see-the-divine - Tumblr blog

see-the-divine · 2 months

Text

love love LOVED THIS

The Bet- Fred Weasley x Reader

Y/n bets Fred that she can get him to admit his jealousy before the end of the week. It does not go how either of them planned.

TW: none

Word Count: 2,900

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

“You’re an idiot” George stated plainly.

“Hang on- what have I done already? It’s only 9 in the morning” Fred retorted.

“The bet”

“Godric, she works quickly. How does everyone know already?”

“Because you’ve gone absolutely mental thinking you can win!” Lee piped in as he sat down at the table, “Everyone’s talking about how badly you’re going to lose”

Fred’s mind drifted back to last night.

…

“What did he kill your grandma or something? Why are you looking at him like that?” Y/n teased.

“Like what?” Fred replied, with his eyes still locked on Draco.

“Hang on are you jealous?”

“No,” He argued, still eyeing the Slytherin boy, “How did he get ahold of your gloves in the first place?”

“I left them there after our one-night stand last week.”

“What?” Fred’s focus whipped to her.

“You are jealous!”

“I’m not! Just …concerned for your well-being. Did you actually?”

“Of course not you twat. I left them at quidditch practice and he picked them up for me,” She answered, watching as Fred went back to eyeing Draco, “Why won’t you admit you’re jealous?”

“Because I’m not”

“Right… Interesting”

“What is?” Fred finally relaxed as Draco went out of the room.

“That you are jealous, but you just won’t admit it,” Y/N replied as she shoved his shoulder playfully.

“I won't admit it because I’m not jealous,” Fred said pushing her shoulder right back, “Why do you care? I think you want me to be jealous,”

“Wanna bet?”

“On what?”

Fred was slightly anxious. Deep down he knew he was a little jealous. Protective even. But he knew if he admitted it, it would mean admitting his feelings for her, which he was NOT ready to do just yet.

“I bet that I can make you admit you’re jealous by the end of this week,” Y/n challenged.

“You’re on.”

“Good,” Y/n stuck out her hand for him to shake.

“Hang on,” Fred took a confident step closer, instantly making y/n hyper-aware of their proximity, “What do I get if I win?” Fred brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, clearly testing her.

“If you win,” Y/n whispered while taking another step impossibly closer, “I’ll do your potions homework for a week.”

She could feel his chest against hers now but she was not backing down now.

“But if I win,” she continued, “You have to ask me to the Yule Ball- In front of everyone.”

“Deal,” Fred scoffed and shook her hand.

…

“Drag it out as long as you can mate, I’ve started a betting pool” George held up a pouch full of sickles, ever so annoyingly.

“WHY is everyone so convinced I’ll lose?” Fred hissed.

“Because you’re head over heels for her! And because of that,” Lee pointed behind him. All the boys directed their attention to the front of the Great Hall.

“Bloody Hell” George laughed out.

There she was. Standing at the front of the great hall in all her glory was y/n. But instead of her usual sweater and jeans, she sported a tight black turtle neck with a leather skirt resting just below her mid-thigh cleverly directing everyone’s eyes down her toned legs covered by sheer black pantyhose wrapped up neatly by a pair of stunning black heels. She looked absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and much to Fred’s dismay everyone recognized it.

She was currently surrounded by a gaggle of third years, shamelessly trying to catch the older girl’s attention. But there was one specific person who made Fred’s blood boil. To Y/n’s right- stood Cormac, ever the overconfident flirt, making Y/n laugh. Fred couldn’t believe it. He almost, almost, stood up, but at the last second Y/N caught his eyes, so Fred sat back down and directed his attention back to his food.

“Oi! Fred!” Dean Thomas called, approaching Fred, “Are you and Y/N still seeing each other?”

“We were never seeing each other Dean,” Fred hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh. So you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out?” Lee asked bluntly. George had the nerve to laugh at the 4th year’s audacity, earning a glare from his twin across the table.

“Go right ahead,” Fred approved.

“Wicked.” Dean hurried away towards y/n fixing his robes as he went.

“Have I mentioned you’re entirely, utterly, and completely stupid?” George reminded once more.

“Shut up.”

…

That afternoon Fred sat at the desk in y/n’s room patiently awaiting her arrival. She was supposed to meet him 10 minutes ago, but still no sign of her.

Five more minutes passed and Y/N finally rolled in. Amongst her hair sat a small red flower tucked behind her ear delicately.

“What is that?” Fred pointed to the improvised hairpiece.

“A flower. Dean gave it to me. Red for love or Gryffindor or some rubbish. I don’t know.”

“So now you’re flirting with Dean Thomas? He’s two years below us!”

“Not flirting Fred, simply accepting a gift. Why? Are you jealous?” She challenged crossing to lean on the desk near him.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Right,” She relented rolling her eyes, “Well then, ready to study?”

“If we must”

…

Some days came and went and pretty soon it was Wednesday.

How on Earth is it only Wednesday? Fred thought. He was miserable.

For the past three days, he watched boys trip over themselves just to get near Y/N. He didn’t think she’d carried her own books to class the entire week, not to mention the sweets on her desk had now grown to be a small mountain. It seemed everyone in Hogwarts was determined to make him forfeit. But Fred, just as stubborn as y/n, would not give in that easily.

Today was the Slytherin vs Hufflepuff game. Fred and George routinely made their way up to the stands to support their best friend and third favorite beater: Y/n.

“Bloody hell I’ve never seen the Slytherin stand so packed,” Fred commented as he pushed through the crowd.

“Not to put salt on your wound mate, but I think you know why they’re here” George replied making his own way to the front.

“Unfortunately I’m painfully aware.”

“You have to admit. She does look pretty bloody hot when she’s playing” George poked,

Receiving a sharp smack on his chest from his twin.

“Hey hey! I am not the enemy… Simply pointing out the obvious,” He added.

Smack

“Alright!!”

~~~

“That was mad!” Lee exclaimed.

“I’ve never seen Hufflepuff eat shit that badly” George added.

“Come on. Let’s go find her” Fred said. He may have been in a bad mood, but even he couldn’t deny that it was an amazing game for Slytherin. The boys journeyed down the stairs to wait for the team outside the showers. As they got closer Fred rolled his eyes at the sight before him.

“Sorry gents!” Fred loudly announced to the small village waiting outside the showers for Y/n, “Y/N has already left! Snuck out through the back. Looks like you’ll have to obnoxiously fight for her affections some other time,” he ended, clapping a few of them on their backs.

Fred’s call seemed to clear out most of the crowd including a very disappointed Dean Thomas.

“Right then, that’s better,” Fred sighed.

“You’re encouragable” George muttered.

“Are those my favorite twins I hear?” Y/N exclaimed as she exited the locker room. Her hair was damp and beginning to curl up from the shower and lack of a proper comb.

“That was bloody brilliant,” George congratulated as he hugged her tightly.

“That was a pretty gruesome game,” Fred said, abandoning his usual cocky persona for a more timid one.

“And here I thought you wouldn’t come,” Y/N cood as she crossed over to Fred.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Didn’t say you were”

George cut in, “Right, as entertaining as you two are, I’ve got a date with my pillow. Great game Y/n.” George clapped her on the back and made a quick exit.

“He’s right you know” Fred turned toward the girl.

“About what?”

“You were pretty ‘bloody brilliant’,” he mocked his twin’s tone.

“Thanks, It helped to have my good luck charm in the stands as usual,” she beamed at him.

“Yeah… Well, I’m off then,” Fred said beginning to leave.

“Fred!” She halted the boy, “Um- Well I just… Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah of course.”

~~~

The party was a rager. Gryffindor had just won the Friday match and it seemed like all of Hogwarts was celebrating. The common room was packed with people from all different houses dancing, chatting, and of course drinking.

There was only one rule to get in: you’ve got to wear red and gold.

Fred, however, made sure to deliberately leave that detail a mystery to Y/N. As usual, he had a plan. He figured that this being the last night of their little bet, she would be plotting a scheme of her own, so he would have to beat her before she beat him. His plan was simple: she would show up at the door, not wearing the required colors, and he would graciously offer him his jersey. With no other option, she would be forced to wear a shirt with a big fat “WEASLEY” on the back, easily warding off potential suitors. Now all he had to do was wait for her to show up.

And show up she did. His plan was right on track. She approached the portrait hole confidently; strutting up in an emerald green Slytherin sweater. Perfect.

“Ope, sorry love, gonna have to stop you there.” Fred said blocking her path, “Red or gold required to get in.”

“What?”

“Yup. No entry for green. Sorry darling,” Fred smiled at her oh so sweetly. Y/N tried to ignore the little flutter of her heart when he used that pet name for her.

“But you are in luck!” He continued, “I just so happen to have this!” Fred proudly pulled out and presented his jersey to her, thinking he had won.

“Mhm. Let me get this straight,” Y/n exaggerated, “You ‘just so happen’ to have forgotten to tell me the dress code, and you ‘just so happen’ to have a shirt for me, but it ‘just so happens’ that it has the word ‘WEASLEY’ plastered all over the back?” She saw right through him.

“Yup,” Fred popped the p of the word as he held out the shirt to her.

But Fred had made one fatal mistake, he had forgotten the very reason he fancied this particular woman oh so much: her boldness.

“Right,” She began to speak loudly, as to attract the attention of everyone in the room, “SO I CAN'T COME IN WITH THIS SHIRT, BUT IF I CHANGE TO RED OR GOLD I CAN ENTER?”

“Yes?” Fred hesitated. What was she up to?

“WELL FINE!” She exclaimed, and Fred watched in shock and might he say admiration as the next few actions unfolded in front of him.

Y/n reached down and proudly pulled off her shirt over her head, revealing a bright red bra underneath.

Fred gaped at her. He definitely had not seen this coming, but by god was that attractive. He didn’t know if it was her confidence or just the proximity to her shirtless chest, but Fred Weasley was truly at a loss for words.

“Let the woman in!” Someone shouted from the crowd, and Fred stepped aside to watch as she walked past smirking. How did his plan manage to go that badly?

“It’s alright mate you made a valiant effort,” George appeared patting his shoulder, “But if you do lose I’ve got five galleons on it. I suppose I could share some of the profit.”

“I need a drink,” Fred uttered.

“That’s the spirit.”

~~~

The party raged on, and it was getting dangerously close to midnight. Y/n knew she had to finish this and fast. Luckily, she had the advantage. Fred had been hitting the fire whisky pretty hard, and best of all Cormac had entered the ring once more.

“Hey,” Y/n said approaching Cormac, “You played pretty well, I couldn’t help but watch.”

Actually, she could. She hadn’t even noticed him. In fact, she was pretty sure she was transfixed with a certain Gryffindor beater for most of the game, but she put that aside for now. She was winning this bet.

“Hello beautiful,” He smiled. She internally cringed at his words but persisted.

“Can I sit?”

“Of course” Cormac shoved over to make room for her. Y/n glanced at the clock, getting slightly nervous. 11:30. 30 more minutes- time to be bold. She stole a glance in Fred’s direction, who unfortunately seemed distracted talking to Lee, and with a deep inhalation, sat directly on Cormac’s lap.

“Well hello,” he praised as he placed a hand on her thigh. She fought the urge to move it away and pushed onward once more.

“Hello,” she flirted, glancing back at Fred again. Still not watching. Fuck. Why won’t he look at her? Why won’t Cormac STOP looking at her? Abruptly Y/n became startlingly aware of her shirtlessness.

“You look quite fit tonight. Really a killer outfit,” he joked.

She laughed, LOUDLY, Too loudly to seem natural but it seemed to have caught George’s eye. She hoped he would deliver the news to Fred. The clock was ticking.

Carefully, she placed a hand on Cormac’s chest.

“So do you, but maybe that’s just the fire whiskey talking,” Y/n flirted.

Now it was Cormac’s turn to laugh. Smoothly, he moved his hand from her thigh to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her chest felt so exposed up against his Jersey, but she had to keep pressing forward. The conversation was going slow, too slow. 11:45. Where was Fred?

“Tell me Y/n- was this bra for me? Or was this just a happy accident,” her brain was screaming at her to bail. To call the whole thing off. But she was so close, Fred would be here soon. She was sure of it.

“Well I-“

“Y/n.” Fred FINALLY cut in. “Can I have a word?”

