sun-dcy

[sun-dcy]

I decided to make this ghost incredibly desperate. He yearns and he’s so pathetic.

Yandere Short Stories:

The Love From the Dark

Yandere Victorian Ghost x Fem Reader x Author Fiancé

TW: toxic relationship, character death, descriptive MURDER, body horror and decay, suicide (mention), horror elements, Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship dynamics, PATHETIC MAN, delusional behavior, and themes that should not be romanticized in real life

The sun’s rays momentarily blinded (your name) as the moving van turned the curve up the hill towards their destination. The wind from the open window tousled her hair with its invisible fingers. A smile now painted on her face from its soothing ministrations.

This was a fresh start… one her fiancé, Clayton, insisted they take together. The Victorian home would give him the perfect inspiration to defeat his writer’s block and finish his horror book… all because the house was rumored to be haunted.

“It’s rumored to be crawling with paranormal activity. Not to mention it was a steal! It has the perfect environment for me to write a horror book. Are you not supportive of me?” Clayton’s words replayed in her mind like a tape on an endless loop.

The couple hardly spoke to one another anymore, Clayton was so consumed in his writing that he almost didn’t exist in reality anymore save for driving, sleeping, or eating.

(Your name) constantly walked on eggshells around him in order not to tip the delicate scale of their relationship towards separation. She’s been with him for so many years that she couldn’t imagine a life without him. Even though he was no longer a man she recognized.

Ten minutes later and their van finally made it to their new home… and it was the creepiest looking house she’s ever seen. Some of the grey paint was peeling on the sides and all the surrounding trees were still barren despite the season being spring. Not to mention the large murder of crows that snuggled their little black bodies on the roof.

“…this place looks like a haunted house out of a paranormal film. I’m not sure if this is a good idea-“ but she was instantly met with a scoff.

“I don’t want to hear it. This is for our future and for my book.” Clayton rolled his eyes at her concerns. “It’s only for a few months, then we can move somewhere else. It’s not like ghosts are actually real. It’s just the perfect ambience for a horror book, plus the study has a view of a cemetery on the plot.”

(Your name) glanced at the house once more, its eerie presence caused a shiver rolled down her spine.

Yet there was a familiar feeling that crept into her mind. Why did it feel like she’s been here before?

.

.

.

The moment the couple entered, they were shocked to the core. The interior was in perfect shape. It was almost as if they entered a Time Machine back to the early 19th century.

Yet what caught (your name)’s eye was the giant portrait of a woman who looked identical to her in the grand living room right above the fireplace.

She walked forward and gently placed her hand on the fireplace, her fingers traced the smooth stone in wonder. Not a spec of dust lifted onto her finger tips.

That portrait wasn’t just similar to her appearance, it was eerily her exact appearance. It was an uncanny coincidence. One that made her stomach do summersaults to the point of queasiness.

“Clayton… I don’t think we should be here.” She expressed worry once more, but he loudly clicked his tongue in disagreement.

“Tsk. It’s probably just a coincidence. You’re looking too much into it.” He then brushed past her to head up the stairs. He was determined to claim that study. He had seen its grandiose design on the realtor site prior to purchase. It even overlooked the entire manor. Whoever built this home must have been loaded.

(Your name) frowned. She just couldn’t understand why her fiancé had changed so much. He was now married to work rather than about to marry her. She was so lonely within her own relationship and that made her even more depressed.

She studied the grand room one last time a frown on her face when she noticed a different portrait that had its face torn apart. Someone must have had a fit of anger when they did that from his damaged it was.

(Your name) shook her head clear and decided to explore. Maybe this house wouldn’t be so bad…

Yet if she glanced in the corner of the room, she’d notice the eyes of the destroyed portrait in the corner had moved.

“(Your name)?” A raspy, masculine voice heaved. His voice scratchy and low like he hadn’t spoken in ages.

Black liquid oozes from the eyes of the portrait like tears. His wife came home… she was finally home.

.

.

.

(Your name) felt sick to her stomach when she saw every single room had a portrait of her likeness in it. There was no way it was a coincidence now. This was intentional.

She felt an overwhelming feeling bubble in her stomach. It was a kind of feeling that pray felt when it sensed a predator. She needed to leave. She needed to get out of here right this second.

Knock. Knock.

(Your name) knocked on the door of Clayton’s study. Her hands trembled a leaf in a strong wind. She was so scared… she needed comfort and reassurance more than anything right now.

“Clay? Clay I’m scared.” She stated outside the door.

Her fiancé didn’t answer. Her shaky hands quickly, went to hold her arms in order to soothe herself. The anxiety began to painfully, squeeze her chest.

“Clay? I’m serious. This house… something isn’t right here. There’s so many portraits. Can we please leave? Please-“

The door opened so fast, a gust of wind blew her hair back a bit. Clayton’s cognac eyes were filled with annoyance as he glanced down at her.

“Seriously? I’m writing right now, the writer’s block is finally gone. Can’t you do this attention seeking behavior some other time?” Clayton’s words were spat at her like the venom of a snake.

“Clay, I’m not lying. Please. I’m scared-“

“I don’t have time for this. I have a book to write. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll join you after a bit, hm? It’s just a few months here so you’re going to have to deal with it.” Clayton waved her away with a flick of his left hand. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. And I doubt someone would make so many portraits that look like you.”

Before she could get in another word, the door slammed shut on her face. A frown now etched on her soft features.

She just wanted a hug and to be told it’d be okay… she hadn’t meant to annoy him.

She turned on her heel to walk away so Clayton didn’t hear her sniffle. She hated when she cried in front of people… especially when she knew he wouldn’t comfort her.

The lights flickered on the walls as she walked past. The entity lurked in the hall by the study.

“Don’t cry… don’t cry…” his raspy voice was as soft as a breeze. “Don’t leave me.”

.

.

.

(Your name) picked a room on the west wing of the house to have to herself. She was still upset about that argument with Clayton. He still had locked himself into his study like a petulant child despite the clock on the hand that hit ten o’clock at night.

She had found a portrait of a woman that looked like her in every room and expressed she was terrified yet Clayton brushed her concerns off like the typical horror movie protagonist. He insisted the paranormal didn’t exist and this was all merely a coincidence. That his priorities lied in the completion of his horror book.

Did she really mean so little to him? That writing meant more to him than his own fiancée? Haven’t she didn’t wanna think about it too long because it would only made her more upset.

She crawled into the soft queen sized bed, the curtains to her canopy kept her shaken form concealed to anyone who may past by… not that there was anyone else here but Clayton. And he was locked away in the study in the east wing.

(Your name) felt herself waver before the first few tears finally began to fall. She just couldn’t understand why Clayton had become so selfish. Was she not lovable anymore? Had she done something to make him uninterested? She just wanted to be loved again like she used to be.

An hour went by before she cried enough tears to nearly drown herself in a river of dreamless sleep.

Yet before everything went dark, she felt something icy cold cradle her face I a reverent manner. Had Clayton come to check on her? She knew he still cared deep down. That he wouldn’t let her go to bed lonely as he had in the last few months.

At least that was what her sleep addled mind allowed her to believe. It was a poor attempt of self comfort on her part, but she was too groggy to find falsity in that thought.

She let sleep take her as its prisoner once she assured herself of the who owned those cold hands. A foolish move on her part.

But those hands did not belong to her beloved Clayton… no. It was the shadowy hands of something far more sinister.

“It is you…you’ve finally come back to me.” That raspy voice echoed through the room. “I won’t mess up this time. I’ll be a good husband. I’ll take care of you…”

If only she had went with her gut feeling… Clayton’s hands were never cold.

.

.

.

(Your name) woke up to her body being wrapped comfortably in blankets and a glass of water on the bedside table. Two tabs of acetaminophen were even placed next to the crystal glass cup. A soft smile lit up her features.

Had Clayton laid with her for a bit like he used to? Oh she had missed those times so dearly. Maybe there was hope for them. He hadn’t been thoughtful in ages…

She happily accepted the glass of water and pain pills before she began to get around. She should make breakfast for them to show her appreciation.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, Clayton had fallen asleep in the study. His brown eyes slowly opened to wake up to the giant portrait of a woman that looked like (your name).

Hadn’t he covered that blasted picture up with a blanket?

He rose up to cover it once more but he noticed a paper placed on the desk written in furious red calligraphy. A writing style one would see in the 19th century rather than modern time.

Do not cover up my wife.

Wife? Who on earth wrote that?

Clayton glanced at the portrait once more, the smallest hint of unease hit him before it was gone.

This home was only for a few months. At least until his rough draft was finished. There couldn’t possibly be such a thing as ghosts, right?

He heard a knock at the door and saw his fiancée’s smiling face.

“Can we have breakfast together? It’s been a while since we’ve enjoyed a simple meal.” (Your name) smiled at Clayton who sighed.

