#but regardless!!! i hope u all like him! hehe

[taintedcigs]

˚ 　　　 . ✧ 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄

vol 2; summer breeze — king!steve harrington x fgirl!reader x eddie munson

summary: in which some chaos ensues between the boys and billy, and one of the boys finally get what they want; you. (wc: 6.5k+)

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, p in v, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up irl im so serious) kinda fist fight? billy gets punched, im sorry but billy gets punched a lot in my fics, protective steddie hehe, drgs, weed basically, no use of ‘y/n’, degrading, praises, LOTS OF PRAISES, nicknames! reader is kinda heartless basically a maneater and kinda of a mastermind, eddie is a cutiepie.

authors note: not proof-read ignore mistakes ! thank u @andvys for giving me the best ideas always and thank u for helping me! ily and hope u enjoy this mwah!!! also yall know mastermind by ts? and how its kinda supposed to be sarcastic? well i took that song too seriously and literally. listened to a lot of metal and this fic is their love child! enjoy !!

and please like + reblog + interact to support me ! thank u ily

read vol. 1 here

Fuzzy.

Exactly how your mind and body felt.

You didn’t expect to do that with Steve.

King Steve. You were just supposed to play with him.

He wasn’t supposed to make you feel like this.

And it wasn’t anything, it was purely physical. Or at least that’s what your mind forced you to think.

Because no one had ever made you cum like that before, no one ever attended to you like that before.

Pathetic. Really pathetic. You’ve fucked half the guys in Hawkins, yet one night with Steve, and he didn’t even fuck you, yet that’s all you could think about.

You sucked on the cigarette sitting between your lips, the feeling giving you a lewd reminder of earlier when you remembered how good he felt between your lips, sliding down your throat.

Shit shit shit. Shut the fuck up. What the fuck was wrong with you?

“Want something stronger than that?” The voice belonged to the curly-haired boy you were looking everywhere for.

It felt like a fucked up horny deja vu. 

Turning around swiftly, the smoke formed around the air between you when you blew it in his face, making him grin. “Eddie!” Your tone gleeful, “Been looking everywhere for you!” Sweet. Sweet but so fucking dangerous. Eddie knew that about you.

He knew about the effect you had on everyone. I mean, he wasn’t complaining, he was right there in line with them. Just to have a glimpse of you.

He and Steve shared one thing in common; you.

Maybe that’s eventually what drew them closer, both boys begging for your attention in every way possible. Pathetic, but you were so tempting.

They teased each other about you, Eddie bragged about the countless times you batted your lashes at him, the countless times you twirled and giggled at him.

and Steve bragged about how you looked at him with your alluring eyes, or how you called him ‘baby’ that one time. 

Eddie was sure he had never seen Steve the way he did with you, because Steve usually never got hung up on one girl, it was simple for him, he’d fuck one and then move to another. But you always kept him on his toes. Something no one ever did before. So he always tried and tried, failing regardless. 

He didn’t blame him, he’d burn the world down if you asked him to, even though the only interactions he had with you were when you bought something from him, or the countless times you winked at him whenever he saw you around. God, that had him on his knees. 

So it was no surprise he almost melted when you said those magical words. You? Looking for him? 

“Me?” A rush of bubblegum pink is quick to rise to his cheeks. He can’t help himself, Steve was going to freak out when he found out how you were looking for Eddie. God, he was going to have fun with this. 

“Where’s Billy?” He added, trying to sound cool when he lit the freshly rolled joint sitting on his wetted lips. 

He was cute. Didn’t even know the rumors, and the blush on his cheeks weirdly had you need him. 

“We broke up,” you hummed, and a boyish grin sat on his lips immediately while he noted how you didn’t have a sad bone in your body, that jerk didn’t deserve you. “I’m just having fun now, you know?” You added with a smirk. 

You were going to be the death of him. He could be fun, he could be so fucking fun, he could make you feel fun you’ve never felt before. 

“Oh, yeah? With who, now?” Shit, shit, shit. That is not what he meant to say, he was an absolute fucking idiot. A grade one asshole.  

Your eyes widened when you tilted your head, “are you calling me a slut, Munson?” You snatched the joint from his lips, earning a whine from him as you kept your piercing eye contact. 

The pinkish color on his cheeks turned blood red, and you could see him almost fidgeting. Why did you find it so endearing? 

“N-no! No that’s not what I meant at all! You’re not a slut! I mean if you want to be you could be— I mean you’re not but—” His words tangled with each other adorably, and you couldn’t help but let out a deep chuckle. 

“I’m just playing with you!” You playfully nudged his shoulder, adoring the way his grin came back instantly, you took a long drag from the joint before passing it back to him. “Don’t worry, baby.” 

Eddie almost lost it at that.

Suck it, Steve. She called him baby, too, and now they were fucking even. 

“I’m having fun with everyone that douchebag hates.” You muttered with a smirk. 

Eddie desperately needed to make Billy hate him, maybe he could rip him off the next time he brought from him, or maybe he could just… sucker punch him? 

“Steve was fun.” You giggled, remembering the way he was so pathetically begging for you to stay. And you had to admit he was good, the best you had in this messed up town. 

Eddie blinked quickly, struggling to process what you just said… You.. and.. Steve?

“Steve?” He almost stammered, face growing hot at what you were implying, did that little asshole actually manage to be with you? You?!? 

“Steve Harrington?” He repeated.

“Yeah,” you hummed, brows scrunching at his dumbfounded expression… What was going on? Was he… jealous?

 “You jealous, Munson?” You giggled with a smirk, brow raised and all bold. So upfront that it has Eddie stammering and blushing all over again. 

“N-no, uh— Steve is my friend is all.” He adds, taking a long drag from the joint to keep himself together, he has to look all confident because he wants to impress you. 

He just doesn’t know that you being all flustered is what draws your attention. Confident but still cute. The exact mix you need for Steve’s arrogance. And they’re friends? Fuck, just the thought of them together has you rubbing your thighs. 

“Oh!” You hum, “That’s funny because I was actually going to go for you, but Steve found me first.” You know the effect that will have on Eddie, you see it in the way he coughs while exhaling the smoke, wetting his lips while he tries to play it cool. 

Sadly, it’s all interrupted by the one and only. Billy fucking Hargrove. 

His hand roughly makes you turn to him before you can comprehend what’s happening, “Fucking Harrington, really?” He spat in your face, nostrils flaring with how angry he was, but all it did was make you want to laugh in his face—the audacity of this little boy. 

Eddie’s quicker than you to react, trying to push him away from you but Billy shakes off his hold. “Get away from her.” Eddie spits. Billy ignores him with a scoff, attention all on you. 

You hate the way your stomach flutters at Eddie being protective, what the fuck are these boys doing to you?

“You kiss Tina in front of everyone, and me fucking Harrington is the problem?”

“You fucked him?” Billy lets out through gritted teeth, technically, you didn’t but it seemed like Billy only thought the two of you kissed. 

Before you could answer he clenched his fists, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.” 

Shit. You really didn’t think this through, did you? 

A guilty feeling settled into your stomach, Steve didn’t deserve that. And he definitely didn’t deserve to get beaten up because of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed Billy by the arm to stop him from searching for Steve.

“D-don’t!” 

“Excuse me?” Billy said, pinching his brows together.

“Please don’t do anything to him.” Eddie watches everything unravel, taken aback by how willing you are to throw yourself under the bus for Steve. It makes his brows furrow and makes him almost get a glimpse of you, behind that cool facade, behind that whole act. It entices him more and more.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Billy scoffs, “You fuck him one time, and look how pathetic you get. No wonder everyone keeps calling you a slut—”

A loud thud resounds in your ears, you barely register what happened before you turn to see Steve shaking off his fist with a smirk on his face. “Don’t fucking call her that again.” 

Billy chuckles loudly at the impact, blood quickly dripping down his nose and an obvious red mark bruising his cheek. “My my, Harrington coming to defend his new little slut, huh?” 

And this time, another thud of a punch resonated from your side, and you audibly gasp. 

Eddie. 

These boys were going to be the death of you, appearing out of nowhere and then doing shit like this. 

They stood in front of you, arms crossed against their chest as they eyed Billy groaning on the ground, it wasn’t long before Tina came with her annoying shriek and a crowd formed around the four of you, the two boys were quick to drag you out of the party. 

“Couldn’t stay away from me, could you, sweetheart?” Steve muttered in your ear with his lips twitched into a smirk. 

Cocky bastard. 

You gave him a slight smile. “Actually… I was looking for this one,” you hummed sweetly, hand gently nudging Eddie’s shoulder. A grin sat on his lips, he itched to elbow Steve, who just gave him a roll of his eyes. 

“But, thank you, both.” You give them a shy smile, it’s meaningful, and you’re grateful to have them protect you. 

“Anything for our special girl,” Steve winks.

“Want us to take you home?” Eddie interrupts, eyeing you, he can see that you’re a bit shaken up, even though you try to hide it. 

“No need, boys. Can walk home!” You giggle with a wink. 

“We insist.” Steve steps up, leaning into the car, hips jutted out. All slutty, and it’s tempting. But, no. 

You had fucked up enough today and gotten your feelings too involved. You couldn’t do it. 

You gave both of them a sloppy kiss on their cheek before you got on your feet, “My house is just around the corner.” 

“See you around, boys.” You winked one last time, turning back before they could say anything, walking away with a strut as you could almost feel their gaze burn your back. 

Both boys watched you with their jaws almost open, teeth biting onto their bottom lips with hope. They wanted—needed you. 

。°。°。°。°。°

“I’m tellin’ you dude, it was fuckin’ unreal. She was just so good,” Steve hummed into the ice cream he took a stripe of lick from.

Eddie grunted. “Jesus, fuck. Still can’t believe she let you even near her.” He glared daggers into him.

Steve grumbled a chuckle, nudging him. “Jealous much, Munson?” His lips curled into a boyish grin, face inches away from Eddie who was now stammering.

“C’mon, we can share, can’t we big boy?” Steve winked, enjoying the crimson red coloring the curly boy’s puffy cheeks.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” He hummed, sucking his cheeks with a ‘mmhmm’ sound as the flavors of the strawberry goodness flooded his senses.

They did have threesomes before, but this was different, this was you. It meant so much more to Eddie, and selfishly, he wanted you to himself first, too. 

“If you can even get her,” Steve smirked, knowing if it took him this long, Eddie would have to try for years.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Eddie winked with a new-found confidence

“I’ll turn on the Munson charm.” He snapped his fingers together with a wicked grin, “and she’ll be beggin’ for me in no time.” 

Steve couldn’t even keep the throaty chuckle for a second before he patted Eddie on the back. “Good fuckin’ luck with that.” 

You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but how could you not when they were right fucking in front of you?!

And after Steve said, they had done threesomes before, your mouth watered just at the thought of both boys towering over you, attending to your every need, trying to dominate you but also pathetically begging for more. 

And if you framed everything correctly, they’d want to fuck you and would think they were the ones in charge, not knowing you were the mastermind behind all of it.

“Hi, boys!” You waved with a giggle, rushing to their side as your skirt rode up your thigh, both boys turning their bodies fully to meet you. 

Both of their Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight of you—a graphic baby tee showing just enough of your skin, paired with the most perfect skirt Steve has ever seen, and Eddie’s eyes were almost glued to your chest, enjoying the way your breasts jiggled as you walked. 

You couldn’t hide your smirk at their widened eyes, men were so easy. 

They both stammered, and you wished you weren’t enjoying this so fucking much. But, you were. You had to have both of them. 

Letting your tongue swirl around the cone in your hand, you looked up at Eddie. “What flavor is that?” 

“Chocolate,” He replied quickly, “I love chocolate!” You exclaimed, and Eddie grew weak in his knees, gulping and letting his cock strain himself against his zipper. God, he felt like a fucking pervert. 

“Do you wanna try some?” He barely managed to speak clearly and you nodded quickly with a grin, Steve watching it all with a huff. 

Without giving him a chance to do anything, you wrapped your palm around his, giggling while you let the cold silkiness coat your tongue, lapping at it while your focus remained on Eddie’s dark eyes. 

He almost groaned at the sight; you knew that was your cue. “Tastes so delicious, Eds.” You hummed with an exaggerated sound, reveling in the way Eddie blinked quickly to register all of it. 

“Wanna try mine?” Steve’s silky, cocky voice had your attention shifting, you raised a single brow, shrugging. 

“Already tried that, thanks,” Your voice carries a bit of coldness but is still alluring enough to have Steve crave more from you. 

“I don’t think you tried all of it, sweetheart,” His voice still held that cool tone, tongue sticking out to lick a stripe from the cone wrapped around his palm, almost giving you a flashback as rosy lips framed the words so lewd that you had to do something. 

You were quick to tilt your head sideways, leaning in just enough to have your velvety lips against his, Eddie watched in awe, enjoying the way you sucked on Steve’s tongue, letting the sweet strawberry flavor explode your taste buds as exaggerated sounds left your lips as you pulled away, leaving Steve with nothing. 

“Mhmm, you’re right, Stevie,” You hummed, Steve’s face wearing a shock you hadn’t seen before. “But I think mine, tastes so much better…” You cooed facing Eddie, “Wouldn’t you agree, pretty boy?” You directed it at Steve, relishing the dumbfounded look on his face, while Eddie watched all of it with a contented sigh. 

He needed both of you. 

You needed both of them. 

And Steve would do anything for you, and for Eddie, even if he never would explicitly show it. 

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, bringing a wicked smirk to your face. Easy. 

Before you turned to leave, you faced Eddie, “Oh!” 

“Do you have any free time this afternoon?” If you gave him those eyes and that sweet tone, he’d give you all of his time in the world. 

“Uh-huh, of course.” He's sure his voice sounds so squeaky but you smile at him so sweetly that it melts away all his worries.

“Okay, do you mind if I drop by? I need something to relax, and to let a little bit of my steam off…” You winked at him, you couldn’t be more obvious, and Eddie almost went limp at your words, no need for the Munson charm after all. 

“S-sure!” He exclaimed, mouth curling into a wide grin. 

“See you later, boys.”

。°。°。°。°。°

“Really?” Eddie eyed you with a raise of his brows, getting more and more comfortable the further both of you inhaled from the rolled joint, your knee brushed against his, and his worries ghosted away with it. 

“You think Michael Myers is hot?”

“Yeah!” You nodded, “Too weird for you, Munson?” you nudged him playfully.

“No, no! It’s just… how? He has a mask on,”

With a shrug, “The mask is the appeal,” you giggle. 

He scrunches his brows, confused. “The mystery of the mask is what makes him sexy.” You shrug, and a soft ‘oh!’ escapes his lips. 

He’s quick to ash the joint to the skull resin ashtray, getting up in a rush, causing you to furrow your brows, “what the hell are you doing?”

He turns with a grin, “getting a mask.” 

You giggle at that, “Oh, trust me, you don’t need a mask pretty boy.”

“W-what?” He blinks quickly to process all of it, bringing a wide smile to your lips as you almost drag him by the collar of his shirt. 

Eddie’s almost frozen, his mind explodes at how forward you’re being, pants getting tighter when he realizes how close you are to him. 

It’s finally happening and he can feel himself melt into you, he lets you stripe him of his control and his lips part slightly in surprise. 

Mind struggling to process if this is all real. With a giggle you take him by surprise when you tug your fingertips at his messy curls, twisting his head to the side as you crash your lips down to his. 

Dangerously sweet, addicting, and bold. And Eddie is putty in your hands.

“The prettiest lips,” you hum into his mouth. 

“Yeah?” He almost blushes a rosy color, and you can’t help but relish that feeling, letting it sink to your chest at how beautiful he looks when he’s so flushed, and you realize you need both of them. 

You need Steve’s cockiness, you need Eddie’s tentativeness at the same fucking time. 

And both of their dominance. 

You whimper needily, the feel and taste of his soft lips flood all over your body, making you ache. Holy shit, he’s fucking good. 

“F-fuck,” He whimpers as he pulls back, mind trying to register everything, but he’s quick to dive back in once he realizes he just stopped kissing you. 

A passionate, needy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, as his hand roughly grabs your waist, pulling you further. You feel hot, skin buzzing at how demanding he is. 

Then he slowly moves from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses all over, and you can’t help but feel that warm slickness coating your thighs at how fucking needy he is for you. 

And you know exactly what you need to do to lure him in, entirely. 

“N-need you, Eds,” you whine into his lips, brows pinched together and Eddie’s already about to explode in his pants, you’re fucking perfect. 

“Where do you need me, angel?” He asks, all obedient and it has your core throbbing with need. 

Your thighs part slowly, skirt riding up more and more as you expose yourself to him, and Eddie’s teeth drag on his bottom lip at the sight. “Here,” nails rake on the surface of the couch beneath your legs, pussy fully on display. 

He almost groans at the sight, but no, he has to take control back again, he has to impress you. 

And he wants to savor this moment, enjoy you, fully. 

It gives him all the confidence he needs, with a slight push he has you on your back, sprawled on the couch, you’re surprised by the sudden change of control, but anticipation jumps in your insides, not knowing his next move is exciting and you let him enjoy it. 

His hands start to idly run everywhere on your body, all grabby and rough. You don’t know what to expect from him, and it certainly isn’t this, his hold on your hips, breasts, and thighs, enough to leave a mark, still gentle, still attentive but equally rough and it has you almost whining out. 

He’s perfect. 

“Needy baby,” He hums, planting a sloppy kiss on your neck. “What do you need… my fingers or my tongue?” 

You shamelessly spread your legs further, enjoying his weight on top of you, hard bulge pressing against your thigh, but you need more. “Both.” 

And your whiny answer is all he needs, his rough hands travel down to your inner thighs, almost toying as he drags his mouth all over you. Nibbling and biting all over your neck, shoulder, breasts, everywhere. 

He’s quick to drop down between your legs, and he groans at the sight of your puffy lips and dampened thighs, “Jesus Christ…” His teeth draw on his bottom lip.

“No panties?” 

“Nuh-uh,” you giggle shamelessly, and he’s almost fucking gone. The fabric of his pants so painfully harsh against his erected cock that he hisses. 

Your legs quiver when he traces a finger around your opening teasingly and his mouth is pressing kisses down your inner thigh, sloppy and filthy. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he hums into you. 

Your little whimpers and the sight of you so relaxed make Eddie a madman, he understands Steve’s non-stop blabbing about you the last few days, granted, he always knew you were perfect. 

But once he gets a taste of this, and a sight of you like this, he knows he can’t fucking quit, ever. 

“More.” You hiss out a breath as his fingertips gently circle your clit. It’s demanding, and Eddie’s amber gaze is dark as it meets yours. “Behave,” He warns, it’s electrifying, making you want to disobey more than anything, everything about him draws you in. 

With a smirk, you run your hand down his arms, meeting his fingertips with a gaze so dangerously lewd that Eddie’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head. “But I’m aching… I need so much more.” 

He groans, loudly. “So fucking needy, aren’t you? Only for me, huh?” 

He wants reassurance, he wants you to tell him he’s better than Steve. And you don’t, because you need both of them, so you just tease him enough, just so both of them could get the idea of proving themselves to you. 

You could just imagine them both taking turns, trying to prove to you which one would make you cum more, complementing each other, striping you out of your control, just for that one second, not knowing that you planned all of it.

It’s sick, a bit deranged, and stupid. But exactly what you need.

“Mhmm, only for you, baby.” 

Endearing words have him quick to push two fingers inside of you, still agonizingly slow, withdrawing a breath when he feels your slick walls. 

His fingers slowly go in and out of you, the suspenseful score from the movie almost mirrors your heartbeat, rising each time he gives you a grin, basking in your whines. 

“Look so pretty like this, sweetheart,” he praises, enjoying how your lips part slightly, pretty whines coming out of it. He circles your clit at a slow pace, still. Relishing in the way his name slips past your mouth so desperately, almost begging. 

He presses a light kiss to your clit, and you shudder at the impact, gazing down at him, “You like the way I look between your pretty thighs?” He hums into your walls. 

“Yes,” You coo, and he doesn’t hesitate to dive in, parting your cunt with his thumb before his tongue is teasingly lapping up at you. 

It’s all so filthy and intimate that you immediately squeeze your eyes shut, his fingers, his tongue, it’s all too much but at the same time not enough. 

You need him, you need more from him. It’s just not enough. 

“Makin’ prettiest noises for me, such a good girl, aren’t ya?” You hum excitedly, all fucked out as you grind yourself on his mouth, you don’t know what it is, but you can’t help yourself, fingertips latched onto his curls, head thrown back, you feel like screaming. 

And he’s torturously slow, giving you everything you need but not fully everything, withdrawing just a little to have you go crazy. And it’s fucking working, his tongue works wonders inside of your walls, his name falling like a prayer from your lips. 

Not fucking enough. And it’s frustrating, to feel so on edge. 

You shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t beg for more, but you can’t help it, it’s all hazy and you want more, it’s like you’ve been deprived, and he feels so fucking good. 

And maybe, you letting Eddie fuck you could drive Steve further, you could just imagine the scorched face on Steve’s look when he found out, and you want that mean side of him. You want him to compete for your attention, you want him to stripe you out of your control, for once in your fucking life.

You try to drag at his curls to feel his tongue more and more, flicking at your clit agonizingly slow but he slaps your hand away, warning you with his dark gaze. 

“I need more,” you pout, looking down at him all doe-eyed. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you whine with a hidden smirk, Eddie’s eyes flashing a hunger that has you all excited in your tummy.  

“Needy little slut,” he murmurs in your ear. “Steve wasn’t enough for you?” You love the newfound confidence in him, the sudden change in his tone, the darker his eyes get, the way he cooes has you dripping with need. 

You shake your head with a giggle, “Steve didn’t fuck me.” 

“What?” That brings an unintentional grin to his lips. You didn’t let Steve fuck you but you were going to let Eddie fuck you? Oh, he could just cum in his pants right then and there. 

You? Begging to be fucked by him? He was in heaven, and you were the prettiest angel. 

“No wonder, he can’t fucking shut up about you,” 

So your plan was working. 

“I don’t blame him, angel. I wouldn’t be able to quit you right after I tasted you either, so fucking perfect, hmm?” He gives you a dazzlingly addicting kiss, lips tasting like you and you hum into it. 

You try to pull him closer by his shirt, but he doesn’t let you, making you pout innocently at him. “I need you.” You don’t know how he has you like this, and you try to make your brain believe that this was your plan, but you wholeheartedly want this, you want him to fuck your brains out. You want him to make you cum until you physically can’t anymore. 

A possessive look sits on his face, gaze all dangerous and it has you wanting more, “You have me.” A wicked grin overturns on his lips, he’s quick to get rid of his clothes, almost ripping open your blouse. Fingertips brush over your skin with such passion that it almost burns.

He groans at the sight of your breasts, hands itching to grab them, mouth watering at the sight. “So.” A kiss on your breasts, “fucking”, a nibble, “perfect.” His hands grabbed everywhere, mind reveling in everything.

Still struggling to realize if this was all real or not. He was hooked, so fucking hooked. 

He couldn’t blame Steve for not shutting up about you, you were addicting. He was right, maybe the two of you could share. He wouldn’t be opposed to it at all, if there was one thing the three of you were good at, it was this. 

“That stays on.” He hums against your chest, fingers sliding over the tight little skirt you were wearing, flipping it over to your stomach but not taking it off.  

You were whining like a bitch in heat now, eagerly watching him take off his cock from his already wet boxers, patches of pre-cum had formed on it and you couldn’t help the delicious smirk on your face. 

With a painful groan, his cock slipped past his boxers, and your eyes widened at the sight. 

Salmon pink tip pearled with his pre-cum, looking so delicious that your mouth involuntarily opened at it, he was almost as big as Steve, only thicker, and slightly more curved to the left, perfect, just fucking perfect. 

You understood his cockiness when it came to this, he was absolutely packing and by the way he had been acting, you could tell he knew how to fucking use it. 

He leaned back slightly, still positioned between your thighs before he took his cock in his hand, with a dangerous gaze, he jerked at it, letting out a small groan with a sly smirk. 

