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reds-writings · 1 month ago

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the in between

(pairing: andrew 'pope' cody x fem!reader)

summary: pope cody doesn't allow himself much, but after a harrowing job, all he wants is the gentleness that is you...

warnings: hurt/comfort, nakedness, slight horniness but that ain't the point of this, 18+ just in case, smurf mention, canon-general violence/injury, pope's aura, etc

word count: 1.6k

a/n: been watching animal kingdom with my sister and shawn hatosy has bewitched me mind, body, and soul. let me know how you enjoy me trying to write for this freak ass mama's boy who just needs some tenderness and normalcy in his life

It didn’t take much to surprise you these days, but the last thing you expected after an impromptu girls’ night out was to find a slew of medical supplies strewn around your en-suite bathroom.

Amid the mess, stood one Andrew Cody, hardly conscious behind the steam-fogged glass of your walk-in shower. Your heart jolted as your gaze settled on an unsettling amount of blood-soaked gauze left haphazardly on the vanity’s counter.

You remember somewhere back in the muddled mess of your sobering mind something about a job that was supposed to go down tonight. He didn’t make it a habit to let you in on much when it came to his family’s work, but you didn’t think it was supposed to be that much of a complicated take this time around, despite his current stature clearly depicting otherwise.

There must have been some sort of colossal fuck up along the way if he came back like this. To get away and be with you, of all people, instead of with his brothers or even by himself.

If he’d noticed you by now, he made no move to acknowledge your presence.

With a small sigh, you bend over and grab the small waste basket nestled next to your bathroom cabinet in order to gather the soiled supplies to make room for any patching up that’s sure to take place post-shower.

When the space is made to your satisfaction, you waste no time wriggling out of your itchily glittered cocktail dress, thanks to Shauna’s insistence on wearing, along with the rest of your dainty undergarments, before grabbing some towels to set aside.

Making it into the shower cubicle, the mottling of bruises and severe scraping that decorated the expanse of his back like a morbid modern art display has you at a momentary standstill. The delicate freckling of his shoulders could hardly be made out, and it was a challenge to swallow the growing lump in your throat at the sight.

Your eyes drifted to one of his hands resting on the seaglass mosaic that made up your accent wall. His knuckles were marred with the discoloration of an altercation, serving as a stark contrast to the soft colors of condensating tiles.

Pope always seemed to appear slightly out of place whenever he turned up here. The complete opposite of your graceful disposition. The lived-in warmth of your home.

A makeshift weapon. A guard dog. A Criminal.

Despite all the titles he shouldered, he looked so small. As if he could break down every particle, every atom of himself, and disappear down the drain that rested at his feet.

Just wash away. Dissolve. Be nothing.

A subtle shudder rippled along his shoulders as he took a breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your voice was small, afraid to shatter the quiet that lay heavy in this little corner of the world.

He shook his head no.

Things had certainly gone wrong in some way, shape, or form tonight, and as usual, it looked like he took the brunt of it all.

It was times like these when you really, really hated Smurf.

You didn’t need to voice that, though. You’d end up standing here all night until your face ran blue. He knew how you felt.

For he felt the same.

Except he’d never been confident enough to have the strength to break away. To be free.

At this point, he’s not even sure if he deserves it. A life without his wretched mother in it. One without pain being inflicted upon himself or others. It’s all he’s ever known.

It was as if his inescapable tie to that woman seemed to serve as a form of some tragic, indefinite penance.

With you, though, there’s an uncharacteristic selfishness that takes over whenever it comes to stealing a slice of unguarded peace at your mercy.

At first, he made it his mission to just stay away. Be alone. Let the weight of his existence, his sins, build up and let him drown without anyone there to bear witness.

But you were so good. So lovely. So real.

You’ve never been scared of him. Always just scared for him.

You weren’t naive about his past or present, but he kept his family life and whatever this was as separate as humanly possible. He was sure the poison of the Cody's corrupted Midas’ touch would eventually reach you some way, somehow. That it would take you without any warning, just like everything else, when it came to anything he allowed himself to want. All he could do was continue to slip away and revel in the warmth you offered in between the small gaps of time and space the universe felt generous enough to provide.

Sometimes knowing this type of fragile affection, this love, made him sick to his very core.

He still struggled with accepting that you didn’t hang around to use him. That every gesture, every touch, wasn’t some twisted way to gain control.

You existed in his orbit not for leverage, but because you cared. You had no ill will in picking up his many broken pieces. You did it because it felt right. You were selfless by nature.

“Where did you go?” The meek rasp of Pope’s voice finally filled the stretch of silence between you two.

“Shauna dumped her asshole boyfriend this morning, so Cassie demanded we go out and celebrate her new chapter of freedom.” You inched forward to loosely wrap your arms around his torso, taking extra care in trying not to disturb the darkening marks settling on his ribs.

The hand resting on the shower wall came down to gently drape over yours, squeezing lightly to ground himself in the fact that it was you resting your soft, damp skin against his, fitting like a puzzle piece against the curve of his worn spine. His chest was starting to redden from the heat of the water so he took it upon himself to switch places with you to give himself a break, making sure to twist the knob as he did so your skin wouldn’t scald under the spray.

Facing him, you were now able to get a good look at his face. There was a small split in his cheekbone with a blooming stain accompanying it, but nothing else nearly as bad as the rest of his frame.

“Tough night?” You gently cupped his jaw, running a thumb over the pale pink of his bottom lip as reddened hazel took you in. Being out for hours crammed in hot spaces didn't make it surprising to see that some of your makeup was starting to run and flake a bit, but there was nothing else more beautiful.

You, in all your glory, trusting him to take up space at your most vulnerable.

His heart ached, trying to jump out of his battered ribcage at the look in your eyes. The intensity of your love, tainted by worry, as you tried and failed to tamp it down because you knew how much he disliked being fussed over.

“Just needed a moment away.” His hand lifted to encompass the back of your head to bring you forward, kissing your forehead so sweetly you felt a sting of tears press behind your eyes. The path of his delicate affections made way down the slope of your nose, the corner of your eye, then finally, like a stalled breath let free, the awaiting line of your lips.

It was a kiss driven by sheer want. The addicting rush of relief bleeding through.

He’s still here. You’re promised another day as few and far in between as they come.

You feel the hard line of him pressing between the wet slick of your bodies, growing warm and heavy at the base of your navel as palms blindly wander over skin. Sighing into his mouth, you adjust yourself to reach down, mind thick with the heady idea of putting all of your focus into taking care of him, but his gentle grip on your wrist stops you from traveling further.

He softly shakes his head, mumbling something incoherent, something about just needing you, before guiding your hand back up on the nape of his neck and diving into your embrace with renewed desperation. He wanted to be present for more, but the day’s misfortunes could only allow for this, and you’d never fault him for it. You’d never push.

His lips drew themselves down the length of your neck, barely teasing with the soft scrape of his teeth, granting a moment for you to both retain some much needed air. The water was starting to grow lukewarm, nudging you out of your joint daze.

“Want me to help you wash?” Your fingers carded through damp curls, letting your fingernails scrape gingerly at his scalp. He let out a soft hum of approval, so you made the move to grab one of the loofahs hanging on a shelf, his own personal one that you bought for him of course, and carefully started scrubbing away any remnants of frustration or fatigue.

Once you were done, he insisted on returning the favor, though you playfully rushed him as the water’s decreasing temperature was the annoying causation of rising gooseflesh spreading rampant all over your body, and you couldn’t stomach it for much longer, as much as you appreciated his silent doting.

Drying off, you settle in the best set of pajamas you could find for both of you and sit him back down to make sure that the rest of his wounds are clean. The tenderness in which you did so almost made him melt into a pathetic puddle.

Settling a butterfly bandage on his split cheek, you lean forward to stamp a warm peck along the tender bone. His strong arms were quick to hold you there, relishing in the small action as if it could make him somewhat whole again.

“C’mon. Take these, then we need to get you snug and asleep.” You press another kiss to his lips, then pull him up to give him a couple of painkillers in hopes he wouldn’t feel like he got hit by a bus as bad in the morning.

Following you like a lost stray into the oasis that was your bed, you intertwine your limbs with his from behind, pressing close as if you could mend together and be one.

Nothing can touch you here, he decided in that moment.

He’d ensure it.

#writer blog #reds-writings #pope cody #andrew cody #animal kingdom #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody #andrew cody x reader #fic #shawn hatosy

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a-scary-lack-of-common-sense · 10 months ago

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Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

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rebeccathenaturalist · 2 years ago

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Welcome to my Tuesday morning PSA about plastics!

So--I was walking along the Bolstadt beach approach sidewalk here in Long Beach, WA yesterday afternoon, and I started seeing these little orange pellets on the ground that looked a little bit like salmon roe (but probably weren't). So I picked one up, and it was most definitely rubber. I went around picking up every one I could find, and while I didn't keep exact count I probably amassed 50-60 of them. I took this picture before depositing them in the nearest trash can.

These are airsoft gun pellets, and you can buy them in big jars containing thousands of them. That means that someone who decided that the beach was a great place to shoot their airsoft guns could easily litter the place with countless little bits of plastic rubber in less than an hour. We already have a huge problem here with people leaving trash, including tiny bits of plastic, all over the beach (you should see the gigantic mess after 4th of July fireworks when thousands of people come in from out of town, blow things up, and then leave again without picking up after themselves.)

But these airsoft pellets have a particularly nasty side effect. You know how my first thought was "wow, those look kind of like salmon roe?" Well, we have a number of opportunistic omnivore birds like crows, ravens, and several species of gull that commonly scavenge on the beach, especially along the approaches because people often feed them there. If I can catch the resemblance of an orange airsoft pellet to a fish egg, then chances are there are wildlife that will assume they're edible.

Since birds don't chew their food, they probably won't notice that the taste or texture is wrong--it'll just go down the hatch. And since they can't digest the pellets, there's a good chance they might just build up in the bird's digestive system, especially if the bird eats a large number of them--say, fifty or sixty of them dropped on the ground along the same fifty foot stretch of sidewalk. The bird might die of starvation if there's not enough capacity for food in their stomach--or they might just die painfully of an impacted gut, and no way to get help for it. If the pellets end up washed into the ocean, you get the same issue with fish and other marine wildlife eating them, and then of course the pellets eventually breaking up into microplastic particles.

You can get biodegradable airsoft pellets; they appear to mainly be gray or white in color rather than bright screaming orange and green. But "biodegradable" doesn't mean "instantly dissolves the next time it rains." An Amazon listing for Aim Green biodegradable airsoft pellets advertise them as "Our biodegradable BBs are engineered to degrade only with long-term exposure to water and sun and will degrade 180 days after being used." That's half a year for them to be eaten by wildlife.

I don't know, y'all. That handful of carelessly dropped rubber pellets just encapsulates how much people don't factor in the rest of nature when making decisions, even on something that is purely for entertainment like an airsoft gun. We could have had a lot of the same technological advances we have today, but with much less environmental impact, if we had considered the long-term effects on both other people and other living beings, as well as our habitats. We could have found ways from the beginning to make these things in ways that benefited us but also mitigated any harm as much as possible. Instead we're now having to reverse-engineer things we've been using for decades, and sometimes--like the "biodegradable" airsoft pellets--they still have a significant negative impact.

But--at least there are people trying to do things better, thinking ahead instead of just on immediate profit. We're stuck in a heck of a mess here, figuratively and literally, and changing an entire system can't be done in a day. Maybe we can at least keep pushing for a cultural shift that emphasizes planning far into the future--if not the often-cited "seven generations ahead", then at least throughout the potential lifespan of a given product.

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vividxpages · 4 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sweet reunion ⋆°. *࿐

pairing: Garrick Tavis x fem!Reader

words: 3.4k

summary: two weeks apart from him have been way too long.

warnings: no plot just porn, lots of cursing, dirty talk, reunion sex, making out, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (they both take the suppressant), Garrick using distance wielding to have sex against a wall, oral sex (female receiving), written during ovulation

a/n: my first fic for Garrick, this man has made me insane ever since Onyx Storm dropped and I needed an outlet. (I think he'd be a FREAK.) I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have when I wrote it! 🖤 thank you to my sister @still-jon-snow for always listening and being excited and just the best!

.♡ 🦋

It had been fourteen days since you had last kissed Garrick Tavis at the landing site of Riorson House.

Fourteen days since you had last spoken with him, laughed with him, been with him.

Today, the mess in which you had lived for the past two weeks, was going to end. You had kept yourself busy with tidying the room – quite shocked over the discovery that he was the clean one out of the two of you – and training with your friends earlier this morning, trying to shake off the nerves upon the arrival of his unit.

You were growing restless by the time the sun stood high above Tyrrendor, the sight beautiful yet lacking the elegant swing of dragon wings. Everyone had been waiting all day. A control mission, nothing out of the ordinary, everyone kept telling you. You had said nothing, not happy with any of it.

But just as you opted to leave yours and his room to watch the goddamn sky yourself, you heard movement in the corridor, a few commands cutting through the silence in the courtyard.

Oh thank the gods, your dragon’s voice rumbled unimpressed in your mind. I can’t bear another day of you moping around like this

Someone down the hallway outside your door shouted: “They’re back!”

It was the last thing you heard before the air in the room suddenly shifted, the dancing dust particles stiffening in the sun streaming through the windows, making space, fleeing from-

Two heavy leather boots hit the creaking wooden floor, breaking through the otherwise strange silence of his arrival.

- him.

You were up on your feet before you knew it, his large shirt on you pooling around your naked legs as you stared at him, the way he briefly oriented himself around the room, then spun around to face you.

In the blink of an eye, both of you rushed forward and you were lifted effortlessly into the air, both of your legs coming to wrap around his waist as he held you close. You let out a happy laugh near his ear, his arms tightening their hold around you as his hands roamed over you, touching everywhere at once.

“Fuck, how I missed that laugh.” Garrick mumbled deeply, his free hand cupping your cheek and making you look at him. You smiled brightly, placing your hand over his and drinking in the sight of him. Unharmed. Love swirling fiercely in his captivating eyes.

He was home.

You bridged the distance between him and you, kissing him slowly and with relish. Knowing Garrick, these kinds of kisses soon wouldn’t do anymore, at least not to sate the bottomless need inside of him.

He tilted his head to the side, hand sliding into your hair as he snaked his other arm around you. With a small gasp, you came to stand on your tiptoes, busy touching his biceps, his strong shoulders and neck…

Without breaking the kiss, Garrick walked over to the edge of the bed, his tongue licking fire into your mouth as he sat down with you and let his hands travel over your naked thighs. You let out a small sound at the sudden closeness before willing yourself to break away for just a moment.

He stared back at you with heavy breath and half-lidded eyes, his usually pale cheeks now getting some lovely color because of you.

“Everything went okay?” You asked quietly, shuffling forward in his lap so your chests pressed against each other, hearts starting to messily beat in sync once more.

Garrick nodded, tucking back a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand staying on your cheek. “We all couldn’t get back fast enough though.”

You caressed down his muscles as they flexed instinctively underneath your tender touch. Your eyes stayed on his, drowning in the warm hazel tone and the fire burning behind it. As your lips parted with a relieved sigh when he splayed his big hands over your hips now, Garrick tugged you even closer against the heat of his body. His scar, so familiar in the way it ran down his temple and vanished at his stoic jaw, shined silverly, the healed tissue soft and rough at once under your fingertips.

You examined him quietly, counting his exhales and the seconds where more of his patience dissolved into thin air as he did sometimes. No bruises or cuts. He was alright. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the tension having followed you for days making its leave as well.

“I’m okay.” He mumbled under his breath, not missing anything. His thumb brushed over your cheek and the gesture was so loving in this time of unease, it nearly made you cry right then.

But you had missed him, desired him when it became dark outside and the mattress beside you was still empty, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“I missed you.” You confessed under your breath, a hungering something in your stomach curling itself tight. “I hate sleeping alone.”

“You don’t have to for a long while, trust me.” Garrick promised confidently and then you were kissing again, all softness from earlier forgotten as he nearly devoured you, needing to familiarize himself again with the feel of your soft lips, the taste of you.

You wound your arms around his strong neck and bucked your hips forward only to make him groan when your core brushed right over his hardness. Fuck.

“You don’t smell like me anymore.” He stated between hurried kisses, his tongue licking over the sensitive spot underneath your ear, making you arch against his tall form. Garrick always knew how to make you melt in just a couple of moments and his impatient nature was only intensifying the need, especially after you had been separated for so long.

You looked at him, a little out of breath, and slowly leaned forward to playfully nip at his bottom lip with your teeth. Not breaking eye-contact, you whispered: “You should change that, Lieutenant.”

He was on you in a split second.

He quickly rose with you in his arms, spinning around and then falling onto the sheets with you. Letting out a squeal at the sudden movement, you had no time to recover as he slid above you and kissed you hard, biting down on your plump bottom lip and pushing his hips forward. The warm riding leathers rubbed over your panties and you groaned. As hot as this was, you needed something else. Something only he could give you.

“Too many clothes.” You gasped against his lips and he hummed in agreement and switched to kissing down your neck, soothingly sucking at your favorite spot all your friends would soon tease you about. “Get the fuck naked, Tavis.”

Sometimes you wondered if his signet came with the power of unnatural speed as well, because within under a minute by far, Garrick had torn away your clothes entirely, leaving you wanting and naked on the bed before him, his eyes travelling lazily over your body as if he suddenly had all the time in the world again.

Lifting his shirt over his head, Garrick took a deep breath as the muscles in his stomach flexed. He was hard through his briefs and subconsciously, you licked your lips.

“Show me.” He said quietly and you spread your legs, presenting the evidence of your desire to him, your hunger a roaring pit in your stomach as you felt yourself drip onto the sheets for him. Your own company hadn’t been enough to fill the hole he left behind when he had to leave.

Garrick slowly licked his lips, eyes staying on your pussy as he crawled forward and finally got rid of his shirt. When he pulled down his briefs, your breath hitched, enticed by his hard dick springing against his abs, deliciously leaking at the tip.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered in awe of you and you beamed at the praise, your back arching into his touch as he drew a circle around your belly button, slowly travelling down… “So fucking wet for me, hm?”

As if to prove his point, he gently pressed your thighs further apart, breathing heavily as he let a trail of spit fall down on your folds, the sudden contact making a nerve in your calf twitch. Finally.