“Maybe once I’m done with this page.” Clayton replied coolly. His amber eyes flicked back over to the writings that were scribbled on various sheets. “I’m very busy with the book.”

“…I understand.” (Your name) tried to mask her discontent with a reassuring smile, but if Clayton were to actually pay attention, he’d notice how strained the smile was. “I hope to see you soon.”

Their relationship had finally approached its finality and Clayton wasn’t even aware that the straw was about to break the camel’s back.

.

.

.

(Your name) waited a few hours in the morning for Clayton to eat with her. The warm food eventually went cold as she was met with disappointment once more.

A hiccup fell from her lips before she could stop it. A sob soon followed. There truly was no hope for this love to bloom again. The flowers of love were dead at last.

Yet in her frustration, she was unaware of the entity observed her from the shadows. A giddy gleam in his beady black eyes.

His wife… she needed him. And he wouldn’t let her down this time.

“Don’t worry, my love… I’ll make sure you love home and never want to leave me. You’ll never cry again.”

.

.

.

Clayton heard a clicking noise out in the hall. A sigh fell from his lips in annoyance. Did (your name) not understand he was busy? Wait… he promised to have breakfast with her.

Clayton turned his head toward the grandfather clock and cursed. It was nearly eight at night! Had he truly lost himself in his own little world for that long? He couldn’t imagine how upset his fiancée was…

He went to the door to open it but the handle wouldn’t budge.

Click. Click. Click. Was it locked from the outside?

“(Your name)? I’m sorry I didn’t come down for breakfast but you don’t have to lock the door.” Clayton rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t normal for her. She would never be this petty.

Click. Click. Click.

“(Your name) I’m serious. Open this door!” Clayton began to toggle the door hand even harder but it wouldn’t budge. It was almost as if the doorknob had been welded rather than locked. “(Your name)?! (Your name)-“

“She can’t hear you.” Clayton whipped his head around when he heard a raspy voice in the room with him. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he realized he was the only person in the room.

“Who’s there?” Clayton hissed, his cognac eyes wildly searched the room. “Show yourself.”

Clayton jumped when the flames in the fireplace jumped to life. The flames nearly licked the carpet before it. What in the world?

“I don’t think someone like you could possibly comprehend what I am… so why don’t you take a seat for me, Clay.”

Before Clayton could spit out a retort, the floorboards suddenly came to life and slid him forward toward the armchair by the fireplace like a slide on a playground. What? This had to be a dream…

“You’re not a very good man.” The ghost told him. “You remind me of myself when I was alive. I was also so selfish and stubborn.”

Clayton wasn’t able to utter a word before an invisible force slammed him down to sit in the vintage recliner. The soft, mustard yellow fabric did little to calm him as the flames danced more violently in the fireplace. Ghosts weren’t real… he’s never believed in them before.

“I asked you to politely take a seat, but you seem to be the kind that has to learn the hard way.”

Clayton watched a shadowy, masculine form in the corner of the room as the figure made his way over to stand before the fireplace. His shadowy hand grasped the fire poker and stirred the wood.

“I was once a work oriented man. A wealthy merchant back then. I thought this beautiful house was all it would take to keep my lovely wife happy…” the entity continued to stir at the fire in thought. “She was so lovely, you know. So loving and kind. I took her for granted.”

Clayton could only listen in shock as the entity sighed. The ghost set down the fire poker to gently trace over the portrait of the woman who looked eerily similar to (your name).

Clayton felt a lump form in his throat. (Your name) had been so worried about those portraits and he had brushed her off. God he wished he had listened.

“My beautiful wife… it’s my fault she left me.” Bang! The entity suddenly slammed his fists into the wood above the fireplace. “She took her own life, all because I made her feel so lonely! But… but she returned to me.”

Clayton’s blood went cold as the temperature suddenly dropped in the study. What did the ghost mean by that? Was (your name) in danger?

“Listen, (your name) and I didn’t mean to disturb you. I think we will leave-“

Clayton didn’t have time to scream before the fabric of the recliner wrapped around his face and applied pressure. His fingers clawed at the wool fabric in vain.

“Leave? You’re not taking my (your name) away!” The entity hissed. Clayton soon felt more pressure held to his face and even around his throat. His hands clawed desperately at air. “This isn’t anything too personal, you’re just in the way of me reuniting with my beloved.”

Clayton felt his eyes roll back as he kept trying to fight the entity. He would never get the chance to apologize to (Your name). To tell her that he loved her. To hold her one more time and feel her kisses. He didn’t want to die. Not like this.

“Your body will do. Oh it’s been so long since I’ve had a body… I’ll take such good care of her this time. She’ll never be lonely again!”

Clayton felt his world go black, his heart finally stopped. The entity then released Clayton, the body flopped onto the floor with a thunk.

The entity stroked the purplish hue away from Clayton’s face. The entity soon hummed “here comes the bride” as he dug his shadowy hands into Clayton’s mouth to enter.

“My wife… my beautiful wife. We’re together again now.”

.

.

.

(Your name) stirred awake when she felt a hand touch her face. Her eyes slowly opened to see Clayton’s familiar silhouette.

“Clay?”

“Shh… go back to sleep, darling.” Her face scrunched up a bit in confusion. Darling? Clayton never used pet names. He always said they were childish.

But she didn’t argue when she felt a body beside hers in the bed. Clayton’s lean arms pulled her close as a nose buried itself into her neck to deeply inhale her scent.

“I missed you… I missed you so much.” He murmured into her skin before he pressed a few kisses to her neck. Yet they felt strangely cold.

“I missed you too.” She held his hand. A few tears slipped down her cheeks like a leaky faucet. “So much…”

“Shh… I’m here now.” Clayton whispered into her skin. “And I’ll never leave you alone again. I swear.”

She smiled as she let his honeyed words comfort her. It was so nice to finally be held again.

A shame this wasn’t Clayton. That he was the lonely entity that possessed this house that finally had its wish come true… a second chance.

.

.

.

(Your name) hummed as she made breakfast. The smell of bacon and fresh eggs filled the air.

For the first time in two months, Clayton came down to have breakfast with her. He sat eagerly at the table in the strangest of clothes. She didn’t know why he was wearing 18th-century clothes, but who is she to judge? She wasn’t a writer. Maybe he was in cosplay to get in the mood to write his story?

Clayton had even set the table with utmost manners he never displayed in his life. He must be really committed to this elegant character he presented himself as.

She served him his plate and paused at the weird, pungent smell he had. That was odd… Clayton never smelled like that before.

“Clay? You have a rather… peculiar scent.” (Your name) softly notified him. She knew how much Clayton hated when she was too blunt, so she always had to dance around her words in order not to hurt his feelings.

Clayton froze for a moment before he gave her a smile. “ I must be dirty from all that time I spent in the study. I’m so sorry, my darling.”

There was a pet name again. The darling…

“Clay? Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve never called me, darling before…”

Clayton’s fork and knife paused mid cut of the bacon. Another weird habit she never saw before.

“I haven’t? Do you not like it?” He asked, his brow furrowed with worry. “How about I call you my love instead?”

She shook her head and smiled. “You’ve just never used pet names before… I like them.”

Clayton then gave her a warm smile as he spoke once more. “Then I’ll call you all the pet names you’d like.”

Her heart fluttered. It had been so long since her fiancé paid attention to her and it felt so nice.

Clayton watched the way her cheeks flushed in pure joy. She looked so pretty when she was happy. He’d make sure to always keep her like that… but first he had to solve his problem with this body.

He would hate to rot so quickly on her. He would have to shove some posies in his pockets to mask the scent until he found a better solution.

.

.

.

A few days went by and she noticed Clayton bloated a bit. She didn’t trigger his gluten allergy with the toast, did she?

“Clay, do you need your EpiPen?” (Your name) asked Clayton who gave her a reassuring look.

“No, I’m fine. I just hadn’t ate with you in so long.” She smiled at his response.

“Are you sure? I’m a bit worried about you. You’re bloating…”

“I’m fine, truly.” Clayton reassured her. He wouldn’t let her see how anxious he truly was.

This body was decaying too fast… he wouldn’t be able to hold onto it. And he didn’t want to scare her with an animated corpse… he had to think of a different solution now.

.

.

.

Clayton hobbled to the basement before his body fell to the floor with a thunk. The entity cursed as he noticed the rot began in the stomach area. The temporary body was no longer viable anymore.

“You’re so useless even in death.” The entity rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He floated around the basement that held portraits of his human form from back in the day. A stern looking man with dark hair and a hooked nose was painted on each art piece… but the ghost’s favorite was the one where he was beside his wife.

“I have to find a way to keep you here.” He cried in anguish. “I can’t let you slip away again. I don’t want to be all alone…”

He lovingly traces the portrait’s face. He had waited here for over a hundred years for this second chance.

The ghost went over to the coffin in the basement before he opened it to reveal the skeleton inside. A Victorian death mask covered the skeleton’s face. This wasn’t ideal… but his old body wouldn’t smell like decay.