You could feel your thighs dampening when he circled the angry tip over your clit. “That feels good, doesn’t it, angel?” Mocking, cruel, teasing. And you loved every fucking second of it. 

“Y-yeah,” You murmur, eyes squeezed shut, your thighs are almost shaking and he’s watching you with a smirk, it’s all too sensitive and everything he does gives you an electrifying pleasure that you haven’t felt before. 

Shutting up all the avoidant voices in your head that tell you you shouldn’t be doing this. Your thoughts and your body is consumed by pleasure as you hazily look down, his hand still on his cock while he drags it down through your folds. The tip of his pink slit parts you slightly, enjoying the way you’re gushing for him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ… look at this cunt… just soaked for me,” he growls and lines his throbbing cock at your entrance, a loud needy moan escapes your lips, making him gloat.

“Look at how greedy your pussy is, angel… practically pulling me in.” He teases, cock still dragging along your folds, and you are about to embarrassingly beg, before he finally drives his cock the rest of the way into your aching cunt, “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!” He groans loudly, his moans deliciously lewd. And your whines are mixed with his. 

His hands are everywhere, rough, and grabby, almost like they are marking you. His hips thrust further into you fucking all of your worries away. 

“Look how well you’re takin’ me, doll.” He hums, eagerly watching the way his cock disappears in and out of your soppy walls, mouth hanging open as curses slip past it at each of his movements. 

“Eddie…” You whimper, you can’t focus, you can’t even fucking think. Your brain is short-circuiting by how good everything he feels, how he is hitting that one spot and is stretching you wider and wider, and you are doing everything you can to adjust to his size. 

“What d’ya need, baby?” He coos mockingly.

He’s so much more cocky now, and he has earned it because he’s that good and you’re awfully pathetic for him. 

You want to speak, but it’s almost as if you’re unable to, it’s frustrating, and Eddie is loving every second of it. 

“Awww, so cock drunk that you can’t even speak, princess?” Another harsh thrust has you whining and squirming. 

“You need more, baby? Need me deeper inside of this tight little cunt?” He hums, cock slamming inside of you so agonizingly slow that it has you moaning for more, you’re simply fucked out and he’s too far gone. 

“Need me to stretch it out with my big cock?” You nod so quickly that your head almost falls off, and Eddie’s chuckle reverberates loudly, echoing in the room with your whimpers. 

“Greedy little slut.” He picks up his pace, and you’re fully lost in desire now, clinging to him as each of his thrusts pushes you closer and closer, he’s filling you to the brim and it nearly has you sobbing beneath him. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Fuckin’ soaked for me and this tight cunt was just made for my cock, wasn’t it?” He growls against your neck, licking a path from your collarbone to the shell of your ear, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut, head thrown back in full euphoria while he thrusts in and out of you, setting a hard, brutal pace. Teeth sucking into your shoulder to slow himself down, to stop the release he can feel building.

Incoherent babbles are all that leave your lips, you can feel that familiar knot forming in your stomach, “Y-yes, yes!” You whine, “I’m close, baby.” You lift your hips, trying to grind it against his cock to get more friction. 

It’s all filthy and desperate and it has Eddie’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. You’re so fucking perfect for him and you stick to his mind. 

This image of you, begging, his name falling from your swollen lips, all fucked out and spread for him. It’s doing the best fucking damage to his mind and he can’t get enough of you. 

“You gonna cum for me, honey? Wanna soak my cock?” His words are so lewd and it has you nodding like an idiot, you want him to cum with you, you need to feel him inside of you. Filling every fucking inch of you. 

He can feel your pussy clamping around him, it’s all glorious and he wants nothing more than to engrave this image of you to his brain. He wants Steve to know, how you were mewling for him. “Cum for me, angel.” He praises, slamming inside of you deeper than before, thrusts getting sloppier the more he sees how close you are. 

He wants nothing more than to last, but your whimpers, the way you take him in, your mouth hanging open, it’s all fucking too much, and he knows if you give him one more whine or one more filthy talk he’s going to explode. 

You writhe under him, so painfully good, but fucking impossible to hold yourself back once his thumb circles around your clit.

“W-want you to cum, too. Need to feel you i-inside.” You encourage him, and he groans at the idea of cumming together with you, balls drawing up and ready to fill your insides. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck, baby,” He growls, slamming into you once, twice, thrice. “If you say shit like that I’m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck, baby!” He can feel his cock filling you to the brim, hitting that sensitive spot one last fucking time and you know it’s over.

“Cum for me, pretty boy.” You cry out as you orgasm, pleasure shooting through your already hazy mind, and that’s all the encouragement Eddie needs before he chases his own release. 

He pounds into you one final time, deeper and harder, in a frenzy with how badly he needs to cum inside of you. With a few ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s, and ‘so f-fucking perfect’s he growls your name as he fills you up. Not slipping out until he’s sure you’re filled full of him. 

He collapses next to you with a sigh of breath, a sloppy kiss on your shoulder as he’s trying to register what the fuck just happened. 

You don’t give him a minute to breathe when you quickly get up, collecting your blouse as you ignore the confused look on his face. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting ready?” You answer with a giggle. 

“What for?” 

“To leave, pretty boy.”

“B-but we just-” 

He sounded so adorable, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall into a mess of feelings, and yet without knowing, you were already walking right into it. 

“I’m going to this thing at The Hideout today.” You murmured while fixing your skirt and hair in the mirror. Skirt creased and hair all chaotic. You thought you looked a fucking mess, but Eddie would argue that's the prettiest you looked.

Ruined by him.

“There’s this band—”

“Corroded Coffin?” Eddie replied quickly. 

“How did you know?” You turned with a raised brow, intrigued. 

“You’re looking at their lead singer, sweetheart.” He replied smugly, a grin sitting on his plump lips. 

“Oh my god!” You said in a mock screeching voice, “Can I please get your autograph, Mr. Rockstar?” You batted your eyelashes with a twirl of your hair, giggling when he narrowed his gaze at you. 

“You’re lucky, you’re so pretty, huh?” You shouldn’t have felt your cheeks heat at the comment because he just fucked your brains out, but shit was he smooth. Making you blush with one fucking compliment. You were way too deep into this, weren’t you?

“So you listened to our stuff?” He asked, with a beaming smile on his face, too cocky. And it killed you to tell him you didn’t when he had the most adorable look on his face. 

“No, but, this might be a great first listening experience.” You hummed, “So make sure you don’t suck, Mr. Rockstar.” Your hand turned the doorknob when you threw him a wink. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I will rock your fuckin’ world," He returned the wink. “Again.” He said with a smug smile and a cool tone. 

You rolled your eyes playfully at him, “Oh, and make sure to invite Steve too.” You hummed nonchalantly as Eddie nodded, almost obediently.

He would do anything you asked him to. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have accepted to go, because it was never any good to fuck the same guy twice, especially with someone like Steve who just slept around, or someone like Eddie who wore his heart on his sleeve. It would either end with your heart broken or theirs. Things always got too messy.

But both of them were just so… good. And you had this opportunity to have both of them.

How were you supposed to hold yourself back? 

。°。°。°。°。°

“No fucking way.” Steve said exasperatedly, shaking his head and denying what Eddie told him for the hundredth time. 

Eddie groaned, growing frustrated, “Yes fucking way, dude, ask her!” 

“Ask her what, whether you fucked her or not?” Steve narrowed his gaze when he turned to him, words laced with bitterness, if Eddie didn't know him better he'd say Steve was jealous. 

And he was.

“Yeah, because I did, and she fucking loved it.” 

“Bullshit.” Steve spat, his face still wearing a shocked look that had Eddie grinning. 

His mind was almost spiraling, that insecurity he felt years ago almost returning and the image was quick to shatter. Why didn’t you want him? Why did you want Eddie? 

“C’mon, Stevie,” He elbowed Steve playfully, enjoying this. Steve gloated for days about you, for days. And now he had something bigger to tease him with.

Because you, who rejected every idiotic boy in this town, who even rejected 'King Steve' begged for Eddie. And he couldn't help but bask in that, especially to annoy Steve further. “Don’t be jealous, I thought you said we could share.” Eddie grinned like an idiot, brushing his shoulder against his teasingly.

And it was getting to Steve, the idea that you didn’t want him. Like you could see right through his King Steve bullshit. “Fuck you, man.” 

“So, what? You can have her, but I can’t?” He said with a little bitterness spilling out, eyeing Steve. 

“No, dude, just—” Steve sighed, “I can’t fucking get my mind off of her.” He mumbled, almost embarrassed.

“Neither can I!”

“So what the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Desperate, pathetic, and horny. Ironically, that’s how you were feeling too, without knowing that’s exactly what the boys were feeling too. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered.” Steve looked at Eddie with a narrowed gaze.

“She’s coming to the show tonight,” Eddie hummed excitedly, “and she asked me to invite you too.”

Holy shit. That brought a saccharine smile on Steve’s face, it was stupid, to be so excited over something like this. But that meant you did want him. Stirring his stomach in the best and worst way possible, he wanted to shake it off, but he fucking couldn’t.

Jesus fucking Christ. What were you doing to him?

“Dude, do you realize what that means?” 

“What?” Eddie inquired. 

“Oh my sweet, sweet, Munson…” Steve tssked, “She wants both of us.”

“Oh, shit.” The realization was slow to hit Eddie, his mind still replaying what happened with you over and over again. “Wait you— uh, you’re okay with that?” Eddie asked, almost nervous. 

“Yeah, dude, why wouldn’t I be?” Steve shrugged carelessly, it wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before, but Eddie still felt nervous, because this time it did feel different, with both of you. 

“Besides we can’t keep our girl depraved now, can we?” 

#steve harrington x reader #king!steve x reader #eddie munson smut #steddie x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #eddie munson

[hannieehaee]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write about one of the svt memberd being super good friends with the reader, like touchy. And everyone else is begging them to get together? 💛

content: f2l!chan, afab reader, seungkwan is far too nosy and too involved for his own good, fluff, etc.

wc: 1485

a/n: i wrote about channie since i think the while friends to lovers thing fits him super well hehe i hope u enjoy <3

masterlist

you and chan had been good friends for a good while now. well, no. it had been further than a good while. you'd known each other since you were young children.

despite chan's life taking a very drastic turn very early on upon his decision to become an idol, the two of you remained friends regardless. your friendship was truly one for the books. to chan's parents you were considered part of the family, which allowed the two of you to spend almost every waking moment together.

this pattern followed you into adulthood, a time in which you somehow becoming even more attached to the hip. his packed idol schedule never really got in the way of your friendship since chan would always insist on having you tag along, allowing you to take the role of one of chan's personal staff members in order to keep you as close to him as he could. this resulted in your friendship extending onto the rest of the members, who had known you since chan had first joined the company, practically treating you like yet another member of their family due to your constant presence.

now, your friendship with chan was quite special. the two of you were the closest duo that any of the members had ever seen. if anyone thought that chan was touchy with any member of seventeen, they surely hadnt seen how touchy he was with you. his hands were never off you for too long, nor his eyes. he was in constant watch of you, dragging you away from his members if they ever dared steal you away. if chan had a hotel room booked for tour, you were sleeping in bed right beside him. if he was at dance practice, he was cuddling you on the hardwood floor during his breaks. the boy practically broke out in hives if you were not in his arms, and the same could be said about you.

this was something the members used to find endearing; with the operative words being 'used to.' when you were teenagers, they had all seen it as cute and innocent puppy love between two childhood friends. however, the expectation had been that by the time the two of you turned 20, you wouldve snapped out of it and realized your very clear feelings for each other. but contrary to their assumptions, the two of you were now on your 24th year of age and had yet to move past the label of friendship. the thought of the two of you uselessly repressing your feelings for each other had most of the members going insane (mostly seungkwan) by then, which was something a few members had recently started to make known to their youngest brother.

~

one of the first few times in which seungkwan chan's friends began to show their frustrations at his lack of action in making you his took place on a regular afternoon. seungkwan and chan were walking together into the halls of the hybe building, with seungkwan suddenly inquiring as to why he didn't just close the deal with you and made it official.

"i told you it's not like that! we're just friends, that's it", whined chan for the nth time that week.

"i dont buy it. neither of you has ever been in a long term relationship. you're just playing the long game for no reason. she likes you, just ask her out!", seungkwan began to get exasperated at the stupid obliviousness of his friend.

"we work too much, it's– we have no time for relationships."

"'we'? see! you come as a package deal. just date each other!"

"hyung, just drop it. it doesn't mean anything," he groaned before parting ways as chan went onto some individual schedule and seungkwan joined vernon to head over to do a live together.

"what was that about?", inquired an unsuspecting vernon.

"asked him about y/n again."

"ohhh. don't worry about it. they'll see it for themselves one day. it's too obvious."

"yeah. guess you're right."

~

another instance in which chan was yet again bullied over his lack of self-awareness of his relationship with you was only a few days later. mingyu and seungkwan had just happened to walk in on you and chan playing badminton in the practice room. chan was wrapped around you from behind, hands holding onto yours, guiding your movements as jun played on the other side of the net. you were a mess of giggles as the ridiculous scene played in front of seungkwan's eyes.

"why do you look so disgusted?", spoke up mingyu, noticing the scowl on seungkwan's face.

"he's just so– he's an idiot! that's the love of his life! can't he just ask her out?"

"hmm. you're right. don't worry too much about it. i mean, look at them. it's only a matter of time."

"they're wasting years they could've spent together. god, why is he so dumb?", he wondered out loud, only earning a chuckle from his friend as the two of them joined in on your game

~

the next and final time seungkwan felt the need to express his frustration at your stubbornness had been upon walking into the practice room to find the two of you cuddled up on the floor. cuddled up might've been too light a term, seeing as you were laying completely on top of him with your face buried into the crook of his neck. your arms were nowhere to be found as they were dug into chan's hoodie, likely holding onto his bare back.

seungkwan scoffed at the sight. his friend looked far too content to be cuddling with a platonic friend. you looked too content to be cuddling with a platonic friend. the domesticity of it made seungkwan sick (okay, maybe he was being dramatic, but the two of you were far too frustrating to him!), causing him to walk over to you with judgement in his features.

"really?", was the first word out of his mouth as he stood over the two of you.

"wha ..?", chan tilted his head in confusion.

"this is platonic?"

"hyung, not this again ...", he groaned out, burying his head on your neck for a change.

you began to groggily sit up, now sitting on chan's lap rather than laying on top of him, "what are you guys talking about?"

"you know! there's no way you dont," seungkwan squinted his eyes at you as an annoyed look made its way onto his face.

"what?"

chan unburied his head from your neck, "he keeps insisting i ask you out because he thinks the way we act around each other isn't entirely platonic an-"

seungkwan interrupted before he could finish.

"our friendship is platonic. you ... you're a couple that's just too scared to put the actual label on it. you're driving me insane. either go out or stop being all over each other at all times!"

chan groaned out at his friend yet again, dropping his head to your chest as he hugged you closer to him. he took a breath against your chest before lifting his head back up, shooting his friend a glare before speaking up again.

"fine," he then turned to look at you, "will you be my girlfriend?"

his tone of voice sounded fed up, making anyone think that he did not mean his words. you, however, still sleepy and not fully understanding the context of the situation, lit up immediately at his words.

"yes!", you grinned at him, ignoring the presence of seungkwan and any other member who was now paying attention at the scene seungkwan had formed.

chan had to do a double take, staring at seungkwan and then darting his eyes right back at you, "w– what? you like me back?!"

"'back!'", seungkwan exclaimed with a gasp, "i knew it!"

"kwannie, shut up," it was seungcheol interjecting this time. about five members were now invested in the scene in front of them.

"yeah, of course i do ... were you not being serious?", you seemed put off by all the attention, but still putting all your focus on chan, who was still holding onto you as his wide eyes bore into yours.

"yes! i mean no– yes, i was being serious! be my girlfriend? please? wait, no. i wanna do this in private. c'mon, baby, let's go," he rushed to get the two of you up, grabbing your hand as he led you out of the room in a hurry, huge grins glued to both your faces as you giggled at each other.

seungkwan was left standing there, completely flabbergasted at how quickly it had all unfolded. suddenly he felt a hand pat his shoulder and a voice speak right next to him.

"huh. guess you were right," it was hannie.

yeah. he was right. now he could finally have peace knowing he had been successful in matchmaking his most stubborn friend.

a/n: chan asking reader out was inspired by that one tiktok of the guy who asked his bff to be his gf on video but she didnt know he was recording and she was all like 'yes :D!!!!' n he was all like ':00 okay!!!' idk i just found it so cuteshsjos

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #lee chan x reader #lee chan fanfic #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #lee chan fluff #dino x reader #dino fanfic #dino fluff #dino scenarios #dino imagines

[jaehyunsprincesspeach]

hi! hope you’re doing well and staying healthy 🩵

I was wondering if I could request a wayv reaction to their s/o out of nowhere smothering them with kisses please? hehe that’ll be all

thanks! <3

omg i literally love this my heart is sparkling !!

hope you enjoy !!

all the love ~ lunar

WayV Reactions: smothering them with kisses

Kun

initially he is going to be shocked, but like he would just kinda freeze where he is and process what is happening

once he finally understands that you are showing your love and affection, he swoops you into the warmest embrace

even if he tried, the smile etched on his lips is not going away any time soon

he would do one of those hugs where he picks you up and spins you around (a dream truly)

once he sets you back on the ground, he gladly returns the affection, making you flustered too

now the two of you are a blushing giggling mess but like its the cutest thing in the world

with Kun, there’s something about it that’s almost like …. domestic

like the two of you never really get out of the honeymoon phase cause yall are just so excited when you get to see each other

and things like this never fail to show that

rest of members below the cut

Ten

oh goodness ….

at first he might question whats happening

like whats with the sudden rush of affection (not that hes complaining)

would first ask if you’re okay

and then this man is going to tease you relentlessly

“you miss me baby?” “i know, you want me so bad”

low key his teasing might ruin the moment

however !! he never fails to bring it back

like if u smother him with affection, and he starts teasing you, and you give him the side eye, hes gonna grab you and wrap you up in his arms and start leaving smooches all over your neck

slight chance it could turn into something steamyyy ;)

Winwin

genuinely would not know what to do

like he would turn into a sim (iykyk)

and would become an absolute blushing mess

once you’re done, he would just smile, and kiss your cheek

but honestly he would be too stunned to speak, like he would just be there blushing and giggling to himself

i think he has a little bit of a hard time in the sense that he always wants to make others happy, but when someone like compliments him, or when his partner shows him affection, he might freeze a little

but once he becomes more comfortable with the spontaneous smooches, hes more than happy to return them !!

honestly i think he would have an easier time showing affection to his partner

but he still would freeze up when the affection is a surprise like this

loves it regardless !!

Xiaojun

sweet baby angel is so shocked…

like he initially is worried that you’re upset about something, or that he hasn’t given you enough attention

starts asking if you are okay, or if something is wrong

once he finds out you’re okay, he smiles and pulls you in for a hug

he’s so sweet, but the embrace is low key a cover for the tickles that hes about to shock you with

will literally stand there tickling you, not to be mean or anything like that, just because he enjoys hearing your laugh

when hes done with the tickles, he smooches your lips a few times before pulling you back into a hug

will probably pull you to the couch and just hold you for a little bit too

simply wants to enjoy your presence, but he wont be able to hide the blush from your previous kisses

Hendery

i love this man with my entire being omg

Hendery will stand there as if he is processing what just happened

in reality, hes planning something else

hes really looking around and making sure the area is safe before he tackles you to the ground so that you dont actually get hurt

an affectionate tackle, that leads to an affectionate tickle fight, that leads to you literally crying from laughing so hard

yes he is blushing, but now you look like a tomato after he is done with his tickle fight

“Hendery, i just wanted to kiss you!! why did you tickle me?” “because i’m literally in love with you”

after you catch your breath, still pinned on the ground, he places the softest yet most passionate kiss on your lips

as if you werent already breathless before ….

“you know, you didnt kiss my lips once… you kissed everywhere but my lips actually…”

the playful smirk never leaving his face as he teases you

omg i’m getting carried away…..

Yangyang

omg Yangyang is literally so cute about it

initially he will be a little surprised, but once your kiss attack has ended, its his turn

as soon as you stop smothering him in kisses, he starts smothering you in kisses

genuinely, i could see this continuing for a while too

like just back and forth attacking each other with affection

as it keeps going, he keeps getting closer and closer to your lips, till you two are locked in a passionate kiss

by the end of it, both of you are blushing like crazy, and giggling like you’ve gone mad

hes absolutely pulling you into his lap, and simply staring at you as if there is nothing more beautiful in the world (hes not wrong)

keeps you in his lap the rest of the night

genuinely will pout if you try to leave

like “you just smothered me with affection, and now you have the audacity to sit anywhere but my lap???”

refuses to let you go (unless he absolutely has to)

hes just so happy that you are his and he loves when you show him affection !!

#lunars alternate reality #lunars dimension #lunars love #wayv reactions #wayv kun #wayv ten #wayv winwin #wayv xiaojun #wayv hendery #wayv yangyang #nct wayv #wayv #wayv icons #wayv imagines #wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv headcanons #wayv soft thoughts #wayv soft hours #wayv x you #nct kun #nct ten #nct winwin #nct xiaojun #nct hendery #nct yangyang #nct headcanons #nct reactions #nct imagines #nct soft hours

[bruisedboys]

Hi, your celly looks so fun! May I please request candy cane with either Finnick or Steve (whoever you're feeling) and face? I feel like you're so good at those moments of quiet intimacy and would love to see what you do with that. Ofc absolutely no worries if not, love you regardless!

(Also sorry if this sent more than once, my laptop died and I wasn't sure if it went through)

mae!! hi my lovely, I went with finnick for this one because I just couldn’t resist hehe. ily and thank u for the request x

join the celebration

prompt: sender turns receiver's face towards them.

finnick odair x fem!reader

“Let me look at you, honey.”

Finnick takes your face in one hand and turns you carefully to face him, your head propped up on two pillows. You’re feeling rather poorly, and his worried doting is a lot to manage, but you can’t deny that you’re really enjoying being looked after by him.

You meet his eyes over a sea of blankets and he grins, all lopsided and stunningly handsome. “There’s my pretty girl,” he says. “How’re you feeling, sweet thing?”

“Okay,” you say weakly. Better now he’s touching you like you’re made of starlight.

“Yeah?” He strokes your cheek. His fingers feel cool on your hot skin. “How’s your throat?”

“Not very good,” you admit. It aches when you swallow and it hurts to talk. It’s no use downplaying how you feel to Finnick. He knows when you’re lying and he’ll get it out of you in the end, anyway.

Finnick hums sympathetically. “I’m sorry, honey.” His fingers dip below your jaw and he presses gently against the side of your neck, presumably checking for swelling. He must find nothing, because he takes his hand back and smiles at you. His palm rests over your chest, warm and heavy. “Would you like me to make you another lemon and honey drink?”

“Yeah, please,” you nod. His hands feel nice on your aching body. You wonder if you can persuade him into cuddling you for the rest of the day. It wouldn’t be very hard to convince him, you think.

Finnick squeezes your shoulder gently. “Can I get you anything else?”

“A hug would be nice,” you suggest, hopeful in your miserable state.

Finnick visibly melts. He’s a mixture of utterly fond and very pitying when he says, “Of course, sweetheart.”

He bends at the waist to scoop you into a warm hug. You let him do most of the work, his arms working around your upper back to lift you very slightly off the mattress and into his chest. He’s warm, and he smells really nice. You bury your nose in the juncture between his shoulder and neck and breathe him in, wheedle your aching arms around his waist. He rubs your back, your skin prickling from his warmth.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling so awful,” he says softly. “Let me get you that drink, and then I’ll hug you all you want, okay?”

He’s so sweet on you. You wonder vaguely if his overbearing sweetness is what made you sick in the first place. You wouldn’t be surprised.

