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danysdaughter · 14 days ago

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Hold Your Breath (Pt 2)

pairing | post-civil!war!bucky x reader

word count | 15.8k words

summary | a year after the fallout of the sokovia accords, the avengers come out of hiding and turn to nelson & murdock for legal defense. as you work alongside them, the tension between you and bucky barnes simmers—still unresolved since the night you pulled him back from the edge in berlin.

tags | (18+), MDNI, p in v sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, emotionally loaded sex, desperate sex, oral sex (f), tastefully filthy, post-civil war, canon divergence, legal drama (loosely interpreted), not legally accurate but emotionally accurate, slow burn, unresolved tension, friends to lovers, emotional intimacy, DAREDEVIL CROSSOVER, matt murdock being a protective menace, soft!bucky, angst/comfort, lots of lawyer stuff, don’t look too closely, minor!steve x reader

a/n | soooo many requests for a part two of this, so loosely based on this request. Enjoy folk

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1

divider by @cafekitsune

The storm had passed, but neither of you moved.

The warehouse around you was still—the creaks of its old bones quieter now, softened by the hush of early morning pressing against its walls. Somewhere beyond the steel and brick, the world kept spinning. But in here, in this makeshift room, time had slowed.

Bucky hadn’t said much since.

Not out of shame, not even guilt. Just… stillness. Like everything inside him had finally gone quiet.

You didn’t know how long you lay there. You didn’t care.

His body was still pressed to yours, skin warm, breath slow, steady now. At some point, you shifted slightly, your head tucked against his shoulder, one of his arms snug around your waist. The other lay across your back, vibranium fingers resting gently at your spine like he was afraid to let go—even in sleep.

Or whatever this was.

You didn’t know if he was fully asleep. You weren’t sure if you were, either.

You just… existed. Together.

And it was enough.

The room was dark save for the weak amber glow of an old light strip still clinging to life in the hallway. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was earned. The kind of silence that came only after something had cracked open.

Every so often, you’d shift, and his arms would tighten around you instinctively. Protective. Grounded. Like he still needed to know you were real.

You ran your fingers gently along the nape of his neck, brushing through his hair, and whispered soft things you didn’t need him to remember—just things you needed him to feel.

“I’m still here,” you breathed.

And he exhaled, long and low, his face pressing into your shoulder.

You didn’t know where your body ended and his began.

All you knew was that you were wrapped in each other, and that for the first time in what must’ve been years… he slept without fear.

────────────────────────

The soft blue wash of morning light filtered through the cracked windows as you slowly began to dress.

Your limbs moved on instinct, your body still humming with the aftermath of last night—not just the sex, but everything that came with it. The breaking. The rebuilding. The silence that wasn’t empty anymore.

His gaze was heavy—not hungry like before, but quiet, almost forlorn. Like every inch you put between you and the mattress carved a little more out of him.

You paused to pull your jeans up over your hips and glanced at him, and he was still watching.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, jeans tugged back into place but still shirtless, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers laced. He watched you like you were already gone.

You paused, gave him a soft look. “Hey.”

His eyes flicked up.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just gave the smallest nod. A lie, but not one you’d call out.

You pulled your shirt over your head, not bothering to fix the buttons just yet. Bucky finally moved, reaching slowly for his own shirt, tugging it down over his chest. He moved like someone whose body felt heavier today. You didn’t push. You let the silence wrap around the both of you again.

Then—voices.

Faint, at first. Outside.

You stood instinctively, moving toward the warehouse’s main entrance, brushing your fingers against Bucky’s shoulder as you passed—just a soft press. “Be right back.”

He looked like he wanted to say something.

But he didn’t.

────────────────────────

You stepped out into the chill, pulling your shirt tighter around your body, still half-buttoned from earlier. The wind carried the rustle of boots, the clink of gear, and quiet voices—tones you recognized even before you saw the faces.

Steve.

Sam.

And not just them.

Clint Barton stood to one side, squinting against the light like he hadn't slept. Wanda lingered near him, arms crossed, her posture at ease but eyes sharp as ever. And then there was a man you didn’t recognize—nervous, fidgeting, trying too hard not to.

“Oh, great,” you said, loud enough to carry. “I thought you were retired.”

Clint grinned. “I was. Then the world wouldn’t stop spinning without me.”

You snorted.

The stranger stepped forward next, hand extended. “Hi! Uh—Scott. Scott Lang. Ant-Man.”

You blinked. “Ant… what?”

“Ant-Man,” he said again, more sheepish this time. “It’s fine, you probably haven’t—uh, it’s complicated.”

You gave a small, puzzled smile, still reaching to shake his hand as you introduced himself.

Scott blinked, “Attorney like lawyer attorney.*

You smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

Scott gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Oh thank god. Do you… have a card or something? I have a feeling I’m gonna need legal help after this.”

Your eyebrows lifted, but you reached into your bag and handed him one anyway.

“I like you already,” he added, tucking it into his pocket with too much care.

“Try not to get arrested, then.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “No promises.”

Steve had been watching from a few steps away. Now he moved toward you, expression tight with everything he couldn’t say. He looked tired in a way you hadn’t seen before—like the kind of tired that lived behind his eyes.

“Thanks for looking after him,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Of course.”

But he just stood there, gaze lingering, and suddenly he looked younger somehow—less like Captain America, and more like the boy from Brooklyn you’d first met years ago.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, arms wrapping around his middle. He held you tight, his chin resting briefly against your hair.

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked, voice muffled in his jacket.

“No,” he said simply. “But I’ve got to be.”

You pulled back slowly, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Be careful, Steve. Please.”

“I always try,” he said, too lightly. Then, more sincerely, “You should go back to New York. Before this gets worse.”

Behind you, Sam appeared with his usual dry grin, clapping you on the back.

Behind you, there was a pause.

Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulders, warm and easy. “Glad to see he didn't burn the place down.”

“Really missed your charming optimism, Sam,” you said dryly.

“I’m gonna pretend that’s not sarcasm.”

“You do that.”

And then you felt it.

Eyes.

You turned—

And there he was.

Bucky stood in the doorway, fully dressed, stiff in the shoulders like he was bracing for impact. His jaw was tight, his arms stiff at his sides, as if even existing around other people took work.

But it was his eyes that struck you.

Not blank. Not lost.

Just… guarded. And something else. Something small and aching curled behind them.

The light hit him in that strange, soft way—dust curling through it like a veil between you. Like last night had been a hallucination, and now he was slowly retreating back into whatever shadows he’d crawled out of.

You stepped toward him, slow, like approaching a wounded animal. For a breath, you thought he might back away.

But he didn’t.

You stopped just short of touching, voice quiet. “I guess this is it.”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes searched yours with something close to panic—not sharp, not loud. Just quiet, restrained apprehension. Like his body knew you were leaving before his mind caught up.

And then—you moved.

Without hesitation, you stepped in and wrapped your arms around his neck.

No preface. No invitation.

Just the steady press of your cheek against his shoulder, your heartbeat open against his chest.

He froze.

Just for a second.

And then—he folded around you.

One arm slid around your waist, the other lifting to the back of your neck, his palm splayed flat against your hair. He didn’t tremble. He didn’t pull back.

He held you.

Not loosely. Not politely.

Fully. Fiercely.

As if his body knew how to stay when his mind didn’t.

Sam made a low sound, almost a whistle. “Well… ain't that something.”

Steve stood a step back, face drawn tight, watching—his eyes didn’t narrow, but they didn’t blink either.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to look up at Bucky.

“You’ll be okay,” you whispered.

Still, no words.

But his arms stayed locked around your waist.

You shifted, tried to step back.

And that’s when he grabbed you.

His arms tightened—one quick, almost frantic pulse—and before you could guess what was happening, his hand came to your jaw and he kissed you.

Right there.

In front of everyone.

You let out a small, stunned sound against his mouth, hands flattening against his chest—caught between the instinct to pull him closer and the need to stop him.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate.

Like he was pouring every last thing he didn’t know how to say into you. Like if he could just press hard enough, stay close enough, it might change what came next.

Eventually, you had to break it.

You pulled back, breath caught in your throat, your cheeks burning.

He looked down at you, eyes heavy and sad, lips slightly parted like he’d already regretted it—but wouldn’t take it back.

You stared at him, then past him.

And couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

You just… turned.

And walked away.

Every step felt like your skin didn’t fit right anymore. Like something inside you was fraying.

Because Bucky’s need wasn’t about affection. It wasn’t even about you, not really.

It was survival.

And now it sat heavy in your chest—because whatever happened last night, however real it had felt in the dark, it was suddenly too complicated in the light.

And you couldn’t help but feel like you’d taken something he wasn’t ready to give.

────────────────────────

By the time you made it back to Hell’s Kitchen, the sun had long since dipped behind the rooftops, and the office was its usual brand of organized chaos—papers stacked on every surface, the smell of burnt coffee lingering in the air, and four overworked friends pretending they weren’t a little bit in love with the mess.

You were leaning against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, scanning the top page of a police report with your glasses pushed up on your head. Foggy was pacing near the window, chewing on the cap of a pen like it owed him money. Matt sat in his chair, fingers steepled, listening as Karen flipped through another file.

“He’s claiming excessive force,” Karen said, voice even but skeptical. “But the responding officer was a foot shorter and eighty pounds lighter.”

“So,” you said, arching a brow, “a minor traffic violation turns into a broken nose and four cracked ribs, and that’s the story we’re running with?”

Matt gave a tiny shake of his head. “There’s video. Grainy, but enough to show the officer wasn’t the aggressor.”

Foggy stopped pacing, waving the pen. “Which means we either settle or poke holes in the narrative until someone blinks.”

You leaned over to grab another file, muttering, “God forbid we ever have a client who tells the truth.”

Karen snorted. “What fun would that be?”

“See, that’s why she gets paid the big bucks,” Foggy said, raising his coffee in salute. “Our legal assassin.”

You opened your mouth to say something equally smart-assed, but Karen beat you to it.

“Well, she does have experience with super soldiers.”

Your pen froze mid-note.

The room stalled, just for a second. Like the punchline hadn't landed—or maybe had landed too well.

You didn’t look up right away. Just capped your pen slowly, deliberately.

Foggy blinked. “Wait—like Captain America super soldier?”

“No,” you said calmly, still not meeting anyone’s eye. “I did not sleep with Captain America.”

Then you did look up—right at Karen, who had the decency to look stricken. You tilted your head. “That was said in confidence. Over Chinese food. And wine.”

Karen winced. “I thought Matt knew!”

“I didn’t,” Matt said quietly, not judgmental exactly, but there was a shift in the air. A subtle tightening.

Karen rushed to explain. “I thought she told you about the Bucky Barnes.”

Foggy made a small choking noise. “Wait—so, hold on. The Winter Soldier? That guy with the metal arm and murder eyes? You slept with—?”

You raised a hand. “Foggy.”

He shut his mouth with a sheepish grin.

You turned back to Matt, who hadn’t said anything else. His jaw was tight, unreadable behind those glasses. You could feel his attention like a weight.

“Just because we grew up together doesn’t mean we tell each other everything,” you said lightly, but the air had cooled.

Karen looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. Foggy was half-shocked, half-impressed.

But Matt… he didn’t say a word.

Not at first.

When he did speak, it was quiet. “You told me you were going to Berlin for a few days,” he said. “You said it was personal.”

You didn’t blink. “It was.”

He tilted his head slightly, brows drawn. “You went to help Captain America.”

You sighed through your nose, pressing your fingers to the edge of the table. “I did help Steve.”

There was a beat.

Then, without warning, his voice cut sharper than you expected.

“And in what universe did you think sleeping with an international war criminal was a smart decision?”

The room froze.

Foggy blinked. Karen stopped mid-sip of her coffee. The air between the four of you shifted so fast it was like the ground tilted.

You set your pen down carefully. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m dead serious,” Matt said, crossing his arms. “That wasn’t just reckless—it was stupid. He’s unstable. He’s dangerous. And you—what in your right mind would make you do that?”

You scoffed, leaning forward now. “Wow. Okay. Are you shaming me, Matthew?”

“I’m trying to understand what part of this sounded okay in your head,” he snapped, voice rising just a notch. “He's a man that has just come out of severe brainwashing and you—what, thought it was a good time to sleep with him?”

Karen flinched. Foggy stood, trying to wedge a word in.

“Matt—come on, man—”

But Matt wasn’t finished.

“I knew helping Rogers was already a stretch,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. “But this? You’re a lawyer. You’ve seen what men like Barnes do in your cases. You know what it looks like when someone isn’t capable of giving consent.”

That hit you in the chest like a blow.

You stood.

“You think I don’t know that?” you snapped, voice sharp now. “You think I haven’t been thinking about that every hour since I left him?”

Karen stepped between you, hands up. “Guys—hey, hey—”

But Matt didn’t back off. “Then what were you doing? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” you said, trembling now—not from sadness, but indignation—“that I’d never seen someone look more afraid to be alive. I was thinking that he needed someone to treat him like a human being for once in his goddamn life.”

Foggy stood as well, voice low but firm. “This is not the time.”

But the air was already too thick with everything that had gone unsaid for years.

Matt shook his head slowly. “He’s not your responsibility.”

“No,” you said bitterly. “But neither were you at Saint Agnes. And that never stopped me.”

Silence.

Even the hum of the old radiator seemed to hush itself.

Then the TV flickered—static for a second—before the volume kicked in. The newsroom anchor’s voice, flat and grim, broke the silence that had followed your argument with Matt.

“…former Avengers Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson are confirmed to be in hiding following a classified prison break from the Raft—a maximum-security facility designed for enhanced individuals. The prison housed members of the rogue Avengers detained after the Leipzig airport incident in Germany.”

You stiffened.

The anchor continued as footage played—blurry helicopter shots of the ocean-bound Raft. Steel, water, storm.

“Security footage has not been released to the public, but officials confirm the breakout was staged by none other than Rogers himself. The former Captain America is now considered a fugitive by the United Nations, alongside Wilson and others believed to be aiding him.”

Karen lowered her coffee slowly, frowning.

“Sources also indicate that James Buchanan Barnes—known as the Winter Soldier—was not housed at the Raft, but is considered armed and internationally wanted. Barnes was last seen with Rogers in Siberia and is now suspected to have fled with him. Their current whereabouts remain unknown.”

The words blurred.

The room receded.

Because you weren’t hearing the anchor anymore—you were hearing Steve.

“I don’t think this’ll end well.”

You had heard the resignation in his voice when he’d said it—like he was already bracing for the fallout. Like he already knew.

And now it was here.

Karen’s voice was a soft whisper beside you. “Oh God.”

You let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

Matt didn’t say anything. His jaw was still tight, and you could feel his scrutiny like a second pulse under your skin.

But he wasn’t the one you were listening for anymore.

You gathered your files and walked toward the door, brushing past them all with a quiet, “Let me know if we're filing,” before stepping out into the hallway.

Karen looked at you like she wanted to say something—but didn’t. Foggy rubbed a hand over his face, sinking down into his chair with a pained groan. “Wow. That was… hilariously bad timing.”

And Matt… just sat there.

Arms crossed.

Jaw set.

Still convinced he was right.

And not feeling any better for it.

1 Year Later

Nelson & Murdock, Hell's Kitchen — Late Morning

The debate in the cramped office was escalating fast.

“You’re missing the point,” you said flatly, flipping the case file closed. “We’re not here to do what feels morally correct. We’re here to win.”

Matt’s head tilted, his brows knitting in that quiet, exasperated way of his. “It’s not about morality. It’s about precedent. If we push this—”

You cut in, calm but curt. “We let landlords in this city get away with enough. I’m not handing them another loophole.”

Karen raised her voice gently, trying to stem the friction. “Maybe we take five—”

You turned her way. “I’m not asking for much, just once—just once—to have one of you on my side.”

Karen put her hands up. “I’m not siding with anyone!”

“Right because you're always playing referee.“

“I’m not playing anything,” she replied, shoulders tensing.

You turned to Foggy, who had been suspiciously quiet.

“Don’t even try to claim neutrality. You always back him.”

“I do not—” Foggy began, already knowing he was beat.

You held up a finger. “You backed him on the parole hearing for that mob accountant who had bodies in three boroughs. You backed him when we took on the Russian construction union—without confirming who was financing them. Hell, you backed him on the Diaz brothers appeal and that guy confessed twice.”

Foggy winced. “That was one time.”

“Three,” you corrected, “It was three times, Foggy.“

The debate had just hit a simmer when the door creaked open.

Karen froze mid-sentence. Her eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

You turned, already sensing something was off—and then your breath caught.

Four figures stepped inside. No one said a word.

Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Sam Wilson. And James Buchanan Barnes.

All stood just inside the office. Not armored. Not armed. But carrying the weight of a hundred headlines and a year of silence.

Steve stood just inside the doorway, not in the uniform, but unmistakably Captain America. His jaw was a little tighter, with a beard now, but the way he held himself—calm, decisive, eyes scanning the room with practiced awareness—hadn’t changed.

Beside him, Sam Wilson, cool and watchful. Natasha Romanoff, all composed silence and lethal grace, and now… blonde. And then—

Bucky Barnes.

Long hair tucked behind his ears, jaw shadowed with a thick beard, dressed in black. His presence was quiet but sharp—like the air changed around him. His eyes, slate blue and piercing, found yours and held there. He didn’t blink.

You didn’t meet his gaze.

You shifted focus—to Steve.

Matt, from behind the desk, tilted his head. His senses picked up the weight in the air—the loaded silence, the tightened heartbeats, the shift in everyone’s posture.

Foggy, stunned, leaned toward Matt and muttered under his breath, “Uh—Cap, The Falcon, Black Widow, and the Winter Soldier just walked into our office.”

Matt didn’t even flinch. “I figured,” he said quietly. “That’s a lot of boots.”

Steve stepped forward, voice steady. “We need counsel.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked toward you. “And we're here for your help.”

You were still standing by the table, arms folded tightly. “That’s a long way to travel for a consultation.”

“We’re trying to re-enter the world,” Steve said. “We want to do it the right way.”

Karen finally found her voice. “I thought you were fugitives.”

“We are,” Sam said, with a small shrug. “Just figured maybe it was time to try something less dramatic.”

You looked at Matt—because it was still his firm.

Matt turned his face slightly toward the sound of Steve’s voice, his expression unreadable. “With all due respect… you’re not exactly the kind of clients we’re licensed—or funded—to represent. You’re under international surveillance, and we’re a neighborhood firm in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“We’re not asking for a full legal team,” Steve said. “We’re asking for her.”

Matt’s jaw ticked subtly.

His hands folded on the desk, his expression unreadable behind his dark lenses.

“Our jurisdiction doesn’t cover what you’ve been accused of,” he said, addressing Steve directly, though his words encompassed all four fugitives. “We handle housing evictions. Police misconduct. Petty criminal defense. What you’re asking for isn’t just risky—it’s out of our league.”

Bucky hadn’t said a word since stepping inside. But you could feel his gaze—hot, weighty, locked on you like gravity. You kept your expression neutral, your eyes on Matt.

“They’re not walking into any firm uptown,” you said, arms crossed. “And every second they stay on the run, they look guiltier. You know that.”

Matt nodded slowly—measured, cautious. “Then give us a minute.”

Steve gave a slight nod in return.

Without another word, Matt motioned toward the hallway. You, Foggy, and Karen followed him into his office, the door clicking shut behind you.

────────────────────────

The second the door closed, you rounded on Matt.

“This is the part where you tell me we’re turning down Captain goddamn America?”

Matt didn’t flinch. “This isn’t just about Steve.”

“No. It’s about people who tried to do the right thing and were burned by bureaucracy.”

Matt stepped closer, voice low, deliberate. “It’s about us being a three-person law firm in Hell’s Kitchen with no security, no resources, and no international immunity. Do you have any idea what taking this case means?”

“Yes,” you snapped. “It means we actually do something that matters.”

He lifted his chin slightly. “We’d be standing against the United Nations. Against General Thaddeus Ross. Against the Sokovia Accords.”

You leaned in. “Which, by the way, are unconstitutional. Half the legal scholars in the country are already saying it.”

“And half the world signed on,” Matt countered. “Which makes it binding. These aren’t small charges. This is global policy.”

Karen stepped between you both, her palms lifted. “Okay, let’s all take a breath—”

“Karen,” you said, exasperated. “We do not need referee again.”

Foggy raised his hand, hesitant. “Not to interrupt, but… guys, I don’t think the walls are that thick.”

A beat.

Then— Sam's voice called from the other room.

“He’s right.”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

Matt dropped his voice, almost a whisper. “You’ve got history with Rogers,” Matt said evenly. “You’re not objective.”

You met his gaze, cold steel behind your eyes. “Don’t—”

“Are you doing this for them?” Matt pressed. “Or for us?”

A pause.

“For us,” you said finally. No hesitation. “Because if this firm stands for anything—if we really mean all that justice-for-the-voiceless rhetoric—then we don’t walk away when it gets hard.”

Matt stared at you. Silent.

Karen moved closer, her voice softer. “If we don’t help them… who will?”

Another silence.

Outside, the scrape of boots on the wood floor. Maybe someone pacing. Waiting.

Finally, Matt nodded once. Sharp. Decisive.

“Then we do this carefully.”

────────────────────────

The door to Matt’s office creaked open and the four of you re-emerged, expressions tight and unreadable. The air in the main room was still thick with silence, though Sam leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, wearing a knowing grin.

“Let me guess,” he said lightly. “That was the ‘don’t take this case’ speech?”

Foggy gave a small shrug. “More like a group therapy session with legal consequences.”

Matt stepped forward, composed, and focused entirely on Steve. “There are serious risks here. For all of us. This isn’t one case. It’s two.”

He turned to the group at large, folding his hands over his midsection. “One is the Sokovia Accords. The legality of operating as enhanced individuals without government oversight. Violating international protocol, fleeing detainment, staging a breakout at a maximum security prison. That alone could get you extradited.”

He shifted slightly, his tone measured. “The second is Barnes.”

You felt it before Matt even said it.

“Everything the Winter Soldier did under Hydra’s control—assassinations, covert destabilizations, attacks on U.S. soil. That’s a separate case. Separate charges. Separate legal challenges.”

Bucky, who had remained still near the wall, barely reacted—but his jaw flexed, just slightly.

Matt continued, voice low and clinical. “Legally, emotionally, those two cases need to be separated. Treated with different strategies.”

You nodded once, slowly. “Makes sense.”

Matt turned to you, expression unreadable behind the dark lenses. “You’ll take the Sokovia case. With Karen.”

You blinked. “Matt—”

“—I’ll oversee Barnes’ case,” Matt said. “Foggy and I can manage the prep, the research, the filings.”

There was a beat. Just long enough for the subtext to land.

You knew why he’d made the call.

Because of Berlin.

You didn’t argue.

You just nodded. “Fine.”

Karen glanced between you both, clearly picking up on the tension, but said nothing.

Steve spoke up. “We trust you. All of you.”

Matt nodded once. “Then we’ll need everything. Every detail. Nothing sealed. Nothing omitted.”

Natasha, quiet until now, gave a faint, dry smile. “You’re going to be real popular in Washington.”

Matt didn’t return it. “I’m used to being unpopular.”

Your eyes flicked—briefly—to Bucky. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But he was still watching you.

You turned back to the team. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

────────────────────────

Two Months Later

The old television bolted to the corner of the wall crackled with static before clearing into focus—just in time for the morning news anchor to smile with the smugness of someone who knows they’re about to deliver the most interesting story of the week.