~~~

Fred ushered her quickly into his room. 11:50.

“The hell was that?” Fred was seething, “Cormac? I knew you were stubborn but I didn’t think you were that cruel.”

“Why? Jealous?” She teased, not quite grasping just how angry he was.

“Why is this a game to you? Why am I a game to you?” Fred sat down facing away from her, raking his fingers through his copper hair.

Y/n was dumbstruck. What just happened?

“What?” She was thoroughly confused.

Fred continued from his seat, “This whole thing. Do you think I wanted to be jealous? Do you think that I like how unreasonably irritated I get when someone else wants to carry your books? Why did you have to go and embarrass me for it? I’m sorry I ever even cared for you like that.”

“Fred- like what? What are you saying?”

“You know well what I mean. It’s already painful enough knowing I’m just a friend.”

“Fred, I guess I’m confused I-”

“I’m in love with you alright? I was perfectly fine loving you in secret! Why did you have to go and mess it all up?” He confessed, his temper getting the better of him. “Just forget it. Clearly, my feelings aren’t that important to you” He stood quickly and headed for the door.

“Fred wait!” He barreled out the door and down to the common room attempting to weave through all the people. Y/n was hot on his tail. “Fred- wait- please- just slow down a minute!”

He continued to push through and out of the portrait.

“Fred!” She followed just behind him, but he didn’t stop. Barreling all the way down through passageways and tunnels until finally reaching the boat house. He stopped on the edge of the dock, and she followed.

“You twat!” She accused.

“Oh, I’m the twat? You’re ridiculous,” He scoffed, turning to face her to argue further, but before he could she cried out.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Roughly, she grabbed the collar of his robes and yanked him closer to her, planting his lips directly on hers before removing them again.

He stared at her shocked, and for the second time tonight, Fred was at a loss for words.

“Did you seriously think I did all of this to embarrass you? Fred, I’m in love with you! I just was tired of dropping hints all the time, so I was hoping this might push you to admit your feelings. I had no idea it would go this far.”

“You- you love me too?”

“Of course I do! Fred, you and I both saw this week, that if I wanted to date someone else I could. But I don’t, okay? Can you get that through your thick skull?”

He stared at her. She stared at him. Gingerly, he approached her raising a hand up to hold her cheek in his palm.

“Y/n?” He whispered.

“Fred?”

The boy slowly moved his hand to grab her chin and pulled her lips closer, but just before they touched he stopped. Smirking he uttered, “It’s 12:05. You owe me some potions homework.”

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered as she finally closed the gap between them.

The kiss was slow and deliberate. The new couple was savoring their first real taste of each other. He tastes just like caramel she noted as he lightly nipped at her bottom lip. Y/n reached up to his neck to pull him closer, but Fred broke the kiss.

“Would you like to take this upstairs?” He asked, “Although the dress code for my room is no red so you’ll probably have to take that off.”

“Prick,” She said with a smile as she brought her lips back down to his.

650 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 3 months

Note

hangman request incoming ‼️‼️

so the reader is best friends w rooster and whenever she’s around hangman he’s always quite rude to her, only bc he’s harbouring huge feelings for her which he isn’t very used to. then maybe he goes too far and rooster needs to talk some sense into him (reader could be a pilot or just a close friend of rooster’s)

SORRY i’m not great and giving requests but i hope there’s something in there that you like !

Ahhhh I LOVE this request!! And I really loved writing this piece, which may or may not turn into a series.. oops I couldn't resist haha

Less Talk | Part I

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Masterlist

“Do you ever not have an opinion?” Jake watches you irritably before taking a long swig of his drink. He needs the alcohol to calm his nerves so that he doesn’t inadvertently push you off your chair.

You glare at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice, safe space for Seresin to dominate the conversation without opposition.”

Jake lets out a steady breath. No one riles him quite like you do. “We’re talking about food, Y/N. It doesn’t exactly have global ramifications.”

“Actually, it does,” you respond matter-of-factly. “And are you saying I shouldn’t have an opinion unless it is ground-breaking in nature? Maybe I should just sit here quietly and look pretty.”

“Ha!” Jake cackles. “I would love to see you try.”

“Hangman!” Bradley, who’s sitting to your right, gives him a disapproving look.

You make a grimace. “I will never give you that kind of satisfaction.”

Jake meets your gaze with a hostile look. The thought of you satisfying him in any way sort of disorients him. He makes a face at you because he can’t deny that if you were to just sit there in silence, you would be exceptionally pleasant to look at. Pretty, even… maybe. Instead, he says, “How the fuck does eating avocado toast for lunch have global implications? I would love to know.”

“The recent surge in consumption of avocados - thanks to health nuts such as yourself - has led to an unprecedented increase in price to the point where those people whose culinary staple for generations has been the avocado cannot afford to keep it their diet.” You fold your arms over your chest to drive your point home while Jake just stares at you, speechless. No other woman in the world has ever rendered him that. He glances over at Bradley who is looking back at him with a slight grin. Just when Jake thinks you might be all talked out, you add, “And don’t even get me started on the environmental burden of growing enough avocados to sustain the whole of North America’s health culture.”

Jake blinks at you. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“The avocado trade is contributing to local violence and extortion” – you continue, but Jake cuts you off.

“Okay, okay!” he says. “I’ll never eat an avocado again.”

“Just quit spreading your avocado propaganda!”

“It’s not propaganda! They’re actually good for you!”

“How wonderful it must be living in a world where your needs come before everybody else’s,” you say bitterly.

“Can we please talk about something other than avocados?” he says tiredly, his eyes sliding to Bradley in a plea for assistance.

“If you’re looking for a topic on which I do not have an opinion” – you say, but Jake interrupts you again.

“Does such a topic exist?” he asks flatly.

You roll your eyes at him. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re the one who should talk less?”

Jake nods. “Certainly. I should talk less to you. Because you’re driving me crazy, lady.” He stands up after having downed the rest of his drink. “I’m getting another beer and, when I return, I’m going to have a conversation with my good friend here, Rooster.”

Bradley shakes his head and looks over at you. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bitter, bitter man.”

“A bitter man who needs to be schooled on occasion,” you mutter.

Jake turns to look at you with wide eyes. He slides back into his seat. “I heard that,” he says dangerously, inclining into the table.

“Good,” you respond, leaning forward so that your noses are nearly touching. “You were meant to.”

“You are so fucking annoying,” he whispers, his eyes slipping momentarily to your mouth as you lick your lips.

“Hangman, come on, don’t be a dick,” Bradley says, also putting his weight into the table in an attempt to intervene.

Jake’s eyes are still scanning your face as you glare at him without moving away. The truth is, he could probably listen to you talk about the problematic export of Mexican avocados for hours just to watch your mouth move and to hear the passion in your voice. But he’s tired of the tunnel vision he experiences every time your boyfriend ditches you and you end up going out with your best friend, Bradley Bradshaw. This is the fifth time this month that you’ve accompanied Rooster to ‘guys’ night out’ and it’s becoming more and more difficult for Jake to shake you after each successive evening of relentless verbal sparring.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake can see Bradley slowly inching off the table, having realized that he may be a third wheel. But Jake doesn’t need him to be some sort of wingman in this bizarre scenario where he may or may not be completely in love with an unavailable woman who happens to be an expert at pushing all his goddamn buttons. Normally, he would remedy this kind of matter with a good old romp in the hay but, considering the fact that you are in a relationship, this option is, unfortunately, off the table. Besides, he’s not entirely sure it wouldn’t have the opposite effect on him, anyway.

But, despite all the reasons for avoiding your pull, Jake can’t look away, not even for a second; not even to get another beer. He moves his face a millimeter closer to yours, just to see what would happen; not because your breath smells like Peach Schnapps and not because your eyes are absolutely destabilizing him. His nose is about a split second away from brushing yours when your phone buzzes on the table. You flinch, withdrawing immediately, leaving Jake to watch you try to frantically pick it up. You shoot him one last intimidating look before rising from the table.

“Hey, babe,” he hears you say as you walk away.

“What’s your deal, man?” Bradley says as Jake watches you step outside.

Jake shakes his head solemnly. “Doesn’t she have other friends to play with?” he asks. “Why’re you always babysitting her?”

Bradley fixes Jake with a knowing look. “Hangman,” he says with a suggestive squint to his eye. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to tell you that your bestie is a pain in the ass, Rooster.”

Bradley’s jaw hardens. “You’re way out of line.”

“Come on, I can’t be the only one who finds her absolutely infuriating. The girl never shuts up!”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “And you don’t, at all, find that sort of thing attractive?” he says sarcastically.

“Attractive? I find it immensely aggravating, actually.”

“So aggravating that you argue right back every time,” Bradley points out with a smirk. “Movies, books, social constructs. Last week, I heard you guys bickering about space waste. What do you even know about space?”

“What does she know about space?” Jake responds angrily, pointing toward the door with his entire arm.

Bradley leans back in his seat with a sigh. “I know that you don’t actually hate her, Jake,” he says. “You can stop pretending.”

“Who’s pretending?” Jake looks up at him aggressively.

Bradley purses his lips. “What if I told you that her boyfriend is a shithead?”

Jake’s jaw tightens but he continues to stare at Bradley coldly. “Why the fuck would I care?” he says.

Bradley returns his callous expression before looking away. “Been trying to get her out of that relationship for months.”

Jake lets out a sigh. “She’s a grown-ass woman, she can decide for herself if she wants to end it.”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Jake rises from his seat, his eyes unintentionally drifting up to check if you’re still outside. He sees you pacing back and forth through the big window of the bar. You look like you’re arguing. Big surprise. “Want another beer?” he asks Bradley.

“Please,” Bradley says.

Jake nods at the cocktail you’ve been drinking. “She going to have another one?”

Bradley shrugs. “Probably, unless you’ve pissed her off enough that she decides to leave early.”

Jake scoffs. “She’d be doing me a favor.”

Bradley shakes his head with a laugh. “I don’t even know what she’s drinking, man.”

Jake shifts his jaw. “I do.”

Bradley gives him another piercing look. “Shocking,” he says with a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up, Bradshaw,” Jake says under his breath as he walks away. He glances back at the window behind which you’re now waving your arm around aggressively and yelling into the phone. He tears his gaze away from you, frustrated with himself for even giving a damn.

For some reason, he feels a painful pang in his chest, like he’s jealous of whomever it is you’re tearing into. You’ve never gone off on him quite like that and he can’t help the resentment this fosters. He tries to suppress the impulse to go out after you and rip your stupid phone right out of your hand. That would surely reclaim at least a fraction of your attention. Then maybe he could do something unexpected; something that might persuade you to channel your passion in a more constructive way.

He orders three drinks and walks back to the table with the beers before going back for your cocktail. When he returns, he exhales sharply, giving Bradley a humorless look. “Why’s her boyfriend a shithead?” he says, feeling his hands forming into fists before Bradley even has a chance to respond.

But, right when Bradley’s about to speak, you walk back into the bar.

Read Part 2

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this piece! It's my first Hangman story, so let me know what you think!

General Top Gun Tag List:

Feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be on this list!

@malindacath

@karleetakeenan

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@toothemoonanddback

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@shanimallina87

@army24—7

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@risingtripletaurus

3K notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

only you || s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x reader (brief platonic!nat, sam, and bucky.)

*navigation/directory | request box | taglist | masterlist

word count: 7.1k

summary: only a few weeks after a breakup, you go out for the night with the team. steve doesn’t show up, and he’s been purposefully not showing up to anything non-work related after the breakup. however, tonight you drink a little too much, and insist that steve pick you up.

warnings: angst (breakup, talk of bullying, body image issues), swearing, drinking, *smutty implications.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't know who else to call," Sam explains, his voice raised to speak louder than the blaring music.

"She keeps asking for you, and she won't go with anyone but you," Bucky adds as he and Sam lead Steve through the crowded dancefloor.

The blond sighs and shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. "It's alright, really- but how drunk is she, exactly?"

Before Sam can respond, they come to a stop right in front of the team's reserved booth. Bruce had only come for all of an hour of the night, but Clint and Tony had left about thirty minutes prior to Steve's arrival, leaving your well-being in Natasha, Bucky, and Sam's hands.