#★ mal writes! #mal’s 6k! #6k celly blurbs #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #thg x reader #thg finnick #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg finnick x reader #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #the hunger games finnick #finnick odair blurb #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair oneshot

[neophele]

Waking Up Together. - NCT Dream Headcanon 

Waking up next to someone you love is just one of the most beautiful things in life, writing this made me all gooey hehe It’s also kinda waking up and morning routines I hope that it is okay :o Thank you for the request dear anon!!!!! I love getting little prompts and ideas like this, so thank u for sharing c:  Words: ~2k Genre: Fluff!!!! Domestic, boyf content. No warnings!

Mark

Would wake you with sweet nothings whispered in your ear, his deep morning voice lazily telling you how cute you look bundled up under the sheets. Wants you as close as physically possible, with your head buried in his neck and hands under his shirt, one of his hands on your waist to hold you in place and the other brushing over the top of your head, pushing messy hair away so he could see your face better. Mumbling words of praise and giving you little pecks on your forehead, he would be a waking dream, wanting you both to be able to start your day feeling loved and content. He’d put off getting up for as long as he could, preferring not to set alarms unless absolutely necessary and just enjoying the lazy intimacy of sleepy mornings together. When one of you finally did have to get up, however, he would want to be able to carry out your morning routines in domestic harmony – brushing your teeth together with an arm hanging around your shoulder, washing your faces together and happily rubbing the foam into your cheeks, eating breakfast together and listening to you talk about what dreams you had, all of the above. If he did have to get up too early for it to be fair to expect you to get up with him, he would still wake you up to say and kiss you goodbye (though he would encourage you to go back to sleep afterwards), and would never ever leave without doing so. 

Renjun 

He strikes me as a pretty responsible morning person, so waking up with Renjun would be more like …. Being woken up by Renjun, he’s fresh out the shower with still damp hair, gently touching your shoulder and whispering your name until you finally leave the depths of your sleep. And there he is, standing over you with a mug of tea, coffee, or warm water (whatever your preference), smiling stupidly as he admires your freshly awoken, dazed face.  Even though he’s up already, he would want to get back into bed and sit up reading or watching something on his phone, sipping his own drink, whilst you’re bundled into his side and coming around. Encourages you to get up and hands you the drink he’d made for you so you can cuddle and sip your beverages together, watching something or just enjoying each other’s company. The best part, for him, is then sitting in bed and getting to watch you get ready. Sits there with his drink, giving you little reminders like, ‘you left your hairbrush over there,’ when you’re fumbling through drawers, or ‘don’t forget to put on an extra layer; it’s cold today’, while you’re pulling on odd socks. Just loves watching you in the mornings when you’re still half asleep and unaffected by whatever the day might bring, just able to be entirely yourself, regardless of how clumsy or put together that might be.

Jeno

Jeno, even asleep, would be strong enough to keep you from slipping out of his grasp unnoticed. I don’t know why, but he just seems like a heavy sleeper (I have absolutely no reason or evidence for this other than the vibes I get from him), so good luck waking him up! You’ll have no choice but to wake up tucked into Jeno’s grip, admiring his peaceful form cloaked in blissful slumber until he starts to stir. If he did have to get up, he’d set several alarms that would probably wake you up before him and would much prefer it when you lean over to his side of the bed and turn the alarm off, shaking him gently and whispering his name in a foggy voice. When he does get up, in a sleepy haze, he lies on his back and has you tucked into his side or just lying on top of him so he can stroke your back and kiss your forehead. Wants to spend at least a few minutes just quietly holding you, enjoying your presence and the comfort of being with you in such a private, gentle moment. Loves seeing you up and about in your pyjamas, whether it’s a proper pyjama set or just a big shirt (maybe even his clothes), he just finds it so endearing to see you in something so effortlessly perfect. Absolutely refuses to get dressed until you’ve eaten breakfast in bed, brushed your teeth, and done everything else on your morning checklist. Only then are you allowed to deny him the sight of your adorable, pyjama clad appearance. 

(Also…. Deep morning voice Jeno *-* absolute madness if you can resist that)((also ive now been informed that jeno has said he's a light sleeper, rip this idea haha)

Haechan

Sneaky boy, he would constantly be pulling you back into his arms and going ‘just five more minutes, which always turn into ten.. then fifteen… then before you know it, a whole hour of just lying in bed cuddling has happened, and you might be late for something but he either really doesn’t know or really doesn’t care. Haechan just loves to cuddle and I think, especially in the mornings, he’d be exceptionally clingy and affectionate – wanting to be the big spoon and have you clutched into his chest like a soft toy, pressing his face into the back of your neck and smelling your homely scent, or holding him in your arms with his head in your chest and stroking his hair, his arm draped over your side to keep you in place. Even if you try and push him away (though how could anyone do such a thing), he would not let you, sleepily whining and pouting until you crawled back into his arms or just flat out holding you down with an iron grip. Definitely teases you about morning breath or bedhead, but you know it’s just his way of acting, and you tease him back so it’s all fun and games. Though, before you properly get up, he’d want to give you a kiss and tell you how stunning he thinks you are, uttering the words quietly and close to your ear so that you swoon a little, making sure you know how highly he really thinks of you. 

Jaemin 

Mornings with Jaemin would go one of two ways. One would be him waking you up with a fully made breakfast, fresh coffee and a beaming Jaemin ready to very literally spoon-feed you while you’re still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The second would be him absolutely refusing to leave the bed, making up every single excuse in the book as to why you just had to stay beneath the covers for another unspecified amount of time. Probably plays soothing music to ‘wake you up’ as you enjoy your morning cuddles, but it tends to be too soothing and send you back into the lull of sleep. Other times, he’ll whisper strings of affection into your ear, his morning voice so deliciously intoxicating that you are drawn right back into the peace of sleep once again. The days you get up first are rare. Jaemin somehow has an internal clock that knows just when to get up so that he can be the first thing that greets you, even before the sun sometimes, and can then persuade you in your freshly awoken state to go back to sleep for a little longer. Waking up with him is incredibly gentle, always. Morning routines beyond this are unpredictable, much like Jaemin, but the one thing you can always count on is a smile of adoration and hushed ‘good morning, gorgeous’ every single day. 

Chenle

Again, like Jaemin, it would really depend on the day and how tired he was. He’d have good intentions, wanting to wake up first and make you breakfast, bringing it to you so you could have a lazy breakfast in bed with him by your side as often as possible, but sometimes the bed is just… too comfy. He forgets to get up, so drawn into your sleepy embrace that he can’t help but let his eyes close once more, and before he knows it, he’s asleep again. If you get up before him, god-forbid, and he finds you up and about, he’d be upset and want you to come back to bed and give him more attention. Doesn’t like it when you’re up before him – ever the gentleman, he wants to wake you up to a morning that’s as easy as possible. Whether that means him bringing you breakfast or easing you awake with a gentle voice and soothing hands petting your hair. Doesn’t want to stay in bed for too long, so will enjoy getting up with you and just co-existing as you go about your morning routines. However, if he has to get up before you and you’re staying in bed, once he’s up and ready for his day, he will indulge himself in a few more moments of peace before he leaves, clambering under the covers fully dressed so he can be wrapped up next to you for however long he can afford.

Jisung 

Another one that seems like a heavy sleeper… again, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way he feels so comfortable knowing you’re next to him while he sleeps. Maybe he’s just a sleepyhead. Who knows. When he does finally wake up, however, he would be a starer – watching you sleeping, admiring you but not wanting to wake you up, internally conflicted as to whether it’s wrong to let you sleep when you have somewhere to be. So, often, you’ll wake up to his eyes peering at you and have a moment of panic because, at first, it’s ever so slightly terrifying. Soon you get used to it, and when your eyes flutter open and he isn’t looking at you, you will take the opportunity to watch him instead. He doesn’t need you to be tangled together as you sleep and wake up. Just the fact you’re so close together, sharing a bed and privy to each other’s most vulnerable state, is meaningful enough for him. Mornings are soft and sweet, lingering touches and even longer-lasting looks, quiet bliss as you escape into your own world for a bit longer until the day drags you away. Wouldn’t mind too much if one of you had to get up before the other, but the mornings you did spend lazing in bed until the other came around are his favourite. 

#nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream reactions #nct dream headcanons #nct fluff #nct reactions #nct mark fluff #mark fluff #renjun fluff #jeno fluff #haechan fluff #jaemin fluff #chenle fluff #jisung fluff #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct dream x y/n

[castieltrash1]

summary → patience is a virtue and you show bucky barnes he’s worth waiting for

word count → 17k

warnings → angst/comfort, pining, insecurity/jealousy, partial soldat!bucky, mentions of violence, ptsd/nightmare references, ambigious pre-wakanda timeline, alcohol, wanda/vision mentions, reader is non-gendered but gets called “sweetheart” “doll” “darling” and “kid,” bucky is scared of thunderstorms, physical scars and canon-level violence, basically just a big ball of emotion with a happy ending 

a/n → yes guys it is, in fact, finished. i’d like to thank the academy aka my bucky anon and @f1nalboys​ bc without them this fic would’ve never seen the light of day </3 this one is for yall MWAH !!

+ each section of the fic is kind of based on a different song so u can listen to those [here] hehe :3 but the whole fic is based on the song outer space/carry on by 5sos (the title is from lyrics hehe)

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I. The Archer; “And I don't see an end to this, so I'll enjoy the fire.”

Bucky enters the kitchen almost silently, the slosh and drip of his drenched clothes giving away his sudden presence.

You turn your head just in time to watch a few drops hit the floor, water collecting into a murky puddle of shadow on the tile around his clunky boots.  It takes an eternity of a stretched second for you to recognize him. Everyone had turned in for the night, supposedly. When your brain registers who’s standing in front of you, your eyes widen, heart skipping a beat. Even with everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve watched him do, it still doesn’t feel right to see him in this state.

He’s already stalking off with a rubbery squeak when you grab a spare dishtowel from the counter and rush over to him. For a moment you think he’ll ignore you, but then he stops in his tracks, albeit without sparing you a glance. He’s not all there -- stance stiff, eyes glazed in a way that disregards the usual sliver of warmth in his deep blue gaze. But he’s polite -- obedient -- regardless.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize -- for not being fast enough, not noticing him; anything he might take offense to in this sensitive state. “I didn’t realize you were still out... I thought…” He doesn’t reply, but his jaw ticks as water trickles from his hair to his cheek. It lets you know he’s not completely numb. Not yet. You lift the towel, but he grabs it from you before you can get any closer.

He drags it across his eyes, forehead, nose, before shoving it back into your hands. When he slicks his hair away from his face, you take note of the blotchiness of his skin; concentrated around his nose and under his red-rimmed eyes. They’re bloodshot, and the veins are bright against his grey expression.

He offers you no more than a sniff as he brushes past, heading towards the bathroom.

When the door slams shut behind him, you break from your stupor and trace his wet footprints back to the puddle that’s begun to seep into the lines between the tile. You sacrifice the already dirtied towel to clean it. Bucky will feel bad for the mess eventually, even if he’s apathetic now. The searing hot shower will slowly bring him back, steam opening the guilt-filled pores that hide under his scarred skin. He’ll come out and scrub the grout until his hands bleed.

The water is still running when you reach the bathroom door to wipe up the last of the mess, just a heelprint of thinned mud.

As you retreat to your room, you text Steve. He’ll be the first one up, and the only one equipped to deal with the emotional hangover. He’ll be the only one who really cares.

You let him know that Bucky just got home, hoping he’ll note the late timestamp of your message. And you tell him Bucky seems tired. Tired. It does little to encompass everything -- all the exhaustion, fear, and confusion he’ll wake up with. But Steve will understand. He always does. And you do your best, even when there’s not a single recognizable part of Bucky left.

Steve catches you by the wrist in the lounge the following early afternoon, tugging you to the corner of the room. A soft smile spreads across his face as he wipes away the sweaty remains of his morning run; all warmth, skin glowing in a way that only happens after a good workout.

His eyes scan the rest of the room, a movement almost too fast to catch. He lets out a heavy, relieved sigh when he realizes you’re alone, and brings you to the nearest couch.

“I got your text,” he says lowly, hesitant to breach the topic in person. “I wanted to thank you.”

You see the nervousness in his gaze and scoot closer to pat his shoulder. “Of course. I know he can be… Unpredictable. You deserve a heads-up if you can get one.” Steve’s been caught off guard before; you all have. It’s easy to think Bucky is just being distant, just being him. And then he’s sleeping too late, saying too little. His dinner plate will stay untouched, but the kitchen will be ransacked at midnight once everyone’s gone. Steve can barely catch up, and you doubt Bucky can either.

Steve shifts, letting out a shaky breath. “I want to help him.”

“You do more than any of us,” you reassure, truthfully. “Bucky trusts you -- he loves you. I think your presence is all he needs most of the time.”

Everyone else has to put more effort into their support. Natasha peels back the scars of her past in hopes of sharing the pain. Bruce spends weekends hunched over his desk trying to make sleeping pills that Bucky’s metabolism won’t immediately digest; tired fingers shaking as he tries a new dose, a new capsule, a new something.

But Steve’s existence alone is more of a contribution than anything.

“He knows you help, too,” he finally says, staring in a way that makes you squirm. It’s the hardened soldier’s gaze that leaves no room for argument. Whatever he’s telling you is a belief buried deep in his soul, an unwavering promise.

It makes your chest clench. Steve confirming that Bucky pays you even an ounce of attention is enough to make your heart race. “I’m just trying to be a friend.” You stress the last word, hoping it’s not visible that you’re curled around the ledge of a maybe more.

“He’ll notice eventually,” he tries, but his determined gaze is gone, and he’s holding onto hope just as much as you are.

The surface of Bucky’s healing has barely been scratched. There’s an entire life for him to uncover, remember, forget, and relive. It’d be selfish to expect any more than that from him. You know that, Steve knows that. A part of you hopes Bucky does too -- that someday he’ll realize his existence isn’t at the expense of others, even if that expense is love.

Steve stands with curled lips and a gentle double-pat on your leg that’s too comforting for something you shouldn’t even be disappointed about. It makes you feel like you’re mourning, but maybe you are, and maybe he’s just the only one who realizes it.

II. Studio 6; “I reached out to wake you but I learned that he'd taken you back.”

Group dinners are impossible, but there’s always a good handful of you in the kitchen at one time.

Tony will sip something bubbly that’s worth a mortgage, while Bruce tosses a salad fit for two; perpetually charged with thinly veiled green anger. Clint will scarf down a slice of week-old pizza and Nat will scrunch her nose at the unpleasant sounds she can never seem to avoid when he’s within range.

And, if Steve’s around, so is Bucky. The latter has only made an exception for Sam if his prior friend is on a mission for too long that he can’t sustain a hunger strike.

No one questions it or why his presence is more likely to exist when the dining room is crowded. He seems more inclined to show up when he can sink out of a conversation without anyone noticing, without any eyes on him -- except yours. He always catches onto your staring quickly though, feeling the heavy and uncomfortable weight of your focus.

But tonight, his chair by the corner of the room is noticeably empty. No one dares to disturb it, even if the extra seat is needed. No one says anything either -- at least not too loudly, though you catch some distant mumblings between Sam and Tony. They’ve chosen to forget (or purposely ignore) the fact that Steve, who’s sitting beside them, has beyond-perfect hearing.  

And he’s quick to hear the vibrating of his silenced phone, brows furrowed as he discards his fork to reach for the device. Normally, he’d scold you for ignoring table manners, but when he reads your hasty message, he understands.

“Have you seen him eat today?”

Steve gives you a tight-lipped frown and discreet shake of his head as a response.

You’re quick to stand from your chair with a sigh, the room quieting as everyone’s eyes focus on you. “I’m done, so I’ll do dishes tonight.” All of them happily agree without question, piling their plates onto yours. Wanda smiles in gratitude, whereas Clint presses a messy kiss to your cheek in thanks. Steve, who usually has clean-up duty, just nods, giving you permission for whatever you’re planning.

Thankfully, the kitchen stays empty for a while. Laughter and voices echo from the lounge, and you half listen to the retold stories as you load the dishwasher. Everyone is still going strong by the time you finish cleaning and grab a new plate from the overhead cupboard.

You hope Bucky won’t take offense at the basic sandwich; certainly not the homely dish of meat and potatoes he might think of as a family dinner. No silverware, no mess. The fridge is mostly stocked, if you ignore the Asgardian leftovers and the three-hundred-dollar block of cheese, so you pile up what you can.

The sliced tomatoes wobble while you walk down the hall, dish balanced in one hand. Light spills underneath Bucky’s bedroom door frame, but when you knock softly, there’s no response. You tap a bit harder, and call out: “Bucky… I have some food for you.” Try as you might to keep your voice steady, there’s a waver that makes you grimace. Contrary to what he may believe, it’s not him you fear -- not in the way others do. He still doesn’t answer you.

You leave the plate on the ground; a pathetic offering of inclusion and peace.

It’s just a sandwich.

When you’ve retreated to your own room, you send him a text letting him know what’s waiting for him. And even though it stings when he doesn’t reply, you feel a silent weight lifted off your shoulders. You played your role today, just as you did last night.

If there’s one emotion Bucky has never evoked in you, it’s guilt.

You don’t check your phone until you’re making coffee the next morning, barely awake as the smell of roasted beans fills the air. The sandwich and its recipient feel like a half-forgotten dream. Only when you’re a few sips into your drink do you see the notification, and the one word it bestows.

Thanks.

It catches you off guard, and you busy yourself by rinsing the pot for the next person, a ceramic glint catching your eye. The stainless steel sink is home to a single plate -- the plate. There’s still a smudge of mustard on the corner from when your hands shook, and the squeezed condiment missed the bread.

You scrub at the dried stain, a much easier mess than the mud-covered floor. It’s just a small task, just a sandwich, just a friendly gesture.

It’s clear Bucky thinks nothing more of it either. The following weekend he’s fine in his own way. After an episode, the air around him feels off; a thick aura that makes your gut instincts fire up. He’s a human timebomb, one wrong step away from mass destruction.

And then he smiles at Steve,  you overhear their conversation about Coney Island, and suddenly all that fear is gone.

His laugh is more of a throaty chuckle than anything else, but there’s a flash of his pearly whites when he jokes about taking Steve on the Cyclone (a story you’ve all heard countless times) and time seems to slow. You hang onto the sight of him like a single frame in a movie; the sway of that one curl on his forehead, the slow upturn of his lips. It’s almost like he’s not there, not really, because he’s someone entirely different -- and not in the ways you’ve seen before.

It feels like you’re standing in the museum again, looking at all the Sergeant Barnes plaques and pictures. Not a hint of Winter Soldier, not even Bucky, just… James.

You must be grinning like the lovesick idiot you are because Steve finally nudges your shoulder. “Don’t you start laughing now. You’dve thrown up too if you went on that thing.” It takes a second for you to realize they’re still talking about roller coasters, and you just shake your head.

“Whatever you say, Cap’.”

“C’mon, Buck, back me up here!” He’s reverted to the past just as much as his friend, though less noticeably. Just a shift of the shoulders and a stance that fits a skinny Brooklyn kid, not a trained Avenger.

“Nah.” Bucky laughs again, stifled now that you’re involved in the conversation. “Steve’s just a chicken.”

“Oh, eat it,” Steve retorts. “I had stomach ulcers! Of course, I threw up.” He acts truly offended, but there’s no malice in his tone. He loves a good row, even when he acts otherwise. You pretend not to catch his barely visible smirk even as he walks away to go talk to Sam, who’s just entered the room.

You lean closer to Bucky, hand covering the side of your mouth, voice lowered. “He’s just bluffing. I heard he screamed over a spider yesterday.” There’s not much space between you two, and your head spins as you realize he must’ve leaned in too. Just a little. Unconsciously, perhaps, though a hopeful part of you thinks he calculates every moment, no matter how small.

He laughs, enough for you to see his chest puff, but too quiet to cover the whirring of his metal-plated arm. Making him laugh gives you a feeling that’s unmatched by any other form of euphoria. It’s a baby step, a sign of comfort, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re enough. Enough for him.

Your heart skips a beat, and when his eyes dart to watch your upturned lips, you wonder if his does too.

III. Sign of the Times; “Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?”

A part of you is beginning to believe good and bad luck are destined to come hand-in-hand.

It’s an odd feeling having Bucky next door to you, even with the heavy, soundproof wall border. There are simultaneously mere inches and a world apart between you. His steps are silent and his door is always closed, but his presence is still there, and you don’t know if you’d still feel it if you weren’t head over heels for him.

Considering the rest of the building’s layout, you’ve been blessed with this corner of the facility. Steve’s across from Bucky, Sam from you. Despite the square shape, they’re a tight-knit triangle most of the time, even if you consider yourself somewhat involved in their friendship. But it’s partially relieving to not always be included since they can be a handful otherwise.

And that much is proven true when a loud clattering wakes you up at four in the morning.

The sound would wake anyone up, but your job and training are responsible for the way you jolt, heart racing. Any remaining sleep is blinked away as your fingers drift to the side of your bed, where you know a knife is sandwiched between the mattress and frame. No one can get in or even close to the facility without Tony’s knowledge, but the smooth metal feels reassuring against your fingertips regardless.

Silence follows for a few seconds, long enough for you to wonder if the disturbance was just a vivid nightmare. And then you hear one door open, and another; both slammed into the wall behind them. Steve’s voice echoes down the hall, calling your name, and you slide off the bed to your door, forgetting your disclosed weapon.

Steve’s halfway through your name again when you enter the dark hall, finding him standing in Bucky’s doorway. He’s bleary, blue eyes clouded with an uncertain look you’ve only managed to see once or twice; most notably, on the freeway that fateful day. He’s forced to adjust to the situation quickly, you realize, when you join his side and peer into the room.

Everything about Bucky is wrong.

His chest heaves, and when Steve shifts forward, he growls. It’s not a warning, but a threat. If his mouth could foam, you’re sure it’d be dripping down his chin at this point. He’s an offensive predator at first glance. And then you notice the little clues: disheveled sheets, sweat gathered on his brow, the broken vase by his bed stand, and the water dripping from his flesh hand.

Bucky suddenly becomes a wounded, scared animal.

You inch closer, Steve grabbing your wrist when Bucky reacts with a snarl. But you don’t halt, forcing yourself past the threshold. One checkpoint at a time.

“Bucky, it’s me.” You stand, palms face out. “I don’t know what you dreamt of -- I’m sure it scared you. But Steve and I are here, ok?” His eyes flicker between you, respectively, and a glint of recognition flashes in them. “Can you sit back down on your bed?”

His expression trembles, metal fingers curling and stretching repeatedly.

You rack your brain for any idea of ways to de-escalate the situation when he doesn’t follow your suggestion. And then it hits. He doesn’t need a suggestion. He needs an order.

With a deep breath, you steady your tone and catch his gaze. “Bucky…” His eyes glaze, but you try again. “James.” He twitches, just a small shift, but you grab onto it. You want to use the least amount of soldier-related words you can and if his legal name works, you’re not going to push your luck.

“Sit down on the bed, now.” You can feel Steve burning holes into your back, but you ignore his presence, and keep your eyes trained on Bucky. His shoulders drop after a moment and he blinks a few times before shuffling backward until the underside of his knees hit the bed frame. His recline is slow, but he finally sinks into the soft mattress with a heavy breath.

When you walk closer, he doesn’t react at all -- just watches your movements. And when you sit beside him, he continues to stare at you curiously. Steve’s still watching as you grab Bucky’s warm hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his palm in a soothing repetitive motion.

You begin to murmur affirmations while you continue, not daring to initiate any more physical contact. And he slowly, almost unnoticeably, begins to react to it. Steve sandwiches Bucky’s other side and grabs the latter’s fluffy thick blanket from the middle of the bed.

“He’s sweating,” you whisper to Steve, and he nods, but adjusts the fabric on his friend’s shoulders anyway.

“He doesn’t like the cold.”

You swallow down the quickly forming lump in your throat.