He could stuff the body and wear gloves… he knew his (your name) deserved more, but it’s all he could offer.

“This is for us… it’s all for us.” The ghost reassured himself as he lifted the mask for the first time in over a century.

The charade was up… and he’d have to burn Clayton’s body in the incinerator. He didn’t want Clayton to stink up the place.

.

.

.

There was not a doubt in (your name)’s mind when Clayton came to her that he wasn’t Clayton. She could no longer lie to herself.

Whoever this was, they were far too nice to her. Too chivalrous. Too gentle.

Where her fiancé once treated her with disdain, this man treated her as if she was more precious than gold.

She felt arms wrapped around her around her as the cold mask leaned on her shoulder.

“…what’s your real name?” She felt the man pause.

“W-what do you mean, my love?” He stuttered. His voice was raspy. It no longer even sounded like Clayton.

“You know what I mean.” She pulled away to turn around. Her hands gently cradled the masked face. “You’re far too sweet to me and your voice… it’s not Clayton’s.”

Hands shot up to hold her hands as a sob racked through the body of the man. She frowned in worry. This wasn’t a reaction she thought he’d have.

“I’m sorry… please don’t leave me!” Now this was a man who was desperate… it was refreshing to her.

“Shh… it’s okay. I’m not scared.” She lifted off the mask to show the face of a skeleton. A black liquid oozed from its eye sockets like a grotesque imitation of tears. The sight was something out of a horror movie, but she knew this entity didn’t want to harm her.

“I’m… I’m Frederick Anderson.” Frederick grasped her hands and pressed kisses to the back of them. Yet it felt odd since he only had his teeth exposed…

“Frederick?” She softly asked and Frederick nodded.

“I’m your husband! Well… the one last time.” He told her as he nuzzled her hands. He continued to try to kiss them. “You’re my wife… my beautiful (your name).”

She could not bring herself to be scared of him. Not when he seemed so desperate and lonely.

“Is that why you have so many portraits of me?”

“I painted them myself!” He exclaimed. “When you… died. I was so lost without you. Nothing mattered anymore. The townspeople all said I went mad, and I did. Life had no meaning if you weren’t in it!”

She listened as he began to ramble about their past life.

“I lost purpose. I had worked so hard to have this home made for us. To have the perfect place for us to start a family. I spent too long away from you.” He told her. “It’s all my fault. I should have never left you all alone… can you ever forgive me? I’ve already waited over a hundred years for you… I do not know if I can wait another century.”

“…I forgive you, Frank.” If it were possible, the skeleton became more animated.

“Frank… you haven’t called me Frank since 1853!! Oh happy day! It is so wonderful to hear it on your pretty lips again…”

She was suddenly pulled into a waltz, the skeleton hummed a cheery song from his time. Frederick was indeed romantic…

“You always wanted to dance together… I’ll dance with you all the time now!” Frederick told her while he pulled her body along in an elegant waltz. “I won’t let you down this time, I swear. We’re together again! Just my wife and I!”

They danced for several minutes until she felt the question from the back of her mind.

“…you killed Clay, didn’t you?”

“He made you cry, my love! And anyone who makes you cry doesn’t deserve to live!” Frederick exclaimed, his arms pulled her close. “I’ll scorch this world for you! Whatever you want, I’ll do it! I’ll commit atrocities in your name! Please never leave me again.”

(Your name) was frozen in his arms before she gently hugged him back. She couldn’t imagine being alone for so long… and she had without a doubt he wouldn’t let her leave anyways.

“I won’t leave you Frank. I’ll stay.” She rubbed his back as he sighed in contentment.

“Then I will be giving you my utmost attention. You are my beloved. My everything…”

[sun-dcy]

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐌 !

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bob Reynolds x GN!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Even in the midst of a brutal New York heatwave, Bob can’t help but want to cling to your side. You eventually give in.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: None, pure fluff!

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐂𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The fan is broken. Of course it is.

The thing has been on the brink since last summer, and now it finally gave out at the exact moment it would have been useful. Of course. You’re trying not to be bitter about it, even though your skin is already sticking to the sheets, and it’s barely 8 in the morning.

You lie still in bed, starfish pose, arms flung wide like the shape will make any difference. You hope that the heat will stop clinging to you like wet cotton. It doesn't. Obviously.

And then Bob moves.

You feel him before you see him, you feel the subtle shift in air, the heat of him radiating like a second sun beside you. There’s a groggy sigh, followed by a soft inhale as he reorients to the world, and then the inevitable shuffle of limbs under the thin sheet you both had mostly kicked off sometime in the midst of slumber.

You already know what’s coming. “Don’t,” you warn softly, eyes still closed.

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” Bob says, which is technically true but deeply misleading.

“You’re thinking about it.”

There’s a beat. Then, sheepishly, Bob admits, “I am thinking about it.”

You groan into your pillow. “Bob. It’s so hot. I’m going to combust if you touch me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Bob murmurs, lazily rolling over onto his side. You can feel the heat of him even before he’s touching you. Bob Reynolds runs hot as a furnace. Not in the cozy sense, or at least not at this time of year. There’s something in his physiology, some quirk of power or biology or whatever Valentina refuses to answer when she gets asked, but the point is, love it or hate it, Bob’s internal body temperature is not normal.

It’s like cuddling with an oversized golden retriever made of pure, relentless sunlight. It’s great in the winter. In December, you cling to him like a space heater. In January, you curl against his chest, bask in the warmth like a sleepy cat, and thank the Gods for your ridiculously overpowered boyfriend.

But right now? In July? With no AC, a dead fan, and 92% humidity? Not ideal.

“Bob,” you warn again, but it’s too late. A large hand splays across your back. Not even subtly. He commits to it. You yelp.

He flinches. “What?! Are you okay?”

“You’re boiling!”

“You’re exaggerating, you dramatic little-“

“I dare you to finish that sentence, Bob!”

Bob has the audacity to laugh. It rumbles in his chest and borderline vibrates through the mattress.

“You’re being mean,” Bob says, and you can hear the pout in his voice. He’s got that wounded golden-boy tone he uses when you tell him he can’t microwave marshmallows again. “You always let me cuddle you in the morning.”

“Not when I’m melting!”

“But I missed you…”

You groan again, flipping over and squinting at him with half-lidded eyes. He looks unfairly soft, his hair messy and sunlit, eyes still bleary with sleep, the bare slope of his shoulder visible under the sheet that’s barely hanging onto his frame. His skin’s already warm enough to shimmer.

You can’t prove it, but you’re 80% sure Bob’s body temperature goes up when he’s emotionally clingy. Like his subconscious tries to swaddle you in affection and warm, sweet, cozy, but relentless, love.

“You saw me last night.” You try not to smile. You’re failing.

Bob frowns. “But I didn’t get to hold you. You said it was too hot then too.”

“Because it was! We’re in a heatwave! I was sweating just looking at you!”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Bob insists, propping himself up on one arm, all golden skin and soft lines. “You’re acting like I was going to climb on top of you and suffocate you or something. I was just going to,” Bob makes a vague flailing gesture, “Like… super gently drape.”

“Bob.”

“Like a blanket.”

“You’re a human sunbeam, you nightmare.”

He grins, wide and unrepentant. “A sunbeam full of love.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m not cuddling you.”

Bob tilts his head. “Just a little?”

“No.”

“Just one arm, then?”

You stare. Bob shifts closer anyway. Slides his arm beneath your shoulders, snaking it under your neck, and you don’t stop him, not really, because it’s Bob, and he’s warm and safe and has that look on his face, like holding you is the only thing anchoring him to the world. It’s not fair, honestly, how good he is at that expression.

“You’re doing the whole puppy eyes thing again.”

“It’s not a thing,” Bob mumbles pathetically, curling his fingers lightly into your hair. “This is my face.”

You grumble. “Your face is manipulative.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he says, “You love my face.”

You do. Painfully so. Against all better logic and the laws of thermodynamics, you let your body sink a little further into his side. Bob immediately hums, content, his arm looping fully around your waist.

“I am sweating,” you inform Bob, accusingly, as if that might change anything.

“I’ll get you water in a minute,” Bob whispers, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Just this, right now.”

Just this. You sigh, closing your eyes. The air is stifling. The ceiling fan turns lazily overhead, doing nothing. Your skin is hot. Sticky. But, Bob is steady. He always is. A comforting presence. You feel the warmth of his chest rise and fall, slow and steady. And even with all the sweat and heat and your overwhelming need to crawl inside of a freezer, you find that don’t want to be anywhere else.

“I swear,” you say finally, “if I die of heatstroke, I’m haunting you.”

Bob huffs a laugh, almost half-asleep again. “As long as you cuddle me in ghost form.”

“You’re hopeless.”