The first touch of his fingertips against your clit set you aflame.

Your hands fisted the sheets, your entire body suddenly helpless underneath his touch as he began to draw slow, wet circles on your most sensitive part, the friction so heavenly you could not help but throw your head back and gasp for air.

“Eyes on me, love.” Garrick commanded calmly and you obeyed, every cell in your body needing to please him, to be loved and adored by him.

A needy whimper left your lips as he kept rubbing you and you writhed against the bedding, willing to let him play with you however he wanted if you only got to come soon, or even better - have him inside of you again. He bit his lip, an approving rumble going through his chest as you bucked your hips into his touch.

“Garrick…” You breathed longingly as he fisted his weeping cock, his thumb stroking your clit in adoration as his other fingers swept through your wetness. “Please.”

“Shh, just a moment longer.” He said, transfixed and uncharacteristically patient as he slowly eased a finger inside of your hot pussy, the tightness and warmth of your walls making his dick twitch. You reached out in an attempt to jerk him off, but midair you froze and you nearly forgot yourself as he suddenly curled his digit upwards.

“Have you touched yourself while I was gone?” He asked curiously and you almost managed to roll your eyes on him before the first was quickly joined by another finger and you groaned at the pleasurepain of it.

“Have you?” You managed to bite back, instantly rewarded by his beautiful low laughter.

“Baby…” His thumb brushed over your sensitive folds and clit, the other hand soothingly stroking your thighs. “Just about every night, you know?”

Gods, how he pleased you.

“I’m gonna fuck you so well.” Garrick promised huskily, a smug grin taking over his face at the filthy sounds your pussy made as he fingered you.

“Then do it.” You gasped, shivering as he scissored his digits once more before he pulled them out, a string of your wetness following him as if a part of you just couldn’t let him go this easily. “I need you to fuck me. Now, Garrick.”

“Such an attitude.” Garrick grinned, shaking his head as if he didn’t love every fucking second of this. His girl, soaked and trembling under him, the scent of her welcoming heat clouding every rationality in his mind.

You held on to his broad shoulders as he lowered himself down on you, his hips resting snugly between your thighs and for a moment, it was quiet and good and you finally felt whole again.

You moaned shakingly in union with him, briefly biting down on his collarbone as he eased inside of you, inch by inch until your thighs were already shaking and his hips were cradled warmly between your thighs. Garrick grunted, resting his forehead between your tits, his breath fanning over the warm skin and making it break out in pleased shivers. The strong arms resting at your sides were trembling slightly.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed, his tongue swirling around one of your aching buds before he looked at you awe-struck, not knowing how the hell he deserved to return to a heavenly woman like you. “’s been way too long…”

Your muscles flexed around him and he groaned, cock twitching inside of you. In a breathless whisper, you protested: “You’ve only been gone for two weeks.” Now you were challenging your luck.

“Two weeks too long, baby.” He muttered seriously before he caught your mouth in a hot and messy kiss, your moan swallowed by him as he pressed forward once again and then slowly pulled back, just to slowly fuck into you again when your head dropped helplessly onto his pillow.

Garrick rolled his hips, building up an intoxicating rhythm as you shook, your neglected pussy overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure of it, of feeling him inside of you when you had to put up with your own fingers for the last days when the longing had become too much.

“Fuck baby, you’re gripping me so tightly…really missed me, huh?” He smiled at you brightly and if he hadn’t been balls deep inside of you right then, dragging his dick just right against your walls, you might’ve slapped him playfully.

“Don’t get cocky now.” Gods, you sounded ruined already and you knew he had not even started with you.

He grinned down at you, relishing the little twin pains in his shoulder blades where you held on to him tightly, still at his mercy while he oh so slowly fucked you. Garrick winked before he looked down to where his cock was sliding out of you, the sounds slippery and absolutely filthy as he used your puffy cunt to lube himself up more before he pushed back in. “Too late, hm?”

You glared at him, purposefully flexing around him and throwing your legs around his waist, causing him to plunge deeper inside of you. Garrick gasped in surprise but quickly regained his posture of confidence as he leaned down to kiss your chest, beginning to fuck you in earnest now.

The change was so sudden, it nearly gave you whiplash.

You were so wet, he could easily pound into you, his arms caging you in as his hips met yours. You bit back a scream as he lifted your bum from the mattress, holding on to him for dear life and then suddenly, the air split in two and-

- he suddenly stood with you in his arms, adjusting his grip on your thighs. You blinked at him in a second of confusion, peeking over his shoulder to see the abandoned messy bed where you two had just laid.

Garrick had wielded the distance. With you.

And he was still very much inside of you.

Your naked back hit the wall behind you and he bent his knees just slightly, the new angle making the delicious curve of his cock dragged over your sweet spot. You moaned loudly, the back of your head hitting the wall as he stared at you like you were his own personal goddess.

“Better.” He decided and lifted you, only to push you down onto his cock again. As if you weighed nothing in his arms, he resumed to fucking you once again, his thrusts sharp and passionate, lacking the patience from earlier and gaining more wildness with every push and pull.

You could do nothing but hold on to him as he fucked you, your high moans swallowed by his deep kisses when he wasn’t busy with ravishing your bared neck. He seemed to be everywhere at once, insatiable in his want for you.

Your nails raked down his muscular back and he moaned right into your mouth, utterly consumed by the feel of you as he rocked into you like it’d be the last time in his life. And you met him with each thrust, rolling your hips and feeling the mouth-watering friction of his abdomen against your clit every time.

“Come on, come on.” You urged him on raspily, sensing the familiar stutter in his rhythm, the way his fingers in your hair trembled. “I know you’re close, I’m right there with you. Let go, Gar…”

With a final shout, Garrick buried his face in your neck and released deep inside of you and as he reached down to touch you, you followed him right over the edge with a scream, your orgasm crashing over you like a thunderstorm.

Feeling the warmth of his come within you, your eyes fluttered closed as you both breathed in sync, unwilling to part yet as Garrick held you close like he never wanted to let go again.

“So perfect…” He mumbled against your skin and you giggled happily and drunk on pleasure.

You slumped down against him, trusting him blindly to catch you and he did. His strong arms held you close against his chest as his heavy exhales tickled the top of your head. You were boneless, completely happy and done with the world as long as your man held you and a sigh so wholly satisfied left your lips, it almost felt blasphemous.

A heaviness seeped into your body, but just as you wanted to hug Garrick and let yourself be carried to bed, he drew back. You whined, displeased as he slipped out of you, not understanding.

“Uh-uh, I’m not done with you yet.” He said with a simple shake of his head and slid down, his hands placing your bum back against the wall, one of them sliding underneath your thigh and lifting until he rested one of your shaky legs over his shoulder.

He got down on his knees.

“Garrick-“ Your eyes widened at the realization of what was about to occur, but it seemed like they hadn’t fed the returning soldiers at Riorson House yet. Because in the next second, Garrick was surging forward, moaning deeply as he buried his face in your pussy, the vibrations of his deep voice nearly catapulting you into the next life.

You slammed your hand over your mouth, shrieking as he licked into you, his tongue dragging your combined releases over your spread folds before he suckled hard at your clit. He was all that held you up, his strength enough for the two of you as he devoured you without any saturation in sight.

Your hand was ripped away from your mouth and then, his glistening lips brushed over your knuckles, his eyes holding you captive as he slowly shook his head. “Let me hear you.”

Your answer was a broken moan, close to a blissful sob as he kissed and licked at you like his life depended on it, eager to taste every drop until you’d shatter underneath his skilled tongue.

“Fuck, Garrick-”

“Give me everything, baby.” He praised you, his hot breath fanning over your throbbing overstimulated clit for a moment as you panted and clawed at his shoulders in an attempt to try and keep up with him. “Such a good fucking girl, I missed you so much…”

“-missed you.” You gasped, twitching in his hold as he laid his tongue flat on you and licked a fat stripe upwards. And did it again and again.

A scorching heat tore through your stomach and it shouldn’t have been possible, but you were already there again, almost ready to jump over the cliff he had been leading you to.

Garrick, sensing your nearing release, looked up at you, his tongue still dancing around your clit as he laced your hands together and placed them both on the wall behind you.

“Every second I’m apart from you is still filled with you.” He vowed. “I love you.”

With one last stroke against you, you shattered apart. Unable to hold you up anymore, your legs gave in and Garrick caught you and pulled you against his chest as your second orgasm tore through you violently. His hands around your waist would likely leave marks later as you panted against his throat, trying to breathe through the last waves of pleasure rushing through you.

“Easy, love.” He murmured, peppering soft kisses over your temple, the top of your head and nose as you slowly calmed down. Garrick was so warm, a human furnace of a man, you felt your eyelids droop almost immediately, the position in his lap way too comfy to want to get up and clean yourself.

“I love you too…” You told him quietly, snuggling into his chest and relishing the closeness you had missed so dearly. You kissed his chest, right over his pounding, love-struck heart as he smiled warmly at you. “Welcome back.”

The sunbeams streaming in through the windows caressed the two of you, quietly laughing with each other and finally, reunited again.

#garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing fanfic #rebecca yarros

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woniiez · 7 months ago

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ᴛɪʟʟ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴇɴᴅꜱ | ₗ.ₕₛ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ. brothers bestfriend! heeseung x fem!reader

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ. You were sleeping when jay started banging on your door “y/n heeseung is gonna stay with us for the summer”. Lee heesung, your brothers best friend and the boy you’ve had a crush on since you saw him 5 years ago in your living room.

|| ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ. 4-6k (wrote this on my phone so i have no idea, tried to check it but it kept giving me different word counts)

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ. smut, brothers bestfriend.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ. nsfw! smut lmk if there’s anything else.

(hii this is the first fic I’ve ever written, I obviously have a long way to go lmao but I hope you like it. This was written with really less detail and not too many complications something simple I guess. There might be a few spelling mistakes or the paragraph formation is messed up so bear with me on that 🙏🏻. Since this is the first time I’ve written it’s not really fully “fic coded” you could say Ig but I’ll learn in time, it could be different writing wise from a proper fic.Anyways I hope you enjoy and if you have any questions regarding this or anything else lmk.)

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You’ve never really talked to Heeseung much. He comes over a lot but jay doesn’t let you hang out with them much, it doesn’t really bother you much but what did bother you was when jay started banging on your door to wake you up on a weekend at 8am to tell you “ Y/N!! Heeseung is gonna stay with us for the summer”

You couldn’t wait for summer break to come but now you’re grateful there’s still a week left.

you RAN to karina’s house which thankfully was next door. She was obviously still asleep.

“Karinaaa!! WAKE UPPP” you say while pulling the blinds up, “y/n it’s 8am please I haven’t slept all night” karina said while pulling the blanket over her face

“I need to tell you something. ” you looked at her with a very serious face waiting for her to sit up “yes y/n goodmorning to you too” you smiled at her and murmured goodmorning back “ok get this jay said Lee heeseung is gonna stay at ours for the summer..the WHOLE summer!” You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. You waited for her to say something She looked at you like you ate her cat or something, she really is cranky in the morning “can you say something why are you looking at me like that” she took a breath in and out. Oh no u hate when she does that, it feels like she’s going to pounce on you “y/n..is this what you wanted to tell me so badly to wake me up at 8am on a Sunday?” She said in a calm and low tone. You just looked at her as u blinked slowly and nodded slowly, she wasn’t having any of it “y/n it’s not a big deal it’s just heesung and jay is best friends with him you literally see him everyday” well that was true but she didn’t know about the crush you had on him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell her.“This is gonna be a looongg summer” you thought to yourself.

It was the first day of summer.

As you woke up the golden sunlight peeked though your blinds, casting stripes across the room. Making you think “it’s finally summer” you smile to yourself. You yawn as you watch the dust particles flying around the window.

You threw your blanket away from you and went to freshen up exited for the summer. You tie your bikini around your hips and back, then throw on an oversized shirt and some jean shorts.

You walked down the stairs each step filled with excitement, thinking about everything you were gonna do this summer with karina, going to places we’ve never been or just hanging out in your backyard. You took a deep sniff smelling waffles from the kitchen. The smell of the batter, the sound of the waffle maker, and fresh maple. You ran to the kitchen to see jay cooking. You love your brothers cooking especially his waffles it’s something he only makes it in the summer. “Jayy you’re making waffles?!!!!???!” You said giggling

and grinning, doing a silly dance “when I met you in the summerrrrr~~” you sang as a smile spreads on jays face. He hums with you.

“Sit down y/n 5 minutes more” he said looking back at you raising his eyebrows. You were walking around the wall to sit on the counter and suddenly you saw heesung sitting on the chair “WHA-“ you were totally surprised and feeling like an idiot since you just sang and danced and HEESEUNG SAW YOU. You completely forgot he was supposed to be here.

You feel your cheeks heat up as you try to laugh the embarrassment off. You looked up at heeseung who was already looking at you up and down. With a slight smirk on his face he tilted his head to the side. “What’s up?”

he said. His tone is relaxed and raspy. You feel so small in his presence , you feel your cheeks burn and u look up at him “hey I heard you’re staying here for the summer”you say trying to relax your voice, you sit down on the chair next to him and look up at him waiting for an answer “mhm” that’s all he says. You think if you’re going see him the whole summer you need to get to know him better atleast. You tilt your head and ask,“Can I ask why?” Your eyebrows raise in curiosity and a gentle smile forms on your lips showing you’re genuinely interested, before he said anything jay came up to the counter and sets the waffles in front of you with a light frown he glances at you and says “y/n don’t bother him” his eyes meet yours and he slightly smiles. Heeseung takes a waffles and puts it on his plate, jay walks away to get the ice cream he looks over at you but you were already looking at him, you look away “im moving to New York after the summer cause of my dads work” he says,his tone relaxed. He shrugs, his eyes glancing away for a moment. “he’s already there so I’m staying here till I leave” he lets out a light laugh and takes a bite of the waffle. You look at him, your heart skipping a beat at the news. A mix of surprise and a touch of sadness washes over your face. “New York, huh? That’s a big change,” you say, trying to keep your tone light despite the flutter of emotions inside. You bite your lip, thinking about why you feel sad you barely know him?!. “Are you excited about it?” you ask, your eyes searching his, hoping to catch a glimpse of his feelings. He shrugs a bit. “I’m not really worried” he says nonchalantly. Not wanting to show too much emotion you take a bite of the waffle “oh okay” you said kind of sad but you think jay might be really sad since they’ve been best friends since they were 10.

It’s been about 2 weeks since you talked to heeseung. Even though you’re living together there’s not much interaction between you too, well there are moments when you’re going out in your prettiest clothes and he undresses you with his eyes. You try to ignore it as much as you can, you can’t betray jay like that no matter how much you want to right?

Eventually you decide invite Karina over and take a swim in the pool. The cool water feels refreshing, and the familiar scent of chlorine surrounds you, bringing a sense of comfort. As you float on your back, Karina asks you a shocking question “do you like heesung”she says looking at you with her eye brows raised and crossed arms. “Karin-“ you pause cause heesung is standing at the backyard door by the pool. Did he hear what she said? You’re just looking at him with a confused expression. Karina looks back and smirks to herself. You can’t help but say something,it’s getting awkward “hey Heeseung do u wanna swim?” You ask, Karina noticed how your voice sounds way different from when you both talk. He scratches the back of his neck and says “yea can I?” Looking between Karina and you. You try to communicate with Karina through your eyes “ofc you can” she says with a smirk on her face as she looks at you, you look at her with a confused face as you raise your eye brow asking what she was doing. Heeseung walks towards the pool and slowly with a confidence smirk he pulled off his shirt, his toned body revealing itself to you. You flinched at the sight, you thought how it would feel if he was on top of you and you touch his toned abs..

Suddenly water hit you and you fell of your floaty into the water “what the hell!” You looked at Karina thinking she did that but you heard deep chuckles coming from the side, it was Heeseung “sorry didn’t mean to do that, just diving” he shrugs and looks you up and down like he’s ready to undress you “oh yeah btw there’s a party here tonight” he said. You looked at him in confusion since your parents are home. He continues “oh um jay told me to tell you, your parents have to go to a wedding” you tell him you’re going inside to talk to your mom and jay. You get up and wrap yourself in a towel, by now you think heesung has a staring problem.

You take a shower, change and head down with Karina.

You see jay helping your mom pack you walk into the room “mom where are you going” you ask since everyone knows except you.

“Y/n honey me and your dad have a wedding to attend it’s in the next town so we’ll be back in the morning” you tell her to be safe, you look at Karina and smile looking forward to the party. “Jay take care of y/n and don’t do anything stupid” she looks between you and jay, you put your hands up.

As soon as your parents leave jay picks up his phone and starts calling people over. Since it is your last year why not have a party.

You walk up to jay as he’s wearing his watch he looks over at you “soo who did you invite” you ask out of curiosity since he didn’t tell you about the party which is in YOUR house. He looks at you smiling “anyone and everyone” he winks. You wonder what’s gonna happen tonight your head already hurts. You weren’t really into parties, just going if your friends invited you or when you need to get your mind off something. But tonight it’s someone. Jay looks at you thinking to yourself and says “y/n I’ll keep an eye out for you tonight” you already know what that means. Jay isn’t much of an over protective brother but when it comes to his friends or guys in general getting involved with you, he hates it. Since they’re not someone he fully trusts.

As you get ready in your room, the sounds of the party downstairs filter through the door. Muffled laughter and music. Making your heart race with anticipation. You can hear the clinking of glasses and the cheerful chatter. As you finish your final touches, someone knocks on your door “come in!”

You look at the door as it opens and it’s heeseung hes wearing a black Prada button up with black pants he looks. Your heart skips a beat you blink, he stands there effortlessly attractive. You can’t help but admire his face shape the way his body fits in his clothes, how his jawline is shaped perfectly his eyes are captivating.

Closing the door behind him he walks towards you with a knowing smirk leans down to your ear and whispers “baby you’re staring”. You’re taken aback, you take a step back but he still walk towards you. “I think you’re the one with a staring problem hee” you say fixing the collar of his shirt, he’s chuckles shocked by the sudden nickname and confidence. He presses you again your closet behind you and he slowly puts his thumb over your lips. Before he can do anything else the door opens and you push him away.