Bucky blinks away the fog a few silent moments later. His fingers grip yours and he looks down at them, tracing your arm up to your face. He says your name quietly.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He scrutinizes you for a second, making your heart flutter, and then his gaze shifts to Steve.

“Steve?”

The blond smiles and nods, patting Bucky’s back gently. “Hey, punk. You alright?”

He swallows thickly, too many words and not enough answers. His fingers are still within your grip. “Yeah. I think.” The wavy strands of hair around his ear are slick with sweat and his tongue darts across his chapped lips in a nervous tick.

“Steve, can you get some water?” you ask, and Steve seems taken aback by your control of the situation, but he finally stands and makes his way to the door. When his steps grow quiet, you return your focus to the man beside you.

“I’m sorry if we scared you,” you begin, but then Bucky jerks his hand from yours as if your touch is the red-ringed surface of a hot stovetop.

His vulnerability shrivels away and he covers the rest of it with his blanket as he shifts toward the other end of the bed. If he notices your hurt expression, he doesn’t mention it, and you do your best to hide it as you stand from his bed.

You slowly drop to your knees, beginning to pick up the remains of the shattered vase; counting each thread in the carpet to take up more time. The flowers that fell are already shriveling, stems cracked into stringy vertebrae, petals smashed into the woven flooring.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky suddenly asks, voice gruff, but with a hint of hesitance. When you look up at him, your breath catches; the table lamp behind him is a warm yellow halo, and you can’t dismiss the feeling of kneeling before him, rose gathered in your palm as you pray he loses the solemn look that covers his face.

“Do what?”

He gestures his chin toward the floor. “Pick up my… messes.”

Steve’s promise rings through your ears. He’ll notice eventually. Your hands shake, and you look back to the floor; constant and unchanging, unlike his expressions. “It’s not a big deal. We all make messes sometimes.” And while that’s true, both of you know there’s no one else you’d be picking up glass shards for at four in the morning.

“You don’t,” he says, before continuing in a hushed tone, almost so you don’t hear, “make messes, I mean.”

His words make you still: what does he perceive? What does he know about you, what does he see that you overlook? What has he pieced together on how absolutely ruined you are for him?

Steve walks in with a cup of water, and the questions silence.

He feels the change in the air quickly and grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “I got it. Go back to bed.”

You toss the glass into the trash, pocketing a few of the intact flower petals to press and save.

When their quieted murmurs and sounds of cleaning continue, you dare a glance back. Bucky pulls his blanket closer, chasing as much warmth as he can take. His hair is almost dry, but the shorter and thinner strands are still stuck to his forehead with sweat. When you blink, he looks the same as the night before last -- wet from the rain and too uncomfortable in his own cold skin.

His reaction to the rain suddenly makes all too much sense.

IV. worldstar money; “Don't hate me, am I crazy? So tenderly you watch me burn.”

It turns out that the nightmare is the peak of Bucky’s episode, and his outburst ends quickly after. He returns to nightly dinners -- with Steve in tow -- and you don’t wake up to either of them yelling again.

Coincidentally, his plateau of emotions also lines up with Thor’s periodic arrival. His presence is always a date to anticipate and the team can spend up to a week preparing if they’re given the time. The god is not a handful, per se, since he’s more than capable of entertaining himself. But, at this point, it’s a tradition that his appearance is paired with a party. The few times one hasn’t been organized before he shows, Thor’s taken it upon himself to create one spontaneously; with no regard to his surroundings. Tony’s already lost a few pieces of furniture to Asgardian liquor stains and he won’t make that mistake again.

As the preparation begins and the excited trainees at the facility are informed of the event, your mind drifts back to Bucky. His attitude change seems too instantaneous. The decline and regrowth can take weeks. A part of you hopes it’s a sign of healing - the fast recovery. The logical side of you thinks he’s simply hiding his discomfort since everyone is busy, too busy for him.

Thankfully, Wanda keeps you distracted. Whenever something normal like a party happens, she’s the most excited, and it’s hard to not feel infused with her radiance. Even Natasha becomes more playful, talkative. Despite popular belief, it seems that redheads have the most fun, especially ones who crave some regularity in their lives.

“What about this one?” Wanda pulls the nth dress from her closet, both you and Natasha lifting your heads from where you’re lying on her purple bed. It’s a simple red piece, with a small flower pattern and flowy skirt.

Natasha sighs, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Too simple.”

“You only wear little black dresses,” you retort, sliding up to her side. “I think it’s pretty, Wanda.”

“Hey, it’s a staple to any good wardrobe.”

“Nat?” you playfully jab. “Are you hiding a secret stylist side of yourself from us?”

Wanda clears her throat and you glance back at her. “Nat’s right. I’ll order something new.”

You frown at their obvious attempt to gang up on you. “I thought I was right!”

Natasha chuckles and Wanda attempts a sputtered excuse before she ends up laughing as well. You flip both of them off, but they see the smile gracing your face regardless.

“Fine. What about you, Nat?” You rest your head on her shoulder, feeling her shrug.

“I don’t plan for this stuff.” A total lie, but you let it slide.

Wanda looks over her shoulder as she returns the dress to her overfilled closet. “Picked something to seduce Bucky in yet?” Her accent deepens as she fakes a sultry tone, sending a mascara-lashed wink your way.

“Oh my god,” you groan.

“I think you should get something to highlight your ass,” Natasha muses, playfully tapping her chin. “That’s a pretty obvious hint, don’t you think?”

“Not you too!” But she pulls you into her arms regardless. Wanda jumps on the bed a few seconds later, curling up to your other side. You’re so close to them, and not just physically. You feel like you could reveal anything, admit any secret, and it’d stay in this group of minds forever. A Bermuda Triangle friendship for your confessions.

You can’t help but mumble: “Why doesn’t he notice anything I do?”

It still feels selfish to think, let alone say out loud, but there’s no judgment in response. There’s not the pitying comfort from Steve or the teasing grins of the others who don’t understand the depth of the situation. Natasha pats your arm and Wanda squeezes you a little tighter, and they don’t need to offer an explanation because just having them listen is enough. You know that’s how Bucky feels with Steve and you wonder if, in some other dimension, he trusts you just as much.

Natasha leaves first; off to the shooting range with Clint, and you follow soon after.

“Hey, Wanda,” you call, halfway through the threshold. She looks up from investigating her heeled-boot collection, red waves of hair crashing over her shoulder. Her thin brow lifts in question, and you smirk.

“I think Vision would like the flower dress, just saying.”

You don’t look back, even when you hear her sputter a retort, because you already know her face is flushed to match the outfit hanging in her closet.

V. sex money feelings die; “Trade love for one night, two pills and a red wine.”

The air in the facility only changes when Tony Stark is in charge. Routines, workouts, meetings -- they’re all forgotten and replaced with tipsy staff and good music. An inkling of professionalism remains in the lounge, but it’s discreet; fancy champagne, expensive suits, and a few public heads lingering in groups. But as a whole, it’s nowhere near the usual stiffness of your daily life. The facility may be your home, but it’s your workplace as well. Except for during moments like these.

You’re able to spot everyone quickly. Unlike the previous Stark Tower parties you attended a few years back, the guest list tonight is much smaller. Natasha is holding her own in a conversation with a few snobby businessmen and Clint lingers on the balcony behind her looking like he’d rather jump off than engage in any small talk anyone has to offer.

Wanda, in all her flowered-dress glory, is a tad tipsy, but Vision stables her with a hand on her waist, and you can see her cheeks flush from across the room.

Tony is with Bruce at the bar, and Thor is surrounded by excited trainees who’ve only heard stories about him. A second later, your gaze lands on a group of three: Steve, Bucky, and Sam. The last catches your eye and waves, heading your way before you can take a step in their direction.

He stumbles on his path, which means he’s drunk. Sam Wilson is not a lightweight, but deep inside his body lives a frat boy who only appears when he’s had too many shots to remember.

“Hey!” He grins and pulls you in for a hug, the type he’d usually give you after a two-week mission away, even though it’s been two hours since you talked last. “I didn’t see you around. Thought you decided to skip.”

You chuckle. “You know me. Just… Lingering.” And watching for Bucky.

Sam raises his brow cartoonishly high. “I think you’re partying wrong. You,” he starts, grabbing your hand before you can blink, “should be dancing.” He extends your arm above your head until you appease him with a spin.

He whistles, then sighs. “You know, I hate to admit it but I think Barnes would be a better partner. Dude’s how old again?” Sam laughs, palm warm as he squeezes your hand. “Seven decades of dance moves. Hell, you think he can moonwalk?”

It’s a nice thought: Bucky, not yet greying due to his years on ice, being free in the eighties. His hair fluffed with hairspray and a neon earring dangling from his lobe. But that’s another life. Another era he’ll never live.

“Hey, you alright?” The new wave illusion fades away and you’re left staring at Sam’s toothy smile. “You have too much to drink?”

“No, actually.” You play off the spaced-out moment and Sam is too inebriated to notice. “I haven’t had anything yet, really.”

He immediately gets a playful glint in his eyes. “Steve got his hands on some of that God beer, or whatever -- if you wanna try.” Despite internally refusing the offer, you don’t dismiss Sam. Mainly, because Bucky is still standing by Steve, and you can see the invisible walkway leading up to them. You nod, and Sam heads back in their direction with you trailing behind him.

Steve pulls you to his side the minute you’re within reach, breath hot and sweet against your cheek. “Wondered where you wandered off to.” He loosens his grip but lets his weight rest on your shoulder, enough to keep you warm. He flashes his flask at you, silver metal and dark brown leather, but you shake your head.

Before you can politely decline, Sam reaches over to take the offer from Steve’s hands. Three sets of eyes watch, with bated breath, as he tosses back a shotful, complete with a face-scrunching cough. “Is it that bad?” you ask, but Sam’s too busy clearing his throat to respond, and Bucky grabs the flask.

He makes Sam look like an amateur as he takes his own drink. It goes down smoothly, the veins in his neck tensing as he swallows without hesitation. None of his other muscles even twitch. You marvel at him in quiet awe as he licks away the last golden drops clinging to his lips.

Bucky’s eyes catch yours when he’s done. Tonight, he stares, like he’s trying to understand your gaze for once. A part of you wonders how he can struggle to profile emotions as visible as yours. Another part of you wonders if he remembers what attraction and amazement look like to the naked eye.

You don’t have time to consider it before the man of the hour is pushing his way into the conversation, sliding a toned bicep around your neck to pull you in. He grins, sends the other guys a nod. “My favorite human,” he starts, though you’re not sure if that ranking was decided pre or post-Jane. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, Thor, thank you.” He pats the small of your back in response and then directs his attention to the others -- distant chatter of mead and parties fading into the background. You’re in the midst of zoning out when a gentle, but direct, cough alerts you of someone’s presence. Thor doesn’t pay you any mind as you pull from his grip, turning to face a guy you think you recognize. A security guard, maybe -- or a media reporter?

You’ve got a superhuman soldier on one arm and a God on the other, but this, presumably mortal man stays rooted in his place. “Good evening,” he starts and throws your last name out like the idea of being beneath you socially crushes his already crippling ego. “I know this might be, well, quite forward, but…” In the back of your mind, you realize the others have halted their conversation to watch how this will unfold.

“I’ve been waiting to see you all night.” You give him a polite smile and hope your cringe isn’t obvious.

“Thank you…” He is optimistically brave and you know that letting him down without a fight is unavoidable, so you play along to save face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” His grin is bleached white, a staggering contrast against his dark suit and brown eyes.

“Well, now that you’re here,” but he can’t finish the tacky line before Sam snorts, only silencing when Steve jabs him in the side.

You feel downright sick. His intentions aren’t pure, obviously, but you wonder what his motive is. It always starts like this -- a nice, albeit forced, conversation, and next thing you know, he’s asking which Avengers are fucking behind closed doors (or whatever other gossip is trending at the moment.)

“Anyway.” You brace yourself; here it comes. “There’s a private gallery showing downtown next weekend. I was hoping you’d be interested in going with me?”

Oh. Oh.

“I’m sorry?” You’re still not convinced. “Are you asking me on a date?” The word leaves your mouth and you faintly feel Steve take a step closer, gentlemanly instincts kicking in. He’s watched the others be tempted by similar propositions, only to be ambushed by paparazzi or caught in a pre-planned scandal.

“You could call it that, if you’d like,” the guy responds, a flirty lilt in his tone. “I understand if you’re not available -- a lifestyle like yours doesn’t leave much in the schedule, I assume.” He rustles in his suit’s breast pocket before pulling out a card, off-white with a dark grey print. You catch a glance of his name -- Tom -- before he’s speaking again.

“If you end up having time, I’d love to take you.”

You nod dumbly, still not sure how to process the situation at hand. But if his disinterest towards your opinion wasn’t obvious before, it’s clear when he’s already walking away with a grin before you can attempt to respond.

When you finally turn around, all four men are staring at you with different expressions. Thor is impressed, it seems, even when he falls into a bout of surprised chuckles. Sam’s slightly more annoyed, but not enough to stop himself from laughing either. Steve is staring daggers into Tim -- Tom’s -- departing figure, and Bucky is… You’re not sure. His jaw is clenched, tightly, and his stance is far more predatory than it was before; shoulders squared, chest puffed. He’s the perfect picture of jealousy, but you know he’s probably just put off by Tom’s cocky demeanor.

Regardless, the change in the air is palpable, and you end up excusing yourself before you can choke on the tension. You rescue Natasha from her painfully dull conversation and pull her onto the balcony to relax with Clint. He’s staring off at the landscape below, and you both press against the railing with him. His gaze doesn’t shift, but a smirk becomes visible on his sharp profile. “Nice escape in there, you two. Barnes and those businessmen were really shaking their heads.” Natasha scoffs, but you tense.

“Bucky?” you ask, and Clint huffs, faking surprise.

“Yeah, Bucky. Thought the old man was about to go into cardiac arrest when that other guy asked you out.”

“What guy?” Natasha cuts in.

At the same time, you say, “How did you know he was asking me out?”

Clint isn’t easy to annoy, so he continues to answer your questions. “I know because Barnes looks jealous as hell. I can hear his heavy breathing from here, and in case you’ve forgotten,” he gestures towards the purple aid lodged in his ear. “And since you’ve gotten over here, he’s taken it upon himself to finish off Steve’s flask.”

“Gross,” Natasha groans. “I wouldn’t touch that shit if it were the last drink on Earth.” She accentuates her words with a sip of her bubbling champagne, long red nails tapping the glass flute.

“Whatever you say, Barton,” you chuckle, but there’s a hesitation in your words; a silent gap waiting to be filled with more questions. Was Bucky really jealous? Is Clint just humoring you? The thoughts drift around in your head, and your friends let the conversation flow into another topic, saving you from dwelling for too long.

As they begin to playfully argue over something -- like always -- your eyes drift back to the party. It’s reached a quiet buzzed state, the energy of the room coming to a lull. The calmness is enough to leave you feeling dazed, letting the cold breeze coat your skin with goosebumps. You silently hope that Bucky is watching from afar, indulging in your shadowed silhouette against the darkening night. But when you examine each partygoer to find him, you land on Steve instead; with that look.

Natasha finally notices, or at least announces, your distraction: “You alright?”

“Yeah…” You trail off, watching as Steve and Sam glance around the room; searching, worried. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bring more drinks on your way,” Clint suggests, but his favor leaves your mind the second you head inside.

VI. SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK; “Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.”

Your shoes clack against the floor and Steve lets out a sigh of relief when you enter his line of sight. “Thank God you’re here,” he half-jokes as if you can’t see his flustered expression. “I was just about to call you. Bucky wandered off and... I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. He’s not in his room -- Sam checked.”

“Bathroom?” You ask, but Sam, approaching, shakes his head. He looks like he’s a second from toppling, his earlier shot taking a visible toll.

“Looked there first.”

You raise a disbelieving brow. “Geez, I’ve barely been gone five minutes and he just disappeared on you both? Isn’t that what he does?” You discreetly gesture around to the crowd, gritting your teeth. “This isn’t really his scene.”

Steve’s concern doesn’t lessen. “No, I know. He just, he somehow got buzzed. I don’t think he’s slept in days and… I don’t know...”

You know his ability to burn off alcohol is unparalleled, but unlike Steve, Bucky hasn’t touched the stuff since ‘42 -- not even one of Tony’s mild wines at dinner. If he was drinking as much as Clint said, there’s a fair chance he could be slightly inebriated; just enough to throw him off his perfectly calculated balance.

You can’t leave him to his own devices, so you let out an exhausted huff. “Fine. Take Sam to his room, though. He’s about to pass out.” Said drunk sends you a glare, then promptly stumbles in place. “I’ll make the rounds in the meantime. Text me if you see Bucky on your way.”

Both men nod, Sam’s head bobbing in a way that makes you dizzy. They head off, attracting a few whispers along the way, but make it down the hall without too much of a scene. You sneak away in the opposite direction, towards the other half of the facility. It’s eerily quiet as the voices fade away until there’s just silence. The lights automatically flicker on as you walk, turning off behind you when you leave their range.

The closest rooms are the lounge and some storage closets, but they’re all empty, along with the pool. He can’t be in the shooting range or armory, since they’ve been locked up tightly for the night; FRIDAY can’t even open them without Tony’s approval.

But there’s another set of bathrooms down the hall; less used, without everyone’s necessities inside. When you walk past the door, a few sounds catch your attention: a drunken mumble, squeaky boots, and water running. There’s a possibility it’s a public hookup since it’s practically a mile-high achievement to fuck at a Tony Stark party. At least, it was, back in 2011.

You push open the door slowly.

Bucky is leaning against the sink, face flushed and dripping water. It’s been unceremoniously splashed against his skin, dripping down his neck and spilling across his maroon dress shirt. The patches of wet fabric cling to his chest, and you barely manage to pull your gaze away from the smooth outlines of his torso. His jacket is draped next to the faucet, freckled with stray droplets like a garden flower.

His eyes catch yours in the mirror, blue drifting into a hazy grey.

“Hey…” You trail off, closely monitoring his expression. “Steve wondered where you ran off to.” You refrain from mentioning your own concern; a good choice, considering Bucky gives you a tight smile in return. You’re just thankful for more than a grimace at this point.

“It’s pretty loud in there, right?” you continue, looking away as you grab some paper towels, thin white, masking your palms like sheet ghosts. Bucky’s eyes are still on you when you turn back, making you jump. You try to play it off by taking a step closer, slowly raising your hand. “Is this alright?”

He doesn’t respond, but his chin juts outward. When he’s steel-faced like this, you can’t tell who you see more: Sergeant or Soldat.

His reaction seems like a yes, albeit a stubborn one. His skin is warm even through the napkins as you gently pat his face, drying it off. He’s completely still, and it takes a second for you to realize neither of you is breathing. You’re sure your heart is beating much faster than his. You dab his cheekbones and when you move to his forehead, he tilts toward you. It’s tender and trusting and your heart melts; dripping over your rib bones and living jitters in your stomach.

Bucky’s lips pout as you press them once, twice, and you savor the indirect kiss.

And then you pull away, and he leans back.

You smile, and for a second it looks like he does too. “All dry.” He’s quick to grab his jacket, slinging it over his broad shoulder. Right as you move aside to let him leave, he takes an unbalanced step, hurriedly adjusting himself. The sight of Bucky tripping over his own feet is enough to make you giggle, and the quieted sound makes his cheeks flush a shade darker.

“Are you drunk?” you press, and he scoffs.

“Can’t get drunk. You know that.” But the corner of his lips upturn just barely, and you know only a drunk Bucky would ever smile at you.

“Whatever you say…” You pull his jacket onto your own shoulder. “But I’m taking you to your room. Steve’ll put me on dish duty for a week if I don’t.”

VII. Out Like a Light; “If I betray our lonely nights spent out like a light, with no kiss goodnight...”

Bucky is quiet the entire walk to his room, but his presence is warm and comforting behind you; thick like drizzled honey. You don’t have to look back or strain your ears just to feel him, to sense him. You don’t mind that he doesn’t utter a single word or attempt to sync his steps next to yours -- you just make your way down the hall, distantly noting Sam’s door being open a sliver. It’s a habit of his, like many others, that you’ve grown to recognize. He can be overly cautious, sometimes to a fault, but you’re relieved to know he got to his room with a few screws left intact inside that wild head of his.

“And here we are, safe and sound.” You extend your arm to Bucky’s door with a cheesy grin: “Home sweet home.” When he tenses at your words, you try not to falter -- even when you know home to him is a century away, in another life, and another world. Even if home to him means young laughter, warm cooking, and a scratchy record. You can’t apologize for wanting to be home, for hoping the occasional laughter of Peter and the motherly nagging of Pepper are enough to makeshift a family.

Bucky gracelessly stomps into his room, immediately falling back into his unmade bed. Any other night, you’d close his door and walk far, far away. But tonight he’s still got his shoes on and you know one wrong move will track God knows what across his sheets. You can’t help but wonder how many messes Bucky Barnes will make before you finally give in and kiss him.

Without another thought, you close the door behind you, causing Bucky to look up with a raised brow.

“I’m not gonna let you fall asleep fully dressed,” you tell him, voice stern, and he’s half-asleep by the time you’re untying his second shoe, tugging it off his socked foot. He managed to undo one button on his shirt, but promptly gave up, leaving his arms beside him.

You murmur his name and he groans. “Buck, c’mon. What do you normally wear to bed?” He answers by rolling over, muttering something into his pillow.

It’d be frowned upon to go through his drawers, but you’ve got no other choice. You quickly grab a t-shirt and some sweats. You don’t stare when you pull off his button-up and slacks, and you don’t ogle when you pull his impromptu pajamas on. You don’t glance at his scars or his chest or his stomach because he trusts you.

He’s as vulnerable as you could ever hope for, but he’s also stumbling drunk, and bound to forget this encounter tomorrow morning. He will never trust you like this again, so you cling to the moment as you tuck him in and brush his bangs from his face.

The thought of his upcoming headache sends you to the bathroom to fill a glass of water, thankful the tap is filtered. You set the cup on his bed stand, next to his toppled prescription bottles. He’s got a memo pad, unmarked but indented from previous writings, and a silver pen there too. You scribble a note telling him to drink water and take his meds in the morning. You add a little heart, stick it on the glass, and resign yourself to the fate of this being a blurry moment for the rest of your life.

You’re finally about to walk away when Bucky grabs your wrist, completely catching you off guard. His eyes flutter open, drowsy blue and thankful in a way that reminds you you’d do anything for him. “Please, don’t leave me.” He blinks, glossy and unfocused, and you sit next to him with a gentle nod. His hand stays locked in yours, even when he shifts to rest on his side. Your thumb rubs his knuckle while his opposite metal one clicks into place with a soft rattle.

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles, but when you ask why, he just shakes his head and dozes off with a few slurred words. Something like thank you, and then a gravelly rumble of Russian -- Золотце.

A part of you wishes you didn’t understand it. Another part of you is glad Natasha has called you darling so many times before.

VIII. Even If It’s a Lie; “And I know you don't love me so, but please say it once before I go.”

If Bucky remembers anything from that night, he never acknowledges it. The others joke about the party in their sober states, reminiscing and reliving all the antics you missed while you spent the night baring your heart and soul to the man who now can’t stand to look at you.

“I wish I’d drank more and forgotten that night,” Clint jokes before the mention of alcohol jogs his memory and he glances over at you. “You never brought back our refills, so I’m blaming you.” You can tell he’s playing around, and you hope his words will fly under everyone else’s radar, but then Nat nods, growing suspicious. You’re all having dinner -- one of the good ones, where everyone is warm and full -- so you hope she won’t prod. But you can feel the shift in her energy as she leans in, raising a sharp brow.

“You’re right, Barton -- for once in your life.”

“Thanks.”

“Where did you go?” Her cherry lips curl on one side, and Wanda can’t hide her amusement as she snuggles up to Vision on the loveseat; unlike you and Bucky, they’ve barely left each other’s side since that night.