Bob grins, eyes closed. “I’m in love.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, he’s said it a hundred times before, in the quiet between battles and the grocery aisle and once while brushing his teeth like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Every time it hits different. You twist your fingers gently into the fabric of his shirt, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too. Even if you’re a disgustingly warm cuddle beast.”

He smiles against your hair, letting out a childish, amused chuckle. “You said cuddle. You love me.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep, Sunbeam.”

You end up napping like that. It’s not practical. You’re sweaty and tangled, and at one point your arm falls asleep and you wake up with pins and needles and Bob, horrified, borderline yells a very concerned “Did I break your arm?” like the drama king he is. But, you survive, just barely.

And when you finally do get up, he keeps his promise. Gets you water. Fills the freezer with popsicles. Fixes the fan, or rather, replaces it entirely with some souped-up old Stark tech monstrosity he ‘borrowed’ from HQ and insists is ‘energy efficient’. You roll your eyes. But, you let him install it. Then, you happily let him bring you a bowl of chilled grapes and kiss your wrist where the pulse beats, soft and quick and alive.

And when night falls and the heat is still clinging to the walls like static, Bob reaches for you again.

He’s warm. You don’t protest.

[sun-dcy]

under my skin

john walker x reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

warnings/tags: a lot of banter, jealous walker, no use of y/n, forced close proximity trope, sprinkle of hurt/comfort, minor injury, kissing and suggestiveness, not explicit but mdni

author's note: if someone had told me a few years ago that i would be writing for john walker, i would have laughed in their face. but god, he was fun to write.

“We can take a break. If you need to.”

Walker snorts. He doesn’t even look down at you – just keeps trekking through the dense woods at the same brisk pace that he has been since he picked you up and carried out you of the old military base the two of you had been tasked with surveilling before you were ambushed and everything went to shit.

You've lost track of time at this point, but you know it's getting late by the way the golden hour sun filters through the trees.

“Thanks,” he huffs sarcastically. “But I don't need to take a break.”

He readjusts you in his arms, tightening his hold under your thighs and back. You wince at the movement, a sharp pain radiating from your injured knee. He glances down when you hiss, a brief flicker of concern in his eyes before his gaze is back on the trail ahead of you.

He's been carrying you bridal style for miles and has yet to break a sweat. Saying you’re uncomfortable would be putting it mildly – your busted knee is throbbing and your neck is aching from nonstop effort to resist resting your face against his chest. But you don’t dare complain – not when you know he’s likely still irritated with you for being a fuckin’ klutz and getting yourself injured.

You're on thin ice as it is. One more smart-ass remark and it wouldn’t surprise you if he sits you on a tree stump and leaves you to hobble back to the car on your one good leg.

“Besides,” he continues as he looks up to the sky. “We need to keep going. It’s going to start raining soon.”

“Rain?” You follow his gaze up to the sky. It’s mostly blocked by tree branches, but from what you can see, it’s perfectly sunny. “The weather report didn’t say anything about rain this morning.”

“Can't always trust the weather report,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I trust my senses. And I can smell that it's going to rain.”

You roll your eyes with exaggerated annoyance. “And what exactly, Mr. Military Man, does rain smell like?”

You’re just testing him. He makes it too fucking easy sometimes. Plus, you need some entertainment for the last portion of this walk. Why did he have to park so far away?

“It’s… you know, earthy. Musky,” he shrugs, jostling you in his arms again. “The smell is produced by a chemical reaction with plant oils and bacteria when there’s an increase in humidity and moisture. There’s a name for it. It’s called, uh...”

“Petrichor.” You finish his sentence, and then purse your lips to resist smirking as you look up at him in amusement.

He looks down at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yeah. That’s it. Petrichor.”

You find yourself staring at him for a split-second too long. “Maybe you’re smarter than you look, Walker,” you jab, trying to ignore the fact that you’d been thinking about how blue his eyes are in this lighting.

As soon as he opens his mouth to retort, a low clap of thunder rolls in the distance. You hear the pitter-patter of rain colliding against the canopy of branches above you a second before you feel the drops hit your skin.

“Shit!” you exclaim, futilely wiping the water off of your face with your arm that isn’t wrapped around his neck.

“Told you,” Walker grunts as he begins to increase his pace to a jog.

Despite the trees surrounding you acting as an umbrella, you’re both sopping wet within minutes. The rain starts as a drizzle and quickly turns into a downpour, soaking through your tactical suit. After what feels like an eternity, the red Jeep that you’d driven comes into view from where he had parked on a roadside pull-off at the edge of the woods.

He seamlessly opens the passenger side door and maneuvers you into your seat before running to the driver's side and hopping in.

“Jesus Christ,” you huff, as if you’re the one who just carried another human being through miles of woods during a thunderstorm. Walker turns the key in the ignition, violently shaking his head to rid his hair of some of the water dripping from his blond locks. The drops fly all over the leather interior of the rental car, and hit you in the face.

“What are you? A dog?” you groan, retrieving your cell phone from the glove box to call Yelena with an update.

“It’s not like you aren’t already sopping wet,” he snaps. “Now buckle up.”

You roll your eyes, only halfway paying attention to him as you scroll through your recent calls to find Yelena’s name. Just as you’re about to call her, he curses under his breath and leans over, reaching across you to yank your seat belt over your chest and lap, clicking it into the buckle.

You narrow your eyes at him, momentarily surprised. “That was unnecessary. All you had to do was say please.”

“Please stop making my job more difficult. How about that?”

“Good boy. Now, will you please drive?”

He stares at you, jaw clenched, and shifts into drive.

The two of you exchange only necessary words for the duration of the drive. You fill Yelena in on your current predicament – fucked up knee, drenched clothes, and a thunderstorm that is bordering on dangerous to drive in. She suggests getting motel rooms for the night and waiting until morning to catch a flight back to New York instead of traveling in such inclement conditions. Exhausted and uncomfortable, even you and Walker aren’t stubborn enough to put up much of an argument.

You're in a small town in northern Georgia – the kind of town that no one has heard of except for the thousand or so people that live there. One bank, one drugstore, a couple mom and pop diners, and yep, you guessed it – a singular small inn with a vacancy sign glowing in neon letters.

Walker parks as close as he can to the entrance, and then opens the door for you as you limp inside before going back out into the rain to get both his and your bags.

“Hi,” you greet the small, elderly woman behind the front desk. She looks up from her computer screen, eyes wide and brows raised when she takes in your wet, disheveled state. “I need to get two rooms for the night, please.”

She gives you a polite smile and nod before she starts clicking around the computer screen. Walker walks through the door a second later, a duffel bag on each arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman apologizes, looking between the two of you. “We actually only have one room available right now.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to resist the urge to curse out loud. Could one more thing go wrong today? What have you done to deserve such a string of bad luck?

There’s no other hotels within a ten mile radius, and this heavy rain isn’t safe to keep driving in. You’re wet, and tired, and your knee is screaming at you to lay the fuck down and ice it.

“Does the room have – is it – are there two beds?” You stutter out. Sharing a room with Walker isn’t ideal, but you figure you can cope if you have your own beds. He is uncharacteristically quiet beside you.

The woman, whose name tag reads Arlene, glances back down at the screen in front of her for a brief moment before looking back up at you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, dear. It’s only one bed. But it is a king…” she trails off, eyeing Walker up and down. “So there should be plenty of room.”

You exhale, brainstorming a solution to this predicament. One of you could take the room, and the other could sleep in the Jeep, you suppose. The backseat is pretty roomy…

“We’ll take it,” Walker tells her when you start to open your mouth. You look at him with furrowed brows. “What? I’m not driving anymore tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You don’t have the energy to protest. You pay for the room before you have the chance to overthink it.

It’s not like you haven’t shared rooms with your teammates before. Hell, you technically have shared a room with Walker before – Walker, and Yelena, and Ava. But never just Walker.

While you're relieved to have someplace dry and comfortable to sleep for the night, there’s a small part of you – a part deep in the pit of your stomach – that feels nervous. When it comes down to it, you trust John Walker with your life. But when faced with the realization that you're going to be sharing a bedroom with him, your thoughts flash back to being cradled against his chest for well over an hour.

You hate to admit it to yourself, but you didn’t exactly mind it. It felt secure. A little awkward at first, sure. But also safe.

And then there was the moment in the car when he took it upon himself to buckle your seatbelt. It should have pissed you off – he’s so damn bossy and impatient. It normally takes little to nothing for him to get under your skin.

Should have and normally being the key words.

You don’t know how to come to terms with the fact that it sent a rush of adrenaline through you. All you could think to do in that moment was deflect with sarcasm so that he wouldn’t pick up on the way you held your breath and your heart rate spiked at the small act of dominance.

You had every intention of catching a flight to New York and pushing those thoughts to the very back of your mind until you’re back home, where he will inevitably piss you off by leaving his dirty dishes in the sink or eating the last of your yogurts without asking you.

Instead, you’ll be spending the next twelve hours with him in a three hundred square foot room with only one bed while you attempt to not dwell on these sudden, unwelcome thoughts.