It’s jay he looks between both of you “uhm Lee let’s go Jake’s calling you” he says while looking at you. You feel trapped not knowing what to do. Heeseung winks at you secretly and heads back down. Jay raises his eye brow “y/n what the fuck don’t you remember what I told you” he says in a low and angry voice though you can tell he’s hurt. You try to say something with your heart racing, you try to scan jays face but he just walks away.

You walk down after fixing your lipstick. You spot Karina with some of your old classmates and join them.

The party is in full swing when you find yourself in the kitchen, pouring drinks for your friends. Suddenly, Heeseung appears beside you, leaning against the counter with that trademark smirk. “Need any help?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. You nod, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at his proximity.

As the night progresses, the atmosphere becomes more charged. Laughter and music fill the air, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is about to change. You catch Heesung watching you from across the room, his gaze intense, and you feel a pull toward him that you can’t resist.

Later, as the party continues, you find yourself in a quieter corner of the house, away from the noise. Heeseung follows you, the tension between you crazy. “It’s crazy how we’re both here together,” he says, stepping closer. The air feels thick with unspoken words, and before you know it, he puts his hand on your waist leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

Your heart races as you kiss him back, the kiss getting deeper. The world around you fading away. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels too right to stop. Just as the kiss deepens, you hear your brother laughing, pulling you back to reality.

You break apart, breathless, and heesung looks at you with a mix of desire and uncertainty. “We can’t do this baby,” he whispers, but the way he looks at you says otherwise. The party goes on, but in that moment, everything changes. You kiss him again and deepen the kiss.

As you pull away from the kiss, your heart races,his forehead on yours. You glance toward the living room where the party is still in full swing. You can hear your brother laughing with friends, completely unaware of the moment that just unfolded between you and heesung.

“Maybe we should go back,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, still feeling the warmth of his lips on yours. Heeseung nods, but there’s still hesitation in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks, searching your face for confirmation. His hands go up and down your waist. The last thing you both want to do is betray jay, but you can’t help it after liking him for so long.

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting your lip. “But we can’t let anyone see us like this.” You take a step back, trying to regain some composure, but heesung reaches out, gently pulling you back toward him.

“Then let’s keep it our little secret for now,” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His hands back on your waist moving upwards. You nod, the thrill of secrecy making your heart race even faster. You both go back into the party agreeing on keeping this a secret.

As the night progresses, you and heeseung have moments together, glances across the room, whispered conversations in corners, and the occasional touch that sends sparks through your body. The chemistry between you is undeniable, but you’re also acutely aware of your brother’s presence, and the potential consequences of your actions.

At one point, you find yourselves outside on the patio, where the sounds of the party fade into the background. The night sky is dotted with stars, and the cool breeze contrasts with the heat radiating between you.

“Do you think he’d be mad?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Heeseungs expression softens as he considers your question.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “But I don’t want to hide this if it means something.” His words send a thrill through you, you’ve wanted heesung for such a long time but the thought of your brother’s reaction hangs in the back of your mind.

As everyone starts leaving it’s already 2am and jay is extremely drunk. You ask heesung to put him to bed.

You’re sitting in on your bed still wearing your black mini dress when the door opens and closes with a bang. It’s heesung he’s charging towards you suddenly he gets on top of you. You’re just looking into his eyes looking for something but they’re just filled with desire. As you’re about to say something he puts his lips on yours capturing them into a kiss.

It starts of slow, he sits against the headboard and you climb on top of him, your knees on the sides of his thighs. He pulls you in again for a deep kiss, he puts his hands on your waist tightening them. They way yours and his lips are moving next to each other feels unreal, he pulls you even closer towards him, you release low moans now needing him as close as possible. As the kiss gets heated you feel his tongue licking your self asking to go in, you let his tongue enter and explore your mouth he groans. He puts his hand on your zipper, you look at him and nod.

He quickly takes it off and looks at your perky boobs “so fucking sexy baby” he looks like he wants to eat you. You gasp when he takes one of your nipples in his mouth “hee-“ and swirls his tongue around,he gives the other one attention aswell taking it in his hands god. His hand goes down to your clothed core as he starts rubbing over it. “Hee please” you cried out, “please what pretty, say it” he whispered

You moaned and squirmed against his hard cock, making him hiss “baby u need to stop moving”.

He laid you against your back and started placing kisses all over your neck and breasts making you breathe heavily. As he placed kisses all over your body he reached your wet core. He took his shirt off revealing his toned body you started kissing him everywhere until It all went too fast when you suddenly felt a hot wet sensation licking your pussy slow. Your eyes rolled back, feeling hee’s tongue going deep in your pussy and sucking on your bud. Your moans could no longer be held back, letting them out freely for everyone to hear.

“H-hee ah- wait!” You cried out feeling your orgasm coming faster than you thought since it’s been 2 minutes. Heeseung didn’t stop, feeling your pussy tighten and open and before he knew it too, his tongue was getting covered by your juices. He licked his lips while looking at you, you thought you could look at him like this forever.

As he takes his pants off with his underwear you look at him surprised at how big he is. You gulped.

Heeseung notices your expression and smirks “you ready baby?” You nod aggressively not wanting to wait another second.

He kissed you everywhere complimenting every little thing, he leaned over and positioned his dick at your whole and slowly pushed it in. “HEE! Fuck” you moan, he thought you looked so pretty with your mascara running down your face because of him.

“Fuck baby you’re so tight” he groaned

You let out a ragged breath feeling him in you. He felt so big and you felt so full. Heesung looked at you asking if he could move “u-h you can move” heeseung nodded and moved slowly watching your face as you roll your eyes back in pleasure.

That’s when he started moving faster, you both were a moaing mess. Panting against each other.

Heeseung groaned feeling you squeeze against him, he could feel his orgasm coming.

You felt your orgasm coming as he went in and out “f-uck hee im cu-ming” you moaned and closed your eyes as it came over.

Heeseung thrusting in deeper while you got off your high. He let out a raspy laugh.

You both were breathing heavily after he came and laid down with you. “that was-“ you said panting

“great. “ heeseung looked at you and kissed you once more before he got up and got a towel from the bathrooms and cleaned you up before laying back down.

“Hee?” You said laying down on his arm. “Yeah baby?” He pulled you closer under the blanket “when will you leave for New York?” You said. Your voice not above a whisper, he looked at your sad expression and put a strand of hair behind your ear “I told my dad already im not leaving”he said. You sat up holding the blanket to your chest, “wait really?!” You said smiling so big it hurt. “Yea. “ he said. Hugging you tightly. “I love you hee” you said looking into his sparkly eyes as u pecked him on the cheek “I love you too baby”. He kissed you back.

The sun was out ask you opened your eyes, you rubbed your eyes the memories of last night came flooding back into your mind and you couldn’t believe that actually happened. A smile crept onto your face.

You felt heeseung holding you tightly by the waist. You shifted to look at him, he looked so pretty while sleeping as well. You started tracing his lips and his nose even his eyes. He started blinking and smiled “goodmorning” he said, his morning voice so raspy and attractive. “Morning” you giggled and put your face into his neck.

You suddenly pulled back hearing your door open. “y/n wake uppp!” It was jay.

He stood there looking at both of you naked under the blanket.

He started blinking in disbelief.

Heeseung tried to cover you with his body which made you laugh.

You totally forgot you were in the same house as jay through all that.

Jay just walked out. You looked at heeseung confused why jay didn’t punch anyone. You and heesung got dressed and went down to the kitchen to talk to jay.

You both sat on the chairs in front of the counter where jay was making breakfast.

You started “jay uh.. can we talk” you felt like you’ve betrayed your brother big time, your mind had a lot of things to say but you need to tell him the truth first.

Jay looked back at you with his eye brows furrowed he nodded letting you know to go on but before you could heeseung started talking “look man im sorry it happened this way, I never wanted to hurt you or y/n” he lets out heavy breathing.

You could see how hard this is for heeseung because this is his only one friendship he cares about.

Jay looks at him very angrily “if you didn’t want to hurt me you shouldn’t have done this” he said in a higher voice as he crossed his arms. You felt bad for heeseung for getting the blame “jay it’s not his fault I also wanted too” you say searching jays eyes for something but they were just empty “y/n I know and that’s what I hate more, I told you so many times not t-“

You didn’t let him finish and told him the truth. “I love him” you say.

Heesung hold your hand and jay looks at heesung for an answer. “I love her aswell” Heeseung says in a very straightforward and sincere tome. Jay turns his back, you both give him some time to think. He turns back and sets breakfast up he glances over to both of you “Heeseung you better treat her right or she’ll have to witness your funeral” jay said while smiling as he hugged heesung. You looked at Jay with a smile “im sorry and thank you” you hugged him back.

In the evening you invited Karina over for a barbecue your dad was hosting. You told her everything.

She was really happy for you.

After the barbecue ended all of you jumped into the pool.

Heeseung pulled you to him and gave you a peck on your lips he whispered “I love you” you giggled and splashed water on him.

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#enhypen smut #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader #heeseung #enhypen #enhypen hard hours #kpop #enha x reader #enha fics #enhypen hard thoughts #heesung imagines #heeseung smut #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung hard thoughts

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clockwayswrites · 7 months ago

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The Haunting of Danny Fenton, bit 2

bit 1

If a ghost found him, he’d help them find a weak spot in the boundary to pass over to the Realms. If a ghost tried to mess with him, he’d make them go back to the Realms. But it wasn’t like it had been. The ghosts outside of Amity Park weren’t even able to scratch him. So yeah, he’d help a ghost if they needed it, but it wasn’t everything anymore. His life was his own again finally.

Not that it was anything special.

He was taking classes while he worked doing work for whatever the start up of the month was. He lived in what was a glorified closet (literally, he thought) of a small apartment with an ever changing cast of four other people. Well, three other. Penny was always living there (or “living” there if she had a new partner she was smitten with) but the other three changed more often than Danny even tried to keep track of anymore. But that was just San Francisco living.

The good news about it all was that San Francisco was weird enough that no one looked twice at Danny even when he was dealing with a ghost.

It was especially handy when his staticy friend was around.

“If I end up with seizures again because of you, I’m finding your estate and suing them for compensation,” Danny grumbled as the seat across from him started to shimmer with twitching particles of something. He didn’t have time for this, he had a quiz to finish. “I can’t help you, alright? I don’t know how to help you.”

(And didn’t Danny hate that.)

#dp x dc #thodf

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crescenthistory · 22 days ago

Note

heyy carina, I hope you have a safe travel♡ how about our beloved Remus with the 'Person A waking up to a sleeping Person B clinging onto them tightly.' prompt and 'Saying "you're lucky I love you" and realizing too late what they said' prompt

for the journeys & journals mini-event <3

wc: 1.5k

cw: gn!reader, best friends to lovers, instinctual communication, physical affection, fluff, first kiss, reader pov, in denial!reader that can be interpreted as shy, reserved, etc.

It’s normal to be this close with your best friend.

That was what ran through your mind over and over like a mantra as you fell asleep in Remus’ arms yet again. This time, the excuse was that the get-together at James and Regulus’ stretched too long into the night, and the walk to Remus’ was simply shorter. You already had a toothbrush and your medication there. Convenient.

It was only natural you wake up in his arms, the air of his flat light with dust particles dancing in the incoming morning sun. Both of you wearing some of Remus’ worn pyjamas, with his arms around your waist and his face buried in the crook of your neck, soft breathing fanning out over your skin informing you that he was still asleep.

You had been thinking more lately. And you were thinking even harder now, with your fingertips slipped up under the hem of his shirt, as if they belonged there.

Whenever you thought like this, Remus would pinch the space between your brows to emphasise the furrow and tell you “nothing good ever comes of that, dovey.” You always listened to Remus – you convinced yourself that that was the reason you had kept avoiding this specific line of thinking for years.

Truth is, you were a coward. And hopelessly in lo–

“Mm, good morning, dove.” Remus' voice rumbled against your skin, brushing his nose against your pulse point. You were amazed he could realise you’re awake without you moving or saying anything.

You smiled nonetheless. “Good morning, Remus.”

He tightened his grip on you, pulling you closer to him, despite your limbs already being an incomprehensible, tangled mess. Whether it was because he heard the shakiness in your voice, or because that is a normal thing for a best friend to do at 10 AM in the morning, you had no idea.

“Staying for breakfast?” he mumbled after a minute.

Normally, you would say yes without hesitating. Today, though, you were doing all this damned thinking, stalling you.

Remus answered for you. “Staying for breakfast,” he said, this time in the affirmative. He nuzzled into your shoulder and breathed you in.

“Well, if you simply insist.” You kept your voice light, breezy. You felt very breezy. And you were not in lov–

“I do, actually. The bastard that I am, keeping you here against your will.”

You knew he was joking, but even hearing Remus’ faux self-deprecation brought forth some primal, instinctual reaction in you, instilled after years of deconstructing every piece of misguided direction his father had drilled into him. You moved your head back enough for him to see your face, see that you were happy to be around him. “Breakfast would be lovely, my keeper.”

Remus grinned at you, lazy in the sunlit sheets. “At your beck and call, no?”

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to do that,” you argued, holding up your hands as if proving your innocence.

He caught your hand with his, intertwining your fingers as he extracted himself from your neck to lay back against the pillow he had abandoned in your favour. He brought the hands up to his mouth to kiss the back of yours. “No, I do it because it’s fun. And I’m quite good at it.”

“That you are,” you whispered, voice too quiet to suit the moment.

Remus looked at you for a second too long, eyebrows twitching as if he was analysing you. Whatever he found, he decided to just smile at you. “The usual, then?”

“Do we have everything for the usual?” Remus had an elaborate breakfast meal he preferred to cook you up, a mixture of his and your favourites.

His expression turned mischievous. In those moments, you saw his friendship with James, Sirius and Peter clear as day, etched into every furrow of his face. At least he had the decency to sound sheepish as he said, “I was hoping we could go to the shops.”

“The shops!” You let out a groan, rolling over to bury your face in the pillow beside his – you made a point not to let go of his hand, though. The nearest Sainsbury’s is quite the walk away. “Rem, it’s early.”

“Yes, it’s early, and I want to cook my dove a proper breakfast to wake you up. And I want to continue spending time with you. So…”

It had taken years of friendship for Remus to get to the point where he would ask you to do anything you weren’t immediately thrilled about. The odd displayal of intimacy settled into your heart, even as you wore a mostly fake scowl to peer up at him. “Gods above. You’re lucky I love you, Lupin.”

A beat – then you realised what you had said. It was far from the first time you declared your love for him, but there was something about how the word love has been bouncing around your brain, uninvited and uncomfortable, for quite some time now that made it taste differently.

“That I am; alas, I love you more, so you must come along.” Remus’ tone and expression wore none of the weight to signify the same strife you felt at the minute.

The smart thing would have been to play off your momentary silence as you preparing yourself to get up. To brush it off, like nothing.

Then again, thinking like this had not been smart in the first place, so you were clearly not in the right headspace at the moment.

Remus’ gaze flicked back to yours when you remained frozen, looking at him in a way that was strange at best and concerning at worst. His brows furrowed properly this time as he studied you. He squeezed your hand and rolled over onto his side to see you better. “Dove?” he whispered, voice quiet. “Is everything… Are you alright?”

The anxiety you saw in his eyes told you he must think he had said something wrong. It made you ache enough to nod. Even still, you kept looking into his eyes, falling further and further down the well that was his amber eyes.

You had to physically tear yourself away and throw yourself back onto your back, putting distance between you as you let out a harsh breath. “Yeah, yeah,” you forced out, a bit choked. You made for a laugh, but failed. “Sorry.”

He didn’t let up. Instead Remus curled back against you, inadvertently pushing his plaid pantleg up as he hiked his leg over yours to lay against you. “Don’t be sorry. Hey. Hey.”

With gentle fingers, he placed a hand on your cheek, turning it towards him. Your foreheads were a hairsbreadth apart. He looked between your eyes, fiercely studying. “What…” His question trailed off, unsure.

You looked back, confused and horrified with yourself. For a second, your gaze flickered down to his lips, noticing how they were slightly turned downwards into a frown. Almost panicked, you looked back up, just in time to see a sliver of realisation dawn in his eyes.

His expression seemed to be turning to one of entertainment, but you didn’t dare look back to his lips to see if they had changed. “Oh… uh…” He struggled to find the words. “Is this about…?”

You quite felt like going back to sleep right at this minute. You tried to turn your head back around, running despite there being no room to do so.

But Remus’ hand on your cheek remained steady, though it turned sweeter. “Hey, hey, no dove, it…” He swallowed harshly, eyes crinkling into a nervous smile. “Me too,” he whispered. “Me too.”

Your lips parted slightly. He couldn’t possibly mean…

He brought your hands still intertwined together up to his chest and pressed them against his chest. Over his heart. His gaze chased yours, and now you had the guts to check, verifying that he was in fact smiling. One look at his eyes proved it real.

“I meant it too,” he whispered, ushering an intense amount of hope into each syllable. Hope that you understood. “I meant it too, my love.”

Your breath caught.

Two young adults, entangled beyond what any visual glance could infer, on a cheap bed in a small flat that was made big with love. It was love.

You brought your free hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his undereye as you looked at him with all the confused affection in your heart. “Yeah?�� you let out. Maybe not eloquent, but he carried all the meaning in the world nonetheless.

“Yeah.” Remus’ voice was teary with laughter. “Dove, can I kiss you?”

You didn’t wait to answer him. You closed the minimal distance between you and kissed Remus Lupin, like you were always meant to.

He was your best friend – but you were also madly in love with him. And the sentiment was shared.

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ghostiesnightmare · 22 days ago

Text

The Rules We Mend

Pairing: Brahms Heelshire x Female Reader Summary: After the punishment comes silence, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of your mind. But when violence breeches the walls of the Heelshire manor it's your captor who saves you, carrying you home in bloodstained arms. In the quiet aftermath, soaked in steam and shadows, something unspoken begins to bloom– and the rules between you start to bend. TW: DARK content read at your own risk. , breaking and entering, trauma bonds, unprotected sex, stalking, foul language, implied assault, power imbalance, excessive descriptions of violence, murder, torture, nudity, blood, handjobs, sloppy kisses, dare I say fluff?, and more. Word Count: 8,246 MDNI-NSFW A/N: Took this ask and RAN with it... eat up. [part one] [part two]

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The early morning doesn’t seem real.

Soreness clings to your flesh like a second skin, every breath, every stretch of your limbs reminding you of last night– of him. Dried sweat coats you like a wet blanket, the sheets tangled around your thighs reeking of sweet and sex and sin.