“In a move that’s turning heads across the country—and sending the internet into overdrive—Captain America, Black Widow, and the Falcon have officially stepped out of hiding.“

You looked up from your case notes. Karen froze with her hand half-dipped into a bag of bagels. Foggy leaned in.

“Two days ago, in a move that surprised just about everyone, former Avengers Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Sam Wilson appeared at the Federal Court of Appeals in Washington D.C., accompanied by their legal representation from—get this—a small, previously low-profile law firm operating out of Hell’s Kitchen.”

The image cut to grainy footage of you, Matt, Foggy, and Karen flanking the group like a mismatched legal cavalry.

“Nelson & Murdock, previously known for representing low-income residents and suing city contractors for asbestos violations, now finds itself at the helm of the most closely watched legal proceedings since the Accords were signed. The defendants, who include Rogers and Romanoff, are seeking to challenge the legality of the Sokovia Accords themselves…”

The anchor’s tone shifted slightly, eyes flicking to the teleprompter.

“…and yes, among them is James Buchanan Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, whose history as a Hydra operative makes this not just a case of civil liberties—but of reckoning with war crimes. His charges, we’re told, are being handled separately by the same firm.”

The screen showed Bucky stepping out of a black SUV, flanked by Matt and you. His eyes were cast downward. Yours weren’t.

“Their lawyers declined to comment, but sources close to the case say the team has already begun mounting a complex dual defense—one tackling international law, the other psychological trauma under state-sponsored manipulation. It’s ambitious. Whether Nelson & Murdock are brilliant… or just insane? Time will tell.”

Matt muted the screen with the remote.

A beat.

No one said anything for a long moment.

“Brilliant or insane,” you murmured. “Could be both.”

Foggy popped a cold fry into his mouth. “Leaning toward insane.”

Karen smiled tightly, but her eyes were distant. “You know what this means, right? If we lose… this isn’t just bad press. It’s over. For the firm.”

You leaned back in your chair, the glow of the TV soft against your skin. “Then we don’t lose.”

────────────────────────

The hum of conversation and typing filled the small legal office, broken only by the occasional scrape of a chair or the tired sigh of someone realizing they’d reread the same sentence for the third time.

Karen sat beside you at the center table, files on the Sokovia Accords spread open like a battlefield between you. Natasha leaned against the window sill, unreadable as always, arms crossed. Sam paced behind his chair, restless energy rolling off him like heat. Steve sat back, quiet but alert, his gaze following every word exchanged like a chessboard in motion.

“Paragraph twelve, subsection four,” Karen muttered. “The clause on oversight jurisdiction contradicts itself. It mandates UN supervision but assigns implementation to national governments.”

You blew a slow breath through your nose. “That’s either an oversight or a trap. Both are bad.”

“Welcome to international policy,” Natasha drawled, not looking up.

Sam made a low noise in his throat. “Well, joke’s on them.”

From beyond the glass wall of Matt’s office, another voice filtered through—rougher, heavier. Bucky’s.

“No. I don’t remember the name. He was wearing a blue ring, I think. Target was in Warsaw. Hydra flagged them as a threat to... something.”

Foggy’s voice followed, steady but gentle. “You’re doing fine, Bucky. Just talk us through what you remember, even if it’s fragments.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Matt’s voice, calm but firm. “And the handlers? The ones who triggered you—how often did they use the code?”

“It varied,” Bucky said. “If I resisted... more.”

You glanced toward the frosted glass separating the rooms. Bucky was a vague shape on the other side, head down, broad shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into the chair. Matt stood opposite him, arms folded, Foggy sitting nearby with a yellow legal pad already half-filled in cramped handwriting.

“He’s been in there for two hours,” Karen said softly, reading your look.

“He’s cooperating,” Steve murmured. “But it’s not easy. I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.”

Back in your office, you flipped another page in the Accords briefing. Your fingers were starting to cramp.

“The entire structure of this thing is meant to constrain,” you muttered. “They want to turn the Avengers into government employees. And if they refuse, it’s jail. Or worse.”

“They tried that,” Sam muttered. “Didn’t work out for them.”

Karen leaned back and scrubbed a hand down her face. “We’re going in circles.”

“No,” you said, “we’re dancing around landmines.”

Another silence.

Karen stood abruptly. “Okay, this isn’t working. We’re all burned out. We need a break.”

You blinked, half in protest. “Karen—”

“You’re losing your mind over there, I’ve read the same paragraph three times, and Steve looks like he’s reconsidering all of his life choices.” She pointed at the door. “I’m declaring a recess.”

From the other end of the table, Steve raised an eyebrow. “Recess?”

“Josie’s,” she clarified. “We go, we drink, we breathe. Otherwise one of us is going to snap and file a motion to burn the Accords in front of the UN.”

Romanoff arched a sleek brow. “What’s Josie’s?”

You didn’t look up as you gathered the pages into a pile. “A dive bar two blocks from here. Sticky floors, strong drinks. A Hell’s Kitchen classic.”

Sam grinned. “Sold.”

Karen poked her head into Matt’s office. “We’re going for drinks. You’re coming. No debate.”

Matt looked up, eyebrow raised. “Karen—”

“Even you need a break,” she insisted, voice lighter but not asking. “And Foggy, if you don’t close that legal pad in the next five seconds I’m stealing it.”

Foggy blinked like he’d surfaced from a fog. “Wait, what?”

Matt sighed, then turned toward Bucky. “Do you want to come?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His gaze slid over to you—just for a second—then back to the floor. But he gave a quiet nod.

“Alright,” Matt said. “Josie’s it is.”

────────────────────────

The moment the eight of you stepped into Josie’s, the entire bar went still.

It was almost cinematic—the way conversation halted mid-sentence, pool cues hovered mid-shot, and every pint glass seemed to freeze just before reaching someone’s lips.

Only it wasn’t you they were looking at.

Their eyes went right past you to the four figures just behind.

The tension was immediate. You could feel it like static against your skin.

You squinted at the crowd and snapped, “What.”

It came out sharper than you meant—but effective. Just like that, everyone returned to their drinks and conversations, like they hadn’t just seen literal war criminals walk into their local dive bar.

You sighed, stepped inside, and motioned toward the back booth like it was any other Thursday night.

“Same rules apply,” you murmured over your shoulder. “No starting bar fights. No interrogating anyone mid-darts game.”

Sam let out a quiet laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it, but now I’m curious.”

“Don’t be,” Foggy muttered. “That guy with the dart tattoo takes it really seriously.”

Karen nudged him, leading the way toward the booth. “Come on, Captain America. Let’s see how you do in a place where the floor sticks and nobody salutes you.”

Steve offered a faint smile, clearly trying to pretend he didn’t just make a dozen patrons sweat through their flannel shirts. “Sounds...refreshing.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He followed silently, but you could feel his presence behind you—like gravity. Like heat.

You settled into the booth first, flanked by Karen and Foggy. Matt slid in next, followed by Steve and Natasha on the far side. Sam pulled up a chair. Bucky remained standing a moment too long, then finally sank into the seat next to Matt—putting the maximum amount of physical space between you.

Your stomach twisted, just briefly.

You didn’t look at him.

Karen raised a hand for Josie. “Eight whiskeys. Don’t ask.”

Josie nodded from behind the bar, unfazed as ever.

“You bring a circus, I serve a circus,” she called. “Just don’t bleed on the floor.”

────────────────────────

At some point, you’d drifted. The laughter around the booth was distant now—Karen leaning into Natasha as the former recounted some mildly incriminating story, Sam egging on Steve about a round of darts he absolutely didn’t want to play. Matt was nursing his drink with that subtle tightness in his jaw he always wore in crowded spaces.

You slipped away, needing a minute, and ended up at the bar under the flickering light that buzzed like it was dying. The wood beneath your elbows was sticky, familiar. Comforting, in a weird, grimy way.

A moment later, Foggy appeared beside you, sliding his hand onto the bar as he leaned. “I come bearing a noble quest.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Refills?”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Whiskey times eight. Josie’s gonna love us.”

As Josie started lining up the glasses, you glanced sideways. “How’s your case coming along?”

Foggy made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Difficult. Bucky’s… not great at giving detail. He gives you one name, two dates, and then he goes quiet like he’s talking through glass.”

You nodded, unsurprised.

“But,” he added, tipping his head toward you with a knowing look, “also distracted. Like, flinch-at-the-sound-of-your-voice distracted.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he said, grabbing one of the glasses, inspecting it before sliding it back down. “Anytime you walk into a room? His eyes snap to you like a moth to a flame. It’s kind of… sad, actually. Those big, quiet eyes practically begging you to look at him.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insisted, still in that frustratingly calm Foggy way. “I thought maybe I was imagining it, but after the fifth time I caught him zoning out mid-sentence because you walked past the hallway? It’s a pattern.”

You stared ahead, lips pressing into a thin line.

“My client,” you said after a beat, “is Steve. Natasha. Sam. I work on the Sokovia side of this mess. Bucky’s—” your voice dropped, “—not my responsibility.”

“No,” Foggy said slowly, “but you are avoiding him. And don’t tell me you’re not.”

You ran a hand over your face and muttered under your breath, “If you haven’t noticed, I have a very big, very real Matt-shaped fence around me any time I’m in the same room as Barnes.”

Foggy winced sympathetically. “Yeah… he does kind of hover.”

“Hover?” you echoed with a hollow laugh. “He treats me like I’m going to spontaneously combust if I so much as sit next to the guy.”

Foggy didn’t say anything at first. Then: “You don’t look like you want to combust.”

You were about to say something—something not entirely wise, maybe—but Foggy beat you to it, glancing over your shoulder with a quiet hush.

“Cap's on his way over here,” he murmured. “And he looks like a man on a mission.”

You turned just enough to catch the tall figure weaving through the crowd, eyes set squarely on you.

Foggy grabbed six of the whiskey glasses Josie had just lined up, balancing them with both arms like a bartender with something to prove. “I’ll leave you two with these,” he said, nodding toward the final pair left on the bar, “and, uh, good luck.”

You didn’t reply—just watched as he maneuvered his way back to the table like he was handling a tray of grenades.

And then Steve slid onto the barstool next to you. Quiet. Steady.

He didn’t say anything at first, just folded his hands loosely on the bartop, his presence as familiar as it was grounding.

“Hi,” you murmured, not looking directly at him as you nursed your drink.

He gave that small, sincere smile. The one that never failed to remind you why you'd once entertained the idea of something more.

“I know this is putting a strain on you,” he said finally. His voice was low, quiet enough that only you could hear. “I just wanted to thank you—for helping us. Again.”

You scoffed lightly, your tone flippant by design. “You know I’d do anything for you, Steve.”

But you kept your eyes on your drink. It was easier that way. Easier than meeting those too-blue eyes and seeing all the history sitting inside them.

“I don’t take that lightly,” he said after a pause. “I never have.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.

The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward—but it was full. With things neither of you had ever said out loud. With everything you’d been, everything you almost were, and everything you now couldn’t afford to be.

Steve shifted slightly. “You’ve changed.”

That caught you off guard. You turned, just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“In a good way,” he added quickly. “Stronger. Sharper.”

You snorted. “Or maybe just tired.”

He smiled, but there was a flicker of something behind it. Regret, maybe. Recognition. You didn’t ask.

“You ever think about what things might’ve looked like... if this all hadn’t happened?”

His voice was barely above a murmur, heavy with something unspoken. The kind of question that didn’t ask for an answer, not really—but still lingered between you, expectant and fragile.

You didn’t look at him right away. Just shook your head slowly, the corners of your mouth twitching in something like a sad smile.

“It probably would’ve been the same,” you said quietly. “You asking me for help... and me helping you. Without hesitation.”

Your eyes met his then—soft, sure. Unflinching.

“Just like now.”

Steve’s expression didn’t shift immediately, but something in his posture relaxed.

“Nothing more,” you added, voice gentler this time. “Nothing less.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. That familiar Captain instinct flickering just behind his eyes—always reaching for something better, something fuller.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew you meant it.

────────────────────────

The office was unusually quiet for a Wednesday.

Karen had gone out to meet a contact. Foggy was holed up in the back with a stack of transcripts, headphones in. And Matt—Matt was gone, off doing whatever it was he did when he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

You were at your desk, sorting through notes on the Sokovia filings, when you heard the soft shuffle of boots against hardwood.

You glanced up.

Bucky stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. Not cold—never cold—but hesitant, like he was walking into enemy territory and wasn’t sure if he’d make it out the other side.

Your heart stuttered, but you masked it with a carefully neutral look. “Need something from Foggy?”

He shook his head, slow. “No.”

You set your pen down.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy—it was brittle. Like one wrong word would crack the whole thing wide open.

Bucky took a few steps in. Close enough that you could see the faint bags under his eyes, fading but still present. A leftover from whatever truth he’d had to drag out in testimony.

His voice, when he spoke, was low. Rough around the edges like gravel. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

The question hung in the air.

You stared at him for a beat too long. You’d imagined this—this exact moment—so many times. And somehow, the real thing still knocked the air out of your lungs.

“I do talk to you,” you said, too quickly. “We’ve had conversations.”

He didn’t flinch. “Brief ones.”

You hesitated. Then stood, slowly, placing your hands on the edge of the desk like it might steady you.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” you said finally, quietly.

“That’s not true,” Bucky said. “You know that’s not true.”

He took another step in, but didn’t crowd you. Never that.

“You used to look at me,” he said. “Back in Berlin. You saw me. Not the ghost. Not the asset. Me.”

Your throat tightened.

“I haven’t changed,” he said, a little more broken now. “Not really. But you… it’s like I became someone you’re not allowed to be alone with.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

There it was.

The thing you’d been avoiding. Not because you didn’t want to face it—but because you already had. Night after night. Every time you saw his eyes find you across the room and forced yourself to look away.

“I didn’t want to make things harder,” you said, voice almost a whisper.

“For who?” he asked. Not angry—just quietly devastated.

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if you did—if you opened your mouth—you were afraid of what might come out. And there was already too much unsaid between you to risk making it worse.

Bucky took one more step closer, slow and tentative. Like a man approaching something sacred. “I need to know, did I… did I do something wrong? That night?”

Your breath caught.

Your whole body stilled.

“No,” you said, almost too fast. “No. You didn’t.”

He blinked, eyes narrowing slightly with confusion and something sharper—pain. “Then why do you look at me like it was a mistake?”

You turned away, suddenly unable to hold the weight of his gaze. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, trying to ground yourself. But your voice cracked as you spoke.

“Because I think I made a mistake.”

You heard him shift, barely a sound, but you could feel the air change between you. “What mistake?”

“I think I… took advantage of you.”

The words hit the room like a punch. You didn’t look at him—you couldn’t. You stared at the stack of case files on your desk, eyes burning.

“You were… not okay, Bucky. You were still half-lost, barely holding on. I kissed you to stop a panic attack, not because I thought we—God, I didn’t think. I just acted. And then you kissed me back, and it felt like if I pulled away you’d shatter and—” you cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “And I let it happen. I let it go too far.”

A beat of silence.

Then another.

Then his voice, lower than you’d ever heard it. “You think that’s what that night was?”

You turned, finally.

He was looking at you like he didn’t know whether to fall apart or hold himself together.

“That night,” he said slowly, “was the first time I felt human again.”

You stared at him.

“The first time someone touched me like I wasn’t dangerous,” he continued, breath catching. “Like I wasn’t something to be handled, or feared, or fixed. You kissed me and I—” his voice broke, “—I didn’t know what it meant, or how long it would last, but I held on to it. For a year. In Wakanda. Every morning, I thought about you.”

Your heart ached.

“I don’t know what it is I feel for you,” he admitted, shoulders taut, “but it’s not infatuation. It’s not fantasy. It’s something I haven’t had in a long time. And maybe I only knew you for a day—but it was enough to remember the way you made me feel.”

He took a tentative step forward.

“You were the first thing that made me want to come back.”

Your knees nearly gave out at that.

Because this wasn’t just about guilt. Or trauma. Or old wounds.

This was about healing, too.

And somehow, heartbreakingly, he had found his in you.

You took a breath, shaky and too thin, eyes burning with the effort it took to keep yourself upright beneath the weight of his words.

Part of you wanted to say nothing. Let silence answer.

But you’d done that already. For months.

So instead, you forced yourself to speak—softly, but firmly.

“I thought what I did… that night, I thought it might’ve been selfish.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It wasn’t.”

You looked up at him, finally meeting those steel-blue eyes that had haunted you every time you tried to sleep.

“I don’t regret it,” you whispered. “I just didn’t know if I had the right.”

Bucky exhaled, the sound low and wrecked.

“You didn’t take something from me,” he said. “You gave me something. You made me feel… wanted. Safe. I hadn’t felt that in decades.”

A beat passed. Then another. Your hand twitched at your side, like it might reach for him. You didn’t let it.

“I care about you, Bucky,” you said, so softly it barely reached the space between you. “More than I probably should.”

Hope flared in his eyes—and that’s when you took a step back.

“But right now, I’m your lawyer.”

He blinked. “No. You’re not.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Nelson and Murdock are my representation. You’re on the Avengers’ case.”

The smallest, saddest smile tugged at your lips. “Still. It’s messy.”

His eyes searched yours, quiet and patient. “I’m not asking for something now. I’m not asking for anything.”

You tilted your head. “Then what are you asking for?”

He swallowed. “That you stop looking at me like what happened between us was wrong.”

The crack in your heart widened.

And maybe you didn’t have the strength to tell him that you'd been looking at yourself that way, not him.

You nodded instead. Barely.

He stepped back. Gave you space. But didn’t stop looking at you.

And as he turned to leave the room, your eyes followed him.

────────────────────────

Josie’s bar was unusually full for a Tuesday. The crowd buzzed with quiet conversation, the low hum of sports highlights rolling on the TV behind the bar. But then the channel flickered—cutting to a breaking news graphic—and slowly, the room began to hush.

“After over a year on the run for their violation of the Sokovia Accords,” the reporter continued, “the trio was represented by a relatively unknown but fiercely competent law firm based out of Hell’s Kitchen—Nelson & Murdock.”

A round of murmured cheers rippled through the bar.

“And leading the charge,” the anchor said, “was associate attorney—” your name followed, clear and pronounced, “—whose legal argument reframed the Accords as unconstitutional under both domestic and international law. The case has since been labeled a landmark ruling on enhanced rights, government overreach, and jurisdictional ethics in conflict zones.”

A grainy clip of you outside the courthouse played next. Microphones crowded around you. Your hair pulled back, blazer sharp, your voice calm but firm under pressure.

“The Sokovia Accords were a rushed and fear-based overreach,” you were saying. “The world needs accountability, yes. But not at the cost of civil liberties, and not by punishing people for doing the right thing under the wrong rules.”

A quiet cheer went up near the bar. Someone clapped. You heard a voice—one of the long-time regulars—murmur, “That’s the one that comes in for bourbon on Thursdays, right?”

Josie herself just raised a brow from behind the bar, the closest thing she gave to a nod of approval.

“General Thaddeus Ross issued a formal response,” the anchor added, voice tight, “saying—quote—‘While I do not agree with the court’s interpretation, I respect the process. These individuals are no longer fugitives, and I trust they will now operate within a framework of accountability moving forward.’”

Muted scoffs met that.

“Yeah, sure he does,” Sam muttered under his breath, arms crossed where he sat across from you.

On screen, the reporter continued, summarizing the case’s outcome. “The general amnesty clause within the ruling ensures that enhanced individuals acting in good faith and without malicious intent will not be prosecuted under the original terms of the Accords. While some international critics have voiced concern, the decision is widely seen as a critical first step in rebuilding trust between superpowered individuals and governing bodies.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but his eyes found you—something quiet and full in them. He raised his glass. Just once.

You exhaled slowly, unsure whether it was relief or anticipation sitting heavier in your chest.

Because one case was over.

And the hardest one still waited.

────────────────────────

The holding area outside the Special Tribunal Court at Fort Meade, Maryland, was as sterile and impersonal as the military complex it belonged to—linoleum floors, harsh fluorescent lights, and the low hum of overhead ventilation.

Outside the windowless space, armed guards rotated in silence. The tribunal room itself, behind a thick blast door, waited like a judgment chamber.

You sat stiffly on a bench too narrow for comfort, legal documents fanned out over your lap. Your fingers clenched the edges of one as your eyes burned with something hot and sharp.

Matt Murdock was nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t returned calls, hadn’t shown up to prep the night before, hadn’t replied to the increasingly frantic voicemails from Foggy. And now, with less than an hour until Bucky’s final hearing—he was still missing.

Foggy entered the room like a storm cloud. “I’ve called everyone I can think of,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Nothing. He’s not answering his phone, the apartment was locked up, Karen hasn’t heard anything from him either—he’s gone, and we’re out of time.”

You stood sharply, biting back the rush of frustration rising in your chest. “He had one case,” you said. “This was supposed to be his goddamn priority.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Matt,” Foggy muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Your eyes narrowed. “This is more than a case, Foggy. This is his life—” you gestured toward Bucky, who sat silent and watching “—and Matt just walked away from it.”

A long silence stretched between the five of you.

Bucky’s voice broke through. Quiet. “So… what now?”

Steve looked at you. So did Sam.

You stared at the stack of files on the bench. “I’ll take it.”

“You sure?” Foggy asked, already reaching for the briefing notes.

You gave him a look. “Do I look unsure?”

He swallowed. “Okay. Geneva precedents up top. Watch for prosecution's cross-exam strategy—she'll hammer your credentials hard, especially since you’re taking over so last minute.”

“Let her try,” you said under your breath.

Bucky rose slowly, his blazer stretching across his shoulders. He didn’t look at you—just toward the tribunal doors. “They’re going to call me a monster.”

You turned to face him.

“They might,” you said. “But they won’t win.”

His eyes found yours then—guarded, questioning.

“They’ll see a file, a record, a reputation,” you added. “I see a man who survived hell and still had the strength to pull himself out. That’s who I’ll fight for.”

His jaw worked slightly. And in the silence that followed, he nodded—once.

The weight of his trust settled over your shoulders, heavier than any closing argument.

You picked up your notes, spine straightening. “Let’s go win this.”

────────────────────────

The tribunal room at Fort Meade was cavernous and cold, more war room than courtroom. A long semi-circle of military and civilian officials presided behind bulletproof glass and steel.

The American flag stood behind the tribunal's emblem—flanked by the Department of Justice seal and the Department of Defense. The lighting was clinical, unforgiving, and the walls, though soundproofed, seemed to hum with silent judgment.

General Thaddeus Ross sat at the far end, half-shrouded in shadow, his arms folded and his jaw set in stone. Beside him were analysts from the CIA, a rep from Homeland Security, and the sharp-eyed lead prosecutor from the DOJ’s National Security Division—Assistant Attorney Caldwell. Her file on Barnes was a stack thick with ink and classified stamps.

The moment your group was escorted in—Bucky, Foggy, Steve, Sam, and yourself—all eyes shifted. You didn’t flinch. But you felt the air change.

Bucky didn’t look up. He hadn’t since the elevator ride down.

You took your seat at the defense table. Foggy beside you. Bucky just behind, shadowed. And for one sharp moment, you felt utterly alone at the center of this war.

The presiding military judge adjusted his mic.

“We are here to assess the culpability and legal standing of one James Buchanan Barnes, formerly known as the Winter Soldier,” he began. “This tribunal acknowledges the unique nature of this case, involving alleged international war crimes, state-sponsored coercion, and actions performed under mind control.”

Then, he nodded to Caldwell. “Prosecution.”

She rose with the kind of practiced composure that could slice through steel. Her tone was calm. Precise. Measured.