Instinctively, your gaze darts to Bucky, and you’re surprised to catch him already staring back. A hint of something lies in his gaze -- something more unrecognizable than usual. It’s neither embarrassment regarding your time together, nor a glare warning you against speaking up. If anything, it’s almost a silent plea, though not one rooted in regret. He’s asking this to be your secret and yours alone.

“Sam got hammered,” you start, rolling your eyes jokingly. Bucky physically relaxes, you note, watching him from the corner of your eye. “I had to help him get to his room -- with Steve, who did most of the heavy lifting. Literally.” Everyone seems appeased with the answer and you’re relieved to have made the right call.

Someone -- you’re not paying much attention at this point -- remarks how difficult it is to get drunk nowadays; between being on-call and not being able to enter a bar without ten different security precautions. You don’t doubt the gratitude the team shares, both for each other and the satisfaction of saving people. But it comes with a certain yearning. You see it at Steve’s apartment when he makes you dinner and talks to you about the weather like you’re just his neighbor. Or when Wanda paints her nails before missions, even when she knows they’ll be chipped bare by the time you return home.

Everyone wants what they don’t have; a normal life -- a chance at something different, mundane, peaceful.

And you… You want Bucky.

Considering his usual aversion to your presence, it takes a while for you to realize he’s purposely ignoring you. You’d hoped your white lie to the group would build you some rapport in his mind, but the awkwardness builds up until it rolls off him in waves whenever you walk by.

The silent-stand off reaches unbearable levels until Bucky ends up assigned to a day mission. It’s a sad realization, but you can tell the entire facility relaxes at the lack of his presence. No one’s gotten the hang of being around him, so it’s easier when he’s just...gone. If anything, he’s usually in a better mood when he gets back. The alone time, the structure, and the familiarity of burning knuckles and bloody lips calm him in a way nothing else can.

Steve pulls you into his room that late afternoon. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips; his thinking look. You sometimes forget he doesn’t have all the answers, despite appearing old and wise. He’s navigating the same life as you are. He’s lived two eras, but so few years. He doesn’t always understand.

His room is clean and stark, bare walls and pristinely tucked sheets. It’s still warm, in all the right ways. It smells soft and sweet like him -- a woodsy linen scent -- and there’s a cream, knitted blanket draped across his bed that drowns you whenever he lets you borrow it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he starts, sitting on the edge of his bed with you. His broad frame takes up most of the space, but you don’t mind. “How did things go that night, with Buck? I asked him how he got to his room, but he said he doesn’t remember.”  

The single spark of optimism you had for keeping that night a special secret fizzles away without another word. Within a mere second, the realization hits you. Bucky’s not cherishing some romantic rendezvous because that’s not what it was. If anything, he’s probably ashamed at how easily he opened up to you after too much alcohol.

You can’t help but scoff to hide your pain. “Lucky him,” you joke, nudging Steve’s side. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he frowns, immediately scooting closer to you.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

You’re blinking back some form of emotion -- heartbreak, anger, the burning feeling of your conscience sneering I told you so. I told you this would happen. “I just got him to bed, that’s all.” It’d be easier to believe that, to gaslight yourself until the memory is nothing more than a faded delusion. If Bucky refuses to acknowledge it, why plague yourself with the isolated recollection?

With the tone of an overbearing mother, Steve sighs. “I know that’s not true, doll. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying.” And then you feel your wet cheeks and the faint taste of salt gathering on your lips, tears streaking without you even noticing.

“He called me… Darling -- in Russian.”

“What?” Complete disbelief. “Are you sure?”

You know he’s just as surprised as you were, but the question burns: Why would Bucky ever call you that? It’s what Steve’s secretly asking. “Nat,” you answer. “She’s used it with me before. I recognized it right away.”

“Darling...” Steve muses, the world pulling out in a Brooklyn drawl instead of a Russian purr. “Well, I can’t lie and say I was expecting that, but…” He tilts his head with a smile, blond wisps curled around his ears, glowing white in the setting sunlight. “That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

You go to wipe your eyes, but Steve beats you to it, rough knuckles brushing the tears away. “I don’t think so. He won’t even talk to me now. I think he’s ashamed -- but he shouldn’t be, right? It was just a drunk mistake. We all make those.” You know your tone isn’t convincing -- you’re still trying to prove it to yourself, and Steve’s face morphs into a look of pity. His features are drawn with guilt, and you don’t know when you both began to take the fall for Bucky’s faults.

“I’ll be honest.” Steve sighs, leaning forward. It’s hard to see him like this, so unsure. “I can’t always tell what Bucky’s thinking -- not anymore.” He shakes his head. “Maybe back then, before. Things were less complicated. It was easy to understand him.” He reaches for your hand, cupping it between both of his, and the contact steadies your wavering heart. “Sometimes, I think he’ll handle things like he used to, you know?” Sergeant Barnes -- the flirt, all confidence and smooth words. He’d treat you differently, but that’s not what you want, who you want.

“But that doesn’t mean you can doubt yourself, ok?” Steve’s words aren’t a cure-all, but they soothe the growing ache in your chest. He’s a terrible liar, so you know he’s being honest, and his reassurance means more than most people’s.

���Whatever Bucky decides to do - that’s his choice. You’re not doing anything wrong by trying to offer him love.” He doesn’t hesitate with the last word, which burns in every way possible; relief, knowing he understands the depth of your feelings; pain, that even with that knowledge, he only has hope. If Steve, with all of his unwavering optimism, is hanging by a thread, you know you’re past saving.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He says nothing else, just pulls you closer, and lets you rest in his arms for a few beats while you take in his natural scent and warm hands. In another life, he’d be easier to fall for. You’ve snagged a part of his heart, just like the others, but whoever gets it all… That’d be a type of love you’re not sure you could ever wrap your head around.

“I’m gonna go for a walk - try and clear my head. Alright?”

“Yeah, doll. Get to bed soon though, ok?”

You nod, and the sun has set by the time you make it down the hall, incoming moonlight lighting your way up to the balcony.

IX. Two Slow Dancers; “It would be a hundred times easier, if we were young again.”

The outside air is crisp, occasional winds biting into your arms and coaxing goosebumps from your skin. It’s the type of weather that leaves you alone with your thoughts, too sharp to let you zone out into an unfeeling haze. Everything lingering in your mind confronts you when you’re cold like this, and you wonder if that’s why Bucky hates the midnight chill so much; if it forces forward the memories that aren’t really his, the guilt of his subconscious actions.

You’ve all made countless mistakes, misjudgments. It’s part of the job. When you rely so heavily on instincts and adrenaline, slip-ups are bound to happen. But at the end of the day, you have yourself to own up to, not a foreign entity wearing your skin. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier, but the Winter Soldier is a part of Bucky, in a way that can’t be denied. To consider them separate entities would be ignorant, but to blame Bucky would be cruel.

Bucky mirrors your route at some point in the night, quietly joining you. The cold is making your body ache, much like your mind, but you can’t find it in yourself to turn around and go back in, especially when you see him. He’s still in his mission clothes, dark and clinging to his sweaty skin. He looks untouched, though you’re sure he’s got a few cuts and bruises you can’t see.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until the morning,” you state, with a slight chatter of your teeth. The stars above shine brighter than they did at the tower, unobstructed by city lights and various forms of pollution. They feel closer, almost as if they’re listening to every word you say and whispering amongst themselves.

Bucky busies himself by tugging his leather gloves off. “Got done early. Steve said you’d probably be here.”

Bitterly, you acknowledge he didn’t check on you because he felt inclined. Rather, he’d been put up to it. Instead of giving him a verbal response, you hum. Your mind races with what Steve must’ve said, how it led to this. You know you’re being given the conversation you spent nights begging for, but instead of joy, you feel fear. A sour bile rises to your throat. Bucky has dirt caked on his clothes, you’re half-freezing in the dark night, and the universe is cruel for deciding now is the moment.

“I know what you’re doing.” He’s straight to the point, just like always. No flowery language or attempt at sugar-coating, which you find both a blessing and a curse. He won’t say anything that could be misconstrued, but his statement is vague enough to lure you into your own admission.

“Yeah? What’s that?” The crest of fresh tears burns your already irritated eyes. You feel the end of all ends coming, but you won’t be the one to start it. Your pride was what kept this infatuation going for so long, even though it’d been predestined to fail. And your pride is what keeps you from giving in, even with the settling realization that Bucky never intended to treat you differently or give you a chance.

His hands, and their now visible bruised knuckles, curl around the balcony railing. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you, yet he’s never felt so far away. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself,” he says gruffly, and it sounds worse coming from him than anyone else. Less comforting, more pitying.

“Look at me.” You hesitate before obliging.

The sight catches you off guard. You know what Bucky looks like when he’s uncomfortable; seen it countless times - this is worse. He’s gone through Hell and back, yet he still looks more tortured glancing at you than at any time in his past. Why he wants to see you when he does this, you don’t know. Sadistic is the best word for it. Why must he gouge a hole in your chest while giving you those baby blues?

His eyes are dark, stars catching in their reflection as the colors swirl like a galaxy. The celestial vision is only yours to enjoy for a moment before he squints, brows furrowing. He must see the tears, the pleading look on your face that you no longer bother to hide. “Doll?” Like a stab to the gut, he delivers the one word you’ve imagined falling from his lips so many times before. There’s no warm sun or shy smiles or soft kisses to accompany it, only a pitying gaze and the gloomy sky.

“Please - don’t call me that.” You attempt to be stern, but your voice wavers, words barely coating a stifled choke. The second you turn away, Bucky latches onto your wrist, calloused fingers pulling you close; finally wanting you to invade his space.

His lips form a tight line. “Won’t you at least listen to what I want to say?”

“Why should I?” you ask, voice sharpening into a bite. “I know what you’re gonna say. I can tell just by looking at your face.” Chest heaving, you continue. Now that the confidence to speak has hit you, you can’t seem to stop. “I’ve known every day since you came here, Bucky. I know you don’t like me, but I don’t know why you seem so determined to rub it in my face.”

Ripping your wrist from his clutch, you rub away a fresh set of oncoming tears. Bucky blinks, wide-eyed, but composes himself quickly. “You think…” He almost laughs in disbelief. “You think I want to hurt you?” For a second, your stomach churns with guilt, but it dissipates before he speaks again. He is hurting you, whether he intends to or not. “I’m telling you this because I want to protect you.”

Voice trailing into a barely restrained yell, your chest bubbles with frustration, spreading like wildfire. Every word slices through the icy air with a hiss. “Protect me from what?”

Bucky shakes his head, brown waves of hair swaying with the motion. “You don’t know what you want,” he says, sternly. “You think you know how you feel, but you don’t. You… You don’t realize the things I’ve done -- what I’m capable of.”

A second of silence passes before the dam inside you breaks. The tears dry up, scorched away by the anger in your veins. “We all know, Bucky,” you retort, not missing the flash of hurt on his face. All you can think of is Steve, Tony, everyone who’s lost in the name of the man in front of you. They’ve worked tirelessly to push aside the past, putting their trust in the future, in the one who has caused them so much pain. “And we are the ones who have given you a second chance, despite it all. You’re the only one who can’t forgive yourself.”

His chest heaves, letting out a low breath as your words sink in. “You’re right,” he admits, lowly. “Which is why I can’t let you shoulder that burden.”

“Stop assuming you know what I can and can’t do,” you snap, lip curling into a snarl. “This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you refuse to think anyone can see the good in you!”

“That’s because there isn’t any good in me!” Bucky yells, finally managing to startle you. He steps closer, chest puffed and jaw twitching. For a moment, you imagine this is how his victims must’ve felt in their final moments. “It’s the ugly truth and you’ve gotta face it. I can’t ever be what you want.”

At that moment, you realize it’s never been you that he’s disliked; only himself. The thought makes you spiral, and you immediately soften, voice hoarse and hushed. “You are what I want,” you tell him, hoping he understands. “Just as you are, Bucky. Why can’t you accept that?”

“You’re…” He shakes his head, strung so tight his body shakes. “You’re being unrealistic. I - I can’t see you with hope now when I know that there’s no future where I’m the person you’re imagining.” He’s entirely resigned to the fact, despite all you’re willing to give him, every possibility ahead.

You have to remind him of the light at the end of the tunnel. “What about all the work we’re doing? The therapy, the meds? Steve’s even making negotiations with Shuri… I… Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“What if it works?” Bucky questions and the thought makes you stop. “Are you going to follow me there? To Wakanda?” he asks, and it’s almost sad how quickly you come to a decision. For him, and the chance of something more, you’d leave it all behind.

“I would,” you admit, keeping your voice steady. “If there’s a chance - why… Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider it. “It doesn’t matter… It’s something I have to do alone.” He’s burrowing himself into a pit of isolation despite your pleas. Every time you hold your hand out to help, he’s just inches away, fingertips brushing yours. Just one reach and you can pull him to safety.

“I know I can’t heal you, Bucky - that’s not... That isn’t what I’m trying to do. I just… I want you to know I’d wait for you, every step of the way.”

He stops, thinking about his next choice of words. Somehow, you already know what he’s going to say. “What if…” His voice is hesitant, almost as if it pains him to speak. It’s going to hurt you even more. “What if I don’t want you there?”

Finally, it hits; the admission you’ve always been preparing yourself for. The excruciating buildup slams into you with a deafening crescendo. The letdown, the pure collapse, is unavoidable. Not a cell in your body can fight it. Any chance of convincing him is over -- completely and utterly so. It’s the sharpest ache you’ve felt in so long, but you can’t break in front of him - not any more than you already have. You can’t allow him the satisfaction he’s been waiting for since he demanded you look him in the eye; the fact that he is wholly, unequivocally, and painfully right.

“Okay,” you finally exhale, trembling but not looking away. “If you… That’s all you need to say. If that’s what you want.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Bucky regretful, because the emotion held in his eyes is not something you recognize; downcast eyes, slumped shoulders. This is one instance where the guilt is entirely his own. “I care about what you want too, Bucky,” you tell him, unsure of how he could ever think differently with all you’ve given him. “Just because I feel a certain way… I-I’d never force you to feel the same.”

The balcony falls into silence, neither one of you having anything left to say. The last bit of warmth disappears as Bucky retreats to the doorway, gentle winds brushing his hair back for just a second; long enough for you to see a light gloss of tears coat his eyes. He blinks them back, features relaxing on instinct as he shifts into the perfect picture of numbness like he’s been trained to do. Any hint of emotion is washed away in one crawling, desperate wave.

He stops halfway through the threshold, one final consolation on his tongue. “It wouldn’t have been forced,” he admits, and, for a second, it’s like the dream you’ve always imagined; his soft eyes, the chance of him feeling the same. But the confession is for another life, a different version of yourself that you can’t quite imagine.

Bucky gives you a trace of a smile, and your frustration spills away as quickly as it came. All that remains is the longing for what could have been -- for what will never be. “Thank you,” you tell him, and this time you mean it. He leaves quietly, almost as if he’d never been here to begin with.

You’re left standing in the cold, nose burning, and fingers numb. The stars stare down from above, twinkling and all-knowing. You can’t help but wonder how many heartbreaks they’ve witnessed in all their years, finding yourself grateful for a finite lifetime of them. One streaks across the sky and you let a silent wish cling to the bright white tail, hoping and begging to never take its place in the universe. You’re not sure how many more broken hearts you can handle.

At the very least, not an eternity’s worth.

X. Strange (Instrumental)

The night on the roof slowly fades away, word by word, until you start to forget exactly what Bucky said, and in what tone. The emotions linger in a way akin to sickness; a tight chest, twisted stomach, clammy skin. At the very least, the physical reactions are easier to hide, covered by excuses like a sparring match gone wrong or spoiled leftovers.

To most, you seem entirely fine. No one knows about your conversation beneath the stars, though a few begin to suspect something happened after Bucky’s return. He’s calm. He’s participating. He sits at dinner with everyone else, passing you the salt when you ask and listening intently to your repetitive drones about training. Natasha and Wanda watch with wide eyes, not bothering to muffle the sounds of them smacking each other under the table every time you and Bucky so much as glance at each other.

You neither confirm nor deny their suspicions, partly so you can revel in their happiness. They deserve the relief of thinking your silly little crush is over, even if they do believe it ended in a more favorable conclusion.

Your fork has barely touched your finished plate when Steve picks it up for you, stacking it upon his own scraped dish; three servings packed away in his super soldier stomach. Dinner cleanup is usually his chore, but he’s prematurely eager about it tonight. Everyone is still sitting around the lounge and kitchen, forgotten bites dangling off their cutlery between conversations.

“I got it, doll.” He presses a gentle kiss against the top of your hair before heading to the sink and you don’t miss the curious glances sent in your direction; Tony, halfway through a bite of pasta, focuses his brown eyes on you like a laser.

You know exactly what Steve is doing. Steve knows you know. He’s been stuck to your side like glue for going on a week now, and you’re equally thankful and sick of it. His footsteps sync with yours on the way to the gym, the pool, and even your shared hallway. At night, you curl up into his blanket, which he lent you with a silent acknowledgment. It’s soft and easy to cry into, even if it doesn’t heal the painful cold that fills your body.

Faintly, you wonder if Bucky’s blanket does; if, when he dreams of the blood-stained snow, it warms his metal heart.

Your facade lasts another couple of days before it begins to crumble. Bucky is completely unaffected and, for once, you find yourself envious of him. It’s disgusting to admit, to tell yourself you’d rather feel his aching numbness than the deep pit of sorrow nestled in your stomach, but it’s true. Everyone else praises his change in attitude: That’s three nights in a row that Barnes has come to dinner. Isn’t that great? The words seem to echo in every room you enter and you want to scream, revealing to everyone that the only thing different in Bucky’s life is you. He’s finally rid himself of you, cut you from under his skin like nothing more than an obsessive parasite.

Thankfully, it’s easy to come up with an excuse. In your line of work, everyone gets burned out from time to time, retreating to different areas of the world. Clint goes home while Tony visits the beach. Bruce drops off the grid entirely.

“And you swear you’re alright?” Tony asks, again, watching as you pack an overnight bag. You know he’ll drop it eventually, begrudgingly respecting your privacy, but it’s obvious you’re not being entirely truthful about why you want to leave. If you want to admit it, now’s the time.

You stuff Steve’s blanket into your old duffle. “I’m sure, Tony. Just tired, you know?” He scoffs, nods, and gives you a slight smile -- in that order -- silently agreeing; I’m Iron Man, kid. I’ve been tired since 2008.

He finally relents, clapping his hands like he always does when filling an awkward silence. “Alright, well… I’ve got a driver downstairs for you. He’ll take you wherever you want to go -- which is where again?” You give him an unamused look and he huffs. “What?”

“None of your business,” you remind him, with a smile. “Thanks.”

He waves you off, suddenly humble, and goes to leave the room, actually making it halfway down the hall before his steps audibly reverse. Tony sticks his head back in your doorway with a hesitant look; an expression you’re not used to seeing. “If you want me to, uh, take care of Barnes while you’re gone…” He drags his index finger against his neck in a cartoonish gesture, his smile softening after your laughter quiets. “Just let me know.” His expression isn’t aggressive or vigilante, closer to what you assume is his attempt at fatherly protection. I’m here for you, he says silently.

You’re thankful he leaves before you have a chance to respond, unsure of what you’d even say. You’ve always known not to underestimate Tony, even with his questionable social skills, but another part of you knows you’ll never fully grasp him, and not just in the way you’ll never truly get anybody but yourself.

If everyone is a grain of sand, Tony is a speck of snow. No matter the weather, you will never understand a blizzard.

XI. Outer Space/Carry On; “And the rain, it came too soon, I will wait for you to love me again.”

The door to your apartment swings open with an old creak, wood bouncing off your jutted hip. It smells like dust and there’s a distinct humidity filling the rooms. Your complex is far from dingy, but you do have to smack the air conditioner a few times before it switches on; probably from a lack of use. When you do visit, the electricity and water are usually questionable for a day or so, but the landlord never questions your absence -- a perk of Tony’s bribing.

You drop your duffle on your bed, which, while unmade, is still relatively clean. Knicknacks flood the surrounding bookshelves and your socked feet rub against the old rug tucked under the slatted frame. It’s a far cry from your room at the facility, which is fitted for everyday use. It holds your most worn clothes, all of your life’s necessities. Your apartment is more complex, deeper memories lingering in the walls. It has all the things you couldn’t box up and take with you. There are pictures of old friends on the walls, their voices long forgotten, and belongings from your childhood slipped under your bed in undisturbed nostalgia. Bucky’s question from that night suddenly hits you in full force. If he had to go to Wakanda, could you leave here behind?

You don’t have an answer and soon his voice fades away too. For the first time in a while, you sleep well, only stirring awake once, at around five in the morning. The room is filled with that early blue filter and your sheets are extra cold, your body tingling in its barely awake state. The world is quiet, and you think only of the eyes that match the outside sky.; steel, with icy highlights, and the mist of unshed tears and almost rain.

The weekend morning greets you with dark clouds rolling overhead. Rain drizzles lazily as you walk to the nearest bodega, a couple of stray bills stuffed in your coat pocket. It’d be smarter and safer to order takeout, but you crave the normalcy of buying groceries and cooking dinner, especially now that you’re alone.

The shop is relaxed. Radio music and news announcements overlap in dull robotic voices, patrons harmonizing as they talk amongst themselves; arguing over deli prices and which cheap wine to pair with dinner that night. No one looks at or speaks to you, and you feel invisible, which is somehow a relief. Again, you think of Bucky. He has so often tried to fade away -- usually bringing more attention to himself -- but you finally get it. The ignorance of the customers is your much-awaited bliss.

It seems, you realize, you’re understanding Bucky more every day.

You follow the speckled tile floors to the cashier, who gives you little more than a glance. Her glazed eyes focus on the box television behind the register, hands blindly scanning your items out of instinct. She mutters your total with a heave of nicotine breath, but you barely notice. You wish she understood how much her disinterest means to you.

The plastic straps of the grocery bags dig into your wrists the entire walk home, but you’re just happy to be free.

The storm reaches its full, beautiful, raging glory by the time you get back to your apartment. Lightning strikes, illuminating the living room with flashes, followed seconds later by heavy rumbling. The windows streak with tear-like drops, each one chasing the other to the bottom of the pane, and you feel like a child again, betting on which one will win the race.

Thunder shakes your apartment lightly, and the droplet you watched connects to the one beside it, gravity pulling them both into a long splotch. On the coffee table, your phone blinks awake, unread texts rolling in one after the other. The messages are all similar declarations of missing you, but each one makes you smile, even if you’re a bit surprised no one’s noticed your absence until now. Then again, you’ve been guilty of the same, even with Bucky; not realizing he’s disappeared all day until everyone gathers for dinner. You’re used to sharing confused glances with Steve across the lounge or in the kitchen, two pairs of hands deep in the soapy warm water filling the sink. You did the same thing right after Bucky moved in, cowering and suspicious like a stray dog.

“Is he going to be ok?” you’d naively asked Steve, scrubbing away the soup-dried bowls from dinner.

He had simply smiled, the back of his hand meeting yours beneath the water. “I think so.”

At that moment, you’d dedicated yourself to the cause; to saving Bucky Barnes -- if not for himself, then for Steve. In your eyes, there were two lives lost, two souls who’d gone through Hell and back just to reconnect in an equally cruel and gracious act of destiny. They both deserved a second chance, especially considering they never got a first.

“I can help if you two ever need anything,” you offered, brimming with confidence. Steve nodded, and the conversation inevitably trailed off to some other topic. Bucky was just a casual discussion, one with too many questions and too few answers. You’d both gravely underestimated his recovery, a process that everyone else knew would be difficult. If anyone were to expect miracles in Bucky’s name, it was bound to be Steve and you.

You’d always felt like you’d known Bucky before he came home. The minute Steve found out he was still alive, you’d been the one he confided in, sharing his stories. The countless memories spilled from his lips with intricate details, coming to life before your eyes. He spoke and you could taste the cotton candy of Coney Island, see the wonders of the 1943 Stark Expo, and even smell the bloody battered war.