The attic, in its gloom and darkness carries a much deeper secret– something darker that you could not quite place, almost possessive in the way it held your heart in a chokehold. Dust particles float in the haze of the rising sun, casting a faint kaleidoscope of shadows along the walls. Undisturbed by years of wear and tear, the abandoned passageway entrance glares at you from the far wall– eager to swallow you whole.

The image sends a shiver down your spine.

Shifting slightly, the metallic bed frame groans beneath your weight. You freeze in place, waiting for the beast pressed against your back to stir. A moment, two– nothing. Daring to glance behind your shoulder, your wrists throb, skin raw and irritated from the wire bindings forced upon them hours ago.

A mess of curly brown meets your gaze, locks ruffled as the cool porcelain of the mask presses uncomfortably against the swell of your shoulders. Slow, heated breaths fan over your naked skin– the occasional snore breaking through the silence as you are practically nuzzled.

It was strange, seeing him like this. So calm, so vulnerable as he peacefully slept beside you, not a care in the world– arm strung lazily over your waist, fingers ever so slightly digging into your flesh. The scene tranquil, as if it were any other morning instead of the result of another punishment.

The tears had refused to come last night, the ones of self-pity and hatred only sprouting in the aftermath when you knew you were the only one to witness them. Now, all that remained were the broken pieces of your sanity for you to put back in place.

Even when Brahms had whispered broken promises like twisted wedding vows against your bruised skin, you fought the shame, the guilt of it all. But in the wee hours of dawn, the early kiss of the sun only taints your skin further with the devilish acts of the night.

Brahms shifts slightly, curls raking across your flesh– a gurgled groan slipping. Spine straightening, you pause, not wanting to disturb the peace you were so desperate to keep. Something wet smears your back, and you realize he was drooling.

Gross.

Cringing away from the sensation, you peel the sheets away from your skin. Punishment or not, the Heelshire manor always required your undivided attention. Lifting the massive arm draped over you, your eyes linger a beat too long at the wiry muscle staring back at you.

You couldn’t shake the way he held you after your punishment– gentle, borderline worshiping you as he brought your betrayal to the surface. Brutal strength you knew you held no match against, yet once you had been properly disciplined the touch was undeniably tender. Your thumb presses against the vein in his wrist, the slow pulsing of his heartbeat almost lulling you back into his arms.

The same arms that dragged you into the tunnels with such viscous strength you felt as if your heart would beat out of your chest.

You swallow, shaking the memory from your mind. There was no point in dwelling on the past, you had much more pressing matters to attend to. Easing out from beneath Brahms’ grasp, you push yourself up from the mattress– wobbly legs planting against the rotting wood of the attic’s floor.

Brahms groans, rolling over in your absence. A pause, then another grumble of a snore tearing through the air. The broad expanse of his shoulders shift, muscle rippling before disappearing underneath the tattered blanket. Your jaw clenches.

Stumbling across the rotting floor, you didn’t know what about last night unsettled you more, the punishment or the affection that had followed. You didn’t want to find out.

The silence of the manor, of the tunnels, seem louder as you dressed– the scratchy fabric of that godforsaken apron cutting into your skin like a testament to your own undoing. Clinging to the bruises dotting your hips and sternum, you shuffle uncomfortably, trying to make the treacherous clothing yours once more.

It seems that the Heelshire manor laid claim to your very soul.

Tying the apron around your waist, you could still feel the heated breath against your ear, voice a cruel melody playing in your mind like a broken record: “I love the way you hate me– it means I’ve ruined you the way you’ve ruined me.”

Worst of all, you knew he was right– every touch, every word seeping into your soul like a reckoning leaving you to pick up the pieces and pray that you were wrong. And God, you pray you were wrong.

Trying to ready yourself for the endless expanse of daily chores, that very idea made your stomach curdle like sour milk: not the tears, not the violence, but the undeniable heat that pooled in your being at the thought of his touch in those late hours– and how you let him.

You spare one last glance at Brahms’ sleeping form as you tug on your shoes, a heavy sigh tearing from your throat as you glance at the passageway. It would take sheer luck for you to successfully navigate the sprawling expanse of tunnels to the kitchen, but it was better than risking the wrath that would follow if you woke him.

At this point, you have nothing to lose.

The morning tasks went by in a foggy haze, mind reeling from the lack of sleep. Yet, you persevere through the tiredness weighing you down like a bowling ball strapped to your chest. Afterall, that was all you could do– deep breaths, one foot in front of the other, ignore everything else.

That was the rule if you hope to avoid another punishment. Afterall, perfection was never encouraged, it was expected.

So perfection was the goal– the tea brewed with careful dedication, breakfast made with culinary expertise, foyer wiped clean of all former sins to utmost excellence– as if you were ashamed of the actions that had taken place in the past. Porcelain china was cleaned until shining, silver polished until shimmering, yet shaky hands folded the linen napkins with apprehensive devotion.

Devotion– such a silly word these days, yet you find yourself living the very being of a lifelong disciple. Pathetic.

Every task seems to take twice as long as it should have, something you would have been scolded from in the past, yet the harsh words never came– the master of the house sleeping soundly as you work silently in the early hours.

It was as if your body no longer belonged to you, chores forgotten as the grandfather clock chimes towards the afternoon– dish towels muddled, feet tripping over each other while stumbling across the hardwood floors. All you could focus on were those sinful touches that lingered into your every waking breath.

Passing by the foyer mirror while dusting, you barely recognise yourself– something much smaller, more raw than you remember. Shoulder slouching, finger trembling, eyes sunken in. As if you were a shell of your defiant state.

Just like he likes it.

Forcing those less than professional thoughts from your mind, you try to find comfort in the small actions throughout the day. The heat of the sun pouring through the stained glass windows, the smell of parchment paper in the pantry, the clatter of the china as you organize the kitchen cupboards– things that usually calm your racing heartbeat failing when nothing compares to the thoughts swirling in your head.

The groan of the metallic bed frame as it scraped against the floorboards. The sting of the wire as it bit into your skin. The fire in your stomach as your sins were swallowed whole.

Stop it.

The cool press of the porcelain against your heated skin. The burn of your skin as he slapped you over, and over again. The damning scream that tore through your throat as you came.

“Stop.” Fingers digging into your temples, the muddled dishrag falls into the kitchen sink as shaky breaths tear through your sternum. Nails scratching against the skin of your scalp, you beg to be anywhere else.

Not in this room, not in this house– anywhere as long as it was far away from him.

Poor thing, what happened to that pesky backbone of yours, hm?

Glass shatters, the echo ringing through your ears like a gunshot as the broken china plate lay in ruins at your feet. Stumbling backwards, panic grips your heart in a vice-like grip, tears dotting your vision as you struggle to slow your ragged breathing.

The sting in your fingertips doesn’t even register until it drips onto the hardwood floor, coating the surface in an all too familiar shade of crimson. Dropping to your knees, shards needle into your skin as trembling hands scrub away the mess– the sin.

But it was too late.

His voice was in your head, in the walls, in the house, everywhere all at once as it rings in your skull, words reducing you to a whimpering shell of who you once were.

There’s nothing left that’s yours.

Your stubborn defiance, so rooted in your hatred, was now reduced to a sniveling whisper that haunted the manor. That was the worst part of it all, he didn’t have to chain you– barricade you within the house, tear away your defences, or threaten you.

No, that would have been too easy.

He had taken your freedom piece by piece, chipping away at your defences with such quiet devotion one could have almost called the act loving– and you had let him.

A muffled sob slips past your lips, hand pressed against your mouth like a scolded child as you try to will away the sound. Chest heaving, silent tears drip onto your palm, and when you pull away your hand all you could see was red.

God, you couldn’t breathe– you need air.

Limbs moving without thinking, trembling hands yank the gardening gloves hanging from the pantry door, feet slipping on the discarded glass shards. The thin material, worn from use, cling to your sweaty palms as you slip them on, rubber scraping against the slices in your fingers.

The door slams against the wall, rattling the kitchenware as you dart into the chilly air, seeking the only place of sanctuary you could think of before you were pulled back.

The greenhouse.

The one place Brahms never went– the only place in this forsaken world that still belongs to you. The only place keeping you sane.

The wind whips your hair across your forehead, all too similar to a slap in the late afternoon. Grey clouds, dark and foreboding, block out any sunlight as you scurry to the ancient structure, arms folding against your chest. Sparing one last glance at the manor as the greenhouse comes into view, you try to push away the feeling of him staring at you from the attic.

You hadn’t checked the tunnels, refused to clean up your mess, didn’t notice if he heard you flee the grounds. You didn’t care.

If you spent one more second in that haunted house, you'd scream, and there was no telling what punishment would await you after that.

Looming over you like a forgotten chapel, overgrown vines wrap around the dirty glass, dripping in secrecy and silence and privacy– the answer to your prayers. The ironwright bars scream as you pry the door open, darting inside as the wind howls against the glass. Slamming the door closed, the heavens burst, rain battering the ceiling and casting a kaleidoscope of shadows across the dimly lit room.

For just a moment, just one breathless second, you felt that maybe, possibly you could find peace within the sprawling plants. But peace never lasts on the Heelshire grounds, and the monsters always come crawling back home.

Whether that meant him or you, there is no telling.

Exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in, the greenhouse seems to come to life as you walk across the cobblestone flooring. The air, damp with humidity, wafts heavily with the scent of dirt and earth with undertones of lavender. Almost unnaturally warm, mist swirls along the aisles of potted plants, herbs, and flowers. Sweat pools in your gloves, softening the long forgotten sting of the slices on your fingertips.

Not even bothering to remove them, you gingerly reach for a fern, the stems twirling around your arm as your hand plunges into the moist soil. Oxtongue tickles your wrists as you walk, leaves and stems bending under your touch. Lightning flashes across the sky, painting the greenhouse in a ghostly glow of white before disappearing into gloom once more.

There were no calculated footsteps behind you. No harsh words, no empty threats, no heated breaths wafting over the nape of your neck– just you.

Clutching a pair of rusted clippers, the smell of tea leaves and mint invade your nostrils, calming any bubbling nerves that remain. Plucking a few strands of lavender from the soil, you become lost in the tranquility of fog and dirt and moss. Every breath tastes like earth and tea tree, not the sour tang of mildew and mold.

You feel the cleanest you had in weeks, even with sweat dripping down the expanse of your neck and dipping into the frayed collar of your shirt. The buzz of anxiety shifts into something quiet, something much calmer as you work, hands kneading the soil and discarding stray weeds from the greenery.

Stepping towards the middle of the greenhouse where the tea leaves grow, the waxy edges of the foliage glimmering in the light– dancing under the shimmer of rain overhead. A smile, small, thin, but a smile cracks through your dry lips, the first in weeks.

Kneeling, you pinch a strand between your gloved fingers, clipping a few before pressing them into an apron pocket. Almost lovingly, you trace the shape of the winding stems, relishing in the fragility poised between your fingers.

“Hello, little thing.” you coo, humming as the plant almost seemed to wrap itself around you. So pure, something untouched by the violence and hostility in the manor, yet so delicate that its life was held in the palm of your hand.

Here, hidden away from the overgrowth, time passed differently. Slower, kinder. The routine came easy, the weight in your chest falling away as you collect the waxy leaves in your apron.

Inhale, snip a few leaves, exhale, press them into the folds of your apron, repeat.

The storm rages onwards, rain battering against the glass panes, but the sound was white noise among the plants– a blanket against the war around you. Leaning into the sensation, you continue onwards, apron jutting from the collection of greenery tucked within the fabric.

Brushing a strand of hair from your face, dirt smeared across your skin, your gaze meets the overgrown camellia sinensis adorning the back wall. A bittersweet sigh tears from your chest at the sight, leaves choking beneath the thick, oppressive weeds crowding the soil bed.

You always have meant to trim them, yet always forgetting when time seemed to be against you– much more focused on Brahms than a pitiful plant. Yet, as you stare at the winding overgrowth trapping the leaves, a pang of empathy stirs in your gut.

It deserves better.

Approaching the back wall, another telltale flash of lightning ripples across the sky, and your hand freezes midair.

The air was still– too still.

Something was wrong.

It isn’t a sound, not exactly, but a feeling of dread curling around your stomach as you glance behind your shoulder. This, you know– the telltale sign of goosebumps fluttering across your arms, the hairs of your neck standing straight up as a chill tears through you.

Like you were being watched through the broken slates in the greenhouse.

Spine straightening, you almost miss the shadow darting across the threshold of the door as thunder claps across the sky. Snapping your head towards the greenhouse entrance, the garden shears fall to the floor, breath catching in your throat as you expect to find a furious Brahms towering over you–

Nothing. Just vines flapping against the wind.

Turning back towards your work, you uproot a weed, cursing as the thorns prickle against your wrists as you toss it to the floor. Kneeling to grab the shears for a particularly pesky stem, you pause.

The garden shears were gone.

Blood turning to ice, you duck under the raised bed, expecting them to be haphazardly strewn across the cobblestone– but nothing. The air turns sour, something akin to anticipation crackling through your skin as you shakily stand on wobbly legs. Pushing away from the wooden countertop, you stuff the last handful of leaves into your apron before turning to flee.

Lightning flashes through the sky once more, just a split second, and you finally see it. A figure– wrong, two.

Tall and broad and creeping across the fogged glass just behind the entrance. Worst of all, there was no porcelain pressing up against the greenhouse, the faint childlike smile peeking through the wall.

Brahms wasn’t there.

Bile risse in your throat as your heart drops to your stomach, stumbling backwards in an effort to conceal yourself among the shrubbery. Your ankle crashes against a metal watering can, the hollow clang tearing through the silence like a bomb.

Fuck.

Clamping a hand around your mouth, you drop, knees digging into the cobblestone painfully as you still, pressing into the greenery so hard you felt as if you were returning to the clutches of the earth.

You have to move, run– but you were trapped inside.

The metal hinges whine as the door is forced open, the wind howling fated warnings as two figures emerge from the storm. Your mouth dries, air torn from your lungs at the sight.

It wasn’t Brahms, you were right about that. It wasn’t even close.

Soaked to the bone, covered in black clothing, hunting boots squelching against the stone. Two men adorned in muscle and brawn and eyes so hungry you could feel them from across the room. The shorter of the two enters first, stepping into the reprieve of the storm and tugging off the balaclava, revealing a nasty slash across his face, purple and mottled. Your stomach curdles.

The other, taller– quieter, stretched. A flash of silver catches your eye, a machete hanging from the black cargo pants with eerie stillness. A duffle bag drops to the floor, the sound of metal clattering throughout the air as the men survey the plants as if they were livestock.

Scarface finds you first, eyes burning into you as you shrink against the cobblestone.

“Oh, fuck.” A slow, calculated grin spreads across his face– revealing a row of broken, yellowed teeth. “-I thought you said the place wasn’t occupied.” The taller one gruntes, hand resting on the handle of the machete, now glinting under the rain. “...the place looks like a goddamn mausoleum.”

Fighting the urge to vomit, you muster any courage you could gather, trying to seep venom in your words. “Get out. This is private property–”

“Private property?” The shorter of the two mocks, taking a step closer. The words die on your tongue. “It looks like you’re the only one here, sweetheart. That private enough for you?” The other chuckles, and you swear your heart lurches from your chest.

They weren’t here to escape the storm.

They weren’t here to find solace in the plants.

They weren’t even here to rob the place– at least, not anymore.

“Pretty little thing, all by yourself.” Scarface speaks again, words dripping with venom, with need. His accomplice nods, “Wonder what else she has hidden in the house…” his eyebrow cocks beneath the mask, and you shrivel at the sight. “I bet she keeps all kinds of things locked away.”

Your hand darts behind you, blindly grappling for something, anything to protect yourself with. Your fingers close around an ancient weeder, the tongs rusted and dull from age and abandon, but they were better than nothing.

“Don’t move, or I swear–”

Your threat goes unheard as Scarface lunges across the table, a startled shriek tearing from your throat as his fingers wrap around your ankle. Blindly kicking upwards, your heel catches his nose, snapping his head backwards. Scrambling to your feet, you hold the weeder in front of your chest as he rises– blood dripping from his nose.

“You fucking bitch!” He slaps you across the face, hard. White splinters across your vision as your head cracks to the side, ribs cracking against the edge of the soil bed as you fall. Crashing into the cobblestone, the taller one wraps his hand around your hair, pulling you onto your feet.

Scalp burning, you stomp on his toes, hoping to throw him off guard as tears line your vision. Scarface turns, kicking you in the gut, and you collapse, wheezing as the air is knocked from your lungs. Greedy hands tear at your apron, tea leaves spilling onto the floor as you kick and punch, landing a lucky hit as the weeder digs into Scarface’s forearm.

He grunts, tearing the weeder from your hands before landing a right hook upside your head. You feel your eyebrow split… was he wearing a ring?... and the world tilts. A hand kneads at your breast through your shirt and you scream– the sound long, primal– rattling the caging of the greenhouse.

It was the kind of scream that cracks glass, the kind that summons ghosts, the kind that reaches into the walls.

Blood pours from your temple, blinding your right eye as your pulse thunders in your skull. Writhing against your captor’s grip, another jab hits your ribs and the taste of iron fills your mouth.

The taller one forces your wrists over your head, and you deadweight in the hopes of relieving the pressure burning your wrists– to no avail. Scarface chuckles, spitting blood. “Stop fucking moving and this will be quick, I promise. Or don’t– I don’t give a fuck.” Fingers dig into your jaw and you cry out under the assault.

The sound of glass shattering halts the attack. Craning your head, you barely catch the blur of movement before it slams into your assailant, jostling you from his hold. Crumpling to the floor, an unearthly growl tears through the room. You freeze, relief flooding your system.

Boots crunching against the shards of glass, Brahms emerges from the shadows– shoulders heaving, towering form casting a shadow over your crumpled state. Porcelain mask cracked from the force of the blow, Brahms straightens, a rusty poker clutched in his fist.

The very one that was stabbed through your journal the night before.

They never stood a chance. Bloodlust radiating off his form in waves, the poker connects with the tall male with a sickening crunch– both crashing into the side of the greenhouse with such force the entire greenhouse rattles. Scarface pales, stumbling backwards as you scramble towards the corner of the building, head pounding as the room falls into chaos.