“The defense will ask you to see James Barnes as a victim,” Caldwell began, voice resonant in the mic. “They will cite brainwashing, trauma, and a corrupted past. And yes—there is undeniable evidence that Mr. Barnes suffered under Hydra.”

A pause.

“But the law is not only built on sympathy. It is built on accountability.”

She turned toward the panel. “James Barnes was a lethal asset in a global shadow war. He executed heads of state. He destroyed civilian infrastructure. He has killed American agents on American soil. His body count surpasses a hundred and known ops occurred over seven decades.”

Then, looking toward your table:

“Whatever happened to his mind—his hands did not forget how to kill. And today, we must ask whether releasing him into society is an act of mercy… or a threat to every principle we claim to defend.”

She sat.

You didn’t blink.

The judge turned to you. “Defense. You may proceed.”

You stood.

Voice calm. Clear.

“For over seventy years, James Barnes was a prisoner of war in a war he never chose. He was stripped of identity. Language. Memory. He was tortured and rebuilt into a weapon—not by choice, but by force.”

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the lectern.

“Yes, he executed missions. But he also survived unimaginable horrors. His captors used science and brutality to shatter the man he was, again and again. And yet—he clawed his way out.”

You met the tribunal’s eyes, one by one.

“He did not run. He came back. He asked for help. And this country, after failing to protect him once, now has a chance to show that it remembers what justice really is.”

You stepped back, pulse hammering in your throat. Behind you, Bucky hadn't moved—but you could feel him breathing. Steady. Listening.

The tribunal was silent.

And the battle had begun.

And after a brief recess the tribunal resumed. You reviewed the witness list as your pen tapped softly on the table. Your jaw was tight. Foggy leaned in beside you.

“You good?”

You nodded once, barely.

The tribunal called its first witness: Colonel Elias Rourke, former liaison to SHIELD, now with Homeland Security. He swore in, stiff and iron-backed in uniform. His voice was gravel.

“Colonel, you had firsthand knowledge of the Winter Soldier’s activity?” Caldwell prompted.

“I did. I was stationed in Berlin during the assassination of a NATO peace envoy. Clean kill. No surveillance footage. The only evidence was a classified SHIELD transcript pointing to a ghost operative—metal arm, cold precision. Barnes.”

You watched Bucky flinch imperceptibly. You didn’t look back.

“And what was your assessment?” Caldwell asked.

Rourke’s lips thinned. “The man was Hydra’s blade. Deadliest asset in the game. We called him ‘death in the dark.’ Didn’t miss. Didn’t stop.”

Caldwell turned, satisfied. “No further questions.”

You rose slowly. “Colonel Rourke, you served under SHIELD, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Were you aware SHIELD was compromised by Hydra at the time of your assessment?”

He hesitated.

“Yes.”

“So your data, your field reports—all possibly filtered through an organization secretly aligned with the enemy?”

Rourke bristled. “That doesn’t change the kill count.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it does change how we interpret it,” you said smoothly. “Tell me, Colonel—how do we define guilt when the evidence comes from traitors?”

The tribunal rustled. Ross's eyes darkened. Caldwell leaned back.

“No further questions,” you said.

Witness after witness passed—some military, some from European intelligence. You dismantled their claims methodically. Not denying Bucky’s past—but reframing it.

Context. Compulsion. Control.

Then came your first and only defense witness: Ayo Sekayi, General of the Dora Milaje, flown in under diplomatic neutrality. Her presence silenced the room.

Ayo took her seat, graceful and firm.

You approached.

“General Sekayi, you worked directly with Mr. Barnes in Wakanda?”

“I did.”

“And what was your primary role?”

“Deprogramming. Erasing the Soviet Hydra conditioning. The trigger words, the synaptic trauma, the enforced behaviors. We dismantled them piece by piece.”

You turned toward the tribunal. “And your conclusion?”

She looked directly at Bucky.

“James Barnes is not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. What they built in him—we destroyed.”

Caldwell stood. “General, can you confirm that these—‘deprogramming’ techniques—cannot be reversed or broken?”

Ayo narrowed her gaze. “Nothing in life is certain, Miss Caldwell. But I trust the work. And more importantly, I trust him.”

The prosecution rested after a tense exchange. Foggy passed you a note: You’re killing it.

But your stomach twisted.

The judge shifted in his seat. “Closing statements will begin in the next session. Tribunal adjourned until 1400 hours.”

You nodded, quietly collecting your papers. Bucky hadn’t spoken all day—but he stood when you did.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

You didn’t reply.

Not yet.

────────────────────────

The minutes before reconvening felt like a countdown to impact.

The tribunal room was heavier now. Not just because the panel of adjudicators had seen the evidence, heard the testimonies—but because they knew the weight of their decision. This wasn’t just about a man. It was about precedence. Politics. Redemption. War.

You stood at the lectern. Foggy sat beside you, calm but alert. Behind you, Bucky sat like he had the entire hearing—shoulders tight, jaw clenched, hands folded. Steve and Sam were across the room, watching, holding their breath through silence.

The presiding officer gave a nod. “Defense, your closing.”

You moved forward slowly. Let your silence stretch for two full seconds before speaking.

“James Buchanan Barnes was trained to disappear. Not just behind enemy lines—but inside himself. He was torn apart, piece by piece, rebuilt without memory or mercy. For decades, he was a weapon in human form. A ghost. A nightmare.”

You let your gaze sweep the tribunal.

“But that’s not who sits behind me today.”

Your voice softened, sharpened.

“He is not innocent. He will never claim to be. But he is not the man they made him. He is not their ghost.”

You swallowed.

“He is a man who has fought harder than most of us can comprehend to claw his way back into the light. He submitted himself to justice. He asked for this hearing. And what he’s asking for—what we’re asking for—is not exoneration without cost.”

You paused.

“We’re asking for understanding. For mercy. For recognition that justice must evolve alongside science, circumstance, and morality.”

Then, finally—

“James Barnes was a soldier. Then he was a prisoner. Then a weapon. But now—now he’s just a man, trying to find something like peace. Let’s not take that away from him.”

You stepped back.

The room was silent.

The prosecution’s closing was colder, but no less powerful. Caldwell spoke with solemn finality.

“However reformed, however rehabilitated—some weapons are too dangerous to unholster. James Barnes has been the tool of multiple regimes. Are we prepared to bet the lives of our citizens on the belief that it won’t happen again?”

She sat.

Then—nothing. Just deliberation.

Forty minutes of it.

Each tick of the wall clock pounded behind your eyes. Steve sat forward, elbows on knees. Sam paced. Foggy didn’t even pretend to read his notes.

Bucky never moved.

Then, the tribunal returned.

The presiding officer cleared his throat.

“In light of the presented evidence, the declassified testimony, and scientific evaluation…”

Your fingers curled against the edge of the table.

“…this tribunal finds James Buchanan Barnes…”

A pause.

“…not criminally liable for the acts committed while under Hydra control. Further, we acknowledge the legitimacy of his rehabilitation and no longer consider him an active threat to national or global security.”

A stunned silence followed.

But your heart didn’t lift. Not yet.

“We impose a five-year probationary review period. Mr. Barnes will remain under international observation and restricted combat engagement unless sanctioned. However, he will not face incarceration.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped your chest.

Foggy muttered, “Holy shit.”

Behind you, Steve let out a slow exhale. Sam’s shoulders dropped.

But Bucky… Bucky just sat there. Still as a statue. His eyes weren’t wide, weren’t teary. But something deep in them shifted—like a plate in the earth, tectonic and unseen.

He looked at you.

And for the first time since Berlin, you let yourself look back.

Not with guilt.

But something closer to peace.

The gavel dropped.

Court adjourned.

────────────────────────

The door to your apartment clicked shut behind you with a thud that echoed louder than expected. Your keys fell into the bowl by the entryway with a tired clatter.

The moment you slipped off your shoes, it was like your body remembered just how much weight you’d been carrying—shoulders sore, back stiff, head foggy.

The tribunal had ended just hours ago. One year’s worth of courtrooms, hearings, back-channel negotiations, UN statements, and defense strategies finally behind you. It should’ve felt victorious.

Instead, it felt like collapse.

You didn't turn on any lights. The glow from the city outside was enough—warm, amber halos from streetlamps slipping through your windows and stretching across the hardwood floor.

You moved by muscle memory, changing into an oversized shirt and sweatpants, tossing your suit into a corner without care. You’d earned at least a week of hermit-mode.

The pizza delivery guy barely warranted a word, just a tired smile and a muttered thanks. The glass of wine you poured wasn’t even your usual—it was whatever had been in your fridge long enough to gather dust on the cork.

You had just curled up on your tiny loveseat, plate in lap, wine within reach, when your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Karen Page

Drinks at Josie’s to celebrate? 🍻 Foggy’s already halfway drunk. And we found Matt.

You smiled softly. Sweet, thoughtful. But it hurt a little.

Your fingers hovered for a second before you typed:

Rain check? I’m officially horizontal for the foreseeable future.

Almost immediately came a heart emoji and a "Love you, you earned it."

That small glow vanished when the screen lit again.

Matt (1 Missed Call) Matt (2 Missed Calls) Matt (3 Missed Calls)

You didn’t even have the energy to read the texts—but they stacked like an avalanche.

Matt Murdock

Call me back. Please. I didn't know Elektra would show up. I didn’t mean for it to affect the case. I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.

You turned the screen face-down and shoved it under a couch cushion like a bad memory.

Pizza. Wine. Couch. That was all you had space for.

And for a while—it worked. The TV murmured in the background. The bottle slowly emptied. Your shoulders lost some of their coiled tension.

Until a knock sounded at the door.

You stared at it for a full ten seconds.

Another knock. Firmer. You sighed, dragging yourself up with a muttered, “Matt, I swear to God—”

But when you looked through the peephole, your heart stuttered.

It wasn’t Matt.

It was Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Hair swept back, still slightly damp like he’d just showered. A simple navy t-shirt. Jeans. No jacket. And in his hands—

Flowers.

A small, uneven bouquet. Wildflowers. Not the kind you bought in shops. The kind you had to actually look for.

You opened the door without thinking.

When you opened it, the sound of the city filtered in faintly behind him.

Bucky looked… nervous. As in, genuinely uncertain of himself. The man who’d stood before a tribunal that morning like a stone pillar was now awkwardly holding out flowers that were slightly crumpled.

You blinked. “You’re… here.”

“Yeah.” He glanced down, cleared his throat. “I, uh… wasn’t sure if this was okay.”

You looked at the flowers.

“I didn't know what kind you liked,” he said, suddenly rambling. “So I just… picked some.”

You stared at him, the bouquet still held between you like a question.

Then, softly, “You picked these?”

His jaw flexed, faintly sheepish. “Yeah. I mean—not from someone’s yard. There’s this stand up in the Bronx. The guy there… he helped me out.” He paused. “I remembered you smelled like lavender. That night. So I made sure there was some in there.”

He hesitated.

“And now that I’m saying it out loud, it sounds a little stalker-ish.”

You didn’t say anything.

He shifted his weight. “You weren’t at Josie’s.”

“Didn’t feel like celebrating.”

“I figured.” His voice was soft. “I thought maybe… you didn’t want to be around everyone. So I came here. Just in case.”

You leaned back against the doorframe, watching him with quiet wariness.

“Why’d you bring me flowers, Bucky?”

He looked down for a second, then back at you. “Call it a thank-you gift. For my lawyer.”

A breath of a laugh escaped you, the first real one in hours. “For the last time, I’m not your lawyer. Matt and Foggy were.”

He didn’t flinch. “You were the one who argued for me. Who won my case. The one who sat across from me every time I wanted to give up.” A beat. “You always seem to be the one pulling me out when I’m sinking.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t. Just reached out and took the flowers from him, gently, like they might dissolve in your hands.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

He gave a quiet nod. “I’ll let you get back to your night.”

And just like that, he turned toward the hall.

You watched his retreating back, something cold curling low in your chest.

You closed the door quietly behind him.

But you didn’t move.

Not at first.

And then your body did what your heart had been screaming for since the moment you opened that damn door. You turned, ripped it back open, and stepped out into the hallway.

The hallway was dim, amber from the old light fixture flickering overhead, but you could still make out his silhouette. Shoulders hunched slightly, hands in his jacket pockets. That quiet slouch he always slipped into when he was trying to take up less space.

“Bucky—”

He was only a few steps away, but he stopped like you’d shot him.

Turned slowly, brows drawn, eyes searching yours, “Yeah?”

You exhaled, stepping into his space without hesitation, bare feet cold against the worn floorboards.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, voice low. Not demanding. Just tired. Raw.

His eyes locked on yours, steady. Like he’d been rehearsing his answer.

“Whatever you’re willing to give.”

Your breath caught. That simple. That honest.

You stepped closer, heart thudding like a drum in your ears. “What if I want you?”

That was all the warning he got before your hands cupped his face, pulling him down.

And Bucky—he melted into it.

Like he’d been waiting for that kiss since Berlin. Since your hands had once pulled him out of panic and into something like peace. Like you’d opened a door inside him he hadn’t dared approach until now.

His hands came to your waist, tentative at first, then firmer—like he needed to feel you were real.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth.

This wasn’t the desperation of before. This was a storm that had built for a year, a longing that had aged like wine, richer now, deeper. And when you pulled him back into your apartment by the front of his shirt, he followed without hesitation.

Your back hit the door before you’d even registered closing it.

Bucky’s hands were on you—your waist, your thighs, your face. Everywhere at once, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first and was terrified he’d lose you if he stopped.

His mouth found yours again in a bruising kiss, all teeth and breath and the kind of hunger that came from a year of silence and stolen glances.

You moaned into him—high, needy—and he swallowed it like he’d been starved for the sound.

Then, without a word, his hands slid beneath your thighs and lifted.

You gasped, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your back slammed gently against the wall. His strength was effortless—of course it was—but the way he looked at you, like you weighed nothing and everything all at once, made your stomach flip.

“God,” he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours for a breath. “You feel real.”

“I'm real,” you murmured, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him back down.

And he kissed you again, harder this time. Desperate.

You rocked your hips into his, and he groaned against your mouth—low, broken, like he was barely holding it together. The metal of his left hand braced against the wall behind your back, his right gripping your thigh so tightly you knew you’d feel it tomorrow.

He pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

“I wanted this,” he whispered. “Since that night.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, chest heaving. “Then take it.”

And he did.

He surged forward, grinding against you through your clothes. The friction was too much and not enough, the heat between you growing sharp and wild. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails dragging over the cotton of his shirt as you moved against him, meeting his thrusts with your own.

His lips moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You drive me insane,” he breathed. “Every time you walk into a room, I forget how to fucking breathe.”

You whimpered, tilting your head back to give him more. “Then don’t breathe.”

He laughed—sharp and breathless—and kissed you again like it hurt not to.

And still, the wall shook with every push of his hips.

You didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was you, maybe it was him—but suddenly your hand was sliding between you, dragging the rough line of his zipper down.

You could feel how hard he was already, straining through the fabric, and Bucky hissed through his teeth when your fingers brushed him.

“Christ,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You want this here?”

Your answer was a breathless whisper at his ear: “Please.”

He growled—a deep, involuntary sound—and kissed you hard, teeth catching your bottom lip. His hands scrabbled at your sweatpants, pushing them down just enough, just enough for what mattered.

Yours were still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. Always closer.

There wasn’t time for finesse. Only need.

Only him.

You reached between you, helping him free himself, guiding him, your hands shaking. And when he slid inside, it was one motion. No hesitation. Like your bodies had been waiting for this, just this, for years.

The stretch made your head fall back against the wall with a soft cry.

“Oh, God—Bucky—”

“Shh,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours, one hand cupping your jaw while the other gripped your thigh like an anchor. “I’ve got you.”

And then he moved.

Slow at first, dragging his hips back and thrusting in again with enough force to make your breath hitch. The friction of clothes, the roughness of denim, the press of your back against the wall—it all made everything hotter, messier. You weren’t supposed to be doing this. Not here, not like this.

But it felt like coming home.

He was panting against your neck now, lips moving over your skin like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or devour you. His hips snapped forward harder, deeper, making you cry out and cling to him.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel like—like I’ve been dreaming of you. And this is better.”

You arched into him, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not until you come. Not until I know you remember this every time you look at me.”

He was unraveling. You could feel it in the way his thrusts grew less controlled, how he trembled against you, how his breath turned ragged. Your own climax was building fast—too fast—but you chased it, grinding down against him as he thrust up, again and again.

When it hit, it was a wave that crashed hard, stealing your breath and your voice. You bit into his shoulder to stay quiet, and that did it for him—he gasped, buried himself deep, and came with a broken sound that might’ve been your name.

His forehead dropped to yours as the both of you shook through the aftershocks, your hands still clutching at each other like it wasn’t enough. Like it would never be enough.

The only sound in the room was your shared, panting breath.

And neither of you moved.

────────────────────────

Your back still tingled from where it had met the wall—hard, unforgiving, but so forgotten beneath the ache of Bucky's body pounding into yours just moments ago.

You barely remembered how you got to your bed. One moment, his hands were gripping your thighs, his breath hot against your neck, his voice wrecked as he whispered how good you felt around him—and now you were sprawled across soft sheets, still trembling.

You were flushed, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, your lips swollen from his kisses and your thighs still parted, slick and sensitive from the way he just claimed you like he’d been waiting his whole life.

You were floating. Light. Feral with afterglow.

And then you saw him.

He was standing at the edge of your bed, chest rising in deep, uneven breaths. His eyes were locked on you—burning, stormy, like he wasn't quite done being wild.

His pants hung low on his hips, the fly undone, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with every breath. His metal hand was clenched at his side like he was holding back, barely.

You blinked up at him, still dazed, lips parting. “Bucky…? What are you doing?”

His jaw ticked. A muscle beneath his cheek jumped. He looked you up and down like he was trying to memorize the sight of you ruined and open for him. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Your breath caught.

He shedded the rest of his clothes with slow, deliberate movements—like he was daring you to look away. You couldn't. You wouldn't. His body was all hard lines and shadows, the silver glint of his vibranium arm catching the low light as he crawled onto the bed.

“Did you really think one time was enough?” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours as he moved between your legs. “After how long I’ve wanted you? After what you do to me?”

You tried to answer, but your words dissolved into a gasp as he began undressing you—slowly almost reverently, his hands pulling your top over you head, his mouth brushing the newly revealed skin. He dragged your panties down your thighs, kissing each inch of your skin as he exposed it.

You whimpered as his hands pushed your legs apart, his mouth hovering just above your soaked center. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, teasing, soft, then biting just enough to make you jerk.

Then he looked up at you—hair messy, pupils blown wide, lips red from earlier kisses—and said, “I need to taste you.”

And then he did.

His tongue touched you like a man possessed—like he was starved for you, like this was the only thing that would calm the storm raging inside him. The first long, slow lick made your hips jerk off the bed, a moan punching from your lungs before you could stop it. He groaned into your cunt, his hands—one metal, one flesh—gripping your thighs, holding you open, keeping you there.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he rasped between licks, his voice muffled and desperate. “I could die like this. Right here. With you.”

He buried his face between your thighs, tongue plunging into you, then swirling up to your clit, his mouth wet and eager and relentless. He ate you out like he was drunk on you, like each moan you made was gasoline and he was the match. His metal fingers dug into your skin, grounding you, steadying you as his pace grew more frantic, more desperate.

You were already close again, still oversensitive from before, but he clearly didn't care. If anything, he was chasing that—your twitching thighs, your gasping breaths, the way your fingers tangled in his hair and yanked when it got too much.

“Come for me,” he whispered against you. “Let me feel it.”

He sucked your clit, fingers slide inside you without warning—two of them, thick and curling just right—and that was it.

You broke.

Your orgasm ripped through you like lightning, spine arching, a choked sob tearing from your throat as everything inside you contracted around him. You were shaking. Panting. Utterly wrecked.

And still, he didn't stop.

Not until you were whimpering, tugging at his hair, begging.

Only then did he pull back, lips and beard shiny with you, chest heaving, eyes wild with satisfaction.

“Fuck,” he breathed, crawling up your body, kissing your throat, your jaw, your mouth—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “I’m never gonna get enough of you.”

Bucky stared at you like you were something sacred. Like he couldn't believe you were real. Like he was terrified this would disappear if he looked away.

His metal hand, now sleek and Wakandan-forged, cradled your cheek as his thumb swept across your skin. You leaned into the touch—there was nothing cold about it. Not anymore. Not when it was his.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. “I didn’t think I’d ever get this again.”

“This?” you whispered, still breathless. “You mean… me?”

He nodded his head slowly. “Peace. Softness. Wanting something. Wanting you.”

You didn't say anything. You just kissed him again. Slow. Deep. Letting your lips speak all the things words couldn't. That he wasn't broken. That he wasn't just what they made him. That you saw him.

He exhaled like it was the first full breath he’s taken in years.

Then he reached down, wrapped a hand around his cock—still hard, still aching—and slid it through your slick folds. You were so wet for him, still pulsing, your thighs sticky with your own release and his from before. He groaned, the sound low and raw in his throat.

“Bucky…” you whispered, arching your hips toward him, needing him inside you again—slow this time, deep, drawn out until it’s unbearable.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I need to feel you again.”

He lined himself up, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip—not to restrain, but to hold himself steady. He pushed forward, just the tip breaching you. You gasped at the stretch, and his eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenched so tight he might crack a tooth.

“Fuck… You’re still so tight,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours again. “You feel like heaven.”

He inched in deeper, groaning as your walls clung to him, as if your body was reluctant to ever let him go. He kept his pace achingly slow, giving you time to feel every inch of him sliding inside—filling you again, this time without the rush. No frenzy. Just presence. Just him.

When he bottomed out, both of you froze.

He stayed there for a long breath, forehead against yours, breathing your air.

Then he began to move.

The rhythm was unhurried, sensual—his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Deep and full, every stroke brushing places inside you that made your toes curl. His cock dragged against your walls like he was trying to leave an imprint, like he wanted your body to remember him.

Your fingers slid over his back, tracing the line of his spine, digging into his shoulder blades when a particularly deep thrust made you moan.

He smiled against your jaw. “Yeah… that’s it. I wanna hear you.”

He was whispering now—dirty things, soft things, things that sounded more like worship than filth.

“Feel so good wrapped around me… like you were made for me…”

“Can’t believe this is real. You—under me—letting me have you like this…”

“I’m not gonna rush this. Not when I’ve waited this long…”

And then he shifted—just slightly—and hit that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur. You gasped, nails biting into his skin, and he groaned like he was unraveling.

He leaned back to look at you, watching your face as he moved inside you. The way your lips parted, your brows knitted, your hips lifted to meet his.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “So fucking beautiful.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, keeping him close. He adjusted his angle, going deeper still, and you both moaned—low, guttural, lost in the feel of it.

The tension built again, slow and steady. Not a crashing wave this time—but a tide, rising and rising, until it’s all you could feel.

You were close. He knew it. He could feel you clenching around him, see your eyes fluttering, your moans growing more desperate.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Come with me.”

And when you did—when you fell apart under him, soft and shaking, moaning his name like it was the only word you’ve ever known—he followed, hips stuttering, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you for the second time that night, his body shuddering with the force of it.

He collapsed onto you gently, his weight warm, grounding. His metal arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. He kissed your collarbone, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

He didn’t move.

And neither did you.

Not for minutes. Maybe more.

The weight of his body on yours was grounding, not stifling—his arms wrapped around you like you were something he’d waited too long to hold, and now that he had you, he couldn’t let go.