A part of you was aware Bucky wouldn’t be the same, and Steve had always been prepared for some version of that reality. When he was younger, though, his earlier doubts revolved around war-related PTSD or combat stress reaction, as he called it. Bucky had gone through much worse -- seventy years of torture and an unending abyss of pain.

He didn’t walk into the facility with a suave wink or smooth-as-butter Brooklyn tone. You weren’t disappointed, even as pre-war Bucky dissolved right before your eyes, leaving a hardened man in his place. You just convinced yourself this was like Steve. He was no longer a sick, scrawny boy, right? But Steve was the same, in many ways. His mannerisms and language were stuck in another century, and when he laughed, the insecure sound of a young kid squeaked out. He’d been Captain America for so long, but still hit his head on short doorframes and bought clothes a few sizes too small, always remaining shocked when they didn’t fit.

Bucky was not the same. He didn’t flirt or dance. He didn’t laugh, joke, drink, or brawl, and you failed to imagine how this was the same man that tried talking the red dress off of a young Peggy Carter. Finally, it had hit you that Bucky’s early life was long gone and no years of healing would bring it back.

Even now, curled up on your couch, you can’t fool yourself into thinking he could ever truly be fixed. There would always be more levels of healing to endure, more coping mechanisms to learn, further ways to grow. Sometimes, he didn’t seem driven to take any steps toward bettering himself, content with his internal and external scars being all he had to show for his trauma. He was determined though -- had made it all of these years somehow. Even if his stubbornness worked against him, it had to count for something.

You’re about to let yourself wallow over him once more when a thump echoes loudly through your apartment, rattling the walls with its intensity. You will yourself off the couch, leaving behind a half-eaten bowl of pasta, and glance out the back window, seeing nothing but sleet-streaked streets. It takes an admittedly long time to realize someone’s knocking at your door, but you don’t need to look at the clock to know it’s way too late for visitors. Some animalistic instinct warns you to be cautious, but you have little confidence in whatever criminal has decided to pay you a visit in the pouring rain.

You unlock the door with a sigh and swing it open, cold air chilling the tip of your nose instantly.

“Bucky?”

The immediate sight of him evokes a nauseating sense of deja vu; hair slick against his forehead, lips nearing a shade of purple. When he awkwardly shifts his weight, you hear the telltale squeak of his wet boots and it lets you know he’s nervous since you wouldn’t hear him otherwise.

He exhales in obvious relief. “You’re still here.”

You’re thankful the overhang blocks the rain from reaching him since you don’t feel too inclined to welcome him in. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask, but barely listen for his answer as you take in his exhausted expression. His chest is heaving, and you glance out to the road expecting to see his motorcycle in the distance, but the street is bare.

“I thought…” He must think better of whatever assumption he’s brewing since he quickly shakes his head. You flinch at the cold water that speckles your skin. “It doesn’t matter. I need to talk to you.”

He must be stupid to not realize he’s the reason you left. You need to be away from him and inviting him inside your otherwise isolated apartment is far from the best idea. “What is it?” you ask, not budging. “Is everyone okay?”

It’s clear he’s expecting a different answer, though you can’t entirely blame him. If he’d shown up any day prior to now, you’d be laying out a red carpet. Instead, his features melt into confusion, and it’s one of the few expressions you’re still not used to seeing; his brows soft, lips plump with a heavy sigh. “You had that date tonight,” he answers, and you’re too distracted by his mouth for the words to register.

When they do, you’re confused. “Wh-”

“I was gonna stop you from going.”

The rest of your question catches in your throat, words lodged in your airpipe. The night of the party fills your head and you breathe in the smell of alcohol and heartbreak. “Tom?” you ask, racking your brain for his name. The single utterance results in a sour expression from Bucky, one that you mirror quickly. “Jesus, Bucky. Did you really think I’d go out with that douche?”

He goes to speak, but you cut him off, irritated. “Even if I did, how the fuck does that have anything to do with you showing up here? Christ, did you walk here? You’re soaked.”

“Ran, actually,” Bucky corrects, and your heart skips a beat. “Can I come in?”

The sane and logical answer would be to slam the door in his face, so you open it wider and step aside. You have to know why he ran in the middle of a storm to check on you, even if a hopeful inkling deep in your heart has already come up with a reason. You probably just worried Steve by running off, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Alright…”

The second Bucky steps inside, your carpets are soaked with dark boot marks. “Fuck,” you curse, cringing at the sight. “Let me get a towel.” You can’t stand to be next to him for another second anyway, so you race down the hall before he can argue. When you catch a glance of yourself in the bathroom mirror, your nerves are more than visible; your skin losing color by the second, eyes strained with overthinking.

It’s easy to start coddling him once you return, patting away the water on his face before sandwiching his hair between the folded towel and squeezing the strands dry. “I know you do a lot of stupid shit, but running through New York City during a storm has to be one of your worst ideas yet,” you scold, but your touch is gentle and, for once, he allows it. “And I know you hate cellphones but could you really not call? Or get a taxi, at least?”

You know you’re rambling, but you’re keenly aware that if you don’t talk, neither of you will, and that silence will make you spiral. Chest pounding, you start to talk again, before realizing Bucky is gripping your wrist, pulling you from him softly. “Doll,” he murmurs, and this time you’re too nervous to correct him. “It’s okay.” With a slight tug, you yank yourself from his grasp, shaky fingers digging into the wet towel. You use the last dry corner to pat his damp palms, ignoring how large and rough his hands are against yours.

“I told you to stop doing this,” Bucky reminds you softly but doesn’t interfere. “You’re always trying to fix people… patch them up. You gotta take care of yourself, too.” Still, he lets you finish his other hand before he steps back, and you glance at him.

“No offense, Buck, but me coming here -- alone -- was kind of my attempt at that,” you tell him, frowning.

“I… I know, I’m sorry-”

“Bucky.” You’re not sure you can take another second. “What are you really doing here?”

He inhales sharply, and when he begins, you can immediately tell he’s not going to answer your question right away. Knowing he’s a man of very few words, you latch onto the way he seems to be opening up. “Every day, it’s like…” He shakes his head, trembling. “I don’t know who I am or if any of this is even real. It feels like every day is my last and everything is catching up to me all at once. I didn’t want you to be stuck in that, too.”

Bucky glances at you and his eyes soften; white ice cracking to reveal soft blue water underneath. When he reaches for your hand again, you’re in too much shock to deny him, even when he’s squeezing so tightly it hurts. He’s not just scared you’ll be taken from him, he’s scared you’ll willingly leave.

“You deserve better than that, doll.” His voice cracks around the nickname this time and you can hardly believe what’s happening. “I… I won’t ever be able to give you what you deserve.” Your fingernails leave crescents in his palm, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to hold him closer or scare him away. “I just can’t go another day without you gone,” he finally admits, and you gasp.

“Bucky… I don’t-”

He inches closer, face flush with insecurity. “I know. I fucked up -- I fucked up so bad. I don’t blame you if you don’t want this… If you don’t want me, I understand. I just -- you deserve to know how I really feel. I can give you that much, at least.” His grip finally loosens, and you realize he’s shaking, but not from nerves.

Your lips part, and his eyes glimmer with hope. “You’re freezing,” you finally say, and he visibly deflates. “You need to -- um, just sit down for a second.”

“...I’m fine.”

“Please? For me?” The second his chin tilts in a hesitant nod, you’re stalking off toward the bathroom with him in tow. You throw the dirtied towel in the hamper and rustle through the cupboard for a few more. Your bathroom is small, and when Bucky squeezes in behind you, his damp chest presses against your back for a second too long.

When you turn to face him, your noses practically touch. “T-these should be enough,” you stutter, clearing your throat and handing him the fresh towels. “You can hang your clothes up on the towel rod,” you tell him, inching back. He raises a brow and you quickly answer his silent question. “I have some spare stuff you can wear, I think.” And, before he can ask anything else, you push past him, shutting the door behind you.

You have mere seconds to contain yourself, so you rush to your room, mind racing. As you search through your spare drawer, a million questions run through your head. Is Bucky saying he wants to be with you? Does he even know that’s what he’s saying? Is he here on his own accord, or did Steve and Tony send him to ease your heartbreak and lure you home?

You can hear him rustling through the wall and you blindly grab at the only t-shirt and sweats you think could fit; extras left behind by one of the other guys. Hopefully, they’ll work long enough for you to dry Bucky’s clothes and kick him out. He can’t just decide he’s ready, especially not after how he turned you down. You’ll do the polite thing and let him stay until the storm ends, but then he needs to leave.

The bathroom door creaks open the second you step in front of it, Bucky peering out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Just like the last time he was shirtless in front of you, you will your eyes to stay above his neck. Still, you can’t ignore the fact that now he’s allowing himself to be in this state with you, completely vulnerable.

“I found these,” you squeak, handing the carefully folded clothes to him.

He doesn’t take them. “Whose are these?” Silent envy drips from his tongue and you shiver at the thought of it; Bucky being possessive of you, yearning to fill the small drawer in your wardrobe. Swallowing heavily, you rustle the shirt to see the tag.

“Steve, probably? Maybe Clint…” You spot the letters and shake your head. “No, it’s an extra large. But the sweats are definitely Clint’s. Steve never wears them.” Bucky listens amusedly to your rambling, and you quickly clamp your mouth shut. You practically shove the clothes into his hands, stumbling backward. “I’ll just be in the living room.” The door doesn’t click shut until you’re out of view.

It’s hard not to collapse on the couch the second you reach it, overwhelmed with a sense of relief of a wall separating you two. Try as you might, you still can’t comprehend what’s currently happening. As much as you want to kick Bucky out and never see him again, pure delight has started clawing at the inside of your chest, eager to be let out. If he confesses to you once more, you don’t think you’ll be able to turn him down.

When Bucky emerges from the bathroom, your heart pangs at the sight of him. He sinks into the chair across from you with an air of domesticity, like he’s always meant to be here. It’s like you bought that chair with him in mind because it fits him perfectly, and he fills it just the right amount.

“You look better already,” you comment, with a shy smile.

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, glancing up at you from between falling strands of hair, and he’s never seemed more beautiful than in this moment. “I feel better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of-”

“The cold,” you finish for him. He blinks in disbelief and you sputter out an excuse. “Sorry. Steve told me.” Then, deciding against putting all of the blame on the one who’s kept you sane this whole time, you continue. “I mean, I’d already kind of guessed so because of that night in the kitchen. He told me later.”

“I don’t remember much from that night,” Bucky confesses, sheepishly; not embarrassed, ashamed.

You’re not sure if it will make him feel any better, but you agree: “I don’t either, actually.” Surprisingly, you mean it. A few days ago you could’ve recalled every small detail from that memory. Now it’s just a dream inside a dream or a  blurry image, abroad a ship, stuffed deep in the bottleneck of your glass brain.

Bucky showed up on your doorstep and it’s like he’s never left.

It’s a slightly unconscious action, but when you shift to make more space on the couch, Bucky takes the silent invitation. His gait is wide, a few silent steps until he’s lowering himself beside you. The line between cushions acts as a border. Even next to you, he’s like an opposing magnet, slowly inching further and further away. He’s toeing over the edge of a cliff, waiting for you to let him fall or tug him back into your desperate arms.

“Bucky-”

“Can I touch you?” His words overlap yours, which isn’t hard considering you’re choking on a whisper, and he’s finally letting the depths of his soul speak without reservation. There’s no context for his question, no way for you to decipher what he’s insinuating. You don’t care. You decide to step off the ledge with him.

“Yes.”

His fingers are grazing your chin, calloused tips warm and rough and gentle. Your pulse thrums against the thin skin of your throat, a lump of emotion gathered in a swallow you can’t force down because Bucky is staring, seeing you for the first time. You don’t blink, and neither does he, blue eyes dew with the first rainfall of spring. You watch winter melt away beneath his fluttering lashes.

“You are so soft,” he murmurs, and you know he doesn’t mean just physically, even when his palms are like sandpaper against your jaw. His grit flattens the rest of your apprehension, and your hands find the sharp angle of his scruff-peppered chin. When your thumb strokes the indentation below his lips, his mouth parts just barely, enough for you to feel the shaky hot exhale he sighs in silent relief.

When he begins to lean in, you don’t budge; not until he’s a hair width away and you feel the tips of his fingers shaking, one hand ice cold, the other burning hot. Then, you close the gap, hungry for the taste of his bleeding heart. The kiss is desperate in its own way, lustful for vulnerability and the satisfaction of finally.

Bucky is the one to press harder, nose harshly digging into your own as his face tilts to fit into the curves of your features like a missing puzzle piece; knocked haphazardly onto the floor when the box is first opened. You can feel his hair, still damp, against your forehead. His metal arm clicks into place, fingers adjusting their grip, and an unfamiliar sensation shoots up your spine. Fear.

He’s never been so close. His hand could easily wrap around your throat and take you out, without him even sparing a second glance. A moment of desperation and your lack of resistance would be all he needed. One kiss is all it would take.

Instead, he pulls away, though not without leaving one last sweet peck on your pursed lips. When your eyes flutter open, he’s blinking in the sight of you with a genuine smile painted on his face; tongue quickly darting between his teeth and catching the last taste of you on his mouth. He lets out a disbelieving laugh, a stifled chuckle that’s just enough to have you joining him, until your cheeks burn from grinning.

“Did --  was that okay?” Bucky asks, lines around his lips deepening. “I thought you were gonna pull away for a moment there.”

“No!” you answer quickly, feeling your skin flush at the admission. “It was… nice. Very nice.” He’s clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words, especially when he strokes your cheek to further fluster you. “G-great, really.”

“Great,” he echoes. “I haven’t kissed anyone since 1945.”

You can’t help but laugh at his secret. He’s kissing you and only worried he wasn’t good enough. Bucky, the playboy, Barnes, is worried some seventy years of inexperience could stop him from stealing your breath with a single touch. Thankfully, he knows your reaction isn’t out of dismissal or jest, and soon his face is red with cheerful exertion.

“Can I ask you something?” He questions, quieting down but not losing any of his warmth. “Will you come back? To the facility, I mean.”

“No,” you start, watching his face fall before you can finish. “But only because I bought enough groceries to last me the whole weekend and I don’t want them to go to waste. But you can stay with me if you want.” His eyes are wide, brows raised. “My place is big enough and I think I have more of Steve’s clothes lying around…”

“You’d…” He swallows the lump growing in his throat. “You’d actually be okay with that?”

You let out a soft sigh. “Of course.” You force yourself not to backtrack or shy away. Not now. “We could rent some movies? It’ll probably storm the next couple of days so there’s really no point in heading out. Unless you want to?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No. I don’t… I’d want to stay in if I stay. I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yes.” You grab his hand in yours and squeeze. “Yes, Bucky. Stay with me.”

The air settles but you see an unanswered question lingering on his mind. You’re about to press, but then he’s asking, shyly: “Will you let me kiss you again?”

It’s such an easy question, so effortless, and yet it holds the weight of months spent alone. You wonder if he has suffered the same aching coldness as you, desperate for someone else’s warmth. You want to tell him he can kiss you forever, until forever, after forever. “You can kiss me whenever,” are the words you finally settle on, and it’s clear they appease him.

“I’ll take the couch, tonight,” Bucky says a moment later. A small relief, since it’s too soon for anything like that. Personal space is something you’ll need to work on. Not tonight.

But you’re still curious: “What if you have a nightmare?”

He huffs, albeit with the ghost of a smile. “If you don’t hear me, I’ll wake you up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Later, after so many bowls of pasta you realize you’ll have to order takeout eventually, Bucky sinks into the couch; toes pressed against the arm, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. You excuse yourself for a moment to go turn on the heater, setting it a few degrees higher than usual so he doesn’t get cold. Your phone beeps softly from the pocket of your pajama pants. It’s Steve.

“I told you he’d notice.”

When you hear the tell-tale sigh of a snore, and realize Bucky has drifted off, lights still on and arm dropped off the side of the couch, you have to smile.

“Took him long enough.”

---

bucky tag list: @queens-rose-garden @eunoia-kth @zhangyixingxing1 @augustvandyne @fairydxll @justreadingficsdontmindme @interwebseriesfan24

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel angst #marvel fluff #t: writing

[skiyoosmi]

if fate permits

⤷  chapter thirty three: the beginning of the end, ii.

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marga's notes. hehe (: 

The snow has begun to descend all over Japan and almost all the things your eyes stop on are colored in white, from the roads, the barks of the trees, to the roofs of your homes. The view was accompanied by the feeling of coldness that hugs you every time you leave the comforts of your warm house and step out of the door. It was pleasant, regardless of the sore joints you get every winter. The sound of snow crunching for every footstep makes up for it, which you enjoy even better when your companion joins you in trying to skip over the uneven ground.

“Come on, Hajime, you slowpoke! We’re going to be late,” you giggle as you pick up a bit of snow and chuck it towards his direction. The past week hasn't been that eventful for the two of you, but there was still progress anyway. You two went out and traveled to various areas in hopes of obtaining more inspiration for your writing, which almost felt like a couple’s date, at least that’s what it was for him. The blurry images and incomplete voices are etched in your mind though and you find yourself lost in your train of thoughts from time to time, at least until Iwaizumi snaps you out of it and brings you back to the present.

“If you trip, I swear I’ll only laugh at you,” he jokingly warns, laughing handsomely when you stick your tongue out to him as a response.When you arrive in the middle of the campus field, you slow down and stop, catching the attention of the boy with you.

“You okay?” 

You hum and take in the view as much as your vision lets you. Your eyes twinkle with childlike wonder and you exhale, releasing a fog-like breath which makes you giggle once more, “I like winter.”

“Yeah?” 

You nod and feel your heart beat with excitement, “yeah, it’s really fun. I hope it’s always like this.”

He grabs your glove-covered hand with his and smile, “me too. I hope so too.”

Contrary to your words, an oddly familiar warmth that nestles its way to your heart when your eyes settle on a familiar figure idly standing from afar and you start to think that maybe… just maybe, you might actually like the warm summer better than a cold winter. As if there’s a force pulling you, your feet start to walk towards their direction, the previous stable beating of your heart becomes erratic the more you come near.

“Hey, the party’s in that direction, where are we–” Hajime starts to ask, before he stops when he feels your hand letting go of him and sees who you’re approaching. His heart drops because there goes his peace once again, replaced by the agonizing torture of watching you naturally gravitate towards your fated one. He doesn’t think you realize this and somehow, that knowledge makes it more excruciating. 

He stays behind you when you stand giddily in front of the blonde boy who has not yet took notice of your presence, too busy enjoying how he was playing and kicking the snow with his feet, eyes also filled with childlike wonder. And Hajime wants to lurch because Atsumu’s scarily just like you. You two were just made for each other and it gases up Hajime’s insides with bitterness. 

Because, why do I have to go against the universe for this, he asks no one in particular.

He watches when Atsumu mindlessly kicks and the snow hits your direction, making you squeal-giggle due to the cold sensation. Hajime thinks your happiness was mostly due to the delight of seeing the blonde. And he wants to just disappear because, how can Atsumu make you laugh like that without even trying? And fate was just so, so cruel and unfair he can barely be graced with your smile. 

As you stand in front of him, it dawns upon you that looking at him magnifies the warmth you feel amidst the coldness of your surroundings. You watch the surprise that forms on Atsumu’s face when he realizes it was you who he kicked the snow to before he dumbfoundedly asks, “YN, y-you’re here?”

You gently nod and make up the excuse that you got a bit lost on your way to the direction of the café where the christmas party was supposed to be. Perhaps, for now, you’d keep to yourself the fact that you went over to him on your own accord. It would be a bit difficult (and weird) to tell him that your feet just pulled you to him, after all. 

“We’re not close enough for me to say this but I think you’re too stressed to not even see me in front of you, Atsumu-san. Are you okay?” You ask with genuine concern as you take in what seems like fatigue and melancholy plastered all over his face. 

“Oh… not close, huh? Well.. yeah, training for the V-League has just been hard,” he meekly replies while rubbing his nape sheepishly, “I thought ya wouldn’t be able to come, so I’m honestly surprised right now. Ya said you were going to prepare stuff for the launching of your book, right?”

As you open your mouth to respond, you hear Iwaizumi call your name. You swiftly look back and smile before returning your gaze on Atsumu, “Well, I was planning to go back to Cali for a bit but figured I wanted to launch it here, in my hometown. Besides, this boy right here was persistent on convincing his…” you halt, feeling nauseous as you pick your words.Oddly enough, you think you want to puke out the brunch you had with Iwaizumi a while ago. Traitor, traitor! The voice at the back of your mind screams at you but you try to ignore it and force a smile as you gestured to the boy beside you, “soulmate to stay home.”

The black haired lad’s arm wraps itself around your waist and nods at the blonde in greeting, “it’s nice to see you again, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu forces a tight-lipped smile and replies with a heavy accent (and a heavy heart), “nice to see ya too, Iwaizumi-kun.”

There’s an aggressive tension between them that you try not to acknowledge, but it fills the air among you three with awkwardness. You feel a sense of tightness within you the longer Iwaizumi holds you so you step out of his hold, not noticing the hurt that passes so quickly in his eyes before he looks at the blonde whose eyes were already on him. 

You think you’re threading into something that may blow out to become an ugly fight, so you fake out a cough, “ehem, so I assume we’re all heading towards the same place? So let’s all go together?”

Atsumu nods and joins you as you walk towards the campus, steps becoming more light and alive as compared to how he was walking a while ago. Hajime closely follows behind you, slowly drowning in the bitterness.

The sourness of it all engulfs him whole but as you continue to talk with Atsumu while walking, he sees that your smile was too beautiful to ruin the moment. So he only gulps it all up and walks near the two of you as you converse with each other. He ignores the pricks and needles of anguish, praying it doesn’t eat his soul, doesn’t consume his heart. Your smile was too beautiful, happiness looks good on you and he’d be damned if he’s the cause of its downfall.

You relish in the familiar faces that fill in your vision as the Christmas party and mini-reunion goes on. They talk about how they can recall the incidents that happened before and during the Cinderella play you did, how magnificent you and your co-stars were, and so many more. You try to go along the flow of conversations, but there’s an itchy and uncomfortable thought that tickles your mind as you try to recall the play. Who was your partner in the play again? 

Unfortunately, whenever you try to ask, they only laugh and think you were joking. Only statements of ‘Silly YN, that’s a nice joke!’ but no names are dropped. Somehow, it feels like your heart is screaming that it was the blonde standing just on the other side of the room, laughing and interacting with the other partygoers as well. His eyes travel around the room before they meet yours and light up, he waves while you blush like a high schooler. You bashfully wave back before you drop your arms when he approaches. 

“Told you it would be fun,” Atsumu exclaims as he leans near your ear for you to hear over the loud music playing all over the gymnasium. 

You laugh and nod, “Fine, you win! Can’t imagine if I didn’t come and stay bored at home.”

“You’d probably be missing me,” he jokes, but the way he looks at you makes you think it’s far from being a joke. 

Your heart skips and you gulp, “Probably.”

He blushes and smiles widely at your reply before he lightly takes your hand and pulls you near the center of the gym, “let’s dance!”

You shake your head ‘no’ rapidly and stop him, “Nope, not a chance. I’d rather die, Tsum!”

Despite your attempts at rejections, he succeeds as you two stand facing each other. You hear awws from your acquaintances when the music suddenly changes from a lively song to a slow romantic one. He bows like a prince before offering you his hand, “may I have this dance?”

You stare at him and he stares back as he awaits your response.

Miya Atsumu was a wonder to your eyes, enchanting you with magic you would’ve never imagined you’d feel as he holds his gaze on you, as if to say: “I’m casting a spell on you. You won’t be able to get rid of me now.” And suddenly, he’s holding your heart in his palms, taking it, keeping it. And you’re letting him. Because if he cherishes it, you’d be thanking the heavens above. And if he breaks it–

“It would be my pleasure,” you tell him as you put your hand in his. And then, your heart warms, dances with him in this beautiful, cold night. It goes on for what feels like eternity before the song finally comes to an end. You two stay still in the middle of the floor, almost as if no one was there with you. He opens his mouth and closes it, no words coming out despite the abundance of it within him. You encourage him silently, smiling fondly as if you were saying “I’m waiting, just take your time.” And he feels so bad, to have always been the one to make you wait so he speaks.