Fists pound into the bludgeoned man’s face– once, twice, shrieks escaping as he tries to pry Brahms off of him. Something pops, Brahms’ fingers plunging into the male’s eye sockets, and you gag as a shrill scream fills the air. The sound of flesh tearing fills the room as Brahms punches him.

Over, and over and over again.

Until the beast of a man was nothing more than a bloody pulp pressed against the glass. Scarface pushes across the room, vaulting the soil bed as he sprints towards the door, trying to run. But Brahms was too angry, too fast, fist colliding with his temple just before he reaches the threshold.

Grabbing the shears, your missing shears, Brahms plunges them into Scarface’s neck– a choked gurgle escaping as the man coughs on his own blood. Ripping the tool from the flesh, blood sprays across the room, coating the fogged glass in a gut-churning crimson.

Lungs burning, you cower in the corner, only able to watch as the male twitches against the cobblestone. Brahms towers over him, placing his foot onto his throat before stomping.

Once, twice until there was only silence in the greenhouse. The rain, the only sound, continues to batter against the glass as Brahms stands– chest heaving as his gaze snaps towards you. The mask, ever still, doesn’t soften as you stare. But his voice, eerily calm, utters just one word.

Your name.

Hanging in the air like a prayer on his tongue, a broken testament to his faith. Voice low, straining beneath violence and fury, the world around you splitting as a sob tears from your throat. Adrenaline fleeing your limbs, you collapse.

Before your head cracks against the cobblestone, strong arms curl beneath your back and knees, hoisting your writhing form away from the bloodstained floor as if you weigh nothing. You curl towards him, burying your face into the damp fabric of his tattered sweater as you breathe his scent in frantic, shaking gulps.

Dust, firewood, worn books– just the way you like it.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake, fingers digging into his sweater as you sob. The weight of the world felt as if it were lifted off of your shoulders, and for the first time since you arrived in that godforsaken manor, you feel safe. The poker clatters to the floor, completely forgotten as he cradles you to his chest, calloused fingers combing through your matted hair as you weep.

“I was so scared–” you hiccup, gasping for air as you push closer to his skin for warmth. “-Oh God, I thought they were going to…” The words refuse to come, a broken sob manifesting itself as you shakily wrap your arms around his neck. Muscles convulsing, your teeth chatter against the frigid air.

“You’re hurt.” Brahms murmurs against your hair, thumb dipping into the blood pooling at your eyebrow. You flinch, breath coming out in uneven, ragged huffs. “They… touched you.” Ribs burning, every breath sending a ripple of pain down your spine as you inhale. You didn’t even realize you were whimpering until his finger ghosts over your jaw, tilting your head to look at him. You glance at your hands, fingers clenched around the fabric of his sweater and tainting it in crimson.

The blood on his sweater wasn’t just yours.

He pulls you in closer, and you jolt, fear coursing through your veins– knuckles turning white as you grip him like a lifeline. He stills at the action, eyes boring into you through the porcelain mask.

“It’s alright. I’m here,” Forehead pressing against your own, you shudder. “-I’m here. Let me help you.”

His skin was warm, soft, any semblance of a response dying on your tongue as you bury your face into his chest.

For the first time, it feels like home.

The manor doors slam open as you are ushered inside, water, blood, and dirt trekking through the halls as Brahms carries you up the stairs. You could feel all three clinging to your skin– sticky, cold, and full of sin in a way you knew you couldn’t scrub off. The thought made you shudder violently in his hold.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you expect to be dumped in your room. Maybe placed on the kitchen table to tend to your wounds. Even the bathroom, if you were lucky– somewhere practical.

Instead, Brahms persevered, trudging up past the stairs and pushing towards the only wing in the house where you scarcely visit. The master wing– his wing. Pushing open the heavy doors, the smell of cedar and worn paper fill your nostrils, the scent dizzying as you are gently set on the edge of the bed.

Squirming uncomfortably, you pull the tattered remains of the apron to your chest, cringing as dirt and blood seep into the pristine sheets. Barely even registering the softness of the bed, you could only gape forward– hair matted to your skull as your body thrums with pain.

The sound of running water tears you from your fogged gaze, and you glance towards the bathroom, where Brahms moves with startling urgency– filling the tub with warm water, tearing towels from their resting places, grabbing a washcloth. Steam begins to waft through the air like vengeful spirits, your bones aching for heat as your toes curl at the sight.

Trying to push yourself off the bed, you rise on bruised legs. A pained gasp rips through your chest, and you wobble. Ever so carefully, you are lifted into the air once more, legs dangling as you are brought to the edge of the clawtooth tub.

Firmly planted on the edge, your toes barely brush against the marbled floor. In another life, another place you would have dreamed of being able to bathe in such a luxurious setting, yet all you could think about was the warm water that await you.

The flimsy remains of the apron are carefully pulled away, frigid fingers trailing under your bare stomach as the grimy sweater is pulled over your head. If you had been braver, more stubborn, you would have resisted– but tiredness weighs you down like a wet blanket.

Moving gently so as to not spook you, Brahms fiddles with the button of your jeans, sending another chilled shudder down your spine. Slowly, your jeans and panties are ushered down your legs, socks quickly following as you sit bare against the porcelain tub.

Hands cupping beneath your knees, Brahms eases you into the water– causing a hiss of pain to grumble from you as the warmth laps at your wounds. “I know… I’m sorry.” His voice cuts through you, so gentle it almost hurts, as if he was in pain just from watching you writhe in discomfort. Fingers cradling your jaw, the cool surface of his mask presses against your heated forehead. You sigh, eyes closing as you sink into the sensation, trying to relax your aching muscles.

The rustle of clothing echoes through the bathroom, but you ignore it, choosing instead to savour the warmth seeping into your chilled bones. The water sloshes against the tub as Brahms climbs in across from you, knees brushing against yours. Lazily opening your eyes, you faintly make out the blurred outline of him reaching for something before your forehead is set ablaze in pain.

Gritting your teeth, your hands fly to the edges of the tub, knuckles turning white as your nails dig into the smooth surface. The soaked washcloth dabs along your split brow, wiping the blood away from your skin. Cool fingers trace the bruise on your ribs, ever so slightly brushing against the curve of your breast as he begins to wipe the grime from your flesh.

The scratch of your jaw comes next. Then, the slash on your thigh. Finally, the bruised ring around your throat. Each movement sends a thrill through your veins as the pain begins to subside, the sting of your wounds fading under the warmth of the water– of his touch.

“They don’t get to keep any part of you… not even this.” a whisper, laced with disdain as his thumb presses against your brow. Your lips tremble, tears blotting your vision. “I…” you swallow thickly. “-I thought I was going to die.”

“No.” he hissed, shoulders heaving as his gaze drills holes into the split skin. “You belong to me.”

The words should have scared you, sending a pit of dread in your stomach at the possessive tone. They should have irked you– irritate you even– but they didn’t. Tonight, they felt different.

Shifting in the water, your hand wraps around his wrist, halting his movements. The washcloth drops between you, water splashing onto your chest as you meet his searing gaze. Frozen in time, Brahms lets out a shaky exhale– so subtle, so gentle as if he didn’t trust himself to hold you together.

You were beyond saving, anyways.

“I’m sorry… for leaving.” You whisper. “-for…” voice catching in your throat, you instinctively glance away, shame lapping at your skin thicker than the blood in the water.

For breaking the rules.

“I know.” Slow, calculated words ring in your ears. He knows– he always does.

“But you saved me.” Retorting, knees curl to your chest, chin resting on them as you wait for any reasonable explanation as to why there was no punishment– no threatening words, no searing touches exploring your unforgivable sin.

He only huffs. “Always.”

You blink at him, stunned at his response. The water stills between you, air heavy with something like a confession. His fingers twitch, shaking every so slightly before they curl into a fist– and you see it.

Fear.

Barely contained beneath the surface, the very same driver of his fury that ended in blood and sweat and violence– is a sense of terror, one rooted in losing you. Your chin digs into the skin of your knees and you watch as his self control teeters closer to snapping. Once so cold, so brutal, now held back by only your gaze.

Your heart lurches within your chest at the sight.

Before you can stop yourself, your fingers cradle the cracked porcelain of the mask so endearingly he flinches. Adam's apple bobbing from the touch, his hands tense at his sides as if he were burned– mentally debating whether to retreat or tear your hand away. But he does neither, only staring at you through half lidded eyes, chocolate orbs stirring with confusion, apprehension, and something you couldn’t quite place.

You could swear they glisten under the light.

“I… let me see you.” you urge, fingertips cusping the edge of the mask– slightly grazing across the dark curls that hide beneath. “-please.”

Silence crashes through the room, the only sound coming from the occasional drip of the faucet. The air shifts, and you almost retreat into yourself at the tension– pulse hammering in your ears like a wardrum.

A pause, then slowly, Brahms shifts into your touch.

Drawing closer, water sloshes over the side of the tub and crashes over the marble tiles as his knees plant on either side of your own. Massive frame surging towards you like a tidal wave threatening to swallow you whole, dusky curls tickle your forehead as his face stops just inches from your own.

You don’t flinch, refusing to pull away as you brave onwards– the eye of the storm. His palm, slick and trembling, cups your jaw. Thumb brushing the bruise forming under your eye, he pauses– offering himself to you like a lamb being sent for slaughter. Your fingertips catch the wiring tucked behind his ear, and his breath catches in his throat.

Finally, you lift it.

The porcelain rises with a low creak, water dripping down his skin as you unmask him with aching slowness. His jaw catches the light, then his cheekbones, his brows– until there is nothing separating him from your gaze.

And you see him for what feels like the first time.

Bruised, blotted skin peppered with scars and burns running across his cheekbones. Seared browline and sunken eyes lined with fringed lashes dripping with water and grime and tears. Bottom lip split open, dried blood caked to the scruff of his jaw– clenching like the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders and threatened to leave him shattered beneath your gaze.

But his eyes– that is what tears your heart to shreds.

Coffee with flecks of caramel so devastating you were drowning. Irises dilated so wide his eyes almost look black as he gapes at you, memorizing your reaction– carving it into his skin. You swallow thickly, reaching upwards, and he doesn’t stop you.

Fingertips tracing the mottled skin, nails delicately scraping over the swelling, he shudders. Shoulders sagging as if it were the first time he was touched in his life, not out of fear, not of pity, but with empathy. His lip quivers as you move closer, cupping his face in your hands as if he were made of glass, thumbs rubbing circles into his temples.

“You didn’t have to…” nails scraping against his scalp, he groans at the feeling, and you falter. “-save me. You could have left me to be punished.” trailing off, your hands retreat, shame building in your stomach. “...let me get what I deserved.”

Fingers coil around your wrists suddenly, firmly planting them on his shoulders. “Don’t–” he rumbles, brow twitching as a warning glare flickers across his face. “Don’t ever say that.” Voice dripping with pain and anger, you shudder.

Pressing your forehead against his, no barriers– no masks, the rawness of it all sprouting tears in your eyes. “I’m so sorry.” You breathe out, nose brushing his as your lip quivers. “For hurting you– leaving you. For thinking you wouldn’t come for me.”

He pauses, jaw clenching as he tastes the apology on his tongue. You swallow thickly as his nose ducks into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. “I would always come for you… you’re mine.”

Forgiveness– the taste sweet on your tongue.

Tilting upwards, you catch his eye, all resolve shattering as you lean in and press your lips to his– slowly, carefully. Not a kiss of a prisoner, not one full of fearful regret. But one shared between broken pieces clinging to the only warmth they have left.

You finally feel whole.

Hands sliding into his wet curls, you tug on the tufts as you pull yourself closer, chasing the flutter blooming in your stomach like something born again. He falters, arms wrapping around your waist as he falls backwards, water spilling out of the tub as you collide with his chest. But neither of you notice– neither of you care.

You were drowning in something else entirely.

The taste of iron fills your mouth, and you pull away, breath stuttering as you see the blood trickling down his chin. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips as the ghost of the kiss remains– warm, intimate.

Fingers dig into the flesh of your hips like you would vanish beneath his touch, the reality of your affection, your willingness almost too much to bear. “You’re hurt,” you murmur against his skin. “...because of me.” His brow furrows, a sigh tearing from his throat as you press into him.

A pause, one full of ache and longing– before: “I had to. They touched you.”

“I know.” Cupping his jaw in your hand, you examine the damage– hushing the protest forming on his lips. Mustering the courage coiling around your ribs, you echo those very words whispered in the greenhouse. “Let me help you.”

It wasn’t a plea, one forged with fear of punishment. Instead, it was a vow.

With every ounce of gentleness you could muster into your aching limbs, you shift forward into the tub, water sloshing around you as you straddle his waist. Brahms’ breath catches in his throat, something akin to awe glimmering in his eyes as you reach for the discarded washcloth. Wringing it in your hands, you press a kiss to his temple.

Bones weary, skin bruised– yet you never felt more alive.

“Let me take care of you,” You urge again, murmuring against his heated flesh. “...you always take care of me.” Pressing the drenched fabric to his lip, he jerks against your touch– wincing as you wipe the blood from his chin. His fingers flex beneath the water, but he doesn’t stop you.

Trailing the cloth across his jaw, the water pools down his neck as you wipe away his skin with devout reverence. You trace his jugular, ducking to his collarbone– where a purple bruise blossoms along the tender flesh. He groans at the action, as if it hurts to be touched so gently when no one else ever has.

You brave onwards, cleaning his wounds of dirt and grime, replacing the pain with feather-light kisses as you work. Your nails rake down his chest every so slightly, and he twitches. You couldn’t tell what festered beneath his skin: fear, restraint, or something much darker pulling at his psyche.

He killed for you– so now, you would have to live for him. Something that sounds more like a blessing than a punishment.

The cloth falls from your palm, a dull smack echoing through the walls of the bathroom as it hits the water. Your fingers delve lower, nails lingering across a scar splintering across his stomach– and he gasps into the crook of your neck. A jagged smile breaks out on your cracked lips.

Poor thing.

Nails dragging down his skin, your fingertips brush against his cock, lips folding over his as you swallow the moan building in his throat. “Let me…” you whisper against him, breathing in his shaky exhales as you wrap your fist around him. “-I want to.”

The fist gripping the porcelain edge of the edge almost splinters the surface as you trail your fingertips along the underside of his cock, jerking your hand towards his tip. A strained exhale wafts across your collarbones as you pump him underneath the water. Brahms’ head thuds against the edge of the tub, curls messily plastered to his forehead as sweat drips down his temple– eyes fluttering shut at your sinful touch.

“You always want to control everything,” Voice dripping in cotton-swabbed heat, your hip bones push against his stomach as your arms wind around his neck, trapping him beneath you. Breasts squishing against the hard ridge of his chest, a stray hair dips onto his cheekbone– tickling the swollen burns blossoming across his skin. “The rules, this house… me.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, yet as they coat the condensation-filled room they sound devout. His lips part, a sputtered protest building in his chest as you latch your mouth against his jugular, the sharp thrum of his pulsepoint hammering against your lips in a dizzying concoction.

The tip of his cock catches on your folds, and your stomach flips– mouth unbearably dry. Nails raking into his shoulder blades so roughly you were certain you draw blood, chocolate orbs snap to your own, full of pain and heat and want.

“You don’t get to control me. Not this time.”

Your hips lower as you spear yourself on his cock, walls screaming as heat churns in your gut. Brows furrowing at the uncomfortable stretch, a shaken exhale escapes your lips as you seat yourself in his lap. Brahms groans, hands flying to your hips as you rock against him– water spilling out of the tub with every stroke.

Fingers digging into your flesh so hard it bruises, yet he doesn’t shift, refusing to dare and break the spell as you set the pace– guiding your hips in such a teasingly slow manner it almost hurts. Your thighs burn as you roll your hips, knees slipping against the porcelain as you ride him like it was your last night on earth, as if the manor was engulfed in flames and you were damned for eternity.

Maybe you were– the way you could feel him in your throat something so unearthly it feels as if you were already dead.

Iron, cedar, and earth cling to your skin as he jolts beneath you– cock hitting your cervix as a whine builds in your chest. God, you couldn’t breathe, the hard ridge of him tearing into you, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving nothing left but strained gasps. Mind foggy as steam wisps around your heated skin, all you could focus on was the subtle roll of your hips.

A shaking rise, a deep fall, as you prepare for the aftermath– like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Look at me,” you whisper, voice hoarse, head tilting back as his cock digs into your walls. Your clit scrapes against his skin as you lower yourself once, twice– the sensation causing you to flutter around him.

His eyes, God those eyes, dark and heavy sear into your own. Hungry, depraved, wild. Hips screaming for release, you suck on your bottom lip for comfort, muscles ablaze as your pace falters. Let me help you.

“You’re mine too.”

The words slip before you catch yourself, but it was too late. Almost barely audible, but impossibly weighted. And with them, Brahms’ resolve shatters.

Surging forward, your legs coil around his waist as he thrusts upwards– mouth melting into yours as you are all but lifted from the water. Pushing up on his knees, Brahms’ fingers dig into the fat of your ass as he bounces you on his cock. You gasp, nails digging into his back at the shift in the position, every movement much more pronounced as your insides turn to mush.

Spit dribbles down your chin as his tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming you as his. Toes curling, your heels dig into his lower back, spine arching as he practically splits you in two. The rhythm is frantic, breathless as his cock drives into your gummy walls– ruining you for all others.

He bottoms out, hips stuttering as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, fingers dancing across his flesh like worship. Every inch, every ridge, every scar mapped by your palms as you commit him to memory. Not as a monster, not as your captor– but as a man.

Your name falls from his lips like a broken prayer, low– raw, and your fingers drag across his scalp. Fisting damp curls between your fingers, you yank his hair backwards, lips raking across his jawline as he holds you like you weigh nothing.

“Shh,” you whine. “-you’ll wake the dead.”

His eyes roll back into his skull, something between a groan and a shudder tearing through him as he molds you against his skin. Heat and blood and need coarse through your veins, stomach clenching as tension knots in your gut.

Fire laps at your skin, climax coiling around you so tightly you feel as if you would snap. Nails scraping against Brahms’ scalp you whine as the orgasm crashes through you– legs numb from the force as you cling to him like your saving grace.