Steve looks over you and Nat; you're laid down on the long, cushioned seat with your head resting on her lap. Her jacket is slung over your lower half to cover your exposed legs from your dress rising up on your thighs. You're looking up at her adoringly, reaching up to twirl strands of her hair between your fingers as you mumble about how pretty her hair is.

"That answer your question?" Sam whispers, chuckling slightly.

Another sigh falls from Steve's lips, and although his heart aches, he has to stop himself from cracking a smile. "That it does."

He steps closer to the booth, taking in the sight of you with softened eyes. Typically, you never let yourself get this drunk, not in the public eye at least. Even though it's clear you've had more than a bit too much to drink, the sight is endearing.

Nat directs her attention from you and up at the three men approaching the table instead. Her expression is one of amusement with a slight hint of relief as she looks down at you again. "Hey, look who's here, honey," she says softly to you.

You turn your head in her lap and let your hands fall back down, finally releasing her hair from your gentle grip. Your eyes land on Steve and you blink up at him before a wide, drunken smile spreads on your face.

"Steeeeve!" you exclaim in a slur, reaching your hand out for him. "You came!"

He crouches down next to the booth, hesitantly taking your hand into his. "Hey, doll. 'Course I came, I always will. Looks like you've had fun tonight, huh?"

You nod excitedly and your smile spreads into a grin. "Nat's hair is sooo pretty, did ya know that? 'S soft too, like a pillow," you ramble, your words somehow not coming out scrambled.

"I bet," Steve says, watching Nat brush your hair out of your face. "Let's get you home, yeah?"

"Your home?" you ask in a softer voice.

Right. His home.

"I don't..." Steve starts before falling into silent contemplation.

He looks up at Nat who's already looking back at him, her expression apologetic and soft. Then his eyes shift back down to you, and his heart clenches in his chest. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink at him, your eyes light up and twinkle in a way that they only do for him, and your lips part a little as you take slower breaths.

How could he say no to that?

"Sure, yeah, we'll go back to mine," he concedes gently, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

You smile again and scramble to sit upright. Nat lays a hand on your back to help keep you balanced, Steve taking your other hand in his free one to pull you up gently. When you're sat up straight, he takes Nat's jacket off your legs and helps you tug your dress back down.

He slides your phone off the table and into his pocket before throwing your arms around his neck. You take the hint to hold on as he slides one of his arms under your legs and the other behind your back.

Effortlessly, he lifts you into his arms. You clasp your hands together behind his neck and a giggle slips out of your lips- a sound that was once music to his ears which had now become one he longed to hear again.

"G'night, Nat," you say sweetly, turning your head to look at her.

Steve's body follows the direction of your head, turning towards the table so you don't strain your neck. Her eyes meet yours and she smiles at you once more.

"Goodnight, babe. Text me tomorrow, alright?" she requests before looking up at Steve and saying, "Make sure to get some water in her, we had to trick her into drinking some by watering down her tequila."

"Will do-"

Your gasp cuts Steve off effectively, her words only just now sinking in. "That wasn't tequila?!" you exclaim, your voice coming out quieter than you realize.

The three at the table laugh a little- even Steve lets out a low chuckle of his own.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Nat starts, her voice dropping to a whisper before continuing, "It was definitely tequila, but you know these guys are no fun, so we can't tell them that."

"Ohhh, right, right. I can keep a secret- you're the world's bestest adult sitter," you reply softly.

"The best, huh?" she questions with a half smirk.

When you nod, she takes a sip of her drink, placing the glass down before saying, "I'll be expecting my plaque soon then."

"You wanna say bye to Sam and Bucky?" he asks, looking over slightly to meet your eyes.

You hum in response and he walks you over a few steps to Bucky and Sam who are sitting at the other end of the table. The pair smile at you, though it's more of an amused grin on Bucky's end, and you return the gesture.

"Bye, Bucky," you say, sleep and intoxication ridden in your voice.

Bucky chuckles and rises to his feet to ruffle your hair playfully. "Bye, doll. You get some good sleep, alright?"

Your nose scrunches at the feeling of his hand in your hair. "Always good sleep when with Stevie."

Bucky sits back down, and Sam starts to speak, "Punch it in," he instructs, raising his fist up to your level.

You oblige happily, curling your hand into a fist to the best of your ability and bumping it against his. "G'bye," you slur, nuzzling your face into the crook of Steve's neck.

"Call us if you need us," Bucky says to Steve.

"Yeah, thank you for watching over her," Steve responds appreciatively, "Goodnight, be safe getting home."

"'Night," the three say collectively, smiling at him in a way that's bordering apologetic.

Steve forces a smile before turning to walk away. He makes his way through the crowd, holding you tight and protectively against his chest.

"You can go to sleep if you want, I can tell you're sleepy," he murmurs low enough for just you to hear him.

A small whimper emits from you, making a warmth spread through his body. He looks down at you adoringly before looking back up, shifting his focus back to the rather slow journey to the exit. Although some people part to make way for who they know to be Captain America himself, most of them are too drunk to care. So, Steve focuses heavily on navigating through the maze of bodies.

When he steals a glance down at you again, you're sleeping peacefully and your head has fallen back away from his neck. You must've felt him move though, because you immediately nestle your face back into his neck, and the warmth of your breath against his skin makes him shiver. The scent of the alcohol you'd been drinking lingers, but it's mixed with the familiar fragrance of your vanilla perfume, and it creates a blend that only you could pull off.

When you reach the exit, the cold, autumn night air hits both of your faces. Steve adjusts his grip on you to make sure you're comfortable and then walks to the car he ordered that dropped him off. The driver steps out, and opens the passenger side door for the two of you, allowing Steve to slide you comfortably onto the seat.

He thanks the driver as you whine at the loss of contact. You melt sleepily into his touch when he reaches in to brush your hair behind your ear to let you know he's not leaving. The bright city lights reflect in his blue eyes, and a soft, but achy, smile plays on his lips at the sight of you. Careful not to wake you or pinch your fingers, he fastens your seatbelt, making sure you're secure before closing the car door.

He walks to the other side of the car and gets in, choosing to sit by the window instead of next to you in the middle seat. As the car starts up, he can't help but look at you and admire you. The admiration quickly turns into longing, though. He takes in every part of your face, his mind plaguing itself with the memory of just over two months ago.

"I don't think I'm right for you."

The words flow easily from your mouth like water between open fingers. Steve looks at you, utterly confused and hurt. His jaw tightens, his eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again when he can't find the words.

He gets off the couch, rising to his feet and looking at you from across the room. "You want to leave, to forget everything from the last year and a half, just because you don't think you're right for me?"

The weight of your decision and his words sit heavily on your shoulders as you slouch over, putting your face in your hands for a moment. "I... I'm no good for you, Steve, and you deserve better than me... I can't be what, or who, you need."

"What are you talking about, y/n? You're perfect to me, I wouldn't trade you for anything," he explains, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring despite the fear and irritation building up in him. "Please, tell me what I can do to make you feel better and I'll do it, I'll do anything-"

"You can't do anything!" you finally snap, your emotions being misdirected towards him. You let the warm tears that were welling up fall freely from your eyes as you continue, "There's nothing you can do, Steven, I'm not the person you need, and I never will be. Drop it, just leave it at that, and move on."

"'Leave it at that?'" Steve repeats back in bewilderment. "We have been together for almost two years and you expect me to drop all of it just like that?"

All you can muster up in response is a quiet, "I'm sorry."

He watches you stand up and sling your purse over your shoulder. Desperately, he scrambles for the right words to say to make you stay. "Baby, please, tell me what's really going on here- this cannot be it for us, I won't let it be."

Steve takes long strides towards you only for you to back away from him. For some strange reason, that small action hurt worse than any of the words that came, or could possibly come, out of your mouth. He stops dead in his tracks, trying to search your face for any sign of changing your mind. When he doesn't find it, he bites down on his tongue to save himself more heartache from the useless begging he wants to let out.

"I'm sorry, Steve. You deserve better, and you always have," you mumble, wiping the tears off your cheeks and walking quickly to the front door.

"I love you," he says, only to receive no response other than the front door slamming shut as you walk out of it.

“You alright back there?” the driver’s voice snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “You need heat or air? Seat warmers? Anything?”

Steve shakes his head slightly, snapping himself out of it. His hand reaches over to you, and he rests the back of his hand on your forehead. “A little heat, thanks,” he says with a smile after nothing the tinge of cold your skin has.

“Of course,” the driver says with a returned smile as he turns the heat on.

As he avigates the familiar route to Steve’s apartment, with the sleepiness Steve feels, he's thankful for the fact that there's only a minute or two remaining of the drive. And on the other hand, he’s sulking about the short time left because that’s two minutes closer to you being gone by the time he wakes up.

He turns his gaze back to you, still peacefully asleep with your head resting against the window. The soft hum of the engine provides an almost calming backdrop that yet does nothing to soothe the ache that persists. Focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest always seems to soothe him though, and it still does so now.

The car comes to a stop in front of the apartment, and Steve reaches into his wallet to pull out some cash. He pulls out his keys too, to make it easier when he gets to the door. Then he hands the cash to the driver with a grateful nod before getting out of the car and making his way to your side. Gently, he opens the door, reaching up quickly to lean your head back on the headrest.

You grumble a little, and he's quick to ease you as he unbuckles your seatbelt. "Sorry, sweetheart, but we're home now."

"Home?" you murmur, still half asleep.

He carefully lifts you into his arms once more, and you instantly cling to his jacket. "Yeah... home."

The building's lobby is quiet as he enters through the automatic doors, the night shift doorman giving him a knowing smile. Steve offers nothing but a small and short nod in return, his focus solely on your drunken state. Luckily the elevator ride is short, but every second feels like an eternity to him.

The weight of your body curled up in his arms provides a comforting familiarity. It's a familiarity he soaks up though, having not seen you outside of work during the few missions you had together. In fact, you hadn't spoken to him outside of work since you left either.

Even during missions, you were short with your comments. And when you picked up your things from his apartment, of which you were actively moving into, you did it on a day when he was gone. You'd left your key under the mat and shot him a brief text letting him know. He replied, only asking how you were doing, but he got no response back.

The elevator dings, snapping him out of his thoughts again as he steps out, taking long strides until he reaches his door. He turns to the side, bending down ever so slightly to unlock the door with his keys in the hand hooked under your legs. He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open, carrying you inside with practiced ease.

The soft glow of outside city lights filters through the open windows. Paired with the dim tv, the lights cast a cool ambiance over the living room. With a deep breath, he heads straight to his room and slowly lays you down on the bed.

The bedroom is dark except for the blue and green aurora projected on the ceiling from the starlight projector you insisted he get since his room was too 'plain.' At first, the light kept him up at night because he found it too distracting, but since you'd left, he couldn't sleep without it on. After all, it was the only piece of you that you left with him other than the few shirts and undergarments.

Steve sighs deeply, taking your heels off your feet and placing them next to the bed. He covers you with your favorite blanket from the foot of his bed, and with a heart heavier than typical, he makes his way to the kitchen to fill up a cup with water. He then carries the glass back to the bedroom and sits it on the bedside table.

He takes a moment to simply watch you as he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. The soft features of your face relaxed in sleep makes him contemplate waking you up- you were always a peaceful sleeper, and he hated disturbing those few moments of peace.

Before he can attempt to wake you, you begin to stir, your eyelashes fluttering as your eyes slowly open. You blink slowly a few times, allowing your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and then a sleepy smile forms on your face when you see Steve.

"Hey," he greets you softly, reaching over to offer you the glass of water from the nightstand.

"Thank you," you say.

It's obvious that you're still not sober as you take the glass and sit up too quickly, the sudden movement resulting in your head throbbing as you groan. "Ouch," you mumble, pressing the palm of your free hand against your forehead.

"You okay?"

"Think so," you reply, sitting up much slower than before.

The cool water soothes you a little as you take small sips of it. A contented sigh falls from your lips, your body appreciating the non-alcoholic beverage. You place the glass back onto its spot on the nightstand and then focus your attention back on Steve.