“I’m gonna go get some ice for your knee,” he announces as soon as you enter the room. He drops the duffel bags and his shield at the bottom of the bed as you begin to take off your combat boots. “There’s a diner right across the road. What do you want to eat?”

You shrug, slightly taken aback by the thoughtfulness. It dawns on you that the two of you haven’t eaten since before your flight this morning. “Oh, uh – just a burger and fries is fine. Or a salad. Or chicken sandwich. Thanks.”

He nods, not phased by your indecisiveness. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” you tell him as he starts to exit the room. “I’m just going to shower off really quick while you’re out.”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, turning to look at you like you’ve grown a second head. “No, you're not.”

“What?” you snap. “What’s the problem?”

“You have a bum leg,” he retorts like it’s obvious. “You can barely walk. The last thing I need is you falling in the shower and cracking your head open while I’m not here. Just wait until I get back.”

So fucking bossy. But for some reason, it doesn’t annoy you as much as it typically would.

“Fine,” you huff. “Don’t get washed away by the storm. I’m starving and can't fend for myself right now, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, opening the door and rolling his eyes as he walks back into the motel hallway.

After the door clicks shut behind him, you take several deep, calming breaths. How dare you let yourself be flustered over Walker, of all people?

It’s a stretch to even call him your friend. Sure, the two of you technically live together. Go on morning runs together, and train together, and work together. Eat breakfast and dinner together most days, and spend a decent amount of free time together on your days off.

But you do all of those things with all of your teammates, too. None of them make you want to throttle their necks on a regular basis. So why is it that Walker has you so worked up?

All you know is that you need to get these wet clothes off of your body so that you can lay down without drenching the bed.

With your knee now swollen to the size of a softball, this proves to be a task that is easier said than done. You'd never admit it to him, but Walker is right – it’s probably smart that you don’t risk showering while he’s gone. You can’t put any pressure on your left leg and your balance is fucked.

Once you’re out of the wet tactical suit and changed into a pair of shorts and a crewneck sweatshirt, you finally plop down onto the bed and turn on the Roku television to find something to watch to pass the time. You prop an extra pillow beneath your knee to elevate it a bit, and silently wish that you had told Walker to stop by the Walgreens down the road to get you some ibuprofen.

You’re sure that he would if you’d just call or text him and ask, but you’ve already been quite an inconvenience today, and you don’t want to ask anything else of him right now. Maybe he has some in his duffel bag – though you highly doubt it, since super soldiers rarely have the need for over the counter pain relievers.

After losing track of time scrolling through movie titles on the TV, you select some generic looking action-comedy that you think is right up Walker’s alley. Checking the time on your phone, you realize that he’s been gone for quite a while. The diner is directly across the road from the motel, so you expected him to be back fairly quickly.

Maybe the diner is just busy? Sure, it's storming like crazy, but it is a Friday night and it’s one of the only restaurants in town.

Just when you open your and Walker’s message thread to send him a text and make sure he’s okay, you hear the beeping of a key card as it’s inserted and removed from the door lock. A second later, Walker enters the room with a few plastic bags, somehow even wetter than he was after your stroll through the forest just a little while ago.

You put your phone on the nightstand beside you, choosing to keep it to yourself that you were about to send him a message to check in on him.

Of course he’s okay. He’s a fucking super soldier. He can handle going across the road in a thunderstorm to get some food.

“Oh, hey,” he exclaims, looking at the movie playing on the TV. “I’ve been wanting to watch this.”

You can’t help but grin at the fact that you’d been right.

“Some schmuck forgot to log out of their Netflix account before they checked out.”

He passes one of the take-out bags to you. “One burger with fries and a side salad.”

You happily take the bag from him, your stomach growling at the smell of the greasy diner food.

“And,” he continues, reaching into a bag that you hadn’t noticed. “Some extra strength Tylenol.” He retrieves a small bottle from the bag and tosses it to you from where he stands at the foot of the bed.

“Oh,” you quip, catching the bottle. “Uh – thanks, Walker. I appreciate it.”

He gives an awkward shrug. “Can’t say I never did anything for you. Grabbed a few water bottles, too.”

You dig into your food in hopes that it will distract you from the way your stomach fluttered when you realized he had gone out of his way to get you the medicine – without you even asking.

It really isn’t a big deal. It’s a five dollar bottle of over the counter pills. But Walker doesn’t exactly go around anticipating the needs of others – especially not at the expense of his own convenience. Still, you know better than to read into it. You’re just tired and the events of today are clouding your judgment.

Clearly. That’s the only explanation for why you’re experiencing what can only be described as butterflies over John Walker.

Once you finish scarfing down your food, you cram the garbage back inside the take-out bag and force yourself into a standing position despite your body's protests. You desperately want to shower, even just to have a few minutes kind of alone with your thoughts.

Walker, still in the middle of eating his own burger at the small desk in front of the bed, turns his attention away from the movie and to you.

“I’m going to take a shower now,” you explain simply, grabbing your duffel bag before limping towards the bathroom on the other side of the small room. You pause at the door when you hear footsteps behind you, turning to face him.

“Are you wanting to join me? Or…?” You ask sarcastically.

“Jesus,” he huffs, taking a step back and throwing his hands up. His face flushes pink. “No. I'm just going to wait behind the door and make sure you get into the shower okay.”

You roll your eyes. “I promise I’m capable of getting in the shower.” You can tell by the hesitant look on his face that he isn’t convinced. “I’ll yell if I need anything. Okay? Sit down and finish your food.”

You step into the bathroom, shutting the door in his face as he tells you to be careful in an annoyed tone.

Holy hell. Has he always been such a mother hen?

No, there’s no way. You would have noticed it on any of the other dozen or so jobs that you’ve worked with him in the last few months. He’s being uncharacteristically protective and considerate, and despite the fact that there’s a small part of you that almost likes it, you don’t understand the sudden shift in behavior.

Once you’ve managed to get into the shower without any further injury, you stand beneath the scalding hot stream of water until your thoughts stop racing and your skin feels blistered.

•••••• By the time you finish your shower and post-shower routines, it’s just after eight o’clock. Walker retrieves some ice from the motel lobby and assembles a makeshift ice pack for your knee before going to take a shower himself.

You’re halfway paying attention to the fight sequence unfolding on the screen in front of you when he exits the bathroom in only a pair of black sweatpants. No shirt, hair dripping, and skin flushed pink from the heat of the shower.

Taken by surprise, your eyes freeze on him as he walks by you. Luckily, he doesn’t notice your gaze and you snap out of it before he turns to face you as he pulls a t-shirt from his bag and then yanks it over his head.

Six foot two and well over two hundred pounds of pure muscle – you’re not blind. He looks damn good, but you’re not about to let him know that you think so.

Fucker. There’s no way that was an accident. How does someone remember to take a pair of pants with them into the bathroom but somehow forget their shirt?

You bite your tongue, holding back the smart-ass comments that threaten to spill from your mouth. Something in your gut tells you that’s exactly how he’s hoping you’ll react, and you aren’t going to give him that satisfaction so easily.

“Are you ready to go to sleep? Or do you want to keep watching the movie?” You ask instead.

You’re ready to turn the lights off and pass the fuck out, but he'd been a good partner today, and only a fraction as annoying as he normally is, so you figure it won’t kill you to show a little consideration for his wants, too.

Maybe it's the tone of your voice or the look on your face, but he seems to pick up on the fact that you have no real desire to continue watching this movie.

“I’m beat.” He yawns dramatically, stretching for emphasis. “Carrying you for miles really wore me out.”

You grab the closest pillow to you and chuck it towards his head. “You know, I was going to offer to let you take the bed, but after that comment, I think I’ll stay right where I’m at.”

He catches it with ease and laughs as he tosses it to the ground, in between the bed and the motel door – directly beside you. He grabs a spare blanket that's folded at the bottom of the mattress and then sinks to his knees.

“I promise, I've had far worse sleeping conditions than this.”

You know he's just joking around, but something about the comment gets to you more than it should. All of the far worse places that he had to sleep during his time in the Army flash through your mind and make you feel a pang of guilt for hogging an entire king sized bed to yourself.

“What?” He asks, kneeling on the floor next to you. It hits you that you're just staring at him.

Before you can overthink it, the words are pouring from your mouth.

“Just get in the bed.”

“What?” He repeats, this time in bewilderment. He looks at you like he isn’t sure if he heard you correctly – or like you’re pulling a prank on him.

“You heard me,” you sigh, pressing the power button on the TV remote and turning it off. “This bed is huge. There's no sense in you sleeping on the cold, hard floor when you don't have to.”

His eyes flicker between you and the empty space on the bed beside you. “Are you sure? It's not that big of a deal. I can sleep on the flo—”

“John, get in the fucking bed.”