His voice, full of emotion, wavers and cracks when he speaks, “I’m sorry… for everything.”

Your face morphs into one of confusion, not knowing why was suddenly apologizing, “why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything, Tsum.”

“You’d hate me if you knew,” he whispers and then, you hear the lively music come back as the crowd returns to the dance floor. He releases you from his hold and sadly smiles at you, “and I’d rather die than see you hate me, YN.”

And as he disappears into the crowd, he takes your heart with this and leaves you in a void.

“That was a heartwarming dance,” a girl’s voice from behind you comments. You turn to look back and see a very familiar face.

“Yui!” you exclaim while she raises an eyebrow at your enthusiasm .

“That’s a rather happy way of greeting me. Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” She furrows her brows this time when she sees confusion on your face, “huh, that’s interesting. I guess you don’t know anything yet?” 

She looks around and back at you, rolling her eyes at your very much lost self, before pulling you towards the girls’ bathroom, “wipe that dumb look on your pretty face and come with me.”

Feeling overwhelmed by the suddenness of Atsumu’s emotions and Yui’s confusing words, you follow her like a lost child. She lets the bathroom door close automatically and you two stand by the sink. She places her bag on the dry part of it and brings out her make-up purse, handing a pressed powder to you before turning to the mirror and taking out her gloss to retouch her lips.

“Freshen up yourself, Cinderella Number 2,” she says oh-so-casually. You snap out of your confusing thoughts and look at her through the mirror.

“What do you mean by that… why am I supposed to hate you?” you ask her as you try to open the container of the pressed powder.

“Because… I ruined everything for you,” she sighs and helps you open it before going back to doing her thing.

“Huh?” she rolls her eyes at your response.

“You’re not stupid, YN… you know he isn’t your soulmate, right?” she tells you, looking directly into your eyes through the mirror, “you know Hajime isn’t your soulmate.”

She stops for a while as she observes how you’re taking in the information she’s saying before continuing, “it’s anticlimactic, I know. You’re supposed to get this thrilling or surprising revelation for your soulmate searching agenda, but you already know who it is deep down, don’t you? So, it doesn’t really matter if I spoil it for you.”

You meekly nod and whimper a quiet ‘yeah’ as you feel your chest throb, in relief or in pain? You have no idea. The emotions you feel are threatening to oversurge form your heart as you feel your eyes well up with tears.

“You don’t need me for this but I guess I wanted to feel like a good person somehow. So, I’m telling you.. what… or rather, who you feel, who you’re thinking of… you’re right, it’s him.”

She says it with so much finality and for some odd reasons, you feel like a pain wretched deep in your heart was loosened and freed.

“So my memories are not all fucked up? I was right, wasn’t I? You were Hajime’s soulmate,” you ask her, making her laugh.

“Of course, your memory’s not fucked up, sweets. It’s him who’s fucked up, but I guess he just loves you that much, even way beyond his feelings for me as his soulmate,” she sadly smiles, “though that doesn’t mean it was alright for him to lie about that.”

“But… why are you telling me all this? Aren’t you supposed to hate me too?” 

She shrugs, “I don’t know… I guess I just don’t want to feel shitty anymore. Guilt’s a very heavy thing to carry. I think that goes the same for Atsumu.”

She checks her face in the mirror and smiles in satisfaction when her lips are glossy again. She looks at you through the mirror once more, “anyway, soulmate or not, your heart is yours to decide with, YN. Just remember that.”

You go to the bathroom, feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed from all the events that just transpired. You clumsily walk back to the gymnasium, everything just feels too fast, too sudden, too relieving, too maddening all at the same time. You lean against the walls of the hallway and take a deep breath to calm yourself down, but tears start to escape from your eyes.

Atsumu.

You stand up once again and continue to walk, going inside the gymnasium. 

Tsum.

Your eyes scan the crowd but you find it difficult to see the blonde, not when the only light source you have is the mirrorball hanging in the middle of the gym. 

Where is he?

“YN, I’ve been looking for you! Where have you been?” Hajime asks, deep relief in his voice. You freeze and feel the anger bubbling within you. You glare at him, much to his surprise before you hastily walk away from him.

“Hey, YN. Wait up!” You don’t but unfortunately for you, Hajime’s strides could easily catch up to you and so, he grabs you by the arm, to which you harshly pull away from.

“Don’t touch me, don’t even think about coming near me, you… you liar! How dare you?” you ask him vexingly. Some of your companions in the party turned to look at the commotion as soon as the music toned down to a slow song once again. 

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay? Calm down, love,” he tries to talk you through it but to no avail, your anger has gotten the best of you. You hold a finger up and point it at his chest.

“Don’t–! Don’t call me that,” you whisper with all the loath you feel, voice coarse and broken, “you.. you don’t fucking love me. You just like the idea that I was like you, unloved and pushed aside by my soulmate. You… you traitor..!”

He tries to act all confused, despite the erratic beating of his heart. He can't lose you, not now. You were both doing fine, what happened? Did you know? Did you get your memories back? No, you're not supposed to. His frantic eyes and pale face betrays him as you humorlessly laugh, "I fucking know everything, Iwaizumi."

#atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu smau #haikyuu smau #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu headcanons #iwaizumi smau #miya atsumu #iwaizumi hajime

[earthtooz]

Its not levi,but can i pls ask for some gojo x female reader comfort?im having an awful day and im starting to cry 🥺 i would love to read ur writing 🥺💜

pairing: gojo x gn!reader

synopsis: the three times you give gojo a love letter and the one time he returns the favour / high school au

warnings: 1.5k words, fluff fluff fluff, swearing maybe?? idk i'm the writer and i swear a lot, NO PRONOUNS!

a/n: i loved writing this heheh, 3+1 tropes my beloved. also i hope everything is okay anon! this message was sent a while ago, i'm sorry i couldn't post anything earlier but regardless, if you manage to see this then i wish u all the love <3 thanks for dropping by and i hope this managed to cheer you up in some capacity! @limitlesshq i posted it hehe

you approach him that fateful day with an unimpressed expression, a small letter sealed with a kiss between your hands, "hey, stupid."

gojo turns around, face widening into a smile once he notices you approaching him, he straightens up a little, standing taller despite him towering you regardless. "y/n! to what do i owe the pleasure?"

coming to a halt before him, you hand him the love letter that you've been nursing for the past ten minutes, simply trying to find him as you zip through the hallways.

"for you," you mutter. gojo feels his heart come to a stop when he sees a pink card in the shape of a love heart in your hands. there's a scented sticker on there too. his face morphs into a huge grin, unable to contain his elatedness, not when he's been waiting for this moment forever, dreaming of the day when you would-

"-it's not mine," his world dulls, "it's from a girl in class b. wanted me to give it to you."

gojo takes the piece of paper, his happy expression now turned sour as he looks at the offensive piece of thing.

you pat him on the shoulder, "what's got your smile turning upside down?"

"nothin'"

slinging your bag over your shoulder, you wave goodbye to the white-haired before embarking on your way home and he stands there, utterly defeated. this was the worst way to end the day.

gojo is no stranger to love confessions, receiving them more often than not, whether it be in the form of chocolates, flustered students who have trouble containing their cool around the heavenly man, or pretty letters with scribbles of love declarations, gojo satoru has discarded every one of them.

he's flattered. really, he is, but the only person he wants a confession from is the one who is walking away from him at this very moment.

***

the second time you give gojo satoru a love letter, his heart does that stupid thing again, but it quiets down when it recalls the first encounter. he captures a glimpse of the handwriting and immediately knows it's not yours.

"got a delivery for gramps," you joke, dropping the letter into his textbook, "another one. upperclassman above wanted to give this to you actually, said to leave the message that he was doing this for shits and giggles but he seemed really flustered so... i don't know."

"thanks," gojo murmurs, scanning the paper. he notices you walking away from the corner of his eye. "hey, y/n, wait."

you turn around at look at him expectantly with the slight smile that's always managed to brighten his day.

"would you like to visit the new dog café soon?" asks gojo.

"of course! just text me and i'll be there. cya 'toru."

"see you."

he frowns when you walk away, fingers absentmindedly playing with the love letter as gojo yearns for your presence once more. he didn't get to see enough of that smile yet.

***

the third time you give gojo satoru a love letter, he gets restless.

"look what i got," you greet as you approach the white-haired man perched on a park bench during lunch. his best friend, geto, sat beside him. you wave a love letter in your fingers, "delivery for gojo satoru?"

"you're looking at him right now," geto answers for gojo, who has been frowning ever since he caught sight of the paper in your hands.

another love letter that wasn't from who he wanted it to be from.

"here. it's from a student in the grade below but they're gorgeous, i'd shoot my shot if i were you," you say jokingly, pushing the letter towards gojo who takes it gingerly from you. he briefly scans the letter before closing it. you don't make a comment on how uncharacteristically silent he seemed about the confession.

you expected him to gloat in his best friends face before making fun of his pull game but you suppose everyone has moments of maturity.

"so, what're you up to these days, y/n?" questions geto.

"oh you know, being a delivery man for gojo's admirers. job sucks by the way, means i have to trek all around school just to find the elusive heartthrob with little compensation. maybe i'll start charging," you chuckle at the last part, lightly shoving gojo's shoulder. "anyways, i'd love to stay and chat but i gotta blast. see you both around-"

gojo cuts you off, effectively capturing your attention with an urgent "-wait, where are you going? can't you sit with us?"

you seem to be caught off-guard by his sudden proclamation, not that he could blame you.

"thanks for the invite, but i promised to help someone out. hopefully it's not making a love letter for the great gojo satoru, because the things i've witnessed on your behalf is terrifying. but i'll see you two around!"

gojo watches pitifully as you walk away, slumped over and defeated.

geto rolls his eyes, "you're really pathetic."

"oh c'mon. i can't help it."

"you can't help it? seriously? you capture the hearts of everyone on campus yet can't manage to get the one you really want? loser behaviour, how can you have so many bitches yet act so bitchless?"

"i'm not a loser."

"in y/n's eyes you must be."

gojo sighs, "that's not nice. nor is it very encouraging."

"it's not meant to be encouraging because i'm getting sick and tired of you always complaining about not getting a love letter from y/n. if you're so sick of waiting then go give y/n the letter instead."

gojo has a revelation in that very moment.

***

the first time gojo satoru gives you a love letter, he's all nerves and jitters because he spent the majority of the school night creating this stupid letter. he throws away draft after draft, cursing over every little mistake he makes with the reasoning that this had to be perfect.

the homework he had to do that night lay discarded.

call him silly, really, you should call him a fool for spending all night on this, drafting some message that you'll probably cringe at, but he approaches you the next day with a thumping heart. the day when you agreed to meet at the dog cafe.

he meets you outside your house and not too long after, you appear, all dressed in your favourite outfit.

as you approach, tou notice the envelope in his hands. it's crisp, clean and definitely one of gojo's standard. wonder who gave it to him and what's inside.

"hey," you greet him with a quick hug, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. gojo returns the favour, "thanks for offering to drive."

"no problemo. always happy to be at a pretty person's service."

you ignore his last statement, "ready to go?"

"sure, i just have something for you first."

he hands you the envelope wordlessly, accompanied by a little smirk (that expertly masked the way he felt inside) and your brows furrow in confusion. it's not until you turn it around that it dawns upon you, the penmen-ship, the way it's your nickname that only gojo calls you scribbled on the front with a little heart that's so messy yet so him- you almost want to throw up from how fast your heart is racing.

"this isn't what i think it is, right?" you muttered, holding up the letter between two fingers, "please tell me it's not what i think it is."

gojo feels his heart sink to the ground.

"this looks like a love letter and it's so nice so if i open it and you turn out to be pranking me i am going to go home and never speak to you again-"

"what? of course it's a love letter? i didn't spend all night making that for you to doubt my feelings for you!" he clenches his chest in faux-pain, "how dare you! breaking my heart dressed so prettily. you know how many people would love to receive a letter from me? i bet nanami would be more grateful-"

you cut him off with a laugh, closing the distance as your hands reach up to cup his face. you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is hammering and gojo wonders if you can feel how fast his heart is thrumming underneath your fingertips. "you really are something else, 'toru."

gojo softens- lovestruck, if you will, absolutely enchanted at the way you’re smiling at him so gently that he feels like he’s on cloud nine. but if he has to stare at your lips for one more second then he just might break, “are you gonna kiss me senseless or am i gonna have to do it?” asks gojo.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojou satoru x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[soapels]

mutualism

simon “ghost” riley x female reader ♡

content: sfw, ghost is soft for reader but also tsundere and has little to no idea of how to express it lolol

jupe’s notes: hope u enjoy this lil blurb thing. :] its inspired by an otome i played like seven years ago lol. (dont ask why chocolate keeps appearing in my ficlets) also pls pls show sum love if u like it >_> reading yalls thoughts and comments cheers me up, fr makes my day hehe 💗 enjoy babes

all hearts, reblogs, & comments are very appreciated! ♡

“You hungry?”

Ghost huffs, “Aren’t you?”

It’s harmless, and he’s never unwittingly harsh with the intent to hurt you- it’s just who he is, and you know that.

So you swiftly brush away the flustered pang in your chest, deciding to inch closer to him instead, the burly man settled at the bank of the river.

Gases spill over the tree-line up at the village, tucked away behind poppies and pines on the mountaintop. The two of you won’t be getting out of here for a while- the heli crashed, pilot’s dead. The radio (or the general connection out here in the boonies) is so fucked up that nobody’s responding over it to all the calls for help you tried to make.

Regardless. You fix yourself down beside him, drawing your knees to your chest as a small hand digs through your breast pocket.

“Lieutenant, I—“

Before you can even properly pull it out, (and his prediction skills are beyond you) he’s giving you an uncivil shake of his head, wrapping his gloved fingers over your forearm to stop you.

“Save it, sergeant…” As if realizing his curtness, and the slightly-dejected flicker of your wide eyes, his grip on you loosens, and he murmurs softly. “Rather you eat whatever the hell it is than give it to me.”

You pause for a fleeting moment, thinking his words over.

His dark, chestnut hues sweep over you in uneven waves from beneath his mask, slowly, taking in every movement and micro-expression on your end.

(You wonder what it is he sees.)

When he releases you entirely, you clutch the small, wrapped food tighter in your palm and carefully hold it in your lap.

And for a few weighty, silent seconds- just the sound of fresh water rubbing at the pebbled shore, the pines rustling in the breeze paired with your and Ghost’s shared breaths- Simon thinks you’ve yielded.

He’s wrong.

“But—“

“No buts, pup,” he chastises, tossing you a lingering glance from the side of his eye. It makes you stiffen up some, your own gaze darting away to the lush swathes of grass beneath you.

But it’s not quite enough to sway you, or stop you entirely.

“Just take it, Lieutenant,” you near beg, flashing him that daunting, slow little smile that carves up into the apples of your cheeks. (Never knew something so sweet could be so haunting to Ghost- how ironic.)

He intakes a long, gruff breath.

And scoops it out of the dip of your gracious, eager palms. He looks down at it, the thing even smaller in his big, gloved hands.

Makes a half-amused sort of sound.

A Hershey’s Kiss.

The wrapping crinkles, breaks, Ghost stuffing the flimsy strings of it into one of his pockets before he pauses. And you hope he doesn’t hear the rather-obnoxious grumble of your tummy, observing him carefully, quirking a brow at the odd, foreign glitter to his umber eyes-

Wordlessly, he rucks up the bottom half of his mask and pops the small chocolate into his mouth.

Your scrutiny softens, then, your smile deepening as you linger on him for a moment more, relief billowing in your chest (you were so happy you’d saved the sweet, realizing you could do some good for your Lieutenant out here stranded in the middle of nowhere) as you turn away—

A gloved thumb finds your chin, snatching your attention in as his lips brush with yours.

Ghost’s tongue grazes the roof of your mouth, and amidst the initial shock of it all- the hot spark creeping down to your guts- you don’t even realize the sweetness that invades your tastebuds until he’s already leaning away, licking unsparingly at his lips.

You swallow.

You… swallow. The sugary remnants of the treat you virtually begged for him to eat.

…Dammit!!

Your face is going mad warm and you’re grabbing for his stupidly-strong arm before you can even think to stop yourself-

“T-That’s not fair!” You blurt out, brows furrowed into a cute, flustered pinch that does no favors for the sensual storm stirring in Ghost’s belly. “You cheated- that was supposed to be for you, Simon!”

Simon.

“Well, pup,” he punctuates rather harshly, eyes flickering away briefly- holding some unreadable twinkle to them- before they find yours again.

“It benefited the both of us, didn’t it? …Mutualism at it’s bloody finest.”

(Because he enjoyed it- fuck, probably more than he should’ve… His head spins like he’s been dealt a good blow.)

You spare him one last thoughtful, riled-up huff before turning away, tucking your chin to your knees as you curl in on yourself.

Your heart’s hammering.

Simon’s is drilling holes into his ribs.

But he doesn’t tell you that. And you’d never know, only if he chose to let you—

“Though…”

his low, thick voice strikes up again, and that’s when you realize his gaze never really broke away from you.

You glance over and his fingers are working at his right glove, those dark, inscrutable eyes set dead on you. You, you, you. It sends a chill right down your spine, down to your tummy, to your everything, and your breath stutters.

His does, too, as he suddenly dips in. A large, warm palm swallowing up the soft curve of your cheek.

“I think I’ve got an idea to sate the both of us- properly, this time.”

#call of duty #ghost #cod x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley

[stevebabey]

Hi hi hi!! Congratulations so much on your milestone! I haven’t been following for very long but you are one of my favorite Steve writers, bar none. Thanks for sharing your writing with the internet 💖

📽 If I may step behind the beaded curtain of Family Video…

Post-battle, one of the many you’ve shared with Steve, and you just want to stop thinking. Thinking hurts, especially when you think about the fact that you almost just lost each other!! Steve is being lovey and sweet and altogether way too nice while you make out so you bite his lip, ruck your hands through his hair, roll your hips a little harder. He lets you flip him underneath you, but it’s still not enough, so you’re pulling at his mouth and fisting his shirt in ur hands and avoiding eye contact bc if you cry that’s it, it’s over, he won’t fuck you like you want it. But of course he notices, and tries to soothe you, “baby baby honey. Please. Shhhh. Talk to me” with kisses on your cheeks and petting at your hair and worry creasing his brow. And godammit if he doesn’t make you talk to him like a healthy adult who processes their feelings 🙄 before eating you out while holding ur hands for comfort. And maybe he doesn’t fuck you like you want it, but definitely how you NEED it. He always knows 🥺

(I’m sorry if that’s too long I just got so excited to share this and talk with you and if it’s not your style I totally understand and congrats regardless!!!!)

anon u came to the RIGHT place for some tender loving sex i am ALL for that shit!!! also hello!!!! i’m so very pleased to have u here!! u make me blush honey, and yes indeed come behind da beaded curtain hehe - also DAMN i do not know how to shut up apparently, i sat down to write this, fixed myself a g&t and clearly went a bit insane <3 hope u love! 18+ content below the cut MDNI

maybe it’s a bit too much of a close call this time, or it’s just that you’ve been here too many times but either way your nerves are frayed tonight— and the solution lies in steve’s arms. there’s something bout the skin-to-skin that soothes one part of you entirely while setting another part aflame- you love him and you nearly lost him tonight and it sets you about with a burning desire, nearly delirious in how his lips feel against yours, how he feels pressed against you when you grind in his lap and clutch at his shirt- you’re tugging at the fabric but don’t even pause your kisses for a moment, just try to tug it up and off. it’s the first sign to steve that tonight is different, that you’re needier than usual. he murmurs his assurances of love, soft and low, “it’s alright, honey,” he mumbles between the heated kisses, “we’re both alright, we made it out,” and he gives what you want, his shirt off and then your own

but he’s being soft, all delicate and caring with you and normally you adore that- the sweet lovebites scattered along your neck that’ll be gone by morning- tonight, instead it feels like you’re treated like glass, like in your mind maybe he’s still preparing to say goodbye in some twisted final way — so you use your hands to press him down, knees straddling his waist and try your best to let the message sink in; if he fucks you rough, it’s like none of the hurt of tonight happened, like the shit you went through didn’t happen at all. hands in his hair, hips rolling down sinfully and pulling groans from his throat, you reattach your mouths and desperation pours from your lips- you don’t want to slow down, to think about what you’ve both barely escaped and agonisingly, steve can tell — his hands grasp your face and halt your kisses but the moment you pause, you won’t look at him, can’t look at him. suddenly you’re embarrassed and steve is all quiet murmurs, “hey, hey, honey, what’s this? what’s going on with my girl?” and his nose nudges against yours, encouraging u to answer and your voice is smaller than ever as you give some pititful excuse, some line that usually riles him up, “just wanna feel you, stevie, just wanna fuck you,” and you grind down on him

steve knows you better than that though and though he hisses, pleasure spiking at the grind you give, he moves his hands to stop your hips- the movement they pause, his hands climb up and cradle your face as his features give away his worry. there’s a terrible furrow in his brown, eyes pooled with concern and he pulls you close, dozens of kisses against your cheeks, your nose, your forehead as he murmurs to you, “honey, please, talk to me,” and you do exactly what you’d been trying to avoid, fat tears welling in your eyes and shit, now you’re crying but it’s like it’s exactly what steve’s expecting — his arms are ready to hold every piece of you together while you cry shakily, whispered fears and confessions of love he’s already heard before and steve listens to it all- his kisses take your tears and when you calm, fear finally taking the back burner in your mind and breathing normal, he’s ready n waiting for you. “d’you want to just sleep?” he checks, lovingly and your shaking your head no quickly; you weren’t lying before, there’s an itch under your skin that can be sated only by his touch. steve doesn’t seem surprised but rolls the both of you over, kissing you with a bit more fervour now that he knows you’re truly alright - then he’s moving down the bed, kisses against your collarbones, down your sternum and when you voice your confusion steve’s raspy voice just says, “shh, it’s alright, lemme take care of my girl, yeah? you gonna let me take care of you?” his rough hands are already teasing the inside of your thighs so you can’t help but sigh out a yes

and he does take good care of you, one hand intertwined with yours as the heat of his mouth works your cunt, drawing whines and whimpers out- you’re clutching his hair and feeling hot in your skin, squeezing his hand as steve whispers his praise to you, “that’s it, so good f’me, doing so well,” until you’re spilling over the edge and quivering beneath his touch- but steve’s not done and he can tell you aren’t from the look in your eye. he’s somehow managed to melt away an extra layer of stress that you only notice in its absence so when he kisses back up your tummy and stretches you nice on his cock, you keen and melt into him, completely unwound— steve’s just as he was in the beginning, soft and sweet, all i love you’s scattered between the moans but you can tell know this is exactly what you need. you’re chest to chest and only trying to get closer, fingernails clawing at his back- you’d crawl into his skin if you could- and steve fucks you through it perfectly and you somehow come apart at how he just knows — he knows you, knows what you need and when to give it to you and that’s a kind of love you don’t think you’ll ever get used to- it’s a flurry of rushed kisses and sweet words, steve urging you with a rasp to cum with him, pleading and whimpering into your neck until you both come undone. you fall asleep in his arms to the ghost of a kiss in your hair

#it's tender loving sex and yet: no one look at me #maybe he doesn’t fuck you like you want it but definitely how you NEED it. He always knows #WHAT A PROMPTTTTT #its true i wanna be fucked like that omg #mdni #this was a delicious thought anon thank u for sharing #ruby writes steve #stevie drabbles! #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrrington x you #ruby's very own tour of hawkins #as emma was the one who first pushed me to write smut now every time i write anything smut related im like EMMA!! LOOK! LOOK I DID IT! AGAIN #hehehe

[yongislong]

winner winner soup dinner.

genre: fluff, crack? nct127!besties, idol y/n but not rly?

cw/note: mentions of eating and cooking, swearing, this was literally so fun, tysm anon! hope u enjoy hehe. not proofread! i missed you guys, i kinda went on hiatus because i started uni and i was going through it, i'll try and keep posting though!