You traced lazy, absent-minded circles over the back of his shoulder with your fingertips. Felt the faint line of the scars that connected to metal. A ridged edge from something long healed, but never really gone.

He sighed against your skin. A deep, almost trembling sound. Like the tension had finally broken loose from inside his chest.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up in Wakanda again,” he murmured. “Like all this’ll vanish. The case, you… this.”

You turned your head toward him, your cheek brushing his. “It’s real.”

He nodded, barely.

“I didn’t think I deserved this,” he said. “Not after everything.”

You felt your throat tighten, but you didn’t speak. Just kissed the side of his head, soft and slow.

Eventually he shifted—easing onto his side beside you, never more than inches away. His arm draped over your waist, his leg still tangled with yours. His forehead pressed gently to yours as if he needed that last point of contact to stay grounded.

No space. No distance.

And still—neither of you let go.

Your fingers brushed gently along the metal of his forearm, slow and absent. The room was dim now, the only light coming from the hallway through the cracked door. His breathing had evened out, his eyes half-lidded, but you could tell he wasn’t asleep. Not yet.

“Bucky,” you murmured.

He hummed in response, barely moving.

“What are you gonna do now?”

He didn’t answer right away. You didn’t push.

Eventually, he exhaled. “I don’t know.”

You waited.

“I think Steve and Sam… they’re still going to do it. The work,” he said. “Even without the Avengers. Even without the titles. They can’t not help people.”

“And you?” you asked gently.

He turned his head, eyes meeting yours in the dark.

“I don’t think I want to fight anymore.”

There was no shame in his voice when he said it. Just exhaustion. Honesty.

You nodded, quietly. “Then don’t.”

He shifted a little closer, brushing his thumb over your hip.

“I just want to be,” he said, voice low. “Not a soldier. Not a weapon. Not someone to be fixed. Just… a person.”

Your heart tugged painfully at the simplicity of it. The longing buried in those few small words.

“Maybe,” you said after a moment, voice light but not careless, “you could stay in New York.”

Bucky didn’t respond at first. You felt him shift slightly, just enough to brush his nose against your hair.

“You’re from Brooklyn,” you added, teasing gently. “You’re practically built for rooftop fire escapes and overpriced bagels.”

That pulled a faint huff of laughter from him, the sound rumbling in his chest where it pressed against your cheek.

Then, softer—almost shyly: “I’ve taken a liking to Hell’s Kitchen.”

You smiled into the dark. “That so?”

He shifted, the tip of his nose brushing your forehead. “It’s loud, messy… smells like fried food and bad decisions most nights.”

You laughed—quiet, tired. “Accurate.”

“But it’s honest,” he added, voice softening. “People look you in the eye here. They don’t pretend not to see you.”

You swallowed, eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah. It’s rough around the edges, but it doesn’t lie to you.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, “I need that. Somewhere that doesn’t look away when I walk by.”

You turned slightly to face him. “You don’t scare people here.”

“I used to.”

“You don’t scare me.”

His eyes found yours in the dark. There was something unguarded in them now—exhaustion, yes, but something gentler too. Something you hadn’t seen on his face since Berlin.

“Not even a little?” he asked.

You shook your head. “You’ve never scared me.”

He watched you a moment longer, like he was searching for a reason to disagree. But he didn’t find one.

The quiet was broken by the low buzz of your phone vibrating insistently from somewhere in the living room

You didn’t move. Just let out a soft groan and nuzzled further into the warmth of Bucky’s chest, tucking your face into the curve of his neck like you could block the whole world out.

“Just ignore it,” you murmured, lips brushing his skin. “It’s probably Matt. Again.”

Bucky’s hand slid slowly along your spine, his touch soft, deliberate.

“He’s been calling?”

You gave a faint nod. “And texting.”

There was a pause. Then Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, brow furrowed.

“Texting?”

You opened one eye, smiling faintly at the confusion written across his face. “It’s a thing called voice typing, honey. Blind people use it. Revolutionary stuff.”

He huffed—quiet, but amused—and let his head fall gently back to the pillow.

“Still weird,” he mumbled. “Didn’t think he’d be that tech-savvy.”

You sighed, lifting your hand to lazily trace circles over his chest. “He’s not. Every message ends up with an accidental comma or two dozen typos.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his hand resting warm against your waist.

Then, almost reluctantly: “He was at Josie’s. When I left. I saw him.”

You blinked, but didn’t sit up.

“He looked… rough,” Bucky continued. “Like he’d been in a fight with a brick wall, and lost. Cuts, bruises. Said he’d been in an accident.”

You gave a small, tired laugh. “Matt’s always getting himself into accidents.”

“Does he?” Bucky asked, not pushing, just curious.

“Mmhm. Staircases, doorframes, the occasional wall,” you muttered. “Clumsy as hell.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, lips brushing your hair. “He apologized to me. For not showing. Said he should’ve been there. That it wasn’t fair to me. Or you.“

You went quiet at that and after a moment, you sighed, resting your head more comfortably against Bucky’s chest.

“I’ll forgive him,” you said, voice softer now. “Sooner or later. I always do.”

Bucky’s hand paused on your back.

Then, carefully—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer or not—Bucky asked, “You and him… were you ever a thing?”

You blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him. His tone was neutral, but you could see it in the tension around his jaw. The quiet way his eyes avoided yours for a beat too long.

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

He didn’t respond immediately, just glanced away toward the dark corner of the room like it might have the answer.

“You’ve been around us for a year,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around it. “You thought me and Matt were—”

“There’s obviously something,” he cut in, not defensive, just… honest. “There’s history.”

You watched him for a moment. Then sighed, laying your head back against his chest, cheek pressed to the space just beneath his collarbone.

“Of course there’s history,” you murmured. “We grew up together at Saint Agnes Orphanage. Sister Maggie basically drilled it into us that we were each other’s family. We were each other’s shadow for years.”

There was a pause. A breath of quiet between you.

“But,” you added, a wry smile tugging at your lips, “we’re also excellent at driving each other completely insane.”

That earned a small chuckle from him, low in his chest. His hand resumed that slow, absent stroke along your spine. But you could still feel it—that little line of worry sitting tight in his silence.

“I love him,” you said softly. “I do.”

His hand stilled again.

“But not like that. Not ever like that.”

The quiet stretched again. You thought maybe he’d fallen asleep.

Then, softly—not a question. Just a realization.

“You’re an orphan.”

You nodded slowly against his chest. “Yeah.”

There was another pause, longer this time.

His hand kept tracing that steady path along your spine. You could feel how the air around him shifted—not cold, not distant, just… deeper. Like he'd stepped into something personal without meaning to.

“Matt, Foggy, Karen…” you said softly, “they’re my only family.”

There was a pause. A soft breath between two heartbeats.

“Maybe not anymore,” Bucky said.

You stilled.

The air shifted again—warmer, somehow heavier—like the room had shrunk to only the space between you.

His hand didn’t stop its quiet movement across your back. His voice, when he spoke again, was softer. More certain.

“You were the first person to treat me like I wasn’t a machine. Like I wasn’t dangerous. You looked at me like I was still a man… even when I didn’t believe it myself.”

You didn’t move. Just listened.

“You didn’t try to fix me,” he went on. “You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pity me. You just… saw me. And that night in Berlin—when I was breaking—you didn’t pull away. You pulled me back.”

Your fingers tightened slightly against his side.

“That never left me,” he whispered.

And that’s when it slipped out—bare, breathless, and truer than anything you’d said all night.

“You make it really hard not to fall in love with you when you say things like that.”

It was barely above a whisper. But it landed heavy between you.

Bucky didn’t flinch.

He just looked at you for a long, aching moment. Eyes open. Jaw tight with something deeper than tension.

Then, quietly, like it cost him something—but he gave it freely anyway:

“Maybe that's not such a bad thing.”

You didn’t have time to respond.

Because his mouth was on yours again—slow, sure, steady. Nothing like before. This kiss didn’t burn. It settled. Deep into your chest, into the space where grief and guilt used to live. It didn’t ask for anything. It just was.

Because now, unlike that night, there was no looming mission. No stolen hours. No fight waiting outside the door.

Now, he was free.

And he had time.

All the time in the world.

With you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut

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sugarfairysam · 2 years ago

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fuck cockroaches ❤️

#my art tag #silly art tag #Comic #help #Istg I have never screamed loud in MY LIFE #and I was at my grandparents house #so literally everyone heard #including my uncles friends who were in the living room #so they thought someone broke in the house or smth #but it was just me #anyway I was shaking and crying and struggling to breathe and stuff✨#and obviously my mom didn’t care and only told me to stop crying bc she didn’t want my dad to know #vent ig???#idk if this counts as a vent lmao

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studywithmeblogs-blog · 4 months ago

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I did sociology revision today and also managed to get the new watch strap for my Fitbit sorted so I can tell the time again!

#study blog #studyblr #study motivation #a levels #studying #back to school #studyspo #fitbit #✨life stuff tag✨

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syluses · 9 days ago

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HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART TWO (2) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(2) THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: ayyy finally got chapter 2 out ✨ apologies for the wait!! but i hope u enjoy this one my friends :] 💕 also sorry for any typos PLEASE overlook them i beg :,) i hate the edit/revise process it took SO long but i hope my sleep-addled brain did me decent as i went thru to correct stuff. oh also i made a teeny mistake in part one, but i fixed it and its very inconsequential (used wrong number: 6 changed to 7). but anyway just letting u know if ur very observant & noticed a difference lol!! [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

It’s hard to be secretive, tiptoeing down the hallway toward the stairs, when halfway through it opens up into the living room’s overhang.

If someone were sitting on the couch, and they heard so much as a creak from above, all it’d take is a glance thrown over their shoulder to spot you with a hand hesitantly placed on the banister, leery of stepping down to the first floor.

Nervewracking.

Perhaps it’s a bit dramatic to compare it to walking into the lion’s den- but you’re not the most talkative of persons, especially not with him, and it does seem daunting in your head to be cornered into conversation. Like prey meeting predator. Small meeting big. One delicate discussion could do you in, but you won’t bet on your demise being brought along so… easily.

To your immense relief, when you you peek around the stone column and survey the area below (mainly the L-shaped sofa, facing the massive wall-mounted TV above the fireplace), you find it empty.

At that, you let out a quiet breath. Some of your courage returns.

If you had spotted the twins, it would’ve been manageable, more so than if it was their dad, anyway.

It was only an hour ago (well, an hour and ten minutes, but you hope they won’t hold that against you— and considering all their tardy slips in highschool, they wouldn’t have the right) that you’d held conversation with them, and it went alright.

It’s a bit harder for you to admit that it was actually pretty nice to see them again.

Cathartic, even.

There’s a part of you that’s vulnerable and girlish- carefully stowed beneath the tough skin you lay on in front of most of everyone else- locked somewhere safe- and yes, it did miss them.

But you’re meant to dislike the three of them. Your meddling stepfamily who slipped into the cracks of your home, your mother’s heart, no different than an invasive species would. Stuck a foot into the door of your life and pressed until the hinge gave.

Once, it was easy. As effortless as breathing.

You didn’t have to think about it, or deliberate on it, or make all the justifications in your head- no, you hated them and that was it.

That feeling was meant to be final. Set in stone.

You thought it was.

For a time you even likened Sylus to Cinderella’s evil stepmother and his two conniving sons to the insufferable stepsisters. Oh, it’s childish, you know; looking back on those moments, you don’t know whether you want to hug the teenage girl you’d been or laugh in the face of her.

As it stands, though, Anastasia and Drizella aren’t half the monsters you’d once liked to believe. Awfully enough, you’ve warmed up to them, maybe even came to love them.

You’re stubborn, not stupid: Luke and Kieran have a special place in your heart and you recognize that.

You’re sure that they do, too. It’s what makes them bolder during every confrontation; brings out the smiles where they once paled. Scared you’d yell or shriek for your mom to just—

Get these two idiots out of my room!

That was then, though.

Things are different now. Changed.

…The ‘Lady Tremaine’ in this picture is still a work in progress. If you’re being honest, you wouldn’t be too terribly upset if it stayed that way—

No. But no, because…

Your mother would’ve been happy if you got along with him. Made amends. It’s a truth as sour as it is undebatable.

“Baby, please- he’s a good man, really. Can you just try, for me? I know you miss your dad, I know you do, I do, too-“

‘Does she?’ To save your hide, you bite that remark down, but listen on just as grumpily.

“-but I think that this can be a good thing if you just-“

Her words echo in the walls of your head. Plangent, bouncing. Like a gunshot ringing out through a canyon, it’s still loud in your conscience, even more so now that she won’t be around to nag you on the matter any further.

—“Smiled.”

If you don’t like Sylus, you’re the bad guy, right? And damn it all if that doesn’t dredge up an ounce of bitterness in you, but—

…For the sake of this trip, for the sake of her no longer being here (and oh, what you wouldn’t give so she could be here), you’ll do your best to swallow down your misgivings about your stepfather.

And you’ll be good.

Two weeks.

Reminding yourself of that for what must be the millionth time, you push off the truffle-wrap pillar to continue into the lofty hall. Starting down the wide, marble staircase in silence.

You’re not so sure where their father is. You definitely have your guesses— A fancy-shmancy meeting or outing that’s called him outside of the estate, or perhaps he’s simply in his study working, running an errand— All of which you hope are correct for the sake of avoiding him.

This late lunch of yours and the twins’ should be just that.

Yours and the twins’.

✦

The further you press into the first floor, the more you smell whatever the private chef is cooking.

Delicious, whatever it is. And no surprise there- the man who hired him demands only the best of the best. He’ll brook nothing less.

As you get closer, the aromas (some too faint to label, others almost dominating your senses: garlic, a pinch of ginger, the mouthwatering scent of meat) blend into a savory potpourri. A cohesive, expertly-made dish, you’re sure.

It’s true that in the past five years since your moving out that your visits have become more sporadic, far and few in between, but meals gathered around a tabletop brimming with tasty sides and entrées will always be a distinct memory you hold of this place.

I mean, you were all but forced by your mother to endure them. Thus, dinner became a special time for you and your stepfamily to bond.

Even Sylus, the endlessly busy CEO of some lucrative company you pretend not to know the name of, made room within his schedule where he could.

However, bonding is not what generally happened.

Teenage you always thought those dinners were stupid. Awkward at the best of times. Smiles too tight to be polite, hands passing around bowls you’d stick your nose up to. Not out of disgust, no, the platters never failed to make you drool- but because you’d take your dad’s homemade roast chicken over your stepfather’s insincere, gourmet trays any day of the week.

To be honest? you’d been mean to them, you’ll admit that much. Cruel even. A big brat with an even bigger bone to pick. You and your family didn’t come from rags, but your origins were infinitely more humble than the twin’s, than what Sylus had— yet you were prissy and rude in a way that they somehow weren’t... Presumptuous.

So upset with the new arrangement you couldn’t think straight.

“Y/n, pick up the fork for God’s sake- can’t you see your father went through all this just to have a meal with us tonight?”

Placatingly, “Honey. It’s alright.”

It’s not quite a snarl that you throw her way, but it’s close. With no one here to spank you, you’re allowed to mouth off a little, be unruly. No one’s here to stop you— your mother’s never had the arm for the paddle and regardless of that, she clearly shouldn’t be responsible over you if she can’t even make good decisions for herself.

To date, her worst decision yet is bringing that asshole around…

Pointedly ignoring the attention that’s gravitated to you, you scowl.

Maybe you are pushing the part of brat a touch too far- a shock, taking your past obedience into play- but how else will you get her to see you? Your hurt? I mean, the twins misbehave endlessly at school and at best, they get a slap on the wrist, no doubt because of their mogul of a father, but you don’t miss the laughs or rueful glances tossed their way.

The positive feedback.

“…Father?” You snip, eyes laser-focused on the woman at the far end of the table. The twins juggle between watching you and their dad with bated breath, half grinning in mischievous delight.

For several moments, the latter doesn’t move.

Sure enough, though, that cardinal gaze finds its roost on you. Not that you’re paying it any mind.

The air shifts when you open your mouth again, rising from the table with a start. The finely-placed cutlery jumps as you do.

“I don’t care if you’ve married him, made him your ‘quote on quote’ husband, that’s not my father and never will be. And these stupid boys that trail me all damn day long aren’t my family, either!”

“Whoa-ho! We caught a stray, bro!”

A beat of stunned silence.

Galileo crosses your mind; mainly what he did when the spotlight fell to him. The point is that there’s still time to recant, the rational part of your brain whispers. To backtrack.

Your cheeks warm. Heart pounding in your chest at the embarrassment of voicing your emotions, making a literal stand. But you can’t stop now. It’s too late to.

“A-And…” A tremble. You’re- You’re trembling, comes the small revelation. Ignoring it, you barely repress a wince, standing there uncertainly.

Finally, your mother- finding her bearings- angrily sputters out your government name.

You almost cow to it.

But you can’t be weak, not now, not in front of them, and-

In a frantic moment, your eyes dart over opposite the table to collide with his, your voice shaking wildly as the twins, at either side of you, snicker.

You swallow down the dregs of your self-consciousness to uncivilly pick up your fork and wave it at him.

“And you! Don’t even get me started on how awful you are! What you’ve done to me!”

All along you’ve done your damnedest to ignore him, only adding in your two cents where it was absolutely necessary. The last month or two you’ve spent under the same roof as him has been nothing less than an excellent demonstration of the cold shoulder on your part. You want the credit for that.

So when you point a literal finger, staring him down like you would prey through a muzzle and furrow your brow as unbidden tears wet your lash-line, his eyes actually double in size. Your stepfather, having forgotten to breathe by the looks of it (albeit, you have too), straightens by a fraction.

Good. That’s...

That’s good, you think.

Something in the back of your mind says ‘heel,’ says ‘don’t poke the bear,’ warns in every possible language you can think of that this is NOT a good idea. He’s rich enough to fill whole swimming pools with cash and powerful enough to move people like chess pieces— probably nudge them out of the game and off the board, too.

But he’ll never be the man of your house. You won’t allow it. So call it sheer stupidity on your end or just a death wish but—

“Y-You’ve stolen everything from me!”

On your right, Luke blinks with hesitant awe, his amusement petering out. Kieran’s jaw shuts. The foot he’d been kicking you with under the table draws away from yours. He exchanges a brief, suddenly sobered look with his brother as everything you’ve been holding back on these past several weeks looses to the surface.

“Y/n-!”

“You took it all! My mother, my dad’s honor, even my fucking house-!”

For the second time, your government name flies across the panel of demurred faces, but you’ve reached your melting point. The watershed where fear and politeness, all the conventional little things you’re supposed to respect and operate by, warps into hot unbridled anger.

This is a cut that originated from your father’s death, one exacerbated awfully by Sylus and his two sly, obnoxious sons- so you think it’s due time to let it bleed.

Bleed, it does.

But then- “You ruined my life, you-“

A breath. Stuttering and shallow and tender. It’s horrifying to realize it came from you.

“Y-You….”

Through the blur is a low, gentle murmur.

Rich and thick. You think even if your ears ceased to work, something in your chest could still recognize it; the bass moves through your ribs and rattles them.

In your periphery, for as fogged as it’s become what with the tears that suddenly speckle the room- the ones you vaguely acknowledge but do all you can to hold, even if just for a few more moments- the silver-haired man sets down his utensil. Nonchalant per usual. With unrivaled class.

It pisses you off.

Without looking at your frazzled mother, he raises a hand to calm her. “Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright. Let her speak.”

Speak…?

Oh- Is that what he fucking thinks this is? That you’ve stood, clinking the side of your glass with a spoon to humbly direct the diners’ attention from the plates spread tastefully before them to you as you prepare a fancy speech of sorts-?

This isn’t an announcement you’re making. This is not even a conversation. It’s just-

It’s just-

The epiphany that every set of eyes is on you including the chef’s (still tucked in the kitchen, as poor as any man could be as he hurriedly cleans up)— and that you are being treated no different than a dangerous animal that needs patience and slow movement to be handled, corralled back into a fucking cage—

It’s so infuriating you go quiet.

Your brain reaches a lapse and you shut up. Lips flattening into a pursed line immediately, you ball your fists and scamper back off to where it’s safest.

Your room.

“Sis, wait, Kieran said he’s sorry for kicking you under the table-“

You’d ignored it all and then you’d cried.

“Kieran,” an unexpected growl. “A word.”

…You suppose time has a funny way of soothing, though, because right now when you recollect the moment, you find the humor in it and scoff quietly.

“Dad, wait, I-I was just kidding around with her!”

Yeah okay, it was a bit embarrassing- you were a bit embarrassing- but you won’t hold that against sixteen year old you. She knew fuck all else how to navigate.

The big house is familiar and airy as you walk through the lower floor, as quiet as you left it.

Even if you’d forgotten the layout, whatever fragrance wafting from the kitchen would be enough to guide you there.

You wonder if it’s some kind of stirfry. A far cry from the humble PB&J’s you’ve been making yourself at home with chips sometimes as a side, but your tummy growls for it all the same.

You haven’t ate since sometime yesterday. As your tongue wets itself in anticipation, you’re made very aware of that now.

You spot the rice cooker on the side counter when you finally walk in and the blurred figures of the twins as they turn to look at you.

Luke, perched on a bar stool to eagerly watch the chef work his magic, hops off just to pull out another one at its right. The look in his eye, glittering, full of anticipation, tells you verbatim to ‘sit right here’. You don’t bother protesting- you’re already some minutes late after all- and climb up onto the seat between them.

Kieran, at your left, scoots closer to sling his arm over your shoulder. You let it happen with a small wince. The chair supporting the other twin gives a short screech when he, too, inches closer to fold his arms on the counter, lean his head on them, and angle his cheek to look at you.

“So, sis, how do you like Linkon so far?”

Not paying them much attention, you quirk an eyebrow.

Between watching the chef as he deftly tosses the pan back and forth (broccoli, you see now, with meat cubes he folds in) and glancing at the archways connecting the rest of the house into the kitchen- eyes peeled for someone- the twins are not your priority right now.

At the top, that list looks something like this: Eat a nice midday meal without any incident involving their dad.

“I’ve lived in Linkon almost all my life, don’t act like this is my first time here,” you poke back, albeit in a somewhat hushed tone. The walls might as well have ears.

Kieran reaches out to run an idle finger down the jut of your shoulder, his chin lazily propped up by his hand.

He looks at you.

“Sis, do you even realize for how long you were gone?”

His voice is light. Conversational. You’re not so deluded, though, by their indifferent, laidback act. You’ve known them not for a decade but not far off from that either, and you’ve learned to catch the whiff of trouble in the air before it blows its wind your way.

When you finally throw them each a gander, hesitantly prying your gaze from the open entries, the delight masked behind each placid set of eyes is absolutely there— just hiding well.

They’re getting much more amusement out of this than they’re letting on.

You’ll give them credit here: they’ve gotten better at pretending they’re not up to no good,… but there’s no bamboozling you.

You think about it for a few seconds before quipping back. “Almost seven months,… right?”

“Right,” Luke chirps beside you, “Seven whole months!” You turn your head to focus on him now.

(Ah, that’s right- you inwardly alert yourself upon notice- no matter who you’re facing, the other will inevitably be in your blindspot… Have to keep on your toes these upcoming weeks if you don’t want them pulling a trick on you.)

He pouts his lips, ever dramatic, to play up the kicked expression and make it all the more impactful as they guilt trip you. “Seven whole months where Kieran and I were left alllllll on our lonesome. Left to fend for ourselves.”