He closes his mouth, an indecipherable expression on his face. He hesitates for a second longer, and then stands up with the pillow that you'd thrown at him.

“Okay. Scoot over.”

“What?” you chuckle. “Why do I need to scoot over? Just take the other side.”

“Because I want to be closest to the door,” he says like it’s obvious. “In case someone tries to break in or something.”

You roll your eyes, reluctantly moving over to the empty space on the other side of the bed. You’re too tired to fight him on this one.

“How noble of you.”

He takes your place, slipping under the scratchy motel comforter and flipping the bedside table lamp off. The two of you are now encased in darkness – the only noise coming from a television playing in the neighboring room due to paper thin walls.

It’s silent for a moment, and you assume that you’re both going to drift to sleep without saying anything else, when he speaks into the darkness.

“You know, you called me John.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, though it’s too dark to see anything other than his silhouette. “Well, that is your name.”

“Yeah,” he replies after a loaded pause. “But you never call me John. You’ve only ever called me Walker.”

You purse your lips. He’s right – you don’t remember ever calling him by his first name in all the time that you’ve known him. Sometimes, it’s easy for you to forget that Walker isn’t actually his first name.

You exhale through your nose – something between a sigh and a laugh. “Sorry. It won���t happen again.”

“No.” His voice rises an octave. The response comes quickly, like he didn’t think before speaking. “I didn’t… I didn’t mind it,” he murmurs, his voice returning to its normal cadence.

“Oh,” you whisper.

The silence that follows feels heavy. You’re both completely still. A loud clap of thunder booms, shaking the building and breaking whatever tension was lingering between you. You exhale a shaky breath, ignoring the way your heart is beating in your chest.

“Goodnight, John.”

•••••• When you open your eyes, the room is dark except for white flashes of lightning that creep through the cracks of the motel room’s curtains.

You feel groggy and disorientated, so you know that you couldn’t have been asleep for very long. With the way that the storm is raging outside, you quickly piece together that it was a loud clap of thunder or the violent screeching of wind that must have startled you awake.

Goosebumps decorate the exposed skin of your legs and you shiver, wrapping the cheap, thin comforter tighter around your frame.

There's movement from your left and you’re reminded that you aren’t alone in this bed.

“Storm knocked the power out,” he mutters, his voice raspy with sleep.

“It’s fucking freezing in here,” you groan. Your teeth chatter involuntarily.

He snorts. “It’s not that cold.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “Not everyone has super soldier serum turning them into a human space heater.”

You can practically feel the warmth radiating off of his body despite the good foot or so of space in between you. In your half-awake state, you fight the urge to move closer to the only heat source in the room.

“Well, if I’m a human space heater…” He trails off. The bed creaks as he readjusts his position, turning on his side to face you. “I could, uh.. I could help warm you up. Just until the power comes back on,” he adds quickly.

The offer takes you by surprise. If you weren’t so cold, you’d probably burst into laughter. But you’re shivering too much to find anything funny right now. Why the hell did you only pack shorts to sleep in?

Oh, yeah. Because it's spring time, and you’re in Georgia. It shouldn’t be this cold right now. But thanks to the heavy rain and the motel’s lack of proper insulation, it feels like the middle of a New York winter night.

“Really?” you ask lamely. You feel dumb for even considering the offer.

“I mean…” You feel him shrug. “Yeah, why not? You’re cold, I’m warm. You did me a favor by letting me sleep in the bed, so…”

Cuddling with Walker. If your teammates found out, they’d never let either of you hear the end of it. You can hear Alexei’s teasing now.

“Or you can just be cold. I’m fine either way,” he adds when you’re quiet for a moment too long. He starts to turn in the opposite direction when you grab him by the shoulder.

“No, wait,” you mutter, embarrassment creeping over you at the realization of what you’re about to do. “Okay.”

He settles back down, this time laying with his back against the mattress. He extends his arm closest to you, a silent offer for you to tuck yourself between it and his side. Before you can overthink it any further, you close the distance between your bodies and press yourself against him.

Your head rests against his chest, and you throw your arm over his stomach. He wraps his arms around you without any hesitation, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. When you do, you let out a noise that can best be described as a sigh of contentment.

He’s even warmer than you'd imagined. You instantly stop caring about how weird this is and focus on the relief that his body heat provides.

“Jesus, you’re shaking like a leaf,” he murmurs. He runs a large hand up and down the side of your arm, warming you further with the friction.

You snort. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t lying about being cold just to snuggle you.”

“Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

You pinch him just below his ribcage in response to his teasing. His chest vibrates with silent laughter, but he doesn’t say anything else.

You're both fast asleep within minutes. The power comes back on at some point during the night, but you’re still entangled with each other when the sun pours through the curtains come morning time.

•••••• Neither of you mention your night in the small Georgia inn after checking out the next morning.

Not on the drive to the airport, or the flight back to New York, or at any point since returning home almost a month ago.

For the most part, things go back to normal between the two of you. You continue to work together, and train together, and banter persists as it usually does when your other teammates are present.

But more and more often you’re noticing that as soon as you find yourselves alone for more than a few minutes, John suddenly has every excuse to be elsewhere.

It’s not as if you used to spend all of your free time together – but the fact that he suddenly wants to take the stairs up to the twentieth floor of the Watchtower instead of taking the elevator with you is a little odd.

It doesn’t bother you at first. You think it’s weird, but why should you let it get to you? You weren’t exactly the best of friends to begin with.

Then, there starts to be moments that you find your thoughts drifting to him when they shouldn’t. When you get caught in the rain and you think back to how he looked with raindrops dripping from his hair and beard, and when you wake in the middle of the night and it’s a little too chilly and you remember how it felt to be pressed against him in the freezing motel room.

You’ll lie awake at night, wondering if he’s in his bed, directly across the hallway, thinking about the same thing as you.

It's fucking stupid.

Like right now – you’re all at a lavish gala, thrown in celebration of Sam Wilson’s Avengers and The New Avengers(z) coming together to form one big, happy super team.

There’s a full service bar, unlimited hors d’oeuvres, and good music – you should be having a good time.

Instead, you’re staring across the room at the back of a dumb blond super soldier’s head while a reporter attempts to ask you questions about who designed the dress you’re wearing.

“I’m so sorry,” you interrupt her. “I just remembered I have to… go to the bathroom. Will you please excuse me?”

You don’t wait for her to answer before you begin walking across the dance floor without a concrete idea as to what you’re going to say or do when you reach him.

“Hey,” you greet him casually. He turns to you at the sound of your voice, a look of mild surprise on his face. There’s a sudden, undeniable fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. He looks too handsome with his suit and tousled hair.

“Did you try the goat cheese and salami stuffed dates?”

“Uh – no,” he shakes his head, confusion taking over his features. “No, I guess I must have missed those.”

“That's too bad. They’re fucking delicious.”

He cocks a brow at you. “That’s good to know.”

Well, there goes your ice breaker.

It’s the longest conversation the two of you have had by yourselves in weeks, but there’s a level of awkward tension that you just don’t know how to shake – and it obviously isn’t going to go away on its own.

You toss the rest of your drink back before biting the bullet. “Can we, uh – do you mind if we go somewhere a little more quiet so that we can talk?”

As soon as you get the last word out, Valentina walks up and grabs you by the arm.

“There you are,” she says through gritted teeth. There’s a smile plastered across her face, but her voice gives away her irritation – at what, you never really know or care. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

You sigh, unable to hide your irritation at her timing. “What is it, Val?”

She fake laughs, waving to someone off in the distance. “John, would you be a dear and get me another drink while her and I have a short chat? Thanks so much.”

John's annoyance is palpable. He glares at Valentina with daggers, clenching his jaw as he storms off in the direction of the bar.

As soon as he’s out of ear shot, she turns to you. “I need a favor.”

You resist rolling your eyes in case there’s any cameras pointed in your direction at the moment. “I’m here, aren’t I? Is that not enough of a favor?”

She ignores your quip, pointing to where Sam, Joaquín Torres, and Bucky are mingling with a few random attendees.

“I need you to dance with him.”

“Dance? With Bucky? Why?” You sputter the words out, not expecting that to be her request.

“Not Bucky,” she shushes you, plucking your empty martini glass out of your hand. “The young, cute one in the middle.”

“Joaquín?” You exclaim. “I barely know him.”

You can count on one hand the number of conversations you’ve had with Joaquín. You have no problem with him – he's good at his job, a team player, and he’s enjoyable enough to be around. But the last thing on your mind right now is dancing with a man you hardly know.

“That’s the entire point of this whole thing.” She gestures dramatically to all of the people around you. “Bringing the two teams together. It’ll show people how well everyone is getting along. Ava has already agreed to have a dance with Sam.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble beneath your breath.

“I’ll give you an extra week of paid vacation days,” she offers before you can argue any further.

You know she isn’t going to let up. Valentina is nothing if not persistent. Truthfully, you just want her to leave you alone so that you can get on with your night – the extra paid time off is just a bonus.