"whachaaa doooinnnn," mark strings out as he sees you juggling various bottles of spices. you'd been wanting to cook a new dish for the members for ages now, but you were nervous.

"just trying something out... can you keep the boys, specifically jungwoo, out of the kitchen for a minute... just need some time is all," speaking softly, you shoot him a sweet smile. the one the boys can never seem to resist.

"anything for you y/n!" he ruffles your hair and makes his way to the shared living room.

through the thin walls you hear shouting from the boys after mark's suggestion to a mario kart tournament.

you'll have more than enough time.

it was getting colder and half of the dorm was falling sick to the flu. so you thought this was a perfect idea to attempt to recreate one of your favorite comfort foods, pho.

you'd gotten all the supplies ready after mark had waddled away. slipping on your headphones, you trusted the boys enough to not disturb you, it wouldn't take too long anyways.

your kitchen swagger playlist played lightly as you made swift work with the food.

about 30 minutes in, mark sneaks away to check up on you. he watches you move elegantly along the kitchen, softly humming to yourself and murmuring funny commentary along with some cute faces. he stifled a giggle and shook his head, slipping past the closed off kitchen before any of the boys noticed.

inspecting your pot, a satisfied look creeps up on your face, your hands making their way to your hips.

"BOO!!" you feel a strong pair of hands on your waist as a screech escapes your parted lips.

the smile of your face quickly drops and is replaced with terror. you quickly spin around, only to be met by a laughing yuta.

"UGHHGH!!! YUTA!!! you freak i had my earbuds in! dickface...."

hearing your scream, the boys all clamored into the kitchen. multiple "y/n!" and "are you okay's!" filled the hallway leading up to where they found yuta bent over from laughing and you clutching your chest, annoyance written all over your face.

"god can they ever catch a break yu..." doyoung mumbles.

"pft says you, when are you gonna stand up to me baby," haechan jokes, pulling doyoung down by the shoulders to attempt to smother him in kisses.

"y/n what's that?" taeil interjects.

"oh right!" a smile makes it way to your face as fast as it dropped. "i made some food and i really wanted you guys to try it! i know a couple of you guys have been feeling sick and i wanted to try out this new recipe..." you maneuver you way to the cabinets, beginning to grab 10 bowls.

"uhhh i don't know if that's such a good idea-" SMACK. haechan's mumbles were stopped by a large hand clasping over his mouth.

"we'd love to try it y/nieeee" johnny exclaims. he always had a way pf making everyone around him feel loved and supported. regardless of it being something he enjoyed or not. this was about you and your effort.

"i promise it's gonna be good..." you mumbled while trying to scoop enough noodles, meat and broth into all the different bowls. each of you guys had your own designated bowl that you gifted each other one secret santa.

johnny comes up behind you, squeezing your upper arms, snatching his bowl and leaving with a ruffle of your hair.

the boys followed, all clamoring to get their portion.

"y/n you're like our resident lunch lady!!"

"HAECHAN. SIT."

one settled, they loudly thank you for the food and dig in.

it was silent for too long. only the sound of small munches and breaths. no one moved a muscle on their face for what felt like hours. it made you anxious. waiting for their reply as you chewed on the bite you'd put in your mouth.

it wasn't that bad, good even, but some of the boys had gotten pretty spoiled eating in such fancy places for so many years.

"dude it's really good, like actually so nice, i feel cozy," says mark with a giggle and a dreamy look in his eyes.

"better than panera?" jae jokes.

"yo... might be a tie..."

"A TIE TO PANERA?? y/n is our resident gorgon ramsey by those standards."

again, clamors of agreeance and loud laughs came from the circle of boys on the floor.

yuta seemed to like it so much that he felt compelled to sneak over to your side, giving you a loud cheek kiss as a thank you.

you endured a ridiculous amount of compliments and praise from all the boys throughout dinner. most went back for a second and third bowl and taeil and jungwoo helped you clean the kitchen.

as a surprise, the next day you were awoken with a basket laying next to you on the floor, filled with notes from each member and a couple treats from the 7/11 down the street. as well as a couple small sanrio plushies, and that sweatshirt you always steal from jaehyun at the very bottom of the basket, balancing all of the other treats.

they all felt they had to do something to express how much they appreciated your meal. a lot of them claimed their sinuses were cleared and their chests got lighter once you confronted them in the living room for the cute gifts. they were all blushing messes and giggles, the morning began with a group hug.

hint: it was taeyong's idea <3

#nct fluff #nct blurb #nct reactions #nct soft blurbs #nct soft hours #nct college au #nct icons #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 moodboard #nct dream headcanons #nct mark fluff #mark lee fluff #taeil fluff #johnny drabbles #johnny fluff #nct 127 headcanons #nct 127 crack #jaehyun fluff #yuta fluff #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 soft hours #jungwoo fluff #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader #johnny suh fluff #nakamoto yuta fluff #nct fic #nct 127 fic #taeyong fluff #doyoung fluff

[ptergwen]

i hope i’m the first nathan request because i would be honored 🫶🏽 but that gif where he’s holding a bottle of wine…how about something with a stay at home date night 😗

ask box |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist  |  taglist

w/c: 573

warnings: the tiniest bit of suggestiveness and one mild swear

a/n: you very much are my first nate request hehe thank u for sending lovely <3 i edited my taglist so y’all can be tagged in nate works too so it’s linked above if ur interested! enjoy

“look what i’ve got.”

nathan has a bottle of wine in hand. he smiles proudly and raises the bottle to present it to you, piquing your interest. he saunters over to where you sit at the kitchen island.

“a smooth red, aged and imported.”

“sounds expensive.”

“it is expensive.”

nathan grabs two wine glasses from his hanging glass rack. he skillfully flips them over, one handed, and sets them down on the island. you cross your arms and rest them on the island, leaning forward. you watch your boyfriend as he pours you a glass of wine.

“how’d you get it?”

“from work.”

“you mean the bar? or your side hustle?”

“what’s my side hustle?”

“scavenger hunting.”

your lips curl into a smirk. nathan hands you the glass with a lighthearted shake of his head.

“treasure hunting.”

“i know, i know. i’m kidding. did you get the wine from one of your… expeditions?”

nathan pours a glass for himself.

“nah, but that would’ve been cool. i snuck it from the bar during my last shift.”

“you don’t think they’ll miss it?”

nathan leans in closer to you.

“they’ll never know it’s gone.”

he clinks his glass with yours and sips from it. you swish the wine around before you taste it.

“damn, nate. you’re the best pickpocket in all of new york.”

“bold statement, babydoll.”

“and a true one, too. you are.”

nathan’s gaze trails down to your lips.

“aren’t i?”

he tilts his head to connect your lips. you hum into the kiss. his hand comes to the back of your neck and holds you in place, and you put down your wine so it doesn’t spill. it’s a kiss full of love and want and need.

“come sit with me.”

nate takes your chin between his fingers.

“okay.”

he pecks your lips. he grabs his wine glass by its stem and walks around to the other side of the island, sitting on the empty stool beside you. you swing your legs over so you’re facing him. nate shoots you that ever so charming smile of his, his eyes somehow shining in the dimmed light of his stylish apartment.

“do you miss the city when you’re gone? y’know, looking for treasure?”

you drink your wine while you await nate’s answer.

“yeah, all the time. it’s home. because you’re here, and you’re my home.”

“aw, nate.”

you squeeze one of his buff arms.

“you should come with sometime.”

“i dunno. i don’t think your mean friend with the cat would approve.”

“who, sully?”

“yeah, him. does he bring his cat every time you guys go looking?”

“pretty much. who’d have thought he’d have such a soft spot for the little guy? but seriously, you’d be a much better companion than sully.”

you tangle your sock clad feet with nathan’s, a half smile adorning your lips.

“your brother loved to explore, right? so you’re finishing what he started? i admire that, how you honor his legacy.“

“thanks, baby. i owe it to him. gotta do the drake name proud.”

“you will, and you do.”

nathan presses a kiss to your temple. you finish the rest of your wine, so he reaches for the bottle to pour you more.

“wait, wait, wait. you said the wine’s expensive. shouldn’t we, like, savor it?”

nate pours you another glass regardless, then tops off his own. he winks.

“don’t worry about it. i could always get us another.”

#nathan drake #nathan drake fluff #nathan drake fanfiction #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake x you #nathan drake imagine #nathan drake fic #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland writing #uncharted #tom holland uncharted

[vancemedicibutwhimsical]

hello I would LOVE to just hear you ramble about any rarepairs or ships you like in general hehe, your art is super cute btw!!

WOAH MY GOD!!! THNAN U SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️ ure SO SWEET !!

Holy Wow okay so i never get to talk about these sillies so here we GO !! Most r mlm or wlw !!

• Lucky/Lefty

This one is So special to my heart and its so silly really, i just think they would look so cute together. Im under the impression that Lefty is a touch younger than Lucky, based on his voice, position in the shop, etc. i like to imagine that Lefty grows up looking up to Lucky for a long time and never knows why hes just about Leftys ‘favorite friend’ when one day he drops his freakin hot dog in shock after realizing that he very much thinks of Lucky when hes not even around, what he might be up to, being mad when he talks to ladies, MUCH, much like someone who has a big fat crush.

He puts it off forever and thinks hes maybe just Going Crazy, takes Pinky on an unsuccessful date, does all these ‘manly’ things that he was taught growing up.

I like to think that there would be a dance at the school, and Lefty doesn’t feel like going with anyone. No one matches up with the feelings he’s been having for his best friend.

Lucky, being his right hand (lol) man, still makes him go because, “theres plenty of broads here who’ll dance with ya”

And when Lefty is spending time out in the lot, instead of inside the gym with everyone else, Lucky comes looking for him. I think he would notice when Lefty is upset or deterred, given his typical upbeat personality.

I think that Lefty would babble about how he hasnt felt right and that he thinks somethings up with him, maybe eating those hotdogs from the gasstation all the time isnt a good idea.

But Lucky gets it.

Nothing big happens, Lucky pulls him in by his shoulder, both boys far more snazzy-looking than they ever did on a regular day. They would take things really slow, so much so that no one even hardly has an inclination that they might be together for a WHILE. It would probably take an observation from Vance, i imagine, being queer himself.

I actually love to imagine that Vance catches Lucky bringing Lefty lunch and cigarettes, and its like that scene in spongebob where spongebob realizes squidward likes krabby patties LMAOOO

I feel like they would have a VERY sweet relationship, very casual around the other greasers, like best friends who are joking about bikes and then they start smooching. They might be more careful in public, especially on their side of town, where some less-than-tasteful opinions are shared on minorities, but they would still be very much proud of their relationship :,3 these r two i could see being highschool sweethearts and being fiances/married in the future.. sighs queerly

• Tad/Parker

OUGH THESE TWO!!!!!! MEIN GOTT!!!

This is a pairing i love because its so sweet, but also so tragic just generally because of their statuses and reputations :((( 💔

I think this interest would start on Parkers end, honestly! He seems very sweet, compared to a lot of the Preps. He is also a hopeless romantic at heart, and always dreams of having someone to take care of and make happy, regardless of gender, really.

I think Parker would notice how he feels about Tad very clearly. He realizes that he’s hoping to spar with Tad more often, urging to his friends that “Tad needs the practice with someone who believes in him!” and they all look at him like. What Do You Mean By That..

And then when Tad comes around with bruises that didn’t originate from their matches, Parker worries. It’s summer, so, the sunglasses on Tad’s head arent exactly unusual for the weather, persay, but unusual for HIM.

Parker knows he can’t exactly beat Mr. Spencer till he sees jesus, so he settles for making Tad comfortable. Parker wears sunglasses, anytime Tad does.

I think that they would be very secretive, considering that their families both want them to grow up, take over companies, and marry a woman, who might or might not be blood related to them. That idea is distasteful to both, of course, so they spend their alone time in the boxing ring, or in Parker’s room at the Harrington house, dreaming of an intertwined life in the City.

Besides, they know they arent the only ones sharing a bed on occasion behind these walls.. (cough theyre all gay)

These two would probably have an exclusive, secret relationship in highschool, break up for college and to maintain their secret, and would end up inevitably meeting again in their adult lives. I like to think that they would try to just have a friendship, but wouldn’t be able to ignore how intimate they used to be with one another.

• Justin/Ted

This one.. euehueheheh

Theyre both so silly looking. Reminds me of “we’re pretty cute for two ugly people” 😭

I think that Justin has a big fat disgusting crush on Ted Thompson. He is REVOLTED and so inlove.

I like to think that Justin possibly played football as a child, or has an interest in it. Maybe this is just because he wants to grow closer to Ted, but i can actually see him wanting to play football on occasion.

He would go to football games, insisting to his friends that he was going to watch the Jocks fail, and to pull pranks, however, no one ever sees him doing…any of that.

Usually, hes perched in the bleachers, eyes trailing a body on the feild as they pound down other players and the rival. He’s kind of obvious, but he will always deny any sight of him pining.

Justin keeps a journal much much like a girl. I dont mean boys dont have journals, but Justins is solely for all his queer thoughts and gossip when Gord is busy and can’t listen to him bitch through a glass of brandy.

This journal has plenty of daydreams of Ted written in it, handwriting messy in the areas where Justin felt particularly embarrassed to feel this way, almost like if he wrote it sloppy enough, it wouldn’t be eligible, therefore, not real!!!

I think being a jock, the school would have Ted put in Art class and shop class, to try and level out his education and make sure it wasn’t all football.

Therefore, Justin and Ted get paired one fateful day for an art project. They have to do portraits of eachother. Both are very ticked about it, but.. maybe moreso ted, than Justin, because he has way too much fun during those couple of days.

He has an excuse to sit with Ted Thompson! And Talk to him!!! Oh me oh my!

And he does just that, he talks his way into sitting with Ted at lunch, and convinces him that they really need to finish this project, considering Ted’s grades are constantly suffering when he isn’t paying nerds to do his work.

Ted is a tough guy, and everyone knows it, its painted on his face. However, when Justin finishes his portrait a day or so later, Ted is stood infront of him, face looking dumb as ever. Because, justin is a great artist. He wishes the kid could have done his highlights with the way he captures him on lead-smudged sketch paper.

And Ted asks to keep it! Justin is extremely stupid in love and obviously accepts, running off to the Harrington house to bury himself in his bed and scream.

I think they would have a rlly cute back and forth non-exclusive thing going on..Justin insists on studying with him to get his grades up, alone, in Ted’s dorm room, of course :3 Ted walks him around sometimes because hes just sure that Justin will run his mouth to someone who would take it way personal, Justin constantly quips that he can handle himself, but never deters the Jock when he comes around to chaperone Vandervelde to his locker.

Ill post Actual headcanons soon but these r kind of the explanation of dynamics and stuff between the relationships :333 THANK U FOR THE ASK!! IVE BEEN YEARNING TO TALK ABOUT RAREPAIRS UGHH

#justin vandervelde x ted thompson #vanderson #? #thompvelde #lefty mancini x lucky de luca #luckylefty #parker ogilvie x tad spencer #spenvie #bully scholarship edition #bully rarepairs #bully ships

[rowarn]

HI !!! i just wanted to tell you that your new ghost fic is SO INSANELY GOOD. like. wow. the amount of dedication and effort you put into the fic clearly shows through how beautifully constructed it is. it was such an emotional ride and i cried SO HARD when simon was being mean to reader like YOU CANT JUST SAY THAT ! but im happy simon apologises especially considering how hard it is to show vulnerability. reader was written in such a relatable manner i could literally see myself in the fic as i read through it YOU DID AMAZING. AND THE SMUT!! SCREAMS ITS SO GOOD i was giggling and kicking my feet AAND WHEN SIMON GOT MEAN!! the way he was snarling LIKE PHEW! sorry i was just so excited for the fic AND THE END RESULT JUST EXCEEDED EVERYONE'S EXPECTATIONS FOR SURE. i am gonna be thinking about it the whole day :( will probably reread too because its like 1 am here BUT ANYWAYS . you did absolutely amazing and i hope you are proud of yourself !! give yourself a treat you deserve it >:3

AHHH THANK U SO MUCH FOR SUCH KIND WORDS IT RLLY MEANS A LOT !!!!

i'm glad that i was able to make the readers cry bc i did cry myself while writing it 🥹 simon was so mean that i thot ppl were gonna be like HES IRREDEEMABLE but it seems a lot of ppl were mad at both him AND reader LMAO 😭 i'm glad ppl found the reader relatable regardless of how....messy they were in the head for a good while.

i was havin to do LAPS while writing the smut bro 😭 when he started bein all commanding and shit i was like DAMN he's so dreamy i was truly in love with PLM!simon for the whole fic what a man!!!!!!

BUT THANK U FOR READING IT AND TSKING THE TIME TO SEND ME AN ASK ABT IT HEHE <33333

#ask

[valriety]

I was wondering if maybe we could get the bachelor's (and bachelorettes' if you want) reactions to the reader coming out? GN pronouns are all good. Fluff would be preferred. :)

Thank you for taking the time to read this! I love your blog. :D

SDV: Bachelor Reactions To The Reader Coming Out HCs~!

Post Type: Fluff, SFW, Ambiguous Relationship. Characters: Sam, Elliot, Harvey, Alex, Shane, and Sebastian. GN Reader (You/Yours)

Anon I am so sorry for the wait!!! I hope this reaches you :D - they're a little short, but I made them extra fluffy just for u <3. Tried to make them ambiguous too, so lots of people can relate! I'll be posting the bachelorette version too eventually! I've actually already started hehe

'SDV: Bachelorette Reactions To The Reader Coming Out HCs~!' is in progress :)

Guidelines | Masterlist | Previous | Next |

Sam:

Sam is literally so excited for you! He's extremely happy that you felt safe enough to tell him, and is immediately asking if he can pull you in for a hug *gives u a comforting squeeze*

If there's any changes in the way he should refer to you, you can count on this guy to be on it immediately. Doesn't mess up, and corrects anyone who does if you're cool with it too

If it's more about telling him about your sexuality, you can bet that he's all about that too. Will absolutely be your wingman, or lack thereof - if you prefer :)

Supports you if you want help coming out to anyone else as well! Very reassuring that everything will be alright, and he's totally happy to stand with you or hold your hand when you go ahead and do it too <3

The type to probably send u wholesome but chaotic lgbtq+ memes all the time lol

Elliot:

So proud of you. Truly. Elliot makes sure you've said everything you needed to say, before he lets you know just how happy he is to learn a little bit more about you <3. Elliot's love is unconditional, and he thinks you're lovely - no matter how you identify.

If your coming out is related to presentation: Elliot reiterates pronouns and referring terms with you immediately - he even makes an offer to trial names or pronouns with you if you're still unsure.

If it's about sexuality, he's super supportive, even recommending you literature with couples/individual characters that are just like you!

Asks if there's anything he can do to support you, and will do it, no matter what it is.

I reckon he's the type to gift cool shells he finds already, but now, he keeps an eye out for ones in your flag colours so he can make a little collection to give u :')

Harvey:

Another one that's super proud of you. Coming out is terrifying sometimes , so he completely understands if it was difficult telling him. Will give you a head pat if you'll let him!

If it's related to how you present, he makes sure to ask if you'd like his medical records at the clinic updated. Offers to discreetly inform Maru too, if that's something you'd like - though he wouldn't do anything without your permission :)

And if its related to your sexuality, he's very sweet there too!

Reassuring :'). If there's anything you need from him in terms of support - now or later - just know that he'll listen to you.

Harvey's a trinket collector, so he would absolutely pick up little things for you that remind him of you or your flags colours and gift them to you <3

Alex:

Honestly just thinks you're awesome - coming out takes a lot of courage - so he's happy he can be a good friend for you here. Gives you a high five!

Regardless of what you're coming out about - Alex is giving it the same supportive energy. Behind you all the way if you need help coming out to others, even if you just need someone to vent to - he's totally up for listening :)

If there's anything you're interested in concerning physique to look a certain way, Alex has a lot of experience with exercise and making workout plans - he can totally help you if you're interested!

Also there's no way in his friendship with Haley that he hasn't picked up on a few of her hobbies. This guy definitely offers to take you shopping - whether it be clothes, pride stuff, or even just a nice meal to celebrate! <3

Shane:

Shane doesn't normally like to cause a fuss, but there's no way he'd ever hide how happy he is for you when it comes to something like this.

If it's related to presentation, Shane is more than happy to start referring to you a certain way, or even help you start to try things out. Would actually be pretty keen to help you experiment with style if you were interested.

Makes sure to reassure you that this changes nothing with your friendship - you're a lovely friend, and he cares about you a lot honestly.

Understands that you might be a bit nervous after sharing something so big, so he offers to go on a walk with you, or to his chicken shed to just chill and talk :)

Sebastian:

Very supportive regardless of what you come out as. Probably would be so easy to come out to too - he's quiet, kind, and pretty receptive, so I could see him being able to ease your nerves very swiftly. Asks softly if you'd like a hug :)

If you come out about your presentation, Seb starts checking his language immediately - making sure to immediately practice any new names, terms, or pronouns you might have given him when he's alone in his room so that he never gets them wrong.

Offers to stand with you or help you come out to others - might even hold your hand if you ask! But goes above and beyond if you need help coming out to Sam or Abby - he knows them well after all, so he can be very reassuring.

If you happen to play Solarian Chronicles with him, Sebastian casually gifts you a set of themed dice (maybe in your flag colours, or even designed after your campaign character) <3

A/N: This was actually,, pretty cathartic. There's a few people in my life that I still need to come out to, so writing this was nice tbh :)

Lemme know if you enjoyed this! Again, I should be writing a bachelorette version soon - i want to write more regularly, so hopefully that'll be soon! ALSO, I tried to make these as inclusive as possible, but if you'd like to see something more specific - feel free to send a request! I'd be happy to write it for you!

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#stardew valley #sdv #sdv headcanons #stardew valley headcanons #sdv sam #stardew valley sam #sdv elliot #stardew valley elliot #sdv harvey #stardew valley harvey #sdv alex #stardew valley alex #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #sdv sebastian #stardew valley sebastian #sdv bachelors #stardew valley bachelors #valriety sdv

[vinvantae]

Back rubs drabble was so perfect!! I’m the same anon who sent it hehe

What about bad dreams with Danny🥺

Thank u anon! I really appreciate the requests 🧡

*****************************************************

Dan was always aware you were having a bad dream before you did, you wriggled and squirmed until he wrapped you up in your arms and pulled you into his chest.

You’d wake up with a breathless gasp and he’d give you a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the top of your head - soft mumbled of it’s okay baby, I’ve got you. Was just a dream.

He’d trace his fingers up and down your spine, uncaring that you woke him up despite your muttered apologies. You being okay was more important than anything else.

You can tell me about it tomorrow, just sleep now, my love

When it was him, he’d always try his best not to wake you but it was always inevitable when he got up to get himself a glass of water. His weight shifting when he got off the bed and then back in made you reach out for him.

Bad dream, Danny? You’d hum, as you’d curl up together, running your fingers through his curls. Wanna talk about it?

He’d shake his head and mumble something about how he’d tell you in the morning but he was already falling back asleep from your touch. It was always much easier for him to drift back off after a dream than you, so you’d stay up a little longer just make sure he wasn’t having another one before finally going back to sleep.

Occasionally one of you had one so bad you’d both curl up on the sofa downstairs and watch a crappy film, talking between yourselves quietly about it until you fell asleep wrapped up in each other in the small space.

You’d both wake up with a dodgy back or a leg cramp but being that close with each other meant the nightmare was long forgotten.

**************************************************

Hope you enjoyed 🧡

I’m probably not going to do taglists for Drabble like this as they’re a lot of effort and I’m a bit of a lazy cow 🐮. Really appreciate all of your support regardless x

#daniel ricciardo #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #ricciardo x reader #f1