“Oh, you big babies.” With a huff, half-smiling, you lean out to flick his forehead. His hood slips off when he tries to nod away from your attack, laughing softly as wild, red tufts come loose.

“You’re plenty old enough now to care for yourselves. You can’t always rely on me for everything. Besides,” you start, thoughtful, and this is when your already quiet voice slinks into a whisper, one the boys draw in to hear.

Luke’s attention drifting past your shoulder, “you already have the big boss man covering your asses in every sense of the word.”

From the archway, a sonorous voice rings out.

“She’s right, you know.”

You and Kieran snap your heads over to look. The chef (and you don’t why you’re suddenly staring at him, or the ground, for that matter, nervous) gives a little glance his way, dipping his chin respectfully, but doesn’t note him beyond that. A big grin blooms across the lower half of Luke’s face. You’d smack it off if you could.

Beside you, Kieran suddenly lets out a chuckle, both of the twins once more very interested in you- particularly the reaction you’re trying to hide- as you swallow and look away.

Under the broad arch, their stepfather adjusts his sleeves before casually propping himself against the wall, arms folded.

You risk a glance over and instantly regret it when you catch his eyes on yours, a brow quirked teasingly.

…Directed at the boys, you realize when he speaks again. Of course. “You two lean on your sister far too much, don’t you think? I’d say you’re lucky she’s been so patient with you both.”

A huff from one of them. But they’re so similar it might as well come from the other. “Hah, I have the patience of a saint, especially when it comes to her! Don’t forget, dad, how long it took for me to get her to even talk to me-“

Frowning, you open your mouth to argue against that, to defend your past-self’s choices (because she had every reason to ignore the obnoxious pair), but to your suprise Luke beats you to the punch.

“Bro, you have to admit,” he starts with a sheepish laugh, “we were kind of annoying kids… I mean, we were pretty much always trying to find a new way to bother her…”

Curtly, you close your mouth. That deep, rumbling voice sounds out again- light in tone- and your heart skips a beat.

“Honesty’s not a bad start... Kieran, you might benefit from taking notes from your brother.”

“Eh…”

From behind the island, tucked in front of the stove- you swear you hear the cuisiner chuckle.

The pan sizzles. Your mouth waters and you’re reminded of how hungry you are, but the longer the silver-haired man lingers in the entryway the more you’re afraid he’s there to stay.

It was supposed to be just the three of you eating together. Not- Not him. And yeah, sure, this is his house at the end of the day— you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t already painfully aware of that- a fact that’s more obvious than ever now that your only real tether to this place, your mother, is gone— but why did he have to show up now of all times?

As every gripe starts to form in your head-

Two weeks. And then, and then it’ll be over for the last time.

-you silence them.

A moment passes and Luke, still studying you with the ghost of a grin, asks what you all really want to know.

“So, dad, are you staying for lunch?”

A beat. You furtively glance up in time to watch him check his expensive wristwatch, his brow furrowed.

“Lunch, you say?” He chuckles, ruby-red eyes practically sparkling when he lifts his chin, one corner of his mouth curved- though you can tell he’s trying to mask it. “And I guess this is the early bird special?”

“Sleepyhead Y/n here rolled out of bed late.”

You huff, crossing your arms, distracting yourself with the busy chef. “And these two all but barged in while I was still busy unpacking.”

Like clockwork, much of the mirth in his expression wanes. He frowns expectantly, voice neither stern nor flat but something in between. “Boys. What did I tell you about not pestering our guest while she’s still here?”

Luke and Kieran snicker. You bite down on a grin.

“Yeah, boys,” you murmur to be annoying, just loud enough for them to hear. That’s the hope, at least.

Sylus’s little smirk returns with a vengeance. He refolds his arms, adjusting.

“…Anyway, though. I can’t stay. I have a meeting I need to sit in at the main office, unfortunately. I would’ve…” A raking of his eyes between the three of you, interested, and a brief pause, ��Enjoyed that, though.”

He hums, saying more to himself now than to any of you, “another time.”

For a number of moments, the air seems oddly tense. A miasma of something unsaid hangs between the four of you, thickening the air between, and in the split second before someone breaks the silence, you’re struggling to pinpoint the root cause.

It’s just the ice from last night, you decide quietly, the bits of it that didn’t break. The friction left over.

You’re still settling in, after all.

…And yet when his gaze finds yours again, something not to be uttered in it as cherry hues zero in on you, his lashes fluttering ever so slightly—

The pulse in your chest trips and picks itself back up again.

You blink, looking down to his chest. When your stare sweeps up again to his face, almost hesitant to find what may be waiting there, he’s addressing the twins and it’s already gone.

“Well. I’m out, then. Boys: don’t drive your sister crazy. And… Kitten…”

Your brow pinches unwittingly. There, again, is that strange yet patient twinkle in his eye and it steals all the breath from your lungs in one fell swoop.

Either side of you, Luke and Kieran trade off between appearing uncertain and then appearing just as eager. Behind the steaming stove, even the chef, cottoning onto the shift in atmosphere, tosses the briefest of looks over his shoulder to assess the situation.

You nervously wet your lip. “Y-Yeah?”

Promptly, your stepfather’s countenance smooths out into an easy, pellucid smile. A whit challenging; a whit encouraging— but not at all reluctant, no, the mite of intimidation in his gaze is a simple result of your clouded thinking these past few days. Nothing more.

“Don’t pull your punches if they do.”

A swallow. “Alright.”

The twins, no different than conspiring, bothersome little rats, slap a hand over their mouths to hide a laugh, and then their dad is skimming between all three of you in your row at the counter. Albeit, his tone is too gentle for them—

“Call if you need something,” he suggests.

And then he’s gone.

A tumbleweed blows through. Kieran turns to you afterward, Luke’s hand idly dangling off your shoulder, the pair far too comfortable with taking up your space- but for now, obedient enough.

“Well, chef, how’s it looking?”

Lunch is served on a silver platter.

Swallowing down your reservations, your typical discomfort with their casual, sumptuous lifestyle, you fold to your hunger and dig in.

Kieran, ever the pest, laughs when you finish before them, shoveling a share of his saucy broccoli onto your plate. His grin is shit-eating, but you can appreciate the generosity laced under his teasing remark for what it is.

“Wow, someone’s hungry, huh? Bet you’re wishing you ate during your flight!”

✦

In the hours after, you trampoline between idling through the massive home, revisiting various memories you hold of each room and long corridor, and sitting down with a hand over your full belly. Thinking.

Maybe all the reflection isn’t for the better, though, as much as you try to keep optimistic by playing dumb to your circumstances.

You don’t blame the boys for being so energetic, even amidst the doom and gloom that’s reared its head in just the past few days— it’s a lot to handle, everything with your mother, sure it is, but they’re known for their mischief, for being nothing but happy-go-lucky. Besides… sometimes grief manifests itself in strange ways. Whether it be through inconvenient fits of laughter or a stone-faced apathy, it’s all of the same brood: an interesting yet no less instinctual coping mechanism.

Considering you’ve been forcefully naive surrounding your reasons for being flown out, you know plenty about those mechanisms yourself.

It’s not impossible that they’re mourning her in their own way, the twins. Behind all the admittedly strange, insouciant remarks and the carelessness around such a delicate situation- tasteless at the best of times- you think you see it, the cracks.

The fleeting blips of unease in Luke’s eyes. The moments where the room goes quiet after a good joke makes its round through and he has to blink something away from his conscience. Or the gelidity of his brother, for that matter. The wide-eyed stare into nothingness before he, too, shakes it away like whatever it is is no more than an intrusive thought to be tossed aside and disregarded.

Not to mention they’re gentler with you. More… chivalrous, almost.

Exhibit A:

The boys approach you closer to sunset in your bedroom, their polite, small smiles and knocks before coming in pleasant surprises each.

Perched on your bedroom’s dormer window, you boredly flip through a book you’ve read at least thrice as they ask if you’ve found a dress yet for the funeral, as respectful as they ever could be.

On cue, your world weathers at the edges. Like paper thinning through after its corner is put to a lighter.

Right, right. A dress. The- The funeral….

You’ve not even been in the Qin estate for 24 hours but you’re already letting these things- these very paramount things- slip from your mind. They should be in the forefront of it, but the more you dwell on them (your priorities: using these two weeks to prepare for the ceremony, finding suitable attire, hopefully going through her belongings once you’re ready enough), the more it hurts, so you just shut it out.

See, all of this— the dreadful knowing that your veritable mother is gone and in terms of blood and bone family, you’re now left utterly alone (that maybe if you’d just- fucking hung around a bit more you somehow could’ve reversed her fate)— has obviously affected you as much as it has your stepfamily if not more- considering they were the ones who found her and all. But the twins, and even their father, are demonstrating a master class in composure, and you don’t know whether to find gratitude in their lack of flying off the handle (in this hell, someone needs to remain coolheaded) or be offended by it.

It almost feels like she was never here.

Like nothing went wrong... But you can’t really blame them for their cool and collected behaviors, because you’re putting up a strong front yourself.

Maybe your mother wasn’t the twins’ given at birth, sure... But they operated as a true family. Even when you were bitter and stuck-up and rude, the four of them were tight-knit, so much so that eventually you felt like the fucking interloper in it all, the outlying number in the equation.

So you quietly understand that there’s hurt involved on their side around her death- whether they’re being loud about it or not- and choose not to tally it against them.

…Perhaps, you think, it’s high time for you to retire your childhood grudges, anyway.

You close the book, smoothing over the cover.

If the five-second rule applies— you use four and a half to pick up your pieces off the floor and formulate a reply, not hiding how crestfallen you are.

“No. I… I haven’t even went shopping yet. I mean, I figured-“

A thick swallow on your end- and an exhale that sounds more like the stirrings of a panic attack and the boys are at your side in a moment. Their softer facets coming through as they join you on the loft window.

Luke takes the worn stuffed animal he almost crushes, dutifully ignoring its matted fur, and places it in your lap to distract you as you struggle to articulate your emotions. Kieran does his best to not scrutinize you too much, knowing you typically don’t like the attention, while you fidget with the plushie and give them an odd show of vulnerability.

I mean, fuck it. They see you as their sister, and you’re tired of pretending to be too tough to rely on them as your brothers, so—

“I- I figured we had two whole weeks, you know? And… And that’s plenty of time to just get a dress later. Have- Have you two gotten everything ready for it?”

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs back, taking your hand in his to swallow it up in warmth. It surprises you but you don’t make a comment. As if wanting to be included as well, or maybe he’s just mad his brother beat him to the punch, Kieran quietly nudges the plushie from your other hand and intwines his fingers with yours.

Your cheeks warm.

Your heart, ricocheting in your chest, whispers something you don’t quite catch as one of them sluggishly props his chin on your shoulder, mumbling a hey, it’s alright as you furiously blink, and you’re inundated with a foreign sense of- of—

Security? …Is that it?

“We went with dad yesterday to buy the suits.”

“Before he picked you up at the airport,” Luke clarifies in a light tone.

At your back, the sun glares over a chilly courtyard, lighting the fountain and iron-wrought gates with liquid, reflective gold. It only makes the near identical visages either side of you look all the more daring and impish— boyishly handsome— as dusk washes its hues over the three of you.

It’s just a little jarring.

A set of knuckles, almost experimentally, caresses your toasty cheek.

…For perhaps the first documented time in history, you don’t bite.

“We can take you, if you want? There’s a place in town that can tailor something perfectly for you. We can go tonight to get your measurements, sis, what do you think? Just get it done?”

It’s… not a bad idea. Far from it, actually.

You’d be able to quiet the restless part of your mind. Accomplish this seemingly easy task that’s become gargantuan in your head all within the span of just one night. To top it all off, it’d be with the added bonus of the twins’ brotherly support.

“A-Actually,” you start, lifting your chin to look at Luke, and then Kieran, voice thin, “I was, um, wondering if you two could take me somewhere else.”

They wait, owlish.

You meekly continue, “I’ve already read all the books I have here. I was thinking if you could drive me to that store downtown, just so I can pick up a few. Something to, um, fill in the time while I’m here, you know?“

Kieran blinks at you, dark eyes examining your face carefully, like he’s taking it in in a new light. You’re sure they don’t know what to make of you right now: for most if not all of your teen years, you played the part of distant stepsister very well, never wore your emotions on your sleeve and hesitated to be open with any of the members of your stepfamily.

Perhaps they think you’re taking a page from their book— setting them up for some grandiose joke so you can cackle in their faces.

Luke, smiling faintly, nudges your shoulder with his and leans in. “Sure, sis. Me and Kieran will take you. I guess you haven’t changed too much while you’ve been gone, huh? You’re still a big bookworm.”

“A big nerd.”

“Alright, you two,” you chuckle lightly, jabbing them both playfully- to which they both offer up a fake, dramatic grunt of pain to- before wiping the tear that almost beads at your eye. You hope they don’t notice. But if they do, they don’t make any sly remark about it. For that you’re thankful.

It seems you’ve all matured quite a bit since pre-adulthood, but it’s somehow more obvious this time around.

This visit is different from the last in more ways than one.

Looking between them both, hardly able to hold their respective gazes as your pulse swings in your throat— “Thank you”— you murmur, gentle.

For as embarrassing as it is to be vulnerable, you let yourself be just a little sweet with them... Considering your mother is gone, and the unsteady grounds you stand on with Sylus especially- the veritable owner of this home- you think you’re less of an inhabitant here and more of a… guest.

Once these two weeks are up and the funeral concludes, you’ll be going away again. Probably for the last time. Nothing will call you back.

(You’d been such a brat. What would want to?)

The twins, unable to hide the little, genuine smirks rippling across their faces, regard you inquisitively when something like sadness flashes across your gaze.

You clear your throat. That thought of finally escaping your stepfamily- your stepfather and all he represented- for good shouldn’t make something in your heart tremble. But oh, it does.

Politely, you brush off their hands and rise to your feet. You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but you plaster on an awkward yet no less friendly smile and cross your arms.

“So, boys? You ready to go now? Or…?”

Kieran, the utter moron he is, comments something about how he was born ready, jumping up, and then they’re ushering you out the door and into the hall, towards the stairs, in a two-person stampede.

✦

You buy a book.

Three, for good measure, each thicker than the one before. Just something to occupy your mind in the windows of silence you’ll no doubt spend idling around the mansion before the ceremony.

On the way back, the sky is black underneath a cladding of clouds. Ash as far as the eye can see. The stars are hiding, but you lean your cheek against the car window and look up as if trying to spot them, anyway.

Lost in your mind, your own musings holding you close as the bag sits atop your lap, you don’t pay much attention to the boys when they ask if you wanna stop somewhere to eat because they’re getting munchy.

Without looking, though, you do tell them ‘no thanks, you’re getting kind of sleepy’ and Kieran makes the turn home— albeit not without a dramatic sigh.

It’s… pleasant though, surprisingly. Being with them.

It’s like luck is finally shuffling over to your side. Like things are finally looking up- no matter how trife or trivial they seem. For as shitty of a week it’s turned out to be, you need all the silver linings you can get. So (although with some reluctance, some… confusion) you’ll count this time with them as a small blessing.

Maybe, just maybe, this impromptu trip to Linkon is finally taking a turn for the better. Maybe each and every one of your efforts to remain patient and open-minded and mature with your stepfamily have actually begun to pay off. Maybe you won’t be tearfully pulling hair from your scalp after all, driven mad.

The twins’ harmless griping is a backdrop you smile at as the gates of the estate come into view through the woody road.

In the warmer seasons, it’s a monolithic modern thing erected atop rolling lawns striped green. As it stands now, though, the courtyard is a dull, frosted sage, quiet and cold. The fountain will need to be turned off soon before everything freezes, before the snow comes. You vaguely wonder if one of the workers or bush trimmers that come along every week or two will remember before Sylus even gives them the order. It’s likely.

A thud. “Are you sure, sis?” Your door closes behind you.

Hand still on the wheel, Kieran waggles his eyebrows as his sibling hollers from the passenger seat, thinking you’ll take his lilts as an invitation to get back into the vehicle.

“I’m sure,” you murmur fondly, actually stopping at the driver’s window for a moment to hear them out. You adjust the plastic bag in your grasp and throw a look down the rest of the driveway, towards the house.

“You want us to bring something back, at least? We found this cool new place that opened up that has the best—“

A chuckle. “I’m alright, really. We had lunch and dinner together, ‘member?” Then, you give your throat a soft, innocuous clear, scuffing your shoes over the pavement. “By the way, uh… Do you think your dad’s home yet?”

With the garage closed, the path empty and only the lights you left on in the house warmly shining through, it’s hard to tell if anybody else has come by.

Kieran actually snickers at your hesitance, the little bastard.

You reach forward to flick his forehead and he reels away with an excited shout. “Calm down, sis, I didn’t even say anything!”

“Yeah, but I see you laughing you dummy-“

“It’s just cute, is all. You’re always so worried about our old man and what he’s up to.”

You huff at that, maybe even visibly fluster. But before you can say anything, hop to your own defense, a puckish voice overlaps yours. “If you were in a cartoon, you’d have steam coming out of your ears right now.”

“Ugh! You two are unbearable-!”

“Hey, Kieran said it, not me-“

“But you thought it, didn’t you? You two share the same handful of braincells after all!!”

They both laugh, more endeared by your insults than offended- much to your dismay- and you put your tongue in your cheek. Your narrowed eyes drift back to the titanic of a home. Maybe it’s your imagination, but you almost swear you see a shadow flutter by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the bottom level and—

“Did you see that?” You untuck your arms from their weave at your chest and squint. The boys, still sniggering, follow your gaze. “I think he is home.”

A beat of silence passes.

You turn over. Luke faces ahead in his seat, wetting his lip wordlessly, but Kieran dangles his arm out the side of the fancy, sleek car (that his father surely bought for him as a toy) with his eyes set on you.

Holding your gaze with a shake of his head, his smirk is a tenuous thing, but it’s there. “Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s gone, sis.”

If you ever write a guide on surviving the Qin family, the first page would say: step one, do not believe the twins if they utter anything even a stone’s throw from the two words—

“Don’t worry.”

You frown, uncertain.

He laughs at your pouting. “Kieran- just tell me the truth-“

“I’m serious! He’ll be back later tonight, probably midnight. You know how it is. His schedule is spotty.”

A wind sweeps through and you shiver ever so slightly, clasping either of your arms as you hug them close to your body. Your lips are getting that uncomfortable dry feeling but you know it’ll only worsen if you run your tongue over them. So you don’t.

You eye the lavish, yet unassuming front of the home, ruminating. “Kieran-“

“Now go back in before you catch a cold. Dad will really kill me and Luke if he finds out you were standing out in the dark just to bicker with us.”

“I’m innocent in this,” his brother murmurs before exaggerating a yawn.

You analyze the crafty duo one more time before sensing no dupe on their end and sighing, marching up towards the house.

“Fine,” you call over your shoulder, just a little testy. You don’t want to be fooled, but there isn’t a big reason for them to lie about whether their dad’s returned or not- and even if he did make it back already, it’s no major thorn in your side. There’s a fat chance you’ll just casually, quietly, pass him by as you head to your room- and that’s even if you bump into him in the first place. The place isn’t exactly small or conducive to chance meetings.

“But if you’re lying,” you start, before blushing because you can’t quite think of a good threat. “You’ll- you’ll regret it.”

The engine purrs and the car pulls off- thank God- carrying the harmless yet bothersome mocking words of your stepbrothers with it. “Ohhhh so scary! See you later!”

You cluck your tongue, shaking your head at no annoyance of theirs in particular as you hop up the steps and fish for the key in your pocket.

Giggling under your breath. Idiots.

✦

You’re not giggling when you enter the open foyer, locking the door behind you, and spot a figure in the living room, splayed out on the large L-shaped sofa.

No, you’re not even thinking about the boys anymore, just the dilemma laid out before you as you press your lips together in a thin line and turn your feet into feathers to begin making your way through.

God’s hand must be over your life though, because upon closer, very furtive inspection, tiptoeing towards the archway, he’s…

Asleep.

You let out a soundless sigh of relief at that, shoulders slumping.

…And you should take the opportunity- glad it’s even come to you- and go, you know. It’s as good a moment as any to slip off, undetected, and retreat into the privacy of your bedroom.

It’s all but waiting for you.

What you told the twins was as much of a truth as it was a good excuse— you’re tired and it’s encroaching on that time where you want to plop into bed and curl up under the covers.

Not because it’s past your curfew or anything, no- honestly, you usually have a penchant to stay up late- but because you’re still a little jet-lagged from the flight and you’d prefer to sleep instead of loaf the evening through with the unwanted company of whatever thoughts that might creep in.

You’re not… incredibly close with Sylus. Unbidden feelings of safety and peace in his presence nudged aside, you’re not chummy with the guy and you really have no reason to stick around especially when you’re growing tired but—

Approaching the archway, you slowly reach a hand to rest on it, and you watch.

A half-touched mug of coffee sits on the table before the couch. Strewn beside it is his laptop, mousepad and mouse, and one of those yellow, lined notebooks that you quirk a brow at only because it’s deceptively cheap for a man so expensive.

It’s closer to something your own father- your real, now deceased one- would use to mark out measurements for his woodworking projects, or keep on the fridge under a magnet as a note to himself.

…Huh.

A mite amused by the sight of your generally very awake, proactive stepfather, you fight off a grudging smile- all too entertained by the languid display- and rest your shoulder against the wall.

Dim, golden lights fall over him in a gentle haze, but the shadow cut by his bumped nose is sharp.

You know they’re not related, Sylus and his unruly sons. The twins are splitting images of each other, but they mirror nothing of Sylus’s face— so when you heard the casual murmurs between him and your mother behind closed doors one evening about their ‘adoption’ long ago, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Yet you were.

For as much as you disliked him, it was never because he was a bad father.

The opposite, if you’re completely honest.

He’s always been good to the boys. Nothing short of nurturing (in his own indirect way, of course), paternal, and teacherly. Offering a hand of guidance where it was needed but never ironlike or suffocating with how he used it. If anything, he was even a smidgen lax with them- which you’d quietly admire but only in absolute secret.

Every parent has their faults, that’s a given.

Sylus had very little.

A head full of silver (and some grey, albeit it’s hard to notice his age just because he handles it so gracefully, so boldly) tipped against the back of the couch with an arm resting on the side of it- the shaggy throw blanket on his lap with the wintry chill kept in mind— he’s more than just peaceful. He’s…

Domestic. Relaxed.

This is his territory, you’re reminded again.

You’re just passing through it.

A five o’clock shadow dots the slant of his jaw. His lashes don’t even flutter in his sleep; you reckon he’s deep into it. A pen hangs between his fingers, limp.

Interest dashes through you as you quietly observe him.

You’re not… spying, per se, it’s just- You’re just curious, alright? And to be fair, he wouldn’t have any right to call you out on your observation even if he wanted to, because the number of times you’ve felt and ignored his patient, hopeful, or outright (for whatever reason) amazed stare is too high to be logged.

A pair of glasses rests on the tip of his nose, sloping off. There’s no way to tell just when he got home, but it’s obvious he had been hard at work with something on his computer.

Humming thoughtfully, you pull your gaze away before sluggishly pushing off the threshold.

You shake your head at yourself, readjusting your bag as you find the trace of humor in your desultory actions. Why you let your curiosity get the better of you, you don’t know. It’s very possible at this point that something’s possessed you. Either that, or your cold, guarded heart is thawing out at rates National Geographic needs to get an angle on ASAP.

In any case- you really ought to head up for bed now.