Your eyes reflect the projector's lights as your eyes rake over him for a few seconds. Slower than you realize, you raise your hand and brush it gently over his cheek in admiration. "You're like... like an angel, but a reaaally handsome one," you croon.

Steve chuckles, a mixture of amusement and genuine joy spreading across his features. "I'm flattered, but you're the angel here, honey," he says with a smile.

He captures your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. You giggle in response, the alcohol still evident in your system, and then your happy expression fades away. You look down, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

"I'm sorry for, uhm, causing a fuss t'night. I never meant to ruin your night..."

The look on his face becomes one closer to sympathetic as he drops your hand, now reaching over to cup your cheek. Carefully, he forces you to look at him as he speaks. "Hey, you didn't ruin anything, alright? I'll always come when you need me, and I'm just glad you're okay."

Missing the feeling of his skin on yours all too much, you lean into his touch, letting his warmth soothe you. "Thanks for...everything."

"Anytime, truly," he replies.

There's a comfortable silence that falls between you, the weight of the obvious unspoken words lingering in the air. You look up at him, trying to keep yourself awake. Steve drops his hand and tries to memorize every detail of your face. He knows that tomorrow things will go back to how they were, and he's not sure he can stomach that.

It only takes a few more beats of silence before he breaks the said silence, his voice low and gentle. "Can we talk?" he asks, his blue eyes searching yours.

You hum for a moment, taking a slow breath before saying, "Jus' for a minute, very sleepy."

"I just... I have one question, that okay?"

"Hm?"

Steve musters up the courage to speak, only breaking apart from your gaze for a second. "Could you maybe tell me why you left? Like why you really left?"

When your eyes flicker with hesitation and sadness, he starts to regret asking. The air feels heavier than it ever has, holding the weight of everything spoken and not yet said, but he breathes it all in. Right as he's about to tell you to not worry about it, you take a deep breath and smother your vulnerability with the knowledge that he deserves the truth. Slowly as to not give yourself another headache, you nod.

"S'like I told you, that was the truth, 'm not good enough. You look at me with so much love and admiration, and I know...I know I could never live up to what you think of me," you explain, drawing out each word a little more than you would if you were sober. "'M holding you back, always have been, and you deserve better."

His eyebrows furrow as he takes in your words, his gaze intense and sharp. "I look at you like that because of who you are, not because of who I think you should be," he says in an attempt to reassure you. He reaches out to take your hand in his as he continues, "You're always been more than enough, honey. I mean, hell, you're more than I deserve, and-"

"No, no, you don't get it!" you exclaim lowly, cutting him off and taking your hand out of his grip. "Y-you're perfect, you're America's golden boy, and 'm jus' me. I hate my body, my mind, an-and everything about me. Could never be good enough for you, Steve. As if I don't already hate myself enough, everyone says and sees how much more you deserve, except for you."

Steve's mind races and his heart tightens as he takes in your words. The obvious pain in your voice cuts through him like a scalding knife, the tears welling up in your eyes cutting him even deeper. He's now sure that nothing could measure up to the pain of hearing you talk about yourself in the complete opposite way of how he thinks of you.

Silence passes as he dwells on your words. Then it clicks.

"Who's been saying that?" he questions sternly.

You avoid his gaze like the plague, immediately breaking the eye contact you were holding. Physically, you can feel yourself shrink. Whether it's the guilt from your outburst, the shame from everything you've heard and thought about yourself, or the intensity of his gaze- you're not sure.

His jaw tightens in anger, but not directed at you. "Who, y/n?"

A deep and heavy sigh falls from your lips as your eyes dart around the room. "Phone," you say quietly, holding out your hand to him.

Steve looks at your outstretched hand, confusion covering the concern etched on his face briefly. He pauses for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out your phone. Placing it in your hand, he watches closely as you unlock it with shaky fingers. Your eyes scan over the screen, but it doesn't take long for you to find what you were looking for, and your expression tells it all.

You hesitate to hand the phone to him, but you do so anyway, lying down on the bed and curling up into yourself as soon as the phone touches his hands. And, not that you see it, but his eyes narrow as he reads over everything rapidly. You'd had it all saved in a little folder; every message, every media report, every post made about you.

He's not sure what's worse of the situation, to be honest. To know that you'd felt this way about yourself for God knows how long and not have said anything about it was painful, sure. However, the words written about you were downright cruel, analytical, and simply not true at all.

But the amount of things that were written and you had saved for you to read at your whim, only reaffirming whatever untrue things you thought about yourself? That was a different level of hurt that he could imagine hurt you hundreds of times worse than it does him.

Unable to stomach anymore, he places your phone face down on the nightstand. Silently, he scoots up on the bed to be closer, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You flinch at the contact at first, but his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the words you've been subjected to.

"I'm so, so sorry, my sweet girl," he says softly, trying to force down tears of his own.

You take a shaky breath in and out, your voice barely above a low murmur. "Didn't want you to leave me, so I left first."

Steve's heart sinks at your admission, his thumb gently stroking your cheek to wipe away the stray tear that escaped your eye. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that's meant to offer some kind of comfort and reassurance.

"I would've never left you, and I still won't, okay? I know you care about what they say, but I don't. Nothing could ever skew my image of you, angel, you're my definition of perfect- you don't have any image to live up to in my mind," he promises with a soft-spoken tone.

You can't find it in you to respond even though you want to, all too scared of your voice failing you. Sheer pain radiates from you to the point where it's almost suffocating. While he's more than aware that no words can take back anything you've read or heard, the simple fact that he can't undo what has already been done riddles him with guilt still.

If he could, he would take all of that ache and bear it all for you.

"When did all this start?" he inquires, waiting patiently for your answer.

"I don't know..."

"I know you do, honey, you can tell me."

"Only... Only a week after we got together, got worse after I started moving in here."

"Scoot," he instructs gently, careful to control his tone with you although he feels a deep rage.

You oblige and scoot over slowly. Almost instantly, he lays down behind you, curling up so that his body molds with yours. He brushes a few pieces of your hair back before wrapping his arm around your midsection to hold you protectively against him.

"Can I ask you one more thing?" he asks, adding on, "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

After thinking about it for a second, you nod. He tries to find the best way to ask what he wants to ask. Deep down he wants, but somehow already knows, the answer, yet he doesn't want to make things worse. Nor does he want it to seem like the subject is the only thing he was thinking about.

"Is…is all of this, meaning what people have said and what you think about yourself- is this why we've never, you know, done anything together?" he inquires with furrowed brows from the overwhelming amount of emotions. "I'm just asking because I never thought this would be why, I thought I was doing something wrong or you just weren't ready."

Your body tenses at his question, and you have to steady your voice before answering, "Part of it. Never felt good enough, and I didn't want you to see me like that and be disappointed."

Steve frowns, sighing lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. The gesture is simple, but it effectively conveys the depth of what he feels.

"I don't care how long it takes me to convince you, but I'll spend forever trying to get you to see yourself even a fraction of the way I do if I have to," he says as his thumb traces circles on your side. "You're absolutely breathtaking, angel. Fuck anyone who says you're anything other than beautiful."

A quiet giggle slips from between your lips, unable to hold contain your momentary amusement. For the first time in a while, he smiles a real, genuine smile. "You don't know how long I've missed the sound of that pretty laugh."

"You said 'fuck,'" you tease, trying to soak in the temporary joy.

He chuckles and the sounds rumbles through his chest. "Sometimes I can be a little hypocritical, especially when it comes to protecting you."

The smile you hold fades again, and you're left with nothing but the sadness and warmth of Steve's body behind yours. "Thank you," you whisper.

Steve tightens his hold around you and presses another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. "You don't need to thank me for telling you the truth, it's what I'm here for, and I meant every word."

The two of you lay there in silence for a while. The room stays filled only with the sounds of your delicate breathing and the occasional passing of a distant car. This time, the silence isn't agonizing though. Steve's presence makes it feel comforting, and his words make your brain go mute even if just for tonight, making the weight of the world lift just a little.

"Stevie?" you murmur, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" he responds.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist. "Don't wanna be alone t'night," you admit.

"Then you won't be," he promises softly. "Do you want me to help you out of that dress? No pressure, of course, I was just thinking it might be more comfortable for you to sleep if you changed. I think you've still got a shirt here or you could wear one of mine, and like I said I could leave if-"

"Steve?"

"...Yes?"

"Don't think I could get out of this dress by myself right now if I wanted to, and I'd love one of your shirts."

Steve smiles at your response, relief washing over him at your comfort with him. He unwraps his arm from around you, sitting up slowly before helping you sit up. When he slides off the bed, walking over to his dresser to find a shirt, you scoot yourself slowly to the edge of the bed. Your legs dangle off the edge and your shoulders slouch as you try to keep yourself awake.

With a worn-out gray t-shirt in his hand, he walks back over to you. "Alright, sweetheart. Let me take care of you," he says.

He places the shirt on the bed and reaches behind you to unzip your dress. You allow your head to fall against his chest, trying to soak in his warmth. His movements are slow and delicate, precise too, ensuring that he doesn't cause you any discomfort.

Once the zipper is down, he leaves his hands resting on your back to help you slide off the bed. Then he slips the thin straps down your arms, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, leaving you in just your underwear.

Crystalline, icy blue eyes rake over your body for a moment as he bends down to pick up the discarded fabric. It's not a sexual ogling, and you know that; he's simply admiring you the way he has always wanted to.

Suddenly feeling bashful, you avoid his gaze. You look at anything but him or your body, opting to focus on the street lights outside the big window. He catches your slight shyness immediately and quickly tries to soothe you.

"Hey," he coos with concern written on his face, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek, "You're perfect, angel. Are you feeling uncomfortable, do I need to step out for a minute?"

"N-no," you answer promptly and force yourself to meet his eyes. "'M jus' not used to being looked at like this."

Steve's gaze softens, clearly showing he understands the vulnerability you feel. He leans in to press a lingering kiss on your forehead. "If you let me, I'll help you get used to it- and I'll make sure you never feel unsafe or uncomfortable with me. How's that sound?"

The corners of your lips manage to quirk up into an appreciative smile. "Sounds nice, Stevie," you reply, your voice low but still audible.

Returning the same appreciative look, he picks up the t-shirt and says, "Thank you for letting me see you, and touch you, but let's get into something more comfortable for right now. You need some sleep."

You nod and raise your arms up in the air so he can slide the t-shirt onto you. It's then that you notice he'd given you the same shirt you wore the first night you ever spent the night at his place, and almost every time since then, threatening to make you cry.

The fabric is as soft against your skin as it always has been, and the scent of Steve's cologne envelops you, providing a sense of security. A warm feeling spreads through your chest at how he cares for you.

Steve takes a small step back to admire you in the shirt, and just to get another look at you. A fond smile plays on his lips as he looks you over once more. "Always has looked better on you than it does on me. Good to know it still does," he says, honesty obvious in his voice.

Again, your eyes lock with his. You search him for any sign of anything negative, coming up with nothing almost instantly. He searches you for any look or hint of discomfort, but he finds nothing other than sleepiness and adoration in your gaze.

Silence passes over the two of you like it had just mere minutes ago. The quiet environment feels even more natural and comforting than it did before, though.

He clears his throat, trying to prevent the eye contact from becoming awkward for you. "Uhm, let's get you into bed, alright?"

You step to the side so he can pull the comforter back, your hands playing with the bottom hem of the shirt. He turns to face you, and you take a wobbly step towards him, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. His hand flies to your lower back to offer you more support, and you look up at him through the eyelashes of your sleepy eyes.

Slowly, tracing your way up and down his chest once, your eyes stare into him with something he'd never seen in you before. In fact, the look is so intense that it could make any man weak, he's sure of it. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly at your sudden touchiness.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, somehow oblivious to exactly what look it is that you're giving him.

"Mhmm," you hum, drawing out the 'hm,' with a voice laced with a soft and sleepy seduction from still being tipsy. "Y'know, 'm not thaaat tired."

"Oh? The way that you're hardly able to hold yourself up says otherwise, angel. We have all of tomorrow to talk, let me just help take care of you tonight."

A giggle slips from between your parted lips in response to his cluelessness. "S'cute when you're so sweet," you croon.

"Do you, uhm, do you need something before bed? Like an Advil maybe?"