“One dance and one dance only.”

You walk away from her before she can give you any half-assed words of gratitude.

On your way over to where Joaquín is talking to Bucky and the others, you glance around the crowded room for John. You don’t see him anywhere, and you can’t help but feel the slightest inkling of disappointment.

What would you say to him even if you did happen to run into him right now, anyway? Valentina is making me dance with Joaquín and I really hate dancing but for some reason I don’t think I’d mind it nearly as much if I was dancing with you?

Yeah, right. You’d probably just make awkward small talk about the fucking appetizers again.

You do your best to pretend that there's nothing else on your mind for the few minutes that you talk to Sam, Bucky, and Joaquín, but you can’t stop yourself from glancing around the room every other minute.

“Are you ready to give all of the reporters something super exciting to take pictures of?” You ask Joaquín as he guides you to the middle of the dance floor.

There’s a few other couples slow dancing to the live, classical piano music that fills the venue, so you shouldn’t stick out too much, but of course reporters start flocking around with their cameras when they see a member of the New Avengers(z) and the new Falcon slow dancing.

“Don’t be nervous,” he tells you as he takes one of your hands in his, placing the other on the small of your back. You lift your arm to his neck and begin following his slow, rhythmic steps to the music. “Sam and Ava are going to dance any minute now, and then all eyes will be on Captain America and the infamous Ghost.”

“Me? Nervous?” you scoff playfully. “I’m not nervous.”

“Could have fooled me,” he shrugs. “You looked like you might puke when Valentina first asked you.”

He guides you into a gentle spin, clearly far more experienced with all of this than you. When he does, you catch a brief glimpse on John. He’s standing several yards away with his hands in his pockets and a stoic expression on his face – looking right at you and Joaquín.

You nearly trip over your own foot, but Joaquín catches you and quickly gets you back on rhythm.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I hope you don't take it personally, because it's nothing against you. At all. Dancing just isn't my forte, and I've kind of… had a lot on my mind.”

He looks behind you for a moment before meeting your eyes with a curious smirk. “Would that happen to have something to do with why Walker is looking at me like he wants to bash my head in with his shield?”

“What?” you exclaim, nearly stumbling again. You have to resist the urge to look over your shoulder where John is standing. “Don’t be crazy. He… wouldn't do something like that again.”

Joaquín throws his head back in laughter. “I don’t know about that. I think he just might over you.”

You roll your eyes. “I think you just might be exaggerating.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. At that exact moment, Sam and Ava begin dancing just a few feet away from you and Joaquín. All of the reporters suddenly lose interest in the two of you.

“Or maybe not. Only way for you to find out is to chase him down and ask him, I guess.”

“Chase him down?” you repeat, looking over your shoulder to see John walking directly towards an exit.

Shit.

“Go on,” Joaquín encourages. “I think it’s safe to say we have given Val the photo op that she was hoping for.”

You give his hand a grateful squeeze before letting go. “Thanks, Joaquín.”

You really fucking wish you weren’t wearing heels right now. As fast as you can without twisting an ankle, you make your way across the dance floor, heading straight towards the hallway that you saw John enter just a few seconds prior.

There's a voice in the back of your mind screaming that you don't even know what you’re going to say when you manage to catch up to him, but that doesn’t stop you from putting one foot in front of the other until his large frame comes into view.

“John!” You call. He stops right away, though he hesitates for a moment before turning to face you. His face is relatively expressionless, but there's tension in his jaw.

“You okay..?” You ask. “Where are you going?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “I just need some fresh air. Is that okay?” He starts to walk away again, but you reach out and grab him by the hand.

“Is it okay if I come with you? I could use some fresh air, too.”

He pulls his hand out of your grasp – not violently, not harshly, but yet it still stings.

“You sure about that? I would hate to keep you from Torres for too long.” There’s a hint of venom in both his stare and tone. He starts to walk away again, and it takes you a moment to react.

Maybe Joaquín was right, after all.

His strides are long and quick. By the time you start walking after him, he’s already turning the corner of the hallway and out of your sight.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mutter. You pause long enough to yank off the obnoxious stiletto heels that had been killing your feet since you’d taken your first steps in them tonight. With your shoes in hand, you all but sprint down the hallway after him.

The second that you turn the corner of the hallway, it feels as if you have collided with a brick wall.

A brick wall that smells like sandalwood and cedar.

“Jesus!” John exclaims, barely even stumbling when the front of your body slams into his back. “What the hell are you—”

“I like you,” you interrupt him. His mouth snaps shut, and his eyes go wide. The martini that you you’d finished earlier threatens to come back up, but you swallow and force yourself to continue.

“I like you, John,” you repeat, softer. “I was only dancing with Joaquín because Valentina told me to. I know things have been… weird, ever since Georgia. You can go back to avoiding me like the plague, if that’s what you want. I just needed you to hear—”

The next thing you know, his large, calloused hands are cradling your face and his lips are on yours.

It takes you a second to realize what is happening, but when you do, you're kissing him back like there’s no chance of an unsuspecting stranger walking down this hallway at any moment. You drop your shoes to the floor so that your hands are free to trail up his chest. You grip fistfuls of the satin material of his suit in your hands and pull him closer to you.

Without ever taking his lips off of yours, he backs you against the wall of the corridor. His tongue dances along your bottom lip and you open up for him, your brain turning to static white noise as he slips inside your mouth.

He tilts your head, deepening the kiss. He’s all you feel, smell, and taste – the two of you may as well be the only two people in this entire building right now. It's too easy to forget that you’re at a very public gala, and that any person with a camera could snap a picture of him pinning you against the wall and kissing you senseless.

You let out an involuntarily whimper into his mouth, and he pulls away as if it physically pains him to do so.

“The only reason I’ve been avoiding you like the plague,” he quotes your words, using the pad of his thumb to trace the swell of your bottom lip. “Is because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about doing that for the last month. Ever since you fell asleep with your head on my chest. Ever since I carried you through those woods…”

He trails off, leaning down to bring his lips to yours once more.

This kiss is slower – delicate and intentional in a way that the first one was not. As if he's trying to commit it all to memory. His hands rest on your hips, and yours in the short tufts of his hair.

“This is all I have wanted to do.”

“So…” you start with a nervous laugh. You smooth the fabric of his suit that you had bunched in your fists back to its original state. “You like me too, then..?”

He laughs, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, did I not make that obvious?”

“Nah. I think I need to hear you say it,” you hum.

He sighs, and then places another gentle, soft peck to your lips that ends sooner than you’d like. “I like you. You drive me crazy, but I like you so much that it hurts.”

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💕🫶🏻

[sun-dcy]

Superman isn't woke. You're just so evil that you see a man doing acts of kindness and you think it's a targeted political agenda

[sun-dcy]

i mean this so seriously if you have any sort of creative project you can and should be a little obsessed with it. you should reread your own writing and look at your own art and brag about your ocs its literally good for your health

[sun-dcy]

Just something short I thought of—sad Bucky because he thinks reader is planning on leaving him or just doesn't love him anymore. Like, you're ignoring him (not on purpose), but that makes the man go down a spiral of doubts which leads to comfort. It's definitely shorter than my other works, but I hope you enjoy it!

Did I Do Something Wrong?

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: sad bucky, misunderstandings, reader is just busy, I promise, comfort, fluff all the way, short little fic, might even be considered an imagine

Bucky tried not to let the little things get to him. The first time you brushed his hand aside, you’d been running on only a couple hours of sleep. After returning from a week-long mission, you were bone-tired—so you mumbled a distracted “Sorry,” shut your eyes, and promptly drifted off. Bucky told himself not to worry. You were exhausted, that was all.

But days passed, and the pattern persisted.

The next time he reached for you—lightly resting his palm on your waist while you scrolled through mission logs—you shrugged him off without a second glance. Then there were the mornings he woke up alone, the bed already cooling on your side by the time he blinked blearily at the clock. You were usually a late riser, but now? You were gone before the sun had fully climbed the sky. Sure, you’d told him you liked to get a head start on the day, to train or do paperwork, but it still left Bucky feeling abandoned.

And then there was Natasha.

Bucky had caught you and Nat in a quiet corner of the common room, laughing together, your heads bent in conspiratorial whispers. From a distance, it looked so intimate. He tried not to imagine the worst—he trusted you, he knew Nat was a close friend—but old insecurities, the remnants of a lifetime of trust issues, began to creep up. If you were distant from him, but so playful and close with Natasha…maybe your feelings had changed.

It all came to a head late one night when you finally tumbled into bed after a punishing day. Bucky was waiting for you, eyes filled with longing, an unspoken plea hidden in the furrow of his brow. You settled under the covers, practically collapsing into the pillows. You felt Bucky shift closer, his arms trying to wrap around your waist—but you were so groggy you hardly registered it. Without meaning to, you scooted away, giving yourself room to breathe.