Quiet as a mouse, careful lest you wake and alert him to your presence, you pad behind the couch and across the width of the massive living room to the just as opulent stairs.

You look up to them—

Looming. Dark.

In your mind’s eye, so unrealistically steep- so dangerous—

Breath suddenly hitching, you glance down to your feet, planted firmly beneath you- unmoving- and remind yourself of good things. Other, things.

Puppies. Kittens. Rainbows with pots of gold waiting at the other end with leprechauns to greedily guard them- varying flights of fancy.

Awfully enough, in all your attempts to distract and soothe yourself, four portraits pop up into your brain and three of them belong to none other than your stepfamily.

You want to be callous. But it’s not working this time around.

This wound of yours that your mother’s death left behind is too open, too fleshy, for you to pretend that your skin is so hardened.

Reopening your eyes, you swallow down the bad gut feeling that twists like a knife- the inexplicable unease disappearing as quickly as it came- and reach a hand for the railing.

Bed. Bed. Clearly, you need the rest—

“Kitten?”

A groggy voice. That, and a shuffle.

You flip around.

You’re too shocked to even remember you’re meant to dislike him, hand flying over your heart in a trice. “Y-Yeah?”

Your stepfather, looking sideward over the couch at you, blinks away sleep casually.

Oh, God. It’s just him…

“Oh,” he mumbles, “Sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you…” lazily tossing a glance to the unoccupied space around him, even the banister overhead; checking for something, you realize as your heart slowly takes its foot out from your throat.

You sigh out, visibly deflating.

You think you see his gaze drop to the bag in your hand, giving you a once-over, but his ruby eyes are catching the light in a way that makes it near impossible to discern. You can only tell he’s looking at you because he’s facing you.

“Where’s the boys? You left with them, didn’t you?”

Your lashes bounce against your cheekbone, rapid as you collect your bearings. “Oh, they…”

His tone gets a little stern, then, his eyes a little clearer now as he dips his chin and quirks a searching brow. Incredulous, very. “Is… everything alright? They behaved themselves, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, no- the boys were fine,” you shake your head, rubbing nothing from your eye. Fatigue, maybe, as it drapes itself over you. It takes a second for you to remember the events that led you here before opening your mouth to speak on them. “Um, they just wanted to get a snack and I wanted to be dropped off, so…”

He takes a moment to ponder that.

Unconvinced, “But everything went well?” His attention skims over you hastily. You see that, now. The intense glitter in his eye, wholly transfixed, as the dregs of his slumber wear off- however, the gravel in his voice is more stubborn to go.

He sighs, long-suffering. “You can tell me. I won’t let them know it was you.”

You struggle to imagine how that would go, but shake your head in the next moment anyway.

“Really, it was fine. Everything went well.”

“Good.” He hums, then, seemingly satisfied.

He pores over you, curious all over again as a tiny bunch forms between his brow, wrinkling it slightly. “You’re… heading up for the night now, I guess?”

Oh, yes actually, you think to yourself in time with his reminding you of it- but you go to reply and hold off on it when he glances down at what you correctly assume to be his wristwatch, pausing thoughtfully.

“Oh, my. It’s gotten pretty late out now,” he drawls. “Hm. I must’ve drifted off while I was waiting for-”

You quirk a brow. “Ah. Waiting for this spreadsheet to get interesting,” he smoothly chuckles, looking at the screen of his computer and the low battery sign that pops up as a window on it.

Before you can think to respond- “Goodnight then, Kitten,” he lilts as high as his sleep-addled voice will allow, “I’ll see you in the morning. Should I,” a pause again, “wake you for breakfast?”

You swallow, momentarily glancing at the top landing of the stairs. “No thanks.”

“Are you sure?” He breathes.

Persistence is needed in business, you know that; it’s why you don’t hold it against him when his first instinct is to push rather than pull away. His realm is different than yours. And anyway, he’s just being polite— playing the part of the concerned, doting, yet nonetheless hesitant stepfather who is terribly uncertain with how to best handle his grouchy stepdaughter. He does it well.

“You’re not afraid of missing out?”

You offer a mildly amused huff, choosing to indulge him just this once- just for these two weeks. “On my sleep, maybe.”

He chuckles. It’s a full and rich sound. There’ll come a day where Luke and Kieran will coax more of the same out of him, and you’ll give them genuine, congratulatory claps on the back each for the achievement.

For now, though, that feat is yours and yours alone. Not that you’re… exactly proud of it.

“Alright, alright, I get the hint, little miss night owl… I won’t disturb you tomorrow. You have my word.” He smirks just barely. Just safe enough.

“Sleep tight, Sweetie.”

The ice is melting between you both, yes- a phenomenon you both curiously, warily observe— but he will watch his step.

You set your foot on the first stair, “T-Thanks. You too.”

…As will you.

tags: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess @reni502 @datfangirl @lilyalone @thatsbunnysmind @lioria @floooring @babyx91 @rosie279 @calistaxoxo24 @kingheinrey @msturi2u @theplaid-wearingmoose @blueseachelle @themonotonysyndrome @crazyartist0001-blog @librarydame @deathlycrow @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj ✦ ask to be added to taglist! please just have an age in ur bio (17+) ✨likes & reblogs are super appreciated my friends🫰thank u again for the support thus far!! C:

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus lads #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #lads smut #yandere #tw stepcest #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace smut #syluses #heart wants what it wants #oh my gosh bro

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lizzyiii · 10 months ago

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His Lady Love —Masterlist

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | if you'd like to be added to the tag list just fill out the following DOC ✨✨✨

summary | to escape your cursed lineage, you sail away to the ends of the world, where you discover a new world, one with only two continents instead of seven. you make a life for yourself in the court of kings landing, where you catch the eye of a certain targaryen prince.

warnings | violence, blood, death, vampire powers, SMUT (18+ MDNI!), fluff, hurt/comfort, trying to follow canon plotline (major changes for some stuff), he falls hard, she falls harder but he's still the one obsessed.

i do not own any character from the book "fire and blood" or the following shows "the house of the dragon" or "the originals" except the reader (which is you)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 2 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 5 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 6 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 7 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 8

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 9 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 10 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 11 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 12

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 13 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 14 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 15 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 16

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #fanfic #fanfiction #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

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harrywavycurly · 3 months ago

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Worth The Fight: Don’t Ruin It

Masterlist: Here

CW: Pregnancy stuff, minor anxiety and a few tears.

A/N: Sorry for the wait I know y’all have missed this chaotic but also kinda adorable duo! I think y’all will enjoy this update it’s full of banter and fluff👀✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes @mads3502 @tpwkdpr @unfuckwitablenarry @itscoucouharry @latedirectionerera @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cumuluscranium @donutsandpalmtrees @silastylesswift @prettygurl-2009 @blueleonor @daphnesutton @angeldavis777 @harryssunflower17 @blckburd @tinawritesstuff

Summary: Harry’s never seen The Nanny and you have some news to share with Paris✨

You know your face looks as if you just got told the most devastating news of your life or that you’ve just seen a ghost because you feel all the color drain from your cheeks and your eyes are so wide you can practically feel your eyebrows hit your hairline while your lungs let out all their air in a dramatic sounding huff as if someone just knocked the wind out of you. All the while Harry is just sitting there staring at you with a look of pure regret etched across his features, his eyes are a darker shade of green and his mouth is set in a hard line and it’s not until a few beats of time pass that you watch him begin to chew on his bottom lip. Your mind knows it needs to say something, needs to respond to the confession he just let slip out casually in the backseat of his SUV after saving you from a group of fans outside of your work, but all you can do in this moment is look away from his intense stare and try to get your breathing back under control.

“I uhm did-didn’t mean it-”

“You didn’t mean it? Are you-you trying to Maxwell Sheffield me right now?”

“What? No I’m just- wait who’s Maxwell Sheffield?” That has you turning your head so you can look at him, not believing the very British man sitting next to you doesn’t know who Mr. Sheffield is.

“Mr. Sheffield? He’s from the show The Nanny.” You answer and Harry just gives you a look like he still has absolutely no clue who or what you’re talking about. The frustrated sigh you let out makes him nervously rub his palms on the tops of his jean covered thighs. “Okay well you clearly need to educate yourself and watch the show it’s great. But Mr. Sheffield told Fran-the nanny that he was in love with her but then said he didn’t mean it because he said it in a moment of panic because he well-he thought he was about to die.”

“He told his nanny he loved her all because he thought he was about to die? That sounds incredibly dramatic.”

“They were flirting and he knew she loved him and it’s complicated but that’s not the point Harry.”

“Sorry. But you think I’m trying to take what I said back?”

“You just said you didn’t mean it.”

“No I was in the middle of saying I didn’t meant it to come out just then not that I didn’t mean it. You didn’t let me finish.”

“So you do then? Have a crush on me?” Harry runs a hand over his face as he looks up at the roof of the car, you can tell he is getting a little frustrated at how this conversation is going but you can’t be bothered to care because you need to make sure he meant what he said a few minutes ago.

“I don’t have a crush on you.” He says with a sigh as he adjust his body so he can face you as well as he can while sitting in the backseat of a car, you swallow the nervous lump that’s forming in your throat as his words have you wanting to prepare to have your feelings hurt. “I have feelings for you.” You don’t expect to hear those words tumble out of his mouth so you can’t help what you say in response.

“Oh.”

“That’s what you said last time.” Harry mumbles as he leans his elbows onto his knees and places his head in his hands. “It’s fine if you don’t have anything else to say and want to act like this-”

“What kind of feelings? Good feelings? Bad feelings? I mean what-what exactly are you trying to say Harry?” You place your hands on your bump and begin rubbing soothing circles over it as your words fly out of your mouth quicker than you can fully process what you’re even saying.

“What do you mean what kind of feelings? I just-I just feel things for you.” Harry snaps as he lifts his head so he can look at you. “Like I get this weird fluttery feeling in my chest when you smile at me and I sort of find myself thinking about you all the time even when you’re not around and uhm well I,” Harry swallows down his nerves as his eyes find yours. “I tend to talk about you a lot to people and-”

“You talk about me?” Harry just nods as he sits up and begins to nervously rub at the back of his neck.

“Yeah to the point where I guess I’m a bit annoying about it.” He admits shyly, you feel your cheeks get warm as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the idea of Harry blabbing on and on about you so much that people have gotten annoyed by it. “So to answer your question what I’m trying to say is that I would maybe-if it’s okay with you of course uhm like to take-”

“We’re here boss.” Nick’s voice makes you and Harry both turn to look out the window and you raise an eyebrow when you don’t recognize the house you’re parked in front of.

“Uh and where exactly are we?” You ask as Nick rolls the window down and types in the gate code so he can pull into the rather large driveway.

“My house.” Is all Harry says before he’s unbuckling himself and opening the door to climb out of the car once Nick puts it in park.

Harry’s house is bigger than you expected, not that you imagined him living in a shoebox or anything but you weren’t prepared for just how spacious it is. The living room flows perfectly into the kitchen that then leads you to his outdoor space that you’re almost eighty percent sure includes a pool, the decor is cozy and gives off a lived in vibe that makes you feel as if it would be perfectly fine for you to curl up on his giant sectional with a book and one of the many throw blankets he has rolled up and stored in a basket by his fireplace. It takes you by surprise just how comfortable you feel while standing in the middle of his kitchen, noting how he even has the start of a small grocery list stuck to his fridge with little fruit shaped magnets that you for some reason feel like were a gift from someone. Your eyes dart to a staircase that’s tucked into the corner of the kitchen by the built in bench seating area, not nearly as grand as the main one you walked by near the front door.

“So this is your house?” Harry looks up from his phone as you take a small step towards the fridge.

“Oh uhm yeah sorry I uh forgot you-you’ve never been here.” He apologizes before clearing his throat as he places his phone down on the kitchen island. “Would you like a tour? Or at least see the-”

“I’d love a tour.” You answer while looking over the grocery list. Harry feels his cheeks get warm as he watches your eyes scan the random items he scribbled on the piece of paper the other morning after coming back from your apartment. “You forgot apples.” You inform him as you reach for the pen that’s attached to the list, you smile to yourself as you write green apples to the bottom of the list that’s nothing but your current favorite vegetable and fruit combination for your juice.

“Ah how could I forget apples? Do you mind adding carrots as well please?” Harry ignores the small fake gagging noise you make at the mention of carrots and focuses more on how much he likes how you look in his kitchen adding things to his grocery list. “Might as well start in here then? This is the kitchen.” You turn around to face him after adding carrots with a frowning face next to them to his list.

“Do you cook a lot?” You ask as Harry puts his hands behind his back as he walks around the island so he’s now just a few steps away from you.

“When the mood strikes me.” He answers with a shrug making you just nod as you look around the space, its mostly a white and soft gray marble with touches of color in areas such as the mats by the sink and the cushions on the barstools and the seating area. “But I’ve been really into juicing lately and m’gonna be honest it’s kinda taken up a massive part of my routine.” He jokes making you give him a playful glare as the corners of his mouth twitch as he fights off the grin that wants so badly to spread across his face.

“Just say the word Harry and I’ll find another juice guy.”

“Not happening.” He knows he was too quick to respond but he doesn’t care because the idea of you buying your juice or even worst, having someone else come make it for you makes an unreasonable amount of possessiveness surge through him that he’ll unpack later in the week during therapy. “Now would you like to go upstairs and see Nora and Edward’s rooms?” All you can do is nod as Harry motions towards the staircase near the seating area.

Harry walks up the stairs behind you and notices how you pause to look at the photos he has framed and scattered along the walls. When you pause in front of one that’s him with his mom and sister from back in the One Direction days he looks at how your face lights up and it makes him smile as you look down at him over your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have this hidden in a stairway. It’s too good.” You state as you point to the photo before turning and looking in front of you so you can finish the short climb up the stairs. Harry just shakes his head as he follows behind you, glancing at the photo you pointed at and find himself feeling silently annoyed at you being right, it is a good photo that should be seen by more than just the people who use the back staircase.

“Nora’s is the first one on the right and Edward is right across the hall from her.” You nod and head towards the door on the right making Harry begin to feel a nervous fluttering in his tummy as he watches you grab the doorknob and give it a turn so you can step inside the nursery.

He lets you have your space as you enter the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely folded over his chest. You stand in the middle of the room with a hand on your bump as you take in all the small details of Nora’s nursery, her crib is a dark brown color while her crib sheets have stripes that are different shades of light and slightly darker pinks. But the blanket that’s tossed over the side is a nice olive green color that matches the rocking chair that’s tucked into a corner near one of the windows, it has a throw pillow on it that’s the same pattern of her crib sheets and you feel your eyes begin to water when you see the small pillow has her initials embroidered on it. It’s not until you look over to the bookshelf that you feel yourself start to come undone. It’s as if standing in her nursery in Harry’s house makes it all seem extremely real that you’re having babies with him and at some point Nora and Edward will be using their perfectly put together cribs to sleep and rolling around on the soft carpeted floors to play and sitting in the chair in the corner for story time and it hits you that they won’t always be right down the hall from you.

They’ll be here with their dad.

“I had that made for her because uh well I know you’re theme is storybook characters so I tried to do something similar but more-”

“Princess themed.” You finish for him as you take a step towards the bookshelf that’s a dark wood like her crib and made to look like a castle. Harry quirks a brow at how your voice seems thick with emotion as you run a hand over the top of the bookshelf. “She’s going to love it.” You whisper as you bend down just a bit to get a look at the books Harry’s placed on the shelves. It has a few well loved classic fairy tail books as well as a mixture of princess stories. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes quickly before turning around and heading for the door where Harry is still standing watching you with a look of concern on his face.

“Are you-”

“I’m going to go take a look at Edward’s room.” Harry doesn’t have a choice but to move out of your way as you walk past him and right across the hall and into your son’s room. He wants to act as if he didn’t notice your slightly blotchy cheeks and the pink tint to the tip of your nose or the way your eyes seem to be a bit red and watery, but he can’t because the sight of you getting upset while looking at the rooms he spent countless hours worrying over for his kids makes his heart drop to his feet.

“What’s wrong? Is it the color schemes? I wanted them to feel comfortable and didn’t want to have it be such a dramatic change from when they’re at your house so that’s why it’s similar to yours but if you don’t like it-”

“I love it. You did a great job Harry.” You voice is watery as you look at the light blue and white patterned crib sheets that once again match the rocking chair Harry has in the corner of the room near a window allowing lots of natural light to brighten up the room. It’s a twist on the classic story books much like he did with Nora’s room with the Princess theme. But for Edward he went with subtle hints of yellow to go along with the little hidden Winnie the Pooh Bears throughout the room like the stuffed one on the rocking chair that has Edward’s initials sewn onto his red shirt and the framed photo of Winnie and all the animals in the one hundred acre woods above the dresser near the closet.

“Then why are you crying?” He asks with nothing but concern evident in his voice as he reaches a shaky hand out towards you so he can place it on top of your shoulder.

“Because it just-I’m going to have to share them and I think I’ve been sort of avoiding having to come to terms with that but now-now I’m here standing in the room our son is going to spend half his time in and-” Harry’s hand slides off your shoulder as you turn around and face him as a few tears slide down your face. “And it’s beautiful and he’s never going to want to leave he’s going to want to stay with you forever they-they both will.” It all clicks for Harry the moment the words leave your mouth.

He lets out a sigh as he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, it’s a move that would shock both of you if he did it even two weeks ago but now it doesn’t do anything but comfort you. Your growing bump creates some space between the two of you but not enough that makes the feeling of Harry’s arms securely wrapped around you any less soothing. The feeling of his hands as they start to run up and down your back has you wanting to melt further into his embrace as you rest your cheek against his shirt.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” You let out a shaky breath and a few sniffles as you wrap your arms around Harry’s middle while he mumbles his reassurances into the top of your head. “There’s a sense of comfort and love only a mother can give so if anyone should be worried that the kids won’t ever want to be with them it should be me.” You want to believe him but in this moment you just can’t wrap your mind around the idea of the two little humans currently growing in your tummy ever wanting to leave this wonderful space Harry has created for them.

“But you’re the one who will be able to get the monsters from under the bed or in the closet and fight off bad dreams and-and oh god you’re gonna sing them to sleep aren’t you?” You lean back a bit so you can look up at Harry who is already staring down at you. “Because that-that’s cheating you can’t sing to them.” Harry playfully rolls his eyes at your statement as his hold around you loosens just a bit as he reaches to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear so it doesn’t get stuck to your tear stained cheeks.

“Then you can’t read to them.” He counters making you glare at him. “What? It’s only fair that if I can’t use what I do for a living on the twins then you can’t either.”

“I don’t read for a living.”

“You work with books and I know for a fact you used to do the children’s reading group for a few years so I just know you do the funny voices and hand gestures and that’s gonna make them never want to hear me tell a story it’ll always be you they’ll want reading to them.”

“So you’ll have them be subjected to your subpar reading skills just so I can’t do something better than you?”

“I don’t know are you going to make them endure the torture that is you singing them to sleep just so I can’t do something better than you?”

“Don’t be rude Harry. You loved my singing skills the night we met I know you don’t remember-”

“I remember.” You blink a few times as Harry’s hand that tucked some hair behind your ear stays resting on the side of your face, his thumb gently running along your cheekbone.

“You do?” Harry just nods as a small smile works its way across his face.

“I remember how happy you looked singing and dancing your heart out on that very small stage.” You feel your cheeks get warm as you unwrap your arms from around him so you can try to wipe your face of any trace of the tears that escaped your eyes. You watch as the smile on his face slowly morphs into a smirk as you place your hands on his chest. “I remember that’s why I didn’t really care that my ears were bleeding by the end of it.” He teases making you let out a scoff while giving his chest a few smacks that result in him laughing.

“Don’t ruin this Harry.”

“Ruin what?”

“The moment.” You say with a huff as Harry quirks an eyebrow while his other hand comes up to rest on your waist.

“Oh is that what this is?” He asks as he leans down, you feel your heartbeat quicken and you’re sure the hand he still has gently cupping the side of your face can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as his emerald eyes stare into yours. “We’re having a moment?” He questions as he playfully bumps the tip of his nose into yours.

“Yes.” Your voice comes out more like a sigh as your hands grip the fabric of his shirt. You watch his eyes flick down to your lips before meeting your gaze and it has you licking your lips out of habit making his hold on your waist tighten ever so slightly.

“Is it okay if-” Harry’s question gets cut off as you close the distance between the two of you as you crash your lips into his in a kiss that has your whole body feeling as if it’s on fire.

His hand slides from your cheek up into your hair while your hands cling onto him as if you’re worried that loosening your hold even the tiniest bit might result in him disappearing. He angles your face upward allowing him to deepen the kiss and it’s not until Harry hears you let out the smallest of what he can only assume is a moan that he realizes where his hand that was previously on your hip has traveled making his eyes shoot open as he pulls away in a rush.

“Fuck I’m sorry.” He pants as he looks at you with wide eyes full of worry as he slides his hand out of your hair and drops the hand that was getting way more than just an innocent grab of your ass.

“Oh god did I read that wrong? Did you not want-” Harry stops your panicking before it can even start by grabbing your hands that are still firmly gripping his shirt.

“No no I wanted to trust me I just uhm didn’t mean to grab your uh-uhm ass.”

“You’re apologizing for grabbing my ass?”

“Yes.”

“So Mr. Popular is a gentleman all of a sudden is that it?” You lightly tease as he gives your hands a squeeze before dropping his hands to your waist.

“Don’t be rude Cranky I’m just trying not to ruin the moment that’s all.” He replies with a casual shrug making you laugh. “Can I take you somewhere?”

“Right now?” You ask making Harry chuckle and shake his head.

“No I meant take you somewhere as in a uhm- like a date?” Harry is nervous, he knows you could easily tell him no and he’d have to live with it but he also knows that you wouldn’t have kissed him if you didn’t feel something towards him.

“A date?” Harry just nods as he searches your face for any signs of regret as you begin to think about everything that’s happened today. He feels himself let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as you smile up at him and nods as you say “A date sounds nice.”

Harry has a firm grip on your hand as the two of you stand in the elevator of your apartment complex. You smile to yourself as you think of how just two hours ago the man that has your work bag slung over his shoulder and your cardigan clutched in his hand that’s not holding yours is the same man that kissed you in the middle of your son’s nursery. You’re not sure when it happened for him, when he stopped seeing you as just someone he should be civil with for the sake of the two babies in your tummy to someone he wants to kiss and take on dates but you feel a weird sort of relieved that he is somewhat on the same page as you now. Because for you Harry was never just someone you needed to learn to deal with because you’re having kids with him, he has always been the goofy and fun guy you met at a karaoke bar that had you laughing until your sides hurt and you left with more than just a crush on.

“I hope you’re thinking about me with that silly smile on your face.” Harry teases as the doors open revealing your floor.

“Actually I was just remembering last week’s episode of The Voice.” The scoff that leaves Harry makes you giggle as the two of you walk hand in hand down the hallway towards your door. “Niall looked so-”

“Please spare me the details of how good my best mate looked okay? I see him plenty so I’m well aware of how good he looks.”

“So you agree then? He looks good?” Harry rolls his eyes as he lets go of your hand so he can dig around in your bag for your keys.

“Haven’t we been over this? I have eyes don’t I?”

“I don’t know? Have we been over it?”

“Pregnancy is destroying your memory love.” He jokes as he slides your house key into the lock while you just glare at the side of his face making him smirk to himself as he opens the door for you. “Yes Niall looks good.”