Instead of a verbal response, you grab onto his jacket and give it a slight tug. You take a step forward, pushing him back gently to force him to sit on the bed. He looks up at you in confusion, but you don't let go of him as you slowly straddle him. With your weight being supported by your knees on the bed and his legs under you, you lean in, nuzzling your face into his neck.

"Angel, what're you-"

Your lips brush lightly under his jawline, leaving a trail of tender kisses as you gradually make your way down to under his chin.

Steve's breath hitches, and his free hand comes to rest on your waist with a delicate, but firm, grip. "O-oh," he murmurs in a sigh.

You nibble gently on his jaw. "Jus' need you," you mumble before pressing your lips to his.

He lets you kiss him, unable to resist the feeling because, well fuck, how could he?

The taste of your lips is all too familiar, and as his lips work against yours, his hands find your hips. His hold on you is secure, and it does nothing to ease the arousal building up in your stomach. You whine from the contact, and he tugs you closer, still careful to keep you steady on his lap.

His resolve weakens, and he becomes hyperaware of your vulnerable state again. So, he breaks the kiss, looking down and into your eyes.

"Y/n, I'm not sure if-" he starts, only to be interrupted by you dipping down to bite on his neck. You suck harshly on his neck as you reach down and palm him through his jeans.

A low groan emits from his chest, his voice husky when he speaks. "God, baby.”

Thoroughly enjoying the reaction he gives, you whimper against his neck. He can feel the corners of your lips turn up into a slight smile. His other hand is on the other side of your waist, gripping it firmly, as soon as you start grinding down onto his thigh. He loses himself in the moment for just a second before reminding himself of your inebriated state.

“F-Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Wait, wait- stop.”

You bite down once more, whining slightly before pulling away. The sensitive spot on his neck pulses, rushing with blood from the sucking and vibration. He tenses up with a mixture of both surprise and arousal at your forwardness. Then he lets both of his hands find your hips and settle on them, his hold tightening on you.

"D-did I do somethin' wrong? Did that not feel good?" you ask with a deep frown.

"No, no. That's not it, I promise; everything you've done feels amazing," Steve reassures you, quickly shutting down your negative thoughts.

Once again, he clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Angel, you're just… not in the best state right now. I won't take advantage of you, and I don't want you doing anything you might regret," he explains as he looks down to meet your gaze.

You're staring up at him with those big puppy dog eyes that you always use as an effective method to sway him. Tonight, though, is vastly different.

"C'mon, doll. Don't look at me like that. If you still want me in a few hours, when you're sober, that is, then I am all yours," he promises, trying to bargain with you.

You stick your lower lip out a little unintentionally, giving him the cutest pout he's ever seen. "Sober..." you repeat, looking away almost in shame as you add, "Promise you'll still want me then?"

Steve tilts your chin up with his finger and forces you to lock eyes with him. "I can promise you. I've never wanted anything more in my life than I want you. And that's never going to change."

Tantalizingly, he runs his thumb across your lower lip, a small smile playing on his lips. "But, I need you to be sure that this is what you want. I want you to remember every moment, not just bits and pieces of it, and know that everything we do is your choice," he says softly.

After taking a moment to process his words, you nod in understanding- noting the sincerity in his eyes. The room fills itself with an assortment of emotions, ranging everywhere from desire, uncertainty, and just a touch of venerable fragility.

Steve brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his expression one of soft neutrality. "Alright. Let's get you tucked in," he whispers, his voice a low murmur.

You let go of his jacket after he scoots back on the bed, bringing your knee from the other side of his leg and lying down. You curl yourself into a ball, and Steve's eyes never leave you as you do so. He takes a moment to appreciate the mere sight of you back in his bed, and a wave of warmth rushes through his chest. His earlier desires are still very much present, but so is the respect for the boundaries he set for your well-being.

He gets up briefly to pull the blankets over you before sitting down in the comfy chair in the corner of the room to take his shoes off. The chair you'd begged him to get as well to fill up the empty space in the room.

After sliding the boots under the chair, he makes his way to the dresser to change into some loose-fitting sweatpants. When he's about to put a shirt on, you grumble a 'no,' that catches his attention and makes him turn to face you.

"No?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow up questioningly.

"Nuh-uh," you respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles lightly. "Why not?"

"Warmer without it, not a bad sight either," you say softly, following it up with a yawn.

Steve smirks in appreciation of your usual playfulness. "If you insist," he concedes, deciding to forgo the shirt. He slips the shirt back into the drawer and walks back over to the bed.

He settles himself in beside you and lifts his arm up, allowing you to scoot into his side and rest your head on his chest. Happily, you hum, soaking up his warmth and focusing on his steady heartbeat. He then reaches down with his free hand to pull the blanket over himself.

"Uncomfortable?" you murmur, sleep laced in your voice.

"No, I'll be alright as long as you're comfortable."

A second passes by before you speak again. "Thank you."

"For what, angel?"

"For being so...you."

You feel Steve's chest rise and fall with a deep, contented sigh. His fingers trace slow circles on your back through your shirt. "Always," he whispers, his soft voice lulling you even closer to sleep.

The room stays wrapped in a soothing silence, the only sounds heard being the quiet breaths from both of you. As you lay there trying to sleep, you can't help but marvel at the man beside you. Everything about him is truly perfect, from his basic concern for your well-being to the way he has always taken care of you.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy, slowly shutting fully as you find yourself on the brink of slumber. Just before you succumb to sleep, you muster up the energy to mumble, "Steve?"

"Hmm?" he responds, his chest rumbling under your cheek.

"'M glad it's you."

"Wouldn't trade you for anything, sweetheart," he murmurs, placing a kiss on the top of your head. "And, for the record, I'm glad it's you too."

Steve continues to run his fingers over your back as you fall asleep. His fingers create a rhythmic pattern that mirrors the peaceful in and out of your breathing, only making your rest more soothing. He looks down at you and smiles to himself, reveling in the sheer joy of having you back, even if it's only for tonight.

Often the weight of his responsibilities feels too heavy to bear, but with you, there's a sense of solace that transcends the chaos of the outside world. Everything about you and your presence is a sanctuary. It's all a nice reminder that, after everything he does for everyone else, he's worthy of a little tranquility at the end of the day too.

Steve presses another gentle kiss into your hair before closing his eyes, savoring the sweet moment. "Goodnight, angel."

He hears your tired, softly grumbled response before he falls asleep. Though he tries not to let himself get too wrapped up in the moment, too used to your presence again, he does anyway. If there is anything he wants for the rest of his life, it's you next to him.

taglist!

@pigeonmama @rogersbarber @buckysprettybaby

if you'd like to be to my general taglist, feel free to ask or visit my taglist form to be tagged in more specific fics :)

1K notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

ATTENTION ROOSTER NATION!!!!!! okay so im looking for this fic about rooster where yn's call sign is rebel and mav's daughter and they were like super close and rooster like ghosted her after mac pulled his paper. flash forward to now they meet again and slowly reconcile and shes super close w coyote. anyway someone please help bc i cant find it

#bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw x reader #dad!bradley bradshaw #fratboy!bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw fluff

41 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky took a bullet for you and your ungrateful attitude is exactly what will help end his unwanted attraction to you, his new roommate. Or at least he thought it would help, until he found out how pretty you look on your knees.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, alcohol consumption, mutual masturbation, hint of a size kink, blood, gunshot wounds, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: According to @littlemiss-yeehaw, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written. Idk if I agree but it's a lil tiny bit filthy. Sorry for the long wait but I did NOT want to risk half-assing this chapter when I was so focused on getting through the 12 Days of Smut in December. Hope you all enjoy!

Pissed. That’s what you are in this moment, beyond pissed. You’re in the backseat of Sam’s car as he drives you and Bucky through the city, heading back to your apartment complex. He should be heading toward the nearest hospital but of course, the stubborn ass super soldier who you now call your roommate adamantly refused to go to the hospital after being shot.

“If I see so much as one drop of blood on my leather seats...” Sam threatens coldly, shooting Bucky a side-eye from the driver’s seat. You don’t even have to see his face to know that Bucky’s returning the calloused look. You let out an annoyed sigh as you start unbuckling the strap of one of your heels, your shimmery body glitter reflecting the mix of moonlight and streetlights streaming in from the windows. “And you,” Sam says, casting a glance in the rearview mirror and catching your gaze, “don’t get glitter all over my damn car.”

“I’d be getting glitter all over Elias Leveaux’s car right now if Bucky hadn’t inserted himself into my op.” You put extra emphasis on the word my, using the rearview mirror to look at Bucky’s stoic expression. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead, refusing to dignify you with even a brief darting of his eyes in your direction. After kicking off your heels and stuffing them in your duffel bag, you reach behind yourself to start undoing the back of your lacey corset top. Though it looks hot as fuck on you, it’s also uncomfortable as fuck and you’re not wearing it for a moment longer than you have to. Your breasts are one more snap away from spilling out of the top when Sam catches Bucky’s gaze drifting to the rearview mirror so briefly that he’s surprised he even noticed it. Sam’s quick to reach a hand up and tilt the mirror to point at the ceiling, shooting Bucky a disapproving look. He would’ve expected a man from Steve’s era to behave a little better than that. “What the hell were the three of you even doing there tonight? This was meant to be a solo op, I didn’t need any more backup than I already had.”

“Right, you’d be safely on your way to Leveaux’s house right now, wouldn’t you? Without a bullet wound in your head or your chest or wherever else?” Bucky seethes, growing more and more tired of your stubbornness. Do you not realize that it was a planned shooting? Someone knew Leveaux was going to be at the club tonight and they plotted it all ahead of time, aiming to either scare him into staying off of the streets of the city or maybe even aiming to kill him. It was going to happen regardless of how much backup you did or didn’t have tonight.

“You know, Bucky, you can’t say shit. You got yourself shot tonight. You should’ve stayed in the club.” As soon as the words leave your lips you feel a tinge of regret settling in the pit of your stomach. He got himself shot protecting you. He shielded you with his own body. He was observant of your surroundings, he saw the dark car slowly coming down the street with its windows halfway down, and his first move was to shove you against the wall and put his body between yours and the danger behind. He likely saved your life, yet you can’t find it within yourself to offer him even a measly thank you. He’s actually a little bit thankful for everything that happened after you left the stage earlier, because he was really starting to wonder how the hell he was going to find enough to dislike about you to keep his cock from getting hard every time you cross paths, which is way too often when you live together. But you acting like this? Acting like he did you a disservice by not only saving you from a hail of gunfire but also by saving you from going home with the most notorious arms dealer in the northern U.S? He thinks this ungrateful attitude of yours might cure him.

When the sound of your last corset fastener snapping open disturbs the short-lived silence in the car, Bucky clenches his teeth together. He wishes you would wait until you were home to change, but he also couldn’t stand knowing that you were sitting there in that fucking black lingerie set with nothing but another man’s coat covering your skin. Maybe he isn’t as cured as he thought.

“You should’ve called me Sam, you should’ve told me that you guys were going to be there tonight.” Your tone is a little softer as you slip on a black Calvin Klein bra and then pull your black sweater from earlier over it.

“Fury didn’t brief us until the last minute, I had no idea it was your op until it was too late to call you. You were already onsite.” Sam explains, trying to diffuse your anger a bit more. You sigh as you slide your black jeans over your legs and begin zipping and buttoning them closed.

“I’ve been waiting to get him alone for months.” You’re sulking. You put so much time and effort into tracking Leveaux’s every move, every hobby, every place he frequents. You know the man inside and out, and you knew this night was your only chance to get what you needed from him. You lift your right hand and massage your temples with your middle finger and thumb, feeling the start of a stress headache coming on.

“You’ll get another chance. He was pretty damn interested in you and what you had to offer.” Sam points out, fixing the rearview mirror back into its proper position and using it to make eye contact with you. He knows you work hard and that you’re good at your job, and he hates to see you so frustrated over one op being blown for reasons that were out of your control. As much as you want to blame Bucky, it wasn’t even his fault. However, you plan to hold a bit of a grudge regardless.

“Answer this one for me, when you were briefed, did Fury tell you that my cover name was the same as my real first name?” You ask, perking up in your seat a bit as you fish around in your bag for your socks. It’s freezing outside and you can barely feel your feet after wearing your heels out in such a low temperature.