His eyes widen as your head buries into his neck, thighs twitching as exhaustion consumes you, brain short circuiting from the overstimulating combination of pain and pleasure coursing across your skin. Shuddering, Brahms retreats, pulling you off of him as his hand wraps around his cock, frantically pumping himself with laboured breaths as you sink against the edge of the tub.

You could only stare, lost in those dangerous caramel flecks in a sea of brown coated in lust, obsession, and something else hiding just beneath the surface. A strained groan echoes across the bathroom walls as Brahms peaks, coating his navel and thighs in a frothy white.

Before you could stop yourself, you move closer– grabbing the washcloth and wiping away the mess. So faithful, so devoted. A content sigh bubbles from his chest, fingers curling around the edge of the tup as he hoists himself over. Your eyes glance at his back, covered in irritated scratches across his shoulder blades, sending a wave of heat churning in your gut.

The very scratches you marked him with just moments before.

The bath water, now tepid, sloshes against your pruned toes as you are hoisted from the tub. Standing on wobbly knees, a fluffy towel wraps around your shoulders, condensation dripping down your skin and onto the marble tiles. You dry yourself silently, muscles aching, limbs numb as you try to ignore the eyes boring into your flesh.

The mask lay forgotten on the bathroom floor, a reminder of your fall from grace. Towel wrapped loosely around his hips, Brahms ushers you towards the bed– no teasing words, no lingering touches, just warm sheets encompassing your naked form as you sink into the mattress.

You don’t speak, you don’t have to.

Weariness sinking into your bones as the bedspread lowers next to you. Arms coil around your waist like ivy, pulling you into a solid chest as if he feared you would vanish from his grasp. Melting into the soft goose down of the duvet, you tilt your head towards him, offering a peck on the underside of his jaw. He grumbles in response, tiredness evident as his movements grow sluggish.

Lips caressing the crown of your head, you almost miss the whisper that wafts against your flesh.

“Mine.”

Eyes fluttering closed, sleep begins to take you– body weighing into his chest like roots taking shape. Slow, deep breathing fills the room, the faint sound of the water draining from the tub echoing across the walls. Skin pressed so tightly it felt as if you were fusing together, the world fades to black.

Outside, the greenhouse waits– rain mingling with the blood soaking the cobblestone path. Tea leaves curl around the broken bodies left to rot, the smell of death heavy in the damp air. Silence clings to the manor like moss, sprouting across the tunnels and through the halls.

And beneath it all, something begins to stir– something that might be love.

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andy-wm · 1 month ago

Text

Sargent Park Jimin, thank you.

This morning I found myself unexpectedly emotional over the military achievements of our beautiful Jiminie.

I cried. Ridiculous sobbing.

I've had a nasty cough-headache-fever lurgy for a few weeks. I'm worn out and my brain is foggy, so I'm blaming poor health for my unlikely response to the news its not really news that Jimin is an 'ACE'.

But is that really an excuse to disolve in a flood of tears over his ability to hit a target¹?

I dont know.

And besides that I'm trying to reconcile my OTT reaction with the fact that I hate war.

I do not celebrate military might.

I really really hate the idea of sending young people (mostly men) to kill each other, often for no good reason. I have a passionate stance on this.

And yet here I am, a blubbering mess because our Darling Angel™ can obliterate whatever comes near him... because he is epically good at operating his giant war machine.

While i was trying to work out why I'm feeling this way, it occured to me suddenly that i didn't really understand what net4ace meant. Spoiler, it's a bad translation, but that gave my brain something else to latch onto.... just the distraction I needed.

Boots on. Time to investigate.

We already know Jimin and JK are in the 5th Infantry Division, their Artillery Brigade coded 'White Bear', and garrisoned in Yeoncheon. While Jungkookie perfects his rice reputation, Jimin is assigned to the Fire Direction Centre, responsible for calculating and coordinating the firing of big artillery like the K9 Thunder... a self propelled Howitzer².

K9 Thunder: humongous gun on caterpillar tracks. Roll it out and blow stuff up. This machine is manufactured by korean-owned company, Hanwha Aerospace. It's the world's most advanced self propelled Howitzer, supplied to countries around the globe and customised for enviroments from Australia to Norway. Poland just signed a deal for 600 of these. Did you know that production of the K9 is 3 times faster than it's competitors? And it's cheaper. You're welcome.

What I found out about net4ace:

Commenting on Jin's Echo Weverse Live, Jungkook said 둘포 넷포 : dool(2)po net(4)po

Based on the explanations I found, 포 [po] is shorthand for the tank³ they're assigned to.

The numbers are easy to understand:

1- Hanapo, 2- Doolpo, 3- setpo, 4- netpo

Jungkook is with #2 Tank and Jimin is with #4 Tank

💜

After JK's comment, Jimin added 나는 넷포 에이스출신이지:

Net4ace is incorrect translation. It should be I'm 4-Tank ace.

He's cheekily correcting JK:

Adding the topic marker particle to 'I' in that statement (나는) means he's basically saying 'as for me' ...

"...I'm not just riding in 4-Tank, I'm the ACE of 4-Tank"

It seems our Mochi is in charge of one of his battalion's K9 Thunder war machines. There are 6 in the battalion. Fortunately he doesn't have to be in the tank. Jimin and the others doing the clever mathsy-physicsy stuff are in a different vehicle. They radio in the coordinates to the people in the K9 Thunder, who key in the numbers and press the button. These Howitzers can get 6 shots out per minute. That's one round every 10 seconds.

So apparently he's an ACE

I'm not going to argue, but what exactly does ACE mean in this context?

It's not difficult to guess, but I like to check my assumptions.

See below:

ACE is exactly what you'd expect

He's the boss, super good at everything.

But i tell you what I didn't expect?

I didnt expect for Park Jimin to be in charge of a whole damn tank!! I didnt expect him to be the senior (non-commissioned) officer of his team and be in charge of running the whole tanky operation.

And what did I feel on finding all this out?

Absolutely proud and grateful!! What??!

At first I didn't understand my own reaction.

Shouldn't I be horrified?

I wanted to admonish myself for celebrating something so much at odds with my values.

I had to reflect, to understand my response to this, and to reconcile our Park Jimin with the perfect soldier, Park Jimin.

Because this is our Park Jimin....

Our Park Jimin whose dancing and singing bring joy to the world - who makes life more bearable just by being here.

Our Park Jimin who cares and understands. Who always has a kind word and never lets a birthday pass without celebration.

Our Park Jimin with the tender heart, who cried when he saw ARMYs on the big screens at Bangbangcon.

Our Park Jimin who dotes on ARMY and who put us in his pocket to take home when we didn't want him to leave us.

But also...

Our Park Jimin who has endured betrayal and abuse, sometimes by the people he trusted most. Yet he hasn't allowed it to harden his heart.

Our Park Jimin who has shown immense grace and strength in the face of personal struggles.

Our Park Jimin, who has sacrificed his health, freedom, and autonomy, to meet harsh expectations because that was the price of his dream.

I was contemplating all this and i suddenly understood the reason I'm proud and grateful:

Despite everything, Park Jimin has won.

He went into an environment completely at odds with his nature and his chosen field, and he excelled.

The military is as harsh and impersonal as it gets. The culture is designed to break you - to turn you into an obedient, faceless number. Despite this, Jimin didnt break. He made a name for himself, he made the experience work for him, and he made a positive impact on his fellow soldiers ...

I'm not proud and grateful because he can blow shit up.

I'm proud and grateful because he retained his identity and his sense of self even while transforming himself into the perfect soldier.

He hasn't faltered.

He has remained Park Jimin.

Consider what a challenge that is: being conscripted into the military of a country actively at war, while learning a new way to live and succeed and find meaning in what you're doing. Climbing the ranks and surviving gruelling physical and mental tests, and coming out on top. And not compromising who you are.

If he can thrive there, he can and will thrive anywhere.

And yes, I hate that he's operating a machine with a singular destructive purpose, but he will be thoroughly aware of what it means, and of the huge responsibility he has. After all, he's been in a postition of global power for over a decade.

While he may seem an unlikey choice to people who don't know him, if anyone is going to be in control of a war machine it should probably be someone like Park Jimin.

I realised while writing this, that while I can and do hate war, (nothing will change that) I can also feel proud of Park Jimin and what he's achieved while in the military⁴.

Go get it all, Jiminie, you incredibly smart and determined and kind and talented human! Win every heart and defeat every challenger. If you're knocked down, keep standing up again and don't ever lose sight of who you are:

Dancer, singer, idol, lover, and the 넷포 ACE of the 5th Division's White Bears Battalion.

And although you choose to be with us, you do not belong to ARMY, nor Hybe nor Jikookers nor PJMs... nor anyone else.

You belong to nobody but yourself.

💜🐥💜

¹ I know it's much more than just shooting straight. He's mastered all four disciplines required to be battle ready and to fulfil his role in the Fire Direction Centre. He's been through all the harsh training requirements and come out on top. He's made friends and been a mentor to young soldiers far away from home.

² Apparently a Howitzer is a type of gun with a short muzzle that fires a shell upwards in an arc, without much speed. The word comes from the late 17th century: from Dutch houwitser, from German Haubitze, from Czech houfnice meaning ‘catapult’. Love me some etymology.

³ It's not actually a tank. It's a self propelled Howitzer: a gun with wheels, an engine, and a small amount of armour, designed to move into firing position but not engage directly. Whereas a tank is an armoured vehicle with a gun attached, designed to drive into battle and crush the opponent like a bug.

⁴ Even if he had achieved nothing, I'd still be so proud of him and grateful for his existence. And look at me testing my black and white view of myself and finding a little patch of grey. Quite proud of my personal growth here hahahaha

#park jimin #jikook #true love #jimin of bts #박지민 #bts Jimin #넷포 #넷포 에이스 #Sargent Park jimin #4tank ace #kookmin #국민

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rosenclaws · 9 months ago

Note

Hi again! 👋

I'm throwing another request at ya since you did such an awesome job with the last fic idea I requested. (Thank you again for that)

This time with the OG Logan and all his kitty cat hair glory lol.

The reader has similar powers to scarlet witch. Like telekinetic powers, levitation, etc. Can it be a scenario where she loses connection (like how wanda feels connected to vision) with Logan and thinks that he's dead and she just snaps. The villians who claims they killed him mock her and she pulls the move like wanda did in Endgame where she's like you took everything from me, and the villians don't know who she is and she's like you will and just goes full beast mode on the villians involved.

Bonus, Logans alive, he just was knocked out real bad and sees the whole fight happen and was like wow I love her and they reunite and it ends all fluffy with a kiss, maybe a proposal? Lol 😘

Heartbeat || Logan Howlett x Reader

a/n: This was such a great request and I have to say I really loved writing this. I did. go a little angstier than I thought I would and its darker than I expected it to turn out but I really hope you like it. Your mutant name is firefly. Also. I still haven't seen the movies so I apologize if its not accurate to how the X-Men work or anything im sorry sdakfjl;

warnings: fake out death, violence, blood, killing, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, the reader goes on a rampage, he calls you honey, reader almost dies, creepy ass villian guy.

wc: 2.3k

"You alright there honey?" Logan's hand gently rests on your shoulder.

You're staring blankly out the jet window, watching the clouds pass by as you ready yourself for what is pretty much a suicide mission. A whole organization that had been hiding underground, dedicated to eradicating mutants.

They've studied you. Planned. They know things, your strengths, your weaknesses. A few people had infiltrated their base and what they found...It made you shiver. Photos and articles and deeply personal information.

They had photos of you and Logan.

It made you paranoid sometimes. Like they were always watching. So you had to put a stop to it as soon as possible. You didn't go on missions often. Your powers were, quite destructive. Powerful yes but not always needed but the X-Men needed everyone they could. You take a deep breath and try to smile convincingly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Logan snorts and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're lying right through those pretty teeth." There's an air of fear in the jet. You all know what might happen if you don't succeed.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Promise."

"Yeah they're no match for the Wolverine and Firefly." Scott teases making Logan roll his eyes. Scott just loved messing with Logan, taking any jab he can to lighten the mood.

"Can it bub." He turns his attention back to you, happy to see a small smile on your face. Logan takes your hand and places it on his chest. Your hands glow as you reach deep and feel his heartbeat.

"See?" You take a deep breath as you listen.

Sometimes you got too much into your own head. Your powers were tricky and when you got overwhelmed Logan always knew how to calm you down. The world around you fades as you focus on the beat of his heart. The rise and fall of his chest. He was your rock. The jet jolts and Logan holds onto you as you stumble.

"Think I got time for a quick smoke before we head out?"

"No you do not." Storm walks up to the two of you, she shoos Logan away who reluctantly leaves.

"We're landing in 10 minutes, are you ready Firefly?" You take a deep breath and nod.

You stare at your hands as you little particles of orange start to sprout from your fingers. You had control of your powers most of the time but they were still a work in progress but you knew that this mission was important so you couldn't afford to lose control.

Once the jet lands Scott and Storm tell everyone the plan again. This was for the future of mutant kind and there was a lot at stake. Each of you had a small usb drive that would corrupt and destroy any files still left in their system. Infiltrate and destroy all of their plans.

"Do you feel like pancakes?" Logan asks as you step out of the jet.

"What?" He shrugs and stands a little taller.

"There's this diner, open all night. Thought that after you'd want to get something to eat." You know what he's doing. Trying to make you feel better, to believe that you'll make it out alive. You can't die if you have a plans.

"Sure Logan, pancakes sounds great."

"Then it's a date." Logan heads in the opposite direction of you.

He's part of the brute force while you slip into the shadows. Still it pains you to be away from him. A storm rumbles in the distance and you hurry off to your position, afraid of what was to come. Still you keep going.

This was going to end tonight.

"Shit!" You hiss as a bullet wizzes past you.

Things had went to shit pretty quickly and it's an all out brawl now. With a wave of your hands soldiers go flying to who knows where. You sneak behind one and infiltrate his mind. Using his fears to show you exactly where the main computer was being held. He falls to the ground and you step over him as you sneak inside.

It was getting bad, you could feel it. Feel the tiredness and pain your friends were feeling. The guards fall one by one as you make it to the center console room. Exhaustion was creeping up on you. Your powers exerting every bit of strength you had. Still you knew what had to be done.

You plugged in the usb drive and watched as the system crashes, deleting every single bit of information they could have on the X-Men. Then you slowly envelop the console with your powers, crushing it until there's nothing left. You press your finger to your ear, alerting the team you had wiped their main computer in the comms. There's nothing but static on the other end.

"Guys?" You feel your heart start to race as you run out of the building.

"Hello? Anyone? Storm, Jean, Logan?" Still nothing.

Suddenly you feel this horrible, horrible pit in your chest. You stop in your tracks. Blood running cold as terrible feeling washes over you. Logan. You can't explain it, but somethings wrong.

"Logan!" You plead into your comms for him to respond.

You burst through the doors and back onto the field. Your breath hitching as you see the destruction in front of you. For any normal villain's they would have been nothing in the way of you guys, but these people knew exactly who you were. Exactly how to stop each and every one of you.

It was a losing battle.

Your eyes dart around as you send blast after blast, trying to help but with every move of your hands you feel weaker. Suddenly you hear a loud yell, you turn around to see Logan driving his claws deep into the chest of someone. You feel relieved seeing him still standing.

"Logan!" You call out to him and he looks your way. There's blood splattered all over his face and he looks worried. He runs towards you as fast as he could go.

"Get down!" He roars.

BANG

It all happens so slowly.

You look to your side to see a man with a gun aimed right at you. The exhaustion plagues your brain as you react too late. You see Logan running at you. A desperate look in his face as he jumps at you. You hit the ground and so does Logan. He rolls away and lays still. To your horror there's a bullet right in his forehead.

"Logan!" You screech.

You scramble to his side. He's not getting up. Why is he not getting up? He heals. He should be fine. His healing factor should have kicked in so why isn't he getting up. You reach out to him but someone grabs your leg before you can. Your hands dig into the ground as you're yanked back. Dragged to the center of the field.

"Get the fuck off me!" You kick your feet and scream loudly.

Your hands glow but you're face is shoved to the ground, a foot on your neck slowly stopping the air from entering your lungs. You can feel your strength draining. You try and use your powers but you can't.

"He's dead sweetheart. Think we don't know about that neat little regeneration of his?" The man above you laughs and you start to feel sick.

"We're not fucking stupid." He takes his foot off your neck and you gasp for air. He reaches down and grabs you by the neck, forcing you to turn and look at Logan.

"Where's that healing of his now?" Logan remains unmoving, you try and reach out to him. Using any bit of your power to search for him but nothing. You can't feel anything. Tears start to fall as you let out an anguished cry.

"I thought you were supposed to be strong? We heard so much about you and now look at you." He lets go of your neck and you crawl to your knees. Clutching your chest as sobs wrack your body.

"Don't worry though," You hear a gun cock behind you.

"It'll be over soon. Go ahead and say hi to your little boyfriend for us."

You look up at him and feel nothing but an overwhelming amount of pure rage. How fucking dare they. They threatened your life, your friends, your world. They took your peace. They took Logan. The love of your life, he died saving you. Your hands glow bright orange, your chest heaving as you glare at the man standing in front of you.

"Oh look at that, looks like you can do something." He sneers. You chuckle darkly. Tilting your head to the side you smile. Your eyes start to glow as you become strangely calm.

"You took everything from me...So I'm going to take it all from you." You scream as a large wave of energy bursts from your body.

A wave knocking back everyone in your radius including your team. The line of friend and foe blur as you go on a rampage. Disposing of anyone who came after you with ease.

"Firefly!" Storm calls out to you, you were becoming uncontrollable. No one can even get near you. Jean tries to get into your head but you block her out.

No one can get to you now.

They took him from you and you were going to make him pay. You stalk to the ones that were foolish enough to stay. Though they were crawling away now, pleading for mercy. It almost makes you laugh. They were showing no mercy when they planned to eradicate you and your friends. Why would you show them any now?

"That's enough!" Scott fires a beam to stop you in your tracks.

"They're surrendering." He reaches out to you but you push him away.

"I don't care." You snarl. You raise your hand and lift the stragglers up in the air. You're about to slam them to the ground but someone grabs onto your wrist.

"Stop!" The grip is tight as they spin you around. The glow in your eyes fade as you take in who stands in front of you.

"Logan?" You whisper. You try and shake your hand free but he doesn't budge.

"Let them go, honey." He says gently.

"They tried to kill you." You feel the fire come back but Logan does everything he can to calm it.