“That’s all you had to say but instead you-”

“Ruined the moment?” He questions as he follows you into your apartment, dropping your bag on your couch after placing your cardigan on the little coatrack near the door. You let out a huff as you turn around and face him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Exactly.” You say with a pout making Harry mimic you as he walks over so he’s standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” He says as he leans over and places a kiss to your forehead. “Please forgive me.” You roll your eyes as you feel his lips on your cheek. “I’ll never argue with you over if Niall Horan is good looking again.” He adds before placing a kiss to your other cheek and you have to stop yourself for smiling at how over the top he’s being with the affection.

“I forgive you.” Harry lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as you drop your arms to your sides.

“Thank god.” He reaches his hands out and places them on either side of your face as he leans down and places a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow Cranky.” You smile as he pulls away but before he can get too far he leans back in for one last peck making you laugh when his hands drop from your face and he takes a step away from you.

“In the morning or-”

“In the morning for your daily juice and then I’ll come pick you up around six for our date if that works?”

“That works.” You answer with a smile making a dimpled grin spread across his face as he stands near your front door. “See you tomorrow Harry.”

“Don’t tell Paris about our date okay? I want to tell him myself.”

“I’ll do my best but you know he loves to hear about my day and how am I supposed to just not tell him that?”

“I think there’s plenty of other things that happened today to keep him entertained.” You just place your hands on your hips as you stare at Harry who just laughs and shakes his head at you. “Fine tell him but he better not bite me tomorrow because he’s mad I didn’t ask his permission before asking his mom out on a date.” You laugh as Harry turns and grabs your doorknob, when he pauses before opening the door you raise an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder at you. “I’m sorry for what happened today at your work. I promise it won’t even happen again.” His eyes are giving you an apologetic look that just makes you give him a small smile.

“It’s not your fault. Really. It’s okay.” He gives you a small nod as he opens your door.

“See you tomorrow love.” With that he gives you a wave and smile before he walks out the door, closing it behind him. You quickly walk over to the door and lock it because you know he’s standing outside your door listening for the sound of the deadbolt.

“Holy shit.” You mumble as you turn and lean against your front door as you place a hand on your forehead while trying to come to terms with the fact not only did Harry tell you he has feelings for you but also asked you on a date after you kissed him. You begin to wonder if tomorrow morning will make him see things more clearly since he did sort of blurt his feelings out in a moment of distress due to the fans outside your work. But as you hear the familiar jingle of Paris’s bell as he struts his way into the living room from the kitchen you remind yourself that Harry isn’t someone who typically does things he doesn’t want to do, especially things such as asking you on a date and kissing you.

“Oh Paris you’re not going to believe what happened to me today.” You tell your orange cat as he sits a few feet in front of you and stares at you with his big green eyes that still remind you of the ones that belong to the man who just left.

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barcameowski · 6 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 ⁻ lando norris

warnings: none

face claim: sophia havertz

pairing: lando norris x american!reader (established relationship)

𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽

liked by landonorris , alexandrasaintmleux , pietra.pilao , iamrebeccad and 512,000 others

yourusername: 🐆

view comments

landonorris: prettiest smile ever

⇝ liked by creator

landonorris: I would fight a leopard in your honor

⇝ yourusername: is one normal compliment too much to ask for?

landonorris: gorgeous 😍❤️

⇝ yourusername: there it is ❤️

user1: so pretty omg

pietra.pilao: stunning 🤩

⇝ liked by creator

alexandrasaintmleux: what a dress 🫠🫠

⇝ yourusername: I know !!!

user2: life when y/n posts 💆‍♀️

iamrebeccad: pretty girl ✨

⇝ liked by creator

user3: im droolinggg

user4: photographer?

⇝ yourusername: a certain f1 driver 🙈

user5: you’re glowing

user6: I am so jealous of her beauty

user7: the wags complimenting her🥰

user8: body is teaaa

user9: she paid for that dress with a lil something called face card

user10: this woman is angelic

user11: a literal model

user12: makeup tutorial pleaseeee

user13: lando got lucky in life

user14: which color should I dye my hair? blonde, caramel highlights, or black

⇝ yourusername: definitely caramel highlights !!

user15: mother 👩🏼‍🍼👩🏼‍🍼

⇝ yourusername: I am surely not pregnant or have kids

user16: cant wait for her abu dhabi outfit 😮‍💨

user17: main character energy

user18: im gonna miss you when i scroll

user19: don’t gatekeep where’s the bracelet from?

⇝ yourusername: im not sure 😃 ask landonorris

⇝ landonorris: it’s from cartier

user20: I was you for halloween

⇝ yourusername: i neeeeeddd photos

liked by landonorris , francisca.cgomes , maxfewtrell and 348,000 others

yourusername: dinner in abu dhabi 🍷🌙

view comments

landonorris: I was just casually at dinner with the most gorgeous woman ever

⇝ yourusername: im flattered

landonorris: photo credits?

⇝ yourusername: 📸: ln4 🙄

francisca.cgomes: your hair is flawlessss

⇝ liked by creator

user1: landos comment 🥲

landonorris: you’re so american 🦅❤️🤍💙

⇝ yourusername: ……

alexandrasaintmleux: cant wait to see uuu

⇝ yourusername: me neither !!!!!

user2: wowowowowowowowo

user3: obsessed (with your boyfriend)

user4: im your biggest fannnnnnnn

user5: what are your thoughts on max winning the championship?

⇝ yourusername: very happy for him and he deserves it 🦁

kellypiquet: beautiful queen ❤️

⇝ yourusername: missing u

user6: lando and max < kelly and y/n

⇝ liked by creator

user7: this week marks 2 years since her paddock debut

user8: aestheticssss

user9: 💖💖💖

user10: shes my motivation

user11: wanna go on a pasta date with me?

⇝ yourusername: answer is always YES

user12: way to y/ns heart is a pasta date apparently

⇝ yourusername: im just a girl

user13: always so elegant

user14: im a girl who loves f1, y/n, lando… and that’s it

⇝ yourusername: me core

user15: is y/n chronically online?

user16: are you a football fan?

⇝ yourusername: of american football, no. of the other one, not really, lando is teaching me some stuff but im not really interested

user17: I wanna see y/n and penelopeee

user18: more content pleaseee

liked by landonorris , yourusername , maxfewtrell and 276,918 others

mclaren: power couple in our garage for quali 🧡 {tagged: landonorris , yourusername}

view comments

landonorris: my good luck charm 🧡

⇝ liked by creator

yourusername: 🧡🧡

⇝ liked by creator

user1: posting wags is insane

user2: her outfit is so basic yet cute

user3: take this down admin

user4: awwww he calls her his good luck charm

user5: my parents

user6: her smile is so comforting

user7: cuties

user8: damn the van cleef necklace

user9: shes so supportive

user10: they are so endgame

liked by landonorris , mclaren, maxverstappen1 , lilyzneimer and 411,000 others

yourusername: always proud of you 🧡 my lil chauffeur

view comments

landonorris: I don’t know how to feel about the caption so I’ll just ignore it, I love you 🫶🏽🥰

⇝ yourusername: I love you more, don’t even reply just shush

user1: the first photo

user2: my only boyfriend is a glass of wine you’re so lucky

user3: most supportive wag since nicole

user4: im sad the season has come to an end but i already know her break posts are gonna hittttt

user5: our american queen 🎀

user6: I want to be her

user7: simple caption with so much meaning

user8: not gonna lie I teared up a bit

user9: best wag of 2024

user10: she’s gonna be like a second mother to antonelli MARK MY WORDS

⇝ user11: she’s already following him lol

user12: can’t wait for the tiktoks

user13: my mind can’t comprehend the fact that the season is over

⇝ yourusername: Ikr, I feel like just yesterday it was the miami grand prix

user14: the interactions between them two are so adorable

liked by alexandrasaintmleux , lilymhe , lailahasanovic and 488,000 others

yourusername: week one of break and couldn’t be happier 🫶🏽

view comments

landonorris: you couldn’t be prettier even if you tried 🤍

⇝ liked by creator

alexandrasaintmleux: outfit 🤩

⇝ yourusername: I loveee it so much

user1: on todays episode of guess the weather we have y/n and lando

⇝ yourusername: it was warm, he just decided to suffocate

⇝ landonorris: the weather app lied shush

⇝ yourusername: the weather app doesn’t lie

user2: the birkin….

user3: we all know and love this diva

user4: love how she’s shoving the birkin in our faces

user5: first picture is such a moodddd

user6: I don’t know if you can tell but you’re really pretty

user7: do you like dr pepper?

⇝ yourusername: of course I do, lando absolutely despises it

user8: where are you guys?

⇝ yourusername: florida 🌞

user9: please come to brasilll

⇝ yourusername: I’m on my way (not right now but I will I promise)

user10: I CANT WAIT FOR YOUR NEW PADDOCK OUTFITSSS

user11: where’s the dress from ??

⇝ yourusername: kookaï 💫

user12: I’m giggling at how lando is looking at you (im so single I can’t believe I stooped this low)

user13: I wish I could be on vacation with you

liked by yourusername , oscarpiastri , mclaren and 319,000 others

landonorris: weirdo on tour yourusername

view comments

yourusername: you’re so mean 😪

⇝ landonorris: I still love you

user1: lando apologize now

⇝ landonorris: yourusername I’m sorry my love

user2: best couple in f1

user3: I want someone to love me how they love eachother

user4: my new favorite post

user5: ask her where her coat is from

⇝ landonorris: she said something called meshky?

⇝ yourusername: meshki

user6: where are you guys going now 😭

⇝ yourusername: back to the uk

⇝ user7: poor y/n went from florida weather to the gloomy uk weather

user8: whats her favorite animal?

⇝ landonorris: STOP QUIZZING MEE! but it’s a koala

user9: I fear this might be the cutest thing I have seen all day

user10: I’m drowning my sorrows

user11: I love her style

user12: I think I like her more than I like lando

⇝ landonorris: that’s mean but I relate

part 2

requests are open

#formula 1 x reader #x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #norris #lando #mclaren #f1 #f1 x reader #ln4 #lando norris 4 #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris smau

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sapphicideas · 6 months ago

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⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊‧.

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ᝰ.ᐟ

₊˚⊹♡ about me ꒱

✧ she/her┊lesbian┊22┊switch ✧ psychiatric nurse ✧ i might post the cutest or the kinkiest stuff and i won’t apologize for either. you’ve been warned.

˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

₊˚⊹♡ rules ꒱

✧ ✘ DO NOT INTERACT ✘ men ┊ minors ┊ racists ┊ terfs ┊ homophobics ┊ fascists

✧ dms are open: venting, talking, sexting, nudes... ✧ be respectful. disrespecting me, my mutuals or any of my followers will result in an immediate block. ✧ don't ask for pics ✧ if you sent an ask or a dm, i will reply! it might take me some time as i have a full time job and a life outside of this blog. please be patient.

˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

₊˚⊹♡ kinks/stuff i'm into ꒱

✧ cuddling┊praising┊teasing ✧ begging┊overstimulation┊edging ✧ CNC┊degradation┊sadism/masochism┊choking

˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

₊˚⊹♡ tags ꒱

✧ princess answers┊ answers to asks ✧ princess updates┊ self explanatory ✧ princess thoughts┊my own posts ✧ princess confessions┊your confessions (fridays and saturdays)

˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

₊˚⊹♡ anons taken ꒱

🖤, ✨, ☁️ , ♧, 💜, 🦊, 🐇, 🍏, 🪽, 🔮, 🍎, 🐊, 🪻, 🐦‍🔥,🌿,💫,🐺,💗,👼,🐶,🕸️,🍸,⭐️,💖,💋,💙,🧸,🦈,💎,🩰,🪿,🫀,🍒,🔥,🫧,🐣,🍓,❣️,🪼,🪑,💕,🍪, 🦔,🍭,🪐,🌹,📚,🌸,🦋,🐸,🥪,😼,🍬,🦷,🥀,🦅,🐈,🦴,💌,🌙,🧚🏼‍♀️,🦥,🌼,🦈,🐰,🪄,🌻,🎀,💀,💛,🧈,🍼,🎮,🍁,📖,💚,🧼,🐍,📀,🌈,🤍,🐟,😈,🎶,🏹,💾,🍀,🤠,🌺,🐻,👞,🌕,🌘,🎫,☀️,🦖,🌌,🍷,🐭,❤️‍🩹,🌷,🎃,⏰,🧊,🧶,🪷,🦦,🐥,🍑,🫐,🦕,🧁,💐, 🌱,🌶️,🐾,🌀,🌞,🩷,🍡,🍥,⚡️,🎰,🍂,❄️,🍨,🧛🏼,🙂‍↕️,🌮,🥷, 🌑,🧞‍♂️,🤝,🕷️,🦌,🪲,🦪,🦁,🐸,🪷,🧃,☀️,🐧,🤎,🐛,🐅,🦭, 🎸 ,📱,🎲 ,✂️,🦫,💟,🍯,🧝🏻‍♀️,🐦‍⬛,🪬,🍉,🎨,🦢,🪶,📸,🎍,🫶,🚀,🍵,🩶,👸🏼,🐞,🌬️,♑️,🐩,🐆,👑,🩻,💘,🤘🏼,🩵,🎾,🇮🇹,☕,🦇,🍰,🧇,🍄,🔒,💒,🕊,🥨,♀️,🌫️,🗣️,🥐,🍧,🛸,💞,❤️,⚰️,🏵️,🐨,♟️,🦉,🔑,🐌,🇰🇪,🧡,👛,🧬,🥟,🗡️,🥯,<3,🌊,🤏🏻,🍤,🥥,♥️,🍣,🌩,🥧,🐑,🍋‍🟩,🐯,🙇‍♀️, 🐚,🕯️,🦜,🎠,🧵,❓,🍸🥯,🦄,💣,🎞️,⛲,☃️,♐️,🐡,🥂,🦮,🖍️,🩻🩻,🐝,🍇,👁️,🫆,🐈‍⬛,👑🐝,💅🏾,👁️👁️,🤭,💍,🐙,🪷🪷,🐓,🪸,🏳️‍⚧️,🫐🍓,🍝,👒,🐿️,🌊🌊,🐡🐡,🗺️,🦄🦄,✂️✂️,A,🧠,🗺️🗺️,🎻,🪽🪽,🌷👑,🐳,🩸,🌧️,☃️☃️,🧋,🪡,🧘🏾‍♀️,🐺🐺,🙈,✈️,🎞️🎞️,🌊🎶,💌💌,🐾🐾,🫟,🙃,😇,📼,꒰ა ໒꒱,😾,🫰🏻,🌞🌞,🪐🪐,👛👛,🪷✨,🛼,🌵,🎙️,🌠,🗯️,🍟,🩵🩵,🦠,🧸🧸,🔐,💉,⭐⭐,🪞,🐰🪽,🫐🍓,૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა,💝🐾,🧜🏻‍♀️,💝💝,🦢🦢,🖋️,🐻‍❄️,🎆,🕯🕯,🙈🎀,🦿,🫖,🖤💫,🐛✨,🪏,✪,🎈,🚬,🐈🐈,☄️,🍊,🦎,🧚🏿‍♂️,🙃🙃,🍓🍓,🌟,✒️,🛏️,🏳️‍⚧️🐾,🖤🤍,𝜗𓏲,🚺,🐀,🏳️‍⚧️🌸,🍒🍒,🦇🦇,🐕‍🦺,🌸🌺🌸,🫀🫀,🇧🇷,🐙🐙,♋️

#sapphic #lesbian #intro post #wlw #wlw post #wlw blog #lgbtq #wlw yearning #wlw ns/fw #wlw smut #wlw love #wlw sub #wlw domme #princess thoughts

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mimpinightmare · 7 months ago

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✨AYYYYYY! MY QUESTIONS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED!! 🙌✨

Okay, HERE ARE THE QUESTIONS I CHOSE FOR YOU!! >:D

103 (because I can't spell well for the LIFE of me, so wanted to see if other people share my struggle :) )

126 (Addition to that, what do you do to get OUT of boredom??)

145

150 (Think this is just fun to do-)

Ooooo more questions! Let's go:

95. Last movie you watched?

I'm not sure if it's Woman of the Hour (2023) or The Fury (1978). I don't know which I watched last, but it's either of these two. I loved both tbh, but I like WOTH more.

103. Can you spell well?

I always get 4th place whenever I join Spelling Bees. However, now that I'm in my mid-20s, I'm not sure if I'm that sharp when it comes to spelling. I can see myself misspelling words every now and then, but then again, it could just be a typo.

126. Are you currently bored?

No. In fact, I am currently a bit overwhelmed with everything that's going on and with everything that's on my plate right now. Now, how do I get out of that? I don't. I try to deal with them one by one.

145. Tea or Coffee?

Coffee. But right now, I am beginning to consume coffee moderately and drink ginger tea daily. Salabat (or ginger tea) is good for the vocal cords, and as a (delulu) theater kid, I am doing my part.

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

This would be fun if I answered this last night because the closest book to me was Inferno by Dan Brown, but today, the nearest to me is The Revised National Plumbing Code of the Philippines. The first line on Page 42 is

I have no idea what Tumblr's going to do with this information but hey at least you know that plumbing fixtures in PH shall be of dense, durable, and non-absorbent material.

#✨DayDreaming Reblogs✨#Tag Games #Don't mind me. Just gonna put those movies in my recommendation list~#(Now Watch me watch those movies in 4 or 5 years later because of my stack overwhelmed list I've been avoiding because LIFE- 💀)#4th Place in a Spelling bee Contest? THAT'S SUPER IMPRESSIVE! (I would never LMAO-)#Answer 126 hits me like a TRUCK- (I as well get overwhelmed by stuff)#TBH I don't know what to do with 'Plumbing Information in the Philippines' either- 😭 But good to know that information now! 👍

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boolger · 7 months ago

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A lapdog at a farm - chapter 5

<-former chapter -AO3 link -next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.3k

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

MDNI. MDNI. Dead dove do not eat.

Authors note: do note there will be the use of prong collars in this. Just like all the other fucked up stuff in this, i don't support that irl, but this is fiction. On a different note, it will probably be at least a week before I can give you another chapter lol, shit is happening, my sinners and im holding on. Also thank u to all the nice asks and comments ive been sent. means a lot <33. ENJOY!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You could only stay in the farmhouse for so long; even though you desperately wanted to stay inside, Price dragged you outside, talking about fresh air and enjoying nature.

To you it was nothing but lies and the smell of animal shit.

There were no pavements, no cars flashing by, no advertisements or shops, no scents of food or sweets trying to lure you in. There were no hybrid clothes shops, where John would play dress up with you for his next party. Show him how the lingerie set he picked out looked against your tail.

He would make sure your nails were always perfect and manicured. Without the claws, he made sure you knew you were loved anyways, your nails adorned with expensive nail polish and gemstones. Anything that his Daisy, his princess, his darling, his puppy wanted, she always got.

Now you were here, following him into the stables, to see how far Nikolai - who had forced himself into your life - was with the tractor.

Warily looking out for the hybrids, staying close to your owner.

The stitches were gone and everything was healed all nicely - that didn’t mean that you wanted to start over and get more bites that would need stitches. Once was enough. Hopefully Price and Nikolai understood that too.

Also, you didn’t want to get fucked dumb by those mutts again; they didn’t deserve your pussy. Especially not Ghost or Gaz. Not really Soap either, he had just been nice because he had to. You were sure. They were nothing but stupid working dogs, who didn’t know how to behave.

Your owner, John Price, looked in love; he was watching Nik just as much as he was watching the tractor. The stress that had sometimes followed him home when you lived in the city was no longer visible. It had left his bones, made him happy and pliable, clearly blossoming in his new role as a farmer. You loved him but what the fuck were you supposed to do with this whole situation? Pretend to be happy?

You were a pet, so it wasn’t like you had any options. And your attempts at persuading him to move back to the city hadn’t gone well. Resisting your ever present urge to let him fuck you, would probably not do you any good. Earn you a spanking from both him and Nikolai. They might even throw you to the hounds.

One of those said hounds were getting closer to you, the hybrid making you tense up a little.

“You’re looking good, princess,” Gaz said casually, shooting you an awfully charming smile, his tail wagging while you tipped your ears backwards instead of replying.

“Feeling better?”

You didn’t reply, merely stared at the tractor, boring as it was. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away. He stepped closer to you, his dark gaze resting on you, while you stepped closer to John, growling as a warning.

“Behave,” Price said over his shoulder, clearly more interested in that Russian man of his, than your safety.

It only took another step and Gaz’s teeth a tad too close to you, to send you bolting out. Back inside it was then, you concluded, enough farming bullshit for today.

Only to meet Ghost in the way, his scarred face grinning smugly, ears tipping towards you.

“‘Ello pup.”

Nah, you weren’t fucking with that today. You managed to see the shadow of Soap before you bolted again.

Running still wasn’t your best talent; so though you knew it was stupid, you decided to do what you weren’t allowed to anyways. You crawled the wooden fence, ignoring the male hybrids' shouts and barks — as well as the fence’s slight squeak - and landed on the other side with a grunt.

The corns were tall and you took a breath, looking over your shoulder, only to see a worried looking Soap being the closest.

He let out a concerned whimper.

“Dinnae lass,” he warned, a softness in his voice that you recognized from your moments inside.

You would deal with the consequences and the punishment that Price would give you for leaving the ground. It was better than getting your shoulders bitten to pieces - so you got up and rushed into the tall corn field. Abandoning the male hybrids.

Stupid. They were all stupid.

Maybe this should be your new go-to hiding spot. You could hear them bark aggressively but not getting nearer. They weren’t allowed to leave either. You felt your chest swell a little with pride over the idea. You wouldn't be gone for long, just until they lost interest in you.

It was several seconds before you stopped, panting with your tongue out. You couldn’t see the fence or the farm from all the corn by now, which finally meant some peace. Your tail wagged and your body relaxed, a soft wind playing with your fur for a moment, making the corn move around you, like waves in the ocean.

However, that peace didn’t last long.

“My my,” the voice almost appeared out of nowhere and you turned slowly, unsure but still afraid of what you would see, “what are you doing here, perrita? On my property?”

You knew Alejandro and Rodolfo had gotten a hybrid, but you had been too swept up in your own nightmare to ask about her; now, as she towered above you, seeming more wolf than dog, you would rather have one of the mutts on your own farm. A scared little whimper escaped you.

“You must be Price’s precious lapdog, no?” She asked, slowly moving in between the corn with ease, as she circled around you, fear making you stay still, “a little city puppy, forced to be out on a farm. How sad.”

There was no trace of sympathy in her voice. It took you a moment to swallow some spit and another moment to take a proper breath.

“I’ll go home again, I’m sorry.” You tried your best to seem submissive, leaning forward a little, tail tugged along your leg. You at least had your owner at the farm - but here? Here, with this new, wolf-like hybrid, you didn't have anyone. You weren’t even supposed to be here, weren’t allowed. Sure, you knew Alejandro and Rudy, but they also knew you weren’t supposed to be there.

“Hmmm,” she answered in a rumble, licking her teeth slowly, casually showing off her fangs, “what’s your name, perrita?”

She screamed danger. Her energy screamed ‘I can make worse wounds than them’ and you certainly didn’t feel like testing that. In fact, you would rather get as much distance between you and her as possible.

“D-Daisy.” It was the name Price had chosen, not that you were really called it. But you weren’t going to tell this hybrid woman who looked like she could swallow you whole, that you were usually called princess, pretty girl, puppy or sweetheart.

“I’m Valeria,” she replied, finally stopping her circling, only to step closer to you. She wasn’t really that tall, but her energy was as if she was, she had strong arms and legs; scars littered her too, her hair short, ears big and tipped forward without a care in the world. Her collar was thick and sturdy, opposed to your own fancy one.