“You really think I would’ve blown your cover unintentionally?” Bucky questions, his blue eyes boring into yours in the mirror. Clearly he takes offense at your insinuation. He might’ve inserted himself into your moment with Leveaux on a whim, but he isn’t reckless like you, he knew what he was doing outside the club. He was saving your ass. You stare right back at him, malice lighting your gaze on fire.

“You’re telling me you meant to do it on purpose?”

“Calm down, we knew your cover name was the same as your real name. Your cover wasn’t blown.” Sam interjects, trying his best to stomp out the flames of the fight that’s brewing between you and Bucky. His eyes leave the road for a moment as he casts a glance between the two of you, unable to ignore the growing tension in the car. “What the hell is up with you two? I’ve barely ever seen you guys interact, much less be at each other’s throats like you are right now. Am I missing something?”

“No.” You and Bucky speak the word in unison. The last few minutes of the car ride are taken in silence, no one daring to say another word as you and Bucky stew in your own anger and Sam focuses on avoiding patches of black ice in the road. You’ve almost forgotten that Bucky’s been shot, until you get out of the car in the parking garage and see the sizable, dark red wet patch smeared across the fabric covering his torso. He’s keeping his flesh hand held tight over the area, in an attempt to abate the blood loss. It looks a lot worse than he’s been making it seem, but you’d expect no less from someone so damn stubborn.

It only takes a couple of minutes to make it to your floor of the complex, and as soon as the elevator doors begin sliding open to let you both out, you can feel that urge somewhere deep inside, tugging at your conscience. You’re going to end up breaking out your first aid kit and using it on him. You can’t even argue with yourself, it’s what’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. Fuck your medical background and inherent need to take care of everyone but yourself.

Bucky’s planning to shower the blood off of his skin and maybe throw a couple of bandages over the entrance and exit wounds that he knows he’s sporting. That’s the most that he thinks he’ll need. He’s barely ever needed any more than a little wound cleansing and maybe some gauze here and there, he heals so quickly that first aid always been an unnecessary comfort. As he trails behind you down the hallway, watching the way you fiddle with the set of keys in your right hand, he wonders what you’re thinking now. He imagines you’re probably picturing yourself leaving him standing on the curb as you ride off into the dark of night with Elias Leveaux. Would you really have made it all the way to Leveaux’s house and let him put his hands on you? Would you have let him have you? All for a little bit of intel that you could probably gain in a much safer way? God, Bucky can’t stand you or the way you operate in the field. The next time Fury calls him in on anything related to you, he’s waving a white flag of surrender and saying hell no. He isn’t going to be tasked with sitting on the sidelines to watch as you let some criminal touch your ass and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Fuck that.

You deftly slide your key into the lock, turning it to the right before pushing the door handle down. When the door swings open, the darkness of your apartment greets you, mingling with an eerie silence. That’s another thing that you and Bucky don’t have in common. You always leave a light on when you go out, whether it’s a table lamp or the light above the stovetop in the kitchen, you hate coming home to darkness. But Bucky never leaves a light on. It’s like he’s allergic to all things cozy and comforting. You’re acutely aware of his presence behind you as you step into the apartment and stop in your tracks when he shuts the door behind you both. It’s dark, too dark. Of course, when you freeze right in front of him, Bucky’s next step sends him crashing into your back, which sends you nearly sprawling to the floor. He reaches out with his vibranium hand and grabs you by the elbow, steadying you quickly before letting go. It only takes him a second to figure out why you’ve stopped short, and he turns around to feel along the wall by the door until he hears the way the scratchy sound of the rough painted wall gives way to the smooth plastic covering of the light switch panel under his metal fingers. When he flicks the living room light on, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Bucky watches as you cross the living room and disappear down the hallway, making a left turn into your bedroom with your duffel bag in tow. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he sees a trail of glitter and being sprinkled across the floor in your wake and cartoon-style steam billowing out of your ears. With you gone, he can finally think without a cloud of anger fogging up his thoughts. His first move is to turn on the lights in the kitchen and fish a cold beer out of the fridge. His second move is to lean back against the edge of the island and take a long sip of said beer as he gauges how much his gunshot wound hurts. Not that much. Listening to you give him shit over nothing was more painful than the bullet he took for you. God, you’re fucking infuriating. As much as he detests your presence here tonight, he still finds himself tuning an ear in your direction. He can hear you rummaging around in your room, presumably searching for something by the sounds of your sighs and various objects sliding across the carpet. For a second, his mind floats back to the first night you moved in. The soft moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth, quiet enough that he had to strain his ears to hear them but loud enough that he was able to fucking memorize them. His grip around the beer bottle tightens as he tries to focus on anything besides those sounds, anything besides the recurrent sighs traveling down the hall right now. What the hell are you even doing in there?

“Take off your shirt.” Your voice sounds out from down the hall, reaching Bucky’s ears and making him do a doubletake.

“Last time you saw me without one you asked why I never wear one.” Bucky points out, now he’s really wondering what you’re doing in your bedroom. He hears your socked feet pattering against the floor of the hallway just before you turn the corner and step into the kitchen. His eyes lock onto yours first, but then they quickly dart down to the compact, army green tactical bag in your hands. He recognizes it in an instant. “I think if I got myself shot, I can handle the wound care on my own, sweetheart.” Bucky throws your earlier words right back in your face. You narrow your eyes at him as you step up to the island and set the first aid bag just a few inches to his right. You’re silent as you unzip it and start pulling out a few supplies you’re sure you’ll need.

“Just take off your shirt and sit your ass on the island.” Your tone is really starting to convey how fed up you are with his shit. He thinks about arguing a little more, but he’s as ready to be done with you tonight as you are with him. He figures the fastest way to get this over with is to let you take a look at his wound and see how fast he’s already healing, and then you’ll leave him alone and you can go your separate ways for the night. So, Bucky turns and sets his now half-empty beer bottle on the island next to the first aid kit before grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He drops it on the floor by your feet, watching with poorly masked amusement as your eyes rake over his toned shoulders, his chest, the rippled muscles of his abs, and then… “God, you should’ve gone to the hospital, Bucky.”

Though the lighting in the kitchen is pretty good, Bucky being so tall casts a shadow over his lower body, making it hard to get an illuminated view of the bullet’s exit wound. Your hand lands on his vibranium shoulder without hesitation and you tug him forward and to the side, urging him to turn around. He complies, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your palm and fingertips brushing over the scars where vibranium meets tortured skin. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, he finds himself annoyed at how soothing your touch feels. He wants this whole thing over with. You lean over to examine the entrance wound on the side of his lower back as Bucky runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as the exit wound on his frontside, which is exactly what you’d expected. You don’t give Bucky any warning as you swipe a pre-soaked pad of iodine over his wound to clean it. You want to check for bullet fragments, to give him a few stitches and maybe even a shot of a local anesthetic, but you’re sure he’d rather take another bullet than let you do any of that. So, you simply clean the wound and fashion a secure, waterproof bandage over it. When you stand up again and tap his shoulder, he turns back around to face you, looking even more annoyed than before. He doesn’t make a move to sit on the island, so you let out a frustrated sigh as you do the only thing you can think to do, the thing that Bucky wishes you hadn’t done. You sink to your knees in front of him.

You notice the way he draws in a deep breath and casts a displeased glance down at you, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, but he doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. You look up at him just for a moment, taking in his cold expression and everything below it…the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way both of his hands are gripping the edge of the countertop, his beer long forgotten with you now on your knees. If you could hear his thoughts, you’d be hearing a chorus of not now, not now, not now as Bucky attempts to rationalize with his already-hardening cock. Bucky decides to give you thirty seconds to finish whatever the hell it is that you’re about to do down there before he pulls you up by your fucking hair. As if you can sense his short fuse, you get to work. Swiping the iodine pad over the significantly messier exit wound and then tearing open a packet of gauze with your teeth. You press a couple of the soft white squares against his still oozing wound and they quickly soak up the fresh blood, soaking through to your fingertips. Bucky’s wondering why you didn’t put on any gloves, aren’t people usually worried about catching some bloodborne illness when they do shit like this? The fact that his blood turning your fingertips red doesn’t even seem to bother you almost turns him on more. God, this is starting to feel a little bit too twisted. Bucky’s flesh hand moves on autopilot, his fingers coming to rest over yours as he applies more pressure to the wound and lets out a soft grunt at the pain. You let him hold your fingers there for a moment and you make the mistake of looking up at him again. Fuck. He can’t handle this. Bucky screws his eyes shut and tilts his head back a little, making sure when he opens his eyes again his only view will be of the ceiling above and not of you on your knees in front of him.

“Are you almost done?” He asks harshly, removing his hand from the top of yours and gripping the edge of the counter once more. You start fashioning another bandage out of gauze and medical tape as soon as his hand leaves yours.

“I would be if you’d sat on the island like I asked you to, you wanted to do this the hard way.” You retort. You can’t seem to get the tape in a good enough position, not with the waistband of his tactical pants in the way, so you take the initiative and curl two fingertips into them before tugging them down an inch. That one inch is enough to reveal the beginning of a v-line and your breath hitches in your throat. You’re suddenly all-too-aware of the compromising position you’re in. Even more than that, you’re aware of something you’d been completely oblivious to just a moment before: Bucky’s hard-on outlined through the fabric of his pants.

You’re frozen for a second too long and when you come to your senses once more, you look up to find Bucky staring down at you, his gaze a little less cold but every bit as intense. You decide that making eye contact with the man that you’re currently non-sexually on your knees for might not be the smartest move, so you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the task at hand. You’re able to get the bandage in the right place just fine after tugging his pants down an inch, and as soon as the tape sticks to his skin you rise to your feet. You’re the only thing standing between Bucky and the short walk to his bedroom door. You’re ready to collect your first aid kit and leave him standing in the kitchen to steep in his anger, but your mind can’t seem to get past the fact that he has a hard-on. He saw you staring at it too, and he simply stood there looking down at you, as if he was waiting to see how you’d respond to it. God, who the hell does he think he is? Crashing your solo op, taking a bullet for you like he’s some all-American hero, and then getting turned on by what? You giving him shit for it all?

Bucky’s waiting a bit impatiently for you to take your leave, for you to gather your medical supplies back into the little tactical bag and disappear into your bedroom for the rest of the night, leaving a trail of body glitter all over the kitchen and hallway. But instead of leaving, you’re standing in front of him, your eyes analyzing every twitch of the muscles along his jaw, every little move he makes with his eyes as he stares right back at you. Your boldness seems to intensify as you stand there taking in the sight of your roommate. You want the last word, and you want it to be something he’ll remember, so he doesn’t go screwing up your hard work ever again.

Leaning into Bucky’s space, you’re met with his intoxicatingly pleasant scent, he smells so uniquely like him. There isn’t any other way to describe it, it’s just Bucky. You brace your hands on the edge of the island on either side of him, your arms brushing against each of his as you rise up on your toes and position your lips so close to his ear that you could stick your tongue out and taste him if you wanted to. Fuck, you kind of want to. The thought only graces your mind for the briefest moment before you let your eyes flutter closed and focus on the anger you still feel bubbling up in your chest.

“Stay the fuck away from my solo ops.” You whisper softly but pointedly. Your bottom lip just barely grazes the shell of his ear as the last word leaves your mouth. That tiny, brief point of physical connection between the two of you is seemingly nothing, yet it sends a spark of electricity from your bottom lip all the way down to your toes.

Bucky’s form is rigid, trapped between you and the island, simultaneously hating and loving the position he’s been placed in. He wishes he only hated it. He wishes he could fist his hand in your hair and angle your head back until your neck is exposed to him like a blank canvas, ready for him to leave his mark. He wishes you would’ve locked yourself in your bedroom the moment you both got to the apartment, not even bothering to fish out your first aid kit and clean up his wounds. He wishes he’d never given you the idea to switch apartments with Vision, and yet, in this moment, his cock is harder than it’s ever been. That’s why when you let go of the island and turn away from Bucky, leaving your first aid kit on the countertop as you take the first step to leave the kitchen, Bucky reaches out and curls his hand tightly around your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks before using his grip to turn you back around to face him. In one swift motion, he tightens his hold even more and pulls you in until your chest is pressed against his and his warm breath is fanning across your face as he looks down at your widened eyes.