"But they didn't. They can't hurt us anymore." Still you don't move. He loosens the grip on your hand, taking your other hand and placing it on his chest.

"I'm alive, just feel." Slowly you lower your hand, softly letting the men fall as the rest of the team deal with them as you collapse into Logan's arms.

"I thought you were dead!” You cried. You rest your head against his chest, hand still gripping his suit.

“You weren’t moving and I, I couldn’t feel you.” He cradles the back of your head and holds you tight.

“I’m so sorry I scared you honey, I’m alive. Just knocked out for a little bit.” Logan feels horrible.

Maybe if he had been a little quicker you both would be okay and you wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. He grabs your face and kisses you with an intensity you've never felt. It's sloppy and desperate but full of life. He's alive. He's telling you that he's alive.

When you pull apart there's still tears streaming down your face. Still so overwhelmed from everything. He lets you cry into his chest as he soothes you. Wiping away the tears as they come.

"I love you so much." He whispers so only you can hear.

The rest of the team watch but don’t say a word. Letting the two of you sit there as long as you need. Soon your tears dry up but you don’t let go of Logan.

It’s a quiet walk to the jet. Everyone is absolutely drained. You lean on Logan's shoulder as he draws shapes on your thigh with his thumb. Your hand rests on his wrist, pressing into his pulse just to make sure he's still breathing.

"Pancakes." You say quietly. Logan looks over in slight confusion.

"Huh?"

"You promised me pancakes," You crack a tired smile.

Logan stares at you for a moment before laughing in disbelief. The weight of what happened finally catching up to him. How close he was to losing it all, how close you were to complete destruction. The toll it's taken on everyone in the jet. The last thing on anyone's mind mind should be doing anything other than sleeping for a week yet pancakes feel like the best fucking idea ever.

"Yeah we can get pancakes honey, as many as you want." He kisses your forehead and places his chin on your head.

"With chocolate chips?" You ask playfully.

"I'll make 'em put in extra. Just for you." You hum happily as you lean in closer to him.

It's still a long flight back and one by one everyone starts to fall asleep. Soon it's just the rumbling of the plane. You look up to see Logan has fallen asleep, you watch his chest rise and fall. Just for a little bit.

He grumbles in his sleep, twitching slightly. There's a scowl on his face as he starts to shift more. Quietly you tap your fingers against his head, taking away his nightmares. He stops moving, relaxing under your touch. You smile softly as you slide your hand down to his chest.

Closing your eyes you feel his heart again. In the back of your mind swirls the horrible memories of today but you choose to ignore them for now. You close your eyes and allow yourself to rest. The steady beat of his heart acting as the perfect lullaby.

Just a steady reminder that everythings okay, there's nothing to fear anymore.

Thump

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett angst

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the-winter-spider · 3 months ago

Text

I know it wont work | Part One

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Drinking, angst,

A/N: I KNOW i said i wasnt posting this till Yours, Always was done buuuuuuut before i keep writing it because it is FLOWING for this fic i had to see if anyone was even interested lol soooo lemmeee know if you want me to continue this after Yours, Always

Masterpost

------

Saturday mornings in the apartment are sacred. The quiet is different, not heavy, not tense. Just still. Like the world finally decided to give you all a break, especially before you all get a little chaotic again…tonight.

Sunlight pours through the dusty windows, catching in the floating particles of last night’s hangover haze. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Someone, probably Steve, folded a blanket and placed it neatly over the back of the couch like it makes the whole place less of a disaster.

Natasha’s curled in the armchair, black hoodie, hood up, headphones in. She hasn’t spoken to anyone since she woke up, but that’s not weird. That’s just Nat, communication through shrugs, smirks, and sideways glances. You’ve known her long enough to translate.

Steve’s in the kitchen, still making pancakes like they didn’t all come out slightly undercooked last week. He hums when he cooks. It used to annoy you, but now it’s like clockwork. Something solid.

Bucky hasn’t come out of his room yet. But you know he’s awake, the soft glow of his bedroom light slipped under the door before you even stepped into the hallway. You always notice these things when it comes to him. You wish you didn’t.

Most nights, you end up in each other’s beds not for sex, you've never taken anything that far, not even for anything romantic. Just comfort, a habit. A kind of wordless safety you’ve never really been able to explain.

But not last night.

You’re not even sure why. Maybe it had something to do with your father calling in the middle or your usual Friday night hangout. Maybe it was the way you stormed off after, slammed your bedroom door and locked it behind you. You didn’t mean to shut Bucky out, but you did.

He waited outside your door for hours. You found out this morning, Steve mentioned it casually, like it wasn’t a knife to the gut. Said Bucky kept checking the handle, said he looked wrecked.

You passed out before you could let him in.

Now, guilt settles in your chest like cement. But then you remind yourself, he has his own room. His own bed. You’re not together. You don’t owe him everything.

And still… you wish you’d opened the door.

You met Steve and Bucky first. Kids running around the same block with scraped knees and more heart than sense. Bucky was the wild one, fast, sharp, and full of charm even before he knew what to do with it. Steve was smaller back then, but you never saw him that way. He was stubborn as hell and kind to his core. You trusted him before you even knew what trust was.

Natasha came next, around eighth grade. She didn’t talk much at first, just kicked the shit out of a kid who said something about your clothes, and that was that. You were bonded. She didn’t let people in easily but she let you in and that’s never changed.

Sam came in during college. Met Steve in a politics class, argued with him for three weeks straight, and then showed up at your apartment one day with a six-pack and said, “I figured I might as well be friends with the guy who can’t shut up.” You liked him immediately. So did everyone else.

Wanda’s newer. A friend of Nat’s from her job. You’re still getting to know her, but she’s intuitive in a way that’s unsettling. Observant, soft-spoken but never passive. She watches the room like it’s a chessboard and she already knows how it ends.

You wonder what she sees when she looks at you.

You’re guessing it’s a mess.

The thing about your group is: nothing is simple, but somehow it still works.

Everyone’s got their stuff.

Steve can’t stop trying to fix things. He wants everyone to be okay so badly it physically hurts him when they’re not. He’s gotten better at boundaries, but only because Nat threatens him when he forgets to take care of himself.

Nat’s a vault. Loyal, razor-sharp, and terrifying when she’s angry. You love her like a sister. She loves you the same, even if she’ll never say it out loud.

Sam grounds everyone. He’s the calm in the storm, the first one to check in, the last one to judge. You don’t know how he does it, how he holds space for people without ever asking for anything in return. He just does.

And then there’s Bucky. Bucky, who always feels like he’s just on the edge of something. You’ve never known how to categorize him. Not really, he’s like glue, like the anchor holding the ship down.

You’ve tried to shove him into the “best friend” box more times than you can count, but it never quite fits. The way your heart lurches when he laughs, when he looks at you across a room, when he throws his arm across the back of the couch and your skin burns just from being near him, that’s not best friend energy.

But it’s never been the right time or maybe you’ve just never been the right person.

You’re not like him.

Bucky comes from warmth. A single mom who never let the world make him hard. A younger sister he still talks to every week. He knows what love is supposed to feel like.

You don’t, not really, not at all.

Your father was always two drinks too deep and one word too cruel. He didn’t raise you. He happened to you and you learned to flinch first, to run before you could get left behind.

That’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. And Bucky? Bucky stays. No matter how many times you’ve pushed him. No matter who else you or he has tried to date. No matter how many fights or false starts or awkward silences or almosts.

He stays and that scares the hell out of you. Because if he stays and you screw it up it’s not just losing a relationship. It’s losing him. Its hurt more because you know it's not a matter of if you lose him, it's a matter of when because you are self aware despite what people thing and that makes you selfish as fuck. And Bucky is good, he is so good.

You are not the glue of the group.

You’re not the leader. You’re not the peacekeeper. You’re not the one people orbit around. You’re the space in between, important, maybe, but not essential. Not the reason this whole thing holds together.

You don’t fit a role the way the others do. Not the way Steve leads, or Nat protects, or Sam balances, or Bucky anchors. You exist somewhere off to the side, shoulder pressed to the wall, watching it all and trying not to feel the slow creep of loneliness that settles in even when you’re surrounded.

That’s the worst part. You’re never really alone. But sometimes it feels like you are. You wonder if they see it. You doubt it. You’ve always been good at hiding things in plain sight.

Your pain’s not loud. It’s not breaking plates or screaming matches. It’s biting your tongue so hard it bleeds. It’s brushing things off with a laugh. It’s slipping out of the room when your chest gets too tight and coming back like nothing happened. It’s saying, “I’m fine,” in a way that sounds almost believable.

They don’t see it because you don’t let them, and you know that’s on you but maybe it’s just what you learned. Because if you say I’m not okay, people start leaving. or worse they stay, but differently, carefully. They stop being honest. They stop touching you the same. They stop looking at you like a person and start looking at you like a project.

Bucky never did that. Not once.

That’s the thing, he knows. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to see the cracks. Enough to feel the weight when you start to pull away. Enough to wait outside your door for hours even though you never opened it.

You can still see the way his shadow stayed under the crack. How he didn’t move. How you did.

You always do.

It’s not fair. To him, to anyone. But you don’t know how to stop. You don’t know how to stay without feeling like you’re holding your breath.

How you can be more like him, like Bucky he breathes like it’s easy. He exists like he’s meant to be here. Like love is just something you do. Something you give.

You love him more than you should. More than you can handle. More than you’re ready to admit and it’s not a soft, storybook love. It’s sharp. It’s cracked at the edges. It makes you cruel sometimes. Makes you scared. Makes you push him just to see if he’ll come back.

He always does and you hate yourself for needing that proof so badly. Because he’s good. So fucking good.

You don’t know if you’re capable of being loved like that. Not without ruining it. Not without ruining him. So you just don’t give it, not all the way, never all the way.

You get close. You offer pieces. Just enough to keep him there. Just enough to keep the line from snapping. But not enough to cross it.

You let him hold you when the nightmares come. Let him crawl into bed beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Let him brush the hair from your face when you’re half-asleep, fingers soft, reverent, like you’re something fragile.

But you never say the words. Not the real ones.

Not I love you.

Not I’m yours.

Not I’m scared shitless and you make me want to try anyway.

Because if you say it, really say it you don’t know what happens next. You don’t know how to be fully seen by someone and not flinch. Not run. You know Bucky deserves someone who doesn’t flinch.

He deserves someone who doesn’t carry years of silence under their skin. Someone who wasn’t raised in a house where love sounded like slammed doors and apologies that came too late. That felt like a burning red cheek and smelt like alcohol.

He deserves warmth, ease. A love that says you’re safe here without ever having to prove it. You want to be that person for him. You do.

But wanting and being are not the same thing. So you stay stuck in this middle place.

This half-space.

The almost.

The ache.

The thing that lives between best friends and something else, you tell yourself it’s enough. You tell yourself he’s fine with it too.

But some nights, like last night when he waits outside your locked door, and you can’t bring yourself to open it, you wonder how many times he’ll do that before he stops. Before he decides that you’re not a thing he wants to wait for anymore, you know, deep down, that if that day ever comes, you won’t stop him.

Because maybe that’s what you deserve.

Maybe that’s what love looks like when it’s given to someone who doesn’t know how to hold it without cutting their own hands.

Nat pulls her headphones down and speaks for the first time that morning. “You’re staring into space like you’re watching your own funeral.”

You blink. “I was just thinking.”

“Don’t,” she says, dry. “You’re terrible at it.”

You smirk. “Love you too.”

Steve leans over the counter. “Are we doing anything today or just sitting around wallowing in existential dread?”

Sam walks through the front door with bagels and answers, “Both.”

It's like clockwork again. The laughter, the comfort, the distractions. The quiet place you’ve all built together.

“We gotta get this place cleaned up for tonight,” Steve says as he flips a pancake.

Natasha groans, “Why do we have to drink both Friday and Saturday?”

Sam steals a piece of bacon from Steve’s cooked plate. “We drink tonight to recover from last night, and so Sunday’s brunch is euphoric.”

Steve sighs. “That’s not how hangovers work.”

“Let me have my process, Rogers.”

You don’t laugh, even though they do.

You’re standing by the counter, half-dressed in your sleep shirt and socks, hair pulled back in a lazy knot. You smear peanut butter across your bagel with practiced, robotic movements. The coffee in your cup has already gone lukewarm. You sip it anyway.

You can feel him before you see him.

Bucky steps out of his room, quiet as ever, and you don’t even have to look to know his eyes go straight to you. You can feel the weight of it, soft, searching, familiar.

You don’t look at him.

You just keep working on your bagel like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. You sit at the island and eat in silence, chewing slowly while the others talk around you about party themes and drink lists and whether anyone remembered to restock the Advil.

He doesn’t say anything either. But he lingers. You don’t know what’s worse when he pretends nothing is wrong, or when he tries to fix it.

You head to your bathroom once your plate’s clean and your coffee cup is empty. You don’t slam the door this time. You don’t lock it either.

You don’t have the energy for drama today. You’re just tired.

You’re standing at the sink, brushing your teeth with a sluggish kind of motion, when you hear the door click open behind you, the one that connects to Bucky’s room.

You glance at him in the mirror.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You nod, not meeting his eyes. “Hey.”

He steps in, closes the door behind him like he’s careful not to scare you off.

“You okay?”

You rinse and spit. “Yeah.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “What’d your dad want last night?”

Your hands still for half a second as you reach for a towel.

“I didn’t answer,” you say. “It rang and I just… freaked. I was being dramatic.”

Bucky’s quiet.

You keep talking, mostly to fill the silence. “I was sore and tired and kind of drunk and definitely didn’t think things through. I just needed everything to stop for a minute.”

He lets out a small breath of a laugh. “Well, you were definitely intoxicated. That’s not up for debate.”

You smile a little, not much.

He steps closer, gentle. Always gentle with you. His hand lifts and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long against your skin.

“I don’t deserve you,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you meant it to.

He doesn’t blink. “Yes, you do.”

You shake your head. “You’re too good of a friend to me.”

Something shifts in his expression just barely. But you catch it, of course you do because you know what you said. The flicker of hurt that dances behind his eyes before he drops his gaze.

“That’s because I’m your best friend.”

It’s quiet, it’s honest and it fucking stings.

You want to say that’s not what I meant. You want to say that’s not all you are. But you don’t.

He steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a long, solid hug. His chin rests against the top of your head. Your cheek presses to his chest.

You let your eyes close and breathe him in, for a second, you let yourself imagine that this is enough.

That it could stay like this forever.

Even if you know it can’t.

----------

The music hasn’t started yet. The living room’s still half-lit. Nat’s burning incense in the corner to cover the smell of tequila and whatever Steve tried to cook earlier that went sideways. Everything’s in that perfect, golden-hour chaos, lipstick on the bathroom sink, shot glasses lined up on the kitchen counter, Steve yelling at Sam for not helping clean, and Nat refusing to wear anything other than combat boots with her dress.

It’s your favorite kind of storm.

You’re in your room, touching up your eyeliner, when Natasha leans against the doorframe.

She raises a brow. “You’re gonna cause problems in that.”

You glance down at yourself. Short black dress, off the shoulder. Hugs in all the right places.

You paired it with heels you’ll definitely take off halfway through the night, and your hair’s doing that I don’t care but I care thing that always makes you feel a little dangerous.

You smirk. “Good.”

Nat crosses her arms, smirking right back. “Hot and petty. My favorite version of you.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Because she’s right. You are feeling yourself tonight andd just maybe, that has something to do with the fact that Bucky hasn’t left his room since this morning’s bathroom hug.

The thing about Bucky is you’re addicted to him. To the way he looks at you like you hung the moon. To the way he never touches you without meaning it. To the way his voice softens when he says your name like he’s afraid it might break.

You’re addicted to the attention he gives you, even when you pretend not to be and you know, deep down, if you just let it happen, if you gave in, really gave in there wouldn’t be all this tiptoeing. No games, no passive-aggressive flirting. No lines that feel drawn in sand and rewritten every time you both breathe too hard.

If you opened the door, Bucky would walk through it without hesitation. But you’d probably lock it again the second he did.

Because that’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always done. You cross the line, then backpedal like hell, and he stays. Every time.

But tonight, maybe you’re tired of being scared. Maybe you want to cause a little trouble. Just enough to feel something crack.

Nat’s still watching you, arms crossed, that little knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Are we doing the pre-party shots?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

You follow.

Ten minutes later, the four of you are gathered in the kitchen, like you always are before a party. One bottle, five shot glasses, its tradition.

“Just one?” Steve says.

Nat’s already pouring the second round. “Don’t be soft.”

Sam’s first to show up, he practically lives here already. “Oh, we’re starting early, huh?”

You grin. “Fashionably toxic. You know how it goes.”

Bucky finally steps out of his room. T-shirt clinging to his chest, jeans slung low, rings on his fingers. His hair’s pulled back, and he looks good. Too good.

Your heart does that annoying thing it always does when he walks into a room.

He takes his place beside you at the counter, close. Closer than he has to be. You reach for your shot glass. He reaches for his and just like always, you don’t break eye contact.

Not through the first shot.

Not through the second.

Not when Nat bumps Steve’s arm and whispers something about “Jesus, just kiss already.”

An hour in, the apartment is packed. There’s a playlist running, windows cracked open to let out the heat. People are spilling into the hallway, drinks in hand, sweat glistening on collarbones.

You’re laughing with someone you think his name is Ryan or Riley. One of those, you’re not sure. Doesn’t really matter.

He’s charming enough. He leans in too close, says something that’s probably supposed to be funny, and brushes his hand against your arm like he’s testing the waters.

You laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because you know exactly what you’re doing and because you can feel Bucky watching you.

You don’t turn, you don’t need to, you know. You always know and you hate yourself a little more.

Across the room, Bucky leans against the wall, nursing a half-warm beer he’s barely touched. His eyes haven’t left you since the second Riley-whatever walked up to you.

Steve’s next to him, trying to have a conversation, but Bucky’s checked out. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

“Earth to Buck,” Steve mutters, nudging his elbow.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

Sam walks up on his other side, clocking the look instantly. “Oh, come on,” he sighs. “You’re really gonna just stand here and watch her flirt with, what is that guy’s name?”

Steve answers. “Ryan, he goes to my gym, good guy.”

“Does it matter?” Bucky mutters, eyes still glued to you.