You almost wanted to point out that yours was prettier. That you were a lapdog, not one of the working ones, that you were not made to be played rough with. That you were no threat.

You could hear barking in the distance. Voices calling out for you. Even though you hadn’t met Valeria for more than a minute, you already knew you wanted to get a good distance between you and her.

“Uh nice to meet you, but I better get back home, sorry-“ you turned around quickly but before you could even think to bolt, strong arms were around you and the other dog hybrid pulled you close to her chest.

“Eres tan linda e ingenua,” she almost lovingly growled into your ear, and while you didn’t understand what she was saying, you were much more distracted by her tongue. She licked your cheek a couple of times, slow and wet strokes; you got the feeling that she might eat you raw without regret and you twisted a little in her grip, letting out a louder growl. She laughed, one of her hands pawing at your tit, claws sinking into the fabric. She smelled of danger and lust; like the mutts at home when they first got their dirty paws on you.

“I’m gonna enjoy me—“

“VALERIA!” Her name echoed through the fields, making both of you freeze. Like a warning rushing in between the corns, her name couldn’t be ignored.

She growled deeply, seeming annoyed with the disturbance, while you wanted to kiss whoever of your neighbors it was. She rolled her hips, humping your ass twice, before she was interrupted again.

“Valeria!” It was Alejandro, you realised then, who yelled once again, “ sé que la tienes! Let her go!”

With one deep sniff of you, while you whimpered, the wolf-looking hybrid finally let go of you.

“I won’t be as nice next time, perrita - now go, before I change my mind and take you from your boys.”

You didn’t need to be told that again and didn’t want to argue that they weren’t your boys - the moment she let go, you bolted towards the way you came.

How they knew that she had gotten a hold of you wasn't clear, but it wasn’t like you were gonna turn around and ask Alejandro or Rudy.

The answer came to you anyways; one angry looking John Price stood with crossed arms, phone in hand. A grinning Nikolai next to him and three growling hybrids moving back and forth along the men and the fence. Every single one of them stilled and stared at you as you sheepishly walked to the fence, tail between your legs and ears tipped down.

You stood, just for a moment, with the fence in between you and the others. Considering staying there, as if that would be a good solution.

“Get your arse over here,” Price snapped, his voice stern and dark, as he put his phone in his pocket, marching towards you.

You hastily and in a rather inexperienced manner, climbed the fence and got to the right side. Instantly, tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a whimper, almost ready to tell about the horrors you had just been through - only to bark loudly at the hybrids as they all charged towards you, hands touching you, only stopped by a sharp whistle.

“Nyet,” Nikolai called harshly, “off her. Now.”

Soap and Gaz instantly let go, stepping back as John reached you, but Ghost didn’t move. His hand rested on your neck, pressing your collar against your skin, his nose almost fully pressed against your temple.

“Let go.” Price’s voice was sharp and you let out a little whimper- not sure who of them you would rather deal with right now.

“She smells wrong,” Ghost replied, not moving, but his voice not as harsh as it could be, “smell of her.”

Her. You didn’t know whether Valeria would be in trouble over this or not. You had been the one to step into her territory anyways. She wasn't the one who had jumped a fence after all.

“We will fix that.”

Ghost let out a grumble but after two seconds of staring at each other, the hybrid finally let go of you, earning himself a swift “Good boy.”

Then Price grabbed into the ring in your collar and pulled, ignoring how you instantly broke into tears, excuses and explanations spilling from your lips like a waterfall, desperate to avoid punishment. You didn't want to stay with Valeria, but you didn’t want this either.

You were dragged past Nikolai who shared a short glance with Price - and they gave each other a short nod.

“C’mon boys,” Nikolai then called, the hybrids instantly moving to him, even though you could feel them staring at you, “we’re gonna join them.”

They were what? You cried harder, tugging at John’s arm, your owner ignoring your pleads and cries.

“I’m sorry sir, I got scared, I didn’t mean to run away,” you babbled, every second word followed by a small sob or whine, tail between your lets, almost making it hard to walk normally, “ they scared me, I was gonna come back, I’ll be good sir, I’ll behave! I wasn’t running away!”

There was no mercy from your owner, who just marched you towards the farmhouse that had almost become home by now.

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be a dog on a farm by now, surrounded by working hybrids, you would have laughed in their face. Loudly and impolitely.

You? Pretty lapdog living in the city out on a farm?

You weren’t even at the house yet, somehow crying harder because you felt so sorry for yourself in general. You were such a perfect lapdog, such a perfect being, forced to be out here, in the cold countryside. A tragedy.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The prong collars looked like they would choke too and you wanted to scream merely at the sight.

“I’m not running the risk of having my darling all bitten to pieces again - this will hopefully help you to remember.”

None of them seemed too happy about it; you couldn’t blame them, you wouldn’t want those either, but you were horrified by the idea of getting bitten as harshly as they did last time. If both Price and Nik hadn’t been there, you doubted it would be possible to get the collars on them.

You were still crying yourself, from the shame of having jumped over the fence and creating chaos, only resulting in this.

The moment they were allowed, they were on you, ignoring your whimpering and fingers trying to push them off - Soap was the nicest, helping you get your clothes off instead of letting the others rip them, even if all of them were obsessed with your smell. Or well, with how you smelled of Valeria to be exact.

Soap licked your cheek and you growled at him, tipping your ears back, trying to push him away, fingers against his chest; but he didn’t move, only pressed himself closer, growling back to prove he was stronger than you - that you were supposed to be submitting to him.

“They shouldn’t be this aggressive,” you heard Price point out to Nikolai, but you were too distracted by Soap grinding his still clothed crotch against your poor, exposed cunt - you whined his name, but he didn’t stop.

“Gonn’ mark ye, hen,” he promised in a murmur, teeth sinking into your jaw for just a moment - a warning tug in the leash made him let go almost instantly, instead licking the spot a couple of times, “gonn’ make ye smell all bonnie again.”

Both Gaz and Ghost were barking, but they were both held by the collars by Price and Nik, kneeling next to them, clearly antsy.

“-are working dogs-” it was hard to hear them, over your own mind buzzing so much, over the barks and the pleasure that you hated, “-hierachy is importa-”, one of Soap’s hands disappeared and a moment later, you heard his fly get tugged down, “show them where the line is, so–”

You howled in a high pitched tone as he forced his cock inside you, making you twist and try to push Soap okay. The stretch was intense, burning despite how wet you felt. “It's okay, bonnie lass,” Soap growled, forcing his cock a little deeper into you, nosing at your shoulder, near one of your scent glands, his hands moving to grab onto your thighs, “we’re nae gonna hurt ye.”

You both knew it was a lie - but you at least trusted Soap a little more than the two other mutts who were watching, knowing he could control himself. They were barely able to sit still, tongues out, almost drooling, while their eyes were dark in a way that reminded you of that time in the shed.

He forced his cock deeper, the knot finally reaching the opening of your poor, stretched cunt and you let out a sound at the fear of it sliding inside you. The scent of Soap was already beginning to overwhelm the scent that Valeria had left behind against your will - a part of you wished you had fought her more, had attempted to hurt her more.

The cry that left you was pained and afraid - his fangs almost having forced its way through your skin; you were only saved by John, who pulled Soap back by the collar, the prongs digging into the hybrid’s skin.

“Behave, boy,” John snarled while a mixture of a whine and a growl left Soap, as he helplessly pawed at the collar, “No breaking skin - already told you.”

“‘m sorry, sorry,” he promised, a pained tone to his voice, “dinnae mean tae.”

You doubted it was true; there was a darkness in the air despite the way your owner tried handling them.

He was let go off and the moment the prongs didn’t painfully dig into his skin, he was on you again, tongue on the indent he had left, his cock pressed into you again, his tail wagging.

“‘m sorry,” he barely managed to say in between his licks and moans, before his hands were back on you, his moaning louder, as he ignored your whines of slowing down. Your own hands grabbed onto his mohawk and ears, but the hybrid did nothing but moan even louder, moving his hips a little upwards and fuck - he hit the perfect spot, grinning like a feral hound when he noticed and heard your sounds.

You came against your will, crying out and spasming around him, his hands grabbing harder onto your thighs, claws teasing the skin.

He was panting and moaning like a hound, mounting you like there was nothing in his mind but the feeling of your cunt.

“Gonna fill ye up,” Soap promised, words barely escaping his mouth, drool dripping down on you; not like you cared, too gone yourself to really do so.

“DON'T knot her,” Price’s word cut through the air like a sharp knife, slicing into your mind; you wanted him to knot you, a part of you realized, no you needed him too - while another screamed in delight of not having to be stuck to him.

“Nnngh,” his hips were going so fast it almost hurt as they clashed against your skin, “please sir, please plea—“

“No.”

The hand that appeared made you shudder - and then a second later, Soap came, almost a guttural scream leaving him; you could feel Price’s fingers near your cock, stopping him from sliding his knot into you.

“Later,” Price answered, then pulling Soap back by the collar and hair, your own hands slipping easily from him, “we don’t have the time to wait for all of you to knot her right now.”

The moment he was pulled away, you moved, whimpering and curling to the side, wincing as cum slid out from your pussy; it wasn’t John’s, you wanted it to be your owners. You barely had time to breathe before Nik released one of the others. Gaz pushed you onto your stomach - one hand on your neck to keep you down as you snarled.

“Wait,” you barked, ears tipping down “lemme breathe, for fucks sake—“

“Need you, puppy,” Gaz merely replied, grabbing onto your collar and tugging, his other hand pulling on your tail, ignoring your yelp, “gonna make it all okay again.”

“Nothing happened-“ you snarled, trying to make him let go, but you separately rose to your knees in order to levitate the pressure on your tail.

“Why did you smell like her then, huh?” He all but snarled, finally letting go of your collar, to push down his own pants, “stinking of her lust!”

You tried twisting to grip onto his ears to tug at them, hoping it would make him let go of you but he merely let go of you fully for a moment - your wrists were caught by his hands and he slammed them against the wooden floor.

“Be nice, собака,” Nik warned him, “I’m in no mood for broken bones.”

You barely heard him nor Gaz’ aggressive reply; you were too busy, having a realization.

They were jealous ; you weren’t sure why it had taken you so fucking long to realize. The three mutts were jealous somebody else, somebody they didn’t know, had touched you and hadn’t you been so fucking upset, you might have laughed.

Instead, you felt a cock forcing its way into your cunt, making you howl in pleasure against your will; the slide was easier this time as Gaz fucked you, as you were already wet from the round with Soap - and now with his cum as well, Gaz fucked you almost smoothly. If not more aggressively than Soap had.

It didn’t take long before his teeth sank into your skin, the first two seconds it was nothing more than an extra grip, his cock roughly thrusting into you as if attempting to move your organs, his drool sliding along your skin, mixing with your sweat. His claws were digging into your skin slightly, but even more into the floor - while you were a mess, panting and attempting to growl in between your pathetic moans, barely able to see straight.

The pressure he bit you with changed quickly however and suddenly you were whining in pain, so loudly that you almost didn’t recognize your own voice.

Apparently Gaz had tried to bite Price in aggression over being ripped away from ‘his bitch’ as Nik called it, and you heard the harsh words and slaps, while you sank down a little, your tits pressed against the cold floor, your cunt empty.

He was back as soon as he disappeared though, pulling you up again, only to almost instantly try to bite you again – halfway pulled away once more. You looked over your shoulder, seeing how the prong collar dug into his skin for a short moment until Price let go of him again.

The moment he was back, you turned however, using the moment to grab onto one of his long, dark ears and tug; it was almost a squeal that left Gaz and you heard both the hybrids bark and growl, Nik saying something – but it was the harsh spank from the leather leash that made you loosen your grip.

“Behave, Princess,” John was squatting down next to you, strong hand on your pretty collar; it stood out so violently when compared to the others’ current prong collars, “or I’ll get you a collar too.”

“They’re mean!” you whimpered, giving him your best puppy eyes, before sending Gaz an angry look, as he was barely held back by John.

“Well you’re not quite playing nice either, eh?” There was a slight amusement in his voice but you didn’t get to comment on it, before he moved again.

Price gave Gaz more leash and the hybrid was instantly on you again, but this time Price didn’t let go of the metal ring in your own collar, keeping you in place, as if to remind you to behave; to remember he was right here, calling the shots.

“Yeah, Princess,” Gaz mocked, pushing into your cunt again with a moan, the movement in his hips exposing the fact that he was wagging his tail, “Behave.”

“Shut up!” you hissed angrily, a tug in the collar reminding you that Price was right there.

Gaz’ hands were mostly on your hips - he nuzzled against your back and neck, licking your shoulders and in between your shoulder blades - he bit you a couple of times, but they were barely anything more than nips, a gentle tug on his collar reminding him to behave.

Then one of his hands moved, almost catching you off guard and making you whimper - it slid beneath your stomach, pawing at it for a moment, before it found its way to your cunt where the two of you were still connected, his thrusts still hard; he touched your clit without hesitation, snarling out words you could barely recognize. Mercilessly forcing you towards another orgasm.

Price let go of your collar and you let your head slumber down against the floor, wincing at the small pool of drool that had been created, hating how you pushed back against Gaz, the dual pleasure of his cock hitting that right spot and the fingers on your clit, so good you could barely breathe.

You barely heard Price’s command of not knotting you, from the mere tsunami of pleasure that overtook your body as you came, a howl that barely made any sound, snapping of your teeth and the pawing at the floor. You tightened around his cock, the knot having been so close, oh so close to being forced into your over oversensitive cunt - but then it was pulled out of you, almost making you sob.

Cum spurted on top of your lower back and ass cheeks, before Gaz willingly went - you could hear the almost instant sound of him and Soap making out with each other. And there was only one person back, which meant you had to go now.

A hand grabbed onto your ankle, dragging you backwards as you managed to crawl forwards a few steps - you turned around, back on the floor, raising your opposite leg to kick Ghost in the face, but the other hybrid caught it easily; grinning at you, almost feral-like, lust heavy in the air. Sometimes you forgot they had been in the military for so long.

Leather connected to your skin once more, this time on your raised thigh, a whine leaving you, your eyes flickering to look up at John who stood with the leash curled in his hand, ready to spank you with it once more.

“behave,” John hissed at you, while Ghost chuckled. Idiot.

You didn’t have much time to argue, Ghost letting go of your ankles, just to grab onto your thighs and pull you closer; he was kneeling, almost pulling you into his lap, that feral grin still there, fangs exposed.

He leant over you much quicker than you had anticipated, ignoring your growling and snapping with teeth - one hand resting next to your head, the other pulling down his boxers, pants already open.

Was his cock this big last time? It was like you couldn’t remember the last time right now, you could barely think, in fact, your mind was overwhelmed with so many things. Pleasure, oversensitivity, pain and anger - his dick seemed inhumanely long.

“Not so snappy now, huh?” he crooned, voice low, his free hand grabbing onto your plush thigh, fingers digging into the fat, ears tipped towards you as he spoke, “cockdumb already?”

“nnngh,” you tried pushing at his clothed chest, twisting in his grip, but it was no use; it was like the cock inside you kept you from doing anything. Somehow you managed a small “shutup” and that was enough to set Ghost going.

“Gonna teach you to not go whoring again,” Ghost snarled against your skin, tongue sloppily leaving a wet trail of spit over one of your bouncing tits, simply ignoring your hands trying to push his face out of the way, a plethora of moans and small yaps leaving you as he didn’t stop fucking you with that monster cock of his. You knew you were being watched, both by your owner and his boyfriend, as well as the two other hybrids, it only added to the humiliation of being turned on.

“Belong to us,” his words were barely audible as he growled them, the wet sounds and rustling of his clothes seeming to overtake it, “not her.”

“I won’t, won’t go, won–” you were barely aware of the words slipping from your lips, the volume rising as you felt his teeth scrape against a spot on your shoulder over your right breast, “nonon, please, I wont–”

“Ghost–” Price’s warning was stern, the little tug in the prong collar making him grumble, licking over the spot a couple of times - your eyes met.

Ghost’s eyes almost seemed like they wanted to own you too; as if it was no longer John who you bowed to, but the pack that you didn’t want, on a farm you didn’t want to be. His thrusts quickened and then his eyelids lowered together with his head – biting down into your skin.

Despite his fast attempt at breaking your skin, mauling your flesh into his, Price was quicker – pulling him back by the collar. He held an extra grip on his hair and you managed to look up, see through the tears.

It was like there was a flood in your ears, Price looking mad, Ghost’s ears tipping backwards as he spoke.

Fighting to get some air into your lungs, you panted and tried wiggling free. Ghost’s fingers merely dug deeper into your plush thigh even though he was currently pulled back by the prong collar, the tips of his claws pressing against your skin as a warning.

The moment he let go, Ghost was back at it, staring down at you with a dark smile, grunts and small moans even leaving him. It took a couple of moments before Price let him have enough leash to bend down over you again and this time Ghost growled into your ears instead of your skin. Licking your furry ears while you whimpered at the feeling and the words.

They owned you; were going to breed you, use you, keep Valeria away, and do whatever they needed to keep you. You were theirs. The moment you let us, he had panted, we will love you.

There was an odd feeling in your stomach, almost as if you were going to piss yourself, but with no mercy from any of the men, one of your hands dug into his short hair and the other grabbed onto his shoulder as you screamed.

It had been a while since you squirted and it took you by surprise, just as it did the others. There were several barks, voices but then Ghost was fucking you even harder than before, bordering on painful, forcing his mouth against yours. You came a second time, this time not squirting but it almost felt more intense.

Ghost came just a moment later, perhaps caught by surprise himself, but he made sure not to knot you.

The world was spinning around you. There were teardrops in your lashes as you squinted up at the hybrid, who was still pushed inside you. Price’s hand petting him shortly on the head before pulling him back.

There was speech but you barely noticed - then strong hands pulled you up into a lap. The overpowering scent of leather and oil told you who it was and despite your slight hate for Nik, your tail wagged as he pulled you into his arms, cooing at you.

“Such a strong puppy,” he praised, one of his hands drying away some of your drool, caressing your cheek as he sat on the floor with you on his lap, cum no doubt dripping onto his clothes, “you deserve treat for being so good, da?”

Compared to the first time you had met Nikolai, you didn’t want to bite his hand anymore - he clearly didn’t fear you doing so either. You snuggled into his hand, nodding as you squinted up at him, a small “uh-huh” leaving you.

His hand disappeared and then there was a faint rustling of plastic - even without seeing it, you smelled it. It was that mouthwatering scent that made you weak in your knees that first time and your nose instantly sniffed, almost trying to sit up further to get a look of where it was - to get it before the boys did. Nikolai laughed, letting out a “there you go, milaya,” letting you grab the piece of jerky from his finger, instantly sinking your teeth into it with a pleased sigh. Your tail wagging a little again as you heard Soap whining over not getting a piece.

You even had to take a bath with them afterwards. Your life was officially over - you made sure to tell Price that, who just huffed and rolled his eyes. Sure, you weren’t the biggest fan of showers, but you wanted the cum off and you wanted a bath in the tub… alone. That was your thing.

“- ‘nd they’re gonna use up my shampoo and my conditioner -” you continued overdramatically as Nik carried you in front of John, the russian man merely snorting at your pitiful complaining.

“We’ll buy more-” John tried to point out, but to no avail, life might as well be over for you right now.

“- ‘nd my brushes - all my nice brushes!”

“I will be sure tae use yers, Mo ghràdh,” Soap happily proclaimed, sending you a wink, fully naked as he was, his usual collar back on, small red marks on his neck from where the prongs had been, “I will use theim the wrong way. Just fer ye.”

Gaz snickered and even Ghost let out a chuckle.

“Jooohn,” you whined, only struggling a little as Nik sat you down in the tub, the water already nice and warm, your poor body having needed this, “I’m gonna need new brushes.”

“I doubt that, Princess,” he cooed, petting your hair, “Now who wants to join in th–”

Soap was in the tub, sliding in behind you before John could even finish his question, happily ignoring your pout and growl.

“Dinnae be like that,” he crooned, “where is yer special shampoo?”

This day had been awful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Princess.”

You almost jumped as the voice called for you and you turned, squinting slightly in suspicion at the sight. Gaz stood in the doorway, all calmly, looking at you, playing a little with his gloves. He didn’t look aggressive and didn’t smell turned on; in fact, he looked pretty harmless, his tail wagging ever so slightly, ears turning towards you and an almost shy smile.

“What?” you asked, sitting up in the dog bed, crossing your arms, not caring about sounding nice, looking him over for a moment before adding, “you’re dragging in mud.”

He looked down at his shoes, letting out a little ‘oh’. They weren’t really supposed to be in here, so you didn’t really understand why Gaz stood there. You didn’t really care either.

The other might be beautiful, but he was still not one of your favorite people.

“I - want to show you something,” he finally said, one of his charming smile appearing, though it was a little more careful this time, “Soap said you would probably like it.”

“What is it?” You didn’t sound too impressed.

“It's a surprise,” he smiled a little more.

“If it's your knots, then you can–”

“Jeez,” he rolled his eyes, as if they weren’t fucking you silly on the livingroom floor the other day, “it’s not. Nothing like that.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” he answered, wagging a little more than before, “Swear on my tail.”

"Hm. Where is it?”

“In the barn.”

You scrunched your nose at the mention of the barn, the idea of being stamped to death by a horse already scaring you.

“It’s nothing scary - I wouldn’t bring you if it was.”

You let out a sigh, before getting up - he went to the hallway again and you followed, stealing one of John’s jackets as well as a pair of his boots, before following Gaz outside.

“Some air would do you good once in a while, ya’ know,” Gaz said after a few moments, “we’re not that bad all of the time, Princess.”

You huffed, wondering for a moment if you should just turn around and go back. “You haven’t really proved me otherwise.”

He let out a hum that almost sounded agreeable but opened one of the doors to the barn, ushering you inside.

“It’s all good, I promise,” he said once more and you reminded yourself, that if he tricked you, you were going to snap off his tail. Pretty as it was.

He steered you to a booth where you noticed the heat lamp at first, more than anything else - but then you saw them, letting out a little gasp.

Tiny baby goats, all snuggled together in the hay beneath the lamp. A few of the mothers stood nearby and one of them came to the door of the booth, sniffing at Gaz’ hand, before letting out a bleat - then turning around again.

“They’re adorable,” you whispered, looking back at the babies, some of them looking at you, others sleeping with no worries in the world.

“Aren’t they?” Gaz asked with a smile, “They were born yesterday night. Come.”

You let out a scared sound as Gaz opened the door to the booth.

“Won’t the mothers attack us?” you didn’t like how Gaz chuckled to your genuine, fearful question but he shook his head.

“Nah, me ‘nd the others hang out with the animals all the time.” He explained, petting one of the mothers who came to greet him for a moment.

It was cute. You had to admit that, even with your limited love of the farm animals.

“But I don’t.” you pointed out, still standing in the door of the booth, afraid to step into the hay and join the other as he sat down next to the baby goats.

“No, but the mothers know I won’t let a predator near,” he explained gently, “Not at daytime and not during the night.”

“Oh.”

There was something special over this that you could not explain. You didn’t want to explain it. You sat down next to Gaz as he patted the spot, still a little unsure about the momma goats - but none of them battered an eye as Gaz took your hand and made you gently pet one of the babies.

“They’re so tiny,” you whispered, almost to yourself, for once not hating or fearing Gaz. At least for right now, you were just in a moment together with him, doing something that you hadn’t expected would be that nice.

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