

He didn’t move an inch, pink lashes catching the overhead lighting as he tried to smile- key word tried, he quite honestly looked like he was struggling to hold in spoiled food. You laughed at the sight as he lightly pinched your sides, grumbling at you,

“Let me-,”

He shook his head, biting down on his lower lip with a nervous expression before his tongue darted out to soothe the reddening skin,

“Let’s try again- for Hana at least,”

He added. 

You paused and it felt like it was just you and him in the entire world again, heart thumping rhythmically against your chest, every fiber of your clothes pressing against your skin, the saliva that pooled in your mouth, the air con that made goosebumps rise on your skin. 

Sukuna’s face a mere inch from yours, warm breaths mingling together as he waited for your answer in bated breaths. 

“O-okay yeah o-,”

Sukuna had crashed his body onto yours, pinning you both back into the sofa until your knees hung off of the edge, you giggled into his shoulder, trying to push him off weakly.

“But we have to take it slow Ryo, and you have to give me space- you have to work on yourself too. I won’t let Hana be mixed up in your illegal shit.”

Sukuna looked taken aback, then again you were never the type to hold back your words when it really mattered, be it praise or scoldings. 

You held Sukuna’s face in your hands, looking into his warm red eyes, 

“Clean up all your loose ties, everyone who might be out for revenge. I don’t want your blood thirst to stain Hana’s hands too.”

You paused for a second, grip tightening around Sukuna’s face as his cheeks got squished in your hold,

“In fact, if it comes to be- I’ll choose Hana over you if I have to.”

Sukuna barely grins at that, flipping back into your hold as his body weighed heavy against yours. 

The next few months went by surprisingly well. You told Sukuna that you wouldn’t start dating him until he got his act together and he started disappearing again. This time though, he made an effort. He’d text you whenever he went for more than three days, video calling Hana and forcing her to even give him goodnight kisses. (he tried that once with you- never again after you mouthed profanities at him)

When he wasn’t cleaning up his past he’d be around the shop, trying to convince you to move in with him, a better neighborhood, private schools, tighter security, servants at your beck and call. You informed him that you wanted Hana to grow up in a warm home, wanted her to learn how to hold up a fort on her own, the limits of money and how to be a good person in general.

Rich, snobby brats who went to private kindergartens and got their every wish granted to them on a diamond platter was the farthest thing you wanted Hana to learn from. Sukuna gave in after trying to convince you on seven different occasions, going even as far as to kidnap Hana from her kindergarten one day. Which made you question his wits because the teachers immediately informed you and you interjected the car before it could even leave the countryside. 

Other than that Sukuna was surprisingly soft with Hana, taking her out on daddy-daughter dates and spoiling her to no end. You always scolded him when he did so and Hana, the sweet angel she was, would chose your side in those arguments, going as far as to push the presents back to her father and hug your knee with teary eyes, lying straight through her teeth about how she didn’t even want them and dada was just wasting his money.

He would even pick up Hana regularly, Aoi was let go and Sukuna took her place, always clad in a dark suit, sleeves rolled up to show off his menacing tattoos as he crossed his arms and loomed near the kindergarten gates. 

Four months into the new setup, Hana had started to regularly ask for her dada, forcing him to come over before she slept and give her a goodnight kiss. He would always sleep over when he did, coaxing you no matter how hard you tried to hold your ground. Some nights he would straight up just get an extra pillow and blanket, throwing it over himself as he settled on the old couch without a complaint. 

For Hana’s seventh birthday, he took her out to this huge mall, buying out an entire arcade while he let her run around until she was exhausted. He played all the games with her, shooting perfectly at the targets which made you raise a suspicious eye, how much more of the man had you yet to know. 

Her cake was bright pink and hello kitty themed, she squealed when her friends came over too. Honestly, you were surprised Sukuna even managed to remember their names, Hana must’ve really talked his ear off. After the celebrations were over he took you both home, Hana buckled into the back seat while you fell asleep on the passenger seat, only to be awoken when Sukuna unbuckled your seat for you, murmuring something about not wanting to wake you up as he reached over, face an inch away from yours. 

After a year Sukuna had made sure to tie up every loose end, like he had promised and you kept your word. Hana was finally given the news that you both were dating and she jumped up and down in joy. 

Family breakfasts were now a routine thing, laughter shared over homely meals as Hana rambled on. Sukuna’s hand would clutch yours under the table and you would fight the urge to pull him over for a kiss.

Bi-weekly date nights came next, Sukuna would find a babysitter for Hana or sometimes even just dump her with Uraume who was more than happy to spend time with Sukuna’s spawn. The CEO would take you to high end restaurants, the finest of wines served as you cut into your meals. He would parade you around to any party he had to go out to, possessive hand glued to your body as he mingled with other business men. 