Steve snorts. “You’ve got that look, man.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re two seconds away from throwing the guy out the window.”

Bucky grunts, taking another sip of his beer. “If you two are trying to be helpful, you’re not.”

Sam raises a brow. “Helpful would be you walking over there and saying something that isn’t ‘you okay?’ or 'you need another drink?’”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. He’s stuck in it now, in his head. Because the thing is, he’s not mad at you, he’s never been and never will be. He’s mad at himself. For waiting, for hoping. For standing here like he always does, watching you shine for someone else.

“It’s not that simple,” Bucky says, voice low.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s exactly that simple. You’re in love with her. She’s in love with you. End of math.”

Steve sighs. “We’ve been telling him for years.”

“No,” Bucky snaps, still not looking away from you. “You don’t get it.”

Sam raises his brow. “Then explain it.”

“She doesn’t trust it. Not the way I do.” He shifts his jaw. “If I say it out loud, it makes it real. That’s the part that’ll scare her.”

Steve softens. “Buck…”

“I’m not mad at her for that,” Bucky says, finally turning to them. “But I know her. If I push too hard, if I ask for all of her…she’ll run.”

Sam studies him for a long second. “And what? You’d rather live in the middle of this forever?”

Bucky looks back toward you. You’re laughing again, the guy leans in closer.

You don’t lean away.

“I’d rather have half of her than none at all.”

Steve exhales slowly, leans back against the wall. “There’s no pushing to do, Buck. You’ve been there since you were kids. Neither of you are going anywhere.”

That’s the problem, because maybe you should have gone somewhere by now. Maybe you both should’ve run when you had the chance.

But here you are still orbiting each other like you don’t know how to stop and he’s still standing there, with a full heart and empty hands, watching someone else reach for what he’s never been brave enough to ask for.

Bucky drains the rest of his beer, jaw clenched tight, then pushes off the wall and disappears into the crowd.

You don’t notice it right away. You’re too busy pretending you’re not watching for him. But eventually, your eyes drift…they always do.

You spot him in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. He’s talking to some girl, dark curls, low-cut top, pretty in that effortless kind of way. She’s touching his arm, laughing then laughs, too.

Not the forced kind. The real kind, the one you always think is just for you, your stomach twists.

You smile too quickly at something Ryan (or Riley?) says, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re not even sure what he said. Doesn’t matter. None of it does, except Bucky.

It always comes back to him. So you play your part.

You lean in a little closer. Let your fingers graze Ryan’s forearm. Let your laugh ring just a little too loud. You toss your hair over your shoulder like you’re in a movie scene you don’t believe in.

You know what you’re doing.

You’re not the only one.

Across the room, Steve groans under his breath. “Here we go again.”

Sam glances up from his drink. “Already?”

Steve nods toward the kitchen. “He’s doing the flirt-and-deflect.”

Sam squints. “Which one’s she doing?”

Natasha, sliding in beside them with a drink in hand, answers before either of them can. “She’s doing the ‘fuck it, I can flirt too’ thing. It’ll escalate in five minutes. Ten tops.”

Wanda, beside her, blinks. “Is this a regular thing?”

Natasha smirks. “Every time.”

Steve nods, resigned. “They’ve been stuck in this cycle since highschool.”

Sam chuckles. “They invented the cycle.”

Wanda frowns. “So what happens next?”

Steve and Nat answer at the same time.

“Shots.”

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, you’ve ditched Ryan (or Riley, he never stood a chance) and you’re lined up in the kitchen with Sam, laughing as he holds a beer funnel above your head.

Bucky walks over, still warm from the attention he let himself soak in, but his eyes are already back on you. He sees you, head tilted back, mouth open in a wide grin, beer spilling down your wrist as you finish the pour and slam the cup on the counter.

You’re glowing and a little reckless. He hates how much he loves it.

“Jesus,” he mutters to Steve, who hands him another beer. “She’s gonna feel that tomorrow.”

Steve shrugs. “You always do.”

Sam throws an arm around your shoulder, both of you breathless from laughing.

Bucky’s jaw ticks. He walks over, leans on the counter beside you, too close for it to be casual.

“Didn’t know we were reliving college tonight,” he says, looking you over.

You raise your brows, voice syrupy sweet. “Didn’t know we were competing for who could flirt harder.”

His smile is razor-thin. “You winning?”

You take a slow sip of your drink. “Obviously.”

You’re both playing the same game and you’re both losing. But neither of you backs down.

You break eye contact first not because you want to, but because staying in it feels too much like telling the truth.

So you slip away.

Back into the crowd, into the noise and the blur and the bass pounding through your chest. You find someone else, some guy with warm hands and a beer in one of them and a smile that’s trying a little too hard.

You let him talk, let him flirt. Let him touch your leg under the table with fingers that don’t mean anything.

You laugh at something he says and feel his hand drift a little higher, and for a moment, it almost works, you almost forget. Until you glance up and see him.

Bucky’s across the room again. Back with the girl from earlier. Only this time, he’s not leaning. He’s close. His body tilted toward her, head bent low, voice soft. She’s laughing, smiling up at him like he’s hers.

And then he reaches out, slow and deliberate, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

Like it’s nothing.

Like it’s not something he’s only ever done to you.

Your chest tightens.

Something sour blooms in your throat. It feels like bile or heartbreak. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

You stand abruptly, muttering something to the guy that even you don’t hear, and make your way toward the hallway.

You need to breathe.

You need to not cry.

You need to get out before it shows.

You slip into the bathroom, shut the door, and press your back against it. The silence hits you like a wave. You’re not even mad at him. That’s the worst part, you are not even allowed to be.

You started it. You always start it and now you’re here again, locking yourself in a room because the only person who knows how to get under your skin is the one you’re supposed to trust the most.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Eyes too bright, chest rising too fast.

And before you can even try to pull it together, you hear the door on the other side creak open the one that connects to his room. You don’t even turn. “Seriously?” you say, flat, arms crossed.

Silence, then a sigh. “I could say the same to you.” He steps in, jaw set, closing the door behind him. “You don’t even know him.”

You throw your hands up. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my keeper now?”

He steps closer. “You’re flirting with some asshole who only cares that you look good in that dress.”

You turn slowly, leaning back against the sink. “So now you care?”

His eyes flicker. “I’ve always cared.”

You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Yeah, until it’s convenient to touch someone else.”

His jaw tenses. “You were letting some guy run his hand up your leg in the middle of the living room.”

“So what?” You raise your brows, daring him. “You didn’t like that?”

“No, I fucking hated it.”

“Right,” you laugh, bitter. “But you? You get to flirt with every warm body in a five-foot radius and I’m supposed to just smile?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you give a damn only when someone else looks at me.”

You scoff. “You think I’m acting?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, quieter, “I know why you did it.”

You go still.

“You wanted me to see.”

You scoff, look away. “You’re delusional.”

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t pretend like we’re not both playing the same goddamn game.”

“I wasn’t playing,” you say, voice hard.

His laugh is humorless. “Bullshit.”

You push off the sink, stepping closer. “And what about you, Bucky? You think you’re innocent in all this?”

“I never claimed to be.” He moves in too, closer, crowding the space. “But at least I own how I feel. You? You keep running, then blaming me for chasing you.”

“I never asked you to chase me.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice drops. “I want to.”

You stare at him, breathing heavy. Your chest tight, eyes burning, it's quiet, the kind that means too much has been said or not enough.

His hands find your face before you can stop him, thumb brushing under your jaw, eyes searching yours, like gravity, like you’re not even deciding, you kiss him.

It’s messy, desperate. His hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, his mouth on yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your pain.

Your back hits the bathroom wall. His hands are in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. He kisses like he’s angry, like he’s trying to prove a point like he’s been holding it back for years.

You bite his bottom lip, he groans against your mouth. His hands slide down, grip your waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll fall apart.

You press into him like you’re trying to crawl under his skin. He lets you.

His fingers skim the hem of your dress and you gasp into his mouth and then you both pull back. Breathing like you’ve just run a mile. He rests his forehead against yours. You both say nothing because that’s the rule.

You kiss him like you’re drowning, he kisses you like he doesn’t care if he drowns with you.

But then you hear it.

“Yo! Y/N, you doing another one?!” Sam’s voice, faint from down the hall.

You pull back, breathless, lips swollen, and avoid his eyes as you fix your shirt. Bucky’s chest rises and falls, his hands still half on you.

You force a laugh, one that sounds like it might crack in the middle. “Guess I’m up.”

Bucky grabs your wrist, gently. “Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?”

You pause. “You’ve never been in my head, Buck.” You try to keep it light, say it like a joke but it lands heavy. “You don’t get to tell me when enough’s enough.”

His eyes soften with hurt. He doesn’t fight you on it.

You stare at Bucky, still breathless from the kiss you weren’t supposed to want but always do. Your lips are swollen, your body still humming.

He steps back, barely. He won’t meet your eyes. His voice is low, unreadable. “Go first.”

You frown. “What?”

He nods toward the door. “Go. So it’s not… obvious.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “It already is.”

He flinches, just slightly. “Still.”

You linger for a second, but he doesn’t look up. So you leave.

You unlock the bathroom door, step into the hallway, and just like that? You’re back in the noise and the lights and the warmth of the party. You exhale. Fix your hair in the hallway mirror. You’re good at this. Pretending.

When you re-enter the living room, you make a beeline for Sam, who’s standing on a chair holding a funnel like a trophy. “You ready?” he grins.

You smirk and take your place beside him. “Let’s go.”

Bucky stays in the bathroom, staring at the door you just walked through.

He presses the heel of his palm into his chest like that’ll do anything. Like he can stop the familiar ache that’s been there for years, the one with your name carved into it.

He breathes in deep, hands braced against the sink. You’re poison and home all at once and he’d let you break his heart over and over and over again….If it meant he could keep even the smallest piece of you.

This is the part that always gets him, the in-between. The silence after your lips leave his and before you’re laughing with someone else.

The space where he remembers that he’s not yours, not officially, not fully. Not ever. He stares at the door for a long time. You’d live in purgatory forever with him if he let you. If he stayed and he always stays.

When he comes back out, the party’s louder, looser. The guy you were flirting with earlier is now talking to the girl he was talking to earlier, and Bucky actually chuckles at that. Inevitable.

He heads toward the kitchen where Steve and Sam are talking by the drinks.

“You alive?” Sam asks, handing him a beer.

“Barely,” Bucky mutters, taking a swig.

Steve raises a brow. “You good?”

“Great,” Bucky lies.

“You two playing or what?” Sam nods toward the beer pong table.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Me and her.”

Beer pong. Teams: You and Bucky vs. Sam and Steve.

You’re two drinks deep, flushed and laughing, heels long since ditched. Bucky stands behind you, guiding your arms. His hands are at your waist. They don’t move, you sink a shot. Turn and grin.

“Nice,” he murmurs, low in your ear.

You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, and he catches you without thinking. When you remove your hands from his beck they slither around his waist, your hand slips just under his shirt, thumb brushing the warmth of his stomach. You don’t even realize it until he tenses slightly. You don’t pull away and he doesn’t want you to.

You’re always like this. All over each other by the end of the night, but never too far and never far enough.

Sam just shakes his head. “Disgusting.”

Across the room, Wanda and Natasha are watching. Wanda takes a slow sip of her drink. “This is… normal?”

“Since we were kids,” Nat replies dryly. “You should’ve seen them at twenty, when we first moved here. Like magnets, messy ones.”

Wanda tilts her head. “So what’s the deal?”

Nat smirks. “There’s a bet.”

Wanda perks up. “A bet?”

“Been running almost ten years.”

Wanda laughs. “Who’s in?”

“Me, Steve, Sam. We all have different takes.”

Wanda glances back at you wrapped around Bucky’s back, squealing with laughter while he spins you through the living room. He’s smiling so big it almost hurts to look at.

“You want in?” Nat asks.

Wanda hums. “What’s the buy-in?”

Nat lifts a brow. “Fifty bucks.”

Wanda watches you a second longer. “Ask me in the morning.”

Nat clinks her glass against hers. “Smart girl.”

--------

You and Bucky vanish from the party somewhere around 2AM.

You’re both giggling, tipsy, bumping into doorframes as you stumble down the hall. You don’t even say goodnight to the others anymore. Everyone knows the drill.

You’re in your room first, slipping out of your dress and into one of Bucky’s old shirts. He knocks once, then opens the door and closes it behind him.

You crawl into bed, he follows. You lay there, back to chest. His arm finds your waist like gravity. Neither of you speaks, until he does.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever felt more like home than you do.”

You don’t breathe, you don’t say anything. You just find his hand under the blanket and hold it a little tighter.

-----------

You wake up slow.

The kind of slow that feels like safety. Like warmth, like something you don’t get to keep, but you can hold onto for a few more minutes if you stay very, very still.

Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around you, his body curled along your back, his breath warm against the side of your neck. His chest rises and falls steady, grounding. You shift just slightly and his grip tightens instinctively.

You don’t move again. You just… take him in.

The weight of his arm. The shape of his hand resting at your waist. The way your legs are tangled under the blankets like they always end up this way.

You shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend, but you do.

You know you love him. Not the way you’re supposed to love your best friend. Not the safe kind, not the platonic kind. The kind that could gut you if it ever turned the wrong way.

And that’s the problem because love, for you, has never been clean. It’s always been a little cruel. It showed up in raised voices. Slammed doors. Silence used like a weapon. It made promises it never kept. It came with strings. With people who said, I’m doing my best as an excuse for not doing better.

So somewhere along the line, you learned not to trust the word at all.

You learned to leave before you could be left. To withhold before anyone could take too much. To build your walls higher than your expectations. To call it strength when really, it was fear.

Bucky makes all of that harder to hold onto.

Because he doesn’t demand anything. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t punish you for the days you go quiet, or shut down, or need more space than anyone else would understand.

He just stays and somehow that’s more terrifying than all the people who left. Because you can trust Bucky with your life, you already do.

But trusting him with your heart? That’s something else entirely. That’s the kind of trust you’ve never been brave enough to give. Not because he doesn’t deserve it.

But because deep down, you’re scared that if he ever really saw the mess of you, the parts you hide, the sharp edges, the soft places turned hard from too many years of being let down he’d walk too and that would wreck you in a way nothing else ever has.

Because he’s not just anyone.

He’s Bucky.

He’s home.

You don’t know how to let yourself have something that feels like that. You only know how to ruin it before it can leave on its own.

So instead, you stay here. Pretending you’re not already in it deep, and fully, and hopelessly in love with someone you’ve spent your whole life calling a friend.

You close your eyes.

You try not to want too much.

He shifts behind you, breath catching, arm tightening just a little.

You feel him wake before he says a word.

Your fingers lift on their own, tracing lightly down the line of his cheek. He stirs, blinks. Opens his eyes. His voice is soft. Rough. “Hi.”

You smile. “Hi.”

He tightens his arm around you, pulling you a fraction closer. His thumb rubs a lazy circle into your side.

You just… look at each other. A long, quiet moment. Then your stomach growls, loud.

His lips twitch. “Hungry?”

You close your eyes and laugh into the pillow. “Apparently.”

He grins, voice still low. “All right. Let’s go yell at everyone to get up. Get some brunch.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He repeats it back. “Okay.”

He shifts onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re suddenly straddling him, and his hands land on your hips like muscle memory. His eyes rake over your face, your messy hair, his own t-shirt hanging loose on you.

“What a sight,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t mean for it to come out loud.

You blink once. Then lean down and kiss his cheek. “Yeah. What a sight.”

You climb off of him and he lets you go, head falling back against the pillow with a soft groan as you head into the bathroom.

You’re in the shower when you hear him move around your room. Hear the door shut quietly behind him a few minutes later. You close your eyes and lean your head against the tile, let the water rinse last night off your skin, but not out of your mind.

When you emerge, he’s already dressed, running a towel through his hair. You pass him on the way to your room, trade a glance and a small smile like you’re not both still spinning from whatever the hell you are.

The house is awake now. Loud, chaotic, full of movement and coffee and half-shouted plans.

Sam’s standing in the living room holding a speaker. “I swear to God if someone plays that sad indie playlist again—”

Natasha sips her coffee without looking up. “It’s Bucky’s playlist.”

Steve enters with his phone out. “I found two good spots. One’s a walk, the other has bottomless mimosas.”

You grab a hoodie and slide it on. “Lead the way, Stevie.”

Steve groans, “I told you I’m too close to 30 for that nickname.”

You smirk. “Okay, yeah sure Stevie.”

He rolls his eyes.

Outside, the air is cool and bright.

The six of you fall into formation like you always do. You and Sam walking up front, shoulders bumping, laughing about something dumb. You’ve got your own rhythm, your own jokes, your own language. He sees you in ways the others don’t, and he doesn’t ask about the night before.

You love him for that.

Behind you, Bucky and Steve are deep in some low conversation probably about sports or politics or something overly philosophical because it’s them.

At the back, Wanda’s walking with Natasha, watching all of you like she’s watching a sitcom unfold in real time.

Wanda glances between you and Bucky, her brow creased in quiet disbelief. “So it's a regular thing?” she asks.

Natasha links arms with her. “You’ll get used to it, my friend.”

Wanda shakes her head, stunned. “They sleep in the same bed.”

Nat shrugs. “Mmhm.”

“They kiss.”

“Mmhm.”

“They act like a couple.”

“Exactly.”

Wanda frowns. “So… what are they?”

Natasha sighs. “Stupid.”

Wanda laughs.

Natasha goes on. “So the bet started ever since we all moved here when we were twenty. Steve thinks they’ll figure it out before thirty. I think they’re gonna marry other people first.”

Wanda blinks. “That’s… dark.”

“I’m not wrong.” Natasha shrugs. “Sam said before 25 but that's gone and past, so he had to buy in again but double the price to place a new bet, he now says before 32.”

Wanda hums. “I give it a year.”

Nat nearly chokes on her coffee. “Excuse me?”

“I give it a year.”

Nat raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”

Wanda reaches into her pocket, pulls out a crumpled fifty, and slaps it into Nat’s hand.

Nat grins, holds it up like a flag. Steve and Sam are now walking together, glance back, see the money, and groan.

“Really?” Steve mutters.

Sam just laughs. “They’ll never know.”

But neither of you notice.

You’re too busy jumping on Bucky’s back, laughing in his ear, while he hoists you up with zero effort and carries you the rest of the way to brunch.

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