It was enough to break him.

“Do I—” Bucky started, then swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Do I disgust you now?”

The sheer pain in his voice made you crack open your eyes. You squinted at him, your exhaustion making things blurry for a moment. His expression was drenched in equal parts hurt and fear. The exhaustion clinging to your brain cleared in an instant as alarm and confusion set in.

“Bucky,” you murmured, voice heavy with fatigue, “why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” He let out a rough exhale and ran his metal hand through his hair. “You never let me touch you anymore, you brush me off, you’re gone before I wake up. Half the time, I see you with Natasha instead. I just—I can’t figure out what I did, and it’s killing me.”

Your heart twisted as you finally registered the desperation in his eyes. He looked so lost, like a man expecting the worst. Pushing yourself upright, you shifted closer until your knees bumped against his hip, your gaze locked on his.

“Bucky,” you said softly, leaning in to brush a thumb over his cheek. “I’m not—I would never want to push you away. I haven’t been avoiding you on purpose.”

“But you are,” he insisted, voice small. It cracked a little on the last word. “You keep brushing me off, you don’t let me hold you. I…I don’t understand.”

You inhaled, guilt gnawing at your stomach as you realized how it must have looked from his perspective. “I’m so sorry,” you breathed. “I’ve just been so worn down. Between missions, late-night meetings, and a sleepless schedule, I’ve been running on fumes.” Your hand cupped his jaw, urging him to look right at you.

“I wake up early because…well, I know how important rest is for you. With the nightmares and everything, you don’t always sleep that well, and I didn’t want to risk waking you. So I figured if I slipped out quietly, you could stay under for a few more hours, maybe get some real rest.”

He blinked, startled. “You—You left so I could sleep better?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with apology. “You’re not disgusting to me. Far from it. I’m just so drained that half the time I don’t even realize I’m brushing you off. I’m on autopilot.” You sighed, pressing your palm against the place where his flesh arm met his shoulder. “As for Nat, we’re just close, like you and Steve. She’s been checking in on me, and I’ve been venting to her about mission stress. That’s all.”

Bucky’s posture loosened. You could see the confusion in his eyes giving way to fragile relief. Still, the ache in his voice lingered as he asked, “So, you’re not fed up with me? You’re not looking for a reason to leave?”

“No,” you vowed. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I’ve just been overwhelmed—no excuse, I know, but I promise, it’s not you.” You gently pulled him closer, letting him lean against you. “I’ll always need you, Bucky. Never doubt that.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling the breath he seemed to have been holding for days. Quietly, he brought a tentative hand to your waist, as if checking if it was really okay to hold you. Instead of moving away, you leaned your weight into him, letting your body mold to his.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m still tired, but not too tired to show you how much I care.” Wrapping your arms around him, you rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, hoping to soothe his lingering fears. “Just let me make it up to you, okay?”

Bucky managed a small, wobbly smile, eyes burning with unshed tears of relief. “You don’t have to make up anything,” he murmured. “Just let me know what going on. Even if you have to leave in the morning, wake me up first. Tell me, so I know it’s not because you don’t want me around.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest. “Deal,” you agreed, brushing your nose lightly against his.

With that reassurance hanging like a comforting blanket between you, Bucky allowed himself to settle into the bed, your arms wound safely around him. Soon enough, your shared warmth and the quiet of the night eased the frantic anxiety in his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling that familiar scent that reminded him you were his—and that no amount of exhaustion or misunderstandings could ever truly sever the bond you two shared.

In the morning, you did wake him up, gently this time. You had a briefing in a few hours, but before you left, you let him know—forehead pressed to his, your heart full of affection. Bucky watched you go with a subdued smile, heart so much lighter than it had been before.

[sun-dcy]

They're brothers, your honour.

[sun-dcy]

Like a new friend!

[sun-dcy]

After years of observing these caddisfly larvae, French naturalist and artist, Hubert Duprat, wondered if the caddis flies would use any materials to build their cocoon. He introduced flakes of gold, pearls and opals to the caddis flies and they did in fact use them for their cocoons. They use their own silk as the glue to hold their pupal constructions together.

[sun-dcy]

Blurb #1

Hey my lovelies, this sorta just happened so I hope you enjoy! Connected to these two drabbles (Girlfriend Privilege & Saved you a seat) Also if you have an idea for these two please drop them into my askbox. I just love writing for them! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

“Babe” Adrian whined from the couch. Glancing up at the clock, you noted the time. It’s a record you thought to yourself. 

“Yeah.” Glancing up briefly, Peeling came to a halt. If it wasn’t for you, Adrian would have lived off junk food and ready meals if you didn’t insist on cooking. Despite Adrian loving your cooking, regardless of what you made or how edible it was, Adrian had one problem. 

It meant you weren’t paying attention to him. 

“How long are you going to be? I miss you.” Peering around the wall, raising your eyebrow. Adrian’s eyes lit up at the sight of your face. 

“Adrian, you can see me, I’m right here.” With his hands stretched out, Adrian beckoned you toward him. You shook your head, returning to your task. A smile slowly creeping onto your lips. 

Slowly, you counted to three before you heard Adrian grumbling, his footsteps dragging towards you; within moments, his arms were wrapped around you, burying his head into your neck. 

“I’m buying a dining table,” Adrian mumbled into your neck as you continued to prepare dinner. 

“Why?” 

“Because then I can come and sit with you while you’re cooking. When you’re waiting for something, you can come and sit in my lap.” You smiled, slowly shaking your head, often wondering where Adrian found his logic from. 

“Where are we going to put it? There’s barely any space as it is.” 

“Then we’ll find somewhere else to live. Then I can have a spot in every part of the house so we don’t have to be apart.”

[sun-dcy]

Calling all sapphic liushen fans could you please recommend me some new gl ships/stories/media that reminds you of this ship. I am severely lacking in gl content and I really like their dynamic

[sun-dcy]

i’m sincerely always saying this

[sun-dcy]

[sun-dcy]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀 "go beyond!"

BAKUGO KATSUKI

cuddling with katsuki <3

unofficialbf!katsuki

"we're not dating!" in which the 1a girls have a lot to say about you and katsuki's not-relationship.

secret language! in which you and katsuki have a... special way of communicating.

anyone but you in which there are certain things that katsuki wouldn't allow for anyone but you.

"lalalala" yapper reader x listener katsuki. in which you finally get to see katsuki!

"don't stop loving me." in which things were always easy between you and katsuki until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it) (more unofficialbf!katsuki hehe)

still holding you in which you've been scared of storms since you were a kid but katsuki's always got you. childhood katsuki storm comfort (pt 2 to that)

dicksuki. in which you seek out comfort from unofficialbf!katsuki and he says something mean and it's your final straw. + katsuki can't stand seeing you cry.

soft unofficialbf!katsuki

crashout central in which katsuki has no idea if you like him or not.

worrying abt being too clingy w katsuki drabble

so us in which watching damian and anya reminds you of katsuki and you. spy x family crossover ep!

KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

justfriends!eijiro

does he like me? in which it's hard to tell whether kirishima is so nice that it's hard to tell whether he likes you or you're just #delusional.

playful pool day w unofficialbf!kirishima

TODOROKI TOUYA (DABI)

not too hot for you. in which touya thinks he's too hot. too fiery, too intense, too volatile. he's a war machine for killing. he's broken and unworthy of love. you show him otherwise.

𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 "love is the most twisted curse of them all."

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

pinning down the truth in which after a certain little incident during training, megumi starts avoiding you! you think he might be upset with you or not like you, but little do you know, it's the complete opposite. after lots of teasing and a lot of emotion, the truth finally gets pinned down.

justfriends!megumi

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 "become the one who chooses, not the one waiting to be chosen."

CHIGIRI HYOMA

this is falling in love. in which falling in love with chigiri hyoma is slow. it's quiet. but it's sweet, and it's easier than you could ever imagine.

ITOSHI RIN

clingy in which in your relationship with rin, you've always been the affectionate one. the touchy one. the clingy one. so one day, you pull back from touching him so much, and it kills him.

MIKAGE REO

codependent!reo

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 "because people don’t have wings, we look for ways to fly."

KOZUME KENMA

"i love you." in which kenma quietly realizes he's completely, utterly in love with you.

MIYA OSAMU

you're pregnant?! in which you're pregnant with osamu's baby and need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

these are all female reader <3 sometimes gender is unspecified but i don't write for male reader sorry. i'm happy to take requests and ideas but i won't always write for them if i a) don't think i can or b) just don't wanna. i don't write smut (most you'll see is suggestive), incest, noncon, dark content, etc. thank you and happy reading!

old works dividers from @cursed-carmine and @enchanthings <3

[sun-dcy]

this is either the best dub ever or the most atrocious thing of mankind

[sun-dcy]

I feel like people have forgotten about this

[sun-dcy]

which one of u was going to tell me that tea tastes different if u put it in hot water?