“I don’t take orders from people who don’t give a shit if they live or die.” Bucky spits, holding you against him for just a second after he’s spoken his piece, before dropping his hold on your arm and letting you stumble one step back. He expects you to maybe mutter something under your breath before stomping off to your room, annoyed that he didn’t let you have the last word, but you’re every bit as stubborn as he is. Every bit as stubborn and feeling like you have a leg up in the situation since you know what’s currently fighting to escape the confines of his tactical pants. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes flit from his icy expression down to his waistband that sits right above the outline of his hard-on, and then back up to his eyes once more.

“Right, it’s probably bad form to take professional orders from someone you wanna fuck anyway.” When you say the word fuck, you let your eyes drift down to the front of his pants one final time, ensuring that he knows what led you to your choice of words. Now Bucky returns your smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he shakes his head at you.

“That’s all adrenaline, sweetheart, nothing else.” His denial is both enraging and laughable. You tsk, closing the distance between the two of you one more time before reaching out with your right hand and letting the tips of your fingers, still tinged red with his blood, tap lightly over the center of his chest. He’s looking down at you, completely unable to force himself to look anywhere else, as you drag those fingers down his bare torso, so lightly that he feels goosebumps forming across the expanse of his skin. Your hand travels lower and lower, over the hills and valleys of his abs, ghosting over his navel, and down the thin trail of hair that leads straight to the thing you can’t stop thinking about. You let your fingertips skim over the fabric of his waistband just barely, just enough to really piss him off, and that’s when Bucky snatches your wrist away, his grip so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark.

“Watch it.” He warns, with his eyes dark and narrowed as he casts you a disapproving yet sinful glance. You feel your bloodflow splitting in two directions, half of it rushing up to color your cheeks and the other have rushing down to pool low in your stomach, sending heat swirling between your legs. You swallow thickly. What the hell? Your body is clearly loving the way he’s talking to you and it’s pissing you off. You’re learning that you’re attracted to men with the unhealthiest of attitudes, and Bucky’s currently rising to the top of the unhealthy-attitude-yet-hot-as-fuck mental list that you’re keeping. He’s actually the only person on it. He just invented the list for you, in this moment, when he told you to watch it.

“I think I heard a button snap there, soldier.” You tease, letting your eyes flit down to the waistband of his pants again. Bucky’s jaw ticks as he flicks your wrist away from him and tries to ignore the new nickname you’ve decided to test out. How do you make such a common, simple title sound so damn filthy? Bucky thinks you could’ve actually heard the button of his tactical pants snap open, considering the way his cock has been twitching every time you open your mouth. He decides the only way for him to get out of this is to let you have the last word, so he stands there in silence as you study his tense face. He so badly wants to say something back, to anger you every bit as much as you’ve angered him tonight, but he knows how stubborn you are and every word he breathes will only keep you here in front of him longer. His tactic works like a charm and he watches with bated breath as you step away from him and take a few steps toward the hallway. You stop short right before disappearing behind the wall, looking over your shoulder and making eye contact with Bucky one final time.

“Let me know if you need any help with all of that uh…” You wave your hand around in the air as you refer to Bucky’s hard-on, with a near-permanent smirk plastered on your face. “Adrenaline. It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky’s left alone in the kitchen at last. He thought he’d feel instant relief once you left, but he doesn’t. He feels like he has a damn loaded gun tucked in the front of his pants. Let me know if you need any help? It’s the least I can do? Bucky has no doubt that you were simply being a sarcastic pain in his ass, but still. Your words were laced with innuendo and the sexual tension in the room was so thick that he could barely breathe. He is so beyond fucked.

---

The softest, sweetest little hum escapes your lips as your right hand moves of its own volition. The back of your hand feels the fabric of your cotton panties, which are a little bit damp even after you showered and changed into a fresh pair. The pads of your fingers are sliding back and forth along your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around, dragging closer and closer to your entrance with each downward sweep. When you let the tip of your middle finger dip down and inward, just barely entering where you’ve been feeling an empty sort of ache for the past hour, the steady string of hums and soft pants that were leaving your lips before become whispered moans. This is exactly what you needed.

Bucky’s fist is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock as he gives it torturously slow strokes from the base to the tip, prolonging his pleasure as long as he possibly can. He closes his eyes and instantly recalls the mental image of you on your knees at his feet, gazing up at him like you being in that position for him wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly, speeding up the work of his right hand as his head presses back harder into his pillow. It’s burned into his eyelids, the image of you on your knees. It’s burned into his eyelids and he fears he’ll never be able to forget it. His brain takes the image and adds to it, evolving it to include your hands sliding up the fronts of his thighs and adding a flash of hunger behind your eyes. He gets far too close to finishing himself off too soon when he imagines you tugging on the waistband of his pants just like you did earlier, but enough to free his cock right there in front of you. God, he knows he’s well-endowed, but he can just picture how much bigger his dick would look if your hand was wrapped around it instead of his own. Another groan rumbles past his lips, louder this time, as he starts to lose a little bit of his self-control.

Bucky. His name is swirling around your mind for two reasons now. The first being that you’re touching yourself because of him. Because of the way he looked at you, talked to you, because of the way he pissed you off. You slowly pull two fingers out of your pussy and drag them upwards until you reach your clit, beginning to stimulate it a little too excitedly as the second reason presents itself again. He groans. Bucky Barnes groans for the second time. The first time that you heard it a few seconds ago you assumed he was rolling over in bed or maybe he accidentally laid in a way that aggravated his wounds from earlier tonight. But the second time you heard it you had no doubt about what he was doing. It has to be exactly what you’re doing, and you’re fucking thrilled. You know it isn’t the most honest or decent way to reach an orgasm, but hell, if he’s going to be so damn vocal with such thin walls, how can you resist? So, you rub circles against your clit, letting hushed pants and moans fall freely from your lips now, sure that Bucky’s too engaged in his own arousal to hear you.

You sound like a fucking goddess. Bucky doesn’t even take a moment to feel guilty, no, he only picks up the speed with which he’s desperately tugging on his cock to get to his release. A thin sheen of sweat has formed across his brow and his chest is burning with a mix of desire and near-hyperventilation as he touches himself and listens to the sinful sounds coming from across the hall. All cares have been thrown aside as yet another loud curse is torn out of him, and then an equally loud, provocative moan is returned from your room. That’s when Bucky’s eyes snap open and his thumb glides over the slit of his cock where precum has been steadily leaking out since your dangerous kitchen encounter earlier. If he’s being honest with himself, his dick has been leaking precum since you took the stage at the club earlier tonight. As the two of you exchange moans and broken swears through the walls, neither of you using an ounce of rational thinking, you race toward your separate releases simultaneously. When Bucky finally feels his balls tightening and his cock twitching against the palm of his tiring hand, his release comes at the sound of your final audible sentence of the night.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.”

You always get the last word.

TAG LIST:

@spngingerbread21 @sadeyes61 @edelweissbarnes @mayamacall @pigeonmama @imemeriebarnes @ladyvenera @buckbuckybuckaroo @urlocalpillowprincess @sagebarness @mrs-marc-spector @srlover40 @valhalla-kristin @phoenixstark1708 @samfreakingwinchester @ordelixx @hellfirebabe @dashis-posts @literaryavenger @ahlookatallthelonelypeople @fandomsfeminismandme @buckysbaby-doll @lissame @armystay89 @its-daydreamer23 @ziawbarnes @winterslove1917 @wintermischief @mondaycomingdown @yujyujj @blackrigel @thescoons @violetwinterwidow01 @frombkjar @wheelsupkels @bubblevicioussss @mikisworls @itvy5601 @dawnissunnysideup @obsessed-oops @coffeeshub @barnesxstan @nixxaswrld @regics @happyglitterturtle @whiminiferous @sebas-ass @mistressmkay

860 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

hey guys!!! feel free to request for anyone, LITERALLY ANYONE, for fic recs because I am open to reading most things as long as I've seen the show/movie and I've seen a lot. don't feel restricted by the people I have on my master lists because they are just the ones I commonly read for, but even people within the fandom that I don't have listed are good. and if I don't feel comfortable I'll prob just ignore it lol but rn idk what to read so suggest thing PLSS

14 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

Outerbanks Masterlist

Rafe Cameron

sneaking' around by @mrsstarkey1

JJ Maybank

Exile by @collecting-stories

blurb by @mayfieldss

43 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

Harry Potter Fic Rec Masterlist

Fred Weasley

The Bet by @gigicreates562

Sirius Black

nothing... yet

James Potter

Fake Dating by @fragileruns

Remus Lupin

nothing... yet

#james potter x y/n #james potter angst #james potter smut #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #james potter fluff #james potter drabble

10 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

Marvel Fic Rec Masterlist

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

One-Shots

Chances by @soulgazingwithbucky

Clean by @xoxoavenger

only you by @sunvmars

Peter Parker

dulcet by @jamespottersdaisy

hoax by @waitimcomingtoo

SLUT! by @/waitimcomingtoo

Pietro Maximoff

One-Shots/Two-Shots

Maybe Things Could be Different Part 2 by @lifeasitis21

Series

evermore by @memphisnovels

Thor Odinson

nothing... yet

Peter Quill

nothing... yet

53 notes · View notes

see-the-divine · 4 months

Text

“ cuddle bugs. ,,

(( REQUEST PART FOUR )).

mcu!peter parker x reader.

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during movie night and now things aren’t going the way you anticipating. how far will things go before one of you confess your feelings?

!!! read part one | two | three here. !!!

✨masterlist✨.

3.2k.

Peter found it quite amusing how every single trip to the compound kitchen somehow involved Sam Wilson. He wasn’t sure how or why, but perhaps, Sam had been planning this strategically. Every time he went to grab a snack, or make a cup of cocoa, Sam happened to beat him there and lurk in the corner. He also happened to make it his goal to tease him about his feelings for you.

“You going to the holiday party tomorrow night?” Sam asked, a smirk coating his lips. “I heard there’s gonna be mistletoe.” His eyebrows wiggled as he went to sip from his drink. “You should take Y/N and go find it.”

Just the idea of kissing you made Peter’s legs turn to jelly. He’d tried to picture what such an intimate moment would be like with you, but he couldn’t fathom it. He especially couldn’t fathom it when he had to try and picture the rest of the team there, watching. Peter knew he had to make the moment extra special, and if the team was there ogling you both, that would make things extra awkward.

Taking a deep breath, Peter sighed to try and tame how big his grin had gotten. “I’m not gonna do that. I can’t.” He saw the way Sam’s eyes widened a bit, and Peter figured that it was because he’d gotten confused. “I just don’t want..” Peter trailed off, wanting to find a way to explain without getting extra cheesy. He wasn’t sure why Sam wasn’t holding eye contact anymore, leering behind Peter’s shoulder, or why he looked so shocked, but Peter knew he needed to find his words sooner than later.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

Fuck.

Cold. Everything ran cold with panic. Panic and regret and sadness and desperation to fix this. Peter turned on his heels, meeting your eyes in the state they were; in a state he hadn’t been exposed to. You were hurt, and he could tell. What was so painful for Peter to realize was that he could read that you weren’t just hurt by his words, you were hurt by him and his actions. It sliced at his heart in a way that he didn’t think was possible. He couldn’t tell if the sound of shattered glass came from your heart, or his.

“Y/N, I–”

It absolutely crushed him to see you take distance when he got closer. Peter knew he didn’t set up his point well, but he hated that he couldn’t explain it to you. He hated every second that he couldn’t spend giving you the security that you needed.

“No, no. It’s fine.” You seemed to understand it. Or, you tried to make it seem like you got it. Like it registered the way he wanted it to, but it didn’t. It could never. Peter felt like the scum of the earth; unforgivable, and douchey unlike any other. He felt every single hurting syllable when you said: “But you don’t have to make kissing your best friend sound like such a chore.”

Your tone of voice when you snapped at him was almost as haunting as the sight of you walking away so quickly. Peter wanted nothing more than to rush after you and explain everything, but he also wanted to respect your boundaries. Luckily, Sam rushed after you so that he didn’t have to.