At any sign of your discomfort or even a sigh of exhaustion, Sukuna would take you back home. He’d never admit he was doing it for you though, scowling as he denied your teasing, you let him have it nonetheless, afraid he might actually burst into bubbles from all the nice things he’d been doing.

Some days though, he’d just lounge around in your house, doing nothing but spend lazy mornings with you after Hana had been sent to elementary school. He’d force you to lay down with him, head pressed to his chest as he made you tell him the neighborhood gossip. 

Today was one of those days, he was playing with the tag of your clothes, pulling and rubbing it in between his fingers. A low song was playing on your radio, nothing too stimulating, just a soft song with barely any lyrics to need mental concentration. You were half-splayed across his body, hand tracing mindless patterns on his tight-fitting shirt. His other hand was mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you forced him to be on TikTok and do all the hard work for you.

Your mind trailed back to a year and half ago, back then you’d never even fathom of being in the same room as Sukuna, let alone lying on the same bed as him and making him do things for you. You’d never have guessed that Hana would love you both so much and that you would be going on so steady with him. Forget that, you doubt that Sukuna would have even tried changing for you, but look where you are now. 

That’s why it’s so hard to let go of old insecurities, to let the thoughts that plague your mind be unshackled no matter how many times you will yourself to let it go, to move over it. That’s why the next question that stumbles out of your mouth comes as a shock to even you,

“Why’d you tell Toji that you didn’t want kids with me?,”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, so soft that he could have mistaken it for the wind that was blowing through the window, but he doesn’t. Because he hears you loud and clear, his hands still and he stiffens. 

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A/n: One more chapter left!!! The last one will be prettyyyyy long because I wanna include the wedding + a bit more domesticity + Idk if I want to put another kid in lol

Am I going back to daily updates? Probably not. Will I write more frequently? Yessser but I might be awol for a few days cuz ur girls going to Italy lol

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Just Desserts - Chapter 1 (Sanji x Fem!Reader)

PHEW - I'm tired. I've been trying to work on this for weeks. One of those things where I started it as a smaller idea and it just kind of exploded, and then I was overthinking. I'm only planning two chapters for this, but it could expand into more.

Summary: Sanji left without so much as a goodbye. You've had to pick up the pieces, to have faith in your crew who've gone off to Whole Cake to retrieve him. It's not easy dealing with the loneliness, especially in a new and strange land like Wano.

CW: JEALOUSY; NSFW (fingers, light smut, heavy petting); Hurt/Comfort; Angst; (Heavier/full smut planned in Part 2); Established relationship

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

~4.7k

In the time that Sanji had been gone for Whole Cake, you had been left behind in Zou to travel onward to Wano, much to your disappointment. You wanted to come more than anything - of course you did. Sanji was your everything, your entire world - the oceans would cease their tides and the stars would halt their sparkling without him in your life. You insisted - really, begged - for Luffy to bring you with him. While he was fine with it, Nami had pulled you aside to convince you otherwise.

”If you come with us, all you’ll do is worry Sanji sick over your safety.” 

“But I could convince him to come back.” You pleaded, your eyes prickling with tears and voice thick with emotion. “I can—“

”Sanji will come back.” Nami smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear gently. “He will. And he’ll do it without worrying about you. Okay? Just let us handle it.”

You knew Nami was right. Not only would it be hard on Sanji to know you were fighting with your life on the line to bring him home, but the stakes alone would be enough to distract you. If you went off to Whole Cake - an Emperor’s territory otherwise unprovoked - there was no guarantee you wouldn’t throw your life away just to save Sanji from whatever fate he held so close to his chest. Nami knew that as well as you did. Whatever Sanji was going through, you’d have to trust in Luffy to snap him out of it. So, despite your reservations, you stuck with the rest of the crew to make the journey to Wano.

The sun had all but lost its warmth, and even the funniest jokes Usopp or Franky could provide did little to help. You’d smile, you’d laugh, but it’d only go as far as your lips, not lighting your eyes up in the way the crew had become familiar with. Eventually, you stopped laughing and smiling altogether. Robin had taken note of the way you kept your distance even in shared spaces, and if it weren’t for how quietly you cried yourself to sleep at night, she’d have stepped in herself to ask about how you were handling being separated from Sanji. You had made it clear that the topic was off-limits. Even just the mention of Sanji’s name would shut you down, so the crew found it prudent to give you the space to deal with it the way you saw fit.

Zoro didn’t have as much tact.

You were leaning against the cool wall of the Polar Tang, your eyes locked on the ocean that passed by a porthole. You weren’t sure if you were grateful for the Heart Pirate’s hospitality or dreading the fact that this meant you’d have to be miles below the surface until arriving at Wano. As romantically vain as it felt, not being able to see the same moon as Sanji only made things worse, and you were sure it wasn’t doing any favors for your mood. While you were lost in thought, reminiscing on memories you knew weren’t good for you, the swordsman took his place next to you against the wall. Your eyes were trained on a large school of fish swimming past the porthole, but you could see his large frame perched next to yours in the reflection of the glass.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Until your crewmate finally opened his mouth.

”Thinking about curly brows, huh?”

Great. An emotional conversation with Zoro was rare, and when they happened, they were never fun. You weren’t in the mood to talk about Sanji, much less talk to Zoro about Sanji. Of all people, this seemed like the worst one to finally address the elephant in the room. 

“You don’t have to-“

”Captain told me to look after everyone.” Zoro interrupted you, his tone gruff and leaving no room for argument. “It’s obviously bothering you. You’re not fooling anyone..”

You let out a huff at his words, trying to abate the indignation settling in your chest. You opened your mouth to argue that you weren’t trying to fool anyone, but your mouth shut almost immediately. Zoro’s stubborn nature and dedication to Luffy was going to draw some stupid, emotional things out of you that you really had been working to push down. You cast a sidelong glance at him before returning your eyes to the porthole. You didn’t respond, because there was nothing to say. Zoro didn’t speak, either. The two of you just sat in silence, until eventually you left your spot and the swordsman went his own way. 

After that point, you noticed how Zoro would almost…hover. It was unlike him. You’d go to the galley, he’d take a seat next to you; you’d try to distract yourself with reading, and he’d somehow find his way in the same room as you, cleaning his blades or taking a nap against a wall. Nothing was ever exchanged, and while you were sure it wasn’t a coincidence of a small ship and a larger-than-usual crew aboard, you refused to acknowledge it. Acknowledgment meant confrontation, and confrontation meant the potential to have your lofty mourning period interrupted.

The final straw was when you volunteered to do some tasks for Law around the ship, and Zoro had met you every step of the way. He had outright refused chores up until this point, so all subtlety of his following you had clearly gone out the porthole. You couldn't even pretend to ignore it anymore, because it was so irritatingly obvious. You were working on stocking some kind of cabinet with gauze and bandages when you heard Zoro enter the room, the clacking of his swords on his hip snapping any sort of patience you had maintained. An aggravated groan escaped your lips as he approached the bin of supplies next to you, his arm brushing against yours.

”What is with you?” You snapped, turning to look at Zoro with a searing glare.

The swordsman didn’t bother meeting your eyes, instead busying himself with putting away the packets of gauze. Rather sloppily, too. He was basically just tossing them into the drawers with a flick of his wrist and no care for where they landed.

”You keep avoiding everyone and moping around, and I’m not going to let you.” He replied.

He made it sound so…so simple. Like there wasn’t even a second thought behind it. For some reason, that kind of compassion set you off. Wasn’t it clear that you just wanted to be left alone? To grieve the fact that your boyfriend wasn’t here, could quite possibly never come back, and lament that you didn’t tag along to save him? You grit your teeth, snatching the gauze from him that he so haphazardly put away.

”Well, if you’re going to stalk me, at least do the damn chores you volunteer for properly.” You retorted, shoving the gauze into the drawers with more care than he had. “I don’t need a babysitter. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Zoro huffed, and you could tell he was annoyed. Good. Maybe he’d leave you alone. 

He took a few steps back, leaning against a nearby desk as he watched you put away the rest of the gauze and bandages. Zoro didn’t bother disrupting your process. You seemed like you had it handled.

”I’m not going to hear the end of it from either my Captain or that shit cook if they come back and you’re a wreck.” He finally said, his hands resting on the hilts of his swords casually. “Talk about it, don’t talk about it - I don’t care. But you’re not going to isolate yourself from the crew.”

You were almost touched - almost - but that familiar pang in your chest rose up at the mention of Sanji. You were just grateful that Zoro never invoked his proper name, avoiding it like the plague the way he usually did. So, neither of you said anything after that, either. When the rest of the chores were finished, and you both walked through the halls of the sub, that’s when Zoro finally spoke up again.

”Wanna see about getting a drink?”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Days that passed like molasses slowly started to feel less syrupy and more fluid. Jokes landed a little harder with you, and the swordsman took great care to make sure that smile reached your eyes. Franky and Usopp shared stories, Robin made morbid comments, and everything started feeling just a little more colorful again. Even when it was just you and Zoro sitting at a table, making idle chit-chat or opting to sit in comfortable silence, you realized his stable presence made you feel less lonely. Your crewmates were breathing some hope back into you. 

The last night on the ship, before entering Wano, you and Zoro had another night like this. Sitting in the galley, with your face resting on your palm as you read a book. He was sharpening his swords, the shing of the blades a sound that triggered a disheartening nostalgia. Reminders of being on the Thousand Sunny, sitting in the grass as Sanji served you and the other ladies tea permeated your brain. The rhythmic sound of stone clashing with blade would have been a welcome ambiance to your book if not for this. Your eyes trailed over the same text again and again, hoping to comprehend anything other than the stakes of what lie ahead. Tomorrow would mean entering a new country, an Emperor’s territory, and there was still no word on how Sanji and the others were doing. The only one likely as antsy as you was probably Zoro, but a face of carefully composed stoicism left you uncertain. It wasn’t until you were shutting your book for the night, giving up on the idea of reading when your brain couldn’t focus, that he finally let it slip.

”He’s coming back. You know that, right?”

It was the first time he’d tried talking to you about Sanji since you reluctantly accepted his presence nearly a week ago. You paused, your fingers trailing the edge of your book as you worked to bite back the tension in your gut.

”Of course I do.” You replied, and maybe you sounded too defensive, because Zoro huffed in response.

”Yeah. Right.”

You stared at him, distracted partially by the hypnotic way his hand sent the whetstone across the honed edge of Wado Ichimonji. It wasn’t a good enough distraction, though, because in its reflection you could swear you caught a glimpse of a blonde tuft of hair. It reminded you of the last time you saw Sanji - back in Dressrosa, before the crew had split off. Longer ago than you’d care to dwell on. You took a deep breath, your eyes studying the etchings of Zoro’s swords and the way they glistened with their new coating.

”They all are.” You affirmed, a feeble attempt to sound more confident. “Soon.”

”Yeah.”

It’s another stiff silence filled with a distinct discomfort that you weren’t sure what to make of. Conversations with Zoro these days always felt unfinished. It felt as though there were things left unspoken, thoughts neither of you dared to share, and it was difficult to decide if that had more to do with your desire to avoid the topic or Zoro’s. Emotional vulnerability was not something you thought the swordsman wanted any part in. It was growing increasingly clear to you, though, that Zoro felt the same concern for the crew as you did. Likely for different reasons. It'd be a cold day in Hell if you ever got the bastard to admit he was worried about Sanji. 

As you stood from the table, Zoro halted his movements on his blades, his head snapping in your direction. 

“Wait a sec.” He said, and he moved to grab at the bandana around his arm. Before you could say anything, he undid the tie and held it out to you. “Here. Want you to have this.”

You furrowed your brows, gaze flickering between the piece of cloth and the swordsman. Your fingers reluctantly touched the fabric as your hand reached out. It was softer than you’d thought, the fabric cool to the touch and shiny. It wasn’t lost on you how important this one piece of clothing was to Zoro. It decorated his head with every big battle, a jolly roger in its own right. It was the flag of death for any of his enemies. A symbol of his strength, focus, and dedication as a swordsman. Your hand twitched with indecision, but before you could reject it Zoro had firmly shoved the bandana the rest of the way into your grasp.

”We’ll probably get separated in Wano. Being undercover in the Flower Capital is fine and all, but knowing us, somethin’s gonna happen.” He stated, and his eye was trained on you, as if reading you closely. “I’m gonna want that back, so don’t lose it.”

Looking at the bandana, all words died in your throat. What the hell do you even say to something like that? It was a kind gesture, more thoughtful than you’d expected from Zoro, and all you could wonder was why? Was he so concerned about your well-being that he wanted you to have a reminder of the crew? Of his friendship? It was hard to decide what to do or say, but after a few moments, you closed your fingers around the bandana. 

“Thanks.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

The Flower Capital was more vibrant than you had anticipated, but most mornings, the colors still fell flat and the chirping of the birds were off-key. You understood now more than before why Zoro had worked so hard to make sure you weren’t isolated from the crew on your journey to the island. Aside from the few moments you could all safely convene or visit one-another, giving small waves and smiles passing by, you couldn’t spend time with them. Not without blowing your covers, and not without a good reason. Without your crew, and without Sanji, you were feeling more empty and numb than ever. A void had gradually opened up in your chest, and if you let your mind wander too far into memories, it threatened to swallow you whole.

In idle moments between you doing your assigned job in the Capital, learning to sew so you could fulfill your role as a seamstress, your fingers would fiddle mindlessly with the bandana Zoro had loaned you. It adorned the obi of your yukata, a hole that you had poked at the bottom so you could pull the fabric through and tie it into a small knot. It wasn’t proper, hardly even looked decent when you caught a glimpse in the mirror, but you didn’t care. It made you feel connected to your crew again - a physical reminder of the bond your friends shared with you and that things would go back to normal soon. Normal couldn’t come soon enough. 

Time was passing slower than it had on the first leg of the journey here. It felt like all you could do was wait. Work on clothes for the nobles, pretend like you had an inkling of what you were doing, and try your best not to think about the way your boyfriend smiled so carefree the last time you had seen him. It felt like a special kind of torture that your brain had concocted to make things worse. Laughs that sounded too much like his trilled in your ears, food that you were sure he’d make better burned your palette. Everything reminded you of him, and when you’d wake up in a cold and lonely bed, your fingers would fidget with the bandana like a lifeline. You were certain you’d rub a hole in the fabric by the time you gave it back to Zoro.

It was sometimes in these idle moments that memories of your boyfriend would invade your most private thoughts. Lying on your futon, your hands would wander, eyes shut as you tried to picture Sanji’s hands in place of your own. Guiding them over your yukata, you’d work it off in the way you imagined he’d do it, sometimes slipping under the fabric and exploring the skin. You’d touch over your clit the way Sanji would, moaning his name as if maybe doing so would summon him. Fingers would invade your slit, and you’d taste yourself the way you knew he’d insist. Mornings when your hands would accidentally brush Zoro’s bandana would leave a pit in your stomach after the act was said and done. It always left an odd feeling of awkwardness at you having unwillingly involved it in your fantasies. It was an incident that occurred few and far between, but enough to leave that unsettling feeling. What would Sanji say? What would Zoro say? Not only would it have a hole in it, but the damn bandana would be washed thoroughly when it was returned. Of that, you were sure.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time, and that short amount of time felt like an eternity. You forced yourself into a routine, something to keep anything semblance of sanity in this separation from your crew. Wake up, get coffee, go to work, try to earn the trust of the royal seamstress, go home, sleep. Intel collection wasn’t going as well as you had hoped, so there was no proper way to keep your mind occupied. The local gossip the other seamstresses shared was of no interest, and even the morning news did little to help. 

One particular morning, about two weeks into your stay in Wano, you had managed to sneak away to the coffee stand on your break from work. The streets were buzzing, teeming with the same gossip you could hardly focus on for more than a few seconds. It wasn't until you had the morning newspaper pass by your eyesight, seeing the familiar face of your captain, that you felt your heart clench. Panicked, you let out a gasp and grabbed at a newspaper so you could look for yourself, earning a glare from the woman you snatched it from. An article about Luffy’s arrest, and a wanted poster with Zoro's face crudely drawn. Luffy’s arrest. Your heart had never simultaneously jumped and crashed so hard at the same time. If Luffy was here, what of Sanji? No chance that he’d have returned without their cook. It was a conflicting set of circumstances, bittersweet, because you couldn’t think of seeing Luffy’s face in the news as anything but a bad omen for the mission. Your Captain, who you adored and swore yourself to, in danger. Zoro, your friend, wanted for crimes you were sure he didn’t commit. And what of Sanji? The others?

Wandering through the streets of the Flower Capital gripping the cup of your coffee tightly in your palm, your mind was swirling with too many thoughts. They all lingered on your crew - Luffy and Zoro’s safety, Sanji’s return, what this meant fighting against Kaidou. Your head was aching, full of growing concern, and you were only snapped out of it when you felt a hand land on your shoulder.

"What-?"

The moment you turned your head, everything in your body buzzed with an energy you couldn’t quite place.

Sanji.

Your heart was in your stomach which twisted and lept, and you just stared at him in disbelief. You blinked, and you blinked again, and the apparition didn’t dissipate. Sanji’s hand rested on your shoulder, and the warmth of his touch was enough to assure you that this wasn’t a dream. He was here. Tears streaked down your cheeks and, before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his waist and coffee splashed down into the street below. Face buried in his chest as you clutched onto him like he was a ghost. You couldn’t control the way your hands trembled and your body ached for him, scared that he’d disappear again, and this time for good. Cover be damned - you were sure that if you let him slip from your grasp this time, he’d vanish as suddenly as he had before.

”Hey, hey - it’s okay!” Sanji replied immediately, his arms enveloping you in return. You cried against him, and it was all he could do to rub your back and rest his chin against the top of your head. “I’m sorry I left. I’m here now.”

”You-“ You choked out, wanting to say so many things, but they wouldn’t leave your mouth. You wanted to curse, to shake him, to let him know how angry you were for worrying you sick. Instead, your arms tightened, and a sob broke through you. 

“Angel…” He sighed, and you swore you could hear his voice crack. 

He held you like this for longer than probably appropriate on the busy streets of the Capital. When you finally stopped crying, your body shaking from the adrenaline pumping through you, he slowly pulled your arms back so he could look at you. As your eyes met, his lips curled into a soft smile, and he reached a hand so his thumb could wipe any stray tears on your face. You had expected a lot of reactions from Sanji upon your reunion. Daydreamed them, in fact. His usual, dorky excitement wasn’t present like you thought it’d be, though. Instead, his eyes looked haunted, an unmistakable flash of guilt present and unshakeable. You leaned your cheek against his palm, a silent signal that you were happy to see him again.

“Let’s go somewhere private.” He murmured.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

It was a short walk to the quarters you had been staying in from where Sanji found you. Your hands couldn’t stop shaking, fidgeting with the piece of fabric at your waist. Your other hand clung to Sanji’s with laced fingers in hopes that it would chain him to your side a little while longer. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d have with him given the operation going on in Wano, but any time was good enough for now. It would have to be. 

“The head seamstress in the Flower Capital was gracious enough to give me a room,” You explained to Sanji, carefully selecting your words. “It’s got everything I could need. A kotatsu, a futon, a window. I’ve been spending most of my time there when I’m not working.”

Sanji didn’t say anything. It was unlike him, being so silent as he walked beside you. It didn’t feel like your boyfriend, but you elected to keep that observation to yourself. All questions and concerns would have to wait. The horrors of Whole Cake wasn’t something either of you would likely feel keen diving into over a cup of spilled coffee in the streets of enemy territory. You noticed as you walked with Sanji through the barracks of fellow seamstress’ the women that were present giving you sidelong glances. Knowing smiles and half-lidded eyes between Sanji and yourself. It would be annoying if not for the fact that it was maybe better for them to think this was just a gentleman caller rather than some kind of ally. The thought still made your blood pressure spike just a bit.

The sliding door to your quarters finally closed with a click, leaving you and Sanji in the morning light bathing the interior. Even then you didn’t let go of his hand. You guided him to the futon, taking a seat on the edge and tucking your legs under. Fabric from your yukata splayed out, floral patterns glittering in the sun and catching the eye of the cook. All you could focus on was the way his face looked exactly the way you remembered it.

Silence. This wasn’t right. This was far from the norm. Your fingers flexed slightly against his, and just as you were about to feel your heart palpitate, his thumb rubbed against the skin of your hand. It soothed the coming ache immediately.

“Sanji-”

“I missed you.” He interrupted, his eyes flickering from your joined hands to your gaze. Lifting his free hand, he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear that had spilled from your bun. “I didn’t stop thinking about you, angel. Not for one second. Not once.”

You swallowed back the swell of emotion caught in your throat. It bobbed, and you were sure your eyes were glassy. Taking a shaky breath, you shook your head.

“Me neither.”

Sanji shifted closer, his hand not leaving your skin. His fingertips lightly brushed against your flesh, as if testing it for himself, checking to make sure it was real. It lingered, his expression softening as his gaze flickered over your face. There was a fondness there that you had grown to recognize, come to miss, and it made the ache in your chest hurt even deeper. Sanji’s thumb brushed away a tear that you hadn’t even realized was threatening to spill, his lips parting slightly at the sight.

Silence again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sanji’s lips hovered near yours, brushing and threatening to press into them. Your breath hitched in your throat, your lashes colliding gently with his when your eyes fluttered shut. When his lips finally captured yours, gently latching and caressing, the dam that had been barely holding together finally broke loose. Your fingers finally unlaced from his, but it was so that they could grab onto the back of his neck. Sanji’s hands landed on your hips as you moved to straddle his waist, a kiss full of lips and tongue overwhelming in its desperation and greed. 

His hands on your hips guided you steadily, rocking your body down and against his. Even through your yukata, the way Sanji ran his hand over your thigh and waist made goosebumps rise on your skin. A moan into your mouth told you that he was just as affected, though grinding onto his hardening cock would have done just as well. His fingers ran over your curves, dipping into the overlapping fabric of your yukata, intent on pulling it apart. 

“Sorry…” Sanji gasped into your mouth between kisses. “Sorry, I'm sorry…”

You shushed him, your hands running down his shoulders and chest as you continued to grind against him. The heat was overbearing, and his lips trailed down from your mouth to latch against your neck. He sucked the spot beneath your ear in the way that you had been left to only dream about these past few weeks. He was savoring your skin, reminding himself of the underlying flavors of your flesh and sweat. With a groan, he turned you onto your back to hover over you. Your back landed against the soft material of the futon, all the while your boyfriend's lips didn't let up their assault on your neck. His cock grinded down against you, his hands worshipping and gliding over your body.

You whimpered his name, and he groaned again in response, whimpering yours in return. His hand traveled down and crept up your yukata, his other hand pushing your thighs apart. You shuddered beneath his touch, entirely too gentle and too warm for what you had been waiting for. Calloused fingertips inched their way to the junction between your thighs, testing the feeling of your already slick folds against your panties. Pushing them aside, they dove further, eliciting a breathless moan from your lips. 

“Missed this…I’ll never leave again, I’ll-”

Sanji paused, his fingers still poised against your clit. His other hand had crept up your yukata, landing on the unfamiliar material that poked through the hole you’d created. His curly brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, though you couldn’t tell from the way his face was still buried in your neck. His breath felt hot against you, the only indication of the way his breathing had become shaky. Your hands grasped at him, almost pleading.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You whispered, but he didn’t respond.

“We need to talk.” He said, quiet and…detached.

Not verbally, anyway. His fingers moved away from your aching center, his nose brushing against your neck for a moment, just inhaling the scent he had missed so much. Your heart ached the moment he pulled away from your body, eyes landing on your obi. No, not your obi - the bandana that adorned it. The air was thick, weighed down by the need that ripped through you both, the love that you shared, and the clear betrayal that glittered in Sanji’s gaze. Wordlessly, he sat up on your futon, hair still mussed from your fingers. 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 7

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

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Summary: the silence, the distance, the questions, the longing.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: sorry this one is on the shorter side, I didn’t want to combine it with the previous chapter or with the next one. thank you all for the comments on the last two chapters, they really make my day🥹and thank you for all the likes, reblogs and follows too omg

and I spoiled y’all with a double update last time for all the angst I’m about to put you through🤗

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, angst, avoiding feelings, alcohol, hospital inaccuracies, injury/blood mentions

not beta read

Michael sat on the couch, frozen to it, long after his front door had closed. The hockey game was little more than white noise to him now, completely uncaring that his team was now winning. His ears rang and he tried to control his breathing.

Why had he done that? And secondly, why had he let you go?

The first question was easy enough to answer: he had gotten swept up in the moment and he let it carry him a bit too far. Surely, it was only that, if he ignored the feelings swirling around in his chest like a storm ready to break.

The second? Well, it was clear you needed to run away, not able to face your regret head on. How could he blame you? Who wanted to deal with an old man like him? Their age gap alone was sure to send most running for the hills. How on earth could you want him, with his quiet melancholy and emotional baggage?

It churned in his gut like it had begun to fester, and all he could do was sit there and let it rot.

He was unsure how he had allowed your arrangement to bleed into anything else—it was supposed to be easy, no attachments and certainly no complex emotions. An uncomplicated solace to help him process the bad days, and maybe even move on from the grief of losing Adamson. To even be a complete distraction from the Pitt.

Well, at least it was still a distraction, but he failed considerably at making no attachments to you or not having complex feelings regarding any of it. But now it was the wrong type of distraction, his mind wavering between the feel of your lips and your hands on him, to the echo of the door closing behind you.

Final. Quiet. A conversation all its own.

He needed a drink. He needed to bury his feelings and lose himself in the Pitt, like normal. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

In the days that followed, Michael’s phone burned heavy in his pocket. His heart raced whenever he thought about sending you a text, or trying to continue as if the other night had never happened. He couldn’t bring himself to, any words he could send to you felt like either too much or not enough.

Were you really having a good time?

Were you placating me?

Were you uncomfortable?

Did I make you uncomfortable?

Why did you kiss me again? Why did you go?

Can I call you?

It all was too much. He needed to forget about you and return to normal, before you had entered his life. It was hard to not consider the after with you; smiling, cheerful, an ever-present—

No. Enough.

His patient’s did not care if he was distracted, they needed him regardless of his state of mind.

Michael’s mood must have been palpable to most in the ED, giving him a wider berth than usual, except Dana. But that was why he loved her. Except when she pushed.

“You alright, Robby? You’re gloomier than usual.” She said, eyes flickering from her screen as he put down a tablet.

He let out a long sigh, “You know me. Right as rain.”

Dana raised a careful eyebrow at him, “That why you’re snapping at everyone?”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. He needed to leave his personal life at the door just like everyone else.

That is, until your personal life walks right through the door.

—

You cried the moment you got through the doorway of your apartment, all the emotions you had tried to stuff away finally beginning to overflow. Your chest hurt like you had just experienced heartbreak, while simultaneously furious with yourself that you let everything get so out of hand.

You had put all your cards on him stopping you, maybe even calling attention to the storm that had been brewing between you. You did not have a hand to play when he did not, thoughts resorting to flee, run, get outta there.

When he hadn’t stopped you, you knew he had clearly made a mistake, too caught up in the moment, that was all that had been to him, surely. It didn’t mean anything to him, it couldn’t have. You were too young for him, too naive to be taken seriously.

Your heart ached.

Maybe you should have listened to Marsi right at the start, picked up a few bartender shifts and never even considered Erin’s “easy money” scheme. Nothing comes easy, not really. The pain in your chest was proof enough.

Moving slowly through your apartment, your limbs felt heavy, wanting nothing more than to lay face down on your bed and forget about the world for a while. You figured the quiet of your room would be soothing, but it felt like a prison.

Even days later, there was radio silence from Michael, not that you had expected much different. You figured that him not stopping you and you walking out was clearly the end of it — who could blame him? He hadn’t signed up for that shit.

Thinking of the arrangement, the Visa card weighed heavy in your wallet. You had half a mind to toss it, shred it, throw it in the nearest body of water. But, there was still a few hundred dollars left, and how could you waste that?

Maybe I should mail it to him, you thought miserably, no return address, no name. He’d know. He’d know it was me.

Marsi had taken notice of your sudden shift in mood purely over text messages. She reached out to make plans, to study or even go for a simple walk, but you wanted to be alone. You wanted to wallow in self-pity and your own foolish, reckless fantasy, even though it made you feel worse.

Your friends refused to let you, showing up to your apartment with a tray of brownies and alcohol. Erin even stayed suspiciously quiet over how you were handling it, no smart comment about no strings, or turning it into something it wasn’t. You all just enjoyed stupid rom-coms and funny stories Erin had endured with the hedge-fund manager she was “seeing”.

It felt normal. It felt good. But something was missing, and you hated that it was him.

You tried to move on, the anxiety not dissipating from your chest. You tried to focus on the present, on finishing school and eventually being able to escape your shitty job. Your new laptop sat pretty on your dining table, making it hard to forget, reminding you exactly how Michael had looked at you when you pulled it from the bag. Soft eyes, gentle smile. Originally, you had tried not to use it, tried to get by with your old laptop — but it only took a few days before it died completely.

You tried not to let her mind wander while you made dinner. Cutting up a few vegetables on your cutting board, you put your attention to your current project, but were easily sidetracked.

Should you be the one to bridge the conversation? You had nothing particularly interesting to say, only lingering questions:

Why did you kiss me?

Did it mean anything to you?

Do you want to forget about it?

Why did you let me go?

Can I call you?

Her hand slipped, the knife falling from your hand and moving to fall off the counter. Without even thinking about it, moving on instinct alone, you reached to catch it — grabbing hold of the sharp end. It cut into your hand and you immediately released your hold on it, letting it clatter to the ground.

Blood oozed from the gash now in your palm, diagonally cut end to end. Fuck.

You quickly grabbed paper towels to apply pressure, and tried to stop the bleeding, but it soaked through. It stung, bringing a handful of tears to your eyes, before moving to run it under some water. The cold water felt good, but revealed just how deep the wound was.

Panic swirled around in your gut, and you knew you were going to have to get stitches. What was the closest hospital to you? Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center? That sounded right.

In the ER, you waited in one of the chairs — mildly irritated it was too busy for you to be seen right away. You tried to steer clear of the sicker of the people waiting — the people coughing or looking nauseous, instead sitting next to a woman and her daughter. The girl was young, but nothing was obviously wrong with her, so you felt it was a safe enough option.

Hunger rumbled in your gut and you found yourself more annoyed that out of any time this happened, it was as you were making dinner.

It felt like forever until your name was called, standing and walking towards the lady with a tablet in her hands. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail, bangs covering her forehead, perhaps late thirties or early forties.

She smiled warmly at you, “Hi, I’m Dr. McKay, can I see?”

You nodded, moving the towel away from your palm with a wince. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but it was still ached. It still looked horrible to you and your eyes flicked away from it.

Dr. McKay made a small sound, “How did that happen?” She led you with her through the doors and into the back.

You frowned, “Making dinner, knife slipped. I stupidly reached to grab it without thinking.”

She nodded in what felt like understanding, easing some of the anxiety in your chest.

“Well, let’s get you stitched up.”

Your eyes moved across the ER, taking it in. Moving past several rooms until she stopped, gesturing inside. When you looked over to smile at her, your eyes collided with a familiar set of brown eyes across the hall, already watching you.

Michael. Fucking Michael.

When a storm breaks, there’s just a moment before the rain hits — and one is momentarily suspended in the heavy weight of the air around them, waiting for the fall.

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Sorry for the mild cliffhanger…