He turned back to face Peter, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” And that was all he needed to say to give Peter some peace of mind. At least, a little peace of mind.

Peter didn’t know that Sam’s plan was to dupe him into a partnered stakeout with you. He didn’t know that the two of you would be stuck, in a car, alone, for hours. He didn’t know that it was an actual mission. A serious, dangerous, very important mission; and Peter had no idea that Sam and Bucky fully went out of their way to be your guys' backup for the stakeout if it started escalating.

Yet, there you were: alone, in a car, Peter in the driver’s seat, and you riding shotgun. The Prius was parked on a street corner, just as Peter was instructed to leave it by Fury himself. It had already been two hours. Two hours had gone by, and neither of you had spoken a word to the other. Silent, in superhero suits, listening to the wind rattling the windows and the car occasionally click and hum in the quiet.

It was awful.

It was the third longest period of radio silence between the two of you, right next to when you had laryngitis in the fifth grade and when you avoided him senseless three days ago. And Peter didn’t want the silent treatment to go on any longer.

He knew he had to say the first word. He needed to. He just didn’t know how to fix the mess he made, or get you to stop staring out the dashboard like you were mad at it. He knew that the anger you expressed to the sheet of glass was actually directed at him.

Peter tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, pulled at the spandex fabric covering his fingers, and tried to run through and rationalize any and every outcome that could occur once he opened his mouth. You were his best friend, and had been for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t going to let this be the rift that tore your friendship apart.

His eyes finally stuck to your figure for longer than a second’s glance. He saw the way your face was barren, relaxed. It was a look you had when you were lost in thought. Taking a deep breath, Peter tried to suck as much of the thickened tension as he could.

“Y/N, I’m sorry–”

Your eyes shut tight, and your face scrunched in a way that had regret immediately wash out Peter’s bloodstream. You didn’t even look in his direction when you said the word: “Don’t.” Your tone was sharp, trying to slice off any remnants of the conversation; a conversation that you were well trying to move past.

Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line, hiding how frantically he wracked his brain for the right words to say. “But I need to explain myself! Can’t you let me do that?” His body posture craned towards you. One leg tucked beneath the weight of his torso as he looked at you. His brows knit together in desperation, and his eyes sent you a leer that could break you into pieces.

But your walls were becoming too thick for his shattered stare.

You huffed out a breath of frustration. “Peter, I don’t see what’s there to explain.” Your tone was short, stiff, and stuffed with something you hoped sounded like a backbone. Lying to yourself wouldn’t stop the fact that you were hurting, silently grieving over the loss of your expectations. Grieving over the loss of what could’ve been between you and Peter Parker. “You don’t want to kiss me! What else is there to understand?”

“That’s not true!” Peter was quick to defend himself, his voice growing a bit in the process. “I do want to kiss you–”

Scoffing, you also raised your voice a little. “God, Peter! I don’t want your pity!” You couldn’t believe him. He was just pulling shit from his ass to try and make you feel better. “I don’t need your pity either!” You sunk deeper into your seat, a crossed expression staking claim in your eyes, and your arms folding over your chest to hold your ground.

Peter could physically feel the distance you were putting between the two of you. He studied you, how irritated you were, how much hurt he caused. “Y/N, it’s not pity–”

“Harley asked me out.” You cut him off, finally looking at him. It was the first time your eyes had met since yesterday. The first time you let your guard down a little. And the way his eyes widened at you, you could tell this was the first time he’d seen you in such a dimming light; perhaps you really were slipping through his fingers, out of his grasp.

His silence said millions of words, yet none of them were satisfying. It felt so much worse, quite frankly. What you really wanted from him was the reassurance that he felt the same way. It wasn’t just about a kiss, rather than wanting a romantic connection. It wasn’t about the misunderstanding, but the way he’d go about fixing it. And it wasn’t about Harley asking you out, you wanted to see how Peter would react.

The look in his eyes mirrored yours. It was a glisten of betrayal, and the lingering stare of denial. Peter looked at you like it would be the last time he was allowed to. He didn’t know where to go from here, and it was obvious.

You let out a sigh, irritated and remorseful and heartached. “Harley asked me out, and I–” Pausing, you looked straight ahead, unable to meet Peter’s eyes while the words muttered from your lips. “I think I’m going to change my answer.”

Peter’s breath caught, and you could hear his hushed thought process. He filtered through the words you said, and kept searching for the phrase or touch or look that would convince you to stay with him. To choose him.

“I–”

You couldn’t even stomach the sound of his voice. Your nerves spiked much higher than you’d anticipated. What were you even getting at? Making him jealous? All you felt was guilt. Embarrassment. Suddenly, you were nervous. “I need some air.” You choked abruptly, fleeing from the passenger’s seat and exiting the vehicle.

Peter sat in the driver’s side, frozen in his place as he watched you walk further from the car. He couldn’t deny how much of a gut punch your words were, but he also kept replaying the way you’d phrased it like a broken record.

‘I think I’m going to change my answer.’

Even you seemed uncertain about it, and if Peter had any chance with you, he knew he needed to act now. Just as went to get out of the car and follow you, he felt his spider sense heighten. Blood ran cold and the world moved slow as he watched the scene. From behind a bush merely fifteen feet from where Peter was, you were grabbed and pulled out of sight.

“Shit!” Peter panicked. He slipped his mask on, updating KAREN to alert Sam and Bucky. He was lucky that whoever had taken you didn’t spot him, but he felt every fiber of his being spiral about how to get you back. When Peter said he was afraid of losing you, this was not what he meant.

And he was going to do everything in his power to bring you back safely.

Shuttered and softened gasps fell from your lips as your eyes opened, and you watched your breath visibly leave your mouth. Was it below freezing in the room? It had to be. It was the middle of December, after all. Your skin ached as you gained consciousness, every inch of your body screaming for warmth by the time you’d finally come to.

Some scrawny white man with disheveled hair and a short–sleeved t-shirt stood in front of you, holding you in whatever darkened room you seemed to be in. He stood rather close to you, much closer than your comfort levels permitted. He didn’t seem any bit irked by your presence in the slightest.

Maybe that was because your wrists were tightly chained to exposed water–pipes spouting from the floor, or because he’d finally discovered your super–heroine identity. Either way, the light in his eyes was anything but frightened or angered or even confused.

In fact, his eyes scanned your body with marvel and awe. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Astonishing..” His accent was thick through his words, letting the statement fall heavy with the sigh it traveled through. “It’s working…”

Your blood ran even colder at the words, stilling your posture for a millisecond. What chilled your bones even more was when your body broke out into an intense fit of shivers, and the man laughed. A laugh that was maniacal, entertained, psychopathic. Psychopathic, and relieved.

Thick clouds of steam left your mouth as your breaths drew faster in panic, indicating just how below zero the temperature was. You could barely muster out the words that your throat shoved out: “Wha–what’s so funny?” You asked, clearly freezing.

Now, a bit more serious, the man leaned disarmingly close to your face, eying you in a way that sobered your mind, soul, and being.

“You’re cold.”

The muttered words only caused more confusion, until you finally noticed the two broken syringes on the ground to your left, and how the liquid oozing from the shattered glass had frozen over. It was ice. You became aware of the sweat caking the hairline of the man in front of you, and how disgustingly consuming the warmth of his breath was.

The room wasn’t cold, you were cold. And you were left to assume that it was only a matter of time before you froze to death.

Quite frankly, as much as the dude yapped your ear off with his “diabolical” plan, your brian was clouded with more pressing matters: how you left things with Peter. You didn’t know how long it would take for the team to find you, or if you’d even make it to see this guy get his ass kicked. Either way, you knew Peter was overthinking.

And so were you.

The wave of relief that cast over your body when Sam broke the door down was indescribable. You hadn’t known how long it had been, or how much time you had left, but pins and needles pricked every inch of your body and you’d spent however long shivering just to try and shake the feeling.

Peter immediately swooped down from the ceiling at Sam’s cue, webbed the guy to a wall, and rushed to your aid in the blink of an eye. Not a word was said until he unclasped the restraints and pulled you into a hug. It was the quickest hug he’d ever given you; record time of point–two seconds. “Jesus Christ! Y/N, you’re fucking freezing!!” It were though he hadn’t heard your teeth chattering this entire time.

You could only look at him with a concerned crinkle in your brow, unable to speak through the chill you kept continually catching.

“KAREN!” Peter called out, his mask still on over his face. “Turn on the thermal–heater–protocol thing!! Pronto!” Hearing his panicked demands almost brought you peace, yet nothing could compare to how nice it felt to finally come in contact with warmth.

It barely helped at all, but the contrast was enough to notice. All and every part of you melted into Peter, giving him unspoken permission to pick you up and carry you to the Quinjet. His touch didn’t waver as he sat down on the plane, and his jaw didn’t unclench until his response was requested. His protective demeanor provided a sense of safety, yet it felt tugged from beneath you with one quick statement.

“We should probably call Harley and tell him you’re alright.”

The disappointment tugging at his expression was enough to shatter your heart into a million pieces. You could tell that it broke his just the same, too.

Your head shook against his chest as he sat you down on a bench, seating himself closely beside you to keep you from whatever fridged feeling this kidnapping brought upon you.

“Harley doesn’t– He doesn’t need to know.” Confusion washed over Peter’s face so quickly, you nearly forgot the rut you dug yourself in. “Pe–Pete.. I owe you an apo–ology.” The words were almost impossible to mutter out. You were only getting colder by the second.

His attention was so fixated on you, eyes glued to yours, brows sewn together, and thoughts racing circles trying to grasp whatever you could mean. Peter’s eyes studied your face for the possible answers, but he was getting ahead of himself.

There was nothing left to do other than to come clean. The confession was yours to make, and the look Peter gave you only made that more apparent. His emotions pierced your soul, all his sincerity and curiosity and genuity and eagerness. It was almost like he knew what you were trying to choke out between shivers. Or as though it were his job to fix whatever you presented broken.

You couldn’t tell whether the rapid rhythmic heartbeat was your own, or Peter’s, but either way, you had to force these words out before they staled with the lump in your throat. “I–I–” You took a deep breath to still your chattering teeth, feeling Peter’s grip tighten reassuringly around you in the midst of it. “I was upset that you didn’t want to kiss me.”

The apology flashed in his eyes just as he went to open his mouth, but you weren’t finished. “I was upset, because I–” You nearly sped through the sentence, but halted. “I—” And it were though you froze in place, right then and there. You completely froze, stopped moving, stopped breathing.

Panic. It washed over you like panic, sheer uncontrollable unexpected panic. Your blood ran cold, and if it weren’t for the feeling of your body washing white, you would’ve thought you were dying.

Peter calling your name almost sounded fake. It was so distant and faint that you swore you were dreaming. However, with a small hitch of your breath, reality hit you a lot harder than necessary. Your entire being shook, spazzing in this cold and freezing state. So much so, it was painful.

You knew you were being hugged and blanketed by Peter’s protection much more intently. The press of his biceps communicated that he felt like he was to fault for this. The dazy holler of his voice told you that he felt responsible and sorry and nervous. There wasn’t anything in the world you wanted to do more than to fight against this and assure him that you were okay. You were going to be fine.

Bucky walked over with a sense of urgency, relaying to Peter a medical analysis that Bruce laid out. He stated things about your condition that the author was far too lazy to look up you couldn’t make out in this fridged trance.

Every inch of your body had stopped shouting for warmth and instead now screamed for it, for relief. It begged and pleaded and bruised its knees just for some sense of stillness from whatever blizzard was injected into your system.

So cold, too cold, everything blurred to white. Every sound was washed out, every sensation pricked in spears and spikes against you, and every thought felt too heavy to handle. You weren’t sure how or when, but at a certain point, you passed out. Consciousness suddenly became too overwhelming for your fragile limp little body.

Part of you wasn’t sure whether this was better than feeling the sting of Peter’s rejection, but you knew that was a demon you’d have to face sooner than later. You made a promise to yourself right then and there that regardless of what and when, the next time you saw Peter Parker, you’d tell him how you’d really felt.

You were going to tell your best friend that you’d been in love with him. And still very much so were.

tag–list : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @cayleejx16 @thievin-stealing

282 notes